Friday in the Third Week of Lent

I am presently in Fernandina Beach, Florida sitting in a wonderful, locally-owned coffee shop. The sun is spectacular and the sky is a brilliant, cloudless blue. The temperature today is expected to climb into the mid-60's and feels nearly summer-like for me. I'm hopeful that I'll manage to take a few pictures to post later this weekend.

My reason for this late winter visit is not merely to thaw out from the Wisconsin winter that shows no signs of abating before June. I'm here to be a part of the sesquicentennial celebration of St. Peter's Episcopal Church. (I wrote about this parish in my Wednesday post). On Sunday, I will have the opportunity to be the preacher at all three liturgies and to lead the adult forum. The rector, George D. Young, III, has also invited me to be the celebrant at the Eucharist at the early service.

I learned how to be an Episcopalian at St. Peter's. This parish was the community that formed me in the Anglican ethos. This is the parish that supported my call to the priesthood, affirmed that call and supported me through my time in seminary. And while there is a "homecoming" aspect to this visit, there's also the realization that things have changed over the past eight and a half years. Nearly 40% of the present parish membership has arrived since 1999, and so I will meet many people for the first time on Sunday. I'm looking forward to reconnecting with old friends and meeting new ones.

But there's another reason for posting today...and this may not seem very "lenten" in nature. I wanted to share with those of you (the faithful few!) who've been checking this blog from time to time something very exciting that happened yesterday.

Some of you may know that I began golfing shortly after my arrival in Wauwatosa. When I started playing, my hope was that the game would provide an opportunity for me to get outside, get some exercise and maybe make some friends. Little did I know that I would be fascinated by some of the more technical aspects of the game...or that it would provide such a consistent opportunity to gain experience in the spiritual disciplines of "patience and longsuffering".

At any rate, I was invited to join the rector of St. Peter's and two of his friends for a round of golf yesterday. The fact that my lower back was a mess as a result of a couple of recent ice-related falls...or that I had not swung a club since back in November did not deter me from accepting that invitation. As my regular golfing buddy joked, "At least you have a couple of good excuses for your game!" And, to be truthful, I played a usual round -- inconsistent drives, the usual ill-timed approach shots, a couple of unpleasant sandtrap experiences, balls lost in water hazards and in the rough.

But, friends and neighbors...there is plenteous redemption and on hole #9 at The North Hampton Golf Club ( http://www.hamptongolfclubs.com/NHampton.html#l ), I entered (if only briefly) golfing nirvana...and scored my first ever BIRDIE!!!

A clean drive off the "white tee" safely avoided water hazards and left me just inside the 150 yard marker. I used an 8-iron for the approach shot (not because I thought I could get to the green, but because I can usually control an 8-iron). Proper aim, a smooth swing, favorable wind conditions and a good roll contributed to the ball winding up less 15 feet from the hole. I managed to contain my excitement long enough (and keep my mouth shut on the way to the green) to read the putt correctly and sink the ball into the cup. No mulligans, no provisionals, no adjustments...a birdie in regulation. SWEET!!!

And if I wasn't hooked on this game before...well, I am now. And for all of you who are wondering, no, I didn't slip up and say the "A-word"...it is still Lent after all!

Wednesday in the Third Week of Lent

This past Sunday evening, I was checking my usual sources of Episcopal Church related news, when one link led to another and I found myself reading the blog written from the perspective of a "person in the pew". I couldn't figure out all of the issues at work in that person's congregation, but I had no difficulty deducing that the blogger had a fair amount of energy around several of them -- a deficit budget and a growth curve (in terms of Sunday attendance/new members) that seemed flat -- were two of the hottest topics on the site.

I wish I could say that I had some insight or holy wisdom or a practical program full of "how-to's" that could address those two issues...because they seem to attract lots of opinions and occupy our anxieties as Episcopalians these days.

When I was a parish administrator, from time to time I'd cull through the vestry minutes of St. Peter's Church in Fernandina Beach, Florida ( http://www.stpetersparish.org/ ). I'd look back to the early 20th century. My favorite years were between 1900 - 1920. This turn of the last century perspective was helpful in a number of ways. First of all, I was always fascinated by the penmanship..all of the minutes were handwritten in a disciplined, precise and neatly legible cursive -- at a precise and consistent angle. The various clerks of the several vestries were masters of brevity and yet the gist of each meeting was wonderfully captured for posterity.

These minutes were all "hardbound" in ledger-type books...and provided a sense of the issues that were in front of a parish that was around age 50 at the time. During its first fifty years, the parish had been "enlisted" as a Union hospital during the Civil War, had ministered to the population of the city during the Yellow Fever epidemic, had built a new church building, had seen that building nearly destroyed by fire and had rebuilt it successfully. Many of the people who had served on the vestry had been leading citizens of the town as it became a tourist mecca in the late 19th century only to see its fortunes turn when the Florida East Coast Railroad bypassed Fernandina for St. Augustine, some 70 miles or so further south.

What I remember from those minutes is that the congregation struggled to pay the rector's salary, contended with leaky roofs and recalcitrant heating systems -- yes, it got chilly enough in northeast Florida for worshippers to demand some climate control in church! Attendance figures were rarely reported, but given the size of the monthly offerings (even for the times), this was a small parish in a small town with all of the challenges that came along with that situation. The vestry minutes don't reveal conflicts per se...the style of writing is too business-like...but it's clear to the reader that things weren't always smooth and that the persons who served on the vestry were committed to working through their difficulties in a firm but fair fashion.

I'm guessing those folks who worked so diligently for their Lord at St. Peter's Episcopal Church 100 years ago, couldn't have imagined what it would become over the years. There have been ebbs and flows. There have been ups and downs. There have been times of joy and times of pain. And yet, that congregation continues and flourishes...due in no small part, I think, to the sacrifices, dedication and good, old Episcopal staunchiness of the people who wrote those vestry minutes in those dusty volumes stowed in the fireproof safe.

As I have perused the vestry minutes of Trinity Episcopal Church, Wauwatosa, from the early part of the 20th century, I read the same sort of reports. I see evidence of the same sort of sacrifice and dedication. I am reminded that we are all indebted to those who came before us in a parish community and that we ourselves are simply passing through. We are stewards of a legacy that one day will pass to another generation of Christians who will gather on Sundays to sing and pray and listen to the Word of God.

Someone once said that "the Church is always only one generation away from extinction." I think that saying is true. Life is lived one day at a time. We can't know the future, but we can learn from the past and we can be attentive to our circumstances in the present moment. I pray that as parishes everywhere struggle with the issues before them -- the issues that seem "new" and the issues that are always with us (like leaky roofs and stubborn furnaces) -- we will all remember that we are writing our own history one day at a time.

The Third Sunday in Lent

Before I was ordained, back when I worked at a "real" job in the "real" world, Sunday evenings were times of relaxation and preparation. In fact, one of the great gifts of being an Episcopalian was that attendance at a Sunday morning liturgy was a sufficient effort in and of itself...no further exertion required! Prior to coming into the Episcopal Church, my Sundays had consisted of attending an evening worship service that was in addition to (not instead of) the Sunday morning opportunity.

These days, I find that Sunday afternoons and evenings are often devoted to reflecting (or is it rehashing?) the things that happened on Sunday mornings. I rethink the liturgy -- the things that went well; the things that didn't go so well. If I was the preacher (as I was today), I revisit the sermon -- the things that could have been said differently or better or more succinctly...the things that should have been left unsaid. I replay conversations -- reminding myself of details that need attending; catching myself when I have been insensitive...worrying about whether or not I overlooked anything or anyone in the chaos that happens in and around Sunday liturgies.

So, here it is, nearly 7:00 p.m. Central Standard Time, and I'm still thinking about that 120 minutes that this congregation and I shared together this morning. I know I need to let it all go...to move on. After all, isn't that our lives these days -- a headlong rush to "the next thing"?

Intellectually, I understand that most people are gearing up for their work week -- that they've had to let go of what happened/didn't happen to/for them at the liturgy today. I pray for those who took the time to attend church today. I can't help but hope that some of what happened during the liturgy will accompany them on their way through life this week.

Saturday in the Second Week of Lent


120 Minutes (more or less)...from 8:00 - 8:45 a.m.....and from 9:30 - 10:45 a.m. The two regular Sunday liturgies are the weekly times when most of the parish is gathered in one place. The major differences between the two liturgies are:


1. Attendance (the 8:00 a.m. has fewer people in the pews).

2. Music is a significant aspect of the second liturgy.


The allottment of time for the sermon is the same at both services -- somewhere between 12 and 15 minutes. Another 4 -6 minutes may be used for information purposes during the portion of the liturgy known as "announcements". What will I do with all of that time??? (Facetiously speaking of course!)


I could use some of it to highlight the happenings in the Episcopal Church this week. A cursory reading of some of the various media outlets around the Episcopal Church revealed that:


1. One seminary (Seabury-Western) will suspend the offering of a three year, residential M.Div. degree with the graduation of its current group of seniors. A second seminary, Bexley Hall, will cease its residential M.Div. program in its Rochester, NY location (Bexley Hall will continue to offer a resdential M.Div. at its Columbus, Ohio location -- at Trinity Lutheran Seminary). Both seminaries in their press releases noted the expense of the residential seminary model, the changing methodologies of priestly formation in the church and the demographic realities of today's "typical" seminarian as factors in their decisions. Currently less than one-half of those ordained to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church attend a three year residential program.


2. The Consortium of the Endowed Episcopal Parishes met earlier this week in St. Louis, Missouri. Only 112 parishes nationwide are members of this organization. Trinity, Wauwatotsa meets one of the standards of membership in this organization by virtue of the value of its endowment. The Presiding Bishop was the keynote speaker at this gathering...addressing the group on issues of mission, cooperative relationships with other parts of the Anglican Communion and the progress being made toward fulfillment of the Millennium Development Goals (MDG's). She also announced a summit on domestic poverty that she will host in Scottsdale, AZ in May.


3. The ongoing difficulties in the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion show little sign of abating as preparations are being made for the Lambeth Conference -- the once-a-decade meeting of Anglican bishops from all over the world in London later this year.



I could reflect on a few world events -- a new nation (Kosovo), the end of an era in Cuba, a military incursion by Turkey into Iraq where the U.S. is still an occupying force, and a change in ruling parties in Pakistan.


Or maybe I could throw caution to the wind and talk politics (probably not!)...Here in Wisconsin, Obama and McCain were the big winners in our presidential primary earlier this week.


With just those few things swirling in my head, the Revised Common Lectionary gives me some chunks of Scripture to contend with. Actually, I've been living with and listening to these readings for the better part of two weeks now. (I hope tomorrow's homily will give evidence to that contending!)


Tomorrow morning a few scores of people will opt to use an alarm clock on a weekend morning, leave their coffee and unread Sunday papers, perhaps wrestle with their kids and hurry out the door to come to worship at Trinity Church. This action puts them in the minority of the American population. I wonder what they would like to receive in exchange for their investment of time and energy?


Would they prefer worship to explicitly engage the issues that occupy the world that they live in the rest of the week? Or do they need worship to be a time of respite and quiet in the midst of the life they're living? I can't pretend to know. But I'm glad they make the sacrifice of time and energy to show up.



Now it's time for me to make some final decisions about my few minutes of air time!

Friday in the Second Week of Lent

This afternoon, I finished reading the first of the two books I had set aside specifically to read for Lent -- Divine Nobodies: Shedding Religion to Find God [and the unlikely people who help you] by Jim Palmer.

The book describes the spiritual journey of a person who has both known the depths and the heights that life can bring. The author generously and honestly shares the lessons he's learned about God, Jesus and the struggles of following the Way of Jesus. Jim offers a poignant critique of what passes as "organized Christianity" these days -- regardless of denominational label, liturgical practice or theological genus and species.

As a former-Pentecostal-sometime-Baptist-with-Presbyterian-leanings-turned-Episcopalian (who has been known to say a "Hail Mary" every now and has a fascination with the philosophy of Zen), I resonate with much of what he says. I have experienced firsthand the darker, judgmental side of my former tradition and the intellectual snobbishness that sometimes defines my current one.

I recognize that Jim's story and his sense of humor may not appeal to everyone. His politics and theology, while influenced by his Evangelical tradition, aren't easily categorized. He's more interested in relationships (with God and the people around him) than arguing about the finer points of doctrine. While he clearly has continuing difficulties with the ways "church" is currently practiced in North America, he nonetheless recognizes that part and parcel of being a Christian is to be in relationship with other would-be disciples -- even if they wouldn't use such churchy sounding language.

The challenge that the book issues to me -- as someone who is a "paid religious professional" -- is to remember that my loyalty is first and foremost to Jesus who calls me to be a follower of the Way. This Lent, I think I needed to hear a good testimony of a fellow traveler. Jim's book gave me that gift.

Friday in the Second Week of Lent

Earlier this week a friend of mine (also a priest; experiencing his second full Wisconsin winter) wrote an e-mail in which he cried "UNCLE" to the weather...in desperate hope that his surrender would bring about a cessation to the snow, ice and cold. In response, I sent him an e-mail that represented a few days' worth of my experience last Sunday and Monday, with just a dash of poetic license added for good measure.

This is my fourth Wisconsin Winter...and while I'm not sure I'm getting used to the Frozen Tundra, I will note that I spent a few minutes chipping ice in the parking lot earlier today...and with the sun shining and temperatures in the mid-20's, I needed no coat or gloves...and indeed almost felt warm.

Below, please find my response to my friend. I hope it will bring an appropriately restrained Lenten smile to your face:


I feel your pain, verily, I embody your pain.

This past Sunday, I set my face like a flint against the wintry onslaught. I would persevere in the sleet, the ice, the slush. I would not be thwarted by the dire predictions of a snow- covered Armegeddon. I would prevail. Victory would be won. By God, we would have church!

So I slogged on through the slush. I was fueled by stubbornness that would not succumb to winter. And as I strode self-assuredly through the parking lot, I slipped...and great was the fall. I picked myself off the pavement some five or six feet south of the original point of impact (thanks to the slope of the pavement, my rate of speed and the wide expanse of black ice). But the show went on. Eucharist was served. By God, we had church!

My stride home was less assured -- a bit more tentative...much more humble.

Later in the day as I nursed my pride with an appropriate barley beverage and my posterior with a heating pad, I fantasized briefly about the azaleas that I know are blooming in North Florida...I laughed at the thought that a 55 degree day would now seem almost subtropical...I considered for some time all that I would do with the 2 whole days of summer that will occur here sometime in July. During the night I'm sure I had a dream about tulips and dogwood trees.

Monday afternoon I spent a couple of fun-filled hours in sub-zero windchills chipping away at the ice that has coagulated on the parish sidewalks...because in a cost-saving measure several years ago the vestry decided to forego hiring a service to clear the sidewalks, opting instead for "doing it with volunteers". The longer I chipped; the colder I became.

Soon, I entered some sort of hypothermic altered state. I fantasized about a coral-tinged sunset over the Gulf of Mexico, I imagined the feeling of the warm water lapping at my bare feet, I could almost taste the succulent boiled shrimp being chased down my throat by a chilled, rum-laced drink (complete with the little umbrella). I began to hear strains of Jimmy Buffett.

I had nearly transcended this veil of frozen tears. I was almost free of the bonds of the Wisconsin winter. Perhaps there really was something about "mind over matter". I was brought back to reality, though, when the city snow plow lumbered by and baptized me with slush the plow kicked up off the street.

The good news is that I was only wet for a brief time -- the slush refroze on contact. Oh joy.

Thank God it's Lent.


I'm enjoying the sunshine today. Another snowstorm is predicted for Monday, February 25. Yippee.

Thursday in the Second Week of Lent

This morning at Morning Prayer, we heard Genesis 22 -- "The Binding of Isaac". This is a difficult and confusing story, in which Abraham is instructed by God to sacrifice the child of promise.

In the Sunday School of my childhood, we heard this story because there was no Mainline Protestant Bible Story Police around to make sure that only the sanitized version of the Bible (with "happy stories") was presented.

The teachers in my childhood church always moved quickly to the end of the story in which the "Angel of the Lord" appears just in the nick of time to prevent Abraham from following through on God's command. Apparently, (according to my teachers) God simply was "testing" Abraham's faith...and he passed with flying colors!

"Isn't that wonderful, boys and girls?" the Sunday School Teacher asked.

"What would have happened if Abraham hadn't heard the angel?" someone from the back of the room queried.

"But Abraham did hear the angel, because Abraham had faith," came the reply.

"But why would God ask Abraham to kill his only son?" someone countered.

(The Fundamentalist Sunday School Police had seen to it that we 6th graders didn't know about Hagar and Ishmael -- a patriarch with a concubine and an illegitimate son was apparently more difficult to explain than deity-initiated murder.)

"Well, God needed to know just how much Abraham trusted him," said the teacher.

"But if God's all-knowing, didn't he (God was still a "he" back then) already know that Abraham would do it?" came another question.

"This isn't about God being all-knowing, this is about someone following God's commands, like we're supposed to," the teacher's voice was now a bit more exasperated.

"But how did Abraham know it was the voice of God and not the voice of the devil? I mean some people who kill other people say that they heard a voice telling them to do it, isn't that right?" came another question.

"We're getting off track here! The important thing is to remember that GOD told Abraham what to do and Abraham did it!" the teacher emphasized, her face tinged with frustration.

"But you didn't answer our question...how did Abraham know it was God?" several kids chimed in.

"He just knew it because he was righteous. Case closed. Can't you just be good children and listen to God's Word and trust that it's true?" Oops...this was the sort of circular reasoning that meant we were supposed to shut up and move on.

"Yes ma'am." We replied

We looked down ruefully at our little desk tops...and the puzzling picture of old man Abraham, his long beard flowing, his arm raised menacingly, the point of the knife glinting in the sun as it hovered over the chest of his teen-aged son (who was only a year or two older than any of us) -- a pale angel shouting from the upper right hand corner of the page.

The story was frightening and confusing then...and it still is.

I pulled my copy of Fear and Trembling off the shelf and reaquainted myself with some of Soren Kierkegaard's ponderings about this terrifying text. I came across this sentence and think that it is almost as frightful as the biblical story:

"...how monstrous a paradox faith is, a paradox capable of making a murder into a holy act well pleasing to God, a paradox which gives Isaac back to Abraham, which no thought can grasp because faith begins precisely where thinking leaves off." (p. 82)

I'm grateful to be in a community of Christians that can openly question texts like Genesis 22. We are free to wrestle with them. I wish we exercised that freedom more often.

Wednesday in the Second Week of Lent

This afternoon, I was sitting at my favorite table in the local Starbucks...the store jokingly referred to by Trinity parishioners as "The Rector's Adjunct Office". I had my nose in a book as I nibbled away on a peanut butter cookie...because I had the forethought not to give up sweets for Lent! Every now and then I'd look out the window and enjoy the sight of the clear, blue sky. The sun shone brightly. The snow was a brilliant white. Even the single digit air temperature had seemed bearable as I had walked from the church to the coffee shop. A perfect Wisconsin deep-freeze winter day.

At one point I looked up and happened to see someone at the table beside me reading (not too unusual) a Bible (VERY unusual!). My heart skipped a beat! I can't remember the last time I saw a Bible opened, outside of a church here. I'm sure there are plenty of Bible-reading folks in this part of the world, after all this is Lutheran country...but I don't get to witness the behavior as frequently as I did when I lived back East and down South.

For the next fifteen minutes I successfully resisted the urge to engage/interrupt the person in/with a conversation. He was clearly involved in doing some sort of formal study -- there was a worksheet involved -- I couldn't believe it! Not only was he reading the text, he was actually interacting with it. He scribbled notes to himself on the worksheet. I believe I saw him use a highlighter to mark a passage. I tried not to stare, but I could barely conceal my glee. Finally, I forced myself to return my attention to the book I had brought with me...and for the most part I succeeded.

Soon my table neighbor packed up his Bible and his worksheet and went on about his day. I silently wished him "Godspeed" in his studies. Seeing this gentleman engaged in Bible study reminded me of one of the key reasons I felt called to the priesthood in the first place -- to engage the people of God in a conversation with these sacred texts.

I confess that I have struggled somewhat with exactly how I am to facilitate (not dominate) that conversation in the day to day life of this parish. I won't solve that particular difficulty this evening. But I'm thankful for the witness of my anonymous Bible-reading, coffee-sipping fellow disciple...who reminded me by his presence today of the charge issued to me at my ordination -- the charge to be a "pastor, priest, and teacher" (Book of Common Prayer, page 531).

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. (Collect for the Sunday closest to November 16, BCP, p. 236)

Tuesday in the Second Week of Lent

Yesterday, I was reading an essay in which the author noted that the three "givens" in any human society were: politics, economics and religion. His thesis was that these foundational aspects of civilization (as we know/understand it) converged during the Axial Age -- somewhere around 1000 BCE. The author argued that even though societies today may look and behave in a myriad of ways, depending upon their particular histories and contexts, the general organizing effect of politics, economics and religion remains a constant.

I spent a fair amount of time considering the writer's essay. But I wasn't concerned so much with trying to figure out if I agreed with his premise or not. I was captured by the awareness that in this little corner of the Episcopal Church we spend so little time talking intentionally and explicitly about any of those broad themes as a parish community.

Today is "Primary Day" in Wisconsin. "Politics" as we usually think of it -- yard signs, telephone calls, radio and television ads. For the past week, we have been flooded with a deluge of carefully scripted advertisements as the presidential hopefuls work to "get their message out to the voters". And what is a key component of their message? Economic policies and promises.

Over the course of the campaign, each one of the candidates has had to contend with "The God Question" in some form or another. Their particular religious beliefs/practices have been scrutinized by the media. Each candidate has worked to appear "religious enough" to appeal to a broad swath of voters, but not so overly religious as to offend that same demographic.

Politics, economics and religion.

I believe Jesus had plenty to say about those three things. Why are we so silent about them in church? Why am I?

The Second Sunday in Lent


Winter weather had its way with Sunday worship attendance today. An unfortunate slip on some icy pavement has provided me the opportunity to become very acquainted with a heating pad this afternoon.

As the second full week of this holy season begins, I'm aware of the significant challenge involved in living Lent in "the real world". We don't get to stop our world (or even slow it down a bit!) while we gain proficiency in some new spiritual practice. Deadlines, appointments and commitments surround us at work, at school and at home.

Plenty of us have already discovered (again?) the difficulty of maintaining the discipline(s) that we committed to undertake just a few short days ago.

If we have encountered a setback or two, now might be a good opportunity to take a few seconds, pause and reflect on what we've learned from the experience. Seasonal longevity is the great gift of Lent.

At this morning's liturgies, the following solemn prayer was offered over the congregation. The prayer reminds us that we do not travel this pilgrim way unaccompanied and unprotected:

Keep this your family, Lord, with your never-failing mercy, that relying solely on the help of your heavenly grace, they may be upheld by your divine protection; through Christ our
Lord. Amen. (Book of Occasional Services)

Thursday in the First Week of Lent

Earlier this morning, as I clicked my way through the television channels (on my way to the up-to-the-minute weather forecast), I was detoured for about fifteen minutes.

What caught my attention and delayed my rapid-fire march through the infomercial jungle that is euphemistically called "Paid Programming", was a quintessential TV Evangelist. This person was one of the more prominent faith healer types twenty years ago, but I hadn't seen or heard much of him for some time.

On this morning's broadcast, the evangelist was inviting viewers to "phone in" to receive a piece of "Miracle Manna". I found it just a bit odd that the guy was giving away little squares of what looked like a cross between a graham cracker and a piece of matzo.

According to the Bible, when the Israelites were first fed with manna in the wilderness, the food was supplied by God, and showed up every morning scattered about the ground around the campsite. The Children of Israel called the stuff "manna" because they didn't know at first what it was. (Manna literally means, "What is it?"). And the manna had a very short shelf life. The gathering instructions provided by God included the proviso that only a day's worth of manna could be collected at a time. Hoarding was forbidden. Those who hoarded the stuff in disobedience discovered to their dismay the next morning that the heavenly bread had "produced worms and became foul" (Exodus 16:20). The only time one could over-collect manna was in preparation for Sabbath. Pre-sabbath manna remained fresh and worm-free through sundown on the day of rest.

The biblical narrative describes manna as "a fine, flake-like thing, fine as hoarfrost on the ground" (Exodus 16:14). The Miracle Manna I saw this morning was significantly more substantial in terms of texture...and arrives via USPS in a one of those zippered, plastic bags. The biblical manna was meant to provide sustenance for the day (literally "daily bread"). Miracle Manna was being touted as a "point of contact" whereby one could procure an abundance of blessings -- financial, health, relational, etc. -- if one simply followed the specific Miracle Manna instructions that would be sent along with the product by the evangelist.

When the story of the Exodus is retold in the Psalms, there is this great line about the manna:

"So mortals ate the bread of angels;
he provided for them food enough." (Psalm 78:25)

The manna was meant to increase the Israelites faith in and dependence upon God -- to nourish them for their journey.

Admittedly, the self-styled television prophet invites plenty of sarcasm and cynicism as a result of his blatant gimmickery. But I'm fairly certain that there are plenty of decent, hard-working folks "phoning in" to have this hyped-up hardtack sent to them in hopes that their various distresses will be cured by God.

And this is where I get stuck. The people who will wind up on the evangelist's mailing list for future fund-raising solicitations are people in search of spiritual (and other sorts of) nourishment. They are, indeed, hoping for, praying for miracles. Many of them are probably in some degree of desperation -- stuck in situations beyond their control. It's easy for me to get indignant about the manipulative practices of what appears to be a religious huckster.

But, in his own way, the evangelist stands as an indictment of white-collar religious workers like me. How is it that folks would rather send off their money and their hopes to a guy on the TV instead of talking with their local pastor? The easy answer is to say that the people sending their hard-earned cash for a cracker are being duped and it's their own damned fault.

The more difficult response is to remain open to the possibility there are people in desperate situations all around me (even when they live in beautiful houses, drive spiffy cars and are parents of brilliant children)...to open my eyes to see the things I'd rather not see...to open my ears to hear the things I'd rather not hear...to open my heart to encompass the pain of another...to open my hands in assistance...and to open my wallet in an act of generosity.

Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

--Collect for the Fourth Sunday in Lent, Book of Common Prayer, page 219

Wednesday in the First Week of Lent

I've been an Episcopalian long enough now -- a bit over 17 years -- that seasonal hymns actually come to mind from time to time. The Hymnal, 1982 is a treasure trove of poetry, theology, biblical reflection and devotional literature. And here is the hymn I found myself humming early this morning in my daily pre-dawn excursion out into the Wisconsin winter to walk the dog:

Eternal Lord of love, behold your Church
Walking once more the pilgrim way of Lent,
Led by your cloud by day, by night your fire,
Moved by your love and toward your presence bent:
Far off yet here -- the goal of all desire.

So daily dying to the way of self,
So daily living to your way of love,
We walk the road, Lord Jesus, that you trod,
Knowing ourselves baptized into your death:
So we are dead and live with you in God.

If dead in you, so in you we arise,
You the firstborn of all the faithful dead;
And as through stony ground the green shoots break,
Glorious in springtime dress of leaf and flower,
So in the Father's glory shall we all awake.

-- Hymn 149; words by Thomas H. Cain


The first verse of this hymn recalls the communal nature of the Lenten journey. This is the season in which the Church as a whole journeys again toward, and then through, the drama of Jesus' death and resurrection. We walk together as a pilgrim people -- people who are on a path well-traveled by those who've gone before us in the faith. The writer connects the forty days of this season with the forty years that the Israelites sojourned in the Wilderness on their way to the Promised Land -- led by God's Glory in the form of smoke by day/fire by night (Exodus 13:21-22).

I am grateful for the poet's reminder that while we may be "moved by [God's] love", we have to be "bent" toward God's presence. This ongoing spiritual formation is the work of the Spirit and the journey of a lifetime. We don't easily bend our wills...we too often desire to go our own way...and yet in this season a space is created in which we can reflect both on God's presence in our lives -- when God seems to be "far off" and when God is nearer than our next breath.

The second verse captures the two-fold nature of being a follower of Jesus and invokes the imagery of Baptism. Daily dying and daily living. We're never done with this work in this life. We make progress. We have setbacks. Sometimes we manage to get it "right". Other times we fail miserably. But the call of discipleship is not the call to arrive at some mysterious state of perfection. The call of discipleship is to remember that we are people on a "Way"...living, learning and growing.

The final two lines of the second stanza and the allude to two important passages from the New Testament:

"Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of theFather, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his." -- Romans 6:3-5

"Set your mind on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hid with Christ in God." -- Colossians 3:2-3

The third verse continues the death/resurrection imagery and references both Colossians 1:15 in which Jesus is called the "firstborn of all creation" and 1 Corinthians 15:23 in which he is named as the "first fruits" of the resurrection of the dead. We are also reminded of Jesus' words, "Truly, truly I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone, but if it dies, it bears much fruit." (John 12;24). Paul also uses the seed/shoot metaphor in his wrestling with the meaning of "resurrection" towards the end of 1 Corinthians 15, "...what you sow does not come to life unless it dies. And what you sow is not the body which is to be, but a bare kernal...but God gives it a body as he has chosen..." (verses 36-38)

Perhaps because I tend to over-verbalize, I'm always moved by a poet's ability to compress so much meaning into a very few lines. Concentrated theology and a bible study set to music, what a way to be formed in the Faith!

Now I'm off to continue walking the "pilgrim way of Lent" -- singing as I go.

Tuesday in the First Week of Lent

For the third consecutive year, a group of folks are gathering every weekday morning during Lent at 6:30 a.m. (yes, even on Saturdays!) to engage in the wonderfully monastic/Anglican tradition of reading the "Daily Office" -- also known as "Morning Prayer".

The service consists of prayers, reading of the Psalms and other lessons from the Bible as well as some time of intercession and thanksgiving. The entire process takes about 30 minutes and provides a disciplined way of beginning one's day and focusing one's attention in the unfolding process of observing this holy season of Lent.

One of the adaptations we've made to the Office here at Trinity is the decision to read books of the Bible "in course" (sequentially) rather than follow the prescribed Lectionary in the Book of Common Prayer. This year we're moving through Genesis, Hebrews and Matthew.

Today, I was noticing how certain themes/terms are woven throughout the biblical texts, and how those themes pass right by us if we're not paying attention -- for instance the word "covenant".

In the passage from Genesis (chapters 8 and 9) this morning we read how God had established a covenant (made a promise) through Noah with all of humankind -- the promise was that God would never again flood the entire earth -- and the "seal" or visible symbol that God could be trusted to keep God's word was the rainbow. Noah's response to the deliverance his family received through the flood was to offer sacrifices of various sorts of ceremonially "clean" animals.

In the reading from Hebrews (chapter 9), we heard about the "covenant" that God established with the Children of Israel through Moses and mitigated by the Aaronic/Levitical priesthoods of Israel -- institutionalized in the various iterations of temple worship.

The symbol of this set of promises was the "Ark of the Covenant" -- a gold-covered box that contained a jar of manna, the God-provided bread from the Israelite's Wilderness Wanderings, the miraculous staff of Aaron, Moses's brother, and the actual stone tablets upon which the Ten Commandments had been inscribed. The Ark of the Covenant was housed in the innermost sanctuary of the portable Tabernacle (during the Exodus) and later in the Temple. This sanctuary was called the "Holiest of Holies".

Afixed to top of the Ark of the Covenant was an empty chair called the "Mercy Seat". This seat signified the presence of the invisible God who could not be contained by a visible representation (also known as a "graven image"). Once a year the High Priest entered behind the veil of the Holiest of Holies and offered special sacrifices on behalf of the people.

The writer of Hebrews connects the work of the Aaronic/Levitical priesthood with Jesus' offering of himself in his death on the cross. In the writer's understanding, Jesus has established a "new covenant" (the seal of which is Jesus' own self). By virtue of the resurrection, Jesus has passed into a heavenly "Holiest of Holies" (of which the Temple version was simply a copy). own self.

All of this raises interesting issues for reflection.

In all of these instances, the covenant with Noah, the covenant with Moses/the Children of Israel and the covenant through the Person and Work of Jesus, the initiator of the action is God. God makes the overtures to a person, Noah (who had found "favor" in the eyes of God). God makes an overture to an entire people (the Children of Israel) through Moses. God makes an overture to all of humankind through Jesus.

These covenants are one-sided in that God provides all of the stipulations and human beings provide the appropriate responses. How does God "deciding for us" collide with our Western idolization of the autonomy of the self, and our assumption that individual agency/decision is sacrosanct.

How are these covenants related? While the writer to the Hebrews clearly believes that in Jesus the covenant through Moses is "superceded", I'm not sure that this sort of reading is particularly helpful in the ongoing Christian dialogue with our Jewish sisters and brothers.

This raises a question about biblical interpretation. How do we engage in a thoughtful conversation with the texts of scripture without either: dismissing them out of hand because they contradict our sensibilities or glibly assuming that the text "says what it means and means what it says"?

Of course the connection of Jesus' death on the cross with the sacrificial system of the Aaronic/Levitical priesthood (Hebrews 9:25, 26) raises all sorts of questions. Certainly, the writers of the New Testament would have had this imagery in their cultural understanding. Nonetheless, the Church has struggled for sometime to articulate the way in which Jesus' death is a part of the saving acts of God in history. How does Jesus' death seal a new covenant from God to humankind? Or is Jesus' example the seal? Or is his resurrection? Or all of it? Or none of it?

To wrestle with these sorts of questions is the work of theology...and not theology done strictly in the lofty towers of academia, but in the trenches of our day to day work, relationships and worship.

Just a few rambles after a few minutes hearing the "Word of the Lord" at 6:30 a.m. this morning!

Greetings!

If you're reading this, you've probably arrived here from a link posted on the Trinity Episcopal Church (Wauwatosa, Wisconsin) website ( http://www.trinitywauwatosa.org )...thanks for stopping by.

This brief entry is the proverbial first step in my own journey toward writing reflections on parish life (with the hope that they may actually be of benefit to someone!).

Lent provided the appropriate seasonal framework for me to take up this project again after several aborted attempts. Blogging as spiritual discipline? Who knew?

Speaking of spiritual disciplines, Morning Prayer begins in the Chapel in a few minutes and so I need to make my way across the parking lot to the Church Building. More verbiage to follow.