I am running the New York City Marathon in November. I haven't written about that here because I haven't been writing here enough. I'm running with Colin Chapman (and at his suggestion/intervention). We're running together with the Alliance for a Healthier Generation, which works to fight childhood obesity. This is immediately where my mind went yesterday when I heard the end of the epistle reading (to the Hebrews), "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us..."
An old friend of mine took up triathlons in college and referenced this passage on his blog. Yesterday it hit me for the first time how much better this imagery works now that I'm actually training for a big race that requites perseverance. It also works because I use the images of people who've donated to my fundraising goals to get me out of bed, off the couch, and keep putting one foot in front of the next. I have a cloud of witnesses that helps me run with perseverance the distance that has been set before me. I also rely on the strengths of people who taught me to run and were patient with me in the early days.
On my 8 mile run yesterday I had some other realizations. I ran through Golden Gate Park yesterday and realized as I passed the Prayer Book Cross and the waterfall behind it that my long runs need a water element. In baptism classes at Trinity, Wall Street I talk about how it's no accident that the church uses water, food, and drink as its primary tangibles. I regularly made mention of remembering my baptism as I ran along the Hudson.
I got to the Prayer Book Cross (waterfall, and creek) as my run was starting to get to me because I was doing a bigger distance. (I only realized later that it started to go downhill at that point which helped), and that's when I got the new mantra (which our running coach encourages) of "run with perseverance the distance that has been set before me." I just kept saying it to myself, too. All my long runs, really, have had a water element to them: the Seinne, the Liffey, the Hudson, the Golden Gate Straight, and now this little creek.
About this time, though I started to get to an area of the park that was foggy. Earlier in the day (in Oakland) I'd been anxious about the heat and humidity of my run. Running through the park was delightful, especially as I got to the fog. It was cool and made me feel cooler. It was also a nice visual for running into the cloud (literally) of witnesses who were supporting me — financially and emotionally, giving money to the goal and giving encouragement when I am discouraged, and harassing me to go for my run.
Later today I'm going to be messaging people who've supported me financially and ask them what they'd like me to listen to on my runs and race, a way of carrying them with me on my race, remembering who requested what song and thinking about them on my run, how they'd helped me and were continuing to help me run the race that had been set before me...and 26 miles is definitely going to need some perseverance.
If you'd like to join the cloud of witnesses helping me on my run — and helping to fight childhood obesity — you can donate here.
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflections. Show all posts
Monday, August 19, 2013
Friday, August 16, 2013
Personal, transformational change
I've been meaning to write these three (?) blog entries for about two months. In my mind they're going to be personal, community, and institutional levels of transformational change. What is lighting a fire under my today is the following quotation from Irreducible Minimum: pure snark as church messaging
In this same sermon, though (as I recall) the preacher told an Episcopalians light bulb changing joke. One version of this I've heard includes having one to mix the drinks, but most versions of this the numbers change, but one person does something (either changing the light bulb or calling the electrician) and then a variable number of others do the same thing: talk about how much they liked the old lightbulb or miss it.
Do we as Episcopalians (as Mainline Protestants) fear, resist, or expect transformational change, the kind of change that is eye-opening to others (if not immediate) and that is contagious of a new life. Do we expect sanctification, being made holy, or are we quite content with business as usual? In the tradition I grew up in, people shared stories about how their lives had been changed by knowing Jesus. Some people gave up drinking (what they felt they needed to do) and others had peace through difficult times.
As we bring people into our flocks, are we avoiding transformational change by lowering standards or are we praying for the transformation of souls, encouraging people to make changes, and then supporting them in their efforts with God's help (which can quite easily come in the form of community assistance). I don't think these transformations will all be immediate and dramatic, but I am asking if we expect them at all. Do we really expect people to be being made holy in this life?
If it doesn't happen, yes, grace. But I understand grace as not only forgiveness all the time, but also God molding our hearts, minds, and wills more toward that of Christ — and in so doing setting us free from the things that bind us. The Gerasene demoniac was freed not only of the demons, but literal chains, and couldn't wait to tell people about his good news. Do we ask people what their good news is? And do we tell what ours is?
One experiences of transformation in my life, a time where I have experienced the most grace and growth with God, was when I came out to God and then began a coming out process to people who knew me. I think it was summer of 2007 when I was living in South Carolina. Earlier in the summer I'd had an intense conversation with my mom about a friend of mine in Alabama that my step-dad had said spent the night at our house — he hadn't.
My mom asked if he was gay and then asked if I was gay. I said no on both counts. I lied to my mom because I wanted to have my summer in South Carolina; I didn't want her to call my uncle and tell him that he needed to send me home. I was carrying the guilt and shame not only of being gay, but also lying to so many people — including actively lying when I was asked.
When I've told people this they say, "Um, don't you think God knew?" Well, yes, obviously God knew. God created me in God's image, but words, especially spoken words have power. In middle school a relief for me and plenty of other people was online chatrooms. We could talk about our curiosity because typing it made it not real. As long as we didn't say it out loud we weren't stuck.
When in my prayer I said "God, I'm gay." It seemed as though God thumped my forehead and said, 'Duh. That's how I made you." This was after years of praying to have those feelings taken away, lying on the floor of my bedroom in high school in tears praying for me and another dear friend to be straightened out. When I heard/felt the closest I've ever felt to God audibly speaking to me, I was filled with Joy (as Lewis writes about it) and started to have bubbly laughter.
That thing that I'd been hiding, been so afraid of, been lying about — wasn't anything to worry about. It wasn't analysis of scriptures that changed my mind, it was the presence of Christ breaking the chains of shame and guilt that bound me. That's what started my real-life coming out process beyond just a few friends, and it's what really got rid of the fear I had around me. In John 3 Jesus says, "For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God."
I was set free and had to come to the light to show that my deeds are done in God — and yet there is change to come. I need to love more simply and rely less on others' opinions of me. I need to do a better job having patience and not getting so angry. I need to do a much better job putting my whole trust in Christ as Lord. I have known change on the personal level, and thus I expect that a relationship with Christ brings it. It won't always look like mine, but I expect that something changes; life changes, and the status quo doesn't remain in a life, when someone knows the Good News of God in Christ.
What are your stories of freedom and redemption? How have your chains been broken? What stories do you have to tell, and where do you tell them, showing the transformational change of Christ?
Don't expect to be transformed. Like, at all. It's wicked expensive, and we have other things to do. Jesus is inconvenient.On June 23 I heard a great sermon about the Gerasene demoniac. The line I remember most from that sermon — because I had to write it down — is that the demoniac, when Jesus refuses to let him go with him, proclaims throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him. The preacher said that he was "bursting with Good News of what Jesus had just done for him."
In this same sermon, though (as I recall) the preacher told an Episcopalians light bulb changing joke. One version of this I've heard includes having one to mix the drinks, but most versions of this the numbers change, but one person does something (either changing the light bulb or calling the electrician) and then a variable number of others do the same thing: talk about how much they liked the old lightbulb or miss it.
Do we as Episcopalians (as Mainline Protestants) fear, resist, or expect transformational change, the kind of change that is eye-opening to others (if not immediate) and that is contagious of a new life. Do we expect sanctification, being made holy, or are we quite content with business as usual? In the tradition I grew up in, people shared stories about how their lives had been changed by knowing Jesus. Some people gave up drinking (what they felt they needed to do) and others had peace through difficult times.
As we bring people into our flocks, are we avoiding transformational change by lowering standards or are we praying for the transformation of souls, encouraging people to make changes, and then supporting them in their efforts with God's help (which can quite easily come in the form of community assistance). I don't think these transformations will all be immediate and dramatic, but I am asking if we expect them at all. Do we really expect people to be being made holy in this life?
If it doesn't happen, yes, grace. But I understand grace as not only forgiveness all the time, but also God molding our hearts, minds, and wills more toward that of Christ — and in so doing setting us free from the things that bind us. The Gerasene demoniac was freed not only of the demons, but literal chains, and couldn't wait to tell people about his good news. Do we ask people what their good news is? And do we tell what ours is?
One experiences of transformation in my life, a time where I have experienced the most grace and growth with God, was when I came out to God and then began a coming out process to people who knew me. I think it was summer of 2007 when I was living in South Carolina. Earlier in the summer I'd had an intense conversation with my mom about a friend of mine in Alabama that my step-dad had said spent the night at our house — he hadn't.
My mom asked if he was gay and then asked if I was gay. I said no on both counts. I lied to my mom because I wanted to have my summer in South Carolina; I didn't want her to call my uncle and tell him that he needed to send me home. I was carrying the guilt and shame not only of being gay, but also lying to so many people — including actively lying when I was asked.
When I've told people this they say, "Um, don't you think God knew?" Well, yes, obviously God knew. God created me in God's image, but words, especially spoken words have power. In middle school a relief for me and plenty of other people was online chatrooms. We could talk about our curiosity because typing it made it not real. As long as we didn't say it out loud we weren't stuck.
When in my prayer I said "God, I'm gay." It seemed as though God thumped my forehead and said, 'Duh. That's how I made you." This was after years of praying to have those feelings taken away, lying on the floor of my bedroom in high school in tears praying for me and another dear friend to be straightened out. When I heard/felt the closest I've ever felt to God audibly speaking to me, I was filled with Joy (as Lewis writes about it) and started to have bubbly laughter.
That thing that I'd been hiding, been so afraid of, been lying about — wasn't anything to worry about. It wasn't analysis of scriptures that changed my mind, it was the presence of Christ breaking the chains of shame and guilt that bound me. That's what started my real-life coming out process beyond just a few friends, and it's what really got rid of the fear I had around me. In John 3 Jesus says, "For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God."
I was set free and had to come to the light to show that my deeds are done in God — and yet there is change to come. I need to love more simply and rely less on others' opinions of me. I need to do a better job having patience and not getting so angry. I need to do a much better job putting my whole trust in Christ as Lord. I have known change on the personal level, and thus I expect that a relationship with Christ brings it. It won't always look like mine, but I expect that something changes; life changes, and the status quo doesn't remain in a life, when someone knows the Good News of God in Christ.
What are your stories of freedom and redemption? How have your chains been broken? What stories do you have to tell, and where do you tell them, showing the transformational change of Christ?
Friday, February 8, 2013
Ritual, Religion, and Relationship
Last week I posted a link on Facebook to the article “The Truth About Salvation”. I excerpted the end:
I think it would be a horrible lie that the rituals of any religion will bring salvation if I had ever heard someone say that; I just haven’t. Growing up I heard similar things about more liturgical traditions, “They think that if they just go to Mass they’ll get to heaven.” Not quite. It’s a lot more nuanced than that because the approach is different. Rather than being about praying a prayer, there is an understanding that grace is conveyed not through rituals, but through materials. Grace and salvation don’t come from what we do (receiving communion, being baptized), but what God does in the bread and wine, in the washing water, in the healing oil So much are these actions about God and not us, that the Church long ago decided that the state of grace of the person doesn’t matter for them to be efficacious. (For those who say otherwise, see donatism).
I whole-heartedly reject the notion that relationship is not ritual. Ritual is an invitation to or expectation of relationship as the Body of Christ does something as one. Baptism gives people with five senses a way to engage their senses as they make promises to Christ and are brought into a community. When asked, “Will you do these things that we’re all trying to do?” the baptizand replies, “I will, with God’s help.” In that moment we have a relationship with Christ. Like all other relationships it takes work, but we are marked as Christ’s own forever. When we come to the table of grace we are continually joined to Christ as Christ continues to take up residence in us. The practice of it may be different than some others’, but God is active, even if we don’t always understand how.
These moments of relationship bring us to salvation. For a long, long time the Church (for the most part) has believed that grace is conveyed in these acts. The Nicene Creed explicitly says, “We believe in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.” That statement is inherently relational because it’s what we believe. It was put into the Nicene Creed in A.D. 381. Rather than being “just a symbol,” the Church believes that something happens. Because something happens from God and not from us, we only have to do it once at that.
There are a lot of things that seem like equating relationship and ritual, but those are often from a place of a very narrow definition of what a ritual is. Disciples are also rituals, from keeping a prayer journal to having a daily quiet time. Doing it over and over again is a ritual that is used to build relationship. I have been critical of the “Praying that prayer” model because although there is an expectation of relationship, there isn’t necessary follow-up — and often the statement that it’s okay. You prayed that prayer and that’s all you’ve got to do.
For this very reason I’m critical of drive through baptisms, where the parents have no intention of bringing their child back and are not in relationship with the community. The difference in my mind, though, is that God is active either way. When done well both models have safeguards built in, but the one I prefer is one that is about God’s action and then the community promising to be a part of the ongoing life of the newly baptized. Because it’s the Spirit present in the water, though, it sticks.
“Asking Jesus into one’s heart” is arguable a ritual in and of itself, and that’s not a bad thing. Letting that be the stopping point (which Platt is arguing against in his work) is what bothers me — but that’s not the ideal. What also bothers me, though is an outright rejection of ritual based on one’s preference (which, in my experience, often comes from lack of exposure over time, so hard to understand) rather than wondering how someone else’s practices may be formative for them.
How might we wonder with others about their practices? Through asking questions rather than making assumptions based on our outsiders’ perceptions. Through asking ourselves how our practices are formative for us and inviting others into them with us. How else?
“Shouldn’t it alarm us that such simplistic pathways to Christianity are nowhere to be found in God’s Word? Shouldn’t we who follow Christ be concerned that the Scriptures contain no references to people asking Jesus into their hearts or reciting a prayer of salvation?...It’s a lie. With good intentions and a sincere desire to reach as many people as possible for Christ, we’ve subtly and deceptively minimized the magnitude of what it means to follow Jesus.”I concluded by saying that sounded like Mainline talk (or talk that I’ve heard from Mainliners) from an Evangelical. Someone commented on my post and said, “It's a horrible lie...that one only need to walk an aisle and quietly repeat a prayer. And it is a horrible lie that the rituals of any religion will bring salvation, too. Relationship not ritual!”
I think it would be a horrible lie that the rituals of any religion will bring salvation if I had ever heard someone say that; I just haven’t. Growing up I heard similar things about more liturgical traditions, “They think that if they just go to Mass they’ll get to heaven.” Not quite. It’s a lot more nuanced than that because the approach is different. Rather than being about praying a prayer, there is an understanding that grace is conveyed not through rituals, but through materials. Grace and salvation don’t come from what we do (receiving communion, being baptized), but what God does in the bread and wine, in the washing water, in the healing oil So much are these actions about God and not us, that the Church long ago decided that the state of grace of the person doesn’t matter for them to be efficacious. (For those who say otherwise, see donatism).
I whole-heartedly reject the notion that relationship is not ritual. Ritual is an invitation to or expectation of relationship as the Body of Christ does something as one. Baptism gives people with five senses a way to engage their senses as they make promises to Christ and are brought into a community. When asked, “Will you do these things that we’re all trying to do?” the baptizand replies, “I will, with God’s help.” In that moment we have a relationship with Christ. Like all other relationships it takes work, but we are marked as Christ’s own forever. When we come to the table of grace we are continually joined to Christ as Christ continues to take up residence in us. The practice of it may be different than some others’, but God is active, even if we don’t always understand how.
These moments of relationship bring us to salvation. For a long, long time the Church (for the most part) has believed that grace is conveyed in these acts. The Nicene Creed explicitly says, “We believe in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.” That statement is inherently relational because it’s what we believe. It was put into the Nicene Creed in A.D. 381. Rather than being “just a symbol,” the Church believes that something happens. Because something happens from God and not from us, we only have to do it once at that.
There are a lot of things that seem like equating relationship and ritual, but those are often from a place of a very narrow definition of what a ritual is. Disciples are also rituals, from keeping a prayer journal to having a daily quiet time. Doing it over and over again is a ritual that is used to build relationship. I have been critical of the “Praying that prayer” model because although there is an expectation of relationship, there isn’t necessary follow-up — and often the statement that it’s okay. You prayed that prayer and that’s all you’ve got to do.
For this very reason I’m critical of drive through baptisms, where the parents have no intention of bringing their child back and are not in relationship with the community. The difference in my mind, though, is that God is active either way. When done well both models have safeguards built in, but the one I prefer is one that is about God’s action and then the community promising to be a part of the ongoing life of the newly baptized. Because it’s the Spirit present in the water, though, it sticks.
“Asking Jesus into one’s heart” is arguable a ritual in and of itself, and that’s not a bad thing. Letting that be the stopping point (which Platt is arguing against in his work) is what bothers me — but that’s not the ideal. What also bothers me, though is an outright rejection of ritual based on one’s preference (which, in my experience, often comes from lack of exposure over time, so hard to understand) rather than wondering how someone else’s practices may be formative for them.
How might we wonder with others about their practices? Through asking questions rather than making assumptions based on our outsiders’ perceptions. Through asking ourselves how our practices are formative for us and inviting others into them with us. How else?
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Reloading and Resurrection
This post has been at least in my head in process since I was driving from Alabama to California, the week after the shootings in Aurora, CO. During that time I saw many different people say many different things about gun control, how awful it was to be politicizing the tragedy so soon, how we can't help but politicize it because it is a political issue and our faith lives require us to engage our society's politics.
Most of the posts were from the same people over and over again, seeming to get louder and louder as they posted. However, watching my Facebook feed, I noticed some other trends around the Christian faith as it was indirectly related to gun violence in the US. While there were certainly those being explicit (usually arguing for more gun control as a life issue), there were those who drew no correlation between their desire to have their guns and their faith, but the trends of whose posts certainly link the two.
My observation of many of these posting was that the people who might claim to have a deeper faith because they regularly post prayers requesting miracles were also the ones who posted most from a place of fear concerning who can carry weapons. I felt a dissonance between expecting logic and reason to be defied as someone prayed for cancer to be poofed away, despite what medical professionals may be saying, in one posted and insisting they needed to be able to arm themselves to protect themselves from others.
This understood need to protect themselves from others seemed to stem largely from a fear of death. My understanding of much of the Bible is that Christians are instructed to not live in fear. A poster I used to see, and I have no idea if this is factual, said " 'Fear not' is in the Bible 365 times - one for every day of the year.' " If we can rely on God for miraculous cures for cancer, why do we feel as though we need rely on ourselves to protect us from death?
The perceived need to protect ourselves from death throws me some, too. While this isn't something I'll claim many people are happy to say that we're a "Christian Nation." Those are, at least among my Facebook friends, the same ones who are so insistent that we have guns to defend ourselves - from the bad guys (who, I'll point out, are still created in God's image, whether we like it or not). This fear of death does not resonate with one of the core tenets of Christianity: that dying Christ destroyed our death and rising Christ restored our life; Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and to those in the tombs bestowing life.
For a Christian Nation, we seem to be awfully scared of something that we believe doesn't have any power over us. We seem quite content to rest on these ideas, promises, thoughts, and beliefs when people have died, but how do we realize Easter while we're alive? I think that we're probably more likely to live fuller lives now (cf. John 10.10) if we aren't worried so much about holding on to it. Liturgical Christians at least annually acknowledge that they will die ("Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return") but we don't sit in that.
Neither do I think that we should live only thinking about the afterlife. Rather than being a motivator for what we do now, I think the promises that those in the tombs have been given life should release us of fighting to stay alive by not taking risks and fearing that we're always about to die. Acknowledging that it's a possibility is probably a good thing, but fearing it isn't, I don't think.
How do we engage and realize Easter in our day-to-day living? Do we believe that in baptism we have been buried with Christ into his death so that just as he was raised we may be raised to new life (Rom. 6.4)? If we do, and we have faith that we will be raised, and have faith the cancer can be cured miraculously (which not all of us do), why do we fear for our lives? Why are we willing to rely on God for healing but not protection, particularly protection from something that Christ has already defeated and has lost its sting?
Does "Christian America" and its need for hand guns actually believe in the Resurrection?
Most of the posts were from the same people over and over again, seeming to get louder and louder as they posted. However, watching my Facebook feed, I noticed some other trends around the Christian faith as it was indirectly related to gun violence in the US. While there were certainly those being explicit (usually arguing for more gun control as a life issue), there were those who drew no correlation between their desire to have their guns and their faith, but the trends of whose posts certainly link the two.
My observation of many of these posting was that the people who might claim to have a deeper faith because they regularly post prayers requesting miracles were also the ones who posted most from a place of fear concerning who can carry weapons. I felt a dissonance between expecting logic and reason to be defied as someone prayed for cancer to be poofed away, despite what medical professionals may be saying, in one posted and insisting they needed to be able to arm themselves to protect themselves from others.
This understood need to protect themselves from others seemed to stem largely from a fear of death. My understanding of much of the Bible is that Christians are instructed to not live in fear. A poster I used to see, and I have no idea if this is factual, said " 'Fear not' is in the Bible 365 times - one for every day of the year.' " If we can rely on God for miraculous cures for cancer, why do we feel as though we need rely on ourselves to protect us from death?
The perceived need to protect ourselves from death throws me some, too. While this isn't something I'll claim many people are happy to say that we're a "Christian Nation." Those are, at least among my Facebook friends, the same ones who are so insistent that we have guns to defend ourselves - from the bad guys (who, I'll point out, are still created in God's image, whether we like it or not). This fear of death does not resonate with one of the core tenets of Christianity: that dying Christ destroyed our death and rising Christ restored our life; Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and to those in the tombs bestowing life.
For a Christian Nation, we seem to be awfully scared of something that we believe doesn't have any power over us. We seem quite content to rest on these ideas, promises, thoughts, and beliefs when people have died, but how do we realize Easter while we're alive? I think that we're probably more likely to live fuller lives now (cf. John 10.10) if we aren't worried so much about holding on to it. Liturgical Christians at least annually acknowledge that they will die ("Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return") but we don't sit in that.
Neither do I think that we should live only thinking about the afterlife. Rather than being a motivator for what we do now, I think the promises that those in the tombs have been given life should release us of fighting to stay alive by not taking risks and fearing that we're always about to die. Acknowledging that it's a possibility is probably a good thing, but fearing it isn't, I don't think.
How do we engage and realize Easter in our day-to-day living? Do we believe that in baptism we have been buried with Christ into his death so that just as he was raised we may be raised to new life (Rom. 6.4)? If we do, and we have faith that we will be raised, and have faith the cancer can be cured miraculously (which not all of us do), why do we fear for our lives? Why are we willing to rely on God for healing but not protection, particularly protection from something that Christ has already defeated and has lost its sting?
Does "Christian America" and its need for hand guns actually believe in the Resurrection?
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sharing the Gospel is Dangerous
"If we say we want to translate the gospel with young people, this is what we are saying: we are willing to put the very power of the gospel itself -- the very power of the Word of God -- into the hands of teenagers, people who do not view culture the way we view culture, who do not hear God the way we hear God, who will not worship the way we worship, who will not 'do church' the way we want them to simply because they will be listening to Jesus and not to us. Catechesis behind the wall is a mixed bag. Yes, young people fortified by these conversations quickly puncture the flimsy spiritualities of Therapeutic Moralistic Deism as the on-the-wall conversation with culture begins to include them. But what if they trust us? What if they love the God we say we love? What if they imitate Christ, share his wasteful grace, and embody his self-giving love in the world? In short, what if they get their hands on the gospel? Then where will we be?" - Kenda Creasy Dean, Almost Christian
This kind of thing I love. But it also scares me. Dean is writing about youth ministry, but I read it as I am twenty-four and preparing for ordination...and I read it as just a young adult. She's targeting youth ministers I'm thinking that a lot of what she is saying is applicable to me and people my age. I don't want to say that I'll be listening to Jesus and not "adults" but I do get nervous sometimes about an Establishment shutting down ideas from me or my peers because its different. Maybe they'll have other reasons, and maybe some of them will be valid.
But I've already encountered (not about me) push back from higher ups when people want to do something different. And it's just that it's different. They may've tried to say something else, but it was just words and they were scared of something different. I hope that system doesn't chew me up and spit me out.
This kind of thing I love. But it also scares me. Dean is writing about youth ministry, but I read it as I am twenty-four and preparing for ordination...and I read it as just a young adult. She's targeting youth ministers I'm thinking that a lot of what she is saying is applicable to me and people my age. I don't want to say that I'll be listening to Jesus and not "adults" but I do get nervous sometimes about an Establishment shutting down ideas from me or my peers because its different. Maybe they'll have other reasons, and maybe some of them will be valid.
But I've already encountered (not about me) push back from higher ups when people want to do something different. And it's just that it's different. They may've tried to say something else, but it was just words and they were scared of something different. I hope that system doesn't chew me up and spit me out.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Reflection on Titus
I actually really like today's Titus reading, gender norms and expectations aside.
I'm reading Hauerwas and Willimon's Resident Aliens right now for my ethics class, and today's readings make me think about what they say about the Church being a community that is different and set apart and has its own stories and customs. The text has older people teaching the younger people good habits and virtues. Temperance, self-control, honesty, love of partner, etc. It's all practical, too. When you do what you're supposed to do and your behavior can't be called into question it's hard to have opponents.
And then there's the God part. We can't do it alone or on our own. This should be a given, it's kind of a part of our faith story, but I know that I'm having a hard time with it. Having a hard time, have a hard time. I need to get some help with something but don't want to. I know I need it, but I want to be able to tough it alone. And I think when I'm honest the help will say that I actually need a lot more and am not nearly as self-sufficient as I think I am.
I'm in a weird spot right now of trying to figure out support networks and who I can count on and who I can't and what is reasonable expectation for friends and what isn't. And whether I'm being excluded intentionally or unintentionally and if I've done something I don't realize or if we're all just busy. And why people I often want to invest in seem to not really want to invest in me. And why I feel less close to people I felt close and if I'm not being not invited inasmuch as people know my schedule.
That's a lot of I in that paragraph, and I'm not going to try to be too hard on myself about that. This Lent I'm going to work on cultivating some friendships and building some support so that I don't wind up going to bed at 7:00. It's going to take more work than I'd like apparently. There's a lot of ongoing processing happening and a lot of feeling rejected. But I'm going to work on focusing on others in service and in listening...and remembering that I can't do any of it alone.
But as for you, teach what is consistent with sound doctrine. Tell the older men to be temperate, serious, prudent, and sound in faith, in love, and in endurance. Likewise, tell the older women to be reverent in behavior, not to be slanderers or slaves to drink; they are to teach what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be self-controlled, chaste, good managers of the household, kind, being submissive to their husbands, so that the word of God may not be discredited. Likewise, urge the younger men to be self-controlled. Show yourself in all respects a model of good works, and in your teaching show integrity, gravity, and sound speech that cannot be censured; then any opponent will be put to shame, having nothing evil to say of us. Tell slaves to be submissive to their masters and to give satisfaction in every respect; they are not to talk back, not to pilfer, but to show complete and perfect fidelity, so that in everything they may be an ornament to the doctrine of God our Savior.There's some stuff in it that I don't like. I'll own that. And there are some things in it that have undoubtedly been used to dominate and oppress women and people of color. But there's more to the text than that, and if we look at its wholeness I think there's some good things to glean. This came up in Chapel a few weeks ago and it made people giggle because the gendering is so far from where we are. I'm glad it came up today, though.
For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all, training us to renounce impiety and worldly passions, and in the present age to live lives that are self-controlled, upright, and godly, while we wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ. He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds.
Declare these things; exhort and reprove with all authority. Let no one look down on you.
I'm reading Hauerwas and Willimon's Resident Aliens right now for my ethics class, and today's readings make me think about what they say about the Church being a community that is different and set apart and has its own stories and customs. The text has older people teaching the younger people good habits and virtues. Temperance, self-control, honesty, love of partner, etc. It's all practical, too. When you do what you're supposed to do and your behavior can't be called into question it's hard to have opponents.
And then there's the God part. We can't do it alone or on our own. This should be a given, it's kind of a part of our faith story, but I know that I'm having a hard time with it. Having a hard time, have a hard time. I need to get some help with something but don't want to. I know I need it, but I want to be able to tough it alone. And I think when I'm honest the help will say that I actually need a lot more and am not nearly as self-sufficient as I think I am.
I'm in a weird spot right now of trying to figure out support networks and who I can count on and who I can't and what is reasonable expectation for friends and what isn't. And whether I'm being excluded intentionally or unintentionally and if I've done something I don't realize or if we're all just busy. And why people I often want to invest in seem to not really want to invest in me. And why I feel less close to people I felt close and if I'm not being not invited inasmuch as people know my schedule.
That's a lot of I in that paragraph, and I'm not going to try to be too hard on myself about that. This Lent I'm going to work on cultivating some friendships and building some support so that I don't wind up going to bed at 7:00. It's going to take more work than I'd like apparently. There's a lot of ongoing processing happening and a lot of feeling rejected. But I'm going to work on focusing on others in service and in listening...and remembering that I can't do any of it alone.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Preaching Grace from the Pulpits on Sunday, Living Legalism the Rest of the Week?
from Grace and Truth to You:
Jack Beavers sent me a link to an article in the Fort Worth Star Telegram with a profile on Joel Gregory, former pastor of First Baptist Church, Dallas, Texas and Southern Baptist Convention celebrity. Joel is now ministering in black churches across America. Toward the end of the article, in explaining the ministry he has in now in black churches, Joel Gregory is quoted as saying:
"To some degree, white evangelicals preach grace. But when it comes to dealing with real-life situations, there's a good deal more judgmentalism and legalism. Black churches not only preach grace, they are willing to take you where you are and if you fall down, really try to help you get up, and not punish you."
Read it all...
I have to say that this fits totally with my experience of Southern Baptist Churches, in large part. It's been a long time, and I learned a lot when I was Southern Baptist. I got a lot of love from a lot of different people, but I heard very contradictory messages about grace and legalism. I heard "grace, grace, grace," and then heard a lists of things to do and not to (some from the pulpit, some at home) if you're really a Christian. Don't drink. Don't smoke. Don't be gay. Don't get divorced unless there's unfaithfulness. Now, most of the rules aren't necessarily bad things, but there wasn't a lot of room for mess up. I mean sometimes the lived reality of it was graceful, but the attitudes about people getting pregnant outside marriage or messed up on drugs were shame/guilt based, even if the person wasn't explicitly excluded.
This not having room for people to be fully welcomed back doesn't encourage people to be real with one another. It encourages behavior modification. Derek Webb says on The House Show
Because, here’s the truth, flattery at its very best will encourage nothing more in you and in your community than behavior modification – modifying your behavior to act the way you should, to hide the things you do that are wrong, and to try to amplify the things you do that are right. But, see, here’s the truth: all the behavior modification in the world will never change your hearts, and it can never change our communities. Jesus however, does change our hearts and he will change our communities. And that is why boldness is called for.
And later, more on grace and legalism in my experience.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Eternal Father, Spirit Word
The title is one of the lines from St. Patrick's Breastplate, which we encourage James to pray on his Tuesday train ride (for protection from demons at his destination, of course). At any rate, over the last year or so I've come to realize how much I love doxological verses of hymns. I grew up hearing a lot about Jesus or nondescript God (presumably the First Person of the Trinity). That's all well and good,but it doesn't give much weight to a co-equal and co-eternal Trinity if only two-thirds of it get much air time. Where's the fairness doctrine for the Persons of the Trinity?
I like the Spirit best, as much as one can like a person of the Trinity, separate, but entwined as they are. I think I like it best because it got so little attention, really, in much of my formation. ANd because it's kind of ethereal, mysterious, and harder to make (or presume to make) rock solid claims about. Doxological verses and constant reference to the Trinity, which I've found in a great abundance in The Episcopal Church, remind us that the Spirit is there. And if we keep in mind the presence of the Spirit we have to ask ourselves what She might be doing. She's still speaking, from the fortresses of power to the streets that need hugging.
I like the Spirit best, as much as one can like a person of the Trinity, separate, but entwined as they are. I think I like it best because it got so little attention, really, in much of my formation. ANd because it's kind of ethereal, mysterious, and harder to make (or presume to make) rock solid claims about. Doxological verses and constant reference to the Trinity, which I've found in a great abundance in The Episcopal Church, remind us that the Spirit is there. And if we keep in mind the presence of the Spirit we have to ask ourselves what She might be doing. She's still speaking, from the fortresses of power to the streets that need hugging.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Dust to Daffodils, Part 1
It was a long six weeks from remember that we are dust to walking down in a cassock 9th Ave looking at daffodils on my way to be a eucharistic minister at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine's Easter 11:00 service. However, as I've contemplated the beauty of spring (and enjoyed the spring imagery I'd never noticed before) in Easter hymns, I realzied that I haven't necessarily talked a lot about what I've been doing. I posted songs and videos and commentary on news and such. Links and sundries, but not a lot of day-to-day, week-to-week goings on that I think Judy et al. might like to read about. It'll be splotchy, not chronological. Some pictures thrown in.
I had a fabulous Easter, perhaps the best I've had. Certainly the best I've had in a while. The Vigil was outstanding. I went to the Vigil on campus, where we were joined by the Church of the Ascension. All I have to say is wow. People in long white robes, shiny scarves, and a enormous cauldron of fire lighting a four-foot tall candle, then lots of people chanting as they follow this large candle. Then they sit in the dark, sing some more, then turn the lights on and sing
Earth her joy confesses,Christianity has never co-opted parts of other religions and used them for their purposes.
clothing her for spring,
all fresh gifts return
with her returning King:
bloom in every meadow,
leaves on every bough,
speak his sorrow ended,
hail his triumph now.
Months in due succession,
days of lengthening light,
hours and passing moments
praise thee in their flight.
Brightness of the morning,
sky and fields and sea,
Vanquisher of darkness,
bring their praise to thee.
It was a fabulous service. The music was outstanding. We had a true celebration. After the vigil I went to sing karaoke with a friend of mine for a few hours then walked back to the Close for bed. I was up again the next morning to go up to the Cathedral. Me, Ben, and James opted to wear our cassocks for the commute up and take our surplices in a garment bag. We were on time, quickly briefed, did a little wandering, then went back to the sacristy to get dressed. That experience in its entirety was simply glorious.
The service continued, we retired, and then walked back. That will be another post, though, because this is long enough.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Benedict and the Board
There are two things in the front of my mind right now, Holy Week aside. These are two things in the forefront of my mind, things that both direct me directly or indirectly. These two things are both in the news, although one is limited to the Episcopal News Service kind of news while the other is really dominant in international news right now, including lots of space in the New York Times. (There are even people taking ads out in the Times in response to articles)!
The first thing in the front of my mind is my school. General Seminary's board met on Monday to talk about what to do and where to go from here. And it's promising. There are some issues, but everything is looking up. We've found the issues, and we're working to correct them. We might be partnering in some neat ways with other institutions to not just work for General's future, but also the future of theological education and the future of The Episcopal Church. I have a very positive outlook here. We're getting things done and planning on ways to keep from getting right back where we are.
The other thing in the front of my mind, in large part because Andrew Sullivan won't let up. He keeps quoting things, talking, posting readers remarks, and making me think. He has a great piece called "Sin or Crime?" that is well worth the read. He posts a lot of other stuff, but doesn't use labels that I can tell, so you can't just click a link and get all his coverage (which is a lot of linking to other stories) about this issue. It makes me hurt for the Church for a lot of reasons. I certainly hurt for victims, too and am not defending the Church. But I hurt for the damage it has done to its moral authority.
How do these two things affect me you might ask? Well, one of them is my school, my future. Like I said, things are looking up! The sex abuse scandal doesn't directly affect me. The critiques and criticisms are mostly directed at the Roman Church and its hierarchy. But in all honesty that affects how people perceive our men and women in collars, too. And as someone being trained to be a leader in the faith, it affects the kinds of conversations I have with people when I say, "I'm in training to be a priest." (This was one of the drunken conversations at the piano bar in Vegas.) It may be tempting to say to the general public, "Well, we're more transparent, our laity have voice in how our bishops are chosen, blah blah blah blah blah," but I don't think that's appropriate. People are hurting; they don't need to be recruited into another system as their reeling from the Church that they potentially love and may have been their home their entire life.
These two things are teaching me something, and I got to put it into practice yesterday. When mistakes are made, intentionally or unintentionally, the people affected like for someone to step up to the plate and say, "I messed up." Andrew Sullivan points out that most of the reaction from the Vatican and American bishops has been either denial or to attack those who are critical, often by calling names. This is denial after decades (centuries) of this being not talked about and not dealt with. And now we have more people saying "I didn't know," "It wasn't my fault," and that they won't "be intimidated by the petty gossip of dominant opinion."
As has been discussed a lot around the Close, in times of crisis or impending crisis or pseudo-crisis, people may be quick to assign blame, or not assign it and just want someone to point a finger of blame at. It's probably true that that often happens. I think there are times when people just want those who bore responsibility to own that responsibility. Not to have closed door meetings and be less than forthcoming about what is actually going on, but to include the people who have been, are being, and will be affected in the process of determining next steps, for justice or for institutional advancement.
People might want a heartfelt apology so that they can move on with what's going on in their lives. If things are on the up, that's great! But people might want to know what happened for an institution to get where it is. In the case of the Vatican, it's been years of covering up to protect the image of the Church. At school, I don't know what happened. But I feel like cash flow problems of this magnitude don't come out of nowhere. And no one's taking responsibility (at any level) engenders some anxiety. Yes, we might be staying open for a good, long while. But what are we doing to keep us from coming back to this place? If we haven't been told what/where the systemic issues were/are, why should we think that the system has addressed those issues?
I don't write from a place of anger or anxiety, I really don't. I don't have anyone in my head to blame, nor do I have any ideas about where I'd start if I wanted to point fingers. I'm going to keep doing the work I've been given to do, saying my prayers, doing my homework, and going to chapel and class. Apparently at the meeting someone did offer an apology that helped the situation. As I said on Episcopal Café, I was in class, so I didn't get to go to the meeting. However a little more clarity about what's been going on, I think, is far more helpful than reading "I think they're a little over-anxious. The chair tried to assure them that we will be here," on The Lead (where I also saw a press release about the meeting before I got any kind of official summary of the meeting from within the community).
It looks like there's going to be more clear communication with students, faculty, and staff as things keep going. But I think our anxieties over a vast array of issues that are being discussed in groups of students, faculty, and staff and being communicated to the board, are well grounded. Nothing is encouraging beforehand about an emergency board meeting being called, ya know? ;) This whole post -- from Benedict to the Board -- is to say....when your boss asks you how something you're supposed to be doing is going and you haven't been doing it for about a month, it's okay to say so. And say that you'll get back on it. Have an intention to amend your behavior. And in a larger theme of life, when you mess up be forthright about it. Don't wait until you're about to go to jail, or you have the New York Times and any other number of media outlets blasting you, or the community over which you're in charge is having a prayer vigil.
It might have been a failure in leadership. But denying that, on any level about anything, doesn't make it any less a failure of leadership.
The first thing in the front of my mind is my school. General Seminary's board met on Monday to talk about what to do and where to go from here. And it's promising. There are some issues, but everything is looking up. We've found the issues, and we're working to correct them. We might be partnering in some neat ways with other institutions to not just work for General's future, but also the future of theological education and the future of The Episcopal Church. I have a very positive outlook here. We're getting things done and planning on ways to keep from getting right back where we are.
The other thing in the front of my mind, in large part because Andrew Sullivan won't let up. He keeps quoting things, talking, posting readers remarks, and making me think. He has a great piece called "Sin or Crime?" that is well worth the read. He posts a lot of other stuff, but doesn't use labels that I can tell, so you can't just click a link and get all his coverage (which is a lot of linking to other stories) about this issue. It makes me hurt for the Church for a lot of reasons. I certainly hurt for victims, too and am not defending the Church. But I hurt for the damage it has done to its moral authority.
How do these two things affect me you might ask? Well, one of them is my school, my future. Like I said, things are looking up! The sex abuse scandal doesn't directly affect me. The critiques and criticisms are mostly directed at the Roman Church and its hierarchy. But in all honesty that affects how people perceive our men and women in collars, too. And as someone being trained to be a leader in the faith, it affects the kinds of conversations I have with people when I say, "I'm in training to be a priest." (This was one of the drunken conversations at the piano bar in Vegas.) It may be tempting to say to the general public, "Well, we're more transparent, our laity have voice in how our bishops are chosen, blah blah blah blah blah," but I don't think that's appropriate. People are hurting; they don't need to be recruited into another system as their reeling from the Church that they potentially love and may have been their home their entire life.
These two things are teaching me something, and I got to put it into practice yesterday. When mistakes are made, intentionally or unintentionally, the people affected like for someone to step up to the plate and say, "I messed up." Andrew Sullivan points out that most of the reaction from the Vatican and American bishops has been either denial or to attack those who are critical, often by calling names. This is denial after decades (centuries) of this being not talked about and not dealt with. And now we have more people saying "I didn't know," "It wasn't my fault," and that they won't "be intimidated by the petty gossip of dominant opinion."
As has been discussed a lot around the Close, in times of crisis or impending crisis or pseudo-crisis, people may be quick to assign blame, or not assign it and just want someone to point a finger of blame at. It's probably true that that often happens. I think there are times when people just want those who bore responsibility to own that responsibility. Not to have closed door meetings and be less than forthcoming about what is actually going on, but to include the people who have been, are being, and will be affected in the process of determining next steps, for justice or for institutional advancement.
People might want a heartfelt apology so that they can move on with what's going on in their lives. If things are on the up, that's great! But people might want to know what happened for an institution to get where it is. In the case of the Vatican, it's been years of covering up to protect the image of the Church. At school, I don't know what happened. But I feel like cash flow problems of this magnitude don't come out of nowhere. And no one's taking responsibility (at any level) engenders some anxiety. Yes, we might be staying open for a good, long while. But what are we doing to keep us from coming back to this place? If we haven't been told what/where the systemic issues were/are, why should we think that the system has addressed those issues?
I don't write from a place of anger or anxiety, I really don't. I don't have anyone in my head to blame, nor do I have any ideas about where I'd start if I wanted to point fingers. I'm going to keep doing the work I've been given to do, saying my prayers, doing my homework, and going to chapel and class. Apparently at the meeting someone did offer an apology that helped the situation. As I said on Episcopal Café, I was in class, so I didn't get to go to the meeting. However a little more clarity about what's been going on, I think, is far more helpful than reading "I think they're a little over-anxious. The chair tried to assure them that we will be here," on The Lead (where I also saw a press release about the meeting before I got any kind of official summary of the meeting from within the community).
It looks like there's going to be more clear communication with students, faculty, and staff as things keep going. But I think our anxieties over a vast array of issues that are being discussed in groups of students, faculty, and staff and being communicated to the board, are well grounded. Nothing is encouraging beforehand about an emergency board meeting being called, ya know? ;) This whole post -- from Benedict to the Board -- is to say....when your boss asks you how something you're supposed to be doing is going and you haven't been doing it for about a month, it's okay to say so. And say that you'll get back on it. Have an intention to amend your behavior. And in a larger theme of life, when you mess up be forthright about it. Don't wait until you're about to go to jail, or you have the New York Times and any other number of media outlets blasting you, or the community over which you're in charge is having a prayer vigil.
It might have been a failure in leadership. But denying that, on any level about anything, doesn't make it any less a failure of leadership.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Monday of Holy Week I
I had to acolyte at Eucharist today, and it was very good. Very brief homily, we sang, and Cathy and I had smooth sailing. One of the things that has always impressed me about people, from the time I was wee, was if they had hymns committed to memory. This could be people at Live Oak Baptist Church or Bishop Duncan singing "For All the Saints" at a funeral. I just find it fascinating, I think in part because memorization is not something I'm usually good at although over tiem I memorizes things from hearing or saying them over and over again.
Today one of the oblation bearers was a retired priest who is doing her STM. As the gifts approached the altar the organ finished it's verse run through and the offertory hymn started. It's below. She started singing just from memory. I hope that when I've been in The Episcopal Church to the point of retirement I have a good number of good, solid, theological texts committed to my memory
Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended,
that man to judge thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee.
'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:
I crucified thee.
Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
the slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
for our atonement, while we nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.
For me, kind Jesus, was thy incarnation,
thy mortal sorrow, and thy life's oblation;
thy death of anguish and thy bitter passion,
for my salvation.
Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,
I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,
think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,
not my deserving.
Today one of the oblation bearers was a retired priest who is doing her STM. As the gifts approached the altar the organ finished it's verse run through and the offertory hymn started. It's below. She started singing just from memory. I hope that when I've been in The Episcopal Church to the point of retirement I have a good number of good, solid, theological texts committed to my memory
Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended,
that man to judge thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.
Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee.
'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:
I crucified thee.
Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
the slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
for our atonement, while we nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.
For me, kind Jesus, was thy incarnation,
thy mortal sorrow, and thy life's oblation;
thy death of anguish and thy bitter passion,
for my salvation.
Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,
I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,
think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,
not my deserving.
Eucharistic Prayer A
I've been pretty clear the last few years that I prefer Eucharistic Prayer D. Eucharistic Prayer A is usually my least favorite, but being at General Seminary has changed that a little bit. Hearing it with some frequency on Sunday mornings in college was one things. Hearing it multiple days a week does something entirely different. The liturgy is doing what it's supposed to do. What we pray we believe. The prayer book shapes my worldview (from baptism to burial), and its lines frequently make their way into conversation. Over the last few months as I've gotten so much more familiar with the words of Eucharistic Prayer A, it's come to mean a lot more to me. I'm able to say it in my head and just reflect on the words without having to necessarily think about what they are themselves. They're getting out of the way of their message. So, here you have it, with the Preface of Holy Week, bold for emphasis, not people's parts:
The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give him thanks and praise.
It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, through Jesus Christ our Lord. For our sins he was lifted high upon the cross, that he might draw the whole world to himself; and, by his suffering and death, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who put their trust in him. Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with Angels and Archangels and with all the company of heaven, who for ever sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your Name:
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.
Holy and gracious Father: In your infinite love you made us for yourself, and, when we had fallen into sin and become subject to evil and death, you, in your mercy, sent Jesus Christ, your only and eternal Son, to share our human nature, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all.
He stretched out his arms upon the cross, and offered himself, in obedience to your will, a perfect sacrifice for the whole world.
On the night he was handed over to suffering and death, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread; and when he had given thanks to you, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, and said, "Take, eat: This is my Body, which is given for you. Do this for the remembrance of me."
After supper he took the cup of wine; and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, and said, "Drink this, all of you: This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you
and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, do this for the remembrance of me."
Therefore we proclaim the mystery of faith:
Christ has died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.
We celebrate the memorial of our redemption, O Father, in this sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. Recalling his death, resurrection, and ascension, we offer you these gifts.
Sanctify them by your Holy Spirit to be for your people the Body and Blood of your Son, the holy food and drink of new and unending life in him. Sanctify us also that we may faithfully
receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace; and at the last day bring us with all your saints into the joy of your eternal kingdom.
All this we ask through your Son Jesus Christ: By him, and with him, and in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit all honor and glory is yours, Almighty Father, now and for ever. AMEN.
The Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give him thanks and praise.
It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, through Jesus Christ our Lord. For our sins he was lifted high upon the cross, that he might draw the whole world to himself; and, by his suffering and death, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who put their trust in him. Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with Angels and Archangels and with all the company of heaven, who for ever sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your Name:
Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.
Holy and gracious Father: In your infinite love you made us for yourself, and, when we had fallen into sin and become subject to evil and death, you, in your mercy, sent Jesus Christ, your only and eternal Son, to share our human nature, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all.
He stretched out his arms upon the cross, and offered himself, in obedience to your will, a perfect sacrifice for the whole world.
On the night he was handed over to suffering and death, our Lord Jesus Christ took bread; and when he had given thanks to you, he broke it, and gave it to his disciples, and said, "Take, eat: This is my Body, which is given for you. Do this for the remembrance of me."
After supper he took the cup of wine; and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, and said, "Drink this, all of you: This is my Blood of the new Covenant, which is shed for you
and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Whenever you drink it, do this for the remembrance of me."
Therefore we proclaim the mystery of faith:
Christ has died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.
We celebrate the memorial of our redemption, O Father, in this sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. Recalling his death, resurrection, and ascension, we offer you these gifts.
Sanctify them by your Holy Spirit to be for your people the Body and Blood of your Son, the holy food and drink of new and unending life in him. Sanctify us also that we may faithfully
receive this holy Sacrament, and serve you in unity, constancy, and peace; and at the last day bring us with all your saints into the joy of your eternal kingdom.
All this we ask through your Son Jesus Christ: By him, and with him, and in him, in the unity of the Holy Spirit all honor and glory is yours, Almighty Father, now and for ever. AMEN.
The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday
Yesterday was a really good Passion Sunday for me. This has been one of my best Lents, I think. I've had lots of time to reflect, and things strike me here and there. Yesterday I went to St. Paul's Chapel/Trinity Church Wall St. I walked down broadway singing Hosannas, carrying a sign that someone had painted. Then I stood and sat next to Ben, James, and Keith (with Terry behind us) as we sang songs at Trinity and parts of the Passion narrative.
Yesterday afternoon I rested and went to Chapel. During the distribution yesterday we sang "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" and it was just good. The emotion in that song is so real and present to me. I think yesterday it was aided by Marcia and Cristina's soaring voices, but there was also the memory of the RMN demonstration on the floor of General Conference and my not being there with my friends.
This week I'm going to be posting songs a la Fr. Scott. I might be posting other things. THe weather thus far this week is encouraging me to not be too pleased, but to walk this road to Jerusalem.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Yesterday afternoon I rested and went to Chapel. During the distribution yesterday we sang "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?" and it was just good. The emotion in that song is so real and present to me. I think yesterday it was aided by Marcia and Cristina's soaring voices, but there was also the memory of the RMN demonstration on the floor of General Conference and my not being there with my friends.
This week I'm going to be posting songs a la Fr. Scott. I might be posting other things. THe weather thus far this week is encouraging me to not be too pleased, but to walk this road to Jerusalem.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Oh!
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Witness on the Plenary Floor from Reconciling Ministries Network on Vimeo.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Demons
I should be writing about demons right now for Church History, but this son just came on my iPod and I thought with Holy Week approaching, and tomorrow being Passion Sunday, this was appropriate. Do we answer the calls in our lives? Following God leads to a some boards and nails...and sometimes to seminary. This was the best tempo recording of it I could find. I actually like it a little lighter and airier. Parts I like especially much bolded....this might turn into a series of reflective posts as my first year in seminary ends.
The Summons
The Summons
1. Will you come and follow me
If I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know
And never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown,
Will you let my name be known,
Will you let my life be grown
In you and you in me?
2. Will you leave yourself behind
If I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind
And never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare
Should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer
In you and you in me?
3. Will you let the blinded see
If I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free
And never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean
And do such as this unseen,
And admit to what I mean
In you and you me?
4. Will you love the 'you' you hide
If I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside
And never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found
To reshape the world around,
Through my sight and touch and sound
In you and you in me?
5. Lord, your summons echoes true
When you but call my name
Let me turn and follow you
And never be the same
In your company I'll go
Where your love and footsteps show
Thus I'll move and live and grow
In you and you in me
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Reflection on the Journey
With varying regularity over the last three years I've read Susan Russell's An Inch at a Time: Reflections on the Journey. Today I have a reflection on my journey to Easter. This a certain webpage is relevant today.
While I can mention that I want to be passive-aggressive, I'm having to filter it because I'd never actually say it in person or directly to people in electronic communication, which is a nice objective for using electronic communication. And I'm having to process what's making me feel the way I am. The kinds of things I want to say are pretty hateful and defensive, but that's how I feel right now. And I'm having to not react. I've shed two things I don't need which, as it turns out, also separate me from God and my neighbor.
Rather than lashing out at others or getting angry and defensive (or at least showing that), I'm having to think about what's causing me to feel the way I do and try to find constructive ways to respond, if any response is warranted. I'm having to rely on other people to help me with this work since I can't do it on my own...and Lent is helping me with it. I'm praying about it and just calmly thinking about it. There's still some purely raw ranting here and there to one or two people, but most of my talk about it is a focused thought on how I got where I am and where to go from there.
For those who don't know, I take things very personallysometimes a lot of times. That's something I've struggled with for as long as I remember, and it's very likely to happen when I've invested in something. I take things personally and am hard on myself. So after I get mad about whatever critique or suggestion has been offered, I internalize it and see it as a critique of me (sometimes that order is switched), and then I blame myself for whatever it is and think of all the ways I do things wrong about whatever. I've gotten sooooo much better about the last part with regard to somethings, but I have a long way to go yet.
And I can't do it alone. I have to talk to people about how I feel, about what I hear (which is often very different than what is being conveyed), and rely on them for encouragement and guidance/suggestions on where to go, how to think, or what to do next. I'm always really thankful for surprise e-mails that say really nice things about what I'm doing. And I'm thankful for older people who are calm and not involved in the situation who can read things more neutrally.
So yeah, I'm not getting to be passive-aggressive. Probably good practice for the long run. I don't really like passive-aggression, but it's usually easier than direct response to something or actually saying something to someone that is in an appropriate tone and manner. That's a big part of my desire right now to be passive-aggressive: my aggression would be really intensely channeled aggression that wouldn't get anyone very far.
May God continue to shape me on this journey toward Easter both by God's presence and servants in my life.
Today, I discovered that my roommate uses her twitter to complain about me. FML.I think that right now It's very, very, good that I'm not using Facebook or Twitter or the passive-aggression would be SHOWING FORTH from my fingers.
While I can mention that I want to be passive-aggressive, I'm having to filter it because I'd never actually say it in person or directly to people in electronic communication, which is a nice objective for using electronic communication. And I'm having to process what's making me feel the way I am. The kinds of things I want to say are pretty hateful and defensive, but that's how I feel right now. And I'm having to not react. I've shed two things I don't need which, as it turns out, also separate me from God and my neighbor.
Rather than lashing out at others or getting angry and defensive (or at least showing that), I'm having to think about what's causing me to feel the way I do and try to find constructive ways to respond, if any response is warranted. I'm having to rely on other people to help me with this work since I can't do it on my own...and Lent is helping me with it. I'm praying about it and just calmly thinking about it. There's still some purely raw ranting here and there to one or two people, but most of my talk about it is a focused thought on how I got where I am and where to go from there.
For those who don't know, I take things very personally
And I can't do it alone. I have to talk to people about how I feel, about what I hear (which is often very different than what is being conveyed), and rely on them for encouragement and guidance/suggestions on where to go, how to think, or what to do next. I'm always really thankful for surprise e-mails that say really nice things about what I'm doing. And I'm thankful for older people who are calm and not involved in the situation who can read things more neutrally.
So yeah, I'm not getting to be passive-aggressive. Probably good practice for the long run. I don't really like passive-aggression, but it's usually easier than direct response to something or actually saying something to someone that is in an appropriate tone and manner. That's a big part of my desire right now to be passive-aggressive: my aggression would be really intensely channeled aggression that wouldn't get anyone very far.
May God continue to shape me on this journey toward Easter both by God's presence and servants in my life.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
More On Lenten Order
A few weeks ago I wrote about getting rid of the clutter in our lives during Lent and compared it to getting rid of the clutter in my room. I'm back at that, but this time I have another layer to add to the comparison. I've got a lot to do this week, namely studying for a big midterm on Thursday plus regular classes prep-work, and entertaining. But I might be about to spend the next twenty minutes or so cleaning my room because I have to do it this weekend.
Why do I have to do it this weekend? Because I have guests coming in on Tuesday. Between classes, work, and other stuff (studying for this exam!), I won't have time to do it except today. I meant to do it yesterday, but other stuff came up that I had to do instead. And as I sit on my bed not doing the cleaning, reading, or studying, I think, "This cleaning is more with a purpose. I'm not cleaning for the sake of having a clean room (although I do like that). I'm cleaning because I'm preparing for people's arrival.
Although that sounds more like an Advent thought as we prepare for the Christ Child, I think in Lent we prepare for the presence of the Resurrected Christ. We know the Lord Jesus in the breaking of the bread each week in expectation and preparation for that time after we've suspended our disbelief and find out (again) that the stone is rolled away. While I've been conscious about Lent as a time of preparation and cleaning up, I think I have a little more to think about as I tidy up my life, stripping away the unnecessary stuff. I'm doing this to get ready for an encounter with Christ.
But today I'm doing this to prepare for an encounter with Jenni and Anna!
Why do I have to do it this weekend? Because I have guests coming in on Tuesday. Between classes, work, and other stuff (studying for this exam!), I won't have time to do it except today. I meant to do it yesterday, but other stuff came up that I had to do instead. And as I sit on my bed not doing the cleaning, reading, or studying, I think, "This cleaning is more with a purpose. I'm not cleaning for the sake of having a clean room (although I do like that). I'm cleaning because I'm preparing for people's arrival.
Although that sounds more like an Advent thought as we prepare for the Christ Child, I think in Lent we prepare for the presence of the Resurrected Christ. We know the Lord Jesus in the breaking of the bread each week in expectation and preparation for that time after we've suspended our disbelief and find out (again) that the stone is rolled away. While I've been conscious about Lent as a time of preparation and cleaning up, I think I have a little more to think about as I tidy up my life, stripping away the unnecessary stuff. I'm doing this to get ready for an encounter with Christ.
But today I'm doing this to prepare for an encounter with Jenni and Anna!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Give Me the Risk Takers
Father Jake has a very nice piece today on MadPriest's recent announcement about his job. Fr. Jake talks about redemption, but here are two paragraphs that I particularly liked:
If bishops and search committees continue to believe the wise thing to do is to "play it safe" and never take any risks (yes, unfortunately, being "creative" is considered "risky" in many Church circles), then they can expect a small return on their investment. And, if they continue to insist on running a Church as if it were a business, with "risk management" factors built into their personel choices, I'll take a pass, tyvm.Make sure you read the whole thing here.
Give me the risk takers, those living on the edge. That's where you'll find the modern day prophets, those seeking the movement of God in this present moment, and not afraid to follow where it leads.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Identity
As many of my readers know, I have been through three different denominations. While I have left two for very specific reasons, I try not to speak too disparagingly of my time in either of them. When I joined The Episcopal Church my mom asked me what I was looking for. Two years later, I think I've found my answer, and it comes from looking at comments in a blog a few weeks ago. I've been looking for identity within a denomination, identity that is honest to itself and with its members about who and what it is. I've already written about why I'm an Epsicopalian at length (here and here). Essentially, we have an identity that is ours that we live and share (although there needs to be a lot more sharing. This using the term "identity" is a new usage for me, although I've been saying it for awhile in different ways.A few weeks ago I was fascinated as I read through the comments on this blog. I was learning from the essential post about controversy and gatekeeping and rigidity of professors. But then as I read through the comments my eyes just got wider and wider. The blog is a Southern Baptist blog, and I was finding out all kinds of things about the Convention at the Convention level. I had no idea that certain things happened, or that the congregationalism I was so used to wasn't how it always entirely played out. I don't remember specifics not, but there was stuff about the International and Domestic Missions Boards, disagreement at the national level about missionaries and cessation of gifts. I was clueless about that stuff!I remember being in seventh grade, or maybe just a little earlier, when there was a unit in my Discipleship Training Union book about what it meant to be baptist. There wasn't a lot of information in the student book, and we never got there as a class, so I never got the information. I knew the way we did things differently than other denominations (we only immersed, and the Methodists sprinkled), but I didn't know what made us distinctly us; I wanted something other than the way we were different than others. That isn't to say we were cast against them, but there were definitely times that we learned that we were right and others were wrong (baptism for example).From the time I saw my grandmother's Book of Discipline I was fascinated, especially by the Social Principles. An entire denomination had adopted statements about what it believed on social issues. At that point in my life I had never seen or heard of The Baptist Faith and Message. I don't recall seeing it until Timothy joined Crawford Road after we all pretty much stopped going to Cascade Hills. As I was growing I was growing dissatisfied with congregationalism, although I didn't know that word for it. I wound up in a United Methodist Church looking for a friend of mine, but finding new friends who played a big part of my life through high school.There was identity, though. The United Methodist Hymnal has information for learning/teaching about baptism and sacraments, I feel like I read. I borrowed Books of Discipline and flipped through Grandmother's whenever I was at her house. I got very involved, I went to Annual Conference, I bought a Book of Discipline of my own, I graduated from high school and got plugged in to the Wesley Foundation. Then I started reading more United Methodist resources and finding my experience dissonant with teaching and directives from the denomination. I don't have a problem with congregationalism as an idea, but it's not a practice for me to engage in. I got more liturgical and more frustrated with suspicion of being "too Catholic." I got tired of not feeling like identity was being reflected around me.I am where I'm supposed to be, and the places I've been have shaped me and given me lenses through which I view life. They've impacted my ecclesiology, liturgical sensibility, biblical knowledge, and relationships, relationships, relationships. I don't know if I'd stayed Southern Baptist if I'd known about the higher up machinations of the Convention, but I doubt it. If I'd known that there were liturgical baptists as I was getting more liturgical I might've lasted a little longer. Some experiences in college did a lot of shaping me, which I think would've pushed me out of the SBC.I feel like this a Debby Downer post, but it's not meant to; it really starts with and continues with a fascination from reading Wade Burleson's blog once and checking back in periodically, actually reading the comments. Stuff that I had no idea happened that as a now-outsider looking in is just fascinating. I get the polity (in large part) of two different denominations, but didn't realize at all that the church of my founding had similarly elaborate polity as well.Trying not to run this race in vain.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Slow to Speak
"You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness." - James 1.19-20, NRSV.I'm sure I'd heard this verse at some point in my life, but can't recall an exact instance. Dean Ewing did a reflection during orientation on it, and I changed my blurb under my Facebook picture to verse 19. This verse came to mind today as I was writing some e-mails; I e-mailed a mentor this morning, I've had an e-mail discussion with a classmate, and I've sent a few official-ish e-mails, too. Being super-wired: Facebook (and chat), Twitter (140 characters!), and instant messaging don't encourage being slow to speak.I find just the opposite, actually. I respond more quickly to chat stuff, or just click "comment" on Facebook or sometimes @reply someone without exercising much self-control before so doing. As I e-mailed with my classmate, as I e-mailed my mentor, and as I'm blogging I'm taking my time finding words...and these media encourage that moreso for me anyway. Submitting takes more effort, and pushing send on an e-mail makes me want it to be substantiative; IMs have been for one-liners for the last ten years of my life, and e-mails have been for more depth (at once).While I can recall instant message conversations wherein I get to some good depth, it comes as a barrage of messages. In an e-mail I can muck through my feelings as I get down an e-mail. The person replying will get the entirety and know that I'm finished by receiving the information all at once. This gives the responder more to work with as s/he thinks about all that's going into the e-mail, and s/he can see my process so that they don't cover bases that I get to on my own.I'm through four-days of fasting, a feast break, and into my fifth day...and I'm really liking it. I'm finding other kinds of distractions, but I'm also making room for other kinds of things (reading blogs more, reading for fun more, focusing on school reading more). This having to be slower to speak (by inhibiting my ability to speak quickly) is making me more contemplative. More time for contemplation has actually made me more God-focused and conscious of things for which I (may) need to repent, or maybe things that I need to check myself for before I get to that level. I'm reading Glamorous Powers, which like Glittering Images before it, is speaking to my soul. Sometime I'll post my quotations from Glittering Images.Remember sisters and brothers, be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A Thought for Lent
(via Ben Hines)I am not asking you to take this wilderness from me,
to remove this place of starkness where I come to know the wilderness within me,
where I learn to call the names of the ravenous beasts that pace inside me,
to finger the brambles that snake through my veins,
to taste the thirst that tugs at my tongue. But send me tough angels, sweet wine,
strong bread, just enough.- Jan L. Richardson
to remove this place of starkness where I come to know the wilderness within me,
where I learn to call the names of the ravenous beasts that pace inside me,
to finger the brambles that snake through my veins,
to taste the thirst that tugs at my tongue. But send me tough angels, sweet wine,
strong bread, just enough.- Jan L. Richardson
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