Ash Wednesday Poem: Asserting My Rights

Asserting My Rights

What is it about Lent and me?
I just can’t give up.

When I give up coffee, I eat more chocolate.
When I give up fast food, I watch more TV.

When I put my loose change in the mite box,
I expect the box to be grateful.

Every Lent, I am an errant driver in a field
Striking the tree that I was determined to miss.

Forty days seem like forty years
When I know I will fail in forty seconds.

So this Lent, I am going to give up giving up.
Instead, I will assert my rights.

I will focus wholeheartedly on my rights.
I will hold closely to myself the things that I know are mine.

I will have a good time this Lent
because I will take on what I know to be true.

But, knowing my track-record in past Lents,
I will start with the right to keep my expectations low.

I will insist on the right to be wrong.
For forty days I think I can live with not always being so right.

I will assert my right to flawed.
Do you think for six weeks, I can be free of seeming so terrific?

I will ascent to my right to be uncertain
For a month, perhaps I will discover faith.

I will claim my right to be ignorant
After a season of knowing less, maybe I will know mystery.

I will act on my right to be weak
And, for a moment, I won’t pretend I own what strength I have.

I will revel in my right to be foolish
And catch a glimpse of how I am seen.

I will rest in my right to be a creature
And enjoy for a second my part in the creation.

I will exercise my right to surrender
and live, for now, in my right not to be God.

I wrote this in 2005. Someone in my parish asked for a copy. So I posted it again. -- atg+

A gift carefully chosen

Have you ever gotten a gift you really weren’t too sure about? You smile and show it around while you are thinking about the returns line.

Now, have you ever received a gift, like for Christmas, that didn’t seem to hit the mark when you opened the box and yet it turned out to be one of the best things ever?  That’s happened to me from time to time, and once these gifts became an occasion for change and blessing. Let me tell you about it.

When my kids were younger, they gave me ties. Now I don’t know about other men, but I am very particular about my neckties. I don’t wear them very much these days, but when I was a chaplain and director of pastoral care who went to work in a hospital every day it was part of the uniform of a middle manager so most days I wore ties. Now I have to say I am pretty conservative when it comes to ties. I felt that I had to uphold the dignity of my office. But my kids, well… they had different ideas. Maybe they wanted me to loosen up. I don’t know.

My son picked ties which were, well, sneaky. (Or should I say “crafty?”) They looked from a distance like an old school tie or something pretty basic but up close you’d find that they had Bugs Bunny or some of the other Warner Bros. cartoon characters on them.

Now my daughter went in a whole different direction. One tie had hand imprints in different bright primary and secondary colors on a navy blue background as if a child were finger painting, and included was the script “I love my Daddy.” (No fool she!) Another one had a hospital theme. It was of the Three Stooges dressed as doctors. Which no doubt sparked confidence to every patient who saw it. But the one I remember the most was The Christmas Tie. It was bright red and had images of Santa, reindeer, candy canes and Christmas wreaths, and… it was musical. If you squeezed it, it played “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” And once it started, there was no stopping it.

Now that December when I was going to work, she’d look at me and ask me if I was going to wear the singing tie. Yes, ma’am, I’d say. Now I could have worn it out the door and then changed it, but you know that…well, that’s just not right. So I sucked it up, put on The Christmas Tie and went to work.

Now a hospital chaplain’s job is to visit sick people, to listen to their stories, pray with them and bring them some measure of comfort and hope by helping them tap their source of strength and hope. And, as I said, I always wanted to put on a dignified, stable face on my ministry. But it is hard to do that when your tie has Daffy Duck or the Three Stooges or would suddenly burst out with “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

But you know what? A strange thing happened. These ties, they made patients and co-workers smile. Doctors, nurses and other co-workers would ask me what tie I was wearing that day. And I will never forget the smile on the face of the otherwise very lonely older man when, in the middle of a very serious prayer, I bumped my tie and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” started playing.  His family told me it was the first time he laughed in ages—but because of the music or from my startled expression, I don’t know.

My kids were right about these gifts.  They taught me something very important about life and about the life of faith.

Christmas is a time for gifts. And gift giving is a very important job. You have to think about not only what a person needs but what suits a person’s personality. Getting a gift—even one that doesn’t seem quite right—is one of those moments when you know if the person who gives you the gift really knows you. It is also information: a gift carefully given tells us a little about the giver and how they see us.

A very wise priest who taught me when I was in seminary told me that “gracious people accept gracious gifts graciously.” I’ve never forgotten that lesson. Even if the gift does not seem quite “right” at first, it is still a gift and is to be accepted graciously.

Do you know why we give gifts at Christmas? All those Christmas gifts wrapped in pretty paper or found in stockings or exchanged at offices and classroom are more than just a custom. They teach us something. First, they teach us that gift giving is not merely a transaction, it is an act of generosity. For the Christian, the gifts we give point us to another gift. The gift God gave in Jesus Christ.

When we hear the story of Jesus’ birth from the Gospel of Luke, we discover that God is paying attention to people that most of us would sooner forget. The manger was a gift…an act of kindness by someone who decided that if the inns of Bethlehem would not open to Mary and Joseph…not because they were full, but because Mary and Joseph were not “our” kind of people. Someone had to open their heart a little bit to put the very pregnant girl and her husband up for the night.

And the shepherds.  They got a gift also. When the angels and heavenly chorus announce to them the Saviors birth, they are being given news despite the fact that they work in a job that puts them outside the boundaries of acceptable religious life. Instead of appearing to kings and priests, the angels go to everyday, working people, the poor and the outcast.

The gift of Jesus is that God is with us. Not far away in the some corner of cosmos tuning in every now and then. But with us right now, where we live sharing with us all the struggles of daily living.

The gift of Jesus is that he is God-with-us, a King over all Creation and at the same time joining us on the human scale. God shares what we experience: all the hope,  all the setbacks, all the hurt, all the relationships, and all the love. In Christ, we see and know that God participates in all of life with us. And because he would grow up and give himself to death on the cross, he will give us the gift of life with God forever. So with Jesus we have a new gift: purpose, hope, and holiness.

So if it is true that a gift carefully chosen tells us about both the giver and the gifted, what does God’s gift of Jesus tell us about God and humanity?

For one thing, God’s gift of Jesus tells us not only that God loves us, but that humanity is worth loving. Heaven knows we are capable of great evil—like Newtown or the firefighters who were ambushed in Rochester today—and we live in a world that can be predictably unpredictable—which we learned again through Hurricane Sandy. But for all that, we are also capable of great nobility, have great creativity and can be loyal. We are a bundle of contradictions, and the gift of Jesus tells us that God loves us so much that he joins us in all of that and helps us through it. God both knows our deepest failings and our greatest possibility.

Also, we find that God knows that our faith is sometimes faltering and inconsistent but that God meets us where we need God’s help the most. We may not know that we need God’s gift of Jesus. But God gives the gift anyway.  

I think that if God were to add stocking stuffers to the gift of his Son, it would be as the novelist Oren Arnold suggests: "To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect."

Jesus is God’s gift to us. And if you accept that gift, there will come moments when you will know that Gods gift comes to you over and over, just what you need just and just how you need it, And then something marvelous will happen. As you live the gift, you will find yourself giving the gift back and becoming the blessing God knows you to be. 

Isaiah 62:6-12 
Titus 3:4-7 
Luke 2:(1-7)8-20 
Psalm 97

Our Epiphany God

I did not plan on a big “do.” But ever since I was a little boy who served as an acolyte and ever since my first volunteer job at a summer day camp at a local Salvation Army, I’ve wanted to be a priest. They say “be careful what you pray for!” Well, after thirty years, all I can say is this: this ministry, this life of faith, has been everything and nothing like I’ve expected.

Hmm. Kind of like life, huh? Funny thing, this God of ours; always full of surprises.

I’ve discovered that our God is one given to epiphanies. Epiphanies are moments when God is revealed. A memento sits on my bookshelf from one of my past churches. It is made of wood and is the word “AHA!”

That was someone reminding me that when God is revealed, the epiphany comes as an “Aha!”

Because God is given to epiphanies, if we want to be attentive to God we have to be ready for surprise. Now I am not a big fan of surprise parties and my kids make great sport out of the fact that I startle easily but dealing with the unexpected is part of life, and so is at the heart of the life of faith. If everything happened the way it was always supposed to with no variation, with no unexpected turns, then why bother having faith? A life with no surprise is not a life of faith, it’s a routine.

But God knows that life is in fact nothing if not growth and change. That is how we are made. We may cope with that by having our routine…which is why the church has a liturgical year, seasons, and traditions…but God uses even those to remind us that things move, change and renew.

Sometimes we don’t do change very well. I am a member of that rare species of priests who is also a “cradle Episcopalians” (with an excursis into the Jesus Movement of the 1970's) and in all that time I have watched first hand people walk out of church when something changed that they did not like. And I am not just talking about prayer books, hymnals, the King James Bible or altar placement. I have also seen people walk out of church when my home parish called its first African-American Rector. I have seen people refuse to come to church ever again after they found out that one of their priests was divorced. I have seen people scratch the hands of a woman priest delivering them communion and storm out of church. I have seen people leave because they found out their priest was gay and partnered. And the really painful part of it all was that none of these were necessarily bad people who did not want to follow Jesus faithfully. All of them knew they had the Bible on their side. It was just that something they had always counted on to remain fixed had changed and as the old ad said "they'd rather fight than switch.".

Never mind that the clergy they were walking away from were faithful Christians, gentle pastors, strong leaders, even courageous people. Never mind that people had lived among blacks, women, and gays for years “just not as ministers” when in fact, in baptism, we are all ministers. It was the change. This was for them not a pleasant epiphany. These were“a-ha” that they wished we could send back. Instead, God puts us in community and invites to work out God’s epiphany in Jesus Christ together and this is not always easy. It can be costly but epiphanies are like that, too.

I think about the Dr. Seuss book “Oh, The Places You’ll Go!” There is a theme in the places where I’ve been. Growing up in a mainly African-American church as a suburban white kid, being newly married and experiencing the early days of the AIDS epidemic, being a person who hates surprise serving as an emergency room chaplain. It's not that God is a practical joker, but rather that God, the God of epiphanies, always wants us to go deeper. God is always calling to the place that challenges us the most. If we choose to go there, we find that God is always with us.

God wants us to be holy. Holy does not mean static (although sometimes that means still…!), it means set apart. To be truly set apart, God wants us to love better, think more, and enjoy life. Holiness means being at once silent when we need to be, creative when we can be, and compassionate to those we meet. Faithfulness is being attentive to what is around us and being ready to change when we need to. That means being faithful is always a choice.

Some say that God, at best, must be far away and never gets involved in the creation God set in motion. I don’t believe that. Creation tells us that God is involved. The incarnation, life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the gift of the Holy Spirit shows us that God is not stuck “out there” but is “with us.” Often in surprising, even startling, ways.

We can choose to live our Christian life in a bubble—a kind of spiritual geodesic dome where we can control our whole environment from the inside and keep a world we are scared of outside—or we can live and breathe in God’s world as God made it with all its wonder, beauty, and—yes—even the pain and uncertainty. Faith is not faith if it is lived in isolation. If we are only faithful when things are the way we expect, if our faith only holds us up when things are going our way, then what kind of faith is that?

I think God loves it when we “get it.” When we discover something new about ourselves, God and creation, I believe that God cheers. I believe God smiles when we have an “a-ha!”

God knows that not every epiphany is pleasant or happy. God loves us through the process when the epiphany is in fact a conversion, which can be painful. God is patient with us when we resist the epiphany right in front of us. That’s why grace is amazing.

My hope for the next thirty years of ministry is this: that in the company of brave, faithful and creative Christians we will step out of our bubbles and greet with joy our Epiphany God.

Thank you all for everything you have taught me about living faithfully and joyfully as an epiphany people of God!


(I wrote this on the day of my 30th anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood for publication in the January newsletter of Trinity, Easton, "Glad Tidings." This is why I am talking about Epiphany while we are still in Advent. )

Join in the celebration! Please give a chair and a desk to our adopted school, Trinity New Hope Primary School in Sodogo, Kajo-Keji, South Sudan.  Find out more here. 

Stirring up God's power at the intersection of horror and hope.

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

--Collect for The Third Sunday of Advent

A little over eleven years ago, a little boy was watching the television and the only thing on was the blanket coverage of the 9/11 attacks. Over and over again he saw the image of those towers collapsing. Finally, his mother turned off the tv and tried to redirect him. But the enormity had set it and he was trying to find the words. As he was drawing a picture he finally asked “Mom, where was Superman?”

I remembered this story as I watched the news unfold on Friday of the mass murder of twenty first graders, their teachers as well as the mother of the shooter and the shooter himself. This is not supposed to happen. Schools are not places where violence is supposed to happen. Classrooms should never be places where children die. Teaching is a profession one gives one life to but it is not meant to be a job where one risks giving her life.

We have seen evil come to life. I want God’s power to be stirred up and to make this all better. Already there are people crying out for more laws and others saying things like we should routinely arm teachers. Both reactions get people riled up but they deflect us from what is really important. If the severity of trauma can be measured by the immediacy of the threat, the vulnerability of the victims and the degree of helplessness we feel then we are all at least a little traumatized even though we are far away from the epicenter—that is, if we have any heart at all.  And so it is natural to ask “then what can we do?”

Well, wouldn’t you know? That very question appears in today’s Gospel. John the Baptist is going around Galilee preaching Good News. But it doesn’t sound very good. He is saying that God’s judgment is at hand. He chides the religious leaders for their complacency and tells people they need to get ready for the coming of the Messiah. He says our history and heritage will not help us escape what is coming.

This has everyone shaken right down to their socks. “What should we do?” the people ask. I mean, if John the Baptist is right, if the most religious and righteous people in town can’t pass muster when the Messiah comes then who will?

If you think about it, this question is not so far from our lips either. If a rural-suburban town of middle-class folks far away from the traditional epicenters of crime and violence cannot escape evil incarnate then what can we do?

St. John Baptist’s advice is surprisingly practical. He tells everyone to bear fruit worthy of repentance. He tells the religious leaders to be faithful and don’t count on their status. He tells workers like tax collectors and soldiers to take only what they are owed—in a day long before unions and civil service. He tells people to be honest, to be good, and to care for one another.

But if getting ready for the Messiah is the picture of practicality, that doesn’t make it simple. If our faith is going to make a practical difference then we must choose to be intentional about our faith. Being faithful means being attentive to what is going on around us. Being attentive means being smart about our choices of not only what we do bur our choices in who we are. This kind of faithful living means being reasonable in our expectations of others and ourselves—cutting each other some slack. John taught that faithful living means taking responsibility for how we live out our faith and that kind of deliberate faithfulness grows out living as if we are in love with the life that God has given us and in love with the God who gives us life.

We get ready for the Messiah when we choose to live life making space for God. This was the point behind John’s baptism. John didn’t baptize people because it was cool or a fad. He baptized people because they needed to change. That change had to start from within and, at the same time, be obvious to everyone.

That’s the thing about the sacramental life. It is God at work in us alone and in community. God takes everyday things like water, bread, wine, and even olive oil and they become signs that God is at work in every part of our living. In our faith communities, God places us in the midst of imperfect people and changes us together.

As we try to make useful meaning out of random violence, we can learn from John the Baptist who prepares us for the redemption to come. If we dare to look through the lens of this tragedy, we too can find Good News, we will find the ground work of God’s grace and we will know what to do.

The first thing we can learn is that while this is a national tragedy with national implications, it is also local. Our pain is our pain. It is nothing like the pain that the people of Newtown are right now experiencing and not even close to the pain of the parents whose child was murdered or of the families whose parent or spouse or adult child was killed. Some of you may have some kind of personal connection to the event or else this tragedy may call up for you memories of your own losses. The feelings that go with that are natural and normal. At the same time, let what is yours be yours and what is theirs be theirs. Our pain and sadness allows us to build empathetic and caring bridges of support and that is very important—essential in fact. But on Monday, we will go back to work. They will have to re-knit lives torn open.

Because what’s theirs is theirs and what’s ours is ours, we have different work to do. For one thing, we can ask questions and frame meaning in a way that the people close to the crisis will not be able to do for maybe a long, long time.

This is where the issue of judgment comes in. But not in the way you think. We often think of judgment as something God does to a people for wrongs they have done. But we must be very clear here. God did not do this. Beware of platitudes and junk theology. God did not need these children more than their parents. While we believe that God is caring for the dead and that in Christ they are held in God’s loving embrace, this is not how God recruits angels.  God does not use the murder of children as an object lesson in obedience. God did not send a man into a school with a gun as an act of divine retribution. Please do not teach people to hate God for what God does not do.

No. We are looking at the fruits of the kind of world we have made and we are staring into the heart of human sin. We are being forced to look at the consequences of creating (but not talking about) a culture that enshrines violence and makes it easier to buy a gun than to rent an apartment. What happened Friday exposes the consequences of our choice as a people to make the right to bear arms at least as important as the right to health and education. This tragedy lays an axe to the tree of our assumptions that easy answers couched in simplistic media-ready ideologies will do a better job of solving our problems than the hard work of living in community.

But if the consequences of our choices convict us, signs of redemption are also near. If you look closely, God started signaling the solution even before we comprehended the horror of what was going on.

One man chose to do evil. That much is clear. But notice that when the chips were down hundreds of people chose to do the good.  One man did unimaginable evil. Many others performed compassionate acts of humanity—even bravery—beyond our imagining.

This is where we find God in the midst of horror: the teachers, principal and the therapist who put themselves between a gunman and children; in the people who rushed to the firehouse to find and care for their kids; in the first responders who came in droves to secure the school and care for the injured; in the police and the caring professionals who were paired up with families whose children died and shepherded them through those terrible hours. People who filled churches, synagogues and parks to keep vigil, write names, sing pray, and just hold and hug each other were at once tangible signs of good overcoming evil and the presence of God bringing life out of chaos. In the days to come, every funeral, each flower given, every casserole delivered, each child baby sat, every hug given and even the space given to allow for private grief will make real the ways that God pushes back darkness and reveal light. Much of what we will see will be very sad, beyond heartbreaking. God will be present to that heartbreak often in ways small, tender, and spontaneous.

Watch. God’s power is already stirred up. Good started defeating evil just when it looked as if evil won the day. We Christians believe that in Christ’s life, death and resurrection God has defeated sin, death and evil once and for all. Yes, after the empty tomb of Easter, evil still breaks out and still deals death in horrid ways, but everything evil does is now a rear guard action against God who has already reconciled creation and defeated sin. As we move towards Christmas, our job will be to hold that truth both close to our hearts and up for the world to see. It will also be on us to surround the people of Newtown…and all the people we know who have suffered a loss anywhere by death, or who are facing a dread illness, or who are the victims of injustice or who are poor and outcast… and hold these people in love, prayer and practical compassion.

John the Baptist was getting people ready for Jesus by telling them to repent…that we can choose. We can intentionally make room for God and that will change us and it will change the world for good.

Bad evangelism sucks, even if you're an atheist

On the one hand, I hate to link to this but on the other hand it is such an good example of bad religion that it is deserves critique, especially since they brought it up.

This tract, found on a site called "The Oatmeal," is attractive, funny, edgy, in many way true and does exactly what it says it hates.

I get what the authors are saying, bad religion sucks. It is destructive and abusive.

But on the whole this strikes me at the atheist-existentialist version of a Chick Tract. It is attractive, amusing, and hard to put down. They are both theological and philosophical car-wrecks...you ought not to watch but you can't help it. The Oatmeal piece puts down all religion by taking a few truths about how religion is abused, draws broad generalized conclusions about all religion based on the obvious bad examples, and then tells the reader that they are a supremely unreasonable idiot if they continue to follow any religious or spiritual path.

All in all, this thing does for atheism exactly what they say is bad about religion. But instead of yelling for not following a crappy mis-interpretation of holy writ, it yells at you and calls you a jerk for actually believing something other than, well, nothing. And if you must believe in nothing, believe it with all your heart, without question and be disdainful of those who don't believe as you do.

In other words, this is the same sucky, dumbass evangelism that is mainly about making the believer feel good in the guise of wanting to "save" them (in this case, the author wants to "save" me from sucky religion...which apparently is any religion  especially if it looks the least bit traditional).

Go God Go XII
Get More: SOUTH
PARKmore...

Like many atheists (and religionists for that matter) they confuse the content of religion with the process of faith.

And the authors can pretend that the religion they present has no content, but it does. He or she is very clear in his/her belief that the only true faith is that all people are dying meat-sacks in a cosmic sh*t-hole." This is what we call a creed. In my mind this is not a very inviting one, but, it is a statement of faith as much as any. It is a faith that is packaged, sold and marketed (dare I say "evangelized" or "prosyltized" as any in any church).

We may have gothic buidlings and the Bible, yesterdays technology, but y'all use the technology at your disposal for the exact same purpose. Admit it: you want to save me from the sin of my faithfulness.

The author(s?) and I can agree one thing. Whatever you believe should make you and the world you live in better, not worse. If you don't want to suck at your religion (even if your religion is no-religion) it needs to be intentional, provide a healthy balance of inner and outer focus. It needs to help you transcend not reinforce your prejudices.

Healthy faith--whatever the content--is a process and requires both nurturing. It requires a balance of solitude and community.

Healthy faith challenges you to go deeper, expand--not contract--your world. Faith that is healthy gives a sense of meaning and purpose while also motivating you to leave the world a better place than how you found it. Healthy faith causes you to take responsibility for yourself and your world.

A healthy faith is dynamic and leans, by it's very nature, towards truth-telling. It will discomfort the comfortabable and reach out to the oppressed.

Also, good religion--even if your religion is atheism--should cause to one respect people who differ from us without calling them names or belittling either their journey and their choices. This clever tract succeeds by doing the very thing it decries but very attractively.

Open season

It seems that it's open season on the Episcopal Church.

I guess that's to be expected since we've just finished a General Convention, and while every report I've read and heard tells me that this was one of the most forward looking and hopeful conventions in recent memory, some have taken this as an opportunity to take pot shots at the Episcopal Church.

Most of these attacks are ad-homenum, based on old canards, myths, false assumptions and in some cases inaccuracies and--dare I say it--outright, ahem, lies. All of these are designed to stir up feelings disguised as throughful critique.

Two articles appeared, one in BeliefNet and a similar op-ed in the Wall Street Journal (Friday, July 13, 2012). I wrote about the WSJ op-ed on the Episcopal Cafe today. What is said about the WSJ piece, which has been roundly refuted by a wide spectrum of Anglican writers, equally applies to the BeliefNet piece.


Another op-ed was written by NY Times op-ed columnist Russel Douthat (Sunday, July 15, 2012). A thoughtful writer with a conservative, center-right, bend, Douthat this time resorts to generalizations and falsehood. Maybe he has never really read theology nor studied American church history? I don't know. He romanticizes the current Roman Catholic Church while ignoring huge--obvious--trends in the American religious scene and then blames all the problems on "liberal religion", the Episcopal Church being the case in point.

And, in what must be a violation of a sub-set of Godwin's Law, he trots out Bishop Jack Spong in the opening paragraph.

Here is what I submitted to the comments under the column tonight:

Mr. Douthat uses the Episcopal Church as an example of the dangers of liberalism to Christianity. Too bad that the Episcopal Church he describes is largely mythical as is the kind of church he longs for. 

Ironically, Bishop Spong's theological roots are found in the very 19th Century Social Gospel that Douthat commends.  

Here is the fact that Douthat avoids: Every American denomination, liberal and conservative, evangelical, mainline, Catholic and Protestant is declining. Here is another truth, "correct" doctrine won't by itself return us to a glorious past. 

Our culture has changed, including our relationship to religion.  

We live in a free market of ideas. Personal spirituality is more central than corporate religion. Society no longer calls on churches to mediate our values. Less than 18% of American adults attend church, synagogue or mosque. Is it any wonder that the institutional forms of religion have to change? 

The Roman Catholic Church has chosen to shut out modernism and suppress dissent. 

Evangelicalism covets the mantel formerly held by mainline Protestantism as arbiter of American values and chaplain to the powerful.  

As for the Episcopal Church, we seek to follow Jesus Christ by living the Gospel with an attitude of respect, humility and openness. 

I invite Mr. Douthat to spend time with us and watch the variety of ministry and the vitality of our communities instead of resorting to assumptions and stale characterizations about the state of American religion.

Here is another rebuttal to Douthat's column.

Elmer season.

Jesus showing up in inconvenient guises

So the Farrelly Brothers have made a movie remaking The Three Stooges for our generation. Depending on your point of view, this is either the end or the highpoint of Western civilization. Now I haven’t seen it, but from what I have heard, the directors wanted to reproduce the exact feel of the 1930’s vintage shorts than became a staple of Saturday morning television for boys of a certain age like me. The film also provides a back story about how three bumbling knuckleheads came to be so bumbling.

In a weird way, the advent of this film reminds of one of my own Easter stories.

Once upon a time, when I was a brand-new transitional deacon, I was assigned to a parish in the middle of a small city not unlike Trinity, Easton.

St. Paul's in Willimantic, Connecticut had a soup kitchen, too, only theirs met six days a week. I lived a few blocks away and would walk to church. On Sunday mornings, I liked to go early and putter around in silence making things ready for worship. There was a wrinkle in my plan, though, and his name was Billy.

Billy was a man in his late 40’s, who spent most of his life in an institution run by the state for the mentally handicapped. The state was gradually moving these folks into the community. Highly capable folks from the Training School, were moved into apartments. Those in need of more supervision went into group homes. Billy was one of the ones moved into an apartment near the church. Billy loved church. He also loved to talk…which he did at 100 mph in a rather high pitched voice. I tried to teach him things: like how to help set  up the church, how to light the candles without setting him or the church on fire; how to set out the bulletins.

Nothing worked. Billy followed me around talking incessantly. He broke things. He spilled and dropped things. He interrupted and startled people. He also scared people who did not know what to make of him. And the truth is Billy really got on my nerves.

My romantic image of a time of contemplative silence went out the window when I came down the street and saw him there at the door, waiting. So not only was I annoyed and impatient, I was angry. And I am sure it showed, so I was embarrassed, too.

My supervising priest at that time was the most saintly man I ever knew. His name was Canon Francis Belden. Or, as Billy called him, “Kenny.”

Canon Belden would always treat Billy with great patience and never seemed to get upset by his antics.

One day, after a particularly exasperating encounter, I came to supervision feeling at a complete loss. I had run out of tricks, distractions and gimmicks to deal with Billy. Tired, confused, and—as I said—embarrassed, I asked Canon Belden how he did it. How was he able to stay so even-keeled with Billy even after Billy has crashed into him or dropped something or interrupted a conversation.

"Well," ‘Kenny’ said, "he’s Jesus."

Before I could fall into a deep hole of guilt and pointless shame, Belden added this truth that I have never forgotten. The secret to a successful Christian life, he said, is seeing the face of Jesus in others and also knowing that you are Jesus’ face to someone else.

Billy was Jesus. Jesus came disguised as an annoying, pesky, klutzy guy who was trying to apply the life rules learned in an institution to  a world where he was now by himself for the first time and with very few rules. Billy was a lot of things and he certainly tried my patience, but he was no stooge. He was a person. He was a person with dignity given to him by God. He was alone and struggling. And he was Jesus in precisely the way and at precisely the moment I needed to see Jesus.

And it changed me.

God is not without a sense of humor. Because, amazing as it may seem, I was Jesus to Billy. I spent time teaching him to light candles and giving him jobs in church. And if he screwed up, we tried again. And again. And again. Yeah, I lost patience when he dropped the bulletins all over the floor or would run up to give me something in the middle of a sermon. How did I know that my bumbling, haphazard attempts at ministry really meant something? It was the bone-crushing hugs he gave me at the Peace and the really syrupy Father's Day cards every June.... Well, what else do you give a priest on Father's Day?...that told me that maybe, just maybe 'Kenny' was right. We were Jesus to each other and didn't even know it.

Since then Jesus has shown up in my life—and I dare say in yours—again and again and again.

This lesson came to mind a few years later when I was teaching a class of high school seniors about Christianity and the Christian Life, particularly how they can prepare themselves to be faithful people in the new world they were about to enter in college, the military or the workplace.

It was during the Fifty Days of Easter and we were looking at all the stories of the Risen Jesus appearing to his disciples, one student asked, “How is it that Jesus only appeared to believers? How come Jesus did not show himself after his resurrection to all the unbelievers who killed him?”

My first response was “How do you know he didn’t?”

During these Fifty Days, we hear about various encounters between the Risen Jesus and various people. Some of them, like the disciples locked in the upper room, were people who knew Jesus in life but were so terrified after his execution that they don’t know what to do except hide.

Some, like Mary Magdalene, are so grief stricken that they don’t even recognize Jesus standing right in front of them, until he calls her name.

Others have heard the story—the rumors—of Jesus’ resurrection but have no idea what to make of it until someone opens the scriptures for them and explains what it all means—like Cleopas and his companion on the road to Emmaus.

And like Cleopas and his friend, some do not see the risen Jesus until they meet him in the Sacrament of Christ’s body and blood.

Paul met the Risen Jesus while he was actively persecuting Christians. It turns out that what he was trying to stamp out was in fact chasing him down.

Most other people meet the Risen Christ in the story, the actions and the lives of people who follow Jesus and have been changed by him. As Jesus says to Thomas, “blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.” That’s us, in a way.

We have believed even though we haven’t seen the risen Jesus in the upper room, eating a piece of fish, as we heard in the Gospel today.

Just because we didn’t get to be in the Upper Room does not mean we are without a clue. The Risen Jesus is right there in front of us all the time. If only we have the eyes to see.

Jesus might come disguised as that guy looking for a handout, or as the student who can’t do anything right. Jesus might show up as your spouse or your co-worker or the classmate that everyone ignores. We host a whole room full of Risen Jesus’ every Saturday: they both serve and eat the food in the Ark Soup Kitchen. Know it or not, they are Jesus to each other.

It would be nice if Jesus were always nice. It would be great if Jesus only showed up on our time-table and in our image. We'd really like it if Jesus only appeared to people just like us. But Jesus, God-with-us, was born in a stable, and grew up to touch and heal unclean people. It was Jesus, God-with-us, who cared for the sick, the helpless and the needy, who forgave sinners and challenged the righteous. The One who blessed friend and foe alike as he died on the cross, is now alive and shows up where we least expect him and where we most need to see him.

Sometimes when I realize that I’ve just encountered the risen Jesus, it feels like a slap in the face. But it is not a pratfall, and it is certainly not pointless violence or tomfoolery. It’s a startling wake up call to the blessing of meeting the Risen Jesus face to face. It is the stunning, liberating (and often inconvenient) demonstration of how it is that God restores the full dignity of human nature to even the most unlikely of God’s children.

Easter 3B - April 22, 2012

The Episcopal Café is back!

The Episcopal Café is back! It appears that the server problems have been sorted out.

Whew! and Hooray!

Where is the Episcopal Café?

Those of you who read the Lead or Daily Episcopalian on the Episcopal Café site have probably noticed that we haven’t updated the site since Monday evening. It’s a server error. The Café was migrated to another server at the site where we get our donated space. But something seems to have gone wrong in the latter stages of the migration and the editors are not able to access the back-end of the website at the moment.

Things began to get a little dodgy on Saturday. I did my turn on Monday for The Lead, and it was on and off, but I was able to post stuff. Sometime Monday night things went really  ka-phlooey.

We’ve put in a plea for help. Hopefully we’ll be back up and running in short order.

In the meantime, members of the Lead’s newsteam are posting notes and articles (that would normally be posted to the Lead) over on our Facebook page.  I may post some news up here as well from time to time. 

Sorry for the disruption. But I suppose it’s inevitable. The Café has little or no budget, and we rely on donated server space (and donated labor) to keep the place running.  All of us Newshounds are posting this news on our own blogs, and we’ll post here again (and everywhere we can) as soon as we’re back online.

Wrong savior syndrome

Do you want to know what my problem is? My problem is that I keep trying to follow the wrong savior. I keep getting my messiahs mixed up. My bad!

You see, I keep wishing that Jesus will come and take away all my troubles as if he were one of those great designer drugs they advertise on TV. You know the ones I mean, right?  The ones where everyone is happily riding bikes or rowing boats or hiking mountain trails while the announcer reads off all the possible side effects. These ads are supposed to tell you that prescription drugs are serious things and that only your doctor knows best. But my eyes and my emotions tell me I want to ride my bike on the mountain trail.

I like my Savior the same way. I hear all the things about taking up my cross and following. But what I really want is for God to fix everything. There is a big part of me that wants a savior who will solve all my problems so life would not be so hard.

Oops.  Wrong savior!

If you have ever suffered from wrong-savior syndrome, you are not alone. We hear in today’s Gospel about Peter having the exact same problem. Even though he has correctly confessed Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God, he cannot bear to hear the truth that this same Jesus, this same Messiah, would have to be arrested, handed over to his persecutors, tortured,  killed and then on the third day rise from the dead.
It is too much for Peter to bear. He can’t take it in. His only response: "God forbid!"

You see he wanted Jesus to be all-victorious. The most powerful guy on the block, if not the world. He wanted Jesus to bring down the wrath of God.  This is a classic case of wrong savior syndrome if ever there was one.

Just look at where Jesus has taken his disciples. He has taken then to a Roman garrison city called Caesarea Philippi. A fortress town that the Romans built that would be a sign of Roman power, a garrison from which their troops could march, and a place where Roman gods could be worshipped out of sight of the local religionists. Jesus takes his followers to a symbol of Roman power to confess him as messiah, and then he starts talking about what following him is like. What is following Jesus like? It is like carrying your own cross. Really? You know when people carried crosses, right? On the way to their own execution!

Here is Jesus talking about who he is—the Messiah—in the middle of an outpost of the Roman Empire and he immediately starts talking about the Romans #1 way of keeping people in line: crucifixion!

For those of us prone to wrong-savior syndrome,  Jesus connects the dots so plainly and directly that it is like a slap in the face:

You see, here is the way to keep from getting our saviors mixed up. Instead of Jesus taking away all my problems, he wants us to have the strength, the grace and the courage to take on our problems—to carry our cross. I want a way out of my troubles. Jesus offers us a way through all of life—the hard stuff and the good stuff.

Following Jesus makes a difference because he makes the hard life of faithfulness possible and less lonely.  Jesus blazes the trail for us to follow.  He creates a truly human life possible, lived under the mercy of God, blood, tears, death, and all.

We want life to be easy. The trouble is that it is really only the hard things in this life that end up telling us who we are. The hard things in life tell us what we are made of. They tell us what really matters.  It is only the struggles we work through, successfully or not, that teach us the limits and the grandeur of being human.  It is only the acceptance of suffering as a necessary part of the human condition that draws together and unites us as one in our fragile, bodily, humble reality.  It is only in confronting our death and placing our lives wholly in the fatherly arms, the motherly embrace of God, that we can finally and truly live.

When Jesus tells us that Christians will be persecuted and that we will be called on to show off or talk about our faith in front of hostile audiences, he is telling us to hang in and to trust God. He is saying that we will get the strength to confess Jesus when the chips are down because we have already immersed ourselves in a life of prayer, steeped in scripture, nourished by the sacrament and surrounded by Christian community. He reminds us that we will confidently and boldly confess Jesus when the chips are down because we did not ignore him when things were easy.

But when we decide to let Jesus’ cross take away our own then we give into wrong savior syndrome. The real savior calls us into the hard work of a life of purpose, sacrifice, and loving others. Jesus, the real savior, gives us back our lives.  He saves us from meaningless days and years of having nothing to do. He saves us from going through life as if we are just ticking off check boxes of things we have to do.  He opens our eyes so that when we see injustice and cruelty in the world we can say, “Yeah, I guess if I don’t do something, no one else will.”  He touches our hearts and minds so that can choose to live in honest dialogue with all kinds of people. He gives us the strength to be vulnerable enough to pray with people who differ and even disagree with us.

You see, Jesus’ cross help us carry our cross. When we choose to be open and honest about our faith in a way that tells the truth without being obnoxious, then we discover what is means to not only carry our cross but also how to follow Jesus.

I still get my saviors mixed up. It happens whenever I am tired or overworked or feeling pressed upon by a world changing faster than I can handle. Then I go for the fake savior…the one who will knock heads and take names, the one who agrees with all my opinions, the one who judges everyone else but not me.
And when I don’t want to look at the deep truth of human sin, or when I am feeling really risk averse, then I go for the squishy savior. I will be attracted to his love but not accept the challenge of the cross…the challenge to change.

But when we go back to our baptisms, when we go back to the broken bread and poured out wine of the Sacrament, when we go back to our Christian companions, when we go back and confess Jesus as messiah and savior and, without shame or fear, and orient our lives towards him, then we discover that God has given us in Christ everything we need to follow him. And here’s the best part, even though we are prone to wrong savior syndrome, Jesus, the real savior has never, ever forgotten us.

Second Sunday in Lent B, Mark 8:31-38- March 4, 2012