For the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany

For you are my hope Lord God,
My confidence since I was young. (Psalm 71:5)

Today, I was witness to an ordination -- that wonderful and sacred moment when the Church, confers upon an individual a special set of responsibilities as a priest. As the liturgy unfolded and the age-old actions were made present once again, I couldn't help but think of the texts for this Sunday.

The Psalmist (71:1-6) claims a relationship with God that stretches back toward a time when the writer wasn't even aware of his own identity, let alone the identity of God. This relationship is "from my mother's womb" (Psalm 71:6), he says.

Jeremiah echoes the Psalmist's assertion, even as the prophet argues with God (Jeremiah 1:4-10). Recounting his first hearing a "word from the Lord", Jeremiah is unsettling in his honesty. Rather than immediately signing up for service with God, the young prophet pushes back, and honestly complains, "I am only a boy".

By the time Jesus preaches his first sermon in his hometown synagogue (Luke 4:21-30), he is no longer a youth, per se, but his message is so edgy in its content -- so chock-full of the searing honesty of young adulthood, that he barely escapes with his life.

The "new beginnings" in our lives aren't really so. Rather, they are moments in which we realize our lives are moving in different directions than we might have originally intended. We get up from these moments changed...our intentions somehow shifted or perhaps, thwarted altogether. At some point, we detect a nudge -- a nudge that moves us away from one set of possibilities and mysteriously (to us anyway!) toward another.

This is the life of following the God who is constantly leading. Sometimes we are deaf to God's voice. Sometimes we are blind to God's movement in our lives. But every once in a while, one of our number stays still long enough to recognize that she/he is being called to something greater than her/himself. Not every person who "stays still" finds themselves being ordained as a priest. Quite to the contrary, but nonetheless, the stillness leads each of us deeper and deeper into the mystery of God.

To be sure, we "see through a glass darkly" as our epistle lesson aptly reminds us (1 Corinthians 13). However all of our lessons challenge us to keep on squinting -- to keep on straining to see what God may have in store for us. We are reminded to question God, for in questioning God we learn how to abide with God's answers. We squint into the darkness of our souls -- and into the darkness of God. We pray for the day when we will see "face to face". And between now and the time of face-seeing fullness, our job is to walk in the vocation of love -- love not of the fuzzy, sentimental sort, but love that binds us together and calls us to new life in Christ.

My friend was ordained a priest today. She will keep that identity (God willing!) for the rest of her life. There will never be a time when she can say, "I'm not a priest now". The office goes with her, literally, until she is parted from it by death. And as much as we like to think of priests as "something special", the reality is, my friend's gift to the Church is not her "special-ness" or her "giftedness". Rather, her gift to the Church is nothing more and nothing less than her whole self.

All of us have been called to offer "our selves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy and living sacrifice" (BCP, p. 336). Our call is to follow Jesus, wherever that call might lead -- even if it leads us to the edge of our abilities or the edge of a cliff.

Almighty and everlasting God; you govern all things both in heaven and on earth: Mercifully hear the supplications of your people, and in our time grant us your peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, or ever and ever. Amen.

For the Third Sunday after the Epiphany

The law of the Lord is perfect and revives the soul;
the testimony of the Lord is sure and gives wisdom to the innocent. (Psalm 19:7)

When we hear the word "law", we tend to think of rules, regulations, statutes and all manner of legalese. We often hear the phrase "rule of law" spoken in such a way as to impute to it a status that is beyond any sort of questioning. And yet the "law" is constantly parsed, explicated, interpreted and reinterpreted. The "law", as we experience it in our culture, evolves along with the culture and the debating of the law is a part of that process.

When we hear passages like Sunday's readings from the Hebrew Scriptures (Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10 and Psalm 19), we know that the word "law" refers to the Torah, the covenant in words, that God makes with God's chosen people. Often, the first five books of the Bible (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy) are referred to as the "Books of the Law" since they detail the history of the giving of the Law by God to the Hebrews. What we may not understand is the deep love and reverence the Jews have for this gift. Sunday's readings give us some sense of this devotion.

After generations in exile, the descendants of those exiles gather before the Water Gate in a Jerusalem in ruins. The scribe Ezra reads from the sacred books. They bow their heads. They prostrate themselves in worship of the God who gave them the Law. They are so overcome with emotion they weep. A feast is proclaimed. At last! The people have been reunited with their primary point of contact with God -- the hearing and keeping of the covenant -- "the judgments of the Lord (that) are true and righteous altogether." (Psalm 19:9)

By the time of Jesus' first sermon in Galilee (Luke 4:14-21), God's people are exiled in place -- in their own country -- living under an oppressive, foreign occupation (the Roman Empire). There are various sorts of responses to this situation. The elite religious leadership (the Sadducees) have struck a deal of sorts with the invaders to "keep the peace". The revivalist movement of keeping the Law to the utmost degree (the Pharisees) in preparation for Messiah has gained significant popularity. Those Jews who favor a political, "this world" solution to the situation, including armed revolt (the Zealots) are waging a mostly disorganized guerilla war against the Romans. The Jews who believe the only solution is to withdraw from the situation altogether and await the coming of the Day of the Lord (the Essenes) have established themselves at Qumran on the shores of the Dead Sea.

When Jesus reads from Isaiah of the work of the One anointed by the Spirit of God (bringing good news to the poor, proclaiming release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, setting the oppressed free, etc.), and says, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing," the Gospel writer intends to set up the understanding that Jesus is the completion of the Covenant promise made so long ago through the Law of Moses. The Law fulfilled is not the same, though, as the Law made null and void.

The early Church struggled with its relationship to the Law, particularly once Gentiles began following the way of Jesus. Questions were raised. Did Gentiles have to become Jews first in order to be baptized as people of "The Way"? If they didn't have to become Jews, how would issues of table fellowship be resolved between Gentile Christians and Christians who still kept the dietary laws of Moses? If Jewish Christians continued to keep the Law, were they adding to the Gospel or merely preserving their tradition?

While such questions were not the biggest questions for the Church at Corinth, Paul's analogy of the Church as the Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:12-31a) could certainly be employed to good use. "If one member suffers, all suffer together with it..." Paul writes. To be sure, the life of community is complicated. To be a part of the Body of Christ is to belong to an organism that exists as a whole, and is diminished when there is division.

As Christians, we are called to proclaim the Good News. This Good News, we believe, is a message that does reach to those who are on the margins of the world. This Good News is the fulfillment of the promise made in God's perfect Law. This Good News is clear and gives light to the eyes. This Good News is sweeter than honey in the comb. This is the Good News that is the Good Word -- spoken in the Person of Jesus and spoken by each of us as we follow the Way of Jesus in our day to day lives. Only through the witness of the Church, through the witness of our lives, do the people in our world have a chance to know, "the scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."

Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation, that we and the whole world may perceive the glory of his morvelous works; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

A Prayer for Martin Luther King Day

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

Remembering not to Forget

As the images from Haiti
Fill our television screens,
Compassion, generosity and
Action are the order of the day.

Prayers prayed.
Speeches made.
Sermons preached.
Money given.
Supplies collected and shipped.
Relief lurches forward.
Thankfully, the rest of the world rushes to help.

But the day will come,
Not too many days from now, when...
The reporters will pack it in,
The media flood will slow to a trickle;
Moving on
To the next tragedy;
The next "newsworthy" event.

Our task then will be to remember;
To not forget...
As we have forgotten so many times before.
God help us to remember.
Because Haiti has been forgotten too many times;
And because we have really short memories --
And even shorter attention spans.

Almighty and most merciful God, we remember before you all poor and neglected persons whom it would be easy for us to forget: the homeless and the destitute, the old and the sick, and all who have none to care for them. Help us to heal those who are broken in body or spirit, and to turn their sorry into joy. Grant this, Father, for the love of your Son, who for our sake became poor, Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Prayer for the Poor and Neglected, BCP, page 826)

A Saturday Quote

"It is customary to blame secular science and anti-religious philosophy for the eclipse of religion in modern society. It would be more honest to blame religion for its own defeats. Religion declined, not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevent, dull, oppressive, insipid. When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past, when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion -- its message becomes meaningless."

-- Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man, 1955.

Learn more about Rabbi Heschel's work and life at: http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/2009/heschel

Proverbs 17:28

Plenty has been said about a popular television preacher's recent comments about the tragedy in Haiti. For the record, I would simply underscore my understanding that earthquakes are a part of the order of this world -- a reminder that the forces of nature are beyond our control. For for all of our "progress" as humans, we are helpless when the earth shakes beneath our feet and lays waste to whole cities.

When I am confronted by the pictures from Haiti, I am powerfully reminded, once again, that human life is a fragile mystery -- to be nurtured, treasured and received as the gift it is. I pray for those who have lost loved ones in Haiti. I also pray for those who will attempt to survive the difficult aftermath of living in such a challenging environment with not enough food or water and the ever-present threat of disease, let alone the economic impact upon one of the poorest of this planet's nations. I will pray for and monetarily support those organizations that are scrambling to get much needed aid to a country that is reeling in shock and grief.

What is not helpful is to begin to postulate about the idea of an earthquake as some sort of "divine retribution". Any attempt to speak on behalf of God, or to suggest that one can know the mind of God, or to theorize that God kills people to prove a point is, to be blunt, somewhere between unmitigated ignorance and uninformed arrogance. Beyond the utter insensitivity of such comments lies a much more unsettling reality -- that the preacher can say such things because he knows enough people who agree with him to keep his revenue stream flowing along unabated. As a Christian, I am ashamed that this preacher, by virtue of owning his own broadcasting network, can take to the airways, spew out whatever he pleases and pass it off as "the word of the Lord".

In the meantime, there are plenty of other followers of Jesus who are working to feed the hungry, bring water to the thirsty and shelter those left homeless as a result of this disaster. There were also plenty of Jesus followers who died in the earthquake, because they were already in Haiti doing such work. This is the work Christians do, spreading the Good News of the Gospel in word and deed. Unlike television preachers, most rank and file Christians like these don't have time for preaching sermons, they're too busy living them.

I suppose the television preacher is sincere in his beliefs (and that in and of itself is disturbing!). I simply wish he would have kept them to himself. But, his unreflective comments have called to mind one of the memory verses from my childhood. And since I know that all preachers (including me) can have a tendency to run on at the mouth, I've found myself requoting the verse today as my own mantra: "Even a fool when he holdeth his peace is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed, a man of understanding." I only wish the TV preacher had read this one before he opened his mouth the other day.

For the Second Sunday after the Epiphany

How priceless is your love, O God!
your people take refuge under the shadow of your wings. (Psalm 36:7)

As I began to think about this week's lessons, I was powerfully aware of the contradiction between the abundance of God's grace and glory presented in the words we will be reading in worship on Sunday and the apparent absence of that grace and glory from the images we are receiving in our living rooms detailing the tragedy unfolding in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Destruction. Devastation. Death. Where is the Epiphany light?

This difficult juxtaposition between the assurances of God's saving help and the reality of the struggle to survive in impossible circumstances refuses to be easily solved. I can only imagine how Second Isaiah's certainty concerning the Hebrew people's deliverance from exile (Isaiah 62:1-5) must have sounded to his audience. He uses soaring language, as he reports God's promise, "For Jerusalem's sake I will not rest until her vindication shines out like the dawn and her salvation like a burning torch..." Could anyone take the prophet seriously while they were captive in a foreign land, knowing Jerusalem lay in ruins -- her walls flattened, the holy Temple nothing more than a heap of rubble and the sacred vessels from the Temple stored away in a Babylonian treasure vault?

The psalms realistically declare over and over that the hope of the faithful does not rest in the fickleness of human volition or in a glib superstition that being "chosen" inherently means being "protected" from the tragedies so much a part of the fraility of human life. This week's passage (Psalm 36:5-10) reminds us that the place of refuge, the place where humans most see God is in the shadows. Under the shadow (covering) of God's Presence, we are afforded a place of respite even in the darkest hours of distress.

As we read the laundry list of charismata (spiritual gifts) Paul describes (1 Corinthians 12:1-11), we are reminded that, for the early followers of Jesus -- often persecuted, often poor and marginalized, often maligned and misunderstood -- the experience of the Spirit was fundamental to their continued survival. The early Church, we are told, knew something of the immediacy of God's presence through all sorts of "manifestations" (epiphanies!) of God's Spirit at work in the lives of the faithful. Variety of gifts. Variety of services. Variety of activities. All of which are activated by the same God -- in everyone.

There is an interesting order implied in Paul's rhetoric. The iniative is God's. The response is ours. The charismata are manifested (made known) in the dynamic interplay between initiative and response.

In the Gospel reading (John 2:1-11), the order seems reversed. The initiative comes from the Mother of Jesus when she says, "They have no wine." At first, Jesus' response is non-commital (or maybe even downright curt!). But by the end of the story, something has happened which has "revealed his [Jesus'] glory". The result? His disciples "believed in him".

In light of the earthquake-induced darkness of death and suffering proliferating in Haiti, the prophet's certainty, the pslamist's poetry and Paul's theology of the Spirit can seem either hopelessly simplistic or horrifically out of touch with the "real world". A world of unpredictability and randomness. A world where people die in the midst of a worship service. A world where the earth shakes without warning, buildings collapse and burn, and people are buried alive. In this sort of world, the water-into-wine story from the Fourth Gospel doesn't seem so much like a miracle as a magic show.

How are we to respond? How are we to believe? How are we to be of any assistance in the face of such insurmountable need?

We do what our Baptism calls us to do. We work and pray and give. We offer the gifts we have -- gifts that were given to us by God in the first place. We groan and cry and give thanks that our hearts can still be broken for people in need. Broken hearts can become generous and compassionate hearts...and healing can begin.

Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world: Grant that your people, illumined by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ's glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (Collect for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany, BCP, p. 215)

7.0

In the midst of life we are in death;
from whom can we seek help?
From you alone, O Lord...

As I've listened to news reports today detailing the devastation in Haiti from yesterday's massive earthquake, I've found myself thinking, time and time again, about these lines of Scripture that are used in the Burial Office in the Book of Common Prayer.

Some have argued that God's "job" is to protect all humanity from suffering and death, particularly from the randomness of those events we euphemistically refer to as "natural disasters". Many people see the tragedy of thousands dead in a matter of moments as proof positive that God is either "too weak to be of any use" or "too malicious to be trusted". Christians would say there is another perspective -- a perspective that recognizes the limitations of human understanding. A perspective conversant in the language of lament. Tonight, people of faith everywhere offer up prayers of anguish and grief; groaning for the nation of Haiti with sighs too deep for words.

O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, we pray thee to set thy passion, cross, and death between thy judgment and our souls, now and in the hour of our death. Give mercy and grace to the living, pardon and rest to the dead, to thy holy Church peace and concord, and to us sinners everlasting life and glory; who with the Father and the Holy Spirit livest and reignest, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (BCP, p. 489)

Chatting and Worshipping toward Unity

The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity begins on January 18 and goes through January 25. The dates for this "8 Day Week" (also known as an "octave") were proposed in 1908 by The Rev'd Paul Watson, founder of the Graymoor Franciscans. The beginning date of the observance is the Feast of St. Peter and the concluding date is the remembrance of the Conversion of St. Paul. Blessed by Pope Pius X, this week has been observed throughout the Roman Catholic Church for decades as a means of acknowledging Jesus' prayer for his disciples (that we would be "one") and praying that this prayer will one day come to fruition.

For the past several years, I've had the privilege of having conversations with the good folks of Christ King Catholic Church during the octave. I've talked about the characteristics of Anglicanism and its expression within the Episcopal Church. I've talked about the things we share in common with our sisters and brothers who are under the authority of the Bishop of Rome (a.k.a. "The Pope"). I've discussed what Episcopalians mean when we say the line in the Nicene Creed espousing our belief in "one holy catholic and apostolic Church". I've discovered, not surprisingly, that I have more in common with many of my neighbors than we might have thought. These have been great opportunities for learning on my part and, I hope, on the part of those with whom I've spoken. This coming Sunday evening, I will be greeting people from Christ King as they visit Trinity Episcopal to tour our space and learn a bit about our worship style. All politics is local the pundits say -- I suspect all Church cooperation and conversation is, at its best, local too.

And tomorrow (Wednesday) evening, I will begin the week of Christian Unity a tad early as I (along with the deacon assigned to Trinity) travel up to Christ King to share dinner with our Roman Catholic clergy colleagues, other representatives of congregations throughout this community and the new Archbishop of Milwaukee, The Most Reverend Jerome Listecki. I am truly grateful for this invitation from the pastor at Christ King. I'm looking forward to meeting the Archbishop and worshipping at the festival Eucharist that's one of ten such liturgies Archbishop Listecki is celebrating over the next few weeks in order to get to know the people he will be serving. This should be a grand occasion and give overt witness to Christians' desire to affirm our corporate witness to the Good News of God in Christ.

Much work remains to be done before all of those who name Jesus as the Light of the World can acknowledge each other's respective charisms. We are by no means "one" (if by that word we mean, "in unified agreement" about polity, theology, authority, etc.) -- but for a little while tomorrow evening and then again on Sunday evening, some of us will be privileged to catch a glimpse of the possibilities of what Christians working together might accomplish. For now, we can continue to work for the coming of the Kingdom and pray for the unity of the Church that is Christ's Body in this world.

Almighty and everlasting God, by whose Spirit the whole body of your faithful people is governed and sanctified: Receive our supplications and prayers which we offer before you for all members of your holy Church, that in their vocation and ministry they may truly and devoutly serve you; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer, p. 100)

Realistic Spirituality

As I speak with people both inside the parish I serve and at my "adjunct offices" (various coffee shops in the surrounding community!), I've begun to suspect there are two competing themes when it comes to discussing the "spiritual life":

The Desire: "I want to grow spiritually. I'm hungry for deeper connections in my relationship with....(God, Spirit, Soul, Nature, Others). I want some concrete tools to assist me in this growth."

The Difficulty: "My life is so busy, I don't have time to devote myself to such growth, so I alternantly feel resigned to my situation or guilty about it. I know I'm not the only person dealing with the complexities of managing 'life as we know it', but I do feel isolated and this isolation sometimes paralyzes me from taking any positive steps toward those deeper connections."

The gnawing sense that we should be "doing more" about our respective spiritual growth, compounded with the realities of our day to day lives (as evidenced by our calendars) is, I think an excellent place to begin any conversation about the spiritual life. I think at least part of the difficulty is the almost universal tendency to begin by ennumerating our places of deficiency:

Deficiencies in knowledge, skill or activities (Doing): "I know I don't (read the Bible, pray, attend religious services, serve my community/fellow human beings) enough."

Deficiencies in disposition (Being): "I know I need to be more... (loving, patient, kind, consistent, faithful, or [insert your favorite 'spiritual quality' here])."

Perhaps we need to reorient the conversation. Perhaps instead of beginning with all the things that need improving, we could begin with those areas in our spiritual lives about which we feel reasonably good. I'm sure such an inventory does not constitute arrogance or pride. But it might keep us out of the pit of metaphorical self-flagellation, which serves only to keep us bound up in guilt-ridden spiritual paralysis.

Recently, someone shared with me an interesting observation that has been a part of their journey for decades, "The spiritual life is just one humiliation after another." At first glance, this axiom would seem to promote the very sort of guilt and shame which has been so much a part of many people's experience with the spiritual path.

But my friend rightly pointed out that "humiliation" is a cognate of the word "humility" which comes from the word "hummus" which means "earth" (as in "dirt"). He noted that, in the spiritual life, the way "up" is actually "down". The life of the spirit begins right here, in the life we're living, in the body through which we're living it.

So much of the talk of the spiritual life has an ethereal affect to it -- as if, when we become "this" or "that" enough; and when we do enough of "this" or "that" then we will somehow climb to the celestial city and take our seat among the enlightened ones. The fact is, the spiritual life is not really about escaping the lives we're living (or even taking a vacation from them). The spiritual life is abut entering our lives more deeply and seeking our own center -- our groundedness, our "earthiness" -- in the middle of the chaos which sometimes swirls around us (both the chaos that comes our way and the chaos we create through inattention).

I suspect that in our culture of constant striving and achievement orientation, the idea of sitting still for a few minutes, simply breathing and reading a line or two of poetry (or a verse from the Bible) may not seem like a very comprehensive plan. Maybe beginning over and over again, day in and day out, from a place of acceptance -- accepting our desires, our limitations, our inconsistencies, our strengths, our successes and our failures -- doesn't sound very spiritual. But I suspect we really can't begin from any place else, and God only knows where such realism might actually lead!

Books for this Week (at least)

I was culling through my "to be read" stack of books in my study between a baptism and a funeral yesterday. I selected three of them to accompany me through this week's work:

1. On Aquinas by Herbert McCabe -- McCabe was a Dominican friar with a keen mind and a sharp wit. This text is actually a series of lectures on common themes from the work of Thomas Aquinas, the Scholastic theologian par excellence. I'm looking forward to reconnecting with McCabe's writing and getting a bit more familiar with the way in which Thomas went about the theological task. I've got a translation of key passages from Aquinas waiting in the wings, but I fear right now I would have difficulty following some of his carefully nuanced arguments -- hoping McCabe can help!

2. Consuming Religion: Christian Faith and Practice in a Consumer Culture by Vincent J. Miller -- I've been fascinated for a long time by the way in which congregations often position themselves as being about "meeting people's needs". I've wondered about the intersection between appropriate support of the baptized in the journey of faith and plain, old pandering to the customer, er, I mean, "congregant" by providing maximum religious programming for minimum pledge dollar prices. I'm hoping this book will shed some light on my conundrum.

3. The Gifting God: A Trinitarian Ethics of Excess by Stephen H. Webb -- In an time when most of us are thinking about belt-tightening, shrinking budgets, and the feeling that there is less and less time for ourselves, our family and our community, the notion that God could actually be excessive is intriguing. I'm wondering if the author will actually posit a theology of abundance, which goes beyond mere dollars and cents...wouldn't that be refreshing?

I don't know if I'll complete all of these before next Sunday, but I'm certain they will give me plenty of food for thought...and maybe a thought or two about blog posts!

For the First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of Our Lord

The voice of the Lord is a powerful voice.
The voice of the Lord is a voice of splendor.
-- Psalm 29:5

We begin our Sunday Epiphany travels tomorrow in a familiar place -- on the banks of the Jordan river, hearing the story of the Baptism of Jesus (Luke 3:15-17, 21-22). Jesus' baptism marks the beginning of his public ministry, and according to Luke, is accompanied by two distinct signs: the descent of the Holy Spirit in "a bodily form, like a dove" and a "voice from heaven". These signs, underscore John the Baptist's assertion that, "one who is more powerful than I is coming...he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire."

The other readings assigned for this day echo themes found in this Gospel account:

In Isaiah 43:1-7, we hear the voice of the Lord speaking through the pen of the prophet, saying to God's people in exile, "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name...you are precious in my sight."

These words undoubtedly provided comfort to the Hebrew people as they waited in a foreign land (the Babylonian Empire) for God's deliverance and their eventual return to the Land of Promise (signified by Jerusalem). This passage continues to be read by Jews scattered throughout the world today as both a remembrance that they are bound by a Covenant to a God who is faithful and as a promise that God is working through history, with all its twists and turns, to bring about God's glory and the salvation of the world.

When the voice of God calls, that voice irrevocably marks those who are called as God's own, even if outward circumstances seem to contradict such a call! When the glory of God thunders (as in Psalm 29), how can anyone ignore it? This is the voice that "gives power to [God's] people" (v.11). The response to such a voice can only be worship -- worship that ascribes to God the "glory due his name" (v. 2).

Even as today's readings seem to stress the transcendant power of God, another theme runs alongside: God's uncompromising insistence upon relationship. The very transcendance of God, which would seem to keep the Divine far, far away from the imperfections of humanity, is the very thing which empowers humanity to enter into relationship with God in the first place. Indeed, Christians would argue that the very nature of God is loving relationship.

For centuries, the Church has seen, in the accounts of the Baptism of Jesus, the interrelationship of the Persons of the Trinity writ large -- with the Father speaking, the Spirit empowering and the Son obeying. While this may be a rudimentary and simplistic understanding of the ongoing dynamism of the inner life of the Trinity, at the very least, we can see that our tradition proclaims a God who is constantly in conversation -- both within the Divine Self and with humanity as well.

Christians would say that in the Incarnation of God in the Person of Jesus, God brings the conversation directly to humanity in the vulnerability of human flesh and blood. Christians would also say that this conversation continues even to today. One of the ways that conversation continues is through the mission and ministry of the Church, lived out in the lives of the Baptized.

In Acts 8:7-14, the story is told of the apostles laying hands on some new believers in Samaria, and these believers (who had been baptized in the name of Jesus) then receive the Holy Spirit -- the same Spirit that descended upon Jesus at his baptism. At many liturgies in the Episcopal Church tomorrow, there will be a Baptism (or at the very least, the Renewal of the Baptismal Covenant), in which the Baptized will reaffirm their commitment to "continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers; persevere in resisting evil; proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ; seek and serve Christ in all persons and strive for justice and peace among all people."

At the heart of these vows is the recognition that we cannot even hope to fulfill them under our own steam and through our own willpower. We will require empowerment. We will require the immolating presence of the Holy Spirit -- the Dove of Fire.

My prayer is that through the dynamism of Word and Sacrament, Font and Table, God's people gathered will somehow hear the powerful voice of God speaking in the depths of our hearts, "You are my children, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased."

Father in heaven, who at the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan proclaimed him your beloved Son and anointed him with the Holy Spirit: Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made, and boldly confess him as Lord and Savior; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, on God in glory everlasting. Amen. -Collect for the First Sunday after the Epiphany: The Baptism of our Lord, BCP, p. 214

A Friday Quote

As this third day after the Epiphany draws to a close, I remembered these few lines from The Most Reverend Oscar Romero, martyred archbishop of El Salvador:

"Christianity is not a collection of truths that one has to believe, of laws one has to keep, a list of prohibitions. That would be repugnant. Christianity is a person that loved me so much that he demands my love. Christianity is Christ." (November 6, 1977) -- from Through the Year with Oscar Romero.

I pray that our Epiphany journey will bring us face to face with Christ -- however unsettling such an encounter could be.

At the End of the Day

"There is no need to wear yourself out, but to make a competent and sufficient effort, and leave the rest to God..." -- Ignatius of Loyola, founder The Society of Jesus (Jesuits)

Only a week ago, we waited for the moment when the clock would strike midnight, ending the old year and beginning the new. Over the past seven days, I've implemented a fair number of new practices, all sorts of changes -- in diet, in reading, in physical exercise, in writing, in prayer. I know that the only way some of these changes will take root is if I keep at them long enough so they become a part of my daily routine. Already, even some of the simplest of changes have become complex challenges to my supposed resoluteness -- glaring evidence of my struggles with self-discipline.

I've lived long enough to know that some of my efforts at change will fall by the wayside -- the byproducts of my New Year's over-optimism. I also know that I'm not alone in these efforts at being a more balanced and intentional person. A simple perusal of the various purveyors of "news" gives witness to our fixation with embodying the self-help mantra, "Every day, in every way, I'm getting better and better." We want to get better...and we want to get better NOW!

Today, I read these very practical and realistic words from Ignatius, (see above) who suggests that once, we've done our best, we can leave that effort in the capable hands of God. At some point our effort, our work, has to be released to God for God's own purposes. For now, I'm taking comfort in Ignatius' encouragement that "competent and sufficient" performance is enough. I'm reminded that the spiritual life isn't a contest to see how much we can accomplish in a compressed time frame.

The year is young.
And God is faithful.

In the end, the spiritual life can only be lived one moment at a time. Ignatius reminded me today of the importance of being conservative with my energy, both for my own well-being and for the glory of God. A worn out spiritual seeker is an oxymoron. God help me from becoming one of those!

O Lord, support us all the day long,until the shadows lengthen, and the evening comes and the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then in your mercy, grant us a safe lodging, and a holy rest, and peace at the last. Amen. (Prayer for the Evening, BCP, p. 833)

Mittendrinen Manifestation

During the Christmas season, I received a Yiddish phrase-a-day calendar. Only six days into using this calendar, and I was treated to a wonderful synchronicity. When I removed the page for January 5 this morning, I was greeted with the word of the day for January 6 -- "mittendrinen" (mit-ten-drin-nen). The word means, "in the middle of everything". I couldn't help but think how appropriate this word is for the Feast of the Epiphany celebrated today and for the season of Epiphany, which the Church will observe over the next few weeks.

Epiphany means "manifestation" or "revealing". Throughout this season, the Church will reflect upon the ways in which Jesus was revealed as the Gift of God's Very Self, in the flesh, in a specific time and place. The stories we will tell are familiar -- the Baptism of Jesus, the first miracle of Jesus at a wedding banquet, the first sermon Jesus gives in his hometown synagogue, an abundant catch of fish and finally, the story of Jesus' Transfiguration in the presence of three of his disciples. Beyond the miraculous aspects of those stories, something else immediately becomes apparent -- Jesus is living a full, complicated and intense human life -- mittendrinen -- in the middle of everything.

One of the persistent temptations for contemporary followers of Jesus is that he floated through his life without any real connection to it. Conversely we can too easily assume that the ups and downs of contemporary living are inherent obstacles to the spiritual life. What if our lives, with all of their challenges and difficulties, joys and ecstasies, aren't distractions from God, but the very avenues through which God is speaking to us? Maybe, what we need isn't a trip to a monastery, but the ability to see God's brightness when we are up to our eyeballs in living our lives -- in the middle of everything. Maybe this season of Epiphany is our opportunity to be on the lookout for God's presence. On the lookout for a mittendrinen manifestation.

Twelfth Night

I grew up singing the Twelve Days of Christmas -- drummers drumming, lords a' leaping, pipers piping, the golden rings and all manner of fowl. But for my family Christmas was a day, the capstone of an all-out holiday blitz that used to begin officially on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I can still remember the Christmas Day Melancholy which used to set in for me sometime around 3:00 p.m. on December 25. Christmas was over! Nothing to do but wait until next year.

For the past nineteen years I've had the joy of living with the Christmas season -- THE day itself plus the eleven days after it. The Christmas tree remains in the living room. The lights shine on the front porch. There's even some egg nog still in the refrigerator. I find I'm much more relaxed when the Christmas Spirit is allowed to hover about for a few extra days -- when there's an opportunity for the mystery of Christmas to sink more deeply into my soul.

To be sure, the culture has moved on -- ever more rapidly. On to the next thing. The Valentine's Day cards and candies, as well as St. Patrick's Day shamrocks are already lining the store shelves. And since I'm a part of this culture, I've spent my fair share of time plotting dates in the calendar for the year ahead. Life in the local congregation can be eerily similar to the supposed "real" world.

Have we ordered the Lenten meditation booklets yet?
Easter will be here before you know it!
And then there's Vacation Bible School in the summer.
Then school starts again.
What are we doing for the fall pledge drive?
Who will teach the Middle School Sunday School class?
Have we started thinking about the Advent program?
Who will direct the Christmas pageant this year?
And so it goes.
The ebb and flow of life in community.

For yet another year I didn't receive any calling birds, turtle doves or swimming swans. But Christmas came with its Incarnate Deity, even in the bleak midwinter of Wisconsin. Christian friends rejoiced. Merry Gentlemen rested and were not dismayed. The snow lay on the ground (again!) and if we listened carefully we could almost hear those angels sweetly singing through the night while sheperds watched their flocks all seated on the ground.

No post-Christmas letdown for me these days -- these Twelve Days of Christmas! Instead I finish the season with gratitude, still humming "Joy to the world! The Lord has come!" After nearly two weeks' worth of listening to the stories, singing the carols, sharing meals and laughter (not to mention plenty of worship opportunities!) this holy time draws to a close. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Epiphany. But there's still a couple of hours left. Still time to say, for one final time, until Christmas Day, 2010....

Merry Christmas!

More on Less -- Accountable Speech

One of the practices of Benedictine monastics is known as the Greater Silence -- the time immediately after Compline (the final prayer service of the day) through (at least) the conclusion of breakfast the following morning (with the exception of the prayers at Lauds around 4 a.m. and Matins around 6 a.m.). This enforced silence affords the monks an opportunity to be alone with their thoughts, to reflect upon the day that has just past and to lead them toward the stillness of sleep. St. Benedict understood that incessant speaking allows little time for the mind, heart and soul to attune themselves to listening -- by quieting oneself outwardly, the silence is allowed to sink into one's constant interior chatter.

Recently, I read a business book entitled, The 85% Solution, in which the author argued forcefully for accounability in our use of our faculties of speech. In particular, she encouraged her readers to "get off the gossip train" and abandon the "complaint bandwagon". Since reading that book, I've spent some time attempting to pay closer attention to my own speech. I've discovered, to my displeasure, that I've accumulated quite a few frequent rider miles on the aforementioned train. I've also (unfortunately) developed quite an affinity for a certain sort of bandwagon.

Gossip and compaining are so much a part of our culture, I probably shouldn't be surprised about my own contributions to the genres. And yet, I'm pretty sure those patterns of speaking don't do much in the way of solving the problems I'm complaining about or fostering good relationships with those who are fodder for my gossip. So, while I don't think keeping the Greater Silence of the monastery is possible for me on a daily basis, lessening my participation in the culture of gossip and complaint will undoubtedly keep me quieter than usual.

Read Less, Learn More?

" We Western people are apt to think our great problems are external, environmental. We are not skilled at the inner life, where the real roots of our problems lie. The outer distractions of our interests reflect an inner lack of integration of our own lives. We are trying to be several selves at once, without all our selves being organized by a single, mastering life within us."
-- Thomas R. Kelly, A Testament of Devotion

Sometimes when I read a quote like the one above, I nod, say to myself, "Good point!" or "Interesting!" and then move on -- as if by assenting to the logic of a writer's thinking I have allowed the logic to sink deeper into my being than it actually has. An appreciation for a turn of phrase or the resonance I may feel by intellectual agreement does not lead to any real change though. Ironically, agreeing too quickly can cause me to actually miss the point altogether. What I need to do is slow down, wrestle with the idea or perhaps even argue with it, if I am to receive any lasting benefit from the text.

In religious reading, speed is not the goal. Transformation is. And transformation isn't instantaneous either, but rather the slow (lifelong) process of becoming the person one already has the God-given potential to be. The monastics call this sort of reading lectio divina -- divine reading -- in which the reader spends time with a text and allows the words (usually biblical, but not necessarily) to rattle around in her consciousness long enough to actually take root, to begin to shift her perspective and even influence her behavior.

As I spend time with the few sentences from Thomas Kelly, questions arise. How do I strengthen my "inner integration"? What "outer distractions" of my interests need to be set aside for a time so that I can focus upon being a more centered person in the hyper-distracted culture around me? What are the "several selves" I'm attempting to be at once? Are those "selves" my roles? Or are those "selves" the various images my ego would have me project out into the world to either impress others or to protect myself? If being a follower of Jesus is "the single, mastering life" within me, how is my life reflecting that organizing principal?

Questions like these invite deeper reflection. Fodder for prayer and meditation. The busy mind settles. Spiritual spaciousness is created. I am reminded that reading isn't a competitive sport. And now, it's time to stop writing about lectio and go attend to it -- I'll keep you posted on what happens this week as I sit with my questions and Kelly's words.

Resolved

Over the past week, there have been the usual reports concerning the time-honored practice of making "New Year's Resolutions". Mostly the reports covered the same, old ground, asking questions like, "What are the most common resolutions?"; "How does one go about keeping the resolutions one makes?"; "Why do so many resolutions wind up, forgotten, before February 1, only to be re-resolved at the end of the year?"

As I listened to and read some of the answers to the questions in those various reports, I thought of my own attempts at resolutions over the past several decades. What I learned from the process was unsettling. I discovered that I'm better at keeping up with commitments made to my "outside life" (job, family, friends, organizations) than to my "inside" one (spiritual practices, appropriate physical habits, life goals and dreams for the future).

My life is too easily taken over by my calendar -- particularly when I forget that I'm in the enviable position of being able to make many decisions about what and how much stuff gets put on it in a give day. I can give away too much of my life to activities, which over time, don't lead me to any particular destination, but rather take me farther away from the places (literally and metaphorically) I would like to be. I began to wonder, "Am I the only person with this challenge?" I don't think so. Or at least I hope not!

Then, I went back to the dictionary to rediscover the definition of the verb "resolve". The first definition was the one I knew, "to come to a definite or earnest decision about." But as I read further down the list, I discovered how the word is defined in the musical world, "to cause to progress from dissonance to consonance." Hmmm...

I wonder if the latter definition is the real driver behind our resolution-making sprees at the beginning of each new year. We feel the dissonance in some aspect of our lives -- too much weight and the tiredness it brings; a thinness of money and the anxiety it creates; an emptiness of soul and dissatisfaction of feeling disconnected from the Divine. We decide we need to do something about it.

We want the dissonance resolved into consonance. We want congruence. We want the discomfort to go away. We want to feel better about ourselves or our relationships or our careers. But we don't want to wait for even a metaphorical measure or two. We want the dissonance resolved, and resolved NOW!

I'm not much of a musician, but I can appreciate the beauty of a well-tuned instrument and the harmony of blended voices. I have experienced the physical sensation of interior stillness in a well-timed "resolve" at the end of a moving piece of symphonic music. I am awed by the brilliance of the composer who set up the dissonance in the first place. I understand the drama dissonance creates in the music, and the blandness that would ensue if there was no dissonance to resolve.

I don't have any resolutions for 2010. But I have decided to pay attention to the places in my life where there are feelings of dissonance, and ask, in prayer and meditation, where and how the dissonance may be leading me. I have renewed my commitment to honor the commitments I make to myself (even if this means limiting the commitments I make to others). My goal, by adopting these practices, is to lead a life that feels less scattered and more grounded. I'm looking forward to seeing how consonance shows up in the coming months.

Hearing the music of one's own soul. Listening for the places where tuning is needed. Discovering unheard harmonies. Attending to practice. Spending time with the Conductor. Sounds like a plan toward becoming more "resolved" to me.

Blank Paper

Over the past week, I've spent some time cleaning out closets, desk drawers and my briefcase. I've culled hundreds of e-mails from various e-mail accounts. I've deleted dozens of document files from my computer. These are typical "year end" behaviors for me.

Along the way, I've rediscovered scores of pieces of paper -- "Post-it Notes", envelopes, ATM slips, paycheck stubs, napkins -- all bearing the marks of my hurriedly scribbled, sometimes illegible hand. Notes, quotes and random ideas. I'm guessing many of those ideas seemed pretty good to me at the moment. Then these artifacts of my scattered thinking drifted to the bottom of my briefcase, were tucked inside the pages of a half-read book, or stuffed in a coat pocket -- my own unconcious system of intellectual purgation I suppose.

Upon reconnecting with each of these "tidbits", I reread them. In most cases, judgment was swift and sure. Delivered from the purgatory of my briefcase, I summarily cast them into the Sheol of the recycle bin without so much as a second thought. The passage of time had worked its magic -- much of my supposed profundity exposed as barely pedestrian.

This habit of writing random things on scraps of paper has been a part of my life for so long I can't remember when or how I started. The yearly exercise of eradicating the evidence of my undisciplined thinking is a long-standing habit as well. I suspect that over the course of the past year, some of those notes and quotes made it into a sermon, newsletter article or blog post without my ever revisiting the original scrawl (because, of course, I couldn't find it!). I'm certain that the effort of the scribbling wasn't wasted effort, even if it didn't produce a groundbreaking theological tome or an essay worthy of publication. I accept this odd practice as my own way of distilling information and getting the information planted in my mind.

Now I'm ready to begin the exercise again. My briefcase empty. The desk drawers are (mostly) clean. A fresh stack of books beckon. I have plenty of blank paper on hand.

Happy New Year!