Feminist Theology in an Age of Fear and Hope

Epiphany 3B

2012-01-21T05:34:00.000-08:00

A reflection on Jonah 3:1-5, By Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

In my day job as a psychotherapist, I often have the opportunity to hear people’s stories, to sit with them while they puzzle out and try to make sense of the things that happen, the directions things take, and often to try to answer those most puzzling of questions about the “why” of things in their lives.

Recently I was having a conversation with one of my clients who is about to begin school in order to follow her dream of becoming an artist and painter. I asked her how she had come to know that this was what she wanted to do with her life. She said, “Well, you know, I was going through a really bad time in my life, and for some reason I had this urge to draw and paint. At first it was just to get through it, a part of the healing process. As I started feeling better, I realized that this was more than just therapy for me, it went much deeper somehow and I just had this sense that it was right, like it was something I was just meant to do.” Her journey forward from that day has not been without obstacles. This is in fact the “third time” attempt to begin her studies that she is hoping will be the charm. One earlier effort had to be abandoned for financial reasons, and even this enrollment has been postponed. But I believe that she will persevere and follow what seems to be a clear call on her life.
Scripture is full of stories about people who have some experience of a sense of being called to something. In the stories, in a moment in time, someone is given the opportunity to make a choice that, whether they know it or not, will change their lives forever. We may be able to think about such moments in our own lives, too. Times when we somehow felt pulled or drawn in one way or another…to choose this person, this job, this place over that one.

We may or may not think about these moments as having anything to do with “being called.” Perhaps we ask (in the language of that great spiritual director’s question), “where is God in all of this,” or maybe that doesn’t even occur to us. And even when we may have some sense that God is in the mix here, we may not respond with whole-hearted acceptance or enthusiasm. Our response might be more like…”Um, no thanks”…. Or “Oh, God, I don’t think you mean me….surely you must be mistaken.” Or, “God….you must have me mixed up with someone who is truly suited for the task….someone brighter or better or stronger or holier.”

Truth be told, most of us are much more Jonah than Simon and Andrew and James and John when it comes to feeling called by God. We are much more likely to be on the next boat heading off in the other direction, than we are to drop everything in response to an invitation to “come and follow me.” We don’t feel worthy. We don’t feel ready. Or we just plain don’t want to. We aren’t inclined to drop or add anything, to take a risk. Life is fine just as it is, and who needs the complication!

Jonah was called by God to go save people he did not like from complete and total destruction. Imagine that if you can. Call up in your mind someone who has hurt you or someone you love. Or maybe just someone who is so foreign to you, so “other” that you cannot imagine that you could ever have anything to say to them that would matter or even make sense. And you get this task…this “call” that says go tell this person something. And not just any message, but one that you are pretty sure is not going be good news for them. Like the message that God gave Jonah to deliver, “God asked me to tell you that you need to repent or you and your entire country will be destroyed in forty days.” Well, of course Jonah tries everything NOT to do this task, including boarding a ship going in the opposite direction. But in the end, after being accused of being responsible for the near wreck of the ship, and spending some time cooling his heels in the belly of a whale, Jonah does follow God’s call and finds himself delivering the prophetic message heard in this morning’s Old testament reading….”Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown.” Now the fact that this was heard and taken seriously may have had a whole lot more to do with God than it did with the messenger, Jonah, but it took and everyone did repent, and God did not destroy Nineveh. There is another piece of the story that we did not hear today that tells us more about Jonah’s response to God’s decision to spare the Ninevites. You might think that Jonah would be pleased that his prophetic message was heeded, and all ended well, but this was not the case. Actually Jonah was quite upset with God about this change of mind and heart that spared these, in his mind at least, awful people. God was not seeing it his way, doing it his way.

Some commentators think that Jonah suspected all along that God was going to spare those horrible Ninevites, and that was why he wanted no part of this thing and fled in the first place. He hated these folks, and he wanted no part in their deliverance. God, was far more merciful than he could ever be towards his enemies, and initially he simply could not see himself as part of the plan. But God continues to work on him and by the end of the story Jonah appears to accept the radical notion that not even a Nineveh (or a Jonah) is beyond God’s compassion and ability to transform.

We all have our own stories of being called by God. Perhaps we have not named them as such. Perhaps we have not been ready to claim them. Perhaps when we hear God’s call, we are like Jonah, boarding the first boat for Tarshish, needing a little time out in the belly of the fish to reconsider things, and even then, still struggling to get our heads around God’s incredible capacity for love and compassion and forgiveness.

Whatever else we are called to in life, as Christians we are all called by baptism to be co-creators with God in building God’s kingdom. We know that God desires that this is a kingdom of mercy and justice, peace and compassion. We know that we are called to love God and love our neighbors, especially those we feel we might have nothing to say to, nothing in common with. We do not have to be perfect in our efforts. Those who went before surely were not!

A Hunger for God

2012-01-14T13:23:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Epiphany 2: First Samuel 3:1-10, John 1:43-51, by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

The Hunger Games, is the first book in a trilogy of books based on a time some 100 years in the future. Following the apocalypse and a complete collapse of the world as we know it a new country rises up in North America. Instead of the United States there are twelve districts, all tightly controlled by the Capital, and each focused on the natural resources of the district. Most of the districts are very poor, a few have ample resources. In order to remind the districts that they are under the strong arm of the President and Capital, the Hunger Games are held once a year. The games, looking like something out of reality television and the Olympics, requires each district to randomly select one boy and one girl, called “TRIBUTES,” between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to compete in the games. The Hunger Games are a survival of the fittest battle through extreme wilderness experiences with only one person, one tribute, allowed to win. All of the children competitors must battle each other and the elements until one remains, with the entire event being televised. Everyone in every district is required to watch the games. The district with the winning child receives notoriety, extra food, and benefits for a year, until the next Hunger Games.

Katniss, the lead character in the series, is a sixteen year old girl from District 12, a poor coal mining district. Following the death of her father from a coal mining accident, Katniss becomes the family caretaker – hunting for meat and collecting berries to support her mother and younger sister. She adores her sweet younger sister, Primrose.
Here is an excerpt from the book, with Katniss as the narrator, as the town prepares to learn who will be the tributes from their district:

“It’s time for the first drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, ‘Ladies first!’ and crosses to the big glass bowl with the girl’s names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a piece of paper. The crowd draws a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I’m feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it’s not me….Effie….reads out the name in a clear voice. And it’s not me. It’s Primrose….There must be some mistake. This can’t be happening. Prim has her name on one piece of paper in thousands! Her chances of being chosen are so remote that I haven’t even bothered to worry about her…..with one sweep of my arm, I push her behind me. ‘I volunteer! I gasp, I volunteer as tribute!”

It is no surprise that when the younger sister is chosen to be the tribute Katniss insists on going in her place. Take me, she proclaims. The story that unfolds is gripping, moving, and challenging to read.

Our readings this morning all focus on the idea of being chosen by God, called to serve God, and our response to that call. The readings offer us a number of ways in which people hear God’s call and follow, reflecting that each of us is called, in different ways, and each of us responds in our own way.

Samuel, although a small boy, is called to become a "trustworthy prophet of the Lord." The Gospel of John tells the story of Philip and Nathanael leaving everything behind to follow Jesus. These readings connect to the theme of the Gospel for this year – “Where is God?” with the idea that God chooses to be made known in and through us.

None of us has the exact same call from God, each call is unique to who we are. Which reminds me of this story:

A rabbi named Zusya died and went to stand before the judgment seat of God. As he waited for God to appear, he grew nervous thinking about his life and how little he had done. He began to imagine that God was going to ask him, "Why weren't you Moses or why weren't you Solomon or why weren't you David?" But when God appeared, the rabbi was surprised. God simply asked, "Why weren't you Zusya?"

How are we to become fully who God calls us to be? Samuel reminds us that God calls both children and adults. God’s call might come as a whisper, or small voice in the night, as a dream, a thought, an idea, or something said to us by another person. God’s call comes in and through the context of all the voices in our lives.

And so, sometimes we need help discerning which voice is the authentic voice of God. Samuel seeks the guidance of Eli. People discerning a call to ordained ministry need to have that call confirmed by a community of people who, after spending a number of weeks and months in prayer and conversation, can affirm a call or redirect the person toward another understanding of their call. Each of us has a calling, and for many of us it manifests in the work we do every day, whether that is our paid profession, our volunteer work, or our role as a parent or grandparent, lawyer, doctor, nurse, or teacher.

Martin Luther King, Jr. whose feast day we celebrate today, knew his call from God. A minister and an activist for social justice, particularly as one who spoke out against racism and prejudice, Dr. King literally put his life on the line to follow God. Unlike the Hunger Games where one person survives, King worked hard for the survival of people of color – for all of society to recognize the inherent value of all human beings – loved by God and worthy of equal opportunities in all avenues of life. Dr. King points us to consider how our call, like his call, is a movement toward the fulfillment of the kingdom of God, or what it means to love God, love self, and love others. Our call may not look as extreme or as intense as his, but that doesn’t mean it is less important to the kingdom of God.

Bruce Epperly, an author and Spiritual Director suggests that our call is a

“call to adventure – to see God everywhere, to experience God in our daily lives, to honor embodiment, and welcome revelation whenever and wherever it occurs…In the questioning, inspired by a sense of holiness in all moments and all creatures, we will discover God’s voice amid the voices…"

Katherine Hawker at liturgyoutside.net wrote this prayer, A Litany of Call:

A child once dreamed the Voice was calling his name… 'Samuel';
Fisherman once heard the Voice when a young man bid them follow;
And still the Voice beckons today… can you hear?
Here I am. Send me.

Moses protested vehemently as the Voice spoke at the burning bush;
Mary stood amazed as the Voice proclaimed impending birth;
And still the Voice beckons today… can you hear?
Here I am. Send me.

Rosa Parks followed the Voice to the front of the bus;
Martin Luther King, Jr. heard the Voice as the bullet shattered;
And still the Voice beckons today… can you hear?
Here I am. Send me….

A timid believer pauses to listen to the Voice;
A struggling church hears the Voice and turns;
And still the Voice beckons today… can you hear?

Listen. The Voice is calling you, too…

The Holy Name

2011-12-31T21:07:00.001-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Christmas I/Holy Name by the Rev. Camille Hegg

Numbers 6:22-27; Psalm 8; Galatians 4:4-7 or Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 2:15-21

Names are important. In many ways they characterize and define those bearing them. Nicknames sometimes come about because they fit better than the name given at birth and pronounced at baptism, in Jewish celebrations or other rituals of all cultures.
I am one of many women who have gone through a process of whether to change my last name at marriage. I know someone who, when she went through a divorce, decided to name herself something completely different from her birth or marriage names. She took the first names of her two sons, played with spellings, sounds and rhythms, and came up with a new last name. Immediately after the court case, she legally changed her name.
I think of pets and the various names in our family and with friends. I had some friends who had a fun sense of humor. Their black and white dog they did not name Spot. They chose Stain. Stain was a great dog, and the coloring of Stain was more like stains than merely spots.
January. 1, New Year’s Day is the celebration of The Holy Name of Jesus. Luke says Mary and Joseph took Jesus to the temple for the naming of the baby. This was a vital part of Hebrew culture. A liturgy that was enacted by Jewish couples over and over. His name was to be Jesus, as the angel had told Mary with the annunciation and as Joseph had also been told. Mary and Joseph did not name this child; the naming was part of God plan of salvation. Mary and Joseph took their places in this plan by doing as they had been told. Going to the Temple for the naming of the baby fulfilled Mosaic law and reminds us that we, too, are children of God.
Naming is only part of rearing a baby. Apparently Mary and Joseph took their roles seriously. Look how he turned out as an adult. Joseph taught him his trade; both taught and modeled compassion and generosity. He fulfilled the attributes of the one who would come. His mother was in his life from before his birth and through his ministry. She was with him through the trial and his murder and was there at the grave. Her penchant for pondering perhaps enabled Jesus to ponder and pray. It was probably this pondering and praying that led him to understand that the laws of the Sabbath were meant for humans. That was why he could break the law and heal on the Sabbath, for instance.
His name is significant; the rearing is invaluable; the faith in God came to fruition in him. Hre was all that scripture prophesied: Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace, Emmanuel, God saves, Christ, intecessor, friend and more.

.
Names are important. There is a beautiful African folk tale written down and illustrated by Ashley Bryan. For Africans in this book Turtle is a very special God like character. Turtle goes under the sea, on the land. Turtle makes it his business to know the names of all the people in the village. They have a naming ceremony at the time children can learn to say their names. They all go to the sea and the child tells the village, teaches, the village her or his name. After the naming ceremony the child can go outside alone because….everyone knows the child, the parents and grandparents and where he or she lives.
In this story the boy becomes very discouraged because he has such a long name. His Granny teaches him, very patiently and it does take a long time. She always encourages him to keep trying, reminding him that he does have a long name, but it is not the longest name.
After his beach name dance, he goes out but no one wants to say his name. They tease him, refuse to learn it. The animals can’t say it. So, he goes to the beach and is sitting on the sand putting his hands and feet in the water. Turtle swims up on the beach and says the boy’s name. The boy is ecstatic that someone knows his name. He asks how Turtle knows and Turtle says,
“I learn names from the beach name dances;
I remember them well because I take no chances.
I swim up and listen, you don’t see me.
Then I spell your name in shells at the bottom of the sea.”

The boy’s name is Upsilimana Tumpalerado. And the one with the longest name, he learns, is Granny. She is delighted when Turtle knows her name: Mapaseedo Jackalindy Eye Pie Tackarindy. The boy is astonished that Granny has another name besides Granny, but she tells him to call her Granny. And she tells him, that from then on, she is going to call him Son.
There is something so important about names, knowing and remembering them. The Feast of the Holy Name reminds us of that.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Christmas 2011

2011-12-23T06:21:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Christmas by Janine Goodwin

This year, the lectionary offers a choice between the simple, elegant birth story in Luke and the sonorous and somewhat abstract glories of John, and despite the choices and the multiple commentaries on each, I keep being reminded of a young couple I knew when I was a music student in my early twenties.

They were no more than four years older than I, maybe less. They were good kids, thoughtful, responsible. They had gotten married the previous year, and had just had their first baby. I knew they were living on half a worn shoestring and incredibly busy, both going to school full-time, and I couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful than having a baby. My sentimental fantasies did not include diapers, screams, spit-up, or weird rashes, and I had never experienced any sleep deprivation more serious than a single all-nighter pulled on the eve of a deadline, followed by a long, peaceful daytime nap.

One day, after a rehearsal, I was busy telling the young father how happy he must be. He looked at me wearily and said, “Yes, I’m happy. I wouldn’t have it any other way, but it’s not easy. Let me tell you what it’s like to have a baby. Imagine you hear that someone you really love is coming to visit. You’re really excited and you run around getting ready and you just can’t wait to see them. Then they get here, and you’re so happy to see them and you love them so much more than you thought you could and it’s wonderful . . . and then they NEVER LEAVE. Your life is never going to go back to the way it was before.”

For the first time, I realized how tired he looked.

The story of the incarnation is the story of a huge change, not just in the lives of Mary and Joseph, but in time itself, and it is a story of change in our lives. In the presence of the Word made flesh in space and time, we find out what our illusions were and what the demands of a new life really are.

Christmas is the test of our Advent practice: it’s when we will, if we watch ourselves, find out whether we were really preparing to be open to a new thing that God is doing or indulging in a season of holy procrastination. It is possible to listen to the prophecies and be sure we know what others didn’t, to get lost in the beauty of the language and the music that has grown up around it, and forget that we, like others before us, can miss the point. It is quite possible, since we are human, that we can hear a familiar story without remembering how shocking it is, how demanding the Gospels are. It is possible to forget that Jesus offended the good people by hanging around with sinners and outcasts and took the extraordinary step of treating women as students and friends. It is possible to forget that Jesus came into the power struggles and injustices of the world and died of them because he challenged everyone’s assumptions and didn’t play by anyone’s rules. It is possible to forget that prophecies are strange, we misinterpret them, and God always surprises us and calls us in directions we could never have expected.

Should we rejoice? Yes. Should we expect everything to be happy, comfortable, and easy? No. After the infancy narratives and the one haunting vignette of Jesus as a difficult teenager comes John the Baptist, prophet and wild man. He’s already there in John, upsetting pretty much everybody. The birth of Jesus Christ is many things, but it is not an assurance that everything will go smoothly. There will be love, healing, and work that challenges us; ultimately, all will be well; in the meantime, the only guarantee is that God is with us, working in our lives, and will never leave. Emmanuel, God with us. It is enough. Are we ready for that? Are we ready for the tenderness and the mess, the fatigue and the joy, of a life with Jesus?

But who was God

2011-12-17T13:44:00.000-08:00

A reflection on Luke 1:26-38 for Advent 4B by The Rev. Margaret Rose

As far as I recall, I never got to be Mary in the Christmas pageant at our church. I was a sheep when I was very small, a little angel with gold crepe wings, a shepherd, once even the Angel Gabriel, but never Mary. I suspect it was clear to the adults in charge that I did not fit the profile. And couldn’t pull off the look of an obedient passive teenager walking quietly to Bethlehem. Even at a young age I was outspoken about what seemed to me injustice: No room at the inn, taxation without representation. The leaders didn’t want to risk even more chaos at a pageant that had enough toddler sheep and goats crawling around the altar.
The picture we got of Mary was the one from Italian Renaissance paintings, receiving the angel’s news with beauty and acquiescence, light brown hair perfectly coiffed, falling softly on her symbolic blue shimmering robe, halo shining above. We sang the hymns that reinforced that idea: Mother mild in O Little Town of Bethlehem, Hail Mary, Gentle Woman, Sing of Mary Pure and Lowly. Mary was obedient, tender and passively ready to do God’s will.
But even then I suspected that Mary was not quite this. And the Mary I have come to
know since those childhood days of the Christmas pageant is the one portrayed in the only joke my own mother knew how to tell:

A construction worker is repairing the roof of a church early one morning when a woman comes in to pray. She kneels reverently and begins her silent prayers. Deciding that he will play a trick on the woman and give her a big scare, he conceals himself in the balcony and calls down loud enough for his voice to echo toward the woman alone at prayer. “Helloooo down there, this is Jesus.” No response from the faithful woman. A little louder, the worker calls again, “HELLO down there, this is Jesus!” Again, the woman does not move but continues her prayers as before. Wondering if she might be hard of hearing, the man calls out again, this time in a loud voice, ‘HELLO DOWN THERE THIS IS JESUS!’ Finally the woman responds, stands up tall, arms akimbo looking the direction from which the voice has come and exclaims, “WON’T YOU PLEASE BE QUIET,. CAN’T YOU SEE I AM TRYING TO TALK TO YOUR MOTHER!”

The Mary many of us have come to know over the centuries is the one whose world was as broken as our own, who knew a mother’s care, joys and suffering in her own life. That Mary is the one whose own suffering at the death of a child is shared by many a grieving parent. I will never forget, when own my father died suddenly of a heart attack at age 52, seeing my grandmother keening in a chair as she attempted to find meaning in this disorder. The parents are not supposed to outlive the children. She took comfort in Mary, whose own child had died a violent death, much too young. Mary, whose courage in bearing the child of God was only matched by her courage in seeing him die on the cross. She has been an image of solidarity and compassion for those who suffer throughout the ages. The joke above is only funny because it is so true. We can talk to Mary about our lives.
In my childhood pictures we never saw the terrified Mary, or the one whose hand was raised in protest as she pondered the angel’s words and decided whether she would be able to accept this announcement. Most of all we didn’t see the Mary whose response to the angel is more radical than anything the Wall Street Occupiers or others could imagine. The words of the Magnificat ring out from Luke’s Gospel in the voice of Mary. “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord….He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and rich he has sent away empty.” What a vision for a new world she ( and Luke) offered us.
This Mary had something to say and is still saying it today.
If the theologians have it right, Mary’s obedient response came from a knowledge that the Messiah, long promised to faithful Jews, like her, was going to come to pass, yet with no assurance that this angel’s prediction was the one that mattered. There had been many predictions of Messiahs before. This Mary is one who was willing to face ridicule or shame for her yes—in a culture where a pregnant unmarried woman faced certain rejection, outcast from family and community. The Mary I have come to know was not one who answered “Whatever you say, God.” But who was perplexed and who pondered her response, took her time before replying.

And that is the astonishing thing, something unimagined, but which may have been true, is that God waited. God waited for Mary’s reply. God waited until she said yes.

During these weeks of Advent we speak often of our own yearning for the coming of the Christ Child, of our own annual expectation and desire that Christmas really will come again. I had never thought of God waiting for Mary, of not being so absolutely sure this will work out or that she will say yes. This is in some way God’s own Advent, God waiting for Mary to say yes to the Announcement of the terrifyingly wonderful news.
And could it be that God waits and desires an affirmative response not just from Mary but from us as well.

I wonder then, what announcement has come to us, to me, for which God is desiring an affirmative response. And I am grateful that as with Mary, God is waiting for me, for us to catch up. God is waiting for us to have the kind of courage that Mary had to say, “Be it done to me according to your word.”

Poet Denise Levertov in her poem, The Annunciation says it better than I.

The Annunciation:
We know the scene: the room, variously furnished,
almost always a lectern, a book; always
the tall lily.

Arrived on solemn grandeur of great wings,
the angelic ambassador, standing or hovering,
whom she acknowledges, a guest.

But we are told of meek obedience. No one mentions
courage
The engendering Spirit
did not enter her without consent. God waited.

She was free
to accept or refuse, choice
integral to humanness.

Aren't there annunciations
of one sort or another in most lives?
Some unwillingly undertake great destinies,
enact them in sullen pride,
uncomprehending.

More often those moments
when roads of light and storm
open from darkness in a man or woman,
are turned away from
in dread, in a wave of weakness, in despair
and with relief.
Ordinary lives continue.

God does not smite them.
But the gates close, the pathway vanishes..

She had been a child who played, ate, slept
like any other child - but unlike others,
wept only for pity, laughed
in joy not triumph.
Compassion and intelligence
fused in her, indivisible.

Called to a destiny more momentous
than any in all of Time,
she did not quail,
only asked

a simple, "How can this be?"
and gravely, courteously,
took to heart the angel's reply,
perceiving instantly
the astounding ministry she was offered:

to bear in her womb
Infinite weight and lightness; to carry
in hidden, finite inwardness,
nine months of Eternity; to contain
in slender vase of being,
the sum of power -
in narrow flesh,
the sum of light.

Then bring to birth,
push out into air, a Man-child
needing, like any other,
milk and love -

but who was God.

~Denise Levertov : The Stream and the Sapphire: Selected Poems on Religious Themes

Advent 3B

2011-12-11T15:29:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Advent 3-B: Isaiah 65: 17-25; Psalm 126; 1 Thess. 5: 12-28; John 1: 6-8, 19-28 by The Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

Apparently, the Syracuse Stage production of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe tries to downplay the fact that the author, C.S. Lewis, wrote these rollicking good children’s books – The Chronicles of Narnia -- as both adventure stories AND as Christian allegories.

If you haven’t seen the play or any number of film versions, or read the books, I don’t think I’ll be spoiling the story to say that Aslan, the lion who is a figure, or representation, of Christ, is willing to die at the hand of the White Witch so that the life of one of the other characters is spared. This is to fulfill what the White Witch and Aslan call “the deep magic,” a spell, or incantation, or promise, written in to the essence of Narnia at its beginning. But Aslan, killed on a great stone table, comes back to life. It turns out that the Witch does not know of a deeper magic still, an older magic, that turns everything around:

Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation.

The death of Aslan, the innocent, causes the table to crack, and “death itself starts working backward.”

The promise of new life comes from the depths of that Deep Magic, comes from the stillness and darkness before the dawn of time.

Lewis got that idea of the Deep Magic from the Gospel of John, from the verses which come before the passage we read today. The words are familiar, and we’ll read them again during the Christmas season:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
There was a man sent from God whose name was John …

In the words of Aslan, John the Baptist comes from that time of the Deeper Magic, from the time before the creation of the world, from the beginning of the Word itself.

One way to think of Advent is as the time we remember that we still have time. It’s the time we remember the way the world was created to be. Things may have gone awry since that first creation, but God is promising to renew it all: God will create a new heavens and a new earth. The ancient city of Jerusalem will be a joy, and its people a delight.

This passage from Isaiah was written after the people of Israel had returned to Jerusalem. For generations, they had been punished by God and exiled to Babylon. They were punished for not following God’s commandments to live righteously, to care for the poor and stranger, to worship God alone. Then God forgave them, gave them another chance, let them go back to Jerusalem. But here was the challenge: were they going back to “the good old days,” with the kind of life choices that took them down the path to the way of living God did NOT like? Or this time, living in this new Jerusalem, did they realize that to live the good life God wanted them to live meant doing things a different way?

The prophet Isaiah came to people like us. Listen, he said to the people of Jerusalem who still remembered the hard times in Babylon, but were hoping things could get back to the way they used to be. Listen, he said. Two things: it is only God who creates, and in God’s own time. And, you, people of God, have to hold up your half of the bargain. Remember the commandments: love God, and love your neighbor as yourself.

The prophet John the Baptist came to people like us. Listen, he said to the people of Jerusalem who were living under the hard times and oppression of the Roman Empire, an economic, political and social system where the decisions made in faraway places wreaked havoc in their daily lives. People who needed hope. People who had forgotten some of those essential commandments, to love God and to love neighbor as oneself. People living in darkness, tripping down crooked paths. Repent. Turn from those ways, for the kingdom of heaven is about to get here. You know what God wants you to do. You know how God wants you to live. Do it. Now is the time.

Advent is for two kinds of people. It’s for people who need to realize that God’s commandments include social justice – who haven’t quite worked out that loving God and loving neighbor are inseparable. Advent reminds those people that it’s time to get going in the good works department.

And Advent is for people who care deeply about justice – who know the world can and should be a better place – who devote their time and resources to doing good works – who hear these promises for a new heaven and a new earth and then wake up day after day in the same spot. Advent reminds those people that God alone creates, and that the new heavens and the new earth are on their way.

It’s the message from the Deep Magic from before the beginning of time. Repent, and get ready. Hold on, and hope. Things are about to turn around.

Advent 2B

2011-12-02T14:38:00.000-08:00

A reflection on Mark 1:1-8 by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig As these Advent days fly by, I’ve been thinking how challenging it can be to observe this season of waiting and “not yet” in a culture that begins to celebrate Christmas in October. Sometimes it makes me feel kind of out of step to be saying, “No, wait, it is NOT Christmas yet, we are in another season entirely! And clearly we are—the readings in these four Sundays give a lot to think about.

Last week it was apocalypse and fig trees as we were reminded to be awake and alert. This week we encounter John, this wild prophet who appears in the wilderness preaching a message of repentance for forgiveness of sins. Repentance. Now there is one of those words. A word that might have some juice! Perhaps it was thundered at us from the pulpits of our past; [mis]used to remind us of just how far off the mark we were, how badly we were behaving. “Repent! Repent or else!” Just hearing it might scare or shame us. Now if this was John’s approach to repentance, you’d think that his followers would have been fleeing into the wilderness. But they did not. In fact they flocked to accept his baptism. What did they hear in John’s invitation to repentance that sounded like an opportunity rather than a threat? John quotes Isaiah to them: “Prepare the way of the lord, make his paths straight.” Prepare. Create a way for something to happen. This kind of repentance is sounding more like like an opportunity than a threat.

And maybe that was what John was talking about on behalf of God--for his people in his time, and us in ours, the chance to come to grips with and change the things that stand in the way of loving relationship with God, with others, with ourselves by clearing away those things that hold us in bondage and keep us from being our God-created, beautiful, unique and authentic selves. It is about cleaning out the clutter in our lives and making room for love. Yes, the repentance message is about love. God’s amazing love for us was/is manifested incarnationally in God coming among God’s people in the person of Jesus to transform us, and to bring about God’s Kin-dom in this world.

We know this is true. When we are reminded, we nod, we agree. Yes, of course. But still, we hesitate and stumble and get confused and mixed up, because we keep forgetting this one crucial thing about the Gospel message. The repentance we are called to is not so God will forgive us. That has already happened! WE ARE ALREADY FORGIVEN. God’s love does not rest on what we earn or deserve, not, as John says, “that we have loved God, but that God has loved us…” (1 John 4:10). God’s love for us does not depend on us but on God. And because of this tremendous love there are three gifts that we get for Christmas that cannot be found in any Mall or catalog! These gifts are freedom, authenticity and security.

When we understand how we are loved and forgiven by God, we are given true freedom. There is no need to hide anything, not from ourselves, and not from God. We can present ourselves to God just as we are. We can admit to all those silly, shortsighted, human, mean-spirited, unthinking, selfish, things we do every day as a result of our human brokenness. And we can do it without fear! We can repent of them, clear them away and allow ourselves to be forgiven.

The second gift we can claim is the gift of authenticity. When we see ourselves through the lens God’s love, we can do so with compassion and honesty. If there is no need to earn God’s love, and in fact we cannot do so, we can look at ourselves just as we are. We don’t need to better (or worse) than we are. It won’t make God love us more. We can look at the self God loves, the self God created. We can remember that we are loveable because of the whole of us -- the light and the shadow! We can risk being authentic because it really cannot ultimately harm us to do so--God’s love for us will not change. And we can risk repenting, doing the process of change and transformation again and again knowing that God is there, loving us through it.

The other gift that comes if we believe the message of the incarnation is the gift of being able to have the ultimate security that comes from knowing ourselves as truly loved.. “God so loved the world that he gave His only Son that everyone who believes in Him may not perish but may have eternal life” (John 3:16). If we really let this message that we are loved this much by the God who is the creator of the universe, the God who has been in continuous and covenanted relationship with humankind since time began begin to sink in to the depths of us, we will begin a process of coming to see ourselves as truly beloved of God.

If we claim these gifts, really allow them to penetrate us, the idea of repentance takes on new meaning. It really can be seen as a way of clearing away the obstacles or interference to our connection with this Ultimate Gift. As we are more heist with ourselves about being by turns weak and foolish and amazing and beautiful, we may begin to find more compassion towards others as well. As we treat ourselves with love, dignity and respect, we are more likely to do the same for others. As we realize that if we are God’s beloved, they must be also, we inevitably will begin to deal differently with others and with the world.

Of course, even if we try our best to hold these truths, we will forget who and whose we are. We will fall back into old patterns, and hurt people and make big human messes that we need to make amends for and clean up! We will need to go back and repent again, and again be forgiven. But hear the good news in this, too. In our repentance, God’s love and forgiveness is always there for us. There will never be a time to wonder, “Is this time too much?” “Can I be forgiven again or did I really do it this time.” No. Never. Through God in Jesus we are loved and forgiven and there is nothing on our part that is deserved or earned about it! It is pure love, pure gift. So we can risk being honest; risk being authentically all of who God created us to be. We can rest secure in God’s unchanging love.

And from there, we can go out and change the world, being God’s voice and hands and feet in the world, being in our own way the messengers to prepare the way to God’s Kin-dom among us here and now.

Advent 1B

2011-11-26T16:26:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Advent 1B:Isaiah 64. 1-9, Psalm 80. 1-7, 1 Corinthians 1. 3-9, Mark 13. 24-37 by the Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

I bought a new printer recently, it has WiFi, so I can print to it from anywhere in the house, it also came Google Cloud Print ready. Well ok, WiFi I understand, but what on earth is Cloud? Well apparently it connects directly to the web and doesn’t require a PC to setup. I decided to find out a little bit more about cloud. Wikipedia defines Cloud computing as the delivery of computing as a service rather than a product, whereby shared resources, software, and information are provided to computers and other devices as a utility (like the electricity grid) over a network (typically the Internet). I’m not sure I’m any the wiser, except that it means I don’t really need to know what I’m doing, Cloud takes care of it all – all I had to do was switch the printer on, once it was linked to my internet account it told my computer it was there and I could print. I’m afraid a lot of computer terminology is beyond me, I’m sure I’m not the only one.

Then of course there is the new language – text speak, which seems to be creeping into everyday use. B4 instead of before, 2DY instead of today and of course lol meaning laugh out loud. People now say lol instead of actually laughing..! Language is organic, new words come into being and we use language in different ways.

Jesus chooses the language and terminology he uses carefully. Jesus is responding to a question about the destruction of the temple from his disciples. He has already spoken about the signs that it is imminent, of wars, earthquakes, famine and betrayal within families and he tells his disciples to ‘be alert’. Now suddenly, he seems to be talking about something other than the destruction of the temple. He hasn’t actually answered the disciples question, and in this passage he seems to be moving on to talk about the time when he will return, his second coming at the end of time. Or is he? Has he just chosen his words carefully?

‘But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.’

The cosmic language he chooses from Isaiah were used to speak about the fall of the pagan powers, Babylon and Edom. With his knowledge of scripture it would be quite likely that he would speak of the destruction of the temple in those terms. Isaiah uses poetic language that conjures up vivid pictures, not of the destruction of the world, but of the old order being replaced by a new order. Jesus uses that same language to talk about the destruction of Jerusalem, the sacred city for the people of Israel, God’s chosen people.

A new regime will emerge out of the destruction and it will be ruled over by the Son of man. Jesus again uses language from the Old Testament, this time the book of Daniel, his vision of ‘one like the son of man’ who comes in clouds to the throne of God and is given dominion over all nations for ever.

The destruction of Jerusalem and the temple will mean that it will no longer be central to God’s purpose. The new Jerusalem will see the son of man reigning over all nations, not just the people of Israel.

It would have been important for the early Christians in the days surrounding the destruction of the temple to have known that Jesus had predicted it. The early church faced persecution even before the destruction of Jerusalem. Jesus predicts that this will happen with in the life-time of some of the disciples. The destruction of the temple in 70AD marks the beginning of a new life for Christianity, until then it was simply a sect of Judaism, now it forms an identity of its own, Judaism also has to change and reinvent itself now that the central focus, the Temple is destroyed. The sack of Jerusalem was the fulfilment of Jesus’ prophecies surrounding the fate of the city.

What does all this mean for us here today? At the beginning of this season of Advent when we prepare not only for our celebration of the birth of Jesus in a stable in Bethlehem, but also for his second coming? Jesus may well have been predicting the destruction of the city of Jerusalem, and a switch in regime as Jerusalem ceases to be the central focus of God’s purpose as his purpose widens out to the whole of the world.

Cloud Computing means that technology is available to all – you just need the internet..! The son of Man coming on a cloud means that God is there for everyone, you don’t even need the internet. Even when the Jews were going through difficult times they still trusted in God, we hear that hope in the passage from Isaiah..’return, for the sake of your servants..’ They trust that God will return, God is always faithful. Paul reminds us that the gifts of the Spirit will support us as we await the second coming, his words are as relevant to us today as they were to the church in Corinth.
The message for us, this Advent is that through the Holy Spirit we have been given all the gifts we need, to await the second coming. We may not know how they got there or indeed what they are. Just as we may not understand Cloud Computing, or Text Speak. No matter how difficult times may be we must trust implicitly and wait for God in patient hope. Mary trusted in God’s plan and said yes to bearing his son Jesus, she waited patiently for the birth of her Lord and waited patiently for God’s plan to come to fruition in the death and resurrection of her Son. We too must wait patiently for the fulfilment of God’s plan, when the Son of Man will come again and reign over his glorious kingdom.

Eyes, Hands, and Heart, or What it means to have faith with feet...

2011-11-19T12:46:00.001-08:00

A reflection on Matthew 25:31-46 by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

Many years ago, on the exit ramp of I-90/94 in Chicago, I encountered a woman with a sign saying something like, “Unemployed homeless mother with three kids. Need food and money.” A car or two stopped and offered money, but many cars drove by without stopping. With my two young children in the car I felt compelled to give her all the cash I had on me, it wasn’t much. I don’t know why I was so moved by this woman, maybe it was the first time I had seen a young mother asking for a handout? I thought of her many times over the years, and wondered how she was, although I didn't see her again for a very long time.

Some ten years after I first saw that woman on the exit ramp of the highway, I saw her again, with the same sign, asking for money. Ten years later and her life remained unchanged. Or so it seemed. I was startled and a bit dismayed.

A few years later a wild woman appeared at the church I was serving. It was during some event and the place was crowded. This woman, intense and a little abrupt, did not respond well when I told her we had nothing, no gift cards left. She stormed out making a bit of a scene. I was left feeling badly, as if Jesus had come to me and I had not cared for him.

I remember a sermon a friend of mine preached in seminary. She used two illustrations of people she had encountered in AA. One was a man who told a story about his homelessness and addiction, and how – because of the assistance of others giving him money and help – he was able to go into recovery and rebuild his life.

The other was a story of a man who, when homeless and actively alcoholic, no one gave him money or assistance. He hit rock bottom, and in his words, “no one enabled him to continue in his destructive behavior.” His realized life had to change, and from that desperate place he went into recovery and began to rebuild his life.
And so I ask myself this question, “Lord, what does it mean to see you? What does it mean to help?”

You remember this joke: There was a terrible flood and the people in the town were leaving in droves. One man stood in the doorway of his house watching the water rise. A women came by and offered him a pair of boots so he could walk with her through the flooded street to safety. “Oh, no,” he said,” God is going to rescue me.”

The waters rose and the man had to move up to the top of his stairs. A man in a row boat came by and offered him a ride in the boat to escape the waters. “Oh no” said the man, “God will rescue me.”

Soon the waters rose more and the man stood on the roof of his. A helicopter flew over and the crew called out to grab the rope ladder and climb up! But the man once again said that he was waiting for God to rescue him.

Unfortunately the man drowned in the flood. When he arrived at the pearly gates he said to God, “I thought you were going to save me!” And God said, “First I sent you a woman with boots, then a row boat, then a helicopter….”

Not only are we considering what it means to help, but also, what it means to see God. To see the face of Christ in one another and in the people we meet. And, what it means to know that at times we will fail to do this well, even when we are trying.

Jan Richardson, in her blog The Painted Prayerbook, offers this thought:

“….. I think of how my deepest regrets—what few I allow myself—are most often attached to occasions when I didn’t see. Didn’t know how to see, didn’t yet have the eyes for seeing. The realization of it—the dawning knowledge of where my vision was lacking—is itself a kind of punishment. But an invitation, too. To learn to look more closely. To take in what I have rushed past.
When was it that we saw you?”

(The Painted Prayerbook)

Today we celebrate the last Sunday after Pentecost, Christ the King Sunday, the Reign of Christ, and – as Christ Church – our “Feast of Title” day . It is the day we celebrate who we are and whose we are – We are Christ Church – shaped and formed by Christ, through baptism, through prayer and the Eucharist, through our relationships with others, through coming to this place, through a relationship with God and Christ, which gives us our identity as a people of faith. On this day we are invited to look carefully at who we are, and how we are living out our faith. It’s a call to do three things – to seek to be the hands and heart of Christ in the world, recognize how it is that Christ comes to us, and how we can be more attentive to being, doing, and seeing Christ.

As Christ Church we serve as the hands and heart of Christ in the world through all this food we are generously giving to Crossroads , not just today, but every week, so that others may have food on their table. As Christ Church we serve as the hands and heart of Christ when we participate in the soup kitchen at Spirit of Hope in Detroit. We are the hands and heart of Christ when we give of our treasure so that I can purchase gift cards to Kroger and offer those who come looking for assistance, a chance for some food or gas. As Christ Church we serve as the hands and heart of Christ when we open our doors and welcome the many groups who use our building. As Christ Church we serve as the hands and heart of Christ when we host the Alternative Market today – inviting in thirty artists and local vendors to sell their merchandise. We are not taking a penny in commission – we are offering people a free place to advertise and sell their art, food, and merchandise. (I hope a lot of people come and do their Christmas shopping! And that the artists and vendors have a good time here!). As Christ Church we are hosting this event, greeting people and working to ensure that everyone has a good time. Much work has gone into this event, from many different people. It seems appropriate that we have this event on this day, Christ the King, the Reign of Christ.

There are many ways that we see Christ in others and offer love, compassion, and a helping hand. There are many ways that Christ comes to us and invites us into a deeper relationship – whether it is through the people we know and meet here, or the music and worship we participate in, or some other experience we have.
Regardless of who attentive we are, there are always ways that we can deepen this experience. The liturgical seasons of the church year offer an opportunity to be mindful, attentive. Next Sunday we begin the season of Advent, a season that asks us to ponder how Christ is coming to us anew this year, and how we can be Christ to the world around us.

As we journey through Advent let’s be attentive, wondering -
Lord, when did we see you – and - when did we miss you?

Proper 28A

2011-11-11T17:42:00.001-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 28A by Janine Goodwin

"Have mercy upon us, O Lord, have mercy upon us, for we have had more than enough of contempt. Our soul has had more than its fill of the scorn of those who are at ease, of the contempt of the proud."

I have been thinking of this Psalm since the first news of the Occupy Wall Street movement. As one of the 99% in the USA, I have been feeling for some time that I have had enough of the contempt of the proud. In my lifetime, I have seen the opportunities for education and stability eroding for everyone but the rich. Wealth gained responsibly is not a bad thing, but it is wrong to deny the chance for a decent living to many and waste so much human potential so that a few may profit hugely. I am angry when huge and powerful corporations that have been given the status of people pay a tax bill that is proportionately tiny compared with mine. I am furious when houses stand empty and people are homeless. I am worried about what will happen to my spouse and myself if his job is lost in the next round of budget cuts.

It is sobering to realize, however, that when we look outside the USA, I am among the relatively few people who have spent a lifetime living in a dependable shelter, with uncontaminated water, refrigerated food, my own vehicle, and access to public education and (so far) to medical care. To much of the world, I am "the proud"—at least until the end of this paycheck. This is very uncomfortable knowledge. Over the last several years, my spouse and I have begun to simplify our lives in many ways in response to it, and we live in an uneasy mixture of increased awareness of our relative prosperity and the fear of catastrophe.

As we approach Advent and prepare not just to welcome a beloved baby but to recognize the physical presence of the reign of God among us, we might all do well to ask ourselves: in what ways are we the people praying this Psalm, and in what ways are we showing the contempt of the proud? What happens when we are the proud? Dare we repent? Certainly the 1% or 2% of Americans who hold far too much of the material wealth ought to share more than a pittance with the country in which they live. What do we all need to share with the world? Dare we look at ourselves? If we ask for a more equitable distribution of wealth, or if we hold wealth, can we look at our poorer siblings across the world and accept the need for more simplicity so that they may survive? How much is enough, and how can we not just have enough for ourselves but share with others? Where are we being called to repentance individually and collectively?

Does this sound too political for a theological reflection? I oppose any movement toward theocracy, which is never anything but the use of faith to gain power. None of us should try to impose our version of our faith on each other. I also believe that our actions, including our politics, show what we believe. We don't just vote with our feet or our wallets: we act out our beliefs with them. Countless daily decisions show our real values, our ethics, what we trust and what we believe. What we buy shows our faith as clearly as what we give. What we say in casual conversation is as important as what we say in prayer. Politics, the life of the community, is related to the life of faith.

I have long believed that the real besetting sin of the USA is greed. Greed is responsible for the mistreatment of workers, the pollution of the land, water, and air in pursuit of a fast buck and with no consideration of the long-term effects, the loss of jobs as corporations kill living wage jobs and move to places where sweatshops are not regulated. Greed leads people who already have more than enough to pay for lobbyists who can get the attention of politicians whose poorer constituents do not have the means to reach them. It has always puzzled me that I have heard a lot of sermons preached against various deadly sins, particularly lust, but very few against greed. The Occupy movement seems to be preaching that sermon out in the streets.

How does this relate to the parable of the talents? This is a parable that uses earthly prosperity as a metaphor for the reign of God—a metaphor, not a one-to-one correspondence. Too often the fact that it is a metaphor has been forgotten, and the parable has been warped to suggest that material wealth is God's reward for good behavior and that people who are rich must therefore be beyond reproach. Some people take this parable to say that if you use your talents well, you will be rich. They believe God likes rich people, and poor people must therefore be wicked and lazy by definition, so the poor must be undeserving of help. But that is not what this parable says, nor does not say that the poor are always virtuous and the rich are always evil. Jesus never confused wealth or poverty with the presence or absence of virtue or responsibility. This parable is not about money, but about the coming reign of God. It is the third in a series of parables on that theme. The first was the parable of the master on a journey and his faithful servant, who feeds the other servants, and evil servants, who abuses his fellow servants and wastes resources. The second was the parable of the ten maidens, some of whom were prepared for a long wait and some were not. The theme of all three is being ready to answer to God. Have we acted justly toward God and others? Have we prepared ourselves to endure a long wait for the coming of the reign of God? Have we used everything God gave us—not just our money, but our whole selves--wisely and well? This parable is not about playing the market vs. putting money under the mattress. It is about who we are and how we relate to the One who made us and who came to live among us. It is not an endorsement of the materialist version of American Way, but a call to ask ourselves whether we are following the Way. Are we?

Proper 26A

2011-10-29T17:22:00.000-07:00

A reflection on Proper 26A, by the Rev. Camille Hegg

Elton Trueblood points out that Chapter 23 of the Gospel of Matthew is the funniest part of the Bible. In the reading for this week, Jesus is accusing the Pharisees: do what they teach, but know, they are hypocrites. “They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.” Later in that same chapter he says “they close the door to heaven and forget to go in themselves.’
I love the image of Pharisees’ being so convinced, and yet not realizing what they are saying. A lot of people are likewise so convinced of their position that they don’t realize what they are saying. Politically, the speakers say rote things, like that to raise taxes on the rich is class warfare;, but I think they don’t realize what they are saying. They talk about the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ and other cities, as pitting Americans against Americans. What are they saying?

The Pharisees of today are rigid, mean spirited, narrow minded. They adhere to some law that is beyond what most of us assume or can understand. Certainly they are not Christian principles. There is little mercy for the poor, little compassion for those out of work and who have no way of supporting their families. There is little hospitality for the immigrants who have come here for a better life.

That is part of the hypocrisy of today. They don’t see themselves as being hurt by the current economic situation and therefore others should not be affected either. I actually heard some commentator say of the Occupy Wall Street people: “they should just go and get a job.” Where? Police, who have been a target of job cuts and getting rid of collective bargaining, have been used to fight against the people.

The current economic condition of this country has very much to do with Christian principles. Are we about trying to improve the life of all people, or are we not? Are we ourselves so disheartened that we can’t see that that protest is part of what should be our protest? “They put on burdens which they are not willing to lift themselves.”

So, what are we to do? How are we to have hope and live in hope? God has promised that we shall be protected. That God’s everlasting arms are around us at all times. Some of us, (that would be me) have to hold onto that promise. Maybe I need to look upon the current political situation as the whole of chapter 23 of Matthew, according to Elton Trueblood. Jesus looked at the Pharisees as worthy of humor. Serious, but, really, worth a smile at what they were trying to do.

I am going to Occupy Atlanta on Monday. I expect to be inspired, and maybe to give hope also.

Loving My Neighbors

2011-10-22T12:12:00.000-07:00

A reflection the readings for Proper 25A by the Rev. Karla J. Miller

Every morning, I walk my dogs through my neighborhood. After hooking up the leashes, my dogs bound out the front porch and take a left to leave our quiet dead end street. Before we get to the busy avenue, filled with rush hour traffic, they stop at the two family house on the corner, to bark, whoops, say hi to the shy pit-bull, Zena, who lives with the twenty-something couple renting the first floor apartment.

We then take a right on the busy avenue, and walk a block. Sometimes, the pit-bull that belong to the scrap collector across the street, are out in their yard, and we “bark” hello. This neighbor drives me crazy, because at least twice a year, he has a huge sign propped up against his tiny house, at least 8ft high, spray painted with the words,
“PiT bULl pUPpieS 4 sALE”. My heart breaks for this momma dog that is overbred, but there are no laws to prevent this treatment of her. And my neighbor, obviously living hand to mouth, is doing anything he can to put food on the table. If I were in his place, would I do differently?

It doesn’t matter. I probably would never be in his place.

As we continue down the block, we round the corner to Pleasant Street. A Near Eastern family rents the three family home on the corner. The grandfather, usually dressed in a dhoti, is very sweet and says hello, not to me, but to my dogs. If his tiny granddaughter is outside sitting on the stairs, she will squeal “doggeeeeees” and point at my canines. I smile and share my good mornings, and hopefully move on. Sometimes, more often than not, my little devil dog, Cooper, takes this moment to pee or poop on the sidewalk right in front of them. I embarrassedly apologize, and clean whatever I can. They just smile and nod at me. I am thankful for their graciousness.

We continue our jaunt. For a few blocks, we simply stop and sniff (well, I don’t) the bushes and lawn ornaments.

We rush by one of the houses because the father of the house has some anger management issues. He once threatened to “kill” my spouse when the dogs ran up on his lawn to greet his dog. It was a little scary. But, it’s the way my neighborhood rolls.

We continue, up one more block, past the Center for Tibetan Buddhist studies, where quite often run into a couple of monks, dressed in crimson robes. Many of my neighbors are from Tibet. I never have visited the center, in spite of my good intentions to do so.

After a brief playtime in the park, we head home. We pass Halo’s house. Halo is a 205 pound spotted Great Dane. His family lives hand to mouth, and I am working on finding a way to get their cat spayed so there are no more kittens coming out that home. The mom, who is a little rough around the corners, said she feels like I am her sister, and is appreciative of my endeavors. I tell her, well, it’s what neighbors do.

We round the next corner, and I wave to my Haitian grandfather friend, and we amble towards our street, and wave to the Italian elders sitting on their stoop.

That’s my neighborhood. It is rich and diverse, full of conflict and old stories of the past, crammed with immigrants and long timers. I know very few of them—with most of them I couldn’t even have a conversation, because we lack a common language.--in more ways than one.

So when I read the Gospel for today, lingering on the words, “Love Shall Your Neighbor as Yourself,” I wonder what that means in my neighborhood. How do I love my neighbors?

Indeed, I am friendly. That’s my general affect. I used to visit at length with one elderly neighbor, until he tried to come into my house, and later I found out he was an sex offender. How do I love him?

How do I love the family down the street, who is getting evicted because they haven’t paid property taxes for the last twenty years? How do I love the family who let their small poodle walk around the streets, despite my urging to keep her safe in the yard?
The dog was killed by a speeding car? Sigh.

Jesus knew what a crazy hard commandment this is. Loving your neighbor as yourself, when taken literally, as I am today, is a deep and difficult command. Some of my neighbors I just plain don’t like. Our diversity creates some conflict, and xenophobia not to mention those generation old grudges some of them carry against one another.

I have learned much, however, from my neighbors. And for me, I have learned that to love them is not to judge them (or at least I try not to) or reject them. To be helpful when I can, and not to carry my own grudges when they make choices that I think are, well, stupid. Indeed, I see Jesus in my neighbors, and when I remember to recognize him, oh, how much love fills my heart.

But seeing and remembering is the challenge. But one thing I know, if I can learn to love my neighbors, then I will know how to love the whole world.
Amen.

Proper 24 A

2011-10-16T14:44:00.001-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 24A:Exodus 33:12-23, Psalm 99, 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10, Matthew 22:15-22 by the Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

The newspaper headlines Friday morning were scooped, as is often the case, by the radio and internet. It turned out that the Occupy Wall Street protesters were not after all to be evicted from their camp in a park in lower Manhattan. Mayor Bloomberg announced that a deal had been struck; the protesters and the owner of the park would negotiate how to keep the park clean. The newspaper pictures showed earnest, long-haired, tattooed-types pushing brooms on sidewalks and heaving huge plastic bags of demonstration detritus. For the time being, Caesar, or at least Mayor Bloomberg, had been rendered unto. In the words of “the street,” a deal had been done, and the Mayor got what he wanted, apparently a promise of a cleaner park, a mollified property owner, and orderly protesters.

We Americans -- founded on biblical principles since the Puritans came to a reformed England in North America to found a city on a hill, a beacon of righteousness for all the world to see – we Americans have a long history of protesting economic arrangements, from taxes to big banks, that strike us as unfair. The tea in Boston Harbor was neither the beginning nor the end. Andrew Jackson became president on his opposition to the central banks. Nineteenth-century populists nearly elected another president, William Jennings Bryan, who was opposed to putting the currency on the gold standard. Explicitly Christian, Bryan’s famous “cross of gold” speech equated what the banking interests were doing to ordinary Americans with the crucifixion of Jesus.

Nothing is certain but death and taxes, goes the old saying. Just as certain, it seems, is the human propensity to acquire, and the matching propensity for others to rail against the injustice and unfairness of systems which give too much to some, and too little to others. And on top of it all, it seems, Caesar always looms.

As I prepared my sermon, I consulted this piece by Marcus Borg, “What Belongs to God?” published in BeliefNet. My notes below reflect that article.

People in 1st century Palestine paid a lot of taxes. Jews had to pay the Temple tax – 21 percent! Everyone had to pay customs taxes on what goods they traded. If you were a farmer (and 90 percent of the population were farmers), two-thirds of what you earned went to the Roman and Jewish elite, through a combination of how much you were taxed and who owned the land you farmed. In those days, they really ensured that the rich got rich and the poor got poorer.[i]

But it was the coin with the face of Caesar that was deeply offensive to all Jews, who lived by God’s commandment not to make graven images. This coin with the face of Caesar had to be used to pay the tribute tax to the Roman Empire. If you used this coin with the graven image to pay the tribute tax, you were breaking one of the Commandments handed down by God to Moses. If you did not use this coin – if you did not pay the tax – the Romans would lock you up for sedition, and that is much worse than being audited by the IRS.

Just about everyone who reads this passage from Matthew acknowledges that Jesus knows that his opponents are trying to trick him with this question, and so he cleverly avoids the trap. He dismisses the problem with the coin as not a theological one at all: this coin obviously belongs to Caesar, so give it back to him. So what? It’s only money.

Then he lays out the theological problem: Give to God what belongs to God.

In our lives, what does belong to our equivalent to Caesar? In our lives, what does belong to God?

Most of us, most of the time, pay taxes. “Caesar” has to know how much money we have, or how much we spend, in order to tax us, and here in the United States, many people spend a lot of money, both legally and under the table, to avoid paying taxes. A lot of people aren’t even “rendering unto Caesar” but shaving a little (or a lot) off the top before Caesar knows what’s happening.

So what do we do with that money that is NOT rendered unto Caesar? With that money that, in the United States at least, does not go into fixing the roads on which we all drive, or the emergency services we all hope will be there when we need them, or the schools where we learned to read and write? How many people seem to exercise a “preferential option for middle class living over living the gospel?”[ii] If we’re not giving to Caesar what is Caesar’s, are we giving to God what is God’s?

Think about it: What is God’s? What do we owe to God?

In this gospel passage, Jesus raises the question without answering it. But the way Matthew has arranged these latter chapters of his gospel, we are hit with parable after parable that tell us what Jesus has in mind.

Think about the context: in Chapter 21, Jesus enters Jerusalem – the story we read on Palm Sunday. Chapter 26 is the Last Supper. In between, we read parables, speeches, teaching moments, difficult conversations about the world – often illustrated in the stark economic reality of his day – and about how God’s followers should live in place that has clearly become unjust.

Read over these chapters some time. It is easy to see how they are overlooked, misinterpreted. It is easy to see how the church over the centuries has been domesticated, concerned with small things, with being nice, with being proper, with worrying about sexual morality, who’s in and who’s out. It is much easier to put the stuff we “render unto God” into our buildings or staff or heating bills.

But think about it: if this building and this staff and these heating bills are what we render unto God, what are we doing with them, especially when we look at all that we have in light of the urgency Jesus speaks in these last chapters of Matthew?

Yes, it is stewardship time. What we put in the plate is important, but it is only the beginning. If we are only paying for our maintenance, then yes, we are rendering to Caesar what is Caesar’s. But if we realize that what we are paying for – this building, this place, this community, this table – is a launching pad for what Jesus wants us to do in this unjust, unhealthy and broken world, where people are lonely and isolated and poor and hungry and where what we can do can make a world of difference, then yes, indeed, everything we give, we render unto God.

[i] From Marcus Borg, “What belongs to God?” http://www.beliefnet.com/Faiths/2000/04/What-Belongs-To-God.aspx

[ii] From the Rev. Patrick Brennan, “30 Good Minutes,” http://www.csec.org/csec/sermon/brennan_3711.htm

--
Jacqueline Schmitt

Now at St. David's, DeWitt, NY ...
WITH A NEW BLOG!
Community Parson

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Great Power in Mercy and Pity

2011-09-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 21A: Philippians 2:1-13 by The Rev. Margaret Rose

This week the UN General Assembly has been meeting in New York. Heads of State are arriving from all over the world. There are speeches and accolades, hopes and plans for peace, all the trappings of power. For those of us who work near the UN, the power shows itself primarily in giant traffic jams and motorcades with darkened car windows. As I write, there are plans for a vote on Palestinian statehood which is almost guaranteed not to go well. And there is jockeying for power about whose voice really freed the young American hikers or who really made a difference in Libya. As I watch the dramas on the news and read the paper and maneuver in and around the jersey sand barriers and security men, I reflected on the notion of power. What is it really? We hear about power in lots of different contexts. Americans are citizens of the most powerful nation in the world. We want our machines to have the power to do the job with lots of volts or watts or horsepower. We don’t have to be rich if at least we have power. On cartoons or video games when someone gets punched out that is often signified by a fist and a word in all caps beside it, “POW”, meaning punching with power.
Then there is God Power, preachers speaking of it: softly by the more timid among us, but forcefully by the true believers: Trust in the MIGHTY POWER OF GOD. The implication here of course is that God is bigger and stronger than all of us. We describe that bigger and stronger in the very same way we represent power in worldly terms. You have power if you are richer or stronger or smarter or have a bigger arsenal or more of something that someone else wants or have influence or know certain people. Power is big not small. God is big not small.
Yet, for the last weeks and today our scripture readings tell of a God whose power is shown in forgiveness and mercy rather than in judgment. Forgive. Don’t hold a grudge. Bless those who persecute. Give food to your enemies. It is easy to pass these off as pious religious platitudes. But in fact, I believe it is the heart of the Gospel. Today’s collect says it clearly. The opening Collects are meant to set the theme for the scriptures which follow. This one is clear: “O God you declare your almighty power chiefly in showing mercy and pity.” Mercy and Pity-- NOT by creating the universe in one big bang. NOT by parting the Red Sea, or many other might acts, all of which are indeed of God and noteworthy. But the true mark of God’s power is in mercy and pity. Imagine.
I suspect that, in spite of the world’s standards and even our own successes in it, we know that this God is so powerful precisely because of the seeming contradiction. Real power is found in the measure of forgiveness, in the depth of mercy and compassion; not in domination but in mutuality and common love.
Jesus of course was always trying to tell this to his followers: Bless those who persecute you, give food to your enemies, or your cloak to one who has none. The disciples had as hard a time as we do understanding this. They always wanted to put Jesus up on a pedestal, build a booth for him, help him start building up an army. Any hint from Jesus that his call was to lose his life, offer good news to those who had nothing, freedom for the captives, often fell on deaf ears. Finally, he was called “King of the Jews”. And the ultimate expression of his “kingly” power was the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, not on a great white steed, but on a donkey.
If the disciples wanted Jesus to build an army to overthrow the government, so too do some in our 21st century religious context yearn for a “Christian America”. Others tend to privatize God. We spiritualize, imagining Jesus is talking of other worldly power. God will rule when we die “up in heaven”. Or Jesus helps us in our private spiritual world of personal need or care.
Attention to the scriptures we have read each week and the collect for today offers a view of power here and now quite different from either the spiritualized private view or that of the head of state. Paul’s letter to the Philippians today describes the nature of God in the incarnate Jesus in poetic beauty: “Jesus, who did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.” We, disciples of Jesus are to act in the same way. Here is an expression of power that claims the self , yet gives it away.
The danger here, especially for women, is to believe that “taking the form of a servant” means that we are to deny ourselves. But in Jesus and by extension for us, Paul describes a kind of self-emptying which does not deny the beauty and worthiness of the self, but which calls us to offer ourselves for others, to offer the gifts we have been given for the good of all, not in order to dominate and rule, but to love and to live in community--in right relationship with one another.
Power in mercy, power in unselfish acts, not in domination--that is the power of God. I think we know this. Yet practically speaking it is not always what comes naturally, not our default position. Yet, when we do let go of ourselves, of our own need to be right, or best or dominant, when we empty ourselves entirely for another, there is a glimpse of the power of mercy and of great freedom. True power sometimes comes in giving it up or offering it to another. In small way and in the larger context—privately and personally. And we should call on our leaders to do the same.
Some years ago I heard Colonel Collins, first woman commander of the space shuttle give a speech. She was asked how it felt to be in charge, to be the first woman commander. How did it feel to have so much power? She did not respond by saying “Great! How nice it is to be able to l everyone what to do.” She didn’t even speak “modestly of the awesome responsibility, but rather that it was the team that mattered and all were called to use their gifts to the fullest. I was reminded recently of two instances where gunman handed over a pistol when someone called them name and looked them in the eye and asked them for the gun. I am not naïve enough to think this happens often. But it can.
We all know the story of the sun and the wind who bargained to get the man’s coat off. The wind blew and blew and the man pulled his coat tighter. But the warmth of the sun caused him to remove his coat to enjoy the day.
A special ed teacher I knew once told me the story of her student, a boy named Devon. Among other problems, Devon constantly yelled at himself, “Devon is a bad boy” he would say over and over among other things. One day the teacher decided to quit trying to yell over Devon’s racket and spoke directly to him , first in a normal voice, then softer and softer. Devon followed along and finally stopped the repetitive talking altogether. Something about power and the process of emptying seems relevant here.
Desmond Tutu does that too when he speaks. On a couple of occasions I have heard him on a variety of topics. He is always a joyful unprepossessing presence. His demeanor and his words are always merciful even as he recounts the horrors of the apartheid days in South Africa. But at the end in response to a question about what God may be calling us to, he did something extraordinary. To a room of a thousand people, he whispered. Here and everyone God is asking for our help. “Help me!” he whispered as if the voice of God.
Imagine the picture: Desmond Tutu, leaning over a podium, whispering. And all thousand of us leaning our ears to hear what God was calling us to do. It was an amazing and empowering moment.
These are small examples of power in mercy, not much but a beginning. When we come to larger issues there is no guarantee, and maybe even not a good track record. I am wishing today that there had been some merciful power by the state of Georgia before Troy Davis was executed this week. But it was not to be. I am not naive about the safety of our actions in attempting this more merciful way. Jesus wasn’t either. And it got him killed. Yet in following this way of God’s call to us -of exchange in relationship, of power in mercy we live into the baptismal mandate, respecting the dignity of every human being. that is what mercy and pity are about anyway, I think. Amen.

Proper 20A

2011-09-17T16:54:00.000-07:00

Reflection for Proper20, 14 Pentecost
Exodus 16:2-15; Psalm 105:1-6,37-45; Philippians 1:20-30; Matthew 20:1-16
by The Rev. Camille Hegg

The gospel for this week is the parable of the laborers in the vineyard. The owner hires people at several times during the day. The first ones hired are promised the usual daily wage. The others hired throughout the day are promised ‘whatever is right.” At the end of the day all of the laborers are given the same wage. The early hires are unhappy that the later ones received the same, but the owner says to them that he has done them no injustice and that he chooses to be generous.
There is a cute TV commercial in which two elementary school sisters come running into their house after school and run for the snacks in the kitchen. They find that there is only one cookie left in the bag. They look at each other for a moment and after pondering, the older girl gives the younger one the cookie. She says ‘thank you’ and runs off. The older girl looks down at the empty bag and, lo and behold, there is a cookie there.

I think the commercial has something to do with the parable for this week. At first glance one might think the ad is more a loaves and fishes story. It could be. I also think it is a story of generosity, just as the parable for this week is.

Sometimes we get caught up in the ‘fairness’ of the parable. I have had classes over the years on the parables and I almost always include this one. I talk about God’s generosity and how God wants us to look at things upside down from what we would usually do, and to act the same. Jesus certainly turned upside down thinking and assumptions of God. Sometimes this suggestion makes people mad.
A generous God who gives not according to what we think is fair? Who might want us to change our thinking and actions? Probably expects us to do the same?
I once had a man throw down his Bible and pen and walk out and say ‘that is not fair!’ We look for ‘fairness” when God is trying to show us generosity.
I enjoy the parable because of the generosity of the owner. I think it gives us a unique understanding of Jesus’ understanding of God and his own mission. It also gives us a glimpse of how we might try to respond to the generosity of creation and the creator. Generosity is the value in the parable, not fairness. The little girl in the commercial probably could have asserted her power and age and grabbed the cookie for herself. She chose to give it away.

I discern a sense of generosity lacking in our culture. People are scared about the economy and hold back. People with power are treating minorities badly, trying to make voting access harder, trying to take away take away bargaining power rather than working together to come to solutions for financial wellness. Children of immigrants are being punished by possible deportation, lack of access to education. A generous look at immigration, especially children, would probably engender thriving of our country rather than taking away anything. There is a backlash against women, minorities and even children that at best is not generous and at worst prevents the thriving of our churches, schools, government and the humans involved in these institutions.

In our churches, those with the power could foster welcome and inclusion of newer ones to participate. Yet I have seen long-time members of churches express resentment that a new person puts forth an idea, or ‘sits in their seat.’ I have seen a distinct impatience and lack of generosity toward children.

(I have also seen the opposite, where new people, children, homeless, people with accents – probably illegal -- were welcomed and generously received.)

In this parable, the one with the power, the owner, chooses to be generous. The creator, generous as the creator is, has implanted in us the ability toward generosity and calls us to be so. If we choose to ignore or deny this God-given given yearning toward generosity, we are losing out on one of the fundamental, mysterious and miraculous gifts of creation. If ‘fairness’ is our only guide and value in making decisions we are missing out on the depth of satisfaction and joy with which we were created. The child in the commercial gave the only cookie away not expecting anything in return.

Generosity has its own mysterious reward. Generosity is God’s pleasure, our gift and task.

Thoughts on Proper 19A and the Tenth Anniversary of 9-11

2011-09-08T15:32:00.000-07:00

Reflection by the Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

I thought I’d better write this early – not because I have a sermon ready for Sunday (hardly!!) but because I have spent considerable time over the past two days reading and watching resources that are shaping what I am likely to preach on Sunday. I share this with blog readers, in hopes that you will read this, maybe be inspired to look up some of the references I have found, and to add your own thoughts. Perhaps for this Sunday we need a communal blog post.

At the Odyssey Network Scripture site, I found a helpful piece by Barbara Lundblad (with a link to a video conversation as well). She notes how challenging it is to read the Exodus lesson of the death of the Egyptians in the Red Sea on this Sunday of all Sundays. It is precarious to read this lesson; do we not fear it will allow people to evoke feelings of vengeance and triumphalism? “Why couldn’t the Exodus story have ended earlier?” she writes. “Did we have to see their bodies dead on the seashore?”

I found it helpful that Lundblad then introduced some midrash, where rabbis over the centuries had struggled with this same discomfort. Lundblad writes, “In one story from the Babylonian Talmud angels were watching as the sea covered the Egyptians: ‘In that instant the ministering angels wished to utter song before the Holy One, but He rebuked them, saying, 'The works of My hands are drowning in the sea, and you would utter song in My presence.!’ ‘” The midrash would never contradict the text, but in struggling with the militaristic implications of it, she continues, “A new word was spoken. … Delighting in the death of enemies is not a paradigm for every generation. The rabbis found a way to live with the tension: to hear the text of Exodus, yet also to hear God chastising the angels for singing songs of victory.”

Two contemporary rabbis wrote wonderful pieces as well, using different pieces of Jewish tradition to make sense of this tenth anniversary commemoration. Rachel Kahntroster wrote in the Huffington Post,

“The Fast of Tisha B'Av, which begins this year on the night of Aug. 8, has been a way for the Jewish community to confront and contain trauma through the telling of stories. First established to commemorate the destruction of First Temple in B.C.E. 586, it has become the day to relive the trauma of many other national calamities. … The rabbis tell the story of Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai and Rabbi Joshua visiting the ruins of the Second Temple after it was destroyed by the Romans in 70 C.E. Rabbi Joshua bursts into tears, anguished that the place where Israel atoned for its sins had been destroyed. Rabbi Yochanan comforts him, declaring that deeds of lovingkindness (chesed) had more power to achieve atonement and heal a broken world than sacrifice ever could. Chesed is not just something God shows us; it is our obligation to our fellow human beings in light of unimaginable tragedy. Chesed and not hatred or revenge.”

Arthur Waskow, author of the 1960s “Freedom Seder,” and a sage of our modern times, noted that in 2011, the Jewish feast of Sukkoth came three weeks after the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon. Poignantly, he compared the fragility of a sukkah booth with our vain attempts at fortress building:

“For much of our lives we try to achieve peace and safety by building with steel and concrete and toughness: Pyramids, air raid shelters, Pentagons, World Trade Centers. Hardening what might be targets and, like Pharaoh, hardening our hearts against what is foreign to us. But the sukkah comes to remind us: We are in truth all vulnerable. If ‘a hard rain’s gonna fall,’ it will fall on all of us. Americans have felt invulnerable. The oceans, our wealth, our military power have made up what seemed an invulnerable shield. We may have begun feeling uncomfortable in the nuclear age, but no harm came to us. Yet yesterday the ancient truth came home: We all live in a sukkah.”

I also found this comment on Psalm 114 illuminating. Marcia Brown-Ludwig (of the UCC Massachusetts Conference wrote

“At the time this was written, the God of Jacob supposedly belonged to the Israelite people – but now at least three faiths claim this same God as the One God: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. As we consider how divided people of faith remain at our time of history – especially on the anniversary of a day when so many felt it was one religion against another (September 11, 2001), may we remember that the Earth is home to all of us, these three faiths and all the rest of the people who live on this planet. May we not then be like the Earth, and all of us tremble in humility, skip with sheer joy, together in the presence of our God?”
Given the Gospel, forgiveness must be the central focus of the day, it seems to me. Kate Huey, also of the UCC, whose commentaries I read weekly, quoted this memorable line:

"We know too well that the little boat in which we are sailing is floating on a deep sea of grace and that forgiveness is not to be dispensed with an eyedropper, but a fire hose" (Thomas Long, Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion).

Fire hose. The most unorthodox “commentary” on the text and on 9/11, and in some ways the one that has shaped my thoughts the most today, was watching the series finale of Rescue Me Wednesday night on television. The firehouse crew, emotionally scarred with survivors’ guilt, somehow manages to say good-bye and move, with resilience, to new lives. Never maudlin or mawkish, the show paid tribute to the heroism and courage of those first responders, who finally began to see a future not trapped by the loss and tragedy of the past.

Summing all my thoughts up are reflections from Rob Voyle, whose workshop on “Restoring Hope: Appreciative Strategies to Resolve Grief and Resentment” I attended last fall. When I preach this Sunday on forgiveness, I will preach on how it is we who forgive are freed – freed from our imprisonment to our anger and resentment, freed from living and re-living that painful past in our heads and hearts. We cannot forget that these terrible things happened, but we can let go of them enough so they do not determine our future. We can imagine the future God has in store for us, and we can imagine how we can build our lives in order to get to that future. Even the Rescue Me firefighters, drowning their survivors’ guilt in alcohol, food, sex and danger, can move beyond that horrendous past into a future in which they can live and thrive.

Finally, if you have an hour to spare this week, listen to the broadcast on BBC Radio 3 of “A Service of Hope and Healing” from Washington Cathedral. Sam Lloyd, the Dean and preacher, said this:

“In a world as interconnected as ours it could not be clearer, that unless we human beings learn to deal with one another with respect, understanding, and even compassion, the fate of the human race on this small planet is uncertain. … Hope for our world lies in the religions of the world embracing their deep and best convictions that we human beings are made to be repairers of the breach, as Isaiah says, to care for the least and lost, as Jesus taught, to live lives of compassion, as Mohammed declared. The test of any person’s faith in the coming years will be this: Does it make the world of the believer larger, more generous, more embracing of God’s vast world, or does it make the believer’s world smaller, more shrunken, more like ‘them’? 9/11 opened the door to a new world, but the shape of that world has yet to be determined. … May we learn to love as the God of all nations loves. May we be people of compassion as the God of the universe is compassionate. May we recognize in the face of the stranger the face of the One who made heaven and earth, and every one of us.”

Proper 18A

2011-09-04T14:13:00.001-07:00

A reflection Proper 18, Ezekial 33. 7-11, Psalm 119. 33-40, Romans 13. 8-14, Matthew 18. 15-20 by the Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

I wonder how many of you have gone out to bring into line a member of the church who has gone astray, either as an individual or as part of a gang of two or three?
I think perhaps the clergy end up doing this as individuals quite a lot of the time, usually to resolve a dispute between members of a congregation. After all, sitting down for a cup of tea and a chat can be very constructive and productive.

Why does it usually fall to the clergy I wonder?

Well, perhaps the clue is in the text of Matthew’s gospel – or rather the differing translations of it!

The original Greek uses the word ‘brother’ to describe the person that has caused offence. This is not unreasonable – earlier in this chapter the word ‘child’ has been used and then ‘little ones’. The implication is of course that we are talking about ‘family’. More recent translations use ‘brother or sister’ or ‘member of the Church’. After all, the church is family and even in times of conflict we are all part of the same body – we belong to each other. In Wales we often refer to family members as ‘belonging’, we say ‘she belongs to me’, or we talk about ‘our Paul’, meaning ‘my brother’, or ‘my son’. I suppose the reason clergy often end up in the firing line, patching up disputes between individuals is because, rightly or wrongly, we are seen as ‘the head of the family’, or at least of the local congregation, and so act as the ‘go-between’ trying to reconcile members of the congregation who are in dispute. If we the Church are one body then surely the responsibility lies with us ALL.

It is not an easy thing to go and say to someone ‘you have hurt me’, ‘you’ve upset me’ or ‘you have wronged me’ and then to sit quietly, both parties, and talk it through – yes, there are more sensitive ways of wording it, but ultimately that is what we are saying. It places you in a vulnerable position and open to abuse from the other side. Even then, if a calm conversation can ensue, then you might find out that you are wrong, when you thought you were right. When you listen to the other person’s side you may begin to understand and perhaps find more good than you expected. As members of a family we grow up with our siblings, we fight, we make up, we grow together, learn from each other, and learn about each other. The same is true of the family of the Church. But still, it can be difficult, where there is conflict, to really LISTEN to one another.

If talking one-to-one fails then it seems we are advised to progressively ‘gang-up’, to take one or two other people along to observe, to act as witnesses to what is said and done and to offer advise – in effect to mediate. If that approach fails then the task falls to the whole church.

How would you feel if one day you opened the door to find the whole church standing there pointing their fingers at you?

Well, perhaps the text doesn’t really mean that. In Jesus’ time communities were small, people would have known each other, people would have taken an interest in local disputes and also taken responsibility in resolving them, rather than turning a ‘blind-eye’. There was perhaps a collective responsibility to resolve anything that upset the ‘status quo’. There is plenty of evidence for that, consider how easy it was to gather a crowd to stone someone – that may be one way to resolve a dispute or deal with someone who in your eyes has done wrong, it is not something most of us would condone today and Jesus leads us away from that. Ultimately, if all else is lost the offender is simply excluded completely from the community. Not that that need be the end of the story, there is always hope of reconciliation and for the ‘prodigal’ to return.

Whatever decisions we make about what is right and what is wrong, however we resolve disputes, we should look to each other for advice, guidance and help in dealing with a situation to ensure that every member of the family is taken care of, respected and included.

I can’t help wondering how this works out on the global stage and within the Anglican Communion as a whole. There are many disputes within the communion, not least those surrounding women priests, women bishops, gay priests, gay bishops. I wonder is exclusion of one of the parts really the answer? Is exclusion really being used as a last resort, or simply as a way to avoid addressing the issues?

In all things we must remember that no decision must be taken alone, it must be the decision of at least two. If we read the text literally then there is only a requirement for two to be in agreement before a request is granted. That suggests to me that all things are possible, it is usually easy to find one person who agrees with you. That gives me great hope. I don’t think we will get resolution to all conflicts in our time, although all things are possible with God we have no say in when our requests are granted.

One to one contact increases our understanding and trust of one another, but there must also be a readiness for the church to act together, to pray together and to forgive. There are no boundaries and no limits, for when two or three are gathered together Jesus Christ himself is present and that makes all things possible.

Life Lessons

2011-08-27T14:49:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 17A:Exodus 3:1-15, Romans 12:9-21. Matthew 16:21-28 by the Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

I remember sitting on the counter in my grandmother’s kitchen, talking to my mother on the telephone. Outside the window it was a glorious sunny day, light bouncing off the rock bluffs, scrub trees and pine which define the beautiful mountains that surround the Salt Lake City Valley. I have no idea what my mom and I were talking about, just the usual topics for a five year old and her mom. Suddenly everything began to tremble. My grandmother had decorative soup ladles and dishes hanging on her kitchen walls and I watched them swing back and forth before they crashed to the floor. Perhaps a minute or two passed as the earth shook and things clattered. As far as I know this earthquake in Salt Lake City didn’t cause any wide spread damage, I’m not even sure it was strong enough to be news worthy, but it left an impression on me.

Years later I am the mother of a teen age daughter whose high school sweet heart has joined the army right after graduation. For the next four year we make several trips to visit this young man and support him through basic training, a couple of years of stateside service and then what we could do to support him during the fourteen months he was deployed to Afghanistan. One of our trips to visit him took us to Fayetteville, North Carolina. During that visit my son Peter and I ventured out on our own, leaving Jessi and her boyfriend to wander the shopping malls and visit with friends. Peter and I drove from Fayetteville to Wilmington where we wandered the beach side landmarks of the Civil War, took a long walk up the beach, and had lunch at a fabulous seashore fish house. I remember the sand on this beach was the whitest sand, soft and fine, with lots of shells to collect. I think of that very beach today, ravaged now by hurricane Irene. And I think of all the people afflicted first by the earthquake that hit the east coast, and now by this massive storm.

Our life experiences, regardless of whether they are good experiences or difficult ones, provide the foundation for our ability to understand the joys and sufferings of others. Having experiences in common deepens our capacity for empathy and compassion.

Some Midrash suggest that Moses had to learn about compassion and empathy before he could become the leader of the Hebrew people. Other Midrash offers wonderful examples of how women were the true characters who brought compassion, love, and salvation to the Hebrew people: the women who saved Moses from a certain death - midwives, mothers and sisters, and the Pharaoh's own daughter - with them he would have died. But these women were brave and wise and faithful to God.

Last week, as our Old Testament reading moved from Genesis to Exodus, we heard the story of Moses’ birth and his subsequent adoption by the Pharaoh’s daughter. In the chapters between last week and the reading this morning Moses has grown up, privileged in the Pharaoh’s home, and yet he knows that he is a Hebrew, not an Egyptian. As a young adult Moses tries to establish friendships with other Hebrews but his rejected. He witnesses an Egyptian beating a Hebrew man and in the process of defending the Hebrew man Moses kills the Egyptian. And for this he runs away and ends up in the countryside, tending sheep and marrying the daughter of the man who owns the flock. It’s while tending sheep that he encounters the burning bush in our reading from this morning. Over and over Moses will learn about human nature, about humility, about following God, and of developing compassion through the challenges life throws our way.

This same theme is echoed in the reading this morning in Romans and the Gospel – we are to show compassion for all people. Our ability to love as God loves comes from our life experiences, which form in us the capacity for compassion.

True, our life experiences can also form in us the capacity to be angry and bitter, always complaining, and never able to give others the benefit of the doubt. We have choices in how we respond to what life deals us. As we move through the Exodus story we will hear how Moses points the way to compassion and faithful living. Paul in his letter to the Romans reminds the congregation to: 9Let love be genuine…. 10love one another with mutual affection; …extend hospitality to strangers. ….15Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. 16Live in harmony with one another…. And Jesus helps us understand this further with his call that we pick up our cross and follow him. Jesus doesn’t say to pick up his cross and be Jesus, he says to follow him bearing our own crosses – regardless of what life has dealt us to become people who ground our lives in love and compassion for ourselves and for others.

To this end I invite us into a week of prayer from Sept. 5 through Sept. 11. Our Presiding Bishop has asked that churches leave their doors open so that all may come and pray. Pray with the intent of transforming the events of Sept. 11 into a mission of unity and hope. So we will offer a special Eucharist on Monday, Sept. 5, Labor Day, at 10am, followed by a self-led all day prayer vigil. We invited the Dearborn police department and fire department and Mayors office to feel to free to come and pray any time during the vigil. You may come on that Monday for a short while or a long time. We will have booklets available with a variety of prayers for you to pick and choose from, or to pray through the entire booklet.

We will also have, next Sunday, a booklet to take home, with daily prayers for individuals and families. Prayers for morning, noon, the evening meal, and bedtime, which you are invited to use, particularly, during the week leading up to the tenth anniversary of 9/11.

Sunday of 9/11 there will be a variety of local opportunities available such as a vigil at the Henry Ford Museum at 6:30pm, and opportunities for work with WISDOM and outreach missions of Detroit – the details will be in our newsletter.

Both booklets contain prayers from the Book of Common Prayer as well as prayers from the New Zealand Prayer book and other faith traditions. Prayers that invite us to see the divine working in and through the world, calling us to live lives of peace, of love, of compassion. Here is one such prayer:

May I be free from danger,

May I be free from fear,

May I be healthy,

May I dwell in peace.

May you be free from danger,

May you be free from fear,

May you be healthy,

May you dwell in peace.

May all beings be free from danger,

May all beings be free from fear,

May all beings be healthy,

May all beings dwell in peace.

(Traditional Buddhist Prayer)

Proper16A

2011-08-19T14:17:00.001-07:00

A Reflection on Matthew 16:13-20 by Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

It all begins with a couple of questions that day out in Cesarea Phillipi. On their continuing adventures together, Jesus and the disciples had taken a little journey and Jesus asked two questions. The first of the two is for many reasons a safer question. “Who” he asks them, “do the people say I am?” It’s easy to answer that kind of question. It really doesn’t require that we put ourselves into the equation. We can do a “he says/she says, we can give intellectual answers, we can speculate and say “well maybe.” We can play it safe.
But the next question. Oh, the next question he asked! That one was much harder. That one was direct. “You,” he said. Who do you say that I am?” Now that question is a lot stickier. That one requires a commitment. You have to put yourself on the line, make a statement, a commitment, a testimony. And Peter did. He stepped right up. And he got it right. “You are the Messiah, the son of the Living God.”
The Messiah. The one who was to come, the long anticipated king of the house of David. And the Son of God, the living incarnation of God present on earth. Jesus is Lord. Peter gets it. He says it. Jesus confirms it. And in response he gives Peter a new name as a sign that he has been changed by recognizing who Jesus truly is and he gives him a task and a mission of leadership. Recognizing who Jesus was transformed Peter in that moment. Although we know that it did not make him perfect, as we see if we read just a little further in this Gospel. “From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.’ But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling-block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
Peter gets it, he confesses it, and then he loses sight of it again. He stepped out there and walked on that water for a moment and then, down he went into the water. Fortunately, it seems, he had the good sense and humility to know he could not do this thing alone, and to call out to Jesus and be saved!
In our continuing adventures together with Jesus, he takes us places. And we are presented with that very question that was asked of Peter. “You. Who do you say that I am?” And how we answer it matters, too. Who is this Jesus who came among us in the Incarnation? Fully God. Fully Man. The One who came to show us who God is…in love, compassion, acceptance, forgiveness. And also the one who came to show us who we can be. The suffering servant who came to be broken open for us. The one who died and rose again so that death would lose its power. Our Lord and Savior. And the one who comes to us and desires the relationship, asks the question, wants the commitment, “Who do you say that I am?”
Like for Peter, for us too, this is not a once and for all question. We do not have our great moment of confession of faith and stay in that place of transformation forever. I know I for one would like it much better if that were true. In some ways I would feel much more confident as priest and preacher if I could have a sense of myself as always being one of Jesus’ rocks. But even in this week I found myself busy and distracted by many things, and not as focused on “the one thing” as I would like to be. “Who do you say that I am?” As Christians we answer this question in many ways. With our baptismal vows, made and renewed, with our faith statements, and with our lives….presenting our bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which, as it says in Romans, is indeed our spiritual worship. Everything we do, every place we go we are members of this body, with opportunities to use the gifts given to us by God. Does this mean we are called on to sacrifice our lives for Christ? While perhaps it’s not through death, though some have been called to martyrdom over the centuries for the sake of the Gospel, it is more likely we are called to sacrifice our lives by giving up some of our material or emotional comforts, as following Jesus has a tendency to take us from our safe places into new and risky territory.
“Who do you say that I am?” How we see Jesus matters. Clearly the world still wonders about this carpenter from Nazareth. He still makes the cover of magazines regularly and movies are still getting made about him. I once heard a sermon preached by Dr. Tom Long in which he talked about Jesus’ two main identities as “Messiah” and “son of God.” He emphasized the need to have both sides of the picture and not simply knowing it but “getting” it. Like Peter, we get it, we lose it and we get it again. We have to practice. To keep doing it over and over. To confess and re-confess the truth of it…Messiah, son of God, until it sinks into our bones and our cells and we breathe it with our very bodies. And we have to keep trying to live it every day. Because that is a practice too. We get up on that rock and fall off and need to get on again, sometimes thinking more highly of ourselves than we ought….and sometimes not thinking near high enough! Loving God, loving ourselves and loving one another to the best of our ability. Seeking to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ, serving Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves,
striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being.
So we go on reminding ourselves who and Whose we are….discerning what is the will of the God who loves us beyond belief and who sent his only son…the one who asks you today– “Who do you say that I am?”

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Proper 15 A

2011-08-13T16:16:00.001-07:00

A reflection the readings for Proper 15A: Genesis 45:1-15 or Isaiah 56:1, 6-8, Psalm 133 or Psalm 67, Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32, Matthew 15:(10-20), 21-28; by Janine Goodwin

(I did an in-depth study of the Markan version of this Gospel for this blog in 2009: it can be found here

This time around, I read all the possible readings for the week and found myself seeing a theme. Except in the psalms, each of the writers is insisting that God is doing something new, that God’s way of acting is not what we thought it was. In each passage, someone is taking an experience and interpreting it in a new way, seeing God’s actions in the world differently than they have ever seen them before.

This takes faith, humility, and courage. Look at these stories.

Joseph’s brothers would have let him die of thirst alone in the desert, yet he sees everything that has happened to him as God’s way of letting him save their lives. Joseph finds the grace in a confluence of ugly situations—sibling rivalry, famine, and all the struggles that brought him to power—and acts out of love, not vengeance.

Isaiah offers inclusion to anyone who hears his words—not just to his own people, but to foreigners. “I will gather others to them besides those already gathered.” This may well have seemed like a false prophecy to many of its original hearers; it is a departure from the parts of Scripture that condemn outsiders.

Paul, working at the beginning of the Christian church, insists that God has not turned away from the faith from which it came. Like Joseph and Isaiah, he is not interested in excluding, even when he was excluded.

Jesus learns something new from a feisty woman, an outsider, a person in need who won’t back down. Her argument takes him into new territory. He goes beyond what he has been taught about people from different places and different faiths. He sees need and faith. He responds.

Sometimes I forget that all scripture was new once; I need to remember more often that it came out of a need not just to remember what had always been, but to share that God has done something new.

God has done something new.

It takes faith to say that, because it is a step into the unknown. It means we could be wrong. Joseph could have been wrong; his brothers could have been waiting to trick him again. Isaiah could have been a false prophet. Paul was in the chaotic middle of a new church, arguing with those who taught him. Jesus was facing a situation he’d never faced. It takes faith in a God we cannot entirely know, but can sometimes hear, to be able to say God has done something new.

It takes humility to say that. If we are not careful, our knowledge of scripture and history, even our own reason and experience, can lead us into the pride that says we know all about God—and that others do not. It can be all too easy for us to say that God wouldn’t say this or do that or go there. If we put scripture in the past and ignore the fact that it is a lively and often contradictory conversation across centuries, we can believe that we know it all and we can iron out the differences—that we have a comprehensive view of God instead of vivid and changing glimpses. We might think we have God under control, and miss our chance to see God doing something new.

It takes courage to point out something new. Others, often others that are more powerful and numerous than we are, may not agree, and things could get ugly. People lose jobs, friends, communities. Rifts open that may never close. Faiths have divided again and again when some saw God doing something new and others did not. If we are wrong, we could lead others astray. It would be easier not to point out that we see God doing something new. It takes courage to live by the new knowledge, to give up what seemed solid and secure and move into the unknown with what we are learning.

Even when we have the faith, humility, and courage to say, “I believe God is doing something new, and this is what it is,” we have to ground the experience of the new in respect for tradition. The God who is saying new things is also one we know through scripture and tradition, and what we see must answer to what others have seen; they have their wisdom and knowledge of God, and we may not put them aside lightly. When God says something new, that does not necessarily mean that something old is wrong. It is sad that traditionalists and progressives choose sides instead of discerning together. We should not forget either the old or the new.

There must also be respect for those who do not and will not agree with us. As a feminist living in an area where churches are primarily fundamentalist, I live and work among Christians with whom I disagree on many points. If I become judgmental, proud, or bitter toward them, I am not living in the light of the Gospel. When I remember that Jesus included all kinds of people and did not require them to agree with each other on every point, I am faced with the task of figuring out how to disagree with integrity and love yet without pride. Some of the people around me may not believe that it is their task, too; it is not my job to convince them, but to do what I believe I am called to do. Sometimes we find a way to live together in partial unity and the promise of the Psalms can be fulfilled to some small degree. Wanting unity frees my soul from resentment and opens my heart to love, and also to grief.

I am giving up on the idea that God is doing something new that is totally different, pristine, and perfect: the vision can be amazing but it must have some continuity with the past, and it can be grand, but everything that follows it is going to be messy, incomplete, and have no guarantee of success. I may not always see that God is doing something new; if I see, I may not interpret perfectly; if someone else sees it, I may have a hard time with it. All I can do is pay attention and pray for faith, humility, and courage.

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“What are You Doing Here?” (Proper 14A)

2011-08-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 14A by the Rev. Karla Jean Miller

I do not own a GPS. I do have an app on my Iphone that can give me step by step directions when I am driving, but it is difficult to follow while driving, since there is no voice. It doesn’t matter though, because
I am someone who often gets lost, while out driving by myself.
This often becomes a liability for me as I cruise the villages and towns surrounding Boston--just when I am trying to find a new place. The GPS on my phone becomes useless, because more often then not, it seems that there are always roads closed, non-existent roads, roads with no signs, roads that have multiple names...
and you wonder to yourself,
“What am I doing here? “
Certainly,
I am not the only one this happens to, right?

This happens in my life, too.
Whether the result of decisions or unconscious actions,
or emotional choices,
More often than I like to admit,
I think to myself,
“What am I doing HERE?”

I imagine this was the question that Elijah was wondering about when he found himself
backed into a cave, hoping his skin was safe. He had been quite productive, on behalf of the Lord, by getting rid of the prophets of Baal who were serving under Queen Jezebel, and now, in spite of it all, his very life is threatened. What happened? Wasn’t he doing what he was supposed to do? How could have he ended up where he was, alone, scared, not knowing where to turn or go next?

And so imagine,
Being asked that very question by the One whom you are serving.
In a dream, God asks Elijah, “What are you doing here?”
If I had been Elijah in that dream, I would have said to the Lord,
“Well, God, why don’t you tell me WHAT THE HECK I AM DOING HERE!!!!”
In fact, that is sort of what Elijah does, by describing all he has done for the Lord of Hosts, and how he is being chased by those who seek to take his life.

After listening to Elijah’s defense, God gives Elijah a strange directive--to go outside of the cave, and expose himself, for God will pass by. In ancient Israel, if you remember, to be in the presence of God meant death. Death by the presence of God, or by the soldiers of Jezebel are Elijah’s only options. He chooses the former.

And indeed, the presence of God does pass by,
not in a mighty wind, or in a roaring fire,
but in sheer sweet silence.

And in that sweet silence,
a Voice asks again,
“What are you doing here?”

Again, Elijah answers, with the very same response he had before, noting that his life was in danger.

After experiencing the presence of God, Elijah is still not able to hear the depth of the question. I wonder if God is asking Elijah to reflect upon his experience, to wonder, to dissect his actions and recent past in the wake of being in God’s presence?

I wonder.
It’s a good question to reflect upon, don’t you think?

Indeed, where are you? What ARE you doing here, in this very time, this present moment?
How did you get where you are?
Are you lost,
are you on track?
How do you live in the moment,
but remain conscious of being connected with the divine and all of creation?
Where is the sweet silent presence of God in your life?

We journey through the depth and thickness of our daily living,
with so many demands, and responsibilities, and decisions...
that it is easy to push forward, get through our days, a glass of wine, a baseball game, a t.v. show--which is all well and good.
But sometimes,
sometimes,
we need to just stop--
before we get backed into a cave,
and simply listen for the Voice in the silence,
asking us,
discern, to reflect, and to wonder,
“What are you doing here? How did you get here? Is this where I need to be? How is it that I am being called, as God’s servant in this world? How is it that I am being called as God’s disciple?”

What are YOU doing here?
May the silence of God visit you,
and give you the space and sweetness you need,
to listen and reflect.
Amen.

Proper 13a

2011-07-31T11:15:00.001-07:00

Reflection on the readings for Proper 13A by the Rev. Camille Hegg

Good old Matthew tells us that besides feeding 5000 men, there were women and children at this event in Jesus’ life. Must be triple that amount when one does count the women and children. And I’ll bet it was a woman that baked the five loaves, too.
I am a baker of bread and over the years have come to believe that bread is a miracle of life. When my daughter was little, she enjoyed ‘punching down’ the dough after the first rising. Now my granddaughters help me when they are here when I am ready for punching down and then shaping the loaves.
This of the miracle of bread: flour, yeast or some sour dough starter, oil, water. So simple. Add almost anything: cheese, olives, rosemary, nuts, raisins, spices. It can be endless what can go into the dough. I like to use a variety of shapes and sizes of pans. That is part of the miracle of bread.
Another miracle of bread I have experience: A member of one of my parishes found herself going deaf. When I went there I was told she was away for a long period of time before I met her. She was dealing with her loss of hearing through counseling and staying with family. And she was learning to communicate in new ways. Her friends told me she was very sad and angry as well as fearful about the future held for her. It was several months before she came back. For months she didn’t talk to people, including me. She sat and sat. Came early, left right away after church. I never saw a smile on her face. When people she knew spoke to her she sort of acknowledged their presence, but didn’t say anything. I think she could hear only a small bit of the service.
Frequently, for parish suppers I would bring several loaves of bread, different kinds and different shapes. Everyone seemed to love whatever my offering was. One night she actually came to a parish supper. She sat there and said nothing. Then she came to another dinner, sat there the whole time and didn’t say anything. At the end of that dinner, however, as people were leaving, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and it was my deaf parishioner. “I thought you might like these recipes of my mother. We were all quite fond of her bread.” And she handed me two sheets of paper with recipes of her mother’s on them.
The gospel this week helps us look both forward and backward. Backward to the experience of God from early scripture to the Lord’s Supper. It also helps us look back at our lives and see what God has done in our lives, when we have been nourished by the vast abundance of life that always surprises us. And it encourages us to look forward, to the abundance og God’s love and grace.
All of the gospels have a story of a miraculous feeding of people. The disciples want the people to leave but Jesus tells them to give them something to eat. They are astonished when he tells them that. Then Jesus takes what they have and blesses, breaks, and gives it. It is near and dear to the heart of the church and gives us a model for Eucharist, but more importantly, for ministry. We are to take the gifts God has given us, bless them and then give them to the world as God’s head, hands, heart, feet in the world. Jesus is saying to us, “feed them yourself.” As the Body of Christ in the world we are given the miracles of the Bread of Life in the many sizes and shapes and flavors of life. Let us feed them ourselves. And maybe someone who won’t speak, will. And we count everyone.

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Proper 12A

2011-07-24T13:56:00.001-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 12-A
Genesis 29:15-28; Ps. 105:1-11, 45; Romans 8:26-39; Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52 by the Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

There once lived a young man named Francis Bernadone, whose father was a wealthy merchant. One day, young Francis flung open the windows of his father's storehouses and began throwing out yards and yards of fine fabrics, boxes of jewels and the treasures of Italy and the Orient, giving them to the poor. But even this was not enough for Francis. He walked to the center of the town, to the cathedral square, and took off all his clothes and gave them, too, to the poor, and, naked, entered the world -- a world which he now saw as a foretaste of the kingdom of heaven, for Francis of Assisi had found the treasure hidden in the field, the pearl of great price, and so gave away all that he had in order to have this pearl.

Now many good, Christian, faithful people, including the father whose wealth Francis gave away, thought the young man out of his mind, crazy to leave a life of privilege to take care of lepers, live with the poor and beg for his food. Even today we think people like this are crazy. Take Kip Tiernan, the tireless advocate for the homeless in Boston, and the founder of Rosie’s Place, among many other now-respectable means of helping people once considered the equivalent of lepers, the people we avoid and do not want to touch. Kip died earlier this month. Boston Globe columnist James Carroll knew Kip, who always wore a cross around her neck, which marked her, he said

“… not for piety or for a religion of easy answers, but for being, in her words, ‘an angry daughter of Christ. . . . I find that the cross of Jesus is the radical condemnation of an unjust world. You have to stay with the one crucified or stand with the crucifiers.’”

Kip Tiernan and Francis of Assisi were both merchants in search of fine pearls, who sold all that they had in order to have that pearl which is the promise of the justice and peace and plenty which is the kingdom of heaven.
The treasures of the kingdom can also come in smaller, more manageable packages. When Tim and I were married, we chose for the Gospel this same passage from Matthew. Falling in love and nurturing a family is indeed a pearl of great price, for in the bosoms of our families we, too, can find the treasures of the kingdom.

A family, especially the web of relationships which make up a family, can be seen as an icon -- a window through which we can see God -- for when we understand God as the Trinity, we are talking about a web of relationships among three persons, joined together by love.

Now, some families can be dysfunctional and destructive. I must say that reading Genesis this summer shows the founders of the Abrahamic faith – Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – as astoundingly poor examples of the “family values” found in traditional, heterosexual marriage, as it is commonly defined today. But for right now, let’s agree to suspend disbelief and not judge Jacob, Rachel and Leah, and their father, Laban, by our standards; it’s nearly impossible to get back on the inside of that long-ago culture.

Part of what joins Francis of Assisi and Kip Tiernan was their common ability to create a space of safety and nurture and love for the most vulnerable people who lived around them. I saw this same thing happen in the soup kitchen at the soup kitchen in the church I served for years -- people for whom the “traditional” concept of “family” does not work, for a variety of reasons, find a place where, for even a short time, they can feel at home.

A family at its best, however you define that family, is as close as we can get to the kingdom of heaven, to the model for human relationships known as the household of God. In Rosie’s Place women’s shelter, or Francis of Assisi's leper colony, in my household, in your household, we all possess that pearl of great price. We know that somewhere the leaven is hidden in the meal, and has the potential to make the whole loaf rise. In order to create our households, our families, we have given up something of value, and we hope in our relationships to model ourselves on the self-giving and self-affirming and interwoven bonds of love that is the Trinity, the God that animates, interpenetrates and embraces each of us and the people with whom we share our lives. In every marriage, with every relationship between parent and child, in every relationship where we agree to build a home together, be it with one other person or a thousand homeless lepers, we hope to find that pearl of great price, which is the justice and equality and peace and security and love which Jesus has promised to all of us in the commonwealth of heaven.

--

New Times, New Website ...
21st Century Parson

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Proper 11A Wheat and Weeds

2011-07-16T17:46:00.000-07:00

A reflection on PROPER 11 – ISAIAH 44. 6-8, ROMANS 8. 12-25, MATTHEW 13. 24-30, 36-43 by the Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

The Tares are a mongrel form of wheat, with smaller leaves, suitable for chicken feed but not really any good for us to eat. It is inevitable that a few tares would be sown amongst the wheat. In this parable a disconcerting amount have been sown, the first thought of the slaves is to tear them out immediately. But, this may be risky, the roots may have become tangled and the wheat would be uprooted too. So the farmer takes the long-term view. He lets the crops grow together and will separate them when they are fully grown.

Last week we talked about planting seeds. This week we're talking about pulling weeds. The two go together. Every gardener knows that planting seeds is the easy part of having a successful garden. It is much more time consuming to weed that same garden. And it's hard work. As someone has said: "When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant."

There is a corollary to that truth: "To distinguish flowers from weeds, simply pull up everything. What grows back is weeds."

Some of you can relate to one unknown homemaker who wrote: I don't do windows because . . . I love birds and don't want one to run into a clean window and get hurt. I don't wax floors because . . . I am terrified a guest will slip and get hurt then I'll feel terrible (plus they may sue me.)I don't disturb cobwebs because . . . I want every creature to have a home of their own. I don't Spring Clean because . . . I love all the seasons and don't want the others to get jealous. I don't put things away because . . . my husband will never be able to find them again. I don't do gourmet meals when I entertain because . . . I don't want my guests to stress out over what to make when they invite me over for dinner. I don't iron because . . . I choose to believe them when they say "Permanent Press." And finally: I don't pull weeds in the garden because . . . I don't want to get in God's way, He is an excellent designer!

I doubt than anyone likes pulling weeds, including God. In today's lesson Jesus tells a parable. "The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.

"The owner's servants came to him and said, 'Sir, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?'

"'An enemy did this,' he replied.

"The servants asked him, 'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'

"'No,' he answered, 'because while you are pulling the weeds, you may root up the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.'"

Then Jesus left the crowd and went into the house. His disciples came to him and said, "Explain to us the parable of the weeds in the field."

Jesus answered, "The one who sowed the good seed is the Son of Man. The field is the world, and the good seed stands for the sons of the kingdom. The weeds are the sons of the evil one, and the enemy who sows them is the devil. The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.

"As the weeds are pulled up and burned in the fire, so it will be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil. They will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. He who has ears, let him hear."

On its surface, there is not much to be said about this parable except make sure you're not a weed...
1. Pulling Weeds Is an Important Part of a Successful Life.
2. God Is Our Savior.
3. God Wants to Save Us from Sin.

Flesh and Blood--God’s Body

2011-07-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

A reflection on Paul’s letter to the Romans for Proper 10A, by the Rev. Margaret Rose

Paul--that is the apostle Paul has got it wrong. Two weeks in a row I have avoided thinking about the Epistle text from the letter to the Romans. Two weeks in a row I have been annoyed as I listened to the lay reader speak Paul’s words to the Christian community in first century Rome and of course to the Christian community of 21st Century New York. No, it is not his thoughts about women, telling us to keep silent and not speak out in public. I can forgive him on that one. Clearly the woman were doing a lot of speaking and in his mind, things were getting out of hand. Besides look how far we have come. He certainly got it right in those very liberating words he writes to another community, the Galatians. “In Christ there is neither Jew or Greek, male or female, slave or free.” From the beginning Paul proclaims the new Christian community an inclusive one, not bound by class or race or sex or even if you are slave or free. And I am comforted by his words of reassurance at the end of Romans 8 when his poetic language reassures us of God’s unconditional love, that “neither hardship nor distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword. Not death or life nor angels nor rulers nor things present to come or anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God. With all this I have no quarrel.

It is rather what comes before in the letter to the Romans. I don’t know if Paul is trying to let them know what a good Greek he is or what but he says a few things I am sure even Jesus would disagree with and which I believe we have misunderstood and suffered under for too many years. What do I mean exactly? Well, it is about the flesh. The body I mean. Our bodies. And Paul’s denial of the body. If we could just get rid of our bodies then the spirit would be in good shape. The body is bad. The mind is good. Those aren’t exactly Paul’s words. They go like this: “Wretched man that I am. Who will rescue me from this body of death?” The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, In Christ we are not in the flesh but in the spirit, the body is death, the spirit is life. With my flesh I am a slave to the law of sin, If by the spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live.” I suspect that some of this comes from Paul’s life. He may be writing to the Romans. But he is also writing to Paul--(It is like most sermons--the underlying message is really to the preacher) And as we know Paul has an interesting and not always pretty biography. We don’t know it all of course, but we do know that he was a Pharisaic Jew, accustomed to persecuting Christians, responsible certainly for the murder of more than a few. Stephen is the main one we know about. We know the astonishing story of his conversion on the road. Blinded by the light of the Gospel, he follows Jesus, repents of his misdeeds. We read that he never married and that there is some hidden secret about his life that we shall never know. He is later put in prison himself for his faith but never waivers or denies Jesus. His missionary zeal is responsible for founding and nurturing many new Christian communities. He is vilified for much that was culture bound. Paul, like most of us, was what one might call a mixed bag. He was not consistent. Who is? I suspect his own personal history and his Greek education are responsible for what I call his anti-incarnational theology of Romans. So I guess it really isn’t Paul’s fault. He was as I said culture bound, a Hellenistic Jew, and maybe he needed that theology for his own survival. It often happens that way.

Slave theology was like that. A spirit theology for slaves which denied the importance of the flesh and here and now was survival theology. If you could hang on to the spirit as most important then the suffering of the master’s whip was of little importance. Spirit theology allowed people to endure suffering now for the promise of a better life later. But when Absalom Jones and Richard Allen and Frederick Douglas began to proclaim that what they were suffering was human injustice, not God’s way, then spirit theology no longer worked for them. Thoughts of God’s liberation began to be the hope of a present reality. The body should not be in chains, literally or figuratively. And so began the theology which revolted against the idea that being “a good slave” was god’s will. So....
If Paul got this bit wrong, then what is right? The Body of course is what Jesus is all about. The incarnation which we celebrate so joyously at Christmas is about God becoming flesh, God becoming a human being. God created human beings and saw that it was good. When we forgot that, and grew away from that goodness, God’s own self became a human being. The life that Jesus led was not one which suggested that if everyone denied their bodies and pretended they did not exist then everything would be fine. Quite the contrary. He healed people’s bodies. He called people to repentance and to a new life here and now in the world, not in some heavenly time by and by. We gather on Sundays as the BODY of Christ, not the spirit of Christ, though that spirit is with us. “ I am come that you might have life”, Jesus is quoted in Luke’s Gospel, and have it abundantly. Now I don’t think he is necessarily speaking of the abundance or should I say excess of either the evangelist Creflo Dollar or of the ill gotten abundance any number of companies or Bernie Madoff may have recently claimed. Nevertheless Jesus speaks of the life of the body and not just the spirit. Abundant life is offered, now, not because we are good enough to merit it later on, but because that is what God promises for us. We, of course, have some power and responsibility for helping that to happen, not necessarily of our own will but because as Paul said, (Here he has it right.) You were not given a spirit of slavery to fall back into sin, but power to become children of God. Power as children of God means that our prayers and our work and our daily lives mean something now. The bodies we work hard to keep healthy, by eating right and drinking right and exercising are worth it, for they are what we have to love each other with, what we have to build community with, what we have to wage peace with.

When we ask for prayers for those who are ill and suffering, our first hope is that their bodies might be healed. Along with that prayer is of course the healing of mind and spirit. But we really mean the body. And Jesus did too.

It is not just Jesus. The whole creation story and much of the Old Testament declare the beauty of the world and of its goodness for us as God’s creatures. “Taste and see that the Lord is good,” says the psalmist. Use your senses, use your body to see the beauty of the gifts that God has given, your eyes to see, your hands to touch your mouth to taste your ears to hear.

What then you might ask, when suffering does come? How do we survive? Paul’s troubles with the body in life have led us too often to a denial of the body in death. When life ends, and the body is ready, then let it go. As we get older and our bodies no longer work the way they use to, or the way we wish they would, denial of the body does not help. Rather, an acceptance of what comes may give us peace and spiritual wholeness. A readiness for the next step, whatever that may be.

If I could rewrite Paul a bit I would say: Embrace the flesh, love your body. Do not deny it. But try to live in a way that loves your body and your mind and your spirit. Do God’s work from that place.

During the last weeks I have been visiting a colleague, Cindy, who is dying, in the last stages of cancer. I did not know her well, but with colleagues we are there to keep vigil and support the family. Each time I have seen her, she has been a little less “in her body”. She is leaving. But even as her world changes, we who gather around her bed, claim her body and in the end will tell her with it good bye. We do not know what is next.n None of us does. But I’d be willing to bet that though it may not be the flesh as we know it, the body of the stars, the body of god’s people will not only live in spirit but in mind and body as well.

Family Stories

2011-07-02T13:44:00.001-07:00

A reflection on Genesis 24 for Proper 9A, by the Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

The other night I found myself watching the movie, “Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood,” starring Ellyn Burstyn and Sandra Bullock. Its one of those movies I’ve seen a dozen times but still enjoy.

The plot revolves around a dysfunctional mother-daughter relationship, and a group of the mother’s friends who have known one another all their lives.

The daughter, a playwright in NYC has an interview published in the NY Times magazine, and it comes across as highly critical of the mother.

The mother reads the interview and flies into a dramatic rage. Correspondence flies back and forth, cutting the daughter from the will, sending the mother an invitation to the daughters wedding but the date and place have been cut out of the invitation, phone calls where one hangs up on the other.

Finally in exasperation the mothers friends fly to NYC, and with the fiancés help, kidnap the daughter and bring her back to the New Orleans area.

There they spend a week telling the daughter the story of her mothers's life. Its a tragic story but also funny, and well acted by a cast of great actors.

Dysfunctional family stories fill the book of Genesis from which our first reading this morning is taken.
In Genesis we have two stories of creation, the calling of Abraham and Sarah, of children born in old age, of a father who binds and almost kills his son Isaac – a story we would have heard last week if we had stayed with the lectionary.
Jews, Christians, and Muslims, have all had a field day trying to make sense of this Abraham and Isaac story with responses that vary from – it’s a story of child abuse, it’s a story about dependency on God, it’s a story about faithfulness, it’s a story about the ancient practice of human sacrifice.

Regardless of what the story is about what we hear in the rest of Genesis is that the relationship between Abraham and Sarah and Isaac is broken from this point forward – Sarah dies and Abraham arranges for a wife for Isaac, and the plot shifts to Rebekah, who as wife of Isaac, gives birth to Jacob and Esau.
The story of Jacob and Esau leads to other levels of conflict and anguish as Jacob, the second born, maneuvers to steal the birth right of Esau, the first born – and has his mother’s support to do it.
Jacob who wrestles with an angel and ends up with a new name - Israel, Jacob, whose own son, Joseph carries on the family saga, made popular in a musical starring Donnie Osmond.
Genesis is a very old text that has it's origins in stories told around camp fires as tribes travelled across the Middle East, Egypt, and areas of ancient Mesopotamia.
Genesis blends a number of stories that had have taken place over the course of hundreds of years, influenced by a number of emerging cultures.
Which is why we have two creation stories at the beginning of Genesis, as well as other conflicting elements.
But it's a rich text filled with timeless stories about the human condition.
Readings from Genesis will be our first reading through summer, accompanying stories of Jesus that we will hear in the Gospel.
The Gospel of Matthew begins with a genealogy that connects Jesus to David, a descendent of Abraham, Isaac, and Joseph.
As I said last week, Matthew is interested in showing how Jesus is the fulfillment of the law of Moses, the fulfillment of what is meant by - love God, love self, and love others.
And in that way Matthew connects Jesus to the family story we hear in Genesis, and ultimately we come to know these stories as our story, the family of God.
Stories that remind us that God has blessed our lives, that we might be a blessing to others.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Pentecost 8A

2011-06-25T15:48:00.000-07:00

Reflection on Genesis 22:1-14 by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

“God tested Abraham.” I can’t remember ever hearing this story without having some kind of reaction or response, without wondering somewhere inside me just how God could ask this of him, and how Abraham could simply pack up his men and his son and saddle up his donkeys and head off for the place God had directed him to. What, I have always wondered what in his mind and in his heart as they journeyed those three long days. Did they talk, the four of them? Isaac must have known something of what they were about. They had wood for an offering fire, but nothing to offer. As an observant Jewish boy he knew this made no sense. Did this concern him? When he finally asked the question, was it simply an innocent query, or did he sense it might be him? Had there been something about his father all along, in his face, his eyes as they travelled. Did Abraham’s answer comfort or alarm him.

The story is frustratingly short on detail here…”Abraham built an altar there and laid the wood in order. He bound his son Isaac, and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood.” Did Isaac go willingly to the pyre like a lamb to the slaughter? Was he willing to be sacrificed because he wished to please his own father? Because it was God’s will? Was he shocked and stunned to silence, or did he fight or plead for his life? Perhaps the writers of this Old Testament story do not share these details because, in this case they do not matter, since he is not the offering after all. As I suspect Abraham believed all along he would not be
God tested Abraham. Tested the nature and the depth and the strength of the covenant between them. In essence he was asking Abraham, “Who do you think I am?”

In previous encounters with God, when Abraham needed to, he argued with God, he pushed back against God. But this time, with the stakes as high as they could ever be, with not only the child of his old age but the hope of all Israel riding on this, he is meek and obedient. How, we ask, could God ever expect such a thing? Perhaps Abraham asked this question, too. Perhaps in his hearts of hearts he knew that he could carry forward in this task because the God he knew, the God he was in relationship with would make it somehow right with him, would see him through it, no matter what happened. While we cannot imagine that any other ending than the one we are given in the story could be acceptable, and that certainly is the best and easiest, Abraham trusted that his relationship, his connection with Yahweh would make whatever came of that moment on the mountain right. Because that was the faith he had, that was the relationship he had, that was who he knew God to be.

The story does not always have a happy ending. The child does not always live. The job does come. The marriage does not last. But the covenant of God with God’s beloved…made, promised and kept…renewed and fulfilled in the Incarnation …God with us on that mountain and ours…providing.

Trinity Sunday

2011-06-18T17:56:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the Trinity by Janine Goodwin

As part of the preparation for comprehensive exams for theMA in theology, I had to read “God for Us: The Trinity and Christian Life” by Catherine Mowry LaCugna. It was one of the greatest gifts of the program. It istheology at its best: historically grounded, humane, springing from deep faith,describing distortions without condemning others, and coming to a conclusion whichseems revolutionary because it is radical in the original sense: radix means root. The radical conclusions LaCugna reaches are actually a return to the roots of faith, to Scripture and tradition.

This book was a wonderful surprise for me. Having alwaysbeen nervous around the idea of the Trinity—there seemed to be so many ways of gettingthe whole thing wrong, and so few of getting it right, and it never seemedreally comprehensible to me—I was prepared for a slew of difficult conceptsthat didn’t fit anything in my experience. Instead, I met a book that broughtnew insight and richness to experience and took away the sense of fearand distance with which I had approached the study of the Trinity, replacing it with a new joy, love, and trust toward God.

I want to share a few quotations readers of this blog mayuse for their meditations on the Trinity and to urge anyone who sees this postto read the book. The time and concentration you give it will be richlyrewarded.

Page numbers are from the 1993 HarperCollins paperbackedition.

For LaCugna, the Trinity shows that the truth about God and aboutus is all about relationship, and we become ourselves only when we reachoutside ourselves. We exist in relationship to God and each other:

The exodus of allpersons from God and the return of all to God is the divine dance in which Godand we are eternal partners. (304)

By the same token, we know God not as a distantphilosophical construct, but as a God who loves us and comes to us:

In both the eternaland temporal existence of God, it is the nature of God to-be-for, to-be-toward,to exist as persons in communion. God initiates and sustains intimate, covenanatedrelationship with a people, God takes on flesh and undergoes death, God dwells inour hearts, because God lives from all eternity as self-communicating,self-giving love and communion. God incorporates all of creation into that lifeof communion. it is in this sense that we literally exist, we ‘have our being’in God. The life of God does not belong to God alone. (354)

LaCugna argues that a truly Trinitarian and fully relationaltheology cannot be hierarchical: we have imposed human hierarchical notionsupon God, but the reign of God is not like our systems of power and control. It is the reign Jesus showed us:

The God whom Jesusloves, relies on, by whose power he heals and forgives sin, is not a politicalmonarch, a tyrant, an aloof authority figure, a castled king or queen whosesubjects cannot visit, an isolated figure who cannot suffer because he does notlove. The God whose reign Jesus announces rejects the societal and religiousconventions of race, sex, standing. (399)

This is a book as challenging, as sometimes unsettling, andas ultimately joyful as the Gospels in which it is grounded. Even the footnotescontain gems: “the Eleventh Council of Toledo (675) stated that the Son was begotten‘de utero Patris (from the womb of theFather), that is, from the substance of the Father.’” (note 115, 312-313) Thisis a wonderful reminder that feminine imagery for God is a tradition thatbegins in Scripture and continues throughout church history, showing up inplaces we might not expect if we are prone to stereotype the brothers andsisters in faith who went before us.

Thanks be to God for infinite, self-giving love that is thefoundation of creation, and thanks be to God for the work of thoughtful, diligent, andcourageous theologians. Amen.

Pentecost

2011-06-11T12:07:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the feast of Pentecost by The Rev. Camille Hegg

The Collect for today reads that, ”…on this day you opened the way of eternal life to every race and nation by the promised gift of your Holy Spirit…..”

The story of this day is well known in Christian circles. The disciples had an experience which moved them to have some clarity about their mission and how to go about accomplishing it in the world.

As a child when I heard someone say “eternal life” or “everlasting life,” I imagined an endless stream of years. It was time as I knew it then, but with much improved conditions: no sickness, arguing, death, poverty, hunger, but lots of fun things to do. Since I have always liked to sing I imagined I would be in a choir of angels. But everything was just better.
As I got older I started thinking, pondering. Somewhere along the way I decided that eternity is too long a time for this loving God I learned about at church to hold a grudge and send someone to hell.

I began to think there is more to eternal life than an endless string of years and activities. It seemed to me that eternal life is not something that may or may not be granted after death as a reward for good behavior. Eternal life has to do with actions and responses here on earth that don’t go away, are not changed, just because the person – someday me – dies.

Once I was visiting someone in the hospital and only on that day I took a notion to leave by a side door which I almost never used. When I got outside to the steps and the sidewalk to the parking lot, there was a parishioner sitting on the steps crying. I slowed down; she obviously didn’t see me. I approached her very quietly and gently said, “Is there something I can do for you?” She looked up and smiled and said, “God told you to come this way, right?” I said I couldn’t explain it and that yes, I usually leave by the front entrance.

We talked for a few minutes and she never said anything about what had brought her to the sidewalk steps to cry. After a couple of minutes’ I stood to leave. She stood up and hugged me and said, “I will never forget this.”

Years later when I was preparing to leave that church for another call, she hugged me and said she had never forgotten what it had meant to her that I spoke to her that day. As she hugged me she whispered, “The Holy Spirit brought you that day.” That does seem like a work of the Holy Spirit and apparently nothing had changed her mind either. It seems eternal to me. I was only the one privileged enough to have an idea to go out that door.

Over the years I feel more and more convinced, assured that ‘eternal life’ is not a marker, nor a yard stick, nor a set of checks that offsets the x-marks which keep score and will be tallied when I die.

God sees past, present and future all at the same time. We don’t. Everything is present for God. Eternal life is the ability to see life as God sees it and maybe after we die we see things that way, too. Now we get only a glimpse every now and then and those glimpses come as they will. We can’t create them. I think she was right, that was the Holy Spirit that brought breath to me, inspired me, to take another exit that day. That is what won’t change; that is eternal.

I used to assume that eternity is static, not changing. But eternity is that which doesn’t go away even if one dies or forgets an event. That eternity implies life, movement, growth.

There is a beautiful prayer in the burial service which is that we pray that the person who has died will go “from strength to strength..” That phrase expresses a faith that life is always moving, changing, learning. Another prayer states that was believe that things have changed, not ended.” I think those are great prayers for us everyday.

Knowledge of God is not acquiring something or information. It is an ever deepening relationship with God. The love, power and wisdom of God are infinite and can never be complete. The wind of the Holy Spirit is forever breathing into us and into creation.

Ascension/Easter 7A

2011-06-04T06:21:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the Ascension, by the Rev. Karla Jean Miller

Floating Away

Jesus defies gravity.

A cloud forms around him, and he simply floats away into the sky. “It is no illusion”, one sample children’s sermon claims.

Yew.

I wonder why we tell our children these stories this way? Jesus floats away, and it REALLY happened? (No joke, I read this children’s sermon on a certain popular lectionary resource site.) Wouldn’t it be better, just to tell the story, and then wonder with the children, aka Godly Play style?

I wonder how Jesus did that?

I wonder what the sky looked like?

I wonder what his disciples were feeling and thinking? Were they sad? Afraid?

I wonder how long they really stood there, looking up in the sky?

I wonder what they said when the two men in white robes came and questioned them?

I wonder, who those men were?

I imagine that if we asked children some of the questions above, we would get incredibly rich and imaginative responses. Which is o.k.--thinking magically is a part of cognitive development--and such a better way to present this really unbelievable moment in Acts. Allowing children to creatively wonder is much more respectful to this text than it is to explain it as “no illusion, it really
happened.”

However, for adults, or at least for THIS adult, the idea of the ascension is pretty unaccessible. I do think that Jesus had to leave the disciples, so they could be empowered to be who they were called to be. If Jesus had stayed, well, then, there was really no point, I think for the resurrection. Jesus came, to give life. And the disciples needed to claim that new life--and to continue hangin’ with the Rabbi, well, it just wasn’t the best course of action. They had graduated. Time to move on.

But did Jesus HAVE to float away on a cloud? (I sort of like the thought that he went to India to dish with the Buddha. Oh, maybe that timing is wrong--well, perhaps
in the kairos sense of time that idea would work.) When I visually think of this, I imagine Jesus floating like an escaped helium balloon, going up, up and away, getting smaller and smaller so that soon he becomes a dot in the sky and then altogether disappears. By defying gravity ala the musical Wicked, Jesus disappears.
And I suppose, this is part of the point of the ascension. By Jesus disappearing, the mission to “go ye therefore” can begin. The disciples (including all of the certain women) have to find the little piece of Christ in themselves and continue to share the gospel of light and love to those who desperately need it. Jesus disappears, so that the Christ can appear in a multiplicity of ways to usher in the kin-dom of God’s community.

So, Jesus disappears. Maybe Luke wasn’t really sure HOW Jesus disappeared. Maybe he did sneak on a camel caravan and go hang out in Ethiopia or something. But Luke has to do Jesus right--he is the Lord, after all. So, what a beautiful picture he paints, with Jesus surrounded by his friends, a beautiful dusky evening, perhaps, the sky streaking peachy and columbine blue and lilac. A cloud slowly forming around him, and....well, you know the rest.

Pastor Barbara Lundblad describes in her sermon a woodcut of the Ascension she saw once. The most striking part of the woodcut was not the ascension, but what was on the ground. The artist had rendered footprints where Jesus had been standing. Don’t you love that?

You know, I think that the story of the ascension is really a wonderful way to describe Jesus leaving the disciples. I think Luke must have asked a billion of “wondering” questions before he penned these chapters of Acts.

So, I wonder,

What do you think?

Easter 6A

2011-05-28T05:35:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Easter 6A: Acts 17:22-31, by The Rev. Margaret Rose

Paul in the Areopagas and the Arab Spring

This past week I attended the annual conference of Churches for Middle East Peace. CMEP is an ecumenical group whose mission is to engage churches in working for peace in the Middle East primarily in those places we often call The Holy Land. Attending were “the usual suspects” ( and I do not say that derisively as I myself fit that category) of late middle agers whose work in the church had been shaped by the events in Israel/ Palestine over the years. But this year there was a significant presence of young adults. The Episcopal Church brought a diverse delegation of ten young people. Their knowledge and commitment were impressive. They knew their history. Some had been to Israel and Palestine on pilgrimage and all were prepared to engage their Congressional representatives on the last day of the conference which was for lobbying.

Panelists at the conference, included young people as well. Christians, Muslims and Jews from various countries in the Middle East as well as Americans. The timing of the Conference could not have been better. Obama had just given his speech on the Middle East and Netanyahu was in Washington to speak to AIPEC and to address Congress. So the issues of the peace process were utmost in our minds, its urgency at the top of the agenda.

This year, many said, the conference conversation was different. While the Israel/Palestine discussion was still dominated by the question of borders and land swaps, right of return, boycotts and security, there was another dimension which shifted the conversation in a new direction and gave it hope. Young People. Young adults, Americans, Israeli, Palestinian, Lebanese, and more. And in the background shadows were all those who had stood up for a new way in what is now called the Arab Spring.

No one, no group was exempt from the scrutiny of the young: corrupt governments on all sides, dictators all around, organized groups who might take power—Moslem Brotherhood , or those who already have it—Hamas. The peace groups in Israel and more. Fed up with an “old guard” whose main work seemed to be to hang on to power, The message of the Arab Spring was that of open source democracy and a reform of corrupt ways.

Our discussions in Washington about these young people were inspiring. They were not naïve about the costs. But they had no doubt about the benefit. It would be too facile to say this is just another “Woodstock” , this is just young people living out the ideal or utopian way. Even the old establishment is beginning to see the result. Indeed, the living out of this spring is already leading to the hard realities of governing and the long hard slog of putting the new into place. But something new is happening.
And the speakers at the conference, young and old, Jewish, Christian, Moslem, secular and sacred, noted the hopeful possibility of conversion. And the prayer of all was that a way may be found for a peace filled road.

What, one might ask, does all this have to do with the texts for Easter 6? As I read Acts 17, Paul’s famous speech in the Areopagas, in light of the events in the Middle East and the discussion at the conference, I imagined Paul as a young man in another era of Middle East spring. He had experienced a fiery ( or rather light filled) conversion and had joined with zeal what came to be called The Jesus Movement. There is much discussion about whether or not this was a political movement, but aspects of it certainly were. Jesus was adamant against the rampant corruption which he saw among the leaders. From all accounts this was a reform movement whose consequences for Jesus and later even by Paul’s hand resulted in violence. But in the text today he is making a masterful speech in the Areopagas, the judicial court area. ( I learned that in the 4th century these were the courts that dealt with corruption in government, but that was not doubt not the case in Paul’s time.)
Paul’s speech to the Athenians was one of invitation and Good News. He who had so recently killed those who had followed Jesus did not turn to violence as he moved to the other side. Rather he saw an opening for the Greeks to engage Jesus. “What you worship as unknown, I proclaim to you . The God who made the world and everything in it does not live in shrines made by human hands.” We are God’s offspring, he proclaims, therefore, God is like us and we like God with power to speak and love and engage one another and the world God has made. Here is yet another way of proclaiming that we as God’s children are made in the image of God.

I may be reading too much into Paul to imagine him outside his cultural context. He is a complex figure, so I do not want to simplify. Yet as I have often struggled to accept some of the literal interpretations of his “women must be silent” or “man is the head, woman is the body” texts, a closer reading allows Paul to come to life in ways that invite a larger view.

What would I say, I wonder, were I given the opportunity here in the US to have my own Areopagas? How might I seek a new way? Invite people to name their own unknown God as the one who made the universe and all that is in it. What does it mean to claim ourselves as God’s offspring? How might we engage in addressing the current impasses in our own government battles over health care, the budget and more? Is there a way which is less polarizing and more of an invitation? Thanks to Paul (much to my surprise! And gratitude!) I will pay attention not only to what I might say, but also to what the young people in my own world are calling for and claiming.

Easter 5A

2011-05-21T16:06:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Easter 5A:Acts 7. 55-60, 1 Peter 2. 2-10, John 14. 1-14 by The Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

I thought I was going to get out of writing a sermon this week, but the world didn’t end yesterday as predicted…! Although whether Harold Camping’s calculation has taken into account the change from the Julian to Gregorian Calendarso I’m not quite sure. Judgement day is of course no joking matter, but I don’t think we should spend too much time worrying about it if we are living good and godly lives. After all, we are all going to meet our maker one day. We have reasonably comfortable lives here, we are able to worship in freedom. That isn’t the case everywhere and as this country becomes more secular and more multicultural, perhaps we will loose our freedom too. There are places around the world where Christians even today have to put their lives on the line for their faith, they do not have freedom to worship and they face persecution and martyrdom.
Given the persecution that Jesus himself faced, and the manner in which he died. It was not a surprise to his followers that the authorities would not take kindly to this new movement that was growing. In a few weeks time we will celebrate the feast of Pentecost, the birthday of the church, the day when more than 3000 were baptised. That must have frightened the authorities. Soon after Stephen was made a deacon, and is seized by the scribes and elders, accused of speaking against the law of Moses. In his retaliatory speech he skilfully re-tells Israel’s past, challenging those who are listening to him to realise that there is a higher authority than the law of Moses, finally pointing out to them that they betrayed and murdered Jesus, the ‘Righteous One’.

Stephen is an excellent example of Christian witness in today’s world, he is a reminder of what it means to lay your life on the line for your faith – he certainly had a ‘no holds barred’ approach. He is dragged out and executed for his faith.

Saul, the one who would go on to persecute the church, was there, minding the coats – was it Stephen’s fervour that prompted him to take a stand against the evolving church? Perhaps after his conversion, it was the example of Stephen that drove Paul to be such a fervent ambassador for Jesus Christ. Later in Acts, Paul readily admits later in Acts that he was looking on and complicit in the stoning of Stephen. Paul’s words also indicate that Stephen was already seen as the first ‘martyr’ by the early Christian’s. He uses the word marturos which means first and foremost that Stephen was a witness. That is clear from the description of the manner of Stephen’s death. Stephen, filled with the Holy Spirit doesn’t see the hostile faces of the council staring at him, instead he lifts his eyes to heaven and sees deep into the heart of heaven, he sees the ‘glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.’ He is a witness to the risen and ascended Christ. Paul acknowledges that Stephen’s blood was shed because he was a witness to Christ and so, he becomes the first ‘martyr’ the first Christian ready to die for his faith, to accept his fate without question and without fear. He wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself, he was just trying to make people see the truth. He was a witness to Jesus as the apostles were witnesses and later Paul himself was a witness. Stephen, as others have done after him, provided a living testimony to the transformative presence of God in the world. He stands firm in the face of hostility. But, the crowd didn’t want to hear him, they cover their ears and refuse to hear the message he has to offer them, and they descend on him and take him out and stone him.

It is scene reminiscent of Jesus’ own death. Stephen prays that Jesus will receive his spirit as Jesus himself prayed and commended his own spirit into God’s had. Stephen also asks for God’s forgiveness for those who kill him, they do not know what they are doing as they did not know what they were doing when they put Jesus to death and because of their refusal to listen to the message Stephen was trying to give them, they still don’t know. Stephen’s death, like his life, is modelled on the example of Jesus Christ. Jesus said ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life’ and Stephen lives that out fully. His death also gives us a further pointer to the full meaning of the resurrection. Stephen sees deep into the heart of heaven. All of our readings today suggest that our earthly home is only temporary, that our true home is in heaven with our Father. Jesus says ‘in my Father’s house there are many mansions’ or ‘dwelling-places’. God has plenty of room for all his children, and we will all one day have a home there.

Jesus is the way the truth and the life, he is the one we must follow, and he is the one who will lead us through this life and into the next. God enters into his creation in the form of Jesus, he becomes human to experience our life and death. Jesus understands what it is to live in this world and he gives himself completely and utterly to it. We must follow his example and engage fully with the world around us, to take part in creation, to protect it and interact with it. If we engage and interact fully within the world, if we live our lives to the full, then we build ourselves into a living temple where we can serve and praise God wholeheartedly. If we do that, then we follow fully in the steps of Jesus and when our time finally comes we will meet him face to face in honesty, knowing that he has been our guide all our days.

Easter 4A

2011-05-14T16:24:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Easter 4A: Acts 2:42-47, John 10:1-10, by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

When I was a young girl my mother was fond of telling me the story of how she named me. The top five names for girls in 1957 were: Mary, Susan, Debra, Karen, and Linda. My mother wanted a different name for me, unique and unusual, at least in her mind. She had a photo of me that was printed in the Salt Lake City newspaper on my first birthday, along with all the other kids celebrating first birthday's. The photographs made her point, three of the girls were named Debra and then there was me, Terri Lynnette: Terri spelled with two “r's” and an “i.” Simple as my name is I have had to spell it for people my entire life. And, in my entire childhood the only other Terry's I knew were boys. Sometimes I wished for a typical girl's name. Now, I know other women with the name Terri, although there are a number of different spellings.

My mother's given name was Joan, but in her 40's, with her children grown, and following a divorce from her second husband, she claimed a new identity through her Irish heritage. As a natural red-head with green eyes, she legally changed her name to Shannon.

Regardless of how intentional we are in selecting names, compared to the ancient world, the modern practice of naming is arbitrary. In the world of Jesus and those who came before him, Abraham and Sarah, names designated something particular about the person. Through God's blessing Abram, Sarai, and Saul under-go a change of name – Abram becomes Abraham, Sarai becomes Sarah, and Saul becomes Paul – the great St. Paul. The name change for these people in the Bible signifies a change in who they are, their identity has changed. The names of people in the Bible give us insight into who the person is.

In the Bible the name of God is a central theme. Knowing the divine name gives privilege to some, and invoking that divine name, according to Biblical stories, brings gifts of grace. Can you think of some the names of God that you know of from the Bible? In the Hebrew Bible God is named “El” which is also translated as “God.” Also - “El Elyon” - God most high; “El Olam” - everlasting God; “El Shaddai” - Almighty God. God revealed God's name to Moses as “I AM” which over time became known as YHWH – and is sometimes pronounced as Yahweh – although traditionally it is not said out loud. Christians have traditionally used Lord – a male noun describing authority; Adonai – which also means Lord; and Kyrios which for the ancient Greeks distinguished God from the Roman emperor.

The ancient Christian Church soon adopted Lord as the title for Jesus. But there are many other names for Jesus found in the Bible. Can you think of some? Here are a few names for Jesus that we find in the New Testament: Word, Lamb of God, Son of God, Rabbi, Messiah, son of Joseph, King of Israel, Son of Man, Emmanuel, bread, vine, a mother hen, and, from our reading in John this morning, the good shepherd.

Many of the passages in scripture, including the Acts of the Apostles, which we hear every year in the season of Easter, remind us that the Christian life and faith proceeds from and , in, the name of Jesus.

In a few weeks, on the feast of Pentecost, we will baptize a new member into our community of faith and into the Christian Church. From now until that day we will pray for this young baby, by his first name Peyton, and his two middle names – Edward and Kirkland. But we won't use his last name, his surname because in baptism we all the same last name – Christian. So in a few minutes, when we pray for Peyton Edward Kirkland remember in the back of your mind that he will soon add another name – Christian. He will join us in the family of faith.

Being named Christian, and claiming our mutual identity as members of the family of Jesus, calls us to a particular identity. It's this forming and claiming of identity that brings us here each Sunday. Here to be reminded, through scripture, and prayer, and hymns, what we are to be about as the family of Christ. In other words, Christian is not only a noun, but it's also a verb. Christian is a call to action, to follow the shepherd, to live abundantly.

What do you think of when you consider what it means to live abundantly? I imagine most of us have had a change of heart about that term over the ten years or so. For most of us living abundantly no longer means having more things, bigger and better stuff. As Christians living abundantly has a particular context that models the life and ministry of Jesus. It means something along the lines of having abundant generosity and compassion for ourselves and for others.

One of my favorite television programs is “The Good Wife.” Tuesday night's episode was particularly gripping as Alicia wrestles with the betrayal of her husband's brief affair with her best friend and co-worker, Calinda. In one scene, Calinda, the tight-lipped, unemotional, private investigator for the firm, distraught over her broken friendship with Alicia, begins to fall apart. All alone in an elevator she dissolves into tears. In another scene, her boss, Will, a partner of the firm, notices that Calinda is not her self. Reaching out with care and compassion he suggests to her that one day she will need to confide in someone. But Calinda, stoic and resolute, responds, “There is one thing I have learned, I NEVER have to confide in anyone.”

As human beings we are born with a complex range of emotions and feeling. We need each other in order to become fully who we are intended to be. Our Christian identity is formative in that regard. Our call to live in community is intended to be supportive, each of us for the other. Day in and day out living our life of faith, worshiping together, praying together, breaking bread together – either in the Eucharist or over a meal – spending time learning about our faith and one another, being present for each other through our struggles and our joys – are all part of our Christian identity. Living a life of faith transforms us. Embraced in the love of Christ, in the security of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, we learn that we are not alone. Living the life of faith teaches us the depth of God's love for us, we come to know that love as an inherent component of our identity. And in being loved, and named as God's beloved, we are called to do like wise, to go and love others as Christ loves us.

- Portions of this reflection were informed by: Gail Ramshaw, “Treasures Old and New” Images in the Lectionary, from the chapter, “Name of God”

Easter 3A

2011-05-07T14:25:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Easter 3A by the Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

This is where I am starting my thoughts for a sermon for this Sunday, May 8, the Third Sunday of Easter: with the history of Mother's Day and
more.

It was started in 1870 as a day for mothers to pray and work for peace, for the end of war, to decry that their sons and husbands would go to war and, as Julia Ward Howe wrote in her Mother’s Day Declaration, “unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.” Howe was an abolitionist, a worker for peace and woman suffrage – the epitome of the late 19th century progressive, convinced that women truly and naturally embodied all Christian and civic virtues. The carnage of the Civil War so disturbed her that she was moved to commemorate the values of peace and motherhood with this Mother’s Day. It was celebrated in June in her lifetime, and she funded many of the commemorations.

As the battle scars of the Civil War faded, and after Howe’s death, Anna Reeves Jarvis rekindled and readapted Howe’s commemoration – she called it “Mother’s Friendship Day,” with the intention to “re-unite families and neighbors that had been divided between the Union and Confederate sides of the Civil War.”

In 1908 Anna M. Jarvis, her daughter, yet again revived the holiday, now a commemoration both of peace and of the dedication of her mother, as a Sunday School teacher and as the founder of Mother’s Day as a day of peace and reconciliation. After a quiet gathering at her home in Philadelphia, Jarvis went public with Mother’s Day at her Methodist Church in West Virginia – and in today’s terms, it went viral. The idea of honoring mothers with flowers (white carnations for the dead, pink or red for the living) and festivities – struck a chord in the human heart, and soon lots of churches and communities were doing it. Anna M. Jarvis became a political activist, to have Mother’s Day, as she conceived it, to be recognized nationally as a holiday. This was backed by the YMCA and, very powerfully, by the World Sunday School Association, and this Progressive Era victory for the virtues of motherhood was signed into law in 1914 by Woodrow Wilson.

Ironically, the declaration coincided with the meteoric rise of commercialism and advertising in the US, and from the 1920s on, the flower and greeting card industries have taken on Mother’s Day for their own. This profit-making Mother’s Day disturbed Anna M. Jarvis greatly, and she loudly and publicly opposed what she deemed a misuse of the holiday – from 1920s until her death in 1948.

It is poignant, indeed, as we contemplate Mother’s Day 2011, thinking about its origins in the protest of the carnage of war. When late 19th and early 20th century women banded together for peace, they believed that their womanly and motherly virtues transcended national borders, and that women around the world would unite to bring an end to war. As Julia Ward Howe wrote in her original declaration:

"We women of one country
Will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."
From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up with
Our own. It says, "Disarm, Disarm!"
The sword of murder is not the balance of justice!
Blood does not wipe out dishonor
Nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plow and the anvil at the summons of war.
Let women now leave all that may be left of home
For a great and earnest day of counsel.
Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.

Solemn thoughts to consider during this week that saw one of the declared enemies of America brought to a violent end. I was relieved that President Obama did not rattle swords or preach bellicosity in his address to the nation, but I was made slightly uncomfortable by the campus and community demonstrations on Sunday night and Monday. Has our younger generation taken the rhetoric of patriotic valor into the arena of vengeance and American exceptionalism?

Most news coverage early in the week, however, included more nuanced reflections on the American reactions to the killing of Osama bin Laden. Young people growing up in the shadow of 9/11 have had these events and debates thrust upon them at every turn. From Tuesday’s New York Times, I found this helpful to read:

"In the world of the so-called millennial generation, said Neil Howe, a writer and historian who is often credited with defining that term for the generation, “Evil is evil, good is good. There are no antiheroes, there is no gray area. This is a Harry Potter vignette, and Voldemort is dead.”

“In a Harry Potter world,” he said, “their mission is to save the world for the rest of society. This is their taking pride in what their generation is able to do.”

Reading on, though, it was clear that not everyone cast their lives in Manichean terms. The article quoted one young woman, a Muslim American, who said she began wearing a head scarf after the attacks on the World Trade Center:

“I feel like regardless of your religion after 9/11, it made everyone question what it was like to be an American.”

That same New York Times article, that talked about how vocally patriotic young adults had become, also noted that these same young adults were increasingly likely to want to get to know the world around them, to study abroad, to learn about other societies and religions. That’s good. Even these young people who have seen so much violence and disruption during their whole lives, whose own families and communities may have been harmed by those terrible events of September 11, seem to be continuing the trend we have seen for a generation, of teenagers who enter young adulthood wanting to make a difference, to give back, to get involved, whose hearts burn within them to make the world a better place.

That’s where I’m going with my sermon this week: to connect the experience of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, who described their encounter with the risen Jesus as something that made their hearts burn within them, with people who, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, find the energy and commitment to get up and work to make the world a better place. To me, the connection is discipleship, and how we form our children, and each other, to be the kind of followers of Jesus who recognize the love of God in the unlikeliest of places – to be the kind of people whose hearts are set on fire for that love, and who know that justice and mercy truly walk hand in hand.

Easter 2A

2011-04-29T05:58:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Easter 2A: Acts 2:14-41, Psalm 16, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31 by

Janine Goodwin, M.A., M.S. Ed.

Everything in this week’s readings is about the assurance of faith, the certainty of belief in a God who has done certain things and can be trusted completely.

Everything except the Gospel.

I love that.

I love it because the Gospels are not the stories of perfect people getting it about God on the first try, but of misunderstandings and blunders and the whooshing sound that the point makes going over everyone’s heads. (Ever notice how often Jesus hears that sound? His physical presence was no guarantee that anyone would get what he was saying.) I love it because the stories in the Gospels show that faith is not a course we take for a grade, but a life we live. I love it because stories like this one show conclusively that we are not required to be perfect disciples—there are no perfect disciples. I love it because the story of Thomas, and the story of Mary Magdalene at the beginning of this chapter, are about people struggling with their faith, misunderstanding what they see and hear, and going on in faith anyhow. On a personal note, I love it because despite a lifetime of faith and throughout a lot of attempts to be more certain than I am capable of being, I’ve never stopped doubting and struggling. I’ve come to believe that those attempts to be certain were a waste of time—time that could have been better used asking the tough questions aloud.

The story of Thomas is part of a larger story. Chapter 20 begins with Mary Magdalene coming to the tomb and meeting Jesus, a story some of us heard last Sunday; its center is Jesus’ appearing to the disciples and breathing out the Spirit upon them in the first part of today’s reading; then comes the story of Thomas. Thomas seems not to have believed Mary Magdalene, and he certainly isn’t impressed by the story of a whole group of disciples. Thomas wants his answer his way. Unlike most of us, he gets his answer his way.

No one in these stories is perfect. The beloved disciple, extolled by many commentators as the perfect example of faith and as superior to Mary Magdalene and Thomas, misses seeing Jesus at the tomb because he has run away, leaving his sister disciple weeping alone; he believes, but the text gives no evidence that he shared his belief with others. It’s not clear that Peter believes anything at the tomb. Mary mistakes Jesus for the gardener, and he has to tell her not to cling to him. The disciples see Jesus in the room with them because they are, despite Mary’s witness, hiding from the world outside. And then there’s Thomas, the kind of difficult person who says what others won’t admit they are thinking.

Many of us have been taught, over the years, to hear “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” as a rebuke to Thomas—and, by extension, a rebuke to us if we have trouble believing. It need not be read that way. It could be, instead, a way of acknowledging our doubts and our difficulties, our imperfect faith. It could be Jesus’ way of allowing us space to doubt like Thomas, to misunderstand Jesus’ appearance like Mary Magdalene, to remain silent when we could speak like the beloved disciple—and still to be present when Jesus is among us offering the Spirit.

Thomas and Mary do the one most important thing: they keep trying. Their faith and their perceptions are limited, but they keep seeking Jesus. They do so imperfectly, and Jesus comes to them anyway. They trust enough to keep going. Their struggles are ours, and we need not fear our own. Even in John, the gospel with an insistence on the divinity and pre-existence of Jesus, the gospel with the most exalted view of Jesus, the gospel in which Jesus is shown as foreseeing everything and predicting everything, shows the disciples as people with faith as imperfect as ours. Jesus works with that. He wants to be with people who ask questions, get it wrong, and even give him attitude.

Thomas and Magdalene have moments of certainty, as do all the followers of Jesus, and they tell each other about them. For many of them, their faith will lead to death; for all of them, it will last through their lives. It will not always be certain. It will not always be free of doubt. It will be enough.

Before I read theology, I read a lot of devotional books on how to have complete, joyous, permanent faith that wouldn’t take a stain or sustain a dent. They always produced considerable despair in me because I never had that kind of faith. Perhaps that is behind my uneasy response to the passages that are all about certainty and are the reason I like this Gospel better. Perhaps, having seen that neither doubt and certainty are the final word about one’s faith, I will be able to embrace certainty more.

Yes, Christ is risen; the Lord is risen indeed, alleluia. No, we aren’t always sure of that. No, that doesn’t settle everything. Yes, we still doubt and make mistakes and persist in looking for Jesus. Jesus is still with us and still offering the Spirit, which gives not omniscience, but hope. Faith is a conversation between believers, but not a competition: it’s not about who has more faith or less faith, but about what we can learn from each other’s faith and each other’s stories.

I love that.

This reflection owes much to two excellent academic articles by women theologians:

Lee, Dorothy A., “Partnership in Easter Faith: The Role of Mary Magdalene and Thomas,” Journal for the Study of the New Testament 58 (1995) 37-49

O’Brien, Kelli S., “Written That You May Believe: John 20 and Narrative Rhetoric,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 67, 2005

The work of committed scholars is a great gift to the faith community.

Easter Day

2011-04-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

A reflection on John 20:1-18 by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

Of the two Gospels in the Lectionary for Easter Sunday, I found myself drawn to John. A part of that attraction for me is Mary. Mary who went out to the tomb while it was still dark. Mary Magdalene who has been confused and merged with the other Marys of the Gospels. Mary who has been maligned through the ages as prostitute and sinner. Mary apostle to the apostles. Mary of the many narratives, is the one on this Easter morning who brings us the story, the one who is the bearer of the news. Ultimately not only the good news of that Easter morning that Jesus was not in the tomb, but the ultimate Good News that the love of God is stronger than death and the grave is not the end. This Mary has a story to tell us in her own words….

It seemed like so many days since the last time we were together, that night we ate and drank together. That night started out strangely, with him insisting on washing our feet. I mean, not that this wasn’t the thing to do before a meal, but to have the host do it, well that was just not what you’d expect. But then Jesus always was the master of the unexpected. And then there was that strange business with Judas. Of course it all made sense later, but at the time, I was so confused.

He spoke to us of so many things that night. He told us again and we must love one another. He said it very strongly, commanded us even to love one another, I remember he said, as he had loved us. I remember it made me think when he said that about the way he did love others. About the way he was with people, how he seemed to really see them, to be able to see their very souls, and what this did for their lives. Like the woman at the well who had such an experience of him that she left her water jar behind when she ran off to tell the others in village about him! I remembered how he healed that blind man, and how the man kept changing the way he talked about him calling him first a man, then a prophet then calling him “Lord.” I remember how that man stood up to the Pharisees and talked right back to them, asking “so why are you asking me all this? Do you want to become disciples too?” I had to laugh at that. I remember my own healing and liberation. I remember how he always included those who were out at the edges and those that the others left out, and that he preached that we must always forgive others, and that his love was a very radical kind of thing, and how he told us to do the same. So when he said that night to love one other as he had loved us, I knew he was asking a lot.

I think he tried to prepare us for what was to come….not just that he was going to die, but that he would be with us again, But he was right in that we did not understand all that he meant. But I had not always understood him. What he said or what he did. Healing people from illnesses, and even bringing his friend Lazarus back to life after four days in the grave. We all know that he had talked of eternal life, we all had come to know there would be a resurrection on the last day, but when he called Lazarus out and asked us to help him loose himself from those grave clothes, our belief in him as the Messiah was strengthened even more.

This was the Rabbi and teacher we loved, who had taught us all along, the one who had amazed us and sometimes baffled us but always loved us. But on that night there was something different about him, a new kind of intensity, an urgency. Now of course it all makes sense, but at the time, all I knew was that what he said was challenging and a little frightening. He talked about others persecuting us and even killing us for following him. And he kept saying he was going away, going to a place that we could not go, and if he did not do this, the spirit could not come. But that if he did go, this spirit he called the Advocate would come and would guide us into truth and righteousness.

And he said he was giving us peace but not the way the world did, but that we should not be afraid. I remember as much as trusted and loved him, I couldn’t help feeling troubled by all this talk of his leaving, and yes, I was afraid. I loved him with all my heart and I did not want him to go anywhere. We had only had him such a short time and he was doing so much good.

Love one another….Oh yes clearly I remember, he said that a second time. He said it so strongly, that command. I remember being a little taken aback by that, as he was so forceful about it. He said “no one has greater love than to lay down his life for a friend.” At the time I had no idea what was to come so soon, that he was talking about himself…his own great love, such great love.

He talked about how in a while we would not see him and again a little while and we would see him…and he said he was leaving the world and going to the Father. And we had no idea….no idea that this meant that in such a short time he would be taken from us, taken off for that travesty of a trial and be mocked and flogged and finally hung on that horrible cross. That was the worst day of my life, standing there with his mother, seeing the pain on her face as she watched him suffer and finally die. We just could not understand. After all that he said and did, for it all to end there, it simply made no sense. I really had believed that night when he said all those things, that he was that close to God, that he was more than just the wonderful Rabbi and teacher that I loved. But that day, I was there and saw it all, and I have to say that my belief in it all, in him, wavered. It pains me to admit it, but it did. When I went to the tomb that dark, dark morning it was to grieve him and to grieve the ideal of all he stood for. I had lost my hope. I had accepted the unacceptable. My Rabboni was dead, and dead with him were the dreams that the Messiah had come and all that came along with that. The group had broken up even before he was tried, hiding, fleeing, denying they knew him, afraid for their own skins. It was worse than if we had never known him. My heart was breaking, I really thought I might die from sadness. The only thing I could think to do was to go to the grave. If nothing else I could be close to the place where Joseph and Nicodemus had laid him. The garden was soothing, maybe I would find some peace just being near him there. But when I arrived to find that the stone had been rolled away from the tomb, the bottom dropped out of my world even more. I had thought I could feel no worse, but I was wrong. My despair knew no bounds as I knew that the grave robbers had likely taken him. I ran for my friends, but all they could do was confirm what I had feared, the tomb was empty, the wrappings all that remained. They went back home. But I could not leave. Something just compelled me to stay. It was not hope, for I had none. There was nothing to hope in. It was not faith, for I had no faith left. It was not belief, for there was no one left to believe in. Then I looked in the tomb. I have no idea why I looked, Simon Peter and John had already told me there was nothing to see. But there were messengers there…two of them who asked me why I was crying. I told them of course, and it was then that I turned and saw the gardener; at least that was what I thought at first, that he was the gardener, or that he was another vision of some kind. That maybe I was just was just hoping that much to see him….but then I remembered that I had no hope, had no faith, had no belief. It had all dies on that awful cross with him. But then in the quiet of that empty place, I hear a familiar beloved voice say my name and I know who this was beyond a shadow of a doubt. It is he who has called by name, he who sees and knows all of me, he who has healed me, he who has recalled me to life even as he has risen from his own death. “Rabbouni, beloved teacher” I cry as I recognize him. I must not let him get away from me again! I cannot go back into that hopeless darkness now that his light has shone on me again. I grasp at him, but gently he pulls away and looks at me with great love, “Don’t hold on to me now. When I go to my Father, I will be available to all of you.” And I remember all of those things he said to us on that last night. And suddenly it all comes together and it all makes sense. This is Jesus, the Messiah, the Incarnate one of God. I trusted him then and I trust him now. This is the greatest news of all! I have seen the Lord and he is risen from the dead!

Palm/Passion Sunday

2011-04-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

A reflection the readings for Palm Sunday by The Rev. Camille Hegg

Palm Sunday is a spectacle and a range of actions and emotions. It goes from Jesus setting his face to Jerusalem and disciples having to decide to follow him and ‘die with him’ as the gospel from last week says. Emotions in that decision had to had been vast and many. Crowds were there waiting for him, with palms on the ground to honor him. How did they know he was coming? Now, we have Twittter and Facebook that can send instant messages to many people to expect and to gather at certain places.

Palm Sunday is a good story. It has drama, mystery, pathos. It goes from festival atmosphere to the confusing, angering, sad actions of human beings reacting to what they don’t understand, and the death of an innocent man. It is a strange story, too. All those events and emotions in just a few paragraphs rather than not an epic novel with chapters nor a history book with footnotes.

In one liturgical day emotions which we experience in our lives happen. What begins with Palm Sunday ends with Passion Sunday. In many churches there is no final processional hymn, but a procession in silence to symbolize the absolute outrage and sadness of what happened.
We find ourselves confronted with outrage and sadness on many occasions. Sometimes, for me, the only response to both of these emotions is silence. Sometimes what starts as a good day ends with some unforeseen event that is sad or outrageous or angering. We may want to shout, but I find silence a better friend than shouting.

It was a Sunday in 1985. The epistle that day was the Ephesians’ admonition to wives to submit to their husbands and so forth. In preparing my sermon I decided it was time to preach on this text. I used a true example of the mother of a grown daughter who came to talk to me. The husband of the daughter had put the daughter in the hospital with internal bleeding, bruises, a black eye, and a broken collar bone. The mother who came to me asked me to pray that the husband would quit beating her daughter. I asked her if she wanted her daughter to go back home with the husband and this mother said, “Oh yes, marriage is sacred. She has to stay with him. I just want him to quit hurting him.”

All of us reading this have stories like this. I decided it was my time to speak about this text. Wiithout going into the sermon much further, I will say that I raised questions for the congregation and said that this was a misunderstanding of the gospel of love. I felt that I had done a good job of preparing and delivering the sermon. I received a very loud applause. I was surprised and I will admit it felt good. That feeling stayed with me through the morning. When I walked into my house after church the hpone rang and it was my sister telling me that our father had died that morning of a massive coronary. I was silent. I finally said that I would be there soon.

This story is nowhere near the events of Passion/Palm Sunday. It came to me as an instance of a time when I myself went from that ‘festival’ of the palms and the procession, (feeling uplifted from my preparation and delivery of the sermon, the congregation’s response), to the “passion” of the sudden, unexpected and stunning sadness of learning of my father’s death. Over the years I have pondered my father’s sudden death, but never have I thought of it in this context. A Sunday like this week’s does have something to say to us about life’s changes and chances. It is remarkable to me that the church, lectionary, seasons, community can help us process our lives amidst the changes and chances of our lives.

Seeing With New Eyes

2011-04-02T13:58:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Lent 4A: John 9:1-41 by the Rev. Margaret Rose

I love to travel. Perhaps it comes from growing up in a small town where the world beyond always seemed to invite me to something more and better. And even as a child it didn’t much matter where outside: a bus to Atlanta to visit a friend when I was six, or a drive to an even smaller town nearby—Villa Rica which my mother reminded me meant “Village of the Rich” in another exotic language or so she said. That love of travel had to do with a desire to experience something new, visit another place and to see something I had not seen before. Now “traveling” has become a metaphor for seeing things anew, suspending belief and starting with a clean slate experiencing lives and sights that do not have my history or baggage. Traveling to far off places or to new neighborhoods allows me to let go assumptions or labels or judgments, generalities, or stereotypes.

Traveling has become a state of mind which is about heightened senses and paying attention to surroundings, getting away from the routine in order to get at the heart and soul of a place, a culture, a person. Some days even walking to work is like traveling, if I have allowed my mind to be uncluttered by the worries of the day and can simply observe the life around me. Taking notice of the environment, of who and what is there. It may be a “green raincoat day” or a “dog walking day”, or one where it seems everyone needs help crossing the street. Patterns emerge I had not seen before. No doubt they are not real patterns but part of everyday, but with open eyes I somehow see what I had long ignored.

This may be a simplistic way to think about the story of the Man Born Blind in John’s gospel. Certainly, it is one of the “miracle stories” but the real truth of the text is in the whole story and the movement from those whose eyes may see but who are spiritually blind to the truth that sight does not rest in the eyes only. ( This is no doubt why the RCL has included all 41 verses of the story.) The lead up offers one more example of Jesus turning the social structure on its head—healing on the Sabbath, and the discussion of whose fault it is that the man is blind and Jesus’ retort that this is not about sin but the need for healing. Neither his parents’ guilt nor his own is the culprit. (Something we would do well to remember.) The deep lesson of the text comes in the dialog between the blind man and those who hear about or witness the miracle. The man born blind becomes increasingly insightful even as the religious leaders are more blind to the identity of Jesus and the meaning of the miracle.

The dialog plays out like a comedy street scene: the beggar is healed by Jesus using what might be a folk way of mud and saliva and prayer. The onlookers do not believe it is really the same man or that he can really see so they deny it among themselves: This wasn’t really the blind beggar was it? No, just someone like him is the reply. Others respond to the blind man’s proclamation that he can now see by whispers of denial among themselves: He wasn’t really blind in the first place. Still others go to his parents to confirm his identity and his infirmity.

Clearly , the Pharisees did not want to have their eyes opened to Jesus. To accept that the healing was of God would call into question their set rules, would have forced them to give up some very precious and long held understandings about life codes and ways of worship. Their privilege as religious leaders might be called into question. They had a lot to lose by listening to the words of the outcast better, a blind man, a lot to lose if they began to explore the possibility that this healing was of God, or that Jesus might possibly be the prophet or a foretold messiah. In short, a lot to lose by having their eyes opened. Those physically able to see became spiritually blind, unable as they were to risk the loss of comfort, power and long held assumptions of their faith.

The blind man, however had nothing to lose. He knew his infirmity, his blindness, and knew that Jesus had opened his eyes. As he told the story, becoming aware of Jesus’ identity, he is able to proclaim it. The poor blind beggar is open to grace and to Jesus as the Christ. The one who was blind is able in the end to see most clearly physically and spiritually.
What about us? What helps us to see most clearly the healing that God offers us? Perhaps first it has to do with recognizing the places where we too suffer from spiritual blindness, examining what we hold most closely and imagining that others may hold opposite views just as faithfully. In a parish I served, we decided one year to have a program called “Controversial Issues and How to Talk about Them” As one might expect, the series included such topics as sexuality, economics, abortion. There were those who were clear about what the moral or Christian response to each dilemma was to be. But the group agreed that the ground rule for the work would be “sacred listening”, acknowledging that each of us may have some blindness within ourselves. The ensuing conversations were not easy. But the transformation made possible by the commitment to listening created bonds of community which would not be broken across lines of disagreement.

A few years later, the youth director of that same parish had twins, born prematurely, and as it turned out one is completely blind and the other with significant visual impairment. I recently visited them back in that same small town where I grew up. The boys are now about 2, and though there are ongoing issues, they are healthy. As Luke and Jack romped and tumbled and climbed over each other, their mother and me, as they ran around the house shouting and laughing, I could not help but think of the text for today. When this young couple discovered they were pregnant, their joyful expectation of parenthood did not anticipate so great a challenge. Some of the ready made plans had to be forgotten. No doubt this Sunday, these parents will be listening to the text and wondering if Jesus might come by to spit on the ground and hold healing mud on the eyes of their two boys.

But it may be that the healing mud has already come. The eyes of the parents are open to the deep life of God’s spirit working within them and their boys. And they have become a gift to the community they serve. Would I want their eyes to be repaired? Of course. But the ability to see does not depend on it. Thanks be to God.

Lent 3A

2011-03-25T08:56:00.001-07:00

Reflection on John 4:5-42 by Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

We humans are by and large social creatures who do not take well to being isolated. Cultural and religious groups who use shunning, or separation from the group, as a consequence of negative behavior understand this well and use its impact to good effect. In our own criminal justice system, a person already being punished for a crime can be further penalized by being “put in solitary” for a period of time.

Other than when Harry Potter dons his cloak of invisibility, there is rarely a time when we don’t want to be visible to others, to be known and appreciated as unique individuals beyond stereotypes of gender, age, race ability or orientation. We have deep needs to speak and be heard, to make connections, to be linked to one another. So vital is this bond that infants who do not have the opportunity to make healthy human attachments in their early lives can fail to develop, fail to thrive and can even die.

It really is all about the relationship, the connection. Jesus got it. It’s all over the Gospels. It’s there in his encounter with the Samaritan woman. This woman who came to the well alone in the heat of the day for some reason… an outcast even among outcasts perhaps? We don’t know. In the Gospel story, Jesus says she has had five husbands, and the “one she had now” was not her husband, but we can only speculate on what that might mean. We might impose meanings; we think we might know her story. Was she simply a user of men? Or had she been the one used? Picked up and thrown away by them for whatever reason. Perhaps it was because she could not bear children, which in that time was a shameful failing on a woman’s part and could indeed get her summarily divorced, perhaps even repeatedly.

But in the end it really doesn’t matter, because at the well that day, there was simply a woman …and Jesus saw her. He saw her and he knew her for more than her isolated self, and more than her shame. He saw beyond whatever role she had been cast in, or even imposed on herself in self-protection. He told her “everything she had ever done” not to judge or shame her but simply because he saw the whole of her just as she was. And being seen, she entered into relationship with him and saw who he truly was as well, God with her there in that moment. Transformed by that moment of connection, she finds herself running toward the community to share her story, no longer shameful, invisible and isolated.

We too encounter and are encountered by the living God. In those encounters our authentic selves are laid bare….our souls in all their glory in the image of God as we were created, but also in our weakness and our sinfulness. And all of this is the Good News. Jesus answers the question asked by the people in Exodus, “Is the Lord among us or not?” He is not only among us, but becomes us, so he can sit with a woman at a well in the heat of the noonday sun and tells her, as he tells us all we have ever done, who he is and who we can be.

I believe that by virtue of our baptismal covenant, we too are called to truly see one another. Those we bump up against every day who are invisible, cloaked and hiding. Some are coming to the well at noonday by choice to avoid the shaming of the crowd; some have had their isolation foist upon them. Some are still hopeful that one day they will belong again; others have given up all hope that their thirst for community will ever be slaked. What would happen if we really saw them? Would they be transformed? Would they too know that they too are seen, known and beloved of God? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to find out?

Lent 2A

2011-03-19T13:42:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Lent 2a by The Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

The startling thing about the lessons for this Sunday is that the first three – the story from Genesis about God’s promise to Abram; the beloved and familiar Psalm 121, which also promises God’s unfailing stability and protection; and Paul’s re-cap of the Abram story emphasizing faith in the God whose promises are to be believed – contrast so much with the news of the world around us. How do we navigate this radical disconnect, between what people what people will hear in church on Sunday with what they read in the morning news or heard on their car radios as they drove to church: stories of displacement, instability, fear, shaking ground and monstrous seas and deadliness in the very air they breathe. That’s only Japan and the Pacific Rim. If we turn to news from the other side of the world, the very ground on which Abram, Paul and the psalmist actually walked, we hear of leaders brutally oppressing the people in their charge and violently repelling all who dissent.

I suppose there was a time when we could view such developments from the relative safety, comfort and stability of our North American communities. Dare I say that the “suburban captivity of the church” was one of the factors that insulated us from the cries and whispers of the world? Yes, but back in that (perhaps fictionally) bucolic day, communication in word, image and sound was far less immediate. We could deal with these tragedies in bits and pieces, could respond when we had the capacity to understand what was going on. What a luxury that seems by today’s frantic, frenetic standards, where all the information we get from all sides completely contradicts the message in those three scriptural snippets.

The collect, which Verna Dozier in her bible studies based on the lectionary said set the theme of the day, makes me a bit uncomfortable in this context. I have heard too many Christians jump far too quickly and facilely from “all who have gone astray from your ways” to penitent hearts, steadfast faith and the unchangeable truth of your Word. I’ve had too many people’s absolute convictions of too many truths thrown in my face too many times to find them helpful, much less convincing.

But then we have Nicodemus. Nicodemus lives, like we do, in the terrible world of disconnects, between the reality he lives and sees around him, and the promises of God, which as a faithful Jew, he knows very well. Many Christians can no doubt – and without doubt – jump right to the end of this passage, to those words of absolute assurance, salvation and confidence, words so well known that flashing “John 3:16” on billboards communicates all these people think we need to know.

In these mid-March days, I find I can hardly get beyond something Jesus says earlier in the conversation with Nicodemus: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” The Spirit, Jesus implies, is one who destabilizes, shakes up, confuses. It rumbles from underground without warning, blows in from far away without notice. Does this mean that life in the Spirit, the born-again life, is a life where you do not know what will happen next? Where you do not know where God will lead you? That eternal life is not about something perishable, or, well, predictable, like death and taxes, but about something as unpredictable and wild as the wind?

Lent 1

2011-03-13T05:43:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for First Sunday of Lent:Genesis 2:15 - 3:21; Psalm 32; Romans 5:12-21; Matthew 4:1-11 by Janine Goodwin, M.S. Ed., M.A.

All people and all places matter, and yet there are some that are closer to our hearts because our lives are entwined with them. I am a native of the Pacific Rim, an Oregonian by birth and by choice, and I have been watching the coverage of natural disasters around the Ring of Fire with a sense of wordless prayer since the Christchurch earthquake of February 22. The earthquake and tsunami in Japan have intensified that prayer and that sense that the ground can always shift beneath us; no place is safe, no possession is secure.

This frightens me less than it used to. I don’t know whether that is spiritual growth or just general fatigue combined with the increasing realization of mortality. I do know that the pictures and the stories of present disaster, the evacuations of places I know, and the view of the fault-block mountains near my home all seem to ask the question:

What matters most?

It is a very Lenten question.

What matters most to almost all the people in the disaster zone is not just their survival, but the survival of those they love. A woman carries a child through rubble. A man wades through floodwater holding on to his child with one hand and a cat carrier with the other. In the cruelest of ironies, a woman is killed because she ran back into a building to get her cell phone so that she can call her family and find out whether they are safe. People call across oceans to say they are trapped and dying and to say goodbye, to hear a beloved voice one more time. Strangers risk their lives to help others without even asking what is important to them. Rescuers converge from around the world to hunt through rubble until the survivors are found, and dedicated workers sift ashes looking for the remains of those who could not be saved. A few lost souls who think material things matter most, despite the evidence all around them, loot ruined stores.

Improbable escapes are called miraculous, and perhaps they are, but I cannot ask why one person is saved when another dies or believe God is choosing to “take” those who die. I believe in a God who is with us whether we live or die, whether we believe or not, whether we took the step that led to death or life with divine guidance or by simple chance, whether we have a chance at all. I believe in a God whose love transcends death and a God who weeps with us as Jesus did, not a puppet-master God, not a cosmic child building and destroying and choosing which toys will die.

I see that theme everywhere these days, so it is understandable that I see it in these scriptures. Relationship with God matters more than total freedom to eat any fruit (though I do wish for a version of the myth in which the first humans ask God why it is so important to obey the prohibition). Paul speaks of a God who wants to be in relationship with us no matter what we’ve done, and chooses to become one of us. And Jesus, in the Gospel, rejects every attempt to turn him aside from the most important thing, his relationship with God and the task he is called to do.

I want to know what matters most and base my life on it now. It won’t save me from anything; life is not safe and faith is not about guarantees of anything but God's presence no matter what. If I know what matters to me, if I spend this Lent listening for the stern yet joyful grace that refuses all distractions, I will have lived, no matter how I die.

What matters most to you? What would you care about if no property, no job, no home were left to you? What will you do, this Lent, to make sure you put first what matters most?

Facets of Transformation

2011-03-05T11:43:00.000-08:00

A Reflection on the readings for Last Epiphany/Transfiguration, Matthew 17:1-9, by The Rev. Teri C. Pilarski

The auditorium at the Salvation Army on 14th Street in New York City was filled to capacity. Women from around the world, young and old, from many countries, colors, religions, ethnicities and cultures, gathered for the 55th United Nations Commission on the Status of Women (UNCSW) NGO orientation. A variety of Non-Governmental Organizations (NGO’s) and their representatives were present. Some NGO’s made presentations at the orientation and most NGO’s offered flyers advertising the workshops they were sponsoring for the two week UNCSW.

The keynote speaker for the orientation was Michelle Bachelet, former President of Chile, and current Under-Secretary General at the United Nations and the Executive Director of the newly formed UN Women. You can read about her and her speeches here. Ms. Bachelet is an inspiring woman with great intelligence and keen insight. She holds a privileged position at the UN, one which will enable her to advocate for issues that concern women and girls, keeping them at the forefront of all UN discussions.

Later that afternoon, in a break-out session on the topic of women, girls, and education, I found myself in discussion with two women from Morocco. Dressed in headscarves the two women shared stories about the trials little girls face in an effort to acquire an education in rural Morocco. These include the risk of being attacked on the way to school by wild dogs, and or raped and kidnapped by groups of men, or being forced into household labor for wealthy urban families. Their greatest concern was the illegality of the headscarf in the classroom. Wearing the religious headscarf is illegal in some school systems. Therefore girls who wish to practice their faith and wear the scarf are prevented from acquiring and education. These women from Morocco wanted to understand the UN system of advocacy, how to make their concerns known and how to get some action for the well-being of the girl-child in Morocco.

A day earlier I attended the Ecumenical Women’s Orientation at the United Nations Church Center. At this orientation I heard a panel of speakers discuss the role of advocacy at the UNCSW. One woman named Marta said this: Go to a caucus, learn who your UN Representative is. Watch for that person to leave, perhaps go to the bathroom. Follow the person and when you catch up to them be prepared to 1. Share a short story that conveys your concern and 2. Give the representative one or two key points you want them to take back with them to UN discussions.

I shared this with the women from Morocco and gave them two flyers I had on caucuses for the education of girls. I encouraged them to go and find their representative and share their story and concerns. I told the women that I will hold them in my prayers and every time I think of Morocco I will think of them. Their story is now part of me.

When I shared this story with my Bishop one of his observations was that, I, a privileged white woman from the United States, had access to knowledge that these women from Morocco did not. He makes a valid point.

However, what I really think is that these women are smart, savvy, survivors, and they would have found the answer sooner or later. I just happened to be there. And honestly, I don’t know if the information I gave them is what they really needed or used. What I do know is that they probably figured it out. And, because of their efforts, there will be some movement toward the improvement in the quality of life for little girls in rural Morocco.

I spent a week in New York City attending the UNCSW and the parallel NGO events. Because I am currently under-employed and have had to piece together an income for the last 20 months I had no resources to pay for my trip to this event. Thankfully, and gratefully, I was sponsored by Anglican Women’s Empowerment (AWE). In the course of my life, rising up from a working class family, acquiring two Master’s degrees (and the student loan debt), and working in fields that are male-dominated, I have faced many challenges and struggles as a girl and as a woman. And even still I remain a privileged white woman. Nonetheless this privileged status is not without significant life lessons. Frankly, not all white privilege is the same. Being white can mask the ways in which I have been subjected to misogynistic prejudice, stereotypes, classism, and systems of dysfunction.

A few days ago a friend of mine was ordained. I have known her since 1995 when we were both in seminary together. For a variety of reasons her ordination process was stopped and she was subjected to some painful scrutiny. She graduated from seminary and proceeded on to a career as a hospital chaplain. Then, a few years ago, the call to ordination began to percolate in her again, culminating in her ordination some fifteen years after the process was stopped. Her ordination reminds me that the Holy Spirit is tenacious and always gets her way. Sooner or later, regardless of how humans try to divert her, the Holy Spirit ends up moving us. Her job, like the mountain top experience of the disciples who witness Jesus’ transfiguration, is to lead us into and through transformative experiences of grace. Her job is to enliven the work of God in and through us. The Holy Spirit walks us through the challenges life throws our way and sustains us with the love of Christ. The Holy Spirit is alive in us, transforming our challenges into compassion and love for ourselves and for others. The Holy Spirit enables us to turns life’s challenges into privileges of insight, self-awareness, and other-awareness. My theology professor believed in the power of the Holy Spirit to continue her work even into the after-life. By this he meant that human beings are unable to wake up to the privileges of the Spirit until we are broken open and transformed, and for some that means death comes first.

My life experiences have left me with a heightened sensitivity to the issues of women and children, increasing my capacity for compassion. I suspect that my experiences at the UNCSW, the stories I heard, the experience of being in the presence of 8500 women from around the world, and, the facts I learned, will become epiphanic, life changing experiences. I will be transformed, over and over again, as I reflect on this time. I have been made acutely aware, in new ways, that privilege has many facets. Sometimes privilege leads to abuse and oppression, and becomes life-depleting. I certainly learned a lot about that manifestation of privilege at the NGO workshops. But there are other expressions of privilege that can be life-giving.

I am privileged to have met these women and to have heard their stories. I am privileged to have worn my “collar” of ordination as a witness to the role of women clergy activists for social justice. As ordained women our role is not “better” than others. My role as an ordained woman is distinctive and particular, and comes with a privileged potential to open doors and hearts. Wearing my collar gets me into hospitals and ICU’s and people’s lives. Peter, filled with awe at the realization of who Jesus is, wanted to give Jesus a place of privilege. But Peter’s understanding of privilege would have contained Jesus, contained God’s love, to the mountain top. Jesus tells Peter, and us, the love of God is for everyone. We are all privileged in God’s eyes. The love of God exists within the beauty of our diversity. We are not intended to contain our differences nor does God intend for us to all be the same. Whether through a clergy collar or a headscarf or a prayer shawl or any other expression of faith God’s love expresses itself in the rich diversity of all humanity.

On My Street - A Reflection on Epiphany 7

2011-02-17T05:40:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the reeadings for Ephiphany 7:Leviticus 19:1-18, Matthew 5: 38-48, and 1 Corinthians 3:10-23 By The Rev. Karla Jean Miller

I live in a neighborhood where most of the block has lived in their houses for at least 50 or so years. In fact we bought our house from a retired couple who had lived on the block for over 50 years. I think we are the third owners of this 104 year old home! My neighborhood, although it is changing a little, was, back in the day, the landing spot for many first generation Italian-Americans moving out of the North End of Boston. Now, their children live in these single family and two family homes. There is definitely an Italian “flava” in my hood.

The woman who lives across the street, and is as Italian and Bostonian as it gets! She speaks her mind, speaks it loudly, and is unabashedly unapologetic. She gets things done. Let’s call her Loretta. Loretta also is president of a non-profit “ahgahnizashun” that rescues cats and dogs and finds them homes.

Next door to me live aging siblings, Steven and Julietta, who have big personalities themselves, and not always in a positive way. They have a houseful of cats (incidentally, so do I , but that is another story). So, it was natural for Julietta to volunteer for Loretta’s organization. That worked out alright for awhile, but it was inevitable that this would explode. Indeed, it did. Julietta had a falling out with Loretta, whom she felt was not as responsible as she should be. (If the Department of Agriculture has you on their hit list, well, jus’ sayin’.)

So, for the past three years, they haven’t spoken to each other, unless absolutely necessary—but with me living next door, it hasn’t been necessary too often. Usually one will ask me to relay a message to the other. You get the picture. When the snow buried all of us this winter, I took Loretta’s third-hand rusty snow thrower to try and clear a path in front of Julietta and Steven’s home—they aren’t very spry.

Loretta yelled at me from across the street, “Let Stephen do it himself. He can use the snow-thrower— he knows how to work it.” They really, really do not like each other—in spite of being neighbors for years.
Across the street from Julietta and Stephen live a whole host of Italian grandpas. Seriously. I can’t explain it—somehow they are all related, and they all are in their 70s-80s. I am friendly with Rocco. Rocco has a thick Italian accent and brings me celery and tomatoes and zucchini and basil from his garden. Rocco likes me. Rocco, I learned, does not so much like Loretta.

One day, I was walking my doggies on the street where Rocco was standing, smoking and watching traffic. Loretta drove by, slowed down, and rolled down her window so her dog, Nickel, could say hi to my doggies. Nickel jumped out of the window, and all of a sudden it was dog chaos on a busy street. I yelled at Rocco to grab Nickel, but he looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I was so IRRITATED with his unwillingness to, oh, do the right thing and help his neighbor? I finally was able to corral all three dogs safely, but my heart was shaken! I couldn’t trust my neighbor to help? He would let Nickel get hit by a car? What kind of neighbor is this?

The Leviticus text this week talks all about right relationship with neighbors. Love your neighbor as yourself. Mathew reminds us to turn the proverbial “other cheek” (which I think has to do with forgiveness and going beyond, rather than allowing yourself to be abused. I also really like Walter Wink’s take on this passage, but I digress.) Matthew also exhorts the reader to “love their enemies.”

What happens when your neighbor is your enemy, or when your enemy is your neighbor? This is the tension that lives in my neighborhood. It makes me sad. It makes me sad because it isn’t that hard to do the right thing—to be neighborly. Is it really worth it to give bad blood so much energy? I don’t think so. But then, I live in a different reality.
Sometimes I live in the cocoon of my life and ministry, where I am surrounded by people who honestly strive and struggle to do the right thing, people who want to give, want to help, want to love as best and deeply as they can. Realizing that only about 10% of the people of the Commonwealth are participants in communities of faith reminds me that I don’t always live in the real world---like my neighborhood! These people don’t know, or don’t remember that there is real and richer way to live. They don’t hear these words of exhortation; they don’t know they are temples of God’s spirit, and that they are made in the image of God.

Living in my neighborhood reminds me that the light of God’s love shines very dimly in so many pockets of our lives. As a person of faith, as a person of Love, I need to shine that grace wherever I go. As a person of faith, however, I also need to find better ways to help 90% of those find their own lights to shine, so that the neighborhood of the world can truly be a home of hope, of healing, of forgiveness and mercy.

Epiphany Six,

2011-02-12T05:20:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Epiphany 6:Deuteronmy30:15-20; Psalm 119:1-8;I Corinthians 3;1-9; Matthew 5:21-37; by The Rev. Camille Hegg

I bought valentines on Thursday, two that I hoped two granddaughters would think cute. On Friday morning I put $5.00 in each envelope, signed the cards and mailed them. One was a stylized butterfly covered in hearts; the other a ladybug, her “spots” different colored hearts, Three or four three years ago the little one asked me (she is now seven) how to draw a heart. I broke it down to two motions and told her she didn’t have to make each side even or the same size. She draws hearts all the time now. They both have T-shirts that read “I (heart) NY,” their special request as I went to New York last year.

Heart shapes, especially during valentine season, are very visible these days. There is a national jewelry store that designs necklaces, earrings and bracelets in heart shapes. One advertises jewelry that is an open heart saying that an open heart allows “love to come in.” Pajamas come with hearts on them, we are encouraged to buy candy, flowers and cards during this season of heats. And remember those little candies in the shape of a heart that have a message on them? “Be mine”’etc I understand they have been updated with things like “text me.”

But it is always a ‘season of hearts.’ The ancients wrote and pondered that part of the body that is called the heart is, in fact, the center of the emotions. It does seen that way when we experience some things: our loved ones; our new baby; a sunrise; full moon. A feeling of excitement does seem to start from the heart. Likewise, a sense of guilt, remorse, or grief also seem to start from the heart. A “broken heart” comes from betrayal or deep sadness. Whether emotions actually begin with the heart, or the heart registers and transmits them is a question people have long pondered. The metaphor of the heart is found throughout the Bible and especially in many of Jesus’ teachings. As a metaphor, there is an understanding that the heart represents a core of humanity, our loves and cares, and implies that when we are authentic with ourselves and others heart and actions match.

In the gospel for this Sunday Jesus, teaches about actions that refer to the heart and which match the feelings. When Jesus speaks about lust, anger, reconciliation, careless oaths, he is talking about hearts, and actions that reflect authenticity. We see throughout his life this authenticity. This gospel is not just a list of do’s and don’t, but a glimpse of the heart of God.

In her new book “The Meaaning of Mary Magdalene” Cynthia Bourgeault says Mary Magdalene is the “woman at the Heart of Christianity.” For so many women she is a hero in part because she is so prominent in Jesus’ life and because even a smidgen of it made it into scriptures. Knowing what we know about how scriptures came to be written, chosen and preserved we realize that it is remarkable that Mary Magdalene was included in stories of his life and death. For me she is brave and determined to function authentically in spite of the patriarchy. So has she done so for these two thousand years of Christianity which have not silenced her but have enabled us authors to explore her and her role with Jesus.

Her heart seems to be Jesus’ heart. And Jesus taught and acted so as to show us the heart of God. It is that the physical life can mesh with the spiritual life and help us be “fully human,” reflecting the wisdom of “what is above is also below” The one who is fully human has grasped the essence of God. Bourgeault expresses it as a union of finite and infinite, or a union of opposites within oneself. Mary Magdalene was able to become fully human, not by parroting Jesus’ teaching, but because, as it says the in Gospel of Mary Magdalene, she was able to ‘turn the hearts” of the disciples to the Good. She lived so that she could move in the world and especially with the disciples seeming to understand that an apostle is as an apostle does. For me, Christian and feminist, Mary turns my heart to the Good. The more she is written about and pondered over, the more I can take heart for her presence in history and my own life.
Valentine’s day may be a season of hearts, but turning our hearts to the Good is always in season.

Epiphany 5A: Letting My Light Shine……

2011-02-04T14:57:00.000-08:00

A reflection on Matthew 5:13-20 by The Rev. Margaret Rose

A few years ago I heard a Bill Moyers interview with Bernice Johnson Reagen. A Georgia native, she was the director of a program in African American history at the Smithsonian and the leader of a favorite singing group, Sweet Honey in the Rock. She and Moyers spoke of church and the important role the church had played as a place of liberation and freedom for many slaves. Later, during the Civil Rights Movement, the Church continued in many places to play a vital role. In the interview, they spoke of music and its central role in the survival of slaves. Singing spirituals carried people through the hard work and helped them survive the abuse. They were songs which spoke of God’s love and a hope of heaven which would carry them beyond the drudgery of their days. One of the songs Moyers asked her about was the one that our children often sing, “This little light of mine”. It was sung during marches and was oft repeated in the days of the Civil Rights Movement. “Why not ‘This little light of ours?’ asked Moyers.” After all, wasn’t it part of a group effort, a community movement.? Aren’t we trying to get away from all this rugged individualism in America toward interdependence?” “Yes, replied Reagen. “But each one of us individually has to believe that our light, our lilfe is worth shining out, worth offering to the movement. We have to believe that we are worth it individually before we can come together to say, We are going to let OUR light shine.” She went on, and I paraphrase:

For a people who’ve been told they are worthless for too long, we need to stand tall, believing that this light of mine is worth shining. To claim my light is to proclaim that I , along with everybody else am made in the image of God. My contribution is valued because it is mine. And then it can be part of the whole.

We have come a long way in understanding all creation as “made in the image of God”, but knowing this in our heads and living it in our hearts is not the same thing.

I am reminded of a woman in our parish who had worked hard for the success of an event, spending late hours cooking and finally cleaning up as the event was over. I thanked her, ‘Great job!” I said. “Oh, it wasn’t much,” she said. “These hands are not good for much.” She went on, stretching her hands out to me. I of course tried to convince her otherwise, but not to much avail at that moment. Until she could claim her own light, see herself in God’s image, good for lots of things, then the light will be under a bushel. “This light of mine” will need to overcome a history which still lingers in such hymns as “Beneath the Cross of Jesus” ( remember that one?) The original version went like this: Two wonders I confess; the wonders of redeeming love and my own worthless ness. The 1982 Hymnal has changed to “my unworthiness”—not much better in my view. We may not in fact deserve God’s redeeming love, but we are not in any case worthless. If we were, why would God bother? Made in the image of God we are part of God’s Body. Great worth. Let your light shine.

Matthew in his continuation of the message of the blessings of the Beattitudes is not interested in our worthlessness but in our great worth to God. You are the light. Do good works, because that is what it is to be God’s creature. We are the light. Shine, do good works because that is what it is to be ourselves, authentically human, claiming the gift that God in Jesus and in ourselves.

That is not to say that such claiming is easy. One has only to look around the world and in our own country to realize the light is too easily extinguished by a world that does all it can to extinguish the light from within.

I think here particularly about women—trafficked in our own country and abroad. Apparently the Super Bowl this weekend will be a big moment for bringing women to Dallas either from across the border or elsewhere. Women as weapons of war, rape victims who then are outcast by society are common occurrences. The recent execution of a woman in Afghanistan for blasphemy, the rape of women in the Congo and the violence that is escalating against women in the tents in Haiti are but a few examples of how far we are from being able to live out the vision of the shining light.

One hopeful sign is the statement of the Anglican Primates, written from their recent meeting in Dublin. ( I am sure it is on a link for the Anglican Communion site) They have asked the Provinces to identify theological and practical resources for responding to gender based violence. And more important, they have committed their Provinces to raise the profile of Millennium Development Goal 3: Promote gender equality and empower women.

Such a word from the primates has been a long time coming and there has been much work in the background to bring it about. Nevertheless, these are steps in living out Matthew’s Gospel word and that of Bernice Johnson Reagen: This light of mine. Let it shine! Give thanks for small steps that will make it possible for light to overcome the darkness.
Amen.

Epiphany 4A

2011-01-29T14:26:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Epiphany 4A: Micah 6. 1-8, Psalm 15, 1 Corinthians 1: 18-31, Matthew 5:1-12 by the Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

Not for the first time since I started writing for this blog I am completely confused about the readings…The Church in Wales is using 1 Kings 17. 8-16, 1 Corinthians 1. 18-31, John 2. 1-11. So, the only reading we have in common is 1 Corinthians. I can quite understand why the Church in Wales (as well as the Church of England) have opted for Jesus’ first miracle at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, it has been sadly neglected during this season of Epiphany, but the Beatitudes from the Sermon on the Mount also have a lot to offer.

The Beatitudes give us a complete vision of how to live, the eight Beatitudes should be considered together, not simply as individual statements reflecting different categories of people. Rather, they reflect the broad spectrum of followers of Jesus.

The Beatitudes outline Jesus’ mission to Israel. He has come as a herald of good tidings to the poor and oppressed and they receive hope through God. Blessings will be heaped upon those who are poor in spirit, those who grieve, those who care about what is right, those who are meek, those who are compassionate, those who are pure in heart, those who spread peace and those who are persecuted in Jesus’ name. There is no room for those who have an over-inflated opinion of themselves..humility is the order of the day. I think that is reflected in Jesus’ example at the wedding in Cana of Galilee. After-all, it is Mary, his mother that pushes him forward. She expects that simply explaining the situation to her son will lead him to do something about it. When we come to the end of our human resources, and we simply have nothing left to say or do, or give in a situation, so too we can turn to God in prayer and tell him what has happened. On the one hand there is that vision of the doting mother, turning to her son..on the other a vision of us all turning to God in prayer. Jesus doesn’t rebuff his mother quite as forcefully as it seems, the term ‘woman’ in Aramaic (or even in Greek) is not as forceful as it appears in English. Jesus uses the same term when he is dying on the cross.

This is a family wedding, men and women would have been separated at the ceremony and the party afterwards. Mary surprises her son by venturing near him, on the wrong side of the divide, to suggest they need to find some more wine. It would not have necessarily been Jesus’ responsibility, he and Mary we probably not the closest relatives, but Mary probably wanted to save her nearest and dearest any embarrassment…and great embarrassment there would have been had the party run out of wine..!
Jesus isn’t quite ready to come forward yet…he responds in humility ‘my time has not yet come’. I’m not sure how ‘its okay, it is under control, I am the Son of God and can do anything’ would have gone down…Jesus would probably have been laughed out of the room.

Mary, however is determined, she is not put off by Jesus’ response, she reassures the officials that they should do whatever Jesus tells them, and so they follow his instructions and that first great miracle is performed.
The Beatitudes teach us that persistence in faith is absolutely necessary, without persistence we will not inherit the kingdom of heaven. There must be persistence despite persecution, we must persist and persevere for what is right.

Mary knows that pushing her son forward is right, she knows that sooner or later he must be revealed as the Son of God, the Messiah. He might not be quite ready, but sometimes, it is our mothers that know best – even the Son of God relies on his mother to set him on the right road.
I think Mary is the ultimate example of perseverance, what joy and pain she must have gone through throughout the life of her most beloved Son. She bore a tremendous burden and that gives us great hope.

There are many difficulties in this life, as outlined in the beatitudes. We must persevere in faith for our Saviour Jesus Christ’s sake. Perhaps women understand that most of all. Life is not always easy, and it seems that there are always battles to face. We must always remember that we are all one in Christ Jesus, we are all inheritors of the Kingdom of Heaven. As Paul says in his first letter to the Corinthians ‘consider your own call, brothers and sisters.’ We are all called in equality to the kingdom of heaven and we all have our own role to play. God calls us all, no matter how small, weak or insignificant we may be. It may be that Mary stood up and fought for her Son who she believed in, and pushed him forward before his time at the Wedding feast at Cana, but that is our role too. No matter how small or insignificant we are, Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount shows that we must stand up for what is right, no matter what we may face, and our reward will be in heaven.

Mary is such a perfect example of faith, let us emulate her as we work to build the Kingdom of God here on earth. We all have a role to play in building the Kingdom of God here on earth, and whatever we do, no matter how small or insignificant it may be if we do it in faith, in hope and in trust then our reward will be great in heaven.

Epiphany 3A

2011-01-21T14:55:00.000-08:00

Reflection for Epiphany 3A:Matthew 4:12-23, by The Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

It’s just an ordinary day, and you’re going about the business of your life. Maybe at work, or in an aisle at Hy-vee trying to decide between the corn and peas, vacuuming a rug, shoveling snow, chatting on-line….and suddenly, there is this person you have never seen before and he stops in front of you and says, “So…. Kate or Sally, Rick or Jim…. Drop everything you’ve got going on there, your tasks, your work, whatever it is and follow me.” Yeah, what would we think, what would we do? Well, that’s the story this morning. Jesus is passing by the Sea of Galilee and he sees Simon and Andrew fishing, doing their every day, regular jobs, and he says “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And “immediately” just like that, no questions asked, as Matthew tells the story, they leave their nets and they follow him. And so, too with James and John. He calls to them and “immediately” they, too leave their boat, their nets, and their father and off they go with him. Ordinary people doing the ordinary tasks of their day until this extraordinary thing happens to them that changes not only their lives but the whole course of history. So do you ever wonder…what made them go? What was it that made them “immediately” drop what they were doing, leave their livelihood, their worldly goods and family member behind and go off with this iterant preacher?

Maybe it was something about Jesus. In John’s Gospel last week we heard another version of this same story. On that story too, the people whom Jesus called to him were transformed by abiding with him, experiencing him.

Perhaps it was God’s power at work. Theologian and writer Barbara Brown Taylor agrees with this. She says that we tend to forget about God’s ability “…. to sneak up on people who are thinking about lunch, not God, and smack them upside the head with glory.”

The truth is we don’t really know what made them do it. What we do know is that they were nothing special as people go. Not wise, or educated, or by any reports even particularly religious or holy people. Just your average folks. Ordinary people called to an extraordinary task of becoming the ones, right along side Jesus of bearing God’s message, of bearing the light. John says Jesus is the light… not much further along in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says, "You are the light of the world. . . Let your light shine before others so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven" (Matthew 5:14-16). And that’s a big inclusive “you”…not just directed to a few disciples on a mountain over two thousand years ago.

Those disciples can give us a lot of hope, though. Here they were, right up close and personal with Jesus, with him every day as he taught and healed and lived out his mission and even so, they didn’t always quite “get” Jesus or his mission. While the Gospels give them their bright and shining moments, we also see them in their all-too bumbling humanity. And yet, they have become our spiritual ancestors, part of that great cloud of witnesses that remind us who and Whose we are. They help us remember that this is God’s work we are being tapped for, called up out of our lives for, that it is God who supports us with what we need as we leave our particular boats and our nets to follow Jesus, and that we can bring whatever we have, whoever we are and that God can make use of us to transform our little corner of the world. God can use us, even if we don’t quite get how it works at the time.

We are all called by baptism to be co-creators with God in building God’s kingdom on earth. We know that God desires that this is a kingdom of mercy and justice, peace and compassion. We know that we are called to love God and love our neighbor. We have Jesus, Emmanuel, God who is with us to show us how to be in this kingdom. We do not have to be perfect in our efforts. Those who went before surely were not! Sometimes we are like Simon and Andrew and James and John who did respond immediately but then spent most of the rest of their discipleship career bumbling along, well-intentioned but often confused, trying to figure out just what it was that this Jesus was asking of them. Hearts in the right place, but often feeling just a half bubble off in trying to do the will of God.
The world as we know it is in great darkness. We are called to be the bringers of the only light that can truly shine through…. Sharing the message of God’s unending love and presence, standing for justice, being peacemakers, bringing mercy to those in need, speaking for the voiceless, healing… feeding.. clothing…tending….All these ordinary acts in our ordinary lives, can bring about extraordinary transformations….people sitting in darkness seeing light….God’s kingdom right here and now.
So whatever it means to us… stretching ourselves to try to see beyond our own small worldview to try to see with God’s eyes, or perhaps turned in a new direction entirely we simply turn our lives "in the same direction as God's life" and let "our wills spill into the will of God" in Barbara Brown Taylor’s words, we have an opportunity follow him, too.

So on an ordinary day, if he came, and he said, “YOU are the light; will you come and bear it into the darkness with me?” Would we drop our nets and go?

Epiphany 2

2011-01-14T13:41:00.000-08:00

A reflection on Epiphany Isaiah 49:1-7; Psalm 40:1-12; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; John 1:29-42 by The Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

Prophets bring us good news that is wrapped up like fish and chips in the bad news of yesterday’s newspaper. After such a week as this, a week of shootings, deaths, violence, floods, riots, epidemics, the anniversaries of earthquakes, and endless punditry on civil discourse, or the lack thereof, gun control or the lack thereof, crosshairs as emblems of surveyors instruments or automatic assault rifles, we NEED good news. We’ll take it wrapped up in anything.

This week we have three readings and four prophets: John the Baptist, Jesus, Isaiah, and our American prophet of Monday’s commemoration, Martin Luther King, Jr. – three out of those four killed for bringing God’s message of hope and possibility and new life.

Last week we read Matthew’s account of the baptism of Jesus by John in the River Jordan. This week, we read the version of this same story in the Gospel of John. There is no crowd scene here; John is alone as Jesus approaches. He admits that he had not met this person Jesus before, but recognizes him immediately: “Behold the Lamb of God!” Nor does John actually baptize Jesus: “I saw the Spirit descend as a done from heaven, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him; but he who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain, this is he who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ And I have seen and have borne witness that this is the Son of God.”

Baptism and witness: the crux of this story of Jesus’ baptism is that from now on all creation is under a new reality, and John, and all of us who read this gospel, are to be witnesses to it. This very act re-creates creation; the water itself is made new. As Jesus says elsewhere, you cannot put new wine into old wineskins. Jesus is not the “cleanse” here, but the cleanser. Jesus whooshes in from God, making the creation come alive in the way God intended it to be. This “Lamb of God” is not the temple sacrifice offered up by flawed and sinful human beings in hopes that God will forgive. This is the Lamb OF GOD, sent BY GOD to break all those old wacky patterns and to bring sinful human beings back into a relationship with God. Come back, God is saying to us. Come back. I offer YOU the Lamb as a way to begin the restoration of OUR relationship.
The passage from Isaiah also speaks of God’s yearning for a restored relationship with humanity. This reading is from Second Isaiah, the author of chapters 40 through 66, writing to the people Israel, still in exile in Babylon but about to be released and sent home to Jerusalem. Cyrus of Persia has conquered the Babylonians, and to Isaiah, he is God’s agent of redemption, even though a non-believer.

The Good News which Isaiah proclaims is that Israel’s suffering is over. The exile was God’s punishment for the people’s faithlessness, but their agony has exceeded their guilt. The graciousness of God now triumphs and what pains they now feel, as they head home, are the birth pangs of the new Jerusalem. If older prophets were harsh with the people for their failings, this one wants to strengthen and comfort these weary people, and to encourage them to be the people God created them to be: the people who seek justice, who live righteously, who are witnesses to the nations of how God intended the world to be.

God’s revelation continues. God still says new things to all of us. God still sends prophets. Martin Luther King, Jr., understood his call to be God’s agent in a troubled time in our history. To a nation that in part understood itself – ourselves – as the new Israel, the city on the hill, to which the nations will flock, a beacon of righteousness, Martin Luther King’s message and words resonated. Some believed God sent him with a message of hope; to others, his words were dangerous and destructive, or rash and impudent. In the most simplistic terms, King the prophet was calling our nation to live up to God’s expectations for us – and even our expectations for ourselves – for our civil society, for our abundance, our justice, our fairness, our openness. For Christians, theologian James Cone writes,

“God’s revelation has nothing to do with white suburban ministers admonishing their people to be nice to black people. It has nothing to do with voting for open occupancy or having a memorial service for Martin Luther King, Jr. God’s revelation means a radical encounter with the structures of power which Martin King fought against to his death.”

As I write this, I can only imagine the barrage of words we will get this weekend, as pundits on the left and right claim the legacy of King and pronounce what they tell us is the (or at least their) final word on the dreadful shootings in Tucson. These pundits will not likely notice, as James Cone does, that what happens is not about them. They won’t get it that what Martin Luther King did and said is not about them, either. What happened last week was a horrible rupture in the relationship God yearns to have with us, the relationship that God has been working on and yearning for since creation. At the end of the above quote paragraph, Cone asserts,

“In a word, God’s revelation means liberation, nothing more and nothing less.”

This is the prophets’ good news, wrapped up in all the troubles the world can dish out.

i James Cone, A Black Theology of Liberation (New York: J.P. Lippincott Co., 1970), p. 92

Hope for Our Souls

2011-01-10T05:33:00.000-08:00

This is a special edition to the Feminist Theology blog,originally written for and posted on my personal blog, but crossposted here at the suggestion of Janine, who wrote her reflection on the Baptism of Jesus before the violent events in Tucson unfolded.

I didn't preach today but I did go to church. I went wondering what words of comfort or wisdom I would hear to help me understand the violence, anger, and insanity, that fed the shootings in Tucson on Saturday. I know this shooting feels particularly personal to me because I lived there for a time and I have been to several events with Congresswoman Giffords. I hold her in high regard. When I heard the news yesterday I was stunned and profoundly saddened.

Having lived there, I know first-hand the propensity toward anger, prejudice, and violence that exists. Alarmingly, these have been increasing over the last few years,particularly in that region of Southern Arizona. It was disturbingly high and chronic in the small community I lived in south of Tucson. While it's true that members of the congregation carried concealed weapons which were always a concern, there were more pronounced issues to contend with. These included chronic, unresolved anger,a pronounced sense of entitlement, a high tolerance for inappropriate acting-out without consequences, and a higher than average level of depression and substance abuse. All of these were further fueled by systemic prejudice and fear.

On this Sunday morning when we gathered to celebrate the feast day of the baptism of Jesus, what sense could we make of the violence yesterday? Eighteen shot, six dead including a Judge and a nine year old girl, and a loved Congresswoman in critical condition, shot point blank in the head.

We didn't baptize anyone in the church I went to today, nor did we renew our baptismal vows, nor did the preacher talk about the meaning of baptism. It was a fine sermon., for another time. It just was not what I needed to hear on this day, the day after that tragedy.

Perhaps, if we had taken some time reflect on the Baptismal Rite, I may have found a bit of what I was hoping for, some understanding, some hope, some accountability?

Yes, accountability.

I know a young man shot these people...but we will fail to learn from this if we minimize this to him and his apparent “mental instability.”

We are a people who have gone astray. We are a people who have forgotten how to live in kindness. We are a people who have forgotten what it means to sin.

Then the Celebrant asks the following questions of the candidates who
can speak for themselves, and of the parents and godparents who speak
on behalf of the infants and younger children.

Question Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?
Answer I renounce them.

Question Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?
Answer I renounce them.

Question Do you renounce all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God?
Answer I renounce them.

Question Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?
Answer I do.

Question Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?
Answer I do.

Question Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?
Answer I do.

Do we really understand what we are saying here? What sin is? What evil is? Do we even really believe that there are such things as sin and evil? Or do we think the Church made them up just to make us feel ashamed and submissive?

As a society we tend to relegate sin to a set of cultural bound moral behaviors. This complicates and minimizes sin because these cultural bound moral behavior(s) deemed "sinful" change over time. Take divorce and remarriage, for example. The Church has enforced the idea that marriage is forever, regardless of how unhealthy a marriage is. The Church has said that divorce is a sin and remarriage is also a sin. In some churches today divorced and remarried people cannot receive Holy Communion.

Sometimes a marriage needs to end because the marriage is causing brokenness and harm. Sometimes marriages need to be worked on, for each party to examine the brokenness and work for reparation and reconciliation and forgiveness. Sometimes we just have to live our marriage vows, to love faithfully through good times and tough times, to work toward wholeness of self and other, instead behaving in ways that cause further brokenness.

The thing is, sin is about behavior - any behavior that causes harm to another and produces broken relationships with God, self, and other human beings. Looked at this way, as broken relationship, we can redirect our efforts from reducing sin to something it is not and toward what sin is.

I tend to define sin as any behavior that causes brokenness between God, self, and others. By this I mean anything that causes me to become broken with God, or broken with myself, or broken with others. Evil is the root that causes that brokenness. Evil is the force that tempts us. Evil is the power that draws us and pulls at us, distorting how we think and see, fooling us into self-deception, encouraging us to act upon self-deprecation, or grandiosity, arrogance, entitlement, and or violence. Evil is real and so is sin. Just look at how broken our world is. How lost we have become. How even basic civility has been pushed aside, how we have lost the ability to assume the best in others.

As a Christian I believe that we humans have souls. It's even possible that there is a “communal soul,” of sorts, that forms in congregations, in communities, in countries. The soul, individually and corporately, responds to how we nourish it and care for it, or neglect it. If we feed the soul with care and compassion we will show care and compassion to others. If we feed the soul with anger and mean-spirited words, we will become angry and mean spirited people. Yes, words matter.

Perhaps that is why the baptismal rite has the entire community listen to those taking these vows and then asks the community to respond with their support:

Celebrant Will you who witness these vows do all in your power to support these persons in their life in Christ?
People We will.

We are all responsible. We all need to renounce evil and embrace compassion, renounce sin, and embrace love, renounce fear and embrace trust, renounce anger and embrace hope. We need the redemption that can only come from turning away from behaviors that cause brokenness in the world, with God/self/others, and turning toward reconciliation. We cannot fool ourselves into thinking this is something we can do on our own - but we can do it with God's help.

In the Episcopal Church the baptismal covenant reminds us of this:

Celebrant Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the
prayers?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
People I will, with God’s help.

So, here is what I wanted to hear: we are all accountable for the sins and evils of the world we live, including the violence yesterday. We are accountable by things we have done and things we have not done. We are accountable by participating, in any way, in acts that have caused brokeness instead of acts that seek wholeness. We all need to turn and return to God, to seek absolution and reconciliation, and to move forward - with God's help - to live as God would have us live.

And, perhaps, with that, turning to God and with God's help living as God would have us, we will find hope for our souls.

Crossposted on SeekingAuthenticVoice

First Sunday after Epiphany: Baptism of Jesus

2011-01-08T09:10:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the Propers for the First Sunday after the Epiphany, the Baptism of Jesus: Isaiah 42:1-9; Psalm 29; Acts 10:34-43; Matthew 3:13-17 by Janine Goodwin, M.A., M.S. Ed.

“See, the former things have come to pass, and new things I now declare; before they spring forth, I tell you of them.”

These new things were strange to the people who first heard them. If we set aside the familiarity of the readings, they are still strange to us now. These passages are not new in the sense that we have never heard of them, but they are most likely new in the sense that they still challenge us to look outside our preconceptions and ask what uncomfortable changes we may need to make if we want to follow Jesus. They remind me of a remark made by G. K. Chesterton, a man with whom I disagree on more points than I have time to discuss, but with whom I must agree on this point: “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and not been tried.”

Speaking in a world full of rulers jostling for territory and wealth, Isaiah shows us not a ruler who will conquer all the other rulers, but a servant more concerned with justice than with power, one who will not exercise force but who will not rest until the necessary work is complete.

Jesus goes outside the religious and political power structure of his time to accept a cleansing that is not for ritual purity, as was the custom, but is a commitment to act righteously and a preparation for a coming judgment; he takes this strange bath at the hands of a ragged outsider who lives in the wilderness and makes strange prophecies.

The passage from Acts is the conclusion of a story in which Peter experiences a strange and repulsive dream and a stranger event in waking life, both of them pointing to the need for the young church to give up its ideas about what customs are acceptable and what are, welcome people from very different cultures, and find a way to include them. Instead of forcing people to change in order to be included, the early church finds itself called to change in order to accept the people the Holy Spirit sends to them.

In these scriptures, God is indeed doing new things, and as usual, is not doing the new things most of us may want. We tend to imagine new things that will make our lives easy, secure, and contented and give us positive change without requiring loss or sacrifice, or we become nostalgic about a past that we see as simpler and better than the present. In both these cases, we are looking for a time when everyone will be happy, safe, and healthy and there are no looming disasters or worrisome uncertainties, forgetting that no such time has ever existed anywhere. Total security in this life is a fantasy that can only be maintained by putting a lot of energy into denial about the past and magical thinking about the future, and our consumer culture is more than ready to use that fantasy to sell us things that are supposed to fix everything and give us trouble-free, uniformly positive change while reminding us of how tasty Grandma’s cookies were. We can’t, however, follow that fantasy without tuning out the messages of today's readings.

Prophets like Isaiah are not just noble souls who give us words to live by (or to read sonorously in beautiful places and then forget); they are also radicals who were spurned and often killed by the power structures of their times. No one knew whether the prophets of their times are true or false, which leaves us with the dreadful responsibility of discernment and the lifelong task of becoming people who can discern responsibly and honestly, because not every person who sounds strange to us is a prophet, but a true prophet is always going to sound strange. The people making prophetic utterances right now may be fakes or faddists. They may be mentally unstable, and they could still be right even if they are; I have long suspected that our culture’s fear of people with mental illness and other mental disabilities is largely due to the fact that such people often have the ability to see uncomfortable truths and speak them far too clearly for anyone’s comfort. True prophets, the ones speak audacious things out of a deeper sanity that challenges the prevailing insanities of a given culture, make enormous demands on us if we take them seriously. Prophets are very dangerous people; the true ones are more dangerous to our security and our self-satisfaction than the false ones.

Jesus, in today’s Gospel, does the one thing that Jesus does consistently: he defies expectation. He practices his faith by going to a wild prophet and accepting a strange rite. He risks being seen as wrong. God’s voice names him as a beloved son, and sets him on the road to a ministry of healing, prophecy, and teaching that will lead to crucifixion because his words frighten both his own people and the empire that conquered them. He goes to John, an outsider who has taken a traditional ritual in a new direction, a step that would cause some present-day churches to dismiss him as a heretic and others to begin a long and careful process of study before they would consider joining in the changes the wild man is making down by the river. John is also a prophet who calls for repentance and talks of a coming kingdom and a judgment, a prophet who will be imprisoned because he confronts a local ruler about his personal ethics and killed because of a family squabble. John is not a safe person to know. Neither is Jesus.

Peter’s radiantly beautiful statement of faith comes between two struggles; his struggle with God and himself over what parts of his faith tradition are unchangeable and which ones must be changed, and his struggle with the church over the same issue once he is comes to believe what he is hearing and seeing. He is convinced, he brings the prophetic word to his companions in faith, and he faces condemnation, argument, and the real risk of exclusion should the wider church refuse what he brings to them.

These are difficult stories if we want comfort and continuity. They are calls to responsibility even if we want to make changes in our own lives and in the life of the world. The kind of change and repentance the prophets and Jesus call for are not easy; they require painful honesty, hard work, and sacrifice. They will lead to opposition. On the private level, people trying to make positive changes in their own lives frequently encounter opposition from those close to them when the change becomes apparent and challenges the comfort level of others. People trying to make a difference at larger levels are met with even more opposition and frequently hear that change is impossible—as though the choices we make or fail to make were not changing the world around us at every moment. It is hard to step forth in faith and trust God to lead us through change. It may seem easier to cling to what we have, yet what we cling to may also be lost.

This is the good news for feminist theology, for those working for the full inclusion of LGBTQ people in the church, for all who believe that the churches can and will survive in a shifting world: that God is indeed telling us that new things are possible, that the outsider and the prophet are friends of Jesus, that institutions can be open to looking at tradition differently, respecting it and seeing what more needs to be done. We need humility, reason, respect for tradition, and clear thinking; we need to make responsible choices and be ready to face opposition. We need most of all to trust that we will be led into truth, to pray, and to listen for the voice of the One who calls us in prophecy, in dream, and in daily life.

Christmas II and Epiphany

2011-01-01T12:22:00.000-08:00

A reflection on John 1 and Matthew 2:1-12 by the Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

A Rector for the first time I found myself, within weeks of starting this position, faced with the events of 9/11. How was I, so new to this call, to have any idea what the congregation would need? It seemed that the only real response was to open up the church that night and offer a place for us to come and pray, sing, and be together. And so we did. In fact we started a series of ecumenical prayer vigils, held over the next year. In a simple Taize style of prayer and song, sometimes in our Episcopal Church, sometimes in the Roman Catholic, Lutheran, or United Church of Christ church, our united communities gathered in solidarity and mutual comfort praying for a world that seemed to be falling apart.

About eighteen months after 9/11, just as the congregation and I were getting settled into comfortable relationships, the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire elected Gene Robinson as Bishop. While personally I celebrated this event my congregation was rocked. I was away on vacation when the General Convention consented to his election and authorized his consecration. That night I had a dream that when I returned to the church all of the parishioners had left and in their place was a crowd of curious spectators, come to see how we were going to handle this. In reality no one left, at least not right away. And a few new people did come, and stayed, relieved to have a church that claimed to affirm all people.

Over the next year I found myself invited into email discourse with a couple of parishioners who had strong thoughts on the issue of openly partnered gay Bishops. Most of these folks were accepting of partnered gays and lesbians in the general population, but ordaining them was another matter. The emails developed into a friendly debate. I used Richard Hooker and the founding principles of Anglicanism (Via Media), to support the ordination of gay and lesbian people. I no longer remember the sources my companions in debate used to argue in support of that one sentence in Paul’s Letter to the Romans, mostly because regardless of who was quoted or how the argument was framed, it did not persuade me to change my mind. Likewise my arguments, regardless of who I cited, failed to sway the minds of those who argued against the ordination of Gene Robinson and others.

It seems to me that, the ordination of women, changes in worship, language we use for God, and other movements of the Church, are matters of the heart for which intellectual debate is just an exercise in church history and biblical criticism. They are of the heart because they deal with how we know God, know ourselves, and know others. They are of the heart because they deal with how we understand God’s self-revelation throughout time. They are of the heart because they are matters of relationship. Relegating our discussions of these matters to intellectual discourse only, fueled by theoretical circumstances and relationships, enables us to maintain hard lines. But when we engage these matters through real lived relationships those hard lines blur. It is much more difficult to tell someone they are not worthy of serving God as an ordained person when that person has been a pastoral presence in my life. When, because of a mutual relationship, I have come to see them as God sees them and know how God is living in and through their lives.

Of course much of the head stuff had to do with how we understand and interpret scripture. Admittedly I fall into the camp of understanding scripture as a living breathing on-going revelation of God’s self. Like the Jewish art of Midrash, I appreciate turning scripture over and around and letting God invite us into new understandings. I like to wrestle with scripture – both with what the scholars tell us the scripture means and with what we as Christians living the text come to understand. It’s delightful when this is a process that allows the heart to inform the head and the head to inform the heart. When our engagement with and understanding of scripture is both an intellectual endeavor and a relationship building one.

As a parish priest I yearned for some way to enable us to move beyond the head and into the heart. To do this I invited us into dialogue. Some of our conversation took place around resources that we read. Some of our conversation took place in the context of facilitated talking and intentional listening, led by the Lombard Mennonite Peace Center. Some of our conversation took place with a workshop on “Human Sexuality in the Old Testament” led by a seminary Old Testament profession and “Development of Human Sexuality” led by a psychologist, professor, and Episcopal lay woman who was also a partnered lesbian.

All of these were good efforts. We learned a lot. But even still our conversation was lacking. We deepened our relationships with “one another” but not with others outside our community. I yearned for tool that would help us grow beyond ourselves.

Years later I think I have not only found that tool, but helped to create it, through the WordsMatter Language Project. You can learn more about it here. In particular I threw myself into writing a “theology of the conversation” – considering the way in which what we engaging in is relational, incarnational, and sacramental. It’s a theology that builds off of the prologue to the Gospel of John:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2Word was in the beginning with God. 3All things came into being through Word, and without Word not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4in Word was life,* and the life was the light of all people. 5The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1, adapted).

Some suggest that Logos, translated here as “Word” can also mean “Discourse” or “Story” or, perhaps, even “Conversation.” The Logos, by nature, invites relationship and sharing in and within creation. Our belief in the Trinity helps us understand how the Holy Spirit enables the Logos to be activated through time. Eastern theologians use the word "perichoresis," an interpenetrating dance-like relationship, when trying to describe the Holy Trinity. That divine community of interpenetrating love continues to go outward, so to speak, inviting all creation into the dance.

As Christians the Nicene Creed is historically the way we profess our faith in a triune God, a God of relationship. In the Nicene Creed we speak of one “catholic” church. But what does “catholic” mean? Simone Weil and Teilhard de Chardin suggest a broad definition of catholic: it must include the whole world. God’s household is the whole planet: it is composed of human beings living in interdependent relations with all other life-forms and earth process. A theology of this project is inherently sacramental and incarnational: Sacrament is traditionally defined as “an outward and visible expression of an inward and invisible grace.” The world is sacramental because it is an expression of God’s Self. The world is incarnational because we know the creative Word of God, which was with God before creation, is made manifest in the world in human flesh, in Jesus. Thus, the world is a sacramental incarnational reality.

Therefore the theologies that undergird this WordsMatter Language Project and conversation guide are “Relational,” “Sacramental” and “Incarnational”: God reveals God’s self in and through creation in ongoing dynamics. One way we Christians understand God’s self-revelation is through scripture. Other ways we encounter God are through human relationships and our interdependence with creation. From these encounters with God we form language: words, images, and symbols, to convey that experience.

The season of Epiphany is upon us. A season when we are invited to explore the ways in which God reveals God’s self to us, expanding our understanding of God, self, and others. May the manifestation of God and of God’s love poured out in human flesh, bless you this year. May your conversations be rich, may your heart burst open in love, and may your heart inform your head and your head inform your heart. May you be challenged by others and may they be challenged by you to grow more deeply in faith and understanding. May we share our stories and grow in trust, hope, and compassion, even as there will remain ways we disagree. May we be guided by our dreams, inspired by God, to bring forth God’s love. And may we fear not as we journey toward the star that guides us toward the living God.

Christmas I

2010-12-24T07:49:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Christmas I:Isaiah 63. 7-9, Hebrew’s 2. 10-18, Matthew 2. 13-23 by the Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

I am writing this on 23rd December, while the pre-Christmas preparations are well underway. We have had more snow here this December than can be remembered for many years. I have spent today getting the church ready for Christmas, putting up the crib and the Christmas tree, arranging flowers – all the usual preparations with a couple of faithful helpers. Everything now looks very festive, we are prepared for the arrival of a very special baby, God’s son, the Saviour of the world.

While we were doing all this there was a general discussion about a series that has been on TV the last few days. The series, ‘The Nativity’, has retold the story of the birth of Jesus. The anxieties, trials and tribulations of Mary & Joseph, the rejection they faced from their families and communities. All told in a way that would appeal not only to Christians, but also to those on the fringes of Christianity, those more in the secular world, each 30 min episode had the typical cliff-hanger ending usually seen in soap-world. Alongside the main event were the side stories of a hot-headed young shepherd, Thomas, struggling to pay his taxes, with a wife who is ill having just given birth to a baby, and that of the Magi travelling from the east following the star to Bethlehem.
I was struck by the way Joseph was portrayed. A man very much in love with Mary, keen to build a house for her, to provide for her and the many children they will have. Then, after the annunciation she disappears to visit her cousin Elizabeth, he doesn’t know why. By the time she returns her pregnancy is obvious, he doesn’t understand. Mary had tried to find the words to tell him before she went, now anything she says to him doesn’t make sense, he just feels betrayed. Despite this, on her father, Joachim’s request he takes her to Bethlehem with him so that she is safe from those in Nazareth who want to stone her as an adulteress. He stays true to his vow, and helps her. He still doesn’t believe what she has to say and then he has a dream, revealing that the child she is carrying is the son of God. Even then, he STILL doesn’t believe all that he has been told. Then when the planets converge and the most wonderful star appears over the stable appears, Joseph finally returns to Mary’s side and grabs her hand as Jesus is born, and finally he believes. It was a tear-jerker..!
Then Thomas, the shepherd arrives and realises the hope that the baby brings with its arrival, as he reaches down and kisses a tiny foot. It was the side-story of Thomas the shepherd that seemed to grab the imagination of my parishioners. One of them said to me ‘we don’t know whether the shepherd’s baby is a boy or a girl, if it turns out to be a boy I will cry’. We didn’t actually find out the answer to that question. Of course, as Christians we know the full story, we know what happens next. The story on TV ended with the birth of a baby in a stable in Bethlehem and the shepherds and Magi coming to worship that baby as the Messiah. We wait for Series 2..!

The Gospel reading for the First Sunday after Christmas takes us beyond that. The arrival of that baby, the predicted Messiah, puts so much fear into Herod the King that he has all of the new-born children killed. Suddenly the world is filled with fear and dread as babies are killed, mothers are weeping for their children. Joseph, thankfully dreams again and takes Mary and Jesus to safety in Egypt.

Herod was running scared, he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, he was so absorbed by his desire for power, that the arrival of Messiah in the form of a tiny baby was too much for him. There are a number of things he could have done, befriended Mary & Joseph, taken Jesus under his wing, nurtured him, influenced him and so in the future extended his rule. He could have worked out that such a tiny baby wasn’t going to be any threat to his rule just yet, he had a few years to work out a strategy. He could even have laughed at the wise-men and refused to believe that the Messiah was about to arrive. Instead, he sees the threat as genuine and immediate, something to be stamped out straight away and so he kills.
This needless slaughter may indeed be the fulfilment of a prophesy, but it is not necessarily God’s will. Violence of any kind goes against God’s wishes for us. However, the story of Herod’s massacre of the innocents is echoed, far too often, in the news stories of today. This sort of needless killing is still heard about today, infanticide, murder, acts of war and terrorism. Not to mention the needless suffering of others in other ways. None of this is God’s will – he gives us freedom to make our own choices. Part of human nature is self-defence, the ‘flight or fight’ response when we are attacked. Some, like Herod, retaliate to a perceived threat, defending themselves to ensure their own security no matter what it costs others. I have no doubt that God knows all too well that this is all too often our response and he weeps because of it and feels the suffering that is endured.

But God came into the world as a child, a baby who needs His mother to care for him, to feed him, to hold him. Austin Farrer puts it like this:
“Yet Mary holds her finger out, and a divine hand closes on it. The maker of the world is born a begging child; he begs for milk, and does not know that it is milk for which he begs. We will not lift our hands to pull the love of God down to us, but he lifts hands to pull human compassion down upon his cradle. So the weakness of God proves stronger than men.” (from Said or Sung by Austin Farrer).

God choose to come into the world to draw us closer to him. He doesn’t fight back in the way we might expect he simply reaches out and draws us close in LOVE. Jesus grew up and chose to follow God’s will and die on the cross, and in rising again, he showed that even wrath and violence can never overcome or extinguish the love of God.

Advent 3

2010-12-11T17:58:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Advent 3:Isaiah 35: 1-10; Psalm 146 or Canticle 3 or Canticle 15; James 5:7-10 and Matthew 11:2-11 by the Rev. Camille, Hegg

The collect for Advent 3 is one of my favorites:
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy spirit, be honor and glory, now and forever. Amen.

I remember hearing this when I was a child and the priest talked about the day as “Stir up Sunday.” I always had the image of God standing at a stove and stirring a big pot of something that smelled good and tasted delicious. I imagined soup or the chicken and dumplings my mother made. The clearest and most present and pleasant image is that of the chocolate fudge she made. When she stirred it the smell was amazingly and delightfully magical. We kids couldn’t wait to taste it.

It was in the stirring of the pot that the smell came forth. In stirring the pot the vitality, the essence, were released. Also, expectation and hope. Expectation, of delicious soup or dumplings, or fudge! Hope, realized in the taste, and to a degree the delight in sharing. She usually made several batches of fudge and wrapped up packages to take to friends. The house smelled of chocolate all day. The kids got to help at all stages, including delivering the packages to the door of the designated recipients.

Until our 1979 prayer book this collect was used on “The Sunday Next Before Advent,” as it used to be called. How British/Anglican is that?! A parishioner who knows about these things told me that before everyone was taught to read, when that collect was read, the women knew it was time to go and mix and stir their fruit cakes and Christmas puddings. They knew Advent begins the next Sunday; Christmas is almost here. Fruitcakes and Christmas puddings need that much time to mature and ripen and come to their essence.

In the gospel this week John the Baptizer is in prison and sends his disciples to ask Jesus if he is the one to come. In Luke some translations read that the people were “on tiptoe in expectation.” That phrase always reminds me of being a child and standing on tiptoe to look into the pots, especially that pot of fudge! As I got older I got to be the one to stir and therefore release those delightful smells.

This particular Sunday evokes images of God which are very feminine for me. God as cook; God as the one who nourishes; God as the one who gathers the ingredients of creation and forms that which is new and delightful; God who invites us to the table; God who teaches us to go out and feed and clothe and soothe; God as the source of power which comes from care and not violence; God who invites us to live in expectation and hope.
All of the readings for this day remind us of the delight that is store for us. In the midst of things which we cannot understand- violence, poverty, power struggles in our own government and throughout the world, and so much more- we do well to remember as the Epistle says, to rejoice, to continue in prayer, hold on to good, let our gentleness be known to everyone.

My prayer is that we be instruments who are able to transmit, stir up, inspire in our friends and leaders that expectation and hope. Let us be on tiptoe expecting good things and stirring up the goodness that is in all of us and all humanity.

Advent 2 Claiming Hope in Despair

2010-12-03T14:49:00.000-08:00

a reflection on the readings for Advent 2A by the Rev. Margaret Rose

In spite of a seemingly positive jobs report, this week marked the day that numbers of unemployed will lose their benefits. The death rate in Afghanistan is beginning to climb again and the negotiations on peace between Palestine and Israel are breaking down by the minute. The START treaty, despite being endorsed by the military, Republican and Democratic Generals seems to be dead in the water for this Congress. The homicide rate in New York is up, and a Congressman from Harlem who has done good work for many years in the House, now in his later years somehow forgot to pay taxes on homes here an abroad. Heroic sports figures in baseball, cycling and more are having their medals revoked, because somehow they felt they needed to cheat to win. And to top it off, it seems that terrorist attacks lurk on every corner and we will have our bodies scanned or patted with mistrust every time we fly. If the politicians are right, this is a season of fear and darkness and the chill of winter almost enfolds us in it. And if the news is right we should despair.
“You better watch out! And not just because Santa is coming to town.”

And yes. And yet. I have been astonished as I walk around my city which happens to be New York. It is actually Advent in Manhattan! And despite the fact that the so called secular world doesn’t have a clue about the preparations in Advent, hope is in the air. I know it is marketing and commercialism and all the things we often say we should avoid in this season, but sometimes the Holy Spirit is working in the world and those of us prone to more dire predictions will benefit by paying attention.

The lights, which of course are used by marketers beckoning us to up their bottom line also brighten the darkness on Fifth Avenue. The “Crown” in front of Cartier, the laser snowflake show at Saks took my breath away. The store windows once again tell the story of good times gone by and hope for days to come. New Yorkers and tourists are out walking, taking time in the middle of the day or early evening, risking good cheer to one another, defying the darkness and chill and to imagine the possibility of a future.

Something about this season does it to us. And I don’t think it is either denial or naïveté but expresses something deep in the heart of human being. And for my part it is some how the Holy Spirit who lives among us and offers these resilient moments for all of us.

In the church of course, we name it Advent and defy the darkness and the fear in a different way. and darkness of our time. It doesn’t take a Cartier Crown (spectacular as it was!). The very ground of our faith is that hope will win out over despair. From the prophets until today that is the message of Messiah’s birth. And if I am honest, the perils of today of 2010 are not so different from those I might have mentioned ten or hundred or two thousand years ago.

Take Isaiah. The 9th Century BCE was the era of the text today. Times were bad. Jerusalem was declining. The people, fighting small ethnic wars with their neighbors were embroiled in political in fighting. There was violence in the streets and the threat of invasion from without. The turbulence of present day Baghdad or Afghanistan would be a cakewalk for Isaiah’s time, except of course for the advanced technology (which could be another reflection by itself.) In any case, fear was the rule of the day.

Yet out of this social situation Isaiah’s witness arises proclaiming that God is present and the hope of the Messiah coming very near. Over and over Isaiah claims peace in the midst of war:

They shall beat swords into plowshares and nation shall not lift up sword against nation. The wolf shall lie down with the lamb, the leopard with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together. A little child shall lead them. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra and the weaned child shall put a hand on the adder’s den. They shall not destroy in all my holy mountain. Waters shall break forth in the desert.

What a crazy idea. Was Isaiah naïve or in denial, proclaiming some future hope by and by that might or might not come to fruition? And how different this is from the apocalyptic vision of death and destruction we hear from the prophets of our texts in past weeks. Here in the midst of impossible odds, God’s realm of loving abundance promises to break through and create peace. With the coming of the Messiah, hope is to be born and reborn again and again. Good thing. We need it.

I wonder. What is it that makes us each year, from Isaiah’s time until our own reclaim this hope, believe that in spite of the odds or of history, things will be better next year, that we will make it through. What is it that makes us marvel at the lights, put up a tree, sing The Messiah?

There is no formula of course, no guarantee that despair will not win in the end. But there are witness who give us courage to face our own despair. The prophets of course but those of today as well. You can name your own I am sure.
For me, there is Mugisa from the Congo, who in spite of seeing her friends raped and killed, her own husband kidnapped for days, her house robbed, did become bitter or give up but started and empowerment project in her village.

Or a woman whose story I heard recently. Her name was Angela, a mother of four whose husband finally succumbed to the drug habit which had plagued him for years. Having not finished high school, she was relegated to low skill jobs, food stamps and welfare. Yet, in addition to her own four children she was adopting the child of a cousin who was soon to be homeless. “I do that,” she said, “because everybody needs a place to lay their head. We may not always have the gas and the lights, but they will have a roof and a little something to eat. You know, I don’t think of it as a bad life.” In order to continue ot receive assistance, Angela trained much to her delight, as a certified nurse’s assistant—a home health aide. She was glad to have the work even though it did not always pay well, and even though from time to time the clients’ racism was blatant. “Well,” Angela said, “Many of my clients are from another era, and there is a lot of prejudice. At first they are just mean and sometimes they call me nigger. But I say to myself: ‘Well, you may call me that, but I am the one here combing your hair and making you look pretty. I am the one helping you get out of bed in the morning, helping you get dressed.’ And you know what happens? Pretty soon that word nigger become thank you.”

Tears came to my eyes as I listened. Imagine a person, in the face of ridicule and racism, hanging in there, serving the needs of another, forgiving a world of pain and hurt and continuing to strive to make better for herself and her children. “It is okay,” she says, “and I think it will be better next year!”

Enough folk like these loving women will change the world. They are living out Isaiah’s vision. Not giving up and knowing that forgiveness and thank you are the way of hope. Is it their faith that gets these women through? Grace? Character? A good mother somewhere in the past? Whatever, they are witnesses for us offering hope and light in the midst of our own and the city’s shadows.

That is what the season is really about: light in the darkness, hope in despair. Isaiah said it. The city says it. Angela and Mugisa say it. It is what Paul says to us in the letter to the Roman. ( Remember, that early Christian community too, in the first century was persecuted and under siege. These Biblical witnesses and the stories of those who live in hope today are offered so that by steadfastness and encouragement, we too might have hope. It is not as easy as speaking the words. Hard times are real—in the world, in our own lives and communities, among those we love. But the Gospel reminds us that turning around, starting anew, indeed repenting –pointing in a new direction, is always possible.

The Advent message of hope remains. And St. Paul’s prayer at the close of the epistle to the Roman is our own: May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

The Reign of Christ (Christ the King Sunday)

2010-11-20T17:30:00.000-08:00

Reflection on Luke 23:33-43 by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

Well, as the GPS in my car says when we get to the end of the journey, “We have arrived.” In this Gospel lection, we have arrived with Jesus at his destination. Here on this cross where he has come to take his place as a final living and unmistakable testimony God's plan for God’s kingdom.

In this long run of Ordinary Time since the second Sunday after Pentecost we have been journeying with Jesus and the disciples as chronicled in the Gospel of Luke. We heard early on that “Jesus set his sights on Jerusalem,” and we have followed as he has called his followers, healed the sick, set people free from demons, raised the dead and preached and taught by word and example the radical message about the kingdom of God.
Luke has shown to us over and over examples of Jesus in action…the very same Jesus who came to us early in this Gospel with his mission statement taken from Isaiah, that his task was to bring “…., “good news to the poor...release to the captives...sight to the blind,[and] liberty [for] those who are oppressed.”

We have had ongoing lessons these past weeks from Jesus in the Gospels about the importance of ordering our priorities, letting go of our attachments, aligning ourselves with the poor and putting our riches and ourselves on the line for what we say we believe.

Jesus makes it clear again and again that his is God’s mission, God’s will and plan for salvation and that through his own life, death and resurrection, he is here specifically to manifest that plan to the world….to show us very clearly who God is, what God is really about and what God’s kingdom on earth is and can be because he also provides a way for us to be more like God. It is important that we understand that in inviting us to be part of bringing about God’s kingdom on earth Jesus was calling us to an entirely different way of being in relationship with each other and with God. Jesus proclaims a whole new reality where everything is changed. Not just the ruler, but the rules and the relationships are different in this realm of God. The very essence of who and whose we are, and how we are called to be is challenged.

It is also important that we understand that God’s kingdom, God’s realm, is here among us right now, happening this very day. Because Jesus was and is…lived, died and rose, we are citizens of this world and citizens of Jesus’ kingdom, too.

We live in two worlds. We understand that faith is no longer a private affair between us and God with no implications in our larger life, and because of that we cannot simply conduct lives as if this were not the case. And yet we must live in a world that will never completely abide by God’s love, compassion and justice either. It is a paradox for us and it creates a tension as we attempt to live faithfully as servants of this king of ours.

Many of us have had this experience, something happens in our lives and we just know that it’s one of “those opportunities” where God is calling and pulling us to that Gospel edge, those times when we feel acutely that tension between being part of creating God’s kingdom and living comfortably in this one. Those times when….

• We know are called to speak out for justice when it would be more prudent to be silent
• We are called to offer witness on another’s behalf when it would be safer to just mind our own business
• we are asked to use our resources to provide food or clothing or shelter for someone when we would much rather use them in other ways
• We are called to forgive someone when it would feel much more satisfactory to just nurse our grudge
• We are called to love when we would rather stay indifferent
• We are asked to be the one to take action when we would rather let someone else do it
• We are drawn into the messy, hard work of relationship with those difficult and demanding humans that God keeps gracing our lives with
• We are called to the radical hospitality that that allows for deep transformational connection, when we would much rather just be polite.

We may try to ignore these promptings, just hoping they will go away. And sometimes they do. But sometimes they don’t. God can be very persistent. We may accept the call and go on a journey with Jesus. And when we do, sometimes we make it all the way to Jerusalem, following him all the way to the cross. But more often, because we are so wonderfully human, we get stuck somewhere along the way. Because, like the young rich man, we have so many things we cannot leave, we walk away sad. Or frightened and threatened, like Peter, we might leave him in the courtyard…”Who me, no, I don’t know that Jesus fellow!” (In whatever guise he happens to be wearing that day). Lost, we flounder and falter, plummeting back into our earthy realm, forgetting who we are and who Jesus is.

This is our Jesus, this king of a different realm on that cross. The one who says “Father forgive them.” The one who says to the criminal at his side, “Today you are with me forever.” This is also the Jesus who says to Peter on the beach, “Do you love me? Then tend my lambs, feed my sheep.” This is the Jesus that calls us to mission, calls us to live and work in the world. To be citizens of this world yet not conformed to its expectations or limitations. This is the Jesus who calls us to live as he lived, forgive as he forgives, love as he loves and make God’s kingdom of Shalom a reality on this earth now. May it be so. Amen.

Proper 28C

2010-11-13T05:26:00.000-08:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 28C: Issiah 65:17-25; Malachi 3:13-4:2a,5-6; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19 by The Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

These lessons we read in the weeks before Advent are about a real paradigm shift: they are prophecies of the end times. We are getting ready to get ready, as it were, for the coming of the new reign of God.

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

That’s Robert Frost’s apocalyptic vision. This end-time business is vividly evocative. People do fear and dread the end of times. And yet to the person of faith, to the prophets and writers of biblical texts, these terrible things are not they end; they only come before something very good: the establishment of the reign of God.

Will you be reading the prophecy of astounding hope in Isaiah? The story of the new heavens and the new earth, of prosperity and abundance, of peace and harmony on the holy mountain?

Or will you go with Malachi, and his prophecies of the dark, stormy, severe Second Coming: “See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble ...” “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.”

Facing into the End Time is serious business. The people have not been living up to God’s standards, and which tack will inspire us into action? Do we require the harshness of the prophet’s words to shock us into remembering just who God expects us to be? Do we serve God or do we not? Do we know what it means to be righteous, to be just? Do we stand for the poor and the persecuted? Do we need to be scared into this realization, or have we had enough weeping and distress, as Isaiah would tell us. God has better things in store for us, so let’s act now as though the Messiah had indeed come.

Even Malachi gives us a foretaste of better things. There was a little phrase of Christmas buried in this reading, a glimmer of hope that God not only expects better things from us, but that God believes we can truly be the people God will reward: “for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings.”

Being aware of the breaking in of something new is a good place to be as we look forward to the End Time and the New Time of the coming of Christ. We know what kind of people God expects us to be, and we know, in our souls, that God will give us the grace and strength to be those kind of people: to re-order the world so that the hungry are fed and the naked clothed and the poor given shelter and the lonely comforted. The wolves, lambs and lions among us will all live in peace.

The Gospel lessons, this week and next week, take us to Holy Week, to Jerusalem, to Jesus preparing for his passion and death. These are the readings where Jesus interprets what is to happen to him as a sign of the end time, and the advice he gives his disciples, and us, is harsh. What Jesus says will be overthrown is the current world order: the temple, its rulers, its privileged classes, the Roman Empire, its brutal taxes and its oppressive military. Not even familiar relationships will save you, Jesus tells his disciples. You can’t plan ahead for these terrible days; I will tell you what to say and what to do.

Jesus can scare us with these words because he knows the end of the story: he does rise with healing in his wings. We know the end of the story, too. We know that even if in this world institutions, powers and principalities crush and oppress, they will be torn down, and replaced with God’s commonwealth, of peace, of justice, of prosperity, of abundance.

But now, as we approach Advent, the church reminds us that most of what we are to do is to wait. Here in the northern hemisphere, the days are shorter and the world darker, and we wait for the earth to turn back to the sun, to warmth, to light. Just as we wait in the darkness of these end times for Jesus to come again and restore all things to God.

The collect for today was in the old English prayer book the collect for the second Sunday in Advent: “read, mark, learn and inwardly digest.” That’s what we do while we wait.

All Saints' Day

2010-11-06T16:14:00.000-07:00

The Communion of Saints

An invitation to conversation by Janine Goodwin

By some coincidence of scheduling, I was the person who wrote about All Saints last year. That piece can be found here. This year, I want to do something different. The questions are an invitation to respond in the comments and have a conversation in and about the communion of saints.

I believe in the communion of saints.

Do you?

What do you believe about the communion of saints?

I haven’t got a systematic theology of the communion of saints, but I may have caught a glimpse or two: here are a few stories and a few beliefs.

These are my stories:

My favorite childhood hymn in the Presbyterian church, and the one from which I learned to count 4/4 time at the age of five or six, was “The Church’s One Foundation.” My favorite verse was the last:

Yet she on earth hath union with God, the Three in One,
And mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won.
O happy ones and holy! Lord, give us grace that we,
Like them, the meek and lowly, on high may dwell with thee.

I knew even then that I wanted that “mystic sweet communion,” that connection with all my ancestors in the faith.

When I memorized the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed as an earnest Lutheran eighth-grader, the phrase made me nervous, yet I found it attractive. It sounded very Catholic, and my family was quite anti-Catholic, yet I loved the idea

During my freshman year in college, I had a long argument with a friend from a fundamentalist church because she said a Catholic friend of ours wasn’t a “real Christian” and I believed she was. I later heard some, though by no means many, Catholics say that non-Catholics weren’t “real Christians.” By then, I had come to believe that figuring out who was “real” and who wasn’t was God’s problem, not ours, and anyone who indulged in it was missing the point and wasting time that could be better used out finding out how to do God’s work in the world together.

As a new Episcopalian in my twenties, I read Madeleine L’Engle’s words about finding one’s own saints; hers included St. Albert Einstein.

During my four years as a Catholic, I learned that among the many views of the communion of saints, the one I lived and believed went something like this: God is love, love is eternal, and death and time are unimportant in relation to love, so we can pray for the saints of the past and accept their prayers for us.

I met a doctor once who embodied this idea beautifully: we went to the same church and I was her patient. I asked her to pray for me. She smiled and said joyously, “Oh, I’ve already been praying for you for decades! When I started to practice, I started praying every day for all my patients, past, present, and future!”

This is what I believe:

I believe that the communion of saints is the community of all faithful people, past, present, and future.

I believe that it is not up to us to decide who is not part of that community of faith.

We may honor certain people who have let God shine through them with special clarity (and who have done so in a place and time where the institutional churches are able to accept and praise them), but those are not the only saints. Some are little-known, some unknown. Holy people exist in every faith and outside any faith; one of the holiest people I’ve ever known described himself as an atheist.

I believe that God works beyond our differences and limits and knows how to include where we, working out of our fear and pain, can only exclude.

I believe that community is not about staying silent because we fear offending others, but about speaking clearly, honestly, and as kindly as we can and having the courage to listen without needing to change each others’ minds.

I believe that even when reconciliation may look impossible, when it may not be accomplished in a lifetime in a family or a congregation or when differences between churches last for centuries, even then reconciliation will eventually happen, despite every block we put in its way.

I believe that St. Thomas More, the people he sent to death, and the people who killed him will all, as he hoped they would, be merry together in heaven.

I believe that if we prayed daily for everyone we are called to care for, past, present, and future, we would be a more vital and joyous part of the communion of saints.

What do you believe? What are your stories?

Not In Our Pews

2010-11-02T06:03:00.000-07:00

My sermon on Sunday was filled with personal stories from the time my family and I worshipped at our home parish. I returned to our home parish as a guest preacher and had a wonderful time, but my thoughts are not condusive to a reflection on the texts for this blog. Instead I offer this:

Last week I attended a workshop called Not In Our Pews intended to train clergy and social service providers on the issue of Domestic Violence/Intimate Partner Violence. Here is a review of that workshop which will be printed later this month in the newsletter for the Episcopal Women's Caucus. The EWC along with two other Episcopal groups are teaming up to sponsor 16 Days of Prayer for Activism Against Domestic Violence, which will take place in Advent.

Not In Our Pews
by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski, licensed Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Chicago

The first congregation I served as Rector struggled with the reality that a prominent couple in the parish was going through a divorce, the wife a victim of years of domestic abuse. With the pending divorce the abuse escalated, and threatened to spill into the church itself. A few years later my friend and colleague at another church experienced a tragic domestic violence episode in her congregation. Throughout this time I learned that domestic violence was, by far, the primary cause of police intervention in our small but wealthy suburban community.

At a recent conference called, “Not In Our Pews” held in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin and sponsored by Project SAFE, an organization comprised of a number of religious institutions and service provider agencies in Wisconsin, I learned more about this all too common tragedy in our society. First, I learned that Domestic Violence, while still used for a variety of policy reasons, is often known as Intimate Partners Violence. This term expands the issue beyond the violence that occurs in some marriages to include a new awareness of violence in teen dating, in GLBT couples, and couples who do not live in the same house. Domestic Violence/Intimate Partner Violence is defined as: a pattern of abusive behavior in which a person uses coercion, deception, harassment, humiliation, manipulation and/or force in order to establish and maintain power and control over that person’s current or former intimate partner.

The conference goals were to: build partnerships between congregational leaders, service providers, and law enforcement programs; to provide faith and congregational leaders with strategies and resources to effectively and safely meet the needs of victims and families; to equip clergy and lay leaders to assist victims to make thoughtful decisions from a theological perspective while remaining in relationship with God and their faith community; to explore how faith communities might work to end Intimate Partner Violence; to help congregational leaders navigate a congregation that is impacted by Intimate Partner Violence. The keynote speaker was the Rev. Al Miles, an expert in Intimate Partner Violence prevention and treatment, and the author of several books on domestic violence including “Domestic Violence: What Every Pastor Needs to Know” 2nd edition, due for release in February 2011 (Fortress Press).

As clergy and lay leaders of congregations this conference emphasized the need for increased awareness of the prevalence of Intimate Partners Violence, including that which occurs in teen dating and elder abuse. We cannot hide behind a veil pretending that it only happens in certain demographics. The reality is this violence knows no boundaries and impacts equally every demographic across the spectrum from rich to poor, from educated to not, across lines of race and ethnicity, age and gender orientation. Congregations need to reach out to social service agencies that specialize in Domestic Violence and Intimate Partner Violence and work together to raise awareness and form responses to this rampant problem in our midst. 95% of reported cases of Intimate Partner Violence occurs with a man victimizing a woman. As clergy we have a responsibility to become educated and able to discuss Domestic Abuse/Elder Abuse/Teen Dating/Intimate Partner Violence in premarital counseling sessions, outlining what constitutes a healthy relationship, to recognize the warning signs when they appear, and to have an appropriate course of action. A healthy relationship does not include coercion, deception, harassment, humiliation, manipulation and or force in order to establish control and maintain power over a current or former intimate partner.

A few key points on what to do or not to do:
• do not attempt couple counseling when Intimate Partner Violence is a known element of the relationship.
• If a victim speaks up and shares her story, do not judge, do not put words in her mouth, do not encourage her to stay in the relationship, or leave, or use scripture as a means to further victimize her.
• Offer hope, leaving an offender is a process, victims want the violence to end not the relationship.
• Violence is a learned behavior, it is a conscious decision and a willful choice of the perpetrator to get what they want when they want it.
• Intimate Partner Violence is not caused by addiction to drugs or alcohol, stress, children, job stress, psychological illness, pets, Satan, and especially the abuse is not caused by the victim. It is not a problem of anger or control.
• It is a problem of entitlement and a demand to have their way when they want it.
• Do not think that you can assist the person alone, reach out for trained help from an appropriate social service agency.
• Provide congregational training on Intimate Partner Violence
• Provide resources that women can find in your church bathrooms that will help them find appropriate help including an emergency shelter for battered women. Likewise provide resources for men who are victims of abuse.

Intimate Partner Violence includes physical, psychological, verbal, sexual, pet or property destruction (if I can’t hurt you I will hurt what you love), and stalking. The tactics include, but are not limited to dictating how victims dress; to whom they can relate or not relate; what they can or cannot say and think; when the victim can or cannot study, worship, or work; describing the victim as disgusting, disrespectful, or using vulgar names like slut, stupid, whore.

When clergy and lay leaders are willing to become informed, educated, and trained, by reaching out and teaming up with social service agencies congregations can create healthier environments. Clergy and lay people are able to bring in the spiritual dimension of hope, grace, and love that social service agencies are often prevented from approaching due to the limits of their practice. By partnering together faith communities and social service agencies can work to create intervention strategies and prevention strategies for healthier communities.

Resources compiled by Safe Havens, interfaith partnership against domestic violence:

Articles and Brochures
Faith Trust Institute: “What Every Congregation Needs to Know About Domestic Violence” 1994 (206) 634-1903, www.faithtrustinstitue.org. Also, “What You Need to Know if a Child is Being Abused or Neglected”, 1992.

Fortune, Marie, “A Commentary on Religious Issues in Family Violence,” originally published in Violence in the Family: A Workshop Curriculum for Clergy and Other Helpers. Pp 137-151, The Pilgrim Press, Cleveland, 1991. Contact Faith Trust Institute: (206) 634-1903, www.faithtrustinstitue.org.

Peace At Home, Inc., “Domestic Violence: The Facts,” 1994-2004. Contact Peace At Home, Inc: 877-546-3737, peaceathome@peaceathome.org.
Safe Havens, “Guidelines for Working with Congregations Facing Domestic Violence.” Contact SafeHavens: 617-645-1820, info@interfaithpartners.org.

Books
Adams, Carold J. & Fortune, Marie M., Editors, Violence Against Women and Children: A Christian Theological Sourcebook, The Continuum Publishing Company, New York, NY, 1998.

Afkhami, M. Safe and Secure: Eliminating Violence Against Women and Girls in Muslim Societies, Sisterhood Is Global Institute, Bethseda, MD, 1998. Contact Faith Trust Institute 206) 634-1903, www.faithtrustinstitue.org.

Standing in the Need of Prayer, a reflection on Proper 25C

2010-10-22T19:52:00.000-07:00

A reflection the readings for Proper 25/C: Luke 18:9-14, by The Rev. Margaret Rose

Standing in the Need of Prayer

The Gospel text from Luke today--Jesus’ parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector in the temple reminded me of a children’s story called I’m Terrific. It is the story of Jason Everett Bear, who indeed in every way is terrific. He sweeps the floor and cleans his room regularly, always makes his bed, does his homework and gets enough sleep, and even eats spinach without complaint. He is very aware of how good he is and gives himself gold stars to mark the fact. Indeed his tongue often has a gummy feel to it due to licking the gold stars he offers himself for his daily good deeds. He reminds his schoolmates and neighbors of how terrific he is and give thanks to his mother that he is not like other people. Soon, however, it begins to dawn on the bear that he is rather forlorn and isolated in his greatness since no one can measure up to him. He thus decides to go the opposite route: never make his bed, pick fights with his friends, no more spinach , kick over nut piles carefully laid up by the neighborhood squirrel, tie knots in the fur of the Raccoon. This behavior gains him no less isolation than the former. And he finally understands that life is about give and take in relationship, Jason Bear then goes to each neighbor to ask forgiveness and friendship. The storybook character is neither a perfectly good bear nor a perfectly bad bear. He is in fact pretty much like his buddies--in need or forgiveness, redemption and love. This is a rather moralistic story, written to teach children about self absorption and showing off. But it does relate to Luke.

In the text for today, the Pharisee really is terrific. He is a solid citizen, a faithful hard worker. You really would want him on your vestry. Though we often tend to dismiss him as we read this text, since he is certainly arrogant and self-righteous, but he really is a good man. He has faithfully done what the temple required. He prays regularly, fasts more than the law requires and tithes, not just of the foods and animals that religious law requires, but of all his income. That is nothing to sneeze at. It would be as if we not only gave away a tenth of all Before Tax dollars and a lot more besides. The Pharisee is faithful and righteous.

The tax collector is not. This man who comes before God and stands far off to ask forgiveness, really does need it. He is not an IRS worker as we might know it. He is not a nice guy--maybe not as bad as the thieves and robbers that the Pharisee prays about-- but one who is known for collaborating with the Roman government. He comes, beating his breast, knowing his desperate need for God. He goes away with his prayers heard and deemed righteous.
It would be easy to dismiss this text as simply an attitude thing. But if I am truthful, I admit that I often identify more with that Pharisee than with the tax collector. I spend a lot of time and prayer on doing the right thing. And in the secret of my heart I have sometimes congratulated myself on the avoidance of really bad deeds. I have come close to deeming myself righteous and not quite like those miserable sinners so much in need of redemption. It is a subtle seduction. For we really are called to do good deeds and follow Jesus faithfully in tithing, praying and fasting and caring for others.

I remember some years ago, working in a soup kitchen at a Church in Boston. It was a place where many poor and homeless people came to hang out, so we began to know some of the folks fairly well. We regularly had lunch together and from time to time went on field trips. The big event of the year was the annual Lobster Fest which took place at a beautiful retreat center north of Boston. It was a great time and required an enormous amount of work on the part of volunteers. One year when the party was over and some of the volunteers returned to their cars, it was discovered that the cars had been broken into and money had been stolen--in all I think about 45 dollars though not much else. The convicting words came to the lips of those who had been wronged. Quick to accuse one of our group, the interrogative looks went round. It could have been any number of people who had been milling around the parking area and picnic grounds of the retreat center. But two of our number were identified as potential thieves though there was no real concrete evidence. “Why would THEY do this us after all we have done for THEM. Our money, our cars, our things have been violated. Of course they had. No question about it. It is wrong to steal. But how quick we are to assume that the one who wrongs us is not someone who looks or acts like us. How quick we are to deem ourselves and those like us as righteous--and to separate ourselves from those in so much need or even from those who are indeed miserable sinners.
How often does each of us thank God that we are not like other people. I do it when I read the local paper which seems to delight in front page embezzlements and the misconduct of sports and political figures. I hear myself from time to time thinking self-righteously that I would never be involved in such a thing.

But you know, though I do not like to admit it, I am the tax collector too. I am in my daily life as participant in sin as that man who made no pretense about his worthiness. And there are those moments I am so aware of my need for grace that I know that I am indeed like other people and standing before God in need of prayer. A message I no doubt need to hear.

The point of the story,of course, is that the Pharisee, as good as he is, really is also like other people. We are all in need of forgiveness. More important, we all stand empty-handed before God. We know this, in our hearts and minds and bodies, from time to time—often in our moments of suffering when we realize that no amount of good deeds can make things okay again. We simply ask God to hear our prayers--not because we have tithed or because we have been to church, but because we know our need for forgiveness and God’s love and power in our lives.

People who have battled the demons of addiction know it. Those who have been a part of 12 step recovery programs have it repeated over and over in the first three steps of AA--a recognition of one’s powerlessness over the addiction and the need of a power greater than ourselves to renew us to health.

In point of fact there is a bit of the Pharisee and a bit of the tax collector in us all. One Sunday, as we come to church to pray and worship we are patting ourselves on the back about how good we’ve been this week. And another week we come as miserable sinners, knowing that there is nothing left to give and that we have not done or been much this week worth being full of pride about.

Jesus calls us to confront the attitude of the Pharisee in our own hearts, this misplaced pride in obedience and to recognize that boasting of our virtue, however subtle, separates us from one another and from God. And to receive the fullness of renewal, love and forgiveness when there is nothing left in us but misery. His life, his death, and resurrection were for all of us, tax collector and Pharisee alike--all called to prayer and repentance. All offered forgiveness and renewal of life. AMEN

Proper 24C

2010-10-16T17:50:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 24C: Genesis 32. 22-31, Psalm 121, 2 Timothy 3. 14- 4.5, Luke 18. 1-8 by The Rev. Dr. Sarah Rogers

Persistence – I think we have had a good example of that over the last few weeks. That persistence paid off when 33 Chilean miners were finally rescued after 69 days trapped underground. I’m sure that none of us who watched any of those men being brought home and reunited with their families can have failed to have been moved by what they saw. We can’t really know what they or their families endured during that time. But it is clear that a certain amount of persistence was required. Being under ground for so long posed a number of problems, those above ground had to get food down to the miners, there were nutritionists who made sure that they had a balanced diet, the miners themselves had to find ways of occupying themselves underground and the engineers had to work out a way of rescuing them. It seems that the miners lives below ground were structured by prayer, they had prayer services at 12 noon and at 6pm daily. I gather that an MP3 audio version of the bible in Spanish was sent to them through their family contacts, as well as an MP3 audio version of the Jesus film which tells the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection, a story that perhaps paralleled their own experience. They also took great comfort from the words of Psalm 95 verse 4 “In His hand are the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks are his also’. Thankfully the perseverance of the Chileans paid off – and not only in prayer, but in working out the solution to a difficult problem - all 33 miners made it back up safely and there was much rejoicing..!

Today’s reading from Luke’s Gospel is a story about persistence. Taken in context it comes just after Jesus has been asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God will come. The Jews of Jesus’ time were of course living under Roman rule, desperate for the Messiah to come and liberate them from Roman oppression. Jesus tells this parable about the widow petitioning the judge for justice because that is what the Jews are also seeking. Some want more than justice, they want revenge.

Luke gives us a picture of a determined widow who brought an ungodly and unjust judge to his senses. Widows and orphans are often used in the bible as a symbol of vulnerability. This widow may be vulnerable, but she is also persistent and that is what wins the day for her. That picture of a persistent woman is a familiar one, I have heard stories of many women who are persistent, particularly when it comes to issues of justice – especially where their children are concerned. I’m sure that at least some of the Chilean miners wives on receiving the news that it would be Christmas before their husbands would be rescued would have badgered the authorities to get them back sooner!

This parable about the persistence of the widow is an important one, and Jesus uses it to teach us that persistence in prayer is vital. From that point of view I find this parable slightly confusing, because the woman is petitioning for something for herself, but not only that, for something AGAINST someone else. This seems to be contrary to what we are taught about prayer. We generally believe that prayer should be altruistic, concerned with the welfare of others, not ourselves. Praying for ourselves is selfish…or is it?

It can be very easy to get into the habit of praying for things that, actually, we don’t care about very much – because we feel we ought to pray for them. Perhaps we shouldn’t be frightened to ask for the things that we really want – at least then we are being truthful and honest and that is important if we are to build our relationship with God. I think that many of the psalms give us a prime example of what it is to be honest with God, they often involve heartfelt pleas to the Almighty.

We must remember that God cannot be fooled, he knows our deepest desires. When we pray silently, deeply and honestly we can acknowledge our inmost thoughts, the things that perhaps we dare not ever say out loud or tell anyone about. I remember my teachers telling me not to be afraid to ask questions – if you don’t know, ask – it is stupid not to! I am pretty sure that the same is true of prayer – there is no wrong way of praying, except to leave a prayer unprayed. We are after all only human, and we quite often make a mess of things, but we should be persistent with our relationship with God and that includes being honest about our deepest desires. We must pray in all sincerity for the things that we most care about. Our prayers may not always be answered, sometimes it might seem that God completely disregards our petitions, but we must be persistent, we must not give up asking. We must be persistent in all things, in prayer, in faith, in proclaiming our faith. We must never give up.

Proper 23C

2010-10-09T14:29:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 23 Year C: Jeremiah 29:1,4-7; Psalm 66:1-11; Timothy 2:8-15; Luke 17:11-19 - by The Rev. Camille Hegg

The reading from Jeremiah reminds me that for so long women did not have choices in whom they married. I’ll give Jeremiah credit: he was trying to foster hope and rebuilding of the Hebrews during the time of exile. But it’s all up to the men to choose wives for themselves to have sons; choose wives for their sons; and give their daughters in marriage.
Then, in Luke Jesus speaks to lepers, at least one of whom was a Samaritan. Presumably the others were Jews because he told them all to go to the priest to show themselves, as was Jewish law. I put these two together and now will put into a context that came back to me all over again.

It was 36 or so years ago. I was going through the discernment process for ordination to the priesthood. It was a strenuous process which lasted a year. In the “urban quarter” the entire twelve of us (only two women) were encouraged to focus on inner city issues. Among other things we were expected to visit singles, gay and lesbian bars and then reflect on the experience. Long story short, I had two ‘epiphanies’ in the lesbian bar. First, I was welcomed there just because I was a woman. I had only been in any kind of bar or social function with a man. Secondly, the place was raided that night and the bartender told me that happens almost every Saturday night. “Harassment,” I said to myself.
Let me be clear: I had processed this first visit to a gay or lesbian bar in the following way: I believe what Jesus said, “the truth will set you free.” Therefore, if the truth is that I can’t minister to homosexual persons because I am afraid or prejudiced, I need to know it. Further, if one is homosexual how much better for all of society that they be able to live freely, truthfully and safely. With a lot of anxiety my friend and I knocked on the door; and were welcomed. All of my stereotypes vanished during those moments of processing, anxiety, and welcoming of me because I am female.

Lepers of societies, who are they? Women, still, not welcomed, treated as property, abused by employers, governments, male partners and some women; gays; lesbians; blacks; Muslims; Jews; the poor; the ill; foreigners; immigrants; the Other. Whoever is in power seems to abuse, exclude or ignore in order to maintain their power.

And yet, Jesus, over and over, went to the powerless and treated them with respect and dignity. He broke through barriers and called into question authorities and rules which dehumanize another person. In so doing he healed them. Someone has to make the first move to begin to break those barriers. In this story it is they, the lepers who make the overture to Jesus. Jesus took them seriously. Surely that should be my role, the church’s role.

In the Kingdom of God outsiders are welcome. However, neither I nor the church should be the one to wait for the “outsiders” to make the first move. But both I and the church should be the first to listen to those who plea for recognition, healing and health.

Epiphanies are in store for all of us when we seek truth, justice and healing for ourselves and others.

Proper 22C

2010-10-02T10:50:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 22C: Lamentations 1:1-6, 2 Timothy 1:1-14, and Luke 17:5-10, by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

It’s early in the month of May, in the year 1848. A young woman boards a ship with two small children in tow, a four year old boy and a two year old girl. The woman is three months pregnant and with her two other children is about to embark on a five month journey from Manchester, England to NYC and then across the United States to Utah. She leaves behind her husband, who will continue to work, earning money to support his family as they make the long journey. The father will follow in a year or so.

The woman and her children cross the Atlantic Ocean; it takes more than six weeks on the ship. A tragic outbreak of small pox claims the life of her two year old daughter. Landing in New York the mother and son take a boat and train from the coast, along the St. Lawrence Seaway, across Illinois to St. Louis. There they meet up with other members who are gathering for the wagon train journey. Soon they will travel northwest through Missouri into Iowa, across Nebraska and Wyoming, arriving some 13 weeks later in Utah. The wagons carry their possessions, the people walk. The woman, now five months pregnant walks too, and by the time she arrives at her new home she is 8 months pregnant. A month after her arrival at her new home she gives birth to a healthy baby.

This woman, my great grandmother, five generations back, made this journey for her faith. For me she stands as a powerful witness of faith in the face of adversity, suffering, and struggles.

For several weeks now the lectionary has offered us readings from Jeremiah. But, today’s reading takes us away from the prophet Jeremiah and offers us instead a reading from Lamentations. Although the author is unknown Lamentations is often considered to have been written by Jeremiah. It’s a collection of laments, in poetic form that echo poems that were common in ancient Mesopotamian cities. In this reading the narrator is actually a city, crying out from deep suffering, blaming God for the pain of the residents of that city. God, the narrator believes, has punished the people for failing to remain faithful to God, and now this voice cries out in sorrow and shame. Losing faith, losing sight of God comes with heavy consequences, or so this passage seems to tell us.

The Letter to Timothy suggests something else. Perhaps suffering is less the act of a punishing God, and more the reality of what people feel when, for some reason, they become disconnected from God. Suffering is not so much the consequence of punishment inflicted by an angry God but more the consequence of our actions and what it feels like when we are separated from the God who loves us. More than that, I surmise that suffering is an aspect of life, it just is. No matter what, the one thing we humans all have in common is suffering. We all experience times in life when we struggle and suffer, sometimes as a result of our own actions or the actions of others, sometimes the cause of our suffering is random, a storm or an illness. Regardless these times of suffering challenge our faith. We cry out to God, feeling abandoned in the desert, suddenly residing in the deep night of the soul.

John Newton, known to us as the author of the hymn "Amazing Grace," also authored a profound book on the spiritual life and the struggles of faith. He was a ship owner and slave trader before becoming a priest in the Church of England. He went through a mighty conversion and from this change of heart worked to end the slave trade and wrote Amazing Grace. He spent his last years as a parish priest in London. In the Works of John Newton from the section titled "Grace in the Ear" Newton lays out a cyclical three step process of the faith journey.

The first step is "Desire." A person has a sudden experience of God and a desire to grow in faith. The person has a profound sense of awe, and a new found awareness of God's grace and love. This first phase is like the Hebrews freed from Egypt, it brings with it a sense of elation. Eventually this “awe-filled” sense of God’s love and grace shifts and the second phase begins.

The second phase is "Conflict." This is the "deep night of the soul" phase where one wrestles with God, with faith, and often faces challenges that were not experienced in the first phase of Desire. If Desire is marked by elation like that of the Hebrews freed from slavery, this phase is marked by a sense of being lost; it’s the Hebrews wandering in the desert for 40 years. Ultimately this is a time of growing more dependent on God and deepening our trust in God as we travel through one challenge or another. This second phase is the longest phase in the spiritual journey.
The third phase, which Newton calls contemplation, is marked by an internal shift, a sense of peace prevails despite the obstacles.Filled with a sense of peace, one becomes less emotionally engaged in the challenges and more able to view them with some distance, having finally learned to put one's trust in God. Newton is careful to spell out that one is not necessarily a better believer or person in one phase or the other, rather one's sense of dependence on God increases through each phase.

This reminds me of a Mary Oliver poem:

The Uses of Sorrow

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.

(Mary Oliver)

Paul reminds Timothy that he inherited from his mother and grandmother gifts of faith which will sustain him through the trials and tribulations of his life, even those that threaten his faith. Paul says: I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you....

In the midst of deep suffering it can be difficult to imagine rekindling the gift of God that is within us. The odd thing is, we don’t actually rekindle it. God does. Somehow in the midst of despair, if we remain diligent in our prayer and practice of faith, even through those times when it feels futile, there rises within us a new sensibility, of hope, of peace, that can only be of God. I don’t know how this works. I only know that it is true. God has hold on me, on you. Somehow, being held in God’s embrace, infuses this peace, this hope, into our beings.

I wish I could say that once in Utah, and especially when her husband joined her a year later, that all was well for my great, great, grandmother . I wish I could say that she lived a life content in her faith and grateful she had made this journey. But I’m not sure that’s the case. Historical records indicate that this great great great great grandfather followed the tradition of that church at that time, the 1800’s and took additional wives. He even spent time in jail for polygamy. Some in that church consider him a saint. My great great great great grandmother divorced him and spent the last of her days dependent on her children, poor and struggling. Somehow though she retained her faith, despite the many heartbreaks she suffered.

Recently I watch the polygamist family from Utah, who star on the realityTV show, Sister Wives, talk about their family and their faith on the Today Show. It seems, unlike my ancestors, that these women all feel equal and experience this “marriage,” this family as healthy. At least that is what they are saying publically. Most often though equal and healthy are not the case in plural marriages. Plural marriages tend to treat women as property, conflict and competition rises amongst the women. Young girls are denigrated and married off at tender ages to older men who often mistreat them. Often women and girls have no choice in who they marry, this being a transaction between men, fathers and husbands-to-be. Many women in plural marriages live unhappy lives and are frequently abused.

While suffering is part of life, I do not think that God calls us into lives of suffering for the sake of faith. This is especially true in our most intimate relationships, which ought to be life-giving not life-taking. Marriage is intended to mirror the love of between God and humanity, a love that ought to raise up each person and help them become the best person they can be. It is not love when one person is chattel, owned and governed by another. A life of faith is not intended to be a life of abuse, pain, or suffering.

Likewise, a life of faith does not mean that our lives will be like a Cinderella story, and all will work out in the end. But then again, in a way it does .Life has a way of throwing us curve balls and challenges. We sometimes think that a life of faith means our problems ought to disappear or we will never have problems in the first place. But as we all know the circumstances of our lives will bring challenges; just because that’s life. However a life of faith will remind us, over and over again, that we are held in the hand of God. Our faith, though it be small like a mustard seed, is enough. Timothy reminds us that God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but a spirit of power. Moving through the challenges of life we find a profound sense of peace arises in us. God’s grace is powerful. God’s grip on us is powerful and God isn’t letting go.

Proper 21C

2010-09-24T07:39:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 21C, Pentecost 18C: Amos 6:1a, 4-7 and Psalm 146, 1 Timothy 6:6-19 , Luke 16:19-31 by the Rev. Dr. Kate Hennessy-Keimig

Three readings…all on a common theme this morning. “Alas for those who are at ease in Zion”….or anywhere else for that matter, Amos tells us, “the revelry is not the goal.” And Timothy too, echoes the message, it’s easy to be trapped by desire and attachment to riches and the things of this world. But we are urged to “set our hopes on God…to do good, be rich in good works, generous and ready to share, so that we have the life that really is life.” And in the Gospel…. again we are reminded what Jesus thought about what was important, and it is NOT the riches of this life!

We have had an ongoing lesson these past weeks in the Gospels from Jesus about the importance of ordering our priorities, letting go of our attachments, aligning ourselves with the poor, putting our selves, our riches on the line for what we say we believe. We are being reminded in many ways why we are here, and that is it is not for ourselves but for the world. This message is very consistent with the thoughts of our new bishop in the Episcopal Church in Minnesota, with the idea that the church does not exist to extend the church but to participate with God in co-creation of God’s kingdom here on earth, a kingdom of justice, compassion and reconciliation, and that we are called to mission.

We come together to worship on Sunday because worship is central to our common life as a community not for its own sake, but in order to support and equip us to make a difference in the work we do in our own mission fields seven days a week. We come to be fed on Word and on Sacrament together in order that we might remember who and Whose we are, in order to be strengthened for what we are called to in the rest of our lives outside this place.

A while back I heard a comment I heard at a clergy conference from one of my colleagues on another TM team that made me think. He talked about how since he has been ordained, he feels a new sense of responsibility wherever he goes because he feels as though people have identified him as a representative of the church, as a sort of “professional Christian” and that they watch how he handles himself in his daily life. How he responds to conflict, how he deals with people….and as I listened to him I thought, you know, this ought not to just be true for someone who is ordained, but for all of us who are baptized, because truly we are all called to see Christ in others and be Christ’s presence in the world. And there is a way in which the world should be able to watch and see God’s Spirit operating in us, see something in the way we act, the way we ARE that sets us apart. That is what mission is about. That is what ministry is about. And each of is called to it. Every one of us walks daily in several mission fields. At home. At work. Where we spend our leisure time. Every one of us functions in our local community and are also citizens of the wider world. And in each of these places there are chances every day to participate in God’s creative reshaping of this world into God’s kingdom. And in each of these arenas we are being called upon to ask ourselves what is the mind of God in this situation and then to act out of that. And we don’t do this in a vacuum. We have Jesus as the role model. Not so much in terms of that little phrase “what would Jesus do” as how would Jesus BE, or what is the mind of God. In these Gospels Jesus is making very clear how it is we are called upon to reflect the mind of God. We are called, in all these mission fields of our lives to do the just thing, to do the most inclusive thing, to do whatever the act is that most widens the circle and draws others in. We are called to do what considers the good of those most in need, the poor, the weak, the vulnerable. We are called upon to forgive. We are called upon to be just. We are called upon to reconcile. We are called upon to be peacemakers. Jesus came to literally “change our minds,” to transform our whole viewpoint, to give us a bigger picture, a glimpse of the possible world as God sees it. Through our baptism, we are covenanted to follow this vision, to incarnate it in our own lives as Jesus did in His. We are all vocational, called to ministry and mission. There is really no escaping it, we were marked as God’s own at baptism, and we are challenged to count the cost and pick up the cross. More than it ever has the world needs to hear another voice. The voice that cries out for justice, and compassion and reconciliation. This is God’s mission, not ours. Our job is merely to respond. To use our own individual gifts and talents to participate as we are called, where we are called, actually many times, every day, if we are paying attention…..in our own mission fields.

We are given the opportunity to participate in something more than the life of this world. We are given the opportunity for eternal life – God’s kingdom life – the countercultural life. Not the life that is merely about storing up our riches here on earth. Not the life that is about looking for the best place for ourselves. Not the one that is about doing the things that will get us noticed and rewarded. But the life that says what we see before us is not how it can be, how it should be. The life that we are offered is the one exemplified in Jesus. It is the one we can claim through our baptism and the power of the Spirit. We make the world we live in different one day at a time, one act at a time by the way we live our daily lives in mission and ministry. May it be so.

Proper 20C

2010-09-17T07:02:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 20C: Amos 8:1-12, Psalm 138, 1 Timothy 2:1-8, Luke 16:1-13 by Janine Goodwin, M.S. Ed., M.A.

It’s another complicated week in the lectionary. Amos cries out against injustice in a way that may be very uncomfortable for our country, where CEO’s salaries have ballooned out of all proportion to those of their workers while many people go unemployed, have no healthcare, and deal with food insecurity. The psalm is a peaceful song of trust. The epistle urges respect for authority and promotes a quiet and peaceable life; the Gospel seems to undercut that, as Jesus, who faced conflict wherever he went, tells a strange story about a cheating steward and says things that are difficult to understand until we reach the stark, “You cannot serve God and wealth,” which is easy to understand but is not easy to hear.

Sets of readings like this one remind me of two different but recurring experiences.
In the first, I am with people of faith. I am in a church. We are all sitting quietly, nicely dressed, in a beautiful building, most of us looking tranquil (and some of us looking downright sleepy) as some of our number read cries of prophetic outrage, wildly puzzling stories, and sayings that threaten to change our lives completely, all in calm, matter-of-fact voices. I look around, thinking, "Is anyone else noticing how weird and scary this stuff is? Has everyone else found a way to deal with it that I don’t know about? What would happen if I asked these questions?"

In the second, I am listening a person who does not share my faith or anyone else’s, someone who is eager to explain to the world that any life of faith is simply a pathetic attempt at self-soothing by people who can't handle tough reality. I think about the incomprehensible passages and impossible demands I find in Scripture, the lives of the people we celebrate in the church calendar, the way study and prayer turn up more challenges and questions every time I practice them, and my own experience at trying (and mostly failing) to live a life based on faith, and sigh. Sometimes I wish they were right, because the placid and deluded life the person is describing sounds easier than mine.

In both cases, I am confronted by the terrors of faith. Scripture, when it is not smoothed over and harmonized out of the individual voices from which it came, is a contradictory, challenging, sometimes shocking thing—and sometimes it really is incomprehensible. There are dozens of studies on the meaning of the parable in the reading from Luke, there are lots of good potential answers, and it’s even more difficult and full of potential meanings than most parables; no one is ever going to be sure exactly what’s going on in it. Maybe the steward is getting back at an unjust master who is trampling on the needy. Maybe he is putting relationships ahead of material goods. Maybe he is crooked and his crookedness is a sign of the world’s corruption, and Jesus is using him to make a satirical point. (These and other intriguing interpretations can be found on this week’s page at textweek.com).

The life of faith is not cozy. Scripture is not always a comfort. Tradition can anchor us in a changing world, but tradition itself has to change as we face new circumstances. Ignoring it can end in a loss of many gifts; worshiping it leads away from living in the present. Our reason is limited and can lead us astray, especially if we use it to fuel denial and wishful thinking. This does not mean that scripture, tradition, and reason are useless, only that they cannot give us the certainty that we sometimes wish they would. I have come to believe that faith is not a matter of knowing the answers to every question, or of thinking God has them written up ahead of time and will dispense them if we ask, or of making up answers because we need them; it is a way of living based on the belief that a God who loves us is helping us do the best we can and understand as much as we can, if we will do our part, in a world that is flawed and painful. Faith is not about reading a map, but about deciding which way to go when there is no clear path, trusting in the companionship of God and each other.

The person who calls faith a comforting delusion has a point; she’s describing something she’s seen. It is a form of idolatry that happens when we worship certainty instead of seeking a living relationship with a living God. It is possible to imagine a God that holds everything in rigid control instead of one who gives us free will and allows us to experience the consequences of our actions. It is possible to take only the assurances of God’s real love and care for us and make a faith that is all about comfort. It is all too easy to assign ourselves the role of the good person, the righteous person, the persecuted person in every story. It is possible to hold such a faith without ever engaging with the troubling demands and the strange utterances of Scripture, and without ever seeing the ways in which we might be the sinners, the unclean, and the persecutors. It is possible to sit in church and not hear how dangerous the life of faith can be, even when those dangers are being preached. I’ve tried all those things myself, and watched them fail. Private griefs and public disasters can shatter a faith like that in an instant. At that moment, the person who has lost a false faith may come to believe that faith itself is an illusion, rather than realizing that what they have lost was never really faith.

Losing a false faith is terrifying and freeing. When we give up the need for certainty, we can choose to trust a God who is greater than our attempts to control or explain our surroundings. We are free to question Scripture, tradition, and reason, and in questioning, we are free to really listen to them and to receive their gifts rather than trying to force them to supply answers that support our preconceptions. We are free to hear all kinds of ideas from others, to have our own ideas, and to hold them lightly lest we make them idols to replace the broken ones. We are free to meet angry assertions of the one right way with the calm knowledge that only God knows the full truth and that we do not have to convince others of God’s will for us. Instead, we have the far more difficult task of working out our own salvation in fear and trembling, knowing God is at work in us.

Once we have faced the terrors of faith, we can find the living comfort that does not negate them but grows out of them: that whatever our uncertainty, God is with us, just as God is with our enemies and those we have harmed. God is working with us, and together, we are working things through, working them out. Whatever is happening in the world and in our lives, there is no one who does not matter to God. The responsibilities are great and we are called to be faithful. Luke Timothy Johnson, working on the parable of the steward, uses “reliable” where most translations use “faithful,” a change which reminds me that the life of faith is a matter of small daily actions as well as great decisions, of habit as well as crisis. The comforts of faith do not negate grief and uncertainty, but help us face them with honesty and courage. Thanks be to the God of weird and scary stuff.

Proper 18C

2010-09-04T17:03:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 18 C By The Rev. Jacqueline Schmitt

What a powerful combination of texts we have for this week:
• Jeremiah at the potter’s house, seeing the vessel in the potter’s hand smashed at its very making, in order that something else can be made.
• Jesus, harsh and serious, ripping disciples away from every tie that binds, other than following him; describing the building of the kingdom as something that requires sustained, disciplined and ruthless planning and execution.

The two metaphors come together in Jesus’ illustrations of what it takes to bring about the reign of God. The king, who wishes to wage war, evaluates the situation and pulls back – even negotiates a peace treaty – with an enemy which he cannot defeat. A tower cannot stand unless it is built on a firm and careful foundation. Like the potter who smashes the imperfect vessel – regret and remorse seem not to be part of the equation – God is altogether willing to bring down inadequate responses to the divine will in order that something new can come into being.

I am in the middle of my sermon preparation, and will just share some thoughts. I am not yet sure where to go with them all yet. For the past few weeks, I have been drawn to Walter Brueggemann’s work on Jeremiah. What took me there was the challenge of the first of these readings, two weeks ago – that God will pluck up and pull down, destroy and overthrow – and only then build and plant (!!) – how possibly to preach on this to a little down-and-outer congregation??

It helps to re-read Brueggemann now. It helps for him to categorize Jeremiah as (1) affirming the old Sinai covenant between God and the people, the covenant which the people of Judah have not followed; (2) articulating with powerful poetry the deep pathos of God – God who does not want just to curse and punish the people for their transgressions but yearns to stay in relationship with these people, yearns for so much more for them and with them; and (3) pronouncing a devastating critique on the temple-priestly establishment that thought they were above the judgment of God, that God’s favor was secure in them and their way of life. The new imagination which Jeremiah brings forth – even from that very first chapter, the snippet of the prophet’s call which we read in church – is that God has something entirely new in store for us. We can know that the new is coming even while we are still living under that establishment theology, that empire, that domination system that will only bring death, because it is so far from the covenant life of justice and mercy that God intends. We can know the new is coming only in our imaginations, only in our hearts, because not even Jeremiah the prophet was predicting or planning what that new covenant would exactly be.

All of us in “the mainline church” are facing a crossroads of judgment on our institutional life. In some places, like my little church, the crisis of unsustainability is here. Other churches have enough money or people to keep going as they are. Others have, blessedly, begun to take the leap into the imaginative new.

My husband preached on these propers (the BCP version) in 1995, part of a sermon to a little suburban congregation that was about to call a new vicar and embark on some ambitious plans to re-start and re-imagine who they would be as a congregation, in hopes to soon become self-sustaining and off diocesan support.

There are times in our lives when heroic and self-sacrificing decisions have a wonderful appeal. These times are moments of insight, are points of encounter with the Holy, are answers to prayer or are answers to searching for meaning in life which is to say again are answers to prayer, ours or someone else’s These are times when we are at our best and the same time at our worst These are times when we glory in discovering a truth and being true to that discovery, hang the consequences, the zeal of the convert, the newly saved, the newly convicted. Think about it; doesn't scripture support that position this morning?

Jesus says... and you quote scripture...sometimes out of context. Jesus says, renounce. The trouble with Christ here is that he is arrogant; with him there are no other loyalties. Family, Business, Nation, Self and all these considerations are important to any healthy person with a sense of self and an ounce of self-respect.

But look at Jesus own life and you begin to question: his family turned away, his nation rejected him, his friends fell away to one and then none! SO are we ready for this? Is this the kind of example we wish to follow? This is our leader, Our Lord, and he is not controlled or owned by nation of national self-interest, or by prayer in school or the right to life issue or by the Episcopal Church or the Roman Catholic Church or any other church. This is our leader and he is a real radical, he even requires us to renounce the self-satisfaction and tyranny of knowing that we have discovered the truth, that we are saved.

The church in question worked hard for a few years, and then it closed. That may be a fate facing many of our congregations. How can Jeremiah’s interpretations of the events which led to the destruction of the temple and the exile in Babylon help us discern the signs of our times, of what God is subverting and destroying? How can we find the peace of mind to allow God’s imagination to work in us, so we can see what new thing may be emerging?

For Proper 17C

2010-08-29T03:44:00.000-07:00

This weeks offering comes from The Rev. Karla Jean Miller:

This is not what I am preaching on, but I love this parable by the Sufi poet, Rumi. A colleague, who is going through some really horrible chemotherapy, shared it on her blog. Like a parable of Jesus, every time I read it, there is something different to learn. So, in the spirit of the parable in today’s lectionary, I share this parable.

Jesus on the Lean Donkey by Rumi

Jesus on the lean donkey
This is an emblem of how the rational intellect
Should control the animal-soul.

Let your spirit
Be strong like Jesus.
If that part becomes weak,
Then the worn-out donkey grows to a dragon.

Be grateful when what seems unkind
Comes from a wise person.

Once, a holy man,
Riding his donkey, saw a snake crawling into
A sleeping man’s mouth! He hurried, but he couldn’t
Prevent it. He hit the man several blows with his club.

The man woke terrified and ran beneath and apple tree
With many rotten apples on the ground.
“Eat!
You miserable wretch. Eat.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Eat more, you fool.”
“I’ve never seen you before!
Who are you? Do you have some inner quarrel with my soul?”

The wise man kept forcing him to eat, and then he ran him.
For hours he whipped the poor man and made him run.
Finally, at nightfall, full of rotten apples,
Fatigued, bleeding, he fell
And vomited everything,
The good and the bad, the apples and the snake.

When he saw that ugly snake
Come out of himself, he fell on his knees
Before his assailant.
“Are you Gabriel? Are you God?”
I bless the moment you first noticed me. I was dead
And didn’t know it. You’ve given me a new life.
Everything I’ve said to you was stupid!
I didn’t know.”
“If I had explained what I was doing,
you might have panicked and died of fear.
Muhammed said,
‘If I described the enemy that lives
inside men, even the most courageous would be paralyzed. No one
would go out, or do any work. No one would pray or fast,
and power to change would fade from human beings,’

so I kept quiet
while I was beating you, that like David
I might shape iron, so that, impossibly,
I might put feathers back into a bird’s wing.

God’s silence is necessary, because of humankind’s
Faintheartedness. If I had told you about the snake,
You wouldn’t have been able to eat, and if
You hadn’t eaten, you wouldn’t have vomited.

I saw your condition and drove my donkey hard
Into the middle of it, saying always under my breath,
‘Lord, make it easy on him.’ I wasn’t permitted to
Tell you, and I wasn’t permitted to stop beating you!”

The healed man, still kneeling,
“I have no way to thank you for the quickness
of your wisdom and the strength
of your guidance.”
God will thank you.”

That Which Limits Us Is....

2010-08-21T15:03:00.000-07:00

A reflection on the readings for Proper 16C: Hebrews 12:18-29 and Luke 13:10-17 by The Rev. Terri C. Pilarski

Perhaps you heard the story on the news this week about Jane Lang, who with her Seeing Eye dog Clipper leading the way, walked to the Morris Plains, NJ train station Tuesday to travel to the Bronx for a Yankees game. Although she’s taken this route before, Tuesday was different, because members of the Yankees baseball team joined her.

Manager Joe Girardi, pitchers Joba Chamberlain, David Robertson, Chad Gaudin and former Yankee Tino Martinez met the 67-year-old Lang at her home as part of the team's HOPE Week. HOPE Week (Helping Others Persevere & Excel) is a unique week-long community program aimed at bringing to light five remarkable stories intended to inspire individuals into action in their own communities. Initiated in 2009, HOPE Week is rooted in the fundamental belief that acts of goodwill provide hope and encouragement to more than just the recipient of the gesture. (YesNetwork.com)

Lang has been blind since she was 22, but that hasn’t prevented her from going to games where she listens to radio broadcasts in the stands so she can react to the action. The Yankees have an Americans with Disablities Act director who knew of Lang and nominated her for the honor. "She's obviously a person who's very humble," Girardi said while waiting for the train. "She was saying she didn't think Hope Week was for someone like her." Gaudin, too, was impressed by Lang's approach to life. "She's excited about being alive ... That's the inspiration she gives everybody. "Lang said she did not let blindness negatively impact her life." You have to live in the world the way it is, not the way you wish it was," said Lang, who began regularly attending Yankees games, after learning the route via subway. She said she goes to about 30 games a year. (From the DailyRecord.com).

Each of us here could probably share a story of someone we know who is struggling and has become a source of inspiration. Each of us here probably is or has at one time struggled as well with some sorrow or tragedy or unexpected misfortune. Life is unpredictable, things happen, we are all scarred in some way.

I’ve been thinking lately about a book I read many years ago by Joan Chittister called, Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope: the Nine Gifts of Suffering. It’s not a book that everyone will like because she walks through this dark place of suffering with a keen eye to how our pain can also become a place of transformation and hope. Frankly, I think most of us would gladly give up the process of transformation in order to avoid the pain and suffering. But life is not like that. Suffering happens. Chittister says suffering usually comes when we least expect it and startles us out of a place of comfort and security. An illness, a death, a job loss, a car accident, some tragedy befalls us in such a way that we know that life will never be the same again.

Our Gospel reading this morning describes a woman with a spirit that has crippled her. She spent eighteen years in a place of deep pain, so much pain that she is literally bent over. Somehow she has found her way to Jesus and seeing her Jesus heals her. But that’s not the end of the story. Because .Jesus has healed this woman on the Sabbath and that upsets some people. Not because he healed but because he healed on the Sabbath. Jesus and these people each hold a different view of what should be done on the Sabbath. A different view of what can and cannot be done.

Likewise when it comes to our perceptions of who is able-bodied and who is disabled, of what can and what cannot be done, and what attributes constitute health and wellbeing we are confronted with different understandings. I recently spent some time with a woman who is blind. And I admit I was somewhat startled when this person said that being blind was her “most precious gift.”

Suddenly I realized that a person that I would call disabled because she or he is blind or sits in a wheel chair might be just as inclined to call me disabled because I don’t see or move the way they do.
If what my friend says is true, that being blind is her most precious gift, and if what Jane Lang says is true, that we must learn to live life as it is and not as we would wish, then what I call blind is really just another way of seeing the world. Being hunched over is just another way of living in and moving in the world. Seeing as I do and moving as I do is just another way of being in the world.

The woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years was bent over. We might think that her vision was limited, looking as she must have at the ground, at feet and knees and hemlines of clothing. But her vision led her to Jesus and he healed her of that spirit, and for that she gave thanks and praise to God.

Not long ago I had a conversation with another friend of mine, one who is suffering from a deep loss, which has changed her life forever. Though her pain is still deep and the loss still profound she feels something stirring inside, something else is coming to life, in addition to pain and suffering. She said something like, “God has a hold on me and won’t let go.” I get that, I’ve my own share of burdens and suffering. I think God has a hold on me too. I’m willing to bet God has hold on you as well. In the words we hear from Hebrews, “we will not be shaken;” because no matter what happens God has a hold on us.

So, on the one hand we live in bondage from the limitations of our perceptions. Those perceptions may be the result of some kind of pain or suffering. They may be how we think someone else ought to feel, given what we think is their life circumstance. On the other hand we live in the grip of a God who won’t let go of us. One limits our view of God’s love, healing, and grace, and the other opens us up to experience God’s love, healing, and grace in ever deepening ways. One is a human construct and one is a construct of God.

How we see and know God in our lives and in the lives of others is always limited by our own perception and vision and movement. But regardless of these limitations each of us is held in the grip of God. A grip that leads us to the feet of Jesus, where it becomes a grip of love that heals from the inside out and sets us free. From this grip, that which we think will limit us or others becomes our most precious gift, because its God who holds us, God who won’t let go, and even in that grip, God who sets us free.