On the Road to Damascus...

Reposted: "Divine Debate: Stuffy Academics versus Holy Rollers"

2012-02-04T09:21:00.000-08:00

Dear friends,

The following article was written by April L. Bogle and published in the Winter 2012 edition of Emory Magazine. It discusses the importance of education among those in ministry. Click here for a link to the actual article.

Enjoy!

"Beware of the person of one book." —Thomas Aquinas

Most Christians wouldn’t choose to turn to Thomas Aquinas’s “person of one book” to answer the profound questions of the human condition. Rather, they seek clergy who are educated and thoughtful “to help us wade through suffering and come out the other side with a sense of wholeness,” says Jan Love, dean of Candler School of Theology.

Yet as membership in mainline Protestant churches continues its downward spiral ― pulling along with it funds to pay full-time, fully educated pastors ― a debate is waging in Christian circles about the necessity of a theological education as a condition for ordination into ministry. The majority of mainline Protestant churches require pastors to obtain a master of divinity (MDiv) degree, but some argue that a person whom God has endowed with exceptional gifts of ministry can be effective without going to seminary.

So why require it, especially in these lean times?

Candler faculty and alumni offer ready opinions in what Love calls “this age-old debate of ‘stuffy academics versus holy rollers.’ ”

“Are there some educated clergy who lack empathy? Yes, but they do less harm than people who have all the empathy in the world and are ignoramuses,” says Luke Timothy Johnson, a renowned New Testament scholar. “The scandal in the church today is not of too much intelligence but of too little.”

Do No Harm

Like medicine and law, the field of theology carries a weighty ethical code of conduct where the meddling of an amateur can have serious consequences.

“Do you want an untrained surgeon replacing your heart valves?” asks Thomas G. Long, Bandy Professor of Preaching, who has been named one of the twelve most effective preachers in the English-speaking world. “Pastors operate on people’s vision, helping create their religious imagination, which makes for a rich and good life. If that is poorly constructed, life can be tragic.”

Bishop Mike Watson 74T, bishop of the North Georgia Conference of the United Methodist Church (UMC), says there are no guarantees that going to seminary will make a person a good pastor, “but you wouldn’t want a lawyer representing you who hadn’t been to law school.”

While no student can master all of the content and the complex issues presented in seminary, each is given the tools to be an honest teacher of scripture and to use them ethically—“as a gift, not as a weapon,” says Carol A. Newsom, Charles Howard Candler Professor of Old Testament, who is respected around the world for her translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

‘Liberal Arts’ for Ministry

As one of thirteen seminaries of the UMC, Candler’s mission is to educate faithful and creative leaders for the church’s ministries in the world. More than half of Candler’s students are United Methodist, but those seeking ordination in other Christian denominations also are welcome in Candler’s ecumenical culture.

Regardless of denomination, students seeking to become ministers pursue a set of courses and experiences that are designed to help them become grounded in the Christian tradition and discern their vocation for ministry—an arduous journey that ultimately teaches them to think theologically and become authentic, ethical spokespersons for their faith.

To fully understand Christianity, MDiv students follow a curriculum that includes in-depth study of biblical texts and courses in preaching. There also are two course requirements distinctive to Candler—one in another religion to help students gain an understanding of religious pluralism, and one on race, ethnicity, or gender to make sure they understand how concepts of “otherness” affect faith.

In addition, MDivs spend two of their three years at Candler engaging in contextual education, or Con Ed. Unlike typical field education where students visit and practice, Con Ed is total immersion for one year in social service settings and one year in church settings ― a rigor not required by most other seminaries. The Con Ed curriculum includes time for student reflection and discussion with other students, faculty, and mentors on the experiences they are encountering in the real world.

Reverend Kim Ingram 92T says her Con Ed experience, which included a church, a hospital, and a public housing community, was one of the hardest—but most important—things she did in preparation for ministry. “I worked among the poorest people in Atlanta, and to be able to reflect on that in collegial relation to other students, a site supervisor, and a seminary professor was a formative experience. You can’t get that on your own when you begin working in a congregation or through your personal encounter with prayer,” says Ingram, director of ministerial services for the Western North Carolina Conference of the UMC.

David L. Petersen, Candler’s associate dean of faculty and academic affairs and Franklin N. Parker Professor of Old Testament, says the MDiv curriculum has four goals. “First, students belong to the two-millennium-long Christian tradition and represent it faithfully; second, they have the understanding to internalize it and do the in-depth exploration of the canonical resources and deal with pivotal thinkers such as St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, John Wesley, and Martin Luther King, Jr.; three, they have the ability to reflect on the Christian position on huge issues like war and poverty; and four, they find their authoritative voice within the tradition,” he explains.

Discerning vocation has no set curriculum and can be even more challenging. “Many people come to Candler because they feel ‘called’ to ministry,” Petersen explains. “But what does that mean? They must pursue the answer in dialogue with other people and in serious reflection, where they are forced to begin to sharpen a sense of vocation. You can’t short-circuit this process.”

Reverend Ellen Echols Purdum 81C 01T, Candler’s director of student life and spiritual formation, serves as the “connective tissue” between students’ vocational aspirations and the resources where they might begin to explore them—from worship planning to social concern groups to international study.

She also counsels them through the tough times. “We try to instill the ancient practice of prayer, work, and rest that gets them through the day; share ideas on how to keep their minds and bodies healthy; and help them establish a rhythm of life that keeps them to connected to God, other people, the earth, and themselves,” says Purdum, an ordained Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Atlanta. “When they come into my office weeping because they are so overwhelmed, I ask them to pull out their calendar so we can sort it all out.”

Not ‘Either/Or’ but ‘Both/And’

The debate about the superiority of a seminary-trained pastor isn’t new in mainline Protestant churches, with evangelical churches having the greatest ambivalence about educating their clergy, according to Love.

“Evangelicals are deeply dedicated to understanding the gifts of the Holy Spirit. They believe God has endowed particular people with exceptional gifts for ministry and that these individuals should be recognized,” says Love.

But today the tension is focused on the decline in mainline Protestant churches—membership has decreased by some six million members since 1965, and is now down to about 18 percent of the US population—and how to reverse the trend.

“Churches now are interested in ways they weren’t twenty years ago in what makes good church leadership to sustain and grow the church,” says Love.

Are purely pious preachers the answer to filling the pews? It’s not an “either/or” solution. Rather, it’s the “both/and” of the Wesleyan tradition: knowledge and vital piety, say Candler’s experts.

“You have to have a combination of education and worship experiences. Just being a praying pastor doesn’t help you think through spiritual ideas or faith formation,” says Ingram.

Love agrees. “There’s a commandment that Jesus offers us in the Gospel of Mark that instructs us to love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Loving God with your mind is just as important as with your heart, soul, and strength. God wants us to question things.”

An obvious example, says Love, is politicians who manipulate voters by distorting verses of scripture. “Too often religious organizations ask us to leave our minds at the door: mindless worship, mindless recitation of favorite verses in the face of hardship, mindless ethical engagement that actually could do harm. This is a betrayal of Jesus’ commandment and often leads to violence, abuse, discrimination and oppression of all kinds.”

Petersen adds that if these “misinterpreters of the biblical witness are shepherding a flock, then they have an ill-fed flock full of junk food.”

Learning How to Question

Seminaries like Candler, which purport to more about education than indoctrination and are university-based rather than stand-alone, have been accused of making students “lose their Jesus.” Alumni debunk the myth, saying learning how to question your own beliefs is a necessary part of the formation process.

“You go to seminary for the helpful questioning of your faith so you can grow into a more faithful and fruitful life. It’s part of growing in grace, of being alive, of becoming humble,” says Reverend John Simmons 96T, former senior pastor of Glenn Memorial Church, who now serves as director of ministry for the UMC’s North Georgia Conference.

Ingram says her Candler experience “was eye-opening to just about everything,” from biblical narrative to an understanding of Hinduism to ethics and the civil rights movement. “I’ve said repeatedly that everyone should go to seminary. It opens your mind about how to relate to other people, to other religions. At Candler, you come out knowing why you believe what you believe, or you believe something different.”

Watson says he chose Candler for its openness of ideas and the warmth of its spiritual dimension. “I wanted to be open to all thought and to be exposed to different approaches to theology and ministry. I came to Candler because it was unafraid to explore and it eliminated a lot of my fear. It taught me that I didn’t have to be afraid of other ideas,” he said.

The eye-opening “deconstruction” process starts in the classroom under the careful guidance of faculty like Newsom, Johnson, and Long.

Newsom, who teaches the Old Testament, begins simply by introducing students to the text. “I ask them to read the book of Daniel as though they had never read it before—and then the giggling begins and I realize most of them have never read it at all. Although they know it’s important, they literally don’t know how to get into the material.”

Her approach? “I see teaching as matchmaking. If students have a certain passion and don’t know where to look, I match them with the biblical text I think they will love or have a lover’s quarrel with, and then develop a deeper relationship with—this way they learn the depth and profundity of scripture that is the foundation of the church.”

Johnson’s teaching of the New Testament’s book of Revelation is “mind-boggling but liberating,” he says.

“Most students have heard just one approach. I talk to them about how the different ways of reading Revelation divides the church today, the consequences and issues. And then I tell them a more appropriate reading is that it should serve as a prophetic witness pertinent to every age, and this liberates them from readings that represent dead ends.”

If students don’t go through this process, they aren’t learning. “If we don’t engage the difficult texts with high intelligence, then students either repeat the distortions they grew up with or they ignore them and cherry-pick scripture they enjoy—which is a profound sort of corruption,” says Johnson.

The risk, he says, is that they become “easy prey to cultural co-optation” and the church “ceases to be counter-culture.”

All of Candler’s classroom and Con Ed lessons come together in creating and delivering a powerful sermon, another critical component of Candler’s pedagogy, and one that offers students preaching-teacher stars like Tom Long and Teresa Fry Brown, along with the legacy of “preaching genius” Fred Craddock.

“Praying pastors with a ‘pure heart and clear faith’ can get up and speak, but not week after week,” says Long. “They must know where their congregation is in their understanding and interpretation of scripture and this is a very complicated skill we help students learn.”

What happens, then, if a person decides to skip seminary and go straight to the pulpit?

“They miss out on the tools, relationships, and experiences they need to have a deep and fully satisfying vocation in ministry,” says Newsom. “I can’t stress enough the importance of the communal experience, of gaining the wisdom that comes from studying with other students. Try as they will and devoted as they can be, no one can form themselves in the vocation of the pastor. You must always rely on others, and seminary is structured to make that happen in the richest possible fashion.”

Strange Bedfellows? Welfare, Drug Testing, the 4th Amendment, and Liberation Theology...

2012-01-31T11:47:00.000-08:00

For one reason or another, the economic crisis that has been whipped into frenzy of late, has brought to light the long-held though that recipients of welfare and other government assistance programs should pass a drug test in order to receive welfare and other governmental assistance. The underlying belief is that those who rely on government assistance programs use drugs at a higher rate than those who do not rely on such programs. Maybe you’ve heard Newt Gingrich, Rick Santorum, and Mitt Romney float this idea in one of the seemingly hourly Republican Presidential Debates?

From my perspective—after all, this is my blog, so you’re stuck with my perspective ☺—the notion of testing recipients of government assistance programs is a bad idea for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that the whole thing is based on a faulty premise. In fact, recipients of government assistance do not use drugs at a higher rate than the general population and, more to my point, even if some were found to be drug users, they should still be entitled to government assistance.

Let’s use Florida for an example. Rick Scott rode the Tea Party wave into the Governor’s office in the November 2010 election cycle. In an effort to fulfill a campaign promise, Scott instituted the policy of testing recipients of government assistance for drug use. The program worked like this: recipients of government assistance would first submit to a drug test in order to receive benefits. The recipients would be responsible for paying for the test (approximately $30). If they passed, they were reimbursed by the State of Florida. If they failed, they were not reimbursed and were not allowed to obtain government benefits.

The prevailing wisdom was that many of the prospective recipients would fail, saving the state tens of thousands of dollars. What happened, however, is that 96% of recipients passed the test, 2% failed, and 2% refused (mostly on 4th amendment grounds) to be tested. After this unexpected result, Florida was faced with a huge bill in order to refund all of the costs associated with the drug tests. The money spent on testing ended up costing more than the money that was saved by denying benefits to 4% of prospective recipients. Oh, and one more little fun fact: the company the State of Florida contracted out to do the testing was the very same company where Governor Rick Scott had been CEO before his election!

Some would argue that if recipients have nothing to hide, they should be happy to be tested. This ignores the issues of invasion of privacy, unlawful search and seizure, and the classist opinion that if I (the taxpayer) am paying for you to have these benefits, you (the recipient) should do what I say! The prevailing misunderstanding about recipients of government aid is that they are lazy, they’ve gotten themselves into their situation, and that they have no motivation to get a job because they can make as much or more from drawing government assistance. I am not naïve. I know that there are people who are recipients of government assistance who are abusing the system and I don’t know if there is an immediate solution to fix the situation. But let’s get serious. The prevailing thoughts on recipients of government assistance clearly amounts to several unhelpful and false stereotypes.

But even if you think all of that is a load of crap, we may be able to come at this controversial position from another angle: namely, the angle of a Christian response. Gustavo Gutierrez, James Cone, Jürgen Moltmann, Dorothy Sölle, and others have written extensively on Liberation Theology. A couple of years ago, Glenn Beck displayed his ignorance by misreading and misapplying James Cone’s understanding of Liberation Theology. Somewhat less famously, Union Theological Seminary (where Cone teaches) offered Beck a scholarship so that he could come and actually learn what Cone had in mind with regard to Liberation Theology… Beck didn’t accept. But I digress…

One of the things that almost all Liberation theologians hold in common is that Jesus Christ has a special relationship with the marginalized. For some, marginalization speaks to matters of gender and sexuality; to others, it speaks to matters of race and class; to others, it speaks to systemic racism and poverty; and to others, it speaks to addiction and substance abuse.

What all of this means is that the seminal mission of Jesus’ ministry on earth was (and is) to overturn earthly systems of injustice, oppression, and marginalization, welcoming into the beloved community those who are customarily excluded. Our likely first thought to that idea may be something to the effect of, “But they don’t deserve it!” But the Kingdom of God and the reign of Christ is not about deservedness, it is about love and relationships.

Of course, Christians have a duty to help those who are suffering from substance abuse to overcome their addictions. But we do not accomplish anything through marginalization and exclusion. We accomplish this through developing a supportive relationship. Laws such as the one on the books in Florida are not only based on false assumptions, they’re rooted in an incoherent and misguided theology.

A Response To "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus"

2012-01-12T15:43:00.000-08:00

This video, entitled, "Why I Hate Religion, But Love Jesus" has risen to fame via Facebook and YouTube, almost overnight. Jefferson Bethke is the author of the poem and is also the man performing a dramatic reading of the poem in the video.

I think the beauty of Bethke's poem is that it challenges our most deeply held assumptions about God and the Church. Many of my friends, most of whom are either working for the Church or are in seminary, have wondered aloud about how to respond. Some have shouted, "Amen! Preach on!" Others have said, "not so fast." Others have not said anything at all.

Many of my friends may be able to predict this about me, but I wonder if there is not another, third, way to interpret Bethke's poem? Don't misunderstand: I think he's absolutely correct that the Church has misused its power and authority to do immense harm to God's people. The Church has the blood of scores of thousands on its hands, inciting the crusades of the Middle Ages, the Papal wars over land and property, as well as more localized atrocities, such as the Spanish Inquisitions or the Salem witch trials. The Church has also maintained a tight grip around the throats of many scientists, ethicists, and other social activists who articulated a vision that proposed something other than the Church’s worldview. From Galileo to Newton, from Darwin to Roe v. Wade, from Brown v. Board of Education to Martin Luther King, voices claiming to be aligned with the Church have spoken out in vociferous opposition to change, progress, and equality, doing enormous damage in the name of Christ and his church.

But despite all of that, I think there's still hope for the Church. The Roman Catholic Church is one of the globe's leaders in the fight to eradicate hunger. Many other churches are at work to bring about justice and peace in severely troubled regions. The United Methodist Church has partnered with The Roman Catholic Church and The Episcopal Church to sue for an injunction to stop the racially-charged and grossly dehumanizing Alabama Immigration Law. Things like this give me some glimmer of hope.

I think that Bethke's poem is also right in reminding us that we are undeserving of God's mercy. But what is troubling to me is that Bethke's poem claims that "Christianity is God searching for man," while religion is "man searching for God." After first hearing this, I wasn't quite sure what the difference was. Christianity is, after all, a religion. But then Bethke continues, linking Jesus' death on the cross to his claim about Christianity, that God is searching for humankind.

I've heard this rationale a lot. Jesus died in our place, sacrificing himself so that we do not have to die. It's classic theology. In fact, it was an Archbishop of Canterbury who devised the atonement theory--St. Anselm. But Anselm's reading of Jesus' salvific work on the cross begs other questions that I think Bethke and many others seem to miss. First, if God is all-powerful and all-loving, why did God sacrifice God's own son to save humankind? For utilitarians, this might make sense: do what is best for the greatest number of people. But is God so limited that God could conceive of no other way than to have God's own son tortured and murdered in such a public and humiliating way?

Brace yourself: this Anglican is about to quote some Karl Barth. Barth believed that Jesus could not have come as a response to the sinfulness of humankind. If that were the case, Jesus would have been God's afterthought. Moreover, Jesus could not have come solely to conquer sin and death, because once that was accomplished, Jesus would be useless. Barth contends that Jesus came to create a new way for humankind to be in fellowship with God.

To make myself feel better for resorting to Barth (for my Reformed friends, I hope you know I'm kidding...), let me suggest a second look at Peter Abelard, one of Anselm's contemporaries. Abelard believed that instead of Christ's sacrifice appeasing God, Christ saves humankind through love. Christ's life and ministry were inextricably bound up in love, reconciliation, and liberation. But then again, Abelard really doesn't do justice to the final act of Christ's life: the Passion, death, and resurrection.

So here's my working hypothesis: in order to include both the particular and the universal natures of Christ, Christ as both the human exemplar of liberation and the divine and exalted dispenser of grace and salvation, we must expand our definition of salvation. Our definition of salvation must be both universal and particular in order to be complete. Salvation cannot simply mean that we are saved by what Christ has done in history, nor can it be confined to what Christ is doing now. Salvation must also take on a future, eschatological component: salvation must also be what Christ will do. In short, we have been saved, we are being saved, and we will be saved.

Christ’s salvific actions were begun on the cross, which made way for our universal salvation. Christ is also at work presently, among the oppressed, saving them in a very real, physical sense by virtue of their liberation. But Christ will complete the salvation and redemption of the universe in a future, eschatological realm. At that time, all wrongs will be made right, all evil will be redeemed, and universal salvation for all creation will be accomplished.

Returning to Jefferson Bethke, I think he sells Jesus a little short. I think that the Church, in all of its humanness, its brokenness, and its fickleness, still has the eschatological hope of salvation that Christ promised. I think the Church still has hope of bringing the good news of God in Christ to those who are most in need.

I also think that Bethke misses an essential component of our salvation. Namely, how Christ is saving humankind right now. In feeding the hungry, loosing the bonds of economic, social, and racial injustices, and in sojourning for peace and justice, Christ is sewing salvation into the very fiber of our being, working through us to bring others to God's saving embrace.

Perhaps a more apt name for Bethke's poem would be, "Why I love Jesus, Regardless of the Church."

Ordination to the Sacred Order of Deacons

2012-01-05T06:27:00.001-08:00

Dear friends,

As many of you know, I will be ordained a deacon on January 22 at my home parish in the Diocese of Lexington. I am both thrilled and humbled by this important event in my life and ministry. I am thrilled to be sharing it with so many of my friends and family, but especially with you, the beloved people of The Episcopal Church of the Epiphany! I am looking forward to Sunday, January 29—my first Sunday serving as deacon here at Epiphany—as much, if not more than my ordination!

The ministry of a deacon is one of service—especially to the poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely. Deacons are to assist bishops and priests in the administration of the sacraments and in the proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. But perhaps most importantly, the deacon is an interpreter to the Church. She or he elucidates the needs, concerns, and hopes of the world. In a sense, it is the deacon’s responsibility to shed light on those places that the Church may have forgotten or overlooked. The deacon is to guide the Church to the places in need of healing, hope, salvation, comfort, and rest. The deacon is called, as we all are, to listen, to seek, and to find those places most in need of the good news of God in Christ.

I am deeply humbled by the trust that the Church has invested in me in ordaining me to this new ministry. But what I have found to be most humbling and life giving is the reality that my ordination is really not about me at all. It’s about you! It’s about all of God’s people! The essence of ordination is not found in vestments, statuses, or titles. Instead, the essence of what ordination really is can be found in something we all share in common: baptism.

Ordination is about empowering all of God’s people to live into the promises of their baptismal covenant in new and extraordinary ways! Baptism is the very fiber that holds our common life as Christians together. God is calling all of us—not just ordained folks—to seek out ways to strengthen our bonds with one another, to build new relationships, and to grow into what the Apostle Paul calls “the full stature of Christ.”

And so, as we continue on this journey together, I wonder where those places are in your life where God is challenging you to grow and to create something new? The season after Epiphany is one of marvelous signs and wonders. I challenge you to keep watch for those marvelous signs and wonders God is working in your own life and in our common life together, both here at Epiphany and in the world around us!

Every blessing,

Marshall

The Feast of Blessed Willibrord of Utrecht

2012-01-05T06:23:00.000-08:00

November 9, 2011: Solemn Evensong & Holy Eucharist
Blessed Willibrord of Utrecht
Isaiah 55:1-5; Luke 10:1-9
Cannon Chapel, Candler School of Theology, Emory University

O God, be merciful to us and bless us. Show us the light of your countenance and come to us. Amen.

Tonight, we find Jesus preparing for his long journey to Jerusalem; to the city where he will be greeted with accolades and praises and shouts of hosanna and where the people meet him with palms, shouting triumphantly, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”

Of course, in the back of our minds, we all know what comes just a few days later. The shouts of joy turn to shouts of terror and violence. Soon, the people will cry, “Crucify him, crucify him!”

But tonight, as Jesus is preparing to walk the road that will lead to his suffering, his pain, and his death, he takes a moment to address seventy of his friends and followers who are to accompany him along the way.

One might expect Jesus to appoint several people to carry provisions or supplies for the long and hot journey to Jerusalem. One might even expect Jesus to make arrangements for some of his friends to carry tents so that they may spend the night along the road.

But Jesus doesn’t do any of that. In fact, he sends out the faithful with the instruction that they travel with no purse, no bag, and no sandals. And Jesus tells the departing seventy that they are to depend only on the kindness and hospitality of others to sustain them along the way, eating and drinking only that which is put on the table in front of them.

“Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, “The kingdom of God has come near to you.””

Even in the midst of Jesus’ journey into suffering and death, and even in the midst of Luke’s narrative becoming more and more eschatological, Jesus makes a powerful statement urging humility, thankfulness, and graciousness amidst even the most miserable conditions. Even when the stakes are at their highest, even when it has become a matter of life and death, Jesus urges hospitality and openness to the strangers in our midst!

Hospitality, as most of us understand it today, is sharing from one’s abundance; or, the act of those who can afford it, giving to those who are in the greatest need. Such hospitality is vital for our society and vital for us to live out our lives as Christians in faithful obedience to God.

But Luke paints a different portrait of hospitality in this passage. Here, Jesus gives us a glimpse of a type of hospitality that is more mutual; a type of hospitality that is dependent upon the denial of self-indulgence, rather than on donations from our excess.

After all, the houses that the seventy visited were not imperial palaces or mansions of well-to-do first-century Palestinians. The houses where Jesus’ followers would have been welcomed are the houses that barely had enough food to put on the table for their own family, let alone additional hungry and thirsty guests.

Jesus urges the seventy to visit the homes of the men and women who could least afford it. He urges the seventy to be gracious in receiving what their hosts have to offer. And he urges a sense of hospitality that bends social customs and reaches towards mutual respect and love for God. For it is in this mutual relationship that we discover that the kingdom of God comes close to us.

Blessed Willibrord, the saint whose life and ministry we celebrate today, was sent from Northern England to convert the people of present-day Netherlands to Christianity in the seventh and eighth centuries. He never built for himself a palace that would have accompanied his office if he had he remained closer to Rome or England. He never ordered the construction of an enormous cathedral that is fitting of an archbishop’s see. Instead, he constructed numerous small churches and abbeys across the land for the people to gather in community to worship and pray.

Even today, his remains cannot be found in a grand cathedral, but in the quiet abbey that he often visited, seeking retreat and quietness.
Willibrord’s life and legacy is still honored among Christians today in both England and the Netherlands as a sign of their nearly 1500 year-old relationship of mutual hospitality with one another.

His life also serves as a reminder to us, that we are to be gracious guests and hospitable hosts in all that we do, no matter how much or how little we have to offer or how much or how little we receive.

As Willibrord knew well, God is calling each of us to a life of mutuality—a life of sharing graciously with one another. But God is also calling us deeper and deeper into a life of mutuality with Godself.

I often forget this. I suspect that at some time or another, all of us forget this.

But the reality is that we can never experience the fullness of a mutual relationship with one another unless we open our hearts and our minds to experience the fullness of a mutual relationship with God.

In a few moments, we will share in the church’s sacred act of mutual hospitality as we celebrate Christ’s gift and sacrifice of himself in the Holy Eucharist.

As we pray together for the Holy Spirit to bless and sanctify these gifts, we are united at once with each another and with God. It is in these liminal moments that we can glimpse what a life of mutuality really is.

Recall the words of the Prophet Isaiah: “Come, all who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price! Listen carefully and eat what is good! Incline your ear to me; listen, so that you may live!”

As we come to the table, we find ourselves confronted with the reality of our own ungratefulness, but we are nourished by the unsurpassed hospitality and love of Christ Jesus our Lord. And we are reoriented to God so that we may truly live, feasting on that which is very good, indeed.

In this meal, we are met with a host that gives us more than we could ever ask for or desire. And in this meal, we are given the opportunity to begin again—to go forth from this place, reminded of the Risen Lord’s desire to draw us deeper into God’s love for us; and for us to share that love with every person we meet—stranger or not.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend of mine shared with me an ancient hymn written by St. Ephraem who lived in the 4th century in present-day Syria. It reads, “In your bread hides the Spirit that cannot be consumed; in your wine is the fire that cannot be drunk. The Spirit in your bread, the fire in your wine: here is a wonder welcomed by our lips. The seraph could not get his fingers close to the hot coal that could only approach Isaiah's mouth; neither did the fingers take it, nor the lips swallow it; but the Lord granted us the ability to do both things. The fire rained down with anger to destroy the sinners, but the fire of grace comes down on the bread and remains there. Instead of the fire destroying man, we ate the fire in the bread and we were revived.”

When we receive the crisp, dry bread and hear, “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven;” and when we grasp the chalice containing the wine and hear, “The blood of Christ, the cup of salvation,” we become partakers in the eternal mutuality that is the Risen Lord.

And it is in this banquet that we can hear the words of Christ Jesus, whispering to our hearts: “The Kingdom of God has come near!”

Amen.

Sunday, Oct. 23, 2011: Proper 25, Year A

2012-01-05T06:18:00.000-08:00

Sunday, 23 October 2011: Holy Eucharist
Proper 25, Year A
Leviticus 19:1-2; 15-18; 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8; Matthew 22:34-46
The Episcopal Church of the Epiphany

O God, be merciful to us and bless us. Show us the light of your countenance and come to us. Amen.

As many of you know, several of our fellow Epiphanites are in the mountains of North Carolina at Kanuga on a parish retreat. Benno and Cynthia are there with them and by most accounts a good time is had by all.

A couple of weeks ago during one of our weekly staff meetings, Benno chided me saying that since I have never been to Kanuga, I didn’t know what I was missing. I smiled and shook my head in agreement, thinking the whole time, “When the Rector’s away, the Seminarian will play…”

So in preparation for a Sunday without the Rector and Associate Rector, Barbara and I thought about choreographing a song and dance number or something to that effect. But once I read the lectionary passages for today and saw Leviticus among the appointed texts, I knew we would have a good time. After all, Leviticus is everybody’s favorite book of the Bible…

In reality, we read from Leviticus about three times in the three-year cycle of our lectionary. In fact, preachers for this Sunday had the option to do away with the reading from Leviticus altogether and substitute a text from Deuteronomy instead. I almost took that path.

Most of the time, I dread reading Leviticus as, I suspect, many of you do, as well. It is full of arcane laws and rules and “you shall not’s.” It is where many of the kosher dietary laws are found. It is where codes of dress and hygiene like the prohibition against men trimming their beards are found. And through the centuries, it has also been the book of choice for those who attempted to use Scripture to marginalize LGBT persons, to exclude women from full status in society, and even to condone the practice of slavery.

And so I groaned when I sat down to read the Scripture passages appointed for today. In fact, when I opened my Bible to read the texts, I started with the Gospel and worked my way backwards.

But when I flipped to Leviticus, I read, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God, am holy.” And I took a long pause… I thought about it… and I kept reading. And I arrived at this verse, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Suddenly, the Gospel text from Matthew stood out to me in a different way. I could almost see the Pharisees, making one final attempt to get Jesus to commit heresy or treason; one last-ditch effort to be rid of this aggravating radical who was causing such a stir among the people.

They put forward the one among them who knew the law the best; who could fastidiously recite every last detail, to ask Jesus: which was the most important commandment?

Perhaps they expected him to select from the Ten Commandments or from the Holiness Codes. Perhaps they expected him to say something that wasn’t found in Torah at all: something completely new, which would certainly seal Jesus’ fate as a blasphemer and a heretic.

But Jesus didn’t pick from among the Ten Commandments; he didn’t offer something new and different. He quoted Judaism’s most fundamental, ancient, and widely recited Biblical passage, the Shema:

“Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”

“And the second,” Jesus said, “Is like it: you shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the laws and the prophets.”

Jesus quotes two verses that come from the very heart of Torah; one from Deuteronomy and one from our passage from Leviticus. And in doing so, Jesus reminds the Pharisees that all of the laws must be interpreted through the ultimate goal of loving God.

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.”

And it is impossible to love God without loving one’s neighbor. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

Jesus is reminding us of God’s will for us and for our lives. The Catechism found in the back of The Book of Common Prayer refers to Jesus’ two greatest commandments as the Summary of the Law. The Baptismal Covenant, which unites us all as the Body of Christ, requires those being baptized or confirmed to “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself.” And on most occasions where The Holy Eucharist is celebrated, we confess to not having loved God or our neighbors, as we ought to have loved them.

This is, more than anything else, the central act of our faith. Loving God and loving neighbor!

But of course, the difficulty is in how we go about doing it…

Surely, we say, there must be some sort of hedge set around who is our neighbor and who is not our neighbor.

Surely, we say, what appears as “love” in English actually means “forbearance” or perhaps “tolerance.” What God is really saying is that we must tolerate those people with whom we struggle. That’s love, right?

Surely in order to maintain our holiness, God means for us to separate ourselves from those who do not live as we live or act as we act.

There is certainly a case for this in reading Leviticus! God commands Israel not to eat certain foods, not to engage in certain behaviors, and not to compromise their own holiness. Translated into a modern context, this is read as a justification for separation; a justification to take on God’s call to holiness by remaining separate from that which is not holy; or that which is other.

This is also what happens when we attempt to turn our fears into theology. If we associate with people who are unholy, we may become unholy. If we associate with people who are sinful, we may become sinful.

But the problem with this theology is that it puts limits on God’s commandments. It sets a boundary around who is a neighbor and who is not a neighbor. And it translates love as a passive and fickle means of toleration, rather than an active, barrier-shattering call to reconciliation, wholeness, and ultimately, holiness.

Neither Leviticus nor Jesus has any interest in passive love… The love that Jesus proclaims and that Leviticus commands is an active, personal, love that tears down boundaries and challenges our misgivings.

Active love is inextricably bound up in the work of reconciliation, which is always messy. And it necessitates that we engage with the ugliness, the brokenness, and the sinfulness of the world in order to create a kingdom built on justice and peace, rather than the preservation of the status quo.

“You shall be holy for I, the Lord your God am Holy” is about justicemaking, peacemaking, and restoring God’s kingdom.
Rather than a command to maintain a flawed notion of holiness according to human standards, this is an invitation to holiness in accordance with God’s standards!

Perhaps I have been misreading Leviticus. And perhaps the church has, too. If we read Leviticus as an invitation to holiness instead of a commandment of separateness and judgment, we can begin to understand that in order for our relationship with God to be holy, our relationships with one another must be holy. And that begins with love. Active, reconciling, ugly, messy, forgiving, hard, boundary-less…love.

Leviticus moves us towards an understanding of neighbor that includes the persons who live near us and are like us, as well as those who are far from us and unlike us.

Leviticus says the poor and the alien should be fed from the edges of the fields, the gleanings of the harvest, the fallen grapes of the vineyard [1].

Leviticus says the neighbor shall not be defrauded, and makes clear that it is wrong to keep a laborer’s wages until morning, to revile the deaf, or to put a stumbling block before the blind [2].

Leviticus says you shall not be partial to the poor or defer to the great; neighbors are to be treated with justice; they shall not be used for profit [3].

And Leviticus says you shall not oppress aliens, they shall be treated as citizens among you, and you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt [4].

It appears as though the neighborhood in Leviticus is a lot larger than the neighborhood where we live.

But our work must begin here, at The Episcopal Church of the Epiphany, with you and with me. After all, if we cannot love one another in our parish community, how can we have any hope of loving those in the neighborhood that are most unlike us?

We here at Epiphany take our work in the larger neighborhood very seriously. In my three years here, I have been deeply moved by the caring relationship we maintain with our larger neighborhood. The list of outreach ministries, clothing drives, food drives, and other valuable ministries goes on and on.

But there are always areas where we can do better; where we can treat each other better. Perhaps it comes in the form of introducing yourself to someone you haven’t met. Perhaps it comes in the form of getting involved in a new type of ministry. Or perhaps it comes in the form of letting go of past hurts and grievances so that healing and reconciliation can begin.

Sometimes, loving our neighbor begins with forgiving our neighbor. After all, forgiveness is the very incarnation of love. But let no one tell you that forgiveness is always easy or neat or tidy. More often than not, it is exactly the opposite: painful, messy, and ugly.

But without it, we have no hope. We have no hope of reconciliation, of love, of wholeness, and most of all, no hope of holiness.

When my wife Shayanna and I were preparing the final details of our wedding, the priest who blessed our marriage sat down with us and reminded us of a very important fact.

“You know, Episcopalians aren’t fond of the words, ‘I do.’ We don’t say it at weddings, we don’t say it at baptisms, and we don’t say it at ordinations. Instead, we say, ‘I will.’ The difference is that although the latter may take longer, it allows for grace. It allows for mistakes and fights and hurt feelings and shortcomings and forgiveness and apologies and reconciliation, with the constant understanding that we’ll get it right sooner or later; in this life or in the next.”

“You shall be holy for I the Lord your God am holy.”

Indeed, we shall.

Amen.

[1] Leviticus 19:9-10
[2] Leviticus 19:13-14
[3] Leviticus 19:15-16
[4] Leviticus 19:33-34

A Reflection from Clinical Pastoral Education

2011-07-14T00:27:00.000-07:00

It’s 3:00 AM. I’ve been here since 5:00 PM yesterday and I’ll go home at 12:00 PM this afternoon. The pager has gone off six times, I’ve prayed with four families, and have joined in celebrating the lives of two remarkable women whose lives ended tonight at the hospital. It has actually been a relatively quiet night. I’ve gotten more than four hours of sleep and I’m only writing now because I can’t go back to sleep just yet.

I think I mentioned when I started blogging that it was going to be an experiment. So far, it has been. I’ve not been the most faithful at writing on it, but I never am. I’ve tried journaling at least a half-dozen times and it comes and goes in waves. Sometimes I write, sometimes I don’t. But tonight, I felt like writing. I won’t feel like this every night, I don’t expect, but tonight, writing is in order.

There is a prayer that I’ve loved for many years that reads, “Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work or watch or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ, give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your Love’s sake. Amen.”

I’ve said that prayer countless times. For Episcopalians, it comes at the close of Evening Prayer, which should be a daily routine for me—but it isn’t, I’m afraid. Tonight, though, for the first time, I prayed that prayer. Sure, I’ve said it a bunch, I’ve even chanted it as a collect during Evensong, and I’ve written it more times than I care to remember. But tonight I prayed it.

Before tonight, I thought I was praying it. I thought I understood what those words really meant. And maybe I did. Maybe I had been praying it all this time and I’m now suddenly praying it a different way or with a different meaning in mind. But for tonight, those words pressed upon my heart when I uttered them. They held me closely; they gave me comfort. But they also frightened me because tonight, I am working and watching and weeping. Tonight, I am living into my baptism in a new way. And I’ve never been more afraid and more humbled and more aware of God’s presence than I am right now.

Sermon for the Last Sunday after Epiphany

2011-04-30T08:23:00.000-07:00

O God, be merciful to us and bless us. Show us the light of your countenance and come to us. Amen.

About two weeks ago, I got a frantic call from my brother at 8:30 in the morning. It took me a little by surprise because he is a freshman at the University of Kentucky and I remember my freshman year, so I wasn’t quite sure why he was awake and calling me before noon.

“Hello?” I said.

“Marshall!” He yelled! “Is today Ash Wednesday?”

“No,” I said, “You’ve got two more weeks. It’s later than normal this year.”

He was relieved. He was supposed to serve at the morning Ash Wednesday service at his church and he was afraid he’d missed it.

I’m sure many of you have also noticed how late Ash Wednesday is this year, as well. The Church’s liturgical calendar makes the season after Epiphany a little flexible. It can have as many as nine Sundays, but we almost never get to the ninth one. Last year, we got through six Sundays, seven the year before that, and only four in 2008.

But this year is different. We get all nine Sundays. And so here we are: the ninth and last Sunday after Epiphany—and the last Sunday before Lent.

All of today’s Scripture readings point to a place of transition and transformation in the lives of God’s people: the mountaintop.

Moses goes to the mountaintop to be with God and to receive the Ten Commandments.

Second Peter retells the Gospel account of Christ’s transfiguration on the mountaintop.

And Matthew tells us of Jesus, Peter, James, and John journeying to the mountaintop, where Jesus is transfigured before their very eyes.

On this last Sunday before Lent, we gather at the mountaintop for a transformational experience with Jesus, before we begin our Lenten journeys to Jerusalem, and at last, the cross.

By next Sunday, our church will appear quite different, making a transformation of its own.

We’ll trade in our bright and festive green vestments for deep purple, red, and sackcloth. We’ll exchange the brass candleholders and missal stand for plain white candles and a plain white pillow. The altar cross will be shrouded with a heavy cloth. Our children will make Alleluia banners that will be buried in the garden outside, a symbolic gesture that marks our move from the festive “Alleluia” to Lent’s “Lord Have Mercy.”

And on Wednesday, we will gather to mark our foreheads with ashes, hearing the fateful words, “Remember that you are but dust, and to dust you shall return.”

Lent weighs heavily on us. We hear and see things during Lent that are hard for us. With each passing week of our Lenten journey, we get closer and closer to Jerusalem, where on Palm Sunday, we greet our Lord with palm branches, singing “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” and then seal his fate, shouting “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

For many of us, the violence of the cross is too horrific, too difficult, and we’d much prefer to ignore it and go straight to Easter Sunday, replete with the beautiful music, the lovely baptisms, and the fragrant flowers.

But as much as we might like to try, there is nothing we can do to change the fate of our Lord. Resurrection cannot come without death. Redemption cannot come without suffering and loss.

And so, Lent beckons us to recall the suffering and loss of our Lord Jesus. Lent beckons us to travel again to Jerusalem. And yes, Lent beckons us to come face to face with the horrifying reality of the cross.

And so we begin our preparation for the journey today: with the somewhat familiar story of Jesus’ glorious transfiguration on the mountaintop. The gospel tells us that his face shone like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white.

But that’s not really the whole story. Although it may be easy to imagine that Jesus and Peter, James, and John went happily to the mountaintop, the reality is that their journey to the mountaintop was shrouded with fear, anxiety, and even a bit of anger.

Matthew chapter 16 reveals that before Jesus leads Peter, James, and John to the mountaintop, he foretells his own death on the cross. Peter, stricken with fear, says, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you!”

But Jesus’ death is imminent and there is nothing that the disciples can do to stop it.

And so, the reality of the transfiguration story is that Jesus is leading Peter, James, and John to the top of the mountain, as they come to grips with the fact that their beloved Lord will soon die an excruciating death and that their lives as his disciples will never be the same.

When they reached the top of the mountain, the Gospel tells us that Jesus was transfigured before them and Moses and Elijah appeared. As the disciples beheld their Lord, they realized they were in the very presence of God.

But even in this incredible moment of divine revelation, Peter could not forget what Jesus had told them before they came to the mountain. “Lord, it is good for us to be here,” Peter said, “If you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”

I wonder if the reason Peter offered to make three dwellings for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah lay in the fact that he wanted desperately to stay there on the mountain, where it was safe, protecting Jesus from what was to come?

Just then, the disciples heard a voice from a cloud, saying: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”

At this, the Gospel says, “They fell to the ground and were overcome by fear.”

But then, something happened. In the midst of their horror, their fear, and their sense of loss, Jesus reached out and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.”

About a year ago, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. She has always been a fiercely independent woman. She went back to school in her fifties, raised six children, and had a hand in raising five more grandchildren, including my brother and me. But my favorite thing about her has always been her infectious sense of humor.

After we learned of the diagnosis, I went to visit her. As I sat in her living room, I was struggling to talk about her prognosis without weeping. I was afraid for her. I was afraid for me.

But in that moment of immense fear and anxiety, she reached over and grabbed my hand and said, “Marshall, don’t worry about me. As long as I keep my sense of humor, I’ll be fine.”

While facing her own mortality, she reached out to comfort me in my moment of fear and loss. She, the one who had been diagnosed with this terrible disease, reached out her hand to comfort me.

In that moment of deep anxiety and fear, I found myself in the same place that the disciples found themselves: confronted with the life-giving reality of a God, who, even in the face of death itself, will not let us stand alone.

The Reverend Maryetta Anschutz is a priest of the Church who refers to this as the “paradox of the transfiguration.” On the one hand, the disciples can do nothing to shield themselves and to shield Jesus from the sorrow and suffering of the coming days.

But on the other hand, there is also no way that the disciples can shield themselves from the blinding love of God that sheds the light of hope on their very darkest moments.

On any given day, we may come to a place where we are utterly broken. Whether it is the loss of a loved one, the loss of a job, or the anxiety of mounting financial burdens, every single one of us will find ourselves, at some point or another, in desperate need of hope.

The miracle of the transfiguration is that our God does not remain on the mountaintop. The light of Christ dwells within each of us and, while we may from time to time feel as though we can go no further, that we are broken beyond repair, the words of God ring down from the mountain, falling upon each and every one of us: “You are my children! My beloved, with whom I am well pleased!” God reminds us that there is nothing in this world that is beyond God’s redemption.

Transfiguration occurs for each one of us when we realize that the love of God is beyond our wildest understanding and that there is nothing we can do to escape it.

God will find us in our homes and in our workplaces. God will find us when our hearts have been broken, and God will find us in our moments of greatest joy.

God will find us in the moments that we try the hardest to run away.

And God will find us when we are in the deepest depths of despair.

And God will reach out God’s hand and say, “Get up and do not be afraid!”

Amen.

Tragedy Strikes Arizona, Blame Seizes the Nation

2011-01-10T13:00:00.000-08:00

Saturday was a dark day for the people of Arizona and for the United States. Sometime in mid-morning, 22-year-old Jared Lee Loughner opened fire on a crowd of people who were gathered for a “Congress On Your Corner” event, organized by Arizona Congressional Representative Gabrielle Giffords. 18 people were shot during the maelstrom, including Giffords. Six people were killed, including US District Judge John Roll and 9-year-old Christina Taylor Green, the youngest of the victims who were slain.

Almost immediately, our attention turns to Jared Lee Loughner, the young man (younger than me!) who inflicted so much violence, terror, and tragedy on the entire country. We are filled with righteous anger—and rightly so! My first reaction when I heard about the shooting was, “Did they catch the shooter?” This time they did—good news, I suppose, for the justice system.

And after we’ve seen enough of the horrific images of gurneys carrying the dead and injured from the front of the grocery store to the ambulance, after we’ve seen enough of the family members crying, we change the channel. But our anger doesn’t disappear. Our need to lay blame at the feet of another doesn’t diminish.

This time, for whatever reason, laying the blame on Jared Lee Loughner is not enough. We begin to ask why. Why did he do this? How did he do this? Why didn’t the police stop him from doing this? Surely there must have been signs! How did we miss the signs?

There were signs. There are always signs. Loughner was likely bullied at school, or perhaps he was abused at home. He probably had a history of abusing animals—or perhaps even people. He clearly liked guns.

School bullying is often the beginning of the regression for teens who eventually act out in violent ways. It was for Michael Carneal, the 14-year-old who walked into Heath High School in Paducah, Kentucky on a December Monday morning and opened fire on a group of students gathered in prayer, killing three and injuring five. And such has been the case for countless others who, because of seemingly innocuous and “normal” bullying that “everyone encounters in school,” take their own life or the lives of others. But the school bullies aren’t on trial for anything. Blaming them does not satisfy us.

And then, we ask, “Where were his parents?” They should have known, shouldn’t they? They should have stopped Jared Lee Loughner and Michael Carneal and the countless other young people who turn to violence to find solace. We become angry at them for a brief moment, until we look in the mirror and realize that we’ve all been children and some of us, parents. Many of us have done things in our youth that years later, our over-protective and sleuthing parents are still unaware of. And although I am not yet a parent, I suspect that the shock and horror that met the parents of 9-year-old Christina Taylor Green on Saturday was the same shock and horror that met the parents of Michael Carneal or the parents of Dylan Klebold or Eric Harris, the students who, after killing twelve of their classmates, one of their teachers, and injuring dozens of other people at Columbine High School, took their own life.

But surely we can blame the gun lobbyists. A class-action lawsuit against the NRA should correct the problem. But it doesn’t. Even though I believe in my heart of hearts that automatic weapons have no place in our society, and assault rifles being sold to the public is analogous to feeding Uranium to a seventh grader, I realize that guns are not the cause, but a means to a violent end. Jared Lee Loughner committed murder with a single handgun that had a 33-bullett clip. But he could just as easily shopped at his local hardware store for the ingredients to make a deadly explosive. If a gun were not available to him, he would have found another way.

Today, however, the internet and cable news outlets have taken their blame game on the road from Arizona to Alaska, where former half-term governor Sarah Palin is on the defensive, dodging charges by some that she instigated the inflamed and sometimes violent rhetoric that led to the tragedy in Arizona.

Let me be clear: I do not think Sarah Palin—or any other commentator, for that matter—no matter how vile and repugnant I believe them to be, was a cause of this tragedy. However, I do think that the escalating and often violent messages broadcasted by politicians such as Tea Party favorite Sharron Angle, who called for “second amendment remedies” if the elections did not create the change desired by some Americans, creates a society in which violence is enshrined as an acceptable alternative to justice, the due process of law, and compromise.

Perhaps that is where blame can be laid: at the feet of hatred itself and all of its evil side effects. If we must blame something for this unspeakable tragedy, perhaps we should swallow hard and blame ourselves for our own prejudices, hatred, malice, greed, self-centeredness, and insecurity. Maybe then, out of the ashes of this tragedy, a society will rise that treats every human being with dignity, respect, and compassion, instead of acting out of fear and hatred.

The Feast of Saints Simon and Jude

2010-11-08T17:28:00.000-08:00

Our lesson from the Gospel according to John is situated within a long monologue that occurs on the night before Jesus was crucified. The disciples just heard Jesus give them another commandment, centered in love. Chapter 15 verse 12 recalls Jesus’ admonition to the disciples: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Jesus is preparing the disciples for the most difficult part of their journey together: his crucifixion and death.

And so John’s Gospel brings us into the room with Jesus and gives us a glimpse of Jesus’ last hours with the twelve. In preparation for his death, resurrection, and ascension into Heaven, Jesus prepares his disciples for what is to come. He prepares them for the horror of his death, the miracle of his resurrection, the mystery of his ascent into Heaven, and the work that each of them will take up in furthering Jesus’ message.

He assures the disciples of his love for them, but in our lesson for today, he warns them that it is not love they will experience as they begin their diverse ministries in the world, but hatred.

The word, “hate,” appears eight times in our short ten-verse lesson. While preparing to preach, I read this passage, re-read this passage, and then decided to go read the lesson from Ephesians, thinking that, perhaps, there might be a greater connection to the Saints whose lives and merits we honor today. But then I came back to John. I read it one last time, put the Bible down, and spent a half hour researching Saints Simon and Jude, desperate to make a connection between their lives and the Gospel.

As I read about them, I discovered that the only thing we know for sure about Saints Simon and Jude is that they were hated. Other than that, their lives and ministries are a mystery! They are strangers! We’re not even sure if Simon and Jude are really their names!

Scholars have been able to conjecture that Saint Simon was a zealot, and Christian tradition has mythologized Saint Simon as a fanatical and uncompromising promoter of the Gospel message. Tradition has also constructed a theology surrounding Saint Jude that portrays him as the patron saint of hopeless causes. But we know nothing else for sure, except that the two of them died a gruesome death in Persia sometime in the late first century, CE.

And so after reading this, it was clear where the connection was:
“If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world—therefore the world hates you.”

I must confess: I do not have any long-lost information about either Simon or Jude. And it would be wrong of me to tell you with any degree of certainty that they died because they were living out Jesus’ message of radical love, telling everyone they encountered about Jesus Christ. That is certainly the tradition’s explanation of their deaths. But we have no record of their ministries and they only get a passing mention in Scripture.

But what I can tell you with some degree of certainty is that people hated them. People hated them enough to kill them.

This realization, that Simon and Jude were hated enough to be put to death begs yet another question: what is the Holy Spirit saying to us, to you and me, the present and future priests, pastors, and theologians of the church? What is Jesus saying to his disciples of the twenty-first century? Are we to believe that because we have a relationship with Jesus, the world hates us; and that the world will hate us enough to kill us?

I’ve certainly heard this preached, and there have certainly been moments when I have thought that it may be true. But in reality, most of us don’t experience anything close to the life-threatening hatred that cost Simon and Jude their lives.

I think the great 20th century literary critic Cyril Connolly was onto something when he said, “Hate is the consequence of fear; we fear something before we hate it…”

Perhaps Jesus’ admonition to us, telling us to be aware of the hatred that we will surely face, has taken on a new persona…

Fear.

I suspect that the fear we are to confront is the fear that seeks to keep us from seeing the imago Dei, the image of God, within all of God’s children, because at the moment we realize that God dwells within the other, they become harder to dismiss, harder to ignore, and harder to hate.

When we realize that the reality of the incarnation is looking back at us in every human being, the fear and hatred that exists in our hearts can be driven out.

This, I think, is the example that Saints Simon and Jude give to us. They are strangers! And yet, we know that God dwells in them. And though we do not know their names, where they are from, what they did, or how they lived, we know that they are Saints, sitting in the high courts of Heaven, hearing our prayers.

They are, perhaps, the Church’s most celebrated strangers! And perhaps they exist as saints not to have their stories told and revered, but to be fundamentally unknown, fundamentally strangers.

In 2007, The Right Reverend V. Gene Robinson, the ninth Bishop of New Hampshire, visited St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Pasadena, California. As the service drew to a close, Bishop Robinson offered a blessing to the congregation:

May God bless you with discomfort: discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger: anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears: tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war so you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy.
May God bless you with foolishness: enough foolishness to believe you can make a difference in this world so you can do what others claim cannot be done.

I like to think that God’s hope for all of us is that we will be deeply discomforted, angry, sorrowful, and even a bit foolish as we carry out our own ministries.

I like to think that when we encounter other human beings, our discomfort, our anger, our sorrow, and our foolishness, will allow us to see past the stranger, to glimpse the saint within.

I also like to think that God foresees a day when pastors and priests, and all who take God’s message of love to the places of darkness, where fear dwells, will be out of a job because the work of reconciliation, the work that the saints who have gone before us started, has been completed and the fear and hatred that cost Simon and Jude their lives will be driven out by God’s message of love.

William How said it this way in one of my favorite hymns: “But lo! There breaks a yet more glorious day; the Saints triumphant rise in bright array; the King of glory passes on his way. Alleluia, alleluia!”

Amen.

i. The Hymnal 1982, # 267, “For all the Saints, Who From Their Labors Rest,” verse 7.

Year C Proper 25

2010-11-08T17:24:00.000-08:00

Every good thriller or suspenseful story needs a villain: someone to represent all that is bad, or wrong, or evil. And the very best stories have an unlikely villain. Sure, anybody can create the typical villain: the shady guy who lurks in the shadows, wearing the dark trench coat; or the creepy neighbor who seems to show up in all of the wrong places at all of the wrong times; but the best villains seem to be those who are the most unlikely, those who seem above reproach!

The 75-year-old-grandma with a hankering for murder…

Or the seemingly saintly politician who has a nasty habit of smuggling drugs…

Or the local pastor whom nobody expects to transform into a werewolf by moonlight and eat the neighbor’s cat… or the neighbor…

In today’s Gospel lesson from Luke, we encounter a different kind of unlikely villain: the Pharisee. The Pharisee is unlikely, but not because contemporary readers don’t suspect him to be devious—we certainly do! I think most contemporary readers of the Bible have a rather negative impression of the Pharisees.

But this would not have been the case in first-century Palestine. The Pharisees were a distinctive group within Judaism that adhered to the laws set forth in Torah to the letter. They related to God through the keeping of the law and through acts of ritual separation from the Gentile community. In the context of first-century Palestine, they were above reproach. They were the folks to whom the community looked for example and leadership.

But the Gospels, as they so often do, turn these worldly perceptions on their head. They reveal the deep, dark secrets that everybody would rather overlook or ignore. Jesus points out the inadequacies of the Pharisees, those things that make them uncomfortable; those things that are painful for the Pharisees to hear. Again and again, they are called out for their arrogance, self-righteousness, and ignorance because they have let their adherence to the law, blind them to its true purpose: a relationship with God. And in response, they antagonize Jesus and his teachings and they are so obsessed with themselves that they cannot comprehend His Divine message.

In today’s reading, Luke records one of Jesus’ parables in which he speaks specifically to those who “trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regard others with contempt.” And so he puts two men side by side. One is a Pharisee—the one to whom society looks as example—and the other is a tax collector—the one whom society loathes; the one whom society would have been quick to vilify.

Jesus continues the parable, telling of the Pharisee and the tax collector praying in the temple. The Pharisee prays this prayer: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.”

The tax collector, however, prays quite a different prayer. Jesus tells us that he would not even look up to heaven. He beat his chest and said, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

The tax collector went home justified. And the Pharisee did not.

Returning his focus to the crowd to whom he was speaking, Jesus offered these words: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

At first glance, the parable sounds straightforward. There was a tax collector, there was a Pharisee, the Pharisee said something smug and arrogant, and the tax collector asked for mercy. Jesus points to the man who asked for mercy as the exemplar, and to the Pharisee as the example of what not to do. Therefore, we assume that the point of the story is to be humble. This certainly seems to be the direction that Luke is pointing in and it is certainly a valuable lesson for us today.

But I wonder if any of us bothered to give the Pharisee a second thought or a second reading? It’s certainly easy to categorize the Pharisee in much the same way as Pharisees are portrayed elsewhere in Scripture: as the antagonists to Jesus’ message or as the villain.

I suspect that if we did pause to take a closer look at the Pharisee, we might see a little bit of ourselves reflecting back off of the page. While it is true that the Pharisee had broken no law, ignored no statute, said his prayers when he was supposed to, did not shirk his responsibility to tithe or to attend Temple, and had done all that the law required of him in order to be a good Jew, he lost sight of the true purpose of his actions, which was not simply to keep the law, but to keep the law in such a way that it brings him into a relationship with God.

And so, Jesus exalts the lowly one; the one who is humble enough to ask for help. And Jesus humbles the one whom society has lifted up as an exemplar, but who is actually a villain. He humbles the one who is so exalted that he could not realize that what he needed most is not simply to keep all of the statutes, but to seek God.

But should we blame the Pharisee? Should we blame him for getting caught up in the motions? Should we blame him for thinking himself better than the tax collector?

I can’t blame him because I, for one, am guilty for the very same thing. It is so easy to come to church and to go through the motions, forgetting their true purpose. It is so easy to discount those who have made poor choices in their lives or who appear as somehow less than us.

Several months ago, I attended an afternoon service of Evensong and Holy Eucharist at St. Philip’s Cathedral downtown. I like to do this as often as I can because I find that it is a wonderful release from the stresses of the week. I can sit in the service with relative anonymity: nobody knows who I am, and I don’t know anybody else. It’s just me and God.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, I got to the Cathedral about 15 minutes early. I walked to the front of the church and took my seat. I knelt to pray before the service began and finished just before the organ began to play. It was just like every other Sunday—exactly as I had expected and exactly as I had wanted it to be.

About halfway through the service, the congregation was kneeling in quiet prayer. As the choir sang, I heard a loud commotion from behind me. I didn’t think very much of it at first, but it kept getting louder and louder. I turned to see what was going on and that’s when I saw him.

He was wearing a baby blue jacket and lima bean green pants, lugging with him a rather cumbersome briefcase. His shirt was dirty and mis-buttoned, his pants sagged because they were too big for him, and his face hadn’t met a razor in quite some time. As he sat down, he removed his brown top hat, revealing a tie-dyed baseball cap that was turned around backwards. Not your typical Buckhead congregation member.

I returned to my prayers and tried to focus my thoughts. As the congregation sat in silence for a moment, the man again disrupted it, yelling something that was incoherent. I thought to myself, this guy is out of control! What is going on?

In that moment, I was the Pharisee. In that moment, I was so busy worrying about this man who had disrupted the beautiful music, who had walked right up the middle of the aisle and sat on the front row, who kept interrupting my silent, well-thought out prayer. I had begun to discount him because my own self-interest had blinded me to the image of God that was within him.

Time and time again, our society has done the very same thing. We have often said the Pharisee’s prayer:
“God, I thank you that I am not a woman.”
“God, I thank you that I am not black or Hispanic or any other minority.”
“God, I thank you that I am not gay.”

And society continues to do it.
“God, I thank you that I have a college education.”
“God, I thank you that I’m not poor.”
“God, I thank you that I can afford to hire illegal immigrants so that I don’t have to pay a living wage.”

Although we as individuals may never have prayed these specific prayers, I am certain that we’ve all had moments where we have become the Pharisee.

We have all had moments when we have been so caught up in the business of church that we forget what we are here to do.

We have all had moments when we considered ourselves better than another human being.

And we have all had moments when we are so busy considering our own well being that we completely overlook our neighbors who are in need.

In our valiant attempt to learn from the mistakes of the Pharisee, we become exactly like him. We read this lesson as one that teaches humility and then we pray our own self-congratulatory prayer.

And in these moments of becoming Pharisees, we forget our baptism…

We forget that in baptism, we take on a new life and we answer to new standards. We wash away the worldly values and perceptions, confessing that, with God’s help, we will abide by holy standards, making holy promises. And after we have confessed to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves; to respect the dignity of every human being; to strive for justice and peace among all people; and to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ, these promises are sealed on our foreheads with the sign of the cross made in holy oil.

In other words, the sign of the cross that was made upon our foreheads in baptism is a visible sign to the rest of the world that we have promised to live into this covenant for the rest of our lives. Every time we cross ourselves, we are reminded of the promises that are sealed upon our foreheads and in our hearts forever.

And so the Gospel urges us retrace the steps of the disciples. It urges us to walk with Jesus along the road to Jerusalem, along the road to the cross, all the while wearing proudly the promises made to us and made by us in baptism.

Amen.

i. Luke 18:9b, NRSV.
ii. David Lose, "Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost," WorkingPreacher.org, October 18, 2010, Gospel Reading, accessed October 20, 2010, http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?lect_date=10/24/2010#tab4.

On Whoredom...

2010-07-26T05:07:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, this is a copy of the sermon that I preached at The Episcopal Church of the Epiphany on July 25, 2010. The text for the day was Hosea 1:2-10.

As many of you know, Shayanna and I were recently married. In the weeks and months leading up to the wedding, we spent a great deal of time trying to pick out the Scripture readings that best represented us. We had settled on two of them, but we couldn’t quite figure out which one we wanted for the third. Before long, it turned into a bit of a contest to see which one of us could pick out the most ridiculous Bible passage for a wedding.

And so we came upon the usual suspects: “Give a strong drink to one who is perishing, and wine to those in bitter distress,” Proverbs 31:6; “It is better to live on the corner of the housetop than in a house shared with a quarrelsome wife,” Proverbs 21:9; and Shayanna’s favorite verse for me, Job 13:5 “If you would only keep silent, that would be your wisdom!”

But none of them came close to today’s reading from Hosea: “…The Lord said to Hosea, “Go, take for yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the Lord.”[i]

Imagine standing at the altar with your betrothed and hearing that! Now unless you’ve got a twisted sense of humor like I do, Hosea probably stands little chance of being heard at a wedding anytime soon. But despite our initial want, or perhaps, our need to dismiss this passage as culturally constricted and without meaning for our life today, we must resist our initial instincts long enough to understand the full weight and meaning of the passage.

Like most things in Scripture, this rather difficult text must be situated within its own unique context in order to be understood for its true meaning.

Hosea is one of several Old Testament prophets who lived in the 8th century BCE and warned the people of Israel that their covenantal relationship with God was in trouble.

The kingdom of Israel had become a thriving economic center. Agricultural productivity had been promoted to a position of ultimate importance, and the people of Israel even went so far as to turn away from worshipping Yahweh in order to worship the lesser gods of fertility. Instead of using the fertile soil of the Promised Land for the good of all of God’s people, the ruling class took the fruit of the farmers’ labors and used it to benefit the elite, creating a wealth system based on unholy excess.[ii]

Years and years of Israel’s unfaithfulness resulted in the rupture of the covenant bond between God and God’s people. And so the powerful imagery that is captured in Hosea’s marriage to Gomer, a marriage that is marred with infidelity and unfaithfulness, is an allegory for the covenantal relationship between a faithful God and an unfaithful people.
But let me offer just a word of caution. Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us that although some people take issue with the image of God being the upright man and Israel being a no-count woman in this story, we all know it can go both ways. And it is important that we do not let Hosea’s use of pronouns stop our ears from hearing Hosea’s vital message. Indeed, it is critical to realize the importance of God’s choosing the metaphor of a marriage to reveal the nature of God’s own commitment to us. Taylor writes, “God could have likened it to the bond between a queen and her vassal or a chieftain and his ally. God could have compared it to any of the political, social, or economic covenants that were common in Hosea’s time, but God did not. God chose a covenant of love instead, the most intimate of bonds, in which both partners surrender their defenses and run the risk of being hurt.”[iii] The family dynamics in this story, the pain that Gomer inflicts on her husband are a microcosm of the pain that our own unfaithfulness inflicts on God.

And as if this image were not clear enough already, God makes the point even clearer with the birth of Hosea and Gomer’s three children—all of them with names that only God could have chosen for them. Their firstborn was named Jezreel, which was the name of the town where God had promised to put an end to Israel.

The middle child was named Loruhama, which means “Not Pitied.” One can only imagine the ribbing they got at school…

And as if that weren’t bad enough, their youngest son was named Loammi or, “Not my People.”

These children were the bitter offspring of a bitter relationship, making Hosea’s family a living example of God’s heartbroken disappointment with an unfaithful Israel.[iv]

But the threat and subsequent realization of God’s judgment is not the end of the story. The Book of Hosea offers us the full spectrum of what experiencing a true relationship with God is like: sin and disobedience, followed by judgment, followed inevitably by the restoration of the relationship by a God whose capacity for grace, love, and forgiveness far surpasses the capacity for judgment and wrath.

God’s impending judgment on the people of Israel in verse nine, which reads: “…You are not my people and I am not your God…” is followed immediately by verse ten, which reads: “Yet the number of the people of Israel shall be like the sand of the sea, which can be neither measured nor numbered; and in the place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people’, it shall be said to them, ‘Children of the living God.’”

Although God is steadfast and faithful, the people of Israel seek out that which is pleasing, yet temporary, instead of remaining faithful to God. And as the people of Israel worked to build a kingdom of comfort instead of a kingdom of justice and peace, the covenant they built with God slowly slipped away.

But in the end, after Gomer had gone out into the city night after night, each time, breaking Hosea’s heart; in the end, after Israel had gone away from God, time and time again, seeking their man-made kingdom of comfort and greed, God welcomed them back with open arms and an open heart. The dramatic return and restoration plays out in Hosea chapter 2, which reads: “I will now allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. From there I will give her her vineyards, and make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she shall respond as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt. On that day, says the Lord, you will call me, “My husband,” and no longer will you call me, “My [Master.]””[v]

If ever there were a lesson about forgiveness, grace, and what it means to live in covenant, this is it. Perhaps this isn’t such a horrible passage for a wedding... After all is said and done, after God reviews all of the options: punishment, banishment, coercion, divorce, God chooses to keep the covenant. God chooses love![vi]

This is the message that we find at the heart of the gospel: radical love, radical welcome, and radical reconciliation! Those whom society has counted least and put last are welcomed to the table with a greeting that reminds us: “You are my people, and I am your God.” The God we worship in this place, the God we experience in the breaking of bread and in the prayers, the God with whom we make an everlasting covenant at our baptism, is a God of radical redemption and unparalleled faithfulness.

But surrendering our lives to live within this relationship with God does not mean that we abdicate all responsibility. Like every good marriage, this covenant requires that we, too, join in God’s work for reconciliation, peace, and love. In order to live up to our end of the deal, we must insist on seeking and serving God in the way we treat every human being, not just those few among us who were privileged enough to be born in the United States. God’s promise of reconciliation is co-dependent on each and every one of us, living up to the covenant to which we committed ourselves in baptism.

Brothers and sisters, our God is a God of reconciliation, of healing, and of love. And as God’s people, we, too, must be a people of reconciliation, healing, and love. In Hosea’s message, we find ourselves caught between the shattered and broken fragments of our past transgressions and the healing and hope that God brings to our lives. Under the covenant, curse becomes blessing and threat blossoms into hope.[vii]

In this covenant, we meet a God who greets us with, “You are my people.” And we must, in all that we do, and with all of our hearts, respond with, “You are my God.”

Amen.

i: Hosea 1:2
ii: J. Clinton McCann, "Hosea 1:2-10," WorkingPreacher.org, Preaching This Week, http://www.workingpreacher.org/ (accessed July 12, 2010).
iii: Barbara Brown Taylor, Gospel Medicine (Cambridge, Mass.: Cowley Publications, 1995), 52.
iv: Taylor, 51.
v: Hosea 2:14-16. In this case, I have changed “Baal” to “Master,” as Baal means Master in this instance.
vi: Taylor, 55.
vii: Taylor, 56.

Immigration Reform: A Response by The Most Rev. Dr. Katharine Jefferts Schori

2010-07-09T08:12:00.000-07:00

The following is from a June 15, 2010 address by The Most Reverend Dr. Katharine Jefferts Schori, the Presiding Bishop and Primate of The Episcopal Church. I think her words are particularly instructive and eye-opening for Christians who wrestle to find God in the debate over immigration reform in the United States. For me, this issue is far more complicated than either the left or the right in the political scene make it out to be. But I think that The Most Rev. Schori provides wonderful theological insight into this issue.

Christians understand that we are all aliens and sojourners, seeking our home in God. In a spiritual sense, we are all migrants. As Americans we are a nation of immigrants. All of us, even Native peoples, originated as the human species evolved in Africa, and humanity has been migrating for tens or hundreds of thousands of years ever since. That migration is a persistent movement in search of food, shelter, safety, employment, and even adventure and discovery.

The current crisis of immigration policy in these United States stems primarily from economic and resource imbalances, and an exodus from poorer nations unable to sustain adequate opportunities for growing populations. That imbalance is complicated by violence (both terrorism and the drug trade), as well as currently reduced employment opportunities within the United States.

Most Americans recognize the failure of our current migration policies, but there is a wide range of preferred solutions or appropriate political responses. The passage of Arizona’s identification law is the most recent expression of our national political failure.

The Episcopal Church has repeatedly expressed its position on immigration issues from a theological perspective. That theology begins in the biblical charge to love God and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. The alien or foreigner is among the neighbors to be regarded with love and justice. Hebrew scripture repeatedly directs the faithful to “care for the alien and sojourner in your midst.” “You shall love the stranger, for you were also a stranger in the land of Egypt” (Dt 10:19). That sense of having the shared experience of migration and being a foreigner opens us up to the shared reality of all humanity, and motivates us to find all sorts of partners who also understand that shared reality. It is a central way in which the religious motivation engages the political.

Theological responses to issues of migration are also based in Jesus’ mandate to care for the “least of these” – the hungry, thirsty, homeless, sick, unemployed, oppressed, and imprisoned. Anyone experiencing those realities is alienated from the state of healed and whole reality that we speak of as the kingdom of God – that ancient prophetic vision of a world of justice and peace often called shalom. Those who experience such alienation are also migrants, sojourners in search of healing and wholeness.

The Episcopal Church has been involved in work with refugees and migrants in a formal way since 1940, with the advent of Episcopal Migration Ministries. Today we resettle 4000-5000 migrants a year, in partnership with the federal government and local community agencies. We know something about successfully integrating newcomers.

The Episcopal Church is not only an American church. In addition to the United States, we have congregations in 15 other nations, from Taiwan and Micronesia to Central and South America, the Caribbean, and Europe. Within the United States, our congregations include more than 300 serving Latino immigrant communities - it is one of our fasting growing demographics - as well as immigrants from Sudan, Korea, Liberia, Vietnam, Haiti, Philippines, Taiwan, Laos, and a number of other nations.

Our historical partnerships and covenant relationships with other Anglican churches around the world inform and challenge us to build just political systems in many nations. We strive to see that all human beings are treated with dignity and respect, whether they are Filipino guest workers in Saipan, migrant Latino farm workers in the United States, or Sudanese, Bolivian, and Afghani migrants in the city of Rome. Our congregations address the needs of these and many other groups of sojourners and immigrants.

The current thrust of our immigration advocacy work seeks dignity and justice for all. Our priorities are to provide legal entry opportunities for those seeking to respond to needs for labor, to normalize the status of aliens already present and to provide routes to legal residency or citizenship, to reunify families, and to equalize the burden of enforcement so that it is humane and proportionate, all of it in the context of secure borders and reduced levels of fear and violence.

As a church, we are troubled by the impact of current immigration policies. On Good Friday this year in Phoenix, local police stationed outside a church with a large Latino membership prevented of those people from worshiping. We note the fear engendered by raids on workplaces – children live in fear on whether or not their parents will be there when they come home from school. We are hampered as a church by an inability to find adequate numbers of effective leaders for immigrant congregations.

The bishops of our church are scheduled to meet in Arizona in September, a meeting that has been planned for a couple of years. At present, we are committed to proceed with that meeting, both as a way of expressing solidarity with the Latino community, and in exposing the community of bishops to realities on the border. A number of those bishops will be temporary sojourners whose primary ministry is in another nation, and some are themselves immigrants to the United States. Members of the group will be at some hazard themselves of being required to identify themselves while in Arizona. We hope to make an on-site witness, through learning and accompaniment, as well as to express our concerns as a Church.

The Episcopal Church seeks justice, dignity, and equality in these matters, and we will partner with any and all who share those values and priorities.

Psalm 151--The Anglican Version

2010-05-24T12:37:00.000-07:00

**DISCLAIMER**

I did not write this Psalm, but I did find it very funny, as I think it pokes fun at Anglicans and Episcopalians...

To be chanted in Anglican Chant, solemnly.
Psalm 151

1. The Lord is King; thou shouldst not ever forget it.
* the Lord is King, and he can kick your ass.

2. With his right hook and his holy arm
* he can surely put out your lights!

3. The Lord is great in Zion,
* and most anywhere else you care to mention.

4. He is truly smart and knows lots of things;
* that’s how he got to be God.

5. Mess not with the Lord, neither shall ye piss him off;
* screw not around with him, for his sense of humor has its
limits.

6. Those who Fear the Lord are counted as smart persons;
* but those who do not are as dumb as a box of rocks.

7. Incline your ear to me, O Lord, and hearken to my prayer,
* for I am a devoted Anglican.

8. Heed not the prayers of those other Protestants;
* for their prayers are silly ones.

9. They ask for things such as brand new, thick red carpeting,
* and choir-robes made of unnaturally coloured polyester.

10. They cry for pew-cushions, praise-bands, audio-systems and mood lighting;
* and some have prayed to thee to have organs without pipes! (Canst thou even imagine that?)

11. But as for me, I am a tasteful Episcopalian.
* (Yea, Lord, thou knowest that was highly redundant.)

12. The services which we offer before thy throne are truly spectacular;
* one wonders that thy head does not get too big to wear thy tiara!

13. Thou takest no delight in the strumming of guitars,
* nor in the singing of ‘Kumbahyah.’

14. Yet the music of Stanford, Howells, Byrd and the like
* brings a grin of pleasure even unto thy countenance.

15. I shall offer such worthy treasures unto thee as long as I shall live,
* and not any mindless, trivial, banal pieces of crap that some would have us consider as valid music.

16. And if I should fail to keep this promise,
* thou mayest kick my ass, as referred to in verse one.

Of tomatoes and loose change... Lessons from the first year in seminary

2010-05-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

Well, after much study, prayer, meditation, and a little sinning (mostly on the weekends…), I have completed my first year of seminary! My summer is action-packed, to be sure! About a week ago, Shay and I moved into our first house together and next month, we’re getting married! In August, we’re honeymooning for a week in Maine. I am also meeting with my bishop this summer to discuss the next step for me in my discernment process…

But aside from all of that supposed learning that I have been doing at Candler, I’ve picked up some real-life wisdom as well. First and foremost, I’ve learned that an honest theologian (or clergyperson, as if there should be a distinction…) cannot be too invested in a political candidate or a political party. I’ve made that mistake this year. Now granted it is no secret that I voted for Obama in 2008 and most likely will again in 2012, I’ve been infuriated by some of his policies.

I’ve blogged a lot about healthcare, I’ve been to protests about healthcare, I’ve researched the healthcare debate on both sides, and I’ve had some often-visceral facebook debates regarding healthcare. At the end of the day, I am very glad that the bill got signed into law, but I still don’t think it went far enough. I also learned that putting a dollar sign on how much healthcare is worth is about as Christian as shooting one’s neighbor for stealing tomatoes from your garden. The old line that comes from the opponents of healthcare reform that reads, “We cannot afford this!” Falls upon my ears as hypocrisy. Where was that line of thinking before we sent our brave men and women into Iraq and Afghanistan? Where was that line of thinking before we spent billions and billions of dollars on a census that is both ineffective and inaccurate? Simply put, there is no dollar sign that can be put on a human life. I’ll even go one step further: if there’s anything that is worth putting this country in financial jeopardy, I’d rather it be healthcare for all people than a war fought under false pretenses.

But I digress…

I’ve also learned that capitalism and Christianity are increasingly mutually exclusive. That is, one cannot feather one’s own nest without any concern for one’s neighbor. Amassing wealth for the sake of amassing wealth is not a Christian virtue. Touting one’s own success while walking past the person on the street corner with the guitar and the open case full of loose change is equally not a Christian virtue.

One needs look no further than the Old Testament for an account of what God thinks on this matter. Upon harvesting their crops, the Israelites were instructed to leave some of their crop—not their last, partially rotten, spoiled, or mediocre crop, but some of their good, profitable crop—in the fields for the poor, the widows, the wanderers, and any who needed, but had none. To those Christians who think welfare is a handout and that food stamps are a waste of money, spent on those who are “lazy,” read up on your Bible!

So as I begin my summer, full of what will certainly be life-changing, monumental occasions, I take with me these two valuable lessons from seminary—and one other fun fact: Martin of Tours was forced to become a bishop by an angry mob, wielding pitchforks… Ah, seminary!

A Sermon for Wednesday in Holy Week

2010-03-31T18:21:00.001-07:00

O God, be merciful to us and bless us. Show us the light of your countenance and come to us. AMEN.

As I am sure you all know, the Episcopal liturgical calendar marked this past Sunday as Palm Sunday or Passion Sunday. But this year, Palm Sunday took on a new liturgical meaning for me. I was introduced to Mary Frances, a short, stubby brown-haired, brown-eyed female with a warm—but sometimes cranky—disposition. The kids at my church all love Mary Frances and, as long as she has plenty to eat, she loves them too…

As we led Mary Frances in procession around the church—or, more accurately, as Mary Frances led us in the procession around the church—we learned that Palm Sunday is actually more like Mary Frances’ very own feast day. You see, she only comes to church once per year on Palm Sunday.

Given the fact that Mary Frances is a donkey, her annual visit is understandable. She and others in her donkey family visit churches annually on Palm Sunday—evermore emblazoned in my memory as the Feast of the Blessed Donkeys.

As churches around the world recounted Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem with songs of praise and by waving their palm branches; more than a few churches celebrated or, perhaps more appropriately, complicated their own Palm Sunday processions by inserting a donkey into the liturgy. In fact, Palm Sunday has become so festive and joyful that many parishioners at my church have a hard time returning to the rhythm of Lent and, more importantly, to the observances of Holy Week. Instead, Palm Sunday has, for many, become a mini-Easter.

My church, like most others, has been making plans and preparations for Easter for months now. Incredible singing, guest musicians, baptisms, incense…lots and lots of incense… Easter lilies, a grand breakfast buffet, and, of course, an Easter egg hunt.

Many of us are undoubtedly making last-minute preparations of our own, calling for reservations for Easter brunch, shopping for a new Easter hat or tie, or calling our relatives who have been on Sabbatical from Church since Christmas or perhaps even since last Easter, reminding them that service starts at 11.

On Sunday, we will hear the long awaited words, “Alleluia! Christ is Risen!” The Feast of the Resurrection of our LORD: Easter Sunday! Churches all across the city will be filled with families and friends wearing their Easter best, and after Mary Frances’ visit, I found myself leaving church on Sunday afternoon, looking forward to this Easter Sunday asking,

“Are we there yet?”

But I wonder if, in the midst of all of our festive preparation for Easter, something invaluable is lost? I wonder if, amidst all of our planning, all of our moving about to make sure things are just right, we miss the solemnity of Holy Week? Perhaps in our anticipation and preparation for celebrating Christ resurrected, we forget about Christ crucified.

While many of us have undoubtedly begun our preparation for Easter, let us not forsake our Lenten journeys just yet. After all, Jesus did not escape death, but he overcame it. Without the Passion and death of Christ, there would be no Easter. As much as we may long to try, we cannot escape the betrayal, the suffering, and the death of Jesus on the cross. We cannot escape the knowledge that there was a time when our Savior was laid coolly away in a tomb, lifeless.

The reading from the twelfth chapter of John’s Gospel seeks to orient our minds to the knowledge that if we are to be true followers of Christ, we cannot escape confronting Christ’s betrayal, suffering, execution, and death. Today’s lesson reminds us of Jesus’ admonition: “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also…”

As we approach Jesus’ final hours, we must be willing to do that which humans have never been very good at doing:

We must be willing to encounter death and loss.

Holy Week seeks to embody this death and loss. Tonight, as the sun goes down, churches that are usually lit with warm candlelight will slowly extinguish their flames with a service of Tenebrae—Latin for “shadows” or “darkness.” They will become buildings of vapid emptiness, filled only with shadows.

Tomorrow, many churches will, at the end of Holy Thursday or Maundy Thursday services, ceremonially strip their altars of all liturgical comforts. No candles, no cloths, no crosses, no bread, no wine, no prayer books, no hymnals, and no brass.

Only emptiness... Darkness... Shadows... Silence… all of the things that seem to make us most uncomfortable during our typical bright and spirited Sunday morning routines come together during Holy Week. And as we face the emptiness, the darkness, the shadows, and the silence, we are reminded of Jesus’ words in verse 27 of today’s reading: “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.”

Without death, resurrection is impossible. And in order for us to celebrate and feast at the resurrection of Jesus, we must come face to face with Jesus’ own death and, in turn, the reality of our own frailty and mortality.

The more we intoxicate ourselves into believing that a life that follows Christ’s example will be easy and full of earthly treasure, the more we have to fear when we listen the hardest for God’s voice, yet hear only silence.

The harder we work to ensure our own security, while simultaneously forsaking the well-being of our neighbor, the lonelier we are when the darkness falls and the shadows gather.

The more we try to ignore the crises and tragedies that surround us for fear of becoming “social justice” Christians, the deeper the feeling of emptiness grows within us.

Brothers and sisters, I submit to you that a Christian faith lived out, having never experienced loss, emptiness, pain, loneliness, or silence does not live up to Jesus’ expectation that we follow him. In fact, it is not much of a faith at all.

Christ compels us to journey with him, facing our own insecurities, and encountering first-hand the realities of our human existence. At our baptism, we are buried with Christ into his death and resurrected to new and eternal life. We are called to be faithful and sincere witnesses of Christ’s life and truth.

May we, indeed, make this week a Holy Week, journeying with Christ through his suffering, crucifixion, and death; ever mindful of the fact that the Paschal flame burns deep within our hearts, reminding us that soon we will rejoice that our LORD Jesus Christ overcome death and the grave.

AMEN.

On The Consecration of The Rev. Canon Mary Glasspool

2010-03-18T16:35:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church in the United States—the Most Rev. Dr. Katharine Jefferts Schori—informed the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles that their choices for bishops suffragan have been approved by the required number of bishops diocesan and standing committees. This is indeed a historic day for the Episcopal Church and for the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles. Both of the women who were chosen as bishops suffragan—the Rev. Canon Diane Jardine Bruce and the Rev. Canon Mary Doulgas Glasspool—are the first women to be elected bishops in the diocese of Los Angeles. It is also a historic moment for the Rev. Canon Glasspool, as she will become the first openly lesbian bishop in the Episcopal Church and the second openly LGBT bishop in the worldwide Anglican Communion.

While many Episcopalians and LGBT Christians across the country celebrate the bold move by the Episcopal Church, the worldwide head of the Anglican Communion, The Most. Rev. Dr. Rowan Williams, issued a statement of “regret” over the Episcopal Church’s failure to “exercise extreme restraint in moving forward in the election of openly LGBT bishops.”

I have the deepest respect for +Williams and have met him on more than one occasion. A deeply spiritual and highly educated man, +Williams undoubtedly has the hardest job in the Anglican Communion. Attempting to hold the increasingly disagreeable factions of the Church catholic together in one common communion has become extremely difficult. With that said, however, I am confused by +Williams’ position on openly LGBT bishops.

In +Williams’ own Church of England (C of E), where he exercises Primatial oversight, openly gay and lesbian priests serve in parishes large and small. However, presently, there are no female bishops or LGBT bishops in the C of E. It appears to me that if one has a problem with female bishops, one would have a problem with female priests. And it stands to reason that if one has a problem with female priests, one would have a problem with female deacons—as all bishops are priests and all priests are deacons.

It seems that +Williams is asking the Episcopal Church to “slow down,” “wait,” and “exercise restraint” while tacitly endorsing other provinces of the Anglican Communion—such as Uganda and Nigeria—in their bigoted exclusion of LGBT people from not only Holy Orders, but from Eucharist and Baptism, cutting them off from the body of Christ, altogether! The Most Rev. Peter Akinola, Archbishop and Primate of Nigeria has been extremely vehement in his disgust for how the Episcopal Church is governing itself, but has said nothing, absolutely nothing about the impending anti-gay legislation in Uganda that seeks to criminalize homosexuality, making it a capital offense in some cases. Why has +Williams not called on +Akinola to speak out against the human rights violations that the legislation in Uganda seeks to impose? Furthermore, in 2006, +Akinola’s own Nigeria passed legislation to ban the registration of gay clubs, the open display of affection between gay and lesbian couples, and the banning of all LGBT print media. Why was +Akinola not reprimanded by Canterbury for failure to speak out against human rights violations in his own jurisdiction?

The Rt. Rev. John Chane, Episcopal Bishop of Washington, D.C., said of +Akinola, “[Akinola’s] support for [Nigeria’s anti-LGBT law] violates numerous Anglican Communion documents that call for a "listening process" involving gay Christians and their leaders. But his contempt for international agreements also extends to Articles 18-20 of the United Nations Universal Declaration on Human Rights, which articulates the rights to freedom of thought, conscience, religion, association and assembly. Surprisingly, few voices -- Anglican or otherwise -- have been raised in opposition to the archbishop. When I compare this silence with the cacophony that followed The Episcopal Church's decision to consecrate the Rt. Rev. Gene Robinson, a gay man who lives openly with his partner, as the bishop of New Hampshire, I am compelled to ask whether the global Christian community has lost not only its backbone but its moral bearings.”

There has been much discussion of late about the Roman Catholic Church’s invitation for disillusioned Anglican clergy to become Roman Catholic clergy. Many have asked me how I feel about this. My response is, quite simply, that we must offer a firm handshake and well wishes to those who cannot commit to remaining in communion and get on with the work that God has called the church to take up.

I am blessed beyond measure to be a member of a church that makes an honest attempt to live up to it’s baptismal vows. At our baptism, we vow that we will respect the dignity of all people, seek and serve Christ in all persons loving our neighbors as ourselves, and to remember that all who are baptized are sealed as Christ’s own children forever. That is not to say that we do not fail because we do—and often! But The Episcopal Church is a church that is moving into a deeper relationship with God—a relationship that requires courage and faithfulness.

Teaching the Bible to Public School Children

2010-02-21T06:20:00.000-08:00

I found out yesterday that public school children in my home state of Kentucky will now be allowed to take a course in the "Bible" as part of their public school curriculum. I can't put into words how horrible of an idea this is! Instead of concentrating on funding classes in the Arts and Humanities, music classes, and purchasing new computers for the classroom, Kentucky has decided to put money into teaching the Bible.

I wonder, who will teach this course? Will Kentucky require--as they do for math, science, english, and other core content classes--the teacher of the Bible course to have a Master of Divinity or Master of Theology? Or will they do as I suspect they will and allow the football coach, who doubles as a preacher, teach the course so that they can feel good about having a winning football team, coached by a teacher?

I wonder which translation they will teach? Will they include the deutero-canonical books in their school-bought Bibles? Will they teach the Bible as history or as a combination of literature, myth, history, theology, and personal accounts? How will they handle the Old Testament? Will they teach it from a Christocentric perspective or will they respect Judaism and talk about Supercessionism?

How will they handle those particularly tricky passages like Psalm 137 or instances of clear sexism in 2 Timothy? I wonder how the conservative mommies and daddies are going to feel about their children coming home debating the translation of the Bible, arguing that homosexuality might actually be okay in the eyes of God?

The fact of the matter is this: the classroom is for education, not indoctrination. A class devoted to teaching world religions would be much more beneficial to our children, many of whom probably hear pastors saying outrageous things like "every Muslim wants to fly a plane into something" or "the Jews are responsible for Jesus' death" or "abortion is murder but capital punishment is okay in God's eyes."

Classrooms should, at all costs, avoid contributing to the growing ignorance of society. This is truly a step in the wrong direction for Kentucky.

Anskar, Archbishop, Missionary, and "Apostle to the North"

2010-02-04T09:46:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, I preached this sermon at a service of Evensong and Holy Eucharist on Wednesday, February 3, in Cannon Chapel at the Candler School of Theology, Emory University.

O God, be merciful to us and bless us. Show us the light of your countenance and come to us. AMEN.

Today, we celebrate the life and ministry of Anskar, Archbishop of Hamburg, missionary to Scandinavia, and the proverbial “Apostle to the North.” While I’m sure that every one of you knows exactly who Anskar was, I didn’t before being assigned to preach today. In fact, the first image that popped into my head when I heard his name was that of a villainous and treacherous creature from Middle Earth, one of J.R.R. Tolkien’s brilliantly imagined characters.

To my surprise, Anskar existed long before Tolkien and as far as we can tell, never visited Middle Earth. He was, however, something of a saint. In fact, Anskar’s title as “Apostle to the North” is quite appropriate. Born in 9th century France, Anskar was orphaned at a young age and was committed to a parochial school, where he began studying for the Priesthood. In 829, he traveled with a few other Christian missionaries to Westphalia—a region in modern-day Germany—to found the Abbey of Corvey and to preach and teach to the Saxons. From Westphalia, Anskar traveled to Scandinavia, where he preached and taught for several years, before returning to Germany and being consecrated Archbishop of Hamburg.

But the most interesting thing about Anskar is that whenever he embarked on a missionary journey, it was never because he was asked to do so by a senior church official; it was never because he was promised riches or fame or popularity; and it certainly was not because such journeys were easy or comfortable. Each time Anskar embarked on a new missionary journey, he did so because he felt that the Holy Spirit was leading him. His successor to the archbishopric of Hamburg—who was also his biographer—wrote that Anskar had lucid visions of the Holy Spirit, appearing in dreams and directing him to a new place of ministry.

Having discovered who Anskar really was, it was no surprise to discover that the gospel text for the day depicts Jesus commissioning the disciples. But what did surprise me was the way that Jesus chose to summon his disciples in Mark’s gospel. Mark doesn’t paint a vivid portrait of Jesus walking beside the Sea of Galilee, calling out to Simon and Andrew; neither does Mark tell of Jesus hopping in the boat with some of his disciples and giving fishing tips. Instead, Mark’s gospel tells of Jesus calling the disciples to follow him, and then immediately sending the disciples into the world to minister and evangelize. There’s no introduction, there are no icebreakers, and their mission is urgent.

But there is one other peculiar detail about today’s excerpt from Mark’s gospel. Scripture tells us that: “Jesus called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.”

Jesus instructed the disciples not to take anything on their journey except a staff and sandals. No bread, no bag, no money in their belts, and no extra clothes. The disciples were left with nothing except their trust in God to provide their sustenance and shelter.

I expect that the disciples were not accustomed to traveling without food or money, extra clothes or luggage. In fact, one would think that in order to minister effectively it might prove wise to take such amenities.

Not this time.

This time, Jesus was sending out his disciples to heal the sick and the lame, and to spread the Good News of God in Christ. He wasn’t sending them to make a donation to his favorite charity; he wasn’t sending them to give their extra clothes to their favorite shelter; he wasn’t sending them to donate food to a pantry for the hungry; and he certainly wasn’t sending them on a vacation. Jesus knew that where the disciples were going to minister, the greatest need of the people wasn’t food, or money, or extra clothes.

Jesus was sending the disciples to minister to people who most needed healing and so Jesus required the disciples to give what was hardest for them to give: themselves.

It is deceptively simple to make the same mistake that the disciples made. It is deceptively simple to confuse putting money in an offering plate with the healing power of effective ministry. It is deceptively simple to donate second and third-hand clothing to the Goodwill and confuse that with giving a stranger shelter. It is deceptively simple to clean out our pantries and cupboards and take our leftovers and scraps to homeless shelters, believing that our generosity should be commended. And it is deceptively simple to think that the greatest gift we have to give to others is money, or food, or clothing.

There is no question that our hospitals, our churches, and our community service organizations have a clear need for financial support. Coat drives and food drives are certainly worthy and worth-wile ministry endeavors. The Goodwill and God’s Pantry have done a lot of good for a lot of people, but I wonder if we have not lulled ourselves into believing that charitable donations are what Jesus had in mind when he commanded the church to preach good news to the poor, to proclaim freedom for the prisoners, recovery of sight for the blind, and release for the oppressed?

Perhaps Jesus was sending a more timeless message by commanding the disciples to leave their money, food, extra clothing, and luggage at home. Perhaps what Jesus was getting at was that those who are in the greatest need are not simply the homeless or the hungry, the naked or the uninsured. Those who are most in need are the unwanted, the unloved, and those in our society who have nobody to care for them.

Donating clothes, food, and money are noble and worthwhile causes. But they are temporary fixes to the long-term and systematic despair that our brothers and sisters face every single day. It is not the best we can do because no amount of food or money or clothing can fully fill the wound in the human heart that longs to be loved by another; to be loved by God. Bread, money, and clothing do not heal.

I suspect this was the reason that Anskar traveled thousands of miles, teaching and preaching, building schools, libraries, and hospitals. As an Abbot and later as a bishop, it would have been very easy for him to send his subordinates to these distant and dangerous lands with his donations of money, food, clothing, and other good intentions. But Anskar was called by God to go into the world to preach and to teach and to make disciples, and so he went: preaching, teaching, and making disciples.

God also called another saintly priest from Northern Europe to preach about God’s boundless love for all people and to teach and minister among those who are unloved, un-cared for, and unwanted. Henri Nouwen worked from 1986 until his death in 1996 with the developmentally disabled of Toronto Canada, acting as the chaplain at the L’Arche community.

He wrote: “Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But this is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it. As busy, active, relevant ministers, we want to earn our bread by making a real contribution. This means first and foremost doing something to show that our presence makes a difference. And so we ignore our greatest gift, which is our ability to enter into solidarity with our [brothers and sisters]—not knowing what to say but knowing that [we] should be there. That alone can bring new life to a dying heart. Those who are not afraid to hold out a hand in gratitude, to shed tears in grief, and to let a sigh of distress arise straight from the heart can break through paralyzing boundaries and witness the birth of a new fellowship—the fellowship of the broken. ”

Dear friends, God is calling us to be disciples, to go out into the world and share the love of God with our brothers and sisters.

Our food, our fortunes, and our clothes, by themselves, do not heal.

Only love can do that.

AMEN.

President Obama's first State of the Union

2010-01-30T08:35:00.001-08:00

On Wednesday, January 27, 2010, President Barack Obama addressed his third joint session of Congress and gave his first State of the Union address. I thought that his speech was reminiscent of President Clinton’s hour-and-a-half speeches, except that President Obama looked much more comfortable at the lectern than his predecessor. He does, however, lack Clinton’s skill in learning how to use hand gestures effectively. But that is among the least of my concerns.

I was very concerned to hear the President suggest that America continue to experiment with “clean coal” technology. As someone from Kentucky whose in-laws actually live less than a half-mile from a coalmine, I know a thing or two about this “clean coal” nonsense. Essentially, “clean coal” was a word thought up by a group of pollsters and political advisers because it sounded better to the American people than “coalmining.” There is essentially no difference in how the coal is harnessed. Natural environments are still destroyed and deadly chemicals must still be used to refine the coal and make it ready for use in power plants. The idea is that the carbon dioxide released when coal is burned would be harnessed and stored, not releasing it into the environment. However, this is a far-off and futuristic concept. Even with the proper funding (much more than what President Bush or President Obama have earmarked), the technology would not be ready for widespread industrial use until 2020. Therefore, answering our current energy crisis with talk of “clean coal” is essentially a do-nothing policy. We need answers now!

The President also mentioned offshore drilling and nuclear power as possible alternatives to decrease our dependence on foreign oil. While nuclear energy is, on the whole, much cleaner and produces more energy, we must also be cautious of the catastrophic effects that overdependence on nuclear energy would have: a meltdown. Unfortunately, our political situation also makes nuclear power plants the site of a possible terrorist attack. A small airplane could turn a nuclear power plant into a nuclear bomb!

I was, however, pleased to hear that this President would consider no expansion of drilling or coal mining until an energy and climate bill was passed. While this may seem self-defeating, the President was right to demand such a bill. It would require Congress and those in the energy industry to be conservative on exactly how much carbon dioxide and other harmful byproducts are released into the atmosphere.

Moving on to social policy, I was glad that the President took this opportunity to reinforce the need for a systematic health insurance program in this country. While Republican House Minority Leader John Boehner jumped up and down with his hand raised like an elementary school student who needed to go potty when the President asked for new ideas, it is a myth to believe that the Republican Congressional Caucus has offered even a single policy that would come close to ensuring the number of Americans that the House and Senate bills insure.

I was also encouraged that the President reminded both Congress and the American people that the budget deficit was not a product of the Obama White House, but of two wars and two tax cuts that the Bush administration did not pay for. While the Republican-controlled Congress offered a proverbial rubber stamp to Bush’s spending, they are appalled at Obama’s proposal to save millions of lives with a comprehensive healthcare package. It seems odd that they would be so ready to spend trillions to kill people, but not that same amount to help their fellow Americans! So much for the party of pro-life!?

Lastly, I was encouraged to hear President Obama pledge to end “Don’t ask, don’t tell” in our military. For years, our military has ignored the psychological distress of our men and women in uniform who suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but they readily treat homosexuality and bisexuality as psychological disorders that require dishonorable discharge from the military.

President Obama’s first year in office has not been easy and the Democrats have failed to lead in Congress, just as the Republicans have. He should have been a stronger critic of Democrats who dragged their feet on important legislation and he should have been more willing to sit at the same table with Republicans who had real ideas as to how to move this country forward. Hopefully, 2010 will be a year where we learn from our past errors and move past partisanship and into leadership.

A Jainist Proverb

2010-01-24T13:24:00.000-08:00

Peace and Universal Love is the essence
of the Gospel preached by all
Enlightened Ones.

The Lord has preached that equanimity
is the dharma. Forgive do I creatures all,
and let all creatures forgive me. Unto all
have I amity, and unto none enmity.
Know that violence is the root cause of
all miseries of the world. Violence, in fact,
is the knot of bondage. "Do not injure
any living being." This is the eternal,
perennial, and unalterable way of spiritual
life.

A weapon, howsoever powerful it may
be, that generosity triumph over indifference,
that trust triumph over contempt, and that
truth triumph over falsehood.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

2010-01-18T11:24:00.000-08:00

Today, we commemorate the life of one of America's most influential leaders: The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King was the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, just a few minutes from my house here in Atlanta. He earned a PhD in Systematic Theology from Boston University, and earned the Nobel Peace Prize. It was his life and legacy that served as a catalyst towards equal rights for African-Americans in this country.

Yet lately, I have heard many people express disdain at the fact that Dr. King has his own holiday. "Why do we take his holiday off, but work on President's day?" "He was just one man..." "He shouldn't have his own holiday..." Here's a shocker: I agree. Dr. King should not have a holiday dedicated to his memory. I don't think that is what he would have wanted. I think Dr. King should have a national day of service dedicated to him. On the third Monday of January, Americans should take the day off work and go to a neighbor's house and help repair the roof. They should visit the elderly at the nursing home. Perhaps Americans should take the money they would have made that day at work and donate it to a charity. If anything, Dr. King's legacy calls us to a greater sense of community.

In recent days, Americans have been bombarded with images coming from the devastation in Haiti. Perhaps more daunting are the licentious, arrogant, vile, and downright stupid utterances of Rush Limbaugh and Pat Robertson. Limbaugh suggested on his show a few weeks ago that Americans should not donate to the Haiti relief efforts because we already give so much of our income taxes to the Hatians.

Now while I understand people who believe "this is my income, I worked for it, the government shouldn't be telling me how to spend it," what I don't understand is how one can pass people on the streets who are doing back-breaking and laborious work to make sure that we have electricity, water, proper sewage drainage, and other necessities, and are making but a pittance of what others make. What I REALLY cannot understand is Rush Limbaugh, who never graduated from college, is addicted to Oxycontin, and has one failed marriage after another, making claims that he has earned is multi-million dollar salary and that others who do not enjoy such luxury, simply haven't worked as hard as they could have.

I have said before that America is too individualized. Such high value is placed on individuality that in all of the fuss, the sense of community identity is lost.

Indeed, what Dr. King would have wanted for us is for us to come together as brothers and sisters and help others who cannot help themselves.

Almighty God, by the hand of Moses your servant you led your people out of slavery, and made them free at last: Grant that your Church, following the example of your prophet Martin Luther King, may resist oppression in the name of your love, and may secure for all your children the blessed liberty of the Gospel of Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. AMEN.

"You are my Beloved"

2010-01-11T20:21:00.000-08:00

Dear friends, this sermon was preached on the first Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our LORD at the Episcopal Church of the Epiphany, Decatur, GA.

Almighty God, be merciful to us and bless us. Show us the light of your countenance and come to us. AMEN.

It was almost 18 years ago, on a cold, snowy February morning that my younger brother decided to make his presence known to the world—and was born six and a half weeks early. My entire family was extremely worried, and rightly so—the doctors were concerned that my mother and my brother might not survive the 30-minute ambulance ride to the hospital.

After my mother brought my brother into the world, however, we soon learned that he was healthy and vibrant—and an answer to all of our prayers. However, the one major complication was that of finding a suitable name for my brother. After all, my parents thought they had another six weeks or so to get that sorted out, so when my brother surprised them six weeks early, the doctors and nurses had no choice but to name him “boy Jolly.”

Four days had gone by since my brother’s delivery when the physician who had delivered my brother visited my parents. Dr. Nike looked at my mother and father and said, very seriously: “Jolly family, if you don’t name this baby boy today, we will call him Billy Bob and send him home!”

If you made it to church this morning, then you know that today is a very special day here at Epiphany. At the 11:15 service, we welcomed two newly baptized Christians into our church family. Today is also the day that Christians who follow the liturgical calendar celebrate the Baptism of Jesus.

Traditionally, baptism has had a great deal to do with names. For hundreds of years, infants did not receive names until they were baptized, hence the term, “Christian name.” When baptisms are performed in the Episcopal Church, the candidates for Holy Baptism are presented and named by their families. Following that, the Officiant names the candidate, performs the baptism, and then introduces the newly baptized person to the congregation.

Luke’s portrayal of Jesus’ baptism is also an introduction, a naming of sorts. Scripture tells us that after Jesus was baptized, “the heavens were opened and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’” Just as parents name their children at the baptismal font, God named Jesus at his baptism.

“You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

At that moment, Jesus of Nazareth, the man who was born to an unwed and teenaged mother, the man who was born in a stable, in the presence of shepherds, is named. He is identified as the Christ of the ages, Emmanuel, God with us, who walked among us, preaching love and forgiveness instead of war and retribution. At his baptism, God called Jesus by name: the beloved. At our baptism, the God of Israel, the God whose story is told in scripture, calls us by name. This is the God we see in the face of Jesus Christ.

The Gospel of Luke’s account of Jesus’ baptism also signals the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry; the beginning of the work that God has called him to do. It is in that image that we welcome the newly baptized to join with us on our journey together with God.

But this journey that God has called us on is never easy. Our brothers and sisters in Christ who were baptized this morning join us in striving for justice and peace among all people. They join us in learning to respect the dignity of every human being. They join us in our efforts to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves. They join us in our proclamation of the Good News of God in Christ in both word and deed. The newly baptized join us in our struggle to understand that upholding our end of the bargain means more than an hour or two on Sundays or on the occasional Wednesday. They join us in our fight to overcome the flawed assumption that throwing money in an offering plate makes the world’s problems disappear. And they join us at the altar, where God in Christ is revealed to us in the breaking of bread, showing us by example that the way of the cross is far from easy. But enduring through it all is God, calling us by name, reminding us:

“You are my beloved.”

At our baptism, God makes with us the promise that was made with the Israelites as they returned from exile: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour…and you are precious in my sight.”

This is the God who knows our name, the God who remembers us and does not forget us, the God who, even when we are in the middle of the biggest desert, the deepest ocean, or the darkest valley, listens for our voice, knows our cry, quenches our thirst, parts the raging waters, sheds light where it has never shone, and says to each of us, “Do not be afraid. I know you. I have called you by name. I am coming to help you. You are mine.”

The challenge for each of us is to live our lives in partnership with God, working tirelessly to manifest God’s dream of shalom: peace and wholeness. God calls each of us by name to grow, to embrace one another, to trust, to reconcile, to live by example, to respect one another, to give all that we have to give and not expect one thing in return. God calls us to believe in one another and to support one another. God’s hope for us is that we, too, will call each other by name. God deeply desires that instead of seeing white or black, male or female, old or young, gay or straight, Democrat or Republican, employed or unemployed, homeless or not, American or not, we will see people; people who have names.

When we say that we will we strive for justice and peace among all people, we must include all people, not just the people with whom we are comfortable.

When we promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves, we must realize that our neighbors do not all live on our block.

We must understand that proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ means we must do so, especially when we think no one is watching.

When we say that we respect the dignity of all people, we must mean it.

And most importantly, we must look deep into one another’s eyes and see only the name that has sealed each of us as Christ’s own in baptism:

“You are my Beloved.”

AMEN

The Politics and Psychology of Marriage

2010-01-06T14:51:00.000-08:00

I was thrilled with the recent news that Washington DC has legalized same-sex marriage and is now mandating that same-sex partners and spouses of city employees and contractors be given equal access to healthcare and other benefits that heterosexual couples enjoy. The debate over same-sex marriage, however, is not going away. As a student of theology, I am keenly aware of the discussion.

Theology aside for a moment, I must say that I simply cannot conceive of the idea of withholding the right to marry to a certain group of people. I have heard arguments that suggest that allowing same-sex marriage would be changing the very foundation of society for a minority group and my response is twofold:

1) No it wouldn't. As trite as it sounds to say "nuh uh," it's true. Humankind has long changed, re-evaluated, shifted, refocused, and redefined the institution of marriage to be concurrent with the prevailing wisdom of the day! Consider this: in the Old Testament, a man who raped a woman was punished by being forced to marry that woman. The two were, under no circumstances, allowed to divorce. EVER. Or that in the United States up until 1968, it was illegal in many states to marry someone of another race.

2) What is this "very foundation of society" that you speak of? If it's the institution of marriage, I have to laugh. We, as a society, have seen fit to allow for divorces to go unchecked, contributing to a near 50% divorce rate. So my question is, by not allowing homosexuals to marry, what, exactly are we protecting?

Given the fact that this is MY blog and I'll say whatever I want with relative freedom, I want to make another point that may, well, be a bit uncomfortable to a great number of my friends and family who oppose same-sex marriage for theological reasons. Without getting into a discussion on hermeneutics and scriptural exegesis, let me make a fairly simple point: at no time in the New Testament does Jesus ever speak about homosexuality. However, Jesus DOES spend a good bit of time speaking out against divorce. Jesus equates many divorces to adultery, which the Old Testament punishes with death (that passage can be found in the same books that speak against homosexuality.)

So my point is this: why are we willing, both as Christians and as a nation, to extend grace, pastoral care, and legal protection to divorcees and not to homosexuals? Why are some of the biggest opponents of same-sex marriage (such as Glenn Beck) also divorcees? Could it be that we have become a society that is so socialized to accept divorce that it has become a non-issue?

I was recently having a discussion with a dear friend of mine who is an opponent of same-sex marriage. She and I discussed our divergent theological persuasions and she restated her position that she believed marriage is between one man and one woman, after I restated my opinion that homosexuals should have equal rights and responsibilities as heterosexuals, both in the church and in the secular society. We then got off topic and she asked me if, later in life, she decided to get married again, I would perform the ceremony. I responded with reservation. She inquired and I told her that I would be delighted to marry her, but I would have to have the permission of my bishop because she is divorced. She was taken aback.

Perhaps Marcus Borg was onto something when he wrote, "I am convinced that much of the strongly negative attitude toward homosexuality on the part of some Christians has arisen because, in addition to whatever nonreligious homophobic reasons may be involved, homosexuality is seen (often unconsciously) as a purity issue. For these Christians, there's something "dirty" about it, boundaries are being crossed, things are being put together that do not belong together, and so forth. Indeed, homosexuality was an issue in ancient Judaism. The prohibition against it is found in the purity laws of the book of Leviticus.
It seems to me that the shattering of purity boundaries by both Jesus and Paul should also apply to the purity code's perception of homosexuality. Homosexual behavior should therefore be evaluated by the same criteria as heterosexual behavior. It also seems to me that the passage in which Paul negates the other central polarities of his world also means, "In Christ, there is neither straight nor gay." Granted, Paul didn't say that, but the logic of "life in the Spirit" and the ethos of compassion imply it!" -Marcus Borg pg. 59 Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time

My solution is this: the church should get out of the business of civil marriages. When people want to get married, they should be made to appear before a judge. If they want a religious marriage, then go to the church and get married in the church.

As Shayanna and I prepare for our wedding, I can't even fathom a senator or a representative who has never met us making a law that states that we are, fundamentally, second-class citizens.

At the end of the day, I side with two of the greatest American philosophers on the subject: Wanda Sykes and Robin Williams:

Wanda Sykes: "If you don't want a gay marriage, don't get one!"

Robin Williams: "You're opposed to same-sex marriage? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Anyone who has ever been married knows that the sex is ALWAYS the same!"

World AIDS Day at Emory

2009-12-01T11:25:00.001-08:00

On Tuesday, December 1, 2009, Emory University hosted an AIDS awareness day, displaying the World AIDS Memorial Quilt at what was the largest collegiate display in the world. Several friends and I walked through the University quad, which is just a few 100 yards from the school of theology. As we walked and the names of the victims of AIDS were read aloud, we began to reflect on the small portions of the quilt that individual families and friends made to remember their lost loved ones. Many of them had died during the surge of HIV and AIDS cases from the 1980s.

I experienced a profound sense of sadness at this sight. Needless to say, the sight of these quilts, combined with the names being read from the platform was powerful. However, I was most grieved because of how the Church—not any one individual church, but Christian Churches as a whole—have responded (or failed to respond) to the AIDS crisis. Just a few years ago, the late Rev. Jerry Falwell made a very public and licentious statement, suggesting in no uncertain terms that AIDS were repayment for the sin of homosexuality.

I was astonished after hearing a recent NPR report that revealed that a black man who is gay has a 1 in 4 chance of contracting HIV/AIDS. Even more shocking is that Hispanic men who are gay have a 1 in 3 chance of contracting HIV/AIDS. By and large, the Church has been silent in its response to the AIDS crisis—ostensibly because of the disease’s misunderstood stigma as a “gay disease.”

While it is true that a disproportionate number of men—both gay and straight—have AIDS, a growing number of women and children are suffering from the disease—especially in the global south. The long-standing position of “we have no official position” is no longer acceptable. The Church must not shy away from confronting controversial issues and helping to resolve the crisis. Specifically, the Roman Catholic Church’s policy on condom usage is not only egregiously outdated, but is becoming dangerous.

Prayer is from World AIDS Day 2009 Vigil:

Loving God, you alone know the end from the beginning. We lift up all these HIV/AIDS patients to you. God, where there is pain we ask please remove it, where there is despair God grant them new hope and Father let them never doubt your power to save and heal. God we pray for those involved in the discovery of treatment that God you will fill them with Wisdom and that God you will give them a breakthrough in Jesus Mighty Name, Amen. Lord, the families of the patients, protect them and give them patience and strength. God provide finances to fund the discovery endeavors and also to the patients for their medicines. God let your will, perfect health, be the portion of these dear ones in Jesus Powerful Name, AMEN.

The Cycle Continues...

2009-11-04T09:01:00.001-08:00

As I was driving to church on Monday for a staff meeting, I heard a story on NPR about the United States Navy’s recent addition of a new battleship to its fleet: the USS New York. The ship is made from steel from the World Trade Center, left after the attacks of September 11, 2001. When I heard this, I nearly had to pull off the road for a moment. What are they (we!) thinking? We were attacked by a bunch of ravenously hateful people and the best thing we can think to do with the steel that is coated in the blood of the 3,000 lives lost on that day is to build an implement of war? What does this say about us? Our first reaction after being attacked was to attack back! Show them who’s boss! Kill more of them than they killed of us! That’ll teach ‘em! We’ll avenge the blood of those innocent Americans with more of their blood! And so the cycle continues…Will it ever end?

O God, you are the source of life and peace.
Praised be your name forever.
We know it is you who turn our minds to thoughts of peace.
Hear our prayer in this time of crisis.
Your power changes hearts.

Muslims, Christians and Jews remember, and profoundly affirm,
that they are followers of the one God,
Children of Abraham, brothers and sisters;
enemies begin to speak to one another;
those who were estranged join hands in friendship;
nations seek the way of peace together.

Strengthen our resolve to give witness to these
truths by the way we live.
Give to us:
Understanding that puts an end to strife;
Mercy that quenches hatred, and
Forgiveness that overcomes vengeance.
Empower all people to live in your law of love
Amen.

Source: Attr. Pax Christi, www.godweb.org/prayersforpeace.htm

Bound for the Promised Land

2009-10-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

Dr. Tom Long is the Bandy Professor of Homiletics at the Candler School of Theology, Emory University. In 2008, he preached on the passover feast from Exodus. This is an excerpt from his sermon. Note: it does not do justice to Dr. Long. His powerful speaking presence is a sight to behold.

"Everybody is captive to some view of self or neighbor or world that cuts us off from the grace of God. That's why there's unleavened bread here. As Walter Brueggeman says, "If you think you've got time for the bread to rise, you've gotten too at ease in Egypt." That's why Karl Barth said, "Grace is the enemy of everything. It comes to proclaims a perpetual revolution." And H. Richard Niebuhr said, "When the revelation of God happens, the self we so dearly love turns out not to be the self that God loves. The justice we have tried to gain for ourselves turns out not to be the justice that God treasures. And the neighbor we have ignored is the neighbor that God deeply loves." God breaks into our Egypts and sets us free."

Visit this place, O LORD, and drive far from it all snares of the enemy; let your holy angels dwell with us to preserve us in peace; and let your blessing be upon us always; through Jesus Christ our LORD. AMEN.

-BCP (1979) Pg. 133

Facebook--America's obsession with anonymity?

2009-10-15T13:36:00.000-07:00

I have a dear friend from college who aptly called facebook "the salon of our day." She was absolutely right. I have to admit, however, that I am a bit of a facebook stalker... Being seven hours from home leaves me feeling as though I am missing out on the lives of many of my friends. So, instead of turning to the next-best thing, the telephone, I turn to facebook and facebook chat to stay in touch. While a part of me understands that this is not the best way to interact with people, another part of me likes the blanket of anonymity that it provides.

I have to say that it is AMAZING what you can learn about a person from facebook! You can learn someone's political views, religious views, favorite books, favorite movies, sexuality, favorite types of music, academic history, work history, sordid stories from spring break and drunken nights on the frat or sorority hall! Who needs a first date when you can skip the basic questions with a five-minute flip through the pages of facebook? When I began graduate school, the office of new student programming would send out invitations to events solely through facebook!

While I am a contributor to the problem of facebook taking over our lives, I wonder if in, say five years, we'll even remember what life was like before facebook?

The Wolves Among Us...

2009-10-08T10:04:00.000-07:00

The following is the text from my first sermon as a seminarian. It was preached on the occasion of the Feast of Robert Grosseteste, with readings from Luke 16:10-15 and Acts 20:28-32.

I often wonder what the New Testament would be like without the Pharisees. At seemingly every turn, they question Jesus, attempt to trick Jesus, and in today’s Gospel text, they openly ridicule Jesus! While we may love to hate them and while some pastors may love to preach against them, what would the Bible look like without them? Would we have learned half as much from Jesus if they had not always been present, ever questioning Jesus and challenging His teachings?

In today’s Gospel lesson, the Pharisees do indeed criticize Jesus, but Jesus has some strong criticism of his own for them: “You are those who justify yourselves in the sight of others; but God knows your hearts; for what is prized by human beings is an abomination in the sight of God.” Now while this passage from Luke’s gospel has often been read as anti-Jewish because of Luke’s stereotypical labeling of the Pharisees as lovers of money, Jesus’ admonition is nevertheless, pointed, direct, and clear: what is prized by humans is an abomination before God.

The lesson from the book of Acts admonishes us with even less comfortable imagery, warning early Jesus followers that the wolves are coming! “Savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock.” Situated in the context in which these passages were written, the wolves are easy to spot: early Jesus followers were not exactly at the pinnacle of popularity among the Sadducees, the Pharisees, and the Sanhedrin. In fact, the New Testament portrays the first churches as largely secretive societies where people met in small groups in houses, often fearful of being found out.

The wolves were also hungry and poised to devour Christians during the life Robert Grosseteste, the man whose life we commemorate today. Living at the turn of the 13th century, Grosseteste was an English statesman and theologian who eventually became the Bishop of Lincoln. The late Oxford historian A.C. Crombie calls Grosseteste “the real founder of the tradition of scientific thought in mediaeval Oxford, and in some ways, of the modern English intellectual tradition.” While we may celebrate Grosseteste today, he lived in a time where science was at odds with religion. He lived in a time when the Earth was thought to be at the center of the universe and, if you traveled too far towards the edge, you could literally fall off the earth into oblivion—for the earth was thought to be flat. The introduction of science next to theology was sure to cause problems in the years to come. We have all heard of the excommunications, the inquisitions, the trials, and the endless body count because of the Church’s fear of science. We know the stories of the hungry wolves of the days of old… But what relevance does the passage from Acts have for Christians in the 21st Century? What can the life and witness of Robert Grosseteste teach us now, in the postmodern age? What is it that we stand to learn from the Pharisees and the wolves today?

As we go through the motions of worship on Sunday mornings and attempt to rejuvenate our inward selves with the comfort of familiar liturgy and familiar faces, images of hungry wolves could not be further from our minds. To be honest, it sounds like a scene from Little Red Riding Hood! Whether we’re sitting in the pew pretending to listen to the preacher or kneeling at the beginning of the Eucharistic prayer, many of us allow our thoughts to drift, perhaps thinking about the bills piling up or our deadlines at work and at school… But that’s about as close as any wolves get to our doors…right? We exhaust ourselves over deadlines, letters to friends and families that we need to write, and any number of other preoccupations with all things earthly, but never about wolves and never ever about wolves devouring us!

But I wonder, how many times do we sit in those pews and think about how we can make life a little more livable for someone else? How many times do we think about the homeless people we see on the streets of Atlanta? How many times do we stop to think about the fact that in many places in the world, people are living for a year on what we make in a day? How many times do we consider the fact that many of our brothers and sisters around the world do not receive a living wage so that we can live a little more comfortably and save a few dollars at Wal-Mart? How many times do we analyze the financial crisis of the last two years and ask ourselves whether our true God is manifested in the bread and wine or in the stock market and Almighty dollar? Perhaps we are the wolves, and perhaps we are devouring others! Perhaps our iteration of the American Dream is the wolf, and it is devouring us.

African-American Congressman Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. indicts Christians and Christian churches that have resigned themselves to a traditional and stagnant conception of God, saying: “The great loving heart of God has been embalmed and laid coolly away in the tombs we call churches. Christ of the Manger, the carpenter’s bench, and the borrowed tomb has once again been crucified in stained-glass windows.” As it was for Congressman Powell during the heart of the civil rights movement, so it is for us today. In order to be serious about our identity as Christians, we must be serious about emulating Christ in all that we do. Many people in our churches and in our society look down their noses at people in our community who do not fit the nuclear family model. But remember that Jesus Christ was born to an unwed and teenaged mother. Jesus of Nazareth was born in a makeshift barn, in the presence of shepherds. The ministry of the Savior of the world was focused on those our society counts least and puts last. After he died a traitor’s death, the broken body of Christ was laid in a borrowed tomb.
So what is it that we stand to learn from Robert Grosseteste and the Pharisees? My fellow Kentuckian, Wendell Berry, says it best: “So, friends, every day do something that won’t compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it…Practice resurrection.” We stand to learn that our lives as Christians require unparalleled and life-changing transformation. We stand to learn that being Christians is not popular—it means putting others before ourselves and opening our hearts to the perfect peace and stillness of God’s immeasurable love for all. We stand to learn that being a Christian is very much about doing things that won’t compute—at least not to a society where a person’s value is measured by dollars and cents. We stand to learn that being a Christian means realizing that to whom much is given, much is expected. It means praying that God will save us from ourselves. And most importantly, it means resurrecting Christ’s message of hope, love, and peace and putting it into practice daily.

The martyred South American Archbishop Oscar Romero reminds us that as children of God, we are also called to be children of resurrection—children of Easter. However, we exist in a Good Friday world. But as dark and as lonely as Good Friday may appear, it will not have the last word—that is, unless we let it…
AMEN.

Sources Cited:

William Sloane Coffin, Credo (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 68.

Adam C. Powell, Jr., Marching Blacks (New York: Dial Press, 1973), 194.

Marcus J. Borg & Crossan, John Dominic, The First Christmas: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’s Birth (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 243.

Wendell Berry, The Mad Farmer Poems (Berkeley: Counterpoint Press, 2007), 12-13.

O God, take our lips and speak through them; take our minds and think through them; and take our hearts and set them on fire with love for you, our strength and our redeemer. AMEN.

The Word of God, but NOT the Words of God...

2009-10-06T13:29:00.000-07:00

One of the most common misconceptions about Seminary is that it is a place where you are indoctrinated to be clergy. I have found quite the opposite to be true. I was raised in a culture where the Bible was held as the sole authority on all matters, public and private. "The Bible is not to be questioned. It is perfect!" was often heard and proclaimed. I offer my reflections on this line of thinking below:

For Christians, the Bible illustrates the radical love that Jesus preached to the world. The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. turned to the Bible for much of his inspiration during the quest for Civil Rights, as did countless others. However, preachers of slave-holding congregations also turned to the Bible for inspiration for their sermons that would ultimately either condone or altogether ignore the grave sin of slavery. Not long after slavery ended in America, the majority of the world's Christians sat quietly by as the Bible was used to justify, excuse, and even sanctify the atrocities of the Holocaust.
Though it is certain that Jesus himself never wrote any part of the Bible, and that none of what was written about Jesus was written during his lifetime, many Christians still return to the Bible as the final authority of their doctrinal beliefs. Even with the advent of the new millennium, Christians today are still bound to their history. Should Christians really be reading a book that condones and approves of slavery in one chapter, but then labels it as sin in the next? Is a book that commands the systematic annihilation of a people in one place, and reconciliation, love, and tolerance in another really inspiring Christians worldwide? With the knowledge of what Christians have twisted the Bible to say and do, is it safe to call the Bible the infallible word of God or is it blasphemy of the worst kind? Moreover, with the knowledge of what Christians have made the Bible out to say and do, how should the Bible be used in the Christian tradition today?
The Bible is the written account of how the people of God, specifically Jews and Christians, have interacted with God, mediated the sacred, struggled to discern God's will, suffered, rejoiced, died, experienced resurrection, healing, experienced miraculous happenings, encountered wisdom that can only be labeled as divine, and endured as a community with inexplicable faith and hope. The Bible provides us with the fabric by which we may clothe ourselves in the richness of our shared past. Its message directs the hearts and minds of Christians to the cross, to the sacraments, and ultimately, to the risen Christ.
As such, the added claim that certain Christian groups have made about the Bible being "the inerrant word of God" are not only historically problematic, but they deny one of the Bible's foundational and transformative characteristics: humanness. The Bible is a profoundly human book that was written by humans for the purpose of preserving humanity's rich history of interaction with the divine. [1] When humans read it today, they should not read it with a fear of questioning, but quite the opposite: with a fear of settling for a faith that is less than what God requires of God's people.
To suggest that the Bible is something other than the inerrant word of God does not diminish its importance to the tradition, its message about God and Jesus, nor does it suggest that it is a fabrication. Instead, as Marcus Borg suggests, "it sees the Bible as the response of these two ancient communities [Judaism and Christianity] to God." [2] While this understanding does not identify the Bible as the inerrant word of God, at the same time, it does not disavow an understanding of the Bible as "inspired by God." Instead, it calls upon Christians to understand "inspiration" as the movement of God's spirit in the lives of the people who authored the Bible. [3] In no way does it diminish the importance of scripture in the tradition and theology of Christianity.
The Bible should be used in the Christian tradition to better understand its foundation, its identity as people of God, and the guiding principles to the Christian life--that is, how Christians are to live as people of God. [4] However, to understand the Bible as a human product and not a divine product demands much of Christians. It demands that Christians accept the onus of digging into scripture and learning about context, metaphor, literary forms, euphemisms, and the nuances of Greek and Hebrew. It demands that Christians walk away from the adage of "God said it, I believe it, that settles it!" and never look back. It demands that people who call themselves people of God be wholly unsettled with the status quo. It demands that Christians be stirred into realizing that God has called God's children to explore deeper meanings and more profound understandings than surface-level reasoning is able to provide. Most importantly, it demands that the children of God be completely unsettled with existing "East of Eden" and begin working to return to unity with God. The Bible is Christianity's guide to begin anew, to replenish what has been lost by human depravity, and to restore what God has promised from the beginning.

[1] Bart D. Ehrman, Jesus, Interrupted: Revealing the Hidden Contradictions in the Bible (and Why We Don't Know About Them) (New York: HarperCollins, 2009), 272.

[2] Marcus J. Borg, The Heart of Christianity: Rediscovering a Life of Faith (New York: HarperOne, 2003), 45.

[3] Ibid, 46.

[4] Ibid, 47.

O God of unparalleled mystery, strengthen our hearts, enrich our minds, and empower our bodies so that we may truly love you with all of our hearts, all of our minds, and all of our strength! AMEN

Going Home...

2009-09-13T19:19:00.000-07:00

Last Friday I flew home for a dear friend's wedding. In case anyone had the wild notion that Atlanta traffic was not bad at 3:30 am on the way to the airport, dismiss that notion right now! It sucks... Pretty much 24-7. But the exciting part was, of course, the actual flying part of things. I am absolutely in love with flying! There's nothing that disheartens me more than flying on a cloudy or rainy day when my prized window seat becomes useless. Last weekend was no such weekend. There wasn't a cloud in the sky for any of it! I made the short trip from Atlanta to Charlotte and then from Charlotte on into Lexington.

I've flown quite a bit in my life, to many different places. But there are very few places in this world that are as beautiful from the air as Kentucky. As I flew from North Carolina, through Tennessee, and into Southeastern Kentucky, I was captivated by the beautiful rolling hills, the mountains, the trees, the lakes, and streams, and how the sunlight kissed the tops of the hills, as if to say "good morning." But then I noticed something that took me by surprise. In the midst of the beautiful and lush forests over the Appalachian region, I noticed a mountain that had literally been decapitated. There were trees on the slopes, but the top was a gaping wound of emptiness that was bleeding with streams of gray matter that flowed between the trees and into the river valley. For a moment, I didn't have any conception of what it was. But then I knew: it was a mountaintop removal site. I was aghast. I literally held back tears.

As if it weren't enough to be in seminary, learning how to "think theologically," I thought about a reading from a book from my Old Testament class called Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture: An Agrarian Reading of the Bible by Ellen F. Davis, with a foreword by Wendell Berry. Davis is an accomplished Old Testament Scholar who is currently teaching at Duke Divinity School. Davis wrote of her visit to a "mountaintop removal" site in Eastern Kentucky. She writes:

"Mountaintop removal is an emblematic act. Along with nuclear testing, this is the most dramatic rupture of the created order that North Americans have effected on our own continent. In Appalachia, the oldest part of our continent--the place where God began work on our quadrant of the globe--we are proceeding to return God's handiwork to utter formlessness and waste...stripping bare one of the most biologically diverse temperate forest regions in the world."

Wendell Berry's words on the matter are even more direct: "I have been unable to escape the sense that I have been to the top of the mountain, and that I have looked over and seen, not the promised land vouchsafed to a chosen people, but a land of violence and sterility prepared and set aside for the damned."

I would like to expound upon Davis and Berry's words, but I have nothing to add. Nothing more can be said to further impact what I felt.

Today's Prayers are adapted from a series of Worship Prayers and Liturgies for Earth Day.

URL:http://www.webofcreation.org/Worship/liturgy/prayers.htm

Creator God, we have lost our sense and our senses--our touch, our smell, our vision of who we are: we frantically force and press all things, without rest for body or spirit, hurting our earth and injuring ourselves. Call us to a halt.
Make us want to rest. Remind us of our need to rest and allow the earth to rest. Allow us to be reminded of our need to reflect and to rediscover the mystery that lives in us, that is the ground of every unique expression of life, the source of the fascination that calls all things to communion. Make our hearts a place of Sabbath, a space of Quiet; for simply being and letting be; for recovering the great, forgotten truths; for learning how to live again. AMEN

Individualism in the eyes of Wendell Berry

2009-08-30T17:13:00.000-07:00

Perhaps my favorite American poet, who happens to be a Kentuckian, is Wendell Berry. Most people read Berry in the context of his nonfiction commentaries on environmentalism, sustainable farming, and his fear and revulsion at "the unnecessary things" of life... like computers and, well, blogging.

But I'm a little different. I think Berry's nonfiction is wonderful and he has a clear view of the problems facing America, especially with regard to the crisis of environmental degradation. However, I'm a fan of Wendell Berry because I am in love with his poetry. In fact, I wrote a paper on the deep-seated theological imagery that can be found in his poetry for my Graduate Fellowship application. One of my favorites comes from his newly re-released anthology of poetry called, The Mad Farmer Poems. In "The Mad Farmer, Flying the Flag of Rough Branch, Secedes from the Union", Berry writes:

From the union of power and money,
from the union of power and secrecy,
from the union of government and science,
from the union of government and art,
from the union of science and money,
from the union of ambition and ignorance,
from the union of genius and war,
from the union of outer space and inner vacuity,
the Mad Farmer walks quietly away.

There is only one of him, but he goes.
He returns to the small country he calls home,
his own nation small enough to walk across.
He goes shadowy into the local woods,
and brightly into the local meadows and croplands.
He goes to the care of neighbors,
he goes into the care of neighbors.
He goes to the potluck supper, a dish
from each house for the hunger of every house.
He goes into the quiet of early mornings
of days when he is not going anywhere.

Calling his neighbors together into the sanctity
of their lives separate and together
in the one life of their commonwealth and home,
in their own nation small enough for a story
or song to travel across in an hour, he cries:

Come all ye conservatives and liberals
who want to conserve the good things and be free,
come away from the merchants of big answers,
whose hands are metalled with power;
from the union of anywhere and everywhere
by the purchase of everything from everybody at the lowest price
and the sale of anything to anybody at the highest price;
from the union of work and debt, work and despair;
from the wage-slavery of the helplessly well-employed.

From the union of self-gratification and self-annihilation,
secede into care for one another
and for the good gifts of Heaven and Earth...

Berry continues on for two additional stanzas and if you have a moment sometime, you should find the rest of his poem and read it for yourselves. It's quite remarkable. The most remarkable thing about it, however, is its demand for us to move away from this nonsense that "individualism" means that Americans should only look out for themselves and for nobody else. We must dismiss the notion that is promulgated by the Glenn Becks and Bill O'Reillys of the world that we can be charitable if it suits us--or we can care about our neighbors if we like them and they are nice to us--or just because the founding principles of our country declare life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all people doesn't mean that we should work for equality for all.

Let me give you some facts about healthcare: 47 million people in the United States--the country that claims to be the best and most powerful country in the world--have no healthcare. Of these 47 million people, 8.7 million of them are children and almost 17 million are women (because of the risk of pregnancy, they are less likely to get insurance from employers). Nearly 25% of all working African Americans are without health insurance, compared to white workers. That number jumps to more than 35% for hispanic workers. Gay, lesbian, and bisexual Americans are also finding it increasingly difficult to gain access to healthcare. Under current laws in most states, employers are not required to extend healthcare benefits to the long-term partners of gay and lesbian employees, however, many of them DO extend benefits to non-married and co-habitating heterosexual couples. To put that into perspective, about 16% of our citizens have no healthcare. And make no mistake about it--these 47,000,000 people are not illegal immigrants or criminals or vagrants or felons, these people are average, WORKING men and women. I'd also like to share another piece of information on this issue: the average compensation for healthcare CEOs of some of our nation's biggest insurers and pharmacy companies was $8,700,000 last year. Strikingly, that's about one dollar for every child who is without insurance in the United States.

Here are some more shocking facts that the cowards on the O'Reilly Factor and the Glenn Beck Show are too afraid to share: every 30 seconds, someone in the United States files bankruptcy because they can no longer pay their bills due to medical fees and costs related to illnesses and treatment. 30% of Americans report that either they themselves, or someone in their immediate family, have forgone or delayed necessary medical treatment because of fears relating to affordability and costs. Additionally, private insurers spend FIVE TIMES more money on administrative costs (like the 8.7 million dollar salaries of their CEOs) than Medicare does. The profits of health insurance companies have increased exponentially: 1,084% in just five years.

The bottom line is that individualism requires individual responsibility, compassion, trust, and love. People of all faiths have a responsibility to get involved and to realize that our God is one of compassion, who feeds the hungry, lifts up the lowly, heals the blind, makes the lame to walk, parts the waters of separation, and heals the broken-hearted. It is the duty, the responsibility, and the commission of all Christians to engage in this debate and demand that America debate this issue responsibly, ethically, and openly. This is a moral issue, a civil rights issue, a human rights issue, an ethical issue, but it is most assuredly NOT a political issue. Indeed, as the Great Shepherd of the Sheep taught us, loving our neighbor as ourselves is contingent on giving whatever and however we can to those among us who are in need. It is our duty as Christians to protect the image of God from being clouded by individuality defined as giving to whomever and however one chooses, based on some arbitrary and flawed definition of the deserving and the undeserving. Surely Christ taught us the flaw in thinking that we deserve...well... anything. Loving our neighbors, as Jesus reminds us, is THE greatest commandment. It is not a choice. In fact, does not our very salvation depend on it?

I'm going to change it up a bit today and offer two prayers, both from the ECUSA's Book of Common Prayer (1979).

Almighty God, who created us in your own image: Grant us grace fearlessly to contend against evil and make no peace with oppression; and, that we may reverently use our freedom, help us to employ it in the maintenance of justice in our communities and among the nations, to the glory of your holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. AMEN.

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. AMEN.

URLs:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYlZiWK2Iy8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGY9a7q4N-U

On cups, pots, and bronze kettles

2009-08-26T15:45:00.000-07:00

Today marked day two of Candler's Master of Divinity orientation. This morning's worship service was presided over by the Rev. Dr. E. Brooks Holifield, the Charles H. Candler Professor of American Church History at Candler and, I am very honored to mention, the professor for whom I am researching a number of subjects pertaining to religion in America.

The gospel of the day was a familiar one: Mark 7:1-15. Since it's my blog and I can do whatever I want to fill the space, I'll post the entire reading from the NRSV Bible here:

"Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" He said to them, "Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written, 'This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.' You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition." Then he said to them, "You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition! For Moses said, 'Honor your father and your mother'; and, 'Whoever speaks evil of father or mother must surely die.' But you say that if anyone tells father or mother, 'Whatever support you might have had from is Corbain' (that is, an offering to God)-- then you no longer permit doing anything for a father or mother, thus making void the word of God through your tradition that you have handed on. And you do many things like this."

Then he called the crowd again and said to them, "Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile."

When he had left the crowd and entered the house, his disciples asked him about the parable. He said to them, "Then do you also fail to understand? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from the outside cannot defile, since it goes out into the sewer?" (Thus he declared all foods clean.) And he said, "It is what comes out of a person that defiles. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within and they defile a person."

Dr. Holifield's sermon reminded us that we have all been guilty of worrying and preoccupying ourselves with the pots, the cups, and the bronze kettles that keep us from experiencing the presence of God fully. For many of us who have spent any time at all volunteering at a church, these pots, cups, and bronze vessels may take on a quite literal meaning! How many times have we walked into church and noticed that the altar flowers are wilted or that the candles are not lit? I know I am guilty! I know EVERY good Episcopalian is guilty of it at some time or another! How many times have we preoccupied with making sure the altar was squared exactly with the pulpit and that the altar flowers were appropriate for the liturgical season? How many times have we been so stressed because of trivialities by the time worship begins that we can't center ourselves until it is over? Or how many times has the Church as a whole been perilously and even fanatically preoccupied with the stuffy and meaningless jargon of religiosity that has nothing-but-nothing to do with becoming the men and women that God has called us to be? "Dancing in public is sinful!", say some churches, "using wine at the Lord's Supper is a necessity!", say others, "No! It is heresy!", say others.

Do any of these things really prevent the committed Christian from experiencing God? The answer is no. For the committed Christian, worship is about introspection and self-reflection, not about having the best church, with all of the right beliefs, with all of the proper articles of liturgy, with the best-tasting wine (ahem, for the Episcopalians among us...), worship is not even something that must happen under a roof with a steeple! Worship is about mediating the sacred realm of the Divine and nourishing our heart of hearts with the perfect peace and sacred rest that is sought for so desperately by the people of God. It is this journey that is the true heart of worship.

I've already learned so much at Candler--including the fact that I can be easily identified as an Episcopalian because when the organist played the first note of "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling," I knew he was using a different melody! I had a professor mention how much he loved that hymn and I responded with, "Yes, and the words that normally accompany that setting are also really good!" He chuckled and smiled and said, "You're an Episcopalian, aren't you!"

I wish all of my beloved friends and family could have heard Dr. Holifield's sermon.

That's all for now. Today's prayer is from the New Zealand Book of Common Prayer:

Lord, it is night.

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

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
What has not been done has not been done;
let it be.

The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
All dear to us,
and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities.

In your name we pray.
AMEN.

The New Beginning

2009-08-25T21:03:00.000-07:00

Today marked the beginning of the next three years of my life here in Atlanta. The Master of Divinity program at Candler is surely going to be challenging, trying, rewarding, and, most of all, transformative.

As I sat in opening worship today, I thought about the many faces of the more than 150 new MDiv, MTS, ThM, and ThD students that sat around me. I thought about the various parts of the world from whence they came and I thought about why I was there. I am dissatisfied with the status quo... Indeed, I am deeply troubled by what I see from Christianity in America. My heart aches for the men and women of America who have fallen on hard times and have found themselves without jobs to feed their families, without health insurance to provide for their families' welfare, and without the dignity and respect that they so deserve to be treated with by our leaders in government.

I am deeply grieved by the Church's response to the terrorist attacks of September 11. I wonder, what sort of world would we be living in if President Bush had stared directly into the television cameras that virtually every human being with a television was watching on that fateful Tuesday and said, "I want to address the people who did this: we forgive you." Would not that have been a transformative moment in global politics? Would not that have been a transformative moment for Americans? I can only imagine the hysteria that such a response would have caused. I'm sure we Christians would be leading the charge with our pitchforks and spades, taking to the streets to protest such a "soft and sissy" response. But maybe there's something deeper there: maybe what happened after September 11 shows us, especially those of us who are people of faith, that something visceral happens when we are afflicted with pain and suffering. We want to get even. We want "proportional responses" and "quick justice." But what would have happened if the President took a moment to breathe and to grieve for what had happened?

All of this was running through my head while the faculty at Candler were discussing how to think theologically. The most commonly used word that I heard today was "call." We have answered a "call." I suppose that sounds funny to someone who has never experienced such a thing, but it's true. Each of us there are answering our individual and collective "calls" to love God with all of our hearts, all of our strength, and especially for the next three years, with all of our minds.

I think this blogging thing is a little over-rated, but I'm going to try it out for now... I think I'll end each post with a prayer.

May the peace of God that passes all understanding keep our hearts and minds faithful in the knowledge and love of God and in God's only son, Jesus Christ. AMEN.