Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm mulling over all things episcopal: episcopal in the sense of "Episcopal," as in, our church, and "episcopal," in the sense of "related to things relating to bishops." (Greek episcopos=overseer=bishop). The slate of bishop candidates in our diocese was released in January, and during February, candidates who join the slate by petition (those who have gathered the correct mix of clergy and lay delegate signatures across our diocese) are being background checked and will be announced in March. It won't just be those five from the nominating committee! This week also saw the release of the bishops' slate in the suffragan (assisting) election in Maryland. All the candidates were women, which was at the same time entirely troubling and entirely great.
I recently read Sheryl Sandberg's book, Lean In, a corporate manifesto for professional women to focus harder on their careers and reject the things that (she sees) hold them back. Sandberg's point is that, too often, women undermine themselves in subtle ways, and before they know it, have lost the opportunities that would have been available to them had they only "leaned in" further to their work. We don't ask for raises, we don't speak up, we let our spouses get away with leaving too much childcare to us. Sandberg's book has been well-criticized by many different corners, first and foremost because she is talking to such a narrow segment of the population, a relatively un-diversified group of people who are already leaps and bounds more privileged than most Americans, nevermind women or men on a global scale. What's more troubling about the book is that there's nothing about all the structural inequality that leads women to get stuck in their careers, or never to start them at all. If you couldn't go to college because you got a part time job at CVS to take care of your family, there's not a lot of room for "leaning" anywhere before you fall over.
Since I read the book, I've been thinking a lot about how it does and doesn't translate in the Christian life. The Gospel doesn't measure our worth by our salaries or the size of our office, so why should we chase after those things? Well, our Gospel for this Sunday does say something about not hiding your light under a bushel, and I think that can go for our secular work as well as for our faith in God.
But Maryland, oh, Maryland. If I was a little disappointed to see just one woman on the slate in Massachusetts, it was so much worse to see all those women on the list. This is the definition of a double bind: in a circumstance in which the outcome you want (women bishops) is sure, why would you not want to have it be certain? Because it just points to how stuck we already are, that either there is an assumption that a woman would never get elected unless running against only women, or that just being female is a job requirement. This is the structural change that Sheryl Sandberg doesn't get and that we in the church don't do a great job with either.
The charge in baptism is to "respect the dignity of every human being," which includes working for inclusion of all people's skills, on every level, at all times. We need men and women toget her in our sacraments, men and women together in the choir, men and women on the altar guild, menand women and all those in between who don't identify with either, to listen for God's call in their lives. That, as the Prophet Isaiah says in our reading for this Sunday, the fast that God chooses. That is God's desire for the church. What can we do here at Christ Church to share ministry more effectively? Where are you called to stop hiding your light?
Blessings,
Sara+
PS: See a piece on my blog that this is based on & some conversation about it on the church website Episcopal Cafe.
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Emergence
Dear People of Christ Church,
I'm glad to be back writing to you after my recent whirlwind tour of our country. My family put just over 10,000 miles on our car driving to San Francisco and home, via the Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina. Mostly camping, mostly national parks, mostly 3 year old Adah and 6 year old Isaiah coexisting peacefully in the back seat.
I'd never been to Wild Goose before--a four day annual gathering of "a community gathered at the intersection of justice, spirituality, music and art." When I was planning the trip, I told the Christ Church vestry it was a conference. Noah and I told the tow truck driver who helped us get out of the woods that it was a revival. Both were right.
We heard speakers from across the spectrum of Christian expression, from Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber (tweeting @sarcasticluther) to veteran civil rights activist and historian Vincent Harding, to post-evangelical, post-modern, post-everything minister Brian McLaren, to Momastery blogger Glennon Melton... several of the sessions were interviews with NPR's Krista Tippett, and will air on her show, On Being, over the next month or two.
As someone who grew up in a liturgical tradition, I didn't quite fit along with the primarily evangelical (or formerly evangelical) crowd, but we were all asking similar questions. How does the church respond to a world that doesn't settle for the same old answers (if, in fact, it ever did, which is a whole other issue)? How do we make our churches vital, compassionate communities across all kinds of difference? How do we invite Jesus into the way we parent, spend our money, relate to our bodies, advocate for justice? Theologically, of course Jesus is already there-but day to day, it's easy to forget that. We have to do that work in and through each moment, not just intellectually answer the question in the abstract and be done with it.
Personally as well as politically-Jesus is there. He has gone to Emmaus, to the picket line, to the hospital bed, to the boardroom. The hope and energy of Wild Goose was a good way to end a drive across the country-day to day, even in this cradle of early America, I don't think a lot about where this country came from-all the promise and freedom as well as the suffering. Driving through Indian reservation after reservation, I couldn't ignore that question anymore--hearing from my friend Rob, a priest serving the Episcopal Church on the Standing Rock Reservation, who talked about how divided the white community there was from Native Americans even now. I couldn't ignore hearing about how sacred the Black Hills were to the Lakota, and how treaties were broken again and again. Seeing the wide-open spaces of the West, I could also imagine how early settlers saw that space and wanted to find their own success there.
In one of his talks, Vincent Harding talked about the call for each of us to "make it our concern" to bring real democracy to birth in this country. Despite all our history, we are still emerging as a democracy, he said-there is more to do to bring about the circumstances for flourishing and equal participation for every person. For every person-including those who are on the opposite side from us. The discipline, Harding said in a forum on non-violence, is to constantly try to look at others with compassion-even those who might deny your own humanity, to remember that they are still a sister or brother. That's how Jesus saw others-it's not an easy invitation, but it's the one we're given. We may or may not be successful, but that's the work. Rev. William Barber talked about the prophetic call-God told Ezekiel to preach to the people: "Your job is to speak to them. Whether they listen to you is not your concern. Just because they don't listen doesn't give you the authority to quit."
So that's what I come back mulling over-what kind of church are we, will we be, in this new day? What kind of priest am I called to be? What kind of city do we want to inhabit? As we begin our ninth year of ministry together this fall, I look forward to what we will discover!
Blessings,
Sara+
I'm glad to be back writing to you after my recent whirlwind tour of our country. My family put just over 10,000 miles on our car driving to San Francisco and home, via the Wild Goose Festival in North Carolina. Mostly camping, mostly national parks, mostly 3 year old Adah and 6 year old Isaiah coexisting peacefully in the back seat.
I'd never been to Wild Goose before--a four day annual gathering of "a community gathered at the intersection of justice, spirituality, music and art." When I was planning the trip, I told the Christ Church vestry it was a conference. Noah and I told the tow truck driver who helped us get out of the woods that it was a revival. Both were right.
We heard speakers from across the spectrum of Christian expression, from Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber (tweeting @sarcasticluther) to veteran civil rights activist and historian Vincent Harding, to post-evangelical, post-modern, post-everything minister Brian McLaren, to Momastery blogger Glennon Melton... several of the sessions were interviews with NPR's Krista Tippett, and will air on her show, On Being, over the next month or two.
As someone who grew up in a liturgical tradition, I didn't quite fit along with the primarily evangelical (or formerly evangelical) crowd, but we were all asking similar questions. How does the church respond to a world that doesn't settle for the same old answers (if, in fact, it ever did, which is a whole other issue)? How do we make our churches vital, compassionate communities across all kinds of difference? How do we invite Jesus into the way we parent, spend our money, relate to our bodies, advocate for justice? Theologically, of course Jesus is already there-but day to day, it's easy to forget that. We have to do that work in and through each moment, not just intellectually answer the question in the abstract and be done with it.
Personally as well as politically-Jesus is there. He has gone to Emmaus, to the picket line, to the hospital bed, to the boardroom. The hope and energy of Wild Goose was a good way to end a drive across the country-day to day, even in this cradle of early America, I don't think a lot about where this country came from-all the promise and freedom as well as the suffering. Driving through Indian reservation after reservation, I couldn't ignore that question anymore--hearing from my friend Rob, a priest serving the Episcopal Church on the Standing Rock Reservation, who talked about how divided the white community there was from Native Americans even now. I couldn't ignore hearing about how sacred the Black Hills were to the Lakota, and how treaties were broken again and again. Seeing the wide-open spaces of the West, I could also imagine how early settlers saw that space and wanted to find their own success there.
In one of his talks, Vincent Harding talked about the call for each of us to "make it our concern" to bring real democracy to birth in this country. Despite all our history, we are still emerging as a democracy, he said-there is more to do to bring about the circumstances for flourishing and equal participation for every person. For every person-including those who are on the opposite side from us. The discipline, Harding said in a forum on non-violence, is to constantly try to look at others with compassion-even those who might deny your own humanity, to remember that they are still a sister or brother. That's how Jesus saw others-it's not an easy invitation, but it's the one we're given. We may or may not be successful, but that's the work. Rev. William Barber talked about the prophetic call-God told Ezekiel to preach to the people: "Your job is to speak to them. Whether they listen to you is not your concern. Just because they don't listen doesn't give you the authority to quit."
So that's what I come back mulling over-what kind of church are we, will we be, in this new day? What kind of priest am I called to be? What kind of city do we want to inhabit? As we begin our ninth year of ministry together this fall, I look forward to what we will discover!
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
This Week with the Supremes
Dear People of
Christ Church,
When Bishop Gayle
Harris visited us last May, she spent some time with vestry after our service
talking about how things are going at Christ Church. We talked about our usual
struggles, with people's so-full lives trying to create time apart for prayer
and for life together at church. We talked about our successes, about our
growth in our community and our very good problem of needing more leaders for
children's ministries. We were stumped, though, when she asked us this
question: "How do you party?"
How do we party,
indeed? Well, um, ah, there's...coffee hour. And the Christmas Pageant is a
little like a party, now that it comes with dinner afterwards. Softball last
week was a party, kind of. We used to have a parish picnic (why did we stop
doing that?). The fact is, though, that celebration just for its own sake
actually isn't a huge part of our life together in an intentional way. The
Ladies' Evening Group does have their fun, so special credit goes to Jeanne
Hewitt for organizing the last tea, even in such a serious crowd...
I was
thinking about this yesterday, in the wide smile I had over seeing the Supreme
Court rulings over Proposition 8 (which banned same sex marriage in California,
now thrown out) and the repeal of the "Defense of Marriage Act" (a
misnomer if ever there were one-thankfully, declared unconstitutional). So,
yay! But then I started thinking about all the states where equal marriage may
not be a reality for some time to come. And then I thought about the decision
yesterday repealing part of the Voting Rights Act, even as racism is so endemic
and many people still have difficulty enacting this basic right of American
democracy. And then...and before long I forgot I was celebrating.
Win some, lose some, right? Wrong.
Why is this
important?
I think it speaks to
a certain tension in the Christian life that we all face, both in our lives
individually and in our life together as a parish. There. is. so. much. to.
do. I don't have to tell you that. It can feel a little tricky to step
back and look around and just celebrate so much that is good. Shouldn't we use
that time to work harder? Shouldn't we be the kind of people who find working
to be celebrating?
Maybe, but then there's this:
Maybe, but then there's this:
"The Son of
Man came eating and drinking, and they say, "Look, a glutton and a
drunkard, a friend of tax-collectors and sinners!" Yet wisdom is
vindicated by her deeds.' (Matthew11:19)
In this exchange,
Jesus is naming the tension-John the Baptist didn't eat or drink, and you said
he had a demon. Now I'm here, and you say I'm a drunk. What gives? In his
life, Jesus gave us an example of how to live-how to celebrate and be joyful,
how to spend time away in prayer, how to be with those who have nothing, how to
love those we disagree with.
So here's my hope.
My hope is to find, not some halfway-between middle ground between delight and
sorrow where we're too calm and cool to be joyful. My hope is to exult, deeply,
with those whose marriages are now recognized by the federal government (in
just 13 states, for now). My hope is also for 37 other states to
recognize all marriages, and for Congress to permanently enshrine protection
for all voters into the law. As I hope for those things, I also want to
remember to look toward an even deeper joy, a deeper hope, for the
reconciliation of all people and all creation with our Creator, with Jesus
God's beloved, where we can meet each other freely. As we heard
from Galatians on Sunday, in Christ there is no slave or free, no Jew or Greek,
no male or female...no black or white, no straight or gay, not even any
conservative or liberal. And on our way there, I'll pray for wisdom to vindicate
both my joy and my sorrow. Now who's going to be the chair of the party
committee?
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
From June 14: Politics and Privilege
This past Tuesday, I attended the annual meeting of Episcopal City Mission a group that works for social justice in partnership with parishes and in funding new projects in local communities. Each year, ECM gives out awards for groups or individuals who have done notable work over the year to promote justice. One award was given to the outgoing chair of Morville house, an affordable housing complex that ECM owns for seniors in Boston. Another went to Marisa Egerstrom, one of the first organizers of the "Protest Chaplains," a faith presence at the Occupy movement for income equality that began last September. She’s a PhD student in religion at Harvard and in discernment for the priesthood and goes to the parish that sponsored me for the priesthood, St John the Evangelist, Boston.
Both here in Boston and in the original Occupy Wall Street site in New York, Marisa was instrumental in telling the story about how Christians care about inequality (in all honesty, this should not be news). In her acceptance speech, she talked about how we long for the Kingdom of God--how it is an almost physical, palpable longing. She also thanked ECM for acknowledging the Spirit in people who look different from the way church people often do, and in places where the Church often does not go. The Protest Chaplains had the opportunity to communicate the Gospel in a new way to people who, perhaps, had given up on the Church. That felt, physical longing for justice that buzzed in the air at Zuccoti Park and on the Greenway was a refusal to settle for the status quo as we have become accustomed to it. It was a declaration that we as a society can do better than homelessness and better than billionaires. That longing, the Protest Chaplains offered, is a longing for God--a longing many of the people there would not have labeled as such because religion as they have seen it has been about telling people that they are insufficient, not that they are blessed. It was evangelism as well as activism.
At the same time, I've been getting ready for our screening of Love Free or Die. In preparing to write this morning, I had this background buzz in my mind--"Really, Sara? Really? Do we have to talk about sexuality AGAIN?" It's an excellent movie, but maybe you are feeling the same in wondering whether you will attend tonight. The thing is, as I sit here behind my computer on my suburban couch before leisurely driving into work, the fact is that I have the luxury to even ask that question. A teenager whose parents have kicked him out of the house for being gay, a mother whose ex-husband is trying to take away shared custody of their children because she's a lesbian, service members who are finally, finally able to be honest about who the are--they don't have the choice. And, so, it falls to each of us to tell the story, again and again, of God's love for everyone--everyone, yes, even those who disagree about the issue in the first place.
In a video I posted recently on our facebook page, a seminary friend of mine talks about how the Church needs to be a sanctuary, but a particular kind of sanctuary, one of safety, not avoidance. Michele is currently embroiled in the debate over a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage in Minnesota. She and her partner have been together for more than ten years, and she has a clear stake in the conversation. But she also is advocating for church to be a place where people can love each other across their differences, to respect one another deeply and even, still, be able to disagree. Church is a sanctuary, but not away from the "dirty" things of the world like politics. It's a sanctuary from the dirty things of the world like contempt and fear. We are in dialogue not so much to change each other but to hear each other.
So hopefully I’ll see you tonight—whether you’re all settled on the question of sexuality and the church or whether you’re still discerning—and I hope that you’ll pray for Marisa, and Gene Robinson, and all those people who pose hard questions to easy comfort.
I’ll close with this Franciscan blessing:
May God bless us with discomfort, At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, So that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger, At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears, To shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness, To believe that you can make a difference in this world, So that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Both here in Boston and in the original Occupy Wall Street site in New York, Marisa was instrumental in telling the story about how Christians care about inequality (in all honesty, this should not be news). In her acceptance speech, she talked about how we long for the Kingdom of God--how it is an almost physical, palpable longing. She also thanked ECM for acknowledging the Spirit in people who look different from the way church people often do, and in places where the Church often does not go. The Protest Chaplains had the opportunity to communicate the Gospel in a new way to people who, perhaps, had given up on the Church. That felt, physical longing for justice that buzzed in the air at Zuccoti Park and on the Greenway was a refusal to settle for the status quo as we have become accustomed to it. It was a declaration that we as a society can do better than homelessness and better than billionaires. That longing, the Protest Chaplains offered, is a longing for God--a longing many of the people there would not have labeled as such because religion as they have seen it has been about telling people that they are insufficient, not that they are blessed. It was evangelism as well as activism.
At the same time, I've been getting ready for our screening of Love Free or Die. In preparing to write this morning, I had this background buzz in my mind--"Really, Sara? Really? Do we have to talk about sexuality AGAIN?" It's an excellent movie, but maybe you are feeling the same in wondering whether you will attend tonight. The thing is, as I sit here behind my computer on my suburban couch before leisurely driving into work, the fact is that I have the luxury to even ask that question. A teenager whose parents have kicked him out of the house for being gay, a mother whose ex-husband is trying to take away shared custody of their children because she's a lesbian, service members who are finally, finally able to be honest about who the are--they don't have the choice. And, so, it falls to each of us to tell the story, again and again, of God's love for everyone--everyone, yes, even those who disagree about the issue in the first place.
In a video I posted recently on our facebook page, a seminary friend of mine talks about how the Church needs to be a sanctuary, but a particular kind of sanctuary, one of safety, not avoidance. Michele is currently embroiled in the debate over a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage in Minnesota. She and her partner have been together for more than ten years, and she has a clear stake in the conversation. But she also is advocating for church to be a place where people can love each other across their differences, to respect one another deeply and even, still, be able to disagree. Church is a sanctuary, but not away from the "dirty" things of the world like politics. It's a sanctuary from the dirty things of the world like contempt and fear. We are in dialogue not so much to change each other but to hear each other.
So hopefully I’ll see you tonight—whether you’re all settled on the question of sexuality and the church or whether you’re still discerning—and I hope that you’ll pray for Marisa, and Gene Robinson, and all those people who pose hard questions to easy comfort.
I’ll close with this Franciscan blessing:
May God bless us with discomfort, At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, So that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger, At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears, To shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness, To believe that you can make a difference in this world, So that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
Next Monday, I hope you'll join me in welcoming the Rev. George Walters-Sleyon, founder and director of the Center for Church and Prison. He is a mentee of our friend Norm Faramelli, and Sue Burkart became acquainted with him through her work with the organization Children of Incarcerated Parents. He will be speaking particularly on the "Three Strikes" law currently making its way through the legislature. It's in committee now, with members of the House and Senate ironing out differences between their versions before going to both for the final vote. The law came about in response to the murder of Woburn police officer John Maguire in 2010 in a shootout in the middle of a robbery. He was shot by Dominic Cinelli, paroled after serving 22 years of three concurrent life sentences. Cinelli had had a history of violent crime but was released on parole (though had the DA been notified as they should have been, his parole likely would not have gone through). Cinelli also died that day
So how does a Christian respond? It's hard to say on any issue that there is one Christian response. I oppose it, and Walters-Sleyon will speak about his opposition as well. But it's an issue in a wider context. This is not just a simple question of one law, or putting people in prison for longer. This issue is a knot of social issues; racism, poverty, and economics all come together in a particularly American stew. Prisons are big moneymakers, particularly those operated by private firms, a practice that is more and more common. The more we build the more prisoners are incarcerated, curiously despite the fact the crime is actually decreasing (no, it's not because all the criminals are in jail). The Corrections Corporation of America, a builder of private prisons, chillingly cautioned investors in their 2005 annual report that profits would go down if drug or immigration laws were changed. Naturally, their lobbyists are busy making sure that doesn't happen.
There are six million people under "correctional control," either in prison or on parole or probation, which would make it the second largest city in the country. Particularly in black communities, a conversation is taking place that we need to use the term "abolition." More than half of all black men without a high school diploma find themselves in prison at some point. Despite relatively equal rates of drug use, black people in the US are significantly more likely to be incarcerated for drug crimes. Blacks are now incarcerated seven times as often as whites. In her book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Era of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander points out that there are more blacks in the US prison system than there were in slavery in 1850. Dominic Cinelli was white, but the bill that seeks to respond to his crime will disproportionately impact black people.
Sociologists and law enforcement are the experts; I don't know how best to allocate punishment to crime, though I intuit there is a lot wrong with how we do it now. As Christians, our job is to try to reconcile the state of our world with the judgment of Matthew 25:
Then they also will answer, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" Then he will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.' (v.44-46)
To look at social issues with the eyes of Christ: that is, to look not at "social issues" at all. It is our job to look at human beings. The family that is left behind, the son or daughter whose mother is addicted, the felon who can't even get a job at McDonald's with a record. What does it do to a person to separate them from society and permanently disenfranchise him? However much prison time a convicted felon has served, s/he still loses the right to vote, permanently. What does it say about us as a society that our system deems certain persons beyond salvation? What does it say about our values that we spend $10,000 a year for a school aged child's education but allocate $47,000 for one inmate? How do we respond to those who have lost hope? Worse, when desperation is a logical response to an impossible situation?
As always, I end with more questions than answers. But I look forward to Monday evening to hear what I can do. RSVP and share the event on facebook.
Blessings,
Sara+
Next Monday, I hope you'll join me in welcoming the Rev. George Walters-Sleyon, founder and director of the Center for Church and Prison. He is a mentee of our friend Norm Faramelli, and Sue Burkart became acquainted with him through her work with the organization Children of Incarcerated Parents. He will be speaking particularly on the "Three Strikes" law currently making its way through the legislature. It's in committee now, with members of the House and Senate ironing out differences between their versions before going to both for the final vote. The law came about in response to the murder of Woburn police officer John Maguire in 2010 in a shootout in the middle of a robbery. He was shot by Dominic Cinelli, paroled after serving 22 years of three concurrent life sentences. Cinelli had had a history of violent crime but was released on parole (though had the DA been notified as they should have been, his parole likely would not have gone through). Cinelli also died that day
So how does a Christian respond? It's hard to say on any issue that there is one Christian response. I oppose it, and Walters-Sleyon will speak about his opposition as well. But it's an issue in a wider context. This is not just a simple question of one law, or putting people in prison for longer. This issue is a knot of social issues; racism, poverty, and economics all come together in a particularly American stew. Prisons are big moneymakers, particularly those operated by private firms, a practice that is more and more common. The more we build the more prisoners are incarcerated, curiously despite the fact the crime is actually decreasing (no, it's not because all the criminals are in jail). The Corrections Corporation of America, a builder of private prisons, chillingly cautioned investors in their 2005 annual report that profits would go down if drug or immigration laws were changed. Naturally, their lobbyists are busy making sure that doesn't happen.
There are six million people under "correctional control," either in prison or on parole or probation, which would make it the second largest city in the country. Particularly in black communities, a conversation is taking place that we need to use the term "abolition." More than half of all black men without a high school diploma find themselves in prison at some point. Despite relatively equal rates of drug use, black people in the US are significantly more likely to be incarcerated for drug crimes. Blacks are now incarcerated seven times as often as whites. In her book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Era of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander points out that there are more blacks in the US prison system than there were in slavery in 1850. Dominic Cinelli was white, but the bill that seeks to respond to his crime will disproportionately impact black people.
Sociologists and law enforcement are the experts; I don't know how best to allocate punishment to crime, though I intuit there is a lot wrong with how we do it now. As Christians, our job is to try to reconcile the state of our world with the judgment of Matthew 25:
Then they also will answer, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" Then he will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.' (v.44-46)
To look at social issues with the eyes of Christ: that is, to look not at "social issues" at all. It is our job to look at human beings. The family that is left behind, the son or daughter whose mother is addicted, the felon who can't even get a job at McDonald's with a record. What does it do to a person to separate them from society and permanently disenfranchise him? However much prison time a convicted felon has served, s/he still loses the right to vote, permanently. What does it say about us as a society that our system deems certain persons beyond salvation? What does it say about our values that we spend $10,000 a year for a school aged child's education but allocate $47,000 for one inmate? How do we respond to those who have lost hope? Worse, when desperation is a logical response to an impossible situation?
As always, I end with more questions than answers. But I look forward to Monday evening to hear what I can do. RSVP and share the event on facebook.
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, October 13, 2011
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I've been marinating on what, exactly, is going on across the country with the "Occupy" movement. It started with "Occupy Wall Street" and has now spread all over-Alabama to Washington state. And, of course, Boston. My family went down on Monday night but were advised a few minutes into our visit that the police planned to come at nightfall (it was around 6:30 when we got there) and that it wouldn't be the best place for kids. There has been a decent response from the faith community; a group called the Protest Chaplains is blogging and visiting, and there is a sacred space tent. Bishop Shaw went yesterday for an ecumenical service of support. A UU minister who lives in my neighborhood lead vespers last Sunday night.
As a softie bleeding heart, I'm inclined to be sympathetic; after our wedding in 2003 (in New York), my husband and I cut the reception short so everyone could go downtown to the anti Iraq war protest. I love a good protest. The difficult thing about what's going on now is that the method has little do to with the problem. The financial crisis was not caused by local branches of Bank of America. It was a result of a financial system that relied more and more on abstract amounts of abstract money moving from spread sheet to spread sheet and a government that stopped regulating much of anything assuming the market would fix it all. It didn't, and here we are. Still, you could just as well occupy "the internet" as Dewey Square; there's no "there" there.
The problem is meeting an abstract problem with a concrete complaint; there is truly no way that the message can be transmitted in a "rational" way, because it is not a "rational" problem. Corporate incomes have no relationship to the production of real goods and services. CEO pay increases into the tens of millions as regular workers are laid off. The United States is closest to Russia and Iran when it comes to income inequality. The "Occupy" movement is using the most basic means of communication possible: putting a (tent) stake in the ground, putting their bodies where they will be seen.
What does this have to do with the kingdom of God?
Something about how we are in the world but not of it, how we put others' needs ahead of our own, how "the least of these" are to be cared for first, the shepherd going after the one lost sheep. That there is enough -there really is. It's not tea party vs occupiers, it's not even 1 percent vs 99 percent. It's all of us. Jesus went to the cross for everyone, not just the morally pure, not just the vegetarians, not just the poor. He didn't go just for the successful, intelligent, and brave, either. That means that each of us has a responsibility to the others. We are all just as much in need of that grace. We are all in just as much need for food and shelter and love and forgiveness.
This does not mean everyone has to go out and quit their jobs and become organic farmers who make their own clothes. I want there to be a bank and a banker when I need a mortgage. I want a small business to be able to open because someone invested their money in it. I want all of us to have well-paying jobs so we can finish our capital campaign with handicap accessible bathrooms! But I also want us to be critical enough to ask how, and why, our economy works the way it does, and to do what we can to make it a just one.
Is this not the fast that I choose; to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rearguard. (Isaiah 58: 6-8)
Thanks be to God!
Sara+
This week, I've been marinating on what, exactly, is going on across the country with the "Occupy" movement. It started with "Occupy Wall Street" and has now spread all over-Alabama to Washington state. And, of course, Boston. My family went down on Monday night but were advised a few minutes into our visit that the police planned to come at nightfall (it was around 6:30 when we got there) and that it wouldn't be the best place for kids. There has been a decent response from the faith community; a group called the Protest Chaplains is blogging and visiting, and there is a sacred space tent. Bishop Shaw went yesterday for an ecumenical service of support. A UU minister who lives in my neighborhood lead vespers last Sunday night.
As a softie bleeding heart, I'm inclined to be sympathetic; after our wedding in 2003 (in New York), my husband and I cut the reception short so everyone could go downtown to the anti Iraq war protest. I love a good protest. The difficult thing about what's going on now is that the method has little do to with the problem. The financial crisis was not caused by local branches of Bank of America. It was a result of a financial system that relied more and more on abstract amounts of abstract money moving from spread sheet to spread sheet and a government that stopped regulating much of anything assuming the market would fix it all. It didn't, and here we are. Still, you could just as well occupy "the internet" as Dewey Square; there's no "there" there.
The problem is meeting an abstract problem with a concrete complaint; there is truly no way that the message can be transmitted in a "rational" way, because it is not a "rational" problem. Corporate incomes have no relationship to the production of real goods and services. CEO pay increases into the tens of millions as regular workers are laid off. The United States is closest to Russia and Iran when it comes to income inequality. The "Occupy" movement is using the most basic means of communication possible: putting a (tent) stake in the ground, putting their bodies where they will be seen.
What does this have to do with the kingdom of God?
Something about how we are in the world but not of it, how we put others' needs ahead of our own, how "the least of these" are to be cared for first, the shepherd going after the one lost sheep. That there is enough -there really is. It's not tea party vs occupiers, it's not even 1 percent vs 99 percent. It's all of us. Jesus went to the cross for everyone, not just the morally pure, not just the vegetarians, not just the poor. He didn't go just for the successful, intelligent, and brave, either. That means that each of us has a responsibility to the others. We are all just as much in need of that grace. We are all in just as much need for food and shelter and love and forgiveness.
This does not mean everyone has to go out and quit their jobs and become organic farmers who make their own clothes. I want there to be a bank and a banker when I need a mortgage. I want a small business to be able to open because someone invested their money in it. I want all of us to have well-paying jobs so we can finish our capital campaign with handicap accessible bathrooms! But I also want us to be critical enough to ask how, and why, our economy works the way it does, and to do what we can to make it a just one.
Is this not the fast that I choose; to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rearguard. (Isaiah 58: 6-8)
Thanks be to God!
Sara+
Thursday, May 5, 2011
On Killing Osama Bin Laden
This week, I’ve found myself uneasily watching and listening for news of the responses around our country—and the world—to Osama bin Laden’s death. The images of people celebrating and dancing, hailing “victory” and “USA, USA” frankly just make me uncomfortable. I was living in New York City at the time of the terrorist attacks of 2001, and remember at that time as well feeling strangely out of sync with the rest of the country’s response; military retaliation at that time felt like the wrong decision. So, too, now jubilation at bin Laden’s death feels wrong as well.
At the same time, I cannot say that I can imagine another outcome. I can’t imagine a trial, a prison cell, a conclusion, to the nightmare of violence and bloodshed that has happened over the last 10 years (and before, given bin Laden’s previous attacks). There is no conclusion; those who are dead will not come back to life. We won’t get back that serene life we lived before “the war on terror,” (whatever that means now). I will not forget the sense of extreme anxiety and panic of being in New York in those days after the attack—neither will I forget the palpable sense of relief I felt six weeks later, leaving the city for a weekend in Vermont. But I went back, and lived in New York for another three years. That uneasy feeling did subside, but the sense of out-of-sync-ness never quite did. I still grieve that something that felt at the time like “my tragedy” (which of course, it wasn’t) had been used to justify bringing tragedy on others.
Tragedy is the word here—it’s tragic on all fronts. Tragic, so many lives lost; tragic, the failure of imagination; tragic, this whole web of violence we are stuck in. Bin Laden himself was one face of violence; a teenager caught in gang crossfire is another—as is his killer. But it is never good news when someone is killed. It is good news that the military works courageously. It is good news that intelligence agents figured out where he was. It is good news that people love this country and want to serve. But there is no justice in killing, even those who perpetrate terrible, terrible acts. Last Sunday I was talking with Gene and Jose at coffee hour and learned of the killing of Muammar Qadaffi’s son and grandchildren—again and again, more tragedy. We become immune to it. Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya. Where next?
As Christians, we try to reach for another truth. Not “might makes right,” but “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The resurrection is the result of God’s sacrificial love, Christ’s unwillingness to trade evil for evil. The resurrection says that death never has the last word. The crucifixion was not the end for Jesus, and it wasn’t the end for the Christian story. Christ was raised for all—not just for those who “deserve” him.
At the end of the day, it may be that how we feel doesn’t matter much. And I’m certainly not going to tell anyone else how to feel. Feelings are just that—feelings. They’re information. We don’t, exactly, control them. You’re not a bad person if you’re happy about bin Laden’s death. You’re not a paragon of moral restraint and virtue of you aren’t. But we can pay attention to what they are, and consider how we respond to them. How do we pray about our feelings? How do we ask that “holy angels may us in “paths of peace and goodwill,” as the prayers in the evening office say? How can we reach out, in love, to those who suffer? To Muslims, against whom hate crimes have increased dramatically in the last few days? To those who serve in the military, who sacrifice so much? To those who dedicate themselves to peace, giving us the imagination to see a different way of life?
O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us al to stand reconciled before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen
At the same time, I cannot say that I can imagine another outcome. I can’t imagine a trial, a prison cell, a conclusion, to the nightmare of violence and bloodshed that has happened over the last 10 years (and before, given bin Laden’s previous attacks). There is no conclusion; those who are dead will not come back to life. We won’t get back that serene life we lived before “the war on terror,” (whatever that means now). I will not forget the sense of extreme anxiety and panic of being in New York in those days after the attack—neither will I forget the palpable sense of relief I felt six weeks later, leaving the city for a weekend in Vermont. But I went back, and lived in New York for another three years. That uneasy feeling did subside, but the sense of out-of-sync-ness never quite did. I still grieve that something that felt at the time like “my tragedy” (which of course, it wasn’t) had been used to justify bringing tragedy on others.
Tragedy is the word here—it’s tragic on all fronts. Tragic, so many lives lost; tragic, the failure of imagination; tragic, this whole web of violence we are stuck in. Bin Laden himself was one face of violence; a teenager caught in gang crossfire is another—as is his killer. But it is never good news when someone is killed. It is good news that the military works courageously. It is good news that intelligence agents figured out where he was. It is good news that people love this country and want to serve. But there is no justice in killing, even those who perpetrate terrible, terrible acts. Last Sunday I was talking with Gene and Jose at coffee hour and learned of the killing of Muammar Qadaffi’s son and grandchildren—again and again, more tragedy. We become immune to it. Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya. Where next?
As Christians, we try to reach for another truth. Not “might makes right,” but “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The resurrection is the result of God’s sacrificial love, Christ’s unwillingness to trade evil for evil. The resurrection says that death never has the last word. The crucifixion was not the end for Jesus, and it wasn’t the end for the Christian story. Christ was raised for all—not just for those who “deserve” him.
At the end of the day, it may be that how we feel doesn’t matter much. And I’m certainly not going to tell anyone else how to feel. Feelings are just that—feelings. They’re information. We don’t, exactly, control them. You’re not a bad person if you’re happy about bin Laden’s death. You’re not a paragon of moral restraint and virtue of you aren’t. But we can pay attention to what they are, and consider how we respond to them. How do we pray about our feelings? How do we ask that “holy angels may us in “paths of peace and goodwill,” as the prayers in the evening office say? How can we reach out, in love, to those who suffer? To Muslims, against whom hate crimes have increased dramatically in the last few days? To those who serve in the military, who sacrifice so much? To those who dedicate themselves to peace, giving us the imagination to see a different way of life?
O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us al to stand reconciled before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen
From April 7, 2011 Social Change
This Lent, as maybe you have, I've been receiving daily emails from the Ecumenical Lenten Carbon Fast. Each morning, I find a suggestion for ways to reduce my impact on the earth. Some days, I open them and feel good-"use cloth bags when you go shopping." Easy! I do that! [Nearly always. Nearly]. Other days, I get the daily email and think, "No way!" For example, I'm just not going to be able to dry my clothes on a line outside in New England, in winter, with 2 small children. And sometimes, I get them, and barely read through before I'm distracted by something else. I assume my experience with this is fairly typical; some hits, some misses.
I calculated my household carbon footprint at the Nature Conservancy. Compared to the average American, we seem to be doing OK-73 tons vs. the American average of 110 for a family of four. Compared to a global average of 22 tons, though, we're pretty extravagant. Many groups (including all the sites linked from the Carbon Fast email and the Nature Conservancy, above) offer chances to "offset" your carbon emissions-you pay for the planting of trees or other environmental sustainability efforts to try to remedy the emissions you generate-but how effective that is, I can't be sure.
No one claims that an email a day will transform your life. That there is such a thing as a "Carbon Fast" at all, though, shows how our society has changed. Environmentalism is a movement as much as it is a series of tasks, our consciousness slowly being raised and our behaviors slowly coming around. We are now beginning to understand the cost of our lifestyle; it can't go on forever.
That's how social change happens; it always starts somewhere. The anthropologist Margaret Mead put it this way: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."
This past Monday, I had occasion to think about social change at the Massachusetts State House, where I attended a press conference to encourage the legislature to add "gender identity and expression" to existing nondiscrimination legislation in Massachusetts. The Commonwealth already has laws to protect gays and lesbians from unfair discrimination in housing, health care, and employment, but those who are born a different gender from the one with which they identify are vulnerable, and face some of the highest rates of harassment and violence.
The bishop talked about how this struggle was different from others he'd been part of; Bishop Shaw has been a vocal supporter of same sex marriage, which he said was in some ways an easier issue. Nearly everyone knows someone who is gay. Awareness is slower to catch on, though, when fewer people are part of a particular group--one of the reasons Bishop Shaw is speaking out at this time. I care a lot about justice, I hope, as much as anyone, but if my daughter's godfather (who is transgendered and moderated the panel) hadn't invited me, would I have attended? I hope so. Our Bishop was there for the same reason-we are all learning. Learning, but not exactly in an intellectual way. We are learning how the will of God slowly unfolds and how, as our bishop said, none of us are free when all of us are not free. Our humanity is bound up in each other's.
Slowly, slowly, our consciousness shifts. This Sunday we'll have a presentation about the ONE campaign's work with AIDS in Africa. Thirty years ago, churches turned away from AIDS victims; now congregations across the globe, this Sunday, are hearing stories of what can happen when people receive treatment. Jesus raised Lazarus-people today are raised, too. Slowly, the silence is broken and the sin of sitting idly by is revealed.
Change happens slowly, and on so many levels; hearts, heads, communities, governments. It can take hard work to even imagine a new way of life, never mind actually bringing it to be. The most important part is the conversation; the way people get to know each other and hear other experiences. In our chapter for our Tuesday night study, we read about how Jesus often appears to be a stranger-even (especially!) those first resurrection appearances were deeply, deeply foreign. The disciples did not expect to meet him; how often do we expect to meet Jesus in those who differ from us? How closely are we listening for the stories, being willing to change our lives?
I calculated my household carbon footprint at the Nature Conservancy. Compared to the average American, we seem to be doing OK-73 tons vs. the American average of 110 for a family of four. Compared to a global average of 22 tons, though, we're pretty extravagant. Many groups (including all the sites linked from the Carbon Fast email and the Nature Conservancy, above) offer chances to "offset" your carbon emissions-you pay for the planting of trees or other environmental sustainability efforts to try to remedy the emissions you generate-but how effective that is, I can't be sure.
No one claims that an email a day will transform your life. That there is such a thing as a "Carbon Fast" at all, though, shows how our society has changed. Environmentalism is a movement as much as it is a series of tasks, our consciousness slowly being raised and our behaviors slowly coming around. We are now beginning to understand the cost of our lifestyle; it can't go on forever.
That's how social change happens; it always starts somewhere. The anthropologist Margaret Mead put it this way: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."
This past Monday, I had occasion to think about social change at the Massachusetts State House, where I attended a press conference to encourage the legislature to add "gender identity and expression" to existing nondiscrimination legislation in Massachusetts. The Commonwealth already has laws to protect gays and lesbians from unfair discrimination in housing, health care, and employment, but those who are born a different gender from the one with which they identify are vulnerable, and face some of the highest rates of harassment and violence.
The bishop talked about how this struggle was different from others he'd been part of; Bishop Shaw has been a vocal supporter of same sex marriage, which he said was in some ways an easier issue. Nearly everyone knows someone who is gay. Awareness is slower to catch on, though, when fewer people are part of a particular group--one of the reasons Bishop Shaw is speaking out at this time. I care a lot about justice, I hope, as much as anyone, but if my daughter's godfather (who is transgendered and moderated the panel) hadn't invited me, would I have attended? I hope so. Our Bishop was there for the same reason-we are all learning. Learning, but not exactly in an intellectual way. We are learning how the will of God slowly unfolds and how, as our bishop said, none of us are free when all of us are not free. Our humanity is bound up in each other's.
Slowly, slowly, our consciousness shifts. This Sunday we'll have a presentation about the ONE campaign's work with AIDS in Africa. Thirty years ago, churches turned away from AIDS victims; now congregations across the globe, this Sunday, are hearing stories of what can happen when people receive treatment. Jesus raised Lazarus-people today are raised, too. Slowly, the silence is broken and the sin of sitting idly by is revealed.
Change happens slowly, and on so many levels; hearts, heads, communities, governments. It can take hard work to even imagine a new way of life, never mind actually bringing it to be. The most important part is the conversation; the way people get to know each other and hear other experiences. In our chapter for our Tuesday night study, we read about how Jesus often appears to be a stranger-even (especially!) those first resurrection appearances were deeply, deeply foreign. The disciples did not expect to meet him; how often do we expect to meet Jesus in those who differ from us? How closely are we listening for the stories, being willing to change our lives?
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Holy Week
Dear People of Christ Church,
Easter is late this year, but I still find it impossible to believe that Holy Week is already here. Last week I wrote in this space about an event at the state house I attended, and this week I was in the legislative water again, this time at a meeting at St Mary’s, our Roman Catholic neighbor, to prepare for a conversation the governor is hosting on Saturday at Government Center on School Street (2pm-4pm). The meeting I attended was hosted in coalition with REACH, our local anti domestic violence organization, (reachma.org) about a program President Obama is encouraging states to adopt. Unfortunately, the “Secure Communities” program promotes neither security nor community—it would send the fingerprints of any person arrested (not convicted, mind you—just charged) to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, who then would have license to initiate deportation proceedings even against those guilty of no crime. The program has already had a chilling effect in efforts against domestic violence in places where it has been implemented. Anything that makes someone hesitate to call the police does not promote security. So I encourage you to attend the meeting (after our parish clean up) if you are interested in learning more.
This week I found myself “praying with my feet,” as Rabbi Abraham Heschel said of social advocacy. I’ve also been praying with hands and heart--sharing communion in a wide variety of contexts, at coffee tables, kitchen tables, and hospital tables. Monday, I visited parishioner Mary Ellen Oberdorf, who fell over the weekend and broke her ankle quite severely. She has traveled to Pennsylvania to recuperate with her daughter, in the midst of contemplating a permanent move there as well. I’ve had time this week to share communion in the homes of Muriel Nurse and Vivian Travis, and we also shared communion at our daytime book group at the Kerr home. We don’t often think about it on Sunday unless we’re sending a pastoral visitor out, but the sacraments we celebrate here on Sundays don’t just stay in our building. As Christ goes out, so do the sacraments.
There is nowhere in our lives that Christ does not want to go—Christ goes with us to the hospital, Christ goes with us to work, Christ goes with us to the voting booth and with us to our graves. That’s what Holy Week reminds us of—from Palm Sunday’s heights of celebration (which has its own political emphases as well), to Maundy Thursday’s unsettling intimacy of foot washing and food sharing, Good Friday’s desolation at the cross. Christ goes there because we go there.
This week, peering toward the mysteries of Holy Week, take one last Lenten pause and see where Christ has been going with you. See how that Presence enfolds you when you pause to pay attention. If you feel desolate, pray for a knowledge of that presence and ask for reassurance. Let go of the guilt, let go of the anxiety, let go of the exertion. See where Jesus is now. Then next week, maybe, we’ll be ready to go with him through the betrayal, through the cross, and into the resurrection.
Easter is late this year, but I still find it impossible to believe that Holy Week is already here. Last week I wrote in this space about an event at the state house I attended, and this week I was in the legislative water again, this time at a meeting at St Mary’s, our Roman Catholic neighbor, to prepare for a conversation the governor is hosting on Saturday at Government Center on School Street (2pm-4pm). The meeting I attended was hosted in coalition with REACH, our local anti domestic violence organization, (reachma.org) about a program President Obama is encouraging states to adopt. Unfortunately, the “Secure Communities” program promotes neither security nor community—it would send the fingerprints of any person arrested (not convicted, mind you—just charged) to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement, who then would have license to initiate deportation proceedings even against those guilty of no crime. The program has already had a chilling effect in efforts against domestic violence in places where it has been implemented. Anything that makes someone hesitate to call the police does not promote security. So I encourage you to attend the meeting (after our parish clean up) if you are interested in learning more.
This week I found myself “praying with my feet,” as Rabbi Abraham Heschel said of social advocacy. I’ve also been praying with hands and heart--sharing communion in a wide variety of contexts, at coffee tables, kitchen tables, and hospital tables. Monday, I visited parishioner Mary Ellen Oberdorf, who fell over the weekend and broke her ankle quite severely. She has traveled to Pennsylvania to recuperate with her daughter, in the midst of contemplating a permanent move there as well. I’ve had time this week to share communion in the homes of Muriel Nurse and Vivian Travis, and we also shared communion at our daytime book group at the Kerr home. We don’t often think about it on Sunday unless we’re sending a pastoral visitor out, but the sacraments we celebrate here on Sundays don’t just stay in our building. As Christ goes out, so do the sacraments.
There is nowhere in our lives that Christ does not want to go—Christ goes with us to the hospital, Christ goes with us to work, Christ goes with us to the voting booth and with us to our graves. That’s what Holy Week reminds us of—from Palm Sunday’s heights of celebration (which has its own political emphases as well), to Maundy Thursday’s unsettling intimacy of foot washing and food sharing, Good Friday’s desolation at the cross. Christ goes there because we go there.
This week, peering toward the mysteries of Holy Week, take one last Lenten pause and see where Christ has been going with you. See how that Presence enfolds you when you pause to pay attention. If you feel desolate, pray for a knowledge of that presence and ask for reassurance. Let go of the guilt, let go of the anxiety, let go of the exertion. See where Jesus is now. Then next week, maybe, we’ll be ready to go with him through the betrayal, through the cross, and into the resurrection.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Crying out, sitting still, from Egypt to Wisconsin
Dear People of Christ Church,
This morning, I was over with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington. Like many things in life, the ones we most try to avoid can be the most life-giving-I didn't feel like coming up with something to say, being cheerful and leaving the house at 7:30 AM to fight Mass Ave traffic. Of course, God creeps up on us even more on our most petulant and reluctant days, and as I stepped into their quiet chapel, facing those 6 women (5 sisters and one retreatant), the Holy One patted me on the head and forgave me for my hard heartedness.
The Gospel was the story of blind Bartimaeus in Mark. Leaving Jericho, a blind beggar sits at the side of the road. Everyone tells him to be quiet, but he just yells louder. It's a familiar healing story-he gets his sight in the end, and follows Jesus. But until I read it out loud during the service, I never quite heard the most noteworthy thing in all of it: Jesus stood still. This is all the more striking since it's the Gospel of Mark, where everything is fast, fast, fast-it uses the word "immediately" more than any other Gospel, even though it's the shortest-but the writer is moved enough by Jesus' action (or lack of action!) to first describe him standing still.
Jesus stood still. When did you last stand still?
The other thing that was wonderful about hearing this Gospel this morning was the connection to all the things now happening in the world-maybe in direct contrast to standing still! Movements of people organizing from Wisconsin to Algeria, Ohio to Egypt, Washington DC to Libya. Whatever your political interpretation of events, it is an amazing thing to witness people rising up, reveling in the strength of their communities and the clarity of their vision. The more amazing thing is the way people's struggles are, if not linked in terms of the issues they raise, linked in terms of their shared humanity. A friend of mine on Facebook has posted a picture of a bulletin board in a pizza shop in Wisconsin that has been delivering food to the people camped out in protest. People from China, Finland, Costa Rica, Uganda, Iran, Sri Lanka, Egypt, and all fifty states have heard about the actions in Wisconsin and are offering support. What does someone in Iran have in common with someone in Wisconsin? You can't even make an international call except from a hospital, which someone snuck into in order to order the pizzas. A gulf (a solar system!) of privilege separates them. When your own government suppresses your rights as much as Iran's does, how could you possibly be bothered if someone thousands of miles away doesn't want to lose their union rights? But they are! Like blind Bartimaeus, people are crying out and people are hearing each other-standing still and listening, offering the support they can. Even though their concerns are different, even though they may not even agree with each other, they are listening and recognizing each other's humanity. Most of the people in Bahrain, Egypt, or Yemen, are not Christian. Probably a fair number of the Wisconsin folks are, but maybe not. A person camped out on the Libyan border does not have a lot in common with someone sleeping at the Madison statehouse. Still, all were created in the image of God, and all are drawing on that shared created nature as they support each other.
Stand still, shout out, pray-there are so many ways to give glory to God. On this clear cold day, offer a prayer of thanksgiving for all the ways God blesses you, and in thanksgiving for all the ways that others' love (which, of course, is also God's love) gives you life.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning, I was over with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington. Like many things in life, the ones we most try to avoid can be the most life-giving-I didn't feel like coming up with something to say, being cheerful and leaving the house at 7:30 AM to fight Mass Ave traffic. Of course, God creeps up on us even more on our most petulant and reluctant days, and as I stepped into their quiet chapel, facing those 6 women (5 sisters and one retreatant), the Holy One patted me on the head and forgave me for my hard heartedness.
The Gospel was the story of blind Bartimaeus in Mark. Leaving Jericho, a blind beggar sits at the side of the road. Everyone tells him to be quiet, but he just yells louder. It's a familiar healing story-he gets his sight in the end, and follows Jesus. But until I read it out loud during the service, I never quite heard the most noteworthy thing in all of it: Jesus stood still. This is all the more striking since it's the Gospel of Mark, where everything is fast, fast, fast-it uses the word "immediately" more than any other Gospel, even though it's the shortest-but the writer is moved enough by Jesus' action (or lack of action!) to first describe him standing still.
Jesus stood still. When did you last stand still?
The other thing that was wonderful about hearing this Gospel this morning was the connection to all the things now happening in the world-maybe in direct contrast to standing still! Movements of people organizing from Wisconsin to Algeria, Ohio to Egypt, Washington DC to Libya. Whatever your political interpretation of events, it is an amazing thing to witness people rising up, reveling in the strength of their communities and the clarity of their vision. The more amazing thing is the way people's struggles are, if not linked in terms of the issues they raise, linked in terms of their shared humanity. A friend of mine on Facebook has posted a picture of a bulletin board in a pizza shop in Wisconsin that has been delivering food to the people camped out in protest. People from China, Finland, Costa Rica, Uganda, Iran, Sri Lanka, Egypt, and all fifty states have heard about the actions in Wisconsin and are offering support. What does someone in Iran have in common with someone in Wisconsin? You can't even make an international call except from a hospital, which someone snuck into in order to order the pizzas. A gulf (a solar system!) of privilege separates them. When your own government suppresses your rights as much as Iran's does, how could you possibly be bothered if someone thousands of miles away doesn't want to lose their union rights? But they are! Like blind Bartimaeus, people are crying out and people are hearing each other-standing still and listening, offering the support they can. Even though their concerns are different, even though they may not even agree with each other, they are listening and recognizing each other's humanity. Most of the people in Bahrain, Egypt, or Yemen, are not Christian. Probably a fair number of the Wisconsin folks are, but maybe not. A person camped out on the Libyan border does not have a lot in common with someone sleeping at the Madison statehouse. Still, all were created in the image of God, and all are drawing on that shared created nature as they support each other.
Stand still, shout out, pray-there are so many ways to give glory to God. On this clear cold day, offer a prayer of thanksgiving for all the ways God blesses you, and in thanksgiving for all the ways that others' love (which, of course, is also God's love) gives you life.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Bishop Robinson's Retirement
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I have been praying for Gene Robinson and the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire. As we celebrated our own diocesan convention in Lynn last Saturday, Dio NH also had theirs, and received the news that Bishop Robinson would be retiring in 2013. (look for something in our Quarterly newsletter about our own Convention from one of our representatives, Mike Balulescu)
Bishop Robinson was elected in 2003 and consecrated in 2004, which brought to head global conflicts that had been stirring for some time about the interpretation of Scripture on the topic of homosexuality. In his remarks, he talked about how he always appreciated the people of New Hampshire-He said "New Hampshire is always the place I remain, simply, 'the Bishop.' This is the one place on earth where I am not 'the gay Bishop." That evening, I received a call from the Boston Globe looking for comments (apparently I am the only Episcopalian who answers their phone after 9 pm on Saturdays), and got quoted the next day in the paper. When asked about the dispute in the church, I said it was "tragic"-and since I saw it in print, I've really struggled with what that means.
Is it, in fact, tragic? I think the means of the schism are tragic in a way that the ends are not. What's tragic is thinking about so much actual ministry that could have happened over the last ten years if we hadn't been bickering. Tragedy is a gay teenager killing himself. Tragedy is a mother being unable to nurse a baby because she doesn't have enough food to eat. It is sad when people who had been in communion are no longer, but it's probably not a full-on tragedy. What is perplexing about all of this as well is that these moves to enforce some kind of centralized orthodoxy are completely contrary to the theological spirit of Anglicanism that has served us so well for hundreds of years. In the overall scheme of things, 100,000 people have left the Episcopal Church in the US over this issue, but over 2 million have stayed. And how many of you are here because you want to be part of a church that recognizes the ministry of all people? How many of you feel loved by each other even though you may disagree about some things?
On Tuesday, in our politics and faith conversation we talked about why it's so hard to be civil when we disagree; in our conversation I think we managed to do so, even with people on opposite sides of some issues. In this polarized world though, we have found ourselves dividing-or being pushed-into separate corners. Hopefully, a church is a place where we can recognize each other's humanity and love each other without having to agree perfectly on every issue. There is, after all, that whole "made in the image of God" idea-it applies to everyone, whatever our opinions.
In an interview with NPR yesterday, Bishop Gene talked about how the opposition he's received-even death threats-have in some ways strengthened his faith. "Believing in the Resurrection... death is not the worst thing. Not living your life, that's the worst thing."
Let's all pray for the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire and Bishop Gene as they move forward in the last chapters of their ministry together.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I have been praying for Gene Robinson and the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire. As we celebrated our own diocesan convention in Lynn last Saturday, Dio NH also had theirs, and received the news that Bishop Robinson would be retiring in 2013. (look for something in our Quarterly newsletter about our own Convention from one of our representatives, Mike Balulescu)
Bishop Robinson was elected in 2003 and consecrated in 2004, which brought to head global conflicts that had been stirring for some time about the interpretation of Scripture on the topic of homosexuality. In his remarks, he talked about how he always appreciated the people of New Hampshire-He said "New Hampshire is always the place I remain, simply, 'the Bishop.' This is the one place on earth where I am not 'the gay Bishop." That evening, I received a call from the Boston Globe looking for comments (apparently I am the only Episcopalian who answers their phone after 9 pm on Saturdays), and got quoted the next day in the paper. When asked about the dispute in the church, I said it was "tragic"-and since I saw it in print, I've really struggled with what that means.
Is it, in fact, tragic? I think the means of the schism are tragic in a way that the ends are not. What's tragic is thinking about so much actual ministry that could have happened over the last ten years if we hadn't been bickering. Tragedy is a gay teenager killing himself. Tragedy is a mother being unable to nurse a baby because she doesn't have enough food to eat. It is sad when people who had been in communion are no longer, but it's probably not a full-on tragedy. What is perplexing about all of this as well is that these moves to enforce some kind of centralized orthodoxy are completely contrary to the theological spirit of Anglicanism that has served us so well for hundreds of years. In the overall scheme of things, 100,000 people have left the Episcopal Church in the US over this issue, but over 2 million have stayed. And how many of you are here because you want to be part of a church that recognizes the ministry of all people? How many of you feel loved by each other even though you may disagree about some things?
On Tuesday, in our politics and faith conversation we talked about why it's so hard to be civil when we disagree; in our conversation I think we managed to do so, even with people on opposite sides of some issues. In this polarized world though, we have found ourselves dividing-or being pushed-into separate corners. Hopefully, a church is a place where we can recognize each other's humanity and love each other without having to agree perfectly on every issue. There is, after all, that whole "made in the image of God" idea-it applies to everyone, whatever our opinions.
In an interview with NPR yesterday, Bishop Gene talked about how the opposition he's received-even death threats-have in some ways strengthened his faith. "Believing in the Resurrection... death is not the worst thing. Not living your life, that's the worst thing."
Let's all pray for the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire and Bishop Gene as they move forward in the last chapters of their ministry together.
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
From January 28: Prayers for the President
I hope you had a good snow day and didn't have to drive too far in this weather. Thanks to everyone who attended the annual meeting and brought delicious dishes for lunch last Sunday. Our earlier joint service was very successful, and gave us plenty of time to talk and eat.
Today I'd like to share with you the prayer offered by Bishop Robinson of New Hampshire last week at the opening inaugural event at the Lincoln Memorial. They're good words for the president, and good words for us, too. You can find a link to the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire below.
...
Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God's blessing upon our nation and our next president.
O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will. . .
Bless us with tears - for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.
Bless us with anger - at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Bless us with discomfort - at the easy, simplistic "answers" we've preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.
Bless us with patience - and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be "fixed" anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.
Bless us with humility - open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.
Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance - replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.
Bless us with compassion and generosity - remembering that every religion's God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world
And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.
Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln's reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy's ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King's dream of a nation for ALL the people.
Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.
Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.
Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.
Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.
Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters' childhoods.
And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we're asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand - that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.
AMEN.
Today I'd like to share with you the prayer offered by Bishop Robinson of New Hampshire last week at the opening inaugural event at the Lincoln Memorial. They're good words for the president, and good words for us, too. You can find a link to the Episcopal Diocese of New Hampshire below.
...
Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God's blessing upon our nation and our next president.
O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will. . .
Bless us with tears - for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.
Bless us with anger - at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.
Bless us with discomfort - at the easy, simplistic "answers" we've preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.
Bless us with patience - and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be "fixed" anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.
Bless us with humility - open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.
Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance - replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.
Bless us with compassion and generosity - remembering that every religion's God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world
And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.
Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln's reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy's ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King's dream of a nation for ALL the people.
Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.
Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.
Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.
Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.
Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters' childhoods.
And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we're asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand - that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.
AMEN.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
From Nov. 5--Election Thoughts
This week, the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts is getting ready for our annual diocesan convention. We meet to discuss the life of the diocese and to vote on resolutions presented by the people and congregations of our community. Of course, my thoughts have been more dominated by Tuesday’s election than anything that we might vote on this weekend. As I’ve been reading the newspaper and hearing people’s reactions on the radio, I find myself with tears in my eyes at the joy and celebration of what this election means for our country. I know that all of you readers might not agree on the policy subtleties of the coming Obama presidency, but I think everyone can agree that the election our first African American president represents a momentous occasion for our country.
It may be just a coincidence (or it may be quite remarkable) that this election is during a time that the Episcopal Church is grappling with its own complicity and enmeshment with racism and the legacy of slavery. One of our resolutions for this weekend’s convention proposes a process of dialogue and research into how we in our own diocese and parishes benefited historically, and currently, from that sinful institution, and how we can become “a transformed, anti-racist church and work toward healing, reconciliation and a restoration of wholeness to the family of God.” One of our tools for reflection is a film was made by a woman in our diocese, Katrina Browne, called “Traces of the Trade.” I hope we’ll be able to find some time to watch the film together here at Christ Church. Katrina discovered that her ancestors, the DeWolfe family of Bristol, Rhode Island, were the largest slave trading family in US history. Exposing the lie of the notion that slavery was just a Southern issue, the film follows her and nine other family members as they retrace the Triangle Trade route of their ancestors, from Rhode Island, to Ghana, to Cuba, and back. They discuss what the history of their family—and our country—means for us today, and what white America is called to do in terms of apology and reparation.
In a service of repentance held at the Church of St Thomas in Philadelphia, our Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori reflects on how “through it all, people of privilege looked the other way, and too few found the courage to question inhuman ideas, words, practices, or laws. We and they ignored the image of Christ in our neighbors . . . we will not experience the full resurrection until the whole body of Christ rises again.”
And this week, we elected our first African American president, a child of a Kenyan and a Kansan, who rose through the ranks of American politics on a promise of hope, rather than the security of privilege. It is often said that story represents the best of America, of our diversity and opportunity and possibility, and I think it is certainly true. The number of new voters, new volunteers, and new voices in our political dialogue signaled the way so many people found their story reflected in his story. Whatever the policy differences are between republicans and democrats in this country, this election is one small sign that a more inclusive day has arrived in American politics.
Still, there is still so much racism in this country. It is not easy for us to talk about what all of this means, about how race did (or didn’t) figure in to the election. A vote for Obama doesn’t mean that one person has conquered all their racist impulses, and a vote against him doesn’t mean that someone else hasn’t. The state ballot initiatives against same sex marriage and against adoption by unmarried persons remind us that equality for all God’s children is still far off. And yet, and yet. This election is an opening, a crack in the door of that dark dungeon of suspicion and hatred. The way forward is not easy. The challenges facing us are many, and hard. But we do not travel alone. Our Christian faith holds us up in the promise of a hope wider than anything any politician can give us. The unity we have in the Gospel is far deeper than any unity we might have as a nation or as a political belief. And all of us here at Christ Church, in all of our difference, have so, so much to be grateful for in our life together.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
A Prayer for Leadership
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I’d like to share with you a prayer for leadership written by Sister Joan Chittister. She’s a Roman Catholic Benedictine nun—I’ve been on retreat several times at her convent, which is a few miles from where I grew up in Erie, PA. Please keep all the candidates for office in your prayers over the next week, and pray that all goes smoothly—and fairly—on Election Day next Tuesday. Georgie Hallock of the League of Women Voters reminds us that the polls are open from 7 am to 8 pm here in Massachusetts. If you need a ride to the polls (or would be willing to give someone a ride), please let me know. Also, remember that there are also three ballot questions to decide. A (non partisan) voter guide on the ballot questions is at www.voteinfo.info.
Prayer for Leadership (On Election Day and Other Times)
Joan D. Chittister, OSB
Give us, O God,
Leaders whose hearts are large enough
To match the breadth of our own souls
And give us souls strong enough
To follow leaders of vision and wisdom.
In seeking a leader, let us seek
More than development for ourselves —
Though development we hope for —
More than security for our own land —
Though security we need —
More than satisfaction for our wants —
Though many things we desire.
Give us the hearts to choose the leader
Who will work with other leaders
To bring safety
To the whole world.
Give us leaders
Who lead this nation to virtue
Without seeking to impose our kind of virtue
On the virtue of others.
Give us a government
That provides for the advancement of this country
Without taking resources from others to achieve it.
Give us insight enough ourselves
To choose as leaders those who can tell
Strength from power,
Growth from greed,
Leadership from dominance,
And real greatness from the trappings of grandiosity.
We trust you, Great God,
To open our hearts to learn from those
To whom you speak in different tongues
And to respect the life and words
Of those to whom you entrusted
The good of other parts of this globe.
We beg you, Great God,
Give us the vision as a people
To know where global leadership truly lies,
To pursue it diligently,
To require it to protect human rights
For everyone everywhere.
We ask these things, Great God,
With minds open to your word
And hearts that trust in your eternal care.
Amen.
This week, I’d like to share with you a prayer for leadership written by Sister Joan Chittister. She’s a Roman Catholic Benedictine nun—I’ve been on retreat several times at her convent, which is a few miles from where I grew up in Erie, PA. Please keep all the candidates for office in your prayers over the next week, and pray that all goes smoothly—and fairly—on Election Day next Tuesday. Georgie Hallock of the League of Women Voters reminds us that the polls are open from 7 am to 8 pm here in Massachusetts. If you need a ride to the polls (or would be willing to give someone a ride), please let me know. Also, remember that there are also three ballot questions to decide. A (non partisan) voter guide on the ballot questions is at www.voteinfo.info.
Prayer for Leadership (On Election Day and Other Times)
Joan D. Chittister, OSB
Give us, O God,
Leaders whose hearts are large enough
To match the breadth of our own souls
And give us souls strong enough
To follow leaders of vision and wisdom.
In seeking a leader, let us seek
More than development for ourselves —
Though development we hope for —
More than security for our own land —
Though security we need —
More than satisfaction for our wants —
Though many things we desire.
Give us the hearts to choose the leader
Who will work with other leaders
To bring safety
To the whole world.
Give us leaders
Who lead this nation to virtue
Without seeking to impose our kind of virtue
On the virtue of others.
Give us a government
That provides for the advancement of this country
Without taking resources from others to achieve it.
Give us insight enough ourselves
To choose as leaders those who can tell
Strength from power,
Growth from greed,
Leadership from dominance,
And real greatness from the trappings of grandiosity.
We trust you, Great God,
To open our hearts to learn from those
To whom you speak in different tongues
And to respect the life and words
Of those to whom you entrusted
The good of other parts of this globe.
We beg you, Great God,
Give us the vision as a people
To know where global leadership truly lies,
To pursue it diligently,
To require it to protect human rights
For everyone everywhere.
We ask these things, Great God,
With minds open to your word
And hearts that trust in your eternal care.
Amen.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
September 18: Election Season
Skimming through an editorial in the New York Times this afternoon, I noticed with a start that election day is in six weeks. Six weeks! It seemed like the primary season would never end, and so it seems like the election never will either—but it will end, and very soon. I have to admit that I am completely drawn into the circus. With simultaneous excitement and groaning, I can’t wait to hear the next outlandish thing—God’s will is for a gas pipeline? Outrageous!— They spent how much on that jacket?! And I get so upset at what seem to me to be clearly unfair attacks at “my” candidate. It is a little like being 14 years old: a roller coaster of emotion of high and low, with a pretty distant relationship to reality.
Almighty God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage: We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favor and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honorable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogance, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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