A Movie Scene and a Lenten Discipline?

In an otherwise perfectly forgettable movie ("2012") there is one very remarkable scene...

The tidal wave of inconceivable destructive force (it's going to put the Himalayas under water, for goodness' sake!) races to make landfall. The people who have been in the know and have been selected, by either hook or crook, to survive in order to repopulate the world are scurrying to get tucked into their hi-tech, indestructible "arks" in order to be saved. Ostensibly unaware of any of the drama going on in the world around him, a Buddhist monk meditates. As the wave approaches the monastery, the roar of oblivion catches the monk's attention. He opens his eyes to see the tower of water bearing down upon him. He closes his eyes in meditation and is swept away.

This scene has been replaying over and over in my head over the past two weeks. In the midst of all the clamor and chaos here in Wisconsin, I've been caught up in the emotion, the feelings of helplessness, and the over-wrought sense that I "should be doing something". I've lived with the gnawing sense that I could shake my fist at the tidal wave of rhetoric and position-taking, but with little effect, except to ratchet up further my own frustration.

I know where I stand on the issues raised by the Governor's "budget repair bill". I also know how I feel about the necessity of reasoned dialogue and open conversation. I know how much I desire to believe our country (and this state) are places where people of different opinions can reach mutually agreeable (if not perfect) decisions for the good of the society at large. The "common good" seems lost in a flood of "special" interests.

The adrenalin of the past two weeks has been nearly all-consuming for me. I can only imagine what it's been like for those whose lives will be affected by some of the changes in the proposed legislation. Perhaps that's what has disturbed me so much about the whole thing -- somehow in the midst of fighting for our rights or fighting for our principles or fighting for the people who elected us or fighting for a balanced budget or fighting for whatever-the-hell we're fighting for, we've been reduced to mostly fighting. Oh, we're not taking swings at each other (yet) but our verbiage continues to teeter on the brink of crossing the line into the all out "us-against-them" arguments that lead nowhere in particular except to destroy (if not physically or legislatively, at least logically) "the other".

All of which, leads me back to that scene from the movie and my discernment towards a Lenten discipline. Yesterday, I mused on a Facebook post about the possibility of taking a "fast" from all forms of news for the season. I wondered if such an attempt would lead to a more "peaceful" me. I also wondered what effect such a fast would have on my perceived relevance. Several people who commented on the post seemed to think the fast was a good idea. Another mused about responding to the news in a different fashion -- perhaps discerning how to pray in the midst of all the information we receive through the news. One of my clergy friends (humorously?) suggested that, as a group, clergy are already "irrelevant".  As I think about the fictional monk getting back to his vocation of meditation, even as he was about to be swept away, I wonder how my own vocation as a priest calls me to live in the midst of the turbulence that churns around me. Swimming has never been a strong point for me...but I'm not sure I'm ready to drown.

The Truth is More Important Than the Facts!

"Truth and falsity don't belong to words (or 'things' for that matter). Truth belongs to 'understanding' (i.e. the mind -- Aquinas: truth is in the mind, goodness is in things) and therefore to the person with understanding. We learn what is true by being catechized into the truth of the world; a training that assumes a connection of truth to existence, and therefore, to God (who is existence without remainder)."

--The Rev. Lyndon C. Shakespeare, a comment on my post on February 26

I'm a lover of words and a lover of facts. I like how words fit together and how they can be used to buttress an argument. I've been known to build a few of those quasi-logical buttresses myself -- drawing a few inferences here and teasing out an implication there -- all from seemingly disparate sources and piecing together (many times without even questioning my inferences!) in my head a version of "reality" that has very little bearing in the supposed "real" thing.  


Recently, I've been watching the sort of "truth-telling" both Hauerwas and Shakespeare call into question so boldly. To be sure, this difficulty of telling the truth is being played out in real time, whether on television screens or Facebook News Feeds. Every information outlet has an agenda (and they can't help having one!) as they have reported on the scenes from Madison over the past two weeks. The battle of "who has the best data" (or at least who can make the most drama out of the data they have) has been raging.  FOX News and MSNBC are each "hard at work" to earn "our trust" -- and yet, simply tying together a string of facts does not necessarily describe "the truth". 


Developing the character(istics) of truthfulness and trustworthiness -- whether individual, institutional, corporate or governmental -- cannot be distilled to simply a more adept use of "the facts" for the purpose of buttressing one's own opinions (no matter how attached one may be to them!). Thanks, Lyndon!

And now, a word from Stanley Hauerwas....

I was bouncing around on the Internet and found this excerpt from an interview Hauerwas (theology professor at Duke University) had with a journal about preaching some years back. Given recent conversations about preaching and politics amidst the ongoing situation in Madison, this seemed a wonderful exchange to consider on a Saturday evening as preachers and politicians work to deliver their respective messages.

Please note: Hauerwas' directness is not be for the thin-skinned! I'll admit to being a bit stung, myself. Enjoy (or not)!


Hauerwas: The difficulty about becoming a public official in America is that the training necessary for being a politician makes you the kind of person that can’t distinguish a lie from the truth anymore.

Homiletics: So politicians should not go to law school, they should go through seminary.

Hauerwas: That would be a really good idea — a way of formation. But then, you see, one of the things that bothers me deeply about the situation we’re in is how seldom preachers tell their congregations the truth! That’s where you’ve got to start in a genuine politics.

Evangelized!!!???

Last evening, as I was leaving a local hospital (in my clergy duds, no less!), a fellow walks up to me and asks, "Father, may I share something with you?"

I responded, "Sure." Whereupon the gentleman hands me a piece of religious literature boldly emblazoned with the words, "Religious, but don't Know God?"

I said, "I don't think I need this."
He said, "Are you SURE???"
I said, "Yes, I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior when I was 7 years old and he has been my friend ever since."
He said, "Praise his Name!"
I said, "Amen"...and walked away as quickly as possible.

Since the fellow wouldn't take his literature back, I looked at it when I got home and noted the artwork on the front of the leaflet was a pair of hands, folded in prayer, with a rosary draped over them. It was as I had suspected, my interrogator had assumed I was a Roman Catholic priest.

I won't go into a line by line exegesis of the content of the document, but here's one thing for sure. The presupposition behind it is that everyone is going to Hell, unless they have prayed some sort of prayer similar to the one I prayed so long ago as a little kid in the church of my childhood.

Now, I'm not arguing about professions of faith -- people make them all the time and those professions prove meaningful and life-changing for many, me included, even when the event happened over 44 years ago. What I found challenging (actually maddening!) in the encounter was the air of superiority that accompanied the exchange.

To "evangelize" in the classic New Testament usage, means to spread the "Good News", the Gospel of Jesus. Spreading this news isn't about condemning people or pre-judging them about whether or not they  "know" God. The more I think about the encounter, the more I wonder how we Christians as a whole have missed the point of spreading the Good News.

Some Christians (and regardless of how I may feel about having a brother in the Lord question my relationship with the Lord, the guy is still part of the Body of Christ) seem to think the way to tell the Good News is to lead with themes of judgment, fear, sacrifice and death.

Others of us (particularly Episcopalians) have so equated "nice and well-mannered" with being a Christian that we never actually mention our faith out loud at all, hoping instead that our actions will somehow interest people around us enough so they initiate a conversation on matters of faith.

In the meantime, I suspect there are any number of people who are ready to hear Good News of mercy, forgiveness, wholeness, healing and life...if some of us would only tell them (and not assume a piece of literature can do so on our behalf).

Attention!

"Everything is changing. Everything is connected. Pay attention." (Zen saying)

I was listening to a podcast the other day in which the speaker noted the ways in which we are bombarded with information and the effects such bombardment has, over time, on our ability to focus on the task at hand. The speaker was actively debunking the idea of multi-tasking and advocating for the more tried and true methodology of "one thing at a time" in order to actually get things done. I found myself absent-mindedly checking my e-mail, texting a friend and reading an article online all the while the audio was playing. Thus, I was the case in point for the speaker's podcast!

Paying attention has become an increasing challenge for me through the years. This past week has been particularly challenging. I've found myself unable to resist constantly checking for updates on the situation in Madison, perusing articles about church growth online or about the unrest in the Middle East. Of course, updating my Facebook status has been an unusually high priority as well. Simultaneously, I've been struggling mightily with a growing "to-do" list, which only mirrors my distractions and the loose ends dangling everywhere. Because I'm a solution-seeker, I've spent time consulting friends and colleagues about my situation. I've rummaged through my collection of time management books. Yes, I've been busy figuring out how to get things done without actually doing much of anything. Paradox or paralysis?

Yes, yes...you've read it all before if you've read any of my stuff over the past couple of years. I've been struggling with these issues for a while now. And you've got struggles of your own. Everyone's life is full -- perhaps overly so...I'm beginning to feel as if mine sure is. Recognizing one's limitations and living with those limitations are two separate things.

So how do we pay attention to our interior (spiritual) lives when our attention is so drawn to so many things in the world around us? I don't have any answers. But I do believe the answers lie in the sort of questions we ask about a given situation. My questions for today?

What would 15 minutes of single-minded focus look like?
Could I embody four segments of such focus between now and bedtime?
What might I accomplish in that hour?

I'll report any progress tomorrow.

"Christian __________________"

"He's a Christian man."
"She's a Christian woman."
"I want to see a Christian therapist (or accountant, attorney, dentist, or doctor)."
"This is a Christian nation."

I admit, whenever I hear the noun,
"Christian"
Used as an adjective,
I get squeamish.
What exactly does such a descriptor mean?

That the man is kind or honest or trustworthy or non-violent?
That the woman is sweet or passive or deferential or submissive?
That the professional is more sensitive/understanding towards her/his patients?
That the nation has a particular set of political beliefs or social/moral stances?

Any time "Christian" is used in this fashion,
Certain behaviors/attitudes seem to be implied by the descriptor;
Even when the implied behaviors vary widely from person to person
And place to place.
And even if, there is some vague awareness that "Christian"
Is an identifier (noun) imprinted on us at Baptism.

I would argue...

We don't act our way into being "Christian".
We are baptized as Christians and then
We spend our lives growing into the identity
We were freely given in the splash of water
And the smear of oil.

Don't call me a "Christian" minister!
Redundant!
I am a Christian!
And to serve (minister) in the world
Is who I am.

Business as Usual?

Earlier today, I ventured over to the Episcopal News Service website. I go there every few weeks to see if anything much has happened in the Church since my last peek. I read a few articles. The one that caught my attention was the summary of the "goings on" at the recently concluded Executive Committee meeting (this is the body of lay folks, clergy and bishops who manage various aspects of Church life in between General Conventions).

As I read the summary of the multi-day meeting, I will admit that most of the content was a bit foreign to me. Lots of accounting verbiage. Lots of policy, procedure and resolutions. Lots of management stuff. Not much of anything about mission or ministry.

For all of our studying, debating, report writing, counter report writing, and whatever else is going on in the Episcopal Church, one thing is clear to me --we are more comfortable with word-smithing resolutions than engaging, in real time, the work such resolutions might actually entail.

I continue to pray we won't confuse gobs of meetings with actually proclaiming the Gospel (in word and deed), but I also recognize that keeping ourselves busy with meetings prevents us from facing squarely into the resurrecting power of God.

Compartments

I still remember the first time I bought lunch at the school cafeteria in elementary school. I don't remember what was on the plate, but I do remember the plate -- some sort of hard plastic dinnerware, tan in color, divided into three sections by raised ridges -- compartments! The gravy for the mashed potatoes stayed in place, as did the liquid runoff from the ever-present, artificially green peas. Applesauce no longer oozed everywhere like an out-of-control amoeba. Everything was contained. Separated. In its appropriate place.

I was fascinated and immediately wondered how to get my parents to outfit our table with these fabulous inventions. I failed in that endeavor (unfortunately!), and instead, had to devise other ways to keep everything carefully separated on my plate at home. But, in many ways those cheap, ugly plates, with their immovable compartments mirrored the way I was formed as a person (formally and informally) at home, at school and at church. Here are a few of the "social compartments" I learned about throughout my childhood:

"Separation of church and state."
"Religion and politics don't mix."
"Keep your religion to yourself when you're at school."
"Witness to the faith out there, 'in the world', because the 'world' is sinful and needs saving."
"The body is to be controlled and denied so the soul can progress."
"Heaven above. Earth below. Hell beneath."
"Sin and Salvation."
"There is one way to 'heaven' and everyone who refuses (or is ignorant of) that way goes to 'hell'."

To be sure, I no longer see life as quite so neat and orderly. Compartments are constructs. Life isn't so simple. I cannot keep my religion, my politics, my race, my socio-economic status, my education, my gender, my orientation, my family of origin and my nationality from bumping into each other, influencing each other, oozing onto each other, arguing with each other, wrestling with each other and competing with each other.  One part of who I am cannot be cordoned off from the rest of me. And, I question anyone who would argue that they have the ability to compartmentalize themselves to the extent that one aspect of who they are doesn't impact another part of who they are becoming.

Over the past few years, I've struggled with this notion of keeping my personal opinions separate from my work as a pastor and priest. Do I have the authority to speak to controversial issues as a priest when no authority has been given me by the judicatory to do so? I'm well aware my ordination vows collar me to a way of life in which I am to care for all people -- even (and maybe even especially) those who have different views on any range of issues than I do. Does the collar (as I have so often joked) really come with a muzzle?

How do I balance the convictions that I have as a result of who I am, where I've been and the experiences of my life with the Church's penchant for having its clergy be agreeable, pleasant and nondescript under the rubric of inclusivity and of not giving any sort of "offense" to those we are called (or is it hired?) to serve?

Here's the rub. No one is going to be too angry with me for much of what I say publicly. If anything, the ordination process, seminary and these few years of priesthood have taught me to be careful about what I write, what I say, when I say it and to whom. Up until now, I've been pretty good at keeping the compartments in place.

But I'm beginning to wonder, do my compartments keep me safe or keep me incarcerated?

A Sunday Sermon at Trinity Church, Wauwatosa

Matthew 5:38-48

Earthquakes and Tsumanis and Hurricanes. Mass shootings in Tuscon last month and in Poughkeepsie last Friday. Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the latter war now in its tenth year. The violence which seems to be a way of life just a few miles east of this corner. Year in and year out, week in and week out, over the past six and a half years of our time together, we have come to this sacred space and prayed. 

Prayed for those who have lost lives or loved ones or livelihood. Prayed for those who have lost homes and hope. Prayed for the unemployed and the underemployed. Prayed for the sick and the suffering. Prayed for the hungry and the homeless. Prayed for those whose have been elected to public office and who have undertaken to fulfill their duties "to the best of their ability", so help them God.

Certainly, this parish has done more than mouth the words of prayers. We've put muscle and money behind our prayers. We have given and given generously toward relief efforts in the aftermath of Katrina, the Southeast Asian Tsunami and the earthquake in Haiti. We've participated in giving away thousands of articles of clothing at Red Door Clothes. We've given through the funds raised at our Awesome Auction to places like Our Next Generation and Sojourner Truth House. We've given money and time and energy to Habitat for Humanity. But in, around and through it all, we have prayed. For many of us, though, all of that praying (even in the face of so much tragedy and pain) has been fairly routine. After all, praying is part of what church folks do, right?

If we're not paying attention, praying can seem like an innocuous expenditure of time. Even in the face of differences of opinion, we can all agree on praying, can't we?  After all, praying seems passive enough so as not to damage our reputation or our social status or our friendships. We can pray quietly. We can pray privately. We can even pray without committing to much of anything. We begin to treat prayer as a no-loss, no-gain proposition.

We can be easily lulled into the misunderstanding that prayer is the activity religious people engage in either, when we don't have any other action in mind or when we have no real intention of actually taking any sort of action. In fact, from time to time, some of us may wonder when (or if) the church will ever do anything BESIDES pray. We may hear our internal voice yelling,"Don't just pray there, DO SOMETHING!"    

Over the past week, the images from our state Capitol building have been stunning.  I can only imagine what it's like to BE there as some of our own parishioners have been. Clearly, there are literally tens of thousands who have been compelled, because of their convictions, to make the journey to Madison and have their voices heard. They HAD to do something! For many, this is a defining moment, with much more at stake than the particulars of a piece of legislation. 

Exactly how this will be a defining moment seems to depend upon which side of the political aisle one is occupying. The rhetoric has been steadily ramping upwards. Opinions have set like concrete. The fortifications of blame and frustration are being erected. Slogans and mantras are lobbed across the airwaves, though cyberspace and onto the Capitol grounds.  

This is the sort of moment tailor-made for the reality programming our culture so craves. One side says, "Come back and do the work you were elected to do." The other side says, "We're working to defend the rights of those who elected us." Pundits pontificate and cast the moment as evidence of the ideological divide in this country which is impossible to bridge.  

Make no mistake; in the end, there will be winners and losers. And whether we want to acknowledge it or not, there are followers of Jesus on both sides of this situation -- at the Capitol in Madison and right here, in this room.

How are we to faithfully engage the words of today's Gospel, when our own emotions are running so high? How do we live the love of neighbor Jesus commands of his followers when our own sense of justice is so offended? How do we pray for our enemies when we want so badly to WIN and we want so fervently to see them LOSE? How do we face into the conflict such situations "out there" stir up for us when we're together "in here"?

The Sermon on the Mount is so simple when it's a hypothetical exercise, isn't it? As long as the enemy is "over there" -- across the ocean or across the country in Washington, DC, or even 75 minutes away in Madison -- we can "love them" in theory. But what about when the "enemy", the one opposed to us, lives next door in our neighborhood? Or across the hall at work? Or on the next pew at church? All of a sudden praying for our enemies takes on an urgency which is undeniable. But when the enemy lectures us on our television screens or shouts at us across a table, to offer a prayer for them becomes almost impossible. We choke on our anger. We can't bless because we want so desperately to curse.

A scant seven years ago, this parish was reeling in the aftermath of months of intense conflict. Longtime friendships had been strained until they had fractured beyond repair. E-mails had flown. Voices were raised. Scripture was quoted. Resolutions were proposed. Meetings, some public and some in secret, were conducted. By the time the dust settled, everyone (those who left and those who remained) had been changed irrevocably by all that had happened.

Then, in the spring of 2004, Trinity Church was given a gift on its way toward healing. That gift came embodied in the person of Skita Cassell, who we are remembering in particular today. As Skita battled the ravages of scleroderma, her family and friends asked to have a prayer service for her here at Trinity. Two of the songs we are singing this morning were sung at that service. Scripture was read. Prayers were prayed. People surrounded Skita, her son, Abayomi, and her mother Marilyn with love and concern. 

I'm told (because I wasn't here at the time) that, in a very real way, this healing service marked a new beginning for Trinity Church. As parishioners here continued to embrace Skita and her family through her illness, they began to risk embracing each other again as well. That simple prayer service planted the seeds of a healing ministry which continues to blossom here today. Skita didn't get cured, but her life was a witness to the healing power of God.

So here we are today. 

Perhaps broken and hurting. Perhaps angry and frightened. Perhaps wondering, "What are we to do in the face of so much confusion and contention?" Jesus' sermon calls to us across the centuries. This call is clearly a call in the prophetic tradition. 

We are called to be holy. Holy in our words. Holy in our habits. Holy in our treatment of others -- even those with whom we adamantly disagree. 

We are called to be patient. Patient enough to bear persecution. Patient enough to give away our money with no hope of repayment. Patient enough to give away our clothes with no guarantee of return. Patient enough to get slapped in the face and respond, not by taking a swing at the person who slapped us, but by giving the offender an open shot at the other cheek.

We are called to love -- not just the ones who love us in return, but the ones who hate us. Love the ones who would see us suffer and not lose a moment's sleep. Love the ones who would take the very food off our plates or the money out of our wallets. Love the ones we have come to hate. 

Jesus' way is not the easy way. Jesus' way takes us along the way of the cross. Jesus' way stretches our sense of justice. Jesus' way squeezes our opinions through the narrow gate of God's righteousness. 

Jesus' way presses us into the company of fellow pilgrims -- a community of people with whom we agree and disagree; some who become friends and some who remain enemies. Within this community we call Church we make our way toward healing and wholeness. Within this community of faith we share our joys and our sorrows; we share our frustrations and our anger; we share our fears and our anxieties. Together, in this community of faith, we practice how to live Gospel lives. Together, in this community of faith, we learn what it means to be holy, to be patient and to be loving. 

What if we're too angry to be holy? And what if we don't want to be patient? And what if we'd rather die than be loving? Well, this is the place to risk giving voice to our struggles. This is the place to risk being real. This is the place to open ourselves to the healing power of the Crucified God.  

And maybe (in the words of those special hymns we're singing), "taking it to the Lord in prayer" would be a good place to start. 

Perfect???

"Be perfect, even as your Father in heaven is perfect" -- Matthew 5:48

Jesus offers these words at the conclusion of a difficult set of teachings in what has come to be known as the Sermon on the Mount (Gospel of Matthew, chapters 5 through 7). This imperative collides with the cultural wisdom, "Nobody's perfect."

Nobody's perfect at loving their neighbor.
Nobody's perfect at praying for their enemies.
Nobody's perfect at non-violence.
Nobody's perfect at keeping themselves from anger.
Everybody messes up, right?
And Jesus' words simply stare back at us from the page.

Dwelling Places

Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?

In the course of my work, I get the opportunity to speak with folks from different congregations all over the country. For all of the diversity in the Episcopal Church, the frustrations and challenges of church life remain remarkably constant -- aging congregations, decreasing Sunday worship attendance, increasing expenses, deferred maintenance on century-old buildings, and all the rest. In our anxiety-driven fixation on institutional survival, we easily overlook one very important reality -- the Church isn't the sum of its real estate holdings, endowments and credit rating.

The temple of God isn't in bricks and mortar,
But rather it is in the flesh and blood of the Baptized.

Imagine that!

God's Spirit howling through the recesses of our hearts!
Setting us free to do the work God has given us to do!

Sometimes I wonder...
What would the Church be like
If we actually began to live into our identity
As the dwelling places of Holy Spirit?

And what would happen...
If we began to treat each other like
Being the Temple of God was their identity too?
Read more »

Friends and Neighbors

At a local diner this morning, the conversation turned to the spectacle of thousands of people who have converged upon Madison, Wisconsin over the past few days in response to an impending vote on a bill before the state legislature. The people involved in the (very heated) breakfast discussion had apparently known each other for years.

As the volume of the discussion increased, all of a sudden, the restaurant didn't seem like a safe place to be. Listening to friends and neighbors shouting over their eggs and at each other had not been on my agenda. I made quick work of my breakfast and departed. Somehow, 7:30 a.m. seemed a tad early to be mediating arguments.

A few moments ago, after a full workday, I sat down and briefly perused Facebook. I scrolled page after page of my Wisconsin friends' status updates. And not surprisingly to me, their opinions on the proposed legislation were fairly consistent. They were posting the same links, sharing the same videos and pictures from Madison, and their status updates made their position on the issue clear.  In fact, my friends' opinions were so uniform that when I scrolled upon a status update from another friend which offered a contrary viewpoint, I found myself lingering over the status -- reading it and rereading it.

Here it was in cyber-print! The truth so easy to forget when we get caught up emotionally in an issue -- friends and neighbors can and do disagree -- sometimes vehemently. And the convictions at the headwaters of those disagreements are so contrary to each other the hope for "compromise" seems hopelessly misplaced.

How do we engage in respectful conversation when we don't fundamentally trust our conversation partners? How do we remember our Baptismal vows and conduct ourselves accordingly when we want so badly to be right? Or to have our position validated? And to WIN? How does the Gospel call those of us who purport to follow Jesus to be with our friends and neighbors who also claim to follow Jesus, but who draw different conclusions about what "following Jesus" means with respect to politics and public policy?

I'm pretty sure the command to "love our neighbors" doesn't just apply to the neighbors who agree with us. The call to friendship isn't about ideological alignment. I am grateful for my friend with whom I disagree. Perhaps being grateful is the first step toward infusing a difficult conversation with graciousness.

Take Time to be Holy

"You shall be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy." -- from Leviticus 19

When I was in college, I was a member of a congregation located just outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee. On the inside wall of the worship space, above the doors leading to the foyer (and positioned such that the preacher could readily see it from the pulpit) was a very large clock. Inscribed on the face of the clock, in large, captital letters were the words, "TAKE TIME TO BE HOLY."
 
Honestly I felt like the clock was yelling at me every week when I departed from worship services. And the message I often took home with me from this directive went something like this, "You sluggard, get with it! You've got to pray more, give more, read your Bible more, serve more and witness more! You've got the time to be holy, you just don't TAKE it!" (Yep, guilt was very much a part of my religious experience then!)
 
I've spent years attempting to figure out what it means to be "holy" and not simply pious or sanctimonious. These days, words like "holy" and "holiness" sound somewhat archaic and carry some baggage with them in the popular culture. The word which seems to have greater cache amongst both religious and non-religious folks is the word "spiritual". There is an interest in spirituality that seems to transcend the general population's distrust of religious institutions. Even regular attenders at worship in "traditional" venues are seeking ways to better connect to a sense of meaning and transcendance in their lives (without subscribing to the necessity of being conversant in the finer points of theological dogma). Spiritualities abound! But how exactly does one become "spiritually" attuned?

The reading from the Hebrew Scriptures appointed for this coming Sunday is from Leviticus, and is specifically drawn from the section of that biblical book known as "The Holiness Code". Interestingly enough, though, the way in which the Hebrew people were to live life to give witness to their "holiness" doesn't look too "spiritual". Instead, holiness has a distinctively down-to-earth quality:

--Leave a little of the harvest (including the grapes used for making wine!) so the poor and the immigrant can find a bit of sustenance.

--Don't take what doesn't belong to you.

--Be honest in your dealings and in your speaking...tell the truth.

--Pay your debts. Pay the hired help in a timely fashion.

--Don't persecute the physically disabled

--Live justly; deal with others in a just fashion.

--Don't say things about your neighbor that slander their reputation.

--Don't profit as a result of your neighbor's loss .

--Keep a distance from hatred, exacting your own version of vengeance or holding a grudge.

--Love your neighbor as yourself (sound familiar?)

None of the items on this list are particularly "groundbreaking". In fact, it all sounds fairly simple, perhaps even boring (but by no means easy!). The behaviors outlined in these few verses don't come with a guarantee that those who follow them will suddenly ascend to spiritual heights. But maybe being "spiritual" (or even holy!) isn't about doing great things. Maybe the spiritual/holy life is about practicing behaviors that are sometimes inconvenient or even counterintuitive.

And practice? Well, that takes time.

Numbers

Wisconsin has somewhere in the neighborhood of 5.6 million residents. As of 2008, there were 50.35 full time equivalent (FTE) Wisconsin state employees for every 1,000 of those residents.  At that time, this ratio was about 8.2% fewer state workers per 1,000 than the national average.

The changes to pay, benefits and union access for state workers presently before the Wisconsin State Legislature (which, as of this writing, are likely to pass) will impact a statistically small number of Wisconsin citizens. Some money will be saved, but Wisconsin's budgetary problems will not be solved. Fiscal conservatives will laud the changes as a new era in responsible government. Social liberals and those sympathetic to labor unions will decry the changes as insensitive and regressive.

State workers will go back to work. They will also go back to their calculators and ledger sheets to figure out how to keep their households fiscally sound in the face of significant changes in their take home pay. Like so many of us, they will worry about how to pay their mortgages, put food on their tables, gas in their cars, educate their children, etc. My guess is the legislators who will vote in favor of the changes are people who care about the future of Wisconsin. Undoubtedly, they will go home feeling good about their decisions. Some of them won't lose much sleep over the impact their vote will have on the lives of literally thousands of people. Philosophically, I can understand that "winners and losers" are a part of the political process we call democracy. Theologically, I recognize democracy isn't the means to usher in the Kingdom of God.

This coming Sunday is my turn to preach. If it's an average Sunday at Trinity Church, there will be 30-40 folks at the 8:00 a.m. service and 135-160 people at the 9:30 a.m. service. We'll hear some texts read from Leviticus, 1 Corinthians and the Gospel of Matthew. And my job is to make some connection between at least one of those passages and what's going on in our world and in our lives. Situations like the one unfolding at the Capitol Building in Madison makes this work a particularly daunting task.

I can understand why the temptation to offer a "personal piety talk" instead of a sermon is so irresistible. After all, I'm one voice in a sea of millions. Statistically speaking, the number of people I will be preaching toward is negligible in the broader political schema -- even if everyone present on Sunday agreed on the goodness or the horridness of this week's legislative actions.

And besides, what do I know?
I'm not an accountant, a union organizer, a legislator or a state employee.
I'm a preacher. Plain and simple.

I periodically remind the congregation I serve that
Jesus worked in small numbers -- one person at a time.
I'm pretty sure there's no other way to be the Church.
I'm also realistic, though.
I understand not much
I will say on Sunday will change the numbers --
Either of the "budget repair" or the "pay cut" variety.

But I keep thinking
I have to say something...
Because I can't believe the prophets of Israel and Judah
Would have kept their mouths shut;
Jesus certainly had plenty to say about how we treat one another.

Good Lord, deliver me from timidness and arrogance!
The timidness that convinces me what I might say won't make a difference
And the arrogance that seduces me into thinking something I could say will.

Budget Repair in Church?

What is the role of the Church in times of heated political debate?
Silent prayer? Business as usual? Advocacy?
Pretending events of the "outside world" are concerns of others?
(As if people who comprise the Church aren't in the middle of such concerns!)

"No politics in Church!"
We preachers hear that mantra all the time.
Check your political beliefs at the door!
Church is the place to attend to one's spiritual life!
Church is to be a place of safety and security!
Church is to be a place of peacefulness!
Church is the refuge from the raucousness of debate!
Just preach the Gospel, preacher!
(As if the Gospel has no bearing upon the politics of human relationships!)

"All politics are local," the saying goes.
I've certainly seen that slogan writ large over the past few days.
Budget repair.
Collective bargaining.
Wages and benefits.
Plenty of issues.
Plenty of opinions.
I have some opinions on the issues myself.

How am I to preach the Good News of God's salvation...
As if it is separate and distinct from the lives people live?
This coming Sunday,
Will I preach an escapist, individualistic Gospel?
(The Gospel of being a "nice" person with good manners!)
Can I stick to the prescribed script and check the politics at the door?
After all, saying nothing overtly political does
In and of itself, make a political (and theological) statement, doesn't it?

A Bit about Change

"The only constant is change."

We've all heard that one. 

In fact we've probably said it a time or two. 

Sometimes as a way of defending a change we're in favor of. 

Sometimes as a way of resigning ourselves to a change we're opposed to.

This morning, the liturgy at Trinity Church

Looked much the same as it has from week to week for years.

And, of course, the liturgy was different --

Different because I'm not the same person as I was years ago.

I've aged; 

I've learned to listen a bit better;

I'm a more experienced priest;

I've lost some weight;

I've gained some perspective on myself;

I have a history now with the people in this parish.

We know some of each other's stories.

The people at Trinity are different too --

Some are different because, like me, they have changed "in place";

Maybe the change hasn't become noticeable to them just yet.

Still others are new to the parish within the past few years;

And new people invariably bring new ideas and new energy.

The change has happened slowly (but not glacially!),

And is present and palpable every time we gather.

Easy to forget -- 

That slow and steady change can be as unsettling

As the rapid and erratic sort.

I know it can be difficult to accept -- 

When one enters into a familiar space;

And feels like a stranger.

I've had it happen to me

At other times and in other places.

I keep reminding myself that change 

Is all around me and deep within me; 

And deep within others as well.

Could it be that the "wind of change"

Is actually the breath of the Spirit?

Pleasing God?

What does it mean to live a life pleasing to God?
Indeed, can God be "pleased"?
Isn't this sort of language the epitome of projecting human characteristics upon the Divine?

Every now and then, the opening prayer (called the "Collect of the Day) assigned for a given Sunday in the Episcopal Church provokes me toward such questions. The prayer for tomorrow says, in part, "...and because in our weakness we can do nothing good without you, give us the help of your grace, that in keeping your commandments we may please you both in will and deed..."

I wonder how many of us consider ourselves so "weak" that we can do NOTHING good?

Theologically, I believe that God's Spirit supports and sustains us in the lives we live. I believe in God we "live and move and have our being". I believe that to become aware of our dependence upon God's presence in our lives (every moment of our lives!) is to begin to get an inkling of the ethereal nature of "grace". Perhaps we're in need of being reminded from time to time of our dependence upon God.

Perhaps this language of dependence is necessary to remind us that God is God and we are not. I wonder how such language impacts any understanding of human agency. Or maybe such language is simply pious-speak that floats over us in a few seconds during the liturgy. Tomorrow's prayer raises plenty of questions for me and maybe that's the point.

Sent from my iPad

Keeping Our Word

But I say to you, "Do not swear at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make one hair white or black. Let your word be `Yes, Yes' or `No, No'; anything more than this comes from the evil one."  -- Matthew 5:36-37

At the conclusion of the fifth chapter of Matthew, we read Jesus' challenging reinterpretations of some of the "tried and true" commandments in the Torah -- commandments that seemed so straightforward anyone should know what to do (or not do) in order to keep them. Some version of the formulary, "You have heard it said...But I say to you..." occurs four times between versess 21-37. In the two instances, Jesus expands the prohibitions against murder and adultery. He challenges his hearers to consider anger and name-calling to be akin to murder and the thinking of illicit thoughts in and of themselves to be on a par with actual adulterous behavior. In the final twist (see the verses above), Jesus takes on the practices of oath-making and of keeping one's word.

In the complicated parlance of human barter and negotiation, words and trust are of utmost importance. As it is in our society, so it was in Jesus' time. But how could one secure one's word? And perhaps more importantly, how could one be influenced to trust the other party in the negotiations, even when the other party was essentially a stranger? How could one offer assurance to the other party in the contract that the deal being consummated would be kept to the letter? And, how could enough wiggle room be left in a seemingly airtight deal to afford each party the right to declare the contract null and void and thereby be released from any liability for failing to follow through on the terms of the original agreement?

In the absence of a legal superstructure and legions of contract lawyers, how did one prove one's trustworthiness? Well, by oath-making of course! To our ears this offering of an oath (no matter how intricately worded) seems a tenuous exercise at best. By Jesus' time, entire systems of oath-making had evolved such that, to leave one word unsaid in the complicated oath-making process could have significant ramifications for the future of the contract. The "double dog dare you" of the first century oath-making formula was to swear "by Jerusalem"; the "triple dog dare you" was an oath offered on the surety of "heaven above".

Jesus cuts to the heart of such superfluous speech. "Yes" and "No" are sufficient. Indeed, if one's "Yes" and "No" cannot be trusted, no amount of extraneous oath-making (regardless of its poetic, well-parsed, serpentine language) makes the contract any more secure. Beyond the practicalities of plain speech, though, Jesus is naming a far more difficult reality -- human beings are simply not in control of the Divine. To invoke God to underwrite a contract is to overstep human authority. God cannot (and will not) be used to buttress the inconsistency, selfishness and intrinsic human tendency to want the position of power over another human being.

Last fall, as this country went through the stresses and strains of the "election season", we witnessed the candidates vying for office engage in the point/counterpoint of comparing each other's policy statements with previous statements made through the years (in writing or the media), which seemed to irrefutably point to contradictions in a candidate's thinking. This practice of camparing/contrasting each other's previous statements with the election season rhetoric about various issues had a singular aim -- to cast doubt on a candidate's trustworthiness. Interestingly enough, since all candidates seem to be unable to resist such a strategy, the public is left with the distinct impression that every candidate is, at some level, suspect.

The battle of sound bites raged over the radio and television for weeks. In the end the elections happened and the pundits began their own process of interpreting the results. The newly elected basked in the glory of victory. Those ousted from office did their best to remain dignified in the face of defeat.

And then, this past January, in the Capitol Building of the United States, those who had been elected raised their right hands, and said the following:

"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God."

Of course, as a Christian, I wonder what sort of "God" is being invoked to assist the Representatives and Senators in their duties (presumably the same God who is invoked to "bless" America). In light of Jesus' words, though, the intent in this oath is still the same -- to enlist the heavens to do what we humans seem so often to be incapable of doing -- keeping our word.

Going With

One of the interesting expressions of speech here in Wisconsin is the phrase, "go with". The phrase is often used like this, "I'm/We're going to (insert destination here), do you want to go with?" The person or people with whom one will "go with" is assumed in the subject section of the question. I appreciate the efficiency of the shortcut, even if I still haven't been able to incorporate it into my own way of speaking.  But I suspect there is something more going on than simple efficiency. Whenever I have had that question asked of me, I've often exprienced it as an offer of hospitality and inclusion -- a way of saying, "I'd/We would be pleased if you'd join us on our journey."

To travel together in the company of a friend is to add a new dimension to an errand. There's the opportunity for a shared experience, for conversation, for deepening the relationship -- whether the desitnation is the shore of Lake Michigan, the museum or the dairy aisle of a grocery store. To keep company is the way we get to know each other, experience each other's individuality and learn about "who we are" in the process.

This evening, I was reading from a book of prayers when I ran across the following benediction:

May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you:
wherever he may send you;
may he guide you through the wilderness: protect you through the storm;
may he bring you home rejoicing: at the wonders he has shown you;
may he bring you home rejoicing: once again into our doors.

To be a follower of Jesus is to be in the company of the Risen Christ (whether we are aware of it or not); and to be privileged to be a part of the community of the Baptized, who are our fellow pilgrims through the changes and chances of this life. I suspect if there was a Wisconsin translation of the final words of Jesus in Matthew's Gospel it would go like this: "..And remember, I'll go with always, even to the end of time."

In a world so chock full of loneliness and isolation, that's Good News!

Apostolic Agriculture

I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose, and each will receive wages according to the labor of each. For we are God's servants, working together; you are God's field, God's building. -- 1 Corinthians 3:6-9

The church in the Greek city of Corinth had plenty of "issues". We know about some of those issues as a result of a careful reading of the letters written to the church by Paul the Apostle. Granted, Paul's assessment of the Corinthian situation was skewed by virtue of his own involvement as a teacher in the congregation through the years. Nevertheless, his attempts to offer the congregation guidance in form of the letters we now know as 1 & 2 Corinthians give us, not only an insight into the difficulties of congregational life back then, but also underscores the common themes of congregational communal life which are remarkably consistent over the course of centuries.

In this coming Sunday's reading assigned by the lectionary, we read Paul's attempt to address a tendency among the Corinthians toward partisanship. Apparently there was some conflict around which of the itinerant teachers who had been a part of their communal life should hold the most influence on doctrine and practice. Some were for Peter. Some were for Apollos. Some were for Paul. Some members of the congregation seem to have claimed a direct encounter with Christ (even though the Crucifixion and Resurrection had occurred at least 15 years prior to the time of the letter).

At the beginning of chapter 3, Paul asserts that this partisanship merely demonstrates the congregation's immaturity -- spiritual infants who required "milk" in spite of the expectation that they would be munching on the "meatier" issues of the spiritual life. Then, using an agricultural metaphor, Paul puts all of the teachers on a par with one another. Even if each of the teachers had brought different gifts to the "field" which was the church at Corinth, no one of them could claim primacy -- simply because the only way a church could grow was by virtue of God's quickening Spirit in the life of the congregation. Everyone gets a job, but God gets the glory, because God gave the growth.

Recently I was in a church building and happened to walk around a corner and down a hall only to be confronted with two rows of pictures (portraits really). One row contained the portraits of the men (and only men to this point) who had served the parish in the role of rector through the years of the parish's existence. The other row contained the portraits of the men (and only men to this point) who had served that diocese as its bishop. I had an immediate reaction. "The spirit of Corinth lives!" I thought to myself.

Now some would argue that to have these portraits hanging on the wall in an out of the way hallway somehow "honors" the history of that particular parish. My guess is there are still parishioners in this location who have some interesting stories to tell about the last 3 rectors and (at least) the last couple of bishops. My argument is such a "hall of fame" mentality puts the focus in the wrong place.

Over the time of any congregation's existence there have been some priests/bishops who have had a positive impact on its communal life. Others have hand an impact which could be viewed as less-than-positive. In the final analysis though, priests and bishops are farmers -- planting the seed of the Gospel, watering it, maybe doing a bit of weeding here and there, fertilizing the soil, protecting the plants from the plague of all sorts of insects. With the ecclesiastical gardening tools, clergy-types do their work of encouragement and exhortation, all the while having very little clue how it will all work out.

There are no guarantees in apostolic agriculture. But I think what Paul was attempting to cajole the Corinthians into understanding was that no one is more important than anyone else. The personality of the farmer has no bearing upon the bountifulness of the harvest. That's out of our hands. We can plant. We can water. But God gives the growth! (The sort of growth that can't be captured in a picture frame.)

A Bit of Wisdom

"If you choose, you can keep the commandments, and to act faithfully is a matter of your own choice."

(Ecclesiasticus 15:5)

Situated in the section of the Bible that is off limits for most Protestants, the writings often referred to as The Apocrypha are an interesting collection of stories, poetry and sayings. More properly called The Deuterocanonical Books (meaning "second canon"), the books in this collection were primarily written in Greek (instead of Hebrew), even though they tell stories that are attached to particular times in the history of the Jews. These texts appeared in the Greek version of the Hebrew Scriptures known as The Septuagint, and have enjoyed an uneven history of acceptance within the Christian Church. Presently included in the Roman Catholic Bible and excluded from most Protestant Bibles, the Episcopal Church has consistently read texts from these books in worship and considers them valuable and sacred (even if not quite "inspired" to the same level as the generally accepted books of the Bible).

The verse above is from the deuterocanonical book of Ecclesiasticus (not to be confused with Ecclesiastes!), which is also known as "The Wisdom of Jesus, son of Sirach" (not to be confused with Jesus, son of Mary!). Most scholars date the book to the 2nd century B.C. and there is general agreement that it was probably written within the environs of Alexandria in Egypt. The content of Ecclesiasticus resembles other writings in the "wisdom" tradition (particularly the Old Testament book of Proverbs). Wisdom literature is characterized by its focus on practical advice, which, if followed, will lead the one heeding this advice toward the "good life".

Wisdom literature is also characterized by its affirmation of human agency. Human beings, in this literature, have the power of self-determination! They can choose which God to worship (or not). They can choose how to behave in proper society (or not). They can choose the commandments they will keep (or not). In fact, the one given in this literature is the individual's inability to choose whether or not she/he actually has the power to choose. We ALL can choose, and the person of wisdom will inevitably make the right choice.

While I appreciate the sentiments of Jesus ben Sirach, I'm not too sure of the "givenness"of human agency. I know my own struggles to "keep the commandments".  I know too well my own faults and failures. And yet, the power such a text has on a Sunday morning is, to remind the hearers that our role as people of faith is about far more than "sharing" opinions and offering helpful advice to others. Our work is to keep making the choice -- no matter how many times we falter -- to "act faithfully".

At the same time, the optimism inherent in Ecclesiasticus is contagious: "Keep making the right choice! Keep being faithful to the choices you have made! And before you know it, you're not simply reading about "wisdom", you're living as a wise one in the world!"

And Goodness knows, the world could use a few more "wise ones"!

Things Left Undone

Mondays are my "usual" days for sabbath time. Unfortunately, I have struggled with the concept of "a day off" for the bulk of my time as a priest. Today was no exception. By 9:15 a.m., I could feel myself sliding into a bit of a frenzy about things needing to be done between today and the end of the week. I looked at my handy-dandy web-based "to do" list and panicked just a bit.  Even with my less-than-perfect project management skills, I immediately recognized that many items would go undone until next week (or beyond) unless I tackled them TODAY!

I charged over to the office, fired up the computer, cleared the desk of paper...and I was off to the races. Thirty minutes later, I was stuck. The top task on the list was now hopelessly tangled in a mess of delays -- technological and otherwise. I wanted desperately to stick to the task until it was FINISHED! But clearly that would be a misguided attempt at stubbornness. How I longed to close even one loop, to check off even one item and remove it from the list! For me, having an item "in progress" didn't count as getting one DONE! So I moved to the next task. The results? Not much better.

Oh, and in the time I was working to eradicate two tasks which were far more complicated than I had originally envisioned, guess what? Yes. Several new tasks appeared in the forms of e-mail requests to process, phone calls to be returned and forgotten tasks suddenly getting remembered. Grumble. Grumble.

When I have days like today, I often ask myself the question, "How in the world do people in high pressure exec-type jobs ever manage to meet the stampeding herds of to-do's and effectively deal with them without being trampled?"  As soon as I consider this question, I immediately begin to think about the ways in which my work, by comparison, is fairly manageable. I mean, I do work for an organization that uses eternity as its horizon! Doesn't working for the Church entail a different sort of pace -- a pace of a more "spiritual" sort? Aren't clergy called to model appropriate ways of dealing with stress? Great. Now I can heap some guilt about feeling stressed on top of everything else!

So, after three and a half hours of frantic non-productivity,
I opted for reclaiming today as sabbath.
Too little. Too late.
Then I decided to address one last "to do".
And yes, in keeping with the theme of the day,
That one is undone as well!

Two Liturgies for Today:

One liturgy took place in a church building;
The other could be viewed from afar via satellite and cable media feed.

One liturgy had 150 people present, in one room, to give witness;
The other had millions of spectators in every corner of the world.

One liturgy had simple words, water and candles, bread and wine.
The other had a gargantuan stadium, hi tech glitz, celebrities and fighter planes.

One liturgy had us following a cross;
The other featured people chasing a bouncing ball.

One liturgy crowned new "world champions" for a year.
The other sealed one, new Christian for all eternity...

And Now...A Word from the Lord

"I became silent and began to listen. 

I discovered in the silence, the voice of God." 

-- S. Kierkegaard

What does it mean to say, "God spoke to me."?
To be honest, when I hear folks use that phrase,
I get nervous.
I grew up in a religious context where God was very, very chatty.
God told folks LOTS of things!

Sometimes God even provided fashion advice by indicating to the faithful follower which pair of shoes should be worn on any given day. Early on, I began to wonder if God really had time to help people make decisions about their footwear, since it seemed to me God must have much bigger chores to attend to -- like global warming, hurricanes, earthquakes, etc.

In that religious context, I also heard people quoting things they were convinced God had told them. Such conviction couldn't even be overcome by pointing out the inconsistencies between what someone said God said to her/him, and the sorts of things the God portrayed in the two Testaments had been credited with "saying" in ages past. The more people reported God's many comments, the more difficult it became for me to believe God was being accurately quoted.

And then I became an Episcopalian.

For the record, Episcopalians are lovers of words -- specifically, the words of the Book of Common Prayer. We also love the words of Scripture and the words of various and sundry hymns. We are a text-driven group. And we readily affirm every Sunday morning, when a reading from Scripture has been proclaimed, that we have just heard, "the Word of the Lord". Yet, in spite of our love of words and our belief that Jesus is "the Word" and our desire to pray "the proper words", the majority of Episcopalians aren't given to making any sort of claim that God "spoke" to them in any shape, form or fashion.

In the Pentecostal tradition, God is the ultimate stream-of-consciousness communicator, blathering away about all sorts of issues -- divine and profane -- to just about anyone who will take the time to listen.

In the Anglican tradition, God is barely audible -- sort of a heavenly mumbler who doesn't speak clearly or convincingly, but who is, at some level, "nice enough". Anglicans prefer to read the notes from God's many speeches (BCP, Scripture, etc.), which contain the appropriate, well-vetted, in-decency-and-in-order-words that will not create much interest, but neither will they offend anybody. After all, with God so busy running the universe, it's little wonder there's so precious little time remaining in God's day to chat with the likes of us.

What both streams of the tradition share in common is their nervousness in silence.

Pentecostals love to sing, clap, shout, dance, speak in tongues. In fact, God would struggle to get a word in edgewise. To be silent is to risk becoming "lukewarm" (which is far worse than simply being "damned"). Episcopalians, on the other hand, love to read silently to themselves and speak in gravely affected tones. While there are some of Episcopalians who are quite demonstrative in their worship, most of us are uncomfortable with the possibility that displays of emotion might actually break out among us!

Somewhere between those two perspectives,
I believe the path toward hearing from the God who desires to be heard is getting clearer.
I can't help but wonder...
What would happen
If we take some time pondering the silence?
Who knows what God might say?
And wouldn't it be awe-inspiring to hear such a "Word from the Lord." ?

Another Day in the Life...

From time to time, people ask me, "Now, exactly what do you do in the course of a day?"

I've come to appreciate that this question doesn't arise from a place of suspicion, but rather from a place of curiosity. Face it. When people see priests "in their element" on Sunday mornings, it seems exceedingly clear what we do. But what about the rest of the week? For most folks, the daily work life of a clergy person is somewhat of a mystery. And to be honest, sometimes what we actually "do" is  a mystery for priests as well!

The fact is, much of the work I do doesn't look much like any sort of "actual" work -- if work is defined as the production of a "thing" or the management of people who engage in the making, marketing and selling of "the thing". At some level, clergy don't "produce" (which in a consuming culture makes us anachronisms), but we are charged with envisioning a world in which Christians are known more for the quality of their relationships than the quantity of items they consume on a monthly basis.

So to answer the question, "What do you do in the course of the day?" I have included a running tabulation of Feburary 4, 2011:

 5:00 a.m. -- up to think about several projects I'm involved with, do my first e-mail check of the day (nothing urgent!) and otherwise get ready to "face the day".

 6:00 a.m. -- prepare for the weekly Friday morning service (today was the feast of Cornelius the Centurion)

 6:30 a.m. -- celebrate the Holy Eucharist, Rite I

 7:00 am. -- spend 45 minutes sharing breakfast and conversation with the Friday morning congregation.

 7:45 a.m. -- take my son to school and then travel to Milwaukee's East Side for a meeting.

 8:30 a.m. -- meet with fellow members of a subcommittee, which is one component of an overall strategic planning process for a prominent Milwaukee non-profit agency. I have been a member of the Board of Directors for this particular "non-prof" for just under two years.

9:45 a.m. -- on the road again...this time to Greendale.

10:10 a.m. -- spend time in a coffee shop in Greendale to write an article for a newsletter.

11:00 a.m. -- meet with the Diocesan Congregational Development Officer to think about the next "CDI" (Church Development Institute) weekend in Madison as well as reflect more broadly upon new organizational models which would enhance parochial ministries throughout the Diocese.

12:40 p.m. -- leave Greendale, headed to Wauwatosa

12:55 p.m. -- shopping for items to take to tonight's foyer group, and drop them off at the house.

 1:35 p.m. -- off to Brookfield from Wauwatosa.

 2:00 p.m. -- meeting with one member of my personal "health and wellness" team -- this is the person who helps me stay reasonably patient with myself and whatever progress I may see @ Trinity Church.

 3:15 p.m. -- off to Delafield from Brookfield.

 4:00 p.m. -- meeting with seminarian in Delafield.

 5:15 p.m. -- return to Wauwatosa from Delafield.

 6:00 p.m. -- spent some time checking e-mail and returning phone calls in advance of "Foyer Dinner".

 6:30 p.m. -- Foyer Dinner with parishioners.

10:00 p.m. -- leave dinner, off to another parishioner's house (where my son has been spending time playing the game of the week with a couple of his church friends).

11:15 p.m. -- return home. Now, time for bed!

What a day! Lots of stuff to think about! But for now, I need to close my eyes and close the books on the past 24 hours. In the words of "Night Prayer" from the New Zealand Prayer Book, "What has been done, has been done. What has not been done has not been done. Let it be." -- Amen, and Good Night!

Community Observed

Something marvelous happens in my neighborhood after a snowstorm:

People emerge from their houses --
bundled in winter gear,
shovels in hand or
guiding snow throwers belching
the white stuff
up and away from the driveway or sidewalk.

"That sounds practical, not marvelous," you say.
And if solitary snow relocation according to
Individual taste was what you witnessed,
You'd be correct.
But something more occurs
There on the sidewalk:

People help each other.
People laugh and tell stories of winters past.
People inquire after each other's families.
People share opinions...
(even if the opinions only concern the best way to relocate the snow!).

The weather which should keep folks inside,
Becomes the catalyst for folks to get out of their houses,
Out of their routines.
And straight into the path...
Of other people!

The Greek word translated as "church"
Literally means, "those who are called out".
When we are being the church, we aren't:

A building;
A set of programs;
A worship service;
A social action committee;
Or any number of other stereotypes.

The church is nothing more
Or nothing less, than people who have
Responded to Something beyond themselves
By getting out of their routines,
And finding themselves smack in the path
Or other people!

And guess what happens?

People help each other.

People laugh and tell the stories of faith from the past.

People inquire after each other's families.

People exchange opinions.

People share a holy meal.

People who would prefer to be alone

Are caught up in the power of being with others.

And in these moments, 

When the the Church is at its best,

When we move beyond our delusions of individuality,

Something sacramental happens...

The Church ceases to be an "institution"

And becomes something much more important;

A community of faith!

Digging Out

The much anticipated blizzard howled through last night. I was (thankfully) barely inconvenienced by it. With no flight to catch, a properly functioning furnace and plenty of food in the house, last evening was virtually stress free for me. While, I am well aware others had a more difficult time, I am grateful that all I had to do was wait for the storm to pass.

The morning light revealed the storm's wind had done a wonderful job of insuring an uneven distribution of the snow. There were numerous dunes and drifts lounging about the property. Two of the larger ones were crosswise of the most frequently used entrance/exit points of my house. So, at 7:00 a.m., the process of digging out began.

In spite of all the whizz-bang power tools available for snow removal, I sill prefer the old fashioned shovel for "close" work. With drifting snow up to my front door, I began from inside the house, methodically pushing and clearing the stuff until I finally made it to the sidewalk. A few steps into the work, it became quite apparent that this excavating would take a bit longer than usual. I slowed my pace, and soon had a strategy -- take a few inches "off the top"; repeat; repeat; repeat; repeat; repeat again, until the sidewalk appeared. Then, take a step forward and begin the process again. Fortunately, I only have a porch, and two relatively short sidewalks, so the entire procedure was completed in a bit over ninety minutes.

Midway through this morning's project, I began to think about the ways in which I've felt "buried" over the past several months -- too many unfinished projects, too many dangling loose ends, too many details drifting about my office, my computer and my calendar. Bits of paper, piles of files, stacks of stuff -- the accumulation of many months of unreflectively moving from activity to activity, without any sort of strategy for dealing with it all.

Granted, I've been working on the de-cluttering now for some months. I've ebbed and flowed between acceptance, resignation and aggravation. Progress has been slow. Given the drifts and dunes of "stuff", it couldn't have been any other way. But finally, progress is beginning to be made. I couldn't help but wonder, "Why can I be so patient on the end of a shovel after a snowstorm and so impatient with the time all the other sorts of 'digging out' is taking?"

I think my impatience may be directly related, not to the "stuff" that has accumulated in my life, but the awareness that my own indecisiveness in dealing with it all contributed greatly to the problem. Certainly, some share of the "stuff" arrived from others and as a result of my job. But much of the "stuff" came into my life and my space because I brought/bought it myself! I'm guessing the latter scenario has been the case 90% of the time.

Lessons learned?

1.  For the short term, I have resolved to be ruthless in disallowing "new stuff", no matter how intriguing it may be (new book, new opportunity, new learning experience, etc), from entering my spaces (home or office; intellectual or emotional). No new "stuff" equals no new decisions to be made or deferred, actions to take or things to file, sort or store.

2.  For the long term, I will adopt the same attitude of dealing with my "stuff" accumulation I used this morning on the snow: a little at a time, taking a bit off the top, repeating as necessary.

3.  Between now and that great day when the "stuff" is at last to a manageable level, I will implement a strategy I learned this morning. The strategy of appreciation. As I clear away the "stuff" of my life, cutting paths through it all by finishing a project, shredding/recycling papers, donating books or making difficult decisions,I will step back, pause, enjoy the view of the newly cleared space and give thanks for having the patience and perseverance to finish that part of the job.

While the city around me continues to clear away the snow, it's time to find my decisiveness shovel and open the next box of "stuff". There's more digging out to do.

Well Supplied

Much of the local media conversation the past several days has been dominated by two headline stories:

1.  the impending arrival of what may be a significant snowfall/blizzard event and
2.  the possibilty of another Super Bowl victory by the beloved Green Bay Packers.

In fact, such is the hype around both possibilities one would almost believe nothing else is presently occurring in the whole of our community.

I've been fascinated by the enthusiasm with which the various "eyewitness" teams, complete with adrenalin & caffeine infused reporters and high tech satellite link-ups, are frantically patrolling the streets and highways of southeastern Wisconsin so they can be first on the scene with live shots of the snow as it falls. Of course, snow in Wisconsin in February is so unusual I can see why it's necessary to have such on-the-scene reporting. Meanwhile down in Dallas, other local reporters, flush with per diem cash (and no doubt excited to be getting a trip to the Super Bowl as a part of "work") are scurrying about to get a chat with the quarterback or the head coach -- as if the Milwaukee football fan can't find out more than she ever wanted to know of it all by a few clicks of a mouse or the touch of an iPhone screen.

But one common angle for both of these stories has emerged already -- the laying in of supplies. For the snow, one must be well-stocked with assorted groceries and other items to make the potential in-home isolation bearable. Grocery stores are jammed this afternoon with last minute shoppers attempting to prepare for the possibility that they may be unable to get out of their driveways for a few hours while the snowplows clear the streets tomorrow morning and afternoon.

I've also seen a story or two already about getting one's supplies for the perfect Super Bowl party. Obviously cheering for the Packers from the comfort of one's living room will generate quite an appetite. Of course, every one who is hosting a Super Bowl party understands that it's the duty of the host to have a well-stocked smorgasbord of high quality/high calorie foods and beverages to add to the enjoyment of the event.

Earlier today, I read a story from the Gospel of Mark about Jesus feeding 4000 people. Supplies were limited -- a few loaves and some fish. But as Jesus blessed the bread and fish, broke it all into pieces and had his students distribute it to the crowd, an interesting thing happened. All were fed until they were satisfied. And there were leftovers. Meager resources yielded mighty results.

I can't help but think of all the people who will sleep outside tonight in Milwaukee and the surrounding counties. The street is their home all year round, but home is particularly life-threatening on winter evenings like this one.  And as I have had my own fun with the dire predictions of the weather prognosticators, the harsh reality for a number of people in our area is that tonight could very well be life-threatening. The end of their world could indeed come tonight, while others of us are safe and sound in warm houses, munching on our blizzard snacks and planning our menus for Sunday afternoon's game.

I've often said that the various feeding stories of Jesus are mysteries. I believe that they happened. I believe people were fed and not because Jesus simply "inspired people to share". And yet, I can't help but wonder what would happen if our society at large (and this community in particular) could get just a bit more inspired and significantly more resolved to share our resources for the common good.

Maybe our meager supplies,
Which appear so tiny in the face of the twin demons of homelessness and hunger;
Pooled with the resources of others in our community;
And offered with thanksgiving,
Could yield mighty results...
Satisfy the hungers of those who partake...
As well as the hungers of those who serve...
And even produce leftovers that would feed our souls!
Maybe that would be a miracle in and of itself.

And who knows? Such a story might make the headlines -- even when competing with the likes of snow in Wisconsin and the Packers in the Super Bowl.