Prayer and Fasting -- Who knew???

Last week, I had an engaging conversation with a fellow clergyperson who lives out West. New to the parish he serves (less than a year), the process of figuring out how that particular community of faith will live into its mission/vision occupies a good deal of his (and the parish's) energy. Lots of activity is buzzing about the place. Good turnout to the various liturgies, studies, meetings and fellowship opportunities seems to be the norm. But my friend began to ask the question, "Is all the activity serving a purpose, or is it simply activity for activity's sake?"

Then he came upon an idea. He would spend several days in prayer and fasting. And he would ask the congregation to join him in the enterprise. And for those who are curious, yes, my friend is an Episcopalian!

He asked the members of the congregation (whether they intended to observe the fast or not) to join him for a "season of prayer" in the parish's worship space. He excitedly reported to me the following results:

1. A significant number of people (equivalent to 20% or so of the average Sunday worship attendance) showed up each evening for the hour of prayer.

2. Other people who weren't able to attend the prayer time reported that they took time out of what they were doing to pray (verbally!) for the mission of the parish.

3. Several people actually participated in the fast in some fashion over the three days.

4. Many other people are interested in learning more about the discipline of fasting and my friend is already planning a study of this practice, which will be offered in the fall.

I'll admit it. As I listened to him tell his story, I found myself thinking, "I wonder why the thought of asking people to participate in such a thing never occurred to me?" And let me say, I immediately had plenty of answers to my own question! Some of my answers were vaguely theological, others drifted toward the "rational" and my inner cynic threw in a couple of extra comments to round out my collection.

But the fact remains -- these practices of fasting and prayer are at the bedrock of communal life in the Jewish and Christian traditions. They aren't magic. My friend's congregation didn't hear God's voice audibly telling them what their next initiatives should be. God didn't send them a fax or an e-mail. They are still seeking out "what's next" for their parish. But the work they did together in those three days of fasting gave them plenty of food for thought and a powerful sense of the Spirit's brooding presence -- both in their midst and over their efforts. Something creative is going on in my friend's parish. Something new is about to be born. I can hardly wait to hear what happens next.

As for me, I'm thinking my friend's story might be God's way of telling me to push away a meal or two (or five!) and spend that time nourishing my spiritual self in focused and intentional prayer. I'll keep you posted on what happens.

A Gospel Gleaning -- Mark 5:21-43

"Who touched me?" This is the question Jesus asks his disciples.  A woman with a debilitating illness pressed her way close enough to Jesus to brush her hand against the border of his garment. In that instant, something happens and she experiences healing.

"With the size of the crowd pressing on you, how can you ask such a question?" This is the disciples' reply. Something has happened right under their noses, and they are completely oblivious. 

And maybe we are as well.

I like to think we do our best to follow the way of Jesus. As modern-day disciples, perhaps we aren't jostled by crowds, but we are overwhelmed with the pace of our lives. In this story, I get the sense that Jesus' disciples were hurrying him along -- attempting to get him to his next destination where he was urgently needed. They had no time to waste!

We move a bit like that don't we? Intent upon our priorities and goals we press ahead with little regard to the needs and concerns that are right in front of us. With so much pressing in on us, we forget that Christians tell time differently. Like Peter, James, John and the rest, we need periodic reminders that the Good News we have to bring is healing and wholeness -- the salvation of God.  

Perhaps if we slowed down, we'd see God at work in the world all around us. Perhaps we would feel the fire of the Spirit or the compassion of Jesus or the love of God. Perhaps our eyes would be opened to all that is possible in God's Kingdom. 

Then again, perhaps that would just scare the hell out of us. 

And perhaps that wouldn't be a bad thing either. 

A Gospel Gleaning -- Mark 4:35-41

In the dark of the midnight, have I oft hid my face;
While the storm howled above me, there was no hiding place.
Amidst the crash of the thunder, Precious Lord, hear my cry;
Keep me safe til the storm passes by.

Til the storm passes over,
Til the thunder sounds no more;
Til the clouds roll forever from the sky;
Hold me fast, let me stand
In the hollow of thy hand.
Keep me safe til the storm passes by.

I grew up listening to the lyrics to this classic Southern Gospel song -- often sung with the sort of grit and determination that is forged in the hardships of life. Over the years I heard people sing this song as they dealt with the loss of a child, the loss of a parent, the loss of a relationship, the loss of a job or upon the receipt of some particularly difficult news about the singer's own health. I heard men sing it. I heard women sing it. I heard teenagers sing it. I heard it sung solo and in groups. I heard people belt it out in anger and I heard people squeak it out in grief.

When I read the disciples' fear-filled question in this week's Gospel story, "Master, don't you care that we are perishing?", I can't help but remember the 20th century disciples of my childhood church as they sung their faith and their fear and implored God to "keep them safe" until their particular storm had passed.

All these years later, now that my own faith has been stretched by the living of life, I read this story from Mark with a different set of eyes. I wonder if Jesus' command was primarily addressed, not to the storm, but to the anxious disciples? In the grip of their fear, they couldn't think clearly. They couldn't see clearly. They couldn't respond to the situation around them appropriately. They were paralyzed. All they could do was fixate on their impending demise. They forgot who they had in the boat with them.

"Peace, be still!" Jesus barks out over the howl of the wind and the crash of the waves. The disciples hear these words and remember they are following One who speaks with authority. The storm overhears Jesus' words and evaporates into thin air.

We are given no guarantees in life. Walking the way of Jesus isn't an insurance policy against tragedy or troubles or pain. The winds of distress will whip us about. The thunder of loss will shake us to our core. The waves of grief will at times innundate us. But our faith isn't dependent upon smooth sailing -- rather it is fixed upon the One who speaks in such a way that "even the wind and seas obey him."

When the long night has ended, and the storm comes no more;
May I stand in thy presence on that Bright and Peaceful Shore.
In a land where the tempest never comes, Lord, may I
Dwell with thee when the storm passes by!

The View from the Pew

Over the past several days as I've visited family and friends in northeast Florida, I've been learning lots about congregational life from people who don't wear black shirts with white plastic collars. In fact, most of them attend churches that aren't of the Episcopal variety. The tales I've heard about "church life" have been poignant -- sometimes troubling but full of realistic hope as well. These stories come from people who work their jobs, raise their families, tend to sick loved ones, help their neighbors, attend weekly worship services, listen to all sorts of sermons and support their respective congregations with the treasures of time, talent and money.

Here's what I've learned:

1. The "Next Big Thing" (NBT) is usually doomed from the beginning, and not because of so-called "resistance to change". Based on the anectdotal information I've received, "NBT's", whether in the form of a new initiative, a new plan, a new program -- are not clearly communicated, or the communication comes across as stilted or artificial, so people don't really understand what's happening or why...and it feels as though the initiative, plan or program is being "done" to them.

2. NBT's come and go -- and mostly they go. And when an "NBT" whithers away or disappears from congregational life with hardly a peep, the impression is given that there wasn't any commitment on the part of "the leadership" to stick with it anyway. Even if the folks in the pew weren't sure of the "NBT" (or actively opposed it!), they now begin to wonder about the competence of the people (leaders) who foisted it upon them in the first place.

3. DETAILS MATTER! Congregational leaders ignore details (particularly the "routine" ones!) at their own peril. And the details are legion! And every detail is important to the person who called the detail to some leader's attention. The information is shared with the (often unspoken) expectation that some action will be taken. I now know that I'll be much more diligent in my own attention to details!!!

4. Follow-through is probably more important than initiative. Bits of information percolate throughout the congregational system -- and the collection of those pieces of data gives "the leadership" a fair picture of what's happening within the community. Closing the loops -- thanking the people who need to be thanked, calling the people who need to be called, seeing the people who need to be seen (whether they've specifically requested a visit or not), coordinating the groups that need to be coordinated, managing and maintaining the machinery of congregational life -- the work (and ministry!) of administration is the way in which trust is established and strengthened. Tending the garden is tedious, but that's the only way to insure that eventually some fruit will ripen.

There were probably other things I learned from listening to all of the church stories that folks have told me over the past week, but these four items were the recurring themes throughout the conversations. I wondered why people had not told their pastors, elders, deacons and priests all that they told me. Perhaps they did tell "the leadership"...and either the concerns weren't addressed, or just ignored outright. Then I had the unsettling realization that I've probably committed these same oversights, failed to communicate properly or forgot to close the loop -- and the tales of my own incompentence are being told far and wide. Humbling, to say the least!

A Summer Project -- Gospel Gleanings!

I've been thinking about a summer blog project -- something that would afford me an opportunity to be more disciplined (and orderly!) in my postings here. I'm sure there will be the random post about this or that, but at least once a week, my intent is to offer a brief reflection on the Gospel reading for the upcoming Sunday. The "Gleaning" will appear every Friday, beginning today.

A Gospel Gleaning -- Mark 4:26-34 (Proper 6B)

Jesus said, "The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise, night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how..."

This is one of the most obscure of Jesus' parables -- it's definitely not in the Top 10 of his stories! Most folks have heard about the "Sower and the Seed", many of us have heard about the "Mustard Seed" (which is at the latter part of the passage we're assigned for this Sunday). But this one -- well, it's almost a throw-away. We read right past it with little thought.

We find ourselves thinking, "Yeah, yeah...scattered seed, sprouting and growing...where's the drama? And what about a farmer who doesn't know how a seed grows? Doesn't any kid in a basic botany class know about this?"

But as I've thought about the parable, I've been reminded of an important truth: Knowledge of "how" a seed grows doesn't mean I can make it grow. For all of our agricultural science, which has decreased growing time and increased productivity, the basic facts are still in play -- a seed must be planted; there must be sufficient heat and light; water and nutrients must be available; time must transpire. And in the end, some seeds will yield an abundance of fruit and others will fail to even germinate.

As participants in God's Good News, we don't need to know "how" the Kingdom works! What a relief! We don't need to know all of the answers or anticipate every question. We are only responsible for one thing -- planting the seeds -- spreading the message.

If we plant enough seeds (that's the action part!), attend to our daily lives (that's the "sleeping and rising" part!), and remain patient (that's the hard part!), one day we will become aware that the fruit of our holy work is popping out all around us. We won't know exactly how it happened -- these dramatic results from mundane activity. But when we're up to our necks in God's abundance, will we even care?

And what will be our response to an overflow of Kingdom fruitfulness? Planting more seeds, of course!

Seven Years Hence

On Tuesday of this week (June 9), I observed the seventh anniversary of my ordination to the transitional diaconate at St. John's Cathedral in Jacksonville, Florida. A few weeks after that event, I began my work as the Assistant to the Rector at Christ and St. Luke's Church in Norfolk, Virginia. Two years after that beginning, I was beginning again as the Bishop's Vicar (now Rector) of Trinity Church, Wauwatosa.

Seven years (Three hundred sixty-four Sundays!) isn't a huge stretch of time, but it has clicked off of my life pretty fast. One week after the next. Sunday Liturgies. Weekday Eucharists. Baptisms. Weddings. Funerals. Potlucks. Bible and Book Studies. Newsletter articles. Hospital visits. Stewardship campaigns. Meetings, Meetings and More Meetings!

In a denomination that prides itself on doing things with decency and in order, with good taste and in "all deliberate haste", no news is good news. Excitement is muted. Level-headedness is celebrated. To serve the Church on a daily basis is to sometimes forget that the Church is a Mystery.

The temptation to take the sacred too lightly is ever-present. If I am not careful, I can become too matter-of-fact about the tender places clergy are invited to inhabit. In the press of budgets, phone calls and e-mails I can sometimes forget that I am not called to be a mid-level manager for a small non-profit service organization, but that I am called to be a priest in Christ's one holy, catholic and apostolic Church. And yet, in spite of our best efforts to control the Spirit, every now and then the Spirit howls through and lives are transformed -- in wonderful and miraculous ways.

That's what happened to me -- a seemingly random invitation to an Episcopal Church for a Christmas Eve liturgy in 1990. An invitation to be a part of a parish staff in 1993. A supportive congregation and persistent rector who encouraged me to get off my duff and explore a call to Holy Orders (sometimes the Spirit speaks most clearly through other people!). And here I am. Seven years hence. Still the same guy...but changed in ways that I can't explain, but know to be a fact nonetheless.

The Martyrs of Uganda and the Jesus of Suburbia

Today the Episcopal Church remembers thirty-two young men, who, in 1886, were burned to death by the King of Uganda for their refusal to renounce the Christian faith. The king who instigated their deaths intended to send a message -- follow the Way of Jesus and die. Ironically, the deaths of these men didn't squelch the spread of Christianity, but instead fueled a Gospel fire that blazed ferociously throughout the country as more and more people were converted and baptized.

There was something in the way these witnesses met their deaths that captured the hearts of their fellow citizens. Rather than begging for mercy or wailing at their fate, these men faced their deaths singing hymns, clapping their hands and praising God. They could have renounced their Faith and lived -- but for these followers of the Way, the only life worth living was a life lived in integrity.  They were faithful to the very end.

Contrast these witnesses in 19th century Uganda with a description of the followers of the "Jesus of Surbubia" (from a book of the same title by Mike Erre): 

"What keeps us from a life of faith is that we have become very good at assessing and minimizing risk. Our culture is all about risk management. We want to hedge our finances against future market downturns, and we have home insurance, life insurance, car insurance, fire insurance, flood insurance...We have become people who focus on managing and minimizing risk everywhere we can see it...We want Jesus to be the same way: all reward and no risk...We want the illusion of faith as long as we are safe...This is one of the reasons we settle for the mundane Jesus of Suburbia; he is predictable and safe." (pp. 34-35)

I'm writing this blog post from the comfort of a climate-controlled house, looking out on a street lined with perfectly manicured lawns, each with its own immaculately maintained house perched perfectly upon it. I sit across the parking lot from a fastidiously maintained building that is set apart for the faithful to gather in comfort from Sunday to Sunday for a brief liturgical respite from the rigors of day-to-day living -- topped off with appetizing refreshments. 

Christians in the "wilds of Wauwatosa" will likely not have to choose loyalties. Our lives aren't in danger because of our religion -- and our religion poses no threat to our every day lives either. 

O God, by whose providence the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church: Grant that we who remember before you the blessed martyrs of Uganda, may, like them, be steadfast in our faith in Jesus Christ, to whom they gave obedience, even unto death, and by their sacrifice brought forth a plentiful harvest; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Lessons from Confirmation Class

I've spent a fair amount of time over the past few weeks "preparing" people (teenagers and adults) who will be presented to the Bishop this coming Sunday to receive the rite of laying on of hands commonly called "confirmation". As I've journeyed with these folks, I've had two contradictory experiences of this effort:

1.  Confirmation marks a new beginning in one's living out the vows made at Baptism. The purpose of the preparation isn't so much about installing tons of information, but rather about assisting the candidates in the construction of an intellectual framework upon which to build a lifetime of theological inquiry within the tradition and ethos of a particular brand of Christianity known as Anglicanism. With this viewpoint, asking thoughtful questions and being at home with ambiguity has greater importance than having the right answers.

2.  Confirmation assumes a certain facility with the basics of the Christian Faith. Therefore, attention needs to be given to content.  There should be something of substance shared with those who are on the journey toward this sacramental act. With this viewpoint, receiving enough information so that one can have a clarity about what it means to be a disciple of Jesus in a 21st century context is crucial. Classes such as these can be opportunities for such clarification.

Here's the reality. I find myself keenly aware that one can hardly compress the whole of the tradition into a few hours' worth of instruction.  I've had some interesting questions posed throughout these classes. Of course, people are always interested in some of the more exotic aspects of liturgical worship ("Why do Episcopalians 'cross' themselves?" "What's the point of reading the Gospel from the midst of the congregation rather than from the lectern?" "Why do we have to say the Nicene Creed all the time?"). But this year, some questions have been posed that I would have thought were "givens" with Christians ("How did people decide that Jesus was God?" "Is it really necessary to attend worship or be a member of a church to be a Christian?" "Why is the Bible so important?"). When offering answers to these questions, I had the unsettling experience of recognizing that even my "answers" assumed a familiarity with certain concepts that I'm not altogether sure can be assumed these days.

All of the questions I've been asked give me some clues about the challenge of "doing church" in a culture of distraction and constant activity. We Episcopalians constantly say that if one wants to know "what we believe", one must spend time in worship with us. I heartily agree and indeed this is a part of my standard conversations with people new to the church. But here's what I'm learning -- our liturgical language is so nuanced, so concentrated and so laden with assumed theological freight that people can come to liturgies for years and still not develop a capacity to converse about the rudiments of the Christian Faith. 

I don't intend to bemoan the fact that there is a dearth of understanding of what it means to be a Christian even as there is more information available than ever before. I clearly see the vast work to be done if we are to communicate the Faith clearly and in a fashion that connects with people in the midst of their lives.  I understand that it's part of my job to insure that this happens. But I'm less impressed with the delivery system -- of a talking head (that would be me) blathering on in language that (while perfectly clear to me) seems to smack of an unintelligible jargon. I've learned lots in my confirmation classes this year. I only hope that I can put some of that learning into practice.