Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Being saintly

Sunday, November 6 was All Saints Sunday. It's that time of year when the faithful community recalls the lives and contributions of those who came before. Both Catholics and Anglicans have Feast Days throughout the year, most days of the year are set aside to honor someone for some act of piety during the last two thousand years of Christiandom. It is good to remember the saintly work by contemporaries like Martin Luther King, Jr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and C.S. Lewis, as well as the earliest Christians, the four evangelists who wrote the Gospels, the disciples, Stephen, the first Martyr, the Blessed Virgin, and Mary Magdalene. But between the newer, more familiar names and the biblically familiar characters, lie the bulk of the saints. Some have notoriety in the secular for good reason, like Sojourner Truth, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Harriet Tubb. But there are so many more who are virtually unknown. And as church membership falls, so also the number of worship services dedicated to these invaluable models, if not deposits, of faith. These now rare public commemorations model the power of faithfulness in the face of intolerance at best, and violent persecution at worst - as much in secular as religious life.

The point of appointing saints is for the sake of memory. These vibrant personalities each take up a day on the calendar, so that at the same time on the same day, the community of the faithful remembers - whatever it is that needs remembering. It keeps us, collectively, from the dire temptation of taking our freedoms and privileges for granted; from blindly believing that whatever equality and civility exists now in some quadrants of society (however imperfect, still) have always been in place. But the work done and the progress made by the people we commemorate is never really done. It continuance is dependent on you and I; it is we who are meant to carry the work of right living and advocacy forward. But the beating heart of this forward movement can only occur in the context of a living past. It is another day, another moment to pause and remember what was, what is, and took to what could be.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

In the likeness of God

"So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them, male and female he created them." (NRSV)

Worships begins on this Trinity Sunday celebration of the Eucharist with the first account of creation from Genesis. In this account humankind was created in one act. Not man out of the clay of the earth, nor woman from the man's rib, but from the breath of God; the same breath that made lights appear in the heavens and all manner of things on the earth.

But this isn't the version we think of when we think of God's creation of humankind. For that we borrow from the creation story which is in the second chapter of Genesis; the version we all learned in Sunday School as children. In that childhood version the two account are meshed together - so we have the creation of all things from Gen. 1 and the creation of humankind from Gen. 2. But we aren't in Sunday School anymore. And in the grownup version we pull apart the two accounts of our coming into being and take each on its own terms; one at a time.

Today we have before us the first account: created from the breath of God, man and woman created on completely equal grounds - not one before the other - one not subservient to the other - but as partners, created for the purpose of caring for the earth and all that is in it and on it, and for all manner of creatures who share it with us.

It is this account that begins the entire book we now know as the Bible. Genesis, as a whole, is foundational for Jews, Christians and Muslims. Its characters play central roles in all three of the holy texts of these major world religions: The Torah, The Bible and the Koran. We differ dramatically on many things theological, but that Almighty God created the earth and the heavens all that is in them, we share as foundational to everything that comes next. And a lot of what comes next divides us radically, forming a seemingly fathomless chaism between "us" and "them", effectively sustaining the positions of "we" in a defensive posture to "the other." But it hasn't always been this way: ".... God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them, male and female he created them." (NRSV) In one breath, in a single moment in time, male and female, together we were created. And are wise to acknowledge that Genesis 1 isn't a scientific or historical accounting - its a theological account - it's how we, the people of God, base our understanding of how we relate to God and perhaps even more importantly, how God relates to us. We are God's created beings to whom all of creation was given for the sustaining of all life now and to come. It is the starting place for how proceed to speak of God and for how we reference one another. In this accounting of human creation, God created two beings in a single act - the importance being on the pair; the interdependence of one on the other - as intentional, not accidental. And if Genesis 1 is taken as prologue to the rest of the Genesis if not the entire biblical text - then the theme of human interdependence is of profound importance. All the relationships that follow in Genesis, even the ones that reveal deep and painful tears in the fabric of family - brother against brother, in particular, the need one has for the other is undeniable. Perhaps there is no place on earth that needs to be reminded of this than in the Middle East. In that part of the world, not even Israel, who claims the land as given to them by God for all time, is untouched by the world at their borders. In a very real way, Israel and the Palestinians need one another for their mutual survival; revealed so clearly, ironically in the hostility that exists between them. There is a poem by the Israeli poet Shin Shalom, written in 1952, in which Isaac speaks to his brother Ishmael, with who he is estranged, whose respective tribes, the Israelites and Palestinians, remain at violent odds to this day. The following excerpt from the poem points to a future that includes them both.

"Ismael my brother, How long shall we fight each other? My brother from times bygone, My brother, Hagar's son, My brother, the wandering one. One angel was sent to us both, One angel to watch over our growth - There in the wilderness, death threatening through thirst, I a sacrifice on the altar, Sarah's first. Ishmael, my brother, hear my plea: It was the angel who tied thee to me. Time is running out, put hatred to sleep. Shoulder to shoulder, let's water our sheep."

These thoughts on our common creation and how we were intended to co-exist begs the question, What does it mean to be human, to be made in the likeness of God, to be then icons of God?" Were we to begin all our days, all our thoughts, all our conversations, and all of our arguments on this statement of faith, how differently might be the outcomes of our interactions with one anther. Recently, I have been haunted by the following vision from Elias Chacour, a Greek Catholic Palestinian priest from Galilee in 2001:

"The true icon is your neighbor, the human being who has been crated int he image and with the likeness of God. How beautiful it is when our eyes are transfigured and we see that our neighbour is the icon of God, and you, and you, and I - we are all the icons of God. How serious it is when we hate th image of God, whoever that may be, whether a Jew or a Palestinian. How serious it is when we cannot go and say, 'I am sorry about he icon of God who was hurt by my behaviour.' We all need to be transfigured so we can recognized the glory of God in one another."



Sunday, June 5, 2011

Life after high school

Homiletic summary of John 17:1-11

This is a week that for many of us passes unnoticed. But for others this week marks a significant milestone in their child's life; high school graduation. It signifies the end of one phase of life and the beginning of a new life. High school is fraught with ups and downs - it serves a training ground not simply for academic achievement but for for living in community. As someone said to me recently, "community is hard." Of all the trials I watch my own daughter wade through in her high school years, the navigation of community is by far the most difficult. But the experience of high school has life-long effects; somewhere deep in our psyches are the scars of finding our way, our voice, our place within the social strata of high school. And though we adults, recall and appreciate the struggles experienced in that place and time, in hindsight what we know for certain is that it is a mere primer for what lies ahead.

It may seem at first a hard thing to reconcile high school graduation within the context of the life of the church, but scratch around just a little in the Gospels and a connection will soon become apparent. Take this Gospel lesson from John for instance: Jesus' words to his disciples in preparing them for a new life; ultimately a much harder life without him. Jesus has come to the end of a long speech directed to his disciples. He breaks off and looks up to heaven and begins to pray. It is a dense prayer to say the least; hard for us to fully understand. The words are not clearly set forth, leaving us to say to ourselves: What did he just say? or What does that mean? In the most simple and general terms, Jesus is commending the disciples into the care of God. But he begins by asking God to give to them 'eternal life.' We use this phrase in our liturgical life quite a bit. Because we take things in the most literal sense, we might think that we are praying for immortality. Not to disappoint, but that is not exactly what Jesus has in mind for us.

So what does he mean by 'eternal life'? Thankful we need not guess, he explains it clearly for our understanding. He is asking God to give to his disciples is a life shaped by the knowledge of God as revealed in his person. Said another way, eternal life is to have the fullness of a good and rich life assured of the presence, fidelity and covenential love of God made known to us through the birth, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. To know Jesus is to know God; to allow one's life to be shaped by God is eternal life. The conforming of our lives to God's will for us, that is to put our relationship to with God before all things and our love of neighbor as the underlying guide for all we do, creating a relationship between us and God that death cannot conclude. It is a relationship that we believe will survive and grow beyond the confines and boundaries of what is possible in this life.

Given that this was Jesus' deepest desire for the disciples whom he loved, then it is as fitting that we ask this also for those we love and admire; those in whom the future of the world has been entrusted. Let this then be our prayer for graduating seniors: that they may have eternal life; that their lives be so shaped by God in Christ, that the bond between the two will be so strongly forged as to withstand any defeat, any hardship, any burden.

On this day, June 5, we celebrate the graduation of Eric England. At his baptism and again at his confirmation this believing community of which he has been a part since birth vowed to assist in the shaping of his life as a Christian. It is now time for us to entrust him, once again, to God as he moves from the bounds and safety of life in high school into the wider world in which he will need to find his way, his place. But he will not be alone, for the conditions of our vows to him do not end here. His faith community will be here to support him and his parents and family as he continues to find his way in the world. To Eric and all those graduating from high school this week, let us pray that their lives be commended into the care of God and shaped by love and mercy in the goodness of eternal life.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

"Peace be with you"

Most people think of Easter as a single day, but it for many Christians, including mainline Protestants, Catholics, the Orthodox Church, and other branches of the Christian faith an entire season - 50 days in all. The glorious celebrations of Easter morn mark on the tip of the iceberg. Commercially we have long-since passed Easter, and Mother's Day and are now stretching toward Memorial Day, even Father's Day. If you stop into a Cracker Barrel these days you'll be greeted by a table of 4th of July items prominently displayed at the front door. It is hard then to think that we are still in Eastertide when the culture is pulling us to engage in the trappings of the next big calendar event.

In fact, were it not for the assigned lectionary readings, that force the body of Christ to focus on the events and repercussions following Christ's resurrection, and left to our own devices, we might already be looking ahead to the happy manger. It is hardly a crime to wish to remain in the bliss of Christmas or the joy of Easter morn but it takes more that these two events to shore up the buttresses of a life of faith when the flood waters rise and strong winds threaten. A lot of life is lived between the manger and the cross. The faithful require a steady diet of a variety of biblical text to face the challenges of daily life.

One such text, from the second Sunday of Easter is John 20:19-31; sometimes called the account of "Doubting Thomas." When Jesus joined the disciples in the locked upper room he greeted them with the words, "Peace be with you." Unfortunately, we lack a proper way to interpret this. As is the case quite often when either biblical Hebrew or Greek is translated into English, something is lost. In this case, quite a bit is lost. So then while the words may be correctly interpreted, the meaning has not be captured. According to William Barclay, what Jesus says, more exactly is: May God give you every good thing. The disciples have been through a lot in recent days; they're tired, anxious and afraid. They've lost their direction, their purpose; the foundation of all their work swept away in a single day. How does one begin to say all the things that need to be said? Peace be with you, are words that do not fail. The repeat seems to stress Jesus' intent that they concentrate on what God has already and would provide, rather than what they have lost. It is how Jesus began to engage those he loved who were disoriented by the events of recent days - with the reminder that it is God who provides. When all is lost, when all seems beyond repair or redemption, it is God who will have the last word. This is what we too long to hear on the rough days we endure between Christmas and Easter.

It's been a hard Spring, weather-wise, in our nation. Last I heard the death toll was 339 from that terrible outbreak of tornadoes a few weeks ago. And as I write this, thousands await the cresting of the Mississippi River in a year of record-breaking flooding and devastation of land, crops and property. For so many everything they owned has been lost, heaping injury and insult to the loss of life. What do we say to people who have lost everything and are hanging on to the hope tomorrow might bring by a thread? Perhaps, "Peace be with you, " would be a good place to start.

In a recent bombing by NATO, it was reported that Gaddafi's youngest son was killed. Who will pay the price for the loss of his son? Eye for an eye . . . What do we say to the multitude who have already lost so many in the cruel attacks of Gaddafi's forces over the last few months? Sometimes it's easier to turn a blind eye; the pain of apathetic regret is soothing compared to the sight of such senseless bloodshed. After all, there is little you and I can do, but look to the worldly authorities to meek out justice, and pray. What then should be our prayer? When nothing comes to mind because the injustice is so great and the needs so immense let us begin with: Peace be with you.

Education has been the most recent target of budget cuts this year. Of course, the U.S. education system is far from perfect to begin with but the impact of such deep cuts for teaching staff and the marked reduction in students' exposure to the full spectrum of the humanities threatens to haunt us for generations. In this particular part of Pennsylvania, where the educational system employees a large number of people, cuts in staff and programs have immediate, local consequences. Even so, do not think for a moment that God does not have this situation in hand.

When Jesus appeared later in the week, when Thomas was again with the disciples, he said, once again, this time directly to the skeptic, to the one who no longer believed, "Peace be with you." The assurance to Thomas and of Eastertide is that ultimately God's redeeming work does not depend on our belief. God's love is far more powerful then how we might perceive or judge it. In these Great 50 Days we are reminded that even the seemingly final word of the cross was defeated by God's illogical, sacrificial justice. The Sunday texts throughout the whole Easter season assure the worshiping body of Christ that we truly can know the peace of God that surpasses all human understanding in the good things provided to meet our every need and beyond.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Theology never saved anyone: An Easter Meditation

"Theology never saved anyone" - my Brazilian colleague said to me. Considering that he was working on his PhD in Theology, this came as quite a surprise. It's one of those things you hear someone say and mentally put it to the side until you have time to think through all the ramifications of what that might mean - or think, I must have misunderstood. Two words in that sentence, theology and saved, traditionally go hand in hand. God saves. But of course that is not a correct interpretation. Theology is not a title for God, but rather the study of God and all things pertaining to God. Indeed, God does save, but theology, in and of itself, does not.

One might also say theology never kept anyone awake on a Sunday morning either. I happen to find theology totally engrossing and fascinating but totally understand why others do not: Because at the end of the day, theology never saved anyone.

Still, this is an ironic thing to consider on Easter morning given that the entire metanarrative of the Christian Church is built on the theological foundation of atonement theory; Christ's death atoned for our sins. That is why we go to church on Easter morning, yes? To celebration our new life, the one Christ provided for us, through his death and resurrection. In the fulfillment of the prophets, Jesus took on our sins and they died with him; hence, we are saved. It's a bit more complicated than that; actually there are four very distinct and different atonement theories, but I'm not going to explain them because, well, theology never saved anyone. God who is with and in Christ and who lives and moves in the Holy Spirit saves; but the theories of how that actually works do not.

The Gospel reading today does not contain theology. It is a story, a record of an event that someone witnessed and after the story had been told repeatedly in many communities and as part of worship in house churches over many years, someone we know as Matthew, wrote it down as part of his testimony to the resurrection of Jesus. It is not a theological treatise. It is a testimony to the truth. In 2000 years time, for good and for ill, we have burdened this truth with much doctrine and dogma; so much in fact that the doctrine stands out ahead of the story. It's like someone telling you the end of the movie before you've seen it. We know the point of this story before we've even heard it. We push to the finish, perhaps thinking, "Come on, cut to the chase, yes, yes, the tomb is empty, Jesus is risen. Yeah! Can we eat now?"

When I was in the Holy Land a few years ago, our group visited the tomb believed to be the one where Jesus was laid, the one found abandoned on that sabbath day by the two Mary's. Of all the places we visited, it was the most meaningful to me. Unlike the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in the Old City which was very crowded, commercialized, dark and dirty, the area around the tomb had been made into a lush garden and was under the care of an order of the Anglican Church. Visitations were strictly coordinated group by group, each with a guide. After we'd seen the tomb, actually been able to bend down and go into it, we spent some time in a lovely outdoor chapel where we prayed and sang Were you There. But I could not sing of sorrow having myself seen the empty tomb. I wanted to yell out - Why are you singing these sad songs? Shouldn't we be singing something more like, Alleluia! Alleluia! Give thanks to the risen Lord?

You see, theology never saved anyone. There is nothing to compare to the haunting witness of grace that one experiences in the sight of an empty tomb.

"Although [John Newton] had had some early religious instruction from his mother, who had died when he was a child, he had long since given up any religious convictions. However, [as a slave trader] on a homeward voyage, while he was attempting to steer the ship through a violent storm, he experienced what he was to refer to later as his “great deliverance.” He recorded in his journal that when all seemed lost and the ship would surely sink, he exclaimed, 'Lord, have mercy upon us.' Later in his cabin he reflected on what he had said and began to believe that God had addressed him through the storm" and that he had experienced God's saving grace. (from http://www.anointedlinks.com/amazing_grace.html) The hymn he would later write, Amazing Grace, about the experience was a testimony to his conversion, not a hermeneutic on the theology of grace. And thousands upon thousands have shared in that grace in the hearing of this simple, understated witness.

As should be our practice at all times, it is especially important that we do not limit ourselves to any one particular part of scripture, despite the fact that the lectionary writers have done so. Today is no exception. The part of Matthew assigned for today is Matthew 28:1-10 - but read on for six more verses, to the part where Jesus meets up with the disciples on a mountain in Galilee. There he commissions them to continue his work, not the work of intellectuals who argue over doctrine - but the hands-on work of being Christ in the world.

This year, instead of the lovely Easter line drawings I have in stock for the front cover of the bulletin I went with a scene from Haiti. Its a photo for public use courtesy of Church World Service. I don't know the story behind the picture, but it translates very effectively the paradox of the cross; defeat and triumph in the same moment. It is to me the closest I've gotten to actually seeing grace in black and white. It's a living reminder that in every catastrophe, tragedy and outright epic failure, ultimately, God will triumph. Said another way, grace is that place where worldly defeat and redemption live side by side in perfect harmony. Now we must be careful not to overwork or romanticize this notion or its relevance will dissolve. Grace is precious and fragile in that way. It's like making biscuits; if you handle it too much all you're left with are hockey pucks. Remember, theology never saved anyone.

In the movie Jurassic Park, there is a scene in which one of the scientists finds broken egg shells from recently hatched baby dinosaurs. Amazed, he is reminded of being told early on that the dinosaurs could not reproduce because they were genetically engineered to be sterile. As the scientists stares at the shell remains, he smiles and says, "Nature found a way." In the burial rite there is a line at the time of the commendation that goes, "Even though we die and go down to the grave, there we will sing this song, Alleluia, Alleluia." God has found a way, and we call it grace.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

The Blank Page: A Good Friday Meditation

I have a love-hate relationship with writing. I hate a blank page. I love having words to edit, lots and lots of words. I hate having to write a lot in order to begin to feel creative. I love when the river of prose is flowing. It hate that what I write never seems finished. I love it when I actually like something I've written.

I have a love-hate relationship with gardening. I hate the fallow plot in early spring that so closely resembles a blank page. I love planting seeds and young plants and watching them grow. I hate weeds. I love mulch. I hate dead plants that didn't winter over like the label promised. I love to see the bushes and trees with buds bursting with renewed life and vigor. I hate killing frosts in late spring. I love cold hardy plants. I hate that by mid July, with little time to tend it, my garden will have gotten away from me. I love the growers market where I can buy the vegetables I only wish I'd been able to grow.

I have a love-hate relationship with Good Friday too. I love the liturgy for this day. I hate that so few people participate in it anymore. I love the drama and music that sweeps us up into the story and makes it real again, even though we've heard it a million times. I hate that is has the longest reading of the church year. I love that God was willing to go to such lengths to claim us as his own. I hate that once Jesus has died, we're left with a blank page.

Blank pages: empty, stark, white lined pieces of paper that hold nothing, they reveal gardens not yet planted, and make pronouncements of death - the ultimate blank page.

Blank pages stare back of us, and can, ever so briefly and in the oddest way, have power over us. They simultaneously hold both the promise of what could be, but is not yet, and the reflection of our deepest fear, that the future could be as empty as these pages.

The pages of our life are gifts from God. They were not intend for mischief. They were created to be filled, read, torn, crumpled, retrieved from the garbage, filed, folded, sent, received, returned, buried or burned. The possibilities for blank pages are endless, as are the possibilities for us.

But on this day, Jesus has left us with only a single blank page; and the possibilities for it are both ended and endless. His death reminds us of many things of which we do not wish to be reminded. And the absurdity of the events that drove him to the cross seem bizarre to us: Do they not? How bizarre that Jesus' acts of mercy and kindness, healing and restoration, or that his proclamations of truth and wisdom, could end in this way. Isaiah frames it well:

"By a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have imagined his future? For he was cut off from the land of the living.... although he had done no violence and there was no deceit in his mouth."

We are vexed, stunned; bewildered by the speed at which injustice is dispensed. And in the same moment, we, ourselves, by our inaction and muted voices, insure the smooth running of the machinery of injustice in every quadrant of the earth. That we play a guilty hand in these events rings in our ears and we are crushed by the horror of it. We are crucified by it.

Easter is another day yet to come, and not tomorrow either. In this moment, we are not left with the promise of new life, or eternal life; from here we cannot see the empty tomb. All we have is a blank page. We must do with it what we can: love it, hate it, ponder it, wonder about it, use it to scheme, to justify, to get real, to get a new perspective, upon it write a letter or plan a garden, embellish it with lovely drawings or silly doodles, sit with it and hear what we had not heard before, or dare to touch it and know the anguish of God.


Food and Drink: Participating in the Mystery

This week is the one year anniversary of the Deep Water Horizon Oil Rig explosion in the gulf. All week there have been documentaries retelling the story of the five months we watched in agony as the crude oil billowed up from the sea floor, the rescue of the thousands of birds and turtles, the mismanagement and ethical criminality in the bureaucratic aftermath, and human toll of the crisis.

This year also marks the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11. St. James will soon begin planning a musical/liturgical tribute to mark an event that continues to affect our nation on a daily basis. As September draws near we will watch replays of video footage, documentaries and reports of where we are now, ten years later.

Anniversaries play an important role in our lives. They mark the passage of time in an orderly way. They inform the metanarrives of our human existence and give reverence and meaning to particular parts of our lives. Some anniversaries carry the joyful weight of hope and expectation - like wedding anniversaries and the birthday celebrations of children. Others, like the death anniversaries of those we have lost are at times almost too heavy to bear.

The Christian calendar marks the passage of God's time and our place in it. The observance of Maundy Thursday is one such anniversary, albeit bittersweet. We remember the camaraderie of Jesus and the disciples, the bonds of love and loyalty that ran as deep as the fathoms of the oceans. The foreknowledge of the betrayal of Judas that is to come seems a tragedy unfolding before our eyes. We are powerless; it is beyond our reach to prevent or stop. All of the anniversaries observed in Holy Week remind us of both the power entrusted to us and the limits of that power. We have the power to create the conditions for intractable catastrophes and then stand powerless in the face of their aftermath. And when we have run out of fixes and options, when there is no where to turn but to God - for mercy; to forgive our misguided displays of strength, to make right those things over which we, finally, have no power at all.

Almighty God, have mercy upon us, for we are sinners in your sight.

As a perpetual reminder of God's enduring mercy, the messiah whom God sent on our behalf instituted the Eucharist; a word which simply means 'thanksgiving.' Christ broke bread in thanksgiving for all God's gifts: manna from heaven, and water from a stone, for bread and for wine, for free will and for forgiveness, for life and for life after death. We gather each week at the Lord's table to be reminded not of our God-given self-sufficiency but of our dependence on God. It is God who has the final word; God, who in Christ and with Christ, gave to us this holy meal of refreshment and renewal, strength and pardon.

Almighty God, have mercy upon us, for we are sinners in your sight.


My father, who is a priest as well, gave me some advice when I was first ordained. He made a strong suggestion that I do not fail to offer the sacraments as often as possible to the sick, shut-ins, prisoners, and the dying. He felt that we must not underestimate or any way discount the importance of this holy meal, especially to those who were physically or spiritually weakened by unfortunate circumstances. Now, having had some years of experience in pastoral matters, I too would conclude that the sharing of this meal of thanksgiving, in the privacy of homes, in the anxious environment of hospitals, and at ICU deathbeds, is to extend the mercy and love of God where words, however reverently crafted and elegant, would certainly fail. How does one begin to explain this mystery?

I recently connected with old friend via facebook. After some initial messaging, I was so surprised to hear his voice when he called me last week. One of the first questions he had was, "So what made you want to become a pastor?" In ten years, I have yet to find one simple sentence answer to this question. I usually say something like, "Well, I tried everything else first, and at the end of the day, there just was no other choice left." But the real answer to that question, and I think it is universal for those of us who have been entrusted charge over the sacraments, it that it was by bread and wine that our souls became bound to Christ. It is at the Lord's table that the call is initiated. It begins with an irresistible need to be fed heavenly food and great longing when separated from it. It grows into an irrepressible need to serve at the table at every possible opportunity. And it ends in an overwhelming desire to serve as God's hands in the distribution of what is holy food and drink; to participate in some tangible way in the sacramental mystery of invisible, inward grace extended through outward and visible means.

Tonight we are bound together in the remembrance of our Lord's last supper by the retelling of the story. In its telling we recall the sweetness of the ties that bind and the bitterness of the betrayal at hand. With foreboding we are distracted from the fullness of this holy and precious moment between Jesus and those who love him. But let us not forget that the institution of this food as holy and substantiative, was done in love and not in regret. Unlike acts of terrorism and oil rig explosions, the anniversary we observe this night is not a tragedy; that being a situation in which all parties experience terrible, irredeemable loss. Rather, the anniversary we observe is one of perpetual hope; just ask someone who has received the holy sacrament when they were very ill or very depressed, or very sad. It first fed the twelve who loved and served him, including the one who would betray him and the one who would, not once, but three times, deny him. Through the centuries it has fed millions of others, many of lesser faith than Judas and Peter, including us. This very night hundreds of thousands are observing this anniversary. Many are washing one another's feet, acknowledging that we who claim Christ as the head of the church and the author of our salvation, are bound together, not by means of mutual admiration, but by this celebration of praise and thanksgiving, by this holy food and drink of new and unending life in him.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Repentence: so not cool

It's true. Just try and mention the word 'repentance' to a congregation and watch the eyes glaze over. It is so not cool. It is word totally out of touch with current culture, therein totally irrelevant. Unfortunate, regrettable and simply wrong, yes. Nonetheless, this is where we are.

I'm not particularly convinced the theme of repentance was ever well received, truly. I mean who wants to be reminded that they need to be forgiven? It points to the fact that, well, we've done something that we need to be forgiven for. Umm, bummer. I do think this concept was at least tolerated to a large degree, in fact for all of the centuries of monotheism leading up to this moment. And as the beloved hymn, Amazing Grace, testifies, a great many people have found tremendous spiritual renewal in asking for God's help in loving both God and neighbor more fully, more rightly, and for forgiveness for having not done so. But in the last few decades, even the smallest opening in that window has been shut tight. Perhaps its as simple as a language problem, but I think it might be something on a grander scale.

I read an article recently ("Missing the signs," Christian Century, April 5, 2011, p. 28) that made the case that the Gen Y segment of the population (and I would argue many Gen X and Baby Boomers as well) are fundamentally, not inclined to subscribe to metanarratives, that is, stories that give universal meaning and purpose to life. Further, it is essential to understand that such people have not suddenly stopped putting stock in existential themes, they never have. Rather, meaning and purpose is found relationally; individualism is out, communal values and venues are in. Metanarratives have traditionally held religious communities together by providing central and unifying stories on which to hang meaning, but they tend to be strongly individualistic. Metanarratives that support themes such as incarnation and resurrection, redemption and repentance, have largely focused on the needs of individuals to obtain and claim such things. This accounts, in part, for why Gen Y'ers are missing from church pews, they have no desire to obtain or claim, dare I say it, such things.

But what about the folks who are sitting in the pews? The Christian directive is to influence the surrounding culture by living out, teaching and preaching a Gospel of love and forgiveness (of sins, ie., repentance) largely through traditional metanarratives. But could it be that the culture that surrounds the Christian body on every side has influenced its life far more than has been acknowledged? Could it be that the people sitting in the pews are being so transformed by culture that the metanarratives that for so long provided succor and cohesiveness to Christian congregations is as corroded as the Titantic after decades of exposure to the natural forces of its environment? The institutional church finds this alarming, even with limited insight as to its root cause, and has mounted many a campaign to buttress and redress its shrinkage and absorb the inevitable deaths of so many congregations. This is understandable, though, realistically, not terribly helpful. Were it better for Christiandom to repent and return to the Lord?

Most people, regardless of when they were born, truly regret the wrongs they commit. And research shows that not being affiliated with religious order does not correlate with atheism. Most of us want to make the wrongs we have done, which directly or indirectly affect our neighbor, to be set right, and hope that at the end of the day, we too, are set right with that Holy One for whom there are many names. And lots of people, many of whom are not affiliated with any religious body, work tirelessly for justice, peace and the relief of human suffering. They are doing the work of repentance, but apart from the framework of the metanarrative of Christian repentance. They recognize, as should we all, that the wrongs we commit are not isolated to our own lives, but have far-reaching effects on local, even global communities. Through the huge leaps of technological advances of the last two decades, the concept of neighbor has been made real and tangible in a way incomparable with any other time in the history of the world. Is it any wonder that a nuclear accident in Japan sent the people of the US, 3000 miles away, into a panic to protect themselves? The reality of the threat is debatable, but the point is not. Our wrongdoings, intentional and unintentional, require us to consider the value of the relationships we have with one another, communally as well as globally; and invite us to experience a change of heart (the definition of repentance). Ironically, this move away from overarching metanarratives is moving us all, including the Christian community as well as the unsuspecting non-believer, toward the essential work of repentance. If this is indeed the case, what then can serve to unify and affirm this work of repentance without its doctrinal baggage?

For those who, in increasing numbers and for the most part silently, struggle with the metanarratives of Christianity, but understand the love God and neighbor through the life and redemptive ministry of Christ, can, and do, find comfort and help in the texts of holy scripture. Regardless of the winds of culture and change, of ebbs and flows of the building up and the erosion of the "church," of what's in and what's gone by the wayside, of the generations of Builders, Boomers, Gen X's and Y's alike, the inspired words of God remain foundational to any understanding of God we possess. Its prose, poetry, stories and parables draw from the timeless fiber of humanity and divinity and the relationship between the two. It has the power to move not just individuals, but whole communities, toward a change of heart, toward our hearts deepest and most hidden desire, to repent and return to God.



Saturday, March 26, 2011

Freaky Friday

Last night was "Freaky Friday" on one of the TV channels. I watched with amusement and some fascination the "accounts" of hauntings, possessions and other supernatural phenomenon. One of the stories was about a family that discovered that the house they had just rented had once been a mortuary. The embalming room and walk-in freezer in the basement had been left virtually untouched despite the recent renovations and updates done to the rest of the house. Upon discovery, the parents were highly distressed and wondered how they could possibly raise their children in a home that had such a history. As you have already deduced the house was indeed haunted. But haunted not by a simple lost soul somehow stuck between this world and the next, as it seems happens quite a lot according to pop lore, but by a fully-personified demon. Naturally the Catholic Church officials were called in and after quite a bit of testing and collecting of evidence an exorcism was authorized and performed and the house and family freed of their possessor. I do not tell this story to pass judgment about the presence of evil and its many manifestations but rather to illustrate our feelings and assumptions about the creepiness of death and how quick we are to associate it with the profundity of evil spirits. In short, death spooks us.

This being the season of Lent, and the issue of death, or at least one particular death, is increasingly haunting the collective Christian conscious. This Sunday marks the third of the four Sundays in Lent. The dark days of Holy Week will be quick to follow: Passion Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday. But even now, we assure ourselves that death is not the end; all be will be well because this hard and sorry story has a joyful ending. We know how this story ends. The eyes of our heart avert the sight of death by starring ahead to Easter morn. Spare us, o spare us, O Lord, from Freaky Friday.

This year I am recommending the Psalms as a Lenten resource. As one prays the psalter day in and day out, the heart's eye scans the full range of human experience and emotion: praise and awe of God, joy of living, confrontation of evil, protection from enemies, reverence for creation and all that is in it, violent anger, and fear of death. Among many others, Martin Luther (1528) referred to the psalter as "the little bible," and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, entitled one of his books, "Psalms: The Prayer Book of the Bible." Despite its long and valued history, the Psalters under-appreciation currently in the Christian church is staggering. Of course the psalms are hard to read; so much unpleasantness, so much talk of fear and anger, dying and death. This is the language of lament and yes, its a little freaky. One distressed by the psalms might wonder: Can't we just read the New Testament, Jesus and all, and forget about all this doom and gloom? Followed by: I want to read something that makes me feel good about life, not depressed. I dare say many Christians make a habit of skipping to the good parts; pancakes on Shrove Tuesday straight to Easter morning church. But in truth the function of faith is not to make one feel good. One might say, that the function of faith is to not to make us feel anything, but rather to assure us that no matter what we feel, God will walk with us through it; even how we feel about death and dying and those who have died and those we still mourn all these years later, and the certainty that one day we too will die.

Thomas Mann, wrote in The Magic Mountain, A Novel, "The only healthy and noble and indeed . . . the only religious way in which to regard death is to perceive and feel it as a constituent part of life, as life's holy prerequisite, and not to separate it intellectually, to set it up in opposition to life, or worse, to play it off against life in some disgusting fashion - for that is indeed the antithesis of a healthy, noble, reasonable, and religious view . . . Death is to be honored as the cradle of life, the womb of renewal. Once separated from life, it becomes grotesque, a wraith - or even worse." (New York: Knopt, 1995, p. 197)

The psalms breech the divide we force between life and death. They place God rightfully as mediator between the two. Only an intentional, consistent reading of the psalms will reveal this, of course. Steadily favoring one at the expense of the others or leaving off offending verses is to avert the eyes of one's heart from that which God does not avoid. In the words of the psalms that pain and haunt us because they so surely reflect the life we know, therein God finds us trembling and troubled in the face of Freaky Friday. Found and saved from fear and death.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

A Calll for Christian Credibility

As the world has been watching the events unfold in Japan, the emerging story about the possible meltdowns of nuclear reactors is competing heavily with the loss of life and property due to the tsunami; not least of all the conflicting reports coming from Japanese officials. Reporters and pundits have rightly cited this as an issue of credibility. It has been pointed out the whole world is watching Japan right now and that they were creating a model that will either demonstrate how well a crisis could be handled or how much worse a disaster got because of a lack of credibility.

Credibility is always important but when the stakes are high, it becomes the most valuable asset because its what people rely on. Credibility in a non-negotiable virtue in trusting relationships. A credible witness, informant or model allows us to assess our own situations by being able to accurately gage what's going on around us or within a situation that has the potential for affecting our lives. As for nuclear reactor meltdowns, the way in which truth is conveyed is an important as the truth. This is a theological reality as well.

We might not as first think of the story of Jesus' temptations in the wilderness as a model of credibility, but that is precisely how it functions in Matthew's Gospel. It is the final event in a chain of events that build up credibility for Jesus' identity as the Christ: the detailed genealogy establishing Davidic lineage, the virgin birth, the foiling of Herod's plans to kill the divine child, the correlation between the infant Jesus and the infant Moses, the reference to God's saving action in Exodus through Herod's mass killing of the infant boys, John's prophetic announcement, God's affirmation voiced at Jesus' baptism - all followed by the events in the wilderness. The wilderness, itself, is also reminiscent of the Israelites struggle toward the promised land and God's guiding hand throughout. Much could be made of each of these events, but taken collectively, they provide an unshakable foundation of the credibility of God's merciful intervention in the world.

This lesson from Matthew's Gospel begins our Lenten journey. A time when we could easily focus on our own temptations; our individual journey toward the grace of Easter. But Matthew's set up to this point doesn't make this entirely plausible. Matthew is building a case for credibility for the whole Christian community. This is especially true when we consider that the pronoun, "you" in much of the New Testament should often be read as "ya'll." You is meant in the plural. But we are so individualistically-centered we tend toward reading "you" as "me." But Matthew likely intended it to be read in the collective, with communal implications. This being the case, it changes things for how Christian communities deal with the issue of temptation, moving from the 'I' model to a more communal accountability before God. Lenten reflections must then include, at least in part, a communal self-examination; spiritual renewal for the whole body the hoped-for endpoint. As the faith community assesses its spiritual life through prayer, fasting, study, sacrifice and worship, we begin to form questions about our (pl.) credibility; the integrity of our witness to the wider community.

Through this practice we don't just dare to wonder, but are challenged to directly question the Christianity we practice. As an example: A temptation for Christians is to seek a credible examples of Godly action in the world. In cases such as the current crisis in Japan, we focus our energy of praying for God's saving work dispensed through miracles and grace. It's not that this is an inappropriate thing to pray for but its not what Christians are primarily called to do. We are a people of action - we are the healing hands of Christ. We are called to come to the aid of our neighbors who are suffering, even to the point of personal sacrifice for the greater good.

No model for this is more clear then that of the Japanese people's response to the overwhelming crisis they now face so boldly demonstrated by the lack of looting, violence or displays of angry unrest as they wait for supplies to reach them. This is surprising when we look at the incidents of looting and violent outbursts in other places under similar (or even lesser) stresses. One news reporter spoke to this saying that the Japanese people are taught from a very young age that it is more helpful to assist one another then to commit acts that would do far more damage then good for anyone - emphasis on the communal good vs. the individual good. When I think of Christianized nations, I must say, Japan does not jump to the fore. And yet these are people who resist the temptation to act out in desperation in order to do the most good for the most people. They are building on a platform of credibility that is long-established in their culture. And it is an excellent foil against which the Christian community can honestly examine itself.

The Christian church has done a really good job at personal accountability. But if we look at Matthew's model of communal credibility - then we must acknowledge we've hardly begin.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A broken and contrite heart

A colleague posted on Facebook the following:"Lenten levity from the Shrove Tuesday program at St. Philip's":

An Irishman moves into a tiny hamlet in County Kerry, walks into the pub and promptly orders three beers. The bartender raises his eyebrows, but serves the man three beers, which he drinks quietly at a table, alone. An hour later, the man has finished the three beers and orders three more. This happens yet again.

The next evening the man again orders and drinks three beers at a time, several times. Soon the entire town is whispering about the Man Who Orders Three Beers.

Finally, a week later, the bartender broaches the subject on behalf of the town. "I don't mean to pry, but folks around here are wondering why you always order three beers?" 'Tis odd, isn't it?" the man replies, "You see, I have two brothers, and one went to America, and the other to Australia. We promised each other that we would always order an extra two beers whenever we drank as a way of keeping up the family bond."

The bartender and the whole town were pleased with this answer, and soon the Man Who Orders Three Beers became a local celebrity and source of pride to the hamlet, even to the extent that out-of-towners would come to watch him drink.

Then, one day, the man comes in and orders only two beers. The bartender pours them with a heavy heart. This continues for the rest of the evening - he orders only two beers. The word flies around town. Prayers are offered for the soul of one of the brothers.

The next day, the bartender says to the man, "Folks around here, me first of all, want to offer condolences to you for the death of your brother. You know-the two beers and all..." The man ponders this for a moment, then replies, "You'll be happy to hear that my two brothers are alive and well... It's just that I, myself, have decided to give up drinking for Lent."

In many ways I think this gets to the heart of many Lenten devotional practices; they are often misunderstood and misconstrued by those who observe but do not themselves part-take of this practice. And they inherently mean little to nothing to anyone else. I had a friend who used to give up peanut butter every year. He claimed a deep and abiding love for the stuff and to be without it for 40 long days was a true act of sacrifice to his mind. But, I wonder, does God care if we give up such things, chocolate, sweets, meat, peanut butter or even beer? I am not so sure God cares about such things, unless such acts of piety truly do what that for which they were intended, that is, to reconnect us to God. In Psalm 51, recited each year in the Ash Wednesday service, we recite: "Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice; but you take no delight in burnt-offerings. The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise." And then we give up... some little thing that is not even as much trouble as rustling up a burnt-offering - which is, by the way, not the equivalent of burning incense. A burnt offering means going out to the pasture and capturing our most prized goat or sheep, following the prescribed way of sacrificing it, burning its flesh and sharing the cooked meat with those present (being sure to save some for the priests, whose piety it was to depend on the generosity of others in order to eat). If going to that much trouble and enduring a substantial loss of our own food supply isn't preferred by God, then I'm thinking doing without chocolate for four weeks doesn't even show up on the radar. Just sayin' .....

I saw the movie, Pieces of April, earlier this week. (Highly recommendable, by the way.) April is a young women in her early 20's, estranged from her family, and just beginning to find herself. Her family is coming to her NY apt. for Thanksgiving. All is going well until her oven breaks. She goes door to door in her building searching for anyone who will help her with very little sympathy from her neighbors. At one door a middle-aged black women yells inside to her husband, "That little white girl from 2A is telling me she's got a problem. I can't wait to hear this. What kind of problem could your white, affluent self possibly have? This otta be good." And that's the problem with giving up some trivial thing like cake and candy, we mean well but in the scheme of things its like telling a beaten and tortured Libyan we're giving up our right to vote for Lent.

The purpose of Lent is not to throw stones of privilege and affluence into the face of God whose heart is burdened with the blood and tears of those who work for justice, weep for the dead and fear for their lives. Lent is a God-given time-out for acknowledging in some concrete way the One to whom we belong and to make some authentic effort toward repairing the very broken relationship between us and God. The forty days of Lent isn't intended to be a time made up of pious prayers and kind acts geared toward attaining salvation, rather it is a precious time to be spent living into the salvation already given. The dynamic abundance of divine love cannot be withheld; when fully known it tends to spill out with abandon onto every person we encounter. It takes on a life of its own, radiating from our being lighting a path for those whose way is darkness.

When dispensing the ashes to someone privately early this day the recipient said to me, "I love Easter. I know we hear every Sunday that God loves us, but Easter is the big 'I Love You.'" That being the case, then Lent is that time when we have an opportunity to say through acts of contrition, kindness, and self-sacrifice for the benefit of all who are our neighbor, I love you, O Lord, as you have loved me.



Thursday, February 24, 2011

Teen Time

Our parish hall is currently the home of a small collection box for donations of children's clothing for a community service project of a local Girl Scout troop. With a sixteen year old daughter and a twelve year old son, it occurred to me today that I am nearing the end of the time of having on hand lots of kids clothing to pass along. Even without my contribution the box was nearly full the first Sunday it was there because there are lots of families at St. James for whom outgrown clothing is still a constant byproduct.

To not have piles of outgrown children's clothing seems an unexpected and strange milestone. I have had 16 years of always having items to pass on and suddenly my source is drying up. Yesterday I found a few Valentine cards on the kitchen table that fell out of my son's book bag. Until I saw them it had not occurred to me that this was the first year in a very long time that I didn't need to buy packages of Valentine cards for his classmates. Of course, the cards I found were from female classmates . . . some opportunities simply can't be passed up. Last fall there were no Halloween costumes to make or buy, no walking the cold, dark streets in late fall to trick or treat. And Santa's load was considerably lighter as well. Its part of the realization of a passing part of one's life for which a variety of mixed feelings seep through the mundaneness of things taken for granted. In two years I'll be sending my firstborn off to college. Next year the youngest begins high school.

I'm not altogether saddened by the passing of these things since I really love the current ages of my children. Quite honestly, I'm a better parent of teenagers. Outgrown friendships replace outgrown clothing. A broken heart replaces a broken toy. A lost friendship replaces a misplaced stuffy. The moaning of boredom replaces the whining of hungry and tired. My kids are discovering what it means to be rejected, betrayed, used, disliked - even hated, ignored and emotionally injured far sooner than I'd ever have imagined. There is no comparison of their youth with mine.

Some years ago a mother of teens that I respected very much told me: "You think your children need you when they're small, and they do. They depend on you for their every need. But when they really need you is when they're older." This woman felt so committed to this belief she quit her job to be home more often with her two teens (were it possible for all of us to be able to do this...). She stressed the best opportunities to connect with teens: the moment they walk in the door from school - while they're eating you out of house and home - as you're just sitting around gently inquiring and listening to what happened in their day. She said she was always amazed at what they'll tell you if you during this brief open window in teen time. Car rides were another favorite open opportunity for rich conversation. I've also added bedtime chats to that list. The hardest part is figuring out how to respond to the information I am given. Let's just say that these are not conversations I would have had with my mother, not even now. Like I said, comparisons to my teen years cannot be made, 'cause there are none.

So while I vaguely miss having hand-me-downs and filling out dozens of ittsy-bittsy Valentine's cards with various and odd spellings of the names of classmates, I mourn the day that my kids no longer come home from school and fill my life with opportunities to lovingly guide them into adulthood.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Homeletic Summary: Blessing as affirmation and promise

The weekly Gospel readings this February are from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" (which is not really a sermon at all but a rather lengthy rabbinic teaching typical of Jesus' time and place). This set of teachings, which begins with the well-known Beatitudes, come very early in Jesus' ministry against the backdrop of the beautiful, lush, Galilean countryside, and serves as the outline for the rest of the Matthew's Gospel.

To get the most out of this teaching, we must first put on our Jewish glasses in order to discern that which a 2000 year- removed, thoroughly Christianized reading simply will not yield. We must situate ourselves within the historical context of Matthew's world. We must first acknowledge that this is a Jewish text written by a very devout Jew, believed by many scholars to be a Pharisee himself, perhaps even a zealot, like Paul. This being the case we can then understand Matthew's opinions of "the Jews", as a self-criticism of the religious community which he himself is a part; not anti-semitism.

Additionally, if you are not doing the independent bible study which is currently looking at the book of Acts, then I recommend it as it greatly informs a reading of Matthew. (See St. James Facebook page, Discussions) For instance, the lesson on Acts, chapter 15 in which the Christ-followers have gathered in order to discern what it means to be a Gentile follower of the Messiah in a dominate Jewish context. Will the gentiles need to be circumcised? Do they need to follow the laws regarding food and the commandments? There is debate among scholars as to where Matthew falls in this debate - does he expect full or a comprised inclusion into this new Jewish sect which would come later to be known as Christianity. Either way, for Matthew, the followers of Christ, whether Jew or Gentile, are to live Torah - this is not debatable. And this was the conclusion reached by the Jerusalem leaders in Acts as well.

Jesus begins his teaching on the hillside to the crowds that have gathered with a series of blessing proclamations. For a visual on this just picture the faces of the people in Egypt's Liberation Square. These are people who have lived under oppression for decades and they are hoping and praying that God will send someone to them to set them free. The blessings of the Beatitudes are not to be confused with the sentiment: Don't Worry, Be Happy. Instead its an affirmation of the realities of the living conditions under Roman/Egyptian rule: poverty, persecution, lament, hopelessness. To speak of these things aloud is an act of liberation in itself. To speak, to tell the truth about the way things really are and to demand a better life is to seize freedom. This path to freedom is what they see in Jesus. They gather in large masses, ready and willing to stage a protest. They are simply waiting for a leader, a sign from God that the time had come.

But Jesus' message is not about marching into Jerusalem with sticks, spears and stones to take the city back. It is a message of patience and promise. The promise is situated in the pronouncement of blessing. To be blessed is to be given the sound assurance that God's reign will prevail. Jesus, as the agent of God, affirms their/our adversity and assures them/us that God is still working things out on their/our behalf but they/we must be patient and wait. To be blessed then is not simply about being in God's favor, it is much broader: it is the affirming reassurance of God's steadfast faithfulness to his people while they/we, wait in peaceful perseverance for God to act.

In this same way, at the end of Christian worship, when the priest or pastor gives God's blessing, it is not a noun, a thing, like a hymn, but a verb. Blessing indicates action, past, present and future all at the same time. Blessings are fluid, not statements of hope, but statements that capture God in action; a moving, living, involved and imaginative God - who both affirms the difficulty of human life while congruently assuring the coming of a different reality.

In Egypt the desire of the people is that their children will have a better life. They are aware that it will take years, perhaps decades for this to happen, but they see it as a viable possibility because there exists a foundational understanding of what it is to be blessed by God that transcends the religious boundaries of what divides Christians from Jews from Muslims. That is what the people, the Jews and the Gentiles, who came to hear Jesus wanted as well, a life of freedom and possibilities for their children. They came to hear him talk of the new reign of God in great numbers. They stayed with him for days, not even leaving to return to their jobs or to eat. Many in the crowd brought baskets of food and they shared it with their neighbors. When Jesus moved they moved. Though some miles from Jerusalem, such gatherings would have been noticed by the empire. Should there have been signs that the crowds were preparing to stage an uprising the Roman army would have put it down very quickly, as the historical records demonstrates clearly. But Jesus' message reaffirms Torah as the standard for living. The metaphors of salt and light have to do with being faithful to Torah; not the hypocritical life of Pharisees who espoused this life to the letter, but were not true to the spirit of it. Jesus' makes clear that not a single iota, the smallest character of the Hebrew alphabet, would fade away before the Law (Torah) was fulfilled. In other words, God's reign will come and it can stand against any threat; God was, is and will for ever be in charge.

Because this remains true,we can receive the full blessing of God and face anything that comes our way. Not because we are stronger, or better, or smarter, or even more willful, but because we are blessed; our hardships affirmed while being assured that the lives of our children and their children will be better than our own. And sometimes, on rare occasions, we are given a glimpse of what God's reign, the fulfillment of blessing, Torah, might look like. Amid the peaceful, turned violent, protests in Egypt, a group of Christians joined hands to create a human barricade to protect a group of Muslins at prayer from pro-regime protesters in Liberation Square. Herein lies the essence of Jesus' blessings from that Galilean hillside so many centuries ago. Herein lies a foretaste of that promised heavenly banquet. Blessed be the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

New Car Blessing and Curse

We recently bought a new car which concluded on a surprisingly humorous note. The setting for this final moment was set up from the beginning of the process as we got to know our Toyota salesman, Dan. Dan was very nice young man, just out of school - having only worked at the dealership for about six months. As my husband and I sat at his desk, cordially working out our 'deal' (haha), the chit-chat somehow came around to Dan's need for a new pair of glasses. Now Dan had a really good thing going, I assured him; those little, oval rimmed glasses and his short brown hair gave him the perfect Rabbi look; very trustworthy (from a pastor's point of view). From that point on, Matt and I called him Rabbi Dan.

Well, the sale went through and we set a date to pick up our new chocolate brown, loaded Rav 4, which we love shamelessly, in as much as one can love a car, which is, I confess, just short of idolatry. When we got there Dan met us to warn us that all was good, except for one thing. He apologized profusely and said he thought it must have been a joke - what are the chances of 'this' happening? He walked us around to the back of the car and showed us the license plate, which ended in 6666. He was truly horrified that of all the numerical possibilities, this plate would end up on a pastor's car. I laughed and told him that it was really fitting for me actually and that those numbers were code for: Hell on wheels, which describes me perfectly and that I took no offense. I'm not sure which was more unsettling to him, the plate or the explanation.

At any rate, the car is great and has provided a good number of laughs to those with a keen eye to find the irony of this situation. My 16 year old daughter is now driving and spends a fair number of hours behind the wheel. She now shares the legacy of a 6666 driver - I sit in the passenger seat chanting the psalms, "my mouth is as dry as pot shards," "save me O God, save me."

We recently learned that Rabbi Dan had left his position at the dealership. And we're sorry we never had the chance to tell him how much we enjoyed have such a nice sales-guy. So where ever you are Rabbi Dan - thanks so much for the laughs - we wish you the best.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

The lessons of waiting

Yesterday, my daughter, who is sixteen, expressed her frustration that it seemed that she seemed to be waiting for everything. Waiting to get the braces off her teeth, waiting to get her license, waiting to get her grade in geometry up, waiting for a particular boy she knows to grow up (ie., man up). I can remember being that age and feeling like everything seemed to take forever. But I also remember that in the back of my mind I thought this waiting phase was only temporary, part of being a teen and not a full-fledged adult yet. But I was wrong about that, all of life is about waiting for something. I explained: You wait to get accepted into college, wait to finally get out of your parents house, wait to graduate, wait to get into grad school, wait to start, wait to graduate, wait to get a job interview, wait to get hired, wait to meet the "right" guy, wait to get engaged, wait to get married, wait to get pregnant, wait for the birth, . . . . and the waiting goes on and on. Of course these are just some of the major milestones, at least the ones that reflected my own life experience - hers could be very different, but she got the picture.

This is not the end of the story I pointed out. After a while you realize two things. First, that the waiting part can be part of the fun of life as well as an exercise in practicing patience. There is something exciting about waiting - if what you're waiting for is something you really want, like those milestones. The patience part become useful when you're waiting for something you don't want - like certain diagnosis, or in other matters for which waiting is a form of torture. Learning to wait well is part of a life lived well. The second thing is that sometimes, when what you've been waiting for finally comes to fruition, you wonder, "So this is it?" Getting what you want can, on occasion, fall into the category of, "Be careful what you pray for." Just enjoy all of your life, the waiting and the milestones, the big things and all the little ones; enjoy it all and appreciate the richness of it all, I told her.

But there is one kind of waiting, that I did not tell her about; the kind of waiting people sometimes do in their later years. The kind of waiting I have felt or heard from some very old or very sick people I've known. One man I recall from many years ago, would tell me that at age 92 he had outlived all three of his children (which no one should ever have to do), his body was shot, and he was simply tired of living. He couldn't understand why he kept waking up every morning when each night he prayed he wouldn't. He was waiting to die. One morning though he didn't wake up. And I'm sure that in the end, what he found waiting for him, was worth the wait.

In the congregation I serve there are many of us who have parents who are now in their latter years; some of whom are experiencing this sense of profound waiting. I think of my father, who is so much like the one I mentioned above. He too, having outlived one of his kids, and is now in hospice, waits for death. There's no way to downplay this in order to make it more palatable. This is not part of the fun of living; nor should it be sentimentalized in any form as such. There is a reason there are no Hallmark cards for such occasions. But it is a time in which how well we learned to be patient can influence not only how we perceive this time-standing-still, but how it is experienced by those waiting with us.

So my hope for my children as they are starting out on their long journeys of waiting and experiencing, is that they learn to wait gracefully; that is, that they find ways for wisdom and peace to replace impatience. There's always time to get there, sometimes more or less than we would want, but ultimately we choose how to spend it, suffer it, or savor it.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

The Languages of God-Speak

It has taken a lot of years for me to learn and appreciate the many languages of God-Speak as I was busy working out what I was going to do when I grew up. Early on I didn't spend a lot of time waiting for signs or asking for a divine opinion. I just made a plan for my future and moved ahead, even if there was a little hint of a feeling that perhaps I should rethink matters, or wait. Mysteriously one of three things occurred to whatever I had planned: it was blocked from moving ahead, or it went ahead with a regrettable outcome, or it went forward without a hitch and the outcome was far better than I could have ever imagined.

Communicating with God is ultimately more about validating our singular and unique God-experiences rather than trying to do something to invoke God to speak or act decisively, or worse, try to fit those experiences into whatever molds we have cast. God's job is to initiate the conversation. Our job is to learn the various languages of God-Speak.

Here are a few languages of God-Speak that I have learned. One is to read how God speaks into that which he has created, my physical being. Here I have found it easier to discern what God does not want me to do than what to do. Its that really awful feeling in my gut as I imagine a new path or idea that is totally wrong, no matter how good it seems in the light of day. Having gone against that feeling in my gut only later to have to work myself out of difficult situations has served educational, albeit unfortunate. Over time I've realized that this is not simple anxiety, but mysterious divine guidance away from what would surely be a mistake.

Other languages of God-Speak are visual images and visions. Some years ago, I went through a time when I saw colorful, non-nondescript images just before I went to sleep at night. In the dark, with my eyes closed, I suddenly began to see palates of illuminated colors. They came and went with no warning, unbidden. When they appeared they enveloped me; as if I had stepped into them. It was to know God's own happiness. These color palates were always moving; blending and changing like an abstract version of a kaleidescope. But these images of color and energy were short-lived and have not reappeared in over 15 years. I long for them still. And on two separate and unrelated occasions I experienced clear, unexpected visions that changed the course of my life in ways I could not have predicted nor the resulting joy of living in God's stead.

The final learned language of God-Speak is quite unoriginal. From time to time, over a span of a few years, I would awaken in the night after clearly hearing my name called. The voice was so loud and so real I just knew someone was standing in the room calling my name. I can't help but think of Samuel's call in the night when I think of it now. And in at least two instances that come to mind, I clearly heard the prophetic voice of God - both prophesies came to pass.

These are some of the languages of God-Speak; the mysterious, delicious, nearly intoxicating ways God speaks into our lives, unexpectedly in random moments, prosperous in possibility and promise.