Amos, What do You See?

(This was a sermon I preached a few weeks ago at the local congregation while I'm doing Clinical Pastoral Education up in Missouri. It has been an intense summer so far, and I apologize for not being active in posting. I hope you are having a blessed summer!) 

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            Amos, What do you see? Or, to use the language of King James, Amos, what seest thou? This passage was a key point of inspiration for Bishop John Hines, former presiding bishop and founder of my seminary, the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, Texas. In the seminary chapel there is a metal sculpture of a modern city skyline with a plumb line suspended above it. The plumb bob dwarfs the one dimensional buildings that it hovers over. In front of this sculpture is a Bible, perpetually open to this very passage of judgment in Amos as a reminder that all ages, both ancient and modern, are measured by God’s plumb line.

Before the trees outside the seminary chapel grew, one could see the skyline of downtown Austin through the clear glass windows to the south: one could see the buildings of the University of Texas, the state Capitol building, the banks and commercial centers. The chapel even has its cross outside – the cross is on the other side of the stained glass, not inside. The juxtaposition must have been powerful for the first classes at the seminary, and served as a reminder that Christ was crucified out on a hill, not inside the Temple.

            In his vision for the seminary, Bishop Hines saw a need for clergy to be trained for the world outside the seminary walls. The formation that goes on in seminary, in class and in chapel, must always be oriented toward the outside. Bishop Hines saw that vividly during his tenure as Bishop of Texas and as Presiding Bishop as the Episcopal Church faced the issue of race and racism within our congregations and within American society during the 50s and 60s. When people were being attacked and rejected for the color of their skin, he refused to let the church stand idle. His actions infuriated many people who wanted the church to be an oasis from these issues, to be a refuge from social storms. He was accused of injecting politics into the church. Some of the modern arguments in the Episcopal Church about social issues bear the legacy of those turbulent times of social injustice.

            How can the Church stand idly by when the world outside is in such turmoil and pain? The instinct to make the church a refuge is not wrong; in the confusing, alienating world we inhabit, who doesn’t want to have a safe place to go, where the wars and fighting and hatred of the world fall away to be replaced the holy silence, the majestic music, the sacred prayer of the Church? Who doesn’t want to have a safe ship in the storm, guided by the light of good teaching? This instinct is a good one. The world needs the Church. The world needs the prayer, wisdom, and servanthood of the Church because the world is a confusing place.

            This instinct, though good in desire, ultimately fails. It fails because the world does not come into the Church but rather the Church goes out into the world. At the end of the Holy Eucharist, the deacon dismisses the congregation with the words, “Go in peace, to love and serve the Lord”; those words are a solemn charge! GO! Get out there, in other words. As you have eaten at the table of God and been refreshed for the journey, now go out into a world that needs to hear the proclamation of the Gospel in thought and word and deed. The world is a confusing place, and it needs you.

The world needs you as the Body of Christ and it needs you as a member of the Body of Christ to care for it and guide it, but the world is not going to beat down the church’s door no matter what slogan or advertising we do, no matter what awesome program we put on, no matter what changes we make to the liturgy. The world is not coming here looking for the answers to the questions about meaning and hope and God that they don’t even know they’re asking. The world continues on in confusion, doubt and pain because it can only recognize the Gospel when you share it.

The Gospel is known through experience. Look back on times in your life when someone was there for you and walked with you in a time of pain. Maybe a time when you mourned the death of someone near to you. Maybe a time when you felt guilt over something you did that hurt someone. Who was there at your side? Who embodied the love of God for you, who became your neighbor, to use the image from the Gospel reading today? The nourishing and transforming love of God is known through people.

            When the lawyer stood up to test Jesus, he asked him a good question: “What do I do?” And the lawyer gave the right information: “Love the Lord with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself.” You’ve got to love God, and you have to love your neighbor, and that includes loving yourself. In fact, love of God and love of neighbor feed and enrich each other. As you love God with your whole heart, then love dwells more deeply in you and flows out to your neighbor. As you love your neighbor, then you feel the immense love of God for the entire world. God loves this neighbor, this child of God, with all their gifts and flaws, just as God loves you with all your gifts and flaws.

            Since you have found the transforming love of God in this community of Christ Episcopal Church, is it not an act of love to share it with your neighbor? How has being a member of this community of believers helped you grow in the knowledge and love of God and of His Son Jesus Christ, and how have you been renewed through the power of the Holy Spirit? How would you share this experience with someone else? How would you share this transforming love of God with someone who is curious? With someone who thinks Christianity is about judging the world and wanting to control it? With someone who has been hurt by us, by the Body of Christ? The world out there desires the transformative love of God, and God has appointed you, yes, you, to take it outside of these walls to them.

This is a sermon on evangelism in the Episcopal Church. Evangelism is not about filling pews and financial support of the church but about taking the healing love of God that we know in the Gospel out into the world. Sometimes you aren’t even taking anything; sometimes you’re pointing out where you see the love of God already is, and this is a powerful gift of love for your neighbor (or your fellow parishioner or for yourself)! Do not be afraid of evangelism.

Is there fear that people will see us as quirky for our religion? We kind of are a quirky bunch, with our Book of Common Prayer and our blend of Protestant theology and Catholic tradition. Is there fear that people will see us as judgmental people? That is hard if we spend our time loving instead of judging. Is there fear that we have secret motives, such as filling a church building or getting more money to be pledged during stewardship season? That might be something we need to be honest with ourselves about. Is there fear that people will reject us? Some will, yet being honest about ourselves and our needs, fears, and stories will invite other people to turn to God for refuge from the confusion out in the world when we show how we have experienced the transforming power and love of God. Invite people to partake of the love of God that dwells in your heart. 

The Church is not this building. These four walls, these windows of colored glass, this altar, these things do not make the church.  You do. You are the Body of Christ, you are the Church. The love of God dwelling in you can be a place of refuge for the world.

To return to our plumb line, do you see the cross? That is our plumb line, our way of measuring. God did not wait for us to come to him; God came to us. God created us, God sees our every need. God the Son is incarnate from the Blessed Virgin Mary to be so very near to us. God makes himself our neighbor that we might become closer to God. Make yourself a neighbor to the world and, in everything you do, share the Good News that God loves us all, no exceptions. Amen.

Sermon on Missiology

For our class on Church Mission we were asked to write and preach a sermon explaining our own personal theology of mission. The following is what I wrote, and I hope it gives you some food for thought whether or not you agree.

Psalm 105: 1-4

Give thanks to the LORD and call upon his name; make known his deeds among the peoples.
Sing to him, sing praises to him, and speak of all his marvelous works.

Glory in his holy name; let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice.

Search for the LORD and his strength; continually seek his face.

            In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            Give thanks to the LORD and call upon his name; make known his deeds among the peoples. In this one phrase the psalm is pointing out both a key strength and a key weakness of the church. In our prayer life, in the regular offering of the Great Thanksgiving that is the Eucharist, we continually thank God for what God has given to us. We give our praise, we give our thanks, and we give ourselves with a grateful heart. We are very mindful of God’s great loving-kindness for us. We know that God is with us in our joys and in our struggles. We call upon the name of our God with deep reverence and affection.

            It is a bit harder, though, to be honest about making God’s deeds known. I’m not just talking about the great mysteries of the Christian faith; I’m talking about the many beautiful, little ways that God has been present in your life and has blessed you in your journey. We sometimes hold back for fear of being wrong in our interpretation, of being seen as a weirdo for our devotion, of being thought of as pushy about our religion. Why else would “evangelism” have such a bad reputation? It’s a little scary to talk about what we believe in, doubly if we’re going into a life of ordained ministry in the church. Trust me, that is a perpetually awkward conversation to have when you’re a gay man trying to date and you get asked what you’re doing in school. “Hi, I’m Joseph. I’m studying to be a priest. Want to get a cup of coffee?” Suddenly the conversation switches from “Your eyes are beautiful” to “Wait, you’re doing what? Can you do that?” Those are fun conversations to have.

            But it’s also been a wonderful conversation starter. A fair number of guys have found it a way to talk about their own spirituality, whether or not they even consider themselves Christian. A practitioner of voodoo in Boise keeps in touch with me, and I’ve had interesting dialogues with a neo-pagan and a few atheists. There is a deep desire in the human heart to talk about religion, about meaning. It just so happens that the phrase “gay and Christian” is a way of opening those lines of communication. It all starts awkwardly, but the conversation gets started. There’s plenty of God-talk and mutual listening, even if it also involves my own emotions about having to defend Christianity or having to explain what I believe more clearly because I am failing at communicating. It is an opening up of self to share and to listen.

            But along the way of me talking about my sexuality and my faith, something gets told: I have to say what God has done in my life and how God is at work in the world today. I can’t help it. It just happens. I have to give a personal account of my own relationship with God as part of a wider body of believers also making their journey in Christ. It can be scary to do; it means risking my own story and my own understanding of God’s acts in the world in order to share it with someone else. I have to risk rejection or ridicule. I have to risk miscommunication or failure. I have to run the risk that in my story some of my own fears, my own needs, and my own weaknesses will become known.

I also have to risk that the other person will have things to share. They might indict me with the failures of Christianity in the world. They might share deep pain from their own past with me. They might share a need with me that God calls me to address. Once that door is opened and I share of myself, then the other person has an opening to share, too. They might need to tell their story. They might want to make those same risks, risk telling their own story, risk sharing their own needs.

The door gets opened and God asks us to be fully there with others, but that mindful presence makes us transparent so that the glory of the Lord might shine more fully. We tell our story so that God’s praises might be sung. Through the Christian story we see how God is at work in the world, and we can give thanks to God. Our Christian story is like a set of eyeglasses: the story helps details come into focus, but people are not blind without that story. People can see glimpses of transcendent majesty in the natural world and in human beings, whether or not they talk about God, creation, or redemption. The beauty of the natural world, the distant cosmos and the forests and the deserts are enough to take your breath, but, when we talk of the Eternal Word through whom all things were created, we are pointing to the details of the “Why?” and “How?” of the natural world. The creation was made good by God and is called to return to God. And when we feed the hungry, visit the lonely, care for the sick, and stand against oppression and injustice with our lives, we point to yet another truth behind the readily apparent worth of human life: there is a larger life in God that becomes more visible when we follow our Lord Jesus, and this we call the Kingdom of God.

The conversation I have with another person is a sign of the openness that God creates in the heart. We get to share our joys and burdens, rejoicing and lamenting as one human family. We see the teachings of the Church written in the creation around us and we can see it in the human soul. How beautiful! How worth the risk of sharing the praises of God’s name!

This is where dialogue and conversation with people who are different from us can help us to see more clearly whether we are speaking and living the truth or if we are proclaiming ourselves instead. We have to ask what other people see and hear, to borrow their eyes and ears and hearts and minds to understand God more clearly. The eyeglasses of the Christian story may let us see details, but there is still plenty that we might fail to see because of our sinfulness, our self-delusion, or our willful ignorance. For my own part, I can testify to you today that God has made good use of my own spiritual wanderings from my younger days. My Mormon roots, my practices in Wicca and Buddhism, my conversion to Jesus in the United Church of Christ, and my homecoming to the Anglican tradition have all influenced me and helped me to see more clearly how much God is with us and guiding us toward all truth in Christ. God worked in all of those religious expressions to mold me to become a better disciple of our Lord Jesus Christ, so God can certainly work outside the Church to help us see the truth more clearly. The Christian story is truthful, and Jesus Christ the Incarnate Word is the Way, the Truth, and the Life; this I proclaim. It would be a mistake, however, to say that we cannot learn from others who do not share our tradition. It would also be a mistake to say there is nothing they can learn from us. It would also be a mistake to neglect the depth of your tradition; drink deeply of the living water of Christ. In our praising and sharing, we have to keep searching for God. Look for Christ’s hidden wisdom drawing all, including you, into deeper love in the Trinity.

Let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice! People want to talk about religion and faith, but sometimes the hurdle to conversation is hard to jump over. People are seeking. People seek meaning in their lives. They want to see more clearly, and they want to understand what they see. The whole creation longs for the wisdom of Christ, yet sometimes that wisdom needs to be soft so that it may be heard. We should give praise to Christ and tell the world about the works of God, but that witness needs to be written in our hearts and lives. The wisdom comes from Christ and it is only thanks to Christ that we can say it, but the heart of the person hearing the wisdom needs to rejoice, they need to be built up, not condemned or rejected. Go out there to serve God and to serve those made in God’s image, even if it means being a gracious and humble recipient of their hospitality and service, too. Feed the hungry person who comes to you. Serve the homeless person who comes to you. Share your wisdom with the questioning person, and listen intently to what Christ has to say to you in their words back. Sometimes your mission in the world might be more passive; maybe God sends you to be quiet and to listen.

Just as we seek to proclaim the Gospel, praise God’s holy Name, and tell the whole world about what God has done, we must also be seeking God’s face. We have to keep seeking! Our own journey is not over, and we cannot stop and assume we are done. We cannot assume we know the truth perfectly and that there is nothing left to do. Our own souls need to hear again and again about the glory of God. We build up each other with the proclamation and testimony of what God does every day in our own lives, and even more so we need to build each other up by being redeemed and renewed by God’s immense grace every day. Mission is not just to the other; it is to each other.

So in a convenient summary form, what am I saying? I am saying that Christ is sending you on mission to proclaim God’s deeds and to invite everyone into the pilgrimage to ever-deeper knowledge and love of God. God has done great things, and God is doing great things in you already, and God is doing great things in others already, so help each other to see more clearly. Give thanks to God, serve God by serving and by being served, and point toward God and proclaim, “Behold! God is faithful and true to creation, and all are marvelously alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord! Thanks be to God!” 

Desire, Confusion, and Power

As is my annual tradition, I watch the film "Jesus Christ Superstar" on Good Friday. Each time I find something new to meditate over, and this year I noticed a handful of themes running through the film and through the Passion of Christ.

Firstly, desire. Judas desired Jesus to behave a certain way, the merchants in the Temple lived on the desires of others, and even the lepers were motivated by desire to be well. The religious authorities desired order and "peace" in their occupied country, and the political authorities desired obedience and order. Desire! It become so easy to desire, and the powers that be already tell us what to desire (safety, wealth, fame, power, education, prestige, and so on). We become characterized through our desires. Even good desires (caring for the poor and marginalized, harmony, peace) can become perverted and demonic when they feed on themselves and they feed on us. Desire is a dangerous thing, and it is entirely possible to substitute our own vision of God and the Kingdom of God in place of God (or what we can sensibly call idolatry).

Second, confusion. Jesus is a confusing person in the Gospels. He can never be pinned down to behave a certain way, and in the film you could get a sense for the confusion of his disciples. What is he doing? Who is he? How do I love him, and can I still love him when I think he's wrong? Does he love me? The Christian tradition understands that God communicates to us the Truth even in the midst of confusion. It can be hard to see, and it is even harder to see when our desire is clouding what we see. When we are confused, our desires sometimes push their way into the driver's seat. Our confusion can, on occasion, be a fruitful land (though it feels like a desert) that reveals to us deep truths about ourselves, and God will be with us in the midst of that confusion. The world will not fall apart if we get it wrong; God is the creator, the Lord of all things, and our failures do not destroy his kingship.

Finally, power. You can attribute it to detailed study of Scripture, but you can see the role of the powers and principalities in the Passion. Who doesn't hold to power tightly to preserve one's own vision of how it should be? Rome wanted it one way and used its power to make sure that there was "peace" even while they oppressed others. The religious authorities had limited power but wanted to keep things orderly so that the world would not fall out of control. America, too, has its priorities (safety, wealth, etc) and will use power to maintain them.

Now add all these together. We have desires that push us toward satisfying some goals, we have confusion about how to reach those goals correctly, and then we have the power to carry out our plans.

Jesus pushed back against all these. What should we desire but God? Why do we stumble around when love of God with every fiber of our being and love of neighbor should be our guide? Who truly is the powerful One, who is the Lord God Almighty?

Even in our confusion, let us hold fast to the love of God, the desire for God. Even in our powerlessness, let us desire that "God's kingdom come, on earth his will be done as it is in heaven" by God's own power, not our power.

Peace be with you at this moment and forever.

How Shall We Sing the Lord's Song Upon an Alien Soil?

For the closing of the January class we were tasked with writing a reflection paper that integrated Scripture and our experienced with the course material and visitations.

Along the road the connection between the immigrant experience of leaving their homeland and the experience of exile in Scripture was made in my head, and the Psalm with the most cruel and brutal of language popped into my head: Psalm 137.

Here is a link to the text: http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=226401918 (by the way, Oremus.org is a fantastic resource for Scripture and liturgy!).

The anguish and anger in that Psalm encapsulates the exile experience. Ripped from one's homeland and taken to another, the exile becomes an alien on foreign soil.

The immigrant experience has some similar elements. What drives an immigrant to leave the homeland? What forces at play push this person or family to leave what is familiar for a foreign place?

Political persecution. Economic collapse. Oppression. Starvation. Opportunities denied at home.

There is something missing, something lacking in the homeland to push someone to leave behind what they know and seek something new. Even if it's a general feeling of "I don't belong here," the lack of a sense of belonging is pushing them out.

Idaho gives me the same feelings of being pushed out at times. It's hard not being of a particular conservative stripe (let along being a liberal!), not being of a handful of religious traditions, not being straight. It's made me capable of living as a minority. Being a minority can be powerful; I can be free to say what I'm thinking because those in power aren't going to share or listen. Being a minority can be disheartening in its limitations; those in power aren't going to share or listen.

Growing up in Idaho I always knew that my fate was going to lead me out of the state. I was not going to be satisfied staying there. I never developed pride in my state as a collective entity. I love its geography, of course. Mesa Falls and Craters of the Moon are extraordinarily beautiful, and looking up at Taylor Mountain in the mornings filled me with joy! But the entity of "Idaho" and "Idaho-ness" do not hold the same appeal for me.

Here in Texas, it astounds me how much people take pride in their state. They take pride in being Texan and having grown up here or moving here. They are living in their homeland.

Who doesn't want to have a place where they belong and feel at home? Other than in the Kingdom of God, what else can I proudly call my homeland?

Remembering that people around the world still desire that Heavenly Country where all are welcome and all are loved, let us pray for exiles and refugees, for immigrants and travelers, for the lonely and hungry. May God's Kingdom come soon! Amen.

Sent out as Wolves among Sheep

This following sermon was written and delivered today as part of the Eucharist at the conclusion of the seminary's January "Encuentro" course on Latinos, Latino culture and history, and intercultural ministry. The work referenced is Eric Law's "The Wolf Shall Dwell with the Lamb."

Joseph Farnes
Sermon for the Feast of the Conversion of St Paul (End of January Encuentro)
Seminary of the Southwest
January 25, 2013

Acts 26:9-21
Matthew 10:16-22
Psalm 67

“Sent Out As Wolves Among Sheep”

            In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Today we have come to the end of our January Encuentro. A journey that started on what was to some a chilly Tuesday morning with Brother Dahlman’s reflections on waving like a madman to Queen Elizabeth, a journey that is now drawing to a close on this feast of the Conversion of St Paul, a Jew who was sent out and who converted Gentiles.

            For me, this January Encuentro has resulted in more questions than answers. Has it been that way for you?  The more we have learned, the more I see a complicated and interwoven human reality and am faced with the sobering reality that mission is more multifaceted than before.

            The stated goal for Encuentro is to learn about the culture and history of Latinos and to understand the present. Mission and outreach become a little more complicated when remembering the mixed history of the Spanish missions and presidios. Looking back on a history of injustice makes the tongue pause when it tries to preach justice and the Gospel. There is pain in the present due to injustices in the past. Truth-telling is painful.

             Yet as we have also discussed in class, there is pain in being frozen in history. The sins and errors of our forebears can be a powerful summons to modern-day action, but guilt, shame, and self-loathing can destroy the very person who is called to act. Guilt and shame can paralyze even though God calls us to use our gifts and strengths as ministers in the world.

            In our studies we have encountered a tapestry of counter-stories to compare to the tapestries of stories each of us has brought to this place. We see new depictions of familiar stories and ideas and sometimes we become uncomfortable, as if we were witnessing fingers pulling and plucking thread after thread from our tapestry, leaving scars and empty spaces in the colors. In seeing our own stories deconstructed, our stories that make us proud to be who we are and give us nourishing roots and depth and color, it may seem that we, too, are being deconstructed. The story does not have perfect heroes and perfect villains, but human beings who devoured each other and human beings who were devoured.

            The devoured and the devourer. Wolves and sheep. Jesus and Eric Law both use this imagery to frame a duality of the powerful and the powerless. Jesus sends out the powerless among the powerful, and Eric Law cautions the powerful to face their own wolfish characteristics.

            Are we sheep, or are we wolves? What if I am a wolf, not a sheep, and what if I’m prepared to face wolves but find sheep instead?

            Even more questions came to mind as that image was drawn in my brain.

            Firstly, to bring up what Eric Law points out, how do we avoid hurting when we only mean to help? How does the wolf not rule over the sheep, even if it is meant to be a benevolent rule? Like the well-meaning but powerful giant in a children’s story, we might end up using our power wrongly and hurting the community we seek to help. We might silence other voices by our talking; we might insist on our own way and insist that our way is God’s way. Power is hard to wield well. So what do we do with our own power, our education, every privilege we’ve been given? How do we share without taking over?

            Secondly, where does the wolf get its food except by eating other animals? To say it another way, how do we as priests and future priests live except by the generosity of those we serve? A popular negative image of a pastor is the one who fleeces the flock, enjoying wealth and prestige by convincing the poor to give their hard-earned money in the hopes of an eternal future. Father Alejandro in Houston mentioned that in some Latin American countries the church charges for holy water while we give it away here. Are we seeking to share the Good News of Jesus Christ, Son of God and God the Son, or are we seeking to keep the parish doors open and the pledges up? Or both? Are we afraid of scarcity in the pews or are we overjoyed at the outpouring of God’s love? Father Alejandro talked about the practical, financial issues of building up his Hispanic congregation. You have cultural differences about giving to the church, and you have annual reports for the diocese that wants to know numbers. Pledging units, average Sunday attendance, budget figures! What drives us to share in the work of reconciliation?

            Finally, what does a sheep need from a wolf? Does the sheep need the expert hunting skills of the wolf or need to learn how to participate in wolf pack politics? Sounds crazy, but are we teaching others about how to be more like us or how to be more like Christ? In a world that loves measuring by tangible things, how do we measure whether we are doing what is good and right? And what do we do with our neighbors and friends who find no need of our spirituality or even our relationship with God? Do we convince them that there is an unseen, gaping hole in their lives that only God can fill? How do we reach out to those who are different from us and care for them as they are yet still witness to Jesus Christ?

            Yes, that was a list of questions. I hope you might have answers for them because I don’t, and the Episcopal Church and the wider Church need those answers.

            Questions are good. A good question pokes at the limits of our knowledge. A good question guides us along and helps us seek truth; however, Jesus gave us a command.  Go out there, go proclaim the Gospel, persevere in the hope that the Holy Spirit will work in you and guide you along!

Christ sends us out. He didn’t command just the perfect ones to go out. He didn’t command only the ones who had the answers or who had the right program for parish growth. He sent out his apostles, and they had their own issues they were still working out. I am sure they still had questions about themselves, about what Jesus was asking them to do, and about how to do what Jesus was asking. Oddly enough, those are the same questions we are asking ourselves even today.

Jesus sent the apostles out, and he sends us out, too. The apostles didn’t get complete answers to their questions but they managed to muddle through it. We have to proclaim the Gospel. There is no choice in that. We may not have all the answers. We may not be perfect. We may not have what it takes, but Jesus is still sending us all out.

            When Paul was knocked off his horse, he asked one question: “Who are you, Lord?” And then he was sent out. No church manual on evangelism or a strategic vision for outreach – just his own, flawed, slightly privileged self.  In fact, I think Paul might have been a bit of a wolf, come to think of it. Educated, male, astute at navigating politics …

            Whether you are sheep or wolf or both, do what Jesus tells you to do. Go out there, go proclaim the Gospel, persevere in the hope that the Holy Spirit will work in you and guide you along!

By the Light of the Phone in the Morning

(This was a meditation I drafted for an online publication that I decided not to send in)

Those first five minutes of the day command a lot of power over the rest of the day. When I wake up, the first thing my technology-focused brain will do is reach for my cell phone. My thumb flies to the email button, and my eye runs down the list of new mail with just a touch of anxiety.

Some of the new emails are good; I get a daily email from the Society of St John the Evangelist (an order of monks in the Episcopal Church) with a thoughtful meditation.

Some of the new emails are not-quite-so-good. Retailers are always present to encourage me to buy another thing I probably don’t need.

But my eye always scans for the unfamiliar email, the one I wasn’t planning on receiving. Why? It might just be good news from a friend! But it might be an email with bad news, with a reprimand for something I failed to do, or with some other text that might just start my day with a bit of anxiety.

That warm glow of my phone sure has a lot of impact in the morning. From bed to breakfast table, the light that seems to influence my day the most is not the Sun risen in the sky or the Son shining in my heart but rather the familiar glow of an ever-present phone.

Why does the phone have such power in the morning? Because for some hours I stepped away from our world and went to a world of dreams, leaving my deeds done and undone.

Each day might be a “fresh new day” in some ways, but it always contains the fruit of the days before. What I did yesterday will be reflected in what happens today, and that can be scary. I can never “start over” as if the day before never happened; what I said, what I did will continue on.

Instead of being cause for anxiety, though, that can be an invitation to honesty and truth. Honesty and truth with others, but, most of all, honesty and truth with myself.

Looking back, I can see what I did that has made me the person I am this morning and I can decide whether that is the person I want to be. I can be honest with myself in that warm glow of my phone.

Am I living out the values of love, honesty and generosity that God asks me to embody? Am I taking the risk in sharing myself with others and being open about who I am, what my needs are, and what flaws or difficulties I am struggling with in my journey to be the person God calls me to be? Am I loving God? Am I loving my neighbor, my friend, my enemy? Am I loving myself?

I am not perfect; my phone reminds me of that as it reminds me of my projects left undone and all the other ways I haven‘t lived up to my call of discipleship. Neither is the world perfect; my daily news alert reminds me of the turmoil and pain in the world.

But I can be honest. I can admit my mistakes, certainly, but I can also admit that I am a child of God. Me! A child of God! Me, a heavy-set gay man in his mid twenties, a child of God! Me, a guy who finally embraced my sexuality just eight years ago and embarked on a journey of  heartache, personal growth and much deeper love.

By becoming more and more honest with myself, all those parts come together more and more. The good, the not-so-good, the stuff-waiting-to-be-transformed. All wrapped up in an untidy package with a humble yet beautiful tag: A Child of God.

In those first five minutes, honesty can guide the rest of the day. One of the most startlingly true statements is that all are loved by God. It can be hard to believe that statement, but it is one of the truest statements that can be made.

If I may be so bold to be so direct, YOU are loved by God. YOU, the one reading this on the glow of a computer screen or the pale light of your phone in your hand. Loved as you are now, and  loved as you will yet become as you are led by God’s grace to even greater heights of joy and love.

Be honest, be yourself, be the Child of God that you are now and are called to be. It calls for just a little bravery and boldness, but smile at the face lit by the glow of this very screen, especially if it is the first five minutes of a new day.

Song of Mary, Song of Hope Fulfilled

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Since the end of the world prophecy of the Mayan apocalypse didn’t happen like the media had been talking about for weeks now, I guess I’m stuck with “Plan B” and will have to preach this morning. But hey, maybe this will be more exciting than the end of the world would have been anyway!

Studying Scripture takes different forms and different techniques, all of them with different fruits. Some of you may be familiar with Lectio Divina, a Benedictine technique where you read a small passage of Scripture over and over again and let God speak to you directly.

Another technique of Scripture study is to sit with the Bible and just start reading, trying to understand what was going on. Knowledge of history helps; the Bible doesn't tell you directly what had just happened sometimes. Scripture very rarely gives the context for the letter or the prophecy, and that context is a big help in understanding what Scripture is saying.

Why is Micah giving this prophecy? What's happened in Israel to make for all these prophecies of a Messiah? This way of studying Scripture is a big part of seminary life.

When we come together in Morning Prayer or Eucharist, we listen to the Scripture being read and, if you're a very visual person, try to imagine the scene or imagine what situation Paul is having to write to yet another congregation about. Imagination as study? Oh, yes, imagination is important. When you know some of the context of the passage and you've read it a few times, you can imagine yourself in Scripture and imagine what it would feel like to hear these words for the first time.

Imagine being the congregation assembled to hear Micah's words, to sing this Psalm, to hear the recounting of Mary's song for the first time. Something powerful must have been revealed for these words to have been passed down to us by our ancestors in the faith. Imagine that!

Our Scripture readings today, though, make that imagining a little harder. The people who wrote our Scripture readings were living under oppressive conditions that are a bit harder for us Americans to understand. What is it like having people from a foreign country show up with powerful armies and conquer your country, leaving your people and your family in poverty? What is it like seeing people betray their own nation in seeking power? What is it like seeing powerful people parading around while murdering and imprisoning people who dare challenge their tyranny?

Even though we in modern America can hardly imagine what it was like to be a first century Jew under the tyranny and occupation of yet another empire, we do share with them a prayer for God to come and set us all free.

While we might fret about the tyranny of money and the threats of overworking ourselves in the pursuit of so-called success or fame or becoming callous in the face of human need, Israel faced a different situation. Israel had lived under the occupation of – let’s count them – Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, Rome, all in quick succession. Save for a few years of self-rule and for a few years of being ruled by minor dictators, Israel had not been free politically or economically for a long, long time.

No wonder that they were eagerly hoping for someone, someone to set them free. Maybe God would send a new king to kick those rotten Romans out! Maybe God would send a priest or prophet to bring the people back to God! Or maybe God would just bring this sad human story to an end and close the book in a magnificent display of judgment.

As it was, though, the whole world seemed stuck. Those people in authority flaunted their power and hungered for more and more, the people on the bottom had to scrape out a living with less and less, and nothing seemed to change. You can only hear tales of apocalypse or upheaval so long before you dismiss them. You don’t find the world changing and you find yourself stuck.

So what did Mary and Elizabeth find in our Gospel reading today? They could feel something was different. Some wheels had finally started turning. Things weren’t stuck.

Slowly, haltingly, moving as quickly as a baby growing in the womb, something was happening. Why shouldn’t Elizabeth greet this cousin, this herald of a new world waiting to be born? And why shouldn’t Mary sing out praise to God for this promise kept to all Israel?

Mary’s song has long been a treasured part of Christianity. In fact, it’s so beloved you can find it printed in one form or another in five different places in our prayer book. Open the prayer book to page 441 or to any of the morning or evening prayer services.

What does that say? Mary's song is the song all our hearts sing. We want to see God set the world right. But notice the verb. Mary is singing that God has already set the world right. The hungry are filled, the powerful cast down from their thrones. Mary’s song makes it sound like God’s already set everything right. Everything's done.

Did you read the news today? Are there still hungry people in Idaho Falls, Asia and Africa? Are there still politicians in power to satisfy their own desires and not to serve the people? Are people still murdered for being who they are or for speaking words of truth? The world still aches and yearns for it all to be different.

So what is Mary saying? She isn’t even cradling this baby in her arms yet and she already knows that the world is different and that God has set the wheels in motion to free all people from slavery to sin, selfishness, death, destruction, tyranny, injustice.

In short, it’s all done. Game over, as my liturgy professor would say. How can any person of power and privilege, whether it be president or priest, celebrity or scholar, businessman or businesswoman, not tremble a little knowing that God is king and high priest, source of all wisdom and might, and creator of much more wealth than any could dream of? And God had all of that done long before even our earliest ancestors were born.

Any position of privilege and power we have is overshadowed by God’s might and wisdom. Any power I have comes from the one who sends me, and God is the one who sends all of us out into a world to take the lowest place, to be servants in a world waiting to be transformed.

What a message of hope! It seems a little excessive, a little too much, really. Can we hope that the future will be different? That we will stop hurting others, that we who have will share with those who have little, that we will recognize that the world belongs to God and not to us? Yes, we can hope that.

We can hope because we can see glimpses of it. Mister Rogers once said, "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of 'disaster,' I remember my mother's words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world."

What did he mean by that? Look for the humble people, the salt of the earth people, the people grounded in God, and see glimpses of the Kingdom of God breaking into this world. That's Jesus at work.

It can be hard to stay hopeful in the face of the suffering going on around us and inside us. Injustice still persists, sin still acts to keep us away from God, death and destruction still assault God’s creation. But a little infant born in Bethlehem is our priest, our prophet, our king, our eternally beloved Lord.

We are already seeing the end of the world. The mightiest king has walked among the poor people of Galilee. The greatest prophet has taught in the Temple at the age of twelve. The high priest of all creation has offered himself as the supreme sacrifice to restore earth and heaven to God. And you have been made free to love and serve God and to love and serve your neighbor as yourselves. Our hope is being fulfilled!

Stay faithful, keep watch, and remain courageous. Our King is returning soon! Amen. 

Home Away From Home

Now I am in Austin, TX for seminary, and I'm very excited to get started. It's been a long week of traveling and a few days of getting acclimated to the Texas heat.

This morning I met with a potential spiritual director to do some preliminary work. My bishop is asking me to meet with a spiritual director while I'm in seminary, and it's important to find a good match when it comes to spiritual directors. No two clerics are alike, and the same is true with spiritual directors.

As I met with her, we just had some light chit-chat about Austin, the move, what a sense of being 'called' means, the point of spiritual direction. When she asked me some pointed questions about my own spirituality, though, she latched right onto a word that I kept using without really thinking of it:

"Home."

Home didn't just refer to the place I grew up; it is a spiritual term. Home. It is loaded with power. It's a place of safety, of comfort, where things can just 'be.' It's a place where you have your bearings and know where you are. Sometimes, at home, you even know WHO you are. Home is also where you can be challenged in a good way and grow from that challenge.

As I journeyed down here, I stopped in Omaha to visit old friends. Driving in on I-80, I felt a sense of 'home' as I hit the city limits. I could see familiar street signs, I passed businesses I knew on Maple, and I smiled wide as I got into the Benson area. I had driven this area frequently in visiting some homebound parishioners.  It felt familiar and friendly. When I'd driven into Omaha to start my internship I was hitting rush hour and was scared to death; this time I was hitting rush hour and knew what to do.

Now that I'm in Austin, I feel kind of the same way. I know if I get to Lamar or Guadalupe or 38th Street, I can get home. I'm starting to get my bearings. And with my classmates I feel I can be myself so far. Not open about everything, of course; it's a rare friend you can be completely open with, but I don't have that same fear and apprehension I had when starting college or my internship. Maybe it's lurking around the corner, maybe it's not.

My spiritual director pointed out that home isn't really a place. It's really only in God that we are truly home. It is in God that we can be ourselves, our whole selves, and sometimes our holy selves. In God we can be challenged, our flaws pointed out, our sins laid bare, our heart made new in God's love.

Slowly, I'm coming home to God. It's a lifelong journey but I get to have homes along the way, too.

Communion without Baptism

(Following is a post I made on the Episcopal News Service article about the General Convention debates about Communion without Baptism. The article can be found by clicking here)


I find it interesting that the article is written to lean toward those who favor abolishing baptism as a precursor to admission to the communion table. Which side starts and ends the article?

Question: when will we also abolish baptism and confirmation as requirements to holding church office? What, then, is the role of baptism, and does it confer any spiritual grace or actually incorporate someone indivisibly into the Body of Christ?

At what point will we recognize that God can be worshiped and adored outside the context of the Holy Eucharist? I'm glad that we as a church have returned to the ancient practice of celebrating the Holy Eucharist each week and sharing the Body and Blood with even infants who have been baptized, but now have we neglected our rich heritage of Morning and Evening Prayer (which, oddly enough, have never required baptism) because "worship won't happen without bread and wine and a priest"? Those who have not been baptized are also called to prayer and devotion to God - hence why Paul has that whole conversation in Acts about the altar to the "Unknown God". Those who have not been baptized are still loved deeply by God and God graces and blesses those whom God so chooses. God is Love, and God sends blessings and love to all the corners of the world. Those who are not baptized can still pray, even if they do not really know who they're talking to. How many people are there who aren't really sure who God is but pray anyway? God hears their prayers.  Baptism and the Eucharist, however, are special sacraments that God has entrusted to the Church for nourishing those whom God has called into the Church. If God calls someone into the Church, then they are incorporated into the Mystical Body by means of Baptism. The Holy Eucharist, then, is the sacred feast of the Church where Christ is mystically present - it is God's gift to the Church to observe with love and reverence.

Honestly, I fear that this entire debate about "welcoming" is a way to avoid having real conversations about real issues. When the debate is kindly framed "welcoming / open table" and "exclusivist  / gatekeeping / baptism before Eucharist" we have already tried to paint people into a corner.

Do I oppose communion without baptism? Yes, because I hold Baptism in the highest regard as the means by which we proclaim the reality of what we celebrate in the Holy Eucharist. Why would someone partake of the Body and Blood when they haven't decided that they actually believe in the Good News which the sacred meal proclaims? And why would they believe in the Good News and not be baptized?

The issue, for me, is not that people "don't understand" the Body and Blood. I confess I really don't, either, though I do trust that Christ is truly present in the Sacrament. The issue is that "being welcoming" is taking precedence over really wrestling with the mysteries, with what we live and proclaim (Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again - now what is it that we are baptized into, again?). People are not excluded from God's grace because they are baptized or not (God is free to bless those whom God chooses), but this is not just "some" wafer and wine we're eating. It's participating in a real, holy mystery which is part of deep spiritual preparation and finds its deepest roots when the soil is well-nurtured.

(And if those who favor ending the requirement want to say that I'm unwelcoming and excluding others, I'd like to remind them that they and I are already bound together by the vows we have made in baptism. If they want to doubt my love for others who have not been baptized, if they want to say I'm being "exclusionary", then I'd like to ask them this: if you'll treat someone who is bound to you in baptism with dislike, then how will you treat who are not bound to you in baptism? Can one member of the Body say to another, "I have no need of you"?)

Chosen

This past week the Daily Office lessons from the Old Testament have come from Numbers. Quite an interesting book and full of drama! The story of Korrah and the Levites who were unhappy with not being priests is actually some good comedic material.

Basically, the story is that some Levites are unhappy that they don't get to make sacrifices. Their rally cry is that all the congregation is holy and therefore there is no need for a special priesthood. "Everyone is equal and everyone has the right to offer the sacrifices," goes their line of thought. How does the story end? God gets upset and Korrah and his comrades are destroyed. There's also a plague that is minimized by the intercession of Moses and Aaron. The two men whose ministry was targeted by Korrah are the ones who end up saving the day.

The episode is a little funny, or at least can be interpreted that way as can much of that part of Scripture. The Israelites complain that they have no food, then God gives them manna. Right after that, they start to complain about not having meat and God then sends them mountains of birds to eat. The cycle is Israel complains / God gives solution with consequences / Israel finds another thing to complain about. I guess that's not the pinnacle of comedy, but God surely has to be throwing hands up in the air wondering aloud to the host of heaven, "What am I to do with these people?"

Where's the comedy in this episode? Israel is complaining that some people are made special when they themselves are special in comparison to the nations. Remember, God chose Israel to be a special, holy people. Out of all the nations, God chose the descendants of Jacob to receive a parcel of land and to receive the covenant and the Law.

The chosen people complaining about some of their numbers being chosen for a special service is a little ironic, isn't it?

Sermon for Father's Day, 2012

Joseph Farnes

Third Sunday after Pentecost

June 17^th 2012

Year B

Ezekiel 17: 22-24

Psalm 92: 1-4, 11-14

2 Corinthians 5:6-17

Mark 4:26-34

Father's Day

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Christ speaks through stories, miracles and signs. He guides us through images and pictures and the occasional sermon. He says little about the Kingdom of God directly; we get to piece it together through his images and through his commandments. Jesus' first disciples were lucky since he pulled them aside afterward and explained what he said. We, on the other hand, rely on the witness of the first disciples. We rely on reading Scripture, on coming together week by week to break bread, and on the prayers. We have to look to Scripture and tradition to help us make sense of the Kingdom of God.

Frequently all the talk about the Kingdom of God is confusing. Jesus didn't make it easy to comprehend. Jesus didn't just write out a booklet on “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Disciples” or a commentary on Scripture. He didn't write out a political platform about the Kingdom or pen a memoir. Instead, Jesus met with people and he loved them. He taught them and sent them out to the world. He gave them rich images and stories to draw people into the Kingdom of God.

How many parables start out “The Kingdom of God is like...”? Jesus doesn't say outright what the Kingdom is. He compares it to stuff we can know or imagine because it draws us into the image. We have to set the scene -- we have to see the mustard seed or see a farmer scattering seed which will grow. We have to dream up that old woman searching for a lost coin or the father welcoming back a son. By involving our imaginations, we start to see little details. These little details flesh out the parables and give them life. Sometimes we see a detail in our imagination that we hadn't noticed before and we breathe in and say, “Ah ha!” In fact, imagination is so important that St Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuit order, included it as part of his Spiritual Exercises. Our imagination can be a vehicle for the Holy Spirit to make the parable or story more real for us. We start to see ourselves in the story -- and we start to understand what Jesus is telling us.

These images, parables and comparisons do have limits, however. The mustard seed may grow up into the greatest of all shrubs, but should we then compare the mustard seed to the sequoia which is much, much bigger? No. By comparing the mustard shrub to a sequoia we'll probably miss the fact that the Kingdom of God grows from humble beginnings. The stories draw us in, but we should be careful not to get lost or miss the bigger picture.

Similarly, we can't push the image and language of God as Father too much or we risk talking about God as literally a father -- and that literal view paints a picture of God as a bearded old man sitting on a glorious throne. It suggests God is like the stereotypical picture of a 1950's family: children romping in the yard, the wife in the kitchen making a pot roast, and God walks in from a long day in the office as a patent attorney. Yeah, that image doesn't really make the Gospel much clearer. Let's look at the “God the Father” language more closely.

In what way is God our father, then? God is our father because God loves us dearly and because God calls us to be a holy people, a nation of sons and daughters sanctified in the Spirit. Jesus tells us to call God our Father because it shows how important we are to God. Calling God 'father' is our way of showing how important God is to us.

The richness of these parables and images is rooted in our experience. For example, a good father shows us glimpses of God's own love and guidance. A good father will pull us aside and explain to us what we've done wrong and encourage us to be better because we're capable of it. That experience helps us make sense of how God is our Father. God wants us to live up to our fullest potential and to use all our gifts.

On the other hand, if someone is a bad father, then we see how God's love for us and our relationship with God are so crucial. Our most important relationship is not with a person who mistreats us but with God. Of course, dads and other human beings are mixed: not just good and not just bad, so we have glimpses of both God's fatherly goodness and our need to cultivate a good relationship with God our Father.

Relationships are not frozen in time. They grow and change and sometimes wither. Our relationships with our fathers -- and with our mothers and siblings and friends and children -- change over time. The dad we saw as children changes as we ourselves change.

Imagine your father or a very close friend, spouse or child. How has that relationship changed over time? What are the habits and traits that you love, and are those the same things that made you like this person in the beginning? How do you spend time together now, and do you do the same things now that you used to do? Is it necessarily wrong that things have changed? Of course not.

Let's imagine a positive father and child relationship. It's a happy start. The daughter is born and crawls and walks, always eager to see her daddy's face. She hears the back door opening and flies in its direction, wondering if daddy brought home a present. As a little kid, the daughter looks up to dad. Dad knows everything – from why the sun goes up and down to why the grass grows. It doesn't matter if dad is right in his facts because it all makes sense. Dad keeps the monsters at bay and he somehow manages to make burned hamburgers from the grill taste great. Dad keeps her safe, fed, happy. Dad makes everything right.

As a teenager, the daughter now sees her dad differently. His explanations no longer work. The sun does not rise and set because it's racing against the moon. His explanation was just silly and now it embarrasses her to think she ever believed him. Now she's being asked to take on more and more responsibilities in school and at home. Dad doesn't just provide everything like a servant. She's struggling to decide who she is, and dad's advice is unappreciated. Doesn't he understand how hard it is to be alive in this world today? She doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up but she sure doesn't need dad telling her what to do. She questions, she tests her boundaries. She looks at her dad and sees a very different man than the one she saw as a kid.

As an adult, she now starts to see what dad was talking about. Apparently he knew something after all! She starts to sympathize with the guy; she now has a child of her own and she dreads those teenage years. She's also juggling so many responsibilities now. She has work, church, family. She wants to do it all but can't. The energy and time and money just aren't there. She has to make a special effort to pick up the phone and talk to her dad, much less muster up the effort she needs to go visit him.

At this point, can we see how our relationship with God can be like these stages? Sometimes we just trust in God and everything seems right. Sometimes we question what we were taught and have to struggle through doubt and fear. Sometimes it takes a whole lot of effort just to remember God's there. None of these stages are right or wrong, and none is better to another. They just are. Our relationship with God changes over time. Sometimes it's easier to trust. Sometimes that trust feels childish. Sometimes we question, and sometimes we understand.

It's most important that we have a relationship with God and that we nourish it. We spend time with God and let the relationship grow and change. There's no way we can dictate what kind of relationship we'll have with anyone; it is formed by the time we spend with that person.

How, then, do we maintain and develop a relationship with God? How do we spend time with him? Franciscan priest Dan Horan talks about different ways we keep in contact with God. He describes volunteer work, worship in the church community, Scripture reflection, theological study, and personal prayer as different ways of spending time with God and getting to know him better. You set aside time for God and God's people and God's work, and through that you start to see God in different ways. The relationship changes as you change, and it changes as you learn more about God and listen.

What does Scripture say? What does the Prayer Book teach you? What do you see when volunteering at the soup kitchen? When praying by yourself, what do you feel the Spirit doing? How did it feel when we were listening to the readings earlier today? You were spending time with God by listening to St Paul and Ezekiel and hearing about their relationship with God the Father. The Holy Spirit is working through them to tell us more and more about God. Sometimes it feels like listening to one of dad's stories over and over again, but sometimes you hear something you hadn't heard before.

God wants to spend time with us. Let's make that happen. Pick up the phone ... or, better yet, why not invite God to dinner tonight? Like dear old dad, God doesn't want anything fancy for Father's Day. He just wants to be with you.

Happy Father's Day! 

Who Should I Trust?

I was originally writing a sermon for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany (Jan 29 2012), but I was told that the canon to the bishop would be present at my parish to preach instead. Thus, these are some jumbled thoughts mixed together with some things I've been struggling with

The readings for the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany can be found here.

 "A new teaching... with authority!"

With authority! It wasn't just a new teaching that took his listeners by surprise; that new teaching was accompanied by authority. In other words, Jesus wasn't just babbling on about love and God and the Son of Man and forgiveness. He was backing up his words with authority.

How could his listeners tell he had authority?

How can we tell that he had authority?

Right now it's not so clear who we can trust for anything. With all the different drugs out there that get recalled for being unsafe, who can I trust to take care of me when I'm sick? Who can I trust to tell me what's going on in the world around me? Who can I trust with the fate of my future and my soul?

Who do you trust?

Who do I trust?

Sometimes I don't really know. There are people who tell me wonderful things about myself, and sometimes those are the people who hurt me the most. Then there are people who tell me wonderful things about myself but they don't make me hurt. There are guys who've told me that I'm wonderful and attractive and everything, but then they cast me away or make me feel completely unlovable. Then there are friends who tell me that I'm wonderful and attractive, but then why am I still single?

Who can I trust to tell me the truth?

In my discernment process (which, for me at least, has been going on for a few years, even if I haven't been actively moving forward toward ordained ministry) I've doubted on multiple occasions my call. I've refused it. I can't do it- I'm not smart enough / kind enough / strong enough for it. I'm just deluding myself with it. But then I have moments where I see it, and then I have moments when others see it in me.

Who do I trust?

Not only do we need to hear the Truth, but we also need to hear the Authority behind it. We can't just hear words and have their Truth ring in our hearts, but we also need to know, to trust, that there is a power behind that Truth.

But then who do we trust? Who can I trust with my deepest self, my dreams, my goals? Who can I trust with my very future, my soul, and my well-being? Who will tell me the truth but do it with the authority of God, the authority that is the Love that creates, redeems and sanctifies us?

Add in the fact that God says there will be both real and false prophets. There will be truth-tellers, and there will be those who proclaim something as truth which is not fully true.

Back to my examples. There have been guys who have told me I'm wonderful, attractive, etc. Some of them have hurt me deeply and others who have not. Some who may have been lying. Some who were not. The content of their message may have been mostly the same, but not all of them had the authority because they may have said it for their own gain or for some other reason. Sometimes even the right message will lack the authority behind it to make it the Truth.

That's why we can trust Paul. For all his flaws, we see in his letter the love he has for the people he's writing about. There are no gods but God, and idols are just statues without power. To eat meat sacrificed to them was no sin because the idols were nothing real, but to hurt another believer who couldn't see that or truly believe it was a sin. His motivation wasn't to be dogmatically correct at all costs nor was it to placate believers who couldn't just give up the old ways. Where do we see that now? Some who insist that they are the only ones who are right, and others who demand every concession be made to them.

Look to the Truth. Look for the prophets with Authority. See it in their eyes, in their moments off-guard, see it in their hearts and lips. What guides them?

And look to yourself. By whose authority do you act? Are you a true prophet to yourself, or are you a false one?

Who do you trust? Who can you trust? Most importantly, who will you trust with your heart and soul, who will you trust to tell the truth?

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

It's the most wonderful time of the year! Except that the local Christmas music station stopped playing Christmas music at noon today... today still being Christmas. Of course, it must be that once all the gifts have been unwrapped and the veritable orgy of consumeristic delight and gift-giving and feigned thanks for yet another tchotchke has ended that Christmas is truly over.

At this time of year, every year, we have two main currents set in opposition to each other. One current is the consumerist strain that traditionally begins the day after Thanksgiving, although that is changing. The other current is the counter-current of "Christmas is about family / caring for others / hope and love." These currents oppose one another even though one always wins.

If everyone seems to agree that family /caring for others is the most worthwhile part of Christmas, its true spirit, then why does consumerism always seem to win? I think, at its heart, it's about the struggle of Christianity in a different light. Christianity was a religion that was oppressed by the political and religious authorities of its day and saw itself as a 'counter-cultural' movement. Early Christians were to be the leaven of the world. When Christianity was tolerated and then made the state religion in Rome, however, that changed. How can you be a counter-cultural movement when you are de facto the culture? It's about like when a 28 year old in the business world finally realizes that he is no longer fighting 'The Man' but is, in fact, 'The Man' as he covets that promotion and that corner office. He has become something he often derided and swore he never would be.

Being the 'counter-culture', the leaven, the oppressed minority has a purifying effect. Because you can change little, you cannot be blamed for failure, and your oppression shows the rightness of the cause. When you are no longer the minority, however, you have power. You can be blamed for failure, and the rightness of the cause can be corrupted by political necessities and being "practical."

In America, consumerism is our culture. The news has covered sales reports as a gauge of the true health of our nation; we are only as strong as our impulse to buy everything that we are told that we need. The counter-current of "Christmas is not about the gifts, it's about family / joy / caring for others" provides a nice feeling that we are truly righteous and it gives us a battle to wage. It is a unifying effect. People can nod to each other in the store, fellow comrades in the battle against the degradation of Christmas by consumeristic forces while at the same time getting that 'must have' gift item. We get to play both sides of the fence, enjoying the comforts of consumerism while feeling vindicated by the rightness of the cause.

But oh well! Christ has been born, and our Savior reigns!

Merry Christmas!

Less than Saint Augustine (Retreat 2011 reflections pt 3)

St Augustine of Hippo was smarter than you and me.

Well, most likely he was. He was a gifted theologian with a very deep spirituality in the early ages of the Church. His writings were strongly influenced by the work of the Greek philosopher Plato. His theology has influenced the Western church to the present. He is titled a "Doctor of the Church" for his wisdom and his influence on the Church.

Back to my first sentence, then. He was probably a lot smarter than both you and me combined.

That's not an insult at all, though. Why should it be? That's like saying that Einstein was smarter than the both of us combined. Or that Gerard Butler is more handsome than I. Or that Drew Brees of the New Orleans Saints is a better quarterback than I am (and he is, by far). It's a simple statement of fact.

In our world, we are pressured to be the best. "If you ain't first, you're last," as Ricky Bobby, the Nascar driver character from the movie Talladega Nights would say. If someone says to me that I'm not athletic (which is true), then I jump to telling myself that I'm at least smarter or kinder or less judgmental than them. If I can't beat 'em in one category, then I will in another!

Why do we do that? Because humility is not fun. Humility is to admit the truth, to concede that I'm not close to being a Super Bowl-winning quarterback or that I'm not writing an essay in theology so original that it causes a whole religious movement. Ain't gonna happen. Someone can do what I can only dream of doing, and they might be capable of more than I could do even if I had years of training or education. There's not automatically a category in which I beat them by default.

That's not going to make me sad, though. I'm not sad that I won't be cast in a remake of the movie 300.  I'm not beating myself up over it. Why? How can humility, how can admitting your shortcomings, not make me sad?

Humility means stepping back from the judgment game. There's a subtle jump from admitting that Drew Brees is a far better quarterback than I would be (true) to admitting that he's a better human being than me because of it (not necessarily true). The first statement is just a fact. He has had years of training and plenty of passion to become a great quarterback. I have not, and being a quarterback isn't really high on my list of personal priorities. We are different people, and yet he is not more of a person for being a great quarterback nor am I less of a person for not being one.

On my retreat I read Dom Cuthbert Butler's Western Mysticism: Augustine, Gregory and bernard on Contemplation and the Contemplative Life. Quite an interesting read, and it addresses the different approaches to the contemplative life as it explains what the contemplative life is. In it, Butler explains how relatively unoriginal Gregory's thought is compared to Augustine. Gregory wasn't as eloquent as Augustine (especially since Augustine was a teacher of public speaking in his younger days), his theology wasn't as piercing or creative. He was smart, of course, just not Augustine-level smart.

At first that sounds like a backhanded compliment. But how is it? How is it truly insulting to say that Gregory wasn't as smart or original as Augustine? Gregory didn't need to be as smart as Augustine; Gregory was as smart as Gregory. He put together concrete rules for pastoral care and is responsible for the Church music known as Gregorian chant. He was smart enough to do all that. Comparing him to Augustine would be silly now.

Of course, I might then say, "Still, Gregory accomplished all that! I'm not as smart as Gregory, either..." That also may be true. But what of it?

Each of us has a mission from God. We're sent into the world with a backpack of skills and talents and asked to make the most of them. Some of us will have tons of advantages, skills, talents, resources. Some of us will have less. Some of us will have very little. Having little is not an insult unless we refuse to accept what we have. I am glad that others have talents that I do not, and I am glad that they have them in greater measure than I do.

A few weeks ago the Gospel reading was the parable of the talents where a ruler gives his slaves various sums of money. My co-teacher in Sunday School and I each re-wrote it to explore the meaning behind it. I changed the ending to explore how the slave who just buried his money might have fared had he chosen a different course:

A powerful king was leaving his country for a year, leaving his ministers in charge of the affairs of the nation. But to three of his slaves he personally handed them sums of money; to one slave $500,000; to another he gave $250,000, and to the last he gave $50,000. To them he said, “Take this money, make me wealthier upon my return.”

The first slave rushed to the marketplace and quickly obtained a quantity of cloth, threads and silk, and hired women to make fine garments. The first slave knew that the ministers and their rich friends would be eager to have new clothes to show off their new stature in the nation. From the inferior cloth the first slave had suitable garments made for those of lesser means, and gave the scraps away to those who had nothing. This slave soon had a thriving business in the city and earned his master money.

The second slave took his money and hired himself a teacher so he could learn to write and read. This slave made detailed records of the goings-on in the palace and watched closely the courts of justice. He spent time debating with court scholars and learned the finer points of rhetoric and logic. Upon hearing of his master's imminent return, this slave rushed around, trying to find some profit in what he'd done. His master had demanded to be made wealthier upon his return, had he not? He had not spent all the money but he had earned little back. He soon took to teaching others in the palace for money, but did not recover all the money he had spent nor earn any extra for his master.

The third slave, upon receiving the money, trembled in fear. He was not shrewd like the first nor as wise as the second. He knew no trade well. Why had he been entrusted with anything, let alone such a sum? Looking out the window he saw the streets below. The sick, the hungry, and the poor struggled out there, while he had this princely sum. He knew he would make no money in whatever he did. In one year he could easily spend this money, and then he could face his master's wrath, but in this year he could do good for someone. He took this money, bought food and clothes and paid for the care of the sick. He couldn't keep track of what he'd spent, so the second slave occasionally helped him see what he'd done. The first slave would hand him scraps of cloth and pay for one of his workers to make garments for the poor, and the third slave gladly handed them away. Whenever anyone asked about his work, he would smile and say, “The king asked me to care for you and gave me money before he left. Our king is a good man.” He trembled when he would say that, for he knew the king was a harsh man.

The year concluded, the king returned and called his three slaves in immediately. The first presented the king with the vast amounts of money he had earned, and the king nodded in appreciation. The second handed over what was left and then pointed to the servants in the hall carrying the records he had made. “My king, here are learned servants with the records I kept while you were gone. The ministers spent lavishly, but I kept track of every thing they spent of your treasury.” The king took the tablets, and, reading them, barely covered his rage at their work.

The third slave then started to tear up as the king's fiery eyes landed on him. “My king, I am not a wise man like my brother here, not a shrewd man like my brother there. I was afraid when you gave me that money, so I took it and spent it on the poor in the streets in your name. I knew this day would come when you would find me lacking, but at least the poor for one year would find life better and know it came from your hand.” He stared down at the floor. The king was silent for a moment. To the first he said, “You, slave, you have done well. You shall serve me well in years to come. Enter into the joy of a new future.” To the second he said, “You, slave, have earned me no money, but you kept watch over my household that it may be managed justly and fairly. The wicked ministers shall meet their end, and you shall take their place. Enter into the joy of a new future.” To the third he said, “Slave, you knew your limits. You knew your failures and weaknesses. You were afraid from the moment I placed some of that money in your sweaty palm. You, however, took what little I had given and gave it away in my name. The honor of a man is a good name, and you have ministered in my name to those in the streets. You have many years ahead, my good and faithful servant.”  

So when you're feeling down that you're not as smart/attractive/interesting/clever/athletic/funny as someone else, just remember that you are you. Make the most of yourself for the honor and glory of God. 

Co-Creators (2011 Retreat Reflections part 2)

Barrenness.

Sarah and Hannah knew that pain. In a culture that valued children for carrying on the husband's lineage and reputation, not being able to have children was an incredible pain and shame. Sarah and Hannah probably both cried themselves to sleep at night, wondering, "What's wrong with me?"

Sarah was old by the time the promise of offspring was given to her. "Too little, too late!" She probably snorted out in a teary huff. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

Hannah was tormented by her husband's other wife. "Look at my children, they shall inherit your husband's name and fortune!" Hannah was deeply loved by Elkanah her husband. He would give her a double serving of the offering because he loved her.

For cultures that placed a high premium on offspring, imagine the tears that would flow for being loved deeply by a husband even if the wife were unable to have children. "What good am I at all? Why would you love me?"

We often put our worth in terms of our usefulness. I'm worthwhile because I am a devoted husband / a caring father / a brilliant writer / a great something. We have to bear some kind of fruit in order to be worth anything, so we think.

While our culture doesn't focus as much on having children, it does see singleness as an incredible problem. Can you be truly happy as a single person? Our culture would assume that you would be having meaningless, random sex or be crying at home, longing for someone to hold you, tubs of Ben and Jerry's ice cream on the coffee table. To be single has become a sign that you are a failure.

For me, it's been tough facing the real possibility of living a life of celibacy, without the intimacy of marriage. Admittedly, I'm not old yet, and, if I am accepted as a postulant for the priesthood, then I am not bound by vows of celibacy (though I must be chaste until marriage), but it's still very possible that I won't find someone 'special' to share my life with. Being gay and finding someone is tough, and now add in the fact that religion is an extraordinarily important part of my life, and the odds seem to get slimmer.

You can be told that you're wonderful, kind, sweet, all those things, but does it mean much if you're still single? As in there is some deep-rooted flaw that keeps me from being loved in that way, something that keeps me from being seen as a friend AND a lover. It takes a lot of trust to even believe that maybe, just maybe, in a different situation maybe you'll find the right person. Maybe.

But that trust can't hinge upon a delayed happiness. I can't just accept that I'll be unhappy until, as in romantic comedies, the right guy just walks in, our eyes lock, and we have a series of comic mishaps until marriage. That leaves me miserable today, and tomorrow, and every day until that magic event happens.

But to be truly happy today as a single human is odd. To be happy as a single person means facing the fact that happiness comes in many forms and that singleness is not necessarily loneliness. Christian saints through the centuries have shown themselves to be single and happy, and no one would call the Dalai Lama a "lonely old man"!

But now it comes to the next problem: what's the meaning of a single life? By having children or at least a partner, there's this sense of fruitfulness. A life has been made or a life has been enriched with love through partnership. But a single person?

That's where I start to feel sad. Will my life be barren if it doesn't have sexual and emotional intimacy as in marriage?

The answer is definitely no.

My life already has been fruitful in some of the relationships and friendships I've had. In some small measure I have made a positive impact in some lives already; that's definitely fruitful! By God's grace some of the things I have done will have continue long after me in some way, much as the works of my ancestors (both my ancestors in the family and my ancestors in the faith) continue to resound today even if the saint responsible is unknown.

The Society of St John the Evangelist uses the language of 'co-creating' with God. From their chapter on Celibate Life:

Each of us will pass through different phases in our lives of celibate chastity. At times we will be glad of our inner solitude, which fosters prayer, and the diversity of relationships we enjoy in community and with friends; at other times we will feel loneliness. While others are enjoying the consolations of community life, some brothers may be missing the solace of partnership, the joys of sex and the satisfaction of having a home of their own. There will be seasons of contentment in our singleness; there may be days of testing and confusion if we fall in love, or become strongly attracted to another.
Struggles will come at different stages as we break through to new levels of integration; the challenges faced by young religious will not be the same as those that come with the onset of middle age. Old age may bring its own trials of doubt. Only if we share these different experiences in candor and trust can we offer one another genuine support.
At times many of us will miss having fathered children. We shall need to open the poignancy of this loss to Christ in prayer. He will show us that in union with him our lives have been far from barren. As we nurture others in Christ, and bring them to maturity, we shall discover that fatherhood has found expression in our lives. In prayer, meditation, our thought, our work and our friendships, we are called to fulfill our deep human urge to be creators with God of new life, and to bear fruit that lasts.

I may not be completely responsible for the work done (God is doing most of the work in helping, guiding, sustaining others), but I have my part. A small part, a big part, whatever part God gives me.

And God is with me every step of the way. He who knows my heart, my every emotion, who loves me more purely and thoroughly than anyone else could ever. He knows my pains and every longing sigh. Nothing is hidden from him.

Though I may be single, God can make wonderful things spring forth from me. How wonderful and amazing! How glorious is our God!