Saturday, May 30, 2009
Reminder
ONE SERVICE at 9.00 AM, Sunday, 31 May (The Feast of Pentecost), followed by everyone's birthday celebration.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Orgel werks
Last Thursday I wandered in and out of the church while Peter Walker was installing pipes and various other parts of this incredibly complicated organ. The photos are in the order in which I took them.
Various pipes are resting in their travel boxes carefully laid out across the pews.
The piece that looks like an over-sized cribbage board is that which holds pipes in place. The PVC pipe is for the wind chests and blowers.
Here's a close-up. That is a lot of drilling holes!
These pipes are miniscule.
And these pipes are a bit larger.
View from the gallery looking to the chancel.
The master builder.
Looking through the antiphonal section to the front of the church.
This is a little blurry because they were moving as they set pipes into their frame and then held a level to make sure they truly were upright and perpendicular to the frame ('I don't want the pipes to be leaning forward').
Back up in the choir, Peter moves pipes out of the way for Sunday.
Here are the brains to the organ: all those little circuits and relays can be programmed differently to create different combinations of sound. It's a binary system and one that can be adjusted on site. (It is totally mind-boggling to me to put this all together let alone conceive it.) The PVC pipe is for one of the wind chests up above the choir.
Behind the louvred panels (the swell) is a chamber that is filled with metal and wood pipes, PVC pipe. One has to be relatively skinny to get through the little door to the left.
The strings, needless to say, are temporary to be replaced by black ribbon (albeit it thick).
Various pipes are resting in their travel boxes carefully laid out across the pews.
The piece that looks like an over-sized cribbage board is that which holds pipes in place. The PVC pipe is for the wind chests and blowers.
Here's a close-up. That is a lot of drilling holes!
These pipes are miniscule.
And these pipes are a bit larger.
View from the gallery looking to the chancel.
The master builder.
Looking through the antiphonal section to the front of the church.
This is a little blurry because they were moving as they set pipes into their frame and then held a level to make sure they truly were upright and perpendicular to the frame ('I don't want the pipes to be leaning forward').
Back up in the choir, Peter moves pipes out of the way for Sunday.
Here are the brains to the organ: all those little circuits and relays can be programmed differently to create different combinations of sound. It's a binary system and one that can be adjusted on site. (It is totally mind-boggling to me to put this all together let alone conceive it.) The PVC pipe is for one of the wind chests up above the choir.
Behind the louvred panels (the swell) is a chamber that is filled with metal and wood pipes, PVC pipe. One has to be relatively skinny to get through the little door to the left.
The strings, needless to say, are temporary to be replaced by black ribbon (albeit it thick).
Trinity's organ
Today's Rutland Herald has a front-page photo of our organ.
This 4.30 minute video, 'A Noteworthy Project' is about the organ with Peter Walker explaining the various components and playing it.
You can download a Mp4 version of the video (18 megs) here.
Good publicity!
This 4.30 minute video, 'A Noteworthy Project' is about the organ with Peter Walker explaining the various components and playing it.
You can download a Mp4 version of the video (18 megs) here.
Good publicity!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Easter 7B
The paradox of this Sunday after the Ascension is that we observe not only Christ’s real presence among us but we also remember Christ’s real absence. Just as Ascension Day marks a pivotal point in the lives of the disciples and of the nascent church, just as the story of Jesus’ ascension into heaven marks the turning point from concluding the gospel of Luke and beginning the Book of Acts, so this moment marks the final turn from the season of Easter wherein we remember the resurrection, to the Feast of Pentecost, when we commemorate the gift of the Holy Spirit. We stand in a liminal place, a place of change, a holy place as all transitional places are.
John’s Gospel records words about Jesus’ departure. These words come from Jesus’ last evening with the disciples, when the hour had come, the hour when Jesus, who ‘had loved his disciples who were in the world, loved them to the end.’ Before Gethsemane, he prays for them, and the words of his long prayer are what we have just heard in part. Our eavesdropping in on Jesus’ prayer is unusual—normally we are simply told how he goes off to pray. Here, we hear his anguished and sincere words. We hear words of trust, knowledge and strength—about himself, his followers and his God. This prayer is called his ‘high priestly prayer,’ because in it, Jesus sums up all the acts and words of love that have made up his life. Before crucifixion, he consecrates himself to God and ends his prayer with words that recall one of the major themes of the gospel of John, mutual indwelling (which we have heard these past three weeks): ‘that they may be one even as you and I are one.’
In this prayer of consecration, Jesus offers his full life, his soon-to-be-completed life, his life of Real Presence to God. We celebrate his self-giving every time we come together to break bread and share in the cup, every time we have a baptism, when a new member is welcomed into God’s household. In these moments of prayer and consecration, our lives make manifest together the promises and realities of God for all creation. Our community, our communion, our celebrations, our fullness, all this here and everywhere are our responses to Jesus’ high priestly prayer. In these acts, we remember Jesus’ Real Presence.
But remember, that when Jesus consecrates himself to God, he also consecrates his disciples with the words: ‘All mine are yours and all yours are mine, and I am glorified in them.’ And then he adds in those words that remind us of what is going to happen next, ‘And now that I am no more in the world, but they are in the world (and I am coming to you).’
Even as we listen in on this conversation between Jesus and his Father in heaven, to the celebration of the good and real presence of God, a crack appears, the intimations of a separation. As counter-intuitive as it is, Jesus’ words prior to his death, recounted on the Sunday after the Ascension, speak not only of his consecration and of his Real Presence, of his love and fullness, but also of his impending Real Absence, his final act and farewell. The juxtaposition of these words of prayer and event—perhaps more easily heard so close to the feast of the Pentecost than during Holy Week—the prayer for unity on the Sunday of separation, call us to consider what presence and absence mean for us, especially when it comes to our relationship with God.
How do we deal with the paradox inherent in scripture that Jesus' final act of love is not to stay, but to leave? Oh yes, the biblical account makes clear that in order for Pentecost and the gift of the Holy Spirit to occur, Jesus had to leave. How then, do we recognise that real presence and real absence alike consecrate life, call us into community where there is unity because of the holy spaces of separation?
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At some point or another in our lives, we all have to deal with separation and absences and figuring out how we keep present in our hearts the absent person, whether living or dead. We joke about separation anxiety that two-year olds experience, but even at fifty or seventy years, that anxiety might quietly lurk beneath the surface. It’s part of our human condition—to care enough that when the persons and places that matter to us are far away, we feel their absence. Abiding in one another can be exquisite, transporting one to the heavens. Lovers know that, parents and children know that. However, when suddenly that mutual indwelling no longer exists, one’s life can be rent asunder and a chasm can form in one’s heart and life.
That is one of the big separations in our lives—the end of a relationship or friendship either by mutual choice or by one person opting out, either gently or wrenchingly; the death of a love held so deeply and for so long that leaves a hole that seems like it can never be filled. But there are other separations and losses: moving away from a place where we have spent a good chunk of our lives, like selling our parents’ home, changing vocations or careers, letting go of one hope to find another—and the final separation that, for a time, changes our relationship with those we love, the dead.
There are some losses that seem unrecoverable, unredeemable. How do we make any and all of those spaces holy? How do we stay connected to pieces of our lives that matter? How do we find God there?
Somehow, the human spirit has figured out how to keep close those distant, to hallow those spaces and absences in our lives even in the midst of sorrow.
In what may seem like circular logic, I’ll admit it, that’s where our relationship with Jesus comes into the picture. Most of us have never really seen Christ. But many of us know deep inside that Jesus’ presence is as real as yours or mine. It’s something we feel—something as tangible as putting my hand into yours. Christ’s presence is as real as having someone stand behind us, their hands on our shoulders. We just know it in our hearts. We have made holy the absence and actually made real the presence. It works, really! Somehow we have understood what John means about Christ abiding in us and we in Christ, this wondrous indwelling that is one of the gifts of the Spirit. If we have Christ dwelling within us, perhaps some of those other real losses may hurt less.
Somehow that confidence in Christ’s real presence means that we who celebrate this real presence can also celebrate his real absence. And the way we do that is to turn our longing gaze from heaven back to the earth where Christ’s presence was made known among us, to find Christ in one another and to consecrate ourselves, each other and all our lives to God.
John’s Gospel records words about Jesus’ departure. These words come from Jesus’ last evening with the disciples, when the hour had come, the hour when Jesus, who ‘had loved his disciples who were in the world, loved them to the end.’ Before Gethsemane, he prays for them, and the words of his long prayer are what we have just heard in part. Our eavesdropping in on Jesus’ prayer is unusual—normally we are simply told how he goes off to pray. Here, we hear his anguished and sincere words. We hear words of trust, knowledge and strength—about himself, his followers and his God. This prayer is called his ‘high priestly prayer,’ because in it, Jesus sums up all the acts and words of love that have made up his life. Before crucifixion, he consecrates himself to God and ends his prayer with words that recall one of the major themes of the gospel of John, mutual indwelling (which we have heard these past three weeks): ‘that they may be one even as you and I are one.’
In this prayer of consecration, Jesus offers his full life, his soon-to-be-completed life, his life of Real Presence to God. We celebrate his self-giving every time we come together to break bread and share in the cup, every time we have a baptism, when a new member is welcomed into God’s household. In these moments of prayer and consecration, our lives make manifest together the promises and realities of God for all creation. Our community, our communion, our celebrations, our fullness, all this here and everywhere are our responses to Jesus’ high priestly prayer. In these acts, we remember Jesus’ Real Presence.
But remember, that when Jesus consecrates himself to God, he also consecrates his disciples with the words: ‘All mine are yours and all yours are mine, and I am glorified in them.’ And then he adds in those words that remind us of what is going to happen next, ‘And now that I am no more in the world, but they are in the world (and I am coming to you).’
Even as we listen in on this conversation between Jesus and his Father in heaven, to the celebration of the good and real presence of God, a crack appears, the intimations of a separation. As counter-intuitive as it is, Jesus’ words prior to his death, recounted on the Sunday after the Ascension, speak not only of his consecration and of his Real Presence, of his love and fullness, but also of his impending Real Absence, his final act and farewell. The juxtaposition of these words of prayer and event—perhaps more easily heard so close to the feast of the Pentecost than during Holy Week—the prayer for unity on the Sunday of separation, call us to consider what presence and absence mean for us, especially when it comes to our relationship with God.
How do we deal with the paradox inherent in scripture that Jesus' final act of love is not to stay, but to leave? Oh yes, the biblical account makes clear that in order for Pentecost and the gift of the Holy Spirit to occur, Jesus had to leave. How then, do we recognise that real presence and real absence alike consecrate life, call us into community where there is unity because of the holy spaces of separation?
+
At some point or another in our lives, we all have to deal with separation and absences and figuring out how we keep present in our hearts the absent person, whether living or dead. We joke about separation anxiety that two-year olds experience, but even at fifty or seventy years, that anxiety might quietly lurk beneath the surface. It’s part of our human condition—to care enough that when the persons and places that matter to us are far away, we feel their absence. Abiding in one another can be exquisite, transporting one to the heavens. Lovers know that, parents and children know that. However, when suddenly that mutual indwelling no longer exists, one’s life can be rent asunder and a chasm can form in one’s heart and life.
That is one of the big separations in our lives—the end of a relationship or friendship either by mutual choice or by one person opting out, either gently or wrenchingly; the death of a love held so deeply and for so long that leaves a hole that seems like it can never be filled. But there are other separations and losses: moving away from a place where we have spent a good chunk of our lives, like selling our parents’ home, changing vocations or careers, letting go of one hope to find another—and the final separation that, for a time, changes our relationship with those we love, the dead.
There are some losses that seem unrecoverable, unredeemable. How do we make any and all of those spaces holy? How do we stay connected to pieces of our lives that matter? How do we find God there?
Somehow, the human spirit has figured out how to keep close those distant, to hallow those spaces and absences in our lives even in the midst of sorrow.
In what may seem like circular logic, I’ll admit it, that’s where our relationship with Jesus comes into the picture. Most of us have never really seen Christ. But many of us know deep inside that Jesus’ presence is as real as yours or mine. It’s something we feel—something as tangible as putting my hand into yours. Christ’s presence is as real as having someone stand behind us, their hands on our shoulders. We just know it in our hearts. We have made holy the absence and actually made real the presence. It works, really! Somehow we have understood what John means about Christ abiding in us and we in Christ, this wondrous indwelling that is one of the gifts of the Spirit. If we have Christ dwelling within us, perhaps some of those other real losses may hurt less.
Somehow that confidence in Christ’s real presence means that we who celebrate this real presence can also celebrate his real absence. And the way we do that is to turn our longing gaze from heaven back to the earth where Christ’s presence was made known among us, to find Christ in one another and to consecrate ourselves, each other and all our lives to God.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Rogation Sunday
Today we 'beat the bounds' and blessed seedlings and flowers for our gardens. Many thanks to Wendy who took the photos.
Gathering (east doorway of church)
A reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel.
I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild animals from the land, so that they may live in the wild and sleep in the woods securely. I will make them and the region around my hill a blessing; and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing. The trees of the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield its increase. They shall be secure on their soil; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I break the bars of their yoke, and save them from the hands of those who enslaved them. They shall no more be plunder for the nations, nor shall the animals of the land devour them; they shall live in safety, and no one shall make them afraid. I will provide for them a splendid vegetation so that they shall no more be consumed with hunger in the land, and no longer suffer the insults of the nations. They shall know that I, the LORD their God, am with them, and that they, the house of Israel, are my people, says the Lord GOD. You are my sheep, the sheep of my pasture and I am your God, says the Lord GOD.
Here ends the reading.
Procession
The procession will go through the Memorial Garden, to the corner of Church and West Streets, across the front of the property to the parking lot in front of the chapel. The procession will stop three times (outside the Memorial Garden, front walk and chapel), for a prayer for the gifts of creation. The Canticle will be said during the procession.
Canticle Benedicite
1 Let the whole creation bless the Lord:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
2 Bless the Lord you heavens:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
3 Bless the Lord you angels of the Lord:
bless the Lord all you heavenly hosts;
4 bless the Lord you waters above the heavens:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
O heavenly Creator, who has filled the world with beauty: Open our eyes to behold your gracious hand in all your works, that rejoicing in your whole creation, we may learn to serve you with gladness, for the sake of him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
5 Bless the Lord sun and moon:
bless the Lord you stars of heaven;
6 bless the Lord all rain and dew:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
7 Bless the Lord all winds that blow:
bless the Lord you fire and heat;
8 bless the Lord scorching wind and bitter cold:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
9 Bless the Lord dews and falling snow:
bless the Lord you nights and days;
Lord Christ, when you came among us, you proclaimed the kingdom of God in villages, towns, and lonely places: Grant that your presence and power may be known throughout this land. Have mercy upon all of us who live and work in rural areas especially this state of Vermont; and grant that all the people of our nation may give thanks to you for food and drink and all other bodily necessities of life, respect those who labor to produce them, and honor the land and water from which these good things come. All this we ask in your holy Name. Amen.
10 bless the Lord light and darkness:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
11 Bless the Lord frost and cold:
bless the Lord you ice and snow;
12 bless the Lord lightnings and clouds:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
13 O let the earth bless the Lord:
bless the Lord you mountains and hills;
14 bless the Lord all that grows in the soil:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
15 Bless the Lord you springs of water:
bless the Lord you seas and rivers;
16 bless the Lord you whales
and all that swim in the waters:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
17 Bless the Lord all birds of the air:
bless the Lord you beasts and cattle;
18 bless the Lord all you dwellers on earth:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
Almighty God, we thank you for making the earth fruitful, so that it might produce what is needed for life: Bless those who work in the fields; give us seasonable weather; and grant that we may all share in the fruits of the earth, rejoicing in your goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
19 Bless the Lord you people of God:
bless the Lord you priests of the Lord;
20 bless the Lord you servants of the Lord:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
21 Bless the Lord all you that are upright in spirit:
bless the Lord you that are holy
and humble in heart.
22 Let us bless the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
Blessing of Plants , etc.
Almighty and everlasting God, Creator of all things and giver of all life, let your blessing be upon these seeds, seedlings, and grant that they may serve to your glory and the welfare of your people, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Final Blessing and Dismissal [in front of the chapel]
May you be a new creation, Christ for those to whom Christ shall send you, and the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be with you and remain with you always. Amen.
Grace be with you. Thanks be to God.
Gathering (east doorway of church)
A reading from the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel.
I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild animals from the land, so that they may live in the wild and sleep in the woods securely. I will make them and the region around my hill a blessing; and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing. The trees of the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield its increase. They shall be secure on their soil; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I break the bars of their yoke, and save them from the hands of those who enslaved them. They shall no more be plunder for the nations, nor shall the animals of the land devour them; they shall live in safety, and no one shall make them afraid. I will provide for them a splendid vegetation so that they shall no more be consumed with hunger in the land, and no longer suffer the insults of the nations. They shall know that I, the LORD their God, am with them, and that they, the house of Israel, are my people, says the Lord GOD. You are my sheep, the sheep of my pasture and I am your God, says the Lord GOD.
Here ends the reading.
Procession
The procession will go through the Memorial Garden, to the corner of Church and West Streets, across the front of the property to the parking lot in front of the chapel. The procession will stop three times (outside the Memorial Garden, front walk and chapel), for a prayer for the gifts of creation. The Canticle will be said during the procession.
Canticle Benedicite
1 Let the whole creation bless the Lord:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
2 Bless the Lord you heavens:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
3 Bless the Lord you angels of the Lord:
bless the Lord all you heavenly hosts;
4 bless the Lord you waters above the heavens:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
O heavenly Creator, who has filled the world with beauty: Open our eyes to behold your gracious hand in all your works, that rejoicing in your whole creation, we may learn to serve you with gladness, for the sake of him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
5 Bless the Lord sun and moon:
bless the Lord you stars of heaven;
6 bless the Lord all rain and dew:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
7 Bless the Lord all winds that blow:
bless the Lord you fire and heat;
8 bless the Lord scorching wind and bitter cold:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
9 Bless the Lord dews and falling snow:
bless the Lord you nights and days;
Lord Christ, when you came among us, you proclaimed the kingdom of God in villages, towns, and lonely places: Grant that your presence and power may be known throughout this land. Have mercy upon all of us who live and work in rural areas especially this state of Vermont; and grant that all the people of our nation may give thanks to you for food and drink and all other bodily necessities of life, respect those who labor to produce them, and honor the land and water from which these good things come. All this we ask in your holy Name. Amen.
10 bless the Lord light and darkness:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
11 Bless the Lord frost and cold:
bless the Lord you ice and snow;
12 bless the Lord lightnings and clouds:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
13 O let the earth bless the Lord:
bless the Lord you mountains and hills;
14 bless the Lord all that grows in the soil:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
15 Bless the Lord you springs of water:
bless the Lord you seas and rivers;
16 bless the Lord you whales
and all that swim in the waters:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
17 Bless the Lord all birds of the air:
bless the Lord you beasts and cattle;
18 bless the Lord all you dwellers on earth:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
Almighty God, we thank you for making the earth fruitful, so that it might produce what is needed for life: Bless those who work in the fields; give us seasonable weather; and grant that we may all share in the fruits of the earth, rejoicing in your goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
19 Bless the Lord you people of God:
bless the Lord you priests of the Lord;
20 bless the Lord you servants of the Lord:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
21 Bless the Lord all you that are upright in spirit:
bless the Lord you that are holy
and humble in heart.
22 Let us bless the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit:
praise and exalt our God for ever.
Blessing of Plants , etc.
Almighty and everlasting God, Creator of all things and giver of all life, let your blessing be upon these seeds, seedlings, and grant that they may serve to your glory and the welfare of your people, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Final Blessing and Dismissal [in front of the chapel]
May you be a new creation, Christ for those to whom Christ shall send you, and the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit be with you and remain with you always. Amen.
Grace be with you. Thanks be to God.
Easter 6B
This morning’s gospel continues what we heard last week and expands upon Jesus’ words of abiding within his followers. In the same display of circularity, John equates abiding in Jesus as abiding in Jesus’ love; to abide in Jesus’ love is to keep the Father’s commandments, which means that those who keep them will abide in the Father’s love, too. And all this keeping and abiding results in experiencing God’s love — thereby making the followers’ joy complete.
Added is the discussion of servanthood that, through abiding in God’s love and commandments, transforms itself into friendship. Such a shift was radical, for sure, that a teacher call his disciples friends and speak of laying down his life for his friends, but that is what Jesus did. Yet it makes sense — how could he talk about all this abiding in each other, if there was an inequality? Just as Jesus and the Father are one, and therefore, the Holy Spirit, too, just as there is no hierarchy in the Trinity, Jesus’ understanding of being in relationship with the disciples meant sharing with them everything he knew. And what he knew was to give them ‘these commandments so that you may love one another.’
The indwelling of God’s grace is only manifest to us if we keep God’s commandments. And what are they? To understand that oneness in God is to abide in love. Love of God and love of neighbour and love of oneself. To love one another as Christ has loved us. (And the rest is commentary, midrash.) The command to love is what Jesus leaves for the in-between time in which we dwell — between the first resurrection and the second. If we love Jesus, it should be easier to keep that commandment because we abide in him and he in us.
John Winthrop, the first governor of Massachusetts, made this connection in an address or sermon given to pilgrims in Salem harbor just before landing on these shores in 1630 said, ‘We must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes that we are a community — members of the same body.’ (1)
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Part of our loving God and neighbour, of making others’ conditions our own, rejoicing together, labouring and suffering together, and remembering that we are a community, members of the same body, is to care for the earth which God has entrusted to us.
This Sunday is Rogation Sunday, the Sunday on which we pray to God that our efforts at planting, sowing and creating gardens might be blessed. We offer prayers of gratitude to the God who has made the world and all that it is in it, who made it into a vast garden of beauty and of things to satisfy our basic needs, that we, who constantly receive good things from God’s loving hand, might return the favor, and give back good things to this sacred earth, and to one another.
When I was teaching in the Diocesan Study Program I had an email back-and-forth with a student who wanted to know the best translation for the famous verse in Genesis that speaks of humanity having ‘dominion’ over the earth. This question set me hunting and I came up with the Hebrew root, radad, which means ‘to beat down, subdue.’ Its derivative, mirda, meaning ‘dominion,’ occurs in Gen 1.28. The second meaning, ‘to rule,’ is used 22 times in the Hebrew Scriptures, the initial usage in Gen 1.28. Generally rada is limited to human rule, rather than divine dominion. That would imply that we do have a certain measure of superiority over the rest of creation. If that is the case, part of our loving God and neighbour is to use that authority and superiority carefully. (2)
We are called to be stewards of this earth, to care for it as best we can, to think of future generations, our children’s children’s children’s, life here. As a culture, I think it is hard for us to think that far ahead, but we must. In order to do that forward thinking, we must contemplate the present and understand what treasures there are around us right now, treasures that we want to preserve.
I would hazard, though, that many people have lost touch with creation, and are so disconnected from it that even thinking about their participation in sustaining or degrading creation is out of their minds.
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During a layover in Newark airport a month ago, I wandered into a bookstore to buy something to entertain me on my five-hour flight to California. I ended up with Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Nature History of Four Meals (also author of The Botany of Desire and In Defense of Food). Pollan traces the food chains that sustain us and the route of how we get what we eat, be it meat, poultry or vegetables. The book is an eye-opener and it has gotten me thinking about the choices I make when I go to the market, and how I might try to eat more locally (summer time is great because I can plant a vegetable garden but even if that does not work out this year, there are local food coops into which I can buy).
Pollan states, ‘As a culture we seem to have arrived at a place where whatever native wisdom we may once have possessed about eating has been replaced by confusion and anxiety.… Humans take part in a food chain, and our place in that food chain, or web, determines to a considerable extent what kind of creature we are. The fact of our omnivorousness has done much to shape our nature, both body… and soul.’ (3)
You may be saying by now that the mention of this book has absolutely no connection to the readings this morning. Perhaps. But think about our connection to the earth, one another and God over the centuries.
Years ago a friend spent time with Quiche people of Guatemala, the descendents of the Maya. Their sense of the earth’s sacredness is so strong that they ask forgiveness of the earth, of the Great Mother, before digging a furrow, tearing open the earth. My friend learned from them the need, from time to time, to take off his shoes and walk barefoot through the sacred fields, those holy places known to our forebears, to feel the earth and his connectedness with it. I always enjoyed walking barefoot in the garden as I was planting things, to feel the warm, moist, rich earth between my toes. Try it sometime.
The Mayan peoples of Central America call Earth the Big House. Mountains and rivers, air and wind, light and darkness, animals and plants, humans and spirits… all are part of this Big House. Can you and I find ways to share this Big House so it will still be there for our children’s children? Can we understand that by loving Earth, we love God and neighbour? Can we remember that we are a community — members of the same body? Can we see that by remembering all these things, we will find God abiding in us as we in God? I pray so, lest it be too late.
END NOTES
(1) Prayers for the Common Good, Ed. A. Jean Lesher (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim Press, 1998), 3-4.
(2) R. Laird Harris, ed. Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament, Vol 2 (Chicago, IL: Moody Press, 1980), 833.
(3) New York, New York: Penguin Books, 2007, 1, 6.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Easter 5B
As I mentioned last week, the further and further we get away from Easter, the lectionary begins to move us toward Pentecost, the day we associate with the giving of the Holy Spirit. The focus of the readings shifts from emphasising solely the resurrection of Christ to adding in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Indeed, today we hear readings that clearly speak of the Spirit as a vibrant and active force already at work in people’s lives.
The story from the Book of Acts is plain and simply extraordinary. It is not just a story about Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch — it is a story about the movement of the Holy Spirit that leads a person to baptism and to proclamation of the salvation story. From the first verses of this story, we realise that something unusual is at work here. Peter and John have returned to Jerusalem after having worked in Samaria. We expect to hear that Philip will accompany them or will set out for some other territory. Instead, an angel directs him to take the road from Jerusalem to Gaza, a road that is ‘wilderness’ or ‘desert.’ Rather than being summoned to a promising population centre, Philip is being sent to the middle of nowhere.
A detail ambiguous in the Greek and obscured in our translations makes the angel’s instructions even more astonishing. We hear in the NRSV translation that the angel tells Philip to ‘go toward the south.’ It also can mean to ‘go at noon.’ Most translations go with the easier thing to understand — ‘go south’ — rather than the harder translation — ‘go at noon’ — because travel at noon in the Mideast is perilous for the simple reason that it is inhospitably hot at that hour. That may well be Luke’s point, though, because Philip is placed in a place and time of vulnerability where he might encounter God. Like Paul on his way to Damascus, Philip is out in the midday, sun, a time when no one in their right mind would be out. Equally bizarre, Philip is out in the wilderness, a place where no one lives. Yet Philip travels at God’s request.
What Philip finds out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the day is dazzling and astonishing. He runs across a traveller who defies one’s stereotypes of potential converts. The fact that Luke’s description of this traveller is so detailed makes us once again stop and realise that something extraordinary is in the works. Philip encounters an ‘Ethiopian eunuch, a court official of the Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, in charge of her entire treasury.’ There is a fascination with this man: writers of Luke’s time period spoke of the Ethiopians as handsome and admirable people who came from the far reaches of the world. This particular individual serves with great authority in the queen’s court… but he is also a eunuch, a physical condition that would prevent him from ever becoming a Jewish convert because he is ritually incomplete specimen of the male human being. Yet it is assumed that this man has been to Jerusalem to worship, sympathetic with Jewish practises. These are not inconsequential details. They once again alert us to the possibility of something extraordinary.
The scenario that ensues is vivid. An angel of the Lord tells Philip to go over to the eunuch’s chariot and join him. The eunuch is reading out loud the prophet Isaiah, in particular, the passage about the suffering servant — perhaps someone with whom the eunuch could relate. Philip asks the eunuch a question that is a universal and timeless one: ‘Do you understand what you are reading?’ The eunuch’s answer belies his hunger for knowledge. ‘How can I, unless someone guides me?’ With that invitation, Philip proclaims our salvation story of Jesus in light of the prophets.
One might already deduce that the Holy Spirit is at work here — it is the Spirit that guides — rather, propels — Philip over to join someone whom he undoubtedly would have gone right by otherwise. It is perhaps the Spirit, too, that gives Philip the capacity to tell the story of Jesus. Certainly it is the Spirit who moves within the eunuch’s heart and prompts a response to the story of salvation that Philip has just told.
As the two go on, they pass some water, and the eunuch demands that the chariot stop. The eunuch realises there is nothing to prevent him from being baptised and he asks that Philip to baptise him in the water. Philip does so, and when they come up out of the water, the Spirit snatches Philip away. It is less important here that Philip ends up at Azotus. What matters here is that the eunuch goes on his way rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.
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The comparison between the eunuch and Philip is useful because I think it represents two of the ways that we respond to God’s initiative through the Holy Spirit in our lives. The first response is characterised by the eunuch: the active desire to seek after God and find the Holy Spirit at work in our lives. The Ethiopian is hungry, thirsting for God’s presence, desirous of following God’s commandments. Somehow, deep in the man’s heart, even though he considered by society to be a freak, he realises that God loves absolutely everyone and that somehow God will find him and he will find God. His heart is open to the movement of the Spirit. It is by the grace of the Spirit that he is baptised. Even after his baptism, he remains an active seeker and follower of God, for he goes away rejoicing, undoubtedly now someone else who will tell the story of salvation through Jesus Christ.
Philip represents a lot of the already-baptised. He has received the gifts of the Holy Spirit in baptism, but now his initiative is zilch. He does not exhibit the same inquisitive and hungry heart as the Ethiopian; nor is his faith as energetic. He does what he is told to do, but little more. He does not say ‘no’ outright to the urgings of the Holy Spirit — he follows the angel’s amazing order, it is true, and he answers the eunuch’s questions. But he definitely needs some outside prodding.
Somewhere in between these two extremes is where I suspect most of us land. There are moments of glory when our hearts have been set on fire, burning with the presence of the Holy Spirit; when we are charged up to answer God’s call; when we are starving for more knowledge and insights about our questions of faith; when we are jubilantly telling our faith story in whatever way is most comfortable for us. These moments of intensity are rare but they are possible.
Those intense moments are good to remember for the other times of our faith journey when we obediently do as God calls us to do, but perhaps we answer God’s prodding with lackluster response. We go about our prayer routinely, doing it because we know it is good to do, but we don’t experience any great moments of joy or certitude. We reach out on occasion to the marginalised because the Spirit moves us but the reaching out does not happen on its own accord as an instinctive reflex.
What is crucial, though, in order for us to be aware of the Spirit, no matter where we are, is to have open hearts, a disposition of heart — hearts ready to perceive the nudges of the Spirit, hearts poised to hear the small still voice of God calling us. That is done by being faithful day in and day out to our baptismal vows. If we are steady and faithful to those promises to ourselves, our community and God, the Spirit can then find a place to work in our lives even when we don’t think there is much with which to work.
What is consoling is whether we are in the shoes of the eunuch or of Philip or somewhere in between, the Spirit works in all these moments. The Spirit is always there with us, abiding in us, guiding us, showing us the Way, the Truth, and the Life, that is Christ before us, Christ behind us, Christ around us, Christ within us.
[roses by Mary of the Streets icon, Chapel]
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Chicken BBQ
Thanks to a lot of leadership and effort and good will, Trinity held a successful chicken BBQ on Sunday 3 May, Easter 4, aka, Loyalty Day. Wendy Grace took these photos which are also posted on our Facebook page.
And here are some others.
And here are some others.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Easter 4B • 3 May 2009
Psalm 23 was the old Vermont farmer’s favourite, so well-known that he could say it by heart. When he was in Fletcher Allen hospital for more than the biblical forty-days and forty-nights many years ago, every time he and I visited, we would pray that psalm. On the bad days, when he knew he was in the valley of the shadow of death, even in those moments of anxiety, he also knew that God walked with him. On the good days, he could say that he felt as though he had walked through the valley of the shadow of death and had come out the other side. On really good days and when he was finally sent home to recuperate, he felt that the table had been spread for him, and his cup ran over with goodness. Even as he struggled to overcome a failing heart, we continued to say the psalm every time we prayed. In his final hours, though he could no longer talk and really wasn’t conscious, I trust that deep down inside, he heard us saying the familiar words and took comfort in them.
Psalm 23, of all the psalms, is the most well known and loved. Even for those who don’t go to church or synagogue regularly, they still know the words to this psalm. It is a psalm of consolation (used often at the burial office), one that reiterates the psalmist’s trust in God, the one who meets all his needs and whose protecting presence has been with him in even the darkest of situations. The psalmist trusts in this shepherd who will lead him to everlasting waters of life and who will bring him to the heavenly banquet. And it is a psalm that in the early years of the church was said when people were baptised. It speaks to each moment of our life journey from start to finish.
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This psalm that speaks of God’s accompaniment is connected to other readings that evoke the Good Shepherd, Jesus, about whom we always hear on the fourth Sunday of Easter. The actual gospel reading varies from year to year as does its focus but the constant image of the shepherd remains the same.
At the same time, the lectionary always changes course on the fourth Sunday of Easter because the gospel reading moves away from reiterating stories of encounters with the post-resurrection Christ to more general images of Christ. It is as though it is preparing us for the Ascension and the subsequent feast of Pentecost.
The gospel reading from John presents us with a simple image in the midst of an extended discussion of the shepherd. Prior to what we hear today, Jesus compares the shepherd to the door through which thieves and robbers might enter. And following the verses we hear, Jesus will then present reactions to his speech. Immediately in front of us, Jesus focuses on the single contrast between a shepherd and a hired hand. In what constitutes the most densely packed grouping of ‘I AM’ statements in the gospel of John, Jesus fleshes out his image of the good shepherd.
Jesus is presented as the model shepherd who will give his life as the ultimate act of caring. This act of love is meant to stand out impressively, overwhelmingly against the backdrop of the hired hands who, at the slightest indication of danger, will flee for their lives, abandoning the sheep for which they have been hired to care. In the early church, the image of the shepherd was held up before pastors, urging them to tend to their congregations in spite of the dangers of false teachers or violent persecution. The church, to whom John was writing, was well acquainted with suffering, sacrifice and persecution — its members had already been cast out of the synagogue which meant losing one’s cover and being clearly identified as a follower of the Way, of Jesus. In the early second century CE, when the Christian church was but a sect, such exposure could result in persecution or death by the Roman government. Therefore, the image of the good shepherd was presented as one who would encourage the true pastors and discourage those who were simply at it for pay.
At the same time that the gospel intends to encourage the followers, it also points out the devotion Jesus has for his followers. Not only will he lay down his life for his sheep, but he will also do so freely, of his own accord. Paradoxically, through this freely given self-offering, Jesus claims those who follow him as his own. Never will he abandon them. ‘Having loved his own in the world, he loved them to the end.’ John’s gospel returns again and again to this idea of beginnings and end — for ‘the end’ here means a new beginning — Jesus’ death results in the resurrection, a whole new way of hoping and living, a whole new expression of God’s love for us. As the 14th century Anglican mystic Dame Julian of Norwich wrote, ‘God has loved us from before the beginning.’
And if God has loved us, and Jesus is of God, then what does it mean that Jesus lays down his life on our behalf as the good shepherd or is the one whose arms of love are stretched out upon the hard wood of the cross? In other words, does God suffer for us? Does God suffer with us? Does God walk with us in the valley of the shadow of death?
+
The story I am going to tell could happen anywhere but it took place in a community on the east side of the state. A talented high school senior, beloved by all, died in a senseless, tragic car crash, caused by bad timing, bad luck, and bad weather. Her mother, a pastor, understandably, was unable to function for some time after her daughter’s death. Eventually she made it back to her local clergy group. She told them that a night after the accident, she got a call from someone who said: ‘I want you to know that my wife and I were the first people on the scene after it happened and we covered your daughter with a blanket and stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. She was not alone.’ The mother wanted to know who the person was. He answered simply, ‘Pastor Bill.’ A couple of weeks went by and one day she received a call from the man, who wanted to know how she was doing. He explained that he had gone through the same thing many years ago — his 24 year-old son had also died in a car crash. He asked if she might want to see the sermon he preached after his son had died. Oh yes. She pressed him for his name. ‘Pastor Bill’ turned out to be William Sloane Coffin, Jr., retired Senior Minister at Riverside Church in New York City. The other clergy in the clericus then could tell the mother that a line from Coffin’s sermon had also been included in the one preached at her daughter’s funeral only a few weeks ago.
Coffin’s son, Alex, had driven into Boston Harbor. And Coffin said in the sermon he preached the week after the tragedy, ‘My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.’
+
The depths of my heart depend on the knowledge that God suffers for and with us. How else can we bear the pain of the world that is so great, so vast? If God suffers with us, then God is not indifferent to what happens to us. God walks with us in that valley of suffering. And God restores us, too. That matters greatly.
Touching upon the suffering of humanity, of the entire creation, why it happens and why it can’t be prevented is one of the greatest questions of faith that lies in front of us. It raises questions about God’s power, God’s involvement with creation and if we’ve been left totally up to our own. Placed at the core of our Easter faith is one of the greatest mysteries of our faith: Christ suffered and died for us. If God incarnate could enter into humanity’s suffering, then surely God does too. And, if God and Jesus have entered into human suffering, then we are called to also.
Somehow knowing that God is affected by what happens to us enables me to enter more deeply into the difficulties of others. When I enter an ICU cubicle, I know God is there. When I go into a tin home of a sick Salvadoran, I know God is there also. When I read about so-called natural disasters, I know God is there, too. God is my bedrock, the solid ground on which I stand.
God watches over creation, then, as a shepherd with whom all living things are safe, though perhaps not in terms we fully understand. Nonetheless, God knows us all and keeps us wherever we move. May God continue to do this all the days of our lives so that we may never want. May we rest and know God’s peace and goodness that will follow us all the days of our lives.
Psalm 23, of all the psalms, is the most well known and loved. Even for those who don’t go to church or synagogue regularly, they still know the words to this psalm. It is a psalm of consolation (used often at the burial office), one that reiterates the psalmist’s trust in God, the one who meets all his needs and whose protecting presence has been with him in even the darkest of situations. The psalmist trusts in this shepherd who will lead him to everlasting waters of life and who will bring him to the heavenly banquet. And it is a psalm that in the early years of the church was said when people were baptised. It speaks to each moment of our life journey from start to finish.
+
This psalm that speaks of God’s accompaniment is connected to other readings that evoke the Good Shepherd, Jesus, about whom we always hear on the fourth Sunday of Easter. The actual gospel reading varies from year to year as does its focus but the constant image of the shepherd remains the same.
At the same time, the lectionary always changes course on the fourth Sunday of Easter because the gospel reading moves away from reiterating stories of encounters with the post-resurrection Christ to more general images of Christ. It is as though it is preparing us for the Ascension and the subsequent feast of Pentecost.
The gospel reading from John presents us with a simple image in the midst of an extended discussion of the shepherd. Prior to what we hear today, Jesus compares the shepherd to the door through which thieves and robbers might enter. And following the verses we hear, Jesus will then present reactions to his speech. Immediately in front of us, Jesus focuses on the single contrast between a shepherd and a hired hand. In what constitutes the most densely packed grouping of ‘I AM’ statements in the gospel of John, Jesus fleshes out his image of the good shepherd.
Jesus is presented as the model shepherd who will give his life as the ultimate act of caring. This act of love is meant to stand out impressively, overwhelmingly against the backdrop of the hired hands who, at the slightest indication of danger, will flee for their lives, abandoning the sheep for which they have been hired to care. In the early church, the image of the shepherd was held up before pastors, urging them to tend to their congregations in spite of the dangers of false teachers or violent persecution. The church, to whom John was writing, was well acquainted with suffering, sacrifice and persecution — its members had already been cast out of the synagogue which meant losing one’s cover and being clearly identified as a follower of the Way, of Jesus. In the early second century CE, when the Christian church was but a sect, such exposure could result in persecution or death by the Roman government. Therefore, the image of the good shepherd was presented as one who would encourage the true pastors and discourage those who were simply at it for pay.
At the same time that the gospel intends to encourage the followers, it also points out the devotion Jesus has for his followers. Not only will he lay down his life for his sheep, but he will also do so freely, of his own accord. Paradoxically, through this freely given self-offering, Jesus claims those who follow him as his own. Never will he abandon them. ‘Having loved his own in the world, he loved them to the end.’ John’s gospel returns again and again to this idea of beginnings and end — for ‘the end’ here means a new beginning — Jesus’ death results in the resurrection, a whole new way of hoping and living, a whole new expression of God’s love for us. As the 14th century Anglican mystic Dame Julian of Norwich wrote, ‘God has loved us from before the beginning.’
And if God has loved us, and Jesus is of God, then what does it mean that Jesus lays down his life on our behalf as the good shepherd or is the one whose arms of love are stretched out upon the hard wood of the cross? In other words, does God suffer for us? Does God suffer with us? Does God walk with us in the valley of the shadow of death?
+
The story I am going to tell could happen anywhere but it took place in a community on the east side of the state. A talented high school senior, beloved by all, died in a senseless, tragic car crash, caused by bad timing, bad luck, and bad weather. Her mother, a pastor, understandably, was unable to function for some time after her daughter’s death. Eventually she made it back to her local clergy group. She told them that a night after the accident, she got a call from someone who said: ‘I want you to know that my wife and I were the first people on the scene after it happened and we covered your daughter with a blanket and stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. She was not alone.’ The mother wanted to know who the person was. He answered simply, ‘Pastor Bill.’ A couple of weeks went by and one day she received a call from the man, who wanted to know how she was doing. He explained that he had gone through the same thing many years ago — his 24 year-old son had also died in a car crash. He asked if she might want to see the sermon he preached after his son had died. Oh yes. She pressed him for his name. ‘Pastor Bill’ turned out to be William Sloane Coffin, Jr., retired Senior Minister at Riverside Church in New York City. The other clergy in the clericus then could tell the mother that a line from Coffin’s sermon had also been included in the one preached at her daughter’s funeral only a few weeks ago.
Coffin’s son, Alex, had driven into Boston Harbor. And Coffin said in the sermon he preached the week after the tragedy, ‘My own consolation lies in knowing that it was not the will of God that Alex die; that when the waves closed over the sinking car, God’s heart was the first of all our hearts to break.’
+
The depths of my heart depend on the knowledge that God suffers for and with us. How else can we bear the pain of the world that is so great, so vast? If God suffers with us, then God is not indifferent to what happens to us. God walks with us in that valley of suffering. And God restores us, too. That matters greatly.
Touching upon the suffering of humanity, of the entire creation, why it happens and why it can’t be prevented is one of the greatest questions of faith that lies in front of us. It raises questions about God’s power, God’s involvement with creation and if we’ve been left totally up to our own. Placed at the core of our Easter faith is one of the greatest mysteries of our faith: Christ suffered and died for us. If God incarnate could enter into humanity’s suffering, then surely God does too. And, if God and Jesus have entered into human suffering, then we are called to also.
Somehow knowing that God is affected by what happens to us enables me to enter more deeply into the difficulties of others. When I enter an ICU cubicle, I know God is there. When I go into a tin home of a sick Salvadoran, I know God is there also. When I read about so-called natural disasters, I know God is there, too. God is my bedrock, the solid ground on which I stand.
God watches over creation, then, as a shepherd with whom all living things are safe, though perhaps not in terms we fully understand. Nonetheless, God knows us all and keeps us wherever we move. May God continue to do this all the days of our lives so that we may never want. May we rest and know God’s peace and goodness that will follow us all the days of our lives.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Why this blog?
Just a few thoughts on why we have a blog in addition to a Facebook page and a website....
In this day and age, the more electronic communication we can provide, the more our name will be out there. Search engines can pick up 'Trinity Rutland' as people near and far, current and former members who have moved away (as is the case in at least one person) look us up (or some other Trinity).
Moreover, we can post sermons and photographs gratis. Our website has a finite size and if we start loading it up with photographs, we'll eat the space up quickly. (At this point, we won't be able to do podcasts to blogger but maybe they will add that in.)
It might seem too fragmented to have three distinct places but once we get accustomed to visiting them (having bookmarked them!), it can become as much a habit as praying the Daily Office (!).
So, for those of you who already know of this blog's existence, spread the URL. We'll publish it. And little by little, the blog will get out there.