9-11

I think almost everyone who was around on this day thirteen years ago was shocked and

bewildered at witnessing the collapse of the World Trade Center towers in NYC and the destruction at the Pentagon in Washington, DC.  Civil Aviation came to a grinding halt and many across the United States wondered if their cities might be next.  I still vividly remember sitting in front of a television at work, disbelieving and wondering about the fate of friends living in New York.  It was a terrible tragedy, to those who died in New York, Washington and Pennsylvania and their families especially so, but also to those of us who could only stand in silent witness, confronting our inability to do anything to affect this unfolding horror in our midst.  As a priest, today, I will remember those lost in our prayers during Eucharist, and beseech God to continue the work of un-hardening hearts that we might know peace.

And as searing as that tragedy was, looking from the perspective of more than a dozen years later, I confess I am unsettled at how Fear has become the predominant lens through which so many choose to see the world.  I don't wish to take away from the tragedy or sense of loss of that day, but those who perpetrated this tragedy and their successors are not an existential threat to the United States. Undoubtedly, if left unaddressed, these terrorist groups could wreak great havoc on our people and economy.  It is right that we should be vigilant and even proactive where we can to prevent and nullify the threat they represent.  


But I am concerned that our perspective of fear puts us in danger of entanglement with evil.  In the Episcopal church, each week we do confession together as a congregation.  This is done, not only in order to inject a little necessary humility into our lives, but also because it is symbolic of the ways we are all entangled together in systems of sin.  In one form of that confession, we say to God that we "repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf."  Our fear, and its resultant crippling of our ability to realistically assess the danger and respond accordingly, sends us ever further into being complicit to the evil done on our behalf.  Not only in the far greater tragedy of constant war, but in the loss of confidence in liberty here at home.  

In Federalist 8, Alexander Hamilton wrote; 

"Safety from external danger is the most powerful director of national conduct. Even the ardent love of liberty will, after a time, give way to its dictates. The violent destruction of life and property incident to war, the continual effort and alarm attendant on a state of continual danger, will compel nations the most attached to liberty to resort for repose and security to institutions which have a tendency to destroy their civil and political rights. To be more safe, they at length become willing to run the risk of being less free."

We are threatened, but the the existence of our nation is not.  We have lost confidence in ourselves; it is stunting us and hardening our hearts against the world and each other.

Moreover, as followers of Christ, we are called forth as agents of love and reconciliation.  This requires more of us than words and feelings; it demands also our vigorous action, including action in the civic and political spheres.  It demands that we proclaim that fearfulness is contrary to what we believe to be fundamentally true and right, and that we then act and live into that belief.  The Apostle Paul wrote this to the nascent christian community in Rome, a community that knew a thing or two about suffering and fear;

"Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

No, "if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

Bless, do not curse.  Reconciliation is hard work and often, initially, unsatisfying work.  But the alternative is ever increasing fear due to escalating cycles of retribution.  An eye for an eye isn't justice, it is merely limited injustice.  Let us not settle for such.

Who Belongs?

In my office, I keep the parish registers, which record the baptisms, confirmations and deaths of everyone who has ever been a part of the life of the parish I serve.  The oldest book goes back to the founding of our parish in 1902.  Incidentally, we are one of the "younger" Episcopal Churches in West Virginia.  Everyone who has ever been a member has their name recorded in these books.  Its not exactly the Book of Life, but it is one for which I am accountable.  And every year I am called upon to fill out a Parochial Report where I dutifully record the number of "members" as well as those associated with the parish.  Anguish over the membership of the parish as well as the wider church is hard to avoid.

And our standards for membership are pretty low really.  You have to be at least 16, baptized and recorded in the parish register.  To have a voice in parish decisions there's an additional qualification to have been present  at worship and be "known" to the priest.  I'll be honest that after a little while here, I eliminated nearly a hundred "members" from the roles because I had no idea who they were because they'd either dropped out, moved away or died.

So here's a question.  Is the Samaritan woman Jesus meets at the Well of Jacob a Christian?  Their exchange is recounted in the fourth chapter of the Gospel of John.  Quick recap:  Jesus meets the woman and after a short exchange (which is Jesus' longest recorded conversation, I believe) she goes to her village and recounts her encounter and as the gospel says "Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman's testimony."

She obviously, in this passage, comes to believe that Jesus is in some way the chosen one of God and she goes out to share with any who will listen, her encounter with Him and its impact on her life - so that their lives might be made whole as hers was.  She is, it would seem, a dedicated follower of Jesus - and a pretty effective evangelist as well.  But she hasn't been baptized, and she certainly hasn't participated in communion - since Jesus hasn't given that particular gift yet in the story.  So, is she a Christian or not?

Because I think she illustrates something important about "membership" in the church and some important ways that membership separates itself from being about following Jesus.  It isn't primarily about formal affiliation with a congregation, or participation in a particular style of worship, or even participation in the sacraments - primarily it is about love of Jesus and a willingness to share our encounter with him with others.

But as church, as an institution charged with guarding the integrity of Christ's message, how do we make space for the many and varied ways that people actually connect with Jesus and his story?  How do we gauge the commitment of people to the mission of the gospel and how might we structure our congregations to empower people to be evangelists in the way that the Samaritan woman was?

Missing the Point

So I was driving today and while stopped at a red light there was a pickup in front of me that had... well see for yourself

So there's the fish which represents Christianity and there's a silhouette of a buxom woman which represents...  I have no idea.  I'll take "what is sexual objectification for 800, Alex."  Maybe?

I'll be honest and say that these two images represent such differing perspectives on the world as to be wholly incompatible to me.  Perhaps they're being ironic, you might say.  Perhaps, but I doubt it.  And really let us just assume their sincerity.  They love Jesus and hot girlies.  Hey I like beautiful women and Jesus too.

And yet, there is something about this particular representation of feminine "beauty" that seems to anonymize that beauty, to make it impersonal, to make it an object.  Girl=Hair+Butt+Boobs.  Oh, and preferably naked because that silhouette is assuredly naked.  And naked is better because then we can make the leap from mere object to sex object - something that exists solely to serve as a means of pleasure.  So, the ideal woman represented here, nay the ideal Christian woman, is a woman whose very existence is wholly devoted to the pleasure of another.  I have to say that doesn't fit with my understanding of Jesus' mission, which involves upholding the dignity of all persons.  All of Jesus' actions served to undermine systems of subjugation and oppression, to break open the false belief that their is a hierarchy of love, rather than the unconditional love God has for every human person.

The dance of Trinity

This Sunday is Trinity Sunday, which means it's a
Sunday set aside to celebrate the doctrine of God

being three persons but still one God.  What, celebrating a doctrine sounds strange?  Well, probably because it is.  What makes it even trickier is that, as a preacher, almost anything I say on the subject will likely contravene the doctrine.  Because... well because it's an extremely convoluted doctrine and its underlying reality is so confounding to our experience and logic.  How can three separate things really be one thing? 

The idea of the Trinity developed over centuries of debate revolving around the scriptural witness, the experience of believers and the traditional interpretations handed down by Jesus' disciples.  There's also probably more than a touch of Greek philosophy thrown in as well, those old church dudes (and they were mostly male) loved their Greek philosophy.  In some ways, the development of the doctrine of the Trinity resembles a group of grumpy blind men trying to create a Renoir painting - lots of arguing over things that can't really be understood.  All analogies fall short eventually because they're, well, analogies - not descriptive reality. And there's no way to really describe alot of what God is or is about short of analogy, thus our understanding is always incomplete. People, mostly, hate ambiguity though.  Thus, lots of heat is generated by religious types claiming their analogy is the Truth. 

At the same time, their is something about the human experience of God which leads to seeing God in distinct forms.  The eternal God whose will underlies all of the Cosmos, existing outside of time and space, somehow remote and distant, Jesus of Nazareth who walked and talked and had to do all the things human do (yes, even those things) and yet in whose life and resurrection from the dead the earliest disciples experienced the divine, and all of the ways in which the divine purpose intersects our lives and makes its presence known to us; all three of these point to "God" and yet we cannot get over the feeling of separateness in them while somehow recognizing their unity of purpose and direction. 

There is to mind, very little to say about the Trinity other than saying "in this mystery I believe and trust."  But there is still much to be said about our experience of God, both in transcendence and in our relationships with others.  I became a Christian not because of the beauty of it's arguments on behalf of God's existence or because of the internal logic of its theology (which it isn't).  I became a Christian because of experiences I had whose explanation defied rational examination and the story of God as contained in the Christian tradition made the most sense, even if not perfectly. 

To me, Christianity is an ongoing examination of the world around us and a testing of tradition and scripture in light of that experience.  Faith is not about learning some arcane set of facts and holding fast to them in the face of contrary evidence.  It is a journey of discovery and reconciliation of our experience of God with others' experiences so that all together we might discern and live into the one underlying truth of God; that our universe is founded upon the twin principles of love and relationship.

Redeemed

Recently I received a Facebook friend request from my childhood best friend, someone I not had seen or spoken to in something like 35 years.  Of course, I accepted right away.  We had been inseparable before his family moved away.

And then he sent a message:
"I have one question for you...Just why couldn't I have my crystal radio set back? (I say that with a smile but I know you've grown up a lot since then I'm sure - but I do remember we had a fight over that.)"

So I replied: 

Honestly I don't recall. Now that you mention it, I remember using it in the basement where it probably still is. I'd be happy to return it now. I suspect I was reluctant to let too many things go.

But he messaged me again:

LOL - u don't remember much. I came and got it. We had a fight. You punched my chest and burst my blood blister that was on my chest. I think that was the last time I talked to you. I played with it for awhile. I think it was a $5 toy. I was just wondering why you were being so mean about something so trivial.

At this point, I have to be honest, I felt really bad.  Not only had I treated my friend terribly so long ago, and though it had obviously stuck with him, I had forgotten.  I was uncomfortable coming face to face with my 12 year old self and felt ashamed.

So I wrote back:

Probably because I was angry that you were leaving and didn't have anywhere to direct that anger except on you 

And it probably is true.  I was a pretty angry young person and looking back I think I had reason to look at the world as unfair and to be angry.  But at the same time, I can also recognize that anger wasn't an effective means to build a life.  And as I grew up, I was often my own worst enemy, my anger and stubbornness driving me to self-destructive behaviors and choices.

But somewhere along the way, I discovered the power of being loved which led me to begin to believe that there might be something like a loving God.  And slowly, my anger ebbed away.  Its not that I don't ever get angry, but its not the perspective from which I see everything around me anymore.

I've found redemption, I've cased in my anger for hope, my frustration for faith.  And in something as simple as Facebook friend request, God has again given me an opportunity to experience redemption, the redemption of a friendship derailed by anger.

missing the mark

St Paul talks about the multiplicity of gifts/abilities expressed individually by members of the assembly which, together, express the reality of Christ present within the Church.  His vision for the christian community, the Church, seems to be just this joining together of the many into one "body."  But, at the same time, Paul is very clearly the one in charge, and he seems to be appointing people (eg; Timothy) to exercise his authority vicariously and to guide and develop the nascent christian assemblies he has formed.  So, the community exist, seemingly, as both egalitarian/inclusive and hierarchical/exclusive.  It's authority and power, what's right and who decides.  I have a thesis that this intersection of authority and power is at the heart of the struggles of the people of God, but without getting into that too much I am interested in a particular expression of that conflict

In my tradition (Anglican) we have ordained persons who provide spiritual leadership.  These people are "called" or identified within particular congregations, but then confirmed and tested by the hierarchical leadership beyond the specific congregation where their specific gifts were first recognized.  Ideally, it is a nice balance between the inclusive and exclusive push/pull of the Church.  In reality, it can be a difficult and wearying experience almost wholly at the whim and mercy of the hierarchy.  There seems little willingness to trust in the discernment of gifts by the congregation.  I suspect this is a hard-learned lesson involving situations where people weren't willing to be truly honest with one another.  I generally assume good intentions of others, but let's be honest; anyone who spends some time in church knows that its full of difficult people (including clergy) or perhaps worse, people who don't know that church isn't reserved to the good and gracious.

I've met enough bad clergy persons that I can appreciate the hierarchical concerns regarding quality of candidates presented by congregations.  At the same time, I've known good people who've become good clergy not because of hierarchical support but in spite of it.  I don't have any solutions really, except this.  Gifts and call and the action of the Holy Spirit is a crazy, a-rational thing that probably cannot be neatly fit into a "process."  Identifying, discerning and preparing people for vocational ministry isn't like making widgets with a known raw material, a measurable process and an expected outcome.  God can't be pinned in like that.  I think it is far more like art, sculpting perhaps - which is more a process of stripping away the unneeded to find the true figure previously hidden within the stone.

the tie that binds

For the amusement of serious Episcopal Church geeks only!

At General Convention last year, a resolution was passed that directed, more or less, the sale of our Church HQ building in New York City, fondly known as 815 (because that's its address).  Somewhat surprisingly (or not) the people who work there submitted a report to the Executive Council that said, "thanks, but no" and then gave some self-serving reasons why they thought General Convention didn't really mean what it said and everything should stay just like it is.

I have to be honest here and say, I'm not really sure what benefits, if any, come to my parish because of the work of the 815 staff.  I don't doubt they exist, but I don't know what they are.  I know what Episcopal Relief and Development does.  I know what the Church Pension Fund does (and thank you!!!!).  I even know what the Episcopal Church Foundation does and the National Association of Episcopal Schools do as well.  I can clearly articulate their mission and how it affects me, but 815.... nothing.  And so my question is this - what do they do and how does it help me spread the Gospel in southern West Virginia?

And since I love to make grand suggestions for change, allow me to indulge my fancy for a moment.  Let's get rid of it, just to see what happens.  Let's try to just hang together based on the Prayer book, General Convention, and support of those groups and networks (and those like them) mentioned above.  To draw on the analogy of my family, we remain so based on a shared history, some physical resemblance, and mutuality of relationship and frankly not spending too much time in each other's business.  I'm all for hanging together as a church on the thinnest of threads because if Jesus is in it, it will all work out and if he isn't... its just as well it goes away.

where from here - part 2

After my last post, I've been thinking more about the future shape of the church.  I've heard lots of people tell me what the future of church looks like; everyone seems to have a preferred model (house churches for everyone!).  But it strikes me that there isn't one ideal model out there, and whatever the future looks like, I think we'll be seeing a much greater mixed economy of "church" than we've seen in a long while.  There are places where the traditional parish model still works (and well) and is very effective.

Looking specifically at my situation here in West Virginia, one of the most obvious things about this diocese is its lack of urban areas (see last post) and given the open marketplace on religious affiliation, many locales are not able to support the traditional parish model

[As an aside, it strikes me that there are plenty of places where rather than 14 branch offices of Christianity, they would be much better served by just one community church.  The ever present desire to go our own ways and dismiss Christians who see things different from ourselves as somehow lesser is a cancer on the body of Christ.]

But isolated, self-supporting worshiping communities have not always been the norm.  It may be true that such a model has been the preferred way, but are there any examples of a relatively thriving Christian Church in the absence of cities?  Well yes, there is - ancient Ireland.  The Christian Church managed to establish itself and spin-off some pretty amazing folks (Ss Brigid and Columba for example) who remain as example and who were instrumental in the spread of Christianity elsewhere in Europe.  And what I recall is that the locus of activity for the Irish church was not the parish or the diocese, but monastic communities.

Now I don't necessarily think that the future of the Episcopal Church in rural America is monasteries, but what about intentional communities of some sort?  I'm imagining a core of individuals and families committed to worshiping together, committed to a revenue generating activity, and committed to a focused ministry.  Perhaps, if such communities could be fostered and grown,  they could operate as Christian centers whose influence could spread across a much wider region, supporting smaller worship communities and perhaps even developing new focused intentional communities on the same model as themselves.

I'm not suggesting this as THE answer, but something like this has worked in the past and it thrived for hundreds of years.  I don't see it as an impossibility, so if anyone has some usable property (or maybe a little cash) to offer in Southern West Virginia, let me know.  Maybe we could start our own Christian micro-distillery!

And where from here?

The Episcopal diocese of West Virginia was established 140 years ago, about ten years after the state established its separate identity during the Civil War.  And the diocese has 68 congregations, 3/4 of which were founded before 1900.  Like most places, West Virginia has changed significantly since 1900.  The 20th century saw a boom in coal and railroads as energy resources buried almost everywhere under the state was dug up and shipped off.  Coal mining and railroads were once huge, sprawling industries and extremely labor intensive and so people flooded into West Virginia and towns sprouted up and fortunes were made.

And though a great deal of coal is still mined here, it is not anything like as labor intensive as it once was and neither is rail-roading.  So it turns out that all those little coal camp hamlets and the bigger towns that arose to serve their needs from doctors to movie theaters aren't quite the thriving places they once were.  Exhibit A is the city of Welch in McDowell county at the south end of the state.  In 1950, 100,000 people called McDowell county home and Welch was a bustling place.  Today 22,000 people live there and Welch is a much quieter place.

All of which is a prelude to asking, if we were to start from scratch establishing the Episcopal Church in West Virginia, would we build something that looks the church we have now?  My guess is, probably not.

The image below is taken from an amazing project called the Census Dotmap which aims to show the location of every single person in America.  As you can see, West Virginia has only a few clusters of people.

To locate our churches we would need to know about how many people are needed to support an old-fashioned Episcopal parish (probably about 100 households)and how much of the population can we attract to an Episcopal Church (historically, 1-2%). This would suggest to me that you need at least 10,000 people and probably more like 20,000.  West Virginia has 13 "metro-areas" with more than 20,000 people.  If we built a church for every 20,000 people in those areas we would build 40 or so parishes.  If we were smart though, we'd shoot for a couple of really big congregations in the largest metro areas, which would leave us probably more like 25-30 parishes.  Remember, we have 68 now.

I think the other thing we would do is to develop those parishes with a much greater sense of responsibility to the whole diocese, so that some large portion of their revenue would be directed towards support of ministry centers in the many small towns where we didn't build a parish.  What if we could attract 5% of the population though?  Well, now we're talking about needing roughly 5000 people to make a viable parish.  These are the places where would focus our efforts as a diocese to evangelize and do mission.

I think that to some extent, our desire to recreate the English vision of a parish and a gentleman in every village of the land has meant that we only ever have one goal - a full, self-supporting parish - for our ministry expansion efforts.  I think we can be more creative than that and be ok with letting go of that vision where the population just won't support it but where the progressive Christian tradition at peace with human knowledge championed by the Episcopal church would be an important beacon of hope is needed.  I also think we won't ever reinvigorate this diocese without being willing to let go of the old vision and be ready to go where the people are now and not try to cling to where they were a century ago.

Why aren't there any Centering Prayer studios?

Ok, quick quiz - raise your hands if you know someone who claims to be Buddhist.  Ok, now raise your hands if there's a Buddhist temple with 50 miles of you.  My guess is that most everyone could answer positively to the first and much fewer to the second.  So how exactly does Buddhism spread?  And more importantly, your friend who says they're Buddhist - what does that mean exactly?

image from mydeepmeditation.com

Now as far as I can tell, the number of people in America claiming to be Buddhist is increasing.  Wikipedia
 (I know, but this isn't for credit, so deal, ok) says there are between one and a half and six million self-identified Buddhists in America whereas I'm guessing 50 years ago they could probably be numbered in the thousands, with almost all being ethnically Asian.  So how does a religion with little or no infrastructure grow by millions, while Christianity, with a branch office on every corner has declined by many millions in the same time frame?

It seems to me from my own brief immersion in Eastern religion long, long ago (Taoism for me, I like to be different) that part of the appeal was an attraction to a spirituality divorced from a largely unattractive cultural Christianity, part of it was its lack of organizational structure, and part of it was a young person's desire to differentiate myself.  I never pursued it in depth, but I still own my copies of the Tao-Te-Ching and Chuang Tsu, where they sit in my priestly office and there's a reading concerning death, that I still find very comforting.

But I also wonder to what extent, eastern practices are attractive.  I found Taosim through karate, and most serious Buddhists I know meditate faithfully.  The entry way to Eastern spirituality, at least here in America, seems to be through taking up a physical manifestation, a discipline.  I'll throw in Yoga as the most successful of these eastern spiritual practices.  Now, not everyone who takes up karate gets into Taoism, but there's no denying that these activities operate on more than one level (double ditto for Yoga).

So, why does most Christian evangelism start with convincing people of our doctrine?  And further, why do we primarily offer only our devotional life as our entry way?  Are there other Christian practices than worship that might be an easier gateway?  Could we reorient our churches to being homes to different spiritually-based activities (that people pay for, btw) that would be a boon to the spiritual life of the believers as well as offering something meaningful and beneficial for the agnostic or spiritual seeker?  Maybe entering into faith wouldn't seem so intimidating.  Jesus tells the parable of the sower, but who says the seeds have to be asking people to swallow the wholly grown plant?

Grave Digging

I have found the life of a parish priest to be endlessly interesting, drawing me into places and encounters I would never have imagined.  Which is how yesterday I found myself, early in the morning, in the memorial garden digging two graves as snow softly and quietly came down.  Now, these are graves only meant to accommodate the ashes of the dead, not a full size casket so it wasn't particularly strenuous, just unexpected.  But I'll share something else I wouldn't have expected.  It was deeply gratifying to do this final task for someone entrusted to my care by God.  I have always found the whole foot-washing thing a little creepy and invasive, but I think that in digging out these two small graves I discovered in new and more visceral way what it was that Jesus was trying to show us.  There was a dignity in this small service I was able to render, and I found myself thankful.

I should also confess that I had some help, from my daughter.  I appreciate that grave-digging isn't the usual kind of father-daughter bonding experience but it happened something like this.
Me:  I have to go over to the church now
Daughter:  Can I come Daddy?
Me:  Well, I have to clear the snow and dig some holes
Daughter: why do you have to dig holes?
Me:  Well, two people died and we're burying them today.
Daughter: Can I help?
Me: Well... I guess so - put on your snow pants

And off we went.  She's only four so it's unlikely she will remember the details of this day, but I won't be surprised if something of it doesn't lodge within her memory somewhere.  I know I'll never forget.

Jesus and stuff

So it's been awhile as I've been trying to find a new rhythm in a whole new way of life.  But it is my hope to work some things out here and not just keep them rattling around in my head.

Last week’s gospel reading in the lectionary was from the gospel of Luke and it describes Jesus at the beginning of his public ministry going into the synagogue in his home village and reading a short passage from the writings of the prophet Isaiah.  What he read was this:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

And then it says that Jesus proclaimed to the audience that "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

The inference here is that Jesus is claiming that Isaiah is referring to Jesus, ie that Jesus is the one anointed by God to lead the Judean people to a new relationship with God; that he (Jesus) is the long-anticipated Messiah.

So if that is true, then this passage serves as Jesus’ mission statement.  What is of interest to me is that Jesus’ self-described mission is not inherently religious, at least not in the way that we think of religion in this culture.  Jesus’ mission is primarily political; only the restoration of the blind’s sight is apolitical.  Though even there, we can look at how disabled persons are treated in first century Judea and construct a political subtext.  In other words, Jesus’ mission has nothing to do with going to heaven, or personal morality but instead has everything to do with creating a just society.

In comparing life in most modern industrialized societies to life in the Roman Empire, we live in paradise.  And American and European culture is inherently Christian in its assumptions and perspectives, that perhaps it is no surprise that institutional Christianity is on the wane – so much has already been accomplished.

Of course, that’s probably not true.  The Church thought it had accomplished Jesus’ mission back when the emperor Constantine came around to their way of thinking 1700 years ago.  The great historian of the church, Eusebius, implies just that and believes the takeover of the church by the imperial court was God’s greatest victory (mind you he saw it the other way ‘round).

But I do find it depressing, as a Christian, to see many of my so-called brothers and sisters leading the fight to maintain the old, unjust societal systems created to maintain hierarchies of privilege.  My reading of the bible does not lead me to see Jesus’ life, death and resurrection as something so small as a fear based system of moral rectitude designed to deliver me to some otherworldly realm of ease.  Rather, I see an invitation to immerse ourselves in the messy world so that we, emboldened and made fearless by Christ’s actions, can demand and implement changes in human society to create a more just world.

And by the way, the bible suggests that the return of Christ is the descent of heaven so that it and earth are one and the same.  Where do we get the idea that our destiny is a disembodied eternity?

This was the sermon I preached at St Luke's Evangelical Lutheran Church on the Epiphany.  Their pastor (Pastor Wanda Childs) and I did a pulpit swap.  It was a first and lot of fun for me to preside at a Lutheran service.  To see Pastor Wanda's sermon at my regular venue, you can find it here.

Epiphany, RCL year C, 2012

Today is Epiphany, and in this season we weave together the stories of the Magi and their gifts and the Baptism of Jesus in the river Jordan as we contemplate the heralding and announcement of the arrival of the Lord which we have anticipated in Advent.  At Christmas, God has become incarnate and now in Epiphany, that manifestation of God begins to affect our world.

Thought the Magi seek the King of the Judeans, they themselves are not followers of the One God, but their compulsion to follow that brilliant light in the sky to Bethlehem is the first sign that the arrival of the Messiah of Israel is an event of worldwide importance and cosmological magnitude. 

The savior of Israel, it says, is the savior of the world, the light over Bethelehem is meant for all eyes to see, it’s brilliance meant to chase away the shadows and darkness which enslave our world.

The whole effort of God’s Covenant with Israel, the thousands of years of waiting have been building to this, the Incarnation of God in Jesus.  And this God-child arrives in the most unlikely of places, born of a virgin in a stable, a helpless child born of poor parents far away from their small village.  The God of all that is, seen and unseen, arrives quietly in the margins of life.

And that God should come this way, quietly, at night, as a human child says something profound to us.  That our world is capable, and not just capable, but worthy – worthy of holding and nurturing the divine.

The Christ child is a bold pronouncement that we matter, our lives matter and that to be born and to live is an act of divine love.  And that this life is not something merely to be endured, some sort of cruel test to decide whether we get to wear wings and play harps for all eternity, but something to be savored and the very essence of God’s creative action in the universe.

We believe Jesus to be fully divine and FULLY human.  He was a man with dirty fingernails and callouses, who lived with all of the difficulties, troubles and annoyances which beset us.  And in the midst of a human life he still followed, wholly, God’s will, even though, as the gospels attest, he himself would have rather avoided it.

In the individual stories of the Bible we see the intersection of God and human lives and the human imagination.  And taken all together the Bible stories tell us the salvation story, the grand narrative of God’s efforts to create out of chaos and to gift life into the cosmos.

But for us, it can be hard to see God’s actions in our own lives.  It is easy to see faith as a response for something God did a long time ago.  In Christmas itself, we look back to events that occurred over two thousand years ago.  And truthfully, in our individual celebrations of Christmas, we are half living in the Christmases past, remembering the joys and losses of the Christmas seasons past.

And our lives in the church can be the same.  We remember how things used to be.  In too many churches we remember how much better things used to be.  But perhaps our memories are not so good as we might believe.  The four gospel writers don’t even agree on all the details of the birth of Jesus, Mark doesn’t even comment on it at all.  I suspect that if I were to poll everyone here today about the Christmas story, nearly all of us would mash together the individual gospel stories, plus some stuff from our hymns and maybe a TV Christmas special or two to come up “the Christmas story.”

But I suspect also, that by and large we would all come up with the salient points, that Jesus was born, that his arrival heralded great things, and that throughout, God was present and active.

And so it is with all of our faith stories, the details aren’t always as important as the great themes and the trajectory of the story.  I think it is important that there is no Book of Jesus.  Jesus left us no written works, no book of laws, no pithy sayings, nothing.  No, instead Jesus left us his friends.  And he commanded his friends to tell others and to have those others tell even more.  And so on and so on until someone told you and me about Jesus.

And that’s what church is about.  It’s a place where we discover our own story in the midst of God’s story.  And it’s the place where, hopefully, we gather the means and the courage to go and tell someone else.

And that’s what Epiphany means, revelation – the sharing and showing of something.  So we gather here, to remember certainly, but also to be reminded of God’s great care for us, God’s great love for us.

The arrival of Christ and his revelation to the world is a bold pronouncement that we need no longer live in fear of the powers of darkness which suffuse our world. It is meant to embolden us not to turn our backs on the world but to engage it fully, to take hold of it and to transform it in light of the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord Jesus, the Christ.  This Epiphany is our permission, no - our command to continue that pronouncement, that Revelation, that Life - so that one day, no one will live in fear but all will live within the hopefulness of Christ.  Amen.

We are marching...

It's been a busy first couple of months as I've been learning to fulfill my role as pastor.  It is a joy beyond words to be in this community, to lead them in worship and to be with them as, together, we experience and discover God's work amongst us and within us.  This weekend I was at my first Diocesan convention here in West Virginia.  I confess I'm not a big one for legislating, but I enjoyed myself and was pleased to be there.  However, as I'm not technically canonically resident in WV yet (still belong to Oregon until December) I did get an opportunity to slip away during some of the legislative business.

We were meeting in Martinsburg, which as it turns out, is only 20 miles from Winchester, Virginia. I have long desired to go there because in May of 1863, my great-great-grandfather, Alexander White managed to get himself killed there when his right leg was shot off by a Confederate cannonball.  Alexander White was a private in the 12th WV US Infantry.  Nearly 40 years old with 4 kids at home, he enlisted in the Union cause, marched 90 miles from home and died in his first battle.

I've often pondered what possessed him to enlist and what it must have been like, crouching behind a stone wall, the bullets and artillery shells bursting and ricocheting around him - the grey clad soldiers moving inexorably forward.  And I wonder what price me and my family might have paid from his absence in the lives of his small children (my great-grandfather was about 11 or 12 when he died).  Family Systems Theory suggests that such a traumatic event would surely have left its mark down the generations.

After a short tramp through the woods near an elementary school, I found the remains of the very stone wall behind which my ancestor had sought refuge.  I was torn.  I had feelings of pride in his willingness to defend the republic and expand freedom.  It seemed no small irony to be there on the 150th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation.  But also, I felt a little angry that he would leave his family and perhaps bequeath to us a painful legacy.

As I stood in the woods, peering over the remnants of the wall, instead of a raging enemy I looked out on a school playground and several children and their families playing in the late summer sunshine.  And as I looked out on the peaceful scene presented to me, I believed that perhaps it had been worth it after all.  I called my own father and spoke briefly and I felt blessed.  We perhaps cannot control the paths into which our lives fall, but I am thankful that along those roads, no matter where we are, God is there waiting.

At the office

One of the perks of my new position is that I am provided with a very nice office.  Actually, it's too big to be an office, it's more of a study which is not the same as a library (that's across the hall).  As you can see from the picture, I don't own anything like enough books to make the shelves look anything but bare.  I have air conditioning, internet access, a printer, I even bought a Keurig coffee maker - I really have no reason to leave.

But that's kind of what bothers me.  I worry that I'll be too tempted to hole up in here and not go out into the world where I'm supposed to be - sharing the Good News and making visible the invisible hand of God.  I've only been here a week, so I can't speak knowledgeably about the parish or my predecessors, but I have to wonder at what effect the introduction of large rector's offices has been on the church?  Mind you, the walls that aren't bookshelves are concrete block, but when this building was built in 1955, the priest must have thought this office was paradise compared to the likely space he must have occupied in the former small brick church which had been bought from the Methodists 20 years earlier when they needed a bigger space.

Having an office feels alot like settling in and settling down.  This is hardly an original thought, but Christianity like the Judaism from which it sprang, seems its most authentic self when it is on the move, on a pilgrimage.  The Israelites were promised a land of milk and honey - but both of those are things you get on the hoof and not things you get by making permanent camps; they're the food of nomads and not of farmers. Jesus himself said that the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.  If the church is truly the body of Christ, shouldn't we be at least a little concerned that we have nice comfy pillows in big fluffy beds on which to lay our heads?

Acts 29...

I am feeling very fortunate right now.  This past Sunday I started my new job as the parson* of a parish church, and I’m still feeling a significant high.  It is an amazing feeling to finally, after years and years of discernment and study and navigating the shoals of the institutional church, be able to do what I feel compelled and called to do. 

And I’ve been thinking a lot recently, as I’ve begun to take up this ministry, about those who have gone before me.  This was initially prompted by a gift I received at my (very recent) ordination.  My former home parish is an amazing place, and I understand its rate of growth-rate is in the top 4% of Episcopal parishes, which is remarkable.  Things haven’t always looked so rosy though, just a few years ago its future looked cloudy – a fairly new parish (established in 1983 or so) it has had its ups and downs and has gone through some difficult transitions.  But before even the first Bible study was held, the vision of a parish in the rapidly expanding west Portland suburbs existed in the eyes of one Lincoln Eng.  And through all those years and ups and downs, Lincoln and his wife Mabel were a part of the life of the parish and stayed steadfast no matter what.  Lincoln, the Venerable Lincoln Eng, had been archdeacon of the Diocese of Oregon and had a great personal story of overcoming adversity and intolerance as he sought to live out his calling as priest.  Earlier this year though, Lincoln died; but at my ordination his wife Mabel gave me his prayer book.  It’s covered in what looks like a bright red handmade cloth cover with a floral pattern cloth cross stitched onto the front.  Lincoln had gone to the trouble of using a label maker and tape to create homemade tabs for each section.  Actually, this is so useful that someone should make a set and sell it to everyone who uses a prayer book; in fact maybe I will$$.  It also has Lincoln’s notes written in red pen throughout – Lincoln was apparently a fan of inclusive language because every “Him” and “Father” is crossed out and substitutes written in.  This past Sunday, this was the prayer book I used to lead the services.  And so, in some way, my ministry picks up where his left off and it really struck me that this is how our faith has been carried on for two millennia from one generation to another.  And though I already knew that in my head, Lincoln’s prayer book brought it home to me in my heart.

And so as I was walking through the church where I have just started this Sunday, I stood in the hall looking at the pictures of my predecessors smiling beatifically forever from their (very large) portraits.  I am also continuing the work of these priests, which like Lincoln’s prayer book was a comforting thought because in this chain of ministry I can see that my work is only of a season. Which is a real relief.  I’m just a day laborer in the vineyard of the Lord, the management of the vineyards is not my task.  That belongs to God.  The ultimate success of the Christian movement does not rest on my shoulders, my job is to show up and labor faithfully and when this season ends to pass along my tools to whomever comes next.  Someday it will be my smiling face, frozen in a moment in time, staring down on another new priest (and I AM confident that there will be many more after me) as they take up this task we call vocational ministry.  And that’s comforting too.  As I begin I hope and pray that I have the fortitude and steadfastness shown by Lincoln and all the saints who have gone before.

*Deacon-in-charge seems an awkward title and I like the old-school sound of Parson - now I just need a flat-brimmed black hat!

...and his kingdom will have no end

by Hans Memling

All the hoopla surrounding Queen Elizabeth II of Britain's Diamond Jubilee has me wondering about the line in the Nicene Creed where we say that Christ will return and that his kingdom will have no end.  If diamonds are for 60th anniversaries, what do you get for your 1000th - unobtainium perhaps?

Here in America, I think despite our revolutionary heritage, we kinda sorta like monarchs.  The British Royal Family is possibly more popular her than in Britain and certainly judging from Walt Disney's fare anyway, princesses are very popular.

But even more so, our view of the President's role in our national life as well as the kind of promises that Presidential candidates make, many people seem to wish they were electing a king (sorry, no queens just yet) instead of an executive functionary whose real role is to carry out and enforce the laws and policies enacted by Congress.  Being Commander-in-Chief, especially in an age unconstrained by legal niceties like declaring war, is a powerful power aphrodisiac which may have contributed for a desire for someone to come along and make things right.  Its too bad that most people today, unlike the founders, don't study Roman history; because if they did people might not be so eager for a strong President.

But I digress, sort of.  What exactly do we think of Christ's coming kingdom?  Monarchy works pretty well in Britain because the monarch really doesn't have the ability to exercise any real power.  She is a figurehead and a living embodiment of state authority, but I don't think she could yell "off with his head" and expect anyone to listen.  Surely that isn't what we mean by Christ's kingdom though do we?  Or is it?

Do we really want a king to whom we must pay obeisance?  Someone who will judge us (living and dead) and whose judgment has no appeal?  Or do we expect to be Abrahams haggling with God over the fate of those consigned to punishment?  Will expect a God who will conform to our will?  Somehow I'm thinking that's not how it will play out so what does that mean to us in our lives right now?  

Well, actually I'm not so sure.  If I think that the Spirit is leading me to take a particular stance or to vote a particular way and I lose does that mean that I discerned incorrectly or that evil has carried the day?  In our national politics and our church (Episcopal Church anyway) we seem to choose the latter more often it seems to me.  Frankly, I think we could all use a little more humility and submission, but hey, that's just me.

All things necessary for salvation

Last Sunday was Pentecost, and among the readings was a portion of Psalm 104.  I really love this Psalm because it has one of the best lines ever in the bible in verse 27 where amidst its rapturous glorification of God's creative powers it says; “and there is that Leviathan, which you have made for the sport of it.”  I am strongly attached to the notion that God creates partly for the pure joy of doing so.

But this week, the Revised Common Lectionary (which lays out the scripture readings for worship in a 3 year cycle) does one of the things that really annoys me - it edits the scriptures, ostensibly I suppose, to make it more amenable to the modern listener.  It's bad enough that we can't hear the entire psalm, but in this case they also leave out a single verse (36) which says; “And let sinners be consumed from the earth; let the wicked be no more.”

I’m willing to bet that almost everyone has, at one time or another, said a prayer just like it – “God, please make the bad people go away.”  The first human to turn their eyes heavenward and pray to God probably prayed a prayer just like it.  God is great and God's creation is awesome, but sometimes people really suck - they let us down, they lie, they cause mischief and too many of our fellow humans are subject to capricious injustice and true bodily harm at the hands of others.  Yes, please let the wicked be no more.

But the thing is, of course, that all of us are one time or another the one disappointing rather than the one disappointed.  All of us have broken a heart or wounded the feelings of others.  Maybe we've even been willing  to harm or did actual physical harm to another.  I know that I was willing to annihilate millions of people I'd never met with nuclear weapons in my time in the Navy because of our fear of the Red Menace.  

The disciples were expecting a Messiah who would lead a rebellion to restore the Davidic kingdom and make the wicked be no more through killing them - they wanted a sacrificial purification of Israel.  I have long harbored the suspicion that Judas's motivation may have been his realization that Jesus would do no such thing. Because Jesus and therefore God's intention is to remove the wicked, not by sacrificing them, but by loving them and breaking down the fear that lies behind all our selfishness and wickedness.  

Shame on the RCL for leaving that out!

Dark Shadows

I really want to go see the new movie, Dark Shadows, that just came out.  I remember Dark Shadows being on TV, but I don't actually remember anything about it.  I suspect I wan't allowed to watch.  Probably why I remember it is because my older brother, Kenny, wasn't allowed to watch it.  It gave him bad dreams, and he would fall out of bed.  Kenny was 6 1/2 years older than me, but until I was about 6 or so, we shared a double bed.  At this remove, I don't recall whether his nightmares were a danger to him or me.  I do remember that when we got bunk beds, my big brother got the bottom bunk because of his proclivity to fall out, so maybe he was always more a danger to himself.

I imagine it would be fun to see the movie with Kenny, but that isn't possible.  He died nearly thirty years ago, in a house fire.  It's probably fair to say I miss him more now than I did then, even though that doesn't reflect all that well on me I suppose.  I keep a picture of him on the wall of our stairway; amongst the mostly dead ancestors.  I was telling my daughter about him just the other day and we went and looked at him and then all the other pictures as I shared their stories.

I feel bad for my brother, his life was tragic - beginning to end - and I wonder now if he ever really knew happiness or contentment.  He had a different mother from me.  His mother, Janice, became gravely ill when he was just a baby and spent much of his life in the hospital I'm told and died when Kenny was only six.  Later, he married a young woman also named Janice, who died from a brain aneurysm. In between were troubled years, difficulty at school, difficulty at home.  He must have wondered who loved him.

I've spent a lot of time over a lot of years wondering about, and more recently, praying for my brother.  I find myself praying for his mother as well.  My origins lie somewhere in her sickness and death; we are in some way connected.  Learning about her, her sickness, her desires for her children, my father and my mother's relationship with her has been helpful to learn about who I am.  I like Bowen family systems theory, but untangling the mess that is my family of origin isn't easy.  Those long-ago tragedies are, if you will, dark shadows that shift the color of my life.

So, I think I will go see the movie, and laugh (hopefully) and remember and live.  I will live, I will remember and be thankful for the whole company of saints who went before.  Our lives are formed and touched by so many others in so many ways that are beyond our understanding or even knowledge sometimes.  Happy Mother's day Janice, God bless you.

Sheep and death

This Sunday was Good Shepherd Sunday and it was my turn to preach.  As I read the lessons this week though, all I could come up with was sheep and death. I probably should have been trying to develop some really insightful theme that was deep and edifying, but instead I just kept thinking about the time when I considered becoming a sheep farmer.  I used to own a farm in upstate New York and there was a perfect 8 or 10 acre pasture that wasn't being used much that I thought would be ideal for a small flock of sheep.  I even bought a book (this was before google and wikipedia and all that) called Raising Sheep the Modern Way.

It took a little digging but I unearthed my copy this week and starting skimming through it which caused two reactions for me.  The first was that it made me kind of want to be a sheep farmer again, but the second was to cause me to reconsider the line from John's Gospel we read this morning where Jesus says; "I am the good shepherd.  The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep."  Because as I read through the book I was reminded of how seemingly fraught with peril is the life of a sheep.  The book describes all sorts of parasites and illnesses which can kill a sheep, and the dangers of lambing and how to respond; it has loads (really, loads) of info on fences, fences to keep sheep in and predators out.  It even has a section on sheep dogs.  But it didn't have anything in there about laying down your life.

Set aside for a minute that this is Jesus talking; do we really believe that a good shepherd would die for a bunch of sheep?  Many people say they would give their life for their children, and some people may think they're willing to die for an ideal or a cause - but sheep? That's not how our world works. We're sheep-like enough, our primary concerns are a full belly and keeping the wolves at bay, but unlike sheep (probably) many of us are willing enough to do so at the expense of others. Even the most conscientious of us cannot escape the fact that all of our actions involve some kind of compromise with systems that perpetuate injustice.


Several years ago, after a Good Friday service, a friend said to me; "I just don't understand why he had to die." Many people have built entire theological careers on trying to answer that question. But in the end I think it might boil down to this. Jesus died because God believes in a world where good shepherds lay down their lives for sheep, and we don't.