For the online version, see http://www.washingtonpost.com/sf/sports/wp/2013/11/22/i-need-god-more-than-ever/

It was a clear summer day, but Shawn Kuykendall could feel a storm brewing somewhere deep inside. He wore shorts and canvas sneakers, his hair shaved but noticeably patchy in areas, like islands on a globe.

“How’s it going?” one of the young men asked.

“Uh, you know,” Kuykendall replied.

Soon, they were all there, gathered in front of the massive building. Kuykendall had invited part of his support network – family, friends and some of the soccer players from American University, where he had coached until recently — to meet in front of the Washington National Cathedral at noon.

They walked inside as a group, single file down cement steps to the crypt level, finding seats in a cavernous room where colorful mosaics decorate the walls.

As friends and family scattered to different corners, Kuykendall turned a chair to face one wall. The bright tiles above him depicted a scene of Jesus after the resurrection. Kuykendall pulled out his notebook and flipped past the first page, where just a couple of weeks earlier, on July 20, he’d scribbled out an initial entry:

I’ve been diagnosed w/ cancer. It stinks. I’m 31, fit and my body is failing me. I can’t tell you how to feel or what to feel. I can hardly tell you how I feel.

He’d taken to the journal to help organize his thoughts. There was no other way to process the storm. In the spring, he was working out with the soccer team at American, where he was a four-year star before playing professionally with D.C. United and the New York Red Bulls. He was competing in a couple of rec leagues and exercising daily. He was in peak physical shape. At least, he thought he was.

A tumor had quietly rooted itself inside his chest, growing to the size of a small apple. He started to feel fatigued. Then one day a sharp pain pierced his back and midsection. There was blood work and doctor visits and more questions than answers. Eventually, that first week of July, doctors broke the news: thymic cancer, an extremely rare form. Stage IV, which meant it had spread. There was no known cure.

Praise Be to God, Kuykendall wrote in the journal. You’re gonna see me write this a lot. Especially when I don’t know what’s going on.

He was facing a half-dozen chemotherapy treatments and beyond that — uncertainty. Kuykendall had no idea how to make sense of it all, what exactly would lie in store or how he’d keep his spirits up. There are 1.6 million people who have cancer diagnosed each year in the United States. Who among them knows?

In the Resurrection Chapel, Kuykendall’s mother and sister were just a few feet away, kneeled before a wall that featured Jesus and Saint Thomas the Apostle. Others had opened Bibles. Sports might be why the family name resonates in the soccer community – all five Kuykendall children played Division I soccer and their father played professionally for the Washington Diplomats more than three decades ago — but they all know Shawn as an extroverted jokester. How many pop songs did he sing with his acoustic guitar and then upload to YouTube? How many goofy photos had he shared on Instagram? How many times did he know just the right thing to say to lift someone’s spirits?

And now, with a medical death sentence shadowing him, he had no choice but to confront everything head-on. Why am I here? Why do these things happen? Why did God do this?

“Clearly when you get diagnosed with cancer, especially one as rare as this, it immediately comes to mind, really got to come to grips with it because you don’t know how long you’re going to live, you don’t know how fast it’s going to progress,” he said. “It’s really taken me to a crossroad with my faith.”

The doctors had a plan. They’d start with chemotherapy, six treatments from July until November, one every three weeks. They hoped the chemo might stop the cancer’s progression and shrink the tumor. Maybe they could eventually cut the mass away and give him more time.

The Kuykendalls had their plan, too. They avoided reading about the disease on the Internet. Faith would guide them.

Doctor and patient weren’t necessarily at odds.

“If there’s something that helps keep stability, keeps the mood up, that is usually a positive. Faith is one of these things, so I’m all in favor of it,” said Kuykendall’s doctor, Giuseppe Giaccone, head of the Lombardi Comprehensive Cancer Center’s lung cancer program at MedStar Georgetown University Hospital. “On the other hand, you may have situations where people do not accept the reality and that can be problematic because you need to be able to speak openly with the patient and plan together the further treatment. So you also need people to understand what’s going on and accept it when necessary.”

Armed with their Christian faith and buoyed by Kuykendall’s fighting spirit, they staked out every corner of the dim chamber. ”The Resurrection Chapel gives expression of Jesus Christ’s victory over death,” reads the cathedral literature. It would become a weekly appointment. Gather. Descend the cement steps. Bow heads. And close their eyes in preparation for the biggest fight of their lives.

‘Our new normal’

A curtain closed Bay 14 from the rest of the world. Kuykendall, wearing sweatpants and a white T-shirt, sat in the corner, a clear plastic tube running from a port in his chest to a bag hanging overhead. The Lombardi Cancer Center can be a lonely place, a drip-by-drip reminder of what’s at stake.

The second round of chemo just happened on the 25th, Kuykendall wrote in late July. It’s really hard to pray and to focus, to read or to meditate on God at this moment, on His word while I’m in pain.

Six weeks later, on a warm August day, Kuykendall was back, and Bay 14 was crammed with family and friends, enough to prompt a neighboring patient to complain about the noise. Kuykendall and his support team couldn’t help themselves. The medicine was serious — a crippling cocktail of menacing names: cisplatin, doxorubicin and cyclophosphamide — but spirits remained light.

They talked pop stars and TV shows, soccer and celebrities. Everything but cancer. A small machine — an IV pump, not larger than a shoebox — hummed nearby, pushing chemicals through the tube. But the medication was treated like something to be monitored casually, like the air conditioner.

Kuykendall told bad jokes — “What did the fish say when he ran into the wall? Dam.” — and the whole room erupted in laughter.

“Hate to break the party up,” said Allison Whitt, an oncology nurse. She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and swapped out the empty plastic bags. Soon a new red fluid crawled through the tube and Kuykendall sat back in the cushioned chair and submitted to the medicine.

He had tried in the past to control his body. Growing up, he was always shorter than the others. He’d step into the bathroom, close his eyes and plead with God — always disappointed to flip the switch and see the undersize boy in the mirror.

Years passed and his body was suddenly an even bigger mystery. Kuykendall could rub his chest and feel the tumor, a small rubbery bump. Life was different now — “Our new normal,” as his mother called it — and every day brought fresh reminders.

Kuykendall knew the prognosis wasn’t good. Because thymic cancer is so rare — about 500 new cases are diagnosed in the United States each year — there was a lot of guesswork involved. His doctor said he might have two years left. Maybe more. Maybe less.

The thymus is a gland located in the middle of the chest, just behind the sternum. It is vital to shaping the immune system early in life. By adulthood, it’s mostly fat tissue with no real function.

Kuykendall sought out Giaccone, one of the few doctors in the country who specializes in thymic cancer. The doctor said chemotherapy typically shows about a 50 percent success rate in shrinking the tumor.

“I think he’s in the good part of 50 percent,” Giaccone said.

‘Take it as it is’

Because of his treatment, Kuykendall isn’t supposed to be in the sun too long, so on a cool September Saturday afternoon he found a seat in the shade of Section 308. D.C. United was suffering through a terrible season and was hosting the Los Angeles Galaxy at a mostly empty RFK Stadium.

“When I was here, we’d just won the [MLS] Cup so it was 24,000″ fans, he told the friends who’d accompanied him. “The whole lower bowl was full.”

Kuykendall was drafted by United in 2005, appearing in two games before he was traded to the Red Bulls a year later. A torn anterior cruciate ligament in his right knee derailed his career, but he never actually walked away from soccer. How could he? Along with their Christian faith, the sport had been pillar for the Kuykendall family.

His father, Kurt, discovered soccer as a student at American in the early 1970s. Within three years of first kicking a ball, he was selected for the U.S. national team and was drafted by the Washington Diplomats of the North American Soccer League, the highest level of pro soccer in the United States at the time.

Kurt was a goaltender. He learned to be stoic. Even if his team was scored on, he felt it was his job to be the rock, the team’s stabilizing force. “You have to pretend that things are going well, and we’re going to get out of it,” he said. It was a skill set that would suit the family patriarch for years to come.

When the game finally passed Kurt by, he and his college sweetheart, Sherry, returned to the Washington area. He became a licensed Realtor and began a family. Together they raised five kids and built a comfortable life in the Virginia suburbs.

Growing up, the Kuykendall children were always allowed to play ball in the house — encouraged, actually — but there was a 25-cent fine for hitting a wall or knocking over a lamp. Kurt called it the “Family Room League,” and he taught his three boys and two girls soccer skills and quick indoor training lessons on a large area rug.

The couple home-schooled their children. Each morning would start with an hour of soccer before the daily devotional and then classroom work. Shawn always raced his siblings, treating everything like a competition. “He didn’t care if he did it right or wrong, he just wanted to be the fastest,” his mother said.

Juggling five kids and their busy schedules wasn’t easy. Plus, Kurt coached and Sherry played in adult leagues. There was an order to everything. The family had “Dollar Appreciation Week” and all the kids had to earn enough money through chore work to earn daily “rent.”

Years later, though, any sense of order suddenly felt shattered. Kurt knows his family has been blessed but says he’s had to accept that things like wealth and power were “illusions of control.”

“It’s actually very freeing because I can’t control the outcome for Shawn,” he said. “I can’t control the outcome for me. I thought I could — and I certainly have tried — but I now know I can’t.”

For both mother and father, when Shawn wasn’t around is when they worried most. They stayed home with their thoughts the day their son returned to RFK Stadium to watch his old team. Midway through the game, a fan club across the field unveiled a 12-foot-long banner in Kuykendall’s honor, featuring the words “once United, always United.” At halftime, Kuykendall was eager to go visit.

“How are you doing?” one fan asked.

“Doing good,” Kuykendall said. “Four cycles in. . . . Some people live a long time with this, some people don’t. . . . A lot of it is my faith and trust in God. He’s got a plan for this. Just take it as it is. It is what it is, right? Can’t do anything about it. I’m not gonna waste my emotions wallowing in self-pity.”

He returned to his friends in Section 308 for the second half. Feeling his energy level fading, he couldn’t have been further removed from the field and from his playing days.

‘I’m pretty drained through the process’

As the weeks passed, Kuykendall had to grow comfortable with what he saw in the mirror each morning. His skin ran the spectrum from pale to yellow. He missed having hair to comb. He’d taken to dyeing his disappearing eyebrows darker.

He prayed often about what good could come from his situation.

I realized that I’ve spent a lot of time on things that maybe don’t matter too much, he wrote in his journal, whether it was a text or a stupid iPhone game or TV. I’ve gotten really good at things that don’t matter. Oh, Lord, please forgive me for even in these times for putting these inconsequential things before you. Gotta tighten my game up.

He continued with his weekly visits to the cathedral, praying for others more than himself. Some friends helped launch a nonprofit called Kuykenstrong. The fundraising was intended to help with medical bills, but most of that had been covered by his COBRA insurance. He’d hoped the foundation, which had raised about $60,000, mostly through the sale of #Kuykenstrong T-shirts, eventually could be used to help others.

One morning in late September, Kuykendall woke up in particularly good spirits and was back at American wearing a blue practice jersey. He was part of a team again, joking, laughing and talking soccer. Before practice, the squad squeezed into the campus salon, Tigi, where the coaches agreed to get their heads shaved, a symbol of solidarity with their former star.

“Look at them,” Kuykendall cooed. “They’re nervous.”

Todd West lowered himself into a chair, and Kuykendall took the clippers and buzzed a line down the middle of West’s scalp, sending wisps of dark hair to the tiled floor. West is in his 14th year as American’s coach and is the man who recruited Kuykendall to play at the school and later hired him as an assistant coach.

“If anything, his competitiveness was something you wanted to tone down,” West said of Kuykendall’s playing days, “which is better than having to dial it up.”

Players assured their newly bald coaches they’d look more intimidating on the sideline, and everyone laughed as they walked out of the salon and toward the nearby field. Kuykendall practiced with the team, partaking in an up-tempo keep-away drill. He was the most animated player on the field. “Let’s go! . . . Your feet are garbage. . . . Really, Charlie?!”

As the practice session wore on, his breathing became labored and his hands found his hips. When players took a water break, Kuykendall called out to coaches, “An IV for me.”

When he woke up early the next morning, he logged onto Facebook and wrote:

Chemo. . . Round 5. . . And while I have certainly been gaining strength and feeling better after each round, I must admit I’m pretty drained through the process. This is the first time I’m really dreading going in for treatment and the subsequent awful days to follow. . . . It’s not easy to fight and I certainly can put on a brave front. Today, I want to say how difficult it is and I need God more than ever.

Kuykendall had a short meeting with his doctor and then went through the familiar routine. He was stationed in Bay 16 this time, chained to the humming machine by the clear plastic tube. Friends came and went throughout the day, and the group swapped embarrassing stories about ex-girlfriends, college hangovers, shared hijinks. They teased Kuykendall plenty.

“You can’t do that!” he’d protest with a smile. “I have cancer.”

Eventually, the medicine caught up to him, and his eyelids became heavy. Melanie Menditch, a childhood friend who accompanied him to each treatment, tried to keep the mood light.

“Shawn, what was the best day of your life?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment, thinking.

“I don’t have one,” he said. “Not yet.”

‘Argh! That taste!’

Shawn’s mental state was often dictated by his physical condition. He had gained about 15 pounds from his springtime weight of 175. He couldn’t exercise as much as he’d like and his appetite only grew. A whole pizza was not out of the question, as food was one of the few comforts readily available.

“People always want you to go to dinner, too, which is great,” he told Giaccone during one appointment. “But I eat too much.”

He was usually the youngest patient at the Lombardi Cancer Center, always among the first to arrive and last to leave. Each session felt more draining than the last, and since late summer he’d been spending more nights at his parents’ home in Oakton. He had recently started a new job with Montgomery Soccer Inc., the governing body for one of the country’s most robust and active youth soccer communities, but was unable to work steady hours. There were headaches and temperature changes and nausea.

His condition seemed to worsen following the most recent treatment. At night, he’d sweat through two or three shirts. He had difficulty sleeping and spent full days in bed. And even when he was feeling fine, he knew everything could change within an hour. ”Just a constant state of discomfort,” he said.

Kuykendall woke up one Sunday in mid-October with pain shooting through his lower back and stomach. By the next day, it had spread to his hip, leg and knee. It felt similar to the pain that first sent him to the doctor four months earlier and all he could think was: Is cancer taking over my body?

Doctors encouraged him to dip into his pain medication and the next morning he visited Giaccone, who couldn’t link the pain symptoms with the cancer. Kuykendall stuck with the Percocet and struggled through the week, finding some comfort in routine. He wrote in his journal:

I need to be more purposeful. I’m at Prayer Wednesday here and we’ve had 6 people show. I need to be pouring into their lives, I need to be calling to them more, I need to be investing in them, coming before God, humbly bringing things to God.

When he met with Giaccone next, he heard a bit of good news: The tumor that had previously been the size of a small apple was now about the size of a golf ball. The doctor was optimistic that surgery might be an option but wanted to wait until the PET scan following the final chemo treatment.

At treatment No. 6, Kuykendall was assigned to Bay 10.

“When does my hair start growing back?” he asked a nurse.

“Month or two months,” she said. “But it may begin sprouting a little sooner.”

Another long day rotating through colorful liquids. The machine started beeping late in the afternoon and a nurse quickly appeared. He was almost finished, needing just a final injection of saline to clear the line and flush the port in his chest. Even though the solution is fed directly into his bloodstream, the effects quickly find his mouth.

“Argh! That taste!” Kuykendall said, grabbing his nose.

The unit was quiet and mostly empty when Kuykendall finished. His eyes were half-closed when it came time to leave.

“You’re good to go,” a nurse announced.

He slowly rose from the chair and shuffled out of the building.

“I think you should dance out or something, Shawn,” his mother said.

Soccer is a sport dependent on structure. There are rules and boundaries. For anything good to happen, several parts must move in sync, each piece giving the larger unit purpose and mission. In the Kuykendall family, everyone processed Shawn’s sickness separately but also together.

“You hear other stories of families going through it, you’re praying for them, but until it actually hits you, you don’t know how hard it is,” Sherry said.

“We’re hopeful,” Kurt said. “We realize, it could be one answer, could be another answer. We’ve resigned ourselves it doesn’t matter. We’re going to miss him if the Lord takes him home early. If he doesn’t, we’re grateful to have him around more.”

As the days grew colder in November, Kuykendall spent most nights at his parents’ home. Even on days he couldn’t bear to leave the house, he stayed connected through social media. Friends could tell that the bad days began to outnumber the good. “Oh hi throw up. 3rd in 4 days. #ChemoProbs,” he tweeted, 2 1/2 weeks following his final chemo treatment. It was followed a few days later by the simple update: “This is getting worse.”

Though his hair seemed ready to return, his energy level was less willing. Something was wrong. With the first five chemo treatments, his condition and spirits improved with each passing day. But several weeks had passed and Kuykendall was still vomiting, struggling to sleep through the night and short on energy. He missed a couple of his midweek pilgrimages to the cathedral, and at night, the cold sweats would get so bad that he’d wrap a towel around his head and wake up to find it drenched.

Doctors ordered PET and CT scans and would compare the results with his initial scans before making a final determination on surgery. At the hospital, Kuykendall prayed as a laser passed over his body. Between scans, he grimaced with pain and shivered with discomfort. At the end of a long day, he went straight to the emergency room.

He waited and waited, and before long, the on-call physicians were able to look at the scans from earlier in the day. That’s when his worst fears were confirmed.

On the drive home, he pulled out his iPhone and began texting updates to those who’d been checking in on him.

“Just leaving ER. Not much to say. Scans came back. Mass is larger. Spread more aggressive.”

“Disheartened to say the least. Will keep fighting. And praying to find peace.”

“Its ok. God has a plan. Live or die. I win. Will continue to fight. But can’t lose hope.”

The next day, he logged onto Facebook and broke the news to his larger family of supporters, those who prayed, who bought T-shirts, who called every day.

I’m scared. I want to live. But I’m here to say that God is sovereign and good. When I can see the good. And when I can’t see the good.

Two days later, accompanied by his parents, Kuykendall arrived at Giaccone’s office to discuss the next step. The doctor explained that even though the mass grew only a half-centimeter, any growth was a bad sign. Giaccone feared Kuykendall’s body had begun to reject the chemotherapy.

Surgery felt like a near-certainty only a couple of weeks earlier. It was now off the table for the time being. Radiation, too, could do more damage than good at this point. Hoping to bring the tumor back under control, Giaccone decided to put Kuykendall on another round of chemotherapy, a new mixture called carboplatin-taxol, typically used to treat ovarian and lung cancers.

Kuykendall had hoped so badly that he was finished with chemo and ready for the next stage of his battle. The physical torment made it more difficult to stay upbeat, but generally, Kuykendall still managed to keep his biggest fears at bay.

“I don’t feel as captive by them,” he said. “I don’t feel as enslaved by them, if that makes sense. . . . Getting bad news doesn’t seem so bad anymore. It’s just sort of part of the process.”

Despite the setback, Kuykendall’s plan didn’t change — Please pray first and foremost that I can find an unparalleled peace from God through this, he urged his Facebook friends. He maintained a positive outlook. After all, he had his faith, he had his family and he had no qualms continuing his battle with his eyes closed.

Cancer might not hear prayers. But he was still confident God does.

For 28 years I have saved this article, and just yesterday I was reading it and noticed for the first time, perhaps, the beautiful influence religion had in what this family did for their son and brother.

Rev. Anya Sammler-Michael
The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Sterling
www.uusterling.org 

I’ve grown accustomed to responding to different names.  The four letters that constitute “Anya” lend themselves to a tongue twisting number of pronunciations.  I might be Anne one day, then Ann-ya the next.  New friends and associates may add letters to the beginning or the end making me Tanya or Anyana.  Maybe this is why I don’t take offense when a newcomer to our congregation, or an interfaith friend stumbles over the name of our faith community.  Unitarian Universalism is neither easy to remember or pronounce.  Still, it’s not our name that matters, it’s what we do and why we do it that will be our legacy.  

Go ahead and call us UU’s if you like, and let me take a moment to explain what that means.  First of all, here’s a disambiguation: Unitarian Universalism is not the same, nor does it employ a similar approach to religion as 1. The Unity Church, 2. The Unification Church, or 3. The Universal Life Church.  Unitarian Universalism is a faith tradition born of the Protestant reformation, with roots in the early Christian church.  We grew out of a fold that heartily studied the bible and practiced theology, with the hope of achieving an honest and attentive faith.  

Throughout our early development we consistently affirmed two ideas - that God is one, and that that one God is love (or loving).  As our years bore us forward, ministers and parishioner’s became increasingly drawn to the practice of tolerance and the free search for truth and meaning.  Our forefathers and mothers were attentive to tradition, but also understood the spiritual depth and wisdom that could be won when an individual wrestled with their own doubts and drew their own conclusions.  As a result our movement assumed a theologically liberal approach that is widely accepting and welcoming, inviting the individual expression of diverse beliefs. UU’s are called, not to affirm specific dogma, but to live their life in an honest and ethical manner, not as they wish, but as they feel they must (by the dictates of their conscience.) 

You might ask, if there is no central dogma, is Unitarian Universalism a real religion?  It is not, if you believe religion is about dividing people between the saved and unsaved. However, if you believe that religion should seek to unite humanity rather than divide it, we are a very real religion. 

Some of us pray and some of us meditate.  Some of us understand a relationship to God, some understand God as a force of life, and some don’t find the name “god” meaningful at all.  Still we are able to thrive in communities, dedicated to the betterment of our lives, our children’s lives, and our world.  We gather on Sundays for worship and throughout the week for education and activities.  There are UU congregations all over, some very large and some small.  There have been UU presidents, scientists, artists and activists.  You may even have a UU friend, colleague or family member.  

I hope this explains a bit more than our oversized and hard to pronounce name can explain alone.  We are always glad to meet visitors and to share interfaith conversations.  Learning about one another serves our cause of affirming the inherent worth and dignity in every person.  Feel welcome to contact me with questions or visit on a Sunday.  All are truly and ardently welcome.  

By Cecilia Kang, Published: November 11And on the seventh day, there was delivery.

Already, work e-mails and conference calls have become part of Sunday routines, piling on top of sports tournaments, errands and homework. Now, with Amazon.com’s plans to deliver packages on Sundays, one more barrier falls, inching that day even closer to becoming just another part of the consumer week.

The tradition of a seventh day set aside for family and rest has been crumbling for years as states relaxed laws prohibiting gambling, shopping and even hunting on Sundays. The popularity of smartphones and the creation of an always-online culture has spurred greater demand — and ability — to have it all, right now, anytime.

“We are moving toward a society where e-mail and social media have caused the week and weekend to blur,” said Jonathan Gruber, a professor of economics and labor at MIT.

“Blue laws” that ban Sunday activities — dating to the 1600s — have been gradually repealed in many states, but some remain. In Maryland, car sales on Sundays are widely banned, though they are allowed in Montgomery, Prince George’s and Howard counties.

Sunday hunting is banned in many states. In Virginia, the rules are more specific: Hunting with firearms or other weapons is banned on Sundays, though raccoons may be hunted until 2 a.m.

As cities and states look for more revenue, they have loosened laws banning liquor sales on Sundays. The D.C. Council approved a plan to allow them late last year, and liquor stores in Montgomery County were allowed to sell on Sundays starting in 2010. A new law that took effect last year in Virginia allowed state-run stores in small communities to start selling alcohol on Sundays

Amazon’s national plan to partner with the U.S. Postal Service could open the door to a wave of Sunday deliveries by other companies. The money-losing Postal Service, which recently was trying to persuade Congress to halt Saturday mail, said it will expand Sunday staffing and hopes to sign up more clients. The agency declined to disclose specifics or to reveal how much new revenue it expects.

There were no complaints about prolonging the workweek from a union representing letter carriers. “We’re excited about the potential of the rapidly growing e-commerce market and what it means for the Postal Service,” said Fredric Rolando, president of the National Association of Letter Carriers. Expanding Sunday service “would benefit the economy, consumers, businesses and the nation as a whole,” he said.

Amazon said its plan originated from consumer demands to get their online orders faster.

“We hope it crosses an errand or two off the weekend to-do list,” Amazon spokeswoman Kelly Cheeseman said. (Amazon chief executive Jeffrey P. Bezos owns The Washington Post.)

Competitors such as Wal-Mart, eBay and Google are racing to satisfy consumers virtually around the clock, aiming to deliver products just hours after someone places an online order.

“Amazon’s announcement is another incremental development in the erosion of that restful space — Sunday — and another example of an erosion on the limits of market activity,” said Jordan J. Ballor, a research fellow at the Acton Institute for the Study of Religion and Liberty, an economic think tank.

The changes of shopping patterns began well before online commerce took off. Wal-Mart, Kmart and other major retailers were criticized when they started opening their stores on Sundays years ago. Since then, they have expanded shopping hours to 24 hours a day and holidays. They have faced renewed backlash over plans to open on Thanksgiving Day.

Last year, an employee of Target wrote a letter to company chief executive Gregg W. Steinhafel, asking him to close the chain of stores on Thanksgiving. The letter was posted as a petition on Change.org and got more than 300,000 signatures of support.

The company stood by its decision to open on Thanksgiving evening, saying it was responding to the interests of shoppers and of employees who asked to work the overtime shifts.

In an age of constant commerce, consumers have struggled to reconcile their urge to spend with older traditions of quiet Sundays. Last month, some residents of Bergen County, N.J., tried to repeal a county ban on the sale of furniture, clothing and electronics on Sundays. They had argued that opening retail stores seven days a week would boost the local economy. But they failed to get enough signatures of support.

A few companies have resisted the seven-day trend. Chick-fil-A’s 1,700 fast-food restaurants and Hobby Lobby’s 560 craft stores are closed on Sundays.

Chick-fil-A’s founder believes that “all franchised Chick-fil-A operators and their restaurant employees should have an opportunity to rest, spend time with family and friends, and worship if they choose to do so,” according to a statement on the company’s Web site.

But such cases are rare. The combination of weaker labor unions, fewer blue laws and greater consumer demand has made it easier for companies to get away with e-mails during off-hours and stores open at all hours, said Nelson Lichtenstein, director of the Center for the Study of Work, Labor and Democracy at the University of California at Santa Barbara.

“This, combined with technology, has made the week endless,” he said.

Pastor Joe Brosious
Bethel Lutheran Church
Madison, Wisconsin
November 4, 2013

Five years ago November a homeless man was found dead on the doorsteps of our downtown Madison, Wisconsin church.  It was an event that sparked action on the part of the congregation and staff.  Today we have a homeless ministry that, although nowhere near problem free, operates five days a week and attempts in every action and detail to be a solution as opposed to a band-aid for our homeless friends.  If you lead or pastor an inner city church you have no doubt dealt with some of the same problems and growing pains we have in getting the ministry started.  Inner city ministry is both a blessing and a curse.  Blessing insofar as you are faced with a myriad of opportunities to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, to live out the gospel on a daily basis.  But at the same time cursed because you are faced with the hungry and the naked and no matter what you have on your “to do” list the gospel smacks you right between the eyes on a daily basis.

The church I serve is in the midst of a massive capital campaign, the largest it has ever imagined, raising funds to expand the current campus.  The proposed additions would have several multi-purpose spaces, an auditorium, coffee shop, preschool, daycare and a whole host of other facilities designed to help us “be” the church in our downtown locale for generations to come.  In discussions about the project I hear a lot of people comment that it will help us “meet people where they are at.”  But the more I hear the phrase, the more I think it is as loaded as the term ‘evangelical’ or the phrase ‘missional church.’  In order to meet people where they are at we have to first understand where we are at.  In order to meet people where they are at we may have to ask questions to which we may not like the answers, and realize that a shiny new building may not solve many of the problems and concerns in people’s lives.

So I will be thinking a lot this month about where people are at.  Pulitzer Prize winning author and journalist Chris Hedges defines the point from which I am starting.  Hedges’ defines where America is “at” in his book Empire of Illusion: The End of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle.  He testifies that Americans are dulled to reality, the economic, environmental, educational, and political realities of this modern US democracy, which look nothing, like the country we pledge allegiance to (that is in places where the pledge is still allowed), or stand to sing about during the 7th inning stretch.

Instead of facing and challenging the realities of injustice and discrimination that have permeated this meritocracy or oligarchy (take your pick) that we love, we retreat into the pseudo-realities of our modern world; reality TV, WWF, pornography, Facebook, video games, fantasy football, the list goes on.  What many view as a culture of rampant individualism and materialism is, in Hedges eyes, a society where the biggest fear is to be unknown.  Our cultural habits “expose the anxiety that we will die and never be recognized or acclaimed, that we will never be wealthy, that we are not among the chosen but remain part of the vast, anonymous masses.  The ringside sagas are designed to reassure us.  They hold out the hope that we, humble and unsung as these celebrities once were, will eventually be blessed with grace and fortune” (5). 

As opposed to individuals Hedges would say America is mired in self-absorption.  We have taken the neighbor out of Jesus’ command to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31), and sacrificed relationships and the difficult realities of our world for extreme forms of entertainment posing as reality.  The modern American society is characterized by “superficial charm, grandiosity, and self importance; a need for constant stimulation, a penchant for lying, deception, and manipulation, and the inability to feel remorse or guilt.  This is, of course the ethic promoted by corporations (and I painfully add most politicians).  It is the ethic of unfettered capitalism.  It is the misguided belief that personal style and personal advancement, mistaken for individualism, are the same as democratic equality.  We have a right, in the cult of the self, to get whatever we desire.  WE can do anything, even belittle and destroy those around us, including our friends, to make money, to be happy, and to become famous.  Once fame and wealth are achieved, they become their own justification, their own morality.  How one gets there is irrelevant.  Once you get there, those questions are no longer asked” (33).

It may sound like a dark or macabre place to start but it feels real to me.  It feels stripped of all the buzzwords and pithy aphorisms we so often use in church circles.  It feels real because it is exactly where I find myself each and every morning (maybe this is one of those questions I didn’t want the answer to).  Martin Luther once defined our Christian vocation as “daily rising and dying with Christ.”  I think this is what he was talking about, the daily shedding of our own self-absorption so that we may be used to advance the Kingdom.  Used to be in relationship with the homeless person at our doorstep, to advocate, to visit, to vote, to write letters and send emails, to challenge and invite, to listen and teach and share the love of Christ in a world that does not play well with others. 

Real love, true sacrificial love that can only be shown by serving our neighbors.  The kind of love that is so countercultural it can produce a reality that starts a movement.  This kind of love finds value in understanding differences; it leads to communal transformation as opposed to individual, and transforms our narrative from self-interest as selfish, to self-interest as the self among others; love that leads us to the self-realization that the Christian life happens when my self-interest or concerns are united with the concerns of others for the sake of the common good.  This is where all started for the Apostles.  It is what we as Christians strive for every day.  To prayerfully change our communities and local governments through the challenge and promise of God’s love.

http://www.bethel-madison.org/