Dear People of Christ Church,
A blessed last few days of Advent to you!
So many thanks to our Pageant Stars (pictured right) and Director Erin Jensen. Our kids did a wonderful job of bringing the Christmas story to light this past Sunday, with a potentially record-setting number of 27 participants!
It has, though, felt like a short season of preparation, when both the calendar and our own hectic lives conspire to make Christmas seem early. Christingle Party and Pageant on the same day? Never again, please! Christmas is, of course, not sooner; it is the twenty-fifth of December, same as always. And, same as always, there is something ELSE that seems more pressing that sitting down to do the real work of contemplation and preparation, of "making room" in our hearts for the birth of Christ. I recently read someone refer to Christmas as "the feast of Nicene Dogma"-Nicea being the ecumenical council when Jesus' nature as both fully human and fully divine was officially adopted by the church, in 325-and while it doesn't sound very romantic, it's not a bad characterization of the holiday.
Christmas is the day-the day when we celebrate that God became human in the person of Jesus Christ. Two natures, fully human and fully divine. Amidst all the presents and the food and the preparation, God becomes one of us. This is a big deal, because it says a lot about God-a God willing to be one of us, to be powerless as a baby, to have to learn as a little child, to be rebellious as an adolescent (remember that time he ran away from his parents in the Temple?), to be tested as a young man, and to suffer as we all, invariably, will. It says a lot about God, but it also says a lot about us.
The God of our salvation, coming to be with us in THIS sometimes joyful and sometimes sorry state of affairs. What that says about God is that God is infinitely willing to bridge hardship and suffering to be with us in our suffering. It means that nothing we could ever undergo is alien to the heart of God. It also means, most powerfully, this: when God became human, we got a chance to be closer to God. Athanasius of Alexandria put it this way in the fourth Century:
The Word of God indeed assumed humanity that we might become God...so many are the Savior's achievements that follow from his Incarnation that to try to number them is like gazing at the open sea and trying to count the waves.
Each one of us is a wave of reconciled humanity, changed toward grace and liberated from our sin, that is, liberated from our separation from God. No more retaliation, no more defensiveness, no more revenge or "eye for an eye." Just love and peace. Love and peace for each of us-every last one of us, no matter what. That's the gift we're given at Christmas.
Thanks be to God!
Christmas Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
On the Ending of the Iraq War
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I find myself puzzling over-if I can use that light a word for something so big-the end of the Iraq war. I have probably told the story in this space before of how my husband and I got married in New York City in 2003, about six weeks before it started. February 15 was a world-wide day of action against George W Bush's plan to invade Iraq, and it also happened to be our wedding day. The BBC says that between 6 and 10 million people in up to 60 countries participated in protests that weekend-organizers put the figure at closer to 30 million. Even the Guinness Book of World Records agreed that 3 million turned out in Rome-the biggest anti war protest in history. Our wedding date was chosen because of the bishop's schedule, not our own, but when we knew about the protests planned for the day, we encouraged our guests to go uptown after the reception to march. Archbishop Desmond Tutu spoke: "President Bush, listen to the voice of the people, for many times the voice of the people is the voice of God. Listen to the voice of the people saying, 'Give peace a chance.'"
Not long after, on March 20, we were in a roadside café in Rhodes, Greece, and saw the news-the war had started. Now, almost eight years later-a big 8 years for me, it's seen me get ordained to the priesthood, get called rector of Christ Church, and give birth to two children-it's done, with President Obama speaking to troops at Fort Bragg and saying, simply, "Welcome Home." This week Time Magazine also announced that their Person of the Year is "The Protestor." I'm not an avid reader of the magazine, but I appreciated their question:
Is there a global tipping point for frustration? Everywhere, it seems, people said they'd had enough. They dissented; they demanded; they did not despair, even when the answers came back in a cloud of tear gas or a hail of bullets. They literally embodied the idea that individual action can bring collective, colossal change (Rick Stengel, Time Magazine).
It's the literal embodiment of protest that's moving; putting your body where your heart is. In my sermon on Sunday I talked about a book I read recently, by Leymah Gbowee, one of the three women awarded the Nobel Peace Prize this year. Gbowee was one of the architects of a women's peace movement that ended the brutal regime of dictator Charles Taylor. Coming to grips with their own fear and pain, they showed up day after day in the public square and organized across their own differences. Muslims and Christians, women of all tribes, working together. They even held a sex strike! But it took 14 years.
I don't know what impact those global protests had 8 years ago. I am certainly thankful for Waltham's faithful witnesses for peace who have stood on the common in Vigil on Saturdays since then, and who will still be there in witness for Afghanistan. For my own part in 2003, sending a few wedding guests on the subway is not much of a contribution (I confess that we took a cab in the opposite direction and went to a fancy hotel before coming back to Church History class on Monday). After so much of my own anger about this war-undertaken, after all, ostensibly on my behalf as an American (and a New York City resident on 9/11/01)-I long for a deeper sense of resolution or satisfaction. Instead, it's vague sadness and resignation. It is also true that a large part of the complete pull out at this time is due to the fact that the military would not tolerate losing immunity to prosecution by Iraqi law. That doesn't sound like much to celebrate.
Still, we are in the third week of Advent-the pink candle week-when we hear St Paul write to the Thessalonians in his first letter:
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you (5:16-18).
The will of God in Christ for us is to rejoice; to hold fast to even the smallest shred of good that we can find, not to be blinded by so much evil. And the end of a war is surely more than a shred of goodness. Theologically, too, there is in the Christian faith the strong tradition of lament; lament for the more than 100,000 Iraqis killed, and prayers for the one million widows and two million orphans that will have to rebuild their country. Maybe penance is appropriate, too-hopefully a chastened America will move more deliberately. I also take comfort in a Christian faith in which I don't have to have the answer; two months ago, I wrote in this space about Muammar Qadaffi's death: there are as many prayers to say as questions to ask. The important thing is to engage.
Here's what the Book of Common Prayer gives us-appropriate for Christmas, too-the coming of the Dream of God, the birth of Christ, in our midst. May our own hands and feet work for this dream in this season of hope.
Eternal God, in whose perfect kingdom no sword is drawn but the sword of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the banner of the Prince of Peace, as children of one Father; to whom be dominion and glory, now and for ever. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I find myself puzzling over-if I can use that light a word for something so big-the end of the Iraq war. I have probably told the story in this space before of how my husband and I got married in New York City in 2003, about six weeks before it started. February 15 was a world-wide day of action against George W Bush's plan to invade Iraq, and it also happened to be our wedding day. The BBC says that between 6 and 10 million people in up to 60 countries participated in protests that weekend-organizers put the figure at closer to 30 million. Even the Guinness Book of World Records agreed that 3 million turned out in Rome-the biggest anti war protest in history. Our wedding date was chosen because of the bishop's schedule, not our own, but when we knew about the protests planned for the day, we encouraged our guests to go uptown after the reception to march. Archbishop Desmond Tutu spoke: "President Bush, listen to the voice of the people, for many times the voice of the people is the voice of God. Listen to the voice of the people saying, 'Give peace a chance.'"
Not long after, on March 20, we were in a roadside café in Rhodes, Greece, and saw the news-the war had started. Now, almost eight years later-a big 8 years for me, it's seen me get ordained to the priesthood, get called rector of Christ Church, and give birth to two children-it's done, with President Obama speaking to troops at Fort Bragg and saying, simply, "Welcome Home." This week Time Magazine also announced that their Person of the Year is "The Protestor." I'm not an avid reader of the magazine, but I appreciated their question:
Is there a global tipping point for frustration? Everywhere, it seems, people said they'd had enough. They dissented; they demanded; they did not despair, even when the answers came back in a cloud of tear gas or a hail of bullets. They literally embodied the idea that individual action can bring collective, colossal change (Rick Stengel, Time Magazine).
It's the literal embodiment of protest that's moving; putting your body where your heart is. In my sermon on Sunday I talked about a book I read recently, by Leymah Gbowee, one of the three women awarded the Nobel Peace Prize this year. Gbowee was one of the architects of a women's peace movement that ended the brutal regime of dictator Charles Taylor. Coming to grips with their own fear and pain, they showed up day after day in the public square and organized across their own differences. Muslims and Christians, women of all tribes, working together. They even held a sex strike! But it took 14 years.
I don't know what impact those global protests had 8 years ago. I am certainly thankful for Waltham's faithful witnesses for peace who have stood on the common in Vigil on Saturdays since then, and who will still be there in witness for Afghanistan. For my own part in 2003, sending a few wedding guests on the subway is not much of a contribution (I confess that we took a cab in the opposite direction and went to a fancy hotel before coming back to Church History class on Monday). After so much of my own anger about this war-undertaken, after all, ostensibly on my behalf as an American (and a New York City resident on 9/11/01)-I long for a deeper sense of resolution or satisfaction. Instead, it's vague sadness and resignation. It is also true that a large part of the complete pull out at this time is due to the fact that the military would not tolerate losing immunity to prosecution by Iraqi law. That doesn't sound like much to celebrate.
Still, we are in the third week of Advent-the pink candle week-when we hear St Paul write to the Thessalonians in his first letter:
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you (5:16-18).
The will of God in Christ for us is to rejoice; to hold fast to even the smallest shred of good that we can find, not to be blinded by so much evil. And the end of a war is surely more than a shred of goodness. Theologically, too, there is in the Christian faith the strong tradition of lament; lament for the more than 100,000 Iraqis killed, and prayers for the one million widows and two million orphans that will have to rebuild their country. Maybe penance is appropriate, too-hopefully a chastened America will move more deliberately. I also take comfort in a Christian faith in which I don't have to have the answer; two months ago, I wrote in this space about Muammar Qadaffi's death: there are as many prayers to say as questions to ask. The important thing is to engage.
Here's what the Book of Common Prayer gives us-appropriate for Christmas, too-the coming of the Dream of God, the birth of Christ, in our midst. May our own hands and feet work for this dream in this season of hope.
Eternal God, in whose perfect kingdom no sword is drawn but the sword of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the banner of the Prince of Peace, as children of one Father; to whom be dominion and glory, now and for ever. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Dear people of Christ Church,
Today, December 1, is world AIDS day, commemorating thirty years since the virus was first identified. In the last thirty years, thirty million people have died of AIDS. Thirty. Million. There was not much cause for hope in the early days of AIDS. Thirty years ago, our government did not want to know about it. Polite citizens did not talk about it. It was expected that those who had the disease would best disappear and die silently. So many did. So many lives taken unnecessarily, by apathy, by hatred, by willful blindness. Now, though, there is much, much cause for hope. Last spring, in our observation of Lazarus Sunday, lead by our then-Micah Project intern Paul Hartge, we learned about how the "Lazarus effect"--the return to life--that is possible when people receive appropriate care. In preparing for my sermon then, I learned about some of the stories of those whose lives have been changed.
Princess Zulu Kasune is a modern day Lazarus. 14 years ago, she was given just six months to live. From a small town in Zambia, her doctor believed it was over for her. Her parents had already died from the illness-then, undiagnosed and mysterious-and she was at that time responsible for raising her siblings as well as her own family and two young children. Through global health relief, she was given the anti-retroviral drugs that make her illness treatable and keep her alive. The young woman who was given a death sentence at age 20 has now been to the White House to tell her story. She says,
Jesus resurrected Lazarus from the dead, Jesus set us a model we have to imitate. He asks us to explore whether there is anything that can be restored, can we help deliver hope, hope for the children, the grandparents, he asks us to restore community. He asks us to be compassionate - to come alongside, to mourn and to sympathize, just as he did.
Kasune asks, Do we have the right to judge which life is worth saving?
It sounds, of course, obvious: of course we don't have the right to ask that question.
How could we? How could we place ourselves in the role of God, giving life or taking it away?
The fact is, we are in that place. Making policy about AIDS testing being free and available-that gives life. Blocking diagnosis takes it away. Advocating for drugs being available to those who need it-that gives life. Apathy takes it away. Policies that partner with rather than stigmatize at-risk groups of people--that gives life. Judgment takes life away. Silence here, as it was in the eighties when AIDS was first discovered, is deadly.
Our actions matter.
More than 5 million have begun to receive anti retroviral drugs since 2002. That's 5 million people brought back from the brink of death. There is still a lot to do. There is still a lot wrong with global AIDS initiatives. But there is a lot of success staring us in the face, too--success like Lazarus, walking out of that tomb.
Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He calls us to weep, too--at the graves of our friends and at the graves of all who die just because they live in the wrong place at the wrong time. To weep, but also to keep walking down the road toward the places of death and suffering and pain, to see what can be done.
We are now on the brink, in Secretary of State Hilary Clinton's words, of raising the first AIDS free generation. As our Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori wrote in in a joint letter with the Presiding Bishop of the Lutheran church:
As Christians, we have just embarked upon the season of Advent, in which we prepare our hearts and minds to receive the One who comes that we "may have life, and have it abundantly." In this season, on this World AIDS Day, may the healing offered by our Incarnate, Crucified, and Resurrected Lord inspire us to cross from 30 years of death and loss to a future of abundant life for all.
Amen, Alleluia.
For the entirety of Bishop Schori and Bishop Hansen's letter:
http://ecusa.anglican.org/newsline_130612_ENG_HTM.htm
For Episcopal AIDS ministries and links to take action on legislative issues:
http://neac.org/
Today, December 1, is world AIDS day, commemorating thirty years since the virus was first identified. In the last thirty years, thirty million people have died of AIDS. Thirty. Million. There was not much cause for hope in the early days of AIDS. Thirty years ago, our government did not want to know about it. Polite citizens did not talk about it. It was expected that those who had the disease would best disappear and die silently. So many did. So many lives taken unnecessarily, by apathy, by hatred, by willful blindness. Now, though, there is much, much cause for hope. Last spring, in our observation of Lazarus Sunday, lead by our then-Micah Project intern Paul Hartge, we learned about how the "Lazarus effect"--the return to life--that is possible when people receive appropriate care. In preparing for my sermon then, I learned about some of the stories of those whose lives have been changed.
Princess Zulu Kasune is a modern day Lazarus. 14 years ago, she was given just six months to live. From a small town in Zambia, her doctor believed it was over for her. Her parents had already died from the illness-then, undiagnosed and mysterious-and she was at that time responsible for raising her siblings as well as her own family and two young children. Through global health relief, she was given the anti-retroviral drugs that make her illness treatable and keep her alive. The young woman who was given a death sentence at age 20 has now been to the White House to tell her story. She says,
Jesus resurrected Lazarus from the dead, Jesus set us a model we have to imitate. He asks us to explore whether there is anything that can be restored, can we help deliver hope, hope for the children, the grandparents, he asks us to restore community. He asks us to be compassionate - to come alongside, to mourn and to sympathize, just as he did.
Kasune asks, Do we have the right to judge which life is worth saving?
It sounds, of course, obvious: of course we don't have the right to ask that question.
How could we? How could we place ourselves in the role of God, giving life or taking it away?
The fact is, we are in that place. Making policy about AIDS testing being free and available-that gives life. Blocking diagnosis takes it away. Advocating for drugs being available to those who need it-that gives life. Apathy takes it away. Policies that partner with rather than stigmatize at-risk groups of people--that gives life. Judgment takes life away. Silence here, as it was in the eighties when AIDS was first discovered, is deadly.
Our actions matter.
More than 5 million have begun to receive anti retroviral drugs since 2002. That's 5 million people brought back from the brink of death. There is still a lot to do. There is still a lot wrong with global AIDS initiatives. But there is a lot of success staring us in the face, too--success like Lazarus, walking out of that tomb.
Jesus wept when Lazarus died. He calls us to weep, too--at the graves of our friends and at the graves of all who die just because they live in the wrong place at the wrong time. To weep, but also to keep walking down the road toward the places of death and suffering and pain, to see what can be done.
We are now on the brink, in Secretary of State Hilary Clinton's words, of raising the first AIDS free generation. As our Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori wrote in in a joint letter with the Presiding Bishop of the Lutheran church:
As Christians, we have just embarked upon the season of Advent, in which we prepare our hearts and minds to receive the One who comes that we "may have life, and have it abundantly." In this season, on this World AIDS Day, may the healing offered by our Incarnate, Crucified, and Resurrected Lord inspire us to cross from 30 years of death and loss to a future of abundant life for all.
Amen, Alleluia.
For the entirety of Bishop Schori and Bishop Hansen's letter:
http://ecusa.anglican.org/newsline_130612_ENG_HTM.htm
For Episcopal AIDS ministries and links to take action on legislative issues:
http://neac.org/
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Happy Thanksgiving!
This week, I'd like to share a bit more about what we're doing for Advent adult education. Each year during Advent and Lent, a small group gathers in the choir room at 6:30 for a simple Eucharist, and eats dinner over discussion in the rector's office (beginning at 7:15). This year, we'll meet to talk about economics and faith. Having worked on our capital campaign all fall, I've been much in the mindset of giving-the results of that campaign and our stewardship for 2012 show that you have been as well! And with the recent Occupy protests shining a light on the tremendous wealth inequality in the US, the moment seemed right to spend some more time thinking about inequality and faith. What are our responsibilities? What needs to be done, and how? How bad is it, really? Our conversations will be based on the work of radio journalist Krista Tippett, whose show, On Being is on each Sunday morning. We'll listen to short excerpts of her conversations with thinkers and activists in a variety of fields and discuss ways to integrate their ideas into our own lives. Below, I'm sharing a prayer-poem written by Jenifer Gamber, an Episcopal educator in Bethlehem, PA, which is one of the opening prayers for the third week in Advent.
Please, please join us-and let me know if you want to cook dinner!
Blessings,
Sara+
People Like Us
by Jenifer Gamber
Someone put his children to bed hungry tonight. Again.
Fill his emptiness. With hope. His soul. With strength to face the morning.
Fill our hearts with generosity. To share your bounty.
Someone like me today could not go to school to learn.
Grant her wisdom and perseverance. To seek justice. For herself and others. Teach us to spread the light of knowledge to all people.
Someone like me cannot read a book to his children today. Protect him. From hatred that would subdue the spirit. Lift our voices. Grant us strength. To advocate for parity.
Someone like me watched a four-year-old son today. Die of measles. Comfort her. Gather her son in your arms. Empower us to witness to your dream: a world where all children receive medical care.
Someone like me died today of AIDS. Five children orphaned. Receive him into your kingdom. Strengthen the minds, bodies and spirits of his children. Knit us together as one family. With determination to serve those affected by AIDS.
Someone like me died today. Giving birth to her daughter. Let her pain turn into a song. Of homecoming. Help us provide skilled health workers. For women during childbirth.
Someone like me today. His lips parched by thirst. Quench his thirst for water. His desire for justice. Save us from whatever hinders our stewardship of creation. And threatens clean water.
Someone like me needs a sewing machine today. To build a business. Sustain the spirit of enterprise. Her dream of providing for her family. Help us offer partnership with all people. As we work toward economic independence.
By Jenifer Gamber, modified by Krista Tippett.
From Lifting Women's Voices: Prayers to Change the World
This week, I'd like to share a bit more about what we're doing for Advent adult education. Each year during Advent and Lent, a small group gathers in the choir room at 6:30 for a simple Eucharist, and eats dinner over discussion in the rector's office (beginning at 7:15). This year, we'll meet to talk about economics and faith. Having worked on our capital campaign all fall, I've been much in the mindset of giving-the results of that campaign and our stewardship for 2012 show that you have been as well! And with the recent Occupy protests shining a light on the tremendous wealth inequality in the US, the moment seemed right to spend some more time thinking about inequality and faith. What are our responsibilities? What needs to be done, and how? How bad is it, really? Our conversations will be based on the work of radio journalist Krista Tippett, whose show, On Being is on each Sunday morning. We'll listen to short excerpts of her conversations with thinkers and activists in a variety of fields and discuss ways to integrate their ideas into our own lives. Below, I'm sharing a prayer-poem written by Jenifer Gamber, an Episcopal educator in Bethlehem, PA, which is one of the opening prayers for the third week in Advent.
Please, please join us-and let me know if you want to cook dinner!
Blessings,
Sara+
People Like Us
by Jenifer Gamber
Someone put his children to bed hungry tonight. Again.
Fill his emptiness. With hope. His soul. With strength to face the morning.
Fill our hearts with generosity. To share your bounty.
Someone like me today could not go to school to learn.
Grant her wisdom and perseverance. To seek justice. For herself and others. Teach us to spread the light of knowledge to all people.
Someone like me cannot read a book to his children today. Protect him. From hatred that would subdue the spirit. Lift our voices. Grant us strength. To advocate for parity.
Someone like me watched a four-year-old son today. Die of measles. Comfort her. Gather her son in your arms. Empower us to witness to your dream: a world where all children receive medical care.
Someone like me died today of AIDS. Five children orphaned. Receive him into your kingdom. Strengthen the minds, bodies and spirits of his children. Knit us together as one family. With determination to serve those affected by AIDS.
Someone like me died today. Giving birth to her daughter. Let her pain turn into a song. Of homecoming. Help us provide skilled health workers. For women during childbirth.
Someone like me today. His lips parched by thirst. Quench his thirst for water. His desire for justice. Save us from whatever hinders our stewardship of creation. And threatens clean water.
Someone like me needs a sewing machine today. To build a business. Sustain the spirit of enterprise. Her dream of providing for her family. Help us offer partnership with all people. As we work toward economic independence.
By Jenifer Gamber, modified by Krista Tippett.
From Lifting Women's Voices: Prayers to Change the World
Monday, November 21, 2011
Dear Friends:
It's been nice to be back in the office after my retreat, which was quite restorative. As we wrote in last week's email, longtime parishioner Otho Kerr died on Monday, and I spent the week with his upcoming burial in the back of my mind. Even with a few text messages sent back and forth with one of his sons, it was still a good time away. It was also a time to reconsider whether my family (and beloved parish!) could handle me being actually on retreat for real, say, in another state, for actual nights away--I think the answer is yes. But the funeral on Saturday was quite frankly one of the most moving I've ever participated in, and certainly I never would have missed it. Of course every time we gather to celebrate someone's life and mourn their death is special, but there was something about the reflections offered by sons, the beautiful rendition of the Lord's Prayer that Gregory Kerr sang, the readings, the Gospel-it was really the best of our tradition all together. Otho and his wife, Julia, had been married for 61 years, and I know we will all keep her in our prayers as well. Otho Kerr III, in his remembrance, talked about how he had run the New York City Marathon the day before his father died, and how Otho had been sharing his son's stats with the nurses at Spaulding Rehab. What a gift for both of them.
Otherwise, things move along-and quickly!-this weekend is the final "Commitment Sunday" for our capital campaign and our concluding week of stewardship speakers and events. Thanks to Victoria and Michelle who have shared their stories so far--Jose will talk a bit this Sunday about his journey in giving. As always, your generosity has been breathtaking, and I am so thankful for all of you who are still considering how you are able to support our capital campaign (gifts and pledges so far total over $276,000). This building work will be so important to our hospitality and welcome to people of all generations for years to come. What's also exciting is that, in our partnership with the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, once we reach our goal, as we have, the sharing formula shifts-so now every pledge will have 85% stay at Christ Church and 15% goes to wider mission. Stewardship also winds up this week, and it's exciting to see those pledge cards roll in as well. The gifts you give to keep the heat on, the parking lot plowed, and salaries paid is so vital to our witness. We celebrate the Eucharist more than one hundred times each year, not to mention the sacraments brought to those who are sick. There are a lot of worthy "causes" to give to, no shortage of people and endeavors that need your support. But the work of the church is the one that is, hopefully, the center of your spiritual life. When I consider my own faith, I think I need to give as much as the church needs to receive.
Meanwhile, enjoy these last days of fall before the cold descends. Take a few extra deep breaths, a few more minutes at your morning coffee. Park at the edge of the lot so you can have a little more time to breathe fresh air and move your body. Give thanks if you are fortunate enough to move your body, to engage God's creation with all your senses.
Blessings,
Sara+
It's been nice to be back in the office after my retreat, which was quite restorative. As we wrote in last week's email, longtime parishioner Otho Kerr died on Monday, and I spent the week with his upcoming burial in the back of my mind. Even with a few text messages sent back and forth with one of his sons, it was still a good time away. It was also a time to reconsider whether my family (and beloved parish!) could handle me being actually on retreat for real, say, in another state, for actual nights away--I think the answer is yes. But the funeral on Saturday was quite frankly one of the most moving I've ever participated in, and certainly I never would have missed it. Of course every time we gather to celebrate someone's life and mourn their death is special, but there was something about the reflections offered by sons, the beautiful rendition of the Lord's Prayer that Gregory Kerr sang, the readings, the Gospel-it was really the best of our tradition all together. Otho and his wife, Julia, had been married for 61 years, and I know we will all keep her in our prayers as well. Otho Kerr III, in his remembrance, talked about how he had run the New York City Marathon the day before his father died, and how Otho had been sharing his son's stats with the nurses at Spaulding Rehab. What a gift for both of them.
Otherwise, things move along-and quickly!-this weekend is the final "Commitment Sunday" for our capital campaign and our concluding week of stewardship speakers and events. Thanks to Victoria and Michelle who have shared their stories so far--Jose will talk a bit this Sunday about his journey in giving. As always, your generosity has been breathtaking, and I am so thankful for all of you who are still considering how you are able to support our capital campaign (gifts and pledges so far total over $276,000). This building work will be so important to our hospitality and welcome to people of all generations for years to come. What's also exciting is that, in our partnership with the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, once we reach our goal, as we have, the sharing formula shifts-so now every pledge will have 85% stay at Christ Church and 15% goes to wider mission. Stewardship also winds up this week, and it's exciting to see those pledge cards roll in as well. The gifts you give to keep the heat on, the parking lot plowed, and salaries paid is so vital to our witness. We celebrate the Eucharist more than one hundred times each year, not to mention the sacraments brought to those who are sick. There are a lot of worthy "causes" to give to, no shortage of people and endeavors that need your support. But the work of the church is the one that is, hopefully, the center of your spiritual life. When I consider my own faith, I think I need to give as much as the church needs to receive.
Meanwhile, enjoy these last days of fall before the cold descends. Take a few extra deep breaths, a few more minutes at your morning coffee. Park at the edge of the lot so you can have a little more time to breathe fresh air and move your body. Give thanks if you are fortunate enough to move your body, to engage God's creation with all your senses.
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I actually am writing to you on Sunday in advance of mailing this out later in the week, sharing news of our diocesan convention. This week I'm on retreat, spending days at the Campion Center in Weston, a Jesuit retreat center. Rev. Norm Faramelli, our longtime friend, is filling in on Sunday the 13th. (He is a faithful 8:30 attendee and his wife, Lucie, started Grandma's Pantry almost 20 years ago). Norm is also on the board of Refugee Immigration Ministries and we'll be distributing "mite boxes" to save our pennies to help their important work with asylum seekers and immigrants. Thank you, Norm!
The Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts comprises our state east of Route 495 and the Cape and Islands and around 180 parishes. This year there weren't any big-issue resolutions, though there was some conversation on a proposal to create committees and research on ministry to seniors in the diocese. An amended version passed to uphold and celebrate ministries with the aging, but not to require any reporting or mandated action.
The big thing of convention this year was the closing Eucharist, Bishop Cederholm's last as he is retiring. Bishop Bud was (officially, the Right Reverend Roy F. Cederholm) elected 11 years ago as the suffragan bishop (a fancy word for assisting), and has been a wonderful and grounded presence over the years. The decision has been made not to elect a replacement, so Bishop Tom Shaw remains the diocesan bishop and Bishop Gayle Harris will be the only Bishop Suffragan. Canon Libby Berman will help with some of the congregational work that Bud did, and he'll be back a few days a week as a "consultant." As he says, [My wife] Ruthann wants more of me, but not all of me!" First he'll have a few months sabbatical rest, though, to fully retire before coming back. On Friday night Bud the diocese had a party celebrating his ministry, complete with hot dogs and tours and his face lit up on the screen (see below). At the closing Eucharist he preached and closed the service by returning his crozier (Bishop's staff) to the church. It was quite moving and doubtful that there was a dry eye in the house.
The other major component of Diocesan Convention was the roll out of the Comprehensive Campaign, which donors to our own Capital Campaign are well aware of. last weekend was the official announcement of the project and invitation to parishes to give and participate in collaborative campaigns of their own (as we are now). They also showed a film, which had a few split-second screens of Christ Church at worship, as their videographer was at Christ Church a few weeks ago. Jonathan Duce and Mike Balulescu are our delegates--each parish gets two--thanks to them for their service.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I actually am writing to you on Sunday in advance of mailing this out later in the week, sharing news of our diocesan convention. This week I'm on retreat, spending days at the Campion Center in Weston, a Jesuit retreat center. Rev. Norm Faramelli, our longtime friend, is filling in on Sunday the 13th. (He is a faithful 8:30 attendee and his wife, Lucie, started Grandma's Pantry almost 20 years ago). Norm is also on the board of Refugee Immigration Ministries and we'll be distributing "mite boxes" to save our pennies to help their important work with asylum seekers and immigrants. Thank you, Norm!
The Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts comprises our state east of Route 495 and the Cape and Islands and around 180 parishes. This year there weren't any big-issue resolutions, though there was some conversation on a proposal to create committees and research on ministry to seniors in the diocese. An amended version passed to uphold and celebrate ministries with the aging, but not to require any reporting or mandated action.
The big thing of convention this year was the closing Eucharist, Bishop Cederholm's last as he is retiring. Bishop Bud was (officially, the Right Reverend Roy F. Cederholm) elected 11 years ago as the suffragan bishop (a fancy word for assisting), and has been a wonderful and grounded presence over the years. The decision has been made not to elect a replacement, so Bishop Tom Shaw remains the diocesan bishop and Bishop Gayle Harris will be the only Bishop Suffragan. Canon Libby Berman will help with some of the congregational work that Bud did, and he'll be back a few days a week as a "consultant." As he says, [My wife] Ruthann wants more of me, but not all of me!" First he'll have a few months sabbatical rest, though, to fully retire before coming back. On Friday night Bud the diocese had a party celebrating his ministry, complete with hot dogs and tours and his face lit up on the screen (see below). At the closing Eucharist he preached and closed the service by returning his crozier (Bishop's staff) to the church. It was quite moving and doubtful that there was a dry eye in the house.
The other major component of Diocesan Convention was the roll out of the Comprehensive Campaign, which donors to our own Capital Campaign are well aware of. last weekend was the official announcement of the project and invitation to parishes to give and participate in collaborative campaigns of their own (as we are now). They also showed a film, which had a few split-second screens of Christ Church at worship, as their videographer was at Christ Church a few weeks ago. Jonathan Duce and Mike Balulescu are our delegates--each parish gets two--thanks to them for their service.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
Lee, our parish administrator, and I have been folding and stuffing envelopes with materials for stewardship all day (somehow those things always come under the wire, no matter how much we try to prepare for them!)...so this week I'm sharing a poem with you I found in my files. It's by the medieval Persian poet Hāfez, also known as
Khwāja Shamsu d-Dīn Muhammad Hāfez-e Shīrāzī. Hāfez is a pen name, which is also a word that means that someone has committed the Qu'ran to memory, which he is said to have done as a child. He died around 1389. It seems fitting to the theme of stewardship-if we only really realized how much God has given us, how easy would it be to return to God a portion of our riches?
Blessings,
Sara+
So Many Gifts
Hāfez
Trans. Daniel Ladinsky
There are so many gifts
Still unopened from your birthday,
There are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to you by God.
The Beloved does not mind repeating,
"Everything I have is also yours."
Please forgive Hafiz and the Friend
If we break into a sweet laughter
When your heart complains of being thirsty
When ages ago
Every cell in your soul
Capsized forever
Into this infinite golden sea.
Indeed,
A lover's pain is like holding one's breath
Too long
In the middle of a vital performance,
In the middle of one of Creation's favorite
Songs.
Indeed, a lover's pain is this sleeping,
This sleeping,
When God just rolled over and gave you
Such a big good-morning kiss!
There are so many gifts, my dear,
Still unopened from your birthday.
O, there are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to your life
From God.
Lee, our parish administrator, and I have been folding and stuffing envelopes with materials for stewardship all day (somehow those things always come under the wire, no matter how much we try to prepare for them!)...so this week I'm sharing a poem with you I found in my files. It's by the medieval Persian poet Hāfez, also known as
Khwāja Shamsu d-Dīn Muhammad Hāfez-e Shīrāzī. Hāfez is a pen name, which is also a word that means that someone has committed the Qu'ran to memory, which he is said to have done as a child. He died around 1389. It seems fitting to the theme of stewardship-if we only really realized how much God has given us, how easy would it be to return to God a portion of our riches?
Blessings,
Sara+
So Many Gifts
Hāfez
Trans. Daniel Ladinsky
There are so many gifts
Still unopened from your birthday,
There are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to you by God.
The Beloved does not mind repeating,
"Everything I have is also yours."
Please forgive Hafiz and the Friend
If we break into a sweet laughter
When your heart complains of being thirsty
When ages ago
Every cell in your soul
Capsized forever
Into this infinite golden sea.
Indeed,
A lover's pain is like holding one's breath
Too long
In the middle of a vital performance,
In the middle of one of Creation's favorite
Songs.
Indeed, a lover's pain is this sleeping,
This sleeping,
When God just rolled over and gave you
Such a big good-morning kiss!
There are so many gifts, my dear,
Still unopened from your birthday.
O, there are so many hand-crafted presents
That have been sent to your life
From God.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
This afternoon, paging through Facebook as I ate my lunch at my desk, I was struck by a headline on the New Yorker Magazine page: "In the wake of Qaddafi's death, what questions should we be asking? News came through this morning that deposed Libyan ruler Muammar Qadaffi had allegedly been killed, or captured, or shot in both legs (or all three). One rumor said that he was holding a golden pistol.
I am not proud of this, but I admit when I saw the headline my first reaction was a visceral exhaustion of more questions. Having An Important Conversation. Avoiding a Rush to Judgment. I am not a quick fix fast conclusion kind of person. I accept (even embrace!) shades of grey, faith in the midst of uncertainty, etc. But come on. Can we just be glad that a bad guy isn't in power anymore?
Ummm... no. That's not the kind of people Jesus calls us to be. As with Osama bin Laden, the church is not in the business of celebrating the taking of anyone's life. We have to ask the questions. We have to reflect on the answers we are given. Answers given by religious leaders, answers given by politicians, even those quick answers we give ourselves to get through the day.
At the same time, even though it can be exhausting, as Christians we have some resources to rely on. Lest the above text make it sound like being a good Christian is essentially good citizenship, it's the way we ask the questions and the way we hear the answers where our faith comes in. We ask our political questions in light of the resurrection; that final victory of life over death that happened then, happens now, and continues into the future. Much as we experience time in a linear fashion, God's life is not in the mere sequence of duration. We are raised in Christ already, even as our lives seem so ordinary, even as we pretend we have no need of it.
Our own desire and prayers for peace have moral weight and shape. I think, also our questions can be prayers-that there is some duty to ask them feels connected to God's will for us. A prayer, too, can have more room in it than a question-a prayer can accommodate our confusion as well as our anger, the desired outcomes we seek as well as lament and celebration. Sometimes all of them at once. In prayer, we don't have to have it figured out. But we do have to be aware of what's going on in the world and "show up" for it.
My revision: "In the light of [Qadaffi's death/Occupy Boston/Gilad Shalit/Whatever] what prayers we should be saying?" Our country is implicated in Libya's civil war, our own bombs have contributed to the current situation. Prayers for worldwide peace, for Israel and Gilad Shalit as well as the 1000 Palestinian prisoners freed as well. For Qadaffi and those he wounded. Come over to the Christ Church page to continue the conversation.
Blessings,
Sara+
This afternoon, paging through Facebook as I ate my lunch at my desk, I was struck by a headline on the New Yorker Magazine page: "In the wake of Qaddafi's death, what questions should we be asking? News came through this morning that deposed Libyan ruler Muammar Qadaffi had allegedly been killed, or captured, or shot in both legs (or all three). One rumor said that he was holding a golden pistol.
I am not proud of this, but I admit when I saw the headline my first reaction was a visceral exhaustion of more questions. Having An Important Conversation. Avoiding a Rush to Judgment. I am not a quick fix fast conclusion kind of person. I accept (even embrace!) shades of grey, faith in the midst of uncertainty, etc. But come on. Can we just be glad that a bad guy isn't in power anymore?
Ummm... no. That's not the kind of people Jesus calls us to be. As with Osama bin Laden, the church is not in the business of celebrating the taking of anyone's life. We have to ask the questions. We have to reflect on the answers we are given. Answers given by religious leaders, answers given by politicians, even those quick answers we give ourselves to get through the day.
At the same time, even though it can be exhausting, as Christians we have some resources to rely on. Lest the above text make it sound like being a good Christian is essentially good citizenship, it's the way we ask the questions and the way we hear the answers where our faith comes in. We ask our political questions in light of the resurrection; that final victory of life over death that happened then, happens now, and continues into the future. Much as we experience time in a linear fashion, God's life is not in the mere sequence of duration. We are raised in Christ already, even as our lives seem so ordinary, even as we pretend we have no need of it.
Our own desire and prayers for peace have moral weight and shape. I think, also our questions can be prayers-that there is some duty to ask them feels connected to God's will for us. A prayer, too, can have more room in it than a question-a prayer can accommodate our confusion as well as our anger, the desired outcomes we seek as well as lament and celebration. Sometimes all of them at once. In prayer, we don't have to have it figured out. But we do have to be aware of what's going on in the world and "show up" for it.
My revision: "In the light of [Qadaffi's death/Occupy Boston/Gilad Shalit/Whatever] what prayers we should be saying?" Our country is implicated in Libya's civil war, our own bombs have contributed to the current situation. Prayers for worldwide peace, for Israel and Gilad Shalit as well as the 1000 Palestinian prisoners freed as well. For Qadaffi and those he wounded. Come over to the Christ Church page to continue the conversation.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I've been marinating on what, exactly, is going on across the country with the "Occupy" movement. It started with "Occupy Wall Street" and has now spread all over-Alabama to Washington state. And, of course, Boston. My family went down on Monday night but were advised a few minutes into our visit that the police planned to come at nightfall (it was around 6:30 when we got there) and that it wouldn't be the best place for kids. There has been a decent response from the faith community; a group called the Protest Chaplains is blogging and visiting, and there is a sacred space tent. Bishop Shaw went yesterday for an ecumenical service of support. A UU minister who lives in my neighborhood lead vespers last Sunday night.
As a softie bleeding heart, I'm inclined to be sympathetic; after our wedding in 2003 (in New York), my husband and I cut the reception short so everyone could go downtown to the anti Iraq war protest. I love a good protest. The difficult thing about what's going on now is that the method has little do to with the problem. The financial crisis was not caused by local branches of Bank of America. It was a result of a financial system that relied more and more on abstract amounts of abstract money moving from spread sheet to spread sheet and a government that stopped regulating much of anything assuming the market would fix it all. It didn't, and here we are. Still, you could just as well occupy "the internet" as Dewey Square; there's no "there" there.
The problem is meeting an abstract problem with a concrete complaint; there is truly no way that the message can be transmitted in a "rational" way, because it is not a "rational" problem. Corporate incomes have no relationship to the production of real goods and services. CEO pay increases into the tens of millions as regular workers are laid off. The United States is closest to Russia and Iran when it comes to income inequality. The "Occupy" movement is using the most basic means of communication possible: putting a (tent) stake in the ground, putting their bodies where they will be seen.
What does this have to do with the kingdom of God?
Something about how we are in the world but not of it, how we put others' needs ahead of our own, how "the least of these" are to be cared for first, the shepherd going after the one lost sheep. That there is enough -there really is. It's not tea party vs occupiers, it's not even 1 percent vs 99 percent. It's all of us. Jesus went to the cross for everyone, not just the morally pure, not just the vegetarians, not just the poor. He didn't go just for the successful, intelligent, and brave, either. That means that each of us has a responsibility to the others. We are all just as much in need of that grace. We are all in just as much need for food and shelter and love and forgiveness.
This does not mean everyone has to go out and quit their jobs and become organic farmers who make their own clothes. I want there to be a bank and a banker when I need a mortgage. I want a small business to be able to open because someone invested their money in it. I want all of us to have well-paying jobs so we can finish our capital campaign with handicap accessible bathrooms! But I also want us to be critical enough to ask how, and why, our economy works the way it does, and to do what we can to make it a just one.
Is this not the fast that I choose; to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rearguard. (Isaiah 58: 6-8)
Thanks be to God!
Sara+
This week, I've been marinating on what, exactly, is going on across the country with the "Occupy" movement. It started with "Occupy Wall Street" and has now spread all over-Alabama to Washington state. And, of course, Boston. My family went down on Monday night but were advised a few minutes into our visit that the police planned to come at nightfall (it was around 6:30 when we got there) and that it wouldn't be the best place for kids. There has been a decent response from the faith community; a group called the Protest Chaplains is blogging and visiting, and there is a sacred space tent. Bishop Shaw went yesterday for an ecumenical service of support. A UU minister who lives in my neighborhood lead vespers last Sunday night.
As a softie bleeding heart, I'm inclined to be sympathetic; after our wedding in 2003 (in New York), my husband and I cut the reception short so everyone could go downtown to the anti Iraq war protest. I love a good protest. The difficult thing about what's going on now is that the method has little do to with the problem. The financial crisis was not caused by local branches of Bank of America. It was a result of a financial system that relied more and more on abstract amounts of abstract money moving from spread sheet to spread sheet and a government that stopped regulating much of anything assuming the market would fix it all. It didn't, and here we are. Still, you could just as well occupy "the internet" as Dewey Square; there's no "there" there.
The problem is meeting an abstract problem with a concrete complaint; there is truly no way that the message can be transmitted in a "rational" way, because it is not a "rational" problem. Corporate incomes have no relationship to the production of real goods and services. CEO pay increases into the tens of millions as regular workers are laid off. The United States is closest to Russia and Iran when it comes to income inequality. The "Occupy" movement is using the most basic means of communication possible: putting a (tent) stake in the ground, putting their bodies where they will be seen.
What does this have to do with the kingdom of God?
Something about how we are in the world but not of it, how we put others' needs ahead of our own, how "the least of these" are to be cared for first, the shepherd going after the one lost sheep. That there is enough -there really is. It's not tea party vs occupiers, it's not even 1 percent vs 99 percent. It's all of us. Jesus went to the cross for everyone, not just the morally pure, not just the vegetarians, not just the poor. He didn't go just for the successful, intelligent, and brave, either. That means that each of us has a responsibility to the others. We are all just as much in need of that grace. We are all in just as much need for food and shelter and love and forgiveness.
This does not mean everyone has to go out and quit their jobs and become organic farmers who make their own clothes. I want there to be a bank and a banker when I need a mortgage. I want a small business to be able to open because someone invested their money in it. I want all of us to have well-paying jobs so we can finish our capital campaign with handicap accessible bathrooms! But I also want us to be critical enough to ask how, and why, our economy works the way it does, and to do what we can to make it a just one.
Is this not the fast that I choose; to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rearguard. (Isaiah 58: 6-8)
Thanks be to God!
Sara+
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
On Sunday, we shared the news of our parish capital campaign, which has so far had wonderful success with the wise leadership of our co-chairs, Mike Balulescu and Cathy Hughes. Since late August, we've been meeting with folks in the very early stages of the campaign, and on Sunday we reported that of our goal of $260,000, we have so far received pledges for over 200,000! We are already so wonderfully close to our goal, but we will only reach it (and go beyond) with everyone's participation.
Giving to a capital campaign is kind of a funny thing. Year after year, I look at our budget and lament at how much of our expenses go to our building. The building. The deferred maintenance. The drafty windows. The bunching carpet. The building just doesn't seem very exciting. Heat, electricity, snow plowing-they don't exactly add up to a rousing story of changed lives. It's the people inside the building-and the people who will come-who are the story of the Holy Spirit moving in this place, not the bricks and mortar. And let me tell you about mortar--I've been learning a lot about it lately.
At the same time, when I think about the capital campaign and all the things we're talking about doing with the building, I actually get a little excited. What if the narthex (a fancy church word for vestibule) were as welcoming and bright as the people who stand there and serve as greeters each Sunday? What if you weren't embarrassed to tell someone where the bathroom is, knowing they're just going to see that peeling plaster or, worse, not be able to go inside at all because they use a wheelchair? This stuff actually matters. Contributing to the green grants programs, the intern program, B Safe, and so many other great ministries across Eastern Massachusetts, our impact along with the diocesan campaign is significant.
Our campaign pledges will be over five years; no one is asking you to break the bank and write a check today for the full pledge amount. As a pastor, it has been an incredible blessing for me to witness to the gifts that are given. In each of these conversations we've had, everyone is doing the best they can; your gift is your gift. It's just that-a gift. And we are thankful for every single gift, no matter the size. From $5,000 to $50,000-your faith and love have been remarkable. The gift of $5.00 can be remarkable. These is not an everyday event, and these are not everyday gifts. There's a reason this hasn't been done since 1953.
And, so, here we are. Given that there are a lot of details to what we're doing and how, you'll get a call in the next few weeks from one of our visiting team, who will ask to talk personally with you about the campaign. I'm going to close with what Mike said on Sunday, whose intro to the campaign you can read here (it's really worth a read, if you weren't in church-it blew my sermon right out of the water!).
So when someone asks you if you would like to talk more about this campaign, I hope you'll say "yes." If someone asks you if you would like to assist with the campaign, I hope you'll say "yes." And when your heart implores you to dream about what we can accomplish together, in one breath, in one collective, shared sacrifice, I hope your response will be "yes." Thank you.
Blessings,
Sara+
On Sunday, we shared the news of our parish capital campaign, which has so far had wonderful success with the wise leadership of our co-chairs, Mike Balulescu and Cathy Hughes. Since late August, we've been meeting with folks in the very early stages of the campaign, and on Sunday we reported that of our goal of $260,000, we have so far received pledges for over 200,000! We are already so wonderfully close to our goal, but we will only reach it (and go beyond) with everyone's participation.
Giving to a capital campaign is kind of a funny thing. Year after year, I look at our budget and lament at how much of our expenses go to our building. The building. The deferred maintenance. The drafty windows. The bunching carpet. The building just doesn't seem very exciting. Heat, electricity, snow plowing-they don't exactly add up to a rousing story of changed lives. It's the people inside the building-and the people who will come-who are the story of the Holy Spirit moving in this place, not the bricks and mortar. And let me tell you about mortar--I've been learning a lot about it lately.
At the same time, when I think about the capital campaign and all the things we're talking about doing with the building, I actually get a little excited. What if the narthex (a fancy church word for vestibule) were as welcoming and bright as the people who stand there and serve as greeters each Sunday? What if you weren't embarrassed to tell someone where the bathroom is, knowing they're just going to see that peeling plaster or, worse, not be able to go inside at all because they use a wheelchair? This stuff actually matters. Contributing to the green grants programs, the intern program, B Safe, and so many other great ministries across Eastern Massachusetts, our impact along with the diocesan campaign is significant.
Our campaign pledges will be over five years; no one is asking you to break the bank and write a check today for the full pledge amount. As a pastor, it has been an incredible blessing for me to witness to the gifts that are given. In each of these conversations we've had, everyone is doing the best they can; your gift is your gift. It's just that-a gift. And we are thankful for every single gift, no matter the size. From $5,000 to $50,000-your faith and love have been remarkable. The gift of $5.00 can be remarkable. These is not an everyday event, and these are not everyday gifts. There's a reason this hasn't been done since 1953.
And, so, here we are. Given that there are a lot of details to what we're doing and how, you'll get a call in the next few weeks from one of our visiting team, who will ask to talk personally with you about the campaign. I'm going to close with what Mike said on Sunday, whose intro to the campaign you can read here (it's really worth a read, if you weren't in church-it blew my sermon right out of the water!).
So when someone asks you if you would like to talk more about this campaign, I hope you'll say "yes." If someone asks you if you would like to assist with the campaign, I hope you'll say "yes." And when your heart implores you to dream about what we can accomplish together, in one breath, in one collective, shared sacrifice, I hope your response will be "yes." Thank you.
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm looking forward to our special Sunday kick off for our capital campaign. I'm not going to spill all the beans here, so I encourage you to come and learn more. This Sunday, Mike will talk a little about his experience of the campaign's beginning days, and we'll share news of how much we've raised so far. At coffee hour, we'll have some slides projected in Upper Fales that presents some of the hopes for the campaign for people to look at as we share our coffee. (it'll be more in the background than a formal presentaion; most of the information will be conveyed one on one as people talk with each other) Campaign co-chairs Cathy Hughes and Mike Balulescu and I will be glad to answer questions about what is to come. We are so excited about the good work that is happening. It is a profound honor to witness the generosity, grace, and love that people have for this parish.
In other news, lots of other events are coming up as well; the fall is always a busy time. Driving by, you may have noticed we've put up our "Climate Change is a Moral Issue" banner, as we do every fall in cooperation with other Waltham congregations. This Saturday, Christ Church will host the Waltham Event for the international (yes-international!) Moving Planet Day to move beyond fossil fuels. There are rallies all over the world, encouraging people to travel by foot, bike, or public transportation to raise their voices for solutions to the climate crisis. Our neighbors in Lexington, Arlington, Somerville, and Medford will all host similar events to plan to caravan together to the New England-wide event in Boston on the waterfront at Columbus park (near the Aquarium T). Worldwide, more than 160 countries will have events. In Boston, Steve Curwood from the NPR show Living on Earth will emcee the event, and Episcopal Priest Margaret Bullitt-Jonas will be part of the opening, along with other speakers and action.
"Climate Change is a Moral Issue"-it's a bumper sticker slogan, and if all we do with it is once a year to haul a banner out of the closet to feel good about our dedication, we might as well not bother. As our climate warms, the suffering inflicted by the change is born so disproportionately by those who are already less fortunate. This is a fact: in political debates, you hear again and again how it's a theory that human action is the cause of global warming and that not all scientists agree. I heard one commentator say recently (I wish I could remember who) that deciding not to do something about our carbon emissions for that reason is like sitting in your basement smelling smoke from the kitchen and insisting that there is no way your house can be on fire because you don't actually see the flames.
My cynical voice says that acting on behalf of the environment is naively idealistic: how noble to do something for generations to come! You could put it on a hallmark card. My other cynical voice says that it is almost willfully foolish to think that just one person's actions matter. My screw-shaped light bulbs will not change the world. If I were alone, it would be pointless. But I am not alone, and climate change is not just an issue for Isaiah and Adah to contend with--it will change life in our time, not just theirs. Maybe climate change isn't a moral issue after all; maybe it's a clear-cut case of self-interest. Now that's cynical.
Jesus didn't talk about the environment--the single thing he talked most about was money, actually--not sex, marriage, or even prayer. But he did teach a lot about how we are to understand ourselves, about a church-wide--no, creation-wide!--family that crashes down the boundaries between self and other. He asked what profit it was to gain the material world but lose our souls. Where will we be when Bangladesh is submerged in water? Each of us driving our cars and eating strawberries in January shipped from Chile? I know in my own life, I have so, so far to go, as I have written many times in this space (the ecrier blogspot has five pieces tagged "environment," and I know not everything is up there). But I will keep writing, maybe keep repeating myself, hoping that someday I get the message. In the meantime, I'll see you Saturday.
But ask the animals, and they will teach you;
the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
...and the fish of hte sea will declare to you.
In God's hand is the life of every living thing.
Job 12: 7, 8b, 10a
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I'm looking forward to our special Sunday kick off for our capital campaign. I'm not going to spill all the beans here, so I encourage you to come and learn more. This Sunday, Mike will talk a little about his experience of the campaign's beginning days, and we'll share news of how much we've raised so far. At coffee hour, we'll have some slides projected in Upper Fales that presents some of the hopes for the campaign for people to look at as we share our coffee. (it'll be more in the background than a formal presentaion; most of the information will be conveyed one on one as people talk with each other) Campaign co-chairs Cathy Hughes and Mike Balulescu and I will be glad to answer questions about what is to come. We are so excited about the good work that is happening. It is a profound honor to witness the generosity, grace, and love that people have for this parish.
In other news, lots of other events are coming up as well; the fall is always a busy time. Driving by, you may have noticed we've put up our "Climate Change is a Moral Issue" banner, as we do every fall in cooperation with other Waltham congregations. This Saturday, Christ Church will host the Waltham Event for the international (yes-international!) Moving Planet Day to move beyond fossil fuels. There are rallies all over the world, encouraging people to travel by foot, bike, or public transportation to raise their voices for solutions to the climate crisis. Our neighbors in Lexington, Arlington, Somerville, and Medford will all host similar events to plan to caravan together to the New England-wide event in Boston on the waterfront at Columbus park (near the Aquarium T). Worldwide, more than 160 countries will have events. In Boston, Steve Curwood from the NPR show Living on Earth will emcee the event, and Episcopal Priest Margaret Bullitt-Jonas will be part of the opening, along with other speakers and action.
"Climate Change is a Moral Issue"-it's a bumper sticker slogan, and if all we do with it is once a year to haul a banner out of the closet to feel good about our dedication, we might as well not bother. As our climate warms, the suffering inflicted by the change is born so disproportionately by those who are already less fortunate. This is a fact: in political debates, you hear again and again how it's a theory that human action is the cause of global warming and that not all scientists agree. I heard one commentator say recently (I wish I could remember who) that deciding not to do something about our carbon emissions for that reason is like sitting in your basement smelling smoke from the kitchen and insisting that there is no way your house can be on fire because you don't actually see the flames.
My cynical voice says that acting on behalf of the environment is naively idealistic: how noble to do something for generations to come! You could put it on a hallmark card. My other cynical voice says that it is almost willfully foolish to think that just one person's actions matter. My screw-shaped light bulbs will not change the world. If I were alone, it would be pointless. But I am not alone, and climate change is not just an issue for Isaiah and Adah to contend with--it will change life in our time, not just theirs. Maybe climate change isn't a moral issue after all; maybe it's a clear-cut case of self-interest. Now that's cynical.
Jesus didn't talk about the environment--the single thing he talked most about was money, actually--not sex, marriage, or even prayer. But he did teach a lot about how we are to understand ourselves, about a church-wide--no, creation-wide!--family that crashes down the boundaries between self and other. He asked what profit it was to gain the material world but lose our souls. Where will we be when Bangladesh is submerged in water? Each of us driving our cars and eating strawberries in January shipped from Chile? I know in my own life, I have so, so far to go, as I have written many times in this space (the ecrier blogspot has five pieces tagged "environment," and I know not everything is up there). But I will keep writing, maybe keep repeating myself, hoping that someday I get the message. In the meantime, I'll see you Saturday.
But ask the animals, and they will teach you;
the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
...and the fish of hte sea will declare to you.
In God's hand is the life of every living thing.
Job 12: 7, 8b, 10a
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
September 11, 10 years later
This week, I've been reflecting on the meaning of this upcoming anniversary on Sunday of the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. In preparation for writing this article, I looked back and found my reflection for this space from five years ago, on the fifth anniversary. There is, maybe unsurprisingly, not a lot more to say; I still remember what it was like that day, I still feel similarly sad about what has happened in our country, the encroaches on civil liberties and rampant racial profiling and targeting of those who are (or "appear to be," whatever that means!) Muslim. Constant war, 10 years later. Deep political polarization (a problem of many ages, to be sure).
At the same time, I was struck with an article in the Globe last week about closure; how, psychologically, it's a pretty nonsensical topic. We don't ever just get over stuff; it feels different over time, but there's no end. Now, I grieve the outcomes of this global "war on terror" as much I do those events of that day. The thousands and thousands killed in the wars of the last ten years are as grievable as the 3,000 on that Tuesday morning 10 years ago. No one is expendable.
10 years later, we meditate on the day that "the world changed." Did it change? Because the US realized that we were not invincible? In the nervous days after September 11, 2001, my new seminary classmates and I joked with each other about how we had to go for drinks/buy an ipod/eat cake/etc, or else the terrorists would have won. Now, you can't leave your suitcase at your seat in the airport to go to the bathroom. Is that the same? As we become more and more suspicious of each other, the simple calculus of "winning" and "losing" doesn't stand up. We're all losing somehow, but it is also true that another 9/11 didn't happen; a lot of hard work has made sure of it, and it would be foolish not to be grateful.
This is what I wrote in this space five years ago:
;The tricky part, of course, is that we are all called to take up that same cross [of Jesus] and embody that same love and peace. All of us, and all the time. We are all called to love and forgive our enemies-always. The hard truth of the cross is that all things are reconciled to God in Jesus Christ-all things and all people. It's not up to you or to me to decide what or who is in or out. At a time of escalating violence-in Iraq, in our cities, in the Sudan, seemingly everywhere-Christ's call to peacemaking is even more important. Today, on this September 12, remember that it's true-we do live in a different world. But it's not a world made different just because of the violence of terrorists, it's a world made different because of Christ's love.
So wherever your political sympathies lie, pray for peace today. Pray for peace that God will show us the path of a third way. Not violence or acquiescence to evil, but the hard and creative and healing path of peace and dignity for all. Pray, too, that God helps each of us to find how we can follow that path.
What is there to add five years later? Hopes, maybe, that I won't write the same thing in another five years. Hope that we won't still be at war in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya. Hope we won't have invaded Iran or Syria. Hope that there is peace between Israel and Palestine. Hope that we'll each find our own ways to be, not just pray for, the peace of Christ.
Blessings,
Sara+
At the same time, I was struck with an article in the Globe last week about closure; how, psychologically, it's a pretty nonsensical topic. We don't ever just get over stuff; it feels different over time, but there's no end. Now, I grieve the outcomes of this global "war on terror" as much I do those events of that day. The thousands and thousands killed in the wars of the last ten years are as grievable as the 3,000 on that Tuesday morning 10 years ago. No one is expendable.
10 years later, we meditate on the day that "the world changed." Did it change? Because the US realized that we were not invincible? In the nervous days after September 11, 2001, my new seminary classmates and I joked with each other about how we had to go for drinks/buy an ipod/eat cake/etc, or else the terrorists would have won. Now, you can't leave your suitcase at your seat in the airport to go to the bathroom. Is that the same? As we become more and more suspicious of each other, the simple calculus of "winning" and "losing" doesn't stand up. We're all losing somehow, but it is also true that another 9/11 didn't happen; a lot of hard work has made sure of it, and it would be foolish not to be grateful.
This is what I wrote in this space five years ago:
;The tricky part, of course, is that we are all called to take up that same cross [of Jesus] and embody that same love and peace. All of us, and all the time. We are all called to love and forgive our enemies-always. The hard truth of the cross is that all things are reconciled to God in Jesus Christ-all things and all people. It's not up to you or to me to decide what or who is in or out. At a time of escalating violence-in Iraq, in our cities, in the Sudan, seemingly everywhere-Christ's call to peacemaking is even more important. Today, on this September 12, remember that it's true-we do live in a different world. But it's not a world made different just because of the violence of terrorists, it's a world made different because of Christ's love.
So wherever your political sympathies lie, pray for peace today. Pray for peace that God will show us the path of a third way. Not violence or acquiescence to evil, but the hard and creative and healing path of peace and dignity for all. Pray, too, that God helps each of us to find how we can follow that path.
What is there to add five years later? Hopes, maybe, that I won't write the same thing in another five years. Hope that we won't still be at war in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya. Hope we won't have invaded Iran or Syria. Hope that there is peace between Israel and Palestine. Hope that we'll each find our own ways to be, not just pray for, the peace of Christ.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Vengeance is not the Gospel
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I've been staying up late reading the Millenium series, the Stieg Larsson trilogy that begins with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. They are awfully violent, and there is a lot of sex in them, so as your pastor I would hesitate to recommend that you read them. But they are engrossing! It's hard to argue with a smart crime novel. I read the first two on vacation and got the third when I got home, and I'm almost finished with it. At the same time, I happened upon a book by Larsson's lifetime partner, Eva Gabrielsson. They lived together for 30 years, but since they never married legally she was shut out of inheriting his literary-and financial-legacy. There Are Things I Want You To Know About Stieg Larsson and Me is in part a love letter to a dead spouse, in part a righteously angry story of betrayal, and (the interesting part) a biography of Larsson himself, about his political work as a journalist and his ethical motivations behind writing the books.
Before he was a novelist, Larsson was an activist and journalist; his anti-racist and feminist work was the cause of his life, Gabrielsson says. They met as teenagers at a peace meeting. Leftist politics was his life, and the Millenium stories are not just stories; they are moral tales of revenge and justice-seeking. The original Swedish title of the first book is Men Who Hate Women-and the title is accurate. The crimes that happen in the book are all taken from real-world events of women being treated in ways I will not describe here. What's fascinating, though, is the way vengeance, "getting even" is celebrated. The rapist is raped, the killer killed, a vigilante style of justice that picks up when the protagonist, Lisbeth Salander, has lost complete faith in traditional channels of justice because she has been so injured by them (the whole back story doesn't come out until book 2, and it is, indeed, awful). She wouldn't answer a yes or no question to anyone in authority; she's certainly not going to report a crime to the police. For Larsson, telling her story is about revealing that horror, and telling a new truth about self-sufficiency and making your own choices. In that way, I suppose it is a rather American story.
So what is so compelling about these people? Do we like them? Should we? What is, really, the moral tale to be told? The tireless journalist exposing child labor violations and political crimes against children is to be admired. Larsson's own political work, fighting against hatred in all its forms, is a fine example to follow. But it's not the Gospel.
The reason the Millenium series is such a self-indulgent read isn't just for all the free love and fast paced plot-it's because of the simple arithmetic of vengeance. Some part of our reptile brain feels good when people get even, when the 100 pound heroine shoots the 250 lb bully. We have that story in the Bible, too, but the Bible goes beyond it.
And vengeance will not free us. As a perpetrator of another crime, the one who retaliates still lives in the shadow of the aggressor; her actions are still determined by the one who hurt her. Our Gospel reading for this week is part of a teaching on forgiveness that includes Peter's visit to Jesus: "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times." (Matthew 18:21-22) The challenging generosity of the kingdom of God is beyond what we can imagine-not one, but one hundred. Not an afternoon of giving, but a lifetime.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I've been staying up late reading the Millenium series, the Stieg Larsson trilogy that begins with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. They are awfully violent, and there is a lot of sex in them, so as your pastor I would hesitate to recommend that you read them. But they are engrossing! It's hard to argue with a smart crime novel. I read the first two on vacation and got the third when I got home, and I'm almost finished with it. At the same time, I happened upon a book by Larsson's lifetime partner, Eva Gabrielsson. They lived together for 30 years, but since they never married legally she was shut out of inheriting his literary-and financial-legacy. There Are Things I Want You To Know About Stieg Larsson and Me is in part a love letter to a dead spouse, in part a righteously angry story of betrayal, and (the interesting part) a biography of Larsson himself, about his political work as a journalist and his ethical motivations behind writing the books.
Before he was a novelist, Larsson was an activist and journalist; his anti-racist and feminist work was the cause of his life, Gabrielsson says. They met as teenagers at a peace meeting. Leftist politics was his life, and the Millenium stories are not just stories; they are moral tales of revenge and justice-seeking. The original Swedish title of the first book is Men Who Hate Women-and the title is accurate. The crimes that happen in the book are all taken from real-world events of women being treated in ways I will not describe here. What's fascinating, though, is the way vengeance, "getting even" is celebrated. The rapist is raped, the killer killed, a vigilante style of justice that picks up when the protagonist, Lisbeth Salander, has lost complete faith in traditional channels of justice because she has been so injured by them (the whole back story doesn't come out until book 2, and it is, indeed, awful). She wouldn't answer a yes or no question to anyone in authority; she's certainly not going to report a crime to the police. For Larsson, telling her story is about revealing that horror, and telling a new truth about self-sufficiency and making your own choices. In that way, I suppose it is a rather American story.
So what is so compelling about these people? Do we like them? Should we? What is, really, the moral tale to be told? The tireless journalist exposing child labor violations and political crimes against children is to be admired. Larsson's own political work, fighting against hatred in all its forms, is a fine example to follow. But it's not the Gospel.
The reason the Millenium series is such a self-indulgent read isn't just for all the free love and fast paced plot-it's because of the simple arithmetic of vengeance. Some part of our reptile brain feels good when people get even, when the 100 pound heroine shoots the 250 lb bully. We have that story in the Bible, too, but the Bible goes beyond it.
And vengeance will not free us. As a perpetrator of another crime, the one who retaliates still lives in the shadow of the aggressor; her actions are still determined by the one who hurt her. Our Gospel reading for this week is part of a teaching on forgiveness that includes Peter's visit to Jesus: "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times." (Matthew 18:21-22) The challenging generosity of the kingdom of God is beyond what we can imagine-not one, but one hundred. Not an afternoon of giving, but a lifetime.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church:
What is your prayer for our parish?
It's not a rhetorical question. For our upcoming Quarterly on prayer, our hope is to assemble a collection of people's prayers-prayers of request, prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of ..? what? We hope to take each one of our petitions and put them together in one psalm, our many voices becoming one voice.
What is my prayer? I've had many different prayers over the years that I've been at Christ Church. When I first arrived in 2005, I prayed to know what to do; I was 26, and had been ordained for just a little more than a year. Now, I pray not to get too comfortable; my large desk and comfortable habits have a nice way of lulling me into complacence that I know what I'm doing and what comes next.
In the past year, I've noticed that one recurring prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving for belief. Somehow since Holy Week this year, I've found myself witnessing the story of our faith in a different way; I could always explain in the abstract what it meant and why, and how I believed or didn't. This year, I find myself thankful both for the substance of the belief- God's creation of the world, Christ's ministry, death, and resurrection-but also the experience of belief in the first place. To believe-credo-to give one's heart to something-is an amazing gift.
The apostle Paul wrote to the Church in Rome, "The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words (Romans 8:26). God came to us before we came to God, and at the same time God prays in us with God's own voice. At the same time, on a psychological level, we are awfully prone to get in God's way. The philosopher William James (1984-1910) gave a lecture called "The Will to Believe," in which, basically, he says it's worse to be so afraid of being duped that we are unable to believe anything than it is to be wrong. Not deciding, in effect, is deciding. "It is like a general informing his soldiers that it is better to keep out of battle forever than to risk a single wound. . . Our errors are surely not such awfully solemn things." (The Will to Believe, Section VII).
Belief is something of a dance; part us, part God, part mystery. Belief is a gift, but that not everyone believes is hardly a sign that God has withheld this from them. What I find helpful about James' insight is that it helps us to see belief as a mutual process. We choose, but we are also chosen. (How that happens is the part where mystery comes in). What is life-giving for one must not be life-giving for all. But the One who gives life gives it freely.
So this year, I've been feeling particularly thankful for my faith, and so my prayer for Christ Church is something like this:
For belief, O Christ, for belief in you and celebration of your gifts. That we all may know your love and share it with others, within these walls and without.
Blessings,
Sara+
What is your prayer for our parish?
It's not a rhetorical question. For our upcoming Quarterly on prayer, our hope is to assemble a collection of people's prayers-prayers of request, prayers of thanksgiving, prayers of ..? what? We hope to take each one of our petitions and put them together in one psalm, our many voices becoming one voice.
What is my prayer? I've had many different prayers over the years that I've been at Christ Church. When I first arrived in 2005, I prayed to know what to do; I was 26, and had been ordained for just a little more than a year. Now, I pray not to get too comfortable; my large desk and comfortable habits have a nice way of lulling me into complacence that I know what I'm doing and what comes next.
In the past year, I've noticed that one recurring prayer is a prayer of thanksgiving for belief. Somehow since Holy Week this year, I've found myself witnessing the story of our faith in a different way; I could always explain in the abstract what it meant and why, and how I believed or didn't. This year, I find myself thankful both for the substance of the belief- God's creation of the world, Christ's ministry, death, and resurrection-but also the experience of belief in the first place. To believe-credo-to give one's heart to something-is an amazing gift.
The apostle Paul wrote to the Church in Rome, "The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words (Romans 8:26). God came to us before we came to God, and at the same time God prays in us with God's own voice. At the same time, on a psychological level, we are awfully prone to get in God's way. The philosopher William James (1984-1910) gave a lecture called "The Will to Believe," in which, basically, he says it's worse to be so afraid of being duped that we are unable to believe anything than it is to be wrong. Not deciding, in effect, is deciding. "It is like a general informing his soldiers that it is better to keep out of battle forever than to risk a single wound. . . Our errors are surely not such awfully solemn things." (The Will to Believe, Section VII).
Belief is something of a dance; part us, part God, part mystery. Belief is a gift, but that not everyone believes is hardly a sign that God has withheld this from them. What I find helpful about James' insight is that it helps us to see belief as a mutual process. We choose, but we are also chosen. (How that happens is the part where mystery comes in). What is life-giving for one must not be life-giving for all. But the One who gives life gives it freely.
So this year, I've been feeling particularly thankful for my faith, and so my prayer for Christ Church is something like this:
For belief, O Christ, for belief in you and celebration of your gifts. That we all may know your love and share it with others, within these walls and without.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Fish for People
Dear People of Christ Church,
I look forward to being back with you this Sunday for our service at 9am; I've been to church a few times over vacation, but there is nothing like your home altar.
Two weeks ago, my family had the opportunity to worship at the Holy Trinity Anglican Church on Grosse Ile, part of the Magdalen Islands of Canada. The Magdalen Islands are accessible by a five hour ferry ride north of Prince Edward Island (which is, in turn, a 12 hour drive from here)-in short, they are far away! The Magdalens are part of Quebec, but there is a tiny English speaking community on the islands. There are three English speaking churches on the islands, and we went to the big one-there were about 15 people in addition to my family.
The service was nice enough, but I was most struck by the stained glass window at the front. The windows portray Jesus calling Simon Peter and Andrew-walking by the Sea of Galilee, he sees them throwing in their net, doing their work. He said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." And immediately they left their nets and followed him."
I've always liked the story because it portrays Jesus doing what God still does-going to people right where they are. In the window, though, it's not some airy tunic-clad wispy Jesus; it's Jesus as an actual fisherman, wearing a thick sweater and big boots (The window was created in 1986). A girl standing near him has jeans on, and the hills of the East Cape of the Magdalens are visible in the background. Another is holding a thick rope, with overalls and a knit cap.
What would this window look like if it were made in Waltham? We have one answer, our own great West window. It's not as explicitly time-bending, but it's full of local imagery and speaks to the central focus of our city at the time. Rivets, cars, gears, factory equipment-it's dedicated to the power and meaning of work. God working, as the creator, Noah building the ark, Ruth gleaning the fields-this is one generation's answer to God reaching people where they are.
What is your image for this? Is it Jesus in a committee meeting, a sales call, a performance evaluation? Jesus with you adjusting a patient's medicine, or sharing a secret smile as a coworker talks about something? Jesus with you, leading a small child back to bed after his fifth trip to the bathroom of the night? Is it hard to imagine Jesus in a business suit, or scrubs, or coveralls?
This is the power of the Christian hope and resurrection: that Christ, the risen Lord, is risen right here and now, working in our lives and with our own hands and feet. Crashing through all the boundaries of time, space, location, gender, language, convention. When was the last time you saw him? When did she show you God's grace?
Blessings,
Sara+
I look forward to being back with you this Sunday for our service at 9am; I've been to church a few times over vacation, but there is nothing like your home altar.
Two weeks ago, my family had the opportunity to worship at the Holy Trinity Anglican Church on Grosse Ile, part of the Magdalen Islands of Canada. The Magdalen Islands are accessible by a five hour ferry ride north of Prince Edward Island (which is, in turn, a 12 hour drive from here)-in short, they are far away! The Magdalens are part of Quebec, but there is a tiny English speaking community on the islands. There are three English speaking churches on the islands, and we went to the big one-there were about 15 people in addition to my family.
The service was nice enough, but I was most struck by the stained glass window at the front. The windows portray Jesus calling Simon Peter and Andrew-walking by the Sea of Galilee, he sees them throwing in their net, doing their work. He said to them, "Follow me, and I will make you fish for people." And immediately they left their nets and followed him."
I've always liked the story because it portrays Jesus doing what God still does-going to people right where they are. In the window, though, it's not some airy tunic-clad wispy Jesus; it's Jesus as an actual fisherman, wearing a thick sweater and big boots (The window was created in 1986). A girl standing near him has jeans on, and the hills of the East Cape of the Magdalens are visible in the background. Another is holding a thick rope, with overalls and a knit cap.
What would this window look like if it were made in Waltham? We have one answer, our own great West window. It's not as explicitly time-bending, but it's full of local imagery and speaks to the central focus of our city at the time. Rivets, cars, gears, factory equipment-it's dedicated to the power and meaning of work. God working, as the creator, Noah building the ark, Ruth gleaning the fields-this is one generation's answer to God reaching people where they are.
What is your image for this? Is it Jesus in a committee meeting, a sales call, a performance evaluation? Jesus with you adjusting a patient's medicine, or sharing a secret smile as a coworker talks about something? Jesus with you, leading a small child back to bed after his fifth trip to the bathroom of the night? Is it hard to imagine Jesus in a business suit, or scrubs, or coveralls?
This is the power of the Christian hope and resurrection: that Christ, the risen Lord, is risen right here and now, working in our lives and with our own hands and feet. Crashing through all the boundaries of time, space, location, gender, language, convention. When was the last time you saw him? When did she show you God's grace?
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
Writing, late, on a Thursday afternoon, thinking of endings and beginnings; we said goodbye to our Micah Intern, Paul, this week, in a variety of ways, and he and I had some time together to think about what we'd celebrated together this year. I encourage you to take a look at the pictures from this year on our facebook page. You don't have to be a member of Facebook to see them. (Thanks to St Peter's member Edith Williams, who took many of the Christ Church and St Peter's joint event pictures) I've spoken to the director of the Micah Project, who won't spill the beans about who, exactly, we'll have working with us next year, but I am assured that "you'll be very happy." We'll welcome the next intern in early September next year.
Historic Waltham Day on Saturday was our most successful ever, thanks to our parish historian Mike Balulescu and our guests, one of whom, a descendent of Homer Sewall, was excited to see a stained glass window offered by his relatives. Other attendees included volunteers from Stonehurst, the Paines' summer home, who were glad to tour the parish that Robert Treat Paine Jr helped to build. It was also nice to see the Cohn family, who look forward to getting involved in the parish, as well as several other curious souls. Last week also saw our annual work with B Safe, and our field trip to Houghton's Pond. We've so far raised $485 to defray costs of the bus for the field trip and the food, so special thanks to each of you who have donated! One camper on Thursday told me that Bill Fowler's macaroni and cheese was the best lunch he'd had all year, so your donations are certainly appreciated by all.
Otherwise, I'm getting ready to go on vacation-three weeks off (!) starting on Monday. In case of any parish emergencies, senior warden Jonathan Duce is on call, with nearby clergy just a phone call away in case any pastoral issues come up. I'll be with you this week, but after that will be away. We have a stellar lineup of guest clergy, all of whom are fascinating people and good priests. Please don't take the rest of the summer off! This summer our Hebrew Scriptures readings are from Genesis and Exodus, read consecutively, an opportunity we have given the revised lectionary officially adopted at General Convention in 2009. Such good stories, meant to be read aloud, as we engage them on Sundays. I'll miss being with you as you continue on through with Jacob and on with Joseph. One of my favorite moments in the Old Testament comes when Joseph is reunited with his brothers after they sold him as a slave in a jealous rage. They come to him, terrified that he will punish them for their cruelty. Instead, he forgives:
"Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today. (Genesis 50:19-20). How often do our own stories reflect that? Even in the darkest and most painful encounters, God never intends for us to suffer, but always is with us.
Blessings,
Sara+
Writing, late, on a Thursday afternoon, thinking of endings and beginnings; we said goodbye to our Micah Intern, Paul, this week, in a variety of ways, and he and I had some time together to think about what we'd celebrated together this year. I encourage you to take a look at the pictures from this year on our facebook page. You don't have to be a member of Facebook to see them. (Thanks to St Peter's member Edith Williams, who took many of the Christ Church and St Peter's joint event pictures) I've spoken to the director of the Micah Project, who won't spill the beans about who, exactly, we'll have working with us next year, but I am assured that "you'll be very happy." We'll welcome the next intern in early September next year.
Historic Waltham Day on Saturday was our most successful ever, thanks to our parish historian Mike Balulescu and our guests, one of whom, a descendent of Homer Sewall, was excited to see a stained glass window offered by his relatives. Other attendees included volunteers from Stonehurst, the Paines' summer home, who were glad to tour the parish that Robert Treat Paine Jr helped to build. It was also nice to see the Cohn family, who look forward to getting involved in the parish, as well as several other curious souls. Last week also saw our annual work with B Safe, and our field trip to Houghton's Pond. We've so far raised $485 to defray costs of the bus for the field trip and the food, so special thanks to each of you who have donated! One camper on Thursday told me that Bill Fowler's macaroni and cheese was the best lunch he'd had all year, so your donations are certainly appreciated by all.
Otherwise, I'm getting ready to go on vacation-three weeks off (!) starting on Monday. In case of any parish emergencies, senior warden Jonathan Duce is on call, with nearby clergy just a phone call away in case any pastoral issues come up. I'll be with you this week, but after that will be away. We have a stellar lineup of guest clergy, all of whom are fascinating people and good priests. Please don't take the rest of the summer off! This summer our Hebrew Scriptures readings are from Genesis and Exodus, read consecutively, an opportunity we have given the revised lectionary officially adopted at General Convention in 2009. Such good stories, meant to be read aloud, as we engage them on Sundays. I'll miss being with you as you continue on through with Jacob and on with Joseph. One of my favorite moments in the Old Testament comes when Joseph is reunited with his brothers after they sold him as a slave in a jealous rage. They come to him, terrified that he will punish them for their cruelty. Instead, he forgives:
"Do not be afraid! Am I in the place of God? Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as he is doing today. (Genesis 50:19-20). How often do our own stories reflect that? Even in the darkest and most painful encounters, God never intends for us to suffer, but always is with us.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
This Saturday, we celebrate Historic Waltham Day at Christ Church, with morning prayer according to the prayer book used at the construction of the church. For a liturgy geek such as myself, I find it fascinating—and encouraging—to see through history how our worship has changed and how it’s stayed the same. One of the principles of Anglicanism is that it’s close to the ground; when communities change, the liturgy has room to change as well.
Saturday’s liturgy of Morning Prayer is in accordance with the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) 1790, of the 1871 standard. Before the 1892 Edition of the U. S. Book of Common Prayer, minor changes were made, published in “standard editions” of the years 1793, 1822, 1832, 1838, 1845, and 1871. Each year’s changes were minor, having mostly to do with format and the regularization of spelling, which was not uniform in 1790. After this BCP, a slight revision was published in 1892, and wholesale revisions followed in 1928 and 1979, the version found in the pew today.
Each book reflects theological ideas and themes of the time. The Episcopal Church has always found itself on a continuum of “protestant” and “catholic,” more one or the other at different times and places. For example, the term “minister” is used in the 1790 prayer book, a more “protestant” identification than “priest,” which, along with “Celebrant” or “Officiant” is used in 1979. Other controversies included the subject of kneeling for communion and what vestments were worn. And don’t forget candles! Candles were hugely controversial. I imagine 100 years from now people will look back on the controversies of our day and wonder how we could possibly get so worked up about the things that vex us now.
Under the Books of Common Prayer 1892 and in 1928, Morning Prayer was a more commonly celebrated service of Sunday worship; Holy Eucharist was observed for special occasions or, perhaps, once a month. In 1979, the Episcopal Church returned to the earliest church practice of having Holy Eucharist celebrated each Sunday for worship. Our Current Book of Common Prayer (1979) continues to serve us well. Supplements have been published that permit for new prayers to be used in the framework of the Book of Common Prayer that offer more expansive imagery for God and more inclusive gender identifications. And no prayers today use the word “heathen!”
I warmly invite each of you to come this Saturday. I don’t know how “spiritual” it will be (after all, there is a reason all the changes that have transpired since then have been made) but it sure is interesting.
For more on our history and the builders of Christ Church, see my post from this time last year.
http://ecrier.blogspot.com/2010/07/sharing-our-legacy.html
This Saturday, we celebrate Historic Waltham Day at Christ Church, with morning prayer according to the prayer book used at the construction of the church. For a liturgy geek such as myself, I find it fascinating—and encouraging—to see through history how our worship has changed and how it’s stayed the same. One of the principles of Anglicanism is that it’s close to the ground; when communities change, the liturgy has room to change as well.
Saturday’s liturgy of Morning Prayer is in accordance with the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) 1790, of the 1871 standard. Before the 1892 Edition of the U. S. Book of Common Prayer, minor changes were made, published in “standard editions” of the years 1793, 1822, 1832, 1838, 1845, and 1871. Each year’s changes were minor, having mostly to do with format and the regularization of spelling, which was not uniform in 1790. After this BCP, a slight revision was published in 1892, and wholesale revisions followed in 1928 and 1979, the version found in the pew today.
Each book reflects theological ideas and themes of the time. The Episcopal Church has always found itself on a continuum of “protestant” and “catholic,” more one or the other at different times and places. For example, the term “minister” is used in the 1790 prayer book, a more “protestant” identification than “priest,” which, along with “Celebrant” or “Officiant” is used in 1979. Other controversies included the subject of kneeling for communion and what vestments were worn. And don’t forget candles! Candles were hugely controversial. I imagine 100 years from now people will look back on the controversies of our day and wonder how we could possibly get so worked up about the things that vex us now.
Under the Books of Common Prayer 1892 and in 1928, Morning Prayer was a more commonly celebrated service of Sunday worship; Holy Eucharist was observed for special occasions or, perhaps, once a month. In 1979, the Episcopal Church returned to the earliest church practice of having Holy Eucharist celebrated each Sunday for worship. Our Current Book of Common Prayer (1979) continues to serve us well. Supplements have been published that permit for new prayers to be used in the framework of the Book of Common Prayer that offer more expansive imagery for God and more inclusive gender identifications. And no prayers today use the word “heathen!”
I warmly invite each of you to come this Saturday. I don’t know how “spiritual” it will be (after all, there is a reason all the changes that have transpired since then have been made) but it sure is interesting.
For more on our history and the builders of Christ Church, see my post from this time last year.
http://ecrier.blogspot.com/2010/07/sharing-our-legacy.html
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
This week, I'm doing something unusual, in that I'm also contributing to the email newsletter for St Peter's, our partner congregation who worship with Anglican liturgy at 12:30 in Luganda, one of the languages of Uganda. I wanted to write to thank them for our joint Pentecost service and the work we've shared this year with Paul Hartge, our Micah Intern, and also to think together for a moment on the meaning of Pentecost itself. Paul's last Sunday will be July 17, and we hope to welcome a new intern in September.
We are not "Pentecostal" churches, but we do celebrate in the light of Pentecost. On that first Pentecost, the diversity of human community was all in one place. We think Waltham is diverse! Jerusalem had more cultures, more languages, more beliefs than we could imagine, all in one place. Even more people than usual were in Jerusalem for Pentecost on that day 2000 years ago-50 days after Passover, they gathered to give thanks to God for Mt Sinai, when God called the people of Israel into covenant. So it wasn't only the ordinary diversity of Jerusalem, it was every last breed of traveler and pilgrim, on top of all the year round-inhabitants of Jerusalem, pagan, Jewish, Christian, all there to give thanks.
All there, and all very seriously divided by substantial issues-the question of circumcision, of women, of dietary laws-all of these topics were incredibly contentious. We argue over different issues today, but they are no less-and probably no more-fervently debated.
But even in the midst of that, such a glorious outpouring of the Spirit gave birth to the church. Pentecost teaches us that Church is more of a verb than anything else. Church happens when each of those different people heard what the other was saying, even though they spoke different languages, even though they came from different places, and probably believed pretty different things. Pentecost teaches us that church isn't a club. It's not about like minded people coming together to improve themselves, or even coming together to improve the world. Pentecost is about a new reality, a reversal of those old divisions and desires for ownership and control that came to be at the tower of Babel, that ancient pre-cursor of division. Pentecost is about our souls and bodies being a home for Jesus Christ.
On Pentecost, each could understand the other; but each understood in his or her own language. The languages-the differences-were preserved. The Gospel is about unity, not homogeneity. We are unified in our love of God, in the grace of the Holy Spirit that we have each received at baptism. But the song of that love is sung with different words in all of our lives. We may hear and embody different songs, but we are all sustained by one God. We here at 750 Main Street in Waltham are particularly blessed that we have evidence of God's riotous diversity right here, right now. With the politics of the Anglican Communion swirling around us, we pray for that unity, but if it is not to be, it is not to be.
One of my favorite prayers in the prayer book shows up in some different places--at the Easter Vigil, but also Good Friday, and the liturgy for ordinations. Our church is a "wonderful and sacred mystery." We don't quite know how it really works, or why. How some relationships begin, how others end. So much comes down to mystery-an invitation to us for humility, I think, to remember we don't have it all figured out. How is it that we in the Anglican Communion can share a space and be so different? What will it be like if the differences prove to be too contentious? What would it be like, really, to truly trust in God?
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquillity the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
We are not "Pentecostal" churches, but we do celebrate in the light of Pentecost. On that first Pentecost, the diversity of human community was all in one place. We think Waltham is diverse! Jerusalem had more cultures, more languages, more beliefs than we could imagine, all in one place. Even more people than usual were in Jerusalem for Pentecost on that day 2000 years ago-50 days after Passover, they gathered to give thanks to God for Mt Sinai, when God called the people of Israel into covenant. So it wasn't only the ordinary diversity of Jerusalem, it was every last breed of traveler and pilgrim, on top of all the year round-inhabitants of Jerusalem, pagan, Jewish, Christian, all there to give thanks.
All there, and all very seriously divided by substantial issues-the question of circumcision, of women, of dietary laws-all of these topics were incredibly contentious. We argue over different issues today, but they are no less-and probably no more-fervently debated.
But even in the midst of that, such a glorious outpouring of the Spirit gave birth to the church. Pentecost teaches us that Church is more of a verb than anything else. Church happens when each of those different people heard what the other was saying, even though they spoke different languages, even though they came from different places, and probably believed pretty different things. Pentecost teaches us that church isn't a club. It's not about like minded people coming together to improve themselves, or even coming together to improve the world. Pentecost is about a new reality, a reversal of those old divisions and desires for ownership and control that came to be at the tower of Babel, that ancient pre-cursor of division. Pentecost is about our souls and bodies being a home for Jesus Christ.
On Pentecost, each could understand the other; but each understood in his or her own language. The languages-the differences-were preserved. The Gospel is about unity, not homogeneity. We are unified in our love of God, in the grace of the Holy Spirit that we have each received at baptism. But the song of that love is sung with different words in all of our lives. We may hear and embody different songs, but we are all sustained by one God. We here at 750 Main Street in Waltham are particularly blessed that we have evidence of God's riotous diversity right here, right now. With the politics of the Anglican Communion swirling around us, we pray for that unity, but if it is not to be, it is not to be.
One of my favorite prayers in the prayer book shows up in some different places--at the Easter Vigil, but also Good Friday, and the liturgy for ordinations. Our church is a "wonderful and sacred mystery." We don't quite know how it really works, or why. How some relationships begin, how others end. So much comes down to mystery-an invitation to us for humility, I think, to remember we don't have it all figured out. How is it that we in the Anglican Communion can share a space and be so different? What will it be like if the differences prove to be too contentious? What would it be like, really, to truly trust in God?
O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquillity the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
It is good to be back writing in this space and breathing fresh New England air! Having spent a week in Colorado at 8000 feet, I have a new appreciation for all the oxygen that comes at sea level (I'm even appreciating the humidity). I left for Colorado feeling so buoyed by the Holy Spirit we encountered at Pentecost in our service with St Peter's, and was sorry not to be able to talk more with you about it last week. Suffice it to say that God was most definitely present. The loose collection funds (not the checks written to each parish, but the cash in the plate) will be divided between Connect Africa a group that works with AIDS orphans in Uganda, and the Diocesan Jubilee Ministries, which funds local work on the ground in Africa with our partners there.
Coming back from vacation, I was greeted by the very happy news that our CPA (Community Preservation Act) application had cleared one more step in its path to approval. After being OK'ed by the Community Preservation Committee, it then went to the Law Department, then to City Council to be passed to the Long Term Debt Committee, which then sent it back to Council for the final vote. So pray--and tell your city counselor to vote yes (also give your thanks to Shawn Russell and Bill Fowler, whose efforts have kept this going). The CPA funds are a crucial part of our hopes for Christ Church's future stability. If you haven't yet had time to do the survey for our building needs, please do it. Junior Warden Sarah Staley will have print copies this Sunday if you have had difficulty with the web.
Meanwhile, summer brings wonderful opportunities for ministry and community. This coming Sunday and Monday, our summer book group will begin meeting (Sunday after the 9:00 service and Monday at the Kerr home)--read chapters 1 and 2 to start this week. July 5, we begin offering games at the Home Suites Inn, and then later in July we work with B Safe day camp in Boston
with reading, lunch, and our Friday field trip to Houghton's Pond.
There is much to do, but I hope in the midst of it you will be finding some Sabbath time for yourself. Sometimes it's not so much the length of time as it is the depth; you don't need 8 weeks of uninterrupted rest and tropical fun to reconnect with God and your quiet self. Of course, if you're a parent, vacation can feel like more work than work... but I guess each of us gets through that differently!
So take Sabbath--rest with empty hands, nothing to produce, nothing to consume, just receptivity to the gifts God gives. The New Zealand prayer book translates psalm 127 like this: "It is but lost labor that we haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, and eat the bread of anxiety. For those beloved of God are given gifts even while they sleep."
Gifts from God, even as we sleep! That is a pretty compelling invitation to blessing and wonder. So take some Sabbath in rest and relaxation, but also take Sabbath in church; our sacraments and life together feed us all in innumerable ways, and I hope to see you at the table soon.
Blessings,
Sara+
It is good to be back writing in this space and breathing fresh New England air! Having spent a week in Colorado at 8000 feet, I have a new appreciation for all the oxygen that comes at sea level (I'm even appreciating the humidity). I left for Colorado feeling so buoyed by the Holy Spirit we encountered at Pentecost in our service with St Peter's, and was sorry not to be able to talk more with you about it last week. Suffice it to say that God was most definitely present. The loose collection funds (not the checks written to each parish, but the cash in the plate) will be divided between Connect Africa a group that works with AIDS orphans in Uganda, and the Diocesan Jubilee Ministries, which funds local work on the ground in Africa with our partners there.
Coming back from vacation, I was greeted by the very happy news that our CPA (Community Preservation Act) application had cleared one more step in its path to approval. After being OK'ed by the Community Preservation Committee, it then went to the Law Department, then to City Council to be passed to the Long Term Debt Committee, which then sent it back to Council for the final vote. So pray--and tell your city counselor to vote yes (also give your thanks to Shawn Russell and Bill Fowler, whose efforts have kept this going). The CPA funds are a crucial part of our hopes for Christ Church's future stability. If you haven't yet had time to do the survey for our building needs, please do it. Junior Warden Sarah Staley will have print copies this Sunday if you have had difficulty with the web.
Meanwhile, summer brings wonderful opportunities for ministry and community. This coming Sunday and Monday, our summer book group will begin meeting (Sunday after the 9:00 service and Monday at the Kerr home)--read chapters 1 and 2 to start this week. July 5, we begin offering games at the Home Suites Inn, and then later in July we work with B Safe day camp in Boston
with reading, lunch, and our Friday field trip to Houghton's Pond.
There is much to do, but I hope in the midst of it you will be finding some Sabbath time for yourself. Sometimes it's not so much the length of time as it is the depth; you don't need 8 weeks of uninterrupted rest and tropical fun to reconnect with God and your quiet self. Of course, if you're a parent, vacation can feel like more work than work... but I guess each of us gets through that differently!
So take Sabbath--rest with empty hands, nothing to produce, nothing to consume, just receptivity to the gifts God gives. The New Zealand prayer book translates psalm 127 like this: "It is but lost labor that we haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, and eat the bread of anxiety. For those beloved of God are given gifts even while they sleep."
Gifts from God, even as we sleep! That is a pretty compelling invitation to blessing and wonder. So take some Sabbath in rest and relaxation, but also take Sabbath in church; our sacraments and life together feed us all in innumerable ways, and I hope to see you at the table soon.
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Tattoos on the heart
Dear People of Christ Church,
This morning, I've been trolling the internet for quotes to promote our summer book group-we're reading: Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion by Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest who works with gangs in LA. The motto of Homeboy Industries, the group he founded, is "Nothing stops a bullet like a job."
I've wanted to read it since I heard the author on the NPR show Fresh Air, a whole year ago. It came to mind again when I saw an online slideshow about the California prison crisis, brought to light during recent Supreme Court hearings about the overcrowding there. The pictures--the whole situation--is an invitation to complete hopelessness. 60-70 percent inmates released from prison in California return, one of the highest rates in the country. It's hard to compare figures from different studies, but one researcher found that the rate in Massachusetts was just a little more than half that: 39%.
So I spent the morning researching this priest-Gregory Boyle-and his work in LA. Looking for stories of redemption and hope, thinking I'd find the thing that would make it OK--a story about those 30 percent who don't go back to jail. The thing is, every article I read has a version of the same sentence: in X years, Father Boyle has done the funerals of X current and former gang members. And the number kept increasing-175, 200, 225. It's a vivid reminder of how this will not be a pleasant book study about inspiring work done far away. This will not be a time to gather together, maybe to send $50 when we're done to help support the project. Hardly enough.
At its heart, this is a spiritual and theological problem as well as a social one. You can only go so far with training and aid programs. Even striving for just and fair laws that both protect society and provide the opportunity to redirect the lives of criminals will still not make us into a peaceful society without violence or hatred.
The thing is, in some ways the manifestation of the problem I was reacting to--the increasing number of funerals--is also the solution. Seeing that number of Rev. Gregory Boyle's funerals swell up and up was a witness to the fact that someone is counting. There is no death that is insignificant, no one who is beyond remembrance. This is the witness of all the contemporary saints-Paul Farmer working in Haiti and Rwanda, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, India. People like them remind us to see people not as "the poor" or "the homeless" but as individual children beloved by their Creator. It is tragic when someone is murdered, robbed of their potential-the world is robbed as surely as they themselves are. Gregory Boyle writes,
The first kid I buried was an eighteen-year-old identical twin. Even the family had a hard time distinguishing these two brothers from each other. At the funeral, Vicente peered into the casket of his brother, Danny. They were both wearing identical clothes. It was as if someone had slapped a mirror down and Vicente was staring at his own reflection. Because this was my first funeral of this kind, the snapshot of a young man peering at his own mirror image has stayed with me all these years, as a metaphor for gang violence in all its self-destruction.
The challenge for us as people of faith is to see ourselves in Danny. To see our children lying on the street. To witness and pray at all the deaths, and to work constructively for all the lives. Maybe I will send that $50 to Gregory Boyle after all. It's true that it's not enough-but it is something.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning, I've been trolling the internet for quotes to promote our summer book group-we're reading: Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion by Gregory Boyle, a Jesuit priest who works with gangs in LA. The motto of Homeboy Industries, the group he founded, is "Nothing stops a bullet like a job."
I've wanted to read it since I heard the author on the NPR show Fresh Air, a whole year ago. It came to mind again when I saw an online slideshow about the California prison crisis, brought to light during recent Supreme Court hearings about the overcrowding there. The pictures--the whole situation--is an invitation to complete hopelessness. 60-70 percent inmates released from prison in California return, one of the highest rates in the country. It's hard to compare figures from different studies, but one researcher found that the rate in Massachusetts was just a little more than half that: 39%.
So I spent the morning researching this priest-Gregory Boyle-and his work in LA. Looking for stories of redemption and hope, thinking I'd find the thing that would make it OK--a story about those 30 percent who don't go back to jail. The thing is, every article I read has a version of the same sentence: in X years, Father Boyle has done the funerals of X current and former gang members. And the number kept increasing-175, 200, 225. It's a vivid reminder of how this will not be a pleasant book study about inspiring work done far away. This will not be a time to gather together, maybe to send $50 when we're done to help support the project. Hardly enough.
At its heart, this is a spiritual and theological problem as well as a social one. You can only go so far with training and aid programs. Even striving for just and fair laws that both protect society and provide the opportunity to redirect the lives of criminals will still not make us into a peaceful society without violence or hatred.
The thing is, in some ways the manifestation of the problem I was reacting to--the increasing number of funerals--is also the solution. Seeing that number of Rev. Gregory Boyle's funerals swell up and up was a witness to the fact that someone is counting. There is no death that is insignificant, no one who is beyond remembrance. This is the witness of all the contemporary saints-Paul Farmer working in Haiti and Rwanda, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, India. People like them remind us to see people not as "the poor" or "the homeless" but as individual children beloved by their Creator. It is tragic when someone is murdered, robbed of their potential-the world is robbed as surely as they themselves are. Gregory Boyle writes,
The first kid I buried was an eighteen-year-old identical twin. Even the family had a hard time distinguishing these two brothers from each other. At the funeral, Vicente peered into the casket of his brother, Danny. They were both wearing identical clothes. It was as if someone had slapped a mirror down and Vicente was staring at his own reflection. Because this was my first funeral of this kind, the snapshot of a young man peering at his own mirror image has stayed with me all these years, as a metaphor for gang violence in all its self-destruction.
The challenge for us as people of faith is to see ourselves in Danny. To see our children lying on the street. To witness and pray at all the deaths, and to work constructively for all the lives. Maybe I will send that $50 to Gregory Boyle after all. It's true that it's not enough-but it is something.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, June 9, 2011
This weekend, we celebrate our third all encompassing children's service-kids will do the readings, bring up the offerings, stand with me at the altar, and, of course, hear the children's sermon-this month, offered by our Micah Project intern Paul Hartge. This will also be our last children's service for the summer, so please remember to bring your diaper donations. They are, of course, accepted at any time, but we won't be putting out the crib in July since our July 4th weekend service is outside.
This afternoon, a colleague and I met with the manager of the Home Suites Inn on Totten Pond Road. As you may know, the state of Massachusetts contracts with hotels to house families when shelter space is not available. Right here in Waltham, 85 families are housed at the Home Suites. The average stay is about 3 months, but some have been there for over a year waiting to be connected to permanent housing. Last Christmas, Christ Church collected presents for the kids staying there-at that time, there were 56. Now, there are 117.
Homelessness comes up in the news every once in a while, but most often, it's an issue we don't think about. In the wake of the sudden tornado in Western Massachusetts yesterday, and the destruction in the Midwest of recent weeks, we're reminded that losing a home is something that can happen to anyone. Homelessness doesn't just impact individuals-in Massachusetts, fully half (52%) the homeless are parents and children. From 2008 to 2009, there was a 37% increase in families needing shelter over the existing shelter system.
The good news is that policy makers are figuring out what works.Are you ready for this?
The solution to homelessness seems to be...homes! As Massachusetts State Representative Byron Rushing quoted his mother at a talk he gave last year (see my blog post on the forum, his family was poor growing up because they lacked money. The reason the homeless are homeless is that they lack permanent homes. It's just that simple. A new movement called "Housing First" is discovering that it's not just better for the individuals and families who are homeless, but also more cost effective, to first provide a home and then figure out how to empower people for financial and social independence.
Especially in times of tight budgets, there is a lot that we can do-politically as well as materially. In two weeks, several local organizations (including the Waltham Ministerial Association, which I co-chair) will be hosting a forum on what congregations and communities can do at First Presbyterian Church on Alder St (info below).
On the other side of the issue, one very simple thing we can offer homeless people is companionship. A colleague of mine and I are hoping to gather enough volunteers to offer a Games Hour at Home Suites this summer-when school is out, the 117 children staying there will not have a lot to do, and an hour of fun will help to lighten the load. Volunteers are invited in pairs or singles, who would be willing to help out for an hour twice over the summer. Games will be offered Tuesday afternoons from 2:30-3:30, starting July 5. Please let me know ASAP if you'd be interested in helping.
Blessings,
Sara+
This afternoon, a colleague and I met with the manager of the Home Suites Inn on Totten Pond Road. As you may know, the state of Massachusetts contracts with hotels to house families when shelter space is not available. Right here in Waltham, 85 families are housed at the Home Suites. The average stay is about 3 months, but some have been there for over a year waiting to be connected to permanent housing. Last Christmas, Christ Church collected presents for the kids staying there-at that time, there were 56. Now, there are 117.
Homelessness comes up in the news every once in a while, but most often, it's an issue we don't think about. In the wake of the sudden tornado in Western Massachusetts yesterday, and the destruction in the Midwest of recent weeks, we're reminded that losing a home is something that can happen to anyone. Homelessness doesn't just impact individuals-in Massachusetts, fully half (52%) the homeless are parents and children. From 2008 to 2009, there was a 37% increase in families needing shelter over the existing shelter system.
The good news is that policy makers are figuring out what works.Are you ready for this?
The solution to homelessness seems to be...homes! As Massachusetts State Representative Byron Rushing quoted his mother at a talk he gave last year (see my blog post on the forum, his family was poor growing up because they lacked money. The reason the homeless are homeless is that they lack permanent homes. It's just that simple. A new movement called "Housing First" is discovering that it's not just better for the individuals and families who are homeless, but also more cost effective, to first provide a home and then figure out how to empower people for financial and social independence.
Especially in times of tight budgets, there is a lot that we can do-politically as well as materially. In two weeks, several local organizations (including the Waltham Ministerial Association, which I co-chair) will be hosting a forum on what congregations and communities can do at First Presbyterian Church on Alder St (info below).
On the other side of the issue, one very simple thing we can offer homeless people is companionship. A colleague of mine and I are hoping to gather enough volunteers to offer a Games Hour at Home Suites this summer-when school is out, the 117 children staying there will not have a lot to do, and an hour of fun will help to lighten the load. Volunteers are invited in pairs or singles, who would be willing to help out for an hour twice over the summer. Games will be offered Tuesday afternoons from 2:30-3:30, starting July 5. Please let me know ASAP if you'd be interested in helping.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
This week I write with sad news of the death of John Johnson, who has been in hospice since last fall. I say it is sad news because I am sad. As our burial rite says, John himself is busy making his alleluias at the grave, secure in the arms of his creator. Still, I will miss him. John called me up last summer and invited me to come up and talk with him about his plans for burial, as he felt his time was near. I've visited him every week or every other week for almost all of the last year. I will miss those visits, puzzling together over the mysteries of life and death. He was ready to go, but I was not ready to say goodbye-I don't know if the living are ever ready. John's sons live scattered across the country, so his burial will be later in the summer when everyone is able to get here.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
from May 19: Episcopal Church, Old & New
Dear People of Christ Church,
Yesterday evening, our Introduction to the Episcopal Church class continued. The topic for was "The church's stance on contemporary moral issues." As with last week when we tried to cover the Bible, prayer, liturgy, and the sacraments in 90 minutes, we definitely had our work cut out for us, but still managed to have a great conversation.
The Episcopal Church is known for being a distinctive combination of traditional liturgy and "modern" social practice-or, as the comedian (and Episcopalian) Robin Williams puts it, "All of the pageantry, none of the guilt." On the "traditional" side, we share a deeply historic faith. The Episcopal Church is a daughter of the Anglican church (Anglican just means "of England" and we are still part of the worldwide Anglican Communion). But our history goes back before the church in England broke from Rome. Our confession of the Nicene Creed is 1600 years old, and our sacraments go back to the practice of Jesus. We gather, as his disciples did, in the breaking of the bread, and we, as they did, baptize in the name of the Trinity. At the same time, we are also a "modern" church-we ordain women and married people, support the right of people to limit their family size as they feel called, and respond to human sexuality in dialogue with the wider culture. What we sometimes forget, though, is that some of what is often called "new" really isn't-we're just being faithful to the theology we've shared for hundreds of years.
Early Anglicans talked about how the church was like a three legged stool, supported by Scripture, tradition, and reason. All three have equal claim-otherwise, you fall off! Too much Scripture, and you are worshipping a book instead of a living God. Too much reason, and you elevate human knowledge above mystery and faith. Too much tradition, and you find yourself in a museum, not a church.
This approach has real consequences for the practice of the church in the world. While it is true that women have only been regularly ordained since 1971 (Hong Kong was the first-the US followed in 1974 and 1976), it is not new theology that says this is finally OK. In our diocese, where gays and lesbians can legally be married, it is not "new theology"' that says that they should be offered the full benefit of the support and blessings of the church. It is our reason informing our tradition, reading Scripture for clues about how love is of God and how all love is to be honored. It is reason that looks at what homosexual practice was understood to be in Biblical times, and seeing how that's quite different from two people pledging their love as long as they both shall live. It is tradition that looks at the practice of marriage and thinks, "Gosh, it seems like marriage really helps society and it helps people keep their promises. Sounds like something everyone should have access to."
So, too, with women-the church is part of the world. It is a comparatively new thing that the world has "gotten" that women are equal to men. It's too bad that the church didn't figure it out first, but as the wider culture started to understand, so, too, did the church. But the church did so in applying its same old categories of analysis to the contemporary world-it didn't invent new justifications or new ideas. God is still the creator of all, and God is still a creator who named creation-all of it-good. God still wants to see the gifts of every person used to the fullest. This is a tradition that honors a Holy Spirit who still speaks.
When Henry the VIII wanted to get a divorce back in the sixteenth century, he was protesting the wider issue of a distant pope having say in English affairs. He wanted, in effect, for the church to respond to lives as they are lived, where they are lived. He wanted for decisions to be made close to the ground, in the same place where they impact people's lives. So, too, now: the Episcopal Church is nimble enough to allow same sex marriage in states where it is legal, but to allow dioceses (and, even congregations) where the people don't support it (either legally or theologically) to abstain.
Diversity, too, is the name of the game-we unite in prayer, but recognize that each of us may pray and believe differently. Queen Elizabeth I famously said that she did not "desire windows into men's souls." Each of us can believe differently, but coming together in those sacraments and those creeds feeds us in our differences. Not everyone has to agree on sexuality, or on abortion, or on the death penalty-but when we come to the altar, we are all equally fed-and there is enough for everyone. Thanks be to God!
Blessings,
Sara+
Yesterday evening, our Introduction to the Episcopal Church class continued. The topic for was "The church's stance on contemporary moral issues." As with last week when we tried to cover the Bible, prayer, liturgy, and the sacraments in 90 minutes, we definitely had our work cut out for us, but still managed to have a great conversation.
The Episcopal Church is known for being a distinctive combination of traditional liturgy and "modern" social practice-or, as the comedian (and Episcopalian) Robin Williams puts it, "All of the pageantry, none of the guilt." On the "traditional" side, we share a deeply historic faith. The Episcopal Church is a daughter of the Anglican church (Anglican just means "of England" and we are still part of the worldwide Anglican Communion). But our history goes back before the church in England broke from Rome. Our confession of the Nicene Creed is 1600 years old, and our sacraments go back to the practice of Jesus. We gather, as his disciples did, in the breaking of the bread, and we, as they did, baptize in the name of the Trinity. At the same time, we are also a "modern" church-we ordain women and married people, support the right of people to limit their family size as they feel called, and respond to human sexuality in dialogue with the wider culture. What we sometimes forget, though, is that some of what is often called "new" really isn't-we're just being faithful to the theology we've shared for hundreds of years.
Early Anglicans talked about how the church was like a three legged stool, supported by Scripture, tradition, and reason. All three have equal claim-otherwise, you fall off! Too much Scripture, and you are worshipping a book instead of a living God. Too much reason, and you elevate human knowledge above mystery and faith. Too much tradition, and you find yourself in a museum, not a church.
This approach has real consequences for the practice of the church in the world. While it is true that women have only been regularly ordained since 1971 (Hong Kong was the first-the US followed in 1974 and 1976), it is not new theology that says this is finally OK. In our diocese, where gays and lesbians can legally be married, it is not "new theology"' that says that they should be offered the full benefit of the support and blessings of the church. It is our reason informing our tradition, reading Scripture for clues about how love is of God and how all love is to be honored. It is reason that looks at what homosexual practice was understood to be in Biblical times, and seeing how that's quite different from two people pledging their love as long as they both shall live. It is tradition that looks at the practice of marriage and thinks, "Gosh, it seems like marriage really helps society and it helps people keep their promises. Sounds like something everyone should have access to."
So, too, with women-the church is part of the world. It is a comparatively new thing that the world has "gotten" that women are equal to men. It's too bad that the church didn't figure it out first, but as the wider culture started to understand, so, too, did the church. But the church did so in applying its same old categories of analysis to the contemporary world-it didn't invent new justifications or new ideas. God is still the creator of all, and God is still a creator who named creation-all of it-good. God still wants to see the gifts of every person used to the fullest. This is a tradition that honors a Holy Spirit who still speaks.
When Henry the VIII wanted to get a divorce back in the sixteenth century, he was protesting the wider issue of a distant pope having say in English affairs. He wanted, in effect, for the church to respond to lives as they are lived, where they are lived. He wanted for decisions to be made close to the ground, in the same place where they impact people's lives. So, too, now: the Episcopal Church is nimble enough to allow same sex marriage in states where it is legal, but to allow dioceses (and, even congregations) where the people don't support it (either legally or theologically) to abstain.
Diversity, too, is the name of the game-we unite in prayer, but recognize that each of us may pray and believe differently. Queen Elizabeth I famously said that she did not "desire windows into men's souls." Each of us can believe differently, but coming together in those sacraments and those creeds feeds us in our differences. Not everyone has to agree on sexuality, or on abortion, or on the death penalty-but when we come to the altar, we are all equally fed-and there is enough for everyone. Thanks be to God!
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
Though this week, I've been lamenting the recent grayness of the skies, the week after Easter I had some marvelous time off in my new garden, planting for the summer and acquainting myself with the pleasures of the yard. When we lived in Waltham we were on a steep hill, complete with 20 foot rock face behind the house. It was beautiful in its own way, but not exactly conducive to enjoying the sunshine--so one of the things we really wanted in our new house when we moved was more outdoor space. Last Friday I got to try out our new battery powered lawnmower (heavy, but still easier than pushing 2 children in a stroller). What a pleasure. I'm sure the novelty will wear off at some point, but for now, I am happy to be mowing the lawn. We also did some planting-cucumber, tomato, peas-then got broccoli, more tomatoes, and lettuce from Waltham Fields' seedling sale. The fact that food could actually come out of the ground is kind of magical.
We are longtime shareholders at Waltham Fields (see my March, 2007 post about it on the e crier blog page so I feel some closeness to the gifts of the land, but it feels somehow different when it's in your own space. I've been reading Michael Pollan's book on gardening, Second Nature, more memoir than instruction book. At its heart is a critique of the metaphors we've used over the years for natural world. His judgment of lawns notwithstanding ("nature under totalitarian rule"), I'm pretty convinced by his assessment of the whole mess we've gotten into, in how we contrast nature and culture. Libraries, schools, factories are culture; rivers, lakes, and fields are nature. In the usual telling, these are separate spheres-nature is acted upon, and culture acts. If you're feeling more romantic, you can talk about nature as unblemished, virgin, pure, innocent. But separating them is a false dichotomy. Unless you want to go back to the dinosaurs, nature has always been subjected to the whims of human intervention. Whether it be invasive species accidentally introduced into a new environment or plants hybridized to generate certain characteristics, humans leave their mark on nature everywhere. And we certainly cannot separate ourselves from it. Seeing pictures of the flooding in the south and due to recent storms has made that clear. When the US Army Corps of Engineers blew a hole in a levee to save the town of Cairo, Illinois, they flooded 130,000 acres of farmland. Technology helps, but creates its own complication as well.
Our Christian faith gives us some tools for thinking about this. We began, our stories say, in a garden-an image no less potent for being a mythological one. We were given "dominion"-power, yes, but a particular kind of power. We are dependent on nature, and so taking care of it is also taking care of ourselves. Each day of creation concludes, "God saw that it was good." Creation is good-a good gift, given to us. We have not always seen it this way-more often, we have been like selfish three year old, given a book only to rip the pages apart assuming daddy will give us a new one when we demand one.
There is something theological in what we have been given, in tilling it and caring for it, but also in enjoying it. Pleasure in the garden is a spiritual question, as is helping those whose "gardens" have flooded. (See more from Episcopal Relief and Development) Digging in the dirt or walking by the pond across the street from my house, I know myself to be one small part of nature. There is something very comforting in knowing my smallness in that wider scheme. Humans have devised immense powers of destruction, but this world that God has made is also way, way, bigger than us. That seems to me like an icon, a window, into God: we are entirely dependent on the land, intimately connected to it. But it the sheer magnitude of nature's vast otherness also puts us in our rightful-and small-place.
Blessings,
Sara+
Though this week, I've been lamenting the recent grayness of the skies, the week after Easter I had some marvelous time off in my new garden, planting for the summer and acquainting myself with the pleasures of the yard. When we lived in Waltham we were on a steep hill, complete with 20 foot rock face behind the house. It was beautiful in its own way, but not exactly conducive to enjoying the sunshine--so one of the things we really wanted in our new house when we moved was more outdoor space. Last Friday I got to try out our new battery powered lawnmower (heavy, but still easier than pushing 2 children in a stroller). What a pleasure. I'm sure the novelty will wear off at some point, but for now, I am happy to be mowing the lawn. We also did some planting-cucumber, tomato, peas-then got broccoli, more tomatoes, and lettuce from Waltham Fields' seedling sale. The fact that food could actually come out of the ground is kind of magical.
We are longtime shareholders at Waltham Fields (see my March, 2007 post about it on the e crier blog page so I feel some closeness to the gifts of the land, but it feels somehow different when it's in your own space. I've been reading Michael Pollan's book on gardening, Second Nature, more memoir than instruction book. At its heart is a critique of the metaphors we've used over the years for natural world. His judgment of lawns notwithstanding ("nature under totalitarian rule"), I'm pretty convinced by his assessment of the whole mess we've gotten into, in how we contrast nature and culture. Libraries, schools, factories are culture; rivers, lakes, and fields are nature. In the usual telling, these are separate spheres-nature is acted upon, and culture acts. If you're feeling more romantic, you can talk about nature as unblemished, virgin, pure, innocent. But separating them is a false dichotomy. Unless you want to go back to the dinosaurs, nature has always been subjected to the whims of human intervention. Whether it be invasive species accidentally introduced into a new environment or plants hybridized to generate certain characteristics, humans leave their mark on nature everywhere. And we certainly cannot separate ourselves from it. Seeing pictures of the flooding in the south and due to recent storms has made that clear. When the US Army Corps of Engineers blew a hole in a levee to save the town of Cairo, Illinois, they flooded 130,000 acres of farmland. Technology helps, but creates its own complication as well.
Our Christian faith gives us some tools for thinking about this. We began, our stories say, in a garden-an image no less potent for being a mythological one. We were given "dominion"-power, yes, but a particular kind of power. We are dependent on nature, and so taking care of it is also taking care of ourselves. Each day of creation concludes, "God saw that it was good." Creation is good-a good gift, given to us. We have not always seen it this way-more often, we have been like selfish three year old, given a book only to rip the pages apart assuming daddy will give us a new one when we demand one.
There is something theological in what we have been given, in tilling it and caring for it, but also in enjoying it. Pleasure in the garden is a spiritual question, as is helping those whose "gardens" have flooded. (See more from Episcopal Relief and Development) Digging in the dirt or walking by the pond across the street from my house, I know myself to be one small part of nature. There is something very comforting in knowing my smallness in that wider scheme. Humans have devised immense powers of destruction, but this world that God has made is also way, way, bigger than us. That seems to me like an icon, a window, into God: we are entirely dependent on the land, intimately connected to it. But it the sheer magnitude of nature's vast otherness also puts us in our rightful-and small-place.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, May 5, 2011
On Killing Osama Bin Laden
This week, I’ve found myself uneasily watching and listening for news of the responses around our country—and the world—to Osama bin Laden’s death. The images of people celebrating and dancing, hailing “victory” and “USA, USA” frankly just make me uncomfortable. I was living in New York City at the time of the terrorist attacks of 2001, and remember at that time as well feeling strangely out of sync with the rest of the country’s response; military retaliation at that time felt like the wrong decision. So, too, now jubilation at bin Laden’s death feels wrong as well.
At the same time, I cannot say that I can imagine another outcome. I can’t imagine a trial, a prison cell, a conclusion, to the nightmare of violence and bloodshed that has happened over the last 10 years (and before, given bin Laden’s previous attacks). There is no conclusion; those who are dead will not come back to life. We won’t get back that serene life we lived before “the war on terror,” (whatever that means now). I will not forget the sense of extreme anxiety and panic of being in New York in those days after the attack—neither will I forget the palpable sense of relief I felt six weeks later, leaving the city for a weekend in Vermont. But I went back, and lived in New York for another three years. That uneasy feeling did subside, but the sense of out-of-sync-ness never quite did. I still grieve that something that felt at the time like “my tragedy” (which of course, it wasn’t) had been used to justify bringing tragedy on others.
Tragedy is the word here—it’s tragic on all fronts. Tragic, so many lives lost; tragic, the failure of imagination; tragic, this whole web of violence we are stuck in. Bin Laden himself was one face of violence; a teenager caught in gang crossfire is another—as is his killer. But it is never good news when someone is killed. It is good news that the military works courageously. It is good news that intelligence agents figured out where he was. It is good news that people love this country and want to serve. But there is no justice in killing, even those who perpetrate terrible, terrible acts. Last Sunday I was talking with Gene and Jose at coffee hour and learned of the killing of Muammar Qadaffi’s son and grandchildren—again and again, more tragedy. We become immune to it. Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya. Where next?
As Christians, we try to reach for another truth. Not “might makes right,” but “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The resurrection is the result of God’s sacrificial love, Christ’s unwillingness to trade evil for evil. The resurrection says that death never has the last word. The crucifixion was not the end for Jesus, and it wasn’t the end for the Christian story. Christ was raised for all—not just for those who “deserve” him.
At the end of the day, it may be that how we feel doesn’t matter much. And I’m certainly not going to tell anyone else how to feel. Feelings are just that—feelings. They’re information. We don’t, exactly, control them. You’re not a bad person if you’re happy about bin Laden’s death. You’re not a paragon of moral restraint and virtue of you aren’t. But we can pay attention to what they are, and consider how we respond to them. How do we pray about our feelings? How do we ask that “holy angels may us in “paths of peace and goodwill,” as the prayers in the evening office say? How can we reach out, in love, to those who suffer? To Muslims, against whom hate crimes have increased dramatically in the last few days? To those who serve in the military, who sacrifice so much? To those who dedicate themselves to peace, giving us the imagination to see a different way of life?
O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us al to stand reconciled before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen
At the same time, I cannot say that I can imagine another outcome. I can’t imagine a trial, a prison cell, a conclusion, to the nightmare of violence and bloodshed that has happened over the last 10 years (and before, given bin Laden’s previous attacks). There is no conclusion; those who are dead will not come back to life. We won’t get back that serene life we lived before “the war on terror,” (whatever that means now). I will not forget the sense of extreme anxiety and panic of being in New York in those days after the attack—neither will I forget the palpable sense of relief I felt six weeks later, leaving the city for a weekend in Vermont. But I went back, and lived in New York for another three years. That uneasy feeling did subside, but the sense of out-of-sync-ness never quite did. I still grieve that something that felt at the time like “my tragedy” (which of course, it wasn’t) had been used to justify bringing tragedy on others.
Tragedy is the word here—it’s tragic on all fronts. Tragic, so many lives lost; tragic, the failure of imagination; tragic, this whole web of violence we are stuck in. Bin Laden himself was one face of violence; a teenager caught in gang crossfire is another—as is his killer. But it is never good news when someone is killed. It is good news that the military works courageously. It is good news that intelligence agents figured out where he was. It is good news that people love this country and want to serve. But there is no justice in killing, even those who perpetrate terrible, terrible acts. Last Sunday I was talking with Gene and Jose at coffee hour and learned of the killing of Muammar Qadaffi’s son and grandchildren—again and again, more tragedy. We become immune to it. Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya. Where next?
As Christians, we try to reach for another truth. Not “might makes right,” but “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The resurrection is the result of God’s sacrificial love, Christ’s unwillingness to trade evil for evil. The resurrection says that death never has the last word. The crucifixion was not the end for Jesus, and it wasn’t the end for the Christian story. Christ was raised for all—not just for those who “deserve” him.
At the end of the day, it may be that how we feel doesn’t matter much. And I’m certainly not going to tell anyone else how to feel. Feelings are just that—feelings. They’re information. We don’t, exactly, control them. You’re not a bad person if you’re happy about bin Laden’s death. You’re not a paragon of moral restraint and virtue of you aren’t. But we can pay attention to what they are, and consider how we respond to them. How do we pray about our feelings? How do we ask that “holy angels may us in “paths of peace and goodwill,” as the prayers in the evening office say? How can we reach out, in love, to those who suffer? To Muslims, against whom hate crimes have increased dramatically in the last few days? To those who serve in the military, who sacrifice so much? To those who dedicate themselves to peace, giving us the imagination to see a different way of life?
O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us al to stand reconciled before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen
From April 7, 2011 Social Change
This Lent, as maybe you have, I've been receiving daily emails from the Ecumenical Lenten Carbon Fast. Each morning, I find a suggestion for ways to reduce my impact on the earth. Some days, I open them and feel good-"use cloth bags when you go shopping." Easy! I do that! [Nearly always. Nearly]. Other days, I get the daily email and think, "No way!" For example, I'm just not going to be able to dry my clothes on a line outside in New England, in winter, with 2 small children. And sometimes, I get them, and barely read through before I'm distracted by something else. I assume my experience with this is fairly typical; some hits, some misses.
I calculated my household carbon footprint at the Nature Conservancy. Compared to the average American, we seem to be doing OK-73 tons vs. the American average of 110 for a family of four. Compared to a global average of 22 tons, though, we're pretty extravagant. Many groups (including all the sites linked from the Carbon Fast email and the Nature Conservancy, above) offer chances to "offset" your carbon emissions-you pay for the planting of trees or other environmental sustainability efforts to try to remedy the emissions you generate-but how effective that is, I can't be sure.
No one claims that an email a day will transform your life. That there is such a thing as a "Carbon Fast" at all, though, shows how our society has changed. Environmentalism is a movement as much as it is a series of tasks, our consciousness slowly being raised and our behaviors slowly coming around. We are now beginning to understand the cost of our lifestyle; it can't go on forever.
That's how social change happens; it always starts somewhere. The anthropologist Margaret Mead put it this way: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."
This past Monday, I had occasion to think about social change at the Massachusetts State House, where I attended a press conference to encourage the legislature to add "gender identity and expression" to existing nondiscrimination legislation in Massachusetts. The Commonwealth already has laws to protect gays and lesbians from unfair discrimination in housing, health care, and employment, but those who are born a different gender from the one with which they identify are vulnerable, and face some of the highest rates of harassment and violence.
The bishop talked about how this struggle was different from others he'd been part of; Bishop Shaw has been a vocal supporter of same sex marriage, which he said was in some ways an easier issue. Nearly everyone knows someone who is gay. Awareness is slower to catch on, though, when fewer people are part of a particular group--one of the reasons Bishop Shaw is speaking out at this time. I care a lot about justice, I hope, as much as anyone, but if my daughter's godfather (who is transgendered and moderated the panel) hadn't invited me, would I have attended? I hope so. Our Bishop was there for the same reason-we are all learning. Learning, but not exactly in an intellectual way. We are learning how the will of God slowly unfolds and how, as our bishop said, none of us are free when all of us are not free. Our humanity is bound up in each other's.
Slowly, slowly, our consciousness shifts. This Sunday we'll have a presentation about the ONE campaign's work with AIDS in Africa. Thirty years ago, churches turned away from AIDS victims; now congregations across the globe, this Sunday, are hearing stories of what can happen when people receive treatment. Jesus raised Lazarus-people today are raised, too. Slowly, the silence is broken and the sin of sitting idly by is revealed.
Change happens slowly, and on so many levels; hearts, heads, communities, governments. It can take hard work to even imagine a new way of life, never mind actually bringing it to be. The most important part is the conversation; the way people get to know each other and hear other experiences. In our chapter for our Tuesday night study, we read about how Jesus often appears to be a stranger-even (especially!) those first resurrection appearances were deeply, deeply foreign. The disciples did not expect to meet him; how often do we expect to meet Jesus in those who differ from us? How closely are we listening for the stories, being willing to change our lives?
I calculated my household carbon footprint at the Nature Conservancy. Compared to the average American, we seem to be doing OK-73 tons vs. the American average of 110 for a family of four. Compared to a global average of 22 tons, though, we're pretty extravagant. Many groups (including all the sites linked from the Carbon Fast email and the Nature Conservancy, above) offer chances to "offset" your carbon emissions-you pay for the planting of trees or other environmental sustainability efforts to try to remedy the emissions you generate-but how effective that is, I can't be sure.
No one claims that an email a day will transform your life. That there is such a thing as a "Carbon Fast" at all, though, shows how our society has changed. Environmentalism is a movement as much as it is a series of tasks, our consciousness slowly being raised and our behaviors slowly coming around. We are now beginning to understand the cost of our lifestyle; it can't go on forever.
That's how social change happens; it always starts somewhere. The anthropologist Margaret Mead put it this way: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."
This past Monday, I had occasion to think about social change at the Massachusetts State House, where I attended a press conference to encourage the legislature to add "gender identity and expression" to existing nondiscrimination legislation in Massachusetts. The Commonwealth already has laws to protect gays and lesbians from unfair discrimination in housing, health care, and employment, but those who are born a different gender from the one with which they identify are vulnerable, and face some of the highest rates of harassment and violence.
The bishop talked about how this struggle was different from others he'd been part of; Bishop Shaw has been a vocal supporter of same sex marriage, which he said was in some ways an easier issue. Nearly everyone knows someone who is gay. Awareness is slower to catch on, though, when fewer people are part of a particular group--one of the reasons Bishop Shaw is speaking out at this time. I care a lot about justice, I hope, as much as anyone, but if my daughter's godfather (who is transgendered and moderated the panel) hadn't invited me, would I have attended? I hope so. Our Bishop was there for the same reason-we are all learning. Learning, but not exactly in an intellectual way. We are learning how the will of God slowly unfolds and how, as our bishop said, none of us are free when all of us are not free. Our humanity is bound up in each other's.
Slowly, slowly, our consciousness shifts. This Sunday we'll have a presentation about the ONE campaign's work with AIDS in Africa. Thirty years ago, churches turned away from AIDS victims; now congregations across the globe, this Sunday, are hearing stories of what can happen when people receive treatment. Jesus raised Lazarus-people today are raised, too. Slowly, the silence is broken and the sin of sitting idly by is revealed.
Change happens slowly, and on so many levels; hearts, heads, communities, governments. It can take hard work to even imagine a new way of life, never mind actually bringing it to be. The most important part is the conversation; the way people get to know each other and hear other experiences. In our chapter for our Tuesday night study, we read about how Jesus often appears to be a stranger-even (especially!) those first resurrection appearances were deeply, deeply foreign. The disciples did not expect to meet him; how often do we expect to meet Jesus in those who differ from us? How closely are we listening for the stories, being willing to change our lives?
From March 31 2011: On Giving
Dear people of Christ Church,
This week, we have our monthly summary of the work of your vestry. Particularly notable is that we are in the beginning stages of considering consultants for a capital campaign to supplement historic preservation funds (hopefully!) to be received from the city of Waltham.
A few weeks ago, junior warden Sarah Staley and I attended a conference about church stewardship. In a session called "Money: The Big Taboo" presenter Nick Carter, president of Andover Newton Seminary, talked about how often when we talk about stewardship we get the theology all wrong. We don't give because what is "ours" isn't really ours and we "should" give back to God what belongs to God. We give because we want to be part of things. We give time and money to things we value in support of them, but also--and maybe most importantly--to celebrate. Generosity--giving--is essential to who we were created to be.
In the next issue of the Christ Church Quarterly, you'll hear about so many things to give to--the garden (some very exciting things to come!), to Haiti for our "Easter pigs," to so many ways we try to support the mission of God here. And, yes, eventually (a while off, yet)... a capital campaign. This Sunday, we have our children's Sunday with special diaper collection. There is so much need.
For today, though, just take a moment to pray in thanksgiving for all you have--things you have received, and things you are able to give.
This week, we have our monthly summary of the work of your vestry. Particularly notable is that we are in the beginning stages of considering consultants for a capital campaign to supplement historic preservation funds (hopefully!) to be received from the city of Waltham.
A few weeks ago, junior warden Sarah Staley and I attended a conference about church stewardship. In a session called "Money: The Big Taboo" presenter Nick Carter, president of Andover Newton Seminary, talked about how often when we talk about stewardship we get the theology all wrong. We don't give because what is "ours" isn't really ours and we "should" give back to God what belongs to God. We give because we want to be part of things. We give time and money to things we value in support of them, but also--and maybe most importantly--to celebrate. Generosity--giving--is essential to who we were created to be.
In the next issue of the Christ Church Quarterly, you'll hear about so many things to give to--the garden (some very exciting things to come!), to Haiti for our "Easter pigs," to so many ways we try to support the mission of God here. And, yes, eventually (a while off, yet)... a capital campaign. This Sunday, we have our children's Sunday with special diaper collection. There is so much need.
For today, though, just take a moment to pray in thanksgiving for all you have--things you have received, and things you are able to give.
Welcoming the stranger
From May 6, 2010
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 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.
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. 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.
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)—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.
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 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.
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. 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.
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)—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.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Holy Week
Dear People of Christ Church,
Easter is late this year, but I still find it impossible to believe that Holy Week is already here. Last week I wrote in this space about an event at the state house I attended, and this week I was in the legislative water again, this time at a meeting at St Mary’s, our Roman Catholic neighbor, to prepare for a conversation the governor is hosting on Saturday at Government Center on School Street (2pm-4pm). The meeting I attended was hosted in coalition with REACH, our local anti domestic violence organization, (reachma.org) about a program President Obama is encouraging states to adopt. Unfortunately, the “Secure Communities” program promotes neither security nor community—it would send the fingerprints of any person arrested (not convicted, mind you—just charged) to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, who then would have license to initiate deportation proceedings even against those guilty of no crime. The program has already had a chilling effect in efforts against domestic violence in places where it has been implemented. Anything that makes someone hesitate to call the police does not promote security. So I encourage you to attend the meeting (after our parish clean up) if you are interested in learning more.
This week I found myself “praying with my feet,” as Rabbi Abraham Heschel said of social advocacy. I’ve also been praying with hands and heart--sharing communion in a wide variety of contexts, at coffee tables, kitchen tables, and hospital tables. Monday, I visited parishioner Mary Ellen Oberdorf, who fell over the weekend and broke her ankle quite severely. She has traveled to Pennsylvania to recuperate with her daughter, in the midst of contemplating a permanent move there as well. I’ve had time this week to share communion in the homes of Muriel Nurse and Vivian Travis, and we also shared communion at our daytime book group at the Kerr home. We don’t often think about it on Sunday unless we’re sending a pastoral visitor out, but the sacraments we celebrate here on Sundays don’t just stay in our building. As Christ goes out, so do the sacraments.
There is nowhere in our lives that Christ does not want to go—Christ goes with us to the hospital, Christ goes with us to work, Christ goes with us to the voting booth and with us to our graves. That’s what Holy Week reminds us of—from Palm Sunday’s heights of celebration (which has its own political emphases as well), to Maundy Thursday’s unsettling intimacy of foot washing and food sharing, Good Friday’s desolation at the cross. Christ goes there because we go there.
This week, peering toward the mysteries of Holy Week, take one last Lenten pause and see where Christ has been going with you. See how that Presence enfolds you when you pause to pay attention. If you feel desolate, pray for a knowledge of that presence and ask for reassurance. Let go of the guilt, let go of the anxiety, let go of the exertion. See where Jesus is now. Then next week, maybe, we’ll be ready to go with him through the betrayal, through the cross, and into the resurrection.
Easter is late this year, but I still find it impossible to believe that Holy Week is already here. Last week I wrote in this space about an event at the state house I attended, and this week I was in the legislative water again, this time at a meeting at St Mary’s, our Roman Catholic neighbor, to prepare for a conversation the governor is hosting on Saturday at Government Center on School Street (2pm-4pm). The meeting I attended was hosted in coalition with REACH, our local anti domestic violence organization, (reachma.org) about a program President Obama is encouraging states to adopt. Unfortunately, the “Secure Communities” program promotes neither security nor community—it would send the fingerprints of any person arrested (not convicted, mind you—just charged) to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, who then would have license to initiate deportation proceedings even against those guilty of no crime. The program has already had a chilling effect in efforts against domestic violence in places where it has been implemented. Anything that makes someone hesitate to call the police does not promote security. So I encourage you to attend the meeting (after our parish clean up) if you are interested in learning more.
This week I found myself “praying with my feet,” as Rabbi Abraham Heschel said of social advocacy. I’ve also been praying with hands and heart--sharing communion in a wide variety of contexts, at coffee tables, kitchen tables, and hospital tables. Monday, I visited parishioner Mary Ellen Oberdorf, who fell over the weekend and broke her ankle quite severely. She has traveled to Pennsylvania to recuperate with her daughter, in the midst of contemplating a permanent move there as well. I’ve had time this week to share communion in the homes of Muriel Nurse and Vivian Travis, and we also shared communion at our daytime book group at the Kerr home. We don’t often think about it on Sunday unless we’re sending a pastoral visitor out, but the sacraments we celebrate here on Sundays don’t just stay in our building. As Christ goes out, so do the sacraments.
There is nowhere in our lives that Christ does not want to go—Christ goes with us to the hospital, Christ goes with us to work, Christ goes with us to the voting booth and with us to our graves. That’s what Holy Week reminds us of—from Palm Sunday’s heights of celebration (which has its own political emphases as well), to Maundy Thursday’s unsettling intimacy of foot washing and food sharing, Good Friday’s desolation at the cross. Christ goes there because we go there.
This week, peering toward the mysteries of Holy Week, take one last Lenten pause and see where Christ has been going with you. See how that Presence enfolds you when you pause to pay attention. If you feel desolate, pray for a knowledge of that presence and ask for reassurance. Let go of the guilt, let go of the anxiety, let go of the exertion. See where Jesus is now. Then next week, maybe, we’ll be ready to go with him through the betrayal, through the cross, and into the resurrection.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Litany for Japan (Teresa Berger)
Dear People of Christ Church,
Today, I'd like to share a moment of prayer with you. Following along the Lenten carbon fast, I've been very aware of how the choices we make in using resources have real costs, particularly in the unfolding nuclear dangers. So pray for us--for wisdom and conservation--as well as those who suffer from the earthquake and tsunami, both in Japan and in other areas around the globe which were affected. The following litany comes from Teresa Berger, a professor at Yale.
A Litany, for Japan
by Teresa Berger
... that all the lives that have been lost may find their eternal rest in You
... that those grieving the loss of loved ones, especially their children, and the loss of entire families and communities, may find glimpses of hope and life
... that those injured and those fighting for their lives may find solace, hope, and healing
... that a nuclear catastrophe may be averted
... that those searching for loved ones may be sustained in their turmoil and struggle
... that those waiting for water, food, and the basic necessities of life may be able to strengthen each other and share meager resources
... that those who are especially vulnerable - the children, the elderly, the women waiting to give birth, the sick - may find others to care for them
... for all aid workers, that they may discover within themselves deep reservoirs of strength, generosity, and compassion
... for the rising up of human beings who know how to heal, to restore, to rebuild, and to birth anew life and hope
... for ourselves, that our lives may be strengthened in their witness to God's holy and ever-healing presence
Amen.
Today, I'd like to share a moment of prayer with you. Following along the Lenten carbon fast, I've been very aware of how the choices we make in using resources have real costs, particularly in the unfolding nuclear dangers. So pray for us--for wisdom and conservation--as well as those who suffer from the earthquake and tsunami, both in Japan and in other areas around the globe which were affected. The following litany comes from Teresa Berger, a professor at Yale.
A Litany, for Japan
by Teresa Berger
... that all the lives that have been lost may find their eternal rest in You
... that those grieving the loss of loved ones, especially their children, and the loss of entire families and communities, may find glimpses of hope and life
... that those injured and those fighting for their lives may find solace, hope, and healing
... that a nuclear catastrophe may be averted
... that those searching for loved ones may be sustained in their turmoil and struggle
... that those waiting for water, food, and the basic necessities of life may be able to strengthen each other and share meager resources
... that those who are especially vulnerable - the children, the elderly, the women waiting to give birth, the sick - may find others to care for them
... for all aid workers, that they may discover within themselves deep reservoirs of strength, generosity, and compassion
... for the rising up of human beings who know how to heal, to restore, to rebuild, and to birth anew life and hope
... for ourselves, that our lives may be strengthened in their witness to God's holy and ever-healing presence
Amen.
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