The Second Sunday of Easter

Did Thomas doubt?
Or did he simply need more information?
Was seeing the Risen Christ proof enough for a lifetime?
Or did the vividness of the encounter fade with each passing year?
Did Thomas ever doubt his own experience?

Does belief require...
Unflinching acceptance of doctrine?
Or squelching questions?
Or wearing the facade of certainty?

I doubt it.

Saturday in Easter Week

One of my favorite webstops these days is America Public Media's "Speaking of Faith" (The host, Krista Tippett, has recently authored a book by the same title). In addition to interviews with writers, poets, religious leaders and the like, the site has a feature called "SoundSeen".

This morning, I discovered an episode detailing the story of J. S. Bach's personal bible. The journey of that bible, from 18th century Europe to 21st century Missouri is a fascinating one. The story is set to a selection from Bach's Mass in B Minor.

http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/pelikan/ss_bachsbible/ss-bachsbible.shtml#slideshow

Enjoy!

Friday in Easter Week

I can't remember the first time I used the word "Peace" as a sign-off line in an e-mail. I probably opted for that word as opposed to things like "yours truly" and "sincerely" because those sorts of endings sounded like things that required a real signature on real letterhead. Besides, "Peace" was a word that was "religious enough" without being overtly pious. Calculated? Maybe. Unreflective? Absolutely.

With all of the thinking and praying I've been doing this week concerning the ongoing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, I've changed my signature line in e-mails to read, "In the hope of peace". Somewhere, St. Paul says that "hope does not disappoint", so I do not believe that my hope for peace is a pipedream.

I remember a particularly moving moment in the sermon I heard on Christmas Eve, 1990 (my first liturgy in an Episcopal Church). The priest said, "Christmas is the time of year when the Church proclaims 'Peace on earth!' and there is not peace on earth, or peace in our country, or peace in our town, or peace in our hearts. And I don't know why. But the hope of Christmas and Easter, embodied both in the Babe in Bethlehem and the Resurrected Lord, is that God's Peace will come."

When I pray, "thy kingdom come" every Sunday at the Eucharist, I am reminded that God's kingdom is a peaceable one. I am reminded that at some level, the community of faith is to embody that peaceableness as it gathers to receive the Body and Blood. I am reminded that the exchange of "the Peace" in the liturgy isn't an opportunity for meeting and greeting -- it is the enactment of a hope -- a hope that one day humankind will cease relearning the horrific, death-dealing lessons of war.

Eternal God, in whose perfect kingdom no sword is drawn but the sword of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the banner of the Prince of Peace, as children of one Father; to whom be dominion and glory, now and for ever. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer, p. 815)

Thursday in Easter Week

In the midst of life we are in death;
from whom can we seek help?
From you alone, O Lord,
who by our sins are justly angered.

Holy God, Holy and Mighty,
Holy and merciful Savior,
deliver us not into the bitterness of eternal death.
(The Book of Common Prayer, page 492)

The above words are taken from the second set of opening anthems appointed for use at the Burial Office. These anthems emphasize themes of God's righteous judgment and the utter dependence of human beings upon the largess of God's mercy. Given their content and tone, it's easy to see why they're not often recited at funerals these days. But, I believe the starkness of the language is particularly appropriate as U.S. Christians contemplate the continuing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Harper's Magazine offered the following "Wages of War" statistics in the February, 2008 issue:

$500 Billion -- Projected total cost of medical care for U.S. veterans of Iraq/Afghanistan.
1:1 -- Ratio of this expense to total military spending on both wars so far.
1 in 4 -- Chances an Iraq war veteran who has served 2+ tours
now has post-traumatic stress disorder.
102 -- Number of confirmed suicides in the U.S. Army in 2006.

The war in Iraq, now in its sixth year, has claimed the lives of 4,000 U.S. service personnel.

Earlier this week, The Cathedral of St. James in Chicago unveiled a tribute to those who have died in service of this country:

http://www.episcopalchurch.org/81803_95975_ENG_HTM.htm

I understand that the "justness" of this war and the circumstances that precipitated it continue to be debated. I recognize that people of faith have conflicting opinions. I'm fully aware that there is no clear-cut, direct way that would lead to an "immediate withdrawal" of the U.S. military presence in Iraq.

In the face of these complexities, I confess I have taken the easy way out. I have retreated into the safety of preaching a comfortable Gospel to a more-or-less comfortable congregation. A privatized faith may easily become a paralyzed one, but at least no one goes home from church angry and the operating budget remains stable. In the meantime, dedicated, honor-bound military personnel bleed out and die thousands of miles away from their loved ones.

I wonder. How does the Empty Tomb comfort those who have lost loved ones in Iraq and Afghanistan? How does that same Tomb confront preachers like me who fail to speak a word of life and peace in the midst of death and war?

Wednesday in Easter Week

Easter isn't simply a day in the Church. Easter is a season!

Known as "The Great Fifty Days", Eastertide extends from the Sunday of the Resurrection through The Day of Pentecost ("pentecost" meaning 50). The first 40 days of the season commemorate the various appearances of the Risen Lord to his followers. The final 10 days remind the Church of the time those followers waited in prayer for the sending of the Spirit after Christ's Ascension.

Eastertide invites the Church to consider what it means to live as "resurrection people" when the human condition is scarred by fear and death. Since Sunday, I've been contemplating the Easter sermon given by Rowan Williams, The Archbishop of Canterbury. That sermon engages this issue directly and with power. The Archbishop's words are not full of pastel platitudes and breezy sentimentality. This sermon starkly reminds us of our helplessness in the face of death and proclaims the power of God that has turned death inside out.

You may read the sermon here: http://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/1634

Easter Day

My Lenten experiment with blogging comes to an end today. I haven't decided whether or not I will continue this discipline. But after a week's worth of sermons for Holy Week, I think I've said enough for a while. Happy Easter.

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Holy Saturday

A little later this morning, the church building will be abuzz with activity -- as the worship space is bedecked for the celebration of Easter -- silver polishing, pew dusting, flower arranging.

But before all of the hum and hubbub gets underway, a few of us will gather in the Chapel to observe the Liturgy for Holy Saturday...an often overlooked page in the Book of Common Prayer. The prayer for this service firmly locates us on the timeline of the Holy Week drama:

O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. (BCP, p. 283)

Holy Saturday reminds us not to race ahead...beckons us to remember that those first followers of Jesus didn't know what would happen next (so they couldn't busily distract themselves from the grief and horror of his death). Those first disciples sat in their uncertainty and took refuge from their confusion in each other's company.

Holy Saturday challenges us to BE STILL...to sit with the graveness and grayness of living when our pretenses of certainty are stripped away.

Holy Saturday beckons us to live in hope even as we squarely face the powers of death.

Good Friday

I never attended a worship service on Good Friday until I became an Episcopalian. In the church of my childhood, hymns and sermons with Good Friday themes permeated the entire year. We sang hymns like:

On a hill far away, stood an old rugged cross;
The emblem of suffering and shame,
And 'twas on that old cross, where the Dearest and Best;
For a world of lost sinners was slain.
Or
There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood;
Lose all their guilt and stain.
Or
Would you be free from the burden of sin?
There's pow'r in the blood! Pow'r in the blood!
Would you o'er evil, the victory win?
There's wonderful pow'r in the blood!
Or
Alas! And did my Savior bleed! And did my Sovereign die!
Would he devote that sacred head, for sinners such as I?
At the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light,
And the burdens of my heart rolled away;
It was there by faith, I recieved my sight;
And now I am happy all the day.

Most of the sermons preached in that church included some retelling of or reference to Jesus' death on the cross. Blood. Suffering. Death. These are dark, disturbing themes. But in my childhood church, it was clearly understood that Jesus took up the agony of the cross to reclaim all of humanity, one individual at a time, as God's own.

These days, I would want to argue that Jesus' death cannot be understood apart from Jesus' life and ministry. The Son of God not only died "for" us; he lived "for" us as well. The life that he lived and the death that he died tell us something about God's very Being.

On Good Friday we are vividly reminded that, for Christians, theoretical abstractions do not bring about the healing and wholeness of salvation. God did not send an "idea"! In Jesus, God offered God's own Self. As much as we might like to drain the blood of Jesus from our religious language, we cannot. As much as we may wish it otherwise, the Church (yes, even Episcopalians) proclaims Christ crucified. And today, above all days, is the day to ponder a sacred mystery we will never solve.

Maundy Thursday

Two days ago, in his sermon to the clergy of the Diocese of Milwaukee, our Bishop exhorted us to "prophesy, proclaim Christ and pray". He challenged us toward a renewal of those three activities within the contexts of our various areas of service. I admit that I've been mentally stuck on the first point of the Bishop's sermon ever since.

What would it mean for a priest to "prophesy"?

Oh, I understand what the word means. The prophetic role in the Hebrew tradition (and continuing with the ministries of John the Baptist and Jesus) was to speak the "Word of the Lord" to the powers (political and religious) on behalf of those whose voices went unheard. Prophets needled and agitated the status quo. Prophets critiqued the hypocrisy of scrupulously attending to the ceremonials of religion as a form, while missing the point of the worship altogether. To trample the poor, to ignore the widows and orphans, to treat the foreigner with contempt -- these sorts of behaviors, said the prophets, pointed out the deadness of religion when eviscerated of ethical ramifications. Hollow worship, the prophets argured, is the hallmark of hypocrisy.

People in power (then as now) had prophets on the payroll, but these prophets-for-hire were mostly depicted as subservient to the whims of their benefactors. Prophets who had been captured by "the Word of the Lord", on the other hand, lived on the fringes -- without a stipend or a housing allowance or an expense account or a pension or health insurance. As Jesus said, "The foxes have holes, the birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head."

Prophets often had a common fate. They wound up running from the authorities, or in exile, or in prison...or dead -- a theme replayed in the 20th century in the lives of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Archbishop Romero -- just to name a few.

In the Middle Class American culture of piety-driven, privatized, individualistic and self-improvement oriented religion there's never been a greater need for prophesying. I simply wonder about the hypocrisy involved when a person who derives her/his livelihood from such a system attempts to critique it. I wonder.

Can any prophesying really take place when sustaining pastoral tenure, growing a parochial budget and attending to the maintenance of congregational/denominational infrastructure occupies the bulk of our time and energy as professional church workers? Do a few formulaic and perfunctory "prophetic soundbites" sprinkled judiciously in a sermon here or there constitute "prophesying"? Are we prepared to have prophetic words confused with partisan agendas?

I have no solution to my conundrum -- just gnawing questions.

Wednesday in Holy Week

The next dramatic movement in this sacred week occurs tomorrow evening -- with the remembrance of Jesus' instution of the Eucharist and his washing of the disciples' feet.

Most people who will participate in the tens of thousands of Maundy Thursday services across the globe already know the story...they know how it unfolds...they know the characters...they know "who does what"...they know how it will end on Good Friday...and they know how the finality of Good Friday will be obliterated at first light on Easter.

So if we all know the story, why bother? Why not look for a different story? In a culture obsessed with novelty, why not spend our time with something new?

Retelling the story -- literally "re-membering" it -- individually and corporately, enables us to bridge the distance of time and culture. In these next few days, the story of Jesus' Passion is brought forward -- from the "there and then" of the streets of Jerusalem to the "here and now" of Main Street, USA. This is not simply any story after all, this is THE story -- the story of God-with-us and God-FOR-us. This is the story of the Son of God who journeys to the far country of human sin and frailty.

Here is God: no monarch he, throned in easy state to reign:
Here is God, whose arms of love aching, spent, the world sustain.
(The Hymnal, 1982; #585)

Tuesday in Holy Week

Today I attended the annual "Chrismal Mass and Reaffirmation of Ordination Vows" at All Saints' Cathedral in Milwaukee.

Holy Week is the traditional time for bishops to bless the holy oils that are used when praying for the sick and when the newly baptized are marked with the sign of the cross. This week also presents a specific opportunity for those of us in "holy orders" to reflect upon the vows we made at our ordinations.

During today's renewal of vows, I was reminded that much of the work I am called to do as a priest doesn't look like work. Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough work to me either. Being consistent in "prayer and study" doesn't directly result in more members or higher pledge income. Praying and studying doesn't patch roofs or increase religious customer satisfaction.

In a culture that idolizes productivity, I can feel out of place. When my son asks, "What did you do at work today?" I'm often at a loss for words to answer him. Faced with being an anachronism, I can easily devolve towards expending copious amounts of energy attempting to be useful amd productive. And in those efforts I can lose sight of the essence of priesthood itself.

Monday in Holy Week

From the Psalm appinted for today: "How priceless is your love, O God!" (Psalm 36.7a)

Think about it!
God's love -- beyond any conceivable valuation --"priceless".
Priceless love given to cost-conscious humanity -- free of charge.
Priceless love that did exact a cost from God -- the giving of God's own Self in Jesus.

Palm Sunday

Christians everywhere began walking the way of the cross today.
We reflect on the events recorded for us in Scripture.
We imagine. We wonder. We question. We pray.
The rawness of the Passion of Jesus confronts us at every turn.
Distraction, in the form of our "responsibilities", is a welcome relief.
Wearing a cross is one thing; staring at Jesus on his is quite another.

Saturday in the Fifth Week of Lent

I've been following with some interest the furor surrounding a few sermons given by The Reverend Jeremiah Wright, Jr., retired pastor of Trinity United Church of Christ (and church community of Barak Obama). In a mere two days, Mr. Obama's responses have progressed from distancing himself from the Rev'd. Mr. Wright's comments on issues of race in America and the September 11 terrorist attacks to "denouncing" those statements. This morning, I read that the Obama campaign has announced Mr. Wright's departure from the campaign's "spiritual advisory committee" so as not to be a detriment to the campaign itself.

I've read excerpts from several sermons in question and watched an ABC News report that played the videos of those same segments. The pastor's comments did indeed contain some highly charged rhetoric; words that some would hear as pastorally insensitive, inflammatory or even, "anti-American". And yet, I wonder how it is that Mr. Wright's sermons are heard as politically reckless and dangerous and the words of Jesus from the Gospels are not?

If Jesus' message of liberation was merely a "spiritual" one, he could have been easily written off by the religious/political leaders of his time -- just another milquetoast do-gooder with his head in the metaphysical clouds. Instead he was crucified. His words were too dangerous for public consumption. He had to be silenced. To be sure, Holy Week is about more than first century politics...but the salvific significance of Jesus' death has to take into account the political context of the time.

Whether or not I personally agree with the content of these sermons preached by Mr. Wright is immaterial. This pastor wasn't running for public office, rather he was engaging in a particular sort of conversation with and for the congregation he served at the time. This entire episode challenges me as a preacher. Is the purpose of the pastoral pulpit simply to give an interesting history lecture? To provide a motivational talk? To spout pious platitudes that are irrelevant (or incoherent) to most people in the pews, but are at least benign and pose no challenge to the systems of power that are unjust or oppressive? To practice a practical Gnosticism in which peoples' "spiritual" concerns are abstracted from the rest of their lives? To buttress a tame and manageable civil religion of good works?

I remember a classmate of mine in seminary joking that the best sermons clothed perfectly forgettable content within a dramatic and entertaining delivery. Perhaps my friend's joke was closer to the truth than either of us would care to admit.

Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent -- Part 2

Today's sunshine and warmer temperatures continued to work their melting magic on the near-glacial piles of snow that have covered the ground for most of the past several months. Some patches of moisture-soaked, muddy ground lie exposed here and there. The gurgle of streams of melted snow sing the song of a hoped-for spring as they flow into the web of storm drains. Water hisses from the tires of passing vehicles. And while I know the possibility for yet another snowstorm remains, for today at least, spring was in the air...and it was VERY GOOD!

Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent

I've been working on sermons this afternoon -- attempting to get a jump on the Holy Week Homiletical Marathon that will begin on Palm Sunday (March 16). Six sermons/homilies in eight days -- sort of gets the revivalist in me revved! We'll see if that enthusiasm translates to any sort of coherence!

In other news, I finished reading Jim Palmer's second book, Wide Open Spaces today. I know I've already mentioned the book, but I thought I'd share a few lines from the end of the book. Palmer writes, "Once you wipe away all the religious labels, there are only two kinds of people in this world: those who are awake and those who are asleep." (p. 195)

That sentence made me wonder. Do our religious activities awaken us to the truth of God at work in the world about us and in our own lives? Or are we so worn out by those activities that we are spiritually numb?

Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

When I was a kid, my dad often put a "fuel additive" into our family auto's gas tank once or twice a month. The purpose of the concoction was to stop knocks and pings, improve acceleration and generally to act as sort of a preventative tonic for the fuel system.

Does this image offer a metaphor for how many of us treat our relationship with God? We drop into the spiritual filling station (a.k.a. "church") and hopefully get some sort of boost that will enable us to face the week ahead. With this model of religion/spirituality as add-on, it's important to get the best quality additive dispensed by the most efficient delivery system -- the hope being that a quality product will mean fewer trips to the station over time, thus freeing up more time in our schedule for other pressing issues.

I'm wondering these days if the spiritual life isn't more about subtraction than addition. What are the things we could release that would lighten our burdens and help us recover the spring in our step? What if our call isn't to try to "do" one more thing for God? What if God is calling us to let go of our fixation with activity and production? What if we could simply be aware of God's presence in our lives? Of God's unending love for us?

I wonder if our spirits are sluggish and non-responsive simply because they are clogged and overburdened by our unwillingness to let go of all the "stuff" we think we have to haul around with us from day to day. What would it be like to release some of that goop -- the hurts, the anger, the grievances, the unrealistic expectations (of ourselves and others), or our perpetual desire for perfection?

Has Lent lightened our load? If we're more burdened now than when we began the journey, perhaps we've missed the point:

Jesus said, "Come to me all you that labor and are heavy burdened and I will refresh you. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11:28,29

Monday in the Fifth Week of Lent -- Part 2

Today, I received in my e-mail an article regarding the U.S. Religious Landscape Survey conducted by the Pew Forum on Religion.

This survey is the most comprehensive study of religious trends in the U.S. ever conducted and the results of that work are thought-provoking. For example, here in Wisconsin, the percentage of those surveyed identifying themselves as either Mainline Protestant or Catholic (23% and 29% respectively) is higher than the national average. The percentage of those responding who identified themselves as having no religious affiliation (16%) is consistent with the national average.

One of the trends that the survey highlights is "membership churn" -- the tendency of folks in our culture to change traditions within the Christian religion. As a former Pentecostal, nearly Presbyterian, sometime Southern Baptist, now dyed-in-the-wool Episcopalian, I can identify with the how our life experiences, education and personal preferences influence the choices we make regarding religious affiliation.

Here's the link if you'd like to read more about the survey: http://religions.pewforum.org/

Monday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Last week, I shared one of my favorite prayers from the Prayer Book with the folks who've been gathering every weekday morning during Lent to read Morning Prayer together. I was introduced to the prayer a dozen years ago...but it's not in a place that a person would readily find it. The prayer appears at the bottom of a page that is entitled: "Prayers for Use by a Sick Person". I think it's also a good one for people who are (by medical standards anyway) "healthy".

I share it with anyone reading these rambles in hopes that its straightforward wording will assist us in focusing our attention when we greet our days each morning:

This is another day, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently. And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus. Amen. (BCP, page 461)

Saturday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Before I left on my trip to Florida, I finished reading one of the two "Lenten Books" I had chosen to be my companions during the season.

Divine Nobodies: Shedding Religion to Find God (and the unlikely people who help you), is Jim Palmer's story of following Jesus...even when that path has led out of the four walls of the organized church and into the daily challenges of work and relationships and through the difficult work of coming to terms with one's own past. I found Jim's candor, humor and sincerity of heart engaging and thought-provoking. Given all that he has been through, I find it remarkable that he writes with such warmth and grace.

Jim has seen the difficulties that are present in the way we "do church" in this country (regardless of theological persuasion). His critique is without rancor...he simply wonders, as do I, if "church" with its focus on "bringing people in" has forgotten that the primary call of the Gospel of Jesus is to "send people out". In his book he witnesses to the witnesses -- the under-the-radar-disciples who minister through their daily work -- from his usual waitress at the Waffle House to the guy who owns a local auto repair shop to the former rock guitarist who runs a retreat house for burned-out clergy.

You can read Jim's blog at: http://www.divinenobodies.com/blog/

So, my lenten reading took a detour...I'm now about 1/2 of the way through Jim's second book, Wide Open Spaces: Beyond Paint by Number Christianity...again, I am captivated by his ability to ask the difficult questions concerning organized religion and still remain such a devoted follower of the Way of Jesus.

Around the Episcopal Church, we talk a good bit about the idea that "the church is the people"...but we seem to invest the bulk of our resources of time, human energy and money into the machinery of preserving the status quo -- buildings, programs and staffing. I recognize the hypocrisy of the preceding statement. As a "paid religious professional", I understand that I embody, to some degree, the status quo.

This past Thursday, I had two distinct experiences that relate to this particular ramble:

In the morning, I attended a committee meeting for the diocese in which I serve. We opened the meeting in prayer and then spent the next few hours wrangling over policies and procedures. I couldn't help notice a feeling of deja vu -- the meeting was a continuation of plenty of other meetings I have attended in the past 17 years as an Episcopalian.

I understand that policies and procedures are important. I understand that there are issues of management and fiduciary responsibility. But by the time I had to leave the first meeting (still in progress), I wondered if one person would be brought to a deeper understanding of the Faith and how to live in the joy of that Faith as a result of what we had been doing. We seem to spend so much time managing old things we never can quite get around to beginning new things. I continue to pray that we don't confuse our attempts at managing the organizational life of the church with the actual proclamation of the Gospel.

In the afternoon, I attended a meeting of a local professional association to hear a presentation entitled: "Transforming Today's Challenges into Tomorrow's Solutions". There were about 60 people present. I was a guest in the room (sans collar), but I noticed immediately the energy as friends greeted each other, asked each other about family situations, offered suggestions on business related issues (websites, virtual offices, book publishing, prospecting, product development, etc.). I was interested that, in some sense, the people in this association were competitors, and yet they were openly sharing the ideas that had worked for them in procuring more clients.

At our several breaks, people came up to me and introduced themselves to me...a decided difference from many of my experiences at Episcopal Church "coffee hours". They inquired about what I did for a living. To a person (I had about 10 of these encounters), these folks expressed a curiosity about why a priest would be interested in their topic.

I did my best to explain that the challenges addressed by the presenter were universal to most organizations (including the Episcopal Church). One person said, "Every clergy person I've met is sincere and dedicated, but they are so out of touch with what their parishioners are going through out here in the real world, it's depressing to even try to listen to one of their sermons." I wonder if that comment was the truth I was sent to the meeting to learn.

I can't overstate the stark difference in the energy of the two meetings. The second was punctuated by much laughter, a few people brought the group up to date on various personal struggles and several members expressed appreciation for the ways in which they had benefited personally and professionally through their association with this organization. And there was even an offering! (The proceeds of the collection went into the organization's scholarship fund to assist students in their college studies.)

We gathered around tables for dinner and the "members" intentionally sat with the "strangers". The lively conversation continued. The meeting started when the agenda said it would start and ended when the agenda said it would end. While this wasn't a "religious" gathering, I wondered if I hadn't experienced more of what church could be in the second meeting than in the first.

Maybe I've been reading Jim Palmer too closely!

Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Earlier this afternoon, I was standing in what seemed to be an unending line at the Wisconsin Department of Motor Vehicles. There were probably two hundred folks in the building...all with various sorts of auto-related needs. I finally collected "my number" to await my turn and took my seat.

Since I anticipated the wait would be long, I had brought along a book to keep me company during the wait. The book is entitled, "No More Mondays"...and is geared toward assisting people in developing an entrepeneurial mindset at work. Fairly benign. I read this sort of stuff all the time -- usually hoping for a new insight or idea that will help me strengthen some key managerial competency.

I was oblivious to others around me...engaged in my reading, when from out of nowhere, I heard someone say, "I hope that isn't so!" I didn't realize that the comment was directed at me, so I kept reading. Then I heard it again, more emphatic this time, "Pastor, I really hope that isn't so!!!" I looked up, and saw the person sitting across from me with a furrowed brow.

"What do you hope isn't so?" I asked.

He replied, "Look at the back of your book."

I complied with his request and discovered the following words in HUGE letters on the back of the dustjacket -- "Is your job making you stupid?"

Lesson learned. Note to self -- never forget that the collar stands out in a crowd!

And for the record, the answer to the question (to the best of my knowledge) is, "No."

Tuesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

I returned from my Florida travels late yesterday afternoon. Sunday was a wonderfully full day reconnecting with old friends and meeting some new ones. The St. Peter's community continues to seek ways in which it can offer a witness for the Gospel in an area that has changed dramatically demographically and economically over the past two decades. There is a great deal of positive energy in the place and I was honored to be a part of it again.

One key component to the Southern cultural experience is "church". I was reminded again just how central involvement with/in a congregation is in that part of the country, and how openly people talk about their particular community of faith. From what I could tell, most congregations were reaping the benefit of the growth in the area. But the congregation that seemed to be generating the most "buzz" around town is a new (around a year old) non-denominational church called "Journey Church" ( http://www.thejourneyfamily.com/ ).

This congregation, which meets in a former K-Mart store, is presently averaging somewhere in the neighborhood of 500 or so in attendance every weekend. One of my relatives visited there recently and took note of the fact that she was the only person in the congregation over the age of 55. Apparently the worship experience has a high production value and even at this stage of the congregation's development there is a full slate of programming for all ages. The focus of the congregation is relevance and mission. One of the stories about the congregation that was told to me by at least a half dozen people was the huge Christmas event they put together last year -- raising over $120,000 and providing Christmas gifts to around 300 families (800 children).

Granted, this church is in a part of the country where the soil is fertile for new congregations, but there seems to be a good deal of organizational momentum even at this early stage in its life. And even though I'm one of those staid, careful Episcopalians, I have to admit that I'm intrigued about the way in which this congregation has gone about engaging the community of which it is a part.

For what it's worth, I find myself praying that rather than dismissing efforts like "Journey Church" out of hand (or attempting to copy their programming with a mainline twist), those of us in more established denominational traditions would open ourselves to the possibility that the wind of God's Spirit continues to brood over the Church in all of its diversity, breathing new life and new energy into the proclamation of the Good News of the Gospel.