Cotton Candy and Church

Over the weekend, I happened to see a food show called "Unwrapped". The premise of the series in general is to go behind the scenes to inform the viewer about the history of a particular food, or (as in this episode) how various foods are made. The subject du jour was "summertime treats" -- and I got to learn about an ice cream confection called a "Drumstick", frozen lemonade, gelato, frozen custard (a real Wisconsin favorite), salt water taffy and of course, cotton candy.

As it happens, there's only one ingredient in cotton candy -- a particular sort of refined sugar. The trick to making the stuff is the cotton candy machine. The key components of the contraption are a heating element, a spinning wheel and a huge bowl. The sugar is poured into the wheel, the heating element melts the sugar, and as the wheel spins, centrifugal force moves the liquified sugar through tiny holes in the wheel. As the thin jets of liquid hit the atmosphere, the sugar resolidifies, this time as tiny floss-like filaments that are collected onto a paper cone -- cotton candy!!!

Anyone who's ever had cotton candy can probably recall the rapidity with which it goes from something to little of nothing once inside the mouth -- nothing more than a bit of sugar infused with some food coloring and a shot of "flavoring". Not much nutritional value. Not very filling.

With all of the ecclesiastical machinery we employ in and around church, and with all of the organizational spinning we do to produce a product that will appeal to the discriminating tastes of potential "members", I wonder.

Have we substituted the sugar of "relevance" and "meeting needs" for the substance of discipleship? When people leave our liturgies, do they have anything to chew on for the rest of the week? Or does our "product" melt into nothingness in the heat of everyday life?

Roaming through Romans for June 29

The latest background information for the weekly sermon on Romans can be found here:
http://www.trinitywauwatosa.org/weekly_bulletin.iml

Preaching on the Inside

Nearly every day, for the better part of three years, I stared at the first few words of Matthew 28:19, "Go ye therefore into all the world and teach all nations..." (KJV). The verse was boldly emblazoned over the stained glass windows in the chapel at the seminary I attended. Those words were a daily reminder of why I was attending seminary in the first place.

Six years after commencement and two congregations later, figuring out how to embody "The Great Commission" feels much more complicated. I can't be in "all the world"...so I work in a ministry often called the "local parish". I spend most days on a corner lot in a well-to-do suburb in Southeast Wisconsin. My commute from the backdoor of the rectory to the office door at the church is all of 30 paces.

My weekly efforts at preaching are largely directed at the same people (although each week brings a different configuration of people in the congregation). But after four years, I know where most people sit on a given Sunday. I also know where many of them stand on an assortment of issues. I know who will shake my hand at the main door and who will duck out the side doors for a quicker exit to the sidewalk (or to the after-liturgy refreshments in the parish hall). I'm guessing that by now most people have learned how to tune me out when I'm riding one of my favorite hobbyhorses. To quote the writer in Ecclesiastes, "there's nothing new under the sun."

How do I square up the command of Jesus to "go into the world" when I'm so much a part of a mainline denomination that often seems more defined by staying in place than ever attempting to go anywhere?

Oh, I know. My job is to "equip the saints" so that they can go into the world of their every day lives. That's what I've been told anyway. I wonder though. How do we get past all of the church-speak? How do we give a theological and mission-oriented rationale for keeping a clergyperson on the payroll? Is there such a rationale? When did ministry become organizational development? When did mission take a backseat to management?

I'm still naive enough to believe that the Gospel has world-changing, death-ending, life-giving power. From several conversations I've had lately outside of the "Episcopal ghetto", I know that there are people just beyond this block who are interested in learning more about the Way of Jesus...even if they aren't convinced about the so-called "organized church". My prayer is that being collared by the church won't degenerate into imprisonment behind the ramparts of an institution more concerned about fortifying itself against the culture than engaging that culture with the message of Jesus.

My call in the meantime, though, appears to be preaching on the inside...hoping against hope that somehow a few seeds of the Gospel will find their way off this corner and out into world we've all been commissioned to "go forth into".

Serious Sin

I remember some years ago preaching a sermon in which the word "sin" appeared -- in fact that was the subject of the sermon. In the days leading up to the sermon, I talked with several people about it, and a number of them cautioned my not to get "too fundamentalist" in the sermon. One person in particular said, "People come to church to be uplifted, sin will put a damper on the mood of the service." Indeed.

This coming Sunday's reading from Romans is all about the offensive notion of sin, including one of the favorite verses of street preachers, "The wages of sin is death..." (Romans 6:23a)

Last summer, on vacation with my son in New York City, we exited the subway station near Central Park and found ourselves greeted by one of those street preachers. As it happened, this particular evangelist was vehemently reminding each and every subway rider of the wages of sin. In typical New York fashion, people were scurrying by the sidewalk prophet, concentrating on moving down the way as quickly as possible.

But, after I had heard the recitation of the first half of Romans 6:23 no less than 6 times (with varying volumes and emphases), I turned, went back to the preacher and said, "Have you read the rest of that verse? It says, 'but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord!'" And then I went on my way. The street prophet was stunned into silence.

As I've reflected on that episode over the past year, I've thought about two things:

1. Until the Church embraces a robust understanding of Sin, the gift of "eternal life" will be eviscerated of its life-changing power.

2. A robust understanding of God's eternal life at work within us as a free and complete gift is Good News that will reorient our entire way of being in the world.

I'm guessing that people don't need convincing of the "wages of Sin"...they see the payoff from Sin every time they turn on the television or read the newspaper. Convincing people that eternal life is free and utter gift -- now that's a challenge.

Maybe we will never get serious about the power of eternal life until we fully understand the power of Sin to keep us estranged from God, each other and even ourselves.

Eye to Eye Church

Recently, I had a conversation with someone who has been a part of a "house church" for the past few years. The group meets once a week for two hours of Bible study, prayer, the sharing of faith stories and a simple Eucharist around the dining room table.

Once a month, everyone brings some food to share and there's a "potluck brunch". There are a couple of retired clergy (of different denominations) who provide some degree of liturgical leadership, but that's more at the request of the rest of the group than any sense that the clergy are somehow "starting a new church". In fact, there is no plan for "growth" in the numerical sense. Everyone is aware that there will likely come a day when the group may either disband or divide...there is no illusion of permanence.

The person I spoke with admitted that this group doesn't provide the typical religious services that would make them attractive to families with small children. There's no youth group. There are no women's groups. There's no budget. There are no committees or committee meetings. If the group needs some supplies for one thing or another, they take up a collection. Since there's no paid staff or building overhead, expenses are at a minimum. They make their decisions about group outreach/mission projects (they try to do one or two major ones each year) on the fly. There's no strategic plan.

The person described the ways in which his spiritual life had been deepened through his connection with these 10-14 people over the years. He said, "When there's a dozen of you sitting around the table looking each other in the eye, there's nowhere to hide -- if there are relationship issues, you have to deal with them; if you're hurting in some way, someone will notice (whether you want them to or not); if you're disengaged from the group, someone will hold you accountable; if you try to go AWOL, someone will call you. This sort of Christian community is not for the faint of heart."

I don't want to over-idealize what is clearly still a work in progress. My friend was very honest about the ways in which this smaller community brings out the best (and sometimes the worst) in human interactions. At the same time, I'm wondering how all of the buildings and budgets, personnel and programs in so-called "conventional" church structures actually hinder attempts to look each other in the eye and see the face of Jesus there.

Roaming through Romans -- Background Notes for June 22

The background notes that will be distributed this Sunday are now here:
http://www.trinitywauwatosa.org/weekly_bulletin.iml

Implied Jesus

I'll admit it. Subtlety is not one of my stronger qualities. Most of the time I do my best to be polite and kind, but I'm not very good at leaving things unsaid. I think that's why I am so curious about the "five mission priorities" identified by the Executive Council of the Episcopal Church that are to guide the budgetary process for the 2010-2012 triennium. You can read the entire article here: http://www.episcopalchurch.org/79901_97829_ENG_HTM.htm

First, a word of explanation to readers of this blog who aren't Episcopalians (or maybe some who are): The budget which funds our church's mission, programming and adminstrative overhead is administered from The Episcopal Church Center in New York City. That budget is developed for a period of three years and is approved at our General Convention, which meets again in 2009. You can read about General Convention here: http://www.episcopalchurch.org/gc.htm

The five priorities identified in the Executive Council Resolution were:

Doing Justice and Alleviating Poverty;
Claiming Our Identity;
Growing Congregations;
Strengthening Governance and Foundations for Mission; and
Promoting Anglican Partnerships.

Nothing wrong with those priorities, I suppose. But, is it me...or is something (or should I say Someone?) missing?

As I read them, these are all "what will be done" statements, with no mention of the "Who" we're serving by doing them.

Maybe we all know who we're serving so we don't have to mention anyone by Name.

Maybe we're all clear that these priorities naturally follow from our identity as followers of the Unnamed One.

Maybe because the budgeting process is internal to our church, we simply assume everyone knows why we're engaged in this project of "church" in the first place -- after all, You-Know-Who is known to us in the breaking of the bread, right?

Right???

Truth in Advertising

As I was preparing for last Sunday's sermon, I wondered what sort of classified ad the believers at Rome might have written, if they had been in a pastoral search at the latter part of the 1st century, CE. Here's were my overactive imagination took me:

The fast-growing church at Rome seeks pastor-teacher to assist us in faithfully proclaiming the Good News of God. We are a house church, worshiping in several secret locations throughout town, due in part to the ongoing efforts of the authorities to shut us down and shut us up. Our commitment to the kingdom of God has put us on the Empire's "subversives list". Our last three pastors were jailed and beaten with some frequency. One was executed.

Many of us have lost our jobs and some of us have been disowned by our families because we continue to follow this way of Jesus. We have some ongoing conflict within our church as well -- some of us are Jews and others of us are Gentiles. We have different world views, different customs, different dietary restrictions, different histories and frankly, we are working really hard to keep our ethnic prejudices from tearing us apart.

When parents share the stories of Jesus with their children, we call that Christian Education. When fellow believers attend to the needs of one another we call that Pastoral Care. When we share our story of how being a follower of Jesus impacts our lives with family members, friends and neighbors, we call that Evangelism. When we gather each week and pray together, listen to the stories of Jesus together, receive teaching together and share the sacred meal of bread and wine together, we call that Worship.

The successful candidate for pastor-teacher will have another vocation with which to earn an income -- tentmakers have done well here in the past. While we will do our best to find a spare room in a disciples' home, we can't guarantee lodging. Retirement is not possible, but relocation may be necessary, depending on the authorities. Come grow with us!

Romans Rabbit Trail #2 -- Drowning into Life

This coming Sunday's reading is Romans 6:1b-11. The passage includes Paul's theology of baptism, which is stunning in its starkness. For Paul, to be baptized is not simply to enter the water and have one's sins "washed away". The only cure for souls under the power of sin is to die -- and baptism is a sacramental death.

We are squeamish about death. So we have attempted tame baptism.

After all, in a tradition that baptizes infants, how can we possibly talk about death when the candidates we baptize are so often at the very beginning of what we all hope will be long and fruitful lives? Further, when baptismal fonts more closely resemble birdbaths than burial grounds, how can the impact of the action be fully experienced?

In spite of the robustness of the language in The Book of Common Prayer at the Thanksgiving over the Water (p. 306), we all know that the few ounces of water dribbled over the head of a young child pose no real threat of drowning...so let's take a few pictures for the family scrapbook, talk about how beautiful the service was and move on to brunch.

Paul would have nothing to do with sentimentalizing this sign of identification with the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus. Baptism drowns our old life and raises us to the new life of faith.
This morning, reading Barth's discussion of these verses in his Epistle to the Romans, I read a few sentences that flooded me again with the gravity of baptism:

Your baptism is nothing less than grace clutching you by the throat: a grace-full throttling, by which your sin is submerged in order that you may remain under grace. Come thus to your baptism. Give yourself up to be drowned in baptism and killed by the mercy of your dear God...This death is grace. (p. 194)

"Fire-Escape"

Oh, my brother where ya headed?
Where ya going when you die?
Are you headed up to heaven, that home on high?
Are you making preparations for that meeting in the sky?
Oh, my brother where ya headed?
Where ya going, where ya going when your die?

I'm guessing that few folks reading this blog would have ever heard these lines actually sung in a worship service, but they comprise the refrain to a Southern Gospel song that was a huge favorite in the congregation of my youth.

This refrain actually summarizes a good portion of the preaching I remember from those days: the glorious gift of the "here and now" life was presented as little more than a staging area for the next one (which would begin immediately upon one's death). The individual is given two choices of where to spend "eternity". There's no opting out of the choice. If one fails to make the choice toward "the home on high" in this life, then the default setting is to "go below" (to the fires of hell) in the next one.

The song presents a classic "three story" cosmology with heaven (eternal bliss) above, hell (eternal suffering) below and this life sandwiched between the two as the singular opportunity for human beings to accept or reject God. Even though I was assured that God did not "desire the death of sinners", I recall many sermons where the preacher could describe the fate of the damned with such specificity that one might think he had toured hell personally as research.

Heaven, on the other hand wasn't such a hot topic. Every now and then we would hear the preacher talk about "streets of gold, walls of jasper, gates of pearl" (characteristics of the"New Jerusalem" in the book of Revelation). We would be reminded that in heaven there would be no more separation from loved ones and that we would mostly keep ourselves occupied with worship services. But we were usually cautioned against "being so heavenly minded we were no earthly good."

To be of some "earthly good" meant that "believers" like us were to be actively engaged in evangelistic activities to rescue the souls of all the poor, unaware sinners from perdition. The "sinner" first had to be convinced that she/he was headed straight to hell simply by virtue of being born. As an added incentive for us to get out and witness, we were reminded that if we had the opportunity to share this Good News with an "unbeliever" and didn't, then we bore a portion of the blame for their damnation...because there's always plenty of guilt to go around!

My purpose in describing this particular understanding of salvation is to remind myself of how infrequently we Episcopalians speak specifically of God's saving work in Christ at all. We say the words, "for us and for our salvation, he (the Son) came down from heaven" each week at the recitation of the Nicene Creed, but we rarely talk about what those words might mean. I wish we would. We might discover that we have Good News to share that is more than "fire insurance".

Reading the Greek New Testament (In Public!)

I work on my sermons outside of the house and the office...usually at a coffee shop of some sort...I find the noise and chaos in those places energizing. The background noise actually helps to keep me focused on my work. Yes, it's counter-intuitive, but working out in the open like that simply infuses me with more energy that sitting alone in a room somewhere.

Anyway, today I was minding my own business happily surrounded by commentaries on the Epistle to the Romans and pondering a particular grammatical construction in my Greek New Testament, when the person sitting next to me asked me what I was reading. I said, "Paul's letter to the church at Rome." My neighbor then said, "Well, Paul was such a misogynist." (And promptly returned her reading.)

I think I managed a fair amount of self-restraint...I allowed about a minute and half to pass. Then I said, "I'll take on that statement if you'd like."

Then for the next 25 minutes, I had an opportunity to actually talk with someone about the Bible, politics, situational ethics and the state of public education. I'm guessing I didn't change her mind about Paul...but she did allow that she had not talked to a professed Christian who had actually read Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens and Sam Harris (the three hot atheists these days).

For me, the fun of the chat was talking to someone who was well read (in spite of her remark about Paul!), intellectually open, unafraid to challenge a comment...and wasn't the least bit intimidated or impressed with my role as professional religious person.

I've joked to a few people since the discussion on this blog about "public ministry" that I've been thinking about going down to the local Starbucks in my collar and putting a sign on my table that says, "Ask me about religion." After today's conversation, that idea doesn't seem so far out.

In the meantime, I'm off to consider the implications of the inclusio at Romans 5:1 and 5:11.

Romans Rabbit Trail #1 -- The Dialectic of Faith

I first read an excerpt of Karl Barth's The Epistle to the Romans when working on my undergraduate degree in theology thirty years ago. I suppose I struggled with a ten page section of text dealing with the first few verses of the fifth chapter of Romans for hours...and I still wasn't sure I understood exactly what Barth was talking about.

But I did understand that a part of his theological project was to reintroduce his early 20th century readers to an understanding of salvation that was simultaneously possible and impossible. In his theological commentary on Paul's letter to the Romans, Barth takes up the task of hammering home a theological conundrum -- faith is not a given...but faith is a gift.

Baldly stated, faith is God's initiative alone.

This statement strikes at the heart of our Western assumption of "personal agency" -- our practical deification of the human self by its own merit. The notion that "faith" comes from somewhere (and Someone) other than ourselves threatens our individualism, offends our sancrosanct belief in "free will", and reminds us of our powerlessness to effect for ourselves salvation (wholeness) from within ourselves.

In his comments on Romans 5:1 ("Therefore being justified by faith..."), Barth writes, "In the moment we dare to say we believe, we remain always under suspicion. The necessity of passing through the narrow gate which leads from life to death and from death to life must remain always a sheer impossibility and a sheer necessity...It is dangerous for us to take even one step forward...the point where faith and unbelief part company can be defined neither psychologically nor historically." (p. 130)

Faith as a dangerous step forward? Who knew?

Barth questioned the "comfortable and easy manner" (p. 130) with which the church of his day engaged the doctrine of salvation -- that salvation was effected through our human response to the Gospel, that human "faith" somehow sealed the deal. For Barth, to say that salvation depended upon a human decision was the epitome of human arrogance. Such an individualized understanding of faith was to appropriate a saving power to the creature that belongs to the Creator alone.

Barth rejected an anthropological starting point in his discussions of faith. Faith, saving faith, life-giving faith, is not stirred up from within ourselves...in fact, only in admitting the impossibility of generating faith on our own volition are we open to the possibility of receiving it from a sovereign God.

Barth writes, "...God justifies Himself in our presence, and thereby we are justified in His presence. By making us His prisoners, He sets us free; by rejecting us as we are, He affirms us to be what we are not; He takes our side and uses us for His purpose, and thereby His side becomes our side. His right our right, and His good work is begun in us. He acknowledges us, and is with us. He promises us salvation in His Kingdom. By hope we are His. Thus the new subject emerges in the negation of the old, known human subject; and by the invisible and personal action of God human personality is fashioned." (p. 130)

Roaming through Romans -- Background Notes for June 15

The background notes that will be distributed with this Sunday's bulletin are now available at
http://www.trinitywauwatosa.org/weekly_bulletin.iml

"Nice Service, Father"

I grew up in a tradition that looked askance at anything remotely "planned". People in my childhood church would have found "reading prayers from a book" on a par with summarily inviting the Spirit to leave the building. Worship was supposed to be spontaneous, free-flowing and emotionally enthralling. A formal structure in that tradition was tantamount to blasphemy. In fact, some of the preachers I listened to as a child would have had me believe that there was the New Testament Church of Acts...and then 1900 years of people following "the ways of man"...before the Spirit miraculously reappeared to several groups of seekers at the turn of the 20th century.

And yet...when I first walked into an Episcopal liturgy, I found that I was jumping into a river of tradition that had quenched spiritual thirsts for millennia. I discovered prayers that had been prayed by the church for centuries -- not because people were too lazy to draft new ones, but because there was a timelessness in the language that invited worshipers to step out of their current distractions and focus on God's big picture of eternity. I was amazed at the direct references from Scripture, the allusions to Scripture and the economy of words that carried such an immense freight of meaning.

Three pastoral offices, the liturgies that assist us in marking the major moments of our lives -- baptisms, marriages and deaths -- are marvels of liturgical theology at its finest.

At the thanksgiving over the water at baptisms, the whole of salvation history is recounted... from the Brooding Spirit over the waters of chaos at creation, to the descending Spirit upon our Lord Jesus, through to our own baptisms, which mark our "burial" with Christ in his death and our resurrection to new life.

My favorite part of the marriage liturgy is the prayer over the newly married couple in which I ask God (in the words of the Church and on behalf of the Church) to, "...Defend them from every enemy. Lead them into all peace." The Church then invokes God's presence so that the couple's love will be, "a seal upon their hearts, a mantle about their shoulders, and a crown upon their foreheads." And finally we pray that God will, "Bless them in their work and in their companionship, in their sleeping and in their waking, in their joys and in their sorrows; in their life and in their death..."

At the time of death, the prayers of the Church give voice to our sadness and proclaim to us the hope of resurrection. But the hope proclaimed is not a happily ever after, "in the sweet bye and bye" sort -- it is a realistic hope...grounded in an awareness that death is a part of the human condition. We all go down to the grave, but we stare death in the face and make our song, "Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia."

As a priest, I am privileged to pray these words of the Church at baptisms, marriages and funerals. They are powerful words. They are precise words. These words hover over us with unbearable lightness. They pierce our souls with the heaviness of God's glory. They are words aimed at inviting the congregation to pause in these highly charged moments and remember that we are gathered as a praying community in the presence of God.

My job as a priest is to be as present as I can to the words the Church has given me to say...and to pray them like I mean them. Praying them like I mean them isn't a difficult or onerous task...I do mean them! With every fiber of my being!

The aim of these liturgies is not to produce a "nice service". These liturgies compel us to remember that all we have and all we are -- from birth to rebirth in Christ to death and beyond -- is a gift from the God who created us and calls each of us by name.

Roaming through Romans -- Rabbit Trails

OK, I could have used the word "excursus" -- that's the scholarly term for the sorts of digressions I suspect I'll want to take during this summer's study of Romans. But to be honest, everytime I hear/read the word, I'm reminded of the tiny font (approximately 8 pt.) that fills page upon page of Karl Barth's magisterial Church Dogmatics, and my eyes begin to squint uncontrollably!

I've already discovered this week that one challenge of preaching Romans in a parochial context will be to control my excitement about verb tenses and rhetorical structure so that the sermons aren't simply exegesis papers in disguise. Another challenge will be to confine myself to one or two themes that may be in play in a particular passage and look for ways those themes speak to the particular context of Trinity, Wauwatosa -- after all, I'm preaching within a specific community at a particular time in the community's life.

So over the course of the next few weeks, this will probably be the forum where I scratch my digression itch (staying on topic has never been easy for me!). I've already got my eye on several fascinating exegetical trails...

In the meantime, I can report that the first installment of background material I'm preparing each week for distribution with the Sunday bulletin is available at the Trinity Church website.

Go to http://www.trinitywauwatosa.org/weekly_bulletin.iml

Roaming Through Romans for June 8

I've just completed my first handout of background info to accompany this week's sermon on Romans 4:13-25. Now I'm dealing with the technical challenge of figuring out how to post that content here. Apparently attaching documents to a post is a convoluted process (which for me means there are more than two steps!). So instead of simply pasting the entirety of that document here, I will simply say that it will be eventually posted on the Trinity Church website http://www.trinitywauwatosa.org/

Future installments of this effort will be posted there on Thursday afternoons. And...if anybody can offer assistance about attachments or downloads...feel free to share your wisdom with me!

(Un)instructed Eucharist

Earlier today, I was minding my own business, reading an Episcopal periodical (the letters to the editor section), and discovered several streams of opinions regarding the "central act of worship" for Christians -- the celebration of the Holy Eucharist (Communion).

One writer was distressed that a recent article in that publication concerning the Eucharist had apparently made no mention of "Jesus Christ and his death and resurrection". I'm interested in how such a feat could have been accomplished myself.

Another writer was concerned that the article had reduced the Eucharist to, "a call to political activism", and then goes on to talk about the individual, spiritual and devotional benefits of participaing in the liturgy. The tension between private devotion and communal celebration is a difficult one to manage -- particularly in the atomized society of suburban North Americans where the "self" and the needs of the self are often deemed of paramount importance.

The writer of the third response confessed an inability to receive Eucharist because she hears in the liturgical language a glorification of the slaughter of Christ. The person writing this letter would prefer a rite that makes no mention of Jesus' death at all. This led me to wonder about ways in which we need to wrestle with words like "body", "blood", "sacrifice", "atonement" and "sin" in relationship to the actions around the Table.

From time to time, people ask me about the possibility of offering "instructed Eucharist" -- sort of a regular liturgy with the equivalent of sports announcer-like color commentary. Usually, these requests have much to do with either ceremonial actions (like when one "crosses" oneself) or the names of the various artifacts of the liturgy (paten, purficator, corporal, etc.), or the history and development of the liturgical tradition. I've never had anyone ask me about how the words of the liturgy relate to the Church's theology.

The letters I read this afternoon poignantly reminded me that liturgical teaching is a significant aspect of my role as a priest...and that all of us who teach in the Church (lay and ordained) have our work cut out for us.

From here...to where???

This Sunday, we will hear the story of the call of Abram (aka Abraham) as reported in Genesis, chapter 12. Now, Abram was not a native of Haran (the town he's living in at the time he "heard the Voice"). Abram was originally from a place well east of there, at the other end of the Tigris/Euphrates valley known as "Ur of the Chaldeans" (cf. Genesis 11:28).

So, with the assurance that the Voice he hears belongs to God (and is not the result of bad digestion), Abram packs his family, his flocks/herds and his possessions and he's on the move. Without so much as a map...but something better, JPS -- Jehovah's Positioning System. And through the direct intervention of the Almighty, Abram eventually makes it to Canaan. Mission accomplished.

I've been thinking about that story today as my e-mail inbox has collected various messages from folks unknown to me. They are writing poignant, heart-felt pleas...and they are writing angry, accusatory missives...and everything in between. These e-mails are all working to convince me (and a number of other folks) about the absolute necessity of making a particular decision in their favor. Now, to be fair, my correspondents believe they are advocating a position that is in the longterm interest of this Diocese. They also believe their position is strongly buttressed by a proper understanding of stewardship and ministry. I'm not altogether convinced by their arguments. I disagree with their methodology. I can appreciate their convictions.

What we all need for certainty's sake in this debate is either: an Audible Voice or an inerrant map. I think all of us would like to know where we're going and what the best way forward might be. Certainty would be a gift.

What we're given instead is each other....with all of our agendas and flaws...with all our arrogance and pride...with all our hurt and pain....with all our anger and passive-aggressivity...with all our potential and all our problems.

And somehow, the Spirit broods over the swirling chaos we so easily create when we are in disagreement. And every now and then enough order is drawn out of the chaos to enable the Church to lurch forward a bit -- though not exactly on a straight line, rather wobbling and staggering toward where we hope and trust God might be leading us.

We Christians keep practicing (sometimes poorly!) being a community. A community that is bound together in Christ. Bound together, even in our disagreements and disputes. Bound together even when we'd prefer to wander off following maps of our own devising, and listening to the sound of our own voices. Bound together by the Love that holds us even when we are unable to restrain ourselves.

In the absence of inerrant maps and/or the Audible Voice, I would hope we can make our respective journeys of discernment and decision-making as followers and friends of Jesus...and friends to each other.

Summertime Sermons

Beginning last Sunday (June 1) and continuing until September 14, the Revised Common Lectionary affords the opportunity to read, study and hear significant portions of St. Paul's Letter to the Romans.

Hailed by many scholars as Paul's magnum opus, Romans is a tour de force of theology. The longest letter in the New Testament, Romans is a fascinating study in the way one of the early followers of Jesus wrestled with significance of Jesus' life, death and resurrection...both for the fledgling church and in relationship to God's covenant people Israel. A close reading of this text also gives us a glimpse into the intellectual rigor of one of the early church's most influential thinkers.

So...I'm going to try an experiment for the next three and a half months. Rather than reading all of the lessons appointed for a particular Sunday and listening for which one of them "speaks" to me, I'm going to base each week's sermon on the assigned reading from Romans.

I'm also intending to provide some background material in the Sunday bulletin so that folks can have some assistance in locating "where we are" each week. I think this will be particularly helpful given the ways in which Paul structures his arguments, as well as the twin realities of the brevity of Episcopal sermons and the attendance patterns associated with summer.

And now, I'm off to find my Greek New Testament and collect the commentaries from the shelf in my study!!!

Public Ministry???

Last week, I took part in a small group discussion about "public ministry" in the life of a clergyperson, and how seminary education had/had not prepared me to engage in that sort of activity.

For the first few minutes, the group struggled with defining the term...what does "public ministry" mean? Saying a sufficiently acceptable, vacuous and inoffensive prayer at some civic event aimed toward (what Stanley Hauerwas once called) "The God of Ultimate Vagueness"?

Or are we to be hail-persons-well-met, attending Rotary Club meetings in a collar, gladhanding, networking and flitting about like social butterflies?

Or are we to focus on being "visible" in the community by serving on a board or committee?

Or perhaps advocating for the poor or disenfranchised through some sort of political activism?

Have we been called by our respective congregations to do this "public ministry" so that those congregations reap the benefits of such work -- like increased visibility in the community, more members, etc. without ever having to do intentional public ministry themselves?

While my group never actually arrived at a proper definition, we did agree that, as clergy, we tend to live a ghetto-like existence...talking mostly with church people about church stuff and being generally preoccupied with the administration and upkeep of the ecclesiastical machinery. This admission led to further discussion about whether or not the public role of clergy these days is more about avoiding negative publicity than anything else. (Many of us nervously admitted that we had been schooled in the appropriate ways to respond to a media member's question without actually answering the question!)

In these days of highly charged sensibilities, does a clergyperson dare to speak toward society at large? Or is now the time when we most need to speak? How does a clergyperson serve the public good without forgetting that the good public needs to be confronted by the Good News of the Gospel?