Are you daft?

Are you daft? When I answered the phone at five o’clock in the morning the voice on the other end of the line asked if he got me out of bed. “No,” I said, I’ve been up about fifteen minutes. And then the young man began to apologize profusely in a lovely Irish brogue. He was calling to confirm my booking for our first two nights in Dublin. Then he asked if I needed any further booking in Ireland. I told him not at the moment. “Kind of short trip, eh?” “I’m walking coast to coast, from Dublin to Kerry,” I said. “Are you daft?” he laughed and then apologized, telling him he was bicycling the Ring of Kerry the weekend we arrive. “May I ask you why you would do such a thing?” “It’s a spiritual thing, I guess. Just something I feel I have to do,” I said. He said, “I wish you the best and I honestly hope to meet you.” Beginning July 12, 2012 I will be walking over 360 miles, starting out of Dublin on the Wicklow Way and then east along four other historic paths. It will take me twenty-seven days including taking Sundays to rest. For me, the pilgrimage is indeed a spiritual journey. Not to find God, but to be with God. Walking six to ten hours a day through the Isle of the forty shades of green, I am anticipating an experience, a presence of the seen and the unseen, and a connection of the conscious to the unconscious. I have no idea what I will encounter. My past experience has convinced me, though, that I will have the knowledge something fresh in my soul, in my spirit, in the place where the mystical is breathed in like the smoke of an ancient pipe. A holy woman told me last week I was at a “Y” in the road of my life’s journey. She said I would not know which road I would take until I faced the choice on my pilgrimage. I pray I will recognize the moment, and hear what the Spirit is saying. The Rev. Julie O’Brien gave me a small journal for the trip. I have asked whoever would like to write their name in the journal. And I have committed to praying for each individual on the journey. When I feel it is the right moment, I will pray for each person by name and I will write in the journal the location I prayed for him or her. I am carrying many of you with me on the pilgrimage of life. Here is my intended path. I will try stay connect via Facebook and my blog. Blessings and slainte! Wicklow Way 86 miles/7 days (one day off) 7.12 Dublin to Glencree 13 miles 7.13 Glencree to Roundwood 16 miles 7.14 Roundwood to Glendalough 10 miles 7.15 Sunday off in Glendalough 7.16 Glendalough to Glenmalure 10 miles 7.17 Glenmalure to Tinahely 22 miles 7.18 Tinahely to Shillelagh 15 miles 7.19 Shillelagh to Clonegal 11 miles South Leinster Way 63 miles/4 days (one day off) 7.20 Clonegal to Borris 15 miles 7.21 Borris to Inistioge 17 miles 7.22 Sunday off in Inistioge 7.23 Inistioge to Mullinavat 18 miles 7.24 Mullinavat to Carrick on Suir 13 miles East Munster Way 43 miles/3 days 7.25 Currick on Suir to Clonmel 18 miles 7.26 Clonmel to Newcastle 11 miles 7.27 Newcastle to Clogheen 14 miles Blackwater Way – Avondhu 47 miles/4 days (one day off) 7.28 Clogheen to Araglin 13 miles 7.29 Sunday off 7.30 Araglin to Fermoy 17 miles 7.31 Fermoy to Killavullan 16 miles 8.1 Killavullan to Bweeng Cross 20 miles (staying in Mallow) Blackwater Way – Duhallow 43 miles/3 days 8.2 Bweeng to Mushera car park 18 miles (stay in Millstreet) 8.3 Millstreet to Shrone 14 miles 8.4 Shrone to Muckcross 12.5 miles 8.5 Sunday off The Kerry Way 67 miles/4 days 8.6 Muckcross to Black Valley 12.5 miles 8.7 Black Valley to Glenbeigh 22 miles 8.8 Glenbeigh to Cohersiveen 17.5 miles 8.9 Cohersiveen to Portmagee 15.5 miles 8.9 – 8.16 Kildysart with Father Mike O’Grady 8.16 – 8.20 Dublin

Church not working?

LeeAnne Watkins writes honestly about the failure of the attraction model of church. In the Christian Century, “This Just Isn’t Working: When People Don’t Show up,” she gets at the heart of what a lot of mainline and even Evangelical churches are facing, it appears we have reached the end of the an age where a significant number of those who attend church services want any serious religious education through the means of attending a class. The people in her growing congregation are more than eager to attend worship, feed the hungry, and get involved in other social justice projects. They just don’t have time for weekly or even periodic religious education. So, she stopped making the offering. Good for her. Why prop up something that is dying for the sake of “trying harder?” I personally have no use for the attractional or program model of doing church. I hesitate to suggest the average congregant doesn’t desire some deeper study of scripture or spiritual writing. From my own observation, a fair number of people who attend our church do want some sort of guidance in their spiritual life. What they may not have time for is the traditional model of delivery. Maybe today’s churchgoers would be more willing to engage in some theological conversation if it were offered to them via the Internet. What about a Facebook Bible study? It might be worth a try? But, should our church offer a Facebook or Internet Bible study for the sake of, what? The better model, I suggest, is leading by spiritual direction. Whenever the pastor has the opportunity, one-on-one, a small group standing in a corridor, a phone call, an email, and of course during the sermon, she should consider the time as a moment for spiritual direction—the most needed form of spiritual education. While the pastor may be forced into roles of administration, fund raising, and landscaper, he must be the spiritual guide, religious mentor, rabbi, priest, and shaman to his people. The Reverend Watkins may have more opportunities to offer religious education than she realizes? The article is worth the ten minute read. Found at http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2012-05/just-isn-t-working.

Christianity After Religion

Diana Butler Bass’s most recent book Christianity After Religion is probably worth the time to read but I’m not sure worth the money you might spend, maybe if you get a good deal in whatever e-version you read. She is an Episcopalian so as a fellow Catholic-lite church member I do appreciate her work and am thankful she is offering some hope for the mainline church. My struggle with this book is it seems she does not understand the constraints imposed on the local Episcopal clergy in designing worship. She grew up a Methodist where the congregational pastor has a fair amount of freedom in preparing the weekly Sunday worship service. Evidently, she thinks the priest of her Episcopal parish has the same latitude in constructing the Sunday liturgy. Unless the Episcopal bishop of her diocese is very liberated on what happens during the Sunday main service it is hard to imagine that her bishop would be comfortable with some of her suggestions. Not that I disagree with her, because I do not, I like and appreciate her progressive theology—however, she seems to suggest the local priest can replace the Nicene Creed with the Masai Creed or something else less orthodox. I have used the Masai Creed, written by an African community to reflect their local understanding of Jesus, for non-Sunday worship—however, most bishops would not be permissive of using such a radical non-orthodox creedal statement for Sunday morning’s regular fare. (The use of the Masai Creed is just one example.) Christianity After Religion would get a lot of traction as a book study in most moderately centralist theological Episcopal churches. I also imagine many mainline churches would find her ideas palatable. The emergent folks have probably already incorporated some of her thoughts into their weekly offering. Her incarnational theology reflective of the Celtic influence is refreshing from someone respected by the mainline market. While she never mentions, J. Phillip Newell and Pelagius, her earthy understanding of how to interpret scripture is replete throughout the book. She is courageous to speak to those churches practicing the “same old thing” but supposedly begging for new ways to attract the “spiritual but not religious” into Sunday attendance. How she tolerates their questions at conferences (she is an excellent story teller), well, I respect her patience. Diana Butler Bass writes for the mainline church desiring to survive at least another forty years. She looks to the past for encouragement while casting a realistic sociological light for those desiring any hope for the liturgical church of tomorrow. Okay, I take back my opening line—her book is worth the price of admission.

Ouch

Trinity Wall Street announced the closing of their conference center in Cornwall, CT. Due to financial reasons the center will be closed in November. The conference center has been the home to the Clergy Leadership Project. I am an alum of CLP having spent four weeks at the conference center. The Trinity Conference Center is a beautiful retreat house located along the Housatonic River, a perfect location to rest, reflect, learn, and fellowship. The staff was extremely hospitable and the cuisine was creative, healthy and at times exotic, a vegetarian’s heaven. The closing reminds me of the difficult decisions the Episcopal Church continues to face. An easy argument can be made that the church should not be engaged in such endeavors as retreat centers. The mission of the church is to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, offer water to the thirsty, visit those who are sick and in prison, and to embrace the alien in our land. However, if the church is being fully hospitable in these ways, then I suppose it could also give rest to the weary at retreat centers. While not necessarily a similar situation, after Mt. Calvary monastery and retreat center was destroyed by fire in 2008, the Order of Holy Cross decided to not rebuild. Even now, the future of the Order’s presence in Santa Barbara, California is being considered tenuous. Institutional change is inevitable, even necessary, and mostly desirable but always difficult. Closing camps, retreat centers, monasteries, schools and churches will always be heart-wrenching decisions. I must trust to God these types of decisions will only be made after tearful prayers and long periods of discernment. I am not one of those Chicken Little types who runs around looking in the sky and shouting that the Episcopal Church will die in the next forty years (pick your own number, I use forty because it gets the most banter due to its biblical connection, I guess). I am, though, convinced the Church will undergo a continual firing process that feels like death until it finally reaches the point of finding itself so far into the margins that it then can live out the radical call of the subversive Jesus. The Episcopal Church, and any church for that matter, will retain only the part of its identity ordained by God and relevant to followers of the Way. I wonder what are those pieces and parts of identity that are found necessary by God and the faithful? Jesus said in order for us to live we must die. Albeit it painful, maybe we shouldn’t be so afraid of the process of death? It will bring about resurrection.

An Imam, a Priest, and a Rabbi go to church

An imam, a priest, and rabbi go to worship service. How do you know whether they are in a mosque, a church, or a synagogue? Depends on the day of the week. Okay, I know, it’s a really bad joke. But, last Sunday an imam, a priest, and a rabbi were together in worship at St. Augustine’s. Sunday May 6, 2012 St. Augustine’s Episcopal Parish, Tempe participated in National Pluralism Sunday by hosting Imam Yahya Hendi and Rabbi Gerald Serotta as co-preachers. Later that afternoon St. Augustine’s was the site of a clergy conversation led by Hendi and Serotta focusing on problematic texts from the Abrahamic traditions. Imam Yahya Hendi, founder and president of Clergy Beyond Borders, is the Muslim chaplain at Georgetown University, the first United States university to hire a full-time Muslim chaplain. Imam Hendi also serves as the Muslim Chaplain at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, MD. In Imam Hendi's message during the worship service he said, "All of us Americans, in general, and committed Jews, Christians and Muslims, in particular, must find within their own traditions sound reasons to value other faiths without compromising their own. They must realize that what happened on Sept. 11th cannot divide us. We should not tolerate voices of divisiveness. We must use Sept. 11th to explore the best in each of us. Let us keep in mind that Diversity is in itself not a bad thing provided it occurs within unity, cooperation and coordination. So let us all chose to be united with all of our differences for the best of this nation and all of humanity." Rabbi Gerald Serotta served as a university chaplain and Hillel Rabbi for 28 years, the last twenty at The George Washington University where he was Chair of the Board of Chaplains. He held the position of Senior Rabbinic Scholar-in-Residence at the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, working on issues of globalization and economic justice from a Jewish perspective. He is currently the Chair of Rabbis for Human Rights-North America and the executive director of Clergy Beyond Borders. Rabbi Serotta led the afternoon dialogue reviewing a few sample texts that typically cause concern from within and without each of the three traditions. Admittedly, those present representing Christianity, Islam, and Judaism were of the more liberal persuasions among their particular faiths. Texts from the Koran included those about the treatment of women, perspectives on war, and Islamic views of Christians and Jews. The Hebrew text concerned the Jews being the chosen people of God and the particularity of the land of Israel. The Christian text discussed the exclusivity of the statement by Jesus in the Gospel of John regarding he is the only way to heaven. The apparent common thread throughout the discussions was whether each particular faith had a willingness to find room within the texts and their specific tradition for an open interpretation. None of those present for the discussion represented a fundamentalist position. Honestly, my observation from attending several interreligious events is fundamentalist rarely attend these gatherings. The work of continuing the momentum from such a gathering is difficult to sustain. The question is how to stay connected and continue the dialogue. My opinion is the answer lies in relationships. This event was brought together because my colleague and friend Imam Ahmad Sqheiret put together an entire weekend gathering, including worship at the mosque and synagogue, asking our church to host the Sunday event. He and I have worked together at several such events, attended workshops, and maintain a personal connection. I see Islam through Ahmad’s eyes and through his heart. He is a faithful man of the One Holy God. He is kind, gentle, compassionate, curious, understanding, generous and loved by his congregation and by many in this city. I understand his tradition because he shares his faith with me and he listens to my perspective of Christianity. Together, we seek to serve God and our neighbors. I am thankful Ahmad is my neighbor and I am his. Thanks be to God.

Ode to my mother

Loretta Young Stafford funeral service
3.17.12 – St. Patrick’s Day
First Southern Baptist Church, Buckeye

[Esther 4:9-17 Mordecai said to Esther, “Who knows but that you have come to royal position for such a time as this?” And Esther replied, “I will go to the king, even though it is against the law. And if I perish, I perish.”]

In my parent’s home, my mom had a room where she would sew, read, write, and ponder life. My dad said, if you didn’t know my mom you could just sit in her room and look around, you would get to know her quickly.

The closets are stuffed with sewing, craft and crochet materials. My mom could make beautiful clothes, gorgeous table coverings, and stunning shawls.

The walls in her room are covered with pictures. There are pictures of her revered grandfather, her beloved parents, her cherished aunt Grace, her loving sisters, her brother who made her laugh when he sang “Nature Boy,” pictures of nieces and nephews, pictures of her adored grandchildren, their families and of course the great grandson. And yes pictures of her children, a lot of pictures of my sister Dinah, I might add. And of course, wonderful pictures of her soul mate, my dad. They were married 63 years.

Sitting in her room, I was reminded of her many stories. There were lots of stories about her mother, Allie Pauline, the tiny woman with shocking red hair. Pauline left this world at the age of thirty-five. My mother and her family had to work hard to survive in Western Oklahoma. Mom loved working side-by-side her mother, whether is was picking cotton or cooking. While they were at home one evening, my grandmother thought some crows, sitting on a nearby power line were mocking her with their incessant cawing. So Pauline got out the double barrel shotgun, marched towards the crows and simultaneously unloaded both barrels, knocking her to the ground. The crows were undisturbed, and continued their taunting. So my grandmother took to tossing rocks at them, with a little more success.

Mom had that same fire and determination. Mom had watched more baseball, basketball, football, and volleyball games than the most ardent of fans. She watched her father play, her brother play, her sisters play, her husband play, her son play, her grandson play, her granddaughter play, and countless nieces and nephews play ball. Add on that the games I coached and the games she saw of the Diamondbacks and the Suns, whew. I tried to make a rough guess of how many games she personally watched and I finally gave up. Trust me, it was a lot of games. And my mom could really cheer. I mean cheer at the top of her lungs.

I think the only time my mother was ever really mad at me was when I wasn’t giving her grandson enough playing time at Grand Canyon.

Family legend has it, when I was nine, playing little league, there was a women sitting in front of my mom. This woman was telling her friend how obnoxious that one kid was behaving. Of course, that was me. Eventually, my mom had had enough, so she dumped her large soda on the head of that women, never apologizing.

For my mom, you could cheer for your team, but not against her team, and especially not against anyone in her family.

The shelves in mom’s room are also packed with books, her favorite novels, memoirs, craft books, cookbooks, and books about faith. But, her favorite book is the one she wrote, Dinah’s Story. Mom’s book about Dinah and my parent’s self-sacrificing life, gives testimony and witness to her strength, which comes from God, and who never abandoned her.

In the final words of mom’s book she wrote, “Our journey with Dinah has been long and difficult, but it has brought our family to a good place – a place of contentment and fulfillment…My goals have been reached. Out of difficulty, confusion, and heartache comes peace, acceptance and love. Dinah is our Dinah, and God shines out of those blue eyes.”

Mom was the consummate teacher. She spent twenty-nine years teaching second graders how to read and write. She said she could eye-ball the kids when they walked into the room the very first day of school. What she was she could tell by just looking at the children whether they could read or not.

Many of us remember the Challenger Shuttle tragic accident, carrying teacher Christa McAuliffe. The night of that tragedy, one of mom’s former second grade students gave her a call. At the time, he was in his final year of med-school. On the night, when the first woman schoolteacher who was going to explore space lost her life – he wanted to call the teacher who most influenced his life.

I asked mom if she remembered doing anything special for that young man. She said she remembered him quite well, and he was a good boy, he read really well. But, she didn’t remember doing anything extraordinary. Then after a bit, she said. Well, that year his parents were going through a rough divorce. So maybe she did give him a bit of extra love and attention.

There has always been a special place in mom’s heart for those who teach, especially women, and especially the women of this family. She was the first woman in her family to get a college education, a master’s degree, and to be an educator. At least six women in our family followed in Loretta’s footsteps. One became a superintendent, Cathy, my wife, of whom mom was most extremely proud.

I spent a lot of time this week looking at the shelves in mom’s room. At the top of one of the shelves I found a copy of Dr. Zhivago, one of mom’s favorite books. “Somewhere My Love, Lara’s Theme,” according to my dad, was her favorite tune. When I was fourteen, our family was on the way home from a family summer vacation in Oklahoma. We stopped in Albuquerque for the evening. We went swimming, had dinner and then we went to see the movie Dr. Zhivago. Imagine being a fourteen-year-old boy watching this powerfully romantic story, including a few hot love scenes, with your parents.

I think my mom loved Dr. Zhivago so much because it was a story of the powerful strength and indomitable endurance of the love a women can give to a man in the face of struggle, suffering, and hardship. Mom poured out all her love into my dad. And my dad has given all of his love to my mother. Their love for each other has been honest, transparent, and visible. The divorce rate of parents of special needs children has been quoted as high as 85-90 percent. What has made their relationship so enduring? I am tempted to sum it up in a nice neat package and offer a simply answer. But, that would trivialize my parent’s unique love for one another. What I have witnessed is this – they listened to each other, they forgive each other, they loved each other with their entire souls, they relied upon God, and they shared their love openly with others. Try that formula and maybe your last will last 63 years and beyond.

Those who knew my mom would describe her as strong, brave, courageous, independent and if necessary, defiant. Many folks equate these words with mom’s life long health battles. She was born with one kidney and one ovary. She lost one child in miscarriage. She nearly died giving birth to her son. Dinah was born breach, without C-section. She suffered seven abdominal surgeries. She faced death at least twice as a result of these surgeries. During one of the several blood transfusions she needed, she contracted hepatitis C. At forty-one she defied death by enduring an aorta by-pass. She was a breast cancer survivor. She had knee replacement surgery. And finally, in the end, she braved the most aggressive form of leukemia. She faced these challenges because they were thrust upon her. And she faced them bravely, without complaint.

But more powerful than the will to live, my mom had the inherent will to fight for those who suffered injustice. When it came time to stand up for the weak, she took a strong stand against those injustices done to the marginalized, including children and adults with special needs, the poor, and the gay community. And when it came time to defend women and stand strong for women’s rights, well, then it would be best if you just got out of her way. She believed woman should receive equal pay for equal work - maybe even better pay than men. She insisted that women had equal opportunity in every situation, including women being pastors in churches. These were issues she chose to face, head on, accepting the risks and costs of servanthood. For my mother modeled her life after God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The last conversation I had with mom was a theological one – we discussed the power of the action of the Holy Spirit in our lives, transforming us to become the agents of God in the world.

Loretta Young Stafford lived her life with a strength, which embodies the life of Esther, an agent of God in the world. Esther was born a poor girl, who grew to be a brave woman. She stood her ground for her family and her people in the face of death. She took the risks and achieved her goal.


Loretta was born a financially poor girl, with a family of rich love, who grew to be a brave woman sharing her love with her family, the children she taught, and those in need of someone to be their defender. She stood her ground for her family. And in the face of death, she was willing to take bold risks – and in her own words, she achieved her goals.

No better thing can be said about us at the end of our life on this earth as we walk across the thin space into God’s world of the communion of saints. Loretta, you were a saint in this world, and you are now a saint in God’s world of the unseen. I will miss seeing you with my eyes, but I still see you with my soul. Amen.

Feast Day of Saint Brigid

Today is the feast day of Saint Brigid. She along with her contemporary Saint Patrick, are the patron saints of Ireland. Brigid is also the patron saint of our young adult community in Tempe, Arizona. She was selected as our patron saint for three reasons. First, her sacrificial care of the poor and sick. Second, in the fifth century she established and led the first monastery for women and men. Third, her tending of the fire of the pre-Christian goddess, Brighid, was an act teaching us today to remain open to the full and mysterious story of God’s work through incarnation and imagination.

I made a five-day walking pilgrimage from Dublin to Kildare, the home of Saint Brigid. The path journeyed down the Wicklow Way to Glendalough. From there we turned west, walking along Saint Kevin’s Way to Kildare. This blog gets its name from the practice of ancient Celts going on pilgrimage, peregrini.

Once in Kildare we visited the Church of Ireland (Anglican) Cathedral of Saint Brigid, where the supposed sight of the tended fire is still revered. Leaving the Cathedral it was a blessed experience to walk to her well, past the historic oaks for which Kildare is named.

The best part of our time in Kildare was having the privilege of meeting the nuns of Saint Brigid’s Community. The three women were extremely hospitable, ecumenically minded, gracious with stories and strongly encouraging of us naming our campus community after their patron. The work of these three elderly women, saints in their own right, has maintained the spirit of Brigid, working to benefit the poor and sick while fostering the opportunities for women in the Roman Catholic Church. I was moved and inspired by their quiet contemplative strength. I continue to drink from the well of those few hours.

I am returning to Ireland this summer for another pilgrimage, 350 miles along the Wicklow Way and then west to the coast of Kerry. Today I am praying for Saint Brigid’s presence on the journey. Blessed be you Saint Brigid.

St. Brigid, woman of prayer, pray for us.
St. Brigid, generous and kind, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who fed the hungry, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who welcomed everyone, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who spoke about Jesus, pray for us.
St. Brigid, who lived like Jesus, pray for us.
St. Brigid, you still care for everyone, pray for us.
St. Brigid, protect us all, pray for us.
St. Brigid, raised up to heaven, pray for us.
St. Brigid, patron saint of Ireland and our community, pray for us.

The Name

The Name

When the perilous frigid northern wind blew across the desert floor of the Arizona border town of Naco on that midnight of All Hallows Eve, Mary died giving birth to her son. In despair, the newborn’s father hung himself on a lonely oak tree, outside of town.

Dr. Jacob Abrahamson wrote his own father’s name for the child on that bitter night without mercy. Before the dawn of All Saint’s morning, Daniel Abrahamson trudged through the blistering blue wind to his son’s home to witness his namesake nestled against his daughter-in-law’s breast.

“Would not this child’s name be his own father’s?” the older Abrahamson said.

“Father Abrahamson, is not the child so beautiful?” asked Ruth.

“Not so handsome as our little Joseph,” he said.

Jagged tears of broken ache traveled the grief worn lines etched in Ruth’s face from the fresh death of her month old Joseph. The baby at her neck could not replace her own flesh, but he was motherless. Ruth’s grace abounded.

“Father Abrahamson, the child bears his grief alone. Do we not weep the tears he does not know?”

The old man’s beard hid his quivering lip. His only son was without child. It had been the solitary trial he could not endure. Ruth’s barren soul screamed in silence. Jacob’s bitter tears were hidden from the world.

“Where is the child’s father?” he asked.

“He suffered the death of a broken heart,” she said.

“And must we bear his blackened dread?” he asked.

“Jacob is preparing the burial of the child’s father. As the baby becomes a man he must know that compassion was given to his parents as they left this earth. Who better to extend that love than the one who holds him now,” she said.

Father Abrahamson pulled back the swaddling to get a look at the child’s countenance. Raven hair shocked in swirls about his honey face. Cinnamon rich eyes glistened, searching for nourishment; his nursemaid mother relieved his pink puckered lips.

“Of what Book was his father?” the bent man asked.

“He was a stranger in a foreign land, of Mexican descent,” she answered.

“And his name?”

“David.”

“It is not natural for you to take this child. He is of another world. It would not be well of the child to suffer confusion of mind to soul,” he whispered.

“Would the child suffer less without two spirits who love his presence?”

“Give him to those of his own tribe,” the elder bristled.

“Should I agonize the emptiness of womb’s heart when the milk of life flows to no mouth of need?”

Her shadow bit into the soul of the God who heard them. The crippled man bowed his wispy grey head in the shame of sadness that had not experienced warmth’s embrace in the season long forgotten.

“Would my son be near soon? To make a final decision?” he staked the words as if permanence were the assurance of a future sealed in banishment.

“The tomorrows of this newborn is held in the hand of your doing,” her eyes said without utterance.

The rabbi struggled to rise to the window of the dripping light trickling across the sky of dilemma. His yellow fingers tapped at the crimson drape to see if his Lord had left hieroglyphics in the purpled clouds.

“His name must be his father’s,” he dared.

“But only with your blessing.” Mother Ruth lifted the child into Rabbi Abrahamson’s ancient hands where the tiny bundle of hope was to rest; right hand under the hip and the left hand of blessing would hold the head of resurrection.

Angelus bells are ringing

The angelus bells are ringing - afar, so near, faint, yet distinct - have they rung here before? I think not. Calling, calling to prayer - to listen is the call, silence.

What is it that is sensed in the soul clearing? The bells have ceased, the ringing hangs in the air. Soul hearing, as like seeing with the third. The hearing of safety - what is that stirring so near, gently moving towards my being - is it presence? So comforting, settling, bringing relief from anxiety of the unknown, being the unknown; it is the Self. That which is most present and yet so unrecognizable, hovers so as to brood and bring integration of that which could be created to become.

Ringing, ringing I hear you still lingering - the call to Presence.

My dream soul is on fire.

My dream soul is on fire. An opening in my subconscious is flooding my conscious, liminal and present to hear and see in this connected space. Processing in journal, reflection, study and spiritual direction. Can be muddled, murky, uncertain, and it can be frightening that the reality is not so subtle of expectations to manifest in the obvious. To see with the eyes is in the mind, to see with the third is to feel in the spirit, stirred soul to knowing becomes heard in the ears of the tender heart skin. It makes known - it moves - it has its being in the air between breathing and silent stillness. Drawing in the experience, release the pain. Soul yoga - stretch, stretch, stretch further - ah, it feels, I feel. Hear the barking of spirit muscles? Premonition? Too ugly to consider, yet, why, could, no, yes, maybe. Now you see what you never wanted to understand in the hearing of the zone between, the space of thinness, no, yes? The Raven in flying with the dragon.

Once again baseball has tortured my soul

I am very weary of professional baseball and actually baseball in general. My minor league roommate, John McLaren, an extremely class gentleman, was named interim manager of the Nationals after manager Jim Riggleman resigned due to mistreatment by the Nationals management. John had managed the Mariners briefly and that ended without him having much a chance when the players preformed poorly. It appears now that John is going to resign from the Mariners (two days later) - hard to know whether that was forced or not. The Nationals have named Davey Johnson manager who last managed a game in 2000. (I guess he learned something in his eleven year absence?) Baseball is a business, no one understands that more than I do - however, it is a business that functions as if slavery were still an accepted form of business. What makes me so weary is that it is so obvious to me the insidious behavior of baseball owners, and television (cable) that manipulates the game has filtered into college baseball (ASU being cheated out of a regional, maybe because the NCAA didn't want ASU at the World Series because of their violations or because ESPN didn't want them their because of the marketing of the new Longhorn network - and the firing of friend Dave Stapleton from Grand Canyon University). Even at the high school and grade school level where club baseball rules and the poor are pushed aside. This started years past with my own treatment in professional baseball and the horrific treatment of Kevin Wickander and Dave Stapleton (at the professional and college level). I am weary, this punishes my soul. I must find some rest.

The Mystic Way

The Mystic Way opens our soul to “abide” in God. To abide in God is for the Spirit of God to be in our spirit and our spirit in the Spirit of God.

It’s like this. Two lovers gazing eye to eye in the intimate stare, hands locked, fingers interlaced, palm to palm – as if nothing in the world can come between the two lovers. Time stands still. God and I, face to face, my consciousness connected at the unconscious level to the very consciousness of God – deep intimacy – pure contemplation. Nothing can come between us.

But, alas, it seems that something is trying to pry our hands apart. Is it evil? No. Worse, it’s something that is insidious – it the well-meaning, the good, that which is most seductive, something that convinces us that the sacrifice of our soul’s energy is worth the cost – it could be the “anything” of doing good deeds. And this well-meaning function will break our contemplation of the true calling of God to our specific “work” and purpose in life, and that, indeed is worth the “cost of discipleship.”

The Mystic Way teaches us to be in the intimate state of contemplation, which is fed by the Eucharist, the Communion of and with the Holy and with the community. We are nourished by the Sacrament, which we must faithfully attend to in order to be sustained through the frenetic onslaught of the “good demands of the functions of life.”

The Mystic Way teaches us that in our contemplation, nourished by the Eucharist in community, we will hear the fetching of the Holy to our true “work,” our real “purpose,” into the action of our life.

The Mystic Way is a difficult journey - walk slowly, allow the integration of being to be with the Being, it is a Holy pilgrimage, hold it lightly and be held.

Awe

We are a Resurrection Community. Our vision is one of prayer, discernment and hospitality. Evidence of being a Resurrection Community and living out our vision surround us.

At Lent One we began three Sunday morning services. In 2010 our average Sunday morning attendance was 120 and before Lent One we were running slightly ahead of that number. Not counting Easter Sunday, which by the way this year we had 50 more than in 2010 – we have averaged 140 – now that’s pretty amazing. Over the last five years our attendance has increased ten percent each year – and this year we are on pace to exceed that rate of growth.

While numbers aren’t everything - they are the measuring stick often used to determine how we are doing. For a frame of reference the average Sunday attendance for an Episcopal Church is 66. And the average age is 62. While I haven’t done an exact calculation, my guess is our average age is in the mid-thirties.

That leads me ask two questions, 1) what good things have we done to create this growing environment and, 2) what’s next?

This morning’s readings from the Acts of the Apostles contain the answer to both of those questions.

The early days of the Church were held together by a tiny band of women and men, including the Apostles, Mary and Mary Magdalene. These people were a radical Jewish sect, a new spiritual movement that lived a subversive life.

In one sentence (Acts 2:42) their strategic plan and vision statement is outlined for us. “They devoted themselves to the apostles teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and the prayers.

First, they devoted themselves – this kind of devotion to the apostle’s teachings created an inner transformation in the lives of those who devoted themselves to the practice of studying the scriptures. Their devotion to the scripture transformed their souls and changed their actions. These people were so devoted to the apostle’s teachings that before they were called Christians they were known as “The people of the Way.”

Second, they devoted themselves to hospitality. In verses 43-47 it tells that these people shared all that they had with each other. They gave what they had for the benefit of others. They were good stewards of their resources.

Third, they devoted themselves to a Eucharistic life. The Eucharist was the center of their worship life, which was the model for living their life out in the world. They followed Jesus Christ who emptied himself for the sake of others and they worshipped Jesus by breaking the bread and they worshipped Jesus by modeling his life.

Fourth, they devoted themselves to the prayers. There is strong evidence that these followers of the Way memorized the Lord’s Prayer, the psalms and other pieces of scripture they used in a very liturgical style of worship. These people prayed together as a spiritual practice of life.

And when they devoted themselves to these four spiritual practices, scripture, hospitality, Eucharist and prayer – God added to their number.

From the birth of the Church, devotion to these four spiritual practices have been the marks of every successful Christian community.

1. The community studies the scripture.
2. The community is hospitable.
3. The community life is Eucharistic.
4. The community prays together.


I think our growth can be attributed to our “commitment” to these four spiritual practices.

But, now the question is, “What’s next for us?” Do we go around congratulating ourselves about how successful we are? Hardly. While we can be proud of our commitment – I have a hard time thinking we stand up to the measure of the early church being filled with awe because “many signs and wonders were being done by the apostles.”

I think what’s next for us is to move from being committed to being devoted.

Committed means, we do what we do because we think that whatever we are doing is good for us, or that it’s the right thing to do.

Devoted, however, means, we do what we do because, despite the cost and the sacrifice, we know it will transform our soul and the soul of our community.

We are on the cusp of being awed by the wonders and signs of what God is going to do in our midst. But, to go from the cusp of the experience to being in the center of an actualized experience, I believe we have to move from commitment to devotion.

Together, we must discern and hear where God is calling us into the spiritual practices. Trust God’s calling – we will know it is God’s calling when it has the feeling of being fetched into something that is awe inspiring, filled with the wonders and signs of God’s Presence in our midst.

What’s next? What’s next is something that is awe-inspiring. I can feel it. I can hear it coming.

I found something

My first trip to the Clergy Leadership Project held in West Cornwall, Connecticut was October 2009. I came on the recommendation of a colleague that I trust and knew that if he thought it was good for me to be here – then it must be so. However, I wasn’t sure why else I was here. The people I have met are wonderful and the facilitators and mentors are superior to any other program. But, still, I was unsure that first week why I was here. You see, this group of 25 priests is the future bishops, deans, movers and shakers of the Episcopal Church. I am the oldest person here by ten years and one of the priests here is the same age as our children. I am not called to be bishop (thank God), dean of a cathedral, not a mover, and probably not a shaker, though, at the moment I will hold out on that one.

Painfully, though, the first week I lost something dear to me. While on a stroll through the woods I lost a ring that Cathy bought for me in Ireland – my anam cara ring. More importantly than the monetary value of the ring, the sentimental value – well, is indescribable. I was heartbroken. Cathy reminded me that it was just a “thing,” but still, my heart aches.

By the time I got home, I understood the loss of the ring to be a sign – but, I was torn as to a sign for what – did it mean I was not to return to Connecticut for another CLP class because if I came back I might lose something worse, or did it mean I needed to return to look for the ring? I took a risk, because I enjoyed the program, and came back.

I did look for the ring – obviously, to no avail. It was worse than searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack – good grief, it was six months later following the New England winter.

Honestly, I knew it wasn’t the ring I was supposed to look for – but I wasn’t sure what it was I needed to find – so I trusted that if I kept my soul’s eyes open it would find me.

Two years and four classes later, I found it Monday. I found a part of my voice yet undiscovered. For the first time in my life, I was able to speak out in a large group of peers, and to a celebrated Harvard economist (the founder of Mother Jones Magazine and architect of Greenpeace for the love of God) without halting, with passion (that didn’t come across too harsh) and without the needed crutch of swearing. (Yes, I have also discovered that cursing has always been my thinking and space defense.) I spoke out in critique, with compassion, yet in control, calling for the powerful voice of the Church to be the powerless voice of God in the margins. That was met with an expectation of explanation and then a challenge – and shocking myself, I could do so – without being self-defensive and in a persuasive way. More importantly, I didn’t recognize this myself until a colleague pointed it out to me later that evening.

How did that happen? I don’t want to analyze it – I just want to live into it. My soul has found another layer of its voice. My soul and my voice have become one and I am along for the joyous evolutionary ride. It is frightening and something I must be aware of and use with intention and caution – but I have found the potential of my holistic voice.

What does this now mean? Well, I just found it – and I’m not sure yet – I think it’s a maturation, discovery, evolutionary thing, most likely. And I intend to lean into that with full harmony. Maybe, now, I’ll stumble across my ring in the space between.

A Response to the killing of Osama bin Laden

A Response to the Killing of Osama bin Laden

Jesus said love your enemies. We acknowledge, that at times, this seems
to be an impossible task. We have compassion for and pray for our
leaders who have made difficult decisions, that would drive us
to our knees. The hard work of building a more just, peaceful and
equitable world continues. We pray, therefore, that "God's holy and life giving
Spirit may so move every human heart, that barriers which divide us
may crumble, suspicions disappear, and barriers cease; that our
divisions being healed, we may live in justice and peace; through
Jesus Christ our Lord."

I have spent the day in deep prayer, discernment and conversation with my sisters and brothers at the Clergy Leadership Project. The death of Osama bin Laden and our Church's appropriate response has consumed our attention. As sisters and brothers of Abraham and followers of Jesus, we are called to a path of love, justice and peace for the citizens of the globe. It is most appropriate that we spend our time in prayer, as guided by our Book of Common of Prayer and studying the teaching of Jesus in our Holy Scripture to determine how we should respond. Those teachings are clear, "we are to love our neighbors as ourselves - and we are to love our enemies." These are the hard teachings of Jesus and our common prayers. Let us be willing to take the risk of building our souls by being true to who Christ has called us to become.

Tenebrae, Wednesday of Holy Week

Last night was our Tenebrae service, not something that is practiced in many Christian churches much less the Episcopal Church. But we have a five-year tradition going. The service has evolved each year. Last night we started with some of the church’s artificial light on and with candles all around the altar. We chanted the Psalms, had three readings, extinguishing candles as we went. When it came time for the 51st Psalm all artificial light was turned off. And then for the Eucharist only the two altar candles and the Christ candle were lit. Communion was celebrated in the light of three candles. It was a lovely service and well attended by our standards, nearly 40 were present.

By observation there were folks there from our Sunday eight o’clock Rite One service and young adults from St. Brigid’s Community. However, there was a noticeable absent from our Sunday nine o’clock, traditional Rite 2 BCP with organ, crowd. Where were they? Why didn’t they attend this service? I have noticed that the Rite One crowd attends the Wednesday night healing services with an occasional St. Brigid’s person thrown in. Where are the traditional 1979 BCP with organ people?

Is the idea of healing, chanting, and praying in the dark foreign to foreign to that generation? It is my generation, but I love the service – what’s going on here? Have these folks been infected by the “happy Jesus, life is always about Resurrection, theology?” There is something here and I can’t quite get my theological finger on it – just yet – but I will keep mulling it over.

Tuesday of Holy Week

Tuesday of Holy Week 2011

Governor Jan Brewer did the sensible and reasonable thing and vetoed a bill granting the right to carry an open or concealed weapon on any right of way of a college campus. Thank you for using common sense – something evidently that was lost on the Arizona State legislators.

Of course the Governor did sign the slashed budget that will cost hundreds of educators their jobs and further reduce the quality of education in this State (where are already 50th only a spot or two to go and the conservatives will have achieved their “goal” of one more “reason” for the complete privatizing of public education). On a personal note, Avondale Elementary School District where Cathy, my wife, is the Superintendent, had to cut $1.5 million out of their budget and eliminated several positions district-wide. That was a gut-wrenching and heart-breaking decision for Cathy and the Board, but they had no choice.

The reduced State budget also eliminated Department of Economic Security support for poor working parents to receive childcare – meaning that potentially, nine children in St. Augustine’s Preschool will have to go without quality childcare. Where is the sanity in that?

It is Tuesday of Holy Week – in Arizona Lent has been long and arduous on many levels. But, we still come to this week walking with the hope of the humble God who risked divinity to become one with us, so that God might fully be with us in our moments of pain, frustration and even our death. Thanks be to God that we worship and follow a God who knows our troubles at the deepest and most personal level. In times like these, that hope seems to be all we have to move us forward to the next day.

Imagine a peaceful response

Imagine a Peaceful Response to the Tenth Anniversary of 9.11

The Rev. Dorothy Saucedo, Imam Ahmad Shqeirat and the Rev. Gil Stafford were invited to Virginia Theological Seminary to participate in a conversation about imagining a peaceful response to the tenth anniversary of 9.11. Aided by a Luce grant, VTS brought together 44 people. Episcopal bishops, priests, deacons and laity (including ten seminary students) joined together with Islamic Imams and laity from 19 cities and eight countries.

For three days, eleven hours a day, we struggled intensely with theological, philosophical and practical questions. We asked risky and courageous questions about our religious differences. We sought to understand our similarities. We opened ourselves to be vulnerable and to listen to one another. We heard our stories of pain. We listened to one another’s fears. And we imagined what God was saying to us, as a global community.

We heard stories like Ahmad’s. He is the Imam at the Islamic Cultural Center in Tempe. In the fall of 2006, he and three other Imams were waiting to board a plane in Minneapolis to travel to their home in Phoenix. Before boarding the plane, they said their prayers. As they boarded the plane one of the passengers passed a note to a flight attendant saying he heard these four men saying Allah before getting aboard. The passenger also thought it was suspicious that one man was wearing dark glasses while on the plane.

Subsequently, Ahmad and his three friends were handcuffed and escorted off the plane. The man wearing the dark glasses was elderly and blind, however, he was forced to walk down the jet way, unaided. Obviously, he was frightened. The four men were detained and questioned by the local police and the FBI. After five hours they were released and told they had done nothing wrong and were not suspects for any crime. They were told they could return to the terminal and arrange a flight to go home. US Airways, whose flight they were originally on, would not take these four men as customers. Eventually, they were able to buy tickets from Northwest Airlines to make their way home. These men had their civil rights violated, which was later proven in court.

We heard other personal stories, Muslim and Christian, of prejudice, hatred and marginalization that have increased in our country. Our group came together to share in one other’s pain and as human beings, to acknowledge that we could listen and hear deep into our souls.

Our task was to work together with our local communities in planning healing events for the tenth anniversary of 9.11. In Tempe, we plan to build on our second annual event of listening to the Abrahamic stories of our roots. We will honor our sacred texts, Torah, Bible and Quran. We will hear stories from our traditions, Judaism, Christianity, and Islamic. We will listen to one another and we will fellowship with one another.
In Tempe, we are supporting a new young adult interfaith group, iMagine, and we will be joining with them as they lead us to develop a service project for September 11, as President Obama has encouraged us to do.

And in Tempe, at St. Augustine’s, with Bishop Smith’s approval, our congregation has invited Imam Ahmad to be our guest preacher at our 10:30 Sunday service on September 11th.

Our delegation of three also committed to inviting our fellow Christians and Muslims from our neighboring communities across Maricopa County to join us.

These events, we are praying together, will allow us to imagine a new way of listening and working together. Yes, we do have theological differences, but we do share many similarities. Most importantly, we are human beings, God’s creation called to serve God’s creatures and be good stewards of God’s creation. We can only do this in our global economy if we begin to see with the eyes of God’s new imagination for us in the world in which we live. Only if we see with the heart of God’s economy can we reach out with our hearts to embrace one another as sisters and brothers.

I left VTS with a renewed spirit, an encouraged heart and a resolve to my commitment to listen to the intention of God. I left VTS knowing that listening to the heart of God is risky and may require courageous action. I left VTS with a deeper appreciation of our Episcopal tradition and Church that calls us into a new imagination of living in a global village. And I returned home with a new anticipation of the tenth anniversary of 9.11, one that is hopeful and not

Hopeful plans for 9.11

The soul, body and mind are spent. We have given all of our selves, kenosis, for the good work of developing interfaith peaceful gatherings for the tenth anniversary of 9/11.

The Rev. Dorothy Saucedo, Imam Ahmad Shqeirat and the Rev. Gil Stafford made some preliminary and tentative plans for our community. For Tempe, we made an offering of hospitality. On Sunday September 11 our plans are hopeful. Imam Ahmad Shqeirat will be the guest preacher at St. Augustine’s Episcopal Parish on the morning of September 11. We want to encourage our interfaith young adult group iMagine to engage in a service project on the afternoon of September and then we will all gather in Tempe for our second annual Abrahamic Traditions Storytelling event.

The blessed experience of these three days is to know that we in Tempe, the Episcopal Diocese of Arizona, are doing a good work – a work that is unique across the communities of America. I am very proud to be friends with Dorothy and Ahmad and I am filled with the joy of God and inspired by their personal commitment and leadership in our community. I know that our actions are risky and dangerous – but I believe that our new imagination can foster peace and healing in our community.

Thank you to the Luce Foundation and to Virginia Theological Seminary for these blessed and power filled three days of being in the presence of God and our sisters and brothers of Islam and Christians.

Interfaith work in Washington, DC (oh yeah, Jesus drank Guinness)

Today our interfaith group did the hard work of sharing our theological stories. We were challenged with the question of “suffering,” in our traditions of Christianity and Islam.

We quickly found some questions that caused us both to struggle within our own traditions. Is suffering inevitable or necessary? Is sin inherent or inevitable? And is sin and suffering related? It was obvious that our group of Christians did not stand in a theological unification – and neither did our sisters and brothers of Islam.

We found some ideas of commonality. God has created us and God will forgive us. From God have we come, to God will we return. We have all experience both sides of life, both good and bad. We are responsible as Christians and Muslims to reach out our sisters and brothers who are suffering the bad of life.

And, of course, there are some differences in our theologies – the theology of suffering and the suffering of God caused quite a long and passionate conversation – and the Christian idea of Trinity is not coherent with the monotheism of Islam.

What came out of this very long day of conversation, dialogue and discussion was a better understanding our of sisters and brothers, Christian and Muslim.

God moved among us as we gathered to pray together at the end of the day. We heard stories of personal suffering, lifetimes of pain, and stories of prejudice. We laughed, we cried, and most importantly, we listened.

We gather again tomorrow to envision the possibility of creating safe and sacred spaces for our communities to gather locally to hear the stories of our sisters and brothers of the Abrahamic traditions.

Oh, by the way – Jesus did drink Guinness (or maybe a highly alcoholic beer). One of our participants has done excavation of holy sites in Jerusalem. Their work had uncovered Philistine beer mugs. The Philistine’s produced a wheat beer (IPA maybe). So maybe, at those weddings Jesus was turning water into wine, he might have also been sharing a pint with his mates. Slainte and blessed Saint Patrick’s Day.

A Peaceful Response to 9.11 session one

There are 49 of us at Virginia Theological Seminary developing plans for a peaceful response to the tenth anniversary of September 11. There are teams from Louisville, Bethesda, Washington, DC, Alexandria, Tempe, Pasadena, Webster Groves, MO, Harrisburg, PA, Dearborn, MI and from the seminary as well South Africa, Tanzania, Sri Lanka, New Zealand, Malawi and Peru. There are seven Bishops and the Deans of two seminaries here. Included in the group of some of the most prominent leaders in national and international interfaith dialogue. One of the presenters described this group as a Nobel Prize collection. If any group could come up with some ideas, it has to be this collection of intelligent human beings.

Today, we started with the basics of “listening;” working on our skills of truly hearing one another. We learned to listen with our mind, our hearts and our hands. We focused on listening for the facts, the emotions and the actions. And we experienced being listened to at the deepest level. Honestly, it is hard for a room full of clergy and educators to listen to each other – we are very equipped to tell, but listening pushes at some of our edges.

The most profound moment came at the end of the day when we asked questions that have gone unanswered since September 11, 2001. Why have American Christians responded, or not, as they have? How are Muslims dealing with the pain inflicted on them by a few radicals of their own religion? Do all Muslims have the same interpretations of the Koran? Do all Christians have the same beliefs about the Bible? These were hard questions to answer and explain in groups of three. These triads worked hard and then reported to the plenary. The expressions were intense.

Tomorrow we move closer to planning. The Rev. Dorothy Saucedo, the Imam Ahmad Sheqeirat, and Dr. Catherine Stafford are here with me. It has been a long day – and tomorrow will be longer still. Pray for us that we can be creative as we develop strategies for our communities.

Border water

It was a sweater weather morning underneath a shear blue sky. We drove west of Naco on the Mexican side of the border. The road was rougher than a washboard – at one point we got a little air under Seth’s truck. We journeyed between a multi-million dollar US wall on our right and an old Mexican farm barbed-wire fence on our left. My guess is that the fence on the Mexican side did its job better than the US wall was doing its work.

The Border Guard drove on the north side of the US/Mexican Border wall taking careful notice of us. Paradoxically, there were a few random horses scattered across the rolling high desert south of the ancient barbed-wire fence that also took notice of our travel with curiosity.

After four anxious miles we spied the lone blue flag that was flapping just above the desert brush. Under the blue flag we knew we would find a twenty-gallon drum of water intended for those who were intent on climbing the US wall just yards across the way.

Coming out of the Mexican desert were dozens of fresh footprints. We stood among the evidence of migrants gathered around the water tank. Our voices were as silent as theirs. Our minds reflected on those who had journeyed before us and on those who would follow.

Our small group gathered stones from the dry wash in order to build an Ebenezer. Together, we blessed the stones, placing them where migrants would walk across them. It was our contemplative intent to bless them because we all are making a very similar spiritual pilgrimage – one of desert, fear, uncertainty and hopes for a better life.

A Prayerful Response to Tragedy

A Prayerful Response to Tragedy

Saturday, St. Brigid's Community was gathered at Chapel Rock Retreat Center in Prescott, Arizona for our annual Young Adult and Young Family Retreat, when we heard the Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and several others had been shot. We gathered around cell phones, computers and televisions to read and to listen to reports as they unfolded.

Like most people that I know, we were in disbelief, confused, frightened, uncertain and clearly without words to express our overwhelmed spiritual and emotional selves. We, in other words, were in shock.

Being the leader of our group it took a bit to process this on a personal level and then to gather myself, and our group, for a community response. We did the only thing we knew to do, and what millions of people did, we prayed. And we are still praying.

On Sunday our community gathered in worship at Chapel Rock. Sunday was the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is our practice on this particular day to renew our Baptismal Covenant. The Baptismal Covenant begins with a question and affirmative response to the Apostles Creed. The Creed is followed with these questions.

Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers?
Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

We are asked to respond to each question – “I will, with God’s help.”

In response to tragedy, in response to that which steals our words and freezes our emotions, we are called to pray. But, then, what do we do when our words return? Do we fall prey to the temptation to make a response with our words that is as violent as a gunshot? I am praying that our community will not do such a thing. I am praying our community will continue to pray and to respond to our Baptismal Covenant with the words, “ I will, with God’s help.”

For the remainder of January and maybe for some time beyond, I am asking the St. Brigid’s Community and the St. Augustine’s Episcopal Parish to renew our Baptismal Covenant each time we gather to worship as our response to violence. These may be the only words we can say with any confidence and any promise of hope for something good to come from something so dark.

Tears at True Grit?

True Grit, brought tears to my eyes.

Reading that there was a re-make of the John Wayne movie, I was skeptical and decided I didn’t want to see the 2011 version.

Hearing that Jeff Bridges was staring as Rooster Cogburn made me hedge – realizing the Coen brothers were producing the film, pushed me over the edge. I saw it on the eve of New Year’s Day.

Bridges, was, well, Bridges – that’s why I went to see the original, to see John Wayne be John Wayne – and Bridges did not disappoint, he played himself, extremely well.

Matt Damon gave a great new interpretation to his role as Texas Ranger Laboeuf. Good thing, Glen Campbell almost ruined the original. Fortunately for the moviegoers, Campbell never did another movie. And Damon did nothing to diminish his excellent career.

Haliee Steinfeld as Mattie Ross gave a stellar début performance – she may have actually up-staged her more experienced co-stars. The chemistry between the three actors produced timely “western” humor and as artists, they created a believable story that was well worth the time and money.

The Coen brothers kept to the story and did nothing but enhance the “old western feel.” The movie had that “Unforgiven,” Clint Eastwood, touch going – nice. Using hymns as the soundtrack had its desired effect. However, the scene with Cogburn carrying Mattie on Little Blacky was hooky; sorry guys, you blew that one. Sometimes, you have to “fill your hands you Son-of-a-bitch,” and just shoot the scene without telling a story.

I would see the film again – I own the original, I’ll probably own a copy of the Coen brother’s version.

Admittedly, I was probably the only person in the theater with tears in their eyes at the end, or any other time for that matter. And, truthfully, it probably had nothing to do with the movie itself.

John Wayne was my grandfather’s “guy.” And True Grit was his movie. We watched it together dozens of times. He died twenty years ago this month. Watching Mattie Ross stand at the foot of Rooster’s grave with “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms,” playing over the scene, well – it was the end of the year and a time for reflection. The tears were filled with good memories. Thank you Coens.

Smoking, theologically speaking?

Marcus Borg, in Putting Away Childish Things: A Tale of Modern Faith, tells a marvelous smoker's tale. "Do you know what Karl Barth said about smoking and theologians? Well, he said that you can tell what kind of theologian somebody is by what they smoke. If they smoke cigarettes they're liberal; if they smoke cigars, they're orthodox; and if they smoke a pipe, they're neo-orthodox. Then somebody asked Barth, 'What if they don't smoke?' And he said, 'then, they are no theologian at all.'"

Rodney Clapp, in the September 21, 2010 Christian Century, writes that “Few things better slow down a busy day and bring it in for a relaxed landing than a burning stogie and an iced bourbon.” Clapp gives away that he must be neo-orthodox. Of course that’s not bad company.

This week’s article by Clapp is entitled “The Nicotine Journal.” His opening paragraphs are reflections on Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Letters and Papers from Prison, (the newest edition from Fortress is now available, which I highly recommend). Specifically, Clapp recounts Bonhoeffer’s continued reference to the pleasures of smoking. Clapp goes on to cite the smoking habits of other renowned theologians in order to build his case for the power of smoking in, what I might call, the community building derived from joining friends and colleagues in theological conversations, while enjoying the relaxing benefits of tobacco. His points are convincing as tells us, “it’s never too late to start.”

Of course, Clapp provides the politically and health appropriate disclaimers in order to keep the letters to the editor at a minimum. I’m anxious to get the next copy to see who takes exception, or commends.

I’ll be back later. I need to go outside for a few minutes.

Hate my mom?

Hate my mother?
Luke 14:25-33

Luke 14:26 is one of those verses that appears so incongruous with Jesus’ other teaching that I wonder if it was a misprint or if someone hard of hearing is the one who “remembered” it to the rest of the community.

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” Hate my mother? What happened to love your neighbor? Aren’t my children at least my neighbors?

What tears at my heart in this text (Luke 12:25-33 Sunday Pentecost 15 lectionary) is that my entire theology, my understanding of my calling as a priest, is built out of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s relational theology. I see ministry through the eyes of my relationship with God and everyone around me. God, in Bonhoeffer’s theology, is a vulnerable and suffering God and I am to lead and to relate to the world around me through Jesus model of the crucified Christ. So how does hating my family fit into this paradigm?

As did Bonhoeffer, we have to look between the lines of the scriptural words to find the possible essence of meaning, while realizing we will never know the exact meaning of Jesus’ words.

First, and nothing should be lost on this, verse twenty-five tells us that a large crowd was “traveling” with Jesus. We are on a pilgrimage (traveling) from where we exist to where God is fetching us. We have yet to arrive. In fact, we may never arrive at our destination. We are pilgrims, aliens in a foreign land. And as foreigners, we don’t speak the local language.

So, what is this language of “hate” that Jesus is speaking?

My Clinical Pastoral Education mentor taught me that to be present to the hospital patient, the dying parishioner, the suffering soul, I must first detach myself, separate myself, get up on the balcony in order to see their picture of life as it really is without my own personal baggage obscuring my view.

The same is the case in my relationship with the person I love the most. I must, in order to love them, set down my own set of agendas and lower the barrier of my ego. To love them the most, I must stop loving them. To see them, I must stop seeing them, as my ego wants to see them.

In order to be present, to get into the skin of the suffering of the other person, I must first lay down my own baggage, I must detach myself, I must, in order to love, remove myself (totally disregard the relationship). Can I hear them? Can I take into account the critique of someone who loves me? Can they hear me? Not if too much of my own sentimentalism (which is usually confused as love) clouds the window.

How do I find the strength or means to detach? Jesus tells us to be like him. In verse twenty-seven in this text, we hear Jesus say, whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

I know about Jesus’ cross of the crucifixion. Is this what I have to do? What is my cross? The word for “cross” here is “signatio,” the sign. It’s as if I am being asked to wear the ashes of Ash Wednesday on my forehead 24/7. Jesus is asking me if I can become like him to the point of wearing his mark on my forehead. Can my Christianity be clearly evident and prominent for all to see? Can I wear the tattoo of Christ? I am not called to be Jesus – but to be his follower.

Wearing the sign of the Cross is the key to detachment, separating myself so that others see Jesus, not me – as Saint Paul describes Jesus, “he emptied himself.” By setting my ego, and my “self” aside, like Jesus did, I can relate to the other and begin to feel their pain and be fully present to them. As Saint John said, “Jesus must increase and I must decrease.” And Jesus could have said that I must fade away in order for the one I love to be fully present.

In order to love my neighbor as myself, I must, in essence hate (detach from) my family and even myself. In typical Jesus fashion it’s a subversive reversal – an ultimate paradox. In order to live, I must die. In order to love, I must hate (detach).

Too hard? Almost. Painfully difficult? Most likely. Typically Jesus? Absolutely. My mom may not like this. Then again.

Inception

So, why write something about a movie that is walking away at the box office? It’s one of the few films I would pay to see again, that’s why. Not because “I like it.” Who cares? For a film to get double time from me it has to be subtle and nuanced.

From my perspective, Inception is post-modern Jungian tale that dares toy with the subjects of synchronicity, individuation, redemption and resurrection. The film rattles the cage of philosophical encounter with questions of substance. Will I accept the responsibility for my own decisions or transfer that self-accountability to others or the circumstances I find myself in. Can I listen so deeply to the other’s story that I might find my place within their narrative? How deep I am willing to go into my darkness to discover the redemptive moment? Is resurrection a personal or communal experience?

Of course the obvious questions of reality or literal, linear existentialism are there to amuse us. One trapped in the experience of absolutism is annoyed by the inconclusiveness of the spinning totem. But, what does it matter? Is reality, or what is confused as truth, the necessity of existence? Not necessarily, given the possibility for love, given and received. But isn’t the demand for reality a projection of an inner demand for the personal perfection of egotism? As Cobb tells Mal, “you are too perfect, too flawed, too complex,” all of course, his own projections.

I will admit my own temptation to make the religious analogy, but, for fear of the precarious position of the totem, I resist, for now.

To the mundane; though no critic, I personally found Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance of the tortured, seeking soul is what kept me intrigued during this lengthy film. And while I have enjoyed Ellen Page’s acting in her two previous movies, I found this beyond my willingness to accept her as the best person for the character she was asked to become. However, Marion Cotillard as Mal was captivating, her expressions alone near plumbed the depths of despair. But I admit, the more troubled and complex the character, the more empathetic my soul.

One final comment, a labyrinth is not a maze – that was distracting – but, flaws tumble the top, no?

Tribute to a colleague

Tribute to a colleague, The Rev. Gordon McBride

The Reverend Gordon McBride, retired rector of Grace St. Paul’s, Tucson, has gone to rest in the soul of God, joining the communion of saints. He has set down his earthly pilgrim’s bag and taken up the journey of eternal formation. We commend our brother Gordon to the Presence of God the Trinity.

Meanwhile, here in this dimension of time, I will miss Gordon. He was a wise sage, skilled facilitator of the Commission on Ministry, a voice for a more progressive Christian theology, and an inspiration to those of us who dare to consider ourselves writers. His encouragement was that he made time during his life as a university parish priest to be the author he dreamed. And then he created the joyful space to travel and promote his works.

Gordon’s writing inspired me to be transparent and vulnerable about the inner life that I feared priests could not. For that, I am deeply appreciative. While he was committed to his craft, he didn’t take himself so seriously that he was unapproachable about the nuts and bolts of writing. He was always willing to share his knowledge with me. For that I am grateful and will miss. But, most of all, I will miss his presence, his provocation, his willingness to gently confront.

In the last few months we, and I, have lost two brothers of the priesthood, Gordon and the Rev. Richard George. Both were leaders, mentors and spiritual guides. Because they would expect as much, we will pray for them, their families and ourselves. And we will dare walk in their path, carrying our own pilgrim’s bag until it is our time to join them on the next journey, in the life on the otherside.

Herding Snails

Herding Snails

This morning we are in Camarillo, California on our way to Santa Barbara to spend a few days at Mount Calvary. As is our custom, we went on a long walk. The ocean-side mountains are hid from our view by the cool, misty fog. It made for a gentle contrast to the harsh desert heat we fled.

Somewhere in our wondering, we came upon a stretch of about eight feet of sidewalk to discover nearly a dozen snails crossing the four-foot path. The snails were at varying degrees of their journey. Some were near the goal of the lush vegetation lining the opposite side of the walk. Others were just beginning, what I imagine, was a long journey.

We stopped to admire their pace. Being on the first day of our holiday, it was a good reminder.

It was also a moment of musing. We often remark about the impossibility of herding cats, especially for the leaders of our large institutions of independent thinkers, like universities, public schools and the Church.

But, maybe in our archaic and behemoth structures, leaders are more likely faced with herding snails instead of the quicker feline. What institutional participant moves with the grace and agility of the cat when change is at hand?

My own experience and that of my walking partner’s, both of whom have many years of leadership in gigantic and ancient crumbling pillars of America, is that directing change is like the herd of the snails we encountered.

Our approach as leaders, if focused on the process and not the outcome, might find our “herd” less startled, frightened, and scattering for cover, but instead, if leaders are patient, will find our charges willing to move at their own pace towards a new feeding ground, where the fruits will yield a result far outstripping our strategic planning.

Esmay named head baseball coach at ASU

The right man for the job

Congratulations to Tim Esmay, named the head baseball coach at Arizona State University. AD Lisa Love made the obvious right choice. The number one ranked Sun Devils have gone 47-8 under Ez’s leadership this year. They are headed into the NCAA Regional tournament this weekend seeded number one.

Grand Canyon University players and fans know Tim from his years as a player at ASU during several storied and heated battles that included some pretty good games, too. Others will remember Coach Esmay during time as an outstanding assistant at Canyon. And still others will recognize Tim as the former head coach at the University of Utah during our WAC days.

Tim is leader of young men. He is a fierce competitor, gentlemen, family man, and devoted Sun Devil. He’s the kind of man that all of us would be pleased and proud for our sons to play baseball under his guidance.

Usually in the world of sports, I find myself asking, why? In this unique case, I am applauding the best choice possible. I want to wish the best of luck to Coach Ez and the Sun Devils in the tournament and for years to come.

What does the Spirit smell like?

“Man it smells good in here. What’d you cook tonight? I can’t distinguish all the aromas,” Chad said as he walked into the back door of the parish hall.

“What does your nose tell you?” I asked.

“For sure, I smell falafels, the spices and the olive oil, that much I know.”

I held up a plate of the chickpea patties covered with aluminum foil. Chad smiled. “Okay what else?” I asked.

“Hmm, there’s something else in the air but I can’t quite make it out. The falafels are making my mouth water. But, there’s something else you baked, ah, that’s it, you baked bread.”

“Yep, I baked a batch of whole wheat and honey communion bread, its fresh out of the oven.” I held up another plate, stacked with six of the round loaves.

“Whoa, that combination of smells is almost intoxicating,” Chad said as carried his guitar into the parish hall to set up for another evening of Saint Brigid’s Community and Peregrini.

The reading for our worship the evening was from John 14. “The Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.”

I asked the group, “When you close your eyes and let your memory drift, what are the best smells that come to you?”

“My grandmother and I were so close,” Ruth responded in tears. “After she died, my mom asked me to help sort out my grandmother’s things. When I opened the closest, my grandmother’s clothes were still hanging there. I put my face into her dress and I could smell my grandmother,” the emotion was too much for Ruth to continue.

“I remember the smell of our new born son,” someone said.

“The smell of my mother’s Thanksgiving dinners,” came from a voice tucked down in a sofa near the back of the room.

“A freshly mowed lawn,” said another.

“When I close my eyes and let myself go into that special place, I can still smell the sweet aroma of my wife the first time we kissed, forty years ago.” That was my offering.

A smell will trigger our most powerful memory. Blessed aromas that evoke sweet memories draw the rest of our being into complete integration,

Later in the evening Ruth spoke about the presence of God in the whole of our being, in the smell of our sensuality, in the completeness of our lives. She suggested to us that the liturgy of our Eucharistic prayers, are indeed sensual texts because they fetch all of our memory and imagination into the present moment.

Alyssa reminded us of last year when she had injured her foot and couldn’t dance. Being forced to sit on the sidelines while her classmates continued rehearsing for recitals was almost too much to bear. Her professor invited her to lie on floor and go through her routine as if she were floating through the air. Her memories carried her without putting pressure on her foot.

Annie’s soft voice drew our attention from the end of the line of tables. She rarely speaks into these gatherings. We all leaned into her voice.

“I’ve been journaling a lot lately. Sometimes I find myself just writing words and wondering, ‘why these words?’ And I realize I’m writing my prayer thoughts. I’ve wondered if I could close my eyes and write my thoughts?” Collectively, we leaned into our own space and closed our eyes. Silence held us together for a bit.

I wonder if we could live our lives with our eyes closed, relying and trusting only on the aroma of the Holy Spirit to lead us?

Governor, Please veto SB 1070

Dear Governor Brewer,

Please veto SB1070.

Please listen to those who are praying. Listen to those who stand praying outside your home. Open your ears to those who stand in prayer vigils outside State Offices. Listen to voices that pray for you, pray for the State government and pray for its citizens and visitors.

The voices that are praying are asking you to consider our responsibility to “love our neighbors as ourselves.” The voices that are praying live under the admonition to “feed the hungry, clothe the naked, to give the thirsty something to drink, visit the sick and those in prison and embrace the stranger in our land.” (Matthew 25:35)

In this morning’s Arizona Republic the editors are asking for you to have the courage to do the reasonable and compassionate thing, not the expedient thing, and veto the bill. In the same publication the Rev. Warren Stewart and the Rev. Jim Wallis said this issue is more than a State issue. This is a national issue, they said and they asked you do the humane thing and veto the bill.

Christian Clergy and parishioners across this State, Roman Catholics, Episcopalians, Methodist, Lutherans, Baptists, Non-denomination clergy, clergy who would not worship together because of their theological differences, have come together to plead with you to veto SB 1070. Please listen to those that are praying for you.
Here is my prayer for you, from the Book of Common Prayer.

O God, the fountain of wisdom, whose will is good and gracious, and whose law is truth: We beseech you so to guide and bless our Governor that she may enact such laws as shall please you, to the glory of your Name and the welfare of the people of the State of Arizona. Amen.

In prayer,

The Rev. Dr. Gil Stafford
Vicar and Chaplain
St. Augustine’s Episcopal Parish
Tempe, Arizona

I sent this morning to the Governor at
http://www.azgovernor.gov/contact.asp

Yes on Proposition 100

What can you buy for a penny these days? Not much. Ah, but for the good old days.
As a six-year-old, my parents would send me to the corner store to buy whatever was needed, a morning paper, a carton of milk, some missing ingredient for the cake my mom was baking. Typically, my parents would give me a few pennies of the change. I started saving those pennies because I loved baseball cards. When I had twenty-five cents saved, I would take my pennies to buy five packs of baseball cards, the packs were a nickel apiece, a penny a card.
It was a great joy to open each pack and discover what new cards I added to my collection. And, it wasn’t disappointing to find a duplicate because those cards were good for trading with my friends. Of course, the gum was a bonus. Over the years, with collected pennies, I bought thousands of baseball cards. Now those cards are worth a lot of money, even the no-name players of the 1960’s have gone up in value. Not a bad investment from a few pennies. Ah, for the good old days.
This week many of you will receive your early ballots for Proposition 100, the Temporary One-Cent-Sales Tax. By voting Yes on Proposition 100 you will be supporting children in our schools. Without the temporary sales tax increase, public and charter schools will be laying off hundreds of teachers and staff, increasing classroom size to forty, eliminating art, music and physical education and drastically cutting after school programs including most sports.
School have already had to lay off teachers and staff, eliminate full day kindergarten, slash programs for gifted students, reduce early education intervention programs, and postpone building and maintenance. Arizona ranks at the bottom in terms of educational spending and quality. Without the passage of Proposition 100, our poor educational system will be cemented at the bottom for generations to come.
Yes, pennies add up. I understand that concept. I understood it the age of six. I want to make the same investment in the education of today’s children in Arizona that was given to me and to my own children. I grew up here and my children were educated here, this has been a good State for our family.
Ah, for the good old days. We pay a smaller percentage of overall tax today in Arizona, than we did in the Goldwater era. In 1990, a study was conducted regarding the approaching millennium and the tax structure needed for the future. The report concluded that Arizona’s balance of income, property and sales tax was fairly equitable. Since that time, our legislatures have swung the burden of tax to rely heavily upon sales tax. If the legislature had left the tax structure that the Goldwater era conservatives put in place, today we would have an extra $3 billion dollars in the State coffers, plus a rainy day fund. Ah for the good old days.
I am in favor of investing in children of today for the sake of tomorrow. Please join me in voting Yes on Proposition 100.

She wore her wedding dress on the light rail

When my daughter is so happy, she can’t stop smiling because she has married the perfect man and just had the perfect wedding – and when the clouds break and the sunlight streams through the Cathedral’s blue stain glassed window at the moment of the consecration of the Eucharist – time stood still.

On a partly cloudy Saturday afternoon in downtown Phoenix at Trinity Cathedral, I experienced a holy moment. Honestly, it was pretty much an entire holy day. Our daughter’s wedding brought together family and friends to celebrate the experience of love and laughter. The day turned into night and the party continued, right there at the Cathedral.

Imagine that – a hundred people, young adults, young families, a few oldies – experiencing the holy and the sacred and having the best party they had ever experienced (their words not mine) – how does that happen at church? Our party had great dancing, to today’s best tunes, good wine (and other spirits) and a room filled with the hoops and shouts of joy.

I will be so bold to suggest that it is what Jesus intended when he performed his first miracle at a wedding, of course he turned water into wine – one that wedding was celebrated for days (at least we didn’t run out of wine.)

I wonder what would happen if every holy and sacred worship service in the Episcopal Church broke out into a party? Why not? What keeps the church from being a moment of holy celebration? Nothing. Not a thing.

The Episcopal Church sits around and scratches it head, wondering, pondering, and agonizing over how to save the Church from a gradual demise. The Church asks itself, its best minds, even peers over the fence at its neighbors desperately hoping for solutions to the apparent absence of young voices. How do we get young people into our parishes? What is the best form of evangelism?

I don’t have the answers. Honestly, I don’t feel the need – I do know this – Saturday the Church did it what it does best; the holy was experienced in a unique way, a way that the Episcopal Church knows how to do well and because we are a people who know and encourage a good party, it happened right at the Cathedral, right in the church, without apologies, in the presence of clergy and God dancing right along side us (his name was Robert and her name was Veronica.)

Thank you AJ and Phil for inviting us to your God graced party – where time stood still – and you gave us a good strategic plan for church growth (just party! and wear your wedding dress onto the light rail!)
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mystic Christians

I made a commitment to a life coach in front 60-plus of my colleagues and the Bishop that I would spend more doing what I really love – writing. That means being more faithful to my blog. So, before I give the dog his weekly bath, have lunch with a dear friend, go to Costco to buy things for our daughter’s wedding (I’m in charge of the bar, go figure, no comments about that please), stop at the grocery store and then drop by and see my mom – I want to say Happy Feast Day of St. Brigid’s and happy birthday to Jana and Betsy who are part of St. Brigid's Community, cool day for a birthday.

At our last St. Brigid’s gathering I suggested (through the work of Richard Rohr, The Naked Now) that those of us who are Christians consider the possibility that we live our lives as mystic Christians. Which is different than a Christian mystic like St. Teresa or St. John of the Cross. Emma, who is nine, wanted to know what I meant by being a mystic. I told it was like looking through a different set of glasses. I wish I had told her to go look in the mirror.

Mystic Christians, writes Rohr, are people who see with the “third eye,” derived from the Presence of God. And that Presence, union with God, comes about through prayer, which is intense intimacy with God, intimacy with ourselves, intimacy with others, and intimacy with life.

I’m not sure what that might look like tomorrow, but today I am willing to dive into it and see how deep the Spirit will let me go.

Okay, the dog really needs a bath.

Tribute to Tim Salmon, GCU Hall of Fame

The late Jim Brock once told me the biggest mistake he ever made in coaching at ASU was to not aggressively recruit Tim Salmon. That’s probably one of two things Coach Brock and I ever agree on.

Tim was drafted out of Greenway High School in 1986 by the Atlanta Braves, and fortunately for Canyon, he took our meager scholarship offer, instead of signing with the Braves.

By the time Tim left Canyon, three years later, he owned Canyon career records for Home Runs (51), Runs Batted In (192) and Runs Scored (225). He was second in all time average (.383) and Hits (229). And he was fifth in Games Played, At Bats and Doubles. In 1987 and 1988 he led Canyon to the NAIA World Series finishing fourth and second. To say the very least, based on his Canyon baseball accomplishments alone, Tim more than deserves this award tonight.

But, obviously, the story on Tim continues. In 1989, Tim was drafted in the third round by the Los Angles Angels of Anaheim. His early minor league career was marred by being hit by a pitch that broke his jaw, an injury that would end most player’s career. But, a broken jaw would not stop Tim.

In 1992, Tim was baseball’s Minor League Player of the Year. In 1993, he was selected as the American League Rookie of the Year, the only Angel to ever win the award. In 2001 he was the American League Comeback Player of the Year. In 2002, he was awarded the Hutch Award for his competitive spirit. And in 2002 he led the Angels to their only World Series Championship.

Tim retired after 14 seasons with the same team, a rarity. Tim is the Angel’s career leader in Home Runs (299), walks, slugging percentage and second in RBI’s. He is considered to be the best hitter ever produced by the Angel’s franchise.

Tim’s Major League career certainly adds to the reasons he is being honored tonight. But there is a whole lot more to Tim’s life than baseball.

Tim and his lovely wife Marci, met here at Canyon. Marci told me that she knew Tim was the guy for her when he picked her up for their first date. He was driving the oldest and most delapitated car she had ever seen. But, every time she got in and out of the car he opened the door for her and that won her over. Tim and Marci have four beautiful children, Callie, Jacob and the twins Ryan and Kaitlin.

Tim and Marci have founded the Tim Salmon Foundation for the benefit of needy children. And they are also deeply involved in Neighborhood Ministries.

Grand Canyon has also been the recepient of Tim and Marci’s generosity. They donated the funds for the Tim Salmon Baseball Clubhouse and for scholarships in the College of Business and the College of Education.

Tim, never one to rest on his laurels, went back to school and graduated from Canyon just this past year.

Tim is a man of deep faith. Saint Francis said, “Preach always and when necessary use words.” I see Tim Salmon when I hear that statement.

I want to close with two very brief short stories.

I was privileged to attend the Angels home games in the 2002 World Series. I had some great seats in right field, where Tim played. I went early to all four games. When I arrived for the first game, there was a young man with his son sitting in front of me. He was a chatty guy and before long we were new best friends. He told me these were his dad’s season ticket seats, which he had bought the Angels first season. Every year his dad would take him to Phoenix to watch the Angels in Spring Training. And every year his dad would predict that this would be the year the Angels would win it all. Teary-eyed the young man told me his dad had died the year before. His dad would have been so proud of the Angels and especially Tim who was his favorite player. This young guy told me that the reason he attended church was because of Tim’s witness and lifestyle.

After the Angels won the seventh game, the Angels owner, Mrs. Gene Autry handed the trophy to Tim and he did a victory lap around the field. When he ran by our seats that young guy turned to me with tears streaming down his face, “That’s for my dad,” he told me.

After Tim won the Rookie of Year Award a scout told me I should be out looking for another Tim Salmon. Scouts never were my favorite people. In one of my better moments I told that scout the obvious. Every coach should be so lucky to have one Tim Salmon during their coaching career – but, there’s only one Tim Salmon – and he’s already played for Canyon.

Congratulations Tim – and this is the best compliment I can give you Tim, you are a Canyon guy.

U2 in Arizona

Thanks to my children I was privileged to experience the U2 360 Tour. Okay, U2 may be on the cusp of an aging band, but they still can get 60,000 people to sing along for two hours, standing a lot of the time.

One critic asked if U2 had moved from a band with a cause to cause with a band. Bono spoke with courage to an Arizona crowd, encouraging them to be the best part of America and support the poor in Africa and around the world. I pray many listened to more than just the music.

It was, for the most part, an intergenerational crowd, not something you experience at many concerts. The appeal of U2 across generations is the hope for possible change that not only Bono, but many in that crowd, pray to see in their lifetime.

One of my friends was privileged to be on the stage in one of the final numbers. She represents ONE, as a participate and as a leader in the Church, she represents some of our best efforts. Thanks to ONE and U2 for their efforts on behalf of the needy. Something considering supporting.

Great music - most worthwhile cause - profound experience - and the best part was I experienced it with my family.

Open letter to DBACKS manager

This is an open letter to the manager of the Arizona Diamondbacks, A.J. Hinch.

Dear Skip (I use that term because that is what the players are supposed to call you, however, I wonder if yours do. Of course some of the young players on the Dodgers call manager Joe Torre, “Mr. Torre.” I’m pretty confident your players don’t call you Mr. Hinch.)

You were quoted in the Arizona Republic on October 5, 2009 that you have two weaknesses you want to work on during the off-season. First, you feel you need to work on manager-player relationships. Second, you recognize you need to improve your in-game decision-making. It is very commendable that you would be so transparent. I would love to be a fly on the wall when your players read those quotes. While your relationships with the players have been well hid from the public, your in-game decision making, well, has been hanging out there for all of us to see.

When you took over the Diamondbacks they were in fourth place and the Rockies were trailing the Dbacks in last. Shortly after the Dbacks turned their team over to you, the Rockies also made a change. Yesterday, at the end of the regular season, I couldn’t help but notice that the Dbacks finished in dead last. The Rockies, on the other hand, who hired a seasoned manager in Jim Tracy (who spent 13 years managing in the minor leagues before taking a major league job), are in the playoffs. That speaks enough of your lack of in-game decision-making. For your information, of course, I realize you have never even managed a Little League game, but in-game decision-making is also known as making managerial moves.

Interestingly enough, Sunday, in the same newspaper, Hall of Fame second baseman Ryan Sandburg was quoted as saying that he has aspirations of managing in the Big Leagues. Of course, he has spent the last three years successfully managing in the Cubs minor league system. My hunch is when he does get the chance to manage, he will be prepared in areas such as manager-player relationships and managerial moves, sorry, in-game decision making.

Here’s a suggestion for you. Instead of making us watch you slog through another season of learning on the job while we pay a lot of money to watch you do what you should have learned at a lower lever, why don’t you volunteer to manage in the Arizona Fall League. A lot of your colleagues honed their skills there first.

I realize you did not hire yourself. But, now that you have the job, and you realize that you have deficiencies, do something about it besides spending the winter playing X-Box baseball with your best friend and general manager buddy.