sola gratia

I heard recently about a young boy who was standing in his church’s narthex, admiring a large wooden plaque with bronze plates, each bearing someone’s name.  Curious, he asked an usher, “Why are all these names here?”   Smiling, the usher replied, “Those are the names of folks who died in the service.”   The boy paused, then—seeking clarification—inquired, “Was it the morning service or the evening service?”              It’s true that sometimes church services can seem somewhat dead.  It’s true as well that we who gather to worship can sometimes appear lifeless.  Our founder, John Wesley, was well aware of this; he wrote in his directions for singing (which can be found in the front of The United Methodist Hymnal ) that Christians should beware of singing as if they were “half dead, or half asleep.” [1]   The fact is, sometimes our hearts just aren’t in it.  Sometimes, when we assemble, we don’t do so in a way that’s truly given to God.  And when this happens, our gatherings miss

Tomorrow's Pentecost, upon which many Christians celebrate the birth of the Church.  But it's also recognized in The United Methodist Church as Heritage Sunday, a day upon which we remember and offer thanks for our denomination's rich history and those who paved the way for us.  Yet Pentecost and Methodism are linked by more than the coincidental alignment of these dates, as what's perhaps the most prominent symbol for Pentecost--fire, or flames--is an integral part of UM identity too, as seen in the cross and flame logo. The flame in the logo points toward the same Spirit by whose power the Church was formed and sent forth on Pentecost.  And yet, looking closely, one sees that there isn't one flame; there are two--divided, fiery "tongues" as it were--taken straight from the second chapter of Acts.  And still, the two flames remain connected--pointing not only to the two distinct denominations (the Methodist Church and the Evangelical United Brethren Ch