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/
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