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There is salvation in no one else. And he has other sheep that do not belong to this fold.

Anthony Robinson said it well in a recent Stillspeaking devotional. Maybe the future of the church is a lot simpler than it is today.  Breaking bread, prayers, learning about the word and caring for the lost are the simple acts Jesus led his little band to engage in.

It’s the second movement of Leonard Bernstein’s choral work, Chichester Psalms. A boy soprano (or a countertenor), in the “role” of the shepherd boy, David, sings in Hebrew the opening verses of Psalm 23. He is accompanied–sparingly, fittingly–by the harp. The first several measures are tender but not tentative; filled with sentiment, but without sentimentality (this per Bernstein’s instructions). When the women’s voices take over the text at גַּם כִּי־אֵלֵךְ בְּגֵיא צַלְמָוֶת . . . (Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .) there’s an ethereal echo-canon effect. This part of the movement, when executed well, is something sublime.

It’s been one year since I left my position as pastor of a lovely rural congregation to lead The Project F-M, a ministry that delightfully defies easy categorization but could not be called a church. It’s been one year since I’ve preached regularly, presided over the sacraments, led funeral services, visited shut-ins, taught Sunday school, been to the hospital or responded when someone said “Pastor.” One year. Pastor friends often ask me, “Do you miss it?” It’s a complicated response.

Over my 12+ years in ministry, lay and ordained, I’ve had a number of nurturing and supportive mentors and guides—spiritual directors, coaches and professors. Now I’m ready for someone to scare the bejesus out of me. Or scare the Jesus into me.

Solomon is approached with a serious dilemma. The equation doesn’t seem to add up. Two mothers. One baby. In what's declared as an act of wisdom, Solomon decides to cut the baby in half to correct the equation. When threatening to do so, the truth is discovered and the baby is returned to his mother. While moderating at a recent presbytery meeting, I had a new insight into this particular story.

A few days before Lent, I sat my son down for a serious conversation over crackers. “So buddy, Lent starts on Wednesday. Lent is a time when we get ready for Easter. And during Lent we don’t sing Alleluia. So we’re not going to sing Alleluia for a while.” His sea-blue eyes sparkled up at mine. His milk-smeared mouth turned up at the corners, and he cocked his head full of curls to one side. “Should we sing Alleluia?” he cooed.

Sometimes, when one church is struggling, another church helps out. One church I interviewed (for the From Death to Life project) was a new ethnic church development that was given a building, basically for free, from a church that died. But we all know you get what you pay for, and the building they got had  more than a few structural problems. They received some support for the pastor’s salary from their denomination, but the building was weighing them down with repair bills.