Ritual, Religion, and Relationship

Last week I posted a link on Facebook to the article “The Truth About Salvation”.  I excerpted the end:

“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?

Sermon Notes: John 6.35-38

A requirement of our Preaching 1 class at General is to deliver two extemporaneous homilies.  You get a passage and thirty minutes to prepare.  You decide when to use those thirty minutes, and it's on the honor system, but I think it's pretty well followed.  These are my notes from my prep work, and all of this didn't get into the sermon (a comment on that below).

• +
• Here we are, more of John 6.  Probably summer year B, ~6 weeks of bread of Life
• How we read this is probably different from how our Reformed sisters and brothers read it
• Jesus is present however we read it
• Jesus doesn't drive away anyone who comes to him
• No conditions on coming to God.  Difficult to say "If they do or don't do this (like support health care reform), they're not Christian."
• But, belief should produce action; there should be an amendment of life, and that's a life-long process.
• At the font we're incorporated into Christ, at the table we're strengthened to speak for those w/o voice for systemic change, not quick, temporary fixes
• At the table we're strengthened to love, being nice, coming to the table (regardless of the example some primates set by not coming to the table)
• When we feast on the Bread of Life we are filled, and we are called to the of the one who sends us.

"If you leave something out, consider that the Spirit didn't let you remember it." - Mo. Mitties

Sermon: Gleaning

from Sit and Eat:

Lydia's congregant Jennifer Goodnow preached this sermon at St. Lydia's on Sunday, June 20 as part of our exploration of the book of Ruth.  Jennifer is a teacher and life long Episcopalian.  You can read the text for her sermon here.

There are women who come to my neighborhood on a regular basis to go through the garbage bags that the supers leave out for sanitation pick-up the next day. These women are well-known by the supers, always work in a tidy and organized fashion, and clean up after themselves, tying up bags when they have collected what they need. The women collect cans but also go through the black garbage bags and collect clothing that Upper East Siders deem unworthy of the many local thrift stores. 

I have often wanted to talk with them but I don’t speak Spanish very well and I don’t want to scare them. I’m guessing they are undocumented and suspicious and fearful of being turned over to La Migra. I’d rather smile and say good morning and leave it at that instead of frightening them with the many questions I have.

They are foreigners. They speak Spanish and I believe are from South America. They may not speak English. They may have little education, little opportunity other than collecting cans and clothes. They are modern day gleaners, sweeping up the remainders of people who live n the wealthiest, highest educated zip code in the United States. They are the Ruths of the 21st century.

It’s easy for me to look at these disenfranchised women and compare them to Ruth. Ruth has chosen the life of a foreigner in a foreign land, just like them. Women during Ruth’s time had little power. Childless widows had no power. The gleaners on my block – if they are undocumented – are, technically speaking, against the law. If they were caught they could be deported, even though NY is not exactly Arizona. The gleaners I see on my block are poor. They are in a desperate situation, like Ruth.

However, I am gleaning as well. I’m a spiritual gleaner. God has laid out a huge feast for me … and I am eating crumbs off the corner of the table. I believe God sees more in me than I can see for myself. I think that God’s perfect paradise, enlightenment, full communion with God is just over my shoulder. But I am looking for it in the wrong place. I’m looking straight ahead and can only see a glimpse of it out of my peripheral vision. I’m standing and eating the crumbs that have fallen on the edge of a table and that’s all I can see. If I would shift my gaze a bit more, I would see an enormous banquet with dish after dish laid out on an endless table.  But, I seem to suffer from a myopia that does not allow me to realize what is present. The Hindus call it Maya – the mistaken belief that the world we are living in now is all that is real which leaves no room for the other-worldly or divine.

I used to go to another church, an Episcopal church, here in Manhattan. Dogs are allowed in the church and I would bring my golden retriever, Music with me to the service. A few years ago, we decided to switch the Eucharist from the wafer to homemade bread baked by different congregants. It’s a honey-infused, whole-wheat crumbly cake. Connor, my godson, hated it when he was younger. He would receive and then palm his communion bread and try to sneak feed it to my dog! I used to tell him that dogs don’t need communion because they are already in full communion with God. My dog, Music is pure love. We humans are the ones who need the help! We need the communion with each other and God. When I come to St. Lydia’s every week, I eat a piece of baguette and I drink three buck chuck from Trader Joe’s – but that’s not my communion. My experience of communion is being in community with everyone here. I have small moments in life when I’m not simply gleaning. When I’m not eating crumbs off the edge of the table, moments when I get a clearer sense of the feast that is laid out for me and everyone else in common union.

We share the sermon at St. Lydia’s and I invite you to reflect on your own experience of spiritual gleaning, communion, or anything else that resonates with you from the text or my words tonight.

Read it all...

Lydia-esque

As I'm standing or sitting in the Chapel for mid-day Eucharist, I thought I'd share this with you.  I love the new schedule post time/date thing!  I don't know what this gathering is, but it's big. Emily Scott is leading music. This is an example of the way prayers are sung at St. Lydia's on Sunday nights, and there's a snippet of "To the Bath and the Table."

Dialogueing

I have a friend that I met on Twitter. I actually have a few, but this is one I've had several meaningful conversations with despite our very different worldviews. He took issue with some of my entries from Tuesday. He's a Catholic seminarian, and I can track his views in Statcounter, although sometimes he reads via Google Buzz. I e-mailed him yesterday because he wasn't showing up has having read one that I wanted him to read. He replied that he had via Buzz, had some issues, and was going to reflect more. And I replied that I expected him to, but wanted his feedback. We have very different world views, but we listen to each other.

He and I are going to have a deeper, ongoing discussion about the Eucharist now, but it's going to take time and him not being in the midst of midterms (or me in the midst of them shortly). But we engage really well. A big part of that, I think, is that neither of us comes to the table suspicious of the other. I have some other friends with whom I've tried to discuss things, but the approach is different. The current friend and I aren't trying to prove the other wrong. Neither of us has felt wronged by the other.

We affirm each other. We may not necessarily buy into the others' ideas, but we're happy to share with each other, and we affirm the positions that the other has reached by his own volition. I think one of the things that lets me open up is that I don't feel him going on the defensive with the intention to tear me down; he disagrees, but he listens. He's listened to a good rant about a horrible sermon. He's made a safe space by not being defensive, but ceding points where I make them, and then responding for clarification or to add nuance to what I've said.

And we both take style into account. We both know that the other is where he is because he feels called there. We don't expect blog entries to read like Aquinas. We don't take (legitimate) critique of institutions to which we belong as personal attacks. Charges of heresy and hypocrisy are equally heard but neither of us feels as though he is being called a heretic or a hypocrite. I look forward to continued dialogues about what the Eucharist means to us and our churches, and potentially our personal objections to the others' postion, but as an exercise in articulation and thought, rather than personal attack or critique.

And for some reason I find this whole dialogue, which is just beginning, very Lenten somehow. I don't know if it's stripping away the pretenses about each other, or if it's making room and way for the presence of the Resurrected Christ through our conversation. Maybe it's the whole what I'm finding happening in my making more real connections (at least more in-depth) versus usually more shallow social networking and instantaneous electronic communication.

Look for a follow-up shortly. I've sent some e-mails and haven't gotten replies yet (e-mails in succession), and I'm ceding why I disagree with someone this person really likes (and why I have people that I like), but that perhaps there can be something that I affirm about my friend's person he likes.

Torture a Catholic Virtue?

No, actually, it's not, but Marc Theissen seems to think so, despite what the US Catholic bishops have said. Check out The Lead for more, as they quote Theissen, the New York Times, and Andrew Sullivan, who points us to the Catechism

Torture which uses physical or moral violence to extract confessions, punish the guilty, frighten opponents, or satisfy hatred is contrary to respect for the person and for human dignity.

And someone tell me when he's denied receiving the Eucharist for his manner of life, or the political positions he posits to the public in defiance of church teaching (not intended alliteration).

I'll Have a Serving of Grace, Please?

h/t to MadPriest for pointing this out from the Dutch News (emphasis added)

On Sunday, dozens of gay men and women attended mass at the St Jan cathedral in Den Bosch to protest at the local bishop's decision to exclude homosexuals from the ceremony. And many of them left the church is a noisy protest after priest Geertjan van Rossem told the congregation that in order to receive communion people needed to have the 'correct' experience of sexuality.

'Homosexuals are welcome in the church. But we ask practising homosexuals not to take part in communion out of respect for the sacrament,' he said.

The protest follows the refusal of a local priest to give communion to the carnival prince in the nearby small town of Reusel during the pre-Lent celebrations. The decision caused an uproar and led to newspaper Gaykrant urging gay Catholics to head to Reusel en masse and attend church. The refused communion to everyone who attended the service - regulars and newcomers alike.

The part I've bolded is a contradiction. They might as well say, "You're welcome to come, but you need to not stand, sit, or kneel when we do, and you don't need to say the prayers or sing. Actually, we'll build you a balcony. You can come, but you can't participate in the point of the service. Frankly, that's how I feel about going to Mass as a Protestant (and thus why I stopped going so frequently in Troy, particularly when when I heard talk that some people weren't happy about my continued attendance but not seeking to join). You don't invite someone to dinner and not serve them.

Additionally, what does this say about sacramental theology? If the Eucharist is a way that grace is conveyed, why does someone have to be either straight or celibate to receive it? Not that I agree with the idea that queerfolk are disordered, but really, do the healthy (in the church's eyes) need a doctor? That's something I've failed to understand from this mindset. If you think they're wrong, how are they going to get "right" if you shut them out? That goes to any group. And maybe we've forgotten, but Jesus ate with tax collectors and prostitutes. "They're cool now. Thus saith me."

And finally, what's with singling this group out? I mean, really? As someone at MadPriest pointed out, you can't look at someone and tell if they're having sex with someone of the same sex. But that's not the only requirement to receive in the Roman church, from what I recall. When are priests going to start having a sign in during the twenty minutes a week they offer reconciliation, and if you don't make it not serve you the following Sunday? Those who miss on Holy Days of Obligation during the week? Missing Mass then is a mortal sin, but I don't see headlines about priests turning the droves of people who don't come to those days away.

I understand a church having its teaching, regardless of what I think about that teaching. I don't understand it choosing to hit hard on one point and ignore things that actually matter in their theology, like needing to be in a state of grace after having been absolved to receive the eucharist, or in the instance of a protestant denomination, denying someone membership to the local church while ignoring sacramental theologybeing smashed to pieces around the jurisdiction.

We all come to the table as broken-being-healed sinners being redeemed, all of us in need of grace. I think Jesus said something about people who are eligible to throw stones. The church has a role in our lives. We certainly need the church to teach us and to guide us as we are made more perfect through this life into the next. I don't, however, need the church to restrict those who are eligible to receive outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual graces. The people the church wants to (at least in theory) bring into the Kin-dom of God are going to be less and less tolerant of it throwing stones from its glass houses as abuses continue to be covered up the world over and the Church doesn't really try to rectify the situation or find real reconciliation.

Helping of grace, anyone?

Bread, Wine, Water, Ashes: Symbols

Nearly a week later, and I don't know that I've really put a lot of additional thought into up until now, aside from the thoughts I'd already had. First, something can never be "just a symbol." A symbol is "something visible that by association or convention represents something else that is invisible" (here). When I lived in South Carolina I was discussing baptism with someone who identified as Thoroughly Reformed and she said, "It's just a symbol!" By virtue of its being a symbol, it has something attached to it, whether it's profession of faith or cleansing from all sin and being sealed by the Holy Spirit forever. Christianity is full of tangible symbols, things that represent things to us. These symbols aren't limited by their actual matter or the different things they symbolize.

Bread and wine are symbols, at least for Episcopalians for us. They symbolize a lot of things though. They're the body and blood of Christ. They're elements of a meal that we share together. They're gifts from the community, the community offering itself to God through its resources. They're signs of God's provision for us. Since we relate to God in them, it's important to me (and other) that they be real. Real bread that tastes and looks and feels like bread. Real wine, preferably good wine, that smells like wine and tastes like wine and doesn't make you gag afterward. If you're not in a wine tradition, real, good, grape juice, not stuff that's watered down. It's hard to envision the Eucharist as a feast if you're operating on meager provisions (although it certainly is by merely being God's gift to us, but we need to convey that through symbols we've been given).

These are symbols of grace, and need to be abundant, not cheap or skimpy. That's why I give people large pieces of bread and give them the option to do more than lick the rim of a chalice. God's grace to us is abundant, and there is enough for everyone, and enough for them to not have tiny portions. And that needs to be take into account when planning provisions for worship. It's hard to taste and see that the Lord is good if you can't taste the bread. And yes, you might have to actually chew what you're handed, but that's a sensory experience, God's grace being something that we can experience through a symbol. Wafers might be tidier and more easily managed, but is God tidy or grace easily managed?

Water is a symbol, as discussed briefly above. Most of the time it's a symbol of baptism and forgiveness of sin, sometimes it's mixed with wine, and the comingled liquids symbolize Christ's divinity and humanity. I think water, therefore needs to be abundant, too. I don't like candy-dish fonts, but they can be redeemed somewhat if they're full of water, not just a tiny bit down in the bottom. Fonts are both practical and symbolic; they are the entry to the church and are often there. The font in the Chapel of the Good Shepherd is a great big stone font. Inside it is a ceramic bowl to keep from damaging the stonework. Lately, however, the bowl had had barely water in it. It hasn't been empty, but it hasn't been brimming in abundance. I think that these symbols mean something. A tiny amount of water (especially when you have usually 20+ people remembering their baptism at 3-4 services a day) doesn't go far, or look like it goes far. Abundance of grace...and symbols thereof.

Those are very familiar symbols that we encounter very, very regularly. We have lots of other symbols, but since I was passing them out yesterday, ashes as a symbol come to mind, and this might be a rant, but I don't think so. I don't want an ash smudge, and I don't give an ash smudge. At St. Paul's I used the ball of my thumb after a few people because the symbol was bigger and clearer. Ashes are symbols of our mortality, and as we start Lent they are symbols of our sinfulness. They're to remind us in humility that we are in constant need of (conscious) reconversion, which we focus on during Lent. I made crosses big, bold, and clear. A smudge on the forehead makes it look like you bumped your head at the Olympics (a la English video clip of VP Biden's ash smudge) or that you're just dirty. A dark cross is clearly a marker of Ash Wednesday.

I think symbols need to be clear and acknowledged. If a symbol is downplayed, its weight may not be fully realized. Ashes as a symbol are about mortality and sinfulness, and they are a kind of greeting sometimes. Seeing them on one's own forehead isn't the only way they get seen. Every time I saw someone on the subway or elsewhere last Wednesday, I was reminded that I had ashes on my head and called to mind, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you will return." And I didn't always call that to mind if I wasn't sure if someone had ashes on their head or their hair was doing something funny.

So, in summary

Yes:

No: