Bread of Life Sunday

Someone asked me a few days ago if it would be possible to schedule one more event here at St. Augustine’s today. “NO” I told them. “We’re full up.”


 “Many things can be true at once.” Today especially so.  


The secular calendar tells us that today is Veterans’ Day.


The liturgical calendar tells us that today is the first Sunday of the Seven-Week Advent—hence the blue candle behind the altar, hence the empty branches and absence of flowers, hence the dry leafless tree in the narthex behind you.   


The St. Augustine’s calendar tells us that it’s Stewardship Kickoff/ “Bread of Life” Sunday. Yesterday we had a dozen people in the parish hall filling paper gift bags with loaves of homemade bread, over one hundred twenty five of them. And now, around the altar, there is a loaf of bread for every household in the parish. To all of you who helped make this happen: THANK YOU. 


Like the bread, in all its different textures and flavors, our readings this morning are rich and savory…there’s a lot going on here. In these final scenes from the book of Ruth (the Reader’s Digest version), Naomi sends Ruth to seduce Boaz (well, she does!) and then we jump ahead to the ending, learning along the way that Boaz and Ruth’s son Obed is the father of Jesse, himself the father of David. So this is where the Davidic line gets underway, as it were. (Our “Jesse Tree” in the narthex is filled with symbols of Jesus’ ancestors, as a seasonal reminder of those who preceded him.) 

 

 This is a story of two women, both widowed and far from hometown and family connections, and Ruth doubly disconnected as a Moabite—the people of Moab were historic enemies of Judah and Israel. So already there’s something strange happening, as Ruth come back to Bethlehem (which means “House of Bread”, by the way) with Naomi. There, gathering grain in the fields, she catches Boaz’s attention. But Ruth is no passive heroine, nor is Naomi any shrinking violet. They are both agents in their own lives, insofar as they are able. The story of Ruth is a story of strong, discerning, wise women, who take matters into their own hands and discover God’s vision and purpose working in and through them and their children’s children.


In the letter to the Hebrews, we hear the writer reflect on the subject and content of our faith, as followers of Jesus. The writer wants to answer the question: Who is this Jesus, and why does it matter? So today we hear the words: “Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.”


Sin has been dealt with, once for all, it is no longer part of the equation. This doesn’t mean that sin does not happen any more—obviously it does, and often. But rather, the author insists, that the power of sin to separate human beings from one another, and from God, does not have the last word on the subject. And so this mysterious Second Coming of Christ, which we anticipate in the season of Advent, is not an occasion for fear or anxiety, as those who obsess with the so-called Rapture would make it. The fear-mongers and peddlers of catastrophe and immanent disaster have got it entirely wrong, from the perspective of generations of Christian faith and tradition. Rather, it is the long-desired consummation of all things in God for which we long, and so our prayer in the Advent season is always “Come, Lord Jesus.”


As I prepared for today, along with many others of you, I was in the kitchen baking bread. As I stood at the kitchen counter “wrestling the challah into submission” this week, I realized there is something absolutely primordial about all this, something so very earthy and essential. No baker also grows the grain and grinds it to flour himself, herself…maybe once upon a time, but not now. And even the farmer (small or factory) does not make the grain grow—that’s God’s business. It’s all connected, all related, one participant to another.


One of the earliest eucharistic prayers we have comes from a document known as the Didache (which means “Teaching”, supposedly that of the Twelve Apostles.) This prayer was adapted into a communion hymn (#302) that we will sing this morning. It contains the lines “As grain once scattered on the hillside/ was in this broken bread made one/So from all lands thy Church be gathered/ into thy kingdom by thy Son.” The bread is a potent symbol of us—our life together.


No wonder Jesus uses bread to talk about the deep things of God. No wonder that it is in table companionship (lit, “with bread”) with others that he demonstrates what he means by all of this “Kingdom of God” stuff.


Today’s gospel is not about bread as such, but it is (as ever) about the Kingdom of God—how very close at hand it is, and yet how easy it is to overlook or miss altogether. First, notice where we are: In Jerusalem, in the temple, the heart of the religious and cultural system in which Jesus and his followers lived. And we are in the last days of Jesus’ earthly life and ministry. The palm branches and Hosanna to the Son of David and the march down from the Mount of Olives happened back in chapter 11. We’re almost at the end of the story, just as we begin a new cycle of the calendar—welcome to Advent!


He is telling his followers to be aware (beware) of the recognized religious leaders. They like to be seen committing pious acts in public, to be thought well of by others in consequence. They have given over too much of themselves, in the desire to be respectable, and have given too little of themselves (for all that they are blessed with many gifts) to the foolishness of God’s call on their lives. They’ve played safe and courted popular opinion—and they have received what they wanted. And, says Jesus, they have missed the point altogether.


Then we see this unnamed widow—like Ruth and Naomi, someone who is extremely vulnerable, living “on the edge” of that society. Having no male to protect her (neither husband nor son, evidently) she is very much on the margins in that time and culture. She comes to “the treasury”, a series of strongboxes in the temple precincts, into which one could place one’s contribution. She has so very little, not even enough to for anyone else to take notice of her.


But Jesus sees her. He sees the two copper coins, the very little that is her everything. He notices, and says to the others “Look there—do you see? All these who have much, have given only what was easy. She who has almost nothing—she has given it all.” Jesus sees her, and knows that he also will give it all away, even his very life, before long. She is doing now, what he will do very soon.


Jesus criticizes the religious and political systems which consume and destroy people, and yet he allows himself to be destroyed by those systems, in order to show once and for all, that the systems of this world will not be able to overcome the power of God’s dominion. They try—Lord knows they continue to try, to this day—but they shall not have the last word. In the Easter event, life and death and life-out-of-death are reconfigured, declaring that day and forever that God’s love is stronger than anything else there is. Stronger than the powers and principalities; stronger than sin and death and destruction; stronger than our own stubbornness and resistance.  

In his giving of himself, on that last night in the Upper Room, Jesus took bread, and blessed it and broke it and shared it. He himself would be broken on the Cross before many hours had passed; he was showing his friends “This is what it looks like, to follow me. You may be broken as well, by the powers and principalities. But your breaking shall be for many, and great good will come forth from it.”


We are called to be bread for one another. As Jesus is the Living Bread that comes from heaven and gives life to the world—which is not a mathematical formula for “come to church plus receive communion equals everything will be wonderful and easy all the time”—so we are called to be transformed by his grace into sources of life and nourishment and joy for those to whom we go. Most of whom will never enter these doors.


Today is the beginning of our annual pledge campaign. You are being asked to share of your substance—money, and time, and skills, for the work of this congregation. But ultimately what we do here is not about buildings and budgets and programs. Those are some of the tools by which we do the work of being Jesus’ followers.


But all of it—all of it—must be connected somehow into our own conversion, as we are transformed into the Body of Christ, the holy ordinary everyday imperfect people whom God has invited to be companions on the journey of faith together. If we are not being so converted, day by day and over our whole lifetime, then we too have missed the point.


“Com-panion.” With bread. With food, nourishment for body and soul and mind, as we seek to love God with all that we are, and to love our neighbors as part of our own selves. What we do here, in this building, on Sundays and at other times, cannot be an end in itself. It is rather the gathering of the scattered grain, so that we may be ground together, and moistened with the water of baptism, and baked by the fire of the Holy Spirit into a common loaf, to be blessed and broken and shared. That is why we are here. That is what we do here.


Please pray with me.


Blessed are you, Lord our God, creator of the universe. You bring forth grain from the ground, to nourish our bodies and strengthen our hearts. Bless now this bread, which your earth has provided and human hands have made. Make it a sign of your abundant extravagant love for your creation, that we may see in it all that you have given to us. Give us grateful and generous hearts, that we may share of all that we have, and all that we are, for your glory and the good of your kingdom. We ask all this through Jesus, our divine companion. Amen.

"IT" Happens

October 7, 2012

St. Augustine of Canterbury Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 22 B
Psalm 26; Job 1:1; 2:1-10; Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12; Mark 10:2-16.

 

The Righteous, we are told by the psalmist this morning, will walk on level ground.  “I have lived, and will live, with integrity.” 

That sounds pretty good for the most part.  Live the right way; do the right things (and avoid the wrong ones) and all will be well.  Presumably in the opposite case, the one who does not live righteously, who does all the wrong things and breaks the rules will be punished.  We sort of like that idea—it certainly undergirds our notions of justice, and many of our modern public discussions (or battles) over a number of hot-topic issues.  The deserving should be rewarded and the undeserving passed over; the good people should get the good stuff, and the wicked ones cast into outer darkness.  We want (or we think we want) everyone to get what they deserve.

Here’s the problem:  Life doesn’t work that way.  In spite of his protestations of right behavior, nevertheless the Psalmist is asking for God’s mercy.  He (or she) pleads for a favorable judgment against foes and adversaries:  “Give judgment for ME, O Lord…redeem ME and have pity upon ME.”  Something is already amiss; something has gone terribly wrong.  How is it, that those who do the right thing often are not rewarded; or even worse (or so we think) that those who blatantly do the wrong thing are not punished?

“It’s not FAIR!” we screech in our best five-year-old temper-tantrum voice…internally or externally.  I don’t deserve this—this sickness, this hardship, this unemployment, this struggle.  And mostly, we are right to say so.  Because mostly it’s not about deserving.  Mostly, IT happens.  IT happens to everyone.  We can tell our own stories of when IT happened to me; we can tell other stories, of people we know and love, when IT happened to them. 

This morning we begin to read the book of Job.  Whom, we are told from the beginning, is a righteous man, who honors God and oversees the well-being of his family and those around him; who pays all his bills on time and gives generously to those in need; who goes to the gym every morning and works out, does his cardio routine and eats plenty of leafy green vegetables…and yet.  And yet.  In one day (the passage is omitted from the reading this morning) IT happens:  Job loses all ten of his children in a terrible accident; he loses all of his livestock and slaves to foreign invaders; and now he loses health and strength and bodily comfort as well. 

Thus begins the story of Job, written centuries before the time of Jesus.  The book of Job is the closest thing we have in the Bible to a theatrical play, with a cast of actors and dramatic speeches on all sides.  The book of Job takes as its subject a sustained inquiry into the ways of God, which do not always make sense to us human beings.  Perhaps there is a pattern, or a plan we can’t see.  Perhaps God is intending something in all of this, which is yet beyond our comprehension.  Perhaps it’s just random—as the bumper sticker has it, “Stuff Happens”, with no pattern or plan at all.  The fact is, we don’t know.   It remains beyond our ability to know, in the sense of possessing sufficient factual evidence to construct a plausible scenario according to the rules of human logic.  God is beyond human logic, as Job will find out. 

When Job’s friends come to comfort him, they sit with him on the ground for seven days and seven nights, in absolute silence.  No one says a word… “For they saw that his suffering was very great.”

I have often counseled families who are in mourning, after losing a loved one, that they are now in the ding-dong zone.  The Ding-Dong Zone is that emotionally fragile time where friends and neighbors mean to be comforting, but often try too hard and say things that don’t really help at all.  They mean well…BUT. 

For which reason, Job’s friends (in this at least) are a good example.  They sit with him in silence.  They don’t try to explain, or excuse, or make it all better.  They do not fill the silence with chatter to relieve their own discomfort.  They simply go to be with him.  They are there to weep with him.[1]  And for that occasion, it is enough.

When IT happens, all explanations ring hollow. 

Only later, when there has been silence, and weeping, and rage; when IT has been received and acknowledged and dealt with insofar as possible, can explanation and interpretation possibly begin to unfold.  And that is what happens in this morning’s second reading, from the Letter to the Hebrews. 

It’s not really a letter at all—it’s a sermon or teaching document, looking at the ministry of Jesus, using the work and ministry of the high priest in the Jerusalem temple as an interpretive key.  Over and over the writer (who was not St. Paul, by the way) contrasts the ministry of the earthly priest in the temple with the ministry of Jesus, understood to be the heavenly pattern and perfection of the earthly temple ministry. 

The writer of the letter to the Hebrews is trying to make sense of what has happened:  Christ died and was buried; Christ was raised, and was seen by many before his ascension and return to God.  Who is this Jesus after all, and how are we to understand him?  The writer makes significant claims for who Jesus is—listen again to the opening lines:  (1:3-4)

“He is the reflection of God's glory and the exact imprint of God's very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.”

And yet…and yet.  In spite of this magnificent beginning (from the beginning, IN the beginning, was the Word…we hear the echoes of the gospel of John, itself echoing the first chapter of Genesis), in spite of all these amazing credentials, nevertheless… “we…[have seen] Jesus, who for a little while was made lower than the angels, now crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.”

Somehow that suffering, in his arrest and trial and crucifixion at the hands of the Roman soldiers and as he hung on the cross, had meaning in it, or perhaps meaning was found out later.  “Christ died, and was buried; Christ rose, and was seen.”  (I Cor. 15: 3-5)  The suffering, in and of itself, is only suffering, even for Jesus; when IT happened, IT required the others, watching and waiting, in silence, to discover that IT was more than just suffering.  To see the resurrection on the third day, and thus begin to understand what could God be up to, in THIS?

In “tasting death for everyone”, Jesus participates fully in what it means to be human.  There is nothing left out, from birth to death, that he does not undergo as part of the human experience.  And so there is no part of our human experience that gets left out of his redeeming, saving work. 

When IT happens in our lives—the deaths, the undeserved sufferings, the stuff that makes us look up and ask WHY?—we may not get the answer we’re looking for at all.  Because mostly we’re not looking for explanations.  We’re looking for someone to be with us.  Someone to sit on the ground and weep with us.  Someone to help us feel that we are loved, and that we have not been abandoned, and that we will be able to take the next breath, the next step.  That light and life and love will come again, even into the midst of our own loss and grief and pain. 

Our gospel this morning addresses a subject that has caused enormous loss and grief and pain in many lives.  Every person in this room has been touched by divorce, either their own or that of someone close to them.  It is a fact of the world in which we live. 

The Pharisees are looking to get Jesus into trouble—the verse immediately prior to the section we heard read tells us that they are back in Judea near Jerusalem.  In their world, King Herod the Not-So-Great and his courtiers made a regular practice of divorce and remarriages for political advantage, at times between family members of blood kinship.  So it may be that this passage is reflecting a political soap opera going on in the background.  Again—we don’t know.

We do know that Jesus has been preaching the kin-dom of God from the beginning.  He is always directing hearers in a consistent direction: That God, who created all things and called them good, desires the well-being of all the creation and everyone in it.  That the world and all who dwell therein have one Maker, and share one source and one ultimate goal.  And that when we lose sight of that, and start drawing lines in the sand and circles to keep one another apart, we’ve missed the point altogether.  “What God has joined together” doesn’t just mean the bride and groom on their wedding day; it means you and me and all of us together in this world, along with the stars and the starfish and the sub-atomic particles.  We are all part of one another, at the heart of things.  We may try to divide ourselves from one another—and we do try.  We may imagine that we can just walk away, not look back, you go your way and I’ll go my way—but life in God’s creation really doesn’t work like that. 

One of my wisdom people, a great mentor and priest I knew in New Jersey (who was himself divorced years before I knew him) once made the comment that “You can’t ‘un-marry’ someone.  You always have them with you, regardless.”

This gospel passage and others like it have been misused over the years, creating guilt and shame, to keep people in miserable and even violent relationships that had long since lost any quality resembling Holy Matrimony.  That is no longer AS true as it used to be—although we could all tell stories about people we know, for whom that twisting of the Gospel is still operative.

Although I suppose there are persons who thoughtlessly get married and then divorced, I don’t think I know any.  (Well, maybe one.  But he’s got much bigger issues that have yet to be addressed…)  No one I know goes into marriage “unadvisedly or lightly” as the Prayer Book says, and part of my ministry as a priest is to help folks who are intending to get married to do so with the best possible preparation available, so that they can be successful in their marriages.

But sometimes IT happens there too.  Even with the best preparation, even with the best intentions on all sides.  For whatever reason, under whatever circumstances may be operative. 

And there also, in the midst of loss and brokenness and shame and anger and all the other attendant emotions that may show up, we look for God’s presence.  We look for Jesus’ word to his followers on that Sunday afternoon, on the Day of the Resurrection, locked behind closed doors in the upper room: Peace be with you.  We look for the Holy Spirit to come, with fire for cleansing and healing, with breath for life and renewal.  We look for Grace, believing always that it is indeed holy, transforming, Amazing Grace that saves us, and restores us, and that will lead us home to God, who created us in his image and likeness and loves us always, even (especially) in the midst of the IT of our lives.

We don’t always get to know what God is up to, even in our lives, much less in the lives of other people.  Occasionally we get a glimpse—the tapestry gets flipped over for a moment, and instead of random threads going every which-a-way we see the big picture.  But mostly we’re looking at the back of the tapestry, trusting that even if we don’t understand, even if we don’t see anything sensible in all this, that God is still God, and that we need not be afraid. As people of faith (and even just the tiniest little mustard seed bit of it some days; and some days we have to go next door to borrow some because we are all out ourselves), we hold fast to the belief that God is always present.  That Bidden or Unbidden, God will be there.  And that it will be enough.

 

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

---

[1] Paraphrased (with gratitude) from Shame by Greg Garrett (Colorado Springs, CO: David C. Cook Publishers, 2009), p. 320.

Interesting Times

Over the course of the last two days, both the House of Bishops and the House of Deputies authorized the Rite of Blessing of same-gender couples, with a few adjustments to the texts as they appeared in the pre-convention Blue Book.  This legislation passed with a significant majority in both houses--better than 2-1 among the bishops, and better than 3-1 among the deputies.  This was no "squeaker" decision, it is clearly the desire of the Episcopal Church to see this rite approved.  Both houses of Convention had previously approved legislation which acknowledged and welcomed the presence and ministry of transgendered people in the life and ministry of the Episcopal Church, although I suspect this had passed largely unnoticed by many who were not tracking the Convention closely. 

On Monday evening, when the bishops had approved the Rite of Blessing legislation but the deputies had not yet done so (but were fully expected to the next day,) I attended the Integrity Eucharist at the convention center.  Integrity is a group within the Episcopal Church that has worked for many years for the full incorporation of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered folk in the life and ministry of the church.  The room was full, of persons and of joy.  Many gathered that night had wondered for years if they would live to see such a day, and now it had arrived.  In my sisters and brothers gathered there that night, I saw anew the wondrous diversity of gifts and ministries with which the Holy Spirit has endowed the Church, and gave thanks for their presence among us.  The liturgy was creative, interactive, full of light and color and movement.  We renewed the vows of Holy Baptism, heard and responded to the Word, blessed and shared bread and wine, and were sent forth to love and serve the Lord.

In the sermon, Bp. Gene Robinson of New Hampshire recognized the enormous joy present that night and gave voice to the feelings of many in the assembly.  He called upon the entire congregation, and the Church, to continue to live in and share the good news of God's amazing, unlimited love and grace.  "There are people out there in the world who are DESPERATE to know what we know, here in this room," he said.  "We all have yet more work to do."

This work is ours, as followers of Christ.  We are called, as Robinson said elsewhere in the same sermon, to "live in tents."  Like Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, our life in this world is one of change and transition.  It is tempting to become comfortable in one place, one group of people, one way of seeing the world--but God calls us onward, to continue the journey with God and one another, toward the fullness of God's presence, "a city not made with hands."

For many, Tuesday was a day of celebration and rejoicing.  But not all celebrated and rejoiced together.  Fear and anxiety do strange things to folk, and to organizations.  It is fear--not doubt, not honest questioning--but fear, over and over in the Gospels, which is the opposite of faith. So pray for us, all of us. Pray in thanksgiving for those who rejoice, and rejoice with them.  Pray for those who are fearful and anxious, that the Holy Spirit may fill them with "the peace which passes all understanding."  Pray for the Church, as we move into the future, ever and always seeking to love God with all our being, to love our neighbors as ourselves, to carry the Good News of Christ to every one we meet.

Coming Up For Air

It has been a tradition in our house for many years to watch the movie musical "1776" on the Fourth of July.  This year I missed that tradition, but I've been having my own 1776 experiences here in Indianapolis.  General Convention is amazing and exhausting and an absolute wild ride!

Because I am here as a representative of the Associated Parishes for Liturgy and Mission (visit us online at http://www.associatedparishes.org/), most of my time during the working sessions has been at our booth in the exhibition hall of the Indianapolis Convention Center.  The pace of visitors coming to the booth has been slow and steady, with bursts of frantic activity when the Bishops and Deputies have breaks from their seemingly-endless committee meetings and hearings.

I sat in the food court area of the convention center one day as the lunch hour was finishing up, observing bishops, deputies, alternates, expert witnesses, vendors, all moving through the corridors on their way to the afternoon's work.  It seemed as if they were going in all directions at once!

There is  much good work being done here, most of which will never be mentioned in the popular press.  There are thousands of people gathered here who love God, love Jesus, love their church, and want to see it prosper and flourish and be as lively and life-giving as possible. 

So please do us a favor--help spread that word, you who read these words at home in Georgia or Texas or wherever you are.  In spite of the nonsense that may be getting published in the news about us, what I see here is a beautiful, energetic, vibrant Church.  We may not be of a single mind about what to do with that beauty and energy--and maybe we don't have to be.  Maybe there's enough beauty and energy to go in all directions at once, as the disciples moved out in all directions from Jerusalem after the coming of the Holy Spirit.  Maybe God has a use for each and all of us, to move in and through the world, to carry the Good News in all directions at once. 

On Saturday I had the honor of helping serve communion at the morning Eucharist.  The readings and collect of the day commemorated Harriet Beecher Stowe, whose work and writing in the 19th century contributed to the call for the emancipation of slaves in the United States.  Bishop Michael Curry was our preacher (listen to his amazing sermon at http://vimeo.com/45364734) and Bishop Catherine Waynick of Indianapolis was our celebrant.   

At the Peace, those of us who were to help serve communion came to the front of the room, and stood on pre-marked spots facing the assembly, where we would later receive baskets of bread and cups of wine from the deacons.  As Bp. Waynick recited the Eucharistic Prayer, I found myself looking out over the enormous crowd that had gathered there for "the breaking of the bread, and...the prayers" of the church.  I felt completely surrounded by "that great cloud of witnesses" who have preceded us in the life of faith, and who continue to "cheer us on" in our own earthly journeys.  Fortunately I had a handkerchief in my pocket, because at that point I definitely needed it.  It was one of the highest high points of the Convention for me--at least so far!

Please continue to pray for the Convention and the Church, its Bishops, deputies and leaders.  Pray for wisdom and guidance for them.  Pray for a vision, for all of us, of what God longs for us to be and to do in our world, in our time.  Pray for understanding and respect, that the love of Christ which unites us will sustain us and hold us in love and forbearance and mutual affection for one another.

Grace and peace be with you all, my brothers and sisters.

Opening Day at General Convention

So...imagine a room large enough to hold five thousand people. 
Then put five thousand people in it.  Along with a grand piano, an organ console, a brass quartet, a fifty-voice choir, and a graceful, simple altar platform with all its proper furnishings.
Then have all of those people singing and praying together, raising the roof in song and supplication, thanksgiving and praise.  Glorious does not even begin to describe the experience.

This was the opening Eucharist of the General Convention.  And somehow, for all that size and spectacle, they got it done in one hour, start to finish.  Before and after the service, more old friends from all over the Church were seen and greeted--the family reunion was in full swing.

After the opening liturgy, the Convention went into legislative committee hearings. I testified (along with Frank Logue, Ted Clarkson and Cheryl Parris) before the Standing Commission for Liturgy and Music in support of their including Anna Alexander, the first African-American deaconess in the Episcopal Church, in the next revision of Holy Women, Holy Men.  The SCLM will make their recommendation to the House of Bishops, who will act on it and then pass it to the House of Deputies.  It may be that Deaconess Alexander will soon be known to many outside the Diocese of Georgia!

In the afternoon I testified at the hearing on the resolutions about which I had written earlier, calling for a robust process of lifelong Christian formation and education in our congregations, specifically including instruction in the history, structure and governance of the Episcopal Church for persons who seek to be appointed/elected to serve in particular offices of leadership in the Church, and asking that the canons of the church be modified to reflect our church's theology that full incorporation into the Body of Christ, the Church, is accomplished through Holy Baptism.  This was a very well-attended hearing, with a number of persons wishing to speak both in favor of and in opposition to the resolutions.  The committee did a good job of staying on time and on task, and it remains to be seen what action they will recommend.

In the later afternoon I was back on the floor at the display hall with the Associated Parishes for Liturgy and Mission, sharing the vision and work of APLM with passers-by.  Dinner with friends and a final strategy meeting closed the day, and tomorrow begins early--7:30 hearings for Prayer Book and Liturgy.  (You who know me in real time know that I don't "do" early mornings if I can help it!)

Stay tuned for more news as it develops...

Opening Day-Minus-One

Today was the preliminary organizational meetings for deputies and alternates, and the gathering of the tribes.  The Associated Parishes for Liturgy and Mission, of which I am part of the Council, has a booth in the hall along with the Sisters of the Order of St. Helena, the Church Publishing Corporation, the Pension Fund of the Episcopal Church, makers of prayer beads, carvers of olive wood, crafters of icons, and many, many others.  I mentioned before that GC is one third business meeting, one-third family reunion, and one third bazaar.  (Note the spelling: BAZAAR.  It is also BIZARRE, but that's a matter for another post altogether...)

In the family reunion category, I have seen many old friends and made a few new ones today.  The intrepid Sharon Sheridan Hausman, reporter extrordinaire, is keeping the wider church informed of developments as they unfold.  Most of the Georgia delegation has been sighted, along with a very relaxed-looking Bp. Loutitt and family, who I believe are here just for the fun of it. 

The entire Diocese of Texas delegation gathered this afternoon for the committee hearing to ratify the election of Jeff Fisher as the bishop suffragan of Texas.  The meeting was brief, joyous and thoroughly satisfactory--now the election will be ratified by the House of Bishop and House of Deputies respectively, and East Texas will have a wonderful new bishop serving them and leading them in their ministries.  Congratulations to Jeff and his family as they enter into this new adventure in the Piney Woods!

Tomorrow begins much of the legislative work of the Convention.  I myself will be testifying in a committee meeting in support of the resolutions I mentioned in a previous post.  It is my hope in supporting this legislation that the canons of our church, by what they say and do not say, will consistently support both the baptismal theology of the Book of Common Prayer and the fullest possible expression of the ministries of all the baptized.  Currently this is not the case, insofar as the rite of confirmation  is canonically required for those seeking to hold certain offices in the Episcopal Church. 

The history of "confirmation" as a liturgical event is long and complicated, and more than can be addressed here and now.  In the present Book of Common Prayer it stands as a repeatable pastoral liturgy, and not in fact part of Christian Initiation as such.  This has often been misread and misunderstood in Episcopal circles, with other interpretations (often influenced by Roman Catholic theologies of "confirmation") being interwoven into popular understandings of the rite.

Further discussion of these matters (for those who are interested) can be read in the Associated Parishes' Special Convention Edition of OPEN, our official journal, located at http://associatedparishes.org/images/Open_GC_2012.pdf.  Print copies will be available at the APLM booth tomorrow (Thursday) morning.

Stay tuned for more excitement...:)

Safely Arrived

Made it from Augusta to Indianapolis in about eleven hours, with various pit stops and traffic hazards along the way.  I had no sooner walked into the lobby of the hotel than I caught sight The Rt. Rev. C. Andrew of Texas, deeply engrossed in conversation.  Texas friends, your bishop is hard at work already J

My first impression of all of this is the sheer SIZE of the thing.  Indianapolis is not a small town, but it seems that the EC has truly taken over, at least the convention center and surrounding environs.  Kudos to the hotel and convention staffs, and the diocesan hospitality team for all their hard work to get ready for the onslaught!

If you are reading this from Indy, come see me at the APLM booth!  More news to follow…and remember:  “The Water’s Fine!”

To the Delegates of General Convention

Dear Ones,

Know, first and last, that you are being prayed for by many.  The affection and support of your respective dioceses goes with you to Indianpolis, and shall not be withdrawn regardless of the outcomes there.  We would not have send you if we did not value you, and think you would do the right thing.

I have been pondering much, as the days have drawn near.  From our diocesan convention some months ago, where we were introduced to the “proposal for a proposal for a restructuring of the Episcopal Church” accompanied by Power Point presentations and sermons against “the vested interests” of shadowy figures somewhere far away, out there, to groups of passionately committed Episcopalians who have spend decades in ministry to and through our Church, to informal gatherings at campfires and on front porches where the subject of General Convention has been raised.

I’ve noticed something in all of those conversations.  Something that makes me nervous.  Unhappy even.

FEAR.  Over and over, expressed in all sorts of language, directed “out there somewhere.”  Sometimes individuals were identified by name, more often groups were referenced by allusion or innuendo.  “Them people.”

In one amazing conversation with a new friend, the idea was presented that in fact we are, each of us, more powerful than we think we are.  And that fear of that power provokes a need, or a desire, to control that fear either by delegating it to others (Bishop, priest, president, whoever…) or by refusing to engage that power in any but the safest, least offensive ways.

One delegate to our diocesan convention made a statement during the final session, regarding the resolution calling for the restructuring of the Episcopal Church, “We’re going to go [to General Convention] and make them responsible for doing the right thing.” (Italics mine) 

Who is “Them”?

Ours is a large, complex, multinational Church.  We cannot be reduced to an undifferentiated unity.  At a number of points, in conversations and presentations, I have observed what appeared to be an underlying assumption of “Simple is good; complex is bad; anything that can’t be conveyed by a series of bullet points must be suspect.”  In some sense that is a function of the wider culture in which we live, but nevertheless it’s worth noticing.  In one such presentation, the assembly viewed six or seven Powerpoint slides, each of which contained the names of two dozen or so committees and commissions of the Episcopal Church, passed over the screen in such rapid succession as to render them utterly illegible.  The intended point of this display was to insinuate that such complexity was inevitably incomprehensible, top-heavy, bureaucratic, unresponsive, and boring.

I take exception to this insinuation, and to the method by which it was presented.  I realized in the moment that I knew some of those committees and commissions, and some of the people who served on them.  I wondered what would have happened if we had been permitted to read those slides, and discover some of the richness of the Mission and Ministries which our Church has engaged in over the last few years.  I wonder how many of those committees and commissions might have piqued the interest of those who read of them, who might have thought “I believe I’d like to learn more about that!”

It seemed, in my estimation, both a half-truth on one hand, and a wasted opportunity on the other.

We gather this July for the General Convention in Indianapolis.  The coming autumn will see a highly contested, highly emotional, highly funded electoral cycle in the United States.  We are already feeling the waves of the storm.  I wonder if some of this anxiety about our national life isn’t leaking over into the conversations about our ecclesial life as well.  The vague threat of Immanent Collapse seems to be operative in both spheres, and the desire to act quickly (regardless of what the proposed action might look like or require) could well be causing more than one sleepless night and upset stomach among our people.

One of the reasons I love the Episcopal Church, with all its flaws and quirks and challenges, is that we are able to disagree—passionately so—about the issues that divide us, and yet we then go to the Eucharist together.  Our disagreements do not prevent us from loving and caring for one another.  We are committed to staying in relationship with each other, “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.”  Because this is so, we need not fear that someone will just get up and leave the table and the relationship.

Except that some have.  Some have excommunicated themselves over various issues at various times.  Some have left in anger; some in grief; some in pain.  Some will do so after this Convention, regardless of the outcome.  And we will all bear the marks of the severed limbs.

And I wonder if it is not fear of that loss—the potential of it as might be, even more than the actual is when it comes—that lies at the root of our anxiety.  In a culture riddled with brokenness and fragmentation, where pundits and pontifications of every sort appear at every moment, insisting ever more loudly and stridently, “I’m right; you’re wrong; I win-you-lose-ha-ha”, do we think these are the only options?

Do we imagine that the work of legislation, voting issues “up” or “down” reduces us to gloating winners and resentful losers?  Have we mistaken the legislative process for the totality of our life together as the plebs sancta Dei? 

One final overheard conversation, and then no more.

One many-times General Convention delegate to another:  “Nothing ever got done talking around a table.  It always came through legislation and voting.”

With this bald statement I take exception.  To say such a thing discounts the conversion of hearts, minds, and manners that does happen in table conversations—and we as a eucharistic people know that very well. 

What the speaker meant (I believe) is that table conversation is not a substitute for legislation and governance.  True.

But legislation and governance is not a substitute for table conversation and relationships.  Both are needful at all levels of our common life.  Without the table, legislation can degenerate into winner-takes-all, “I-win-you-lose-ha-ha.”  Without legislation and governance, the table can become no more than holding hands in the kitchen, “warm-fuzzy-feel-good-nothing-ever-changes.” 

Typical Anglicans.  Here we are again, insisting that the truth requires Both-And, refusing to settle down and choose Either-Or.  Always that doggone Via Media…

 
Blessings and godspeed, friends.

“The Water’s Fine”: Holy Baptism & Lifelong Christian Formation and Education

The work of legislation at General Convention includes a number of resolutions which the Convention will vote upon.  Some of these (addressed below) are not likely to get a lot of attention in the popular press, but are perhaps more important for all that. 

Permit me to share two stories, from a new priest in a new congregation, to set the stage.

When I arrived as priest-in-charge of St. Augustine of Canterbury Episcopal Church, Augusta, Georgia in the late summer of 2010, I began looking over the parish service registers.  I discovered that the most recently confirmed person in the parish was one of our vestry members, a noted leader in the congregation (and as of July 2012, my current senior warden.)

 I noticed also the circumstances of this confirmation—that there had been only one confirmand from our parish, that the liturgy had taken place in the cathedral of a neighboring diocese, and at the hands of the bishop of that diocese.  The one sponsor of the confirmand was the then-senior warden of the parish.  I asked about this, and was told, “We wanted ______ to be our delegate to Diocesan Council, so we needed to get him confirmed.”

 I asked myself then (and later asked others):  What skills or abilities, what wisdom or insight, do we suppose this person acquired in this confirmation rite that qualified him to serve as a council delegate, which he did not already possess beforehand? 

 I further discovered upon my arrival in the parish that a number of the bishop’s licenses (of 3-year duration) for then-current Lay Eucharistic Ministers were about to expire.  I inquired of the diocese regarding the customary form of preparation for LEMs.  I found out that the official diocesan requirements at that time to serve as a lector, lead the Prayers of the People, or to serve the cup at the Sunday Eucharist included working one’s way through a substantial reading list, making at least one annual overnight retreat at the diocesan conference center (some 4 hours drive distant), preparing a written Rule of Life, and successfully passing written examinations prepared by the diocesan Commission on Ministry.

This seemed excessive. 

I began talking to people who knew the diocesan history, and learned that this list of expectations had been hastily crafted in a reactionary period, when the diocese was attempting to restrain breakaway congregations, whose vestries believed (or had been taught) that they had no obligation to follow diocesan canons or governance.  The hope was to thereby teach the LEMs what it meant to be “real Episcopalians” in spite of these vestries and congregations.

These requirements (of “emergency” confirmation in order to conform with the rubrics on the one hand, and of negotiating formidable lists of formational requirements in order to serve in the public liturgy on the other) point simultaneously to two realities.

One: it is right and appropriate that those who minister in the church’s name should be properly formed and prepared for that work of ministry;

Two: excessive or reactionary imposition of canonical requirements as a prerequisite to exercising the ministry of the baptized are neither right nor appropriate.

What is sought (in both of the instances above, if we look beyond the particulars of each case) is the suitable formation of persons in their work as baptized Christians, for service in the church and in the world.  And this is indeed right and appropriate.

This is the substance behind a number of Resolutions before the General Convention in Indianapolis.  Resolutions A042, A043 and A044 ask the Church to remember its own teaching on Holy Baptism, that it is “full initiation by water and the Holy Spirit into Christ’s Body, the Church.” (BCP 298)  Nothing else is lacking for full membership. 

What may be lacking is education and formation.  This is addressed in Resolution A041, which asks two things:  that the congregations of the Episcopal Church provide instruction and formation in the history, structure and governance of the Church and opportunities for lifelong Christian formation, and persons serving in any office of this Church shall receive instruction in the history, structure and governance of the Church and in the duties and responsibilities of the office they undertake. 

Formation in Christian faith and living is an ongoing lifelong process which requires the Church as a partner to provide suitable resources to foster that process.  This reality is addressed in Resolutions A046 and A047, calling for the continuing development of trained “Christian formation leaders, facilitators and teachers” to serve the Church, and for the development of an Electronic Learning Community as a a principal resource for such formation.

Much of what is requested by these resolutions (especially A041, 46 and 47) is already being done in many, if not most, Episcopal congregations and dioceses.  The importance of this particular legislation is a matter of canonical consistency: to remember throughout our rules of governance that it is by Holy Baptism that we come into the Body of Christ.  We are formed as Christians throughout our lives to live into and out of what it means to be part of that Body.  As the larger societies around us increasingly demonstrate values foreign to those of Christ’s household, the Church’s responsibility for this formation and education becomes ever more essential.

Still working out the bugs...

A colleage opined today that Paul, had he lived in our time, would have a blog.  Far more widely distributable than hand-written epistles, I suppose.  Not necessarily easier to create.  More news to follow, but first dinner and preparation for tomorrow's events.

Grace and peace,
TheRevDoc

Bloggravation

A curious matter.  When I log on as myself, the formatting on here looks horrid and completely wrong.  When I look at the page as a guest, all is well.  What th'?

"In the beginning...

...the blog was void and empty of content.  And the spirit of the blogger gazed upon the empty 'Post' window, and began to type.  And lo, content began to come upon the face of the blog."  I Blogger, 1:1

Hello dear ones. 

In anticipation of the upcoming General Convention in Indianapolis, and as a means of sharing thoughts, theological reflections and musings with you all, I have undertaken to start the blog Wheeler & Regent.  I hope that it will be useful to you, and that as a result we may enter more deeply into our own call as followers of Jesus in our own very particular time and place.

Grace and peace,
JMH