When I first started visiting an Episcopal church years ago, it was early on Sunday and the occasional weekday morning. I'd enter the church in the dark and the quiet, slip into a pew, kneel and say some prayers. Then I didn't know what to do. Whether or not anyone else was present, it would be ever so quiet and still, and my mind would race in a million different directions. What steadied me and prepared me for the Eucharist was leafing through the Book of Common Prayer.
I soon developed the habit of reading the Psalms. I'd simply open up a page at random and start reading, the more obscure and unfamiliar, the better. I was struck with the violence and anguish in many, but most of all the deeply human voices I heard crying and singing out of time and space. They came to me when I most needed to hear them, when I was lost, hopelessly I thought.
This morning it is dark and still. I recently put the Daily Office (courtesy of Josh Thomas at http://www.dailyoffice.org/home.html) on my Google Reader, but this was the first time I did more than give it a cursory glance. Lo and behold, there was one of those psalms, the quirky, howling kind that came to me so often in that early morning sanctuary.
I can't explain why I love these so. I know -- they seem to speak in terms of violence, vengeance, and retribution, darkly dividing the world between Me and Them. That's not what I hear, though. It's the intensity, the emotion, the raw humanity that draw me in, yet leave me with a quietude and trust beyond all reason. It is the scandal of the Incarnation, the God who comes to us in the Bethlehem stable, knows the depth of our betrayal in the garden, and finally reaches out to us in our broken humanity as we kneel, trembling beneath the Cross. He knows and hears us when our voices cry out in anger and despair, yet steadies and draws us near. God is forever just and merciful through all the torrents of our human cries and cares.
Here is today's psalm from Morning Prayer
Psalm 55
Hear my prayer, O God; *
do not hide yourself from my petition.
Listen to me and answer me; *
I have no peace, because of my cares.
I am shaken by the noise of the enemy *
and by the pressure of the wicked;
For they have cast an evil spell upon me *
and are set against me in fury.
My heart quakes within me, *
and the terrors of death have fallen upon me.
Fear and trembling have come over me, *
and horror overwhelms me.
And I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! *
I would fly away and be at rest.
I would flee to a far-off place *
and make my lodging in the wilderness.
I would hasten to escape *
from the stormy wind and tempest.”
Swallow them up, O Lord; confound their speech; *
for I have seen violence and strife in the city.
Day and night the watchmen make their rounds upon her walls, *
but trouble and misery are in the midst of her.
There is corruption at her heart; *
her streets are never free of oppression and deceit.
For had it been an adversary who taunted me,
then I could have borne it; *
or had it been an enemy who vaunted himself against me,
then I could have hidden from him.
But it was you, a man after my own heart, *
my companion, my own familiar friend.
We took sweet counsel together, *
and walked with the throng in the house of God.
Let death come upon them suddenly;
let them go down alive into the grave; *
for wickedness is in their dwellings, in their very midst.
But I will call upon God, *
and the LORD will deliver me.
In the evening, in the morning, and at noonday,
I will complain and lament, *
and he will hear my voice.
He will bring me safely back from the battle waged against me; *
for there are many who fight me.
God, who is enthroned of old, will hear me and bring them down; *
they never change; they do not fear God.
My companion stretched forth his hand against his comrade; *
he has broken his covenant.
His speech is softer than butter, *
but war is in his heart.
His words are smoother than oil, *
but they are drawn swords.
Cast your burden upon the LORD,
and he will sustain you; *
he will never let the righteous stumble.
For you will bring the bloodthirsty and deceitful *
down to the pit of destruction, O God.
They shall not live out half their days, *
but I will put my trust in you.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit
as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be for ever. Amen.
From http://dailyoffice.wordpress.com/2007/07/28/morning-prayer-72807/
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
This isn't love, or is it?
I realize that for some all the fuss about Harry Potter is most unwelcome. I like to buck fads myself, and with Harry Potter parties everywhere, I’d normally run for cover.
But I’ve known Harry a long time now. My children fell under his spell at the very beginning. When we first moved out East, the opening of the first Harry Potter movie coincided with my daughter's birthday. She invited a number of her new friends from elementary school, but a couple mysteriously declined her invitations. We learned later that it was because their churches forbade it. I could not for the life of me explain it to my daughter (“but it’s just pretend, Mom”). But that was enough for me to stand for, not against, Harry Potter, even after they came out with the overpriced Bertie Bott’s jelly beans in the bookstores.
I did, however, have a good friend who a few years into the craze told me how fearful she was about its influence on children. She’s a conservative, evangelical Christian, of Midwestern Lutheran roots, but she’s my friend and, in my eyes, a wise and wonderful woman, even though there are some things we agree to disagree on. So all I said to her was that my children simply took it as fantasy and, at least for them, I didn’t see any harm in it.
I haven’t thought much about it all in recent years. I did spend one winter listening to my daughter read out loud one of the longer books (No. 4?) simply because she enjoyed reading out loud, loved Harry Potter, and it was a way to kill time on the long drives to and from soccer. Yet some of the later books were, I thought, tiresome in spots, and some of the characters seemed to deserve better and fuller treatment. So, I tried to keep the initial enchantment in mind, and not think too deeply about it all.
Indeed, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is to analyze the books. I studied literature in college and I can dissect and deconstruct words and cultural concepts with the best of them. But those games haven't been fun for me for a very long time, and, for me, reading Harry Potter has been about pure and simple pleasure, the kind I used to get as a child from crawling into bed and reading under the covers until late at night. Taking it too seriously, beyond affection and adventure, always struck me as besides the point.
Yet something finally did hit me in this last book, like a bolt of lightning. As I’ve said before, I won't leave any spoilers. I just want to pluck out one line that struck me deeply when I read it.
It’s this. Harry, about half-way through, ruefully reflects on Dumbledore and says:
I happened to see that boy this week, myself. In my case, it was my son, the recent high school graduate, cocky, sure of himself, at least when it comes to ignoring unsolicited advice and avoiding any semblance of parental controls. The kid who wondered why we wouldn’t let him drive alone the thousand miles to the cabin on the lake in the Midwest, and why we won’t let him take a car off to college, called me at home, in near hysterics, because the car stalled and would not restart in what he described as the middle of a busy intersection down in the village. I told him to calm down, put the emergency flashers on, and call the police and they’d direct traffic and maybe suggest who to call for a tow truck. But he was in total, emotional meltdown, so I ended up calling for him and going to the scene and taking care of things myself.
I’m not sure when or how it came up, but at some point he said something to the effect that of course he didn’t know what to do, his dad was gone and never taught him about cars and such. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Although his dad, who worked in the auto service industry and was a life-long aspiring race car driver, certainly knew a lot about cars, his stepdad had done plenty, including teaching him to drive the manual transmission (after I gave up on him) and getting him through his final practice runs at parallel parking before taking his driver’s license test. So I took it instead as something deeper, some lurking fear, insecurity about heading off to college, all in the shadow of knowing that his dad (who died last year) was gone for good.
So when I read that line in Harry Potter, that’s what hit me full force. It’s a cry we all make from time to time, either to a lost parent or to our divine Father, who often seems to have left us in a terrible mess with no discernible clues as how we are to manage on our own. And sometimes it really pisses us off. The least they could have done is leave a set of clear instructions.
I know that pain and frustration myself, the many times I have earnestly sought God’s will in prayer and could not be certain of the answer. I wanted a clear guide, a path, and sure knowledge that I was making the right choice, even though my choices were extremely limited and none appeared to be good.
I do believe, as the Prayer Book says, that the Bible contains all that is necessary for salvation. But that’s not the same as the rules that so many crave, the maps and the clues Harry yearned for. We have God’s love and grace in abundance, but we are left to struggle, to blunder, time and time again, at times wondering what kind of love would leave us in this mess, even or especially when the mess is of our own making.
Sometimes we just don’t have the luxury of knowing ahead of time what we’re supposed to do, no matter how well we try to learn and prepare for life. It’s a hard lesson to realize that we have to take things as they come, to risk making mistakes, and to just do the best we can, sometimes finding ourselves in messes only we can clean up. Yet, even though we are very much on our own, we are not alone and we are not unloved. It takes awhile, but when we are calm and quiet inside we can come to know how deep, how broad, how high that love really is, the love that surpasses all understanding and will be with us always.
But I’ve known Harry a long time now. My children fell under his spell at the very beginning. When we first moved out East, the opening of the first Harry Potter movie coincided with my daughter's birthday. She invited a number of her new friends from elementary school, but a couple mysteriously declined her invitations. We learned later that it was because their churches forbade it. I could not for the life of me explain it to my daughter (“but it’s just pretend, Mom”). But that was enough for me to stand for, not against, Harry Potter, even after they came out with the overpriced Bertie Bott’s jelly beans in the bookstores.
I did, however, have a good friend who a few years into the craze told me how fearful she was about its influence on children. She’s a conservative, evangelical Christian, of Midwestern Lutheran roots, but she’s my friend and, in my eyes, a wise and wonderful woman, even though there are some things we agree to disagree on. So all I said to her was that my children simply took it as fantasy and, at least for them, I didn’t see any harm in it.
I haven’t thought much about it all in recent years. I did spend one winter listening to my daughter read out loud one of the longer books (No. 4?) simply because she enjoyed reading out loud, loved Harry Potter, and it was a way to kill time on the long drives to and from soccer. Yet some of the later books were, I thought, tiresome in spots, and some of the characters seemed to deserve better and fuller treatment. So, I tried to keep the initial enchantment in mind, and not think too deeply about it all.
Indeed, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is to analyze the books. I studied literature in college and I can dissect and deconstruct words and cultural concepts with the best of them. But those games haven't been fun for me for a very long time, and, for me, reading Harry Potter has been about pure and simple pleasure, the kind I used to get as a child from crawling into bed and reading under the covers until late at night. Taking it too seriously, beyond affection and adventure, always struck me as besides the point.
Yet something finally did hit me in this last book, like a bolt of lightning. As I’ve said before, I won't leave any spoilers. I just want to pluck out one line that struck me deeply when I read it.
It’s this. Harry, about half-way through, ruefully reflects on Dumbledore and says:
This isn't love, the mess he's left me in.That’s Harry for you. So simple and direct. Not Hamlet, Ulysses, or even Frodo. Just a boy, now seventeen, who’s lost his mother and his father, his beloved godfather, and, finally, his mentor and protector, who left him with only confusing and mostly useless clues as to how to survive, let alone conquer, the dark forces threatening his world.
I happened to see that boy this week, myself. In my case, it was my son, the recent high school graduate, cocky, sure of himself, at least when it comes to ignoring unsolicited advice and avoiding any semblance of parental controls. The kid who wondered why we wouldn’t let him drive alone the thousand miles to the cabin on the lake in the Midwest, and why we won’t let him take a car off to college, called me at home, in near hysterics, because the car stalled and would not restart in what he described as the middle of a busy intersection down in the village. I told him to calm down, put the emergency flashers on, and call the police and they’d direct traffic and maybe suggest who to call for a tow truck. But he was in total, emotional meltdown, so I ended up calling for him and going to the scene and taking care of things myself.
I’m not sure when or how it came up, but at some point he said something to the effect that of course he didn’t know what to do, his dad was gone and never taught him about cars and such. That didn’t make a lot of sense. Although his dad, who worked in the auto service industry and was a life-long aspiring race car driver, certainly knew a lot about cars, his stepdad had done plenty, including teaching him to drive the manual transmission (after I gave up on him) and getting him through his final practice runs at parallel parking before taking his driver’s license test. So I took it instead as something deeper, some lurking fear, insecurity about heading off to college, all in the shadow of knowing that his dad (who died last year) was gone for good.
So when I read that line in Harry Potter, that’s what hit me full force. It’s a cry we all make from time to time, either to a lost parent or to our divine Father, who often seems to have left us in a terrible mess with no discernible clues as how we are to manage on our own. And sometimes it really pisses us off. The least they could have done is leave a set of clear instructions.
I know that pain and frustration myself, the many times I have earnestly sought God’s will in prayer and could not be certain of the answer. I wanted a clear guide, a path, and sure knowledge that I was making the right choice, even though my choices were extremely limited and none appeared to be good.
I do believe, as the Prayer Book says, that the Bible contains all that is necessary for salvation. But that’s not the same as the rules that so many crave, the maps and the clues Harry yearned for. We have God’s love and grace in abundance, but we are left to struggle, to blunder, time and time again, at times wondering what kind of love would leave us in this mess, even or especially when the mess is of our own making.
Sometimes we just don’t have the luxury of knowing ahead of time what we’re supposed to do, no matter how well we try to learn and prepare for life. It’s a hard lesson to realize that we have to take things as they come, to risk making mistakes, and to just do the best we can, sometimes finding ourselves in messes only we can clean up. Yet, even though we are very much on our own, we are not alone and we are not unloved. It takes awhile, but when we are calm and quiet inside we can come to know how deep, how broad, how high that love really is, the love that surpasses all understanding and will be with us always.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Note On Harry Potter
Well, I've just finished it. No spoilers here. It was an enjoyable day, and I'm happy to report I was not disappointed. What courage and confidence it must have taken to have written it and to have ended it well. I hope others enjoy it as much as I did.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
One Toilet at a Time
Just a note to share the marvellous work being done by some young people, near and dear to my heart, whom I and my children have been blessed with knowing since they were babies. The last two winters, they visited Cambodia with their parents. Naomi and Jordan came back and, along with others from the trip, and created this website about what they learned and experienced: Doors 2 Cambodia.
One project that come out of it was Naomi's One Toilet at a Time. Read it all, but here are some of Naomi's words:
One project that come out of it was Naomi's One Toilet at a Time. Read it all, but here are some of Naomi's words:
WHY TOILETS?
Toilets are something that people take for granted. Do you realize how many times a day you use the restroom? Some people use the restroom as a place to get away, to take a couple of seconds to catch their breath. Well, imagine not having a place to relieve yourself during the day. Many people don’t have sanitary bathrooms, especially in third world countries. Cambodia is one of those countries where, in some cases, the field is the bathroom for many people. When I discovered this, I knew that I wanted to help out in some way, so I created the project, “One Toilet at a Time.”
. . . .
THE SPARK:
During January of 2006, I had the chance of a lifetime: I was able to be apart of a delegation that went to Cambodia through RCTC. The purpose of the delegation was to see if it was possible to bring students back to Cambodia as a service learning class. I had a blast being with the people, working and learning. We did many things, such as visiting Angkor Watt, touring the cities and visiting schools. My favorite part of the trip was traveling to some of the provinces to visit the rural schools. While we were at the schools, our group of around 6 people (plus a monk or two) would talk with the teachers, play games with the students, and we would ask the school as a whole how we could help them to succeed. Some of the students asked for school supplies, but more often than not, the young women would ask for sanitary bathrooms. When I heard this, my brain started to turn. We went on to ask other questions, but the subject of bathrooms kept coming up.
. . . .
YOU CAN OPEN THE DOOR TOO:
When I returned home from Cambodia for the second time, I realized that things didn’t have to stop just because I already accomplished one task. The way that I thought about it was this: What if everyone worked for a cause and volunteered some of their time? I also thought of what could happen if people like you spent maybe 2-6 hours each month volunteering for some cause. Volunteering is not necessarily spending money, but instead spending some of your time. Even participating and volunteering in your local town could make a difference in someone’s life or living style! I ask you not to give up your life to try and change the world, but to instead help out and make a difference in one person’s life by starting out small. Eventually, you will end up with something bigger then when you started. You can continue the vibe by picking up the phone and just talking to your elderly neighbor, or better yet- you can make even more the difference in your elderly neighbor’s life by brining her or him cookies. If a 15 year old girl, with the help of others, can raise $3,700, just think what a bunch of adults and children can do together, if everyone decided to work together to make a difference!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Readings on the Gnostic Peril
No time to write, but came across some great things to read.
First, Christopher (Betwixt and Between) offers this in the context of describing his work on his novel and his past writings on Christian cults:
Second, in his prior essay, “A Shitting God” (thanks Mad Priest for calling it to everyone’s attention), Christopher cites Jason Kuznicki’s incredible “Love and Lust, Selves and Bodies” (at Postive Liberty). I recommend it in its entirety, but here’s a sample:
Put together what Christopher, Jason, and Mad Priest have said and juxtapose it with the view that we are all objects of God’s wrath rather than, by nature, his children (see ”A Matter of the Cross as a stark and fearful warning” - main text and comments), and you have (or at least I have) a much clearer picture of what is dividing Christians. Unfortunately, the division threatens to leave Christ’s real work lost in the shuffle. Time to stop shuffling and get to work.
First, Christopher (Betwixt and Between) offers this in the context of describing his work on his novel and his past writings on Christian cults:
A Christian tradition or parish can be cultish and theologically orthodox! But never for long. Often a dualism arises that so sharply divides the world and church, that Christ's work is lost in the push for some kind of gnosis or want for spiritual knowledge as the Good News to the entire world is lost in the shuffle and some sort of escape begins to define the movement.(From “Test the Koolaid”).
Second, in his prior essay, “A Shitting God” (thanks Mad Priest for calling it to everyone’s attention), Christopher cites Jason Kuznicki’s incredible “Love and Lust, Selves and Bodies” (at Postive Liberty). I recommend it in its entirety, but here’s a sample:
This, to my mind, is the wonderful thing about romantic love: It unites the body and the soul, and it affirms them both. It doesn’t allow you to reject either one of them. It means that when we are in love with someone, we have to look unflinchingly at who we really are, and at who they really are: a soul. And a body. And you have to say yes to both.That’s just the beginning – Kuznicki goes on with the implications of this insight, in terms of both human relationships and God. The whole explains better than I ever could why homosexual love is a critical issue not just for the sake of those involved or for principles of justice (as important as both are), but for all humankind.
Put together what Christopher, Jason, and Mad Priest have said and juxtapose it with the view that we are all objects of God’s wrath rather than, by nature, his children (see ”A Matter of the Cross as a stark and fearful warning” - main text and comments), and you have (or at least I have) a much clearer picture of what is dividing Christians. Unfortunately, the division threatens to leave Christ’s real work lost in the shuffle. Time to stop shuffling and get to work.
Monday, July 9, 2007
What Makes a Great Sermon
What makes a great sermon? In some ways that is like asking what makes a great piece of music. One can talk about conventions in different genres, features of great compositions or performances, but there are no sure-fire recipes or formulae. At the same time, how we in the pews hear and respond to sermons varies greatly from day to day and individual to individual. Those sermons that have moved me most deeply have had more to do with my spiritual needs at the moment and God’s grace in delivering the right words through the mind and voice of the preacher who had no idea of my situation and most likely was delivering what he or she thought was a run-of-the mill effort.
With that as a caveat, here’s what I think. First, the sermon or homily should never be the focus of worship, at least in a Eucharistic-centered worship service. It should be composed and delivered with grace and humility and be designed to shed light on one facet of one of the scripture readings, most often the Gospel lesson. While theology and scholarship may, at times, offer insight into the reading, a sermon is not the place for an extended piece of scholarly analysis because a) it draws attention away from the rest of the service, elevating the preacher and the preaching to a level of importance that eclipses the Eucharist and b) to do in-depth analysis well requires the kind of time and effort on the part of all that only an Adult Forum, bible study, or Sunday School class can provide.
Second, while an inexperienced preacher cannot help but listen to the comments from the pews, and may, in fact, get some useful insights, over the long haul the preacher has to go with what he or she works out to be the best way to articulate his or her faith to others. In the beginning, it may help to try out different styles or suggestions from others. It also may help to get assistance from an expert in public speaking, which may not have been taught in seminary (I recall a seminarian intern whose sermons blossomed overnight after a few sessions with someone in the congregation who taught speech and communication at the local university). But in the end, the best sermons come from the mind and heart of a spiritually mature person, who speaks from his or her own wrestling with the meaning of scriptures in the context of personal life and public ministry, who is not trying to “move” the congregation as a whole or create a life-changing experience, but simply preaches the Gospel as he or she knows it and lets God take care of rest.
Finally, I agree wholeheartedly with John Chilton’s comments that sermons should not be the primary focus of any pastor. The reality is that few pastors are truly gifted preachers, and truly gifted preachers are not necessarily good pastors. While the “best” sermons I have heard were composed in writing and read, delivered in 8-12 minutes, had a clear point, beginning, middle and end, were theologically sound, well-informed, but not burdened with jargon, the best church experience I had was in a congregation lead by a pastor who gave sermons based on loose notes, that rambled, were heart-felt, a little too long, but he was someone who not only was a great pastor but was supported by a community of lay people who were the heart and soul of the church, laity who brought great gifts to bible study and other adult education programs, who worked hard on both mission and fellowship and who did not rely on the pastor to direct them in every endeavor. His gifts were in knowing and appreciating that community and ministering to its needs and those on the outside. Not all pastors find themselves in a congregation like that, but the best nurture the seeds wherever they find them, nurturing that requires more precious gifts than what it takes to deliver block-buster sermons.
[originally posted as comments to Susan Fawcett's article at Episcopal Café]
With that as a caveat, here’s what I think. First, the sermon or homily should never be the focus of worship, at least in a Eucharistic-centered worship service. It should be composed and delivered with grace and humility and be designed to shed light on one facet of one of the scripture readings, most often the Gospel lesson. While theology and scholarship may, at times, offer insight into the reading, a sermon is not the place for an extended piece of scholarly analysis because a) it draws attention away from the rest of the service, elevating the preacher and the preaching to a level of importance that eclipses the Eucharist and b) to do in-depth analysis well requires the kind of time and effort on the part of all that only an Adult Forum, bible study, or Sunday School class can provide.
Second, while an inexperienced preacher cannot help but listen to the comments from the pews, and may, in fact, get some useful insights, over the long haul the preacher has to go with what he or she works out to be the best way to articulate his or her faith to others. In the beginning, it may help to try out different styles or suggestions from others. It also may help to get assistance from an expert in public speaking, which may not have been taught in seminary (I recall a seminarian intern whose sermons blossomed overnight after a few sessions with someone in the congregation who taught speech and communication at the local university). But in the end, the best sermons come from the mind and heart of a spiritually mature person, who speaks from his or her own wrestling with the meaning of scriptures in the context of personal life and public ministry, who is not trying to “move” the congregation as a whole or create a life-changing experience, but simply preaches the Gospel as he or she knows it and lets God take care of rest.
Finally, I agree wholeheartedly with John Chilton’s comments that sermons should not be the primary focus of any pastor. The reality is that few pastors are truly gifted preachers, and truly gifted preachers are not necessarily good pastors. While the “best” sermons I have heard were composed in writing and read, delivered in 8-12 minutes, had a clear point, beginning, middle and end, were theologically sound, well-informed, but not burdened with jargon, the best church experience I had was in a congregation lead by a pastor who gave sermons based on loose notes, that rambled, were heart-felt, a little too long, but he was someone who not only was a great pastor but was supported by a community of lay people who were the heart and soul of the church, laity who brought great gifts to bible study and other adult education programs, who worked hard on both mission and fellowship and who did not rely on the pastor to direct them in every endeavor. His gifts were in knowing and appreciating that community and ministering to its needs and those on the outside. Not all pastors find themselves in a congregation like that, but the best nurture the seeds wherever they find them, nurturing that requires more precious gifts than what it takes to deliver block-buster sermons.
[originally posted as comments to Susan Fawcett's article at Episcopal Café]
Back from Vacation
Well, I'm back, more or less, from my so-called vacation with the soccer team in beautiful Maine. It came to what was, for some, a heart-breaking end -- two wins and a tie, which nevertheless ended up a loss due to a one point goal differential (i.e. the team we tied 2-2 beat another team 4-1, whom we beat by only 3-1). Unfortunately that meant that the team did not advance to semi-finals, where it would have faced a team it has beaten before and probably would have beaten again. But that's the games and the breaks that happen. Meanwhile, we enjoyed the wonderful food, nice sunshiny but cool weather, and some time at the ocean. I love the ocean, anytime, anywhere, and Portland was a marvelous city to explore.Since then, I've been busy catching up with work and barely keeping track of what everyone else has been writing on the web. I have lots of thoughts swirling about what to write here and am beginning to see the wisdom of simply writing as often as I can and not worry so much about trying to produce finished pieces (which, of course, I can still try to do, from time to time). Thanks so much for all your kind words and encouragement. I'll try to get back when I can, but for now.... back to work (and I'll just leave my recent comments on sermons -- nothing earthshattering, but nevertheless something I felt I had something to say worth sharing).
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Never on Sunday (but maybe in heaven)
I went to an organ recital and reception at church last night. It was well attended by members of the parish and the community at large, including the Sisters from the local convent(Sisters of St. Margaret).
Not many Episcopalians know that there are Episcopalian nuns (and virtually no one else does, either -- try telling a Roman Catholic that there are any other kind but theirs!). But the Sisters have played an important role in the history of our parish and community ministries going way back. Unfortunately, their numbers are dwindling and their ages increasing, but they continue to enrich the lives of all they encounter.
Sister Jane Margaret, well into her 80's, is currently the oldest residing at St. Margaret's House. She's a tiny woman, frail, and in increasingly poor health, but she has the kind of fiery energy that seems to burn brighter the more her body fails her.
Last night at the reception, she drew me aside, having heard that my daughter was going to be playing in a regional soccer tournament, now that her team has won the State Cup championship. Her eyes were aglow with excitement. She told me how much she loved playing lacrosse when she was young (and how they allowed girls to play the "real" game back in 1940, whereas today she knows that checking is no longer allowed -- at least it's not legal -- for girls). Apparently lacrosse was something she missed very much when she first entered the convent. She said she was glad my daughter was able to play as she did and wished her the best of luck.
Then she drew me closer and told me, with a twinkle in her eye, that if by some chance she made it to heaven, she said she'd be playing lacrosse there. She also said that just last week, she spoke to the bishop after some ordinations and he told her he loved lacrosse as well. She asked the bishop if he'd play on her team with her in heaven, and he said yes, he'd be happy to.
So, somehow, some day, God willing, the two of them will be playing in heaven, men and women alike, bishops, nuns, and whoever else may love the sport. Blessed be Jane Margaret and all the Sisters.
Not many Episcopalians know that there are Episcopalian nuns (and virtually no one else does, either -- try telling a Roman Catholic that there are any other kind but theirs!). But the Sisters have played an important role in the history of our parish and community ministries going way back. Unfortunately, their numbers are dwindling and their ages increasing, but they continue to enrich the lives of all they encounter.
Sister Jane Margaret, well into her 80's, is currently the oldest residing at St. Margaret's House. She's a tiny woman, frail, and in increasingly poor health, but she has the kind of fiery energy that seems to burn brighter the more her body fails her.
Last night at the reception, she drew me aside, having heard that my daughter was going to be playing in a regional soccer tournament, now that her team has won the State Cup championship. Her eyes were aglow with excitement. She told me how much she loved playing lacrosse when she was young (and how they allowed girls to play the "real" game back in 1940, whereas today she knows that checking is no longer allowed -- at least it's not legal -- for girls). Apparently lacrosse was something she missed very much when she first entered the convent. She said she was glad my daughter was able to play as she did and wished her the best of luck.
Then she drew me closer and told me, with a twinkle in her eye, that if by some chance she made it to heaven, she said she'd be playing lacrosse there. She also said that just last week, she spoke to the bishop after some ordinations and he told her he loved lacrosse as well. She asked the bishop if he'd play on her team with her in heaven, and he said yes, he'd be happy to.
So, somehow, some day, God willing, the two of them will be playing in heaven, men and women alike, bishops, nuns, and whoever else may love the sport. Blessed be Jane Margaret and all the Sisters.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Father's Day
Yesterday was Father’s Day in the United States. For some it was a day to truly honor a beloved parent and to gather the extended family. For others, it was a reminder of how the cult of Family is sometimes exalted over the reality of human lives, a painful jab at those who were born and raised outside the cookie cutter model of the late 20th century, Western, intact and supposedly nurturing, nuclear family.
Elizabeth Kaeton has done a masterful job of bringing both perspectives to light, serendipitously with the Lectionary’s Old Testament and Gospel readings. I recommend her sermon it in its entirety, but the following excerpt is what, for me, hit the ball out of the ballpark:
Today is Father’s Day. For some, this is a day filled with exquisite pain, and this morning is filled with dreaded expectations of the same things which, for others, will be nothing less than pure delight. For still others, it will be a day filled with loss and grief, regret and remorse. Why? Because we are human. We make a mess of our lives as easily as drawing a breath. We hurt the ones we love. We are David and take what is not ours. We are Simon and resent what others are able to give.
Today is Father’s Day and it is no coincidence that the scriptural message is about love and forgiveness. We all need to hear about love and forgiveness, but especially parents who, even the best among us, mess up from time to time – some, even more than their share. Today, especially today, many need to hear a word about love and forgiveness. For ourselves. For the ones who are or were our parents, especially our fathers. For the fathers we are. For the fathers we never were. For the fathers we’ll never be.
Love, Forgiveness and Father's Day at Telling Secrets. (Do go there and read the rest).
Elizabeth's words speak to the kind of experience most of us have lived in a variety of circumstances. Those of who find ourselves parents, in whatever kind of family we may end up raising children, face no easy task. We let ourselves and them down day in an day out, as we often feverishly try to do our best, papering over our flaws and weaknesses, all the while demanding more of them than we managed ourselves, or demanding something very different, some things that might have been beneficial for us when we were growing up, but may be of little or no use to them. Being a child of a flawed human being is not easy either. We don’t know what to make of the many mixed messages we get as our parent(s) inevitably preach some of what they do not practice and are sometimes blinded by the lenses by which they perceive us, our futures, and their pasts.
Learning to love and forgive each other is something that may take a lifetime to get nearly right, if ever. Sometimes it is harder with family than with friends, acquaintances, or even strangers, but, almost inevitably, it is where we all start. Family isn’t everything, and some families are so broken and hurtful that some bonds are best left loose. Yet whether we are born into them, find our own parents and children to honor and nurture, families are where we begin to learn to need and serve others, with love, compassion, and care, the best we can, with God's grace and the example of perfect love God has given us in his Son.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Church v. Soccer
As many people know, youth soccer plays a big role in my life. It takes a lot of time, effort, and some money. It's not always worth it. Sometimes it's boring, sometimes it's just plain ugly. But it is something I and my family have made a big commitment to because we have a child who not only has some talent for the game, but has dreamed of playing it competitively since she was 7 years old. She's worked hard and given up a lot to do it, but it's her passion, one which she freely chooses, with a good understanding of the sacrifices we make so she can pursue it. And while it does require much of us, both she and the rest of the family have much more in our lives than just soccer. She's a serious student and musician, participates in Model U.N. (United Nations) Club and debates, and believe or not, has a busy social life and a number of close girlfriends. I work full-time, my husband has his many church and diocesan activities, and our at-home son goes to school, works part-time, runs cross-country and track, and has various activities of his own.
There's much I could say about youth soccer, pro and con, and many stories that I could tell about our experiences. But, on the whole, I would say it has been a good thing for all of us. It's not for everyone, and it certainly can be destructive, as can be just about any "serious," competitive youth activity, whether it be sports, music, dance, art, debate, etc. But it also offers much that is valuable as well, not only the friendships we have formed across two states, but a realm in which discipline, hard work, and life lessons, some kind and some not, predominate.
Maybe someday I can write further about these things (it's time to get ready for church now!), but for the moment, I'll simply share the following (for background, go to the Café):
Posted at Episcopal Café Soccer v. Church,
Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe Jennifer wrote about tournament play, which typically schedules games on Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon, and Sunday morning, and often schedules semi-finals and finals on Sunday afternoon. The issue, therefore, is not about Sunday morning league play or practices, but tournaments, which only happen a few times a year, which, at the height of outdoor soccer season in June and July, are the culmination of an entire year’s worth of training, practices, and league play. Father’s Day is not a religious holiday, not a holy day, but is a secular observance. Many people participate in sports and other activities, are faithful members of church communities, and do not attend church services at their home church every Sunday morning 52 weeks out of the year.
Soccer, music, and other activities can bring children and adults together, foster a sense of community, nurture friendship and trust, instill Christian values – or not. Church can foster community, nurture and strengthen faith, instill Christian values – or not. Sports and Faith are not opposed to one another. Faith should be part of our lives 24/7, and neither faith nor religious practices are limited to Sunday mornings between 8 and noon.
Recently the Café published an article on how our culture tends to isolate youth and prolong their adolescence. This does not happen in the realm of competitive sports. Youth sports, for better or for worse, is not only run by adults, they are involved in just about every aspect of the game. Team parents form an extended family, and each player must respect and deal with all of them, as well as the coaches, managers, referees, and league officials. Unlike their peers, athletes cannot do whatever they want, when they want. They must miss parties, sleepovers, dances, and much “hanging out,” while they train, practice, and compete. If they miss key team events or if their performance is hampered by not getting enough sleep, the right food, or taking drugs or alcohol, their behavior impacts not only their own lives and their fellow players, but many adults as well.
Athletes have to grow up early, arguably even too early. They do not get to be “kids” in the same way as many of their peers. They have responsibilities, they are subject to rules, and they must work and get along with adults in often very difficult, emotion-charged situations. They have to deal with many “unfair” decisions and rules, first and foremost referee calls, rough behavior and taunts from the opposing team, sometimes verbal abuse from spectators on the sidelines, and political maneuvering from those who want to exert power and influence. (Kind of like Episcopal politics?). They need to stay cool under pressure, deal with anger and frustration constructively, establish and stick by their own personal values of fair play and consideration for others.
Of course sports are not more “important” than faith or even religious practices. Conflicts arise not because sports are more highly valued than religion but because some people choose to do other things on Sunday mornings – not just sports, but also staying home to watch t.v, playing golf, working in the yard, going shopping. (Let’s also not forget those who have little or no choice, those who are compelled to work in low-paying service sector jobs and must work on Sundays). Sports is not the culprit, and not all sports or teams have WEEKLY activities scheduled for Sunday mornings.
Clergy who decide to use sports as a scapegoat and penalize parents or children who participate are, I believe, shooting themselves in the foot. Any activity that prevents regular participation in worship and community fellowship and mission is, clearly, something to be discouraged. And for those who are on the Catholic side of the Catholic/Protestant spectrum, regular (at least weekly) partaking of the Eucharist needs to be taught and practiced as essential. But none of that precludes sports.
Our daughter is a PK and currently a member of a soccer team that is a three time State Champion. We are very proud of her and the team, and we do not apologize or defend her participation to anyone in our parish. My husband, the rector, while not a sports fan himself, helps other parents with serious conflicts with sports activities. While he, like most of his colleagues, has no patience with people who drop in and out of activities that require long-term commitment at a moment’s notice, he does work with, for examples, members of confirmation classes so that they can makeup classes or assignments when a major conflict is foreseen (whether it be sports, music, or school) and it is clear that the parents and children are making every effort to comply with the requirements. He also does his best to provide as many weekday masses as possible (on general principles, of course). Nearby parishes, like our many Roman Catholic neighbors, offer early Saturday evening masses, some for the summer months, some year-round.
I understand and appreciate those who feel overwhelmed by popular culture and the pressure we and our children face from those who have no experience with, let alone commitment to, religious life. But too often our response is to retreat and try to insulate ourselves to the point where we sometimes don’t know or understand what is going on the Outside and simplify or demonize what we take at face value as contrary to our beliefs. The Church, apostolic and universal, will not prevail if we confine it to our buildings and monuments and rigid timetables. God is present both within His houses and on the fields of dreams. It’s not where we are on every Sunday morning that counts, it’s whether we do our best to not only keep God in our daily lives but foster church communities that welcome the full breadth of human experience, that do not take attendance rolls, but rather tell people they are missed when they are not present, and give people good reasons for coming back and being there often.
There's much I could say about youth soccer, pro and con, and many stories that I could tell about our experiences. But, on the whole, I would say it has been a good thing for all of us. It's not for everyone, and it certainly can be destructive, as can be just about any "serious," competitive youth activity, whether it be sports, music, dance, art, debate, etc. But it also offers much that is valuable as well, not only the friendships we have formed across two states, but a realm in which discipline, hard work, and life lessons, some kind and some not, predominate.
Maybe someday I can write further about these things (it's time to get ready for church now!), but for the moment, I'll simply share the following (for background, go to the Café):
Posted at Episcopal Café Soccer v. Church,
Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe Jennifer wrote about tournament play, which typically schedules games on Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon, and Sunday morning, and often schedules semi-finals and finals on Sunday afternoon. The issue, therefore, is not about Sunday morning league play or practices, but tournaments, which only happen a few times a year, which, at the height of outdoor soccer season in June and July, are the culmination of an entire year’s worth of training, practices, and league play. Father’s Day is not a religious holiday, not a holy day, but is a secular observance. Many people participate in sports and other activities, are faithful members of church communities, and do not attend church services at their home church every Sunday morning 52 weeks out of the year.
Soccer, music, and other activities can bring children and adults together, foster a sense of community, nurture friendship and trust, instill Christian values – or not. Church can foster community, nurture and strengthen faith, instill Christian values – or not. Sports and Faith are not opposed to one another. Faith should be part of our lives 24/7, and neither faith nor religious practices are limited to Sunday mornings between 8 and noon.
Recently the Café published an article on how our culture tends to isolate youth and prolong their adolescence. This does not happen in the realm of competitive sports. Youth sports, for better or for worse, is not only run by adults, they are involved in just about every aspect of the game. Team parents form an extended family, and each player must respect and deal with all of them, as well as the coaches, managers, referees, and league officials. Unlike their peers, athletes cannot do whatever they want, when they want. They must miss parties, sleepovers, dances, and much “hanging out,” while they train, practice, and compete. If they miss key team events or if their performance is hampered by not getting enough sleep, the right food, or taking drugs or alcohol, their behavior impacts not only their own lives and their fellow players, but many adults as well.
Athletes have to grow up early, arguably even too early. They do not get to be “kids” in the same way as many of their peers. They have responsibilities, they are subject to rules, and they must work and get along with adults in often very difficult, emotion-charged situations. They have to deal with many “unfair” decisions and rules, first and foremost referee calls, rough behavior and taunts from the opposing team, sometimes verbal abuse from spectators on the sidelines, and political maneuvering from those who want to exert power and influence. (Kind of like Episcopal politics?). They need to stay cool under pressure, deal with anger and frustration constructively, establish and stick by their own personal values of fair play and consideration for others.
Of course sports are not more “important” than faith or even religious practices. Conflicts arise not because sports are more highly valued than religion but because some people choose to do other things on Sunday mornings – not just sports, but also staying home to watch t.v, playing golf, working in the yard, going shopping. (Let’s also not forget those who have little or no choice, those who are compelled to work in low-paying service sector jobs and must work on Sundays). Sports is not the culprit, and not all sports or teams have WEEKLY activities scheduled for Sunday mornings.
Clergy who decide to use sports as a scapegoat and penalize parents or children who participate are, I believe, shooting themselves in the foot. Any activity that prevents regular participation in worship and community fellowship and mission is, clearly, something to be discouraged. And for those who are on the Catholic side of the Catholic/Protestant spectrum, regular (at least weekly) partaking of the Eucharist needs to be taught and practiced as essential. But none of that precludes sports.
Our daughter is a PK and currently a member of a soccer team that is a three time State Champion. We are very proud of her and the team, and we do not apologize or defend her participation to anyone in our parish. My husband, the rector, while not a sports fan himself, helps other parents with serious conflicts with sports activities. While he, like most of his colleagues, has no patience with people who drop in and out of activities that require long-term commitment at a moment’s notice, he does work with, for examples, members of confirmation classes so that they can makeup classes or assignments when a major conflict is foreseen (whether it be sports, music, or school) and it is clear that the parents and children are making every effort to comply with the requirements. He also does his best to provide as many weekday masses as possible (on general principles, of course). Nearby parishes, like our many Roman Catholic neighbors, offer early Saturday evening masses, some for the summer months, some year-round.
I understand and appreciate those who feel overwhelmed by popular culture and the pressure we and our children face from those who have no experience with, let alone commitment to, religious life. But too often our response is to retreat and try to insulate ourselves to the point where we sometimes don’t know or understand what is going on the Outside and simplify or demonize what we take at face value as contrary to our beliefs. The Church, apostolic and universal, will not prevail if we confine it to our buildings and monuments and rigid timetables. God is present both within His houses and on the fields of dreams. It’s not where we are on every Sunday morning that counts, it’s whether we do our best to not only keep God in our daily lives but foster church communities that welcome the full breadth of human experience, that do not take attendance rolls, but rather tell people they are missed when they are not present, and give people good reasons for coming back and being there often.
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