Tosa Rector Moves On (in the Blogosphere that is)!

Greetings!

After a good run of consecutive posts (January 8 - April 20, 2011), the streak ended when the days of the Triduum began. I enjoyed the discipline of attempting to have something to say on a daily basis. So much so, that the more I began to experiment with this "blogging thing", the more frustrated I became with:

1.  My ineptitude of figuring out how to make some of the features of this particular publishing platform work, which led to, unfortunately, a blog that was visually unappealing and technologically challenged.

2.  All of the editorial strictures I placed upon myself. After all, if I was "Tosa Rector", wasn't I in some way "speaking" for/to the parish I serve? How was I to experiment with finding my voice if that voice was always governed by the very title of the blog?

So, for at least those two reasons, this is my last post here. I'm presently working with a new platform and this evening, I managed to get the title page and first entry posted. I hope the new site will provide the technical flexibility and user-friendliness I need. I'm also going to use the new platform to speak more as "me" and less as "the Rector". I'm not exactly sure how that will work, but I'm ready to give it a whirl.

Until we have all of the particulars figured out with the Trinity website, the "blogging with the Rector" button will still bring you here. But that's OK...I'm not going to take this down for a while (I need to cull through the past 3 years of entries to see if any are worth saving). In the meantime, you can find me at:
http://soulwerker.com

I hope to see you over there soon!
Easter blessings to you all.

Reaffirmed

Every year during Holy Week, the clergy from all over the Diocese of Milwaukee make their way to (usually) the Cathedral Church of All Saints for the purpose of reaffirming the vows they made on the day of their respective ordinations. This is a tradition in the Church dating back centuries, and many dioceses throughout the Episcopal Church observe the custom. Taking time during Holy Week to reconnect with the call to ordained ministry is a wise investment of time during a week when it's easy to get caught up in "bulletin busy-ness", "sermon shaping" and "leaping through liturgies" -- as if the goal of the week is to simply make it to the Easter afternoon nap.

As I stood in the Cathedral yesterday reaffirming my commitment to the vows I made the first time over eight years ago, I couldn't help but remember the day of my ordination to the priesthood. I remember how fast it all seemed to go -- the liturgy, the reception, the well-wishes from family and friends. But the place where time seemed to pass in slow motion was during "the Examination" (BCP, p. 531ff). As the Bishop Suffragan of Southern Virginia looked me in the eye and asked me question after question (the vows), the weightiness of the moment solidified all around me. I felt alone and supported simultaneously. I knew this was the ministry to which I had been called and I was anxious to "get on with it". But the Examination provided the necessary corrective -- the ministry of the Church is lived out in a different timeframe than the rest of the world.

Everything the Examination asks of those ordained to the priesthood, diaconate and episcopate takes time...lots, and lots of time. There is no way to cultivate a life of prayer in 20 minutes each week. Reading and studying can't be done in the time it takes a microwave dinner to cook. Caring for God's people is more than an e-mail or a Facebook post. One cannot minister the sacraments of the New Covenant "virtually" -- it's all done with real people in real time.

From time to time, I still want to "get on with it". Impatience is a constant in my life -- to the extent I become impatient with my impatience. Yesterday reminded me (AGAIN!) that this ministry isn't on my timeline -- it is on God's. My job is to remember my role -- a servant of God's people in the service of the Good News. I may fail miserably at remembering this role tomorrow. But for now, for today, I am "reaffirmed".

Holy Tuesday

Here's the reprint of the post I wrote for the Diocese of Milwaukee's Lenten Bible Study Blog:

“The message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” – 1 Corinthians 1:18

When the Apostle Paul penned these words nearly two millennia ago, the notion that Messiah, God’s Anointed, had actually been put to death by the machinations of an Empire was an affront to the “way things were supposed to be”. Messiah was supposed to liberate God’s people from oppression, not fall victim to it!

Paul’s argument in the face of this contradiction was to adamantly hold to the righteousness of God and to invite his friends to enter more fully into the mystery of the cross as saving event rather than mourning it as a travesty of justice or the tragedy of human cruelty. We are invited, during this Holy Week to do the same. To walk the way of the cross is to confront our own discomfort with a part of the Gospel story we’d probably prefer to ignore.

The collect appointed for today, asks, in part, that the Church will “glory in the cross of Christ”. How does that happen? How is God’s wisdom made known in the illogical (even foolish) shamefulness of the cross? How is the wisdom of the world turned inside out by this event which defies human logic? How exactly does the body of Jesus being nailed to the cross unleash the power of God to save the world?

So many questions come along with us on this Holy Week journey. Very few answers make sense. Most answers sound somewhat incomplete.

I wonder. If we could figure out all the answers, would we then begin to trust our own wisdom as a power on a level with God’s? Would we begin to act as if we had some control over the God of Sarah, Rebecca, Ruth, Hannah and Mary – the God who, over and over again, refuses to conform to human expectations of how a god should behave?

The God of the Matriarchs and Patriarchs still confounds us today – with irascibility we find unsettling. This God comes to us in the ways of weakness – a babe in a stable cave and a dying man on a cross. The Church proclaims, with particular emphasis during Holy Week, that this foolishly behaving God has, “brought us out of error into truth, out of sin into righteousness, out of death into life.” (BCP, p. 368) But this power of God to salvation and wholeness isn’t merely a set of interesting teachings inscribed in a book. This saving power is gifted to the world in the weakness of human flesh – Jesus, Son of Mary, Son of God.

A Homily Summary from Holy Monday
As a part of our Holy Week observance at Trinity, we have a brief service of Holy Eucharist on Holy Monday (today). The Gospel reading appointed for this liturgy is the Gospel of John's version of the woman who pours costly perfume on Jesus. In John's telling, the woman is Mary, sister of Lazarus (who Jesus raised from the dead). In all of the Gospels which record this extravagant act of giving, one or more people criticize the act as being "wasteful". Couldn't the expensive and precious ointment have been sold and the money given to the poor for their benefit?

Here in the Upper Midwest, such practical frugality is applauded.
Don't waste!
Be judicious!
Benefit the most with the least!

But the woman demonstrates to us
That sometimes,
Prudence must be laid aside
In an extravagant act of love.

As I reflected upon the woman's gift to Jesus, I kept thinking of how, in the Church, we've turned Holy Week into some sort of endurance contest. We're constantly inviting each other to take care of ourselves, not get too stressed, and to remember that "Holy Week will be over soon and then we can get some rest."

We seem to have forgotten that Holy Week is why the Church is "in business". The events we will commemorate this week are the formative events of the faith. Why are we always telling ourselves to "take it easy"?

Here's what I hope.
I hope that I can so fully
Enter into the Mystery of this Week
That by the time the liturgies of Easter Day
Are completed
I will be fully emptied.
Expended.
Out of gas.
Used up.
I hope I am able
To fully let go and lavish
My worship upon Jesus.
Somehow, this seems appropriate.
After all, he lavished his life upon me.

Announcing the Tour de DioMil

Some of you have heard about this already. But here are a few of the developing specifics. As a part of my sabbatical, I intend to spend the better part of two weeks biking the "perimeter" of the Episcopal Diocese of Milwaukee. The purpose of this ride is threefold:


1. My own personal benefit. After rediscovering biking last year, I have reconnected with my love of the outdoors and the sheer fun I have getting from place to place aboard two wheels and pedals. I'm not a racer. I'm not an extreme sports kind of guy either. In fact, most of my friends know me as more of a couch potato/book worm type. But I wanted to set a goal and then work toward acheiving something that is both reasonable and challenging for me personally. Between now and the end of August, I will be working to ride an average of 75-100 miles each week (either outside on my bike or inside on various bike substitutes). But as I post my weekly totals or several of the longer day trips I plan to take between now and then, I wanted you all to know the context for all of this pedal pushing.

2. To call attention to the ministries of (mostly) smaller Episcopal Churches that have their being on the outskirts of the Diocese of Milwaukee. This diocese is essentially the southern one-third of the state and most of the congregations are concentrated in the greater Milwaukee area. The parishes in small towns are often overshadowed by larger Roman Catholic and/or Lutheran congregations, even though these parishes do remarkable ministries within their communities, often without the benefit of "full time" clergy presence. My hope is that at each stop, I will be able to meet with parishioners of the congregation, hear their parish story and learn about their ministry in the particular context in which they are located. I also hope that this venture will serve as a way of calling attention to the fact that in the Episcopal Church, "the Diocese" isn't an office building, but people in parishes, serving Jesus in cities, villages and towns.

3. To raise at least $50,000 for three very worthy causes -- The Haiti Project of the Diocese of Milwaukee ($20K); The clean water initiatives of Episcopal Relief and Development (15K) and World Bicycle Relief (15K).

The days and route of the tour are as follows (and for you non-Wisconsin readers, I recommend checking some of these towns out on a map!):

August 30: St. Simon the Fisherman, Port Washington to St. Mark's, Beaver Dam
August 31: St. Mark's, Beaver Dam to Trinity, Baraboo
September 1: Trinity Baraboo to St. Barnabas, Richland Center
September 2: (Rest Day)
September 3: St. Barnabas, Richland Center to Holy Trinity, Prairie du Chein
September 4: Holy Trinity, Prairie du Chein to Trinity, Platteville
September 5: Trinity, Platteville to St. Andrew's, Monroe
September 6: (Rest Day)
September 7: St. Andrew's, Monroe to St. Paul's, Beloit
September 8: St. Paul's, Beloit to St. Matthew's, Kenosha
September 9: St. Matthew's, Kenosha to St. Simon the Fisherman, Port Washington (with midday stop at the Cathedral of All Saints' in Milwaukee)

A website is presently under construction and I'll let you all know when it's completed (hopefully in the next week or two). In the meantime, I hope those of you who live in the Diocese of Milwaukee will consider helping me promote this initiative and join me on the tour for a "leg" or three! I am excited about this project and I can't wait to see how it will unfold. Thanks for reading! Thanks for praying! Thanks (hopefully) for giving! :-)

Church Chores

This morning,
While no one was looking
A few people went about their work --
Preparing the worship space
For tomorrow's liturgy.

Arranging palm fronds in vases,
And for distribution on Sunday morning.
Removing the Lenten altar vestments,
And replacing them with the Holy Week Red.
Setting the elements and various containers
In their appropriate places.

This activity of "setting up"
Takes place week in and week out
Mostly unnoticed
Mostly anonymous
Mostly without wrinkle or hitch.
Which is how
Altar Guild members want it!

Their service is an act of devotion
To their Lord
And for their church.
No one else needs to know.
But I do.
For the gift of dedicated service
To the "House for God's People"
And the care of "Holy Things"
By these Holy People
I give hearty thanks.

Holy Week ZZZZ's

Yesterday, I was reading the story in Matthew's Gospel about Jesus in the Garden of Gethesemene. He's got eleven of the Twelve with him -- Judas has already departed the scene. Jesus takes Peter and the two sons of Zebedee on ahead of the other eight and instructs them to "stay awake" while he prays. Three times Jesus prays that God's will be done in whatever awaits him. Three times he returns to Peter, James and John and finds them asleep. The final time, Matthew writes, "because their eyes were heavy."

The more I've thought of this scene and the more I've listened to clergy types make the annual statements concerning the amount of work attendant to our Holy Week schedules (looming ahead for next week). The more I've begun to wonder about how, if I'm not careful, I could very well spiritually "sleep walk" through the entire thing. Now my eyes will be wide open. I will be officiating and preaching and liturgizing all over the place. We will walk the way of the cross as a community of faith. It will all be more than worth the efforts expended by so many people.

But I am praying now that I won't miss the point of it all. Because it matters not whether we are producing the sounds of bone-weary snoring or hyperactive buzzing, the "zzzz's" will preclude us from watching with Jesus and seeing the victory of our God.

Training

Yesterday, in a back issue of a biking magazine, I read the story of a guy who, in the course of five years, lost over 330 pounds through biking and managing his diet. His starting weight was 501 pounds. The story brought me to tears in a couple of places. He had to have his bike custom made to support his beginning weight. When he began to cycle, he often endured taunts, jeers and people throwing objects at him. When he began this odyssey, he could barely walk a few paces without having to sit down and catch his breath. As of now, he regularly bikes across entire states. How did he do it? One pedal stroke, one day, one meal, one breath at a time.

Yes. I know that last line sounds trite...but I would not call this person's journey trite. I would call it a triumph beyond belief. In fact, the guy's doctors told him there was no way anyone with the amount of weight he had to lose could do so without bariatric surgery or a similarly aggressive approach. The results did not happen over night. I'm guessing there were plenty of frustrations along the way. But he simply kept getting on his bike and riding as far as he felt he could. And then riding a little farther.

At the risk of making a sweeping generalization, our society is into immediate results without much effort. What the "Large Fella on a Bike" (this is the name of his blog...Google it if you want to read more about him) did was settle in for the long haul and commit to a daily practice. While he did this for his physical well being, there is a spiritual truth writ large in his jouney. Want to have a better prayer life? Pray today. Want to know more about the Bible? Read the Bible today. Want to have a better relationship? Spend time with the person you want to be in relationship with today.

Invest some time. Every day. Without fail. Get in training for the life abundant Jesus talks about. There's no telling where any one of us will end up...if we will only start.

Attendant to the Voice

Today at our weekly Eucharist, the Gospel appointed for the day was the "Good Shepherd" passage from the tenth chapter of the Gospel of John. In it, Jesus notes that the sheep know the voice of their shepherd -- listen to that voice and aren't swayed by the voice of the hired help. In my homily, I noted that I didn't know much about sheep, but over the past 6+ years, our terrier mix, Freddie, has taught me a great deal about attendant listening.

We've noticed that Freddie can discern the sounds of each of the Manning vehicles from afar -- as far away as about a quarter of a mile if there's enough quiet in the environment. He can distinguish the sounds of our cars from cars of the exact same model. When he hears the sounds of either vehicle he will immediately make a beeline for the kitchen door which leads to the garage and stand, at attention, tail wagging, on full alert, waiting for the member of the family in the returning vehicle. Usually he's standing at the door, before the returning family member has entered the driveway or pushed the remote control to open the garage door. It's a sight to behold for the family members who are inside the house and have witnessed this behavior time and time again.

Of course, we all know this is a conditioned response, right? At some point Freddie has associated all of those sounds with some sort of reward -- food, a walk outside, a playmate or a pat on the head. He is attendant for these sounds out of his own self-interest (even though I'm not certain dogs have "self-interest"). As I have reflected upon Freddie's behavior and the attention he invests in each member of our family, I couldn't help but wonder about the amount of attention we followers of Jesus lavish upon listening for the sounds of the Good Shepherd in our midst.

Can we hear the Voice in the din of all the other voices which surround us?
Can we hear the Voice above the crowded chatter of our own thoughts?
"My sheep know my voice," Jesus says.
I get comfort from knowing that Jesus is speaking.
I feel challenged by knowing how little I'm listening for the sound of his voice.

Talking Church

Some folks think we priests
Only talk about God.
I think we mostly
Talk about God by analogy --
We "talk church" instead.

We talk about
Sunday attendance at worship;
Budgets and endowments;
Programs and ministries;
Challenges and opportunities.

Church talk is addictive.
We can confuse
Talking about church
With being church
For one another.

Church talk is insidious.
We can forget
Church isn't the sum total
Of our prayer life or
Our life in God.

It's so much easier, though.
To talk church than to
Talk God.
I wonder with all the church talk
If God can get a word in edgewise.

Two or Three

For the past six Lents, every morning 6:30 a.m. (from the Thursday after Ash Wednesday, until the Saturday before Palm Sunday) for six days a week, the Morning Prayer has been read at Trinity Church. Now, this shouldn't seem a cause for celebration -- after all, the "Daily Office" is a part of the Anglican heritage dating back centuries. To this day, Church of England clergy commit to praying Morning and Evening Prayer EVERY DAY as a part of the fulfillment of their ordination vows. For much of the history of the Episocopal Church, Morning Prayer was the form of weekly corporate worship for most Sundays of the year.

But these days -- given everyone's schedules, the press of families and jobs -- it's more and more difficult to make time for corporate worship. And in an increasingly, "Eucharistically-centered" denomination, many people have the opinion if the Holy Meal isn't served, then somehow worship hasn't happened. That's what has made these mornings of prayer so meaningful to me. Worship HAS happened -- reciting the psalms, the prayers of the Church, reflecting upon the reading assigned for the day. Taking time to share thoughts or questions about that reading, offering up our individual petitions and thanksgivings. This is worship in its most essential form.

Do we need to come to a building to pray Morning Prayer? Absolutely not. However, as I have sat in the Trinity Church chapel and prayed along with my friends, there was a "quiet confidence" of being connected with the Anglicans around the world who treasure this ordered way of worship and who had prayed, were praying or would be praying these (or similar) words throughout the day. Millions upon millions of Anglicans gathered together -- two or three at a time.

Thinking about Parochial Economics #2

Perhaps facing honestly into the fiscal realities knocking on the red doors of many parishes would allow us the opportunity to meet our economic challenges with creativity and enthusiasm instead of desperation and depression. Isn't it about time we spent some time clarifying the expectations congregations have of clergy? What roles are clergy to fulfill? Primarily sacramental? Somewhat pastoral? Or mostly administrative?
Exactly how does a priest-in-residence impact the communal life of a congregation? Don't get me wrong, I'm in no hurry to get into another line of work, but these questions continue to roll around in my head and I constantly wonder why we don't seem to be able to have any sort of non-anxious conversation around such things.

Thinking about Parochial Economics #1

All of the political hubbub here in Wisconsin over the past two months has had me thinking about "wages and benefits" as it relates to the life of a full time clergy-type. I've ruminated on some of this before through the years, but the ways in which the conversation about state employees -- their pensions, health insurance costs and salaries -- unfolded here has left me pondering ecclesiastical economics again.

I will make no claims about how I sacrificed financially to become an Episcopal priest or how I gave up a lucrative position in the private sector in order to serve the Church. Certainly, there are some priests who did just such a thing, but not me. With an undergrad degree in theology/religion and with my "Masters in Divinity" (M.Div.) degree from seminary, the fact is, I'm in the only real profession available (unless I want to attempt to make my way on minimum wage!).

The truth is, I am blessed by a congregation which offers an above average stipend (churchspeak for "salary") and a house in which to live. Trinity Church also covers the entire cost of my family's health insurance and pays a pension premium on my behalf. Both of these benefits are required by the current canons (rules) of the Episcopal Church. The sum of the health insurance and pension costs is equal to 85% of my stipend.  Anyway one wants to slice such a number -- the fact remains, I am in a "benefit rich" situation, and such a situation is no longer sustainable for the majority of Episcopal parishes (and I suspect, at some point in the future, will present a challenge for Trinity Church as well).

How can I honestly preach about "stewardship" when everyone knows (because my salary/benefits package is public knowledge, as it should be!) my livelihood depends upon the generosity of the parishioners I serve? I can dress it up in theological lingo all I want, but the truth is, we have a budget to meet as a parish and I have bills to pay as a priest. Now, I know this isn't a subject anybody wants to talk about. Yet I wonder how we can continue to pretend this financial reality doesn't exist, and/or act as if it can be remedied by better liturgies or more erudite sermons.

Calendar Counting

My calendar is overstuffed.
And I'm the one who stuffed it!
Time to go on a commitment diet,
And trim some excess activity.
"Gluttony," someone once said,
"Comes in many forms."
A fresh look at my fat calendar
Has me nodding in
Rueful agreement.

Sent from my iPad

Progress through Failure

"If you're not failing regularly, you're definitely not making much progress."
-- Robin Sharma

I read lots of business books and business writers. Perhaps it's a residual habit from my previous life in sales. I like to think it's more about my fascination with the general business tendencies toward continuous improvement and customer satisfaction and what these twin motives might teach us in the congregational development world. Robin Sharma is one of my favorites. The quote above is from one of his recent blog posts: 50 New Rules of Work. You can read the other 49 at http://www.robinsharma.com

What called me up short in this quote is the recognition of the tremendous amount of energy in congregational life invested in "not failing". I suspect we fear failing because we so often feel our congregations are barely holding their own -- declining budgets, aging congregations, shrinking Sunday attendance -- if we fail, the thinking goes, we might lose pledge income or people...and if enough of those failures happen, our congregations may die. All of a sudden we are paralyzed. Inaction is deemed safer than failure. We become so concerned with preservation, innovation is sacrificed as too risky. Of course we don't use that sort of language. We dress it up in ecclesiastical excuses: "That's not who we are," or "That's not in keeping with our tradition," or "Our judicatory would never put up with something like that." I've been guilty of saying stuff just like this. Seminary, after all, trained me to manage and maintain, not lead and coach a congregation through the experience of failure.

Often, in planning meetings, I've asked (or been asked), "What great thing would this congregation undertake if we knew we couldn't fail?" I think maybe that's the wrong question. Maybe a better question is, "What are we so convinced God is calling us to do that we will invest, wholeheartedly, our time, our talent and our money, to go all out in its pursuit -- even if it means we could fail colossally?"

Wow! Who knows what we might discover about ourselves in that sort of process? And God only knows the sort of progress we could make!

Sent from my iPad

Book Burning

When the cameras were pointed elsewhere,
When we were distracted by whatever we were distracted by
The person dispensing hatred under
The banner of Jesus
Burned the Holy Book of Islam...
And set off another round of violence
Ending in the deaths of people who weren't responsible
But were somehow deemed
"Guilty by association."

The pastor who burned the Book
Claimed to be making a statement
About the violence of Islam.
With his provocative act he
Set violence in motion, which, may have
Proved his point to others easily influenced.
Those who reacted to this offense with violence,
While attempting to defend the honor of their faith,
Further buttressed the claims of the
Mind-Fried-Book-Burner.

Burning books.
Burning flags.
Burning mosques.
Burning crosses.
Burning churches.
Burning temples.
Burning houses.
Burning people.

Humans have burned it all...
In the name of "righteousness";
In the name of "justice";
In the name of "freedom";
In the name of "protest";
In the name of "revenge";
In the name of God
(By whatever name we call God.)

How is it
We can set the fires of destruction
Giving so little thought about
How those very fires we ignite
Have the power
To burn us up too?

Callings...

We don't know, really
How it is that God calls us.

We struggle...
"Where does God's voice begin,
And our voices interrupt?"

On very rare occasions
The way is perfectly clear.
Mostly, though,
We slog through uncertainty.

How do we keep the faith
While ensnared in
Our own uncertainties?

The Forgiveness Cross

On the first Sunday in Lent,
We placed a large, wooden cross
At the front of our worship space.
We didn't need another cross, really.
We've got dozens of them already.
Mostly, our crosses fade into the
Fuzziness of familiarity.
We see them so often
We no longer see them.

People have been invited to
Pin pieces of paper to this
New, Lenten addition.
The papers represent
Those we need to forgive and
The things for which we need forgiveness.
I don't know exactly how many
Pieces of paper are currently
Pinned to this cross...
A few dozen maybe?

The number is probably
Not as important as the visual.
Those slips of paper remind
All of us that
We are a people in process.
A people seeking to forgive.
A people seeking forgiveness.
And the cross is both the
Starting point and the
Ending point for the journey.

For four Sundays
I've looked at this cross.
Bearing the burdens of
Hurting people.
Reminding us of the
Power of God
Revealed in
Weakness.

"Father, forgive them
For they don't know
What they are doing."

A Church "Distributed"

This afternoon, I happened to catch the PBS weekly broadcast of Religion and Ethics Weekly. The subject of one of the reports was the impact of social media upon the way in which people experience both faith communities and the Faith in such a hyper-connected society. From a mega-non-denominational church in central Florida (with an average weekly worship attendance of around 15,000) to a significantly smaller community of nuns and every sort of gathering in-between, there's little doubt social media has impacted the way in which the Church goes about proclaiming its message and creating connections between both people of faith and those dealing with their doubts.

To see the media center in the mega-church was to see technology at its finest. The nuns weren't doing a bad job keeping up with the times either. Of course, the report managed to interview a good, solid mainline denomination pastor (who happened to be Presbyterian, but could have easily been Episcopalian!). To see the juxtaposition of the mega-church staff's iPAD, iPhone and multiple computers was impressive. To see the Sisters' Facebook page and watch them interacting with people who write into their site was inspirational. To watch the mainline pastor, dutifully sitting at his desk, highlighting text out of a book and writing notes on a legal pad without a piece of technology in sight...well, that was poignantly anachronistic.

Naturally, we mainline Christians are slow to adopt technology. We are suspect of anything that smacks of "remote church". I would claim, like the mainline minister in this report, that there's more to Christian community than watching a sermon on a TV screen. But Christian community is also far more dramatic and life-giving than a weekly gathering of a few scores of people in a building where a seminary trained "expert" leads the (mostly passive) "flock" through a series of ritual actions without any sense of how those actions actually connect to the lives they're living outside the doors of the church house.

Technology allows the conversation about matters of faith and spirituality to be much broader and include more people than ever before -- think the printing press to the 10th power (at least!). Of course this sort of grassroots theology always makes the "command and control" structures of denominations nervous.

How can we be sure of the qualifications of those engaged in the discussions? How do we prevent (horrors!) some bit of imaginative theology which might call our staid dogma into question?
And above all, if people stay home to chat and tweet about faith, how will we generate enough income to sustain our overhead -- the buildings, grounds and professional staff we've come to believe are essential to facilitate the community we claim can't be experienced remotely.

Maybe I'm overreaching, but our nervousness sounds a lot like the religious authorities' nervousness in Jesus' time. After all he hadn't been vetted through the proper channels. His birth narrative was "irregular" at best. He chose a ragtag bunch of rabble as his core leadership team. He seemed to have no appreciation for the power of tradition. After his death (the religious authorities of the time wouldn't own the possibility of resurrection), his followers continued his penchant for ignoring structure. They met for prayer and fellowship, in of all places, each other's homes! The "Church" in the Book of Acts didn't begin to grow until it left Jerusalem -- until it was distributed! The message of Jesus was distributed using the technologies of the day -- the most powerful of which was the Pax Romana -- the very Empire so hellbent on keeping control provided the means (roads, trade routes, language, etc) for the message to spread like wildfire.

Imagine that! The Gospel spreading like wildfire -- not marching in a stately procession behind an ornate cross at 11 a.m. on a Sunday morning! The Gospel being "tweeted" and "retweeted"...spreading from person to person. I don't know about this sort of viral phenomenon -- it sounds a bit too dangerous. After all, we may want people everywhere to come to faith in Jesus, but don't we really mean, "Come to faith in Jesus the way we tell you to."?

For or Against?

Over the past couple of days, I've watched enough television to have the opportunity to view the latest round of political advertising. Here in Milwaukee County, we will be electing a new County Executive (to fill the vacancy created by the recent election of Scott Walker as Governor) and statewide, there is a contested election for one of the judgeships on the Wisconsin Supreme Court. What have I noticed about the commercials so far?  Here goes:

Each candidate (or "independent" organization advertising on behalf of a political perspective) is busy telling the viewers why we DON'T want to elect the other candidate. Perhaps I've missed some of them, but I haven't heard or seen a single advertisement aimed at lending credibility to a candidate or proffering a rationale for supporting her/him. The campaigns seem to be more concerned with discrediting their opposition.

Now, "negative" campaigning is nothing new. We certainly have seen far worse examples than the ads currently on the air. But I'm left wondering what it means when the message the various candidates are sending is, "It's more important for you, the voter, to cast your vote AGAINST my opponent than casting that vote in favor of me." Is this what we've come to?

Apparently (if one goes by the television ads) no candidate needs to propose any viable solutions for the problems facing our community or our state; she/he need only point out, in as vitriolic and inflammatory fashion as possible, the problems with his/her opposition's proposed solutions. Certainly there's nothing new in this sort of advertising. The reason candidates and their constituents still engage in this category of political speech is because the electorate responds to it. In short, if I can make you hate/distrust my opponent enough, you will vote for me without ever actually asking me what I my values, goals or aspirations are, and if I don't have to name those values, goals or aspirations, then I don't have to defend them or address any of my own philosophical inconsistencies.

I can't fix such shenanigans, but watching all of them has led me to reflect on the importance of the speech we use around the parish community I serve. Language is, indeed, formative. The way we talk does, in fact, "construct", in some fashion, "who we are". Are we, as Christians, simply "against" this thing or that? Do we define the Christian life only by what it is not? Further, as Episcopalians, is our main claim to fame that we are "not" (Roman) Catholic or Lutheran or Evangelical or Pentecostal? Does the only way we (Christians in general or Episcopalians in particular) identify ourselves devolve to positioning ourselves "over and against" others?

When I first entered the priesthood, I sweated over every word -- the words in sermons, the words in bulletin announcements, the words in newsletter articles, the words at coffee hour, the words in e-mails, the words used in classes, the words used in informal conversation and every other sort of verbal communication. I fretted (before and after!). I edited (whenever I could). I pored over the stuff attempting to make sure that the correct nuance was conveyed (mostly unsuccessfully). Often, I was so ecclesiastically tongue-tied I prayed for deliverance from having to say anything.

Over the years, though, I fear I've gotten sloppy. Crafting a consistent message is hard, inexact and exhausting work. And besides, who am I to presume to speak either "to" or "on behalf of" an entire parish?

This recent deluge of political advertisements has called me to think a bit more deeply about how we tell our story to one another and to the community around us. To be honest, I would hope people who dare to identify themselves as "Christians" would be the most inclined to mind our words.

What would it be like if followers of Jesus ceased using our power of speech as a means to slice and dice our perceived "enemies"?
What would it be like if we recovered the creative power of our words to heal and raise the dead?
Who knows?
We might just turn the world upside down!
And it wouldn't be the first time!

Poetry, Preaching and Wendell Berry

I confess. I'm not much of a poet. Iambic pentameter fits me about a well as "slim cut" jeans. But over the past few weeks, I've enjoyed experimenting in this space with my own sort of blank verse structure which has almost "written itself".

The ease with which much of this writing has occurred has made me suspect the writing itself. After all, the notion that writing should be a tortured, arduous and nearly miserable process has been ground into the fabric of my being by a lengthy procession of English teachers and professional writers talking about challenges of the craft.

As a preacher, though, I've been enamored of poets and their precision with words for quite some time. Poetry and preaching share a commonality, I think. Both are significantly harder to do that it may appear at first glance. Both crafts seem to exist on the fringe of a society which values practicality and usefulness above just about anything else. I think poets probably rank a bit farther up the ladder of usefulness than preachers -- after all, at least poets can claim their work as art!

The writer/poet who has influenced me in these recent efforts (even if he might prefer not to be the source of such "inspiration!) is Wendell Berry. Find him on Wikipedia or Google and read all about him. Here's the short sketch: Berry "made the decision decades ago to give up the literary life in New York and seek a deeper bond with his ancestral home, a hillside farm in Henry County, Kentucky on the Kentucky River..." (from the New York Times Book Review). His poems and essays reveal a deep spirituality rooted in a love of the land he has worked year after year.

Of all the things I admire about Berry, it is his consistent contrariness that inspires me the most (maybe it's a Southern thing?)...anyway, I thought I'd share a favorite passage from his Collected Poems: 1957-1982..."The Contrariness of the Mad Farmer":

..."Dance," they told me,
and I stood still, and while they stood
quiet in line at the gate of the Kingdom, I danced.
"Pray," they said, and I laughed, covering myself
in the earth's brightnesses, and then stole off gray
into the midst of a revel, and prayed like an orphan.
When they said, "I know that my Redeemer liveth,"
I told them, "He's dead." And when they told me,
"God is dead," I answered, "He goes fishing every day
in the Kentucky River. I see Him often."
When they asked me would I like to contribute
I said no, and when they had collected
more than they needed, I gave them as much as I had.
When they asked me to join them I wouldn't,
and then went off by myself and did more
than they would have asked. "Well then," they said,
"go and organize the International Brotherhood
of Contraries," and I said, "did you finish killing
everybody who was against peace?"