A Question of Learning

 

“Why the heck do I have to learn … ?”  I think every child, teen, and adult has said that more than once in their lives.  Toddlers and preschoolers have a shorthand for that. They simply say, “Why?” Will anyone who has had or dealt with children and who has never heard any form of this please raise their hands? 

We spend our lives learning. Newborns have to learn to breathe and then to suck. The rest is progressive. Children want to know, so they ask, “Why?” with seemingly every other breath. It’s their way of finding out how the world works, something they’re going to need to know, and, I think, they revel in learning about it.

Then comes school. “Why do I have to learn math? Why do I have to learn geography? When am I ever going to have to use grammar?” My particular “Why do I…” was math, especially algebra. I was no good with numbers, even in elementary school, and the thought of having to prove that x=2y totally bewildered me. I loved words, and the better I could spell and read them plus learn what they meant and how to put them together to express my thoughts and understandings, the more I enjoyed them. The combination of dissection, statistics, and probability I learned in second-year Biology was much more appealing than the various noxious smells from the Chemistry lab. A slide rule (we didn’t have calculators then) was as incomprehensible as a text in Koine Greek.

Over the years, I’ve had to learn many things I really didn’t want to know, like balancing a checkbook, changing washers in a faucet, mixing vinegar and baking soda to clean out drains, and remove hard-water deposits in the sink and bathroom fixtures. I didn’t want to learn to iron, adjust a recipe to add or subtract servings, or read a map to get to a place I needed to be but didn’t know how to get there. How many skeins of yarn do I need, what size needles, and how many stitches do I have to have to make a patterned square for an afghan I am knitting for a friend or a sweater for myself? But you get the point.

In our lives as Christians, we have had to learn things like praying, both personal and communal. We learn why we pray, whether it is to thank God for something, ask for something, or in times of tension, fear, illness, and disaster. We are taught who we need to pray for, what prayer can do, and how to do it, whether we recite a blessing we’ve learned or are struggling to put words together so God can understand what we need or believe we need. We also learn stories that tell us what God expects of us. Sometimes that is easy since we have stories to illustrate the lesson. At other times, we have to stop and ponder what the story is trying to tell us, given that we are reading them through eyes that are 2,000 years younger than the stories themselves. Still, it’s part of being Christian.

Sometimes we learn a verse or group of verses that bring us comfort or ease our fears. We use them like a mantra, reciting them repeatedly, bringing them into our consciousness, and focussing our attention on something other than unpleasantness, danger, or anxiety.

Being brought up in a church or denomination, we learn the rituals and customs surrounding birth, baptism, marriage, and death. We realize that Christmas and Easter are joyous times while Lent and especially Holy Week are thoughtful and penitential. We are taught to understand what the Eucharist is, what it means, and what it does for us. We observe practices like having ashes on our forehead on Ash Wednesday and anointing with oil for healing and comfort at other times. We stand for worship, kneel for prayer, and sit to listen and learn. Christianity is a cradle-to-grave-and-beyond series of lessons and practices. I wonder – did any of us ever ask why we needed to know all this? 

The things I learned about faith and how to use it, though, are things I use every day, often without thinking about it. I have to be very mindful of prayer and reading at times. In contrast, other times are purely spontaneous when situations and people come to my attention. I discovered how to think through things using various theological reflection techniques and calm myself with centering prayer. I may never need to learn about Soteriology or Eschatology, and that’s fine. I don’t need to know everything there is to know about theology, doctrine, and the like. When it comes to having faith, I’m still learning, but I know in whom I believe and why.

The question of “Why do I have to learn …” doesn’t come up very often with faith. When it does, it usually becomes a welcome new insight and understanding. I have a feeling even my last breath will be a new revelation. Now that’s something that never appeared in a school curriculum!

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul  on Episcopal Café Saturday, February 27, 2021.

Sin and Slavery

 

Right is of no Sex – Truth is of no Color – God is the Father of us all, and we are all brethren. – Motto of the newspaper The North Star, Rochester, NY, (1847-1851)

 

Today is the commemoration of Frederick Douglass, a man born as a slave who escaped from slavery and became an abolitionist, a writer, an orator, a newspaper owner and editor, a U.S. marshal, and a U.S. minister to Haiti. He is also known as the father of the Civil Rights Movement.  Among his significant contributions was the publication of The North Star, an abolitionist paper published weekly.  He was also a supporter of the rights of women and other groups, as well as African-Americans. See Frederick Douglass--Social Reformer for a fuller biography.

Thinking about Douglass and his escape from slavery, I began to think of the beginning of Lent and the 39 days following Ash Wednesday. It came to me that Douglass escaped to save his life and try to grow into a man who could be respected, not just someone else's property, to be used and abused. That meant breaking from one way of life to another. It took courage and faith to break away, knowing he could be dragged back into his former life if he were caught.  It was a risk he felt he had to take.  

The Bible references slavery as sin, both in the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament.  Some denominations place much emphasis on sinfulness as a form of slavery, from which Jesus came to release humankind. During Lent, we have to reflect on our sins and work to overcome them with God's help and grace. We wear ashes on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday to outwardly show that we are inwardly contemplating our mortality – and probably morality as well.

In the Hebrew Bible, slavery is a punishment for sins, corporate ones more than individual ones. However, atonement for personal sins also had to be through sacrifices. In Leviticus, a scapegoat was sent into the desert on the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur),  bearing all the people's sins so that they could be cleansed and freed from their transgressions.* Entire tribes were captured and sent into slavery because they did not obey God. Even the Exodus was a 40-year penance for beginning to forget God and take on foreign ways and beliefs.

Lent gives us time to think not just of our individual sins but also our corporate ones. Many institutions, including churches and seminaries, are apologizing for racist words and actions as a way of acknowledging the sin and asking for forgiveness and a new beginning. Lent offers us a time to consider our actions against African Americans, Native Americans, Asian Americans, and others with histories of being wronged by our ancestors and even ourselves.

I think we may possibly be beginning to realize that what is available for one person, such as a right to vote, to be educated, to live without fear of oppression from some group, should be a right for all, regardless of sex, age, culture, religion, or any other box into which we like to confine people. That's what Douglass was getting at with the motto on top of his newspapers. It should be a good motto for all people, not just brethren. We need to shed the sin of thinking that we are better than others because of our skin color, educational level, financial bracket, or any other privilege or status we may have.

Privilege is a sin that has enslaved some of us for generations, even millennia. Some live in a dream world where every wish is available and provided. In contrast, millions of others dream only of a dry house, enough food to feed the family, and a reason to hold their heads up as children of God.

What enslaves us? From what do we need to be freed? What do we need to do to become free? What can we do to help others free themselves from their own sins and slavery? What would be the result? How would the world look if all humanity saw itself as children of God rather than as nationalities or any other labels?

God bless.

 

*The Torah reading for Yom Kippur morning

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, February 20, 2021. 

The Example of Absalom Jones

 

Today we remember Absalom Jones, one of the most widely-known African-Americans celebrated by the Episcopal Church. Jones was born a slave in 1746, bought his freedom in 1784, and married in 1770. He served as a lay preacher at St. George's Methodist Episcopal Church from 1784 - 1786 and helped increase the African-American membership tenfold.  

The result of this increase in membership made the white membership uneasy. During a service, ushers tried to remove all African-American members from the main floor to seats in the balcony. This was an act of segregation that Jones, his friend and co-worker Richard Allen, and the black congregants felt so strongly about that they left the church in a body and formed their own congregations. Allen's group became the Bethel Church (later Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church). Jones became the Lay Reader and Deacon of the African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas. Jones was ordained an Episcopal priest by Bishop William White in 1802.

Allen and Jones became the organizers of the Free African Society in 1787. It was an organization dedicated to the social, political, and humanitarian efforts among the blacks, helping widows and orphans, relief for the sick, and aiding with burial expenses.  The organization was instrumental in caring for the black community during the yellow fever epidemic of 1793. Both men are considered to be founding fathers of the free black community.

Jones's favorite Bible verse is said to have been Galatians 5:1, "For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery" (NRSV).  Both Jones and Allen continued their work against slavery. They petitioned the Pennsylvania State Legislature in 1799, campaigning for the abolition of slavery. In 1800, they sent a similar petition to the U.S. Congress. Both continued to champion change in both moral and racial arenas. Jones started schools for blacks in Pennsylvania since the state did not support education for them.

He died on February 13, 1818. Both blacks and whites attended his funeral service, and he was laid to rest in the St. Thomas churchyard.

I wonder what Jones would have thought of the long struggle African-Americans have undergone to achieve equality in even the most basic rights. As I grew up in the South, I saw segregation daily, but didn't give it much thought since it seemed to be, as the old saying goes, "Just the way it is." Even though in my hometown, blacks and whites lived side-by-side in many places, churches, and schools, even gas-station restrooms were segregated and quite often inferior in construction and maintenance. It's taken me many years to learn to see this pattern as utterly wrong, demeaning, and totally hurtful. It has taken a long time even to start to learn to see through others' eyes, and even now, it isn't the easiest thing in the world.

I do have to keep in mind the verse that Jones embodied. It certainly is one that Christians don't hear often enough. Slavery of various kinds are still widespread throughout our world: homelessness, addiction, sexual trafficking, suppression of human rights – all are forms of slavery, and there are lots more. We just have to think about them more often and with more follow-up action. Sometimes even religion can be slavery. I have to really think about that one, especially since I see more of it (or as I perceive it).

Christ has set us free so that we can stand firm against slavery. Sin is undoubtedly slavery, as much as we hate hearing it said. How often do we think about the things we do being hurtful to others before we act or say the words? Perhaps that is the problem of sin – it is often relatively easy to ignore the consequences.

With Ash Wednesday coming in a few days, perhaps it's time to think about what giving up things is all about. It goes beyond giving up something that we usually see or experience as pleasurable or fun. It is an opportunity to take on things that could benefit others. It is also a chance to look at our catalogs of personal (or corporate) sins and detach ourselves from them, like cutting the chains of slavery.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Cafè  Saturday, February 13, 2021.

Words in the Wind

 

I know it has been several weeks since the Inauguration, but I still keep thinking about it. I know it was a day that so many in our country had looked forward to with hope. I know I did. It was a different kind of inauguration, cut back in so many ways because of the pandemic that still ravages the population. Still, it had its pomp and circumstance, its celebrities and pageantry, as well as its speeches and oaths.

It was evident that the crowds that usually packed the Mall to watch and cheer weren't there. Instead, rows and rows of colorful flags represented each state and territory that stretched the Mall's length. The guests and representatives of the government, including several former Presidents and First Ladies, Justices of the Supreme Court, and military and governmental heads, were spread out and wearing masks for their own protection and that of others.

What I heard in the speech the President gave was a call for unity, a coming together for the common good rather than the divisiveness which has become so apparent in recent years. The need for unity echoed the words of Jesus from Matthew: "…Every kingdom divided against itself is laid waste, and no city or house divided against itself will stand" (12:25b). Lincoln used the same words in an 1858 campaign speech to illustrate the division between North and South in terms of slavery. It was an important concept then, just as our own political and geographical divisions are now.

But I heard something more in the President's speech. I listened to a man speaking to a nation in pain. I heard a man speaking in humility, not bragging about former successes but rather what he hoped to accomplish for the country's good.  I felt that each word was carefully crafted to uplift sagging spirits and light much-needed candles of faith. The speaking of the words released them to set the stage for future action on behalf of all.

It occurred to me as I listened that despite the absence of living bodies crammed onto a long stretch of grass and marble steps of the Capitol, the words had room to expand, to move about, as it were. It was as if they were set free to be blown throughout the world on the breath of the wind, carried through the open spaces, and sent forth with the aid of the fluttering flags. The masses of humanity traditionally gathered around the speaker did not absorb the words. The spaces between them gave each person room to absorb the meaning rather than just deflect the sound.

Jesus often spoke to large crowds, unaided by electronic devices to amplify sound. But then, crowds in Jesus's day were accustomed to listening with care and attention. There was no media recording and replaying sound and video later. We are much more prone to space out a bit during speeches (and sermons) until a specific word or phrase catches our attention. Jesus probably spoke slowly and carefully so that every word and syllable could be heard and understood.

He also spoke of hope and togetherness, faithfulness and love, without arousing feelings of hatred, animosity, and anger. It wasn't that Jesus never showed anger; he did on several occasions, but when speaking to crowds about living, following God's will, and practicing that kind of life, he encouraged them to care for each other and the earth that sustained them.

Jesus encouraged humility. Many characters of the parables were the more humble folk, like the tax collector in the synagogue, the woman with the hemorrhage, the diseased and infirm, children, and the poor. He spoke humbly so that all could hear and understand, and for those who had no voices and no resources. His words were set free to spread throughout the world, and we are still listening to, and hopefully paying attention to, those words today.

This week, I need to practice listening rather than speaking and speaking simply and humbly without trying to impress others. If I talk, I want my words to go out into the world to be spread by the wind and the Spirit.

Now to go out and do what I need to do. 

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café  Saturday, February 6, 2021. 

Stormy Waters

 

Mark 4:35-41

 

One of the great things I remember about growing up was the town in which I lived. I knew almost everybody who lived there, its history and its hills and forests. One of the best parts of the area was the river about a quarter of a mile away from my house, a deep, wide, saltwater river that welcomed me any time I went to visit it. I loved it when it was calm and also when it was stormy.

One of the things I remember best was a fishing trip on my family's boat in the summer of 1958. Daddy piloted the small cabin cruiser. Mama brought fried chicken and potato salad in case we didn't catch any fish to eat. My brother and pregnant sister-in-law came along on the lovely, calm summer day.

An hour or two into the outing, a rather violent storm blew up suddenly. Even though we had pulled down the canvas curtains on the deck cover to protect us from the wind and rain, it didn't take much imagination to mentally "see" the waves with their white caps and troughs as we felt the rocking motion. I loved the movement, the sounds of thunder, and the waves lapping against the sides of the boat. My sister-in-law was probably praying hard for Jesus to come and calm the waves in between her bouts of nausea. I trusted Jesus, but I also trusted Daddy would pilot us safely through the storm.

Memory took me back to that fishing trip so many years ago as I read the Eucharistic gospel for today. Being in a small boat on raging water some distance from shore can make for some anxiety. I'm always a bit surprised that the disciples, at least the fishermen among them, had such fear of being swamped and facing drowning. I was probably too naïve to even think of such a thing when I was on our boat, but I'm sure the adults had it at the back of their minds. We didn't see Jesus walking across the stormy water toward us. However, the disciples appeared to be very relieved to see the master, who was able to still the winds and waves.

There are times in life that feel very much like being in a tempest, whether I am on a boat or sitting in my living room.  I have a feeling everybody thinks like that at one time or another. We may not see Jesus walking on water or even coming in through the front door. Still, there are times when I call on Jesus to calm the storm and get me safely to solid ground. I know I still have to trim the sails and man the tiller, but I trust Jesus to provide the compass setting and the clear skies that will enable me to get back to shore. No matter what I ask Jesus to do for me, I'm sure he also expects me to do some of the work myself rather than depending on him to do everything.

Years after that fishing trip, I was on another, larger boat on a much larger body of water halfway around the world. I was on a 50-man fishing boat full of sailors and their wives and girlfriends. It was a beautiful day, with waves that made the boat rock like a cradle. So many of those aboard, sailors included, were regularly feeding the fish. At the same time, I scampered up to sit on the bow to enjoy the motion. I wasn't seasick at all, despite being pregnant myself. I loved the ride and thanked God for providing something so enjoyable. I knew I was being looked after.  

I hope heaven has rivers, oceans, boats, and occasional storms, just like I hope it has forests, hills, and mountains.  Fishing would be nice, but I think I would settle to sit on the bow of a boat, leaning back against the cabin window, enjoying the sun on my face, the rocking of a vessel beneath me, and the feeling of peace that comes from God's grace and simple happiness. Jesus would be there, I'm sure, storm or no storm.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Cafè Saturday, January 31, 2021.