Get Over Yourself: Gratitude and Prayer

Dear People of Christ Church,

This Sunday, I'm excited to welcome the Rev. Elise Feyerherm to preach at Christ Church-thanks, too to her for help with blessing animals on Sunday, too. Elise moved to Waltham this summer to join her husband, John, who teaches at a Roman Catholic seminary. Elise will be hanging out at Christ Church while she looks for a permanent position, helping out here and there and lending her beautiful voice to our choir. She has a PhD in Church History from Boston College and was ordained priest in Ohio a few years ago. 

Otherwise, things are pretty much humming along for fall; our Tuesday night conversations are such a pleasure, and stewardship season will kick off on October 20. On Sunday our blessing of the animals went well, with special guests Bear, Momo, Sasha, Scout, and Wilbur behaving themselves in an entirely exemplary fashion. We blessed pictures of cats and dogs, dolls and stuffed lizards and dolphins, and Ken Johnson even brought the weekly Tribune picture of a cat in need of a home, to remember pets who aren't so fortunate. See more of Kristin's great pictures here. 

It's a lot to be grateful for, this full parish life. Gratitude is, on the surface of it, a simple response to good; I'm thankful that our handicap bathroom is finally in progress. I'm thankful that Suzanne is organizing the parish Fieldstone Fair again. I'm thankful that first grade is going better than kindergarten for my son, that my raspberry bushes are still exploding berries into October. I'm thankful for shelter, work that I love, health, wholeness. Simple gratitude for simple pleasures. 

The complicated part (there's always a complicated part, isn't there?) is to discern-to think, pray, and somehow figure out-how that simple gratitude can inspire us to move beyond ourselves. This is the pattern of God's life: taking on human being as Jesus was a divine self-emptying. Somehow that self-emptying is how, and who, God is. In doing so, we are given a pattern for how we can come near to God, how we can participate in that divine Life. Gratitude can be a practice of de-centering, of acknowledging that what we have and who we are isn't our sole accomplishment and possession, but God's. And if it's not just ours, then we can take the hint that it's not supposed to end with us. 

How? It's another one of those "hardest to learn is the least complicated" things. One of the classic ways is in contemplative prayer, the silent meditation that the Buddhist tradition teaches so well. Somehow by sitting in silence in the presence of God, we're given a little wiggle room to separate out our own freight train of thoughts and emotions. Another thing a lot of people do is to have a gratitude journal or prayer practice, where the intentional recognition of gifts received helps you remember that you're not quite so much the star of your show. What works for you? What works for you when you need to get out of your own way?  

Blessings,

Sara+

Simple Creatures

Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm bracing for a little madness. For the first time, we're doing Blessing of Animals in the service-plus children's choir, plus children's sermon. Like having church outside, this is a day for liturgical experimentation.  There is a lot of space in the Anglican/Episcopal tradition to communicate local culture; our music, our prayers, our language all express the identity of the community in some way.  This is one of the things I love most about being an Episcopalian; there is so much space for particularity even in the structured form of our service.  We always open with a declaration of the Trinity. We always close with a charge to go out in the name of the Spirit or the name of Christ to love and serve.  In between, we hear Scripture; we interpret it in some way, whether with a traditional sermon or other response.  We bless bread and wine, we eat and drink to remember and participate in the Body of Christ. 

Even working within those parameters, a lot is possible. In November we'll have our Jazz Mass, and, yes, this Sunday, blessing of animals. At the moment, my family has no pets-both Noah and I grew up with cats, and had one brief experiment with dog ownership (those who were members back in 2009 will remember the ill-fated  Cyrus, my St Bernard puppy who got cancer at age 1).  So I'm hopeful that each of you will bring your companions, either in the flesh or a photo. Our beloved "Lemon Bear" will probably make an appearance as well, since stuffed animals can come, too. 

We bless animals around October 4, St Francis Day, in memory of a saint who was said to be so connected to nature that he preached to the birds and tamed a wild and fearsome wolf.  Francis also offers a tradition of simple living, even more important for us now in such a time of ecological crisis. We are constantly burdened by more and more stuff, stuff that seems to multiply on its own when we aren't looking. As a parent I struggle with this a lot; whenever a birthday rolls around, there's the impulse to mark it with more, more more-but after just a few good garage sales this September, my kids have already stacked their closets full of more toys.  It's not even just about spending money; stuff is cheap. 

But stuff won't warm a cold lap, stuff won't offer a vision of sheer joy in play and creaturely delight.  So, as un-simple an endeavor it may seem to be, my hope is that this crazy idea of having pets in church will help connect us to that Franciscan simplicity.  A pet isn't "for" anything.  They fulfill no function other than to be in community with us. We care for them out of sheer grace and generosity. In offering thanks and praying blessings for these creatures in particular, hopefully our hearts will be moved to act on behalf of creatures everywhere, to make our lives a bit greener and our world a bit healthier.  We aren't separate from nature, but rather vital members of a profoundly complex ecosystem. We are creatures with needs before wants, given life by a Creator who longs for us to know the difference.

Blessings,
Sara+

Thanksgiving and Abundance

Dear People of Christ Church,

I think I'm still feeling unsettled by Sunday's Gospel--the story of the corrupt manager who, upon finding out he's going to get fired, cuts the debtors' bills so they'll be nice to him when he's out on the street himself. On Sunday, the corruption of the whole system seemed the most important thing; rigged from top to bottom to benefit those who had over those who had not.   A lot in our own economic system works that way, too; I likened the situation the debtors found themselves in to one of those "cash 'til payday" lending places that charge exorbitant rates of interest, when suddenly a $150 car repair loan ends up costing twice that when the person just can't quite get on top of it. 

There is something about the way we humans seem to "do" society where everything gets messed up; exploitation and greed seem part of our social DNA. Add racism, sexism, homophobia,  and all those other structural oppressions to the mix, and it's quite a toxic stew we find ourselves operating in. Jesus always confronted those powers-as we say in the baptismal covenant, "The powers of evil which corrupt and destroy the creatures of this world"--and we're called to do the same.

So Jesus cast his lot in with those on the bottom of the pile. But what do we do when we find ourselves somewhere closer to the middle?  We met for our first Tuesday night book group on Mark and Lisa Scandrette's Free: Spending Your Time and Money on What Matters Most, and our conversation thus far is so illuminating. It's one thing to sit back and critique a corrupt system, and in some ways a fairly easy thing to work in the world to change that system. I mentioned in my sermon the Raise Up Massachusetts ballot initiative campaign to increase the minimum wage from $8.00 to $10.50  and secure sick pay for all workers by 2015. That's one thing we can do.  But what about our day to day lives?  In between soccer and swimming and work commitments and bosses? What are we called to sacrifice? And what kind of sacrifice are we talking about here?

One of the things that I'm loving about the book so far is how honest the authors are. Including sidebars by their daughter, they admit that it's been hard to live as simply as they have (on one non profit income with three kids in the city of San Francisco). The center of their simplicity, though, isn't some kind of harsh moralism that stands outside the world and shakes its finger. The center of their simplicity is faith in God and God's abundance. Holding the things they have lightly makes it possible to receive what God gives (for a taste of Mark's writing, see Helping Kids Develop a Sense of Abundance and Generosity). In the book, Hailey Scandrette talks about how she gets better clothes from thrift stores, and Lisa talks about how she has a weakness for craft supplies. Mark has a thing for designer shoes; there's nothing inherently wrong with these desires--but they have to be held in perspective.  Our desire for "more" always has to be grounded in our gratitude for what we have already. In that light, the things we lack are suddenly a lot less important. 
  
The "powers and principalities" of this world are rigged against human flourishing.  Whether the Roman empire, or a medieval lord, or a CEO who makes 800 times their employees (Walmart's CEO's $17.6 million total compensation to the average worker's $22,100)(cited from cnn.com).

"The system" has never equally served everyone. But there have always been cracks, places where the light gets through. Jesus teaches us to work on multiple levels; the social as well as the personal. With every diaper we give out, with every phone call to Congress on behalf of kids on food stamps, a little more light squeaks out into the darkness.  The power of God's love won't be contained, and there is nothing that can separate us from it.

Blessings,
Sara+

Our priority: Knowing Christ

Dear People of Christ Church,

This week, I'm thinking about priorities.

The vestry met this Monday and talked, finally, about whether or not we were going to go through with the training portion of the Hartford Study. I've written about it in this space before, and many of you were gracious enough to participate in focus groups last May with sociologist David Roozen from Hartford Seminary. There are eleven other congregations in the diocese who are also part of it, and, to be honest, it was kind of nice to feel chosen in being recognized as a growing congregation that was worthy of extra attention. The core part of our participation was to be four day-long Saturday trainings, and I spoke with several folks about being part of a team to participate as well as the wider vestry. It was tough to convince anyone.

So we aren't doing it. I'm excited about this decision for a numberof reasons. Obviously, I'm happy to have four more Saturdays with my family. Of course. The other thing is deeper. The assumption underlying the research model is that there are professional experts who can generalize from our demographics and one Sunday visit how to "improve ourselves," that they then have the expertise to show us how. It also felt like there was a nostalgia for a time that church was somehow easier; if we could just get back to a time when there were more volunteers, more bodies, we'd be fine. Now, there is plenty we can do to improve ourselves. And we do want to grow. As Christians, we are invited 

to place repentance at the core of our personal and community practices. How are we being open to newcomers? How are we (gently, respectfully) sharing the good news of what God is doinghere? How are we learning, how are we journeying with Christ? How are we respecting one another, how are we being open to the future and the world? How are we each, as a community and individually, transformed by the fire of God's love? Based on what we heard from the Hartford people, it wasn't clear that that's actually what would happen.

Priorities come back to purpose. One of the central tools of the book we're looking at for fall education is a process of discernment for individuals to consider what, exactly, is most important to us in our lives. This helps us to be clearer about how we use our time and money, and offers us an opportunity to be more joyful in making those choices. The authors write:

          Paul states that his ultimate goal was to "know Christ" and the power of resurrection (Philippians 3:10). We're intrigued that the core of the Bible's message about our ultimate purpose isn't about doing or achieving. It's about relationship. Anyone, no matter what their age, or location in life, whether they are rich or poor, can pursue and experience what matters most-learning to live life with God. One way to summarize this is to say that our purpose is: to live with God and participate in the restorative activity of God in our world (Scandrette 52).

So vestry is going to take another direction. Experts are not our priority. The living words and work of God are our priority. The world we encounter here and now is our priority. Our fall plan is for vestry to add a quarterly leadership-focused meeting where we dedicate significant time to bigger picture ideas and goals, to create some time for real discernment about what we're doing. We'll still meet every month for our regular meetings. A week from this Sunday our "sermon talk back time" will open a space 

for wider conversation about the readings for the day and what it says to us, to get us talking about our parish life and our own responses to Scripture. Later in November we'll look at ourparish vision to see how we're doing and where we need more focus.

Please RSVP here for Tuesday nights-let me know if you can cook, or lead a children's activity, or just come and share in conversation. 

Blessings,

Sara+

September 11: Remembering, Again

Dear People of Christ Church,
As I write, it's September 11, and I'm thinking about how impossible it is not to mark anniversaries like this, year by year. You see bumper stickers and facebook status updates that say "never forget," and I'm not quite sure what that means.  I don't think anybody's in danger of forgetting. Someone commented about how September 11 is a dose of perspective: to always value the ones you love, to be aware of the precariousness of life. I also hope that it can generate perspective in a different way: to also be aware of how the security we normally feel in this country is an abstract fantasy for so many all over the world. We are called to compassion and solidarity as well as gratitude.   

Sitting down at my computer, I don't know what else I could possibly think about other than that morning in New York City twelve years ago, the blue blue of the sky, a fall chill under the late summer sun, the sense of expectation and promise of beginning seminary. I am also aware of how many times I've written this exact account of those days; how my now-husband Noah and I had moved to New York a few weeks earlier for school, not married yet and still figuring out who we were individually as well as together. Each year on this day, I remember kneeling in the seminary chapel hoping, praying, for violence to stop, and each year I remember that day and add up another year of violence.   Afghanistan, then Iraq, Libya, Syria. Our violence against ourselves: Islamophobia, the erosion of our civil liberties, the billions that could have relieved poverty and instead funded war.  Our polarized political landscape. Guantanamo. I go back to where I was September 11, 2002, passing through a border checkpoint in the Holy Land on the first anniversary of that day: again, violence.   

In the Gospel last Sunday we heard Jesus lashing out at the crowds who were following him-he's fed up with their desire just to see the next big thing, watching him do a healing here, an exorcism there. The crowds seem uninterested in real transformation: they want entertainment.  Are you in this for real?  Do you have what it takes to follow me? Do you?  "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple." You can't, Jesus, says, just come along for the ride. You have to be in it, all the way, asking hard questions and making hard choices. 

By that standard, nobody can follow. And I do think Jesus was being a little sarcastic-I have a calling from God as a parent and a spouse, and I'm sure I'm not called by Jesus to abandon those I've made a life with.  And I do have to commit. Still, the truth is that real discipleship of Jesus is impossible on our own.  Our somewhat clunky prayer for this Sunday begins, "O God, because without you we are not able to please you, mercifully grant that your Holy Spirit may in all things direct and rule our hearts."  The subject/object/agency in that sentence is pretty convoluted: the Holy Spirit moves in us, prays in us- but as we are made in the image of God, there would be no "us" at all without our Creator. 

Forgiveness is certainly impossible on our own.  If it's the life of God within us that makes it possible for us to follow God, it is certainly the life of God in us that enables us to forgive.  It is the providence of God, too, to forgive where we just aren't ready at the same time as it's the providence of God to enliven our anger at injustice and oppression.  

So there's the muddle for today-grief and pain, hope and righteous anger-all one holy stew of God's presence with us and God's being intertwined with ours. 

Blessings,
Sara+

Praying with angels

Dear People of Christ Church,
Last week we prayed over our backpacks, the week before we prayed over Emma leaving for college, and this Sunday we'll pray over our children's education folks, thanking them for their service and asking God's blessing on their most holy work. We also prayed for a moment of silence for peace in Syria, prayed for pets and parents as part of our children's sermon, and, of course, we pray every time we celebrate communion-"send your Holy Spirit on these gifts your earth has formed and human hands have made." Church involves a lot of praying, in routine and not-so-routine ways.

But what are we doing, really?
In our series on prayer last year for Lent, Jose shared the prayers of Kierkegaard-"the function of prayer is to change the one who is praying, not the God to whom we pray."  
We'll leave aside for now the bigger theological debates about how God is present in bread and wine at Eucharist-our Anglican tradition leaves that to the individual conscience apart from reassuring us that Christ is "really" present.  The personal significance to Jesus Christ of our little backpacks and lunch boxes may not be much. But when we place those things at the altar for blessing, we're saying to each other and to ourselves, and to God, "Ok-this is it.  I have my mind, my soul, my heart, and my body-and I have these tools to help me do what I have to do. Let these things, along with your love, along with my family and my friends-let even my backpack be something to remind me that I'm not alone.

In the letter to the Hebrews we heard this past Sunday, St Paul reminds the people of the story of Abraham and Sarah, that "some have entertained angels unawares." Before God named them Abraham and Sarah, they were plain old Abram and Sarai, just being kind to strangers. But, as the story in Genesis 18 goes, those strangers turned out to be angels announcing that Sarai would have a child. She who had lost hope of giving birth would be the one in whom the world was blessed. Who knows where we'd be if Abram had told those mysterious travelers that he and Sarai were too busy or didn't have enough resources to help.

The point of the story is that God shows up everywhere, sometimes in the least likely places bringing the least likely gifts.  Remembering that even our backpacks can be holy is good practice for looking for God in all of those random corners and different places.   Drawing their own angel wings, I encouraged our kids to remember that they, too, could be angels, reaching out to others, especially heading back to school when there would be new people and new things going on.

Remembering that even our stuff can be a reminder of God's presence also leads me to a pitch for our fall education, which extends the conversation to our time. We'll be looking at the ideas in Mark Scandrette's Free:  Spending Your Time and Money on What Matters Most.  Scandrette invites us to think together from a Christian perspective about how we use these resources and how we can consciously choose to live well and free lives as God desires for us.  The book should be in at Back Pages (at a 15% discount!) early next week-call the bookstore to confirm (781) 209-0631.  
If there's interest, we'll add an all-ages part (for which we need both children to attend and adults to staff it-RSVP in our survey... ).

Blessings,
Sara+

Marching to a New Ground

Dear People of Christ Church,

This week, there's a strange combination of heavy-heartedness and hope in the air with the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington and the prospect of military strikes in Syria.   Our situation around racism in this country is much improved, but the gulf remains between the opportunities our society affords to people of color and those who are white.  This past summer, I was camping in the Black Hills of South Dakota struck by so much injustice toward Native American peoples when the George Zimmerman verdict was handed down.  Again, again, again, thought of how Martin Luther King Jr's image of the bounced check (read the whole speech here) -a promise of equality and freedom that simply has not been honored.  It's not just Trayvon Martin; it's not just George Zimmerman. It's not just the idea of "standing your ground," it's the constant human temptation toward violence and force.  Witness: the assumption that more violence can end violence in Syria. As Martin Luther King, Jr, also said that day: "Again and again we must. rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force."

I'm interested in  that soul force, inhabiting space in a different way.

The usual standing your ground is based on the underlying assumption that one individual's right to the ground trumps the rights of the other person.  But when I read my Bible, it seems to say that even the life of an aggressor is sacred: Love your enemies (Matthew 5: 43-38).  What if we found a different ground?  

Last week, a bookkeeper stopped a school shooting outside of Atlanta.  A man turned up loaded with guns and ammunition declaring that he was going to kill everybody, including himself. With an AK 47, 500 rounds of ammunition, and no will to live, he ought to have been unstoppable.

But he wasn't.

Finding a shared place of suffering, step by step, over an agonizing conversation (all captured on tape in a 911 call), Antoinette Tuff calmly, slowly, was able to connect with the prospective shooter. "We all go through things in life," she said, and talked about how she had felt there was nothing to live for when her marriage ended the year before. Rather than allowing her own pain to cut her off, she was able to reach out from it.  Rather than writing him off as a crazed madman, they had a conversation. This is as good a piece of evidence for the resurrection as I can imagine; in God's solidarity with us, sparing nothing, our own pain can be transformed. Not because God wants us to suffer, or pulls strings from the great beyond.  Nobody was at a keyboard in the sky ending a marriage in 2012 to save the lives of children in 2013. But as Antoinette Tuff prayed that day, thinking of her pastor's sermon the week before about anchoring in Christ, she followed the pattern of love and connection that Jesus embodied.   And yes, drawing on her pain was part of that. And, yes, a black woman saving the life of a white man 50 years later almost to the day from the March on Washington is kind of amazing, too.

It is much, much harder to live this way.  It is impractical, and messy, and slow.  But it's what will save us. It's what has.

Blessings,

Sara+