Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’ve continued to mull over what it means to remain spiritually grounded in such a time as this; I preached on Sunday about having God’s vision of the beatitudes to see blessing in places where the world does not. Poverty, mourning, hunger, persecution—those are not particularly comfortable places to be. But Jesus calls them blessed, and calls us to see that as well.
This is a profound discipline: we must be grounded in the vision of God’s love and power as equally as we are opposed to hatred and violence. On the one hand, spiritual sustenance is easy to understand. Of course it’s important. What actually happens when we pray, though, can use some thinking-through. Prayer brings us before God, of course. We make ourselves available to love and be loved. The other important thing about prayer is that we are better able to put struggle, anxiety, and conflict in context. Prayer helps us to widen our view. We are not the saviors of the world. We have some work to do, but it’s not up to us completely.
Hopefully, being able to put ourselves and the world in the context of God’s love, we can also do so for those with whom we disagree. In all the best activism on the part of those who are oppressed, it can be easy to forget that it is hatred and fear that are the enemy, not the people who seem to promote them. In prayer, we glimpse a unitive reality in which we are equally in need of God’s grace and compassion. Even if just for a moment! Jesus tells us, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. When we are hungry for justice, we must know that even in our hunger we are being filled by the grace of God, as that hunger is God’s life living within us.
This evening, take a moment and really pray the beatitudes. Look with God’s eyes to see blessing in the world, and allow your heart to perceive it.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”
Blessings,
Sara+
Showing posts with label Prayer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prayer. Show all posts
Thursday, February 2, 2017
Thursday, December 1, 2016
The Three Advents
Dear People of Christ Church,
Continued Advent blessings!
Every year we come to this season, and every year we need the Advent call to contemplation, wakefulness, and hope like the desert needs water. This year the Advent invitation to hope, in particular seems very timely. This is the one thing we are called to do in this season: to hope in preparation for the birth of Jesus, to hope in preparation for God’s presence in the world, and to hope for God’s presence in our own lives. One of my favorite explorations of Advent comes from the medieval monk Bernard of Clairvaux. He says there are actually three Advents. The first one is the one we know: the birth of God in the person of Jesus Christ, God taking on our human flesh. We spend these days counting down, lighting candles and eating chocolates, in preparation to be ready. The third Advent is the coming again of Christ, at the end of time: as we say in the Eucharistic prayer, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” Those are visible, in-the-world Advents. But there’s an Advent that comes in between those two in our chronological time. The second Advent is is the Advent of Christ every day: in our hearts and in our world. God invites us to cultivate a space for Jesus every day, not just Christmas. Bernard tells us: “If you wish to meet God, go as far as your own heart.” Thomas Merton was a great interpreter of Bernard: he emphasizes that part of how we connect to this second Advent is in humility, to accept that we must receive all from Christ and not lean on our own power or ego.
One of the fruits of this kind of humble living, I think, is non-judgment. That’s one of the lesser-heard Biblical values we’re looking at in our Advent series. This week we read the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery in the Gospel of John. Trying to whip Jesus into their frenzy of condemnation, the scribes and Pharisees ask him what they should do to her. But he ignores them; writing in the sand he stays apart, silent. When they push him, he replies: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” One by one they leave, and she’s alone. I chose that particular story because that line is so memorable, but as we read it together I was most moved by Jesus’ solidarity with her. I pictured the woman, afraid for her life, fearful that there would be no one to take her part. She’s alone; the other adulterous participant is not named, and not anywhere present. She has no recourse for justice. Jesus takes her side. Not only will he not condemn, he does so in the face of significant pressure to do so.
This Advent, here’s my wish list: to live in hope with that woman, that Jesus might come to my side. To live in trust, with Thomas Merton, that God will give me the grace to embody Jesus’ solidarity in this fragile world. To find time for silence, to find God in my heart in today’s Advent, as well as tomorrow’s.
Blessings,
Sara+
Continued Advent blessings!
Every year we come to this season, and every year we need the Advent call to contemplation, wakefulness, and hope like the desert needs water. This year the Advent invitation to hope, in particular seems very timely. This is the one thing we are called to do in this season: to hope in preparation for the birth of Jesus, to hope in preparation for God’s presence in the world, and to hope for God’s presence in our own lives. One of my favorite explorations of Advent comes from the medieval monk Bernard of Clairvaux. He says there are actually three Advents. The first one is the one we know: the birth of God in the person of Jesus Christ, God taking on our human flesh. We spend these days counting down, lighting candles and eating chocolates, in preparation to be ready. The third Advent is the coming again of Christ, at the end of time: as we say in the Eucharistic prayer, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” Those are visible, in-the-world Advents. But there’s an Advent that comes in between those two in our chronological time. The second Advent is is the Advent of Christ every day: in our hearts and in our world. God invites us to cultivate a space for Jesus every day, not just Christmas. Bernard tells us: “If you wish to meet God, go as far as your own heart.” Thomas Merton was a great interpreter of Bernard: he emphasizes that part of how we connect to this second Advent is in humility, to accept that we must receive all from Christ and not lean on our own power or ego.
One of the fruits of this kind of humble living, I think, is non-judgment. That’s one of the lesser-heard Biblical values we’re looking at in our Advent series. This week we read the story of Jesus and the woman caught in adultery in the Gospel of John. Trying to whip Jesus into their frenzy of condemnation, the scribes and Pharisees ask him what they should do to her. But he ignores them; writing in the sand he stays apart, silent. When they push him, he replies: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” One by one they leave, and she’s alone. I chose that particular story because that line is so memorable, but as we read it together I was most moved by Jesus’ solidarity with her. I pictured the woman, afraid for her life, fearful that there would be no one to take her part. She’s alone; the other adulterous participant is not named, and not anywhere present. She has no recourse for justice. Jesus takes her side. Not only will he not condemn, he does so in the face of significant pressure to do so.
This Advent, here’s my wish list: to live in hope with that woman, that Jesus might come to my side. To live in trust, with Thomas Merton, that God will give me the grace to embody Jesus’ solidarity in this fragile world. To find time for silence, to find God in my heart in today’s Advent, as well as tomorrow’s.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Still a King, Still Vulnerable and Dying
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I’ve been fortunate enough to take some retreat days at the convent at the Sisters of St Anne in Arlington. Rather than fill this space with words, I wanted to invite you to take a minute of prayer with an image of Jesus the sisters have in their garden. Jesus, here, is pictured as a king: crown and jewels and the whole nine yards. But he’s still on the cross.
He’s not the quarterback, not the class president, not the tycoon. There is nothing victorious about this king. That’s the point.
Where do you meet Christ on the cross, still a king, still vulnerable and dying? What ministry does he make possible in you? How can you find ways to serve that Christ in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I’ve been fortunate enough to take some retreat days at the convent at the Sisters of St Anne in Arlington. Rather than fill this space with words, I wanted to invite you to take a minute of prayer with an image of Jesus the sisters have in their garden. Jesus, here, is pictured as a king: crown and jewels and the whole nine yards. But he’s still on the cross.
He’s not the quarterback, not the class president, not the tycoon. There is nothing victorious about this king. That’s the point.
Where do you meet Christ on the cross, still a king, still vulnerable and dying? What ministry does he make possible in you? How can you find ways to serve that Christ in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Hearing God in Sheer Silence
Dear People of Christ Church,
I’ve been continuing to think about the sound of “sheer silence” that we heard God speaking in to the prophet Elijah in the book of Kings reading for Sunday. At vestry we always have a check in question for people to share something of themselves before we start our work. My question for this month was “Where have you heard God in sheer silence lately?”
Our answers were, I think, pretty typical for any group of 21st century people. Kissing a sleeping child goodnight is about as exquisite as any silence can be, and holy, too. There’s silence in listening for God to invite us into the next step in our lives, silence in being with a person who is dying, silence in being finished with a huge project, our anxieties stilled for a moment. We’re all doing our best to find God in stillness. The lovely thing, too, is that you are also all doing your best to be present with God in the noise. That came up in our Episcopal Church newcomer class as well—as people of faith we long for a deeper sense of connection with God and want to include God in more places in our lives, wherever we find ourselves and whatever we’re doing. Praying for others and finding ways to pray always—and all ways—is all part of a life of seeking God.
This message from the SSJE brothers’ daily “word” came through on Tuesday morning:
Silence invites slowing down, restoring sleep, savoring food, being attentive to self and the Divine. It’s a “healing gift” we intentionally foster to give and receive. Compared to the cacophony of the world, silence keeps catching us off-guard, inviting wonder at being so loved by God. —Br. Luke Ditewig
Brother Luke, I think, nails something here—that any time we can be more intentional and focused on what’s in front of us is a time for interior silence, no matter what is going on outside of us. Silence leaves us open to God, allowing us to close off our own busy-ness and sense of anxiety and responsibility. Silence isn’t the same as quiet. You can have an interior monologue that shouts all alone in an empty room; the background noise can take over: What do you have to do later? What’s the weather going to be like when you’re on vacation? What if your babysitter is late again? And on and on. Not silent. At the same time, you can have an enormous crowd around you shouting and laughing, while you take a single sip of the drink in front of you and feel an interior stillness that can’t be shaken.
Where’s your quiet? Where’s your noise? Where is God waiting in the silence under both of those?
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/19? It’s here!
I’ve been continuing to think about the sound of “sheer silence” that we heard God speaking in to the prophet Elijah in the book of Kings reading for Sunday. At vestry we always have a check in question for people to share something of themselves before we start our work. My question for this month was “Where have you heard God in sheer silence lately?”
Our answers were, I think, pretty typical for any group of 21st century people. Kissing a sleeping child goodnight is about as exquisite as any silence can be, and holy, too. There’s silence in listening for God to invite us into the next step in our lives, silence in being with a person who is dying, silence in being finished with a huge project, our anxieties stilled for a moment. We’re all doing our best to find God in stillness. The lovely thing, too, is that you are also all doing your best to be present with God in the noise. That came up in our Episcopal Church newcomer class as well—as people of faith we long for a deeper sense of connection with God and want to include God in more places in our lives, wherever we find ourselves and whatever we’re doing. Praying for others and finding ways to pray always—and all ways—is all part of a life of seeking God.
This message from the SSJE brothers’ daily “word” came through on Tuesday morning:
Silence invites slowing down, restoring sleep, savoring food, being attentive to self and the Divine. It’s a “healing gift” we intentionally foster to give and receive. Compared to the cacophony of the world, silence keeps catching us off-guard, inviting wonder at being so loved by God. —Br. Luke Ditewig
Brother Luke, I think, nails something here—that any time we can be more intentional and focused on what’s in front of us is a time for interior silence, no matter what is going on outside of us. Silence leaves us open to God, allowing us to close off our own busy-ness and sense of anxiety and responsibility. Silence isn’t the same as quiet. You can have an interior monologue that shouts all alone in an empty room; the background noise can take over: What do you have to do later? What’s the weather going to be like when you’re on vacation? What if your babysitter is late again? And on and on. Not silent. At the same time, you can have an enormous crowd around you shouting and laughing, while you take a single sip of the drink in front of you and feel an interior stillness that can’t be shaken.
Where’s your quiet? Where’s your noise? Where is God waiting in the silence under both of those?
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/19? It’s here!
Thursday, June 16, 2016
Hear Our Prayer
Dear People of Christ Church,
As we continue to unfold ourselves, both personally and culturally, from the grief of the violence in Orlando last week, I wanted to share instead of more words, more prayers. Others have offered wonderful words of challenge, comfort, and Christ—most recently two posts from my Lutheran friend, The Rev. Angel Marrero, pastor of Santuario Waltham: A Pastoral Response from a Gay Latino Priest and, for considering the place of the church in anti-LGBT sentiment, The Pulse Martyrs: Confession Before Communion.
In the meantime, I offer only prayers—here are some I compiled for our Interfaith Vigil service on Monday. We had a beautiful service of light and prayer, and our collection for Waltham House, our local LGBT group home for teens, raised close to $300.
___
From one another and from God, we pray forgiveness for our part in the way our communities have been bruised and our world torn apart. We repent for words and deeds that provoke prejudice, hatred, and revenge. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from suspicions and fears that stand in the way of reconciliation, particularly holding in love those who are Muslim who experience discrimination. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from our unwillingness to confront our own privilege: racial, economic, by gender or sexual orientation, God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
For the community of the Pulse nightclub. For bartenders and bouncers, for DJs and dancers. For all who made it a place of refuge and safety, that a sanctuary may be restored. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in hope that our beautiful world can be transformed through love and beauty. For all who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender. For hearts to know God’s love revealed in all God’s children. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in thanksgiving for our many religious traditions, and for the many names by which you are known, O God. For Yhwh, Allah, Spirit, and Christ. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray for fair politics and brave leaders. For an end to gun violence, for an end to the quiet assumption that nothing can be done and that carnage is inevitable. Give us the gift of holy hope,
And by your grace and healing presence join our hearts to yours.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/12? It’s here!
As we continue to unfold ourselves, both personally and culturally, from the grief of the violence in Orlando last week, I wanted to share instead of more words, more prayers. Others have offered wonderful words of challenge, comfort, and Christ—most recently two posts from my Lutheran friend, The Rev. Angel Marrero, pastor of Santuario Waltham: A Pastoral Response from a Gay Latino Priest and, for considering the place of the church in anti-LGBT sentiment, The Pulse Martyrs: Confession Before Communion.
In the meantime, I offer only prayers—here are some I compiled for our Interfaith Vigil service on Monday. We had a beautiful service of light and prayer, and our collection for Waltham House, our local LGBT group home for teens, raised close to $300.
___
From one another and from God, we pray forgiveness for our part in the way our communities have been bruised and our world torn apart. We repent for words and deeds that provoke prejudice, hatred, and revenge. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from suspicions and fears that stand in the way of reconciliation, particularly holding in love those who are Muslim who experience discrimination. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
Deliver us from our unwillingness to confront our own privilege: racial, economic, by gender or sexual orientation, God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
For the community of the Pulse nightclub. For bartenders and bouncers, for DJs and dancers. For all who made it a place of refuge and safety, that a sanctuary may be restored. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in hope that our beautiful world can be transformed through love and beauty. For all who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender. For hearts to know God’s love revealed in all God’s children. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray in thanksgiving for our many religious traditions, and for the many names by which you are known, O God. For Yhwh, Allah, Spirit, and Christ. God of compassion and healing
Hear our prayer
We pray for fair politics and brave leaders. For an end to gun violence, for an end to the quiet assumption that nothing can be done and that carnage is inevitable. Give us the gift of holy hope,
And by your grace and healing presence join our hearts to yours.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon on 6/12? It’s here!
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Prayer and Action
Dear People of Christ Church,
When in my sermon on Sunday I talked about the place of fear in American culture, about the latest shooting in Colorado when a gunman murdered three people at a Planned Parenthood clinic, I did not expect so soon to need to review my comments in light of yet another attack, yet another tragic scene of mayhem and tragedy. Whether at the hands of Christians or Muslims or white supremacists, our world knows tragedy, suffering, and evil. Jesus knew these as well.
What I said on Sunday still holds—the Gospel good news of Jesus’ invitation to lift up our heads and not be afraid (Luke 21:25-36). Even as the National Rifle Association insists that guns make us safer. Even as every politician, from Donald Trump to Barack Obama, insists that war can lead to peace, Jesus tells us to lift up our heads and not be afraid. Even as it seems the world is spinning out of control, Jesus’ answer is the same: do not be afraid.
An image from the New York Daily News front page response to politicians’ weak announcements of “prayers for the victims” declares boldy that “God isn’t fixing this.” Some people have said they’re condemning prayer, but I don’t think that’s it at all. The condemnation is of empty prayer, prayer that isn’t backed up by action. We do need to pray. Sometimes it feels like it’s all we can do, and surely it’s the first thing we should do. But we also need to allow our prayers and God’s will for the world to soak into our lives, to permeate every cell, so they also lead us to act. The guns used in the San Bernardino shooting were purchased legally. The guns were operating as intended. God can’t fix that. God can only fix us.
And the Spirit moves in the world. That’s the other thing—Advent reminds us that God is acting. That’s where there is cause for hope. Hopefully, we will cease to fear each other. Hopefully, as the Spirit moves in the world, Muslims will cease being targeted for their faith. Hopefully, as the Spirit moves in the world, our hearts and minds will be moved to act to prevent violence. My friend Tom, who pastors at First Lutheran, told a story today in our interfaith clergy group about how he had gone to the Mosque on Moody Street the day after the Paris attacks to ask how he and his congregation could be of support in the days ahead. Imam Abdallah told him just one thing—to know that Islam is a religion of peace and love. Peace and love. As a Christian, I don’t want to claim the person who committed the attacks in Colorado last week any more than he wants to claim any terrorist acts committed in the name of his religion. We need to know and respect one another for who we are.
Finally, in our prayer and sadness, it seems important also to remember that these are the places where God enters. I’ll share this quote from Jean Vanier, a theologian who founded the L’Arche communities for those who are developmentally disabled and those who are not to live together.
Our brokenness is the wound
through which the full power of God
can penetrate our being and transfigure us in God.
Loneliness is not something from which we must flee
but the place from where we can cry out to God,
where God will find us and we can find God.
Yes, through our wounds
the power of God can penetrate us
and become like rivers of living water
to irrigate the arid earth within us.
Thus we may irrigate the arid earth of others,
so that hope and love are reborn.
– Jean Vanier
The Broken Body (1988, Paulist Press). Quoted by Suzanne Guthrie at www.edgeofenclosure.org
Blessings,
Sara+
When in my sermon on Sunday I talked about the place of fear in American culture, about the latest shooting in Colorado when a gunman murdered three people at a Planned Parenthood clinic, I did not expect so soon to need to review my comments in light of yet another attack, yet another tragic scene of mayhem and tragedy. Whether at the hands of Christians or Muslims or white supremacists, our world knows tragedy, suffering, and evil. Jesus knew these as well.
What I said on Sunday still holds—the Gospel good news of Jesus’ invitation to lift up our heads and not be afraid (Luke 21:25-36). Even as the National Rifle Association insists that guns make us safer. Even as every politician, from Donald Trump to Barack Obama, insists that war can lead to peace, Jesus tells us to lift up our heads and not be afraid. Even as it seems the world is spinning out of control, Jesus’ answer is the same: do not be afraid.
An image from the New York Daily News front page response to politicians’ weak announcements of “prayers for the victims” declares boldy that “God isn’t fixing this.” Some people have said they’re condemning prayer, but I don’t think that’s it at all. The condemnation is of empty prayer, prayer that isn’t backed up by action. We do need to pray. Sometimes it feels like it’s all we can do, and surely it’s the first thing we should do. But we also need to allow our prayers and God’s will for the world to soak into our lives, to permeate every cell, so they also lead us to act. The guns used in the San Bernardino shooting were purchased legally. The guns were operating as intended. God can’t fix that. God can only fix us.
And the Spirit moves in the world. That’s the other thing—Advent reminds us that God is acting. That’s where there is cause for hope. Hopefully, we will cease to fear each other. Hopefully, as the Spirit moves in the world, Muslims will cease being targeted for their faith. Hopefully, as the Spirit moves in the world, our hearts and minds will be moved to act to prevent violence. My friend Tom, who pastors at First Lutheran, told a story today in our interfaith clergy group about how he had gone to the Mosque on Moody Street the day after the Paris attacks to ask how he and his congregation could be of support in the days ahead. Imam Abdallah told him just one thing—to know that Islam is a religion of peace and love. Peace and love. As a Christian, I don’t want to claim the person who committed the attacks in Colorado last week any more than he wants to claim any terrorist acts committed in the name of his religion. We need to know and respect one another for who we are.
Finally, in our prayer and sadness, it seems important also to remember that these are the places where God enters. I’ll share this quote from Jean Vanier, a theologian who founded the L’Arche communities for those who are developmentally disabled and those who are not to live together.
Our brokenness is the wound
through which the full power of God
can penetrate our being and transfigure us in God.
Loneliness is not something from which we must flee
but the place from where we can cry out to God,
where God will find us and we can find God.
Yes, through our wounds
the power of God can penetrate us
and become like rivers of living water
to irrigate the arid earth within us.
Thus we may irrigate the arid earth of others,
so that hope and love are reborn.
– Jean Vanier
The Broken Body (1988, Paulist Press). Quoted by Suzanne Guthrie at www.edgeofenclosure.org
Blessings,
Sara+
Friday, May 1, 2015
Jesus the Good Shepherd
With so many occasions for lament this week, I’m feeling drawn back toward the good shepherd we heard about in our readings and psalm last week. I admitted it’s not been my favorite image, but when in the valley of the shadow of death, the table set before the enemy is something we need again and again. This week, I want to pass along a poem I encountered from a newly discovered blog, that of Andrew King, a Canadian Anglican layman. Fast-food worker by day, poet by night, he’s set himself the goal of writing for each week of the church year. I’m grateful.
We need the shepherding of Jesus. For Paula Tatarunis, whose health has taken a turn for the worse and for her husband Darrell, who has hard decisions to make. For Nepal, for towns so remote it takes two days for rescuers to get there to assess the damage, much less offer aid. For Baltimore, for an end to racism in this country. I don’t usually watch much broadcast news, but this week I caught some of the Baltimore coverage on CNN—as they showed two single scenes of property destruction on a continuous loop. How many more people walked peacefully? How many more people cleaned up the next day? And how do the media talk about incidents like that when perpetrated by, for example, white college students? Nobody says “thug” or “riot” at those times. The valley of the shadow of death for all of us in this country is the legacy of racism that sees the bodies of people of color as less-than. As Andrew King writes, “may the cup of joy overflow for those whose suffering has been their drink.” Amen.
PRAYER TO THE SHEPHERD
(Psalm 23, John 10: 11-18)
O Lord our Shepherd,
may your flock not want
in the refugee camps
of Yarmouk, of Darfur, of Dadaab.
May life-giving pastures of nourishment be theirs
in Sudan, in Niger, in Chad.
May waters of peacefulness and healing flow
in Somalia, in Syria, in Ukraine.
And may souls be restored in our own cities and towns
where violence and hunger still live.
O Lord our Shepherd,
death shadows the valleys
and the houses and hills of our lands.
May the strength of your grace and
the assurance of your love
ever with us and ever embracing,
bring comfort to the grieving and alone.
May there be a table of reconciliation prepared
where enemies may sit down in peace
and may the cup of joy overflow for those
whose suffering has been their drink.
Let your goodness and mercy attend your flock,
O Shepherd, our Lord,
and may all your flock dwell
in the unity of your love
as long as life endures.
We need the shepherding of Jesus. For Paula Tatarunis, whose health has taken a turn for the worse and for her husband Darrell, who has hard decisions to make. For Nepal, for towns so remote it takes two days for rescuers to get there to assess the damage, much less offer aid. For Baltimore, for an end to racism in this country. I don’t usually watch much broadcast news, but this week I caught some of the Baltimore coverage on CNN—as they showed two single scenes of property destruction on a continuous loop. How many more people walked peacefully? How many more people cleaned up the next day? And how do the media talk about incidents like that when perpetrated by, for example, white college students? Nobody says “thug” or “riot” at those times. The valley of the shadow of death for all of us in this country is the legacy of racism that sees the bodies of people of color as less-than. As Andrew King writes, “may the cup of joy overflow for those whose suffering has been their drink.” Amen.
PRAYER TO THE SHEPHERD
(Psalm 23, John 10: 11-18)
O Lord our Shepherd,
may your flock not want
in the refugee camps
of Yarmouk, of Darfur, of Dadaab.
May life-giving pastures of nourishment be theirs
in Sudan, in Niger, in Chad.
May waters of peacefulness and healing flow
in Somalia, in Syria, in Ukraine.
And may souls be restored in our own cities and towns
where violence and hunger still live.
O Lord our Shepherd,
death shadows the valleys
and the houses and hills of our lands.
May the strength of your grace and
the assurance of your love
ever with us and ever embracing,
bring comfort to the grieving and alone.
May there be a table of reconciliation prepared
where enemies may sit down in peace
and may the cup of joy overflow for those
whose suffering has been their drink.
Let your goodness and mercy attend your flock,
O Shepherd, our Lord,
and may all your flock dwell
in the unity of your love
as long as life endures.
Friday, February 6, 2015
Jesus' Compassion, Our Fears
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I am still mulling over this past Sunday’s children’s sermon experiment with The Jesus’ Love and Compassion Paper Shredder of Sadness and Fear (an idea I very gratefully pinched from a colleague). We talked a little about things we’re afraid of and drew pictures or wrote them down. Monsters and lions and bullies, failure and illness and grief. Inequality and homelessness and racism. We decided that Jesus could handle those things and would let us know how to help.
Our Gospel for the day was a healing story—Epiphany season is full of them, and there’s another this week. Last Sunday’s started off a bit differently, though—rather than being about illness, this one was about an “unclean” spirit. Not an easy subject—too often, categories of “clean” and “unclean” get attached to human beings and are used to judge and reject. Whether gender identity or social status or other categories, it seems like humans always are tempted to exclude each other.
In any case, there’s this fascinating bit in there about authority—the authority of Jesus. I asked the kids what that word means, and Eli said power—which is true. But the power and authority of Jesus comes from a different place than we’re used to. Often in our world, power is about domination: it’s the opposite of weakness. It’s a relative term. You can only have power if you have something another doesn’t have. The power we most often see is based in threats. Bigger bombs or bigger bank accounts. The authority of Jesus comes from a different place. The authority of Jesus is not a relationship of stronger vs weaker. The authority of Jesus is compassion—com-passion, literally suffering-along-with. The power of God in Jesus was compassion for those who are suffering. And in that compassion, he healed the person in the story.
Jesus can heal us, too—if we let him. That’s what was so important about the “authority” piece in the Gospel for last Sunday; Jesus was given authority over suffering, and that’s where healing came from. In our paper shredder experiment, we gave Jesus authority over our anxiety, too.
I don’t know what was “really” happening in the story—we can analyze back and label it epilepsy or mental illness or whatever, but what feels more important is to see that love cast out fear. As Jesus wasn’t afraid of the “unclean” person, he was able to be in community again.
This is a message I really need to take with me into the season of Lent. I need to remember that whatever sins I name on Ash Wednesday that, like that person with the demon, I can recognize the authority of Jesus to heal me from them. It’s not a passive healing, but an active participation in our salvation (though we aren’t the agents, for sure).
What do you need to hear as we enter Lent? What fear do you need Jesus to shred with love and compassion? What will help you to repent and be forgiven?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week I am still mulling over this past Sunday’s children’s sermon experiment with The Jesus’ Love and Compassion Paper Shredder of Sadness and Fear (an idea I very gratefully pinched from a colleague). We talked a little about things we’re afraid of and drew pictures or wrote them down. Monsters and lions and bullies, failure and illness and grief. Inequality and homelessness and racism. We decided that Jesus could handle those things and would let us know how to help.
Our Gospel for the day was a healing story—Epiphany season is full of them, and there’s another this week. Last Sunday’s started off a bit differently, though—rather than being about illness, this one was about an “unclean” spirit. Not an easy subject—too often, categories of “clean” and “unclean” get attached to human beings and are used to judge and reject. Whether gender identity or social status or other categories, it seems like humans always are tempted to exclude each other.
In any case, there’s this fascinating bit in there about authority—the authority of Jesus. I asked the kids what that word means, and Eli said power—which is true. But the power and authority of Jesus comes from a different place than we’re used to. Often in our world, power is about domination: it’s the opposite of weakness. It’s a relative term. You can only have power if you have something another doesn’t have. The power we most often see is based in threats. Bigger bombs or bigger bank accounts. The authority of Jesus comes from a different place. The authority of Jesus is not a relationship of stronger vs weaker. The authority of Jesus is compassion—com-passion, literally suffering-along-with. The power of God in Jesus was compassion for those who are suffering. And in that compassion, he healed the person in the story.
Jesus can heal us, too—if we let him. That’s what was so important about the “authority” piece in the Gospel for last Sunday; Jesus was given authority over suffering, and that’s where healing came from. In our paper shredder experiment, we gave Jesus authority over our anxiety, too.
I don’t know what was “really” happening in the story—we can analyze back and label it epilepsy or mental illness or whatever, but what feels more important is to see that love cast out fear. As Jesus wasn’t afraid of the “unclean” person, he was able to be in community again.
This is a message I really need to take with me into the season of Lent. I need to remember that whatever sins I name on Ash Wednesday that, like that person with the demon, I can recognize the authority of Jesus to heal me from them. It’s not a passive healing, but an active participation in our salvation (though we aren’t the agents, for sure).
What do you need to hear as we enter Lent? What fear do you need Jesus to shred with love and compassion? What will help you to repent and be forgiven?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Praying as you can
Dear People of Christ Church,
One week in, I hope you've been able to enter into Lent in a peaceable way. I almost wrote offering hopes for a "good start" to Lent, which sounds like it's a race or something we're trying to accomplish, which it's not, exactly. But we are going somewhere.
So what is it? This time of year, I often remember Dorothy Day's desire in her work in creating the Catholic Worker Houses-she said she wanted to create a society in which it was easy to be good. I think Lent is a time when we try to take on practices that make it easier to be close to God; of course we're not distant from God at other times of year, but in Lent we're invited to a certain sense of quiet intimacy with our Creator that the dynamism of Easter or the long days of summer Pentecost don't exactly share. A colleague's wife, Joy Howard has written about the traditional Lenten practices of giving alms, praying, and fasting. She recasts them as "three C's"--compassion, connection, and clarity.
Compassion: we give to others because we are moved by the Spirit of God and see Christ in them. Compassion is different from pity-compassion moves us to respond to the needs of others, whereas pity keeps them at arm's length, separated from us. Pitying "the poor" makes "them" different, not "our kind." Being compassionate, though, allows God to move through my heart in action, not just words.
Connection: we pray. We pray to be more deeply connected to God, and we pray to be conncted to each other. We had some wonderful conversations in our Lent groups this week (you can still join!) about how we are made in the image of God-and how it can be hard to remember that. In prayer, we remember who we are-beloved children of God. That opens our hearts to each other (see: compassion) and allows us to respond with grace. The 2014 www.prayworshipserve.org challenge invites us to give 20 minutes a day to prayer, one hour a week to going to church, and four hours a month to service. If you can't pray for 20 minutes, what about ten?
Clarity: we fast. You don't have to give something up for Lent, but if you were to, what could it be? Think beyond the usual stalwarts of chocolate and alcohol. What about excess noise? What about shopping for stuff you might not need? What about gossip or complaining? Is there anything that would help you simplify or look more clearly at your life? My Lenten discipline for the last three years has been fairly minor, in that I give up the radio in the car. I'm an NPR junkie with a 20-30 minute drive to work, so taking that extra sound out of my life has created 40-60 extra minutes of silence in my day. There's nothing wrong with knowing what's going on in the world-it's really important!-but to spend some extra time witnessing the chaos and noise of my chattering brain is always kind of sobering, an effect that usually lasts for a while even after I happily return to Bob Oakes in the morning.
I'm a big fan of the phrase "Pray as you can, not as you can't"-don't spend too much time regretting what you think isn't possible. But don't take it as an excuse that your life doesn't permit you to do one BIG thing to get you off the hook of doing the little things you can.
Here are a few other resources:
The Daily Office online: also a podcast.
Hear Scripture and the ancient prayers of the church. Pray together with others knowing that they hear and say the same words, whether or not you're in the same room. (it's in the Book of Common Prayer, too-you can even do it without a screen!) Also check out our local monastery, SSJE, and their Give us a Word series.
How's your charitable giving? Is your pledge to church really where it could be? Could you add some extra giving to a community charity like the Community Day Center or the Waltham Family School?
Blessings,
Sara+
One week in, I hope you've been able to enter into Lent in a peaceable way. I almost wrote offering hopes for a "good start" to Lent, which sounds like it's a race or something we're trying to accomplish, which it's not, exactly. But we are going somewhere.
So what is it? This time of year, I often remember Dorothy Day's desire in her work in creating the Catholic Worker Houses-she said she wanted to create a society in which it was easy to be good. I think Lent is a time when we try to take on practices that make it easier to be close to God; of course we're not distant from God at other times of year, but in Lent we're invited to a certain sense of quiet intimacy with our Creator that the dynamism of Easter or the long days of summer Pentecost don't exactly share. A colleague's wife, Joy Howard has written about the traditional Lenten practices of giving alms, praying, and fasting. She recasts them as "three C's"--compassion, connection, and clarity.
Compassion: we give to others because we are moved by the Spirit of God and see Christ in them. Compassion is different from pity-compassion moves us to respond to the needs of others, whereas pity keeps them at arm's length, separated from us. Pitying "the poor" makes "them" different, not "our kind." Being compassionate, though, allows God to move through my heart in action, not just words.
Connection: we pray. We pray to be more deeply connected to God, and we pray to be conncted to each other. We had some wonderful conversations in our Lent groups this week (you can still join!) about how we are made in the image of God-and how it can be hard to remember that. In prayer, we remember who we are-beloved children of God. That opens our hearts to each other (see: compassion) and allows us to respond with grace. The 2014 www.prayworshipserve.org challenge invites us to give 20 minutes a day to prayer, one hour a week to going to church, and four hours a month to service. If you can't pray for 20 minutes, what about ten?
Clarity: we fast. You don't have to give something up for Lent, but if you were to, what could it be? Think beyond the usual stalwarts of chocolate and alcohol. What about excess noise? What about shopping for stuff you might not need? What about gossip or complaining? Is there anything that would help you simplify or look more clearly at your life? My Lenten discipline for the last three years has been fairly minor, in that I give up the radio in the car. I'm an NPR junkie with a 20-30 minute drive to work, so taking that extra sound out of my life has created 40-60 extra minutes of silence in my day. There's nothing wrong with knowing what's going on in the world-it's really important!-but to spend some extra time witnessing the chaos and noise of my chattering brain is always kind of sobering, an effect that usually lasts for a while even after I happily return to Bob Oakes in the morning.
I'm a big fan of the phrase "Pray as you can, not as you can't"-don't spend too much time regretting what you think isn't possible. But don't take it as an excuse that your life doesn't permit you to do one BIG thing to get you off the hook of doing the little things you can.
Here are a few other resources:
The Daily Office online: also a podcast.
Hear Scripture and the ancient prayers of the church. Pray together with others knowing that they hear and say the same words, whether or not you're in the same room. (it's in the Book of Common Prayer, too-you can even do it without a screen!) Also check out our local monastery, SSJE, and their Give us a Word series.
How's your charitable giving? Is your pledge to church really where it could be? Could you add some extra giving to a community charity like the Community Day Center or the Waltham Family School?
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Praying with angels
Dear People of Christ Church,
Last week we prayed over our backpacks, the week before we prayed over Emma leaving for college, and this Sunday we'll pray over our children's education folks, thanking them for their service and asking God's blessing on their most holy work. We also prayed for a moment of silence for peace in Syria, prayed for pets and parents as part of our children's sermon, and, of course, we pray every time we celebrate communion-"send your Holy Spirit on these gifts your earth has formed and human hands have made." Church involves a lot of praying, in routine and not-so-routine ways.
But what are we doing, really?
In our series on prayer last year for Lent, Jose shared the prayers of Kierkegaard-"the function of prayer is to change the one who is praying, not the God to whom we pray."
We'll leave aside for now the bigger theological debates about how God is present in bread and wine at Eucharist-our Anglican tradition leaves that to the individual conscience apart from reassuring us that Christ is "really" present. The personal significance to Jesus Christ of our little backpacks and lunch boxes may not be much. But when we place those things at the altar for blessing, we're saying to each other and to ourselves, and to God, "Ok-this is it. I have my mind, my soul, my heart, and my body-and I have these tools to help me do what I have to do. Let these things, along with your love, along with my family and my friends-let even my backpack be something to remind me that I'm not alone.
In the letter to the Hebrews we heard this past Sunday, St Paul reminds the people of the story of Abraham and Sarah, that "some have entertained angels unawares." Before God named them Abraham and Sarah, they were plain old Abram and Sarai, just being kind to strangers. But, as the story in Genesis 18 goes, those strangers turned out to be angels announcing that Sarai would have a child. She who had lost hope of giving birth would be the one in whom the world was blessed. Who knows where we'd be if Abram had told those mysterious travelers that he and Sarai were too busy or didn't have enough resources to help.
The point of the story is that God shows up everywhere, sometimes in the least likely places bringing the least likely gifts. Remembering that even our backpacks can be holy is good practice for looking for God in all of those random corners and different places. Drawing their own angel wings, I encouraged our kids to remember that they, too, could be angels, reaching out to others, especially heading back to school when there would be new people and new things going on.
Remembering that even our stuff can be a reminder of God's presence also leads me to a pitch for our fall education, which extends the conversation to our time. We'll be looking at the ideas in Mark Scandrette's Free: Spending Your Time and Money on What Matters Most. Scandrette invites us to think together from a Christian perspective about how we use these resources and how we can consciously choose to live well and free lives as God desires for us. The book should be in at Back Pages (at a 15% discount!) early next week-call the bookstore to confirm (781) 209-0631.
If there's interest, we'll add an all-ages part (for which we need both children to attend and adults to staff it-RSVP in our survey... ).
Blessings,
Sara+
Last week we prayed over our backpacks, the week before we prayed over Emma leaving for college, and this Sunday we'll pray over our children's education folks, thanking them for their service and asking God's blessing on their most holy work. We also prayed for a moment of silence for peace in Syria, prayed for pets and parents as part of our children's sermon, and, of course, we pray every time we celebrate communion-"send your Holy Spirit on these gifts your earth has formed and human hands have made." Church involves a lot of praying, in routine and not-so-routine ways.
But what are we doing, really?
In our series on prayer last year for Lent, Jose shared the prayers of Kierkegaard-"the function of prayer is to change the one who is praying, not the God to whom we pray."
We'll leave aside for now the bigger theological debates about how God is present in bread and wine at Eucharist-our Anglican tradition leaves that to the individual conscience apart from reassuring us that Christ is "really" present. The personal significance to Jesus Christ of our little backpacks and lunch boxes may not be much. But when we place those things at the altar for blessing, we're saying to each other and to ourselves, and to God, "Ok-this is it. I have my mind, my soul, my heart, and my body-and I have these tools to help me do what I have to do. Let these things, along with your love, along with my family and my friends-let even my backpack be something to remind me that I'm not alone.
In the letter to the Hebrews we heard this past Sunday, St Paul reminds the people of the story of Abraham and Sarah, that "some have entertained angels unawares." Before God named them Abraham and Sarah, they were plain old Abram and Sarai, just being kind to strangers. But, as the story in Genesis 18 goes, those strangers turned out to be angels announcing that Sarai would have a child. She who had lost hope of giving birth would be the one in whom the world was blessed. Who knows where we'd be if Abram had told those mysterious travelers that he and Sarai were too busy or didn't have enough resources to help.
The point of the story is that God shows up everywhere, sometimes in the least likely places bringing the least likely gifts. Remembering that even our backpacks can be holy is good practice for looking for God in all of those random corners and different places. Drawing their own angel wings, I encouraged our kids to remember that they, too, could be angels, reaching out to others, especially heading back to school when there would be new people and new things going on.
Remembering that even our stuff can be a reminder of God's presence also leads me to a pitch for our fall education, which extends the conversation to our time. We'll be looking at the ideas in Mark Scandrette's Free: Spending Your Time and Money on What Matters Most. Scandrette invites us to think together from a Christian perspective about how we use these resources and how we can consciously choose to live well and free lives as God desires for us. The book should be in at Back Pages (at a 15% discount!) early next week-call the bookstore to confirm (781) 209-0631.
If there's interest, we'll add an all-ages part (for which we need both children to attend and adults to staff it-RSVP in our survey... ).
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, May 16, 2013
From May 9: Dialogue on Faith
Dear People of Christ Church,
Last Friday, I had the wonderful opportunity of joining friends from the Massachusetts Council of Churches at Friday Prayers at the Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center. The director of MCC, Laura Everett, has long been a friend, and she invited colleagues to join in an ecumenical witness of support for the Muslim community in the aftermath of the Boston bombings and recent Islamophobia. Hands down, it was one of the best sermons I've heard; at least with preaching, I tend to regard brevity in highest regard, but Imam Suhaib spoke for 45 minutes and I was more focused on taking notes than clock watching. From the moment we walked in the door, too, the welcome was incredibly warm, and we were invited to stay after for lunch. When there was an extra chicken curry, Loay, their director of development, sent that home with me for dinner, too!
The theme of the sermon was American Islam-which both is and isn't "a thing." How we relate to our culture is something we all grapple with-as we were mulling over in our recent Christ Church Quarterly, as Christians we've sort of forgotten how important it is to stand apart from culture. As Muslims, Imam Suhaib said, maybe they've emphasized that separation too much. As for American Islam? On the one hand, "Imam Will" shes/(who actually grew up Baptist in Oklahoma City and was a DJ before converting to Islam) said that it's wrong to talk about American Islam. God made everyone-every society. The universality of Islam is to care for everyone. At the same time, he said, we recognize that there are many cultures, and many different ways to honor God and share faith. American Muslims live differently from those who live in Bangladesh, and will express their faith differently as well. The most important thingis to challenge ourselves to be relevant to the world as it is now; don't talk about medieval conflicts, talk about contemporary narcissism. Don't define yourself by a disagreement that happened 1000 years ago, apply the reasoning that helped people of faith live through it to contemporary problems. Fundamentalism, Imam Suhaib said, is a modern problem-it comes from a modern desire to see everything in an absolutist way. The premodern view was much more flexible. This is true for Christians, too-the early church was much more committed to Scripture in terms of metaphor and allegory than those who claim the label "orthodox" do today.
The contemporary world can be a hard place to be a person of faith; so much about the world now is about instantaneous answers and incontrovertible truth. Faith, though, takes time; it takes time to nurture a relationship with God. It takes time to be in that relationship with God. It takes energy-it takes all of what you have and all of who you are. We are converted by experience, Suhaib said, not by cognition. That's pretty counter cultural, and something we all need to spend some time with. What is converting you right now? Where are you being transformed in your life, right now? Jesus said, "Come and see," not "Decide right now or else."
I left the mosque feeling not just like I'd listened in on some really good thinking, but also profoundly grateful for the diversity of so many experiences of holiness. Of course, there are some serious bedrock differences between Christianity and Islam, but (and I know it sounds trite), there really is so much that unites us in terms of how we live in the world. Being in dialogue makes us better at being who we are. And being supportive of brothers and sisters in faith-no matter what faith-makes us better, period.
Blesings,
Sara+
Last Friday, I had the wonderful opportunity of joining friends from the Massachusetts Council of Churches at Friday Prayers at the Islamic Society of Boston Cultural Center. The director of MCC, Laura Everett, has long been a friend, and she invited colleagues to join in an ecumenical witness of support for the Muslim community in the aftermath of the Boston bombings and recent Islamophobia. Hands down, it was one of the best sermons I've heard; at least with preaching, I tend to regard brevity in highest regard, but Imam Suhaib spoke for 45 minutes and I was more focused on taking notes than clock watching. From the moment we walked in the door, too, the welcome was incredibly warm, and we were invited to stay after for lunch. When there was an extra chicken curry, Loay, their director of development, sent that home with me for dinner, too!
The theme of the sermon was American Islam-which both is and isn't "a thing." How we relate to our culture is something we all grapple with-as we were mulling over in our recent Christ Church Quarterly, as Christians we've sort of forgotten how important it is to stand apart from culture. As Muslims, Imam Suhaib said, maybe they've emphasized that separation too much. As for American Islam? On the one hand, "Imam Will" shes/(who actually grew up Baptist in Oklahoma City and was a DJ before converting to Islam) said that it's wrong to talk about American Islam. God made everyone-every society. The universality of Islam is to care for everyone. At the same time, he said, we recognize that there are many cultures, and many different ways to honor God and share faith. American Muslims live differently from those who live in Bangladesh, and will express their faith differently as well. The most important thingis to challenge ourselves to be relevant to the world as it is now; don't talk about medieval conflicts, talk about contemporary narcissism. Don't define yourself by a disagreement that happened 1000 years ago, apply the reasoning that helped people of faith live through it to contemporary problems. Fundamentalism, Imam Suhaib said, is a modern problem-it comes from a modern desire to see everything in an absolutist way. The premodern view was much more flexible. This is true for Christians, too-the early church was much more committed to Scripture in terms of metaphor and allegory than those who claim the label "orthodox" do today.
The contemporary world can be a hard place to be a person of faith; so much about the world now is about instantaneous answers and incontrovertible truth. Faith, though, takes time; it takes time to nurture a relationship with God. It takes time to be in that relationship with God. It takes energy-it takes all of what you have and all of who you are. We are converted by experience, Suhaib said, not by cognition. That's pretty counter cultural, and something we all need to spend some time with. What is converting you right now? Where are you being transformed in your life, right now? Jesus said, "Come and see," not "Decide right now or else."
I left the mosque feeling not just like I'd listened in on some really good thinking, but also profoundly grateful for the diversity of so many experiences of holiness. Of course, there are some serious bedrock differences between Christianity and Islam, but (and I know it sounds trite), there really is so much that unites us in terms of how we live in the world. Being in dialogue makes us better at being who we are. And being supportive of brothers and sisters in faith-no matter what faith-makes us better, period.
Blesings,
Sara+
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
From April 18: Praying for Boston, Praying for Peace
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, of course, I've been praying for Boston. About 15 parishioners and community members gathered for worship on Tuesday night to offer prayers for the victims of the bombings and for peace. See the Waltham Patch piece hereI was just writing in this space last week about the Mother's Day Walk for Peace we've been invited to participate in, and now again, I'm writing about violence.
The hardest thing to understand about Monday is, of course, WHY? Not so much why God "allows" such things to happen, but the more basic question of why someone would want to hurt completely innocent strangers on a public sidewalk. I've struggled with the question of innocence; we keep describing the people there as innocent, which certainly they were. The problem is that that then carries with it the assumption that others who might be victims of violence are guilty, and that's more problematic. All of us are created in God's image, and we all have the right to live in peace, whether we are innocent or not. Just because we are. We may do terrible things, we may deserve to live behind prison walls, but we still deserve our lives.
At the same time, I don't want to skip out on my feelings, which are very real, and very hurt. The same day of the Boston bombings several friends posted on facebook about how many Afghans had been accidentally killed by the US military that same day: thirty. Thirty is more than three, but those three were our three, and it does not honor those thirty to forget our own. That fact did not offer me any "perspective," important as it is to realize that our hands also are not clean. Our prayers on Tuesday night included a plea to avoid rushing to judgment, too: I pray as well for Muslims who are now praying that it was not a Muslim who carried out the bombings, that there won't be more racist backlash and more hatred.
So what do we do?
We do what we do. On Tuesday night we gathered in such raw emotion; the thing we had to offer that day was our grief. Everything we have comes from God, and while we can't offer much back, we can offer what we have, and what we had that day was pain. Being willing to sit in pain, there at the cross, even that is a blessing: we know that God has been there in Christ. We know that God was with the people who ran toward the carnage, we know that God was with those marathoners who had just run 26 miles and then just kept on running to donate blood. We know that God is with each of us, in all the different ways we feel, even when we react differently from one another, even when I'm annoyed at my friends' Facebook pages.
We do what we do: this Sunday we baptize Carlos and Elena, and gather with their father, Byron, their mother, Margaret, godparents Anna, Harvey, and Isaura, and promise that we'll do all in our power to support their lives in Christ. We'll plant flowers, mow the lawn (we're going to need volunteers soon enough, as well as someone to organize our overall landscape and gardening plans), and look toward the new birth and new promise God always surprises us with. We'll sing Alleluia, since it's still Easter, since Christ is still raised, along with Martin, along with Krystle, along with Lingzi Lu and in all of our lives.
Peace,
Sara+
This week, of course, I've been praying for Boston. About 15 parishioners and community members gathered for worship on Tuesday night to offer prayers for the victims of the bombings and for peace. See the Waltham Patch piece hereI was just writing in this space last week about the Mother's Day Walk for Peace we've been invited to participate in, and now again, I'm writing about violence.
The hardest thing to understand about Monday is, of course, WHY? Not so much why God "allows" such things to happen, but the more basic question of why someone would want to hurt completely innocent strangers on a public sidewalk. I've struggled with the question of innocence; we keep describing the people there as innocent, which certainly they were. The problem is that that then carries with it the assumption that others who might be victims of violence are guilty, and that's more problematic. All of us are created in God's image, and we all have the right to live in peace, whether we are innocent or not. Just because we are. We may do terrible things, we may deserve to live behind prison walls, but we still deserve our lives.
At the same time, I don't want to skip out on my feelings, which are very real, and very hurt. The same day of the Boston bombings several friends posted on facebook about how many Afghans had been accidentally killed by the US military that same day: thirty. Thirty is more than three, but those three were our three, and it does not honor those thirty to forget our own. That fact did not offer me any "perspective," important as it is to realize that our hands also are not clean. Our prayers on Tuesday night included a plea to avoid rushing to judgment, too: I pray as well for Muslims who are now praying that it was not a Muslim who carried out the bombings, that there won't be more racist backlash and more hatred.
So what do we do?
We do what we do. On Tuesday night we gathered in such raw emotion; the thing we had to offer that day was our grief. Everything we have comes from God, and while we can't offer much back, we can offer what we have, and what we had that day was pain. Being willing to sit in pain, there at the cross, even that is a blessing: we know that God has been there in Christ. We know that God was with the people who ran toward the carnage, we know that God was with those marathoners who had just run 26 miles and then just kept on running to donate blood. We know that God is with each of us, in all the different ways we feel, even when we react differently from one another, even when I'm annoyed at my friends' Facebook pages.
We do what we do: this Sunday we baptize Carlos and Elena, and gather with their father, Byron, their mother, Margaret, godparents Anna, Harvey, and Isaura, and promise that we'll do all in our power to support their lives in Christ. We'll plant flowers, mow the lawn (we're going to need volunteers soon enough, as well as someone to organize our overall landscape and gardening plans), and look toward the new birth and new promise God always surprises us with. We'll sing Alleluia, since it's still Easter, since Christ is still raised, along with Martin, along with Krystle, along with Lingzi Lu and in all of our lives.
Peace,
Sara+
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Lent with Ephraim the Syrian
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week we had our second “Lent Tuesdays for All” and it was delightful. It does make my kids’ bedtime a bit later, and the morning a bit harder, but the time together is a blessing. This week the kids decorated gift bags for Easter for Grandma’s Pantry clients. The theme for adults was Alexander Schmemann’s phrase “Bright Sadness”—Let has a certain atmosphere of sorrow for sin, but also joy for redemption. There is much to repent, but there is more to celebrate. We looked at the prayer of Ephraim the Syrian, a fourth century monk whose prayer is done multiple times in Lenten liturgy in the Orthodox church, as well as many times in private prayer:
O Lord and Master of my life!
Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.
Yea, O Lord and King!
Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother;
For Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen
The first time I read it, it didn’t do a lot for me. I spend a lot of spiritual energy moving away from “master” language—it just doesn’t feel nourishing to envision God as a faraway ruler. But Schmemann, the Orthodox priest whose text I’m reading this year, says that it comprises the whole of the spiritual struggle. All of it. So I gave it another chance, and as he explains the prayer, I agree that it does cover a lot.
Sin begins with sloth, more poetically rendered in Latin as acedia: that feeling that we may as well not even try to pray. [Evelyn Waugh said its malice “lies not merely in the neglect of duty (though that can be a symptom of it) but the refusal of joy. [Sloth] is allied to despair.] Faint hearts filling with darkness, we lose the desire for God’s light. Not following God, we follow ourselves—fleeting desires and flashing satisfactions. Desiring our own way, we become the center of our own worlds, selfishly seeing others as the means of our own self-satisfaction. We hunt for power. Whether it expresses its desire in the urge to control others or in indifference and contempt, my spiritual universe shrinks in on itself.
Ephraim’s reference to “idle talk” struck me as a bit beside the point at first; surely there are worse things. Schmemann, though, puts our speech in theological context. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” Word and words are not unrelated. If God is revealed as Word, then, he says, our speech is the “seal” of the Divine Image in us. But as we abuse our power, the supreme gift becomes the supreme danger. Our speech reinforces our sin and we use the gift of expression to slander, to lie, to judge.
Four “negatives” give way to four “positives:”
Chastity: Not only sexual control, more like whole-mindedness. A counterpart of sloth—if sloth is dissipation and brokenness, the splintered vision that cannot perceive the whole, then its opposite is the ability to see toward God, not only our own urges and alienation. We pray for humility: truth wins. We are able to see God’s goodness in everything, understanding ourselves in right relationship to our creator. We are created, not our own masters. Patience is a fruit of coming near God—in sin, we measure everything by ourselves, wanting everything here and now. But nearer to God, “the more patient we grow and the more we reflect that infinite respect for all beings which is the proper quality of God who sees the depth of all that exists.” Infinite respect for all beings leads us to love—the ultimate purpose and fruit of all spiritual practice and preparation, which can be given by God alone.
Finally, positive and negative brought together by the last line: to see my own errors and not to judge my brother. Even knowing our own sins can be turned to pride, as we compliment ourselves for being so self-aware. Only when we do not judge are wholeness, humility, patience, and love made one in us.
So there you have it…which is your favorite temptation, your stumbling block? Where is Light looking for you? Where will you be found, and what good gifts will you receive?
This week we had our second “Lent Tuesdays for All” and it was delightful. It does make my kids’ bedtime a bit later, and the morning a bit harder, but the time together is a blessing. This week the kids decorated gift bags for Easter for Grandma’s Pantry clients. The theme for adults was Alexander Schmemann’s phrase “Bright Sadness”—Let has a certain atmosphere of sorrow for sin, but also joy for redemption. There is much to repent, but there is more to celebrate. We looked at the prayer of Ephraim the Syrian, a fourth century monk whose prayer is done multiple times in Lenten liturgy in the Orthodox church, as well as many times in private prayer:
O Lord and Master of my life!
Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.
Yea, O Lord and King!
Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother;
For Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen
The first time I read it, it didn’t do a lot for me. I spend a lot of spiritual energy moving away from “master” language—it just doesn’t feel nourishing to envision God as a faraway ruler. But Schmemann, the Orthodox priest whose text I’m reading this year, says that it comprises the whole of the spiritual struggle. All of it. So I gave it another chance, and as he explains the prayer, I agree that it does cover a lot.
Sin begins with sloth, more poetically rendered in Latin as acedia: that feeling that we may as well not even try to pray. [Evelyn Waugh said its malice “lies not merely in the neglect of duty (though that can be a symptom of it) but the refusal of joy. [Sloth] is allied to despair.] Faint hearts filling with darkness, we lose the desire for God’s light. Not following God, we follow ourselves—fleeting desires and flashing satisfactions. Desiring our own way, we become the center of our own worlds, selfishly seeing others as the means of our own self-satisfaction. We hunt for power. Whether it expresses its desire in the urge to control others or in indifference and contempt, my spiritual universe shrinks in on itself.
Ephraim’s reference to “idle talk” struck me as a bit beside the point at first; surely there are worse things. Schmemann, though, puts our speech in theological context. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” Word and words are not unrelated. If God is revealed as Word, then, he says, our speech is the “seal” of the Divine Image in us. But as we abuse our power, the supreme gift becomes the supreme danger. Our speech reinforces our sin and we use the gift of expression to slander, to lie, to judge.
Four “negatives” give way to four “positives:”
Chastity: Not only sexual control, more like whole-mindedness. A counterpart of sloth—if sloth is dissipation and brokenness, the splintered vision that cannot perceive the whole, then its opposite is the ability to see toward God, not only our own urges and alienation. We pray for humility: truth wins. We are able to see God’s goodness in everything, understanding ourselves in right relationship to our creator. We are created, not our own masters. Patience is a fruit of coming near God—in sin, we measure everything by ourselves, wanting everything here and now. But nearer to God, “the more patient we grow and the more we reflect that infinite respect for all beings which is the proper quality of God who sees the depth of all that exists.” Infinite respect for all beings leads us to love—the ultimate purpose and fruit of all spiritual practice and preparation, which can be given by God alone.
Finally, positive and negative brought together by the last line: to see my own errors and not to judge my brother. Even knowing our own sins can be turned to pride, as we compliment ourselves for being so self-aware. Only when we do not judge are wholeness, humility, patience, and love made one in us.
So there you have it…which is your favorite temptation, your stumbling block? Where is Light looking for you? Where will you be found, and what good gifts will you receive?
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
Next week in this space, you'll hear from our youth, two of whom will travel to Costa Rica over February vacation on pilgrimage with other teens from the Alewife Deanery. Hearing it called a "pilgrimage" instead of a mission trip got me thinking. The usual understanding of being a "missionary" and going abroad to convert people isn't really something the Episcopal Church does much more, but often you still hear that expression; I went on a "Misison trip" to Belize as the assistant rector of Emmanuel Church in 2005, where we traveled to a school and helped build and equip a computer lab. We had a mission, for sure, but we were not exactly missionaries, a la serious young men with dark ties. Happy as we are to share our faith, trying to convert the masses isn't exactly the Episcopal style these days. I definitely appreciate the shift in language.
That word-pilgrimage-is an evocative one.
One of my favorite spiritual images is that of the labyrinth: a way of taking a spiritual voyage, if not a physical one. In our fall education series lead by Matt Dooley, we did walking meditation in the church-occupying the body gives the mind a certain freedom. While the sites of Jesus' passion and birth are certainly venerated in the Christian tradition, we don't have the same commandment to go on pilgrimage as, say, Muslims have to visit Mecca. There is a sense in the walking of silent communion: we are somehow all headed in the same direction. Not long ago I happened to watch a video someone of walking the labyrinth-you can see her shadow filming, but all it shows is ankle, foot, ground. At the time, I was imprisoned in my daughter's room waiting for her to go to sleep. Every time I moved to get up, I heard her lovely/tyrannous little toddler voice call out, "Stay!" Watching those feet on my little iPhone screen brought such a deep sense of accompaniment: feeling that Jan (the walker, whose blog I read but have never met) and I were united in faith, mystically accompanied by God. Feeling rather trapped and frustrated, the image of movement and grace brought me strangely to tears. I was not walking alone and my parental frustration did not have the last word.
Another definition I have always liked is from the Nepalese movie Himalaya. A group of villagers travel down their mountain with their yak to trade salt for grain. Being passed by another traveler, a child asks his father: Who is that? A pilgrim. What's a pilgrim? A religious person who walks.
So... Living. My favorite collect after the prayers of the people talks about our "earthly pilgrimage," and the phrase is in the burial service as well. Walking. Movement. Emma and Julia, going to Costa Rica to help out in churches there and learn a bit about what the diocese is like. Each of us praying for them and supporting them in whatever way we can. I invite you also to consider what pilgrimage means to you: have you ever been on one? Is there a place you want to go? What is revealed to you in the gentle slog of GOING-up a mountain or across a river or shepherding a child to sleep. To Elvis Presley's Graceland, Thoreau's Walden, to Bethlehem, Jerusalem. How are our values confirmed by those experiences? How are they challenged?
Blessings,
Sara+
Next week in this space, you'll hear from our youth, two of whom will travel to Costa Rica over February vacation on pilgrimage with other teens from the Alewife Deanery. Hearing it called a "pilgrimage" instead of a mission trip got me thinking. The usual understanding of being a "missionary" and going abroad to convert people isn't really something the Episcopal Church does much more, but often you still hear that expression; I went on a "Misison trip" to Belize as the assistant rector of Emmanuel Church in 2005, where we traveled to a school and helped build and equip a computer lab. We had a mission, for sure, but we were not exactly missionaries, a la serious young men with dark ties. Happy as we are to share our faith, trying to convert the masses isn't exactly the Episcopal style these days. I definitely appreciate the shift in language.
That word-pilgrimage-is an evocative one.
One of my favorite spiritual images is that of the labyrinth: a way of taking a spiritual voyage, if not a physical one. In our fall education series lead by Matt Dooley, we did walking meditation in the church-occupying the body gives the mind a certain freedom. While the sites of Jesus' passion and birth are certainly venerated in the Christian tradition, we don't have the same commandment to go on pilgrimage as, say, Muslims have to visit Mecca. There is a sense in the walking of silent communion: we are somehow all headed in the same direction. Not long ago I happened to watch a video someone of walking the labyrinth-you can see her shadow filming, but all it shows is ankle, foot, ground. At the time, I was imprisoned in my daughter's room waiting for her to go to sleep. Every time I moved to get up, I heard her lovely/tyrannous little toddler voice call out, "Stay!" Watching those feet on my little iPhone screen brought such a deep sense of accompaniment: feeling that Jan (the walker, whose blog I read but have never met) and I were united in faith, mystically accompanied by God. Feeling rather trapped and frustrated, the image of movement and grace brought me strangely to tears. I was not walking alone and my parental frustration did not have the last word.
Another definition I have always liked is from the Nepalese movie Himalaya. A group of villagers travel down their mountain with their yak to trade salt for grain. Being passed by another traveler, a child asks his father: Who is that? A pilgrim. What's a pilgrim? A religious person who walks.
So... Living. My favorite collect after the prayers of the people talks about our "earthly pilgrimage," and the phrase is in the burial service as well. Walking. Movement. Emma and Julia, going to Costa Rica to help out in churches there and learn a bit about what the diocese is like. Each of us praying for them and supporting them in whatever way we can. I invite you also to consider what pilgrimage means to you: have you ever been on one? Is there a place you want to go? What is revealed to you in the gentle slog of GOING-up a mountain or across a river or shepherding a child to sleep. To Elvis Presley's Graceland, Thoreau's Walden, to Bethlehem, Jerusalem. How are our values confirmed by those experiences? How are they challenged?
Blessings,
Sara+
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, 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+
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Litany for Thanksgiving - From the Book of Common Prayer
Dear People of Christ Church,
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanks to everyone who contributed to our fifth annual (!) Thanksgiving basket project. We are distributing 19 Thanksgiving dinners to families and 2 of our local homeless shelters. This outpaces all our previous efforts!
In that spirit of Thanksgiving, I'd like to share with you the Litany from our prayer book. Everything we have has been given to us--reason for us to give thanks, and reason for us to share.
S+
Let us give thanks to God for all the gifts so freely bestowed upon us.
For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth and sky and sea,
We thank you, Lord.
For all that is gracious in the lives of men and women, revealing the image of Christ,
We thank you, Lord.
For our daily food and drink, our homes and families, and our friends,
We thank you, Lord.
For minds to think, and hearts to love, and hands to serve,
We thank you, Lord.
For health and strength to work, and leisure to rest and play, We thank you, Lord.
For the brave and courageous, who are patient in suffering and faithful in adversity,
We thank you, Lord.
For all valiant seekers after truth, liberty, and justice,
We thank you, Lord.
For the communion of saints, in all times and places,
We thank you, Lord.
Above all, we give you thanks for the great mercies and promises given to us in Christ Jesus our Lord;
To Christ be praise and glory, with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Thanks to everyone who contributed to our fifth annual (!) Thanksgiving basket project. We are distributing 19 Thanksgiving dinners to families and 2 of our local homeless shelters. This outpaces all our previous efforts!
In that spirit of Thanksgiving, I'd like to share with you the Litany from our prayer book. Everything we have has been given to us--reason for us to give thanks, and reason for us to share.
S+
Let us give thanks to God for all the gifts so freely bestowed upon us.
For the beauty and wonder of your creation, in earth and sky and sea,
We thank you, Lord.
For all that is gracious in the lives of men and women, revealing the image of Christ,
We thank you, Lord.
For our daily food and drink, our homes and families, and our friends,
We thank you, Lord.
For minds to think, and hearts to love, and hands to serve,
We thank you, Lord.
For health and strength to work, and leisure to rest and play, We thank you, Lord.
For the brave and courageous, who are patient in suffering and faithful in adversity,
We thank you, Lord.
For all valiant seekers after truth, liberty, and justice,
We thank you, Lord.
For the communion of saints, in all times and places,
We thank you, Lord.
Above all, we give you thanks for the great mercies and promises given to us in Christ Jesus our Lord;
To Christ be praise and glory, with you, O Father, and the Holy Spirit, now and for ever.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Giving with open hands
This Sunday, we'll observe our regular first Sunday of the month Children's Service, and also meet after the service to talk about the results of the "GPS" (God's People Serving) Committee's work on our mission statement. I hope you'll plan to stay after the service to give your input on the mission statement the group has drawn up. I love it!
This Sunday's Gospel has the story of the Prophet Elijah being sent to a widow in Sidon. It's in the middle of a drought, which sent to punish king Ahab for worshipping his wife's pagan God, Baal (Jezebel, who happens to be from Sidon herself). Elijah goes in order to be fed; God doesn't tell him why he's going, or what he's supposed to do when he gets there. Just go, God tells him. She'll feed you. And so he goes. Elijah's mission unfolds as he arrives--as it turns out, he winds up with something to give the widow as well, but at first, it's not clear whether she'll "get" anything out of the deal. He goes to receive.
It's a counter-intuitive mission. This week, I started re-reading a book I first encountered a long time ago, called Poustinia, by Catherine Doherty. I picked it up again because Doherty is mentioned in Thomas Merton's Seven Story Mountain, which we just finished at our daytime book group. Doherty, an immigrant from Russia, started the Madonna House Apostolate, an intentional Christian community where Thomas Merton stayed briefly in Harlem before entering the monastery.
Doherty's unique insights are the combination of a life formed in the Orthodox spirituality of Russia, but oriented outward through the influence of Roman Catholic social justice teaching. In her book, she talks about the Russian tradition of the urodivoi, the fool for Christ: the one who gives away everything--really, everything--and begs for alms. Like Elijah, the fool goes out in order to be fed. The fool is able to support him or herself, but instead throws their life on the mercy of others, spending the day in prayer and pleading. She tells the story of one such person her father knew, who went to the slums and personally gave away all his money (which he'd dramatically just converted to bags of gold and silver). The father met the man years later, begging outside a church, still there, still praying, still with nothing. Why have you done this, the father asks, "I am atoning for the men who have called Christ a fool during his lifetime, and during all the centuries thereafter."
This is a challenging notion for us--it cuts at the heart of American notions of accomplishment and worth--not to mention practicality. Doherty writes, "If you want to see what a 'contribution' really is, look at the Man on the cross. That's a contribution. When you are hanging on a cross you can't do anything because you are crucified." The fool for Christ goes to be crucified with him; Elijah's mission was similar. Was he sent to the woman to be a burden? God miraculously gave her the food to give Elijah, but neither knew in advance what the outcome would be. Their mutual faith created the gift. What if we gave with such open hands? What would we receive, even if we gave all we had?
This Sunday's Gospel has the story of the Prophet Elijah being sent to a widow in Sidon. It's in the middle of a drought, which sent to punish king Ahab for worshipping his wife's pagan God, Baal (Jezebel, who happens to be from Sidon herself). Elijah goes in order to be fed; God doesn't tell him why he's going, or what he's supposed to do when he gets there. Just go, God tells him. She'll feed you. And so he goes. Elijah's mission unfolds as he arrives--as it turns out, he winds up with something to give the widow as well, but at first, it's not clear whether she'll "get" anything out of the deal. He goes to receive.
It's a counter-intuitive mission. This week, I started re-reading a book I first encountered a long time ago, called Poustinia, by Catherine Doherty. I picked it up again because Doherty is mentioned in Thomas Merton's Seven Story Mountain, which we just finished at our daytime book group. Doherty, an immigrant from Russia, started the Madonna House Apostolate, an intentional Christian community where Thomas Merton stayed briefly in Harlem before entering the monastery.
Doherty's unique insights are the combination of a life formed in the Orthodox spirituality of Russia, but oriented outward through the influence of Roman Catholic social justice teaching. In her book, she talks about the Russian tradition of the urodivoi, the fool for Christ: the one who gives away everything--really, everything--and begs for alms. Like Elijah, the fool goes out in order to be fed. The fool is able to support him or herself, but instead throws their life on the mercy of others, spending the day in prayer and pleading. She tells the story of one such person her father knew, who went to the slums and personally gave away all his money (which he'd dramatically just converted to bags of gold and silver). The father met the man years later, begging outside a church, still there, still praying, still with nothing. Why have you done this, the father asks, "I am atoning for the men who have called Christ a fool during his lifetime, and during all the centuries thereafter."
This is a challenging notion for us--it cuts at the heart of American notions of accomplishment and worth--not to mention practicality. Doherty writes, "If you want to see what a 'contribution' really is, look at the Man on the cross. That's a contribution. When you are hanging on a cross you can't do anything because you are crucified." The fool for Christ goes to be crucified with him; Elijah's mission was similar. Was he sent to the woman to be a burden? God miraculously gave her the food to give Elijah, but neither knew in advance what the outcome would be. Their mutual faith created the gift. What if we gave with such open hands? What would we receive, even if we gave all we had?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
From Dec. 10: Advent
Christmas will be here in two weeks.
[take a breath]
I was commenting to someone recently that it usually takes me about 2 weeks of Advent to realize that it actually is Advent—somehow Christmas always seems to come so suddenly. No wonder the readings leading up to Advent all talk about the need to keep awake! But somehow every year, I’m never awake quite enough until about halfway through.
It’s Advent—a season of preparation, hope, anticipation. We still use purple liturgically, linking it to the penitential sense of Lent, but a more optimistic blue is increasingly popular with our protestant sisters and brothers. But you don’t need it to be December to feel hopeful. Our church year repeats itself in miniature in our lives. We’ve all had the experience of Good Friday in the height of Pentecost, and we’ve all experienced tiny Easters in the depths of Lent. Our church year leads us intentionally through a cycle of spiritual experience that we might go through in the cycle of just one day.
The medieval mystic Bernard of Clairvaux talks about how there are actually three advents—two visible, and one invisible. The first advent is the one we always think of—the advent of Jesus the Christ child, born of Mary. The third is the one we look toward at the end of days—as the Eucharistic prayer has it, “we proclaim the mystery of faith: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” The second advent is in the middle, in our own lives, right now. Christ is coming today! In Advent, we turn our attention to preparing, and waiting, but it’s preparation and waiting for Christ who is NOW as well as Christ who is coming. The very technological theologian way of saying it is “already not yet.” Just as with the Trinity we have to forget out to count (1+1+1=1, not 3), with Advent we have to forget to tell time.
Here and now, though, time goes forward, forward, forward, no matter what I do.
It’s already Thursday of the second week of the month and we’re still working on the parish newsletter. In the midst of getting anxious about it this morning I paused for morning prayer online—I like the missionstclare.com website for the Daily Office—and I snapped out of it (for the moment, at least).
Christmas is coming, God is present. Christ has been, will be, and is, right here and right now: whether or not our work is finished, whether we’ve had enough sleep, whether the dishes are done. Thanks be to God, alleluia, alleluia.
[take a breath]
I was commenting to someone recently that it usually takes me about 2 weeks of Advent to realize that it actually is Advent—somehow Christmas always seems to come so suddenly. No wonder the readings leading up to Advent all talk about the need to keep awake! But somehow every year, I’m never awake quite enough until about halfway through.
It’s Advent—a season of preparation, hope, anticipation. We still use purple liturgically, linking it to the penitential sense of Lent, but a more optimistic blue is increasingly popular with our protestant sisters and brothers. But you don’t need it to be December to feel hopeful. Our church year repeats itself in miniature in our lives. We’ve all had the experience of Good Friday in the height of Pentecost, and we’ve all experienced tiny Easters in the depths of Lent. Our church year leads us intentionally through a cycle of spiritual experience that we might go through in the cycle of just one day.
The medieval mystic Bernard of Clairvaux talks about how there are actually three advents—two visible, and one invisible. The first advent is the one we always think of—the advent of Jesus the Christ child, born of Mary. The third is the one we look toward at the end of days—as the Eucharistic prayer has it, “we proclaim the mystery of faith: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” The second advent is in the middle, in our own lives, right now. Christ is coming today! In Advent, we turn our attention to preparing, and waiting, but it’s preparation and waiting for Christ who is NOW as well as Christ who is coming. The very technological theologian way of saying it is “already not yet.” Just as with the Trinity we have to forget out to count (1+1+1=1, not 3), with Advent we have to forget to tell time.
Here and now, though, time goes forward, forward, forward, no matter what I do.
It’s already Thursday of the second week of the month and we’re still working on the parish newsletter. In the midst of getting anxious about it this morning I paused for morning prayer online—I like the missionstclare.com website for the Daily Office—and I snapped out of it (for the moment, at least).
Christmas is coming, God is present. Christ has been, will be, and is, right here and right now: whether or not our work is finished, whether we’ve had enough sleep, whether the dishes are done. Thanks be to God, alleluia, alleluia.
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