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.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, May 02, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
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.
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, April 19, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
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
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
Friday, March 18, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, January 17, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, January 10, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, September 03, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, August 02, 2010
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?
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?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
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?
“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?
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