Trinity Episcopal Church - Rutland, VT

Some Last Sunday of Epiphany Announcements

2012-02-17T14:42:00.002-05:00

Poetry Workshop Series During Epiphany

The final session of the poetry reflection workshop will be this Tuesday, February 21 at 7:00 PM in the library. Everyone is invited! Even if you’ve been unable to attend the previous sessions, you’re welcome to join in for this last one!

SHROVE TUESDAY PANCAKE SUPPER

In Nourse Hall on Tuesday, February 21st at 5 PM. Bring the family! All-you-can-eat pancakes with Vermont maple syrup, sausages, homemade pancakes and make-your-own ice-cream sundaes for dessert.

Pancakes will be made by the men of Trinity Church.

Ash Wednesday Services

There will be two Holy Eucharist services with the Imposition of Ashes in the chapel on Ash Wednesday, February 22 at noon and again at 6:00 PM.

Lenten Meditation Series

Joe Hauser will lead a meditation group during Lent on Tuesday evenings at 7:00 PM beginning February 28.

This series will focus on the topic of The Lord’s Prayer.

Silent Auction Fundraiser

Join us for “Awesome Auction, Divine Desserts & Jammin’ Jazz” on Friday, March 30 from 6:30 to 9:00 PM for a gala evening!

Tickets are $15 apiece, but each ticket admits four and allows four free desserts!

Stop in the office to purchase your tickets for this event.

Spring Session Foyers Sign-up

It’s time to sign up for the next round of Foyers! If you’ve never participated in Foyers before, it’s a great way to get to know one another, or to spend time with old friends.

Those with children or those who feel unable to host a dinner should not feel excluded!

Sign-up sheets may be found on the table in the chapel narthex. If you’d like more information about Foyers, please call Winnie Grace at 235-2221.

Update Sixth Sunday of Epiphany (Feb. 12th)

2012-02-10T14:13:00.004-05:00

Propers Study

The Propers Class meets each Sunday at 8:30 AM.

Event Planning Meeting

Those interested in helping to plan and help out with the auction fundraiser event are encouraged to attend today’s planning meeting in the Brinckerhoff Room following the service today. An additional meeting is scheduled for Thursday, February 16 at 5:00 PM.

Vestry Meeting

This Thursday, February 16th at 6:30pm in the library.

Poetry Workshop Series During Epiphany

The Poetry Reflection series continues to examine the works of Theodore Roethke, Pattiann Rogers and Elizabeth Bishop. Join Jeannie Morrissey each Tuesday evening from 7:00 to 8:00 PM for this series of poetry workshops. The series will run from January 24 through February 21.

SHROVE TUESDAY PANCAKE SUPPER

Nourse Hall on Tuesday, February 21st at 5 PM.

Bring the family!

All-you-can-eat pancakes (lovingly produced by the men of Trinity Church) with Vermont maple syrup, sausages, home-made pancakes and make-your-own ice-cream sundaes for dessert.

Ash Wednesday Services

There will be two Holy Eucharist services with the Imposition of Ashes in the chapel on Ash Wednesday, February 22, at 12:00 noon and again at 6:00 PM.

Daughters of the King Quiet Day

The Daughters of the Kings will host a Lenten “quiet day” of reflection on Saturday, February 25. The day will begin with morning prayer at 8:45 AM and continue with meditations offered by Rev. Regina Christianson.

Bring a bag lunch, as the day will conclude at 2:00 PM.

They Cast Their Nets in Galilee: Faith Informing Life; Life Informing Faith Our baptism places us within a community, Jesus’ family of disciples. How do we reveal this in our daily life? How do we reveal this in our parish life? As we will reflect, through silence, guided meditation, conversation, the arts, and holding each other in prayer, on the gifts given and witness to hope and love, we open our lives to insight and inspiration, we deepen our connection to God and to each other.

CareNet Baby Bottle Challenge

Please continue with the Baby Bottle collection for the CareNet Pregnancy Center. One of the goals of the Center is to provide options for the women that visit the Center, enabling them to make informed decisions for themselves and their baby.

Call Mary Ruth at 282-3835 if you need another bottle.

ERD Sunday is Coming

In 2009 General Convention passed a resolution designating the first Sunday in Lent as Episcopal Relief and Development (ERD) Sunday. The first Sunday in Lent this year is February 26th.

It is not too early to begin thinking about how you will support ERD!

For more information, speak with Laura Chase, our ERD parish rep.

February 11th & 12th

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Saturday (2.11.12) is the Community Luncheon

The crew will be serving Shepherd's Pie beginning at 11:30 AM.

After our worship service on Sunday

The Event Planning Team meets to continue developing ideas for our spring fundraiser:

Awesome Auction*Divine Desserts*Jammin' Jazz!

Tickets are now available for this Friday, March 30th, event.

Stop by the office to purchase your tickets.

Excerpts from the Feb. 5th Bulletin

2012-02-03T11:45:00.002-05:00

Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper

We will be having our annual pancake supper and Mardi Gras celebration on Tuesday, February 21.

Supper will be served from 5 - 7 PM.

To help with the cooking and serving, speak with Krey Kellington, 259-7828

To help with the children’s craft station, call Katya Cooke, 776-8936.

Ash Wednesday Services

There will be two Holy Eucharist services with the Imposition of Ashes in the chapel on Ash Wednesday, February 22nd at 12:00 noon and again at 6:00 PM.

Exciting Community Event in the Works

The Trinity Fundraising Committee is planning a family-oriented, community fun event for March 30. The event will feature music, food, a silent auction and entertainment for children.

The committee while in the planning stages for this "big" event -- is now looking for volunteers to help in a variety of capacities.

To help with soliciting auction items, please call Kit Wakefield at 259-2935
To help provide food (hors d'oeuvres or desserts) please call Erica Senecal at 468-2648
To help spread the word through publicity, please call Krey Kellington at 259-7828.

CareNet Baby Bottle Challenge

You may be interested to know that to fill an average baby bottle with pennies, you’ll collect $3.50, nickels $12, dimes $55 and quarters $50.

Please continue to pray for this worthwhile ministry.

For information, contact Mary Ruth, 282-3835.

Excerpts from the February 2012 Logos

2012-01-31T14:00:00.002-05:00

A Letter from our Interim Priest -

My Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ:

Such I call you, even though I have only met a few of you, for in Christ we are friends already. It is in his name and service that I have accepted the call to become your pastor and interim priest; and I look forward eagerly and wholeheartedly to joining your community and sharing the journey with you in this time of transition. I know it will be challenging, I also expect it to be exciting and Grace-filled. God will be with us on the way.

Please introduce yourselves to me and keep reminding me of your names until I get them right. I will also endeavor to visit the folks who need visiting and or pastoral care as soon as possible. If you know of anybody in this category, let me know! I will try to learn the ropes quickly so I can do my part to sustain what you are already doing in mission and ministry and to share in your fellowship.

I am also charged with helping you discover new possibilities for the future so that the vision for Trinity Church in 2016 will become a reality. You have already started down that road and I know that you have the human and spiritual capital that you need to get there. It will be my privilege to be your partner for a time and my hope and prayer to then see you on your way filled with expectation and joy.

In His Service,

Christopher David

Lenten Meditation Series

During the Lenten season Joe Hauser will facilitate a discussion on “Portraits of Christ.” The sessions will begin at 7:00 PM. in the library at Trinity on Tuesday, February 28.

There will be 6 sessions in all.

For Christians, Lent has always been a time of special renewal and healing. During these 40 days we embrace the cross, and through God’s power and healing find Easter’s glory. There are many portraits of Christ in the New Testament, among them: the Word, Lord, Door and Lamb. The images all ultimately proclaim God’s power of love for the world and empower us to trust and love. The portraits of Christ also find their deepest meaning for our lives when they are related to the passion and death of Jesus. Each week of the “Portraits of Christ” focuses on one image of Christ and relates the power of the passion to our lives today.

During this time of transition, it is really important that we come together as often as possible in prayer and reflection. Fellowship in Christ is what links us together. It is also an opportunity for others to experience us as a community of faith. Invite a friend to come with you. Join us on Tuesday evenings beginning at 7 PM. on February 28.

Fourth Sunday of Epiphany

2012-01-27T12:26:00.001-05:00

We offer our sincere gratitude to This Sunday's Priest --

The Rev. Richard Brewer

Propers Study—The Propers Class meets each Sunday at 8:30 AM.

Ushers Meeting—There will be a meeting for all ushers at 8:30 AM on Sunday, February 5. If you are currently an usher, or would like to become an usher, please plan to attend.

CareNet Baby Bottle Challenge!—Just a reminder, please take part in the CareNet Pregnancy Baby Bottle Campaign. The money goes towards providing parenting classes and referrals for financial assistance to enable parents to provide a nurturing home. Bottles are located in the church narthex. If more are needed, please call Mary Ruth.

Flower Fund—There are still plenty of Sundays available to sponsor altar flowers this year! Please call the office if you would like to sponsor a Sunday.

2011 Contributions Statements—Please pick up your 2011 contribution statement in the church narthex. If you have any questions or concerns about your statement, please call the office at your earliest convenience.

January 25th

2012-01-25T16:39:00.001-05:00

This Sunday at 4:00 PM at the Paramount, the Vermont Symphony Orchestra and Chorus will be performing Mozart's and Faure's Requiems.

Come see if you can pick out the Trinitarians performing in this concert!

Friday, January 20, 2012

2012-01-20T13:17:00.002-05:00

Propers Class meets each Sunday at 8:30 AM.

2011 Contributions Statements—Please pick up your 2011 contribution statement in the church narthex. If you have any questions or concerns about your statement, please call the office at your earliest convenience.

CareNet Baby Bottle Challenge!—Time to fill the baby bottles to benefit CareNet Pregnancy Center. The bottles are in the back of the church. If you nee more than one bottle, call Mary Ruth at 282-3835 for another. They will be collected on or around Sunday, March 4.

VSO Symphony and Chorus Performance—Next Sunday, January 29 at 4 PM, the Vermont Symphony Orchestra and Chorus will perform Requiem by W.A. Mozart and Requiem by G. Fauré. The matinee performance will be held in the Paramount Theater. Tickets can be purchased at the box office or by calling (802) 775-0903.

Flower Fund—We all enjoy the fresh flowers that Park Place puts on the altar each week. Unfortunately, we owe them about $650 for those flowers. In addition, there are as many as 20 open Sundays during the year. The two arrangements cost $50/ week.
We will not be able to keep fresh flowers on the altar if the 'flower fund' does not receive some fresh donations. Please consider writing a check, in any amount, and put 'flower fund' on the memo line. Or, if you prefer, see Wendy about committing to purchasing the flowers for one of the open Sundays; these can be done as memorials for loved ones, thanksgiving for anniversaries, or for no particular reason at all.

It's Annual Meeting Time Once Again

2012-01-18T13:55:00.002-05:00

This Sunday (1.22.12) is the parish Annual Meeting!

On Tuesday, January 24th -- Jeannie Morrissey will begin a five-part poetry reflection series at 7:00 pm. Jeannie will center the reflections around the works of Theodore Roethke, Pattiann Smith, and Elizabeth Bishop.

Week of January 9th, 2012

2012-01-11T15:18:00.000-05:00

This is a Community Luncheon Saturday Jan.(14th). Beef stew is on the menu. Please join us and help make our guests feel welcome and at home at Trinity.

On Sunday (Jan. 15th), at the end of our worship service, Steve Smith, our parish companion, and Canon Lynn Bates will speak briefly to the congregation about the next steps in our search for a new priest. Please make every attempt to join us for worship this Sunday.

Excerpts from the January 2012 Logos

2011-12-30T17:53:00.003-05:00

December 29, 2011

Dear Friends,

On December 8^th, the Vestry met with Bishop Ely and Canon Lynn Bates regarding the next steps in our search for a new priest. These steps were delineated:

1.) meet our parish companion

2.) develop a communication plan

3.) call an interim pastor

4.) establish a search committee.

Here is what’s been done to address each point thus far. Steve Smith has been appointed by the bishop to be our parish companion. A companion’s duty includes facilitating the search process, offering guidance to the parish and acting as a liaision with the bishop’s office when necessary. Steve Smith is a member of St. James, Arlington and was most recently a companion for St. Michael’s, Brattleboro.

Those who have been able to attend our worship service on Sundays know that our co-Senior Warden, Aaron Tinsman has been updating us on the search process during the morning announcements. The Vestry is dedicated to ensuring this process remains as open and transparent as possible. Updates will also be included in this newsletter and in the Weekly E-nnouncements as they come up. Please speak with a Vestry member if you have any questions or concerns.

The Vestry met again on December 13 to discuss the expectations for an interim and the compensation package we will offer. This has been done and a letter has been sent to the bishop’s office in that regard.

Since the last Vestry meeting, announcements have been made requesting volunteers to be considered for the search committee. Individuals are also being actively recruited for this purpose. The Vestry expects to have a search team assembled to introduce to the parish at the Annual Meeting on January 22.

~~The Vestry

Worship Services

The worship team has secured the presence of a priest for each Sunday service through January.

January 1, the Feast of the Holy Name, Rite 1—the Rev. Jere Berger

January 8, the Baptism of Our Lord, Rite 2—the Rev. Richard Brewer

January 15, Epiphany 2, Rite 1—the Rev. Richard Brewer

January 22, Epiphany 3, Rite 2—the Rev. Dr. Ran Chase

January 29, Epiphany 4, Rite 1—the Rev. Richard Brewer

The Rev. Jere Berger is a member of Trinity Church and sings in our choir. He periodically provides in a supply capacity for us. The Rev. Randall Chase comes to us from his home in Cape Cod. He, too, has been a welcome guest priest on a number of occasions. The Rev. Richard Brewer is retired and lives in Whitehall, NY. He first served at Trinity as the officiant at a funeral on two separate, recent occasions. He’s looking forward to extending his relationship with us in serving as our priest at a regular worship service. The Rev. Brewer is the former Canon to the Bishop of Long Island. We will continue to worship together in the church sanctuary until further notice.

Fuel Fund Challenge Issued!

Bill and Carolyn Meub have issued a challenge: they have offered $500 to Trinity’s fuel fund in order to remain in the church for Sunday worship during the winter. Their donation will keep us in the church through January 22 (Annual Meeting Sunday). They challenge other Trinitarians to make contributions to see how long we can remain in the church this winter. If you’d like to take up the Meub’s fuel fund challenge, make your check payable to Trinity Church with “fuel fund” on the memo line. In the past, we’ve moved into Nourse Hall on Epiphany and stayed there until Palm Sunday. This Year, Palm Sunday falls on April 1. To remain in the church during the ten weeks after Annual Meeting Sunday, the fuel will cost an additional $4500.

Questions Answered about Contribution Envelope Numbers

What are envelope numbers? – These are the numbers assigned to contribution envelope sets used by parishioners. These numbers are used to assure the accuracy of recording contributions in our computer system for accounting and reporting purposes.

What happens if I don’t use envelopes? – Some parishioners place checks in the collection plate or mail them in. Others have checks automatically sent from their bank account. For these contributors who don’t use envelopes, a number outside the envelope number range is assigned for tracking in the same way as for those using envelopes.

Why may my number have been changed? – Some numbers have been changed for 2012 in an effort to consolidate the list of numbers so that fewer envelope sets are wasted. Envelope sets are purchased with sequential numbering. When numbers are added for new members the list gets longer and when members no longer use envelopes it leaves open slots in the list. Moving contributors with higher numbers into these vacant lower number slots means we can save money by ordering fewer envelope sets.

Ministry Team Bulletin Board

Ministry Teams are encouraged to use the large bulletin board in Nourse Hall to update the parish with their news. Each team should make sure their plans are posted. Be creative with your display!

2012 Calendars

Calendars for 2012, compliments of Tossing Funeral Home, are available in the narthex and on the chapel hall table.

Update as of Dec. 21, 2011

2011-12-21T13:09:00.001-05:00

Our Christmas Eve service on Saturday begins at 7:00pm.

On Sunday, Christmas Day, our service will be held in the chapel at 9:30am.

Anyone visiting parishioners who are homebound this Christmas is encouraged to take a poinsettia on the chapel table as a gift. Please sign your name next to the person you'll be taking a plant to so that we know who has received one. The list of homebound friends is on the table next to the flowers. If you know of someone not on the list who should be, please contact the office.

The church office and building will be closed on Friday, December 23 and Monday, December 26.

Search Committee Notice

2011-12-16T14:03:00.002-05:00

Anyone interested in being considered for the Ministry Discernment Team (the search committee for the new rector or PIP) please submit your name to one of the vestry by Dec. 31.

Reminder of Worship times for December 2011

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Sunday, December 18 – 9:30 Rite I Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Saturday, December 24 – 7:00 pm Christmas Eve Rite II Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Sunday, December 25 – 9:30 am Christmas Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

New Announcements for Dec. 15 - Dec. 21, 2011

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-- Please get your Christmas flower donations and memorials to the office by Monday, December 19!

As it stands right now, our flower fund will not even be able to cover the cost of the Advent decorations, let alone the Christmas flowers! Please help us replenish this fund with your Christmas memorials.

-- The Vestry is beginning to recruit for the search committee.

If you feel called to the commitment of being part of this team, please speak with a Vestry member before December 31.

-- Tuesday (Dec. 20th) is the Gift of Life blood drawing!

Excerpts from the 3rd Sunday of Advent Bulletin

2011-12-09T14:17:00.001-05:00

Holiday Office Hours—The parish office will be closed Friday, December 23^rd, Monday, December 26^th, and Monday, January 2^nd in observance of Christmas and New Year’s.

Annual Parish Meeting—It is not too soon to mark the parish annual meeting and potluck luncheon on your calendar! This year’s meeting is scheduled for Sunday, January 22 following our worship service. Leaders of our ministries and committees are encouraged to submit their reports for the Annual Report no later than January 6 so that the document can be prepared and previewed by the congregation prior to the meeting.

“Gift of Life” Blood Drawing—Each year, the American Red Cross hosts a major blood drawing at the end of the year. In the past few years, Rutland has produced the largest donation of blood in New England. This year, our challenge is to break the single day record nationwide! To do that, all appointment slots will need to be filled. So make your appointment now! This year, the drawing will be held on Tuesday, December 20 at the Paramount Theater, College of St. Joseph gym, the American Legion and the Elks Lodge. You can make an appointment by calling 1-800 RED CROSS or by visiting the website www.giftoflifemarathon.com.

2011 Pledges—We are coming to the close of our 2011 pledge year. Trinity Church offers its sincere gratitude to all who have pledged and contributed to the financial health of our church over the past 12 months. If you are behind in your contributions, we humbly request that you make every effort to become up-to-date by the end of the year. If you are unable to do so, we understand and ask that you contact the office to let our treasurer know.

2011-12-07T07:36:00.001-05:00

RSVP Operation Dolls and More

Michele Dauphinais and all her volunteers
have done themselves proud!

Photo and comment from Wendy Grace.

Christmas Flowers

2011-11-30T13:01:00.002-05:00

Once again, it is time to think about altar flowers and Christmas greenery decorations for the church!

If you would like to have your loved ones remembered or honored this Christmas, send in your list of names and your donation to the flower fund no later than December 19.

The greens and poinsettias are one of the lovelier traditions we have in celebration of our Christmas liturgy. Don’t miss your chance to be part of it!

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day

2011-11-30T12:56:00.003-05:00

There will be one worship service on Christmas Eve at which the choir will sing the prelude and the children will be involved in the service as well. The worship schedule for Christmas is as follows:

Saturday December 24 – 7:00 pm Christmas Eve Rite II Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Sunday December 25 – 9:30 am Christmas Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Excerpts From the December Logos "Letter from the Vestry"

2011-11-30T12:37:00.007-05:00

November 21, 2011

Dear Members of Trinity,

The Vestry wants to assure everyone that all of its members are doing everything they can to make this time of transition as smooth as possible. The Vestry wants to also assure people that our transitional phase will be transparent and that we will be communicating regularly with our members to explain where we are in the process and what progress is being made. If anyone has any questions please speak with one of the four wardens or another Vestry member.

The discernment process has made clear that the congregation wants its priest to be its spiritual leader and chief executive officer who works closely with and in conjunction with an active vestry and its operational teams.

Trinity accepts and realizes that our church cannot rely primarily on its priest to carry its work; it must be a collaborative relationship that has clearly defined roles for members of the parish and the priest consistent with the duties and responsibilities that are worked out together between the priest and the Vestry.

Minutes of the Vestry are available to any member of the parish – just ask Wendy for a copy. The Vestry will be operating with an executive committee so that weekly staff meetings are attended and the regular operations of the church are supervised on a daily basis. It is thought that this will be a good way for people to experience how the Vestry hopes to operate in the future. Most of the day-to-day operations of the church will be done by the teams as we have them now constituted but they may change as people find better ways to operate.

Jim Cassarino and the worship team have been arranging for supply priests and they are working very hard to make this coming season a meaningful time for all of us. We thank him and those working with him. Our lay pastoral care team also has a lot of responsibility during this time and we thank them for the critical and important role that they are doing for all of us.

The Vestry is meeting December 1st with the Bishop and Lynn Bates from his office for the first time to talk about what happens next for Trinity. We will be informing you what we learn and what is going to happen next in the process of our finding a new priest. The Vestry hopes that all of the work that has been done will help shorten the process considerably.

Being on the Vestry is always hard work. But during this transition time, the work is especially difficult. Please keep Trinity in your prayers.

Peace be with you,

The Vestry

Worship Service Times and Message from the Wardens

2011-11-25T11:52:00.011-05:00

The Worship Team has made the following arrangements for November and December:

Sunday, November 27 - 9:30am Rite II Eucharist (The Rev. Jere Berger)

Sunday, December 4 – 9:30am Rite I Eucharist (The Rev. Ran Chase)

Sunday, December 11 – 9:30am Rite II Eucharist (The Rev. Ran Chase)

Sunday, December 18 – 9:30am Rite I Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Saturday, December 24 – 7:00pm Christmas Eve Rite II Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Sunday, December 25 – 9:30am Christmas Eucharist (The Rev. Angie Emerson)

Message from Wardens

Following the Bishop’s meeting it became apparent that we could improve our communications with the congregation. This message is the first of our regular communications with you that will be in each edition of LOGOS. Very little occurs within the Vestry that is confidential, and copies of the minutes of our meetings will continue to be kept by Wendy, so please check those minutes or ask a vestry member if you have any questions. The only items that are confidential deal with contract negotiations, personnel matters, pastoral care issues or items of a personal nature about anyone connected with Trinity.

First we want to let you know that our final meeting for putting together our transformation plan with Larry Jensen and Tom Huebner will be November 17 at 5:00p.m. Anyone who wants to know more about the plan and what we are doing is invited to attend. Part of the plan is a new model of operating that is modeled after the recommendations found in Robinson’s book entitled “Changing the Conversation”. The vestry and congregation will be playing a very active role in what happens at Trinity as we move forward. We expect that our operational teams that we have set up will play a major role in what happens at Trinity.

These teams will be overseen by the vestry with participation by our next priest.

Two of our most critical teams are “worship” and “lay pastoral care”. These teams will play major roles during our transition time. The worship team is already actively involved in finding and scheduling our supply priests for Sunday service. The team has recommended that we, at least temporarily, have just one service at 9:30 to make the process easier and keep all of us together and aware of what is going on. Members of the vestry will be keeping you informed at announcement time during the services as well as through LOGOS. We ask you to give us input about this preliminary plan of one service and encourage you to pass on your comments to Jim Cassarino, who is the leader of this team, or to a member of the Vestry. We also greatly appreciate the work of our lay pastoral care team and their leader, Winnie Grace, in this very importance ministry.

The vestry will be meeting with the Bishop and Lynn Bates, Canon to the Ordinary, November 20th to talk about our future.

The vestry will be presenting the Bishop and Lynn with our plan and all of the criteria that we have put together regarding what we are looking for in our next priest so that we can begin a search process. We will soon be putting together a search committee; anyone who is interested in participating should submit their names to one of the two senior wardens – Marc Brierre or Aaron Tinsman. We are expecting a small committee of about five people with one person from the vestry leading the committee, so not very one who wants to will be able to participate. But, we will be keeping everyone well informed about the process and our thoughts. We want to let everyone know that we have put together our information based upon much work striving to get input from all of our members of the congregation and synthesizing that material. Even our plan of having the vestry focus on our operations while having a separate search committee has been in response to input from members of the congregation. After we meet with the Bishop and Lynn all of the material that we provide them will be available through Wendy. If you want to offer other input, please feel free to do so.

Vestry meetings are open to everyone unless we have something that will require executive session. We will have a brief period during the meeting to listen to members and anyone may remain with us while we deal with the issues of Trinity. Our next vestry meeting is November 10 at 6:30.

Adios, Adieu, Godspeed

2011-11-07T21:25:00.000-05:00

This is my lost posting; once up, I am removing myself from access to the blog. Future submissions must go to Joanne and Tom.

May God bless us and keep us,
may God make God's face to shine upon us,
may God be gracious to us for ever more.

Lent 4A

2011-04-10T13:00:00.000-04:00

Lent 4A • 3 April 2011

Judith Schenck, an Episcopal priest in Montana and also a vowed solitary living in her monastery of the Transfiguration, tells the following story:

Eddie was the extrovert in the community for the disabled in the assisted living unit. He always plunked himself down right in the middle of where the action was – in a chair by the mailboxes, at the entrance to the dining room, or right in front of the TV in the sitting room.

He knew everyone by name. “Good morning Miss Liddy. Your knees must be hurting you today.” “Hello there, Harry. Lydia was looking for you, and, my, but she was mad.” “Hello, Maxine, you got a letter today. Maybe it’s from that son of yours.” “Watch out, Charlie, someone spilled water there, and the floor might be slick.”

Eddie was blind. He was born that way. But he didn’t miss a trick. He saw more with his blindness than most of us see with our two good eyes. He saw with his ears, and his gut, and his heart. Sometimes “blind” is not really blind and “seeing” is not really sight.

+

The gospel reading this morning brings us one of the most important and best-constructed chapters of the gospel of John. Facing a man blind from birth and, as a result, used to begging to live, Jesus’ disciples ask who is responsible for this man’s misfortune. They decide it is because he and his parents are sinners because in their day and time physical handicap or illness, and poverty were understood to be punishment for sin.

The ‘signs and miracles’ that Jesus performs midst the poor causes great impact on them and consequently they become reasons for controversy. Those against his movement see in Jesus’ healings simply the work of a healer. His disciples, however, understand in them all their liberating and salvific work. But these works are not just those that heal human limitations but also those that open up the dignity of all people. The one who recovers his vision discovers that his problem was not a punishment from God for the sins of his forebears nor a terrible test of destiny. He is someone who passes from desperation to faith and discovers in Jesus the prophet, the anointed one of God. His problem, a physical limitation, had been converted into a terrible social and religious mark. But the problem was not his visual limitation but the terrible weight of distain that his culture had imposed on him. Jesus liberates him from the insufferable weight of social marginalisation and leads him to a community that will accept him for who he is without worrying about etiquette that social prejudices had imposed on him.

Indeed, instead of punishing the blind man, Jesus restores his sight. To liberation from a distorted and damaging religious perspective Jesus adds the elimination of physical and spiritual blindness. In the course of the discussion that takes place in the gospel narrative, the formerly blind man affirms himself as a full person, and he opens up to believe in Jesus. The leaders of the people, the Pharisees, try to deny the events by every possible means in several ways. First, since the cure takes place on the sabbath, they claim that the law is not observed. Therefore, what has happened does not come from God and Jesus, the performer of the deed, is a sinner. Then they say that perhaps the beggar was never really blind. Even the testimony of his parents cannot convince them. The Pharisees insist he deny the very gift of sight he has been given and renounce the giver. But since he assures them that Christ must be from God, they expel him from the premises and his community. ‘You are steeped in sin from your birth and you are giving us lectures?,’ they fume.

The blind man sees the matter differently. He starts with the only thing he knows, his own experience. He states, ‘I was blind and now I see.’ The opponents become progressively hardened and aggressively interrogate the man who has been healed, rather than celebrate the restoration of his sight. Seeing them so preoccupied by what has happened, the former blind man sarcastically asks them, ‘Do you also want to become his disciples?’

What has the opponents so bent out of shape is that this former beggar who used to spend his days sitting and holding his hand out for alms, now stands up as their equal. Not only does he dare to be their equal, he dares to argue with them. They can no longer oppress him. What becomes most pointed in this exchange is the spiritual vision of the blind man and the blindness of his and Jesus’ opponents. The former blind man understands who Jesus is, whereas the leaders are blind to the manifestation of the Messiah. The blind man becomes a child of the light (which the Prologue to this gospel promises to all who believe in Christ) and his opponents children of darkness.

+

The gospel clearly invites one to consider the source of suffering but I am going to put that theme aside for another day. Instead, I want to return to the story with which I began that describes someone who lives in community and takes care of those around him despite his physical limitation.

Judith Schenck states: ‘Some of us have blindness of heart, and that is a terrible blindness. The blind of heart can’t love another beyond a superficial level and usually can't even love themselves. The blind of heart often live lives corroded with addictions to material things, possessions, and work, to cover up the empty hole.

‘And worst of all is blindness of the soul, which wraps all the rest of life in gloomy darkness.’

She then asks: What kind of blindness lives inside you?

That is a hard question but she leaves us with hope: Jesus notices our blindness. Jesus sees. Jesus invites us to see. Jesus invites us to see with our very blind eyes, with our wounds and brokenness. Jesus uses our weaknesses as grace.

Schenck says: We look at our physical and mental blindness as a curse. And indeed Jesus does heal the blindness. Yet at the same time, the blindness is a door to grace. It is the sick who need the doctor. It is the blind who need to see. It is we who need the redemption, the transfiguration, the Burning Light.

Jesus plays a lot with the concept of blindness. There is an upside-down turning pirouette between the sighted that are blind and the blind that see. Jesus is like Copernicus, saying that things are not as they appear: the world is not flat, the earth is not the center around which all else revolves, and what we think is true often is not. The sighted are blind and the blinded see.

Schenck gives us a new image of what happens to the man in the gospel: The blind man was given Jesus Eyes. When we truly see, we are given new eyes, new insight, new vision, new understanding. Jesus Eyes are not like the flat-seeing, self-centered world around us. Jesus Eyes are world shattering and paradigm changing. Jesus Eyes are often unwelcome and threatening. It can be lonely and frightening to have Jesus Eyes. There is a cost to Jesus Eyes. It always brings the cross, and with the cross comes transfiguration. God’s love is the laser light that cuts away our cataract blindness.

Her meditation asks us: What needs to be turned upside down in your world? Where do you pass by when you need to stop and see Jesus? Where in your own brokenness can God's glory be made manifest? How can you use your own weaknesses to become holy? And how can you see what is holy in what is broken around you, in yourself, and in others?

I’ll take her questions one step further and ask where in our common life here at Trinity do we need to see with Jesus Eyes? Where in our common life do we need to cut away our figurative blindness to see new ways of being, ministering to one another and to the world outside our doors? Where do we need to have new vision and most important, not be afraid of where that might lead us?

Having considered those questions, we can then say as does Schenck: Let us pray for Jesus Eyes. Let us pray to see Jesus in each face we meet, each life we pass in this life. Let us pray to see God. Let us worship with our lives and make God manifest, as it says in the hymn: “God in man made manifest.”1

END NOTE
1 This entire last part draws full excerpts from her sermon at http://www.episcopalchurch.org/82478_95231_ENG_HTM.htm

From the Archbishop of the Anglican Communion in Japan

2011-03-14T12:20:00.000-04:00

Statement from The Most Revd Nathaniel Makoto Uematsu, the Archbishop of the Nippon Sei Ko Kai (The Anglican Communion in Japan):

On the 11th of March at 2:46pm, the biggest earthquake ever to hit Japan struck just off the coast of the Tohoku region. This caused a tsunami and fires that brought massive devastation to a very wide area. This unimaginably strong earthquake triggered an explosion at the Fukushima No.1 nuclear reactor. The people living in the area around that and the No. 2 reactor have been evacuated. The stories and images constantly broadcast by the media have left people lost for words, unable to describe the sheer scale of the unbelievable devastation caused by the earthquake, tsunami and fires.

We see homes devastated, whole towns that were swallowed by the tsunami, and houses that continue to burn because fire fighters are unable to reach both the properties and the people who were the victims of this catastrophe. With hearts filled with grief and helplessness we see people who are mourning their lost loved ones and others who search tirelessly for missing family members. There are so many who have lost their homes and possessions. Towns and villages were obliterated by the tsunami, everything was gone in a second.

Since the earthquake the Provincial office has worked very hard to find out about the people and the churches in Tohoku diocese. However, we could neither contact them by phone nor email. Only yesterday were we able to start to see a picture of the devastation in the affected areas. I had been most concerned that I could not contact the Bishop of Tohoku diocese [The Rt Revd John Hiromichi Kato], but on Saturday he rang me and I was able to find out more about what had happened to the churches in Sendai City.

Bp Kato explained that he himself had not been able to find out much about the other churches in the diocese of Tohoku. This was largely due to the fact that neither power supplies nor telephone lines had been restored in areas most badly hit by the tsunami. There is particular concern for two churches: Isoyama St Peter’s Church in Fukushima Prefecture and Kamaishi Shinai Church and the kindergarten in Iwate that were close to the sea. Priests have been frantically trying to confirm that their parishioners are safe. We also know that it is not only Tohoku diocese that has been affected, some churches in Kita Kanto diocese have been reported to have been damaged also.

Sendai Christchurch (the Cathedral church) is badly damaged and yesterday, while there were still so many aftershocks, the church carried out their first Sunday after Lent service in the diocesan office.

In many affected areas there are roadblocks but as for Tohoku diocese the church is planning to establish an emergency relief centre within the diocesan building. Bishop Kato will lead the efforts to respond to the crisis.

At a Provincial level I am working to establish a structure for responding to this unprecedented natural disaster as soon as possible. This will include providing relief and sourcing volunteers and funding to help with the restoration of the affected areas. I am also trying to find more accurate information about our church family and the relief efforts, and to communicate that information as quickly as possible.

What we can do right now, however, is pray. Prayer has power. I hope and request that you pray for the people who are affected, for those who have died and for their families. Pray for the people involved with the rescue efforts, and in particular pray for Tohoku and Kita Kanto dioceses and their priests and parishioners during this time of Lent.

I am grateful for all the many prayers and messages of support from throughout the world; from the Archbishop of Canterbury and other Churches.

Sunday in Jerusalem

2011-02-27T11:16:00.000-05:00

All I can think of is the Psalm 122 and 17th century English song, 'Pray for the peace of Jerusalem, they shall prosper who love her...' The city is so white because of a city-wide building ordinance that requires all buildings to be made of limestone. The weather has been gorgeous too.

Today a visit to Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Christianity's most holy site, and the Western Wall, Judaism's most holy site. Very, very powerful experiences. Worship this morning at Saint George's Anglican Cathedral...

This trip has been amazing and I am continually amazed to think I am a part of it.

Lots and lots of prayers for all of you and lots and lots of stories for when I get back.

Day one

2011-02-23T14:09:00.000-05:00

This trip will truly be a track race. Up bright and early, leaving the hotel at 7.45 and going until 6.00 when we arrive at the next spot.

The weather is absolutely gorgeous — 70 degrees and sunny. The Mediterranean water into which I got my feet is chilly but so nice to be able to say I have walked barefoot on the sand.

Today we went to Joppa, Caesarea Philippi (where there are the ruins of a theatre and hippodrome), Mount Carmel, Meggido where there is extensive archaeological work, including the water tunnel of King Ahab 187 steps down in the earth, hand hewn out of limestone, and then onto Mount Tabor, the Mount of Transfiguration from which one can see the valley of Meggido, the spot where supposedly Armageddon will occur.

Tonight we are at a kibbutz by the Sea of Galilee and tomorrow we will actually go out on it. We'll also go to the River Jordan where I intend to get some water for baptisms back home.

The group is 27 clergy people from across the country. I am the sole Episcopalian but there are several Methodists and Lutherans (Evangelical Lutheran Church of America) so I am not totally out of it.

Some interesting impressions — on the airplane trip over (LONG but even longer coming back), several times in the course of the flight the Orthodox Jewish men got up, put on their black coats over their prayer shawls), their black hats and took over the galley/lavatory area in the rear of the plane to pray. They would gather up a minion, close the curtains and pray for about ten minutes. At other times, they would stand in the aisle, prayer shawl over their head, like white ghosts in the dark of the night. It was kind of ethereal.

Our leader said tonight that everyone in the previous group got sick with one thing or another. I don't have time for that so truly hope I will stay healthy.

Prayers for all of you... if I could figure out how to load it up, I would post a photo... first, I cannot shrink it with the application on my iPad because the photo is too big and secondly, working in blogger on the iPad is not like being on the laptop. But at least I can send this off.

Last thing, a silly: all the instructions for blogger are in Hebrew. I can cope with Spanish and French instructions, I can even transliterate the Hebrew but I still don't understand what the word is.

Israel

2011-02-21T15:24:00.000-05:00

In the course of my trip to Israel, I will try to post on occasion, so stay tuned. Given that I will be doing this on my iPad, my posts may not have the same amount of graphics as usual because I am still figuring things out.

Christmas-tide Worship Schedule

2010-12-20T18:08:00.001-05:00

SERVICE SCHEDULE FOR CHRISTMAS-TIDE

CHRISTMAS EVE
4.00 PM: Family Service with Children's Pageant
8.30 PM: Musical Prelude
9.00 PM: The Christ Mass

CHRISTMAS DAY
10.00 AM: Holy Eucharist (in chapel)

CHRISTMAS I (26 December)
9.30 AM: Lessons and Carols with Holy Eucharist — ONE SERVICE ONLY

FEAST OF THE HOLY NAME (1 January)
10.00 AM: Holy Eucharist (chapel)

CHRISTMAS II (2 January)
8.00 AM: Holy Eucharist, traditional language
9.00 AM: Family Communion service (chapel)
10.00 AM: Holy Eucharist, contemporary language

FEAST OF THE EPIPHANY (Thursday, 6 January)
6.00 PM: Holy Eucharist (chapel)

Proper 10C

2010-07-12T10:24:00.002-04:00

If I were to say simply the words, good Samaritan, I bet most of you could recite the story back to me with all the details. And perhaps, even, if I were to ask you what the gist of the story is, you could come up with some good answers. Were we doing a sermon the base community way (which, by the way, the brothers at Weston Priory in Weston Vermont model), I would stop talking and let the question flow… ‘What is the story of the Good Samaritan about?’ Maybe I should...!

Moses wrote, ‘This law is not beyond your strength or beyond your reach. It is not in heaven. It is not beyond the seas. No, it is very near to you. It is in your mouth, it is in your heart.’

The law of which Moses speaks and which appears in the story of the Good Samaritan is one which Rite One goers hear every Sunday: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. Love your neighbor as yourself. The lawyer recites these verses to Jesus when asked what is written in the law? Jesus says he has answered correctly. But there is more to merely answering a question.

And that is what the rest of the story seems to be about. The rest of the story is about what it means to live the answer of loving God and neighbour from within, from the heart, not just from the mind.

Moving from understanding intellectually the law which demands that we care for and love our neighbour to living this law out in our hearts is part of our life-long journey. It is not something we do overnight. But over time we understand what it means to care for our neighbour because doing so is what we are called to do as baptised persons.

It seems strange that a story that would have been so threatening to Jesus’ listeners would have become one of Christianity’s favourites. It seems strange that a story that appears only once in the gospels, in the gospel according to Luke, should so capture people’s imaginations. But it has and, for a multitude of reasons, the story of the Good Samaritan clearly is one of the most well-known and popular stories of the New Testament.

+

A lawyer, otherwise presented as a Torah expert, engages Jesus in a debate. Perhaps the conversation is a test of Jesus’ credibility. Richard Swanson points out that most interpretations of this scene focus on the seeming self-justification of the Torah expert. However, he is not attempting to justify himself. He is attempting to find out how he can be ‘strictly observant’ to the dictates of the Torah. In this sense, a person who is observant, ‘aims his or her whole life so that it adds up to a witness to the stable and orderly love of God.’ Moreover, the lawyer is not seeking to justify himself, he wishes to be justified, that is, to recognise God’s grace as a free gift.

Lastly, Swanson reminds us that this scene takes place between two Jews who are familiar with a Jewish text. In this case, then, ‘be justified,’ ought to be translated as ‘be strictly observant,’ meaning to ‘live a life that is shaped by Torah, a life which points to the goodness of God and to the possibility of safety. ‘For Jewish faith the issue of “justifying himself” does not come up because Jewish faith is, and has always been, quite clear that God’s gracious choice comes first.’ As Swanson succinctly notes, ‘This changes everything.’

In this case, the Torah expert is seeking a proper interpretation, halakha. To do so is a honourable activity and not one of antagonism. So his first question is pretty simple: What do you do to inherit eternal life? Jesus understands that this is an easy question and throws the question back to the Torah expert: What do you find in Torah? The Torah expert answers with the second half of the Shema from Deuteronomy 6: ‘Hear O Israel, You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your strength, with all your mind, with all your soul… and you shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ He has answered correctly. Realising he is dealing with a sharp person, the Torah expert next asks, Who is my neighbour? Now the conversation is morphing into a catechism class or a philosophy class. Obviously the neighbour is someone who lives nearby. But what about those who don’t live nearby but who are still neighbours? So that is where Jesus launches into the story.

Again, remember this conversation takes place between two Jewish characters. The people who walk by the injured man have a ritual obligation to avoid corpse-uncleanliness. They make a conscious choice based on the value system they know. The choice is painful but easy. For the stability of the world, they cannot risk defilement by touching this now unclean, apparently dead man.

Then Jesus inserts a masterful complication: ‘Along comes a Samaritan…,’ referring to yet another unclean collection of people. Surely the Torah master knows he has met his match. When Jesus asks him ‘who was the neighbour?’ he can only answer as he does, ‘the one who showed compassion’. And Jesus can only answer, ‘Go and do likewise’ because in doing, the Torah expert will show himself to be an observant Jew. (1)

Coming then at this gospel with the understanding that the Torah expert was not trying to trap or trick Jesus but was truly trying to understand better how he could live according to God’s desire for stability in the world, the question remains: Who is our neighbour? And how do we respond to our neighbour?

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The story is not just about showing compassion to the ‘unclean’ and outsider — it is pure and simply about showing compassion. Who has shown compassion? Is it

the priest who befriended people in jail while serving a three-month sentence for civil disobedience for a cause in which he deeply believed

the congregation that reached out to an unknown woman undergoing extreme chemo in a hospital 400 miles away from her home by bringing to the hospital a huge icechest and various containers, proceeding to produce an entire feast for her and the next day bringing over three blankets to keep her warm

the man who stopped on a hot highway to offer a stranded motorist water for her car’s radiator that had boiled over

people who spend a Saturday hosting a community luncheon to those who haven’t had anything to eat for several days

the two who scrambled over the rubble of the collapsed house in Port au Prince the night of January 12th to bring a flashlight to their neighbour because she was outside in the dark on the ground, unable to move because of her injuries

Who has shown compassion? I am sure you can generate your own examples.

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Hymn 602, Chereponi, otherwise known as ‘Jesu, Jesu,’ a Ghanaian melody from the early 1960s, defines well for us who our neighbour is. In the second verse, the original text says:

Neighbours are rich folk and poor,
 neighbours are black, brown and white, 
neighbours are nearby and far away.

Then the hymn tells us how we should respond to them:

These are the ones we should serve, 
these are the ones we should love. 
All are neighbours to us and you.

Finally, the hymn states how we are transformed:

Loving puts us on our knees, 
serving us though we are slaves, 
This is the way we should live with you.

The chorus reiterates all these themes:

Jesu, Jesu, fill us with your love, 
Show us how to serve the neighbours we have in you.
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The only thing that needs to be added is to remember that we never know when the person we help is Christ in front of us. If we respond to each person as Christ, for each person abides in Christ and Christ in them, then we, too, will find ourselves unexpectedly reaching out to others we never expected… and likewise, being cared for by unexpected people. If we do that, then we will find that the plumb line of compassion in our lives will always hang straight. And in that compassion, we will find the energy and presence of the kingdom of God come near, as we love God and neighbour alike.

END NOTE
(1) Richard W. Swanson, Provoking the Gospel of Luke (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 2006), 162-67.

Proper 9C

2010-07-12T10:23:00.001-04:00

Proper 9C • 4 July 2010

Thirty or so miles down the road in little Plymouth, Vermont, a crowd of people is gathering for the annual Fourth of July observance. It wasn’t until after purchasing property just up the road from the historic village that I realised that Calvin Coolidge was born in Plymouth, sworn into the presidency upon the occasion of Warren Harding’s death and ultimately was buried in the Plymouth Notch Cemetery. Nor did I know that his birthday is July 4th (he is the only president to have that birth date) and that every year, the White House sends a wreath to be placed on a deceased president’s grave on his birthday. I learned all these things 18 years ago and whenever I can (i.e., when the Fourth does not land on a Sunday), attend the ceremony.

The noon ceremony is one of those slices of Americana: tourists and locals gather in front of the summer White House and then process the short distance from there across Route 100A to the cemetery. They follow a rag-tag colour guard, mostly Viet Nam vets, though when I first started attending there were some Korean and WWII vets. Members of Vermont’s National Guard also march.

Once across Rte 100A and in front of the cemetery, the participants go up onto the little knoll where one sees four tall gravestones. The only thing that distinguishes Coolidge’s tombstone from the others is the presidential seal etched into the granite. The colour guard stops, and the representative from the Vermont National Guard places the floral wreath on a stand in front of the president’s tomb. In years past, a local member of the clergy would speak… longer than any of us wanted to hear (!), but now the Adjutant General or like person just says a couple of words, containing a good quote from Silent Cal. Up until the late 1990s, John Coolidge, Cooldige’s oldest child, attended; after his death, grandchildren and great grandchildren show up.

At the end of the fifteen-minute ceremony, two buglers play echo taps. Even though I expect that song, every year it brings tears to my eyes. And, yes, even participating in this small slice of Americana reminds me of one of my identities.

+

When the Fourth of July falls on a Sunday, the preacher and liturgist is faced with a conundrum: do we observe the Fourth or do we continue with the Sunday lectionary? I am sort of a ‘strict liturgist’ here; the Sunday lectionary takes precedence over feast days like the Fourth, which is only one of two national holidays that are included in our church calendar (Thanksgiving being the other). Hence, we hear the Sunday readings as they fall in their course. But we have also made note of today through our hymnody and the choral anthem written by the 18th-century US composer, William Billings. You can call it trying to have the best of two worlds.

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Back to what I said about one of my identities… I don’t dwell on the fact that I am a national of the United States, though I am reminded of it every time I travel outside of the country and have to show my passport, aware of how easy it is for me coming from here, and then as I go about because I look and sound different. I do, however, tend to spend more time thinking about my other major identity, one given to me but one that is not automatic the way my nationality is: that is, a Christian, a follower of Jesus. That identity I have chosen over and over again. That identification is a conscious one. With that identification, comes the responsibility of sharing and there I wonder how well I do it or, for that matter, any of us do. Sharing – in church-speak, the dreaded word of evangelism, which simply comes from the Greek root from which also dervies our word, gospel. As I remind my mother often, evangelism is quite a different entity from evangelical.

+

Luke’s gospel, for the second time, directs us to be evangelists whose message is simple: ‘The kingdom of God is near.’ The first time Luke sends people out, he chooses twelve — the apostles — and gives them power and authority over all demons, to cure diseases, to preach the kingdom of God and to heal. The first go-round in Luke, Jesus tells the disciples, ‘Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money — not even an extra tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.’ Off the twelve go, preaching the gospel and healing everywhere.

A chapter later, Jesus sends out seventy (or seventy-two, depending on the translation used). If we go with seventy, it represents for Israel historically and traditionally the number of nations. Seventy also represents the number of persons involved in translating the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek. Most important, it represents the seed and sanction for the continuing evangelism portrayed in Luke’s second book, the Book of Acts.

But something interesting happens in Jesus’ instructions to the seventy. He makes clear it is not the evangelist who barges in, imposing his or her message on someone unsuspecting. It is not the evangelist who holds the power, who holds the person captive. Instead, Jesus states emphatically that it is the evangelist who is a guest in someone else’s space. The evangelist is the one who is received — or not received — by the host. The evangelist is the one who listens first before proclaiming.

Notice also the utter vulnerability of the evangelist. There is nothing of the armed camp of Christendom riding roughshod over the supposed pagans. Instead, the evangelist is stripped down to the bare minimum of possessions — so stripped down that he or she has to rely on the hospitality of the very persons to whom he or she wishes to proclaim the good news of God’s love and salvation through Christ. (1)

This picture of the evangelist is a very different one than the one with which I grew up — you know, the Billy Graham sort, standing in a stadium issuing an altar call for people to come up and accept Jesus as their personal Lord and Saviour. In some ways, that picture is almost too easy.

Perhaps that is why the image that Luke offers — one of utter vulnerability and humility — appeals to me more. The fact that the evangelist is called to respect the cultural traditions and norms of the people in whose space she or he enters, the fact that the evangelist listens, and then proclaims the message of God’s grace, appeal. And buried deep down inside of Luke’s message is also one of reconciliation. This deeper message of reconciliation is perhaps harder to get at since the gospel tells the apostles they are to shake the dust from their feet if they are not received. But that is all they do. They do not shove the message down people’s throats.

Now some may criticise me for not being aggressive enough… for not going out to bring in all the lost souls. Forgive me if my approach does not seem forceful enough. Perhaps there is room for all of us. There are those of us who would rather woo people toward God, just as God woos us to know God. Bear with me as I speak of an evangelistic approach that is non-threatening, non-invasive.

What can evangelism mean? Nothing extravagant, nothing coercive, nothing invasive.
What can evangelism mean? Something caring, something gentle, something that will let others know the kingdom of God is near. Something that conveys the message that ‘God loves you.’

Now that’s evangelism! Not a pollyana sort — but witnessing to a deep, down abiding faith that God loves you. And the power to remind gently someone of God’s love for them, too.

A gentle evangelism is like the witness of a Salvadoran woman I once met who told me that when she was shoved by someone on the crowded bus, she didn’t lash out with unkind words as would have been justified. Instead, she remembered her baptismal promise to be a reconciler and kept her mouth shut… already a start.

Indeed, being reconcilers in this world is a powerful form of evangelism and one that I think we can do well. It certainly is part of our baptismal covenant: to carry on Christ’s reconciliation in and to the world.

That reconciliation means that we love those who offend us anyway, regardless of how they treat us because they are also God’s beloved children. Tell others of God’s love for them, with no conditions, no strings attached other than they are already God’s beloved… even if they have wandered far away from God or never knew God. Maybe you have been the recipient of that message, that God loves you anyway and always has.

One of the stories that emerged from the great floods of 1998 concerns an 85 year-old man who was rescued from his swamped trailer up in Bristol. During the whole ordeal of being carried out in EMT personnel’s arms, he kept up a steady stream of bantering. He allowed the press to interview him, joking all the way. He kidded around with the ambulance crew as they took him to the hospital to be checked out. But when all the people left, and the only person standing by him was an EMT, one of my brother priests, the old Vermonter began to cry. In his tears, he said that all he owned was in that trailer. And worse, his cat was somewhere in there, and he was afraid it had drowned. The priest covered up his EMT badge, leaned over and said quietly into the old man’s ear, ‘You know, God loves you.’

That priest is Don Morris, the interim who served here before my arrival. What a gentle but strong example! We all can learn from him and others who are not afraid to speak out of God’s love.

How do you proclaim to others that God loves them? When was the last time you invited someone to come and see, to join you here for church? When was the last time you claimed being an evangelist?

We inhabit many worlds but give thanks to God that we live in a place where we can proclaim our faith without fear and share it with others. So, let’s not squander this gift. Go out and tell others that God loves them. And then bring them here so we can join them on their journey to know this amazing God. It’s all a part of who we are… followers of Jesus.

END NOTE
(1) These paragraphs are based, in part, on an article by Bill Wylie-Kellerman, ‘Singing the Lord’s Song to people and powers’ in The Witness, Vol. 75, No 1, January 1992, 8-10.

Proper 5C

2010-06-06T22:14:00.002-04:00

Out in internet land (where I spend far too much time), a colleague asked about this morning’s readings: How come he didn’t remember ever having preached on them? The answer is simple: depending on when we celebrate Easter determines where we pick up in the lectionary cycle for this long season of Pentecost that stretches from last week through to the end of the month of November. Looking at my preaching records back to 1994, we have not started this early in the third-year cycle of readings. So if you are not particularly familiar with the story of the widow of Zarephath, do not despair!

Since we are going to be spending the rest of the year hearing from the gospel according to Luke, I thought it would be interesting to focus this morning on the story from the First Book of the Kings, since it is probably less familiar. The end of the first book contains stories about the prophets Elijah and Elisha. Herbert O’Driscoll describes the setting thusly: ‘We are in the Israel of nearly a thousand years before the birth of Christ. Life is almost totally rural. Small villages and towns, few and far between, are fortified. The rule of local kings is unpredictable and tends to weigh on the backs of the people. Above all, there is great tension in this region between two kinds of reality, two ways of living, two views of understanding how the universe works. In the language of the time, there is a war between competing gods. These gods have names. One is called Ba’al and the other Yahweh. One is a god of nature; the other is the God of history. To believe in Yahweh is to believe that there cannot be any worship of other gods in one’s life.’(1)

The story we hear this morning begins with a widow who initially feeds Elijah out of her poverty: she only has a little meal and oil. However, she recognises that it is a prophet in her midst so she gives her all to him. God provides abundantly and she, Elijah and her household even eat for many days.

Suddenly, the scene shifts and the woman, having escaped one disaster, famine, now faces another: her son is no longer breathing. She accuses Elijah’s presence for this turn of events: somehow with his staying with her, some unknown sin has been brought to the present and it is on account of this sin that her son has died. Her response is as common now as then: when tragedy strikes, people think that God is punishing them.

Elijah does not defend himself. Instead, he takes the son, lays him on his own bed and goes as far as to ask God if his presence really was the cause behind the child’s death: ‘O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon this widow with whom I am staying, by killing her son?’ Elijah questions this theology and shows, through God’s actions, that this theology is bankrupt. He combines prayer and ritual and somehow God hears him and brings the child back to life.

The widow then changes her opinion of the prophet (and God). She utters a confession that witnesses both to the power of the word of God and its mediation through the ‘man of God.’ The activity of both prophet and God bring about the restoration of the son. The story climaxes with the widow’s profession of faith: ‘Now I know that you are a man of God and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.’

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There are many ways to approach this story but since the whole question of why is there suffering and why it happens to good people is on my mind, I am going with that.

The injustice of snatching a son away from a widow demands comment (insofar as answers to such questions are never readily available). It raises some of the questions people ask God, such as, “Why were we created if this is what happens to us?”

Questions of loss—be it of a child, a dream, a hope—are raised by this portion of the biblical passage. Certainly the sudden illness and possible death of the son seems a cruel turn of events for a woman whose identity is found through him. How many women know the difficulties of the widow of Zeraphath? How many women know what it is like to raise a child single-handedly? How many women know the despair that comes when the well-being of the person or thing dearest to their heart is suddenly threatened?

Oh, the prophet revives her son. This he does, and mother and child are reunited. This is a happy ending to a potentially tragic story, but how does one approach such a story in the context of real life when the prophet does not miraculously appear and bring back to life one’s beloved? How does one speak to that sort of pain which demands answers when one knows that one cannot find them? Like the widow, are we not tempted to say: ‘What have you against me, O man of God?’

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I think of these questions because in two weeks I will be part of a team who will be spending four days with the clergy and their families of the Episcopal Church of Haiti. During this four-day period, called, Strength for the Journey (Kouraj pou vwayaj la), we will begin to address three main topics: the human condition, life as a journey, healing and moving forward. On the second day, we will discuss briefly questions of theodicy:

Why do bad things happen to good people?
Why do the innocent/children/elderly suffer?
Where is God in all of this?
Does God care about me? Is suffering a test? a punishment?
Where is hope?

Where do you stand on these questions? Do you think God makes people suffer in order to test their faith (that is the Job story)? Do you think God punishes people for their sins by making them suffer? This line of thinking always seems to come to the fore after some disaster — people preached this post 2001-earthquakes in El Salvador, post 2005-Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and now in Haiti. Do you think God abandons us in our suffering? Do you think God accompanies us in our suffering? How much is suffering part of the human condition, that is, our finitude, the fact that we are mortal? How much of suffering is related to the choices we make? Some of choices can be labelled as sinful insofar as they do not respect God’s creation — be it people, animals or the earth. Where is hope when we are confronted with a disaster of inconceivable proportions?

I am still working on a theology of suffering. My heart has a two-word answer when confronted with suffering: God weeps. Expanded: God weeps with us. The implications of this statement are great: what I am saying is that God does not have utter control over the earth, over what happens on it and to it any more than God has control over us. My statement clearly goes against any concept of predestination, e.g., that the people of Haiti were predestined to suffer such devastating loss and there was nothing they could do about it.

My belief does imply that we human beings do have a lot of options — whether we choose life or death, of ourselves, our families, our societies and our world. This past week, my heart has ached seeing the photographs of the birds that are so gunked up in oil from the Deepwater disaster that they are unrecognisable. The life of a brown pelican or a laughing gull should be as precious as one of ours. And, so, we have to make drastic changes in our way of living. We have to make choices that favour life. I do not think in this example of the disaster happening in the Gulf of Mexico that God is punishing us for sin. We brought this one upon ourselves.

This sort of example is perhaps easier to confront than those where choice does not play into question, such as when an infant dies or when people’s worlds come undone through earthquake, hurricane, flood, or war. We are left with more questions than answers in these moments, with sighs too deep for words.

What I do know in my heart is that God is with us in the tomb. God is with us in the suffering. God is not going to take that suffering away from us, through sometimes that suffering will disappear through reasons we cannot explain which we may well call miraculous. I know in my heart that the accompaniment of others through prayer, communion, tears, talking, and (as contradictory as this might seem to what I have said above) handing over that which I cannot control to God, while taking responsibility for that which I can control, that somehow I can bear some of the suffering that comes my way. And I know that I need the community of faith for prayer and support.

In the bottom of my soul, I know that if I go to the depths of the sea God is there with me, if I go to the heights of the mountains, God is there with me, that wherever I go, God is there.

We may not have a clear answer to the ageless question of why there is suffering but we can pray that God be with us in that uncertainty.

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Saint Patrick’s words sum it up well:

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger. (Hymn 370)

END NOTES
(1) Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Among Us, Year C, Vol. 3 (Toronto, ONT: Anglican Book Centre, 1998), 16.
(2) Terence E. Fretheim, Proclamation 6: Pentecost 1 (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1997), 28-29.

Trinity Sunday

2010-06-06T22:10:00.002-04:00

Jesus asked his disciples, Who do people say that I am? And his disciples answered and said, ‘Some say you are John the Baptist returned from the dead; others say Elias, or other of the old prophets.’ And Jesus answered and said, ‘But who do you say that I am?’

Peter answered and said, ‘You are the Logos, existing in the Father as His rationality and then, by an act of His will, being generated, in consideration of the various functions by which God is related to his creation, but only on the fact that Scripture speaks of a Father, and a Son, and a Holy Spirit, each member of the Trinity being coequal with every other member, and each acting inseparably with and interpenetrating every other member, with only an economic subordination within God, but causing no division which would make the substance no longer simple.’

And Jesus answering, said, ‘What?’

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This joke that has been circulating this past week on the internet amongst preachers scratching their heads as they prepare their sermon on the Trinity, sums up the difficulty of articulating that which stands at the centre of our faith, the doctrine of the Trinity. It uses all the highfaluting words and images that theologians over the centuries have come up with leaving us with the same response as Jesus, ‘What?’

So I turn to some of my favourite theologians. Even they struggle to articulate this mystery. Leonardo Boff, an eminent Brazilian theologian says quite simply of the Trinity: ‘The Holy Trinity is a sacramental mystery. As sacramental, it can be understood progressively, as the Trinity communicates itself and the understanding heart assimilates it. As mystery, it will always remain the Unknown in all understanding, since the mystery is the Father himself, the Son himself and the Holy Spirit itself. And the mystery will last for all eternity.’ (1)

Nonetheless , I came across a story that can at least give us something to chew on while we love the mystery of the Trinity.

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A 2000 novel, Chang and Eng by Darin Strauss, can provide a concrete example of the flow of energy, the give-and-take that happens between the three persons of the Trinity who are, at the same time, one.

Chang and Eng, are probably the world’s most famous Siamese or conjoined twins for the simple reason that their lives were exploited from the time they were little boys. Born in Thailand (known as Siam then) in 1811 on a squalid houseboat in the Mekong River, Chang and Eng were initially taken away from their parents to be entertainment for the King of Siam. From there, after a short spell home, they became, for all practical purposes, slaves to a hawker by the name of Hunter who brought them to New York City in the 1830s. When P.T. Barnum expressed interest in their becoming one of his acts, they struck out on their own. Eventually they settled down in Wilkesboro North Carolina and married sisters. The two of them fathered twenty-one children and lived through the Civil War. In 1874 Chang died first, Eng following him several hours later. They were 63.

Throughout the novel, Darin Strauss plays with the ideas of individuality, personhood, autonomy and unity. Most of the time he refers to the five-to-seven-inch cartilaginous bond between the twins as the ‘band.’ Choosing to narrate the book from one twin’s point of view, he uses Eng—the more articulate, more introverted twin to speak about what it is like to live no more than seven inches from his brother.

No one knows how to call the twins. Most of the time they are called the ‘double-boy.’ When people are not calling them the ‘monster,’ they refer to the two as ‘it.’ Chang, in his less-than-perfect English, speaks of the two as, ‘Eng and I is happy.’ In this case, the grammatical mistake doesn’t seem to be so grave. Though people may think they are clumsy, the two are quite graceful. Eng describes one event that happens while they are sailing from Thailand to America:

Chang and I, never out of step, fretted our way through the labyrinth of men and ropes and masts and rails. I could hear my brother almost chuckling through his heavy breathing when suddenly we came to an open hatch in the deck.

What happened next was as natural as birdsong in a North Carolinian wood, but it left the sailors openmouthed, as if we had lifted the very ship in our hands. When conjoined people are running and suddenly there’s nothing underfoot but twenty feet of uninterrupted air, a moment’s disharmony—when one twin hesitates and his brother jumps—could mean death.

But it is different with Chang and me. Our intrinsic appreciation of one another’s body creates a spark in our shared blood that smoothes differences and brings the universe into our own current.

The two of us vaulted together with the grace and harmony of a bounding deer and its reflection in a still pond, clearing the open hatchway in unison and landing safely on the far side to continue our run. A look over our shoulders revealed that our pursuer was standing before the hatch, wheezing and resting his hands on his knees.

As Straus makes clear in the novel, though the two share a stomach, they are fully autonomous. Though they move as one, they are two. Chang’s thoughts are as unknown to Eng as his are to Chang’s. As Eng says early on in the book, ‘Nailing down a personality is as easy as pinning marmalade to a wall’—even when it’s someone to whom one is attached permanently (6). (2)

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And so it is with the Trinity. We run the risk of falling into two theological traps when we try to speak of the Trinity. The first, which is common in the West, stresses the one nature of God at the expense of the reality of the persons; the second, common in the East, emphasizes the distinct reality of the persons but does not articulate the oneness of God.

How do we speak of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit and make sense of it? What do we mean when we say, The three in one and one in three, the holy and undivided Trinity?

Perhaps the honest thing to do is admit that it is a mystery. And perhaps it helps to remember the 14th century Meister Eckhart’s wonderful description of the Trinity: ‘When God laughs at the soul, and the soul laughs back at God, the persons of the Trinity are begotten. To speak in hyperbole, when the Father laughs to the Son, and the Son laughs back to the Father, that laughter gives pleasure, that pleasure gives joy, that joy gives love, and that love gives the persons of the Trinity of which the Holy Spirit is one.’ (3)

One thing is sure—when we come together for eucharist, the Three in One and One in Three are with us and fill our being. As they dance together, their energy flowing from one person to the next, round and round until it is indistinguishable, let our souls be filled with their joy and love, and share in the holy dance.

END NOTES

Leonardo Boff, Trinity and Society (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1988), 237.
Darin Strauss, Chang and Eng (New York: Penguin/Plume, 2000), 160.
Paul S. Fiddes, Participating in God: A Pastoral Doctrine of the Trinity (Knoxville: WJKP, 2000), 12.

Feast of the Pentecost

2010-05-24T12:01:00.000-04:00

Seven weeks after the Paschal candle that stands in the centre of the church was blessed and lit for the first time at the Easter Vigil, we gather once again, one last time, around it to celebrate the Feast of the Pentecost. While it is the still the same candle (albeit shorter) and the flame is the same as before, our focus has shifted from the candle representing the light of Christ breaking back into the world after the depth and solemnity of Holy Week to its reminding us today of the gift of the Holy Spirit as the Spirit breaks into our ordinary lives.

Pentecost is a multi-layered feast day. First, it celebrates the Holy Spirit, represented by all the red we have in church. Red, the flames of the Spirit, uncontainable, filling and releasing the faithful at once, as ecstatic dances fill and raise their participants with energy and hope. Spirit… according to Webster’s, it is that which is ‘the animating principle in life; an attitude or principle that pervades thought, stirs one to action; a vigorous, courageous or optimistic attitude; vigorous sense of membership in a group; to encourage; urge on or stir up.’

The Spirit, which flowed over the waters of chaos at the moment of creation; the Spirit, which God breathed into each living creature at the moment of their creation; the Spirit, that animating force that distinguishes the animate from the inanimate, the living from the dead; the Spirit who lives in each one of us and in whom we have our being.

On that fateful day, fifty days after Easter, the Spirit descended upon the disciples, inspiring them individually and collectively to embody the ministry that Jesus had begun. Jesus had already commissioned them with the Holy Spirit on several occasions—first when, on Easter evening, he breathed on them and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit,’ and again at the moment of the Ascension when he instructed them to spread the gospel to the corners of the earth. But in the moment of linguistic profusion and proclamation, something new took place.

Eugene Peterson interprets the arrival of the Holy Spirit in these images: ‘Without warning, there was a sound like a strong wind, gale force—no one could tell where it came from. It filled the whole building. Then, like wildfire, the Holy Spirit spread through their ranks….’

With the descent of the Spirit on Jesus’ followers, the world changed. The church came into being—a process about which we have heard throughout Easter-tide through the readings from the Book of Acts.

The church began in the passionate blaze of the Spirit, when boundaries of languages and cultures were transcended for a time and all heard the good news in their own language. The consuming fervour of the disciples communicated itself to all who encountered them and allowed for the remarkable spread of the gospel throughout the known world.

So, then, Pentecost also commemorates the birth of the church—symbolised in our church by ‘Everyone’s birthday’ cakes, which delight us all at coffee hour.

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We always assume that these great feasts, Easter, Ascension Day and Pentecost, were joyous, happy occasions for the disciples, who understood right away what was going on. I can’t help but wonder if the disciples had moments in the headiness of following Jesus and being part of a new movement, when the excitement threatened to overwhelm them, when the pull of the newness and power of Spirit might not have also terrified them.

Their world was changing upside down every time they turned around. First it was the foot washing and the last supper where their master told them they were his friends and he was going to be leaving them. Then there was this bread and wine becoming Christ’s body and blood. What were they to make out of all that? If that weren’t enough, their master’s tomb was empty on the third day… as he had told them it would be. He had risen but then why did he keep appearing to them in this resurrected body? Finally, they watched him ascend into heaven.

You have to give it to the disciples—they may have fallen asleep in the garden but they stuck it out in the days following the resurrection. They may have been terrified but somehow Jesus’ words of peace—as reiterated in the portion from John’s gospel that we hear today—must have given them the strength and courage to persevere in all the craziness of the first days of the church.

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Have you ever been in on the formation of a group or organisation? The enthusiasm and energy is infectious and the participants find the capacity to put in endless hours getting the project off the ground. It’s when the project enters the maintenance stage that the enthusiasm begins to wane and people realise the long-haul implications. I often think about the early days of organisations we know well, such as Episcopal Relief and Development, formerly known as the Presiding Bishop’s Fund for World Relief. When its founders created it, did they imagine how many generations it would last? Did they create it because the need was there and, God willing, the organisation would survive over time? It has, thanks to three or four generations’ devotion.

Think of how many generations along the church is! Many, many! The Jesus movement has carried on, despite its internal controversies that raged back when and still do. Regardless the short-comings of the people involved in the church, ‘that wonderful and sacred mystery,’ I believe that it will continue on, thanks to the Holy Spirit.

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We are part of that chain of generations and generations of believers and seekers who make up the church. We may occasionally experience moments of ecstasy but we know that, really, ecstasy is only part of the story. The work of living the gospel depends on the sure, slow, steady, patient work of a life lived with attentiveness, prayer, and action. We may savour the Pentecost moment of ecstasy, being released in the dance of the Spirit, but we live in the demands and joys of steady discipleship.

Steady discipleship is like putting one foot in front of the other, not necessarily knowing where the path leads, but following and creating the path because our faith encourages us to do so. Steady discipleship is showing up and being faithful and being surprised by God when we least expect it. And most important in this day and age, steady discipleship is conveying to those around us that God loves absolutely everyone, and that through this love, we need never be afraid. Instead of living a life of fear, we are called to be a people of hope. Through steady discipleship, we will come to know the peace that passes all understanding, the shalom that Jesus imparts to us.

Those of you who were here last year on Pentecost might remember the presence of the seven candles over by the font. Each candle represents one of the gifts of the Holy Spirit: Strength, knowledge, piety, awe and wonder, counsel, understanding, and wisdom. Think of which gifts are your strongest today and which ones you would like to encourage. And then, as you return from communion, you are invited to light a candle from one of the gifts, praying that the Holy Spirit will infuse your heart in the year to come. The Spirit will bring inspiration and the peace of God which is no peace because God will lead us in ways we cannot yet predict.

With that knowledge, we can pray, Come, o Holy Spirit come. Spirit of God, take away our fear; take our lives and carry them in the wind of your powerful and life-giving energy; take our hearts and set them on fire.

Ascension Day

2010-05-14T09:51:00.003-04:00

[This sermon was not preached because there were two small children present so rather than have them suffer through more talking, we did a conversational reflection as we do at the family service on Sundays but here is what would have been said.]

The story of the Ascension forms a bridge from Luke into Acts, from the time of Jesus into the time of the church. Luke is the only gospel writer to distinguish Jesus’ ascension from his resurrection as a separate event.

Luke tells the story twice, at the end of the gospel and then again at the beginning of the Book of Acts. One interesting aspect of the two versions of the Ascension narrative is the chronological conflict between them. In Luke 24 Jesus ascends late on Easter day itself, whereas in Acts 1 his ascension is delayed until ‘forty days’, perhaps as way to remind us of Jesus’ forty-day stay in the wilderness that takes place early on in Luke’s gospel.

Luke is clear in his narration of the Ascension that it not be used as a timetable for speculations for Jesus’ return. In response to questions about chronology, such as the question posed by the disciples today, Jesus answers: It is not for you to know the times or the seasons. Jesus specifically asks the disciples not to try to calculate the date of his return.

Luke also uses this story to mark an end to Jesus’ resurrection stories. (The lectionary has moved us over the past three weeks further and further away from those stories to a more intentional focus on the Holy Spirit, a focus that will culminate on Pentecost Sunday.) No one can hitherto claim to see the risen Jesus in the same way that Mary Magdalene and the disciples saw him. The forty days of Easter appearances are over. Paul, in First Corinthians 15 lists those eyewitnesses as though to say: These people really saw Jesus—no one else can claim that. (Of course Paul leaves women out of his list, and says he is the last person to see Jesus; Luke would disagree with him.)

What matters here is that now the way the church will ‘see’ Jesus is through the Holy Spirit, that motivating, generative, life-giving power that infuses the church, its scriptures, and people.
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And so, the Ascension is not about Jesus’ absence as some would have it, leaving us looking up in the sky, waiting to see him up there, but about Jesus’ presence in the here and now.

Brazilian theologian Vitor Westhelle says simply that earth is the place to look for Jesus’ presence. Likewise, rather than stand gazing heavenward in a state of suspended animation, we are to be Christ’s disciples and witnesses in Judea, Jerusalem, Samaria and all the ends of the earth.

For Luke, you and I live at the end of the earth, in a place unimagined back then. But the exhortation to make Christ known to others and find Christ in one another still stands all these centuries later. But, o, that seems so large, so hard to do! Where do we begin?

We begin where we are. It is as simple as that. Gandhi said, ‘If you don’t find God in the very next person you meet it is a waste of time looking for God further.’ If we make one step toward God in one another, God will make ten steps toward us.

I remember my spiritual companion back in Princeton telling me that even on the days she was the most weary, she always tried to remember that the next person coming in her office might be Christ. I don’t know how she did it some days but the Holy Spirit sometimes helps us do those things we think we never could do otherwise.

If we are open to the presence of the Holy Spirit, then others might come to see Christ’s love and presence in us. Surely you’ve had what are called ‘airplane conversations’ — those conversations with an utter stranger who reveals things to you that you think no one else has heard beyond their therapist. Sometimes the conversations are off-the-wall, but sometimes the holy pops into them. They don’t always happen on airplanes, they can occur whenever and wherever the heart is open to seeing Christ in the other. I would like to think, at the risk of being presumptuous, that the Holy Spirit is present in that sort of encounter. I know enough that when the Holy Spirit is present, I am touched for a long time.

On this Feast of the Ascension, let us remember that Christ has not left us behind or abandoned us. Christ is still in the midst of us — in one another, in the person next to us. Pray that we can see them and Christ — together, at the same time, here.

Easter 6C

2010-05-14T09:48:00.002-04:00

The gospel reading for this morning prepares us for Ascension Day (this coming Thursday), and moves us further away from the bewildering events of Easter morning at the empty tomb to the equally bewildering events of Pentecost (which occurs in two weeks). At the same time, our focus shifts from the second person of the Trinity, Jesus the Son, to the third person, the Holy Spirit… another not so-subtle way of making us begin to think about the Holy Trinity, which we will remember on Sunday 3 June. So as you hear these readings, remember that we are being pointed in some specific directions.

We also have to remember another layer: we tend to hear the Farewell Discourse from the Gospel of John (reintroduced last week) with its promise of the coming of the Counsellor or Paraclete, as discourses given by the risen-and-not-yet-ascended-Christ, as promises given as though it were during the forty days in preparation for the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost. But that it not what is going on here: for John, these words of Jesus are said while Jesus still lived and walked among the disciples and they were said during the last supper, a moment of extreme anguish, a moment standing in between life before the crucifixion and resurrection and life after these world-changing events. In John’s mind, these words look through and beyond the death of Jesus to his glorification that releases the gift of the Holy Spirit. In the early church, even, the fifty days of Easter included the celebration of the gift of the Spirit, not just on the day of Pentecost.

Recall that in the chapter preceding this one, Jesus gives the disciples the following commandment: ‘That you love one another. As I have loved you, you also should love one another.’ This commandment is an important guidepost that Jesus gives the disciples. For, in loving one another, they will love Christ. Jesus continues to say that he abides in God and God in him. By extension, if one loves one’s neighbour, one will meet Christ in that neighbour, and since Christ dwells in our neighbour, we are then joined with Christ. Christ will dwell in us and we in Christ.

So now, Jesus answers a difficult question from Judas (not Iscariot) in which he asks: ‘What has happened that you are going to manifest yourself to us and not to the world?’ This question is what sets off this morning’s gospel passage. Jesus answers beginning with words very familiar to us: If you love me, you will keep my word, my commandments.

What Jesus is really saying here is: If you love me, you will preserve and treasure not only me, but also my essence, my divine being, my connection with God the Father. If you love me, you will be open to the presence of God in and with you. If you love me, the Spirit whom I send will teach you everything you need, and remind you of all I have taught you. If you love me, you will receive my peace.

Remember the gospel from a few weeks ago? Remember that back and forth questioning between Jesus and Peter in which Jesus asks Peter, Do you love me? And Peter answers, Lord, you know I do. Jesus asks Peter a second and a third time, Do you love me? By the third time, Peter is frustrated, even miffed: Of course I do. Why do you keep asking me? Jesus’ response to him: Feed my sheep. Jesus is asking and then entrusting a crucial task to the very one who denied him three times.

We think we are not like Peter. Jesus is our beloved. Why else would we be here? We love Jesus because we know Jesus loves us. Our response is automatic when asked, ‘Do you love Jesus?’: Of course we love Jesus. Ah… but how come, then, Jesus needs to send us a Comforter, the Holy Spirit, who will remind us what to do and how to act? Who or what is this ‘paraclete’ person? And what does it mean to love one another and live within the Spirit of God?

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First, who is this Comforter? Two examples, totally unrelated, image for me this Spirit of God.

The first is that of a comforting blanket. Now, the world is divided between those who like a lot of blankets on top of themselves at night and those who don’t. I am one of those who love on those minus 20 or 30 degree nights to have three blankets (and three cats) on top of me. It feels comforting, safe, protective, sort of like having that weird heavy lead covering to protect your innards that technicians put on you before your having x-rays.

Years ago, a person said to me after I anointed him pre-surgery, that the sacrament of anointing felt to him like a protective blanket of God’s Spirit enfolding him and that before he went under, it was the last thing of which he thought. I have often remembered that image of the Spirit, the Comforter, that one who makes us feel safe.

The other image of this Spirit is that sixth sense that sometimes pops into our hearts and we write, phone or visit someone or do some other activity without exactly knowing why, but we just do because we feel we must.

Many times I have gotten the sense that I need to go visit someone, phone someone, not tomorrow but today, now. And as happens in these circumstances, the timing was critical — either arriving as the person takes his or her last breath, or calling to find out that she or he needed to hear words of solace and share a prayer. These moments of intersection have happened enough times now that I truly believe that the Spirit, the great prodder and agitator, is at work.

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The harder piece of the question is how do we live in this Spirit? Frankly, the rest of the year in our lectionary helps us to answer this question so to try to answer it today in one short sermon cannot do justice to the question.

Again, Jesus gives the disciples the following commandment: ‘That you love one another. As I have loved you, you also should love one another.’ It’s not erotic love he’s talking about. It’s not even the love of friendship, really. It’s a greater love: charity, mercy, kindness, a love that does not depend on liking. It’s a harder sort of love to master.

Love — in the sense that Jesus calls us to — is to be present to one another, vulnerable, open, reconciling, faithful and steadfast. Couples in long-term relationships, married or otherwise, know of the ups and downs their love has taken. They know of the struggles when they have come off the mountaintop and are facing daily reality. They know what it is to be present in the worst and best of times. Communities are like that, too.

What does it mean for us to love as Christ has called us to do? If, as the gospel of John suggests, by loving Jesus we keep and treasure Jesus’ essence, Jesus’ connection with God the Creator, then it follows that we also seek Jesus in one another.

Maggie Ross, an Anglican solitary, writes in The Fire of Your Life:

‘I know a Franciscan friar who was fond of saying that after the Eucharist we should genuflect to each other because we are all walking tabernacles. His half-joking perception is true, and not only in the half-hour or so following the Liturgy, for by our baptism we are bearers of the living Word, having passed with Christ through death to life.’1

Martin Luther put it more simply: ‘O God, grant us grace to receive Jesus Christ in every person and to be Jesus Christ to every person.’2

Whether on a daily basis you spiritually genuflect to one another or receive Christ in one another, and to Christ to every person, know that it is the Holy Spirit, God’s comforter, God’s holy agitator, the paraclete, that lives and moves in you, giving you the grace to do far more than you would think possible and to love one another as Christ has loved us.

END NOTES
1 Maggie Ross, The Fire of Your Life (New York, NY: Seabury Books, 2007 [1983, 1992], 40.
2 John Carden, A Procession of Prayers (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse Publishing, 1998), 305.

Easter 5C

2010-05-14T09:45:00.002-04:00

Anyone who has studied French literature has run across Alain Robbe-Grillet’s La Jalousie — Jealousy or Window Blind, depending on how you want to translate the noun. It is a bizarre book with a story-line that loops back around to tell the same snippet of a piece of life over and over again. It’s sort of like listening to certain pieces of music by minimalist composers like John Adams or John Cage that consist of a never-ending loop.

I sometimes feel as though the lectionary does the same thing for us. It presents the same story over and over but seen through slightly different lenses. In this case, we are hearing a loop that encompasses many themes and many fragments of the larger story.

Today’s gospel reading throws us back into Holy Week and John’s description of the last supper. By the time John’s Jesus reaches the last supper, he has done all the signs he was meant to do. Consequently, Jesus seems to orchestrate his last hours. Part of this preparation comes in words in what is known as the ‘Last Supper Discourse,’ which follows Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.

So much of the Last Supper Discourse focuses on the great commandment: ‘If I, your Lord and teacher have washed your feet, you must wash one another’s feet. I give you a new commandment: Love one another as I have loved you. Everyone will know you are my disciples if you have love for one another.’

Central to the theology of the Fourth Gospel and its companion, the First Letter of John, is the theme of God abiding in us and we in God. Loving one another as God loves us becomes our way of manifesting God in the world. The First Letter of John reiterates this idea in its words, ‘God is love, and those who abide in love, abide in God, and God in them.’ Abiding in and remaining in God’s love becomes the central mark of discipleship in John’s thought. Serving one another as disciples, washing one another’s feet, defines us as people of the Way, of Christ.

How can it be, then, that in Jesus’ glorious statement of love, two sharp and dissonant notes strike?

First, Jesus knows — even before instructing the disciples to love one another — that one of them will betray him. Even in the midst of this intimate, intense moment of communion, someone is out of place. Judas’ betrayal is so discordant that the writer of John has to add that Satan enters into Judas at the time of his receiving the morsel of bread as if to say, the action is so heinous, that it cannot come from a human’s soul but from the devil.

The other discordant note sounds in Jesus’ statement, ‘Little children, I am with you only a little while longer. You will look for me… and where I am going, you cannot come.’ Jesus softens this announcement with the term of endearment, ‘Little children,’ but it cannot soften the underlying sense of total abandonment.

This statement then leads us into the following chapter, 14, which begins with Thomas’ poignant question, But, Lord, where are you going? And can we come too? We know well this story because it is one often chosen for the gospel at the burial office. Jesus answers in words that tell Thomas that where he is going, they cannot yet come but that in his father’s house are many rooms and Jesus is going ahead to prepare one for them.

In fact, then, this morning gospel sums up for us with its backward and forward looking what this season of Easter is about. We are more than halfway through it; we only have two more Sundays of Easter before moving to Pentecost.

And, lurking in the back of our mind, should also be the gospel we heard on Easter morning where Mary Magdalene finally recognizes the risen Jesus, drops to his feet, grabs onto them, only to be told by Jesus to let go of him because he has not yet ascended to his father.

In ten days we will observe the feast of the Ascension, hinted at by the suggestion of chapter 14 of the gospel according to John and then by the recollection of the gospel from Easter, John 20.

We hear all these themes and overarching them are this morning’s words that go round and round in a circle:

Now the Son of Man has been glorified and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and at once will glorify him.

They are a mouthful!

What John is getting at is simply this (in the words of Jean Vanier):

Jesus is the glory of God; the glory of God is the manifestation of who God is: it is God’s almightiness and love, it is God’s littleness and humility, it is God’s love and deep respect for each one of us. The glory of God is Jesus walking serenely towards the total gift of himself in love.1

Or, as Iranaeus wrote in the second century: The glory of God is the human person fully alive. I have that quotation on a bookshelf in my bedroom so I can see it on a daily basis as a reminder of how to respond to others in my midst. I fail every day all the time to see God in everyone, of course, and I have to pick myself up and keep trying, but in my heart I know that Divine Glory dwells in everyone.

Desmond Tutu writes in God Has A Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time:

The divine shines through material that was thoroughly unpromising, unlikely, improbable. So we were brought to see that no one is untransfigurable, no one is a totally hopeless case. God does not give up on any one of us. It is truly tremendous.

When you go to heaven, you will say to me, should I be there, too, “Gee whiz, man, I didn’t know you were so beautiful.” You will see the divine light that shines through me, and not just this guy with a large nose. All the people you thought were just mere flesh-and-blood humans, with all their physical flaws, will be revealed to you as filled with divine light. We are meant to be godlike; that is why we were created in the image of God. But we really don’t know what God is like except when we get glimpses. When someone is wonderfully generous or compassionate, we do sometimes stand in awe of that person, and that gives us a glimpse of the glory that is God. And if we had the eyes to see, we would look at one another and see the beauty of God, and we would treat each other with appropriate reverence and awe.

Many people ask me what I have learned from all the experiences in my life, and I say unhesitatingly: People are wonderful. It is true. People really are wonderful. This does not mean that people cannot be awful and do real evil. They can. Yet as you begin to see with the eyes of God, you start to realize that people’s anger and hatred and cruelty come from their own pain and suffering. As we begin to see their words and behavior as simply the acting out of their suffering, we can have compassion for them. We no longer feel attacked by them, and we can begin to see the light of God shining in them. And when we begin to look for the light of God in people, an incredible thing happens. We find it more and more in people — all people.2

If Desmond Tutu can find that glory of God in all people, despite the misery which he lived in apartheid South Africa, then surely we can too.

The glory of God is the human person fully alive. When we find the glory of God in another person, then we also see God’s love incarnate and abiding in another person, for God is love, and those who abide in love, abide in God, and God in them.

Then go out and tell everyone — the people who today will sit on our lawn and buy our chicken barbeque, the people with whom you work, your children, your parents, your friedns — that they are God fully alive in them. Tell them. Tell them.

END NOTES
1 Jean Vanier, Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus (Mahway, NJ: Paulist Press, 2004), 250.
2 Desmond Tutu: God Has A Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2004), 96-97.

Easter 4C

2010-04-26T11:20:00.001-04:00

The psalm and reading from the Book of Revelation are in the ‘top-ten’ of familiar scripture readings to Episcopalians. Though Psalm 23 shows up once every three years in the Sunday lectionary, of all the psalms, it is by far the most well-known and loved psalm. Even those who are non-practising Christians can often recite the psalm by heart because it has been such a part of literary culture and because it probably is the most frequently chosen psalm of the burial office.

Likewise, Chapter 7 from Revelation is bound to sound familiar for the same reason: it is one of the choices for the epistle reading in the burial office and people gravitate often to this reading. Maybe they do so unconsciously, not remembering that it also is the epistle reading for All Saints’ Day.

Clearly these two readings of hope and resurrection belong to the burial office and, more so, to Eastertide. Whether it is the psalmist’s bold proclamation of confidence in God, in the words, ‘Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever,’ or the words from Revelation that I have often used at the end of a sermon for a burial, ‘They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the centre of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes,’ these two readings assure us of the hope of the resurrection.

They also tie together the first and last readings for today, which is always called, ‘Good Shepherd Sunday.’ The first reading from Acts speaks of resurrection with the revival of Dorcas (or Tabitha). And the gospel reading is minimally linked to the Revelation reading through the image of the shepherd.

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The thematic thread that links all these readings together is one that comes from nowadays and not necessarily when they were written, each at a separate time. Beyond the purported theme of the ‘good shepherd,’ which is drawn from the gospel reading is the theme of the resurrection, the ‘Christian hope.’

The Christian hope, as defined by the catechism is, ‘to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, and to await the coming of Christ in glory, and the completion of God’s purpose for the world.’

The catechism elaborates on this opening statement with the following Q & A.

What do we mean by heaven…?
 By heaven, we mean eternal life in our enjoyment of God….
What do we mean by the resurrection of the body? We mean that God will raise us from death in the fullness of our being, that we may live with Christ in the communion of the saints.

What is the communion of the saints?
 The communion of the saints is the whole family of God, the living and dead, those whom we love and those whom we hurt, bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.

What do we mean by everlasting life?
 By everlasting life, we mean a new existence, in which we are united with all the people of God, in the joy of fully knowing and loving God and each other.

What, then, is our assurance as Christians?
 Our assurance as Christians is that nothing, not even death, shall separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

With that resounding profession, the catechism ends.

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Each reading before us today tries in its own way to articulate what the vision of perfectness in God can be.

It’s Tabitha, thought to be dead, being raised from her sickbed.

It’s God providing the psalmist with green pastures, still waters, a revived soul, the comfort of presence when the psalmist walks through the valley of death, the gift of a table, an anointed head and an overflowing cup.

It’s the promise of salvation, being clothed in the white robe of baptism, and being redeemed.

And it is Jesus proclaiming, ‘My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish.’

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How to bring these wonderful theological ideas back down to earth? In the course of parish life over the years, I have had to think a lot of the resurrection as I remember deaths that have happened to family members of people in the congregation and within my extended family. No matter the age of the person who died, a death is wrenching. John Donne said that every person’s death diminished him. His words are true — when a death occurs, there is a tear in the fabric of the universe and for a moment, in that tear, one sees God’s tears. For a moment, the loss of hope seems imminent.

But, as Dr Jerome Groopman, a Jewish oncologist, writes in The Anatomy of Hope, ‘Hope, unlike optimism, is rooted in unalloyed reality.… Hope is the elevating feeling we experience when we see — in the mind’s eye — a path to a better future. Hope acknowledges the significant obstacles and deep pitfalls along that path. True hope has no room for delusion.’1

Whether it is that hope that we hold that all will be well for those who have died and for us someday when our time comes, or even the irrational hope, like a little flower growing out of parched land, such as I have seen in the poorest communities in El Salvador, this sentiment that sees a better future — in the afterlife or in the here and now — is what keeps us going.

You and I live in ‘unalloyed’ or unvarnished reality. We each have stories to tell of hardship, sadness, loss and suffering. We have walked on the twists and turns of life’s pathways and aren’t deluded by false optimism that often characterises our culture’s attitude toward hardship (along the lines of Bobby McFerron’s ‘Don’t worry, be happy’).

However, we have true hope — affirmation of life in the face of death. This hope, therefore, enables us to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, yea, to live as ‘Easter people in a Good Friday world’ (Barbara Harris).

We can live in hope because we are part of that unbroken chain of witnesses, called the Communion of Saints, that stretches from the beginning of time to now and the unlimited future. As vast as the stars in heaven, you and I are part of that number, those loved by God from before the beginning and bound to God through baptism for ever. There can be only one response to this knowledge: alleluia!

END NOTE
(1) Jerome Groopman, The Anatomy of Hope: How People Prevail in the Face of Illness (New York: Random House, 2004), xiv.

Easter 3C

2010-04-19T10:49:00.003-04:00

‘Come and have breakfast.’ Jesus’ words to the tired disciples have to be some of the most tender words in the gospels. How paradoxical that the risen Jesus comes across as most human in one of his post-resurrection appearances that come at the end of the gospel according to John. How paradoxical that the Jesus of this gospel, who seems to have known everything that was happening to him, also has this capacity to be intimate with his disciples whom he has called friends prior to his death.

Anyone who has been the recipient of someone bringing them even a cup of coffee first thing in the morning knows how gentle a gesture this can be. Breaking one’s fast with food brought by someone else can be a powerful moment. Just think of the children who, with help, bring their parents breakfast in bed. It is a sweet gesture.

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The circumstances surrounding Jesus’ invitation to come eat are vastly different than a simple domestic scene. He and the disciples no longer are in Jerusalem, the site of such violence, but are once again back at Galilee with all the calm the lake has to offer.

The narrative revolves around the act of fishing. Later on in Christianity, the image of the fish became one of the symbols of Jesus — the capitals of the Greek words, ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour,’ spell out the word ‘fish’ (ichthys). Post-resurrection events, it would make sense for the disciples to be out fishing, though they have returned to their former and familiar lives along the sea of Tiberius, rather than go out and find more disciples.

So out they go in the night, raising our suspicions because in this gospel, weird conversations, such as that with Nicodemus, take place at night. This night trip yields nothing and in the morning, that time of rebirth and resurrection, the discouraged disciples return to shore. There they meet Jesus whom they do not recognise.

This still-unknown figure addresses them tenderly by calling them little children, using a term that conveys that they are those who do not yet understand; they are not mature in their faith. He tells them where to go fish so they do. Through that action, the disciple who loved Jesus tells Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ This recognition scene parallels that of Luke’s narrative of the road to Emaus, which we also hear during Easter-tide. Impetuous Peter leaps overboard, as though he is leaping into the waters of baptism. The others, needless to say, do not follow suit.

And then this unknown figure meets them with cooking fish and gently asks them to have breakfast. Again, in the breaking of bread, preceded by the sharing of fish, they finally begin to fathom that this person is their risen saviour, appearing to them now for the third time.

The narrative could easily end at this point. We would think about how we don’t recognise Jesus in our midst and how sometimes we have to be hit on the head to realise he is there right in front of us. But there is a reason why this story continues on.

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Our English translation renders the dialogue between Jesus and Peter meaningless because it uses the word, ‘love,’ to convey two Greek words. Jesus asks Peter if he loves him more than the others in the sense of sacrificial love. Peter answers with the more common understanding of friendship, saying, yes, of course, I am friendly with you. Peter misses the point in his conversation with Jesus. Jesus is using the language of agape, self-giving love, whereas Peter is using the word, philios, signifying friendship which is more inwardly directed. Despite Peter’s failure to grasp just what Jesus is asking, Jesus nonetheless asks him to feed his sheep, to accept this leadership that Jesus had excercised during his ministry.

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These threads come together for us as we consider how we live out Jesus’ self-giving love in the context of our friendly love. Likewise, the scene, that of sharing food and eating, provides a framework to think about what these types of love mean for us.

Sara Miles whose book Take This Bread we read during Lent speaks about the connection between Jesus and food. She first had communion, agape, at the age of 46. Having tasted that bread, the bread of life, her world opened up and she started to feed others, first communion and then in a serious of food pantries, the first of which began around the altar in her church. As the pantry grew larger and larger, drawing in more people than all the Sunday services combined, the rector instructed her to enter the number of people attending the pantry into the service register because it was communion of a different kind. What united what happened on Sunday and Friday was the self-giving love of Christ. This type love does not necessarily mean that we like one another — that is of philios. Agape love means we seek and serve Christ, loving our neighbour as ourself. Living agape love invites, demands us to feed God’s people, regardless their station in life.

For three months now, Trinity has offered a lunch to the community. This is not your typical soup kitchen — this is a feast, a real meal! Consider coming for ham and scalloped potatoes, glazed carrots and cake. That was two weeks ago. Or comforting macaroni and cheese. That was last month. The goals of these meals are several: yes, they target a segment of the community who may not have enough to eat during the weekend and for whom this meal can provide a welcome tide-over. They also meet the needs of those who live in places without a proper kitchen. Finally, and this may surprise you, they are meant for us to gather together as companions on the journey. Our lives are united around food, healthy and not healthy, secular and holy. But we eat together and eating is one of the most basic acts that unites us.

We may fear engaging with people who may be different from us (or so we think). They are still God’s beloved children. Christ dwells in them as Christ dwells in us. And breaking bread together whether in here or in Nourse Hall is an action that transcends our wanting to stay on a philios level instead of engaging on the agape level.

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Yesterday at the consecration of Ian Douglas, the 15th bishop diocesan of the Diocese of Connecticut, the preacher, Archbishop Desmond Tutu in his sermon said, ‘In God there is a unity of all people. God said, “I will draw ALL people to be held in this unbreakable embrace that won’t let us go.”’ He held himself in an embrace. Repeating the word, ‘all,’ over and over again, Tutu described all the different groups of people there are, the opposites, emphasising that God loves ALL. Finally, speaking to the bishop-elect, he said, ‘… [P]lease tell the children of God that each one of them is precious. Each one of them is held in this public embrace, each one of them is a member of God’s family. Tell them that, tell them that. Tell them.’ He ended his sermon this way.

Spreading that news of God’s love to all belongs to you and me, too, not just to a bishop. We all are charged to tell others about God’s unbreakable embrace, that agape Love that died and rose for us so that we might have eternal life. We may do so through lunches, we may through our worship, but please make sure this message goes beyond these walls to a community that so desperately needs to hear it... to a community that is starving.

END NOTES
Exegetical portion from Wes Howard-Brook, Becoming Children of God (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994), 464-78.
Sara Miles, Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion (NY, NY: Ballentine Books, 2007).

Easter Day sermon

2010-04-06T14:32:00.000-04:00

The women knew the drill. Up early in the morning with ointments to prepare the bodies of the dead. Taking something precious and dear to restore dignity to those who had been executed by the Roman authorities. Perhaps they take nard, that sweet fragrant oil, ready to anoint the bodies. In the other gospels, a group of women go to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body.

Mary, though, in the gospel of John, does not seem to come prepared with oil. She comes alone, not in the company of women. She walks in the dark of the morning, that vulnerable time of day when the earth is still waking up, when the day’s potential is but a dream. For her, coming to mourn her teacher, Jesus, surely the day holds nothing but sorrow.

And then she sees the great stone rolled back. Maybe she was the Mary who, along with Martha, stood at the stone in front of Lazarus’ tomb a little while earlier. Her sister, Martha, well aware that Lazarus had been dead four days warned Jesus, who was about to roll the stone away, that there would be a stench. So Mary Magdalene, seeing the stone rolled back, must have recoiled instinctively.

But only for a second. She knows. She does not even need to see. And she runs, runs as fast as she can go back to Peter and the other disciples, telling them Jesus’ body is not there. Peter and the other disciple, presumably John, not trusting a woman’s words, run to the tomb, racing one another. They look in, see the linens on the ground, no corpse and believe, though they do not understand exactly what they believe. Then they leave trying to outrun one another.

Mary Magdalene remains, weeping. Her posture of grief ultimately leads her to a revelation the men do not receive in their haste to get back to the others. The second time Mary looks into the tomb, she sees two angels, one sitting where Jesus’ head had been; the other where his feet had been. They ask her why she is weeping. She answers that her teacher’s body is gone. She then turns around and sees Jesus. In her grief, she does not recognise him at first. He asks her the same question, with tenderness: Woman, why are you crying? Her grief blinds her to his identity but she is insistent in her task: I must find Jesus’ body.

Then Jesus calls her by name and she answers, now understanding that she is speaking to the risen Christ. Not only does he restore her identity, but he gives her a new one: that of an apostle, the first apostle to witness to Christ’s resurrection. He tells her to go tell the others he has risen. Then she runs off.

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As these things take place, new words break out of the silence of Holy Saturday and touch the hearts and the minds of the men and women who have known and loved Jesus. These words are: ‘He has risen, risen indeed.’ They are not shouted from the rooftops or carried around the city on big placards. They are whispered from ear to ear as an intimate message that could be truly heard and understood only by a heart that has been yearning for the coming of the Kingdom and has recognized its first signs in the words and deeds of the man from Nazareth.

All is different and all is same for those who say ‘Yes’ to the news that is whispered through the ages from one end of the world to the other. Trees are still trees, rivers are still rivers, mountains are still mountains, and people in their hearts are still able to choose between love and fear. But all that has been lifted up in the risen body of Jesus and placed at the right hand of God. The prodigal child is placed in the loving embrace of the Father; the little child is put in its mother’s arms; … brothers and sisters invited to the same table. All is the same, and all is made new. As we live our lives with a resurrection faith, our burdens become light burdens and our yokes easy yokes because we have found rest in the gentle and humble heart of Jesus that belongs for all eternity to God.

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‘Woman, why do you cry? Man, why do you cry? Child, why do you cry?’ The risen Jesus asks that question to each one of us this Easter morning. In his gentle asking, he invites us to let go of what makes us ache, what weighs us down.

There is plenty in this world that causes us to tremble. We watch the continued deterioration and violence in the Middle East, and find ourselves in the seventh year of a ‘war’ with Iraq and Afghanistan that seems to have no end. We know that even five years later the devastating effects of Hurricane Katrina continue to influence heavily the lives of our sisters and brothers in Louisiana and Mississippi. Racism sadly still is alive and well in our country. And then there are the personal burdens that many of us carry with us — family member’s or friend’s precarious health, job insecurity, recent deaths of lovers, dreams and hopes, and even the sense that the weather is pretty weird these days, thank you very much.

There is plenty in this world to make us want to hide, to say ‘no,’ to live in a world of deadened possibilities, to live in a state of fear.

But that is not how we, as people of the resurrection, are called to live. On this Easter morning, we can rejoice, through our tears, that those deaths in our lives have been resurrected with Christ. Jesus calls us by name, dries our tears, and invites us to believe in the God of Hope.

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Rather than live in a world of ‘no’s, this Easter morning we are invited to say, ‘Yes.’ To say ‘Yes’ is to make a leap of faith, to risk oneself in a new and often scary relationship. Not being quite sure of what we are doing, or where it will lead us, we try on the ‘Yes’. In a world that is so marked by ‘no’s, we are called to say ‘Yes’ to the good news of restoration, reconciliation, and resurrection. Like Mary Magdalene, Jesus calls us to say…

• ‘Yes’ to understanding that part of our identity is a child of God, marked and sealed as Christ’s own through the sacrament of baptism
• ‘Yes’ to proclaiming the gospel, participating in the prayers of the church, seeking and serving Christ.
• ‘Yes’ to recognising Christ in one another
• ‘Yes’ to change, to possibilities, to growth, to new birth.
• ‘Yes‘ — to whatever Christ calls us to do.
• ‘Yes’ to trust in God’s ways, though they are not always clear to us.
• ‘Yes’ to be people of faith, of hope, of the resurrection.

Bishop Barahona of El Salvador in an Easter message wrote:

‘The resurrection is the hope of the Christian community. With the resurrection, Jesus invites us to a project of hope and to change our lives. It is time of the resurrection; the third day has arrived, Easter has arrived. What have we done for our brothers and sisters, for our own lives? What have we done with Jesus’ project? It is time to re-examine ourselves and act so that leaders and the led are filled with hope in order to offer hope in others.’

That is what the resurrection means for us. We have been raised to new life! And that new life resounds with abundant ‘Yes-s’! We, too, like Mary, can run off to proclaim to others how the risen Christ has touched us, wiped away our tears, changed us, and given us hope.

As people of the resurrection, let us be those who raise things that have been cast down; make new things which have grown old; and be those who proclaim out with loud voice, ‘Yes! Christ has risen, the Lord has risen, indeed! Alleluia!’

Great Vigil of Easter sermon

2010-04-06T14:30:00.002-04:00

Just yesterday morning during my watch I sat in the chapel by the altar. The sacrament that we blessed on Maundy Thursday, that we later consumed just last night, sat in the middle of the altar, surrounded by seven eight-day votives, and four ten-hour votives. The candles in the short blue holders flickered and, as the two hours went by, went out one by one.

Casting my eyes from my spot in the back pew, I saw the other vestiges of Good Friday, the empty tomb. The most powerful reminder of the death of Jesus lies in the aumbry door left wide open with its white linen interior there for all to see. The votive above the altar no longer has a candle. That space is utterly bare, void of Jesus’ presence. It is heart-breaking.

Save the fans of the heaters turning on and shutting off, the chapel is utterly still. Tomb-like, quiet. Empty. The church even more so with its bare altar, washed clean on Maundy Thursday.

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Just this morning, a few of us, like the women, came back to the tomb, in the stillness of the morning, in the darkness of the day. We prayed:

O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

And then we said together the second anthem that is prayed at the beginning of the burial office:

In the midst of life we are in death;
from whom can we seek help?
Holy God, Holy and Mighty,
Holy and merciful Savior,
deliver us not into the bitterness of eternal death.

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And now… we have journeyed a very long way to reach this point wherein we, like the women, stand in front of this empty tomb. We don’t quite know what it means for us. Confronting the mystery of the resurrection should leave us wordless because it doesn’t make sense. How can we be happy about an empty tomb when we want to see our Lord again?

Perhaps putting ourselves back into the place of the women who gathered that first morning at the tomb in the early light of morning might help.

Elizabeth McAllister writes of this moment:

Imagine the feelings of the women. It is a terrible moment, swirling with apathy, betrayal, overwhelming odds, oppression, and senseless suffering. Jesus had promised so much — where is it now? It seems so long ago.

The weight of the powers of this world and their inertia (or worse) forces us to concede that the world can’t be transformed! It is also a bitter journey for these women…. [But] the tomb is sealed shut by a huge boulder. Put there by the authorities to certify Jesus’ death, the stone also serves to ensure the women’s separation from him. They aren’t even granted the presence of his corpse to comfort them in their ritual of mourning. It is the final ignominy.

But then there’s an earthquake, an angel, guards frozen in fear! This is the kairos moment, an aperture of hope that the story might have a future after all. Like the tomb, the story has been reopened.… Is it possible that not even the imperial death grip and sealed barricade could put an end to the journey? They are too frightened to think, too joyful to stand still. What is this all about?

Amazingly, it is an invitation to follow him again. Resume the way. And resume it, knowing what the consequences may be…. From within the old human being, guarded and barricaded and securely sealed, a new person is emerging. (1)

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We, like the women, face a new future tonight, a future where death cannot hold us, where we are made new. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for us from all eternity and tonight we get a glimpse of it as we stand by the empty tomb.

As we look into that empty tomb, realising that Christ has risen, where do we find that kairos moment, that moment of hope that has been offered to us? How do we follow Jesus again? Where are we surprised by joy? And how do we proclaim that Christ is risen?

Each of us will find our way and answers to these questions this Easter-tide. Our journey begins anew tonight. Let us proclaim boldly, then, without fear but joyfully, Christ is risen, the Lord is risen indeed — Alleluia.

END NOTE

(1) Megan McKenna, And Morning Came: Scriptures of the Resurrection (Lanham, MD: Sheed and Ward, 2003), 77-78.

Good Friday sermon

2010-04-06T14:26:00.003-04:00

On 4 November 1966 Florence, Italy suffered one of its devastating floods — I say ‘one’ because the city has been prone to flooding throughout its history. In this particular case, a low-pressure system had stalled over Italy for six weeks and on 3 November it began to rain… again. In twenty-four hours nearly 19 inches of rain fell on the already-sodden city. (Residents of CT, MA and RI can commiserate.)

At the height of the flooding, water moved at the rate of forty miles per hour at the height of twenty-four feet. At 7.26 a.m., all of Florence’s civic clocks stopped. The resulting 600.000 tons of sludge, muck, oil, sewage and debris, represented in 12 feet of mud, covered the precious art works of the famed city.

A fairly unknown, hitherto ignored piece of art, the 13th-century Cimabue’s Crocifisso, was one of the many victims. The cross hung high in a refectory of the monastery of Santa Croce. One of the priests of the order went into the monastery and saw the ‘Cimbue Crucifix, looming over the waters of the refectory like the creator spirit. Or rather like God reduced to shreds. It was… “in tatters, the flesh ripped off up to the face,” Christ crucified and then drowned.’ (1) Since none of the witnesses are still alive, no one knows really what happened — was the cross attached to the wall or found floating face down in the murky lagoon that now was the refectory? Most say it was still hanging and the moisture was causing the paint to flake off into the murk.

I remember seeing photos of that heavily damaged cross and then watching the progress of its restoration in reports in Life magazine. Somehow, the damage struck me even as a nine year-old. I can’t explain to you why it had that impact on me but it did. More than forty years later, I think one of the visceral reactions I had was that of the restorers taking the cross down from the wall, taking Christ’s body from where it hung and putting it into a tomb of sorts, the place where it would be restored.

Robert Clark in Dark Water, writes: When the restorers saw the cross, attached to the wall with corroded metal, they realised ‘the cross would have to be cut down like a tree.’ The ‘deposition’ ‘took fifteen men and yards of rope to bring the Crocifisso down. Sodden, it weighed over a thousand pounds)…. Cimabue had milled and joined the four-inch thick planks of poplar to be strong, but no one knew how strong….’ They were afraid the cross would collapse under its weight. Life magazine’s David ‘Lees photographed the straining, grimacing men bearing the weight of the cross — itself bearing the weight of the world, Francis would have said — as a fury of labor, of suffering posed against suffering.’ (2)

Perhaps it was the first time that nine-year old had thought about Christ’s death. It was a real-life event, enacted by living people. The cross was no longer an abstract thing but a central element of her Christian faith, even as only a nine-year old can articulate it. How much more understanding thereof has come over the decades? How much has your understanding of the cross increased over time?

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The crucifixion has long captured the attention of artists — trying to render visually what it means to worship a tortured man. However, it was not actually until the fifth century, a century after the Roman state had discontinued the practise of crucifixion and no one living had witnessed such a horror, that Christians had sufficiently forgotten the shame and horror of it to begin to make pictures of it. By the time they started making pictures, many of the gruesome details of crucifixion had been forgotten and, instead, Christ was depicted as already resurrected. Still, artists over time have struggled to portray an event that is so hard to grasp. But no matter how hard they and we try, how do we enter into the ‘night of the absolute’ (Kierkegaard)?

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Every year, Good Friday forces us to confront the question about suffering. A servant suffers on behalf of others. A psalmist despairs of being utterly and inexplicably abandoned by God. Jesus is crucified and buried. Such are the lessons for to-day, but underlying all of them is this one question:

Why was it necessary for Christ to suffer on the cross and die in the first place?
Kenneth Leech author of We Preach Christ Crucified, believes that proclamation of the crucified God, the suffering God, is essential to our belief and existence. The cross often speaks to people, even soothes them, and transforms them because they find in the crucified Christ a source of hope. Perhaps that hope comes from an interior knowledge that healing of pain is a process within the heart of God. ‘There must have been a Calvary in the heart of God before it was planted on the hill of Golgotha.’ Indeed, God could have only suffered on the cross because God was already that sort of God, a passionate, suffering God. (3)

The South African theologian, Manas Buthelezi states, ‘Oppressive suffering does not belong to the category of the suffering of Christ on the cross. Christ’s suffering on the cross was redemptive. It was for the sake of others beyond the self. It was suffering which was occasioned by love and the circumstances of the other.… On the cross God transformed the experience of suffering at the hands of unprovoked violence, vengeance and death into a vehicle of divine love and restoration to new life. […]

‘It is a misunderstanding to associate the sufferings of Christ only with Good Friday. His whole life was a life of suffering and bearing other people’s burdens. To care about other people’s problems in addition to your own can be a heavy burden indeed. To care only about yourself and your problems can make life very simple. But once you allow other people’s problems to worry you and to create an impact upon your life, then you end up suffering with them. That is redemptive suffering. When you allow even your own suffering to become a window through which you gain access to the suffering of others, that is vicarious living. This is the meaning of the cross. This is to take up one’s cross and follow Christ.’ (4)

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Suffering with others, walking with others bearing their burdens, understanding that God suffers, too, that the cross was God’s ultimate suffering — not that God chose to kill God’s only son — those are some of the messages of Good Friday.

We dare to come close to these truths because deep inside, we yearn to know that the cross is not the end of our story any more than the empty grave is. Even as this Good Friday liturgy moves us closer and closer to the grave, we have reminders of hope. And, so, as we come close to the cross, we also come close to that hope — God’s expression of love for us, God’s reconciliation, God’s mercy.

As we come nearer to Jesus’ cross and what it means as an expression of life-giving forgiveness and love, let us become free in this cross, in this dying and in this love. May we find in the cross not an end but a beginning, not something evil but something graceful. May we find there our brother, Jesus, who came to be amongst us, lived with us and died for us.

For on this day called Good, the cross is not the last word. The resurrection is. Even as we face the bleakness of this day, a day when things may be murky as those flood waters in Florence once were, may we hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering.

End Notes
1 Robert Clark, Dark Water: Flood and Redemption in the City of Masterpieces (NY: Doubleday, 2008), 158-59.
2 Ibid., 169.
(3) Kenneth Leech, We Preach Christ Crucified (Cambridge, MA: Cowley, 1994), 27.
(4) Manas Buthelezi, ‘Violence and the Cross in South Africa Today,’ Journal of Theology for Southern Africa, no 29, December 1979, 51ff. Cited in John de Gtuchy, Cry Justice! (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1986), 204, 206.

Maundy Thursday

2010-04-06T14:24:00.000-04:00

Six years ago while on sabbatical I spent Holy Week at Saint Helena’s in Vails Gate, NY, a place that no longer exists except in memory. I have gone there over the years, not nearly as often as I would like though, so spending that week seemed particularly apt. I had always wondered how a monastic community lived out the rhythm of such an intense week and I was curious about how they handled the complexities of the liturgies of the Triduum, the Great Three Days, into which we have now entered.

Alongside the regular daily offices of Matins, Diurnum (noonday prayers), Vespers and Compline, obviously displaced by one of the main liturgies when appropriate, the community observed these days in their own fashion.

Maundy Thursday was a completely new experience for me. All afternoon guests and sisters spent time moving the furniture around in the refectory, so that we could turn the tables into a large ‘U.’ Extra chairs went into the sitting room. We got out place mats and even wine glasses and set the table, rather than having each person set her place as is customary.

And then, the liturgy itself…

We gathered in the refectory at 5.00 and started out with the liturgy of the word. Most of the sisters were in their formal habits. We sat down at the tables and listened to the lessons. After the gospel we moved into the foot washing and a sister from Ghana washed my feet. I couldn’t stand not doing anything so I eventually washed another guest’s feet. I had to do something. (Remember, I was on sabbatical!)

Then we had dinner: dried fruit, cheese, nuts, cherry tomatoes, celery, carrots, bread, and soup. We broke the week-long silence to talk, my first conversations with anyone since arriving there. We laughed as we talked about daily life. It was an ordinary conversation, just at an extraordinary moment. We washed it all down with wine. And then we cleared the table and moved into the eucharist celebrated at the same table where we had eaten. We communicated each other… and then just bread was reserved for the next day.

At the close of the eucharist, we processed from the refectory to the sacristy by way of the cloister… one of the two priests of the order carried the ciborium. We left the senior priest and an associate in the sacristy at the altar of repose and then we went into the chapel for the stripping of the altar and chapel.

Perhaps what was the most impressive was their taking down the four votives that hovered over the altar, one on each corner. Bing, bing, first one side comes down (by way of a hooked pole), then whup, up goes that empty side so the other side can come down… all four were unceremoniously removed and their empty holders left swinging crazily for the next ten minutes. Then down from the circle of doves suspended over the centre of the altar came the reserve sacrament. I had only heard the previous week that it resided in the orb that hangs over the altar. Indeed, all that was in the aumbry is the winch to raise and lower the sphere. The younger priest consumed what was in there, left the top of the orb (crowned with a cross) on the altar and then winched the half circle to a point half-way between the altar and the doves. Everything was left in suspended animation.

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Whether we do the whole nine-yards of liturgy — meal, footwashing, eucharist, stripping of the altar and watch — or just portions of it, two things stand out about Maundy Thursday: the paradox of the night, and second, the state of suspended animation into which we enter.

First, the paradox of the night. So much of what we observe, say, and do during Holy Week from Palm Sunday to Easter is paradoxical. Even tonight, as we move into the depth of mystery that this yearly journey entails, we bounce back and forth between a sense of normalcy and sadness. The Gloria and white vestments return because we are celebrating the institution of the eucharist and the giving of the commandment to love one another as Christ has loved us. We burn incense, always associated with feast days. We partake of this meal that is so celebratory, that is the foundation of our life together.

And yet…

At the same time, we know what is coming. We know in our hearts as we remember the last supper, the meal at which Jesus was confronted by the betrayal of one of his own disciples, the meal at which he finally spoke of what this whole journey had been for him, in words that we repeat week in and week out:

This is my body, given for you.
This is my blood, shed for you.
Whenever you do this, do this in remembrance of me.

We celebrate, we do what he told us to do, we remember and tonight, it all has its poignancy because of the context in which we celebrate this liturgy.

We know where this all leads: the betrayal, the cross, the tomb, the resurrection. We have to walk through all of this (though there are those who clearly want to skip it all).

And so we encounter the second element of Maundy Thursday, the sense of being in suspended animation. Unlike our usual Sunday communion service, we leave this one open-ended. There is no blessing, no dismissal. Everything is left where we stopped: the bare altar, the open aumbry, the empty candle holder. The only thing that will mark the passage through the hours are the candles at the altar of repose that will burn down until someone in the wee hours of the morning blows them out.

Meanwhile, we wait even as we walk through Good Friday and Holy Saturday. It is night, the night of betrayal mixed in with redemption.

Lord, it is night.

The night is for stillness. Let us be still in the presence of God.

The night is dark.
 Let our fears of the darkness in the world and of our own lives rest in you…
[New Zealand Prayer Book, 184]

Let us not be afraid tonight to dwell in these paradoxes, this space of suspended animation, where votive holders swing crazily, because we know in our hearts that it is always darkest before the dawn.

Wednesday of Holy Week

2010-04-06T14:21:00.001-04:00

As kids, we were only allowed to watch an hour of television a day between 5.00 and 6.00. By the time my sister, brother and I had settled on a show, we’d already missed the first five minutes of it. In any event, my recollections of shows are few but one Superman adventure has always stuck in my mind — for whatever reason, don’t ask me why.

All I can remember of it and my memories are a bit foggy (from having seen it probably at age 5 or 6) is that Lois Lane and another man have been put into a cellar by the evildoers. All of a sudden the walls begin to move inward and it is clear that they are going to be crushed by this horrible vice. The walls get closer and closer and they try to keep them from advancing by holding the walls apart with their feet on one side and back on the other but the walls are stronger than they are. The walls keep moving and moving… until Superman swoops down and holds them apart long enough for the two of them to climb out (somehow). As I said, I don’t remember the details too well.

This is how my heart feels when we reach this point of the week and hear Jesus’ words to the disciples, ‘Little children, I am with you only a little longer.’ And the difference between the Superman show and the gospel is that no magical person is going to swoop down out of the sky and pull Jesus off the cross. Jesus, fully knowing what will happen to him, walks into his death foretold and does so gently and graciously.

Here he is, at his last meal with his disciples, who are his friends. His best friend, perhaps John, always called the ‘beloved disciple,’ rests next to him. They share a meal but unlike the meal that Jesus has had with his friends Lazarus, Martha and Mary, there is nothing gentle or sweet. Jesus’ spirit is troubled and he reveals to the disciples what it is with the shocking words: ‘Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.’

Those words are as much a vice around the heart as the knowledge that he is going to die. The disciples are clueless about what is going on and they certainly do not want to be the one who will betray their master and friend.

Jesus makes clear who it will be to betray him by dipping his piece of bread in the dish and giving it to Judas. It seems strange that bread should be the indicator of betrayal for shortly Jesus will take bread again and give it to his disciples, telling them it is his body given for them.

Even as his heart breaks, Jesus speaks to the disciples about loving one another. His giving them the new commandment will result in his washing their feet, the ultimate act of humility and service.

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How does Jesus do it? How does he remain so calm, so present, so with it in the face of not only his impending death but also the reality of Judas’ betrayal?

Betrayal—literally, to hand over, to deceive, to lead astray, to fail to meet the hopes of someone—elicits powerful emotions. At some point or another in life, we betray someone or are betrayed by someone or an institution, like the church. Betrayal happens on many levels and though it can be around something inconsequential, the nature and results of betrayal are never inconsequential.

Whether one is the betrayer or the betrayed, when the situation comes to light, one’s life can be turned upside-down, shattered and seemingly destroyed. The vice-like walls of anger, sadness, despair, hopelessness and all the other negative emotions threaten to crush one. Depending on the severity of the betrayal, one can’t function or even think straight. One’s feeling and sense of well-being in the world have been undermined and it seems as though one will never emerge from the weight of it all. Forgiveness can seem so alien in the early stages of revelation of the betrayal that one feels that the walls have already crushed one’s heart and there is no way out, no one to pry the walls apart.

Psalm 41.9 states poignantly the results of betrayal: Even my best friend, whom I trusted, who broke bread with me, has lifted up his heel and turned against me.

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John’s Jesus does not allow those walls of anger and hatred, the result of his being betrayed by Judas, close in on him. He surmounts the agony of betrayal and, instead, in his last hours, teaches the disciples how they ought to live, no matter what, despite the weakness that is so much a part of human nature. He tells them, ‘I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.’

This commandment is perhaps one of the hardest ones to follow if one’s heart is mired in anger, unable to forgive. Forgiveness is not simply a one-time act; it is a gradual process of reducing resentment. It is also, when it involves a person (rather than an institution, though institutions are always made up of individuals), gaining empathy for the other. It comes at the end of a journey of letting go. It is a gift one gives to oneself; it is a choice; it is a process; it is letting go of bitterness and resentment; and it is letting go of the pain. It gives life, it removes whatever obstacle there has been to communion. It is, finally, arriving at the commandment that Jesus gave us, to love one another as he loved us.

Parenthetically, forgiveness does not always lead to reconciliation; reconciliation, a gift from God, may be the ultimate end of the journey but sometimes in life, one only arrives at the point of forgiveness, of letting what ever anger and resentments there are no longer have power over our lives.

Jesus does not desire us to live within the vice-like walls of anger, even when it is justified by being the recipient of an act of betrayal. Instead he beckons us to new life, freed from this negativity. Perhaps understanding how hard it is for humanity to forgive, he gave us not only the example of washing one another's feet but himself.

Jean Vanier says in The Scandal of Service: Jesus Washes Our Feet, ‘These two symbolic acts [washing the disciples’ feet and giving himself up in bread and wine] around the body, his own body and the body of each one of his disciples are gestures of communion and love.… Without the eucharist we cannot live out such a deep presence and communion of the heart with others.’ (1)

Whatever untied, loose ends there are in your life — current or past — offer them up with the bread and the wine, and know that they are transformed and you are made new.

Let Jesus dwell within in you, abide with you, that you might become an instrument of pardon and peace, too… so that one by one, through us, the world might all be reconciled.

END NOTE
(1) New York, NY: Continuum, 1998, 36.

Tuesday of Holy Week

2010-03-31T11:28:00.001-04:00

Julia Slayton, in a meditation on this gospel several years ago, considers the opening line of the gospel reading:

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, ‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus.’

I want to go with this thought because I had never looked at today’s gospel reading in quite these terms.

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus. We want to get closer to see and know him for ourselves.’

She reflects on how there are people whom we want to see, those people who draw you to them for reasons you sometimes don’t know. Perhaps you’ve had that happen?

We want to know those people in life who bring Jesus closer to us, don’t we? They exist. Some of us have been fortunate enough to have had the opportunity in our lives to meet such a person. Archbishop Desmond Tutu always comes to mind but there are others. Archbishop Martín Barahona is another one of those people.

Last Monday at the Catedral Metropolitana in San Salvador, I finally met, after several years of email correspondence, someone who is almost a blood brother to me. He is a 79 year-old retired Episcopal priest in Buffalo, dealing with asthma, congestive heart failure, and the issues of mortality that come along with aging. Our connection is through El Salvador. He knew Oscar Romero and worked with him for five years. He was there at the time of Romero’s death and burial. He is also the last person to whom Romero gave communion… ever.

I said it must have been incredible to have been in Romero’s presence. He answered that Romero was one of those people who could take your pain away. Just spending time in his presence was enough to release the suffering. The church’s human rights officer, who would come into Romero’s office with 100 new cases of disappeared or tortured people in his hands, would walk out a restored person because of Romero’s healing touch on his forehead.

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus… now.’

There is the desire of meeting the person of Jesus and then the desire to meet him now.

‘Now’ is the operative reality for the gospel. Now, the present moment. Now is the time to live fully into our baptism that has been given us through Christ’s life, death and baptism. Not tomorrow, not yesterday but fully in the present.

The Ash Wednesday epistle, which we heard six weeks ago says: ‘See, now is the acceptable time; see, now is the day of salvation!’ Now is the time to enter into the life of dying and rising anew.

Our Christian life can be lived on the spot where we stand. This spot can encompass dying and rising anew. It can encompass the cross and resurrection. We just need to make our hearts open to that journey that happens in the present.

Do we know the hour, the now, the here?

The now is in Darfur. The now is in Sudan. The now is in the hospital. The now is in Russia. The now is in Haiti. The now is El Salvador. The now is in the Anglican Communion. It is here now and always.

‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus.’

Of course, when we say ‘We wish to see Jesus,’ Jesus sometimes will take us where we don’t want to go. There are ‘now’s which seem too much for us. Taking care of an aging parent. Walking alongside a dying person. Dealing with a child suffering from learning disorders. Giving up everything to follow Jesus. Don’t we go through those moments saying: ‘There’s no way I can be doing this. It has to be God who is doing this through me’?

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This Tuesday in Holy Week, the gospel asks us: Where are you bidden to abide, to stay, to watch, to pray?

Is it in the home of Mary and Martha with Lazarus?
Is it at table with Jesus and the twelve?
Is it at the trial?
Or in the garden?
Or on the cross?
Or at the tomb?
Where and when will Christ’s hour come for you?
Where is God’s glory redeeming the world now?
What is the now before you?

Remember, we cannot limit God’s power to our own terms or imagination — God’s power is far greater than that. So where do we see God’s glory redeeming the world now?

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Hymn 333 uses the words of Jaroslav Vajda that express this sense of here and present:

Now the silence 
Now the peace 
Now the empty hands uplifted 
Now the kneeling
 Now the plea 
Now the Father’s arms in welcome
 Now the hearing
 Now the power 
Now the vessel brimmed for pouring
 Now the Body 
Now the Blood 
Now the joyful celebration 
Now the wedding 
Now the songs 
Now the heart forgiven leaping
 Now the Spirit’s visitation  
Now the Son’s epiphany
 Now the Father’s blessing 
Now 
Now 
Now

Christ’s now is here with us. Here, now. Let us glorify God now, here.

[based in part on Nancy Roth’s meditation on Hymn 333, New Every Morning, Year C, 2000, 46-50]

Monday of Holy Week

2010-03-31T11:26:00.000-04:00

Every year we hear the same texts during Holy Week. They have become like friends to me, familiar poem-like words despite the harsh truths they may contain. As known and comforting as they are though, I have to pay attention to the story they tell — namely, Jesus’ walk to the cross. So, in their beauty paradoxically lies suffering.

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Jesus is in the house of Martha and Mary. The two women do for Jesus what no one else has done — they minister to Jesus with grace and love. They offer Jesus a place where he can be himself — vulnerable, mourning… a place where he, as a suffering man, can ask questions and doubt. We know that Lazarus has just died. Jesus, arriving to resuscitate Lazarus, is approaching his own death, too. Surely it was an excruciatingly painful moment for Jesus… coming to his dead friend… saying that ‘I am the resurrection and the life,’ but daring to trust to believe that?

Then Mary anoints Jesus’ feet. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. Not on his head as one would do for a king but on his feet, as one would do in preparation for burial. Her prophetic gift to Jesus will anticipate what Jesus will do for his disciples at the last supper — wash their feet with water instead of anointing them with oil. Interestingly, the Greek sentence that describes Mary’s action spills over into the description of the fragrance that permeates the house. It is as though the anointing and its result run without interruption. In Mary’s act, she holds nothing back in expressing her love for Jesus, her love for the man who brought her brother back from the dead, for the man who will make all things new. The oil that covers Jesus’ feet and fragrance that permeates the house is like Mary’s love for Jesus — abundant, flowing, sweet, spendthrift.

The Jesus of the Gospel of John from which we hear tonight knows more than in any other gospel what will happen to him. It seems, at times, as though he is orchestrating his life and death. The others are not aware of this and so, this gift of perfume from Mary must seem without reason, out of context. But it is not out of context — she seems to know, too, what is going on. She anoints Jesus for his burial. She understands the significance of Jesus’ presence.

And then… people begin to complain… in particular, Judas of Iscariot, the very one who will betray Jesus. He is so blinded by his imminent betrayal that he cannot smell the fragrance of God’s love that permeates the house. He can only see an economic waste. Despite his complaint, he does not succeed in demeaning Mary’s action. Instead, the gospel affirms once again the spend-thriftness of love. Mary spends a year’s salary for love of Jesus. Judas tries to set up a choice between the poor and Jesus; Mary, on the other hand, shows how one can love Jesus and the poor.

Mary’s action is loving as well as being an example of the very service that Jesus commands his disciples to do. She is the first in this gospel to present an example of diaconal service (indeed, diakonia is the word later used at the last supper). More important, she models in her action the mandate of mutual love that Jesus commands his disciples to do at the Last Supper. That you love one another as I love you…. Indeed, the depth of Mary’s love for Jesus is shown in the incredible generosity of her gift. She is the first person in the gospel of John to live out the commandment of love that Jesus gives to his disciples. She shows what it means to be a disciple of Christ: one who serves, loves one’s sister and brother, and most of all, who participates in Christ’s suffering and death.

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Would that we could anoint with pure nard or whatever the most expensive oil there is, the feet, hands, and foreheads of all the suffering people in the world — those suffering today from violence, degradation of their humanity, the loss of home, nation, identity. For all the refugees, for the displaced, for those hated because of who they are. For those looking into their own tombs. Their number is legion.

If we cannot anoint the world, if we cannot love with the same extravagance that Jesus did in a global way, we can at least start in our own community. Start small, with one another. Start with our neighbours, particularly the difficult ones. Find peace and live it out in daily life. Work each one of us to stop hatred of those who are considered ‘other’ or ‘different’ for whatever reason. Remember that we are all God’s children and God’s extravagant love extends to all of us—Iraqi, Palestinian, Albanian, Muslim, Jew, Christian, man, woman, child.

On this Monday of Holy Week, as a reminder that we are called to love and serve extravagantly, let us pray the prayer of Saint Francis, found on page 833 of the Prayer Book. And then let us live our lives in that same spirit of service and charity.

Palm Sunday sermon

2010-03-31T11:24:00.000-04:00

Every year, someone asks me in the weeks preceding Palm Sunday: ‘What happened to Palm Sunday? How come we have Palm/Passion Sunday?’ Usually the sentiment behind the query is one of consternation: why do we so rush through Palm Sunday to arrive at Passion Sunday? What are the two events jammed together?

As I spent half an hour last night in the silent church strewing palms, throwing others in the aisle (yes, it’s OK to walk on them, they haven’t been blessed, and they truly are a sign of hospitality), I kept coming back to two thoughts that express to me the paradox of this morning: ashes and palms, and the words to the Bach chorale found in hymn 158, ‘Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended, that man to judge thee hath in hate pretended?… Who brought this upon thee? Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee. Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee: I crucified thee.’

First, ashes and palms. There’s nothing like Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, and Palm Sunday to bring people out in droves. People want their palms as much as they want the ashes on their foreheads. Maybe it’s childhood recollections of the festive nature of waving palms around in the air, the one time that one could cut loose a bit, or maybe (as a child), it was having something sanctioned to play with during the liturgy. For whatever reason, people love their palms. When I used to strip the palms up at Saint Mary’s, I selected out the thin palms, remembering how I, as a child, always wanted the fat ones. Palms become the ashes that get crossed on our foreheads the following year on Ash Wednesday and so the cycle of death, crucifixion, resurrection and redemption continues, even as it comes full circle this morning.

It would be lovely to linger at Palm Sunday, to stop the liturgy with the reading of the procession into Jerusalem as we used to in the lectionary of the 1928 Prayer Book, because it’s a triumphant moment, it’s a moment of anticipation, it’s a moment of celebration. There are still those of us who remember that stopping point, but increasingly, the church is becoming populated by people who only know Palm/Passion Sunday as found in the current prayer book. Perhaps the day would make more sense if we were to observe it the way fourth-century pilgrims to Jerusalem did, namely, holding a procession with palms with stations along the way, and then breaking for a time certain before returning to the eucharist at which the focus was at the passion. What we are doing nowadays is consolidating time and that tends to bring on the confusion.

Besides, the progression of thought from palms to ashes to death and resurrection forms the basis for this day. After our brief moment of celebration, we listen to the passion gospel according to the gospel appointed for the year, in this case, from Luke. And that is where the English translation to Bach’s chorale comes into play because, in my mind, I am like those people in the crowd who once threw palms as a sign of hospitality and then just as quickly turned on Jesus and betrayed him.

Nancy Roth in her book of meditations on selected hymns, writes of hymn 158:
‘Was it really you and I who caused Jesus’ death?

‘In our era, we have moved so far from the point of view in [this] hymn that we often do not take responsibility even for our own sins, much less the corporate sinfulness of humankind. We seek excuses for ourselves and for others, refusing to name the truth: “We have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.”

‘As a result, we have difficulty in dealing with the evil around us. Whether conflict is international, national, local, or familial, we tend to “demonize” our adversaries, rather than acknowledge the complexity of social, political, and historical reality or the fact that those with whom we do not agree are human beings made in the image of God.

‘[…] When we have recognized our violations of love, however small, we will realize that each of us does, indeed, have the capacity for evil. To say “I crucified thee” may be going too far. But the sum total of those things which estrange each human being from God adds up to the destructive power that creates wars, cruelty and crucifixion.’

I think then, that some of people’s discomfort with Passion Sunday lies in our confrontation with this capacity. Perhaps that is why people simply want to linger with Palm Sunday and not get to the Passion part just so quickly — after all, it will be with us soon enough on Good Friday. And some of us skip it altogether and won’t return here until next Sunday when a lifetime journey will have passed within these walls.

Roth continues: ‘To recognize that such a capacity exists in each of us is the first step in healing and reconciliation. As we stand at the foot of the cross, we see both the effects of sin, and its remedy. Forgiven by the victim, we need no longer be victims of our guilt, but may go forward in life, absolved and healed.’ (1)
Allow yourself to inhabit the paradox of this morning — the festive palms, a symbol of welcome, and the confrontation of our capacity to do harm to one another, consciously or unconsciously. We can live in the paradox because we have already been forgiven and redeemed.

And then, having made your way through the internal chaos that this day sometimes brings, come walk with us the rest of the week to Easter Sunday because it will begin to make more sense as it unfolds over seven days.

END NOTE
(1) Nancy Roth, Awake, My Soul! Meditating on Hymns for Year B (New York, NY: Church Publishing Incorporated, 1999), 107-8.

Bâtiment historique — Historic Building

2010-03-12T12:16:00.003-05:00

Go here for recent photographs of the former cathedral, la Cathédrale de la Sainte Trinité, in Port au Prince, Haiti, taken by the Rt Rev'd Pierre Whalon, Bishop of the Convocation of American Churches in Europe.
[crédit photo Projet Partenaires d'Haïti]

Possibility

2010-03-06T21:35:00.001-05:00

Having started with the theme of poverty, moved through that of probability, we move to that of possibility. In Christian terms, we understand possibility as hope. Hope enables us to think in open terms, that all things are possible with God. We can take risks, trusting that God is with us through our successes and our failures. The sky is the limit. Beyond that, the Christian hope is the resurrection — that life promised us through baptism.

[reading of the Annunciation]

The Feast of the Annunciation is 25 March. It is one of those moments when we momentarily leave the solemnity of Lent and we turn backward or forward, whichever way you’d like to go, to the story of the Annunciation. Hearing the familiar story of the angel Gabriel’s visit to Mary always comes as a shock in the midst of Lent, but given that tradition observes the Annunciation nine months before Christmas, we experience this delicious juxtaposition annually. (In 2035 and 2046 we will celebrate Easter Sunday in lieu of the Annunciation, but who’s waiting?)

Yet the story of Mary’s, ‘Yes,’ to God, and that of our Lenten journey find common ground because both speak of saying, ‘Yes,’ to that which is unknown. Both speak of the soul’s journey on an unknown path that can pierce our hearts, while bringing us a step closer to redemption.

Gabriel comes to Mary with the familiar words of greeting, ‘Hail, o favoured one.’ We know scripture well enough to remember that any angelic greeting with those words signals impending upheaval in the listener’s life. Gabriel’s greeting is no different. We know well his announcement of God’s outrageous plan for Mary as much as we recall her response, ‘Here I am’—that, in its simplicity, is so remarkable, heartfelt and unexpected.

Annunciations are fearsome and potentially dangerous things. Annunciations speak of God’s way for us and that way is some times contrary to our reason or desires. Mary’s simple response astounds us because, even after hearing and listening to the outrageous plan God has for her, she responds out of faith: ‘Here I am.’

Her response is reminiscent of other biblical persons of faith who have responded with the same confidence, yet not knowing where God was leading them. There is Moses, who, upon hearing God’s plans for Israel, asserts: ‘Hear O Israel, the Lord our God is One.’ There is Samuel who asks to hear more saying, ‘Speak, Lord….’ There is Isaiah, who assures God he will still be there, ‘I will listen as one who is taught, and given ears to hear.’

Mary listens in her bones. Despite Gabriel’s message, which portends potential havoc for her life, Mary trusts. The Gospel of Luke states she pondered these things in her heart. Whatever she heard and understood from Gabriel she took the message deep into her heart and let it rest in her soul until it was ready to be born of God.

What a response of faith and trust hers is, particularly when she will later hear another annunciation even more troubling than the first. Think of the presentation of Jesus in the temple when Simeon tells her, ‘A sword will pierce your heart.’ This second annunciation disturbs greatly because it speaks of a reality fulfilled, the birth—and death—of Jesus. Surely there are moments of panic and worry. Yet Mary’s second response is as tranquil and confident as the first, ‘Let it be.’

With each progressive annunciation, astonishingly, Mary welcomes what is being revealed for her. She learns more about her life and who she is called to be and what road she walks. Through a series of progressive ‘Yes’s, each one leading her deeper and deeper into God’s desire, Mary enters into her true identity and becomes her true self. God’s word always calls us more fully to being. Mary’s ‘Yes’ leads to the cross, and then to the resurrection — through her suffering and joy, Mary remains faithful to her initial response to God, ‘Here I am.’

There is another piece to Mary’s ‘Yes.’ Remember how Gabriel assures her that ‘nothing is impossible with God.’ She is not alone. Before Mary can say ‘Yes,’ she needs a human voice to address her and human arms to embrace her. That person is Elizabeth who, through her own improbable experience, gives Mary the freedom to cry out the Magnificat, that great hymn of reversals.

Did Mary really understand when the angel came to her that her heart would be broken, a sword thrust through it, a cross marked on it? Did she know what would happen when the angel Gabriel came to her and announced that she would bear Jesus, the Son of God?

I don’t think so. She, like many of us, started out on a journey of which she did not know the outcome. She, like many of us, did not know where she was going or what it would mean. Perhaps she found out a little in her walking the way. Whatever the case, she trusted.

Though the Mary we meet in today’s Gospel is a young woman, the betrothed of Joseph, a carpenter from Nazareth, she still takes on the unimaginable. Alone she hears deep within her someone, something pulling at her heart, calling her to do and be what is unthinkable.

Mary, God’s favored one, becomes a woman of hope, because, in the face of hard and fearful times, she said Yes to God, a Yes that would draw her far beyond her imagination, capacities and understanding.

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It is no big thing to be hopeful when things are going well, when we have a meaningful job, when our relationships with those we love are rich and joyful, when we are in good health, when the world is at peace. But when everything seems to be out of alignment, then it is harder to hope and convey it to those around us. And, in times when we are waiting for what we don’t know, it is even harder to know how to hope, how to pray or even how to say yes to God.

Yet the hope of which Mary is an example is the Yes we say to God and to ourselves precisely when all around us are fear, grief and uncertainty. Hope is the freedom to live with love and compassion in the midst of hard things that are out of our control. Hope is the capacity to care when the caring will break our heart. Hope sets us free to care and care and care again, to keep vigil in those circumstances when grief threatens to overwhelm us and those around us.

Perhaps these days Mary is the mother of hope because she is the one who brings to us this much-needed word. Hope is an active, chain breaking energy. Hopeful people move out and change things, take risks and are able to sacrifice their good for a larger good. Mary’s Yes comes from her heart of hope…. You, O God, have remembered your promise of mercy, the promise you made to our forebears, to Abraham and Sara and their children forever.

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While not the only way to respond to God’s call, I have some thoughts about the way to say YES to this call, and to make a difference.

Sometimes we must live and serve faithfully and not be captured by our desire for results. It is like being willing to pray for healing for someone who will soon die.

Sometimes we are called not to be the solution but to be a sign, a witness to God’s dream for the world. When we pray and work for peace and the end of violence, we have to be ready to witness by word and action, take risks, and yet not see much happen as a result of our witness and prayer. We need to trust that God will use our sign.

Sometimes we are called simply to show up, to be present when we can do nothing. It is like being called to sit for hours by a friend who has just lost her child; befriending an alcoholic whose entire life has been lost and who has to start all over again; being in solidarity, sharing in the struggles and hope of people impoverished and abandoned. . .simply being present, silently some times when no spoken word, no action is adequate.

Sometimes we are called to be prophets: that is, to know and believe deeply in our hearts the Dream of God, and to live and struggle for that dream among the people God calls us to serve. As in the case of a small mustard seed, or a pinch of yeast, God can and will make something of this small witness of ours. I think of a small group of Palestinians and Israelis who for many years have believed in and worked for reconciliation and peace between their two peoples, and who are still at it even in these dark times.

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Are we not all like Mary, making our way along paths uncharted?

What keeps us, like Mary, going on those roads whose ways are not clear to us and whose outcomes are unknown? Do we have the same sort of trust that Mary did—a trust that is not based on an awful lot, but on the abiding presence of God?

Can we say yes to God’s tuggings at our hearts, a ‘yes’ that is not as the sure response of having life in control, but is as a risk, as a leap into the unknown?

This sense of trust in God’s ways is a lot to ask of us, sometimes. It is hard for us sometimes to let go of that control, to take that leap into the unknown. Letting go can bring incredible pain as our roots that we have lovingly set down over time are ripped out of the ground. Yet letting go and trusting in God can help us let go of our preconceived ideas so that we may dare to hope and dream of God’s desire for us.

Something new, something wondrous, something beautiful can come of our letting go and trusting in God. When we try something new, when we let go of something old, when we grow and are transformed, we find God in our midst.

Hymn 689
I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew
he moved my soul to seek him seeking me;
it was not I that found, O Saviour true,
no, I was found of thee.

I find, I walk, I love, but oh,
the whole of love is but my answer, Lord, to thee:
for thou wert long beforehand with my soul,
always thou lovest me.

Part of Lent is to walk more intentionally God’s road, to go into those places we might not enter otherwise. Part of Lent is to take tentative steps toward answering God’s calls with an unconditional ‘yes.’ Part of Lent is finding those people, those places and those forms of prayer that lead to a greater trust—a trust that can undergird all that we do.

Antonio Machado has said, ‘Traveller, there is no road; the way is made by walking.’ Embarking on that journey, however, is costly. Yet as God’s chosen, we can do none other than walk, journeying on God’s road. We can do none other than trust, as did Mary. Perhaps, then, in our walking and trusting in God, we, too, can reach the point where we can answer with integrity, like Mary, Here I am… let it be. And so today we pray for the capacity to say YES to God, for hope, for the freedom not to have to flee from times or places where we or others struggle with need, fear or grief, but like Mary to be able to give of ourselves and come to know the hope that sets us free to care and care and care again.

And so poverty, probability and possibility co-exist… but of these three, the greatest is possibility, that open place where God can work within us, allowing us to do far more than we even would have imagined possible.

Questions for third meditation

Where have you let God enter your life without restriction?
When have you said YES to God, not fully knowing where it would take you? What happened?
When have you been set freed when you least expected it?

Reading for meditation: Luke 1.26-38

Probability

2010-03-06T21:29:00.003-05:00

Probability is playing the game, hedging one’s bets. We do things, gauging how much people will like what we have done, how successful we are, how much income it might bring us and all sorts of controls. It does not completely paralyse us as poverty may but it does clip our wings because we are too busy worrying about the outcome to allow ourselves to soar.

Long before she went off into an odd sort of mysticism, Elisabeth Kubler-Ross changed the way we accept hearing bad news, particularly that involving our death. She spoke of five stages, stages now that many wish they had never heard of! One of the stages in coming to acceptance with death is bargaining. Think of Faust, bargaining with the devil.

Sometimes people bargain because they think it will buy them time. They will bargain with God — Job’s friends figured he would, but Job knew that to do so would compromise his relationship with God. Jonah tries another tactic: he simply hedges his bets. By jumping on a ship, he thinks he can flee God. Eventually, when the ship is about to sink in a storm, he realizes that it probably is his presence that is causing the turmoil and offers to be cast overboard. He’s still betting though; maybe if he does this, he’ll be left alone. Even after getting swallowed up and spat out, he thinks he can escape God. We don’t know the end of the story; the parchment is damaged, but we do know that for all his gambling, Jonah ends up sitting under a shrub (ha qiqon, the only place where this appears), waiting for Nineveh to get its due. And when it doesn’t, he complains.

Another gambler, less directly is the rich man, sometimes called Dives.

[Luke 16.19-31]

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The story in this gospel reading can lead us off into many different directions — asking questions about the resurrection, justification by works, punishment for one’s actions on earth. Initially, I’d like to consider how it provides us an example of someone who bargains with God when it is too late. It is a cautionary tale at the least. Once we have looked at the bargaining aspects of the story, then we can move onto the effects of bargaining on our relationship with others.

The story of the rich man and Lazarus is another story that is unique to the Gospel of Luke, though this one has its roots in Egyptian and Jewish story-telling traditions. The rich man, often called Dives, from the Latin translation of the word, ‘rich,’ and the poor man, Lazarus, whose name in Hebrew means ‘God helps’ or ‘God provides’ are opposite characters both in life and in death.

The rich man is nameless in the story, which is remarkable since one would usually think that the rich would be famous and have a name… but not in stories of God’s kindom. The rich man feasts daily — truly an extravagance for the times. If you remember the story of the prodigal son, the father runs out and kills the fatted calf for him — even the wealthy saved up such bounty for special occasions. Yet the man in this story feasts every day. His purple robes and white linen clothes also signify extreme opulence (what I call ostentatious opulence — opulence that exists for the sole purpose of being seen): the dye for the purple robes came from snails (don’t ask me how that is done); and it is assumed that the linen clothing was the man’s underclothing. Not bad. Some people have nothing while others can afford expensive underwear.

In contrast to the rich man stands, or rather lies Lazarus. This contrast is a violent one, a harsh one. Lazarus, the one whom God helps, is the only person in all the biblical parables that has a name, no small detail. His name indicates someone dependent on God. In addition, his name suggests someone who, though unrecognised by people, is dearly known and loved by God. The name also sets up a poignant detail later: the rich man shows he knows who Lazarus is.

Lazarus is beyond being dirt poor. He lies at the rich man’s gate in the hopes of receiving food, mere table scraps. He is probably crippled and has literally been thrown down, cast down at the gate. The gate is high and ornate, almost like those gates which serve as entrances to cities, temples or palaces. Lazarus is not only crippled, he is suffering. And unlike the rich man who is clothed in sumptuous apparel, Lazarus is covered with sores. His situation is as desperate and tragic as the rich man’s is full and luxurious.

Lazarus has a basic desire — to eat — even the scraps of bread which, having been used as napkins to wipe one’s face and plate, are thrown on the ground. It is unlikely the rich man responded to Lazarus’ request.

To add insult, Lazarus has to endure wild dogs, curs, licking his wounds and sores. Again, this is not a gratuitous detail: Lazarus becomes unclean and in the Jewish system of the times, to be unclean meant to be out of place and unwelcome.

But nowhere in this sad description do we read of Lazarus attempting to bargain with God. There’s none of the psalmist’s if I suffer or go to Sheol, I cannot praise you, God, any more. Lazarus somehow endures gracefully.

Then Lazarus dies. There is no mention of burial. In lieu of that, the gospel states that Lazarus is borne up immediately by angels to Abraham’s bosom, a place of safety and protection and intimacy. Lazarus goes from being a lonely sufferer at the rich man’s gate to an accepted, blessed saint at the side of Judaism’s patriarch.

The rich man also dies. The rich man has a burial — to both Roman and Jew, a proper burial was imperative for respect and cleanliness. But in death, the rich man’s stature and wealth no longer count for anything. He is in Hades, the closest equivalent to the Hebrew, Sheol. The rich man looks up and sees Lazarus at Abraham’s side. Between the two groups is a chasm neither can cross.

Yet even in death, the rich man presumes his former status. For the first time ever, he really notices Lazarus, but his noticing him is only because he wants Abraham to send Lazarus with water. The use of Lazarus’ name in his appeal suggests that the rich man knew all along who he was, making his neglect of Lazarus even worse. The rich man asks for a drop of water, a request for something small, just as small as Lazarus’ requests for crumbs. But just as there were no crumbs for Lazarus, there will be no water for the rich man. The difference is the rich man has no hope of reversing his fortune. He has sealed his own fate by his actions.

Abraham’s response to him makes it perfectly clear. You are reaping what you sowed. You did not care for your neighbour while you were living. You are not condemned because you were rich but because you became indifferent to your neighbour. You ignored your neighbour, while squandering your God-given wealth on yourself.

And here is where he begins to bargain with God. He is so miserable, he sort of understands that something went wrong, enough that he wants God to send an angel to his brothers so that they do not befall the same fate. Maybe he is not bargaining for himself, but he sees that he bet and lost; maybe there is a way he can spare his brothers the same. This is when he learns that he is stuck. He lost his bet.

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We run the risk of being the rich man ourselves. We have God-given gifts and wealth. The question we must honestly ask ourselves is what do we do with this wealth? How do we use it? Do we hedge our bets? As Bishop Mary Adelia McLeod once reminded us, what is the first cheque we write each month? Is it to God or Mastercard? If we live with our fists tight, and our cards close to our chests, hedging our bets, how can we let God in then? Do we live in a circumscribed world where everyting is predictable and safe and no one is different? And then…

Have we ignored our neighbour or have we served our neighbour? And who is our neighbour? As Anglicans, we have sisters and brothers scattered throughout the world. As Anglicans, we are connected to them through our common belief in God (a belief that, as shown by the Lambeth Conference, varies widely in its expression throughout the world). We may never know our brothers and sisters face-to-face. In some ways, that makes it easier to ignore them in the way that the rich man chose to ignore Lazarus who lay at his gate. But to do so would be also to ignore the biblical imperatives, found in both the Hebrew and Christian portions of scripture, namely, to love our neighbour.

Who is our neighbour? This morning there are neighbours in Haiti and Chile who desperately need our help. Tomorrow, they may be on the other side of the world of street. (I took notice that BROC and The Bus did not get their requested amounts in Tuesday’s town day votes; you can bet we will see the fall out of that decision.)

They are the neighbours we sometimes would like to ignore because: ‘They are far away from us, they look different from us and they are poor,’ a state of being in which none of us really wants to be. Yet they are our brothers and sisters and we are called, as children of God, as children of the light, to respond to their needs.

Nelsa Curbela of Guyaquil, Ecuador wrote:

When you choose an ideology, you can fool yourself. When you choose the poor and are one of them, you can be sure you won’t fool yourself. The reading of history depends on the place in which we locate ourselves… And we locate ourselves in and with the poor, with the cultures that are oppressed but alive, like the yeast in the dough, like the seeds that tolerate the hot sun and the desert but are ready to germinate, to flourish and provide food with the first dew and early rain that nourishes them.

In other words, when we let go of our cards, open our heart, enter into a place where we can no longer control things, we find freedom even in poverty, even in probability. There is a French proverb which says: ‘When you die, you carry in your clutched hands only that which you have given away.’

In other words, those of hymn 9:

To give and give, and give again,
what God have given thee;
to spend thyself nor count the cost;
to serve right gloriously
the God who gave all worlds that are,
and all that are to be.

That truly is letting go of a bargaining stance, one based on probability.
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As a postscript, a slightly different approach to this question of probability, a non-bargaining approach is that of the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet and bathed them with her tears. She did so, not because she was trying to win his favour or pardon but because she wanted to. Somewhat problematic in our theology is the thinking: if I repent of my sins, God will forgive me. Would God never forgive me? Or is it more: If I don’t repent of my sins, I will never know God’s forgiveness which is already there? I go more with the latter thinking: God’s forgiveness is already there but we must have the disposition of heart to know to ask for that forgiveness. If we never ask, then we will never know God’s graciousness.

I can’t help but think that God desires us to let go of our fears which hold us, to stop calculating so that God can work freely in us.

But neither is probability the whole story. There is more….

Questions for second meditation

Where in your life have you taken a risk, gambled and lost?
Where have you held your cards close to your chest?
Where have you taken risks and not counted the cost?
Where was God in all this?

Readings for meditation: Luke 16.19-31; Matthew 26.6-13; Mark 14.3-9; John 12.1-8)

First talk of the Quiet Day — Poverty

2010-03-06T21:16:00.003-05:00

When I was an aspirant for Holy Orders, my sponsoring diocese had us participate in a Ministry-Study year. During that year, we were sent forth from our sponsoring parish to another one to 'try out' ordained ministry. We worked with a seasoned priest, doing whatever fit. Once a month, those of us in the process, eight when I went through, met having read a book in common, and written a paper. One of us would read the paper to the rest and we'd launch off into a discussion.

The priest with whom I worked said pretty early on, that whenever he was stuck on a sermon, he would visit someone and post visit he would get the necessary inspiration. I have always held those words in mind and so, this when the Holy Spirit (or muses) seemed recalcitrant, I was casting about. Then on Tuesday, in a conversation, I heard these three words put together — poverty, probability and possibility. Bingo! There was the thread. The original conversation focused on Sir John Smith and his Hope Institute but they work here.

POVERTY

Poverty is probably one of the most pervasive and paralysing aspects of the human condition. It is everywhere we turn; it is near and far. We struggle with Jesus’ saying that the poor will always be with us because surely that is not what God intends for creation.

I could show you any series of photographs of places in the world where there is extreme poverty and ultimately it would become numbing. Grinding poverty is like chronic pain: it wears down the soul until there is little fight or will left. Hope seems gone; God seems absent.

The images coming out of Haiti and now Chile are breathtaking in their devastation. Some of us saw just a few photos of Haiti last night but God knows, there are plenty more on television or in the paper. They are breathtaking when you think of the loss of life and the loss of potential. I don’t really think I need say more… and to show the photographs is perhaps even to descend into voyeurism.

This winter I saw a photo essay of Detroit. So much of the city now is abandoned that the local government is talking about razing the abandoned houses and moving people out of neighbourhoods if too much of one is empty. In fact, the city has lost half its population. A recent NPR report states: Drive down the Chrysler Freeway, and you see wave after wave of rotted-out, burned-out homes. Much of the city is a mausoleum of enormous, empty auto plants that need new life. It is astounding to see such landscapes in our country but we know they exist.

Then there’s the poverty that can surround us in our beautiful state of Vermont. Garret Keizer writes of Island Pond in his A Dresser of Sycamore Trees: The Finding of a Ministry:

‘Island Pond is like no other place on earth. Island Pond confirms no one’s belief in reincarnation: I cannot imagine anyone standing for the first time at the intersection of its main streets and thinking: “I’ve been here before.”

‘When I close my eyes and try to imagine Island Pond — or Brighton, as it is properly called — I find that no single mental picture can contain it. Instead, I see a kaleidoscopic view of discordant images — from the Old West, from Appalachia, from the blue-collar neighborhoods around Paterson, New Jersey, where I grew up, yes, from Vermont, too, turning slowly in the pale light of a mid-winter sun, and captioned with the original settlement’s name of Random. The same thing happens when I think in terms of time. Island Pond is not Lake Wobegon, “the little town that time forgot,” nor is it, as I once quipped, “the little town that time forsook,” but a town in which time has come undone. At least that’s how it seems, as one’s eyes move from the classic brick railroad station, to the boom-box-toting kinds leaning against the sheriff’s car, to the gray-haired hippies leaving the new supermarket, to the World War II tank parked outside the American Legion Hall, to the kerchief-covered heads of the women of an ever-growing religious sect that has chosen Island Pond as a good place to wait for the Apocalypse. …

‘Without a doubt, there is something depressed and depressing in this town, even for someone like me who has grown to love it. If a number of vacationers come here, so do a number of social workers. One magazine journalist called its main street “ugly,” much to the resentment of many Island Ponders, but I’ve never heard anyone call the main street “picturesque.” Actually, it’s the lack of anything even remotely precious that forms some of my affection for the place.’ (1)

There is local poverty, too. We don’t have to look far. Mary Pratt described it in her poem, ‘Benedicite Around the Block.’ (2) While dated, it describes well our neighbourhood.

Throughout the past year, I have been attending meetings of the downtown business partners. I say I am the odd one out because my business is a bit different than theirs — I am not selling anything to make a profit; I am inviting people to come and see, but some of our issues are the same as theirs. All you have to do is look out the door to see how empty West Street is between Church Street and Merchants Row. It would seem as though dissention between business owners, the city and the downtown partnership impedes cooperation and networking.

Physical poverty is very real for us. You can probably come up with your own examples.

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Spiritual poverty is just as present but perhaps harder to pinpoint. There is one form, acedia, the noon-day funk that was the enemy of monks.

The concept of acedia begins with the ever-observant desert fathers and mothers who first perceived and diagnosed the condition. Their first impulse was to shoo it away like a pesky insect by keeping occupied, as in the narrative of Anthony beset ‘by many sinful thoughts’ and cured by angelic advice to stay busy plaiting rope. Poemen avers that ‘acedia is there every time one begins something, and there is no worse passion, but if one recognizes it for what it is, one will gain peace.’ And John Cassian adds:

It is also good to recall what Abba Moses, one of the most experienced of the fathers, told me. I had not been living long in the desert when I was troubled by listlessness [i.e., acedia]. So I went to him and said: Yesterday I was greatly troubled and weakened by listlessness, and I was not able to free myself from it until I went to see Abba Paul. Abba Moses replied to me by saying: So far from freeing yourself from it, you have surrendered to it completely and become its slave. You must realize that it will attack all the more severely because you have deserted your post, unless from now on you strive to subdue it through patience, prayer and manual labor.

Clearly acedia is not willful sloth or indolence, less so ‘sin,’ but a spiritual lethargy or indifference, a turpitude that affects the well-intentioned. Amma Theodora says:

You should realize that as soon as you intend to live in peace, at once evil comes and weighs down your soul through acedia, faint-heartedness, and evil thoughts. It also attacks your body through sickness, debility, weakening of the knees, and all the members. It dissipates the strength of soul and body. ... But if we are vigilant, all the temptations fall away.

John Cassian went further than his conversation with Abba Moses to describe the physical symptoms so literally, even to the hour of the day when they peak, that acedia became known as the ‘noonday devil.’ He provides an excellent description of the psychology of acedia as well, indicating that acedia is a ‘tedium or perturbation of heart ... akin to dejection and especially felt by wandering monks and solitaries, a persistent and obnoxious enemy to such as dwell in the desert.’ He goes on:

When this [acedia] besieges the unhappy mind, it begets aversion from the place, boredom with one’s cell, and scorn and contempt for one’s brethren, whether they be dwelling with one or some way off, as careless and unspiritual-minded persons.

The listlessness of acedia is akin to a feeling of inertness, John Cassian notes, producing no spiritual fruit, a sense of any practice being ‘empty of spiritual profit.’ John’s remedy, following desert tradition, is a level of sustained activity approximating rigorous physical labor and what were to be called works of mercy, which fend off cynicisms. Physical labor as a solution is seen in the example of the first Christian desert hermit Paul, who regularly wove baskets of palm leaves. But being too far from a market to sell them Paul would burn his handiwork once a year and start over. (3)

Acedia might be seen as tedium of soul but what to do with those moments of the dark night of the soul, those moments when the poverty of the soul is so great that one feels unable to move? Those times are the moments when one touches the bottom, and perhaps finds out that despite it all, it is solid, even if one feels like a hermit crab scuttling for shelter. Those are the moments we call outright depression. And if the soul is troubled, so then, is the mind and the body because all operate in a trinity of energy.

If the soul is troubled, how does one function?

The writer of Psalm 22 expresses so well that despair in the opening line, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me and are so far from my distress?’ My reaction to this psalm is Pavlovian because we say it on Maundy Thursday as we strip the altar and chancel, and then pour wine on the horns of the altar before washing it entirely, rendering the altar a mortuary slab as a presage of Good Friday. I can hear the congregation praying this psalm as the altar party quietly and reverently removes everything that is not nailed down.

And then we pray this psalm again on Good Friday prior to the reading of the Passion according to Saint John. The theme of abandonment and desolation threaten to overpower us. We can scarcely breathe, so deep is our grief unleashed by the events of so long ago that take on the losses and sorrows of the current day.

Psalm 22 aptly is called a psalm of desolation. It probably is one that you have uttered in some form or another at some point in your life. Despair is understandable. Feeling as though God has abandoned you is equally understandable. But even Simone Weil, a French Jew, writing in the 1930s perceived that even when we have turned our face away from God our feet are nailed to the ground at the foot of the cross and God is still there, waiting for us to turn back again.

The psalm alternates between utter desolation —

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? *
and are so far from my cry
and from the words of my distress?
2 O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; *
by night as well, but I find no rest.
6 But as for me, I am a worm and no man, *
scorned by all and despised by the people.
7 All who see me laugh me to scorn; *
they curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
8 He trusted in the LORD; let him deliver him; *
let him rescue him, if he delights in him.’
12 Many young bulls encircle me; *
strong bulls of Bashan surround me.
13 They open wide their jaws at me, *
like a ravening and a roaring lion.
14 I am poured out like water;
all my bones are out of joint; *
my heart within my breast is melting wax.
15 My mouth is dried out like a pot-sherd;
my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; *
and you have laid me in the dust of the grave.
16 Packs of dogs close me in,
and gangs of evildoers circle around me; *
they pierce my hands and my feet;
I can count all my bones.
17 They stare and gloat over me; *
they divide my garments among them;
they cast lots for my clothing.

to moments of hope and confidence:

9 Yet you are he who took me out of the womb, *
and kept me safe upon my mother's breast.
10 I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born; *
you were my God when I was still in my mother’s womb.
11 Be not far from me, for trouble is near, *
and there is none to help.
18 Be not far away, O LORD; *
you are my strength; hasten to help me.
24 My praise is of him in the great assembly; *
I will perform my vows in the presence of those who worship him.

As with any psalm of desolation, by psalm’s end, the tone has changed into confidence. The psalmist says he will praise God in the great congregation. By psalm’s end, the psalmist promises:

My soul shall live for him; my descendants shall serve him;
they shall be known as the LORD’S for ever.

An unknown Jew wrote on a cellar wall in Colgone, Germany during WWII:

I believe in the sun even when it is not shining.
I believe in love even when I cannot feel it.
I believe in God even when he is silent.

It is possible to move from a place of acedia or, worse, desolation, with God’s mercy and grace. Even when we are in those moments, we do discover that the bottom is solid. There are even people walking with us. And, yes, God has not abandoned us even though we might feel as much.

Poverty is real. But it is not the whole story.

END NOTES
(1) Garrett Keizer, A Dresser of Sycamore Trees (San Francisco, CA: Harper Collins, 1991), 39-42.
(2) In Women’s Uncommon Prayers, Elizabeth Geitz, Marjorie Burke, Ann Smith, eds., Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse Publishing, 2000, 32-33.
(3) http://www.hermitary.com/solitude/acedia.html

Questions for first meditation

Where in your life do you feel poor?
Where is there spiritual poverty?
What does being poor in heart mean?
Where do you find consolation?
Where is God in all this?

Psalms for meditation: 22, 103

Quiet Day

2010-03-06T18:42:00.000-05:00

The Daughters of the King Alpha Chapter of Vermont sponsored a quiet day today. For right now, here are the prayers we said at the end of the day. They are based on the talks so when you see them, the prayers will make more sense.

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Gracious and loving God, we come to you today with open hearts, asking your blessing on all we do. We ask that you be with us as we seek to walk your ways, that your grace will guide us. And we ask that you set us free...

... from listlessness of spirit, 
May you set us free.

... from lethargy of soul, 
May you set us free.

... from indifference, 
May you set us free.

... from turpitude of spirit, 
May you set us free.

... from sloth, 
May you set us free.

... from faint-hearted spirit, 
May you set us free.

... from dissipation of spirit,
 May you set us free.

... from the noon-day devil, 
May you set us free.

... from inertness in prayer,
 May you set us free.

... from tedium of soul, 
May you set us free.

... from despair and desolation, 
May you set us free.

... from acedia, 
May you set us free.

... from the poverty of spirit and soul, 
May you set us free.

Gracious God, we ask that you help us trust in you in all that we do. Grant that we not hedge our bets, or bargain with you but that we have confidence in your Holy Spirit leading us. As we serve you and our neighbour, may we let go of our fears and doubts but rather find the hope that has been promised to us, that all will be well.

Finally, when you call us may we say YES...

... to journeying to the unknown,
 May we say YES.

... to approaching holy upheaval without fear, 
May we say YES.

... to your annunciations, 
May we say YES....

... to that which may seem contrary to our reason or desires,
 May we say YES.......

... to those holy moments of love that will later pierce our heart, 
May we say YES....

... to those demands of God which seem impossible,
 May we say YES....

... to caring for others when it will be costly,
 May we say YES....

... to taking risks and changing the status quo, 
May we say YES....

... to being a prophet,
 May we say YES....

... to living and serving faithfully,
 May we say YES....

... to being an icon of God’s inbreaking shalom, 
May we say YES....

... to simply showing up, 
May we say YES....

... to walking on unchartered roads but trusting in you, 
May we say YES....

... to being a witness to and bearer of hope,
 May we say YES....

... to seeking you to find that all along you have been seeking us,
 May we say YES....

Lord’s Prayer

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

Christ crucified draw you to himself. May you find in the cross a sure ground for faith, a firm support for hope, and the assurance of sins forgiven.

February foto fest

2010-02-28T17:15:00.012-05:00

In chronological order....

First, some snow photos from 24 February. While the Vermont Greens are getting in tons of snow, this really has been the last snow storm in Rutland. The grounds are almost bare now.

The snow did cover up the messes the huge crows have left on our sidewalks.

The magnolia bushes look lovely with their egg-white snow balls.

The tower also looks splendid in the wet snow.

The cross carries well its white mantle.

Meanwhile, back to the soup kitchen (look at the Lent 2C sermon below for another photo), where Sally greeted guests. About 40 people came, 25 from the community. Next lunch is on Saturday 13 March.

Members of the Treble choir helped out wonderfully.

The storm 25-26 February did some minor damage to the trees out front and the west side of the roof.

Bud helped cut the branches into stove-sized pieces (why let the wood go to waste, even though it is green?).

Jim and Phill also helped out in picking up the yard. Notice the damage on the roof up to the left.

This is what Phill and Wendy found Friday morning when they got to work.

And here's what it looks like today.

Never a dull moment.

Lent 2C

2010-02-28T16:50:00.004-05:00

I am going to make a statement that could apply to 100, 200 and many more years ago. It speaks to a universality....

There is so much tragedy in the world these days to cause us to weep. Haiti enters its sixth week of life post earthquake. Chile has now joined the ranks of the suffering and Hawai’i felt the effects of the earthquake’s resultant tsunami even though it was mild. The First Nation people of South Dakota are still struggling to come back to normalcy after an ice storm left them without electricity and water for two weeks. Last week we took up a collection for Episcopal Relief and Development. Know that they will still be there for the long-haul for all these places, just as Vermont-based foundations Cristosal, Pure Water for the World and CHABHA will be (if you’re curious, come to our Lenten series!).

Even as we weep for the people of these places, even as Jesus wept for his beloved Jerusalem, we are constantly called to pick up our spiritual bags and move on. That is what Lent is about.

Last week we entered into the desert and today we continue this faith journey into the desert. Our pilgrimage lasts seven weeks until we arrive in Jerusalem where our saviour, Jesus Christ, suffered, died and rose again. During this time, the church invites us to follow a more serious life, a life that brings us closer to God.

This season, which began with Ash Wednesday asks us to become pilgrims in the journey of love. To become a pilgrim one must become humble, humble like dust and ashes. One has to realise that there is not a clear path to this love and God; by walking the journey creates itself.

The Lenten journey is above all that which asks us to enter into the depths of our hearts where not only the good resides; so also do our sins against God, our neighbour and ourselves. Lent invites us to examine our conscience and then repent of our sins. What strengthens us in this journey is the knowledge that God made us in God’s image and despite our sins, we are not bad; we are still God’s beloved.

A word of caution, however, about the nature of this journey: it is not merely about entering deep into ourselves. Sam Portaro reminds us, ‘Living into relationship with God is the most profound Lenten discipline. Lent is a time for intentional work on our relationship. God feels earth’s sorrows and mine. God shares earth’s work, and yours. God knows earth’s joy, and ours. In relationship we share everything. Yet when we undertake our disciplines, our schemes of self-reformation or community transformation, we only reinforce the notion that we can go it alone, that all is dependent upon us. Withdrawing further into ourselves we unwittingly deny the very thing we confess in the wearing of ashes.

‘It is not we alone who need to turn around in this season. God wants to share our lives. God, too, wants to come in from the distance we have imposed. God longs to be included again, perhaps most deeply longs to be included by those of us who, in our selfish designs and controls, have locked God out. Perhaps God’s deepest grief comes of us who… have denied God any active place. God wants to share our lives again.’ (1)

So, part of our Lenten journey, beyond weeping holy tears for all that is tragic in the world, is letting God back into our lives. That is perhaps the most important aspect of Lent, beyond whatever self-reform we might come up with. Sometimes that means taking a journey to the unknown.

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The first reading for today tells us the story of Abram and his wife, Sarai (though she does not appear in the reading, she has a very important role in the development of the people of Israel). God has asked them to leave their native country to go to a foreign land. At first, Abram protests, saying that he does not want to go so far away with no assurances of the future. Eventually, he decides to leave with all his family. Thus Abram and Sarai become pilgrims in a place that is not theirs. When they begin their journey to the unknown, they have in front of them four promises to guide them: God will make of them a great nation; God will bless them, God will give importance to their names and finally, through them, God will bless all the families of the world. When he receives these promises, Abram no longer asks anything of God; he accepts it all and takes off into his faith journey.

Quite a while later, God reappears to Abram. He speaks to him in a way that normally is reserved for people who speak to angels — the type conversation that happens when God wants someone to do something outrageous. When God speaks to the prophets or Mary or in other cases, God’s first words are, Do not be afraid. (There is no place in the Bible where God begins his wishes by saying: Be afraid!) God continues: I will be a shield for you; and your reward shall be very great. In the original Hebrew, the word, ‘shield,’ was actually ‘garden’ or a secure place — God would be a secure place for Abram and Sarai.

Before saying anything else, Abram stops God with his big question — like most everyone else when God comes to them with an outrageous request: How can this be when I am childless? He can’t even picture the possibility of starting a family because Sarai is so old. God answers by telling him to look at the stars in the heavens; his descendents will be as numerous as them. Further, God will make a pact with Abram in which his descendents will be given the land from the river in Egypt to the great river of the Euphrates.
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How many have you done what Abram did, that is, leave your country to go to an unknown place with little hope? Have you ever asked God: Why do I have to leave? What more do you want me to do for you? It hurts to leave and I am afraid. Have you ever asked yourself these questions or similar ones?

We have someone in our midst who is about to go forth to unknown parts, leaving behind her life here for six to ten months. Noelle will be working in Haiti. She will need our prayers. She will need our support. She can do it because God has said to her as God says to anyone following God’s path: Do not be afraid. But there will be moments when questioning the wisdom of this decision will arise.

We have launched ourselves off onto an unknown journey with our soup kitchen. We don't really know where the road is going to lead us but we have God's promise of accompaniment.

God will always answer us with these words, Do not be afraid. Regardless whether this is an imminent question or one off in an unknown future or at the time of our death, God will always say to us that it will work out — all will be well, all will be well and all manner of thing shall be well. We may not always understand just what ‘well’ means because sometimes our definition is very different from God’s. But all will be well.

How do we trust in this promise? We trust because God has made a pact with us just as with Abram. At the moment of becoming members of Christ’s body through baptism, God promises us that God will always be with us and will never abandon us. From the moment we receive blessed water on our foreheads, we are heirs of God’s kingdom. Above all, we have the promise that God loves us now and always.

This love is so strong. God’s love for us is good news and thanks to it, we can enter deeply into Lent’s journey. With God’s love, we can become pilgrims on this journey of love. This pilgrimage is sometimes bizarre and unknown with many twists and turns, but God always writes straight on the crooked lines of our lives. Like Abram, we have the promise that God will be with us for all times. So, let us be on our way… without fear.

END NOTE
(1) Sam Portaro, Daysprings: Meditations for the Weekdays of Advent, Lent, and Easter (Cambridge, MA: Cowley, 2000), 70.

Photo: Barbara stirring the pot for our first soup kitchen, 13 February 2010

Shrove Tuesday pancake supper

2010-02-16T23:19:00.005-05:00

Despite the snow, two dozen folks showed up for supper (and to watch the kitchen get more and more smoked up).

The guys started cooking about 4.30 and had enough batter for 40 people. Somehow we did not have much trouble polishing off the flapjacks.

This does not really show how smoked up the kitchen got but we did not set off the fire alarm/smoke detector.

Some of the happy diners... and this is before folks got into the ice cream!

The children got to make Mardi Gras masks and had fun running around the parish hall in them.

Thanks to one and all for setting up, cooking and taking down!

Shrove Tuesday

2010-02-16T16:23:00.001-05:00

Despite the (mild) snowfall, we're on for dinner tonight from 5.00 on. Then men are at work as I post this and I will wander down later to see how smoky they've gotten the kitchen. So come get the total sugar high you've always wanted.

Epiphany 5C

2010-02-07T16:55:00.003-05:00

The scene in the gospel reading has shifted from the synagogue where we have spent the past two Sundays, to the Lake of Galilee, otherwise known as Gennesaret, a lake about as big as Lake Winnepesakee in New Hampshire. In between the teaching in the synagogue and where we pick up again in the narrative, Jesus has healed a man with an unclean spirit, Simon’s mother suffering with a high fever and many others. The gospel reports that the next morning, Jesus withdraws to a quiet place, but people follow him. Jesus answers: ‘I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other cities also; for I was sent for this purpose.’ Off he goes to other synagogues in other towns.
And then Jesus comes to the lake.

There are many ways we can come to this well-known story. We can call it a ‘pronouncement story,’ because there is a declaration at the end; we can call it a ‘nature miracle’ because of the provision of fish. We can call it a ‘gift miracle’ story because of what is provided. And we can call it a ‘commission narrative’ because at the end of the story, Jesus commissions the disciples to follow him. All of these takes on the story are possible and all of them speak to us. But for today I am going to focus on the commissioning part of the story and what it takes to get there.

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It is obvious by now that Jesus has become a popular figure; people are following him around and the gospel has just finished telling us that Jesus has been teaching the crowd. Indeed, despite the one attempt to throw Jesus off the side of a cliff, most of what Jesus has done and said thus far has met with little resistance. The crowd by the lake presses in on Jesus, hoping to hear the word from God. But Jesus is looking for a place to get away form the crowd and spots two boats. The men by the boats have come in from fishing at night — a time when the catch is better and the conditions easier for the fishermen. It is surprising, then, that Jesus — a carpenter’s son — tells the men they should get back into the boat and go out again. It is even more surprising that they oblige, but Simon responds out of faith and gives the order for the men to go back out into the lake.

So they do and, as we know well, they catch more fish than possibly imagined. The implications are immediate: Simon Peter — the first time he is called this full name in the gospel — immediately realises that this catch is of God, not of ordinary circumstances. Jesus commissions him and, by extension, the others, by saying: Do not be afraid, for you will become fishers (really ‘catchers’) of people. And, once the men are back on shore, they leave their miraculous catch behind and follow Jesus.

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What really grabs my attention in this story is Jesus’ invitation to the men to go back out in the lake and their response to it.

Jesus says to Peter, Put out into the deep water. And they do. Why?

It is frightening to put out into the deep water, to go far from the protective shores, to get in over one’s head. Jesus is asking the disciples to stretch themselves further than they imagine possible. Tired, frustrated, worn out, the last thing they want to do is get back into the boats and go out further than where they were before.

But sometimes we are called to do just that, at those moments when we feel the most fragile, the weakest, the most tired.

What does it take to go out into the deep waters, to get in over our heads? Trust... lots of it. Trust that the boat is solid, trust that those with us can help us if we feel we are in it too deeply, trust that we can get back to shore. Without a safe framework, it is too difficult to leave the protective edges of the shore to go out to those deep waters, to go where we have not gone before.

Having companions on the way is essential for going to those deep places in our lives. The voyages that take us into deep waters are not just those that we take by ourselves but also as a community, and as a congregation.

As a congregation we are also asked to stretch ourselves in ways beyond what we think possible. And that can be as scary as undertaking a journey by ourselves. But the gospel this morning leaves few doubts. Three things are clear from what happens to Peter and the disciples when they get into the boat and follow Jesus out into the middle of the lake.

• First, by getting into the boat with Jesus, they indicate their willingness to be open to the wholly Other — to God. They go, not knowing or understanding where following Jesus will lead them, but they go, open to encountering high mystery, the power of God when God breaks into our lives.

• Second, they allow themselves to become vulnerable, and with that vulnerability comes the recognition of the limits of their humanity. That recognition of inadequacy is echoed in Peter’s: Leave me, for I am a sinful man. His cry is less one about particular sins, but rather the recognition of his creatureliness and his limitations as a human being.

• Third, the moment we recognise our inadequacy, our sin, and our smallness before the greatness of God, then we are capable of truly being called out of ourselves. When God calls us, saying, ‘Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?’, we — as the prophet Isaiah has done — can answer: ‘Here I am. Send me.’

It takes a lot of work to overcome the natural human resistance to bumping into the Holy. It is scary to get too near to God. God wants too much. God knows too much. God is too single-minded. Bumping into the Holy can mean sinking to the depths. Bumping into the Holy means losing one’s life as one knows it now. But in losing our life, we gain a new one, touched by God. So, it takes a lot of work to overcome these fears in order to trust that we truly can go out into the deep waters. But once we come to trust, we see that God is there guiding us.

And there is a reason for putting out into the deep waters that goes beyond our own needs. There is a reason why we risk being touched by God, caught by God. It is simply called: Mission. Evangelism. Vocation. Words that carry so much baggage by themselves that I hesitate to use them. But that is what God calls us to do: go out further and cast deeper, stretching ourselves, allowing ourselves to be sent out to spread the Good News. Called by God, we hand down what we have been graced to receive. We are called to proclaim the mercy of God’s grace, God’s love, the gospel. When we do that, we find life.

How can we, the people of Trinity, as individuals and as a congregation, be touched by God? How can we put out into the deep waters? What will putting out into the deep waters look like for us? Where will God lead us? Right now, we are happily casting our nets, content with our life. What will our lives look like when God comes to us? How will the peace of God turn our lives upside down? How will we, as individuals and as a congregation, respond to God’s call? How can we say, ‘Here I am. Send me’?

This Saturday, some folks are going to put out into the deep waters and trust in God’s direction. We are going to have a soup luncheon open to anyone and everyone. Maybe it means that we will end up feeding ourselves... but maybe, some of the people who come to the office weekdays looking for assistance might hear about it and get a hot meal. And if that is the case, who knows where God will take us? Sara Miles says, ‘Anywhere there is food, spirit and matter intersect.’ We are about to go on a huge ride.

Miles, whose first book Take This Bread we’ll discuss in the second half of Lent during a Lenten series devoted to outreach, writes in her second book, Jesus Freak, ‘If Jesus is about anything, it’s the inconvenient truth that a spiritual life is a physical life’ (xvi). And that physical life means putting out into deep waters and seeing where we will go.

Yes, some of it can be scary… but the boat is solid because it is Christ, there is Christ in the boat with us, there are good people in the boat with us and there are good folks on the shore. So let's push off to the deep. We can do it… with God’s help.

photo from here

Epiphany 3C sermon

2010-01-24T21:46:00.002-05:00

Can you name your heart’s deepest hope? I’m not talking about some nice wish that you’d like to have fulfilled, like hoping it’s sunny out so you can do some outdoor work or getting your taxes in early so you can get a refund, but a hope that touches the deepest fibres of your being. Maybe it’s the hope that this poor world will truly someday experience real peace. Or the hope that there be no hungry children in the world. Or the hope that the world religions might embrace one another instead of fight. Or the hope that disasters like that which happened in Haiti almost two weeks ago or similarly in El Salvador nine years ago not be compounded by what humans have done to the land and to themselves to compound the tragedy. Or, on a more personal level, that people be set free from whatever it is that holds them captive — fear, addiction, financial worries, relationship problems, hatred, or any other sign of what it means to be a fallible human being. Our hearts hold a lot of deep hopes and desires that surpass mere wishes.

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This morning’s gospel portrays Jesus speaking to his people, a people hungry for hope. I think their eyes were fixed on him after his reading from Isaiah because he spoke a truth for which their hearts yearned — they would be set free. It is not too far-fetched, either, to place our selves in that synagogue with the same concerns and hunger.

The first verses we hear this morning, vv 14 and 15 from chapter 4 of Luke, introduce Jesus’ ministry and note his popularity. They also introduce a new section in Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ Galilean ministry and the revelation of Jesus, which will run through to Chapter 9.50. A few features of this portion of the gospel are worth noting: Jesus will gather those disciples who will be his witnesses later in the Book of Acts; Jesus teaches in the synagogue about the reality of the fulfillment of God’s reign and then teaches about love in the context of grace. The section’s basic questions are: ‘Who is Jesus?’ Who can do such works and teach with such power? It also describes the awakening of the disciples’ faith and subsequent teaching about discipleship, especially about rejection and suffering. The entire flow of the section moves from the disciples’ hearing and learning about Jesus to their confessing him as their saviour. We will be hearing from this segment all the way through to the First Sunday in Lent. (Interestingly, on that Sunday, we will jump to what immediately precedes this morning’s reading, the temptation in the wilderness.)

Unfortunately, the first teaching scene is broken up by the lectionary between this and next week. I say ‘unfortunately’ because this week we hear Jesus’ teachings, and next week we hear about people’s reactions to Jesus’ teachings. Since hearing the gospel is not like watching a murder mystery film, where if I tell you what happens next I am spoiling the whole thing, let me say that after hearing what Jesus had to say, people were ready to drive him over a cliff. But that part of the story can wait for next week.

Jesus returns to his homeland, Galilee, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit plays an active and important role throughout the gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts. In this case, the Spirit’s main role is to guide Jesus and equip him for teaching. The Spirit is present at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, just as the Spirit will aid the earliest church’s ministry starting in Acts 2.

Jesus opens the scroll and reads a composite from Isaiah 61 and Isaiah 58. This portion is rich in overtones recalling verses of the Hebrew Scriptures and other parts of Luke’s gospel itself. The passage is carefully chosen because Isaiah 61 is what is known as one of the Servant Songs, those songs which have been later seen in light of Jesus. The figure in Isaiah 61 brings a message of redemption and of God’s deliverance to the exiles. Jesus goes a step further by declaring that he is the one who will bring about the dawning of the new age of salvation. Jesus ties in Isaiah 58 by meeting in love the needs of those who need God, something Israel had not done. At the same time, his words recall those powerful words of the Magnificat and the Nunc Dimittus.

Jesus reveals his mission of salvation as the Anointed One, the one with the message of good news. Preaching the good news is fundamental to Jesus’ ministry and to the gospel of Luke. He is light and liberator to the poor, captive and blind. He calls the community to a revolutionary way of showing God’s love for all and to offer comfort to those of God’s people who have suffered oppression. By asking the community of God to free the captive and give light to the blind, Jesus also asks the community of God to consider how it stands in relationship with people and societal structures. First most, the community is called to proclaim good news (the gospel hope) to the poor, release to the captives, sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed, and proclaim a year of Jubilee, a year when all debts are erased and all are equal in God’s sight.

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As those baptised in Christ, we are also called, by the Spirit of God to do as did Jesus, to be witnesses to that amazing expression of hope. The Holy Spirit, through our baptism, does in us what it did in Jesus: it helps us bring good news to the poor, liberate captives, give sight to the blind, uplift the exploited, and proclaim God’s grace.

How does that presence of the Spirit translate into our daily lives? It means that wherever we find any human being not fully living up to her or his human dignity, that wherever we find a human being dehumanised, we should help that sister or brother be fulfilled and overturn whatever oppression holds them captive — whether it’s psychological, spiritual, physical, medical, economic, or cultural.

We see far too much degradation of the human being in our world. Sadly, there are too many poor of spirit, soul, health, material goods in our world. And it is not just ‘out there,’ it is in our midst, too. There is a stream of people who come in through our doors seeking help. I was astounded during jury selection for a case concerning a drug bust several years ago to hear that 10/35 Vermonters present in the court room had some family member affected by drugs.

How do we respond then? We should be like Christ—as far and as best as we can—helping, enlighting, uplifting. Bringing clarity to someone who does not understand God’s grace, bringing hope to someone who has lost it, pointing someone to the manifestation of God’s grace, Jesus Christ. Wherever there is someone poor in our midst—and that changes constantly from person to person, from condition to condition—we are called to respond out of compassion, out of love, and out of God’s justice and mercy. Some of us have been set on fire by the Spirit and are going to have an open door, free lunch to anyone who wants to come, known and unknown, on the 13th with the hopes that it may reach those who are hungry. We are called to bring hope to the captive and help the captive be set free. Some of us go to the jail and share God’s message of pardon and redemption.

We are God’s appointed in this tremendous task of jubilee ministry. Here, at Trinity, as small as we might feel sometimes, each one of us can make a difference. You and I are called to bring the message of God’s Jubilee (not vengeance) to Rutland and its environs, to our places of work and recreation, even to our families. It’s hard work sometimes but doing so is part of our commitment, as expressed in our baptismal vows.

Think about this charge of being a people of Jubilee as we move into our second year together. Think about how you in partnership with Trinity can be a reconciler, peace-maker, and instrument of God’s justice and favour here, now, always.

And may God who has given us the will to do these things, give us the grace and power through our baptism to perform them.

photo: our wall of gratitude... under construction!

From Bishop Duracin of Haiti

2010-01-24T12:48:00.001-05:00

FROM THE RT. REV. JEAN ZACHE DURACIN, BISHOP OF HAITI

23 January 2010

Mr. Robert W. Radtke
President
Episcopal Relief and Development
815 Second Avenue
New York, NY 10017

Dear Mr. Radtke:

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ.

I am writing to you from the tent city we have set up behind the rubble of College Ste. Pierre, our marvelous senior secondary school that is no more. As you know, we have gathered approximately 3,000 people here alone. Across the land, the Diocese of Haiti has set up at least 21 refugee camps, caring for more than 23,000 people.

In this letter, I wish to make clear to the Diocese of Haiti, to Episcopal Relief and Development and to all of our partners that Episcopal Relief and Development is the official agency of the Diocese of Haiti and that we are partners working hand-in-hand in Haiti's relief and recovery efforts.

I also am announcing in this letter that I am appointing The Rev. Lauren R. Stanley, Appointed Missionary of The Episcopal Church, to work directly with ERD on my behalf. I am asking all partners in The Episcopal Church to communicate directly with Rev. Stanley, so as to keep communications with the Diocese of Haiti open. Rev. Stanley is to communicate and work with ERD on my behalf.

In addition, I am asking that all of our partners in the Presbyterian Church USA work directly with ERD, with Rev. Stanley as the central communications person. PCUSA has worked with us for many years, and we are deeply grateful for their compassion and their commitment to the people of Haiti.

We in the Diocese of Haiti have a vision and a plan for this relief and recovery effort. We know the situation on the ground, we are directing emergency relief to those who need it most, and we already are making plans and moving forward to help our people. Since the earthquake struck, we have been and will continue to work closely with your two representatives here, Ms. Katie Mears and Ms. Kirsten Muth. I have complete confidence in you and your agency.

Finally, I wish to make it plain: I know that many of our partners wish to come to Haiti right now to help. Please tell them that unless they are certified professionals in relief and recovery, they must wait. We will need them in the months and years to come, but at this point, it is too dangerous and too much of a burden for our people to have mission teams here.

Please tell our partners, the people of The Episcopal Church, the people of the United States and indeed the people of the world that we in Haiti are immensely grateful for their prayers, their support and their generosity. This is a desperate time in Haiti; we have lost so much. But we still have the most important asset, the people of God, and we are working continuously to take care of them.

I hope that this letter will help all of us work together to help God's beloved people in Haiti. If you have any questions or concerns, please contact me. If others have questions or concerns, please ask them to contact you or to work directly with Rev. Stanley.

Faithfully,

Mgr. Jean Zaché Duracin
Evêque d'Haïti

Contact information for The Reverend Lauren Stanley:

The Rev. Lauren R. Stanley
TEC Appointed Missionary in Haiti
Assistant to Bishop Duracin,
Partnership Program and Development
Diocese of Haiti
US mobile: 703-678-3892
MereLaurenS@gmail.com
http://GoIntoTheWorld.net

Words on faith

2010-01-21T12:08:00.001-05:00

"That's the way life is. There are moments like this, moments of sadness. There are moments of celebration. What's important is to keep the faith. We must keep the faith, knowing that God is with us in the good as well as in the bad days. We must keep the faith." — Bishop Jean Zache Duracin of the Episcopal Diocese of Haiti

The Wall Street Journal has posted a video with an interview with Bishop Duracin in which he said these words. Go look at it; it gives you a sense of the devastation that has befallen our sisters and brothers.

Update on Haiti from Episcopal News Service

2010-01-20T21:25:00.000-05:00

Aftershock rocks Haiti, Diocese of Haiti expands its recovery role
By Mary Frances Schjonberg, January 20, 2010

[Episcopal News Service] As a major aftershock rocked the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince and Léogâne, more news emerged Jan. 20 about the growing role of the Episcopal Diocese of Haiti in the country's short-term relief efforts and long-term recovery.

The news included reports of babies being born and the loss of more people served by the diocese.

A magnitude 5.9 aftershock struck just after 6 a.m. local time about 35 miles southwest of Port-au-Prince, according to the U.S. Geological Survey, which had earlier in the day calculated the aftershock at 6.1 on the Richter scale. It was one of 28 temblors the USGS recorded up until 4:43 EST Jan. 20. A magnitude 6.0 quake is 10 times less in magnitude than a magnitude 7.0, such as the one that devastated Port-au-Prince and the surrounding area eight days ago.

The Haiti Nursing Foundation reported on its website Jan. 20 that three students from the diocese's school of nursing in Léogâne died in their homes during the Jan. 12 quake that also destroyed 80 - 90 percent of the buildings in the main part of town.

That report came along with the news that six babies had been born at the makeshift hospital that has been operating at the school's buildings since just after the earthquake.

The foundation reported that 27 members of a relief team from Japan, including four doctors and seven nurses, are now working at the school and sleeping in one of the dormitories. Members of Doctors Without Borders have also been treating people at the school and members of the United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti have fixed the school's generator and are due to work on its water pump, nursing school dean Hilda Alcindor said on the foundation's website.

She has said that she, the nursing students and the incoming medical personnel have treated at least 5,000 people since the quake. A tent city has sprung up in the open fields around the school. The school's foundation also reported that the nursing students have set up 10 first-aid stations around Léogâne.

In addition, the foundation said, Chip Lambert, a doctor from the Medical Benevolence Foundation had arrived Jan. 19 with a stock of supplies.

The Medical Benevolence Foundation was already a partner with the nursing school as well as the diocese's Hôpital Ste. Croix in Léogâne, a clinic on LaGonava Island, and St. Vincent School for Handicapped Children in Port-au-Prince.

According to confirmed reports, included on CNN's iReport here, at least six children and staff, and possibly as many as 10, were killed when one of the school's buildings collapsed. Since then, the school has been robbed of materials, St.Vincent's director, the Rev. Léon Sadoni said in the CNN iReport and elsewhere.

About 130 St. Vincent students are living at a survivor camp of about 3,000 that diocesan Bishop Jean Zaché Duracin, who was made homeless by the quake, established near College Ste. Pierre in downtown Port-au-Prince. Plans are being made to transfer the St. Vincent students to other living quarters.

Ste. Pierre, a diocesan primary school, was destroyed in the quake, as were at least three other of the diocese's 254 schools, ranging from pre-schools to a university and a seminary. Another of the destroyed schools is the Holy Trinity complex of primary, music and trade schools adjacent to the demolished diocesan Cathédrale Sainte Trinité (Holy Trinity Cathedral) in Port-au-Prince. More than 100 of the diocese's churches have been damaged or destroyed, Duracin has said.

The Rev. Canon Oge Beauvoir, the dean of the diocese's seminary and one of four Episcopal Church missionaries assigned to Haiti, has been assisting Duracin at the camp. He is working with the Jacksonville, Florida-based nonprofit FreshMinistries and its international arm, Be The Change International to help coordinate the Haiti portion of an effort to bring in doctors, medical technicians, translators and prescription medications.

BTCI issued a news release Jan. 19 that said the U. S. Department of Health and Human Services had asked it to help in the relief coordination. The Rev. Dr. Robert V. Lee, chair of FreshMinistries and BTCI, has long-standing relationships with the Episcopal Church in Haiti and close ties with the Haitian government, according to the news release.

Be The Change Haiti will coordinate those efforts on the ground, the release said. Beauvoir, who also heads Be The Change Haiti, has thus far found nearly 40 Haitian physicians and 37 translators, the organization said. Beauvoir, who escaped harm during the earthquake, has offered the diocese's school buildings for use in administering aid and coordinating further relief efforts.

Trinity Wall Street is also participating in the effort to gather personnel for the effort. Lee, BTCI's chair, asked his friend and Trinity rector the Rev. James Cooper for help in locating French and Creole speakers, particularly those with medical backgrounds, who would be willing to help in Haiti. Trinity made the need known and about 50 people responded, according to Donna Presnell, Trinity assistant manager for public relations and promotion. She said the parish is awaiting further word from Lee and Be The Change.

Fraudulent emails re. Haiti

2010-01-20T17:45:00.000-05:00

It has come to our attention that someone purporting to be Bishop Jean Zaché Duracin might be sending out fraudulent emails in his name, asking for financial donations. Please do not respond with funds unless you are absolutely certain that the sender is who he or she claims to be. At this time, the far safer way to support the people of Haiti is through Episcopal Relief & Development.

It is sad that such times of great need often provide opportunities for deceitful persons to attempt to gain. Our goal is to ensure that the people of Haiti are supported in a secure manner.

The Rev. Canon C. K. Robertson, Ph.D.
Canon to the Presiding Bishop & Primate
The Episcopal Church

Info on Haiti

2010-01-20T17:34:00.003-05:00

La Cathédral du Saint Esprit, Port au Prince, now utterly destroyed

An Urgent Message from the Diocese of Haiti
Please Share
Wednesday 21 January at 3:05pm

Dear Friends in Christ:

On behalf of the Bishop of Haiti, the Rt. Rev. Jean Zaché Duracin, first let me say Mesi anpil, thank you very much, for your love, your prayers, your support, your generosity and your kindness.

I know that many of you want to go to Haiti to help. Many of you already have planned mission trips and have long-standing relationships with your brothers and sisters in Christ in Haiti. Please, Bishop Duracin has been very clear about this: Unless you are a certified first-responder, now is not the time to come. Please let the professionals do their job first as they help the Haitians through the immediate dangers and relief efforts.

Episcopal Relief & Development is working very hard, day and night, to get help where it needs to go. The agency is working closely with Bishop Duracin as well, who is directing efforts, along with the Executive Council of the Diocese of Haiti, and deciding where the most urgent needs are and how to meet them.

I believe the best course of action right now is to pray, to be generous in your financial assistance, and to begin praying about how you can respond in the future. If you are considering -- or had already scheduled -- a mission trip, please pray about who should go to help with the first stages of rebuilding: Those who are healthy, who have specific skills such as carpentry, construction, plumbing, electrical work. Consider learning more Haitian Creole -- 10 lessons are available for free at www.byki.com, and more lessons can be purchased.

The Diocese of Haiti will need your help for many years. This crisis is a marathon, not a short sprint, so we must be prepared to be in this for the long haul.

One immediate way that you can help: Please send all information to me at my email address. I am compiling it for Episcopal Relief & Development. I especially need to know about parishes in the immediately affected areas, their locations, their GPS coordinates and the latest updates you may have received. We have a lot of information floating around out there, but I don't get all of it, and there could be vital information that I miss.

In addition, please to keep an eye on my web site, www.gointotheworld.net. Help me to ensure the information I have is correct, and help me get more information to post.

Please know that Bishop Duracin is counting on everyone here to work together, to help the people and to be faithful. Together, we WILL help God's beloved children in Haiti.

Blessings and peace and many, many prayers,

The Rev. Lauren R. Stanley
TEC Appointed Missionary in Haiti
Assistant to Bishop Duracin,
Partnership Program and Development
Diocese of Haiti
US mobile: 703-678-3892
MereLaurenS@gmail.com
http://GoIntoTheWorld.net

Epiphany 2C

2010-01-17T23:37:00.002-05:00

Irish Anglican Herbert O’Driscoll, in his reflections on the readings of our lectionary, offers some wise words about what it means to be church for us on the morning that we have our annual meeting.

Commenting on the passage from Isaiah, he expands on the prophet’s analogy of God talking to God’s beloved people, Israel. He likens their relationship to that of a couple in love, and the transformation that occurs for the pair as their relationship deepens and matures. Using the traditional analogy of the church being Christ’s bride, O’Driscoll thinks about how God must delight in us. Knowing that delight helps O’Driscoll when he gets frustrated with church and realises his view of the church is jaundiced.

O’Driscoll writes, ‘Our conversation about the church these days is full of frustration, fear for the future, and even anger that the church seems unable to fulfil all our hopes and intentions for it. We endlessly list its weaknesses as we see them, and we make dire prophecies about the future. But suppose that [Jesus Christ] sees the church sees the church through very different eyes, looking at it from a heart that loves the church beyond measure—because he gave life to bring it to birth. Could [Jesus] possibly see some reasons to delight in the church today?’

We pray at the Easter Vigil and at every ordination a collect in which we speak of the church, ‘that wonderful and sacred mystery.’ There is much for us to delight in. Not only does Christ love the church, but you and I do, too. That’s why we’re here today… because in the church, that wonderful and sacred mystery, we come close to God in ways that are not always possible in the busyness of our daily lives. Church, the place and people, offers a time-out and a chance to let our defences down, so that the Spirit might touch us in unexpected ways.

Isaiah tells Israel that God will give them a new name. O’Driscoll muses how we might begin to give the church a new name? What might it mean? Right now, the church is much in the news but largely it comes across negatively. What if we were to show even in our city the positive energy and love there is here? O’Driscoll asks a question that is good for us to ponder, too: What new name does Christ wish us to give the church? Maybe we should look at the church, talk about it, as if we love it deeply as I think we do. For the church is not just the buildings, furnace, copier and all the material things that form Trinity. What really matters are the people. We must remember how deeply God loves us. And then we must show that love to one another. By showing that care, we might well give the church a new name, one that goes beyond ‘Episcopal,’ one that indicates peace and love.

Isaiah tells Israel ‘You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord… a royal diadem.’ O’Driscoll muses, ‘Perhaps we need to look at the church with the express intention of discerning those things that are its crown jewels. We might begin in a very simple and personal way. What for oneself are the precious and lovely things of the church? A glorious anthem remembered clearly. A magnificent prayer that has entered into one’s own speech patterns. A friendship discovered in the fellowship of the church. A deep sense of peace as a piece of bread is placed in one’s hand. A cross, perhaps old and dulled by time, yet glorious against an evening sky. These and other things are the jewels that form a crown of beauty… a royal diadem.’ What are the lovely things of Trinity that touch you? How has your life been changed by the people of Trinity? Where in this community do you find your deepest needs met? Where do the people point you back to God? And where do you find God in Trinity?

O’Driscoll reminds us that when it comes to the church, the relationship that will bear the most fruit and happiness is one that is committed and steady. People may ‘use the church when they need it, attending on special or uplifting occasions, following an admired leader, but otherwise withdrawing,’ but those relationships he calls ‘half-hearted.’ That appellation may be harsh but truth is, the steady participation in the ebb and flow of the life of the congregation is as important to a deepening of one’s faith as showing up for the high points.

The church is God’s beloved because it is composed of us, God’s beloved. We are called together (that verb is the root of both synagogue and church in their respective languages of Hebrew and Greek) by baptism, by our love for God and God’s love for us.

And, as God loves us, so we show that love to others, near and far. I hold in my hand a tin cross, made in Haiti. Notice what is in the centre, at the crossing of the arms: a heart. This simple cross expresses the heart of God, given for us. As ones who baptised into this heart of love, we share that love with others. Our brothers and sisters in Haiti have had their lives turned upside-down this week in ways that are unfathomable to most of us. The Episcopal Church of Haiti, part of Province II of our church and, in fact, our largest diocese with 200 schools and hospitals, has suffered enormous losses — their once-beautiful cathedral is a pile of rubble; their bishop and his family are homeless; congregants died while at church; families have lost members and more. No matter how little we may feel we have here, we have more. And so this morning I invite you to give of your wealth to our sisters and brothers and then be there for them for the long-haul because reconstruction will be very long indeed. Remember that heart in the middle of the cross.

Our lives are touched by and touch people near and far. We will learn more of that in a short while. At the end of this service, we are going to gather in the unique process called ‘annual meeting,’ provided for us by the canons of the church. Unless you have been in a church where there is no democratic process, it is hard to appreciate what a treasure annual meeting really is. Enjoy it. Realise that it’s our chance to celebrate Trinity and find ways to deepen our relationship with God. For God delights in the church and loves it and us beyond measure.

Endnote
Herbert O’Driscoll, The Word Among Us, Year C, Vol. 1 (Toronto: Anglican Book Centre, 1997), 73-75.

Message from Archbishop Barahona

2010-01-14T23:54:00.002-05:00

[English below]

Llamado del primado de IARCA (la Iglesia Anglicana de la Región de Central América) en solidaridad con el pueblo Haitiano.

Estimados hermanos y hermanas, amigos y amigas de la Provincia Anglicana de la Región Central de América y otras personas que con espíritu de solidaridad quieran poner atención a este llamado desde la ciudad de San Salvador, El Salvador, cede del Primado de la Provincia de IARCA.

Les ruego, les suplico, por el amor de Dios que hagamos lo que podamos para apoyar al sufrido pueblo de Haití en la tragedia del martes 12 de enero, cuando un terremoto de 7.3 grados ha destruido gran parte de la infraestructura de esta nación y que ha dejado mas de 100 mil muertos y millones de damnificados, es una de las tragedias mas grandes que hemos tenido en los últimos tiempos.

Oremos para que Dios de fortaleza a la gente y a los familiares que han perdido a sus seres queridos y de una manera muy especial, enviamos nuestro mensaje de solidaridad a nuestra querida Iglesia Episcopal de Haiti, a su Clero y a nuestro hermano Obispo el Revdmo Jean Zache Duracin.

Nosotros en nuestra Provincia, sentimos el sufrimiento de ellos; les pido que hagamos donaciones y las enviemos a nuestra institución de ayuda y desarrollo: “Episcopal Relief and Development, estamos seguros que ellos están allí y nosotros debemos apoyar esta gran ayuda humanitaria.

Vayan nuestras oraciones para los que han fallecido, para pedir fortaleza de Dios para sus familiares y los sobrevivientes.

Que la misericordia de Dios este siempre con nosotros.

El Revmo Martín Barahona
Obispo de El Salvador
Primado de IARCA

Call of the Primate of IARCA (the Anglican Church of the Region of Central America) in solidarity with the Haitian people

Dear brothers and sisters, friends of the Province of the Anglican Church of the Region of Central America and other people who, with a spirit of solidarity, want to heed this cry from the city of San Salvador, El Salvador, seat of the Primate of the Province of IARCA:

I beg you, I implore you, for the love of God, that we do all we can to help the people of Haiti. They are suffering from the tragedy of 12 January when a 7.3 earthquake destroyed a major part of the infrastructure of this nation and left more than 100.000 dead and millions of homeless. It is one of the greatest tragedies that we have seen in recent times.

Let us pray that God will give strength to the people and families who have lost their loved ones and, in particular, we send our message of solidarity to our beloved Episcopal Church of Haiti and to our brother bishop, the Most Rev. Jean Zache Duracin.

In our province, we feel their suffering.

I ask you to make donations and send them to our help and development agency, Episcopal Relief and Development. We are sure that they are there and we need to support this huge humanitarian effort.

May our prayers go with those who have perished; may we ask for God’s strength for their families and survivors.

May God’s mercy be always with us.

(the Most Rev.) Martín Barahona,
Bishop of El Salvador
Primate of IARCA

Feast of the Epiphany

2010-01-06T22:20:00.000-05:00

I had learned in church school that the Epiphany was the festival of the church commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi. I am not sure I understood what ‘manifestation’ was about; I just remember that we were threatened in confirmation class that if we couldn’t spell ‘epiphany’ or ‘Episcopalian’ that we couldn’t be confirmed. That was enough to strike terror into my sixth-grade heart because I really, really wanted to be confirmed. I figured, I think, that I would get around to the meaning of Epiphany later on in life.

Then I learned that ‘epiphany’ had another, deeper meaning. It could be ‘a sudden, intuitive perception of, or insight into, the reality of the essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience.’ By extension, people can have access to the divine through intuition, insight and perhaps even their dreams.

Think of Proust’s seeing his past in the form of the madeline cookie he dipped into his tea, or the clarity (the answer to that miggly problem you couldn’t figure out) that bursts into your mind when you’re walking or exercising. A simple experience can open up the world to you.

For those of us who have tested as ‘intuitives’ on the Meyers Briggs’ test, we understand well the leaps of logic for which we constantly must apologise or fill in the gaps for those who don’t share the same way of responding to the world. It may be easier to access the divine because of the way our brain is wired. But even the non-intuitive, sensory thinker can access the divine and has moments of intuition that defy reason.

Clearly that’s what this passage from Matthew is all about. Even Herod had an intuition about Jesus—so strong that he called together Three Wise Men to go and search for him—God only knows why. Apparently, the Three Wise Men did as well. Intuitively—or, as scripture says, ‘having been warned in a dream’—they ‘did not return to Herod, but left for their own country by another road.’ Common sense would have told them to be obedient to the King. Apparently, common sense has little to do with the manifestations of God.

Have you ever had the driving sense to do something, contact someone or act not fully knowing why but knowing you have to, because somehow God is involved in that drive? Sometimes you do and find out that your reaching out to a person at a particular moment was the life-saving gesture that that person needed. Sometimes God’s reason, manifested as our intuition or in our dreams, supercedes our reason. And it’s OK.

Intuition. Insight. Dreams. They’re all stuff of God. All manifestations of the divine spark we were each given at the beginning of our own creation. It’s not ancient history at all because it happens over and over again in the days and times of our own lives.

When we allow ourselves to trust that divine spark within each of us, and follow where it leads, we may find ourselves smack in the presence of God. Then we, like the three Magi, may find ourselves overwhelmed with inexplicable joy. Humbled beyond understanding in the presence of the simple, the homely or the commonplace. And generous beyond measure in the midst of the essential meaning of it all.

Which may well be the first steps to the manifestation of true wisdom, leading to our own epiphanies.

Trinity at night

2010-01-03T23:31:00.002-05:00

Just a few photos of the church at night in the snow storm...

These were taken at a very slooooow shutter speed, hence a little bit of blurring.

This is a slightly higher resolution than the previous one.

It was a nice walk over to the church in the snow... now we'll see what it all looks like tomorrow!

Christmas 2C

2010-01-03T23:25:00.004-05:00

[Nourse Hall, February 2009]

What brought you to church this snowy morning? What compelled you to shovel out, drive through the mush to arrive here to sit on hard pews cushioned by futons? More aptly asked, who brought you here this morning? Can you feel in your heart the words of Psalm 84, ‘How lovely is your dwelling place...’? The Book of Common Prayer words are equally familiar: How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts. The verse continues: My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.

My soul — the centre of my breathing and responding to life;
 my heart — the centre of my reflection and understanding;
 my flesh — my human frame; 
indeed, my whole being longs to be near God, the Giver of life.

The passion with which the psalmist writes is akin to that of a lover who has not seen the belovèd for a long time. One senses that every fibre of the psalmist’s being reaches out to God. As one who perhaps has not yet connected with the Belovèd — that is God — the psalmist looks longingly at others who live with God: the sparrow and swallow are fortunate because they dwell near the house of God. Those people who praise and have strength in God are blessed. The psalmist reiterates his trust in God who will give grace and glory and will not withhold good things from those who walk with integrity. Those who trust in God are truly happy and the psalmist wants to be one of those fortunate people.

Psalm 84 is suitable for several transitions in life… those moments when the soul yearns to be close to God. Certainly one of the most beautiful musical renditions of this psalm is in Brahm’s German Requiem, written in memory of his mother. The universal desire to dwell in God’s courts spans the course of a lifetime from youth, to midlife, to death.

What follows is a meditation on Psalm 84, as experienced in one priest’s life in a particular parish, this one, in the month that we have annual meeting and in which she celebrates her 16th anniversary of ordination to the priesthood. Perhaps parts of this reflection can resonate with your experience and love of this place called Trinity.

How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts…

Some of us get to spend more time in God’s dwelling place than others. Certainly I have. Being able to putter prayerfully is a perk of being a priest in a parish (how’s that for a tongue-twister?). I have the opportunity to be in here by myself, walking around, setting up, just being. Some of you do, too, by virtue of serving in choir, altar guild, as chalice bearer or lay eucharistic visitor. There is something wonderful about having a holy space when it is empty and quiet because one realises that it really is not. It is filled with people’s prayers. It is filled with God’s spirit. And so part of my week is spent wandering around the church and chapel, taking in your prayers, your presence and God’s spirit. It is all part of being the priest in partnership.

My heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.

Up at Saint Mary’s in Northfield, in the summertime on the hot days, I would go over to the naturally cool church, kick off my sandals at the door and walk in barefoot… the way many faiths direct their believers to do when entering sacred space. I could feel the holiness of the church seep in through the soles of my feet. I have adapted this habit to here as well. Try it sometime. I won’t mind. God won’t mind.

By the same token, I would sometimes pray, sitting on the floor in front of the altar. I’ve placed tea candle votives on the floor in front of our high altar once or twice. It is striking (and safe) and reminds me of the countless churches in Spain and France I visited on the Camino. As I said in my sermon last week, the candles people had lit and left behind spoke of prayers that the rest of us could see. And so I invite you to linger sometime in the chapel, that glorious space made more relevant during Christmas tide by the frieze that contains the words to the prologue to the Gospel of John. Light a candle, leave a prayer, write something in the book by the votives, look at the icon of Mary and Jesus.

Now, we are about to test all this nice talk about the loveliness of God’s dwelling place by our annual migration to the chapel and parish hall. The two early services will still be in an obvious ‘church-y’ place whereas the late service will be in Nourse Hall. I am aware that this move is difficult for some and that some even stay away during the winter months because they feel they cannot worship in such a strange place. Perhaps it is less upsetting to me because I started worshipping in Nourse Hall five weeks after I arrived here last year; perhaps, too, because from age 3-12 I worshipped either in a parish hall or in the all-purpose room of my elementary school. I learned from an early age on that God’s spirit could be found wherever one is as long as one is part of the church, the body of people called together, the ecclesia, those called out in God’s name.

Happy are they who dwell in your house! They will always be praising you.

We are called to be the church. Together we make up part of the spirit that resides in God’s dwelling place. Just as God’s spirit, God’s shekina, the animating force dwells within each one of us, so it also dwells in the body as it comes together for prayer and to break bread. That force will fill our hearts whether we are in the church or in the chapel or in Nourse Hall because it will be God’s presence made manifest by our prayer.

Happy are the people whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on the pilgrim’s way.

One benefit of our moving to Nourse Hall is that the church body can regain consciousness of the rest of this building complex. I sometimes wonder if the majority of the congregation knows just how much happens here outside of Sunday morning worship? You’ll find out about the amazing activity in the annual report but suffice to say that a lot of people go in and out of these doors, use this parish hall whose faces do not show up here on Sunday morning (we might ask why sometime).

Those who go through the desolate valley will find it a place of springs, for the early rains have covered it with pools of water.

So many people come through these doors seeking emotional and spiritual solace. As the economy has gone further and further south, more and more people come seeking aid. Discerning who really needs it and who might be scamming us is probably the hardest part of being in a church or social organisation. Our parish secretary does a heroic job of working through the requests, referring the many to BROC, pointing those who are in emotional distress to my office and gently turning away those whose stories sadly do not ring true.

But people also come to this place for company, fellowship, prayer and a gentle word. Much of parish ministry consists of just being present in the moment, never knowing who might come through the door but certain that we entertain angels unawares and that any one of those people seeking solace might be Jesus.

For one day in your courts is better than a thousand in my own room…

There is no church of one. We can pray alone at home, outdoors, in whatever place we call sacred but finally we need to come back together. This community, the church, is a sanctuary where we can become vulnerable and search for deep intimacy with God.
No good thing will the LORD withhold from those who walk with integrity.

As you and I walk through the seasons together, joined by prayer and communion, we will find that spiritual intimacy for which our souls so yearn. We can have the courage to wrestle with the difficult questions, feel safe to be ourselves unvarnished, allow ourselves to become vulnerable so that we can risk that deep encounter with God.

We have the promise of spiritual intimacy through regular participation in the worship of this community. By coming together week-in, week-out, through the sustenance of the eucharist, we are able to live in the tension of the worlds of Monday-Friday 9.00-5.00 and the Sanctuary.

We come to this table for solace and strength, for pardon and renewal to become one body, one spirit in Christ so that we may worthily serve the world in Christ’s name. Through the eucharist, our soul, heart and bodies can connect with our Belovèd. With that connection made, we can then go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Holy Spirit.

How dear to me is your dwelling, O Lord of hosts.

Yes.

Feast of the Holy Name

2010-01-03T23:21:00.002-05:00

The night when she first gave 
birth had been 
cold. But in later years
 she completely forgot
 the frost in the beams above her
 pain and smoking ovens
 and the strangling of the choking
 towards morning. 
But above all she forgot the
 bitter shame 
of not being alone,
 which is the fate of the poor. 
Mainly because of that
 in later years it became the feast
 at which  everything was present.
 The rough chatter of the
 shepherds fell silent.
 Later in the story they became 
kings.
 The wind, which was very cold,
 became the angels’ song. 
Indeed, of the hole in the roof,
 which let in the frost,
 there remained only  the star which looked in.
 All this 
came from the face of her son,
 who was gentle, 
loved song,
 invited the poor to him. 
And had the custom 
of living among kings, 
and seeing a star above him at
 night time. (1)

Bertolt Brecht’s poem, ‘Mary,’ describes not only Jesus’ birth but also our process of re-seeing things, and renaming life experiences. This unique time of living with the story of the incarnation begs us to reconsider not only who Jesus is but who we are.

The readings of Christmas-tide vacillate between the humble place where Jesus was born to the vast heavenly space above us. Shepherds and kings, frost and stars, crowd our imaginations. Throughout this period, however, the readings constantly point us back to the mystery of God becoming incarnate and dwelling among us, of our receiving God’s presence, God’s shekina, as well as the breath of life which has been from before time.

This morning’s reading continues on the story-line of Jesus’ infancy, taking us to just a week after his birth when his parents, obeying Jewish law, take him to be named and sealed with one sign of God’s covenant, circumcision. At the time of being marked, the baby receives his name, ‘Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.’

And from that day on, Jesus grows into that name, God-with-us, Emmanuel. At the time Jesus was named, people thought and scriptural writings attested as well, that to call someone by name was to know the essence of that person. There are the stories of Abram and Sarai receiving new names, once God has discerned who and what they shall be for their people. Once they have their name they discover what they are to become.

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I always feel the pull between the secular observances of New Year’s Day and what we are commemorating here.

Edmund Morgan, writing in the New York Times several years ago about Ben Franklin, says: ‘Is it peculiarly American to want to make yourself a better person? Do people in other countries begin the New Year with a set of resolutions to get up earlier, cut down on drinking, stop smoking and lose weight? Do they energize themselves with books telling them how to be their own shrinks? Do people in, say, Italy or France, think they need to reform themselves annually? Surely not the French. Are bookstores in other countries filled with titles like ‘Fire up Your Life,’ ‘Dare to Win,’ ‘Your Road Map to Lifelong Happiness,’ and, yes, ‘Overcoming Anxiety for Dummies’? (2)

But who amongst us hasn’t had that tug, that yearning to start anew, to have a new name, to discover our essence? Even as a seminarian in my early thirties, I remember the powerful and hopeful experience of starting out a semester with clean, unwritten-in notebooks, and a pile of new books to read. It’s a neat experience but for most of us, once we have left academia, we have less opportunity to contemplate a new start. Life is more of an unending spiral that leaves us little opportunity to contemplate our true essence and who God wants us to become.

New Year’s and the Feast of the Holy Name both speak to that deep-down yearning to start out with a clean slate and get a new name as it were. But the new name is not about our name but how God calls us to a new way of being. God calls us back to those covenants we have made, giving us hope and courage to be who we are and who God created us to be. Through God’s calling us again and again God invites us to discover our essence.

For when God calls me by name, God is not calling me, ‘Dorothy Day,’ or ‘Rigoberta Menchu’ or the names of some of my icons of holiness, ‘Debbie’ or ‘Hannah.’ God calls me by name, Lee Alison, offering me a new way of being and a new way of living.

Each time God calls me by name, I am offered a clean slate, a new way of being. That is far more enriching than New Year’s resolutions which, in my experience, last about two weeks. The gift of being called by name is but a part of the whole wondrous gift of the incarnation that we celebrate at Christmas. Our response to God’s call is to remember the covenant we have made at baptism and answer with firm voice, ‘I will, with God’s help.’ That, too, is wondrous.

END NOTES
(1) Cited in Jesus of Nazareth, Dorothee Soelle and Luise Schottroff, eds (Louisville: WJK Press, 2002), 11.
(2) Edmund S. Morgan, ‘Poor Richard’s New Year,’ The New York Times, Tuesday, December 31, 2002, A21.

Christmas I 2009

2009-12-28T13:29:00.001-05:00

If you attend the late service on Christmas Eve, the morning eucharist on Christmas day and this morning’s service, you will have heard the prologue to the Gospel of John three times by now. It is an awesome piece of writing — not just for the language with its gentle repetition but mostly because the thoughts contained therein are too marvelous for us to grasp.

Isn’t it amazing that in beginning, God created humankind and then breathed the breath of life, God’s presence, God’s shekina, into our souls and bodies? You and I share that essence of life, that which the Hebrew scriptures call nephesh, a word that cannot really be translated other than ‘essence of life.’ You and I share God’s presence in our very being, and you and I also share that animating breath of life that God has given us. You and I share that spark of life, the soul, which is the light that keeps us alive. It is amazing, isn’t it, that God, too, in Christ, shared the same?

Then there’s the wonderful language in the passage where it talks about the Word becoming flesh and ‘liv[ing] among us.’ The word translated as ‘lived’ means ‘tented,’ and it is the same word used in the Hebrew scriptures to describe God’s presence among the people: God is in the tent of the tabernacle; by the same token, Wisdom sets up her tent in our midst.

Eugene Peterson in his interpretation of the prologue to John puts this same phrase into a wonderful image: ‘The Word (otherwise called in his translation, ‘Word, the Incarnate One, as the Life-Light’) became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.’ What a fabulous way of expressing God’s proximity to us — God has moved into the neighbourhood — God is around every corner I turn, in every home I see and in every person. When I think of God dwelling with us in this way, I can’t help but remember the narrow alleys of the neighbourhood around Sma Trinidad near San Salvador or Soyapango where my friend Maura lives, with the 10000 people that lived crammed into that small neighbourhood. And there are the people who live right behind or around the corner from this church.

Mary Pratt in her poem, ‘Benedicite Around the Block’ (1) describes our neighbourhood well… a nun in a parking lot reading the daily office, a man in a brown suit and cowboy hat, a woman smoking a cigarette, a lawyer with a face like Atticus Finch (à la Gregory Peck), a woman tripping on high heels, a small boy with a duffle bag, the empty storefronts, leftover bits of trash, ‘rotting houses with rotting porches, wood fire escapes, littered with bottles in boxes and cans in bags, a broken shopping cart twisted in the cracked sidewalk.’

This is our ’hood. The people here are my brothers and sisters. They are your brothers and sisters. God is here in the neighbourhood, now, with us, in Jesus, in the Incarnation showing God’s love even when we cannot see it clearly.

Why does God move into our neighbourhood and midst? Patricia Wilson-Kastner captures not only the sense of divine Love that lies in the Incarnation but also some of the themes of the gospel of John when she writes:

‘Jesus became flesh so as to show forth the love of God among us, a love which is not merely an expression of good will, but the power of an energy which is the heart, core, and cohesive force of the universe…. Christ is the human expression of God to us, and thus we must try to understand what God meant in Christ…. Christ is… the one who shows all persons how to live. As a human he shows us what human self-possession and self-giving are. Thereby Christ shows us the link between divine and human, the cosmos and its conscious inhabitants.’ (2)

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One of my favourite sights on Christmas Eve comes as the congregation lights its candles for the singing of Silent Night and the reading from the last gospel. There is something incredibly poignant and moving to see each one of your faces illuminated by a sole flickering flame, then multiplied by each candle. The congregation, as a whole, was still, listening to the proclamation of Christ coming into the world as the Light that enlightens the world. I saw you waiting for the light and, in your hands, as you held the light and with that little candle and its silly paper bobêche, that doesn’t do any good, you were holding hope.

As I looked at your illumined faces, I thought of the countless other people throughout the world and throughout time who have held a candle in their hands, hoping… hoping because something had happened or was going to happen to another part of humankind, God’s incarnation pitched amongst us.

Christmas Eve I saw faces lit by candles in the days after 9-11 as impromptu shrines sprang up, particularly around New York City. I saw faces lit by candles on a very cold March night in 2003 as 1000 of us stood on the steps to the state capitol building three days before the assault on Baghdad. I saw faces lit by candles in the days following the tsunami five years ago, people in Banda Aceh. I have seen photos of people holding candles, as a sign of silent protest outside of prisons when they know someone will be executed. I have seen candle upon candle in all the churches through which I passed on my 1570 kilometres of the Way of Saint James of Compostela. And on and on it goes, the universal human expression of sadness, community, seeking and mostly hope, united in our common humanity.

Why else would there be a website where you can light a virtual candle that will ‘burn’ for 48 hours?

When I checked their homepage in the writing of this sermon, it read: 12729 candles from 242 countries are shining.

The page then goes on to say:

In many different traditions lighting candles is a sacred action. It expresses more than words can express. It has to do with gratefulness. From time immemorial, people have lit candles in sacred places. Why should cyberspace not be sacred?

You may want to begin or end your day by the sacred ritual of lighting a candle on this website. Or you may want to light a birthday candle for a friend. One single guideline is all you need: Slow down and do it with full attention. From here on, you will be guided step by step. [gratefulness.org]

Yes, lighting a candle is a universal expression of seeking light and hope, of leaving a visible sign of an uttered prayer. It is why we have candles in the chapel by the icons of the Blessed Virgin Mary and John Henry Hopkins. You can always go there and light one. Those of us who pass by later may not know the content of your prayer nor who lit the candle but we will know that someone said a prayer and left behind a visual remembrance. And we will stop to look at that light, that prayer.

The symbol of light goes beyond simply hope or remembrance. It represents for us, in the eloquent words of John’s gospel, the Light that has come into the world, the Word, in other words, Jesus, God incarnate. God, Light, Jesus, with us. That is what we remember today.

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God is with us, Emmanuel, and God will always be with us. We know where the story of the incarnation leads — it leads from the crib to the cross to the tomb and to the resurrection. While the resurrection may seem a long way off from Christmas, it is so deeply intertwined with Christmas as to be very close and present. It is the very hope upon which our faith stands.

Whether it is God pitching God’s tent amongst us, or dwelling in the neighbourhood, God in Christ is with us, loving us and showing us how to love one another. And God in Christ knows our struggles inside-out from birth to death. How comforting!

God continues to dwell among us in our neighbours, our companions on the way. Realise we are all different, but we are all of God and we are all icons of God’s light. Christ our brother dwells in us. Indeed, we have seen God’s glory, full of grace and truth. For that, let us give thanks.

END NOTES
(1) In Women’s Uncommon Prayers, eds. Elizabeth Geitz, Marjorie Burke, Ann Smith (Harrisburg, PA: Morehouse Publishing, 2000), 32-33.
(2) Patricia Wilson-Kastner, Faith, Feminism and the Christ (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), Chapter 5, ‘Who Is This Christ?,’ 89-117.

Christmas Day sermon

2009-12-28T12:50:00.000-05:00

Do you remember when you first got glasses? Or perhaps more recently when you first got bifocals? (It is hard to believe that I have been wearing them seven years.) It was a move that I had been dreading for years. Even though I see a lot better than I used to, there’s something about admitting to needing a stronger lens to be able to read that bugged me. Everyone warned me about the first few days of wearing the new glasses. Be careful going down or up stairs. Be careful opening doors. But the best advice was: Give yourself some time. Eventually your brain will adapt to this new way of seeing and eventually you’ll never think about the division in your lenses. You’ll see things in a new way.

My mind adapted after two months: it no longer stumbled at translating, as it were, at what I was seeing, or having to think about whether I should look out of the top or bottom lens (though these days, the altar book sometimes is a challenge which makes me wonder about trifocals!).

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You’ll see things in a new way, the sage one said.

That’s what Christmas morning is all about, isn’t it?

Last night, with its darkness and the retelling of the intimate story so well known that we can practically recite it, gives way to the vast mystery that John’s prologue offers us, with the words we see inscribed on the frieze in front of us. For a short moment in time, we linger in that in-between place, that liminal place our faith invites us often to occupy.

It would be easier, really to stay at the side of that crib in a stable. But our faith seems not to let us stay too long in any one place. Just as Jesus was constantly on the move through his three short years of ministry, so God tugs at our hearts to keep us moving, to keep us alive.

All the while, God asks us to look at life, our faith and God in a new way. Most of all, God invites us to abide in the mystery of the incarnation and not be afraid of it.

We aren’t comfortable, really, about dwelling in mystery. How can we explain that flesh and God have joined hands? How can we explain that fear and hope coexist? We want answers, facts, straight-forward clear ideas.

But to seek that type of answer is to miss the glory of the incarnation. It’s to see it in the wrong way.

Ephrem the Syrian of the fourth century wrote of Christ in God: ‘It is right that human beings should acknowledge your divinity. It is right for the heavenly beings to worship your humanity. The heavenly beings were amazed to see how small you became, and earthly ones to see how exalted.’

Or as the Persian poet, Hafiz, said: ‘God looked where in the world he might display his face. He pitched his tent in human fields, no other place.’

How do we explain this paradox of God with us? We don’t, really. That is the beauty of mystery. There are some things in our life that surpass understanding. (Interestingly, not even the theological dictionaries try to explain ‘mystery.’ They let it stand as one component of our faith that doesn’t need words.)

Mystery… it is that holy place, that in-between space where the encounter transcends the effable, the speakable. The grace of mystery is that it makes possible what is unspeakable: that is, it incarnates the holy. Mysterium, sacramentum. Mystery is the encounter that transcends all of the limits of encounter, like love. Mystery is encounter. It is the truth, the reality of encounter. The Word was made flesh. What can we say? God become human, that human could become divine. What can we say?

Nothing. For when we truly encounter mystery, there are no words. Only silent awe. Only heartfelt thanks. Only silent tears that come from the depths of our heart.

Even as we struggle with these unfathomable thoughts, isn’t there also a part of us that doesn’t want the mystery to be completely explained? Certainly for me there is. I want to be lifted to that place before all time when God chose to love us, to create us and dwell in our midst. I want to touch that mystery every time we gather to break bread and share the cup. And I trust that when I do touch mystery, everything is all right.

What I know best of all, in the midst of all this mystery talk, is that God loves us.
As you celebrate the wonder of God’s gift of Christ, linger for a moment in the wonder of mystery. Let those wordless and unspeakable aspects of God’s love touch you as do the morning rays of sun that so often bathe us. And remember that unspeakable mystery that God has loved us from before the beginning and always will.

Christmas Eve sermon

2009-12-28T12:45:00.002-05:00

A fearsome and awesome event is happening tonight, something so awesome that we should be struck mute by it. Only a chorus of stones cries out in the stillness and silence the marvel that is taking place in our world, the birth of our Saviour Jesus Christ.

In the stillness and darkness of the night, inside this church, we gather to celebrate with joy and awe the coming of God amongst us. This coming is so amazing that words fail us… as they should. Yet we try to speak of the unspeakable because that is why we are here tonight.

In the form of a child, God comes to humanity. Jesus — the crossroads where God’s descending road and humanity’s ascending road meet — the bearer of hope, the redeemer and reconciler of us all, our saviour, comes to us tonight as a vulnerable child. In this child we find our hope, something that at times can be as fragile and vulnerable as a child.

And so tonight there are two things about the nativity story that I would like to emphasise: first, the larger, total meaning of Jesus’ birth and how we respond to it; and second, the gifts of Christ’s birth.

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The words of Isaiah that we hear tonight — the most famous of all messianic prophecies — speak of the irrepressible hope of the people of Israel. The prophet declares that God has shed God’s light on the people of Israel. The nation has grown; its joy has increased. Now there is a child that is born who will free the people from want, from oppression and who will give the people an era of peace, justice and righteousness. A new king will be enthroned and this king will save the people. The prophecy of Isaiah speaks to the hope that the people have for something new.

Christian interpretation layered on top of Isaiah’s words turns the prophecy into one about the coming of Christ. The words ‘For unto us a child is born’ — words that many associate with a long ascending series of sixteenth notes in Handel’s Messiah — now are understood as suggesting the birth at Bethlehem, rather than the enthronement of a king. In the nativity, Jesus comes first in great humility but this is in anticipation of his coming again in majesty and glory.

It is this point that is crucial to our understanding of Christmas. There is more to Christmas than a baby in a crib in a stable. For we stay but a moment at the crib before moving on. What happens at the nativity that we remember tonight is but the beginning of the complete coming of Christ, and the whole of God’s saving act in Christ. Christ is God turned to us in grace and salvation. We remember at the crib the cross and the resurrection as well because that is the mystery of the Incarnation which we celebrate tonight.

Christmas calls a community back to its origins by remembering Jesus’ own beginnings as a human child, a prophet of God’s reign. What the church celebrates during this season is not primarily a birthday, but the beginning of a decisive new phase in the tempestuous history of God’s hunger for human companions.… Christmas does not ask us to pretend we are back in Bethlehem, kneeling before a crib; it asks us to recognize that the soft wood of the crib became the hard wood of the cross. 1

Archbishop Oscar Romero on Christmas Eve 1977 preached: ‘On this night, as every year for twenty centuries, we recall that God’s reign is now in this world and that Christ has inaugurated the fullness of time. Christ’s birth attests that God is now marching with us in history, that we do not go alone. With Christ, God has injected himself into history. With the birth of Christ, God’s reign is now inaugurated in human time.’ 2

That is an awful lot to lay on top of a small baby! But that is what this night is all about: the beginning of God’s reign in our time. There is something unspeakably wondrous about this — God-with-us, Jesus the Christ, is a holy mystery.

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We come tonight to this place of mystery for many different reasons. Some come because this night means so much to us for memories. Some come for solace. Some come because it just seems the right thing to do. It would appear that we human beings are hard-wired for faith. Margaret Wente, self-professed agnostic, surprises herself to find that she needs to go to church on Christmas Eve. She writes about her faith instinct: ‘[Faith] bind[s] people together through collective rituals so that they can take collective action. There is no church of oneself.’ And so she goes to church on Christmas Eve, ‘to pay homage to the importance of tradition and continuity, and to experience the extraordinary power and solace and comfort of community.’ 3

Today’s opinion piece in the Rutland Herald expands upon this innate drive to come to church at Christmas: ‘The emotional power of the day derives from the fundamental simplicity of its meaning. The birth of a child among humble people in a barn long ago, the emergence of the child as the embodiment of the holy — what parents haven’t seen in their child’s birth a miracle of simplicity and of possibility, not that their baby will become the Messiah, but that he or she embodies the human in all its potential?’

Certainly the mystery of the incarnation, God-made-flesh in all of us, manifested itself Tuesday at the Gift of Life blood drawing at the Paramount, which once again broke the New England record for a single day drawing with 1024 pints taken in. As I gave, I looked across the stage at some sixty or so other donors, recognising that the life-blood that flows through them is the same as that which flows through me and, most incredibly, flowed through Jesus. That God could willingly become part of us, in the form of an infant, Jesus, defies words. It is mystery. And this realisation brings about wonder.

Indeed, in the words of the Herald, ‘Christmas becomes about … [an] atmosphere of wonderment and joy…. It is a great gift, better than toys, to awaken the wonder and to convey the love that should surround every[one]. The material gifts can be simple if those other gifts abound.’ 4

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But there are more immaterial spiritual gifts than simply wonderment and joy that we receive from this holy birth. We also receive peace, completeness and hope, and the promise that divine salvation has entered the world. The hope of peace and salvation — that is what we celebrate at Christmas! The hope of peace and salvation — that is what brings us here tonight!

Humans long for peace, for justice, for something holy, for something far from earth’s realities, which we all can list by heart. We can have such a hope, not because we ourselves are able to construct the realm of happiness that God’s holy words proclaim but because the builder of a reign of justice, of love, and of peace is already in the midst of us. 5

‘We must be men and women of ceaseless hope, because only tomorrow can today’s human and Christian promise be realized; and every tomorrow will have its own tomorrow, world without end. Every human act, every Christian act, is an act of hope.’ 6

And what is this hope of which we speak tonight?

Hope is not optimism.

Hope is a very different thing. It is rooted in trust. It is grounded in a truth much larger than the unpredictable events of our lives.

Hope, says the writer of the Book of Hebrews, is the evidence, the security of things that are not yet seen, not yet experienced, not yet in hand.

Hope is what sustains us when facing the death of one we love; when passing through dark times in our life; when trying to maintain a heart of compassion in a world of endless violence.

Hope is what gives us time and patience when we struggle to understand life, and our future and God.

Hope is what helps us to heal, physically and spiritually, and what helps us to endure the time it takes to find new life.

Hope is what holds us when we have been betrayed or hurt by someone. Hope is what helps us to get up in the morning when the prospects for our life are dim and disappointing. Hope is what helps us face old age and death.

Hope is the energy that keeps us gentle and loving, reaching out far beyond our capacities with care and solidarity for others. Hope is not dependent on day-by-day experiences; rather it depends on God.

Hope is a gift. This gift is always looking for the small crack in our heart where it may find entry.

Hope is rooted in God’s never failing love, in trust and confidence that God will never, ever abandon us. People might abandon us; history might; life at times might. But never God!

Christmas, thus, is the celebration of a very human faith becoming hope. Faith-hope lies in tenderness, play, good will, and life.

May the Christ child whom you meet tonight grace you with the faith and hope that will accompany you this Christmas-tide and always. May the Christ child gift you the gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works. And may you be blessed this Christmas Eve and always.

END NOTES
1 Adapted from Nathan Mitchell (CSB, 31) and Leonardo Boff.
2 Archbishop Oscar Romero, Christmas 1977.
3 http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/opinions/when-in-doubt-an-atheists-christmas/article1406082/--/
4 http://www.rutlandherald.com/article/20091224/OPINION01/ 912240336/1038/OPINION01
5 Romero, 25.12.1977
6 Walter Burghardt…

Christmas at Trinity

2009-12-28T12:39:00.005-05:00

Here are just a couple of photographs of the church and chapel just before Christmas.

The chapel was set up Christmas Eve afternoon for a baptism.

Often by the icons of John Henry Hopkins and the Blessed Virgin Mary, one finds a lit candle, a symbol of prayer.

The church ready for Christmas Eve.... taken in the morning of the 24th.

Though a little blurry, the photo shows the high altar with its lace frontal.

The photos are all a bit light-struck but at least it was sunny and clear Christmas Eve!

Advent 4C

2009-12-20T22:22:00.000-05:00

It seems as though the closer we get to Christmas, the more familiar the texts get. This morning we hear a passage from the gospel of Luke that is particularly dear…. Mary’s proclamation of God’s might and love in the hymn we call the Magnificat, known by its first Latin word which means ‘proclaims.’

Even before spending fourteen-plus years at a church called Saint Mary’s, the Magnificat had a special place in my heart. More than twenty years ago at Trinity, Princeton, a small group of us used get together early Wednesday morning to pray Morning Prayer in Spanish. We always used to say the Magnificat because it seemed to connect us with the peoples of Central and South America and their struggles. Even now I can begin the Magnificat in Spanish — Proclama mi alma la grandeza del Señor…. Now, all these years and experiences later, the song continues to grow in its personal associations.

But, in fact, the Magnificat — a canticle that we say or sing usually at Evening Prayer, a hymn that one hears in a traditional Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve — is a radical hymn. In one of those great paradoxes of our tradition, this hymn that is so well-known for its beauty is also underestimated for its force.

The Magnificat praises the power, the holiness and the mercy of God, the God whom Mary calls Lord and Saviour. It does not appear to tell her story, the one we so often hear of the young virgin who humbly and obediently submits to God’s desire that she be the bearer of the Son of the Most High.

Or does it tell her story? Does it give us a different picture of Mary, a picture often lost behind the imagery of a young girl, a virgin who knows her lowly place?

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Only Matthew and Luke relate stories of the birth of Jesus, and only Luke tells us that Mary was actually informed of God’s intentions. Interestingly, after all the erudite language of the beginning of the gospel of Luke, when we get to the Magnificat, the language shifts — as though we were to go from using Elizabethan to conversational English. Also, unlike all the historical detail that we heard in the events surrounding the arrival of John the Baptist, historical accuracy is strangely lacking from Luke’s description of the encounter between Mary and Elizabeth. He moves from the realm of historical reporting to telling a story imbued with mystery and wonder.

As a sign that ‘nothing will be impossible with God,’ the angel Gabriel tells Mary about the pregnancy of her barren relative, Elizabeth. The angel departs, and Mary hurries off to Elizabeth, whose child, John the Baptist, leaps in her womb at the sound of Mary’s voice. Elizabeth blesses Mary as the mother of her Lord and for her faith in the truth of the message she has heard. Mary responds to Elizabeth with the words of the Magnificat: ‘My soul magnifies the Lord, and my Spirit rejoices in God my Saviour, for God has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is God’s name….’

This rare New Testament psalm of praise can be divided into three parts: first, a personal thanksgiving for God’s actions for Mary; second, praise for God’s acts to all, and third, praise for God’s acts for the people of Israel.

Mary’s praise comes from deep within; her soul extols God her Saviour, the God who brings not only her but Israel out of bondage into right relationship with one another and with God. God the Mighty One will raise up those who are cast down and nourish those who are starving. She then considers God’s mercy — that loyal, faithful, gracious love that God has had in covenant with God’s people throughout time. The Magnificat itself is remarkable as a hymn of praise that is full of joy for God’s actions. It seems so fitting that the God-bearer, Mary, should be the one to proclaim these words even as she stands on the turning point of the ages.

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The power of Mary’s words that always shake me to my roots and make me question how well I am doing as a follower of Jesus, her son. If I pray the Magnificat, verse by verse, and imagine myself in Mary’s place, how do these verses resonate within my heart? So, walk with me for a moment in a reflection on this hymn.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour; * 
for you have looked with favor on your lowly servant.

How well do I proclaim God’s greatness? Even in those moments of uncertainty, when it seems that God is asking me to do something impossible, when life seems to be asking too much of me, is my spirit able to rejoice honestly, openly, truly, thankfully in God my saviour?

From this day all generations will call me blessed: *
 the Almighty has done great things for me,  and holy is your Name.

How well am I able to acknowledge the great things that God has done for me, and praise God’s holy name? When things seem to be too much, am I still able to praise God? (I always think of the story of a homeless woman in Boston, who still prays every morning: Thank you, God, because I woke up this morning.)

You have mercy on those who fear you * 
in every generation.

Do I recognise the mercy God has had upon me? How God has forgiven me the wrongs I have done, the wrongs I still do, and the pardon extended to me that will always be there even before I ask? Can I recognise that that same mercy is extended to others, even those with whom I am still not in right relationship? Can I give thanks that God’s mercy is there for all?

You have shown the strength of your arm, *
 you have scattered the proud in their conceit.

How honest am I in acknowledging that I, too, am one of the proud? When do I need to be taken down a peg or two? When do I need to be knocked off my high horse of self-righteousness? When do I acknowledge that, in the words of James Wendon Johnson, my arm is too short to box with God?

You have cast down the mighty from their thrones, *
 and have lifted up the lowly.

When have I been one of the mighty cast down from my throne and when have I been one of the lowly that God has lifted up out of graciousness and compassion? Am I able to see that I can be both on a throne and lowly? Regardless my status, can I trust in God’s mercy and guidance and grow from the place in which I am and the place where I might end up?

You have filled the hungry with good things, *
 and the rich you have sent away empty.

How have I, as a Christian, helped fill the hungry with good things? How have I helped bring about the great reversal of which Mary spoke, the turning-upside-down of the status quo so that reconciliation and restoration might come about? How have I, in Jesus’ name, worked toward the elimination of suffering and the advancement of peace, toward the creation of a world where the lamb shall lie down with the lion?

You have come to the help of your servant Israel, * 
for you have remembered your promise of mercy,
The promise you made to our forebears, *
 to Abraham and his children for ever.

Will I, with every breath I have, as long as I shall live, remember God’s promises and do my best to convey to others the good news of salvation?

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Since we have four days this fourth week of Advent, and therefore a little time to rest with Mary’s song of praise, I encourage you to pray the Magnificat (canticle 3 and 15, found in Morning Prayer) these approaching days and then throughout the course of the year, examining your own heart in light of these prescient words. May it become a constant prayer of yours as it has for me.

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my saviour….

Advent 3C

2009-12-13T23:41:00.001-05:00

Every time I go to El Salvador, the earth speaks. Salvadorans like for the earth to talk; the more it does, the less they have to worry about some huge earthquake destroying their country. The capitol city, San Salvador, is called the valley of hammocks because there are so many earthquakes that the valley sways back and forth, gently and not gently, like a hammock.

Though I have felt little ones off and on, the one that sticks with me the most is one that woke me up in October 2005. I was on the fifth floor of a hotel in downtown San Salvador. It’s a concrete building, nothing elegant, but a homey place I like because I have stayed there over the years. I went to bed that night, and fell asleep quickly. But then, in the middle of the night, I heard creaking, lots of creaking. It took this New Englander a bit of time to realise that the creaking, coming from a concrete building, was the building swaying in an earthquake. Adrenaline shot up my spine, as it always does when I realise it is an earthquake waking me up, as though someone is viciously shaking my bed. I thought this time as I listened to the squeaking and creaking, ‘Well, if the hotel collapses, at least I am on the top floor.’

The earthquake quickly subsided. Later on the next day, when I checked with my Salvadoran friends if this was something about which I should have been concerned (I always want to make sure I am not being hyper sensitive about earthquakes), I learned that it had been a quake of 5+ degrees on the Richter scale and, yes, they felt it, too. It was a surprise gesture to wake me up. And it did!

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This earthquake was so like John the Baptiser. He came shaking up things, shouting insulting words at the people, shattering the ways they normally thought about their world.

John’s ministry was meant to wake folks up. ‘You brood of vipers, sons and daughters of venomous snakes… who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’ Off he goes on a verbal tear, excoriating those listening to him — not exactly what we would call newcomer welcoming. The gospel reading then ends with one of the most ironic lines to be found: ‘With other such exhortations,’ it says, ‘John preached Good News to the people.’ The same verb Luke uses to characterise the Baptist’s preaching is used later of the angel’s proclamation to the shepherds as well as at the end of Luke’s story when the risen Jesus tells the gathered disciples that ‘repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in Christ’s name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.’ John is the precursor of much good news that will follow.

Today I want to preach some good news, hopefully in a less vitriolic fashion, but good news, which begins with hard news. The hard news is that to become open to the good news of God's love, to be prepared to welcome anew the Christ-child into our hearts, into our world, we have to deal with the reality that our hearts and world are unprepared and even closed for this gift.

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Part of the preparation begins with repentance, that need to turn ourselves around so that we begin a different journey, a journey that finds energy and hope through forgiveness and rebirth, spiritually. We live in a time in which people are doggedly, earnestly plowing along on their ways, but without much hope, without much joy. Our journeys leave us empty of meaning and of happiness. We fill our days with busyness and with things we accumulate, to keep us from facing the hard truth, the truth that spiritually we are dry. We are wanderers, not pilgrims. And that realisation is difficult to acknowledge. How else do we understand the orgy this season of buying things, often beyond our means, if not that it is an expression of the passionate desire to love and be loved, as it tries to fill empty spaces in our lives?

Often it takes some earthquakes to wake us up, to remind us that there is something more to life, something more for which to journey.

How, then, is a call to repentance good news? How can a call to right living be heard as the gospel? For Luke, repentance and reformation are nothing less than what God has always wanted for human life. Right living is the only evidence of one’s trust in God.

So our question is, ‘Well, then, what should we do?

We can look at our lives and figure out how we can turn them around. Those places in our lives, those crooked, wandering paths of spiritual scoliosis that lead us up and down, in our relationships with one another, with the world about us, with God, — those are sites we must examine to see where we have gone astray. When we find the place that troubles us, we need to ask God’s forgiveness, the forgiveness of any of the parties involved, when possible, and of ourselves. Though we may fail again, we must try anew to follow the Great Commandment of loving God and neighbour alike.

How do we reform our lives? Of all times of the year, when the outside world is inviting us to spend beyond our means, when our schedules are leading us at a frenzied pace, it is so easy to lose sight of what this season is all about. It is about preparing our hearts expectantly, joyously for the coming of Christ, God’s ultimate spendthrift gift of love. We are invited during this season of preparation to look at our lives and see where our priorities might be out of whack with how we want to live our lives. Finding that, then we can try anew to have God at the centre of our lives with everything we do and are flowing from that centre.

What is right living for each one of us? Right living — something very difficult to do sometimes — is finding God in every one we meet, every one with whom we have a relationship. It is mending those places in our relationships that may have gotten a little frayed, a little torn. It is tending to those persons and places in our lives that need nurturing. It is respecting others and our selves. With God at the centre of our lives, we are given the strength and the wisdom to know how to do this — we need not be afraid, for God will show us how. We just need to trust.

A prayer from New Guinea says: Oil the hinges of my heart’s door that it may swing gently and easily to welcome your coming.

Yes, may those rusty hinges of your and my hearts’ doors, shaken up by the earthquake of the good news of reconciliation, burst wide open to greet the Christ child who is coming near soon…very soon.

More snow photos!

2009-12-09T23:10:00.005-05:00

Today's snow storm slowed things down but did not shut down the church.

Chapel entrance

Main tower in the snow

Far right door which used to lead into the 'war chapel,' that is, a space open for prayer during WWII (if I have that correct)

East side with memorial garden

Inside the chapel ready for the Wednesday noon Eucharist