Dear People of Christ Church,
This week in our Tuesday 6:00 group, we had a conversation about Jesus. We were kind of all over the place. We were responding to this quote from our book, The Restoration
Project:
If you were to imagine that Jesus is with you right now, where would he appear? Would he be beside you, a companion on the way? Is he ahead of you, leading to an unknown destination? Is he behind you, holding you up in ways known and unknown? Or is he in front of you, holding you in his gaze, teaching or commissioning you for some work only you can do? (p. 85).
Where is Jesus?
In a literal, spatial way? I didn't quite have an answer.
The answer is...all over. Jesus is in the sacraments, feeding me. Jesus is kind of laughing at me when I spin out wild story lines of anxiety and self-criticism, gently inviting me to be quiet and be loved. Jesus might sit next to me when I meditate, when I'm fidgety and can't focus. But is Jesus the person, the first century Nazarene Jew really there? I don't know. Where is Jesus?
I don't know...maybe he stepped out to fill the bird feeder or turn over the compost?
It's much easier to encounter God in the abstract; praying with the Spirit who "intercedes with sighs too deep for words" (Romans 8:26). It's easier to imagine God as Creator, bringing life out of nothing in primordial banging planets, then receding from consciousness. It's easier to imagine Jesus walking dusty roads long ago, turning upside down the consciousness of those he met. I love the Emmaus Story when Jesus walks with the disciples and they only realize it was him as they are eating-and then he disappears.
But here's something. This morning, with the Sisters of Saint Anne, we celebrated Eucharist in the chapel surrounded by huge paintings of Jesus from artist Janet McKenzie-her rendition of the Stations of the Cross. We read her book, Holiness and the Feminine Spirit a few years ago in our daytime book group. McKenzie's Jesus doesn't have much in common with the Good Shepherd in our window. Her images are dark skinned, dark haired, dark eyed. They're honest, his face in pain but also love, a body in motion, but also deep exhaustion and a moment of rest. We don't after all, know what he looked like, but chances really are not that good that he was blue eyed and blond. It's not just the "more accurate" picture of the paintings that makes you pay attention-it's texture, nuance, and light. Jesus is somehow there in those paintings. I have traditional icons in my prayer space both at home and in the office, but I don't quite encounter Jesus like I did this morning.
So there's that. I sometimes wish I had the kind of spirituality where I could just go for long walks and have Jesus by my side in glorious and mutual back and forth conversation. Usually it's more subtle than that, and for the most part I'm OK with that (you may be relieved to know that the Donatist heresies settled the question as to whether the piety of the priest impacts whether the sacrament works-it doesn't-so you are all OK even if I edge into theological danger zones!)
Either way, the life of Christ in the church is as real as my own kitchen table, the pattern of death and resurrection near to me as my heart. And for that I am grateful, even if I can't put it on a seating chart, locating the transcendent love of God with the right preposition. Maybe someday. Where is Jesus for you?
Blessings,
Sara+
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Get Over Yourself: Gratitude and Prayer
Dear People of Christ Church,
This Sunday, I'm excited to welcome the Rev. Elise Feyerherm to preach at Christ Church-thanks, too to her for help with blessing animals on Sunday, too. Elise moved to Waltham this summer to join her husband, John, who teaches at a Roman Catholic seminary. Elise will be hanging out at Christ Church while she looks for a permanent position, helping out here and there and lending her beautiful voice to our choir. She has a PhD in Church History from Boston College and was ordained priest in Ohio a few years ago.
Otherwise, things are pretty much humming along for fall; our Tuesday night conversations are such a pleasure, and stewardship season will kick off on October 20. On Sunday our blessing of the animals went well, with special guests Bear, Momo, Sasha, Scout, and Wilbur behaving themselves in an entirely exemplary fashion. We blessed pictures of cats and dogs, dolls and stuffed lizards and dolphins, and Ken Johnson even brought the weekly Tribune picture of a cat in need of a home, to remember pets who aren't so fortunate. See more of Kristin's great pictures here.
It's a lot to be grateful for, this full parish life. Gratitude is, on the surface of it, a simple response to good; I'm thankful that our handicap bathroom is finally in progress. I'm thankful that Suzanne is organizing the parish Fieldstone Fair again. I'm thankful that first grade is going better than kindergarten for my son, that my raspberry bushes are still exploding berries into October. I'm thankful for shelter, work that I love, health, wholeness. Simple gratitude for simple pleasures.
The complicated part (there's always a complicated part, isn't there?) is to discern-to think, pray, and somehow figure out-how that simple gratitude can inspire us to move beyond ourselves. This is the pattern of God's life: taking on human being as Jesus was a divine self-emptying. Somehow that self-emptying is how, and who, God is. In doing so, we are given a pattern for how we can come near to God, how we can participate in that divine Life. Gratitude can be a practice of de-centering, of acknowledging that what we have and who we are isn't our sole accomplishment and possession, but God's. And if it's not just ours, then we can take the hint that it's not supposed to end with us.
How? It's another one of those "hardest to learn is the least complicated" things. One of the classic ways is in contemplative prayer, the silent meditation that the Buddhist tradition teaches so well. Somehow by sitting in silence in the presence of God, we're given a little wiggle room to separate out our own freight train of thoughts and emotions. Another thing a lot of people do is to have a gratitude journal or prayer practice, where the intentional recognition of gifts received helps you remember that you're not quite so much the star of your show. What works for you? What works for you when you need to get out of your own way?
This Sunday, I'm excited to welcome the Rev. Elise Feyerherm to preach at Christ Church-thanks, too to her for help with blessing animals on Sunday, too. Elise moved to Waltham this summer to join her husband, John, who teaches at a Roman Catholic seminary. Elise will be hanging out at Christ Church while she looks for a permanent position, helping out here and there and lending her beautiful voice to our choir. She has a PhD in Church History from Boston College and was ordained priest in Ohio a few years ago.
Otherwise, things are pretty much humming along for fall; our Tuesday night conversations are such a pleasure, and stewardship season will kick off on October 20. On Sunday our blessing of the animals went well, with special guests Bear, Momo, Sasha, Scout, and Wilbur behaving themselves in an entirely exemplary fashion. We blessed pictures of cats and dogs, dolls and stuffed lizards and dolphins, and Ken Johnson even brought the weekly Tribune picture of a cat in need of a home, to remember pets who aren't so fortunate. See more of Kristin's great pictures here.
It's a lot to be grateful for, this full parish life. Gratitude is, on the surface of it, a simple response to good; I'm thankful that our handicap bathroom is finally in progress. I'm thankful that Suzanne is organizing the parish Fieldstone Fair again. I'm thankful that first grade is going better than kindergarten for my son, that my raspberry bushes are still exploding berries into October. I'm thankful for shelter, work that I love, health, wholeness. Simple gratitude for simple pleasures.
The complicated part (there's always a complicated part, isn't there?) is to discern-to think, pray, and somehow figure out-how that simple gratitude can inspire us to move beyond ourselves. This is the pattern of God's life: taking on human being as Jesus was a divine self-emptying. Somehow that self-emptying is how, and who, God is. In doing so, we are given a pattern for how we can come near to God, how we can participate in that divine Life. Gratitude can be a practice of de-centering, of acknowledging that what we have and who we are isn't our sole accomplishment and possession, but God's. And if it's not just ours, then we can take the hint that it's not supposed to end with us.
How? It's another one of those "hardest to learn is the least complicated" things. One of the classic ways is in contemplative prayer, the silent meditation that the Buddhist tradition teaches so well. Somehow by sitting in silence in the presence of God, we're given a little wiggle room to separate out our own freight train of thoughts and emotions. Another thing a lot of people do is to have a gratitude journal or prayer practice, where the intentional recognition of gifts received helps you remember that you're not quite so much the star of your show. What works for you? What works for you when you need to get out of your own way?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, May 5, 2011
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?
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.
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