Sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ with friend or stranger sounds a bit scary. To make it less so, we are advised to prepare what we would say whenever the opportunity arises. Writing one’s faith story is a powerful experience when done in prayerful partnership with the Holy Spirit. Sometimes the resulting words on paper seem so compelling, the would-be story teller transforms into a would-be author. Or at least dreams about it.
Recently, dreams found paths toward reality at a Writing for Your Life conference in Nashville, Tennessee. More than 100 spiritual writers – some would-be and some already published – gathered like pilgrims at a hallowed place. No candles in this grotto - just inspiration from best-selling authors Barbara Brown Taylor and Rachel Held Evans, and information from other writers, teachers and editors about the craft and business of writing for publication.
This past weekend I went out with a group from my parish to serve with 249 & Hope, a ministry for and with our brothers and sisters living along the local highway. This was my first time to go along with the group, and I was struck by the question the ministry leader asked me. “What are we going to learn today?”
I didn’t have an answer.
Too often, I think the church goes out into its neighborhood to solve problems. Let’s feed the homeless, or tutor in the local school, or visit the sick and lonely. These are all good things that we, as Christians, should do! But we don’t do them because we can provide solutions to other people’s problems.
Today we claim the song as ours, belting it out full throttle, especially today as we celebrate All Saints Day.
“I sing a song of the saints of God, patient and brave and true, who toiled and fought and lived and died for the Lord they loved and knew. And one was a doctor and one was a queen, and one was a shepherdess on the green: they were all of them saints of God—and I mean, God helping, to be one too.”
(If you’re primed to sing the rest, go ahead and turn to page 293 in the 1982 Hymnal of the Episcopal Church).
Years ago, in a pastoral liturgy class at General Seminary, I learned what is still one of my favorite words. Anamnesis is the name for the part of the Eucharistic prayer where we tell the story of how we came to be saved through Jesus’ death and resurrection. An- is the Greek prefix for “not” and amnesis is a close cousin of the English word “amnesia.” Anamnesis is the “not-forgetting.” It is the not forgetting the price that was paid, the not wiping away the uncomfortable parts of the story, the not protecting future generations from how bloody the whole thing really was.
I spent several weeks in Germany this summer. It was mostly just a really fun family trip, full of adventures and good laughs and beautiful views and a certain amount of beer drunk before noon (totally socially acceptable in Munich, I swear). There was the time when my daughter was convinced there was a snack car on the train and it turned out to be a toilet. There were the creepily large day-glow paper mache bunnies wearing shorts and holding soccer balls that adorned our low budget rental apartment. So many family inside jokes to last us until we get to travel together again.
"Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness." Many Episcopalians strive to accomplish that with each use of our beloved liturgy. We enliven the treasured words with beautiful music that inspires us to, "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord!"
In between our soaring Sunday worship services, how is your congregation helping people become familiar with Individual spiritual practices designed to draw us closer in relationship to our triune God? The power of these practices was discovered hundreds, sometimes thousands, of years ago.
The leadership of a congregation is responsible for creating a vision, that is, developing a plan that enables the church to respond to the future in a creative manner. Given all the demands of a parish, it takes great discipline to attend to the future but the clergy and vestry need to ask the hard questions such as: What are we called to do in the name of Christ? Who is our neighbor?
Once God’s dream for a church takes shape, the response is naturally to get rather excited and to start making things happen. The leadership will probably share these dreams at a parish meeting and assume the work of communication has been done. There is also a natural assumption that the parish knows about the plans and is ready to get started.
“Almighty God, to whom we must account for all our powers and privileges: Guide the people of the United States in the election of officials and representatives; that, by faithful administration and wise laws, the rights of all may be protected and our nation be enabled to fulfill your purposes; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
- For an Election, Book of Common Prayer p.822
Election Day is Tuesday, November 8. Our Episcopal Church has done a fine job to remind us of the awesome privilege and responsibility of voting. The resources available online, the Election Engagment Toolkit from Episcopal Public Policy Network, as well as the prayers in the Prayer Book itself, including the collect quoted above, have been useful tools in my own prayer life as I get ready.
For the past several weeks, I’ve snuck a hour or half-hour, here or there, on as many days as I can to clear rocks from the rectory’s front yard in Valley Lee. My late predecessor, his wife tells me, got a call one day from a friend who offered him stones – a whole assortment of large, extra-large and not-so-small rocks. He gladly accepted the gift and turned them into edges for flower beds – lovely, I imagine, in his time. Ever since his departure and throughout the decade after he left and before I arrived, the rock edges did little more than keep the weeds in and the trimming out. I thought clearing the beds and cleaning up the front yard would be an easy summer job, achievable in a just few days since, after all, the stones didn’t appear very large. Regrettably, I’ve been reminded that heavy objects sink rather well in this porous southern Maryland soil, such that I was only looking at the tip of what are, in retrospect, hundreds and hundreds of extra large boulders!
It’s not that we don’t want to be spiritual. We’re lay people serving on vestries that oversee the business of the church. We lend our experience from the workplace and serving on not-for-profit boards to our parish decision-making. These are our gifts and we use them as we have been trained. And besides, we are spiritual… we open our meetings with prayer.
Ah, but what if you covered your meetings with prayer? What if you held up to God your questions about priorities and direction and called on the Holy Spirit to guide your decisions?
Several congregations are utilizing a prayer model that is transforming meetings from secular, office-style business to spiritual, prayerful-style obedience. Authors Catherin C. Tran and Sandra Hughes Boyd explain how to engage leadership in prayerful discernment in their book, Spiritual Discovery: A Method for Discernment in Small Groups and Congregations. Their method is grounded in the Prayer Model developed by Jane E. Vennard, a nationally known spiritual director whose model invites a “compassionate observer” to silently listen and pray while a seeker speaks with his/her spiritual director.
With a group, there may be three or four “compassionate observers” sitting in a circle surrounding a smaller circle made up of the person seeking direction, and the people who are “responders.” Spiritual Discovery gives clear how-to steps for setting up a group prayer model session, and how it should be facilitated. Those in the center circle speak, but between opportunity for words are minutes of silent prayer. One of the observers is a timekeeper – the person with the responsibility to insure the process moves in rhythm with the prescribed format.
The authors also offer ideas for teaching people how to incorporate Spiritual Discovery Method for group decision making. But they also make it clear that the best way to understand the model is to simply experience it:
Alleluia! It feels good to say THAT again! Glorious celebrations of Jesus’ resurrection are still ringing in our ears as Eastertide joyously overtakes the liturgical calendar following Lent.
The observation of a “Holy Lent” often involves personal reflection, considering how we are moving toward a deeper relationship with Jesus Christ, and what barriers may be getting in the way. We may also consider how we follow Jesus as apostles sent to do His work.
If you enjoyed a Lenten discipline in which you did some intentional listening for God’s will or desire in your life, consider continuing that discernment. “Wait,” you might say, “’Discernment’ is for those who feel called to be a priest or deacon. That’s not me!”
In his book, Ears to Hear: Recognizing and Responding to God’s Call, Edward S. Little, bishop of the Diocese of Northern Indiana, opens with a declaration worthy of our consideration: “God’s people are a called people, and there are no exceptions.” (Page 1)
Bishop Little uses examples from the Bible to demonstrate how and when God called people to leadership, to ministry, to special purposes. Examples include Abraham’s call to uproot his family to go to a new land, Moses called to lead God’s people out of bondage, and Deborah called by her community to save Israel.
Those are the well knowns. Bishop Little also raises up the lesser knowns, such as Bezalel and Oholiab, chosen by God (in Exodus) to build a tabernacle:
Every year, her words come back to me around this time of year. I think it was during Holy Week, or maybe a week or two before, when the pastor of the congregation where I served as seminarian said, “I honestly don’t know what else to preach on Easter! What should I add?” she wondered. “Maybe I should just get in the pulpit, take a deep breath, look around with a smile and say, one more time, ‘Alleluia! Christ is risen!’ And sit down.”
I remember that her words sounded odd to me at the time. It was probably an off-handed statement, maybe the exasperation of not coming up with anything to say. But seminarians read a lot and think a lot and write a lot, and at that point in my life I was convinced that there was always something more I needed to add to any given theological point or doctrine. Such are the nature of late-night conversations and arguments in seminary.
Now, however, I’m not so sure.
Now, however, I understand what she was really saying; what she really meant. What else can we bring to this story? What other meaning can we draw out? Looking at the pure drama and rhythm of Holy Week, itself, the movement through these stories to Easter Day, what else can we, should we add?
It’s around this time that I turn to poetry much more than prose. Like many others, I have my own ‘canon’ of preferred poets, religious and otherwise; Mary Oliver and George Herbert in my top slots. And those who’ve attended Holy Week and Easter worship at St. George’s, Valley Lee are probably getting used to these names, and I’d like to think they’re growing a bit more accustomed to Holy Week meditations, and poetry readings, and musing homilies that don’t really have a point, a “Now you should do/consider/pray about such-and-such…”
Two weeks into the new year, and many resolutions already have gone the way of the dodo bird. Failed resolutions aren’t for a lack of try; change is really, really hard to execute.
That’s why I like the words of Michael Ramsey, who was the Archbishop of Canterbury in the 1960s and early 1970s. His keen insight is particularly helpful this week, as the primates of the Anglican Communion are gathered with the current Archbishop of Canterbury, struggling to figure out their own resolve about the bonds of unity in the wider church.
Thank God. Often and always. Thank him carefully and wonderingly for your continuing privileges and for every experience of his goodness. Thankfulness is a soil in which pride does not easily grow.
Take care about confession of your sins. As time passes the habit of being critical about people and things grows more than each of us realize. …[Ramsey suggests the practice of sacramental confession].
Be ready to accept humiliations. They can hurt terribly but they can help to keep you humble. [Whether trivial or big, accept them he says.] All these can be so many chances to be a little nearer to our Lord. There is nothing to fear, if you are near to the Lord and in his hands.
Do not worry about status. There is only one status that Our Lord bids us be concerned with, and that is our proximity to him. “If a man serve me, let him follow me, and where I am there also shall my servant be” (John 12:26). That is our status; to be near our Lord wherever he may ask us to go with him.
Use your sense of humour. Laugh at things, laugh at the absurdities of life, laugh at yourself.
I've been in school a lot. This is not self-promotion. I'm not trying to say what a great, studious priest I am, as is plainly evident to anyone who reads what I write. I just mean in my thirty-six years on the planet, I cannot remember a time when I wasn’t in school. I hold three advanced degrees and am close to two more. Again, don't be impressed. I spent seven-and-a-half years in undergraduate education. I also like to have a lot of fun. Despite all my schooling, I'm not a scholar.
But no place are the deficiencies in my vast education more evident than at Southside Abbey. Those experiencing homelessness and hunger on the Southside of Chattanooga don't care that I've got letters after my name. Their needs are far more immediate than that.
And so, as it turns out, are mine.
I have written before about how my faith has been changed by the faith of those I serve. I remember vividly the interaction of a man experiencing homelessness for twelve years who handed me a money order for $250 – the exact amount we budgeted for weekly food at the time. I was so worldly I tried to talk him out of it. He said, “Don't take this gift away from me! I want to buy dinner for my friends this week!” Hmm. Clearly I still had a lot to learn about faith.
And it turns out, I still do.
This past weekend I was in Arizona visiting family. I live in New York City; most of my Arizona family live in small mining towns in the southeast part of the state, so I don’t see them often. It’s very hot there, but it’s also beautiful. The highways cut through hills covered in cacti and scrub brush. There are low mountains on the horizon and lots of bright blue sky.
Much of my family on my dad’s side has lived their entire lives in Arizona. Many of them work for the nearby copper mine. They also love to talk and tell stories, so I when I’m there I spend a lot of time listening.
It’s easy in New York or in the Episcopal Church to spend most of my time with people just like me. Most of my Facebook friends are liberal college graduates and so are most of the people I regularly interact with at work. Leaving New York and listening to my family’s stories exposes me to a different life and a slightly different way of seeing the world. Many of their lives have had a very different trajectory than mine. Around kitchen tables my aunt talked about her faith and my grandmother recounted memories of her life in a small town. She turned 80 this past weekend, and so she has many stories to tell, some happy and some not.
This post is also available in Spanish aqui.
A few weeks ago I had a conversation with a friend who is a priest. We started talking about his Church, his ideas, concerns, and experiences. You can find the Spanish interview here. I asked him a question that made me think a lot. I asked what was something that had surprised him about the Episcopal Church when he became a priest. He said that what surprised him was that there was a big difference between the Episcopal Church in Mexico and the Episcopal Church in the United States. Specifically, the Church in the US has adopted traditions that are not "episcopal" such as having images of virgins (namely la Guadalupana) and saints, first communions, and other traditions that are Roman Catholic. He is fourth generation Episcopalian and has been the son of a priest/bishop throughout his life (his wife is also fourth generation Episcopalian) and that, to me, was a big surprise. Although I know that the Episcopal Church has existed for many years, I do not know why he had not thought of this. My own experience has also shown me that the predominantly Latino/Hispanic/Spanish speaking Episcopal Church in the US is seen as a Roman Catholic church and many people do not seem to know there is any difference besides that the priests can marry and that women can be priests.
I thought this because many Roman Catholic priests "become" Episcopalian - my honest opinion was that it was because they wanted to marry or are already "married" or have children or were "caught" in romantic relationships and they had to leave the Roman Catholic Church (which does not allow its priests to marry, have children, or be in romantic relationships) and did not want to "become" Episcopalian. I grew up in the Evangelical Church so for me, seeing statues of virgins or saints has always been something that bothers me. So I enjoyed talking with my friend and I felt that someone finally had the same opinion as me about the Episcopal identity – we are not Roman Catholic.
This article is also available in English here. Este artículo está disponible en ingles aquí.
Hace unas semanas tuve una conversación con un amigo sacerdote. Empezamos a hablar sobre su Iglesia, sus ideas, sus inquietudes, y sus experiencias. Puede encontrar la entrevista AQUÍ y el video abajo.
Le hice una pregunta que me hizo pensar mucho. Le pregunté qué era algo que le había sorprendido de la Iglesia Episcopal cuando se hizo sacerdote. Me dijo que lo que le había sorprendido era que había una gran diferencia entre la Iglesia Episcopal de México y la de los EEUU. Específicamente, que en la de EEUU hemos adoptado tradiciones que no son “episcopales” como tener imágenes de vírgenes (particularmente La Guadalupana) y santos, primeras comuniones, y otras tradiciones que son Católicas Romanas. Él es cuarta generación Episcopal, hijo de sacerdote/obispo toda su vida (su esposa también es cuarta generación episcopal) y eso, para mí, fue una gran sorpresa. Aunque yo sé que la Iglesia Episcopal ha existido por muchos años, no sé por qué no había pensado en esto. Mi propia experiencia también me ha mostrado que en EEUU la Iglesia Episcopal Latina/Hispana/Hispanoparlante se ve como una iglesia Católica Romana y varias personas no parecen saber si hay alguna diferencia más que el/la sacerdote se puede casar y puede ser mujer.
Yo pensaba que esta realidad era porque tenemos muchos sacerdotes de la Iglesia Católica Romana que se han “convertido” episcopales – mi honesta opinión era que se querían casar o ya estaban “casados” o tenían hijos o los habían “sorprendido” en relaciones amorosas y tenían que dejar la Iglesia Romana (que no permite que sus sacerdotes se casen, tengan hijos, o estén en relaciones amorosas) y no querían “convertirse” en Episcopales. Yo crecí en la Iglesia Evangélica así que para mí, tener imágenes o estatuas de vírgenes o santos siempre ha sido algo que me incomoda. Así que me encantó hablar con mi amigo ya que sentí que por fin alguien tenia la misma opinión que yo sobre la Identidad Episcopal – no somos Católicos Romanos.
When there is so much happening, or so much to do in the present, it’s sometimes difficult to imagine the future. Here’s a fun exercise to move people to envision how their church could make an exciting difference in the world.
Vision is inspiring because it describes impact. To help people understand this concept, start the exercise by asking the question: What are some ways our ministries currently impact the people of our congregation and our neighborhood or community? In other words, what are some results of our ministry in this place?
Record the answers of people on a flip chart. Encourage stories that describe impact. For instance, if someone says the impact is “beautiful worship,” explain that beautiful worship is what we do, but what is the impact of our beautiful worship? Ask the person if s/he can give an example of how her/his life, has been impacted by the worship at the church (which I hereby name St. Alban’s).
This is sometimes a bit of a stretch for people. Asking them to describe impact helps prevent simple listing of the features of the parish.
Next, divide the audience into small groups of 3 to 6 people, and give these instructions:
It took me a while to notice, but summer is a hard season in the life of a church in a university town. People leave. We wish them well, we pray them on their way. And we grieve.
A church with young adults experiences this a lot. A church that embraces change as one of its descriptors experiences it even more. A church that is open to change attracts people who like change, not only in their church, but also in their lives. Off they go. Some to a first job, others to another job, some to be ordained as priests, others to be closer to extended family.
Others drift. They drift away from church altogether. Our church is their last stop, their last attempt at Christian Church. They arrive, excited that there is a church that would accept them on their journey of life and faith and doubt. But the talk about Jesus is uncomfortable. The Creed as declaration of faith feels like a roadblock. They love the community, they say, but the Christian faith just doesn’t ring true. They find their way to Buddhist practices or yoga, to coffee shops or bike trails.
Others drift away because they find the community lacking. They find what seem to be more meaningful communities in their neighborhoods or their children’s schools. Or they don’t feel comfortable around the prisoners in the congregation, or that we pray for the guy in our congregation who was arrested and is now in jail. Not enough lesbians, too many gays, not enough people their age, not enough children. This latter complaint is truly frustrating: How will we ever have enough children to satisfy them if the people with children keep leaving because we don’t have enough children?
This is really a book-length issue about which I’m only going to write a few hundred words. Underneath all of this is a library-full of information, plus an entire life’s journey and discernment. I’m thinking about baptism. It’s Easter, after all, and these 50 Days of Easter are the season of baptism.
Christianity’s one big sacrament of initiation has a noticeably wide spectrum of practice and belief and interpretation surrounding it. From Jesus and John in the Jordan River – and the gospel authors’ mild disagreements about what was happening there – to the divergent ways in which Christ’s earliest followers went about baptizing converts, at least according to the earlier chapters in Acts of the Apostles, to the fundamental question that arose much later in the tradition about where and when and how the Holy Spirit shows up, it can be said that baptism has a profound and yet uneasy both/and nature about it: baptism is both initiation and cleansing; something both for believers and for those who don’t yet (fully) understand; both customary practice and a radical, personal, individual decision. In our current baptismal rite, I think the 1979 Book of Common Prayer captures brilliantly such diversity; it’s a rite which allows for believer baptism and infant baptism and, by consequence, renders that other initiatory sacrament – confirmation – somewhat in question. Like I said, there’s a library full of information and a life’s journey to answer questions and question answers.
The point of this blog post, however, is not to delve more deeply into traditions and histories and theologies of baptism but to encourage the pastoral art of, let me call it, theologizing-on-the-ground.