Saying Yes to God

This week, the church calendar invites us to focus on Mary, the mother of our Lord. On Thursday, we observed the feast of Saint Mary with a wonderful Eucharist in the chancel. Forty-three (!) people came out to hear the story of Mary’s “yes” to God, to sing, and to pray. But on Wednesday, our focus was drawn to Mary as well. That’s because on August 14 each year, the Episcopal Church commemorates Jonathan Myrick Daniels, a young seminarian who became a martyr during the civil rights movement in Alabama. 

You can read more of his story here, and I hope you do. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jonathan_Daniels) He was valedictorian of his class at Virginia Military Institute, and after some struggles with his faith and sense of vocation, he began attending what was then called Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. During an Evensong service in Boston, he clearly heard God’s call to an active role in the civil rights movement. He writes, 

"My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour." I had come to Evening Prayer as usual that evening, and as usual I was singing the Magnificat with the special love and reverence I have always felt for Mary's glad song. "He hath showed strength with his arm." As the lovely hymn of the God-bearer continued, I found myself peculiarly alert, suddenly straining toward the decisive, luminous, Spirit-filled "moment" that would, in retrospect, remind me of others--particularly one at Easter three years ago. Then it came. "He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble and meek. He hath filled the hungry with good things." I knew then that I must go to Selma. The Virgin's song was to grow more and more dear in the weeks ahead.

Jonathan Daniels traveled to Selma to help register voters and stayed for a semester. He was shot on August 20, 1965, at Varner’s Cash Store in Hayneville, AL, while protecting an African-American teenager named Ruby Sales.  His murderer, Tom Coleman, was acquitted by an all-white jury. 

The lives of the saints, including martyrs like Jonathan Daniels, are stunning portraits of what a “yes” to God looks like. My friend Rob MacSwain OGS of Sewanee argues that the lives of the saints are a kind of proof of God’s existence, because these are the kind of lives that would not make sense otherwise. And Mary’s “yes” to God stands as the paramount example of saintly life. Without Mary’s “yes,” the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ and the salvation of the world would have been impossible. (Whether or not God had a backup candidate in mind is an interesting question best left to speculative theologians!) Her response to God is also a pattern for the Christian life. Former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams writes, 

Only three human individuals are mentioned in the Nicene Creed, Jesus, Mary, and Pontius Pilate: Jesus; the one who says yes to him; and the one who says no to him. You could say that those three names map out the territory in which we all live. Through our lives, we swing towards one pole or the other, towards a deeper yes, or towards a deeper no. In the middle of it all stands the one who makes sense of it all, the one into whose life we must all try to grow, who can work with our yes, and can even overcome our no.

I pray that as the summer draws to a close, you will find new ways to say yes to God, as God’s invitation to us comes new every morning. 

Yours in Christ,

Kara

An Inside Job

At this time of the summer in Year B of the Lectionary, we hear Gospel lessons that seem to say the same thing again, and again, and again. This month, we hear different parts of Jesus’ discourse in John 6 where he tells his followers that he is the bread of life. For the preacher this can create something of a dilemma: is there that much to say about bread? It may create the same dilemma in the hearer.

But these saying of Jesus are so important, so central to our faith, that they bear reflecting on over a period of time. Indeed, they bear reflecting on for our entire lives. What a great mystery, what a miracle, that God loves us and wants to be in relationship with us in such a profound way. God is not aloof; God feeds us and sustains us with this bread that leads to eternal life.

Brother Seraphim is an Eastern Orthodox monk at Mount Tabor Monastery in California. On the monastery’s blog, he writes about the traditional clay ovens used to bake flat breads. These ovens, called tandoor in India or tannur in Iran, are used throughout South Asia and the Middle East. They are traditionally buried in the ground, and the bread is baked on the walls of the oven above the fire. The bread is pulled out of the oven with a hook at the end of the baking process. Baking in this way, he writes, is an “inside job,” carried out within the earth and sometimes hidden from view - just as our own transformation in the sacraments is carried out by what we Anglicans call an “inward and spiritual grace.”

Baking bread with a mostly-buried oven: that’s an “inside job.” Eat the body and drink the blood, in Holy Eucharist, in the consecrated Bread and Wine, and He will be doing an inside job on you. The dough has to be heated and baked. We have to endure some sufferings and hardships; Jesus did so, for us. That is how the dough develops into wholesome bread; that is how we develop into purity that can see God…and into closer union with our Lord, God and Savior Jesus Christ. The bread may be poked by that hook tool; we may be poked by the crosses we carry, to follow Christ. The bread rises. May we rise, too, into everlasting glory with our Savior and all the holy angels and saints.

May the God who has begun such a marvelous “inside job” in all of us continue to draw us ever closer, as we are fed with that wondrous bread from heaven.

In Christ, and in Christ alone,

Kara

Change

To everything turn, turn, turn
There is a season turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

(Pete Seeger, based on Ecclesiastes 3)

Life is changing again.

Here we go.  Are you ready?

It has been said that August is the Sunday night of summer.  I think that’s especially the case for teachers and students who are starting to count down the remaining weeks of freedom.  Although we still have another month of summer weather, many of us are feeling the season grind to an end.  We’ll transition from the lazy days of summer to a tighter schedule, and earlier wake-up times.

Some of us are preparing to send young adults off to college.  Some of us are about to become empty nesters.  Some are awaiting the birth of a child or grandchild.  Others are watching and waiting as loved ones fade away.  Some are facing the challenge of a worsening health condition or are scheduling intimidating medical procedures.  Still others are hoping for good news regarding employment status or a resolution to financial concerns.

As a nation we face major changes in the next few months.  Some are frightened of the possibilities, while others are encouraged.  On a global level, we are witnessing tragedies and anxiously await resolution.  Things are also changing in our parish, in our families, and communities.  

How do you deal with change?  Do you embrace it, running toward the next phase of life?  Do you stiffen your upper lip and brace yourself?  Are you afraid, seeing change as a bully forcing you into the fight of your life?  

Some of the changes will be joyful, some bittersweet, still others will elicit sorrow and pain.  We prefer having control over our circumstances, but that is generally an illusion.  No matter the outcome, we know that still water becomes stagnant.  Change is a necessary part of life.  But we can take comfort in knowing that our faithful God is unchangingly present, walking with us, providing “strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”

Rooted in Love

I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

Ephesians 3:14-19

The parish of St. Mary the Virgin in Painswick, near Gloucester, has one of the most striking churchyards I have ever seen. I visited it briefly on Tuesday evening, just before sunset, as I took a day’s break before heading to Wales for the Oratory of the Good Shepherd’s General Chapter and retreat. It was actually my second visit to this church; the first was almost exactly 40 years ago. I was 12 years old, tagging along with my dad on an extended business trip to chemical companies in England and Scotland that supplied the raw materials for making nylon. At the time, I knew the church was beautiful. Now, I can see the theological depth that beauty contains, and there are three things in particular about the church in Painswick that I’d like to share with you. 

First, the churchyard is full of yew trees, traditional symbols of eternal life. In some places, they have grown close enough to form arches over the cemetery paths. In order to reach the church, you walk through the ‘great cloud of witnesses’ of the parish, surrounded by trees that proclaim our resurrection hope. It is a faith that is rooted in the soil and reaches to the heavens. 

At the entrance to the churchyard is a beautiful lychgate, added at the beginning of the 20th century. Dating back to medieval times, the lychgate was the place where funeral processions waited for the priest to meet them to receive the body. Over the entrance to the cemetery are the words of the Magnificat, Mary’s song of God’s world-changing victory in Christ. At this boundary between sacred and secular space, the building itself rejoices in what God has done for us in Jesus. 

Finally, the parish of St. Mary’s has a traditional yearly festival called the “clypping.” “Clypping” is an old English word that means embracing, and that is what they do each September. The members of the parish stand in a circle around the church building, hold hands, and sing a hymn - quite literally embracing the church. 

This, I think, is the kind of love that St. Paul is talking about in Sunday’s lesson from Ephesians. It extends out of the present moment into the past and the future. It is all-embracing, and it is the occasion of tremendous joy. This is the perfect love that casts out fear. 

May you, too, “know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.”

Yours in Christ,

Kara

P.S. I will be back towards the end of next week, so if you need me I will be available in person then. While I will not open my email during the days of silence between Friday night and Wednesday morning, I will be checking before and after those times. 

On Earth as in Heaven

I was very struck by Mtr Kara’s sermon last week, particularly her acute observation that our current social malaise, described by so many people as “unprecedented,” is in fact quite precedented. The violence, famine, war, hatred, prejudice, injustice, political intrigue — the list goes on and on. We’ve seen all of this before. And a cursory glance at almost any book of the Bible confirms our propensity towards what might be most accurately described as “sin.” The natural reaction to all of this might be screaming and cursing the universe, running away and distancing ourselves, or burying our heads in the sand. Fight, flight, or freeze, well-known stress responses that our primal brain uses when we feel in danger, responses that can keep us alive. But is there another way? A better way?

I am being utterly sincere when I say that I cannot think of a better time to be a Christian. I read something dire almost every day about the rise of agnosticism, the decline of the Church, the end of Christianity. Which is perhaps all factually true. What is also true is that depression is on the rise, loneliness is on the rise, suicide is on the rise, addiction is on the rise. In the words of the old spiritual, “If we ever needed the Lord before, we sure do need him now.” It may very well be that we are in the midst of a second Reformation, a time to reclaim the Gospel from the bondage of Christian Nationalism and false teachings. What an incredible opportunity we have as people of The Way to make true the sacred words that were put down on paper 2000 years ago, “On earth as it is in heaven.”

In his compelling book Do I Stay Christian, Brian McLaren writes, “Religion, at its best, is what re-ligaments or reconnects us to God, one another, and creation. It challenges the stories that pit us against each other: us over them, us overturning them, us competing with them, us isolating from them, us in spite of them, us purifying ourselves of them. It tells a better story—some of us for all of us—a story in which there is no them, a story in which we tear down the walls that have divided us—and from the rubble build bridges.”

I was talking to Kara this afternoon and observed that one of best things about The Episcopal Church is that even as we embrace differences, cherish diversity, and think creatively, we are bound together by our liturgy, and most importantly, by the Eucharist. We come together at a common table to eat and drink, not despite our differences, but because of our differences. On earth, as it is in heaven.

Holy Laughter

“Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations, “The LORD has done great things for them.” (Psalm 126:2)

If you’re at all like me, you might be finding yourself in need of some laughter these days. We find ourselves navigating an onslaught of bleak and depressing headlines, we seem unable or unwilling to end war or famine, we despair as our planet literally burns, and we find it increasingly difficult to imagine a bright and equitable and peaceful future for our children and grandchildren. It’s grim. What is there to laugh about, rejoice in, celebrate? 

When was the last time you laughed so hard that you cried? I remember being a teenager and staying up late watching ‘Saturday Night Live,’ laughing until I was short of breath and my stomach hurt. It was an absolute release. The SNL jokes and sketches were often raunchy and certainly not appropriate for the Trinity Church ePistle. But the laughter - it was holy. 

Anne Lamott says “laughter is carbonated holiness.” Have you ever heard Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s laugh? Holy.

The humorist (and Episcopalian) Garrison Keillor quipped, “You know you are a Episcopalian when it’s 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service,” and “You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can.” Can you feel yourself grinning and nodding in agreement and recognition?

I think there should be a yearly church commemoration of Robin Williams ‘Top 10 Reasons to be Episcopalian.’ Williams, a cradle Episcopalian, was a master of not taking oneself too seriously, and we were all blessed by his ministry of holy (and unholy) laughter. So here’s the list. Feel free to add your own. Maybe we should nail them to the door of the church, like Luther’s 95 theses. Enjoy. 

Robin Williams’s Top 10 Reasons to be Episcopalian: 

10. No snake handling.

9. You can believe in dinosaurs.

8. Male and female God created them; male and female we ordain them.

7. You don't have to check your brains at the door.

6. Pew aerobics.

5. Church year is color-coded.

4. Free wine on Sunday.

3. All of the pageantry - none of the guilt.

2. You don't have to know how to swim to get baptized.

And the NUMBER ONE reason to be an Episcopalian:

1. No matter what you believe, there's bound to be at least one other Episcopalian who agrees with you.

Wishing you the blessing of carbonated holiness,

Wesley

The Presiding Bishop-Elect's first sermon

Last week, I introduced Presiding Bishop-Elect Sean Rowe to you. While we are enjoying the holiday weekend, here's Bishop Rowe's own introduction to his new role: his sermon at the Closing Eucharist of General Convention. I commend it to you! 

In Christ,

Kara

https://www.episcopalchurch.org/publicaffairs/81st-general-convention-of-the-episcopal-churchclosing-eucharist-sermon-by-presiding-bishop-elect-sean-rowe/

Bibles and Newspapers

I don’t know how I became a “news junkie,” but I suppose it was the same way that anyone becomes addicted to anything: I got a taste of something that made me feel good and informed and excited (and smugly superior), and so I gradually needed more and more of it to satiate my desire, and before I knew it I would go into withdrawal unless I got my daily dosage.

The problem for many of us who grew up with the seemingly limited selection of only 3 news channels (CBS, ABC, NBC) is the overwhelming choice, the sheer volume of information coming at us, in amounts that our brains may not be designed to absorb. Naval Ravikant, American entrepreneur and investor warns, “The human brain is not designed to absorb all the world’s breaking news, 24/7 emergencies injected straight into your skull with clickbait headline news. If you pay attention to that stuff, even if you’re well-meaning, even if you’re of sound mind and body, it will eventually drive you insane.”

The renowned theologian Karl Barth said that pastors should “Take your Bible and take your newspaper, and read both. But interpret newspapers from your Bible.” 

I think some of us do quite the opposite and “interpret the Bible from our newspapers.” I wonder what Barth would have made of our endless 24/7 news cycle, clamoring for attention with seductive clickbait. I wonder what he would’ve said about my reaching for my phone and NY Times updates, before I reached for my Book of Common Prayer and before doing my morning prayers. It seems that we (I) have put the cart before the horse. 

How can we see Louisiana’s recent law requiring that the Ten Commandments be displayed in public schools through the lens of scripture? What does the Bible have to say about Oklahoma‘s new law requiring the Bible to be taught in public schools? And does the Bible have anything to say about the Presidential debates? 

One of the most dangerous phrases in history is “The Bible is clear..” and so I’m certainly not going to proscribe specific biblical passages that speak to our current political landscape. 

But what I will invite us to do, is before we gorge ourselves on the non-stop toxic smorgasbord that is the news, we spend some time with scripture and in prayer and meditation. 

Our Old Testament lectionary reading this week could be a good start:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

As Episcopalians, we are called, commanded even, every week to “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord” and our ecstatic response is “Thanks be to God. Alleluia! Alleluia!” 

With God as our guide, with love as our song, the news of the world is an opportunity for us to serve. And I think then we can heed Barth’s call and actually change the world through a Christocentric lens.  And what could that change look like for us? For the world?