Yesterday was the feast of Junia and Andronicus. Paul describes them as "my relatives and prison companions; they are notable Apostles, and they were in Christ before me." (Romans 16:7). Through some tricky translation, earlier Bibles have rendered "Junia" (a common female name of the time) as "Junius" (an invented name, but with a masculine ending). Even though early church writers like John Chrysostom and St Jerome assumed her to be a woman, later translators thought a female apostle was too scandalous, and so changed the ending of the name. Yesterday I was with the Sisters of St Anne in Arlington where I say the Mass for them regularly, and we celebrated their day. Otherwise, I have to admit, the significance of May 18 may not have occurred to me.
Thinking about Junia, an apostle--literally, "one who is sent"--feels fitting as we prepare for Martha's service tomorrow. Martha shared her voice with us at Christ Church after a lifetime of professional singing, notably for 25 years at Old North in Boston--including one service attended by Queen Elizabeth! Martha was a faithful "apostle," using her gifts to bring others to the Gospel.
In the Anglican tradition, our theology goes that everyone is a saint; all Christians are saints. We still honor those in whose lives Christ has been known in a particularly powerful way--the traditional "saints"--we have feast days for John the Baptist, and Mary, and St Paul--but we also have feast days for Enmagahbowh, the first Native American priest (June 12, the anniversary of my ordination) and for Jonathan Daniels, an Episcopal seminarian and civil rights activist murdered in Alabama when he stepped in front of a bullet intended for a teenager who was part of the group he was with. The writer CS Lewis has a day, too. Thursday, when we celebrate her life, we'll remember Martha.
In our conception of sainthood, we're one family of saints, in community from now back to Abraham--or maybe Eve--all of us praying together in community together. At death, life is changed, not ended--we are all still alive in the presence of God. Being an apostle is being sent--we are all called, but it's true that we don't all heed that call. Our prayer for Junia and Andronicus invites us to ask for the grace to answer, as they did.
Almighty God, whose Son the Risen Christ sent forth your Apostles Andronicus and Junia to proclaim the Gospel and extend your reign; send us forth in your Holy Spirit that like them we, both men and women, may co-operate as faithful witnesses to the Gospel of Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit in perfect unity, one God, now and forever. Amen.
Junia and Andronicus witnessed to the events of Christ's ministry and life "in the flesh"--we witness to Christ's ministry and life "in the Spirit." But knowing Christ in each other also brings that reality into the present and into the real. We knew Christ in Martha, and by her grace and love she knew Christ in us, too. Thanks be to God.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Personal prayer
This week, we met for our last class in our Episcopal Church intro. We talked about Anglican/Episcopal resources for personal prayer. There are as many ways to pray as there are people to pray them, but one of the most characteristically Anglican ones is the Daily Office. (for E Crier Meditations on the daily office, look at the ecrier blog page--I've posted a few reflections up there that I did before I started archiving there). Today, our office gave us a text from Leviticus, which made me think of the national debate on Arizona's new immigration law:
When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God. (Lev. 19: 33-34)
Yesterday, I was talking with an acquaintance and mentioned we were going to Arizona to visit my in-laws. Arizona? Is it safe there? It's been all over the news!" Perplexed, I said, "Safe?" "Yes," the person responded, as if assuming I must live in a cave, "All the illegal immigrants. That's what's been all over the news." "Oh," I said. "Actually, my in laws have been active in trying to get rid of that law. But it's perfectly safe." And then I made a googly eye face at Adah, and was relieved the conversation had ended.
I was troubled by it for a while; immigration is such a complicated issue and there's no way I could do it justice here, but immigrants as a group are not dangerous! For the most part, they are people, like anyone, trying to make a life for themselves and their families. Whether they have legal documents or not, everyone pays taxes. One statistic I saw says that illegal immigrants pay 7 billion--with a "B"--dollars in social security taxes and 2.5 billion in Medicare taxes. They will never receive any benefit from either system. Immigration is a complicated issue, and I don't have an easy fix---but a law that makes it a crime to buy groceries without a passport is not part of the solution.
We could talk all day about evidence about what immigration does for our country. Biblically, though, it doesn't matter at all whether people are "good" and hardworking or "bad" and just sitting around the house all day. We are all equally created in the image of God and we are all equally loved and treasured by our creator. In the Baptismal Covenant we promise to respect the dignity of every human being--and there aren't any loopholes to that.
The Leviticus line quoted above is one line in a series of laws that we often skip over in our readings in church. The holiness code also has rules about kindness to the poor--a few verses before the one above, it also says "You shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest...you shall leave them for the poor and the alien." It explicitly says NOT to collect everything that is yours--it expects the "poor and alien" to make their way through your field and take what they find--they aren't supposed to have to ask.
Admittedly, there's a lot in Leviticus that we don't believe in (like the prohibition against tattooing a few lines earlier, or the rules about cloth made of more than one kind of fiber)--but this is solid, "love thy neighbor" kind of stuff. What's interesting to me, too, is that it's in the context of prohibitions against idolatry. You aren't just supposed to be generous to the outsider because it's the kind thing to do; it's because being generous to the outsider is part of what it is to be human in relation to God. It's God's job to be the judge and Creator; it's our job to be created--to be creatures, and part of being a created being is to recognize your rightful place beside other created beings, which means loving and caring for them and not regarding yourself as more worthy or above them. (I could spin this out theologically about the oil spill in the Gulf, too, but I've already gone on for some time.)
So where does this leave us on the other side of the country? Advocating, certainly, but also praying. Pray for the immigrants, pray for the police, and pray for those who suffer--on all sides of the border. Those who are victimized by crime, and those who perpetrate it. Pray for Arizona Governor Jan Brewer, too, and for all our legislators who are trying to find creative--and humane--solutions.
Blessings,
Sara+
To join in saying the Daily Office with Christians all across the globe--all of them reading Leviticus right now :) --you can get out your prayer book, or visit the Missionstclare.com
When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God. (Lev. 19: 33-34)
Yesterday, I was talking with an acquaintance and mentioned we were going to Arizona to visit my in-laws. Arizona? Is it safe there? It's been all over the news!" Perplexed, I said, "Safe?" "Yes," the person responded, as if assuming I must live in a cave, "All the illegal immigrants. That's what's been all over the news." "Oh," I said. "Actually, my in laws have been active in trying to get rid of that law. But it's perfectly safe." And then I made a googly eye face at Adah, and was relieved the conversation had ended.
I was troubled by it for a while; immigration is such a complicated issue and there's no way I could do it justice here, but immigrants as a group are not dangerous! For the most part, they are people, like anyone, trying to make a life for themselves and their families. Whether they have legal documents or not, everyone pays taxes. One statistic I saw says that illegal immigrants pay 7 billion--with a "B"--dollars in social security taxes and 2.5 billion in Medicare taxes. They will never receive any benefit from either system. Immigration is a complicated issue, and I don't have an easy fix---but a law that makes it a crime to buy groceries without a passport is not part of the solution.
We could talk all day about evidence about what immigration does for our country. Biblically, though, it doesn't matter at all whether people are "good" and hardworking or "bad" and just sitting around the house all day. We are all equally created in the image of God and we are all equally loved and treasured by our creator. In the Baptismal Covenant we promise to respect the dignity of every human being--and there aren't any loopholes to that.
The Leviticus line quoted above is one line in a series of laws that we often skip over in our readings in church. The holiness code also has rules about kindness to the poor--a few verses before the one above, it also says "You shall not reap to the very edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest...you shall leave them for the poor and the alien." It explicitly says NOT to collect everything that is yours--it expects the "poor and alien" to make their way through your field and take what they find--they aren't supposed to have to ask.
Admittedly, there's a lot in Leviticus that we don't believe in (like the prohibition against tattooing a few lines earlier, or the rules about cloth made of more than one kind of fiber)--but this is solid, "love thy neighbor" kind of stuff. What's interesting to me, too, is that it's in the context of prohibitions against idolatry. You aren't just supposed to be generous to the outsider because it's the kind thing to do; it's because being generous to the outsider is part of what it is to be human in relation to God. It's God's job to be the judge and Creator; it's our job to be created--to be creatures, and part of being a created being is to recognize your rightful place beside other created beings, which means loving and caring for them and not regarding yourself as more worthy or above them. (I could spin this out theologically about the oil spill in the Gulf, too, but I've already gone on for some time.)
So where does this leave us on the other side of the country? Advocating, certainly, but also praying. Pray for the immigrants, pray for the police, and pray for those who suffer--on all sides of the border. Those who are victimized by crime, and those who perpetrate it. Pray for Arizona Governor Jan Brewer, too, and for all our legislators who are trying to find creative--and humane--solutions.
Blessings,
Sara+
To join in saying the Daily Office with Christians all across the globe--all of them reading Leviticus right now :) --you can get out your prayer book, or visit the Missionstclare.com
Thursday, May 6, 2010
From December 14, 2006: On Praying the Daily Office in Community
I am so pleased to be back with you, and home in Waltham. Last week was terrific, but it’s good to be back, too. One of the wonderful things about my retreat last week was the experience of regular prayer in community. I spent about half an hour in silent prayer alone each day, but the rhythm of the chanting of psalms, reading of Scripture, and singing of hymns for prayer morning, noon and night (plus Eucharist—-usually I went to four services a day) was a profound experience of God in community. I didn’t know anything about the other people I was praying with—-didn’t know why the monks had chosen to become monks (it’s a community of about 12 men), didn’t know who the other retreatants were (there were 15 of us staying at the monastery, all of us in silence for the week), or why they came. The structure of the daily office prayer services is such that personal preference or experience has nothing to do with it. It is a structure that the church has followed for a millennium—-psalms, canticles, reading from Scripture, hymns. There is no preaching, no editorializing. It is what it is.
If it sounds impersonal, it is—-but in the best possible way. Tapping into that same experience that Christians have had for centuries, I knew myself to be one in a line of believers, all of whom have struggled with the same issues. I am not the first person to be nervous about parenthood. I am not the first priest who has wondered how best to serve her congregation. I am not the first person just to get tired sometimes, and to wonder where God is in all of it. I am not the first person to feel exquisite joy and gratitude in meeting Christ in the sacraments.
Fastened as we each inevitably are in our own perceptions, prejudices, preferences and experiences, it is a gift to know that our lives do not rely on our own skills or success or on the esteem others have of us. We are not so special, after all, and what a relief it is! Our lives, when it comes down to it, are not just ours. We rely on God, and on each other, on those other fifteen people whom I was in silence with and didn’t know; on each of you and the church we are; on our families, friends, and neighbors. In America we are so accustomed to our individuality; certainly this is a positive thing. I heard on the radio this morning that today is the anniversary of the adoption of the Bill of Rights—-ours is the first country to so enshrine this idea of the individual in the foundation of our society. I am thankful for my freedom—-thankful for democracy, and personal property, and all of those good things we enjoy and those who made them possible with real sacrifice. I’m thankful for those who fought for women’s rights, who are the reason that I can have a ministry both with my family and as an ordained, full-time priest. I’m thankful for all of these things that make me “me”—-but after last week, I’m also thankful for a break from all the “me-ness.” Thankful to be one in a line of millions of Christians, no more and no less beloved by our creator.
Blessings,
Sara+
If it sounds impersonal, it is—-but in the best possible way. Tapping into that same experience that Christians have had for centuries, I knew myself to be one in a line of believers, all of whom have struggled with the same issues. I am not the first person to be nervous about parenthood. I am not the first priest who has wondered how best to serve her congregation. I am not the first person just to get tired sometimes, and to wonder where God is in all of it. I am not the first person to feel exquisite joy and gratitude in meeting Christ in the sacraments.
Fastened as we each inevitably are in our own perceptions, prejudices, preferences and experiences, it is a gift to know that our lives do not rely on our own skills or success or on the esteem others have of us. We are not so special, after all, and what a relief it is! Our lives, when it comes down to it, are not just ours. We rely on God, and on each other, on those other fifteen people whom I was in silence with and didn’t know; on each of you and the church we are; on our families, friends, and neighbors. In America we are so accustomed to our individuality; certainly this is a positive thing. I heard on the radio this morning that today is the anniversary of the adoption of the Bill of Rights—-ours is the first country to so enshrine this idea of the individual in the foundation of our society. I am thankful for my freedom—-thankful for democracy, and personal property, and all of those good things we enjoy and those who made them possible with real sacrifice. I’m thankful for those who fought for women’s rights, who are the reason that I can have a ministry both with my family and as an ordained, full-time priest. I’m thankful for all of these things that make me “me”—-but after last week, I’m also thankful for a break from all the “me-ness.” Thankful to be one in a line of millions of Christians, no more and no less beloved by our creator.
Blessings,
Sara+
From September 20, 2007: On the Daily Office
This week, I’ve really been enjoying the prayer of the Daily Office. The prayer of the Daily Office is a way of marking time through prayer. You might have heard of the medieval “Book of Hours”—-that’s the daily office, in a different form. Our own prayer book contains rites of Morning and Evening prayer, and has a separate lectionary that assigns readings for each time of day, on a 2 year cycle. Some of the dietary laws in Leviticus might get left out, but in two years you make it through pretty much all of the Bible. Each day has a reading from the New Testament, the Old Testament, the Gospels, and the psalms. The readings are interspersed with canticles (songs of praise), and are read in a fixed form that includes the recitation of the Confession, the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the General Thanksgiving, and other prayers for the day. As you know, last week we did Morning Prayer as it would have been celebrated when this parish opened—-this is the same service, but now it’s practiced more as personal or monastic prayer than for congregations on Sunday morning. Some congregations do it during the week, too—-maybe this parish has done that at one time or another.
The idea of the Daily Office is that, by marking the beginning and the end of the day, your time is consecrated to God. The BCP also offers prayers for noonday and bedtime (called compline), which are also very helpful. I’ve practiced it off and on (mostly on) for about five years now. I wrote in this space when I got back from a monastic retreat last year about the daily office, about what a comfort it is to practice a method of prayer that depends not one iota on my own skill or creativity.
This year, I’ve found myself comforted by the office in a different way. I’ve been struck by how each day begins entirely new, as a clean slate. As I pray the Confession and Absolution of sins, I encounter a new sense of my own forgiveness. As I read the Apostles’ Creed, I have a new sense of myself coming to believe in our faith, and feeling comforted in the tradition of belief it articulates. Each day begins with Scripture, of stories of other people who tried to get things right, like I do, and failed, and tried again, just as I do. Each day begins with the Gospel, of a new piece of “good news” (since that’s what the word “gospel” means). Another neat thing about the daily office is that, pretty much without fail, whenever you’re praying it, there’s a good chance that someone else is doing it, too. A Roman Catholic monk or an Episcopal nun or a Lutheran pastor—-in Africa, or Indiana, or even Waltham—-someone, somewhere, is praying with you. And you can do it absolutely anywhere—-on the train, in your cubicle, or in your kitchen.
You can also pray the daily office online; there are a number of sites that compile the service for you, with no shuffling of books. One such site is at http://www.missionstclare.com/, which offers it in English or Spanish.
Blessings,
Sara+
The idea of the Daily Office is that, by marking the beginning and the end of the day, your time is consecrated to God. The BCP also offers prayers for noonday and bedtime (called compline), which are also very helpful. I’ve practiced it off and on (mostly on) for about five years now. I wrote in this space when I got back from a monastic retreat last year about the daily office, about what a comfort it is to practice a method of prayer that depends not one iota on my own skill or creativity.
This year, I’ve found myself comforted by the office in a different way. I’ve been struck by how each day begins entirely new, as a clean slate. As I pray the Confession and Absolution of sins, I encounter a new sense of my own forgiveness. As I read the Apostles’ Creed, I have a new sense of myself coming to believe in our faith, and feeling comforted in the tradition of belief it articulates. Each day begins with Scripture, of stories of other people who tried to get things right, like I do, and failed, and tried again, just as I do. Each day begins with the Gospel, of a new piece of “good news” (since that’s what the word “gospel” means). Another neat thing about the daily office is that, pretty much without fail, whenever you’re praying it, there’s a good chance that someone else is doing it, too. A Roman Catholic monk or an Episcopal nun or a Lutheran pastor—-in Africa, or Indiana, or even Waltham—-someone, somewhere, is praying with you. And you can do it absolutely anywhere—-on the train, in your cubicle, or in your kitchen.
You can also pray the daily office online; there are a number of sites that compile the service for you, with no shuffling of books. One such site is at http://www.missionstclare.com/, which offers it in English or Spanish.
Blessings,
Sara+
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