The I in Faith

There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all. But each of us was given grace according to the measure of Christ’s gift. -- Ephesians 4:4-7

of through all and in all

Years ago, when I began both Education for Ministry (EfM) and writing for the Episcopal Café, I customarily wrote “We” in sentences and paragraphs in the first person plural form. I know that preachers, priests, and clergy use “We” in prayers and sermons, and even our BCP uses the plural form in liturgies and collects.

 It was meant to be inclusive, showing that all of us were part of a single family, group, organization, congregation, denomination, 0r whatever. It worked for me until one of my EfM mentors, Ann Fontaine (of blessed memory), began insisting that each of us start to and continually use “I” instead of “we” when talking in our group sessions. It was hard to break the habit of years, but I finally did it, finally understanding the reasoning as to why it was so important.

 Using “I” taught me to state my own beliefs, positions, actions, tradition, and culture. Each of us was a different person with different experiences and customs, and even two people sitting next to one another in the same pew often held beliefs and thoughts anywhere from slightly different to widely divergent. It allowed me to take ownership of what I think and feel. I know that ministers, priests, and clergy generally speak in “we” terms, including themselves in the congregation and seeking to unify it. I do not feel I have the theology or the authority to speak in such group speech as I am only a lay person. I speak for myself, not seeking to impose my beliefs or thoughts on any group. I own my particular theology and acknowledge it, not speaking for others or even for God.

Wrestling with this ownership thing, I have concluded (at least for now) that when I use the word “Faith,” I must break it down into parts.  “FA” is like family – the Trinity, The Holy Family, my EfM group, church congregation, close friends, and neighborhood. “TH” is like theology – a system of beliefs and traditions, some of which go back hundreds if not thousands of years and sometimes change for me as I learn more about it. That leaves the letter “i” in the middle, which is where I see myself, balancing the two, trying to be fair and just to both, and being willing to learn with an open mind which is subject to change, sometimes without notice. The “I” I would use, though, is a lowercase letter, as I do not see myself worthy of a capital letter, especially when speaking about (and certainly not for) God.

Jesus used a lot of “I” statements, particularly in the Gospel of John. “I am the vine…” (14:5), “I am the way, the truth, and the life…” (14:6), and “I am the light of the world…” (8:12), among others. I believe he used them to convey his message; he stated his job and news, often metaphorically or allegorically, which took egotism out of the equation. Had he come out and flatly said that he was the Son of God, his life would have been much shorter than it was since to make such a claim was not only blasphemy to the Jews but high treason to the Romans. Still, we understand what his “I” statements mean, just as the crowds who heard him teach recognized him in such metaphors as the story of the good shepherd or the good Samaritan.

Using “I” statements in speech or writing has made my faith stronger by forcing me to come to grips with pretty much exactly what I mean and be able to enunciate it when the opportunity presents itself. It leaves room for others to disagree to one degree or another but without an outright argument or disagreement. It allows me to recognize the right of others to have their own beliefs without arguing them into agreeing with mine. Hopefully, they will also respect my right, but if they do not, then it is their choice.  

 Reciting the Apostles’ Creed gives structure to my faith, whether said aloud or repeated silently. I may have slight twinges about one or two words or phrases, but I can also fall back on the ambiguity being an Episcopalian allows me to be. I have learned to be comfortable with that and make it part of my family, faith, and theology.

Amen.  God bless you all.

Empty Spaces, Sacred Spaces

Another Education for Ministry (EfM) training is in the books.  Since I am a mentor for an EfM group, I have to attend a yearly training session to learn new things and sharpen my skills. I get my training online since my group is online only (many groups meet face-to-face). It is nice since I get to stay home, near the refrigerator and the loo, if you understand the British-ism. I enjoy the training every year, but it is sometimes pretty intense. 

Part of our training is working with Theological Reflections (TR), an integral part of the EfM program. We start with what we call an artifact: a picture, an object, a movie, a scripture story or verse, a book, an advertisement, or something we saw on Facebook that makes us prick up our ears and think of the possibilities that a TR using it would bring forth. From there, we go to find a focus – a place where we can all agree we want to explore in the next step of the reflection. Here we look at options. We practice with metaphors that frame the artifact or express feelings and where our core values lie in reference to the metaphor we are focusing on. We use four sources to explore (Tradition, Culture, Position, Action) and use those to look at the metaphor from the perspectives of what our Christian tradition tells us, what our culture says about it, what our position (belief, where we stand on an issue) is, and finally what action is God calling us to do in light of what we have discovered through our personal and group exploration and experience. The whole TR process can be exhausting, but it can also be full of insights, enlightenment, and energization.

One of the TRs we did in training this year was an exploration of an image of a concrete and brick floor, metal window, door, wall frames, and roof trusses. Each item was individual; the only pieces connected were where the trusses met metal columns. The rest was all open space set in a woody glen near Richmond, VA.* We first had to establish what we were looking at. Some of us saw an area, perhaps pre-construction, but not suitable for anything since it had no people or identifiable furnishings. At least one person saw it as a sacred space, consecrated by what was there to memorialize and an invitation to worship with nothing between themselves and God.  Statements we came up with about the image ranged from “It is not complete. It is not good for anything. It appears to be something it is not.” We asked ourselves and each other if the object in the picture was complete as it was. After some discussion, we ultimately came to a question we wanted to examine further: "Am I complete as I am?” 

The empty space in that building made me consider whether I was a complete human being or perhaps I had gaps, spaces, holes, and voids inside me. Why were those gaps there? What had I learned that was wrong, or what have I yet to discover? How do I feel about that? Where had I made mistakes that took me in the wrong direction, what choices had I made that proved to be errors, and what and where were my core values? What needed changing, and how would be the best way to do that?

There was more to the TR, but right now, I have stopped with the image of the empty building with its invisible parts and the self I cannot see in the mirror, the interior self. I know there are plenty of empty spaces, and some of them are old wounds that have never healed. I also know there are sacred spaces, perhaps not big ones, but big enough to let me sense when one is nearby. Now, I know there are sacred, thin spaces at times that I can sense and rejoice in them. It does not have to be a consecrated space; it works in my cluttered living room and the National Cathedral every time I have been there. It worked when I walked by my river back home or through the historical paths that crisscrossed the woods around it. Remembering how those sacred spaces felt to me is enough of a goad to keep me looking for more, whether empty or teeming with humanity.

The quest and the usually organized method of sitting and contemplating it (or even walking with it) are essential. If I ever get back home, I am sure it will resonate with all the prayers, joys, tragedies, and experiences of those who have been there before. I want to feel that in that place, and feel again a familiar feeling of a sacred, even if empty, space. Meanwhile, I have some internal completion to do on myself.

 

 

*Historic Polegreen Church, Hanover County, VA.  A monument to a historic church built in the 17^th century as one of the first non-Anglican churches. It was destroyed in a battle during the Civil War and has now been made an official historic monument. It is often used as a wedding venue. Please read the entire history on the website. 

Peter's Vision

 

Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, ‘Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?’ Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, ‘I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. I also heard a voice saying to me, “Get up, Peter; kill and eat.” But I replied, “By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.” But a second time the voice answered from heaven, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.” This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven.  – Acts 11:1-10

 

This is a story of a somewhat different Peter from the ones we read as he followed and learned from Jesus himself. Here he is, seeming like a more mature and more confident Peter than the one who seemed to stumble around. This Peter grasped the points that Jesus presented and did not seem to need to ask questions that required Jesus to explain in simpler terms as he had done earlier in his acquaintance with Jesus. This is a Peter that I respect and can learn from.

This Peter met with circumcised believers who questioned his association with Gentiles, even to the point of eating with them. This meant that the meat at their meals might not be kosher, like seafood, pig, and other dishes. The circumcised could not understand how he could forget his upbringing and the ritual cleanliness that had been part of his life for so long.

Peter told them about his experience with a trance that came to him while praying. In his vision, a vast sheet came down from heaven, filled with all sorts of animals, birds, and even reptiles. These were creatures that were considered “unclean” by the circumcised Jews, to be shunned at all cost and never eaten, even if one were desperate from hunger. God had told Peter to kill and eat these creatures, something Peter, in his righteousness, had never done. God had a response to that, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”  All this was repeated three times, a sacred number denoting perfection, completion, and, as Christians would see it, a recollection of the Trinity.  Peter realized that this vision not only referred to meals but also to association with people whom the circumcised would shun. The teachings of Jesus applied not only to Jews but to Gentiles as well. In short, It expanded the “Who is my neighbor” in a whole different way.

The image of the sheet has meaning for me because it permits me to eat things like shrimp and scallops, bacon, ham, sausage, and other things that involve mixtures of meats and seafood. In essence, it permits me to wear mixed fibers, own multicolored cats, put pepperoni on my cheese pizza, and all sorts of things. What it requires me to do, however, is to see all people as my neighbors and my brothers and sisters. Of course, there will be people I do not like, just like there are foods I cannot bring myself to eat, but that does not excuse me from the obligation to treat them as God’s children, just as I am. It requires me to treat the creatures and, indeed, the earth itself as a creation of God, to be respected, cared for, and loved.

I like the Peter I discovered in this story. It does not erase his humanity but adds to it in ways that make him easier to like and respect. Without his vision, I think Christianity, and perhaps the world, would be very different. 

Thanks, Peter. I think I will order a pizza – with sausage, mushrooms, and double cheese. Want a slice?

Comfort and Listening

 

In all my years on this earth, one of my favorite memories is hearing Mama read to me at bedtime, like Bible stories, Little Golden Books, stories of heroes, and even tales of talking trains and construction equipment. I remember hearing her read a set of books called “Bedtime Stories” and then reading them myself a year or two later.  There were Bible stories and stories about children, primarily pointing out the difference between bad and good children. The stories were heavy and moralistic, sometimes even frightening to me as a child, but they were still books. Hearing Mama read them sometimes made me listen to her voice and not really hear the words she was reading to me. I remember the feeling I had then and wish I could remember the sound of her voice and not just the feeling of hearing it.

Retirement has given me the gift of time – a lot of time. There are times to do chores (which can be put off if necessary or even by choice), times to nap, periods for knitting or reading, and even watching TV. I often had to choose which I wanted to do more, read or knit, since I could not do both at once. I could read and watch TV (which I had done for years) and knit and watch TV, but I could not read and knit simultaneously. This was my quandary.

Then I found my solution. My e-reader allows me to access a program that lets me choose books I like and then reads them to me as I knit! It seems like the best thing since Mama. Granted, I have to pay for the books, but I purchase only books I know I will like, as I will probably listen to them as many times as I have read the digital copies. There is no compunction here about never re-reading a book. There are moments when I can recite a section of a book I am listening to because I have read it so many times in digital form.

All that got me thinking about the importance of listening: most of us are born with five active and working senses: seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching. We use those senses to learn about the world, the people who are our parents and siblings, and our teachers. We listen to lessons and learn how to read by matching the sound of the words to letters written on the board, but we must listen to know how to match the sounds to the words. To learn, we must learn to listen, a task that, in my mind, is much harder today since we have so many distractions.

We hear a lot about people in the Bible going to hear Moses, the prophets, holy people, and rabbis. There were no books, handouts, bullet points on a big screen behind the speaker, or even paper and pens to take notes. People had to listen and remember what was said, then return to their own families or communities and correctly transfer the knowledge they had gained to those who could not be there themselves.

People were more attuned to listening and “reading” people by paying attention to what they said, how they said it, and what their body language told them.  Scripture was essential and had to be transferred from one generation to another without error or change. We are told that in Jesus’ day, as in the millennia before, listening was the primary way of learning, and learning was the way to pass important information to the next generation in turn.

We do not listen as much anymore. We have our heads stuck in earphones or buds, the radio, television, cell phones, and just about any other communications devices we can carry around or sit and play with. If someone else is talking, quite often, we are busy in our own heads formulating a response to what we believe we heard, not necessarily what was said and how. As for reading body language, we are often too busy to notice.

Sitting and listening to my audiobook, whether my hands are busy with something that does not require much attention or not, has reminded me of the importance of not just hearing but allowing me to be immersed in what I hear. There are times when I need the sound of education that teaches me something I need to know, while at others, I need it to be like a security blanket, comforting, soothing, and familiar.

I hear my audiobook calling. There is another chapter or so to listen to before bedtime. I must decide whether to read a chapter from a Christian history textbook or a cozy mystery book based in a comfortable little town. Decisions, decisions. 

Why Worry?

'So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today. – Matt. 6:34

 

There are times when I do the daily reading where I try as hard as I can to make whatever I have read relevant to whatever is going on in my life. I may read something about leprosy in the reading, but I cannot make leprosy fit into my thinking. Granted, I can come up with half a dozen things, but leprosy? Not really.

I do not remember Jesus talking about contamination running across the lawn and into the street for a month or so, but he did talk about people not following God's law, which was to love God and one's neighbor. I thought of that, but since the other four trailers on my side of the street contributed abundantly to my problem, it was not easy to love them, at least then.

Life lately has been a bit like the joke about what the beaver once said. "It's just one dam thing after another." I have heard that one at least a hundred times over the last fifty years, and it still makes me giggle. It is still as true for me as it was the first time someone brought it into conversation. It seems as if problems have come along in an almost predictable procession, usually involving something not working, being turned off sporadically (like water), financial issues, and similar difficulties. Things are all right now, but I tend to have my fingers crossed or raise a few prayers for a break in the almost steady flow of problems.

I had to smile when I ran across this part of the reading for today, "Do not worry…." I must have read that bit of scripture a hundred or more times over the course of my life, but this time it is as if I was being told not to worry about what is next; it will come in due time. It is true that today's problems are enough without borrowing trouble from tomorrow, next week, or even next year.

Jesus was undoubtedly familiar with worried people. The Samaritan woman at the well was probably as concerned as she could be that Jesus would reject her because of her ethnicity, her irregular marital status, and the fact that she was a single woman out without a male escort. She had plenty to worry about. Her neighbors probably reminded her of her almost outcast status daily, and a Jewish man was at the well closest to her home. Jesus surprised her. He spoke of her life and lifestyle without condemnation. He told her not to worry and gave her a message for her neighbors. He set her up as his first evangelist, giving her a message of hope for herself and others with worries, anxieties, and concerns.

I often pray the Serenity Prayer in troublesome times: "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." Over the years that I have been repeating that prayer, it has helped me not to worry nearly as much as I used to, and I certainly do not deliberately worry about what might happen somewhere or when. Life has been much more tranquil since I have made that prayer like a mantra, but now and again, life throws me a curve ball to remind me that life is not all beer and Skittles or that it is even a series of metaphors to be tossed around.

So, I thank God today for the reminder that worry is useless because it does not change anything. What will happen will happen, whether or not I fret about it. I should remember the part from Psalm 55, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee" (v. 22a). Whether I place it in a more modern version of English or the King James Version, I learned as a child, it is a reminder to let God take care of it. I do not know if Bobby McFerrin had God in mind, but he seemed to be channeling a message from God when he wrote the song that made him famous, "Don't worry, be happy." 

Sounds like good advice to me. There. I feel better already. 

The Power of Memories

 

Grief and memory go together. After someone dies, that's what you're left with. And the memories are so slippery yet so rich. – Mike Mills, American musician

Yesterday I had to write a letter. I used to write lots of them back in the days before computers, text messaging, and the like. Some of my notes could fit on a postcard’s back, but most were two or more pages. I remember writing one letter that was sixteen pages, written on notebook paper, both sides. I do not remember what I said, but I am sure I wrote so much for a reason. It was probably just drivel, unimportant and trivial things I had done, heard, thought, or learned, but that stuff was important to me then. The lady I wrote to was a good friend and never complained. She also never failed to respond. That is one memory that I cherish.

I wrote the letter yesterday to another friend, older than me, who has known me all my life. We have shared many years and memories, but now I live three-quarters of the way across this country from her. Sure, I could telephone, but this time I had to write, or rather type, an actual letter. I was sending her a prayer shawl in the mail, and I wanted to explain the purpose of it, what the colors meant to me, the different stitches I had put into it, and mention that many prayers had gone into it. It was meant to be something soft, light, and comforting, like a gentle hug from far away. While writing, though, it brought back memories of things like her wedding, her family treating me like one of them, and her introducing me to Chinese food in my teens. There were days at the beach, shopping trips, lunch at various places around town, and afternoons spent organizing her jewelry box. It was all fun.

I think the letter was more than a page and a half, but I could have written a volume. I have many memories of her mother, in a way, taking the place of mine, who died when I was fourteen. Her mother helped me sew clothes for college, tried to teach me to cook some of my favorite dishes, and generally listened to my babble as I sat at her kitchen table, drinking iced tea and feeling like I was at home.

I wanted to remind my friend of all those memories, including the times I have tried to make her mother’s spoon bread but never could get it past the “If it looks like hog swill, you’ve got it right” stage. It was a dish she made often, frequently to be taken to a family in grief over the loss of a loved one. She reminded me that the spoon bread, full of butter, would slide down a throat clogged with tears when nothing else would. I mentioned the spoon bread in the letter since, if I lived closer and could get the dish to turn out like her mother’s, I would have taken it to my friend’s house. It would have been understood and welcomed since my friend was indeed in a state of grief. The shawl would have to replace the spoon bread, but hopefully would last much longer and demonstrate the sympathy and love that went into both.

I thought about my friend a great deal yesterday, running through memories like a child running through a meadow full of dandelions, buttercups, and daisies. Then I had what was indeed an insight: my friend and her family had demonstrated what God’s love was like -- accepting, protecting, sharing, feeding, listening, and a hundred other things. They were not church-goers, but they still illustrated what Jesus tried to teach about loving one’s neighbor. They were not rich, but they always had an extra potato to put in the pot so I could have dinner with them. They gave me good advice and taught me things I needed to know outside of school books. They shared their time with me. If those things were not examples of what Jesus taught, I would have missed the point of that lesson altogether. 

Rosa Parks once said, “Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.” That quote sums up God’s will and is a guideline to recognize God’s work in others who give without thinking or stinting. I am sure I won’t forget this insight quickly because it has lodged in my heart when I think of my neighbors who were more than neighbors. They were teachers of an exceptional kind, the kind Jesus would have approved. They put words into action without quoting.  

Look around you. Who teaches love and kindness to neighbors without saying a word about it? Have you done that in your own life and ministry? Have you investigated memories to see where you might find a lesson or insight?  I did, and I am glad. I would have missed a great life lesson. 

An Episcopal Testimony

 

The TV is turned off. The sky is clouding up as twilight approaches. The wind is picking up, and there is a possibility of rain, which we could use around here. My mind is going round and round like a hamster in a cage about what I must write about tonight. I have thought of untangling some thoughts about the humanity of God, but I found Barth had written a series of lectures on the topic, so I canceled my musings until I had had time to read it and hopefully digest it.

Then I could discuss a quiz I found on Facebook (don’t quit reading yet, these are passing thoughts). It asked, “What kind of Anglican are you?” The questions were more thoughtful than the usual Facebook drivel. The first one was about what vestments you prefer with your litany.  There were about ten choices, starting with “Alb/surplice, cincture, stole, and chasuble” and went on to give responses such as all the liturgical garments worn in the English church, a response as to why we spend so much time discussing vestments when we should be talking about justice, an entry containing preaching bands, none at all, and some other choices.  The quiz continued, throwing in questions about theological issues (including tossing in some theological big-wigs) and the like. It kept me occupied with ten questions for at least half an hour.

I had to laugh at my results. My son’s godmother, with whom I had been friends since her younger son and I were in elementary school together, once gave me a pithy but memorable response to what kind of Episcopalian I was.  Was I “High and crazy, low and lazy, or broad and hazy?” I was delighted that my initial guess about my place in the Anglican/Episcopal church fit Granny’s categories. The result was Broad church. My self-diagnosis was dead on.

It brought me to consider Granny’s trio of categories of Episcopalian. She was a cradle-palian, so I felt that that qualified her to know which type was which. I do not necessarily agree with “crazy” or “lazy.” I do not think it is crazy to have incense flying left and right at the slightest inspiration (“Smoky Mary’s” comes to mind) or churches that were more like Baptist ones with no crucifixes, altar, communion at the rail with a chalice and paten, etc. I would not say those folks to like that kind of worship are not lazy, just people who respond to a bare minimum of action and distraction.

I knew from the moment I walked into All Souls’ Church in Washington DC, Granny’s home parish, that I felt at home. The music was sublime (no Victorian heart-rending poetry or melody), the language was that of the King James version, and one stood for worship, knelt for prayer, and sat for instruction. Kneeling was a new but welcome and very fitting position, especially when confessing my sins or other prayers. I did not take communion, but seeing people go to the altar and drink from a common cup and receive a host (taking the Body and Blood of Christ under both species, as the church puts it), brought the idea of true communion, not only with God, Jesus, and the Spirit, but with those who shared in the ritual. While I knew everybody in my Baptist church, I only knew Granny at this one, yet I felt closer to them than during a worship service back home.

I waited until my first year of college to be formally accepted into the Episcopal Church. I knew my family would be shocked, but Daddy did not seem to mind and gave me his permission and blessing. I would not have done it otherwise. Like a true Episcopalian,  after I was confirmed, I took a long sabbatical from church, finally returning to it on a Christmas Eve some two decades later. It was again like coming home, although I only knew a few people in the overflowing nave. I have left the church several times after that, but on my return, it felt like God was saying very firmly, “SIT! STAY!”

I am still an Episcopalian even though I do not attend church with any regularity. I used to be able to walk across the street to my parish church, but now I live further away and without transportation. I still believe in it and believe in God and the things the church taught me. I found myself to be more “Broad and hazy” than I did years ago because I learned I did not have to have hard and fast answers to everything. Ambiguity was fine with me, and I could say things like “Born of the Virgin Mary” and “Rose from the Dead” without crossing my fingers behind me. Did they happen as the Bible says? I do not have a clue, but it does not matter. I believe it anyway.

I love my Episcopal church even if I really wish they would not be so slow or wishy-washy about some things people feel strongly about. I believe if Jesus invites someone to the altar rail, even without baptism or formal reception into the church, they should be able to take the sacrament and let Jesus work within them. I believe that LGBTQ+ people, people of other races, nationalities, and cultures, mentally and physically handicapped or ill folks, and all people, from infants to older people, should be treated with respect and love. Jesus taught us to love our neighbors, including a much larger number than possibly Jesus could have imagined, having come from a small town.

I guess I have fallen into doing what the Baptists call a “testimony,” but I do not regret what I said here. Maybe it will spur someone to look at their life similarly. An examination is always a good thing.

God bless.

Fireflies and God's Presence

 

Our Education for Ministry (EfM) group had an interesting theological reflection the other night. The presenter brought a picture of a Raggedy Ann doll to share and begin the discussion. What emotion did the image bring to our minds?

Her emotions were about collecting Raggedy Ann dolls and also spending summer vacations with relatives in North Carolina. She began describing things she remembered with fondness. She mentioned things like cheese biscuits, ham, cornbread, and various regional foods. It made some of us with similar experiences suddenly feel very hungry. She had another memory of seeing her first fireflies, little black-and-red winged bugs whose abdomens flashed a greenish glow to signal with other fireflies. I immediately thought of the willow tree in my childhood front yard with fireflies (which we called lightnin’ bugs) blinking under the trailing whips and leaves. I needed the joy that memory brought me that night, and I continue to think of it with pleasure and fondness.

I needed the pleasure my own memories brought me. Two days earlier, I had gotten up to find the last of my “boys,” my little girl Phoebe, had crossed the rainbow bridge overnight. She was buried next to the shed with Dominic and Gandhi. I had said good morning to them since Gandhi passed just before Thanksgiving, so I added Phoebe to the morning greeting. Going back into a house devoid of cats yet with the toys, litter boxes, dishes, and the like wasn’t easy. It’s the first time my house has been empty of furry companions since before I moved here fifteen years ago.

I am slowly getting rid of the things I may never use again, but I might. Making those decisions is hard, and my heart aches for my furry bundles of joy. Now and again, though, I get little flashes of joy that pop up. One is my afternoon rainbows. They result from light in my western-facing window shining through many prisms that catch the light and project it in little bits of a rainbow on the opposing wall and ceiling. I do love those; they bring me peace and thoughts of God’s closeness.

Today, as I was washing dishes, the breeze caused three blossoms off my bougainvillea to chase each other over the black asphalt of my driveway. It only lasted a minute before they blew onto my neighbor’s lawn and just sat there. It was like watching three children playing – or three kittens. Maybe they were being batted around by three kittens I could not see, three tuxedo kittens that lay just a few feet away from the dancing blossoms.

There have been other moments of joy, like the memory of the lightning bugs, that help take the pain of my loss away, even if it is just for a few brief moments. It is not surprising that others pop up. For instance, a dear friend’s mother is having medical issues and is anxious about it. She is involved in a Bible study that seems to occupy her mind most of the time, but still, when someone thinks or mentions the C word, it tends to wipe other things away for a while. I had knitted a white prayer shawl with triangles (the number three again), so I sent it to her via my friend. It seems it was a very welcome gift, precisely the right color, and was very comforting. I got a lot of joy out of knowing that. Having gone through a bout of cancer myself more than a decade ago, I know how much things like that can help.

I know God was with me when I found Phoebe’s little body that morning, just as I remember God being present in the lightning bugs, the cancer diagnosis, and even with the dancing bluish-red flowers chasing each other for a brief time. It is easier to see God’s hand in the little joys, but perhaps when I need to feel God’s presence the most, I cannot feel it through the pain I or someone I care about is going through.  

I feel guilty when I forget God’s presence when sad, harmful, or awful things come along. I do have a feeling, though, that God understands I am only human. After all, even God let God’s grief show when Jesus, the beloved son, died on the cross. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, have died both before and after that Friday afternoon, but God had never before acted from grief rather than anger. I guess I should consider that God made us in God’s own image, complete with the ability to feel joy, anger, despair, and even grief.

Meanwhile, I still have the three outside boy cats I feed daily. I love them, but in a slightly different way than I did Phoebe and the indoor boys. It’s my way of caring for a little bit of nature and God’s creation. The purrs I get from at least two of them (the third is too new and skittish to approach yet) are my thanks and another bit of joy. I am glad I have that reminder too.

A Story from a Wood Carving.

 

When will I ever learn? I scroll through Facebook daily, sometimes several times a day, and often leave a comment or a rating on posts I see, like, or dislike. Today, I saw a picture of a most striking and masterful wood carving of a warrior-type man beside a cliff. His foot was placed on a rather evil-looking creature with bat-shaped ears and an evil face, lying almost prone on the ground but with its head raised from the dirt. It occurred to me that it could be a modern St. George, but instead of a slain dragon, it was an unearthly creature that was defeated but not dead. I clicked on one of the choices but did not remember which one. The vote was based on the skill and detail of the carving rather than the story it was conveying. I wish now I had copied the image and the attribution.

It was not until I got into bed that I started really thinking more about that carving. I still saw St. George in it, but then I thought it should be Jesus defeating the foes of hell. That was when my mind started telling me a story.

I saw Jesus walking down a road alone, with only a staff. His path left the main road and wound through the hills and scrub of the surrounding desert. He sat down beside a huge boulder to rest briefly in its shade when suddenly he found he was not alone. A man stood in front of him.

"I have looked for you, brother, and here I find you," the stranger said. "I serve a great and powerful person who has heard of you and your skill with words and deeds of power. My master has sent me to find you and bring you to him. He has a great task for you, and you will be rewarded richly."

"I know who your master is, and I have all the worldly goods I need. I do not need rich rewards. I serve the One my heart, body, and soul loves and honors. I need no other master," Jesus told him.

"Ah, but my master can give you the whole world and all that is in it if you simply come with me and yield to him," the man cajoled. He knew that failure in his task would mean severe consequences when he returned to his master.

Jesus retorted, "I serve One for whom the whole world is His Kingdom. He created it in love and oversees it with that same love and care. Your master can only offer a crumbling shell."

"Ah," the man replied, "But my master can make you his sole heir. He can give you charge over the multitudes that look to him already and promise you success in recruiting more to his side. The earth's treasures will be yours, and all the people of this world will look to you as their god. They will sing your praises and bow to your name. They will offer you sacrifices and bring great gifts to your temples. They will fear your wrath and worship you with great adoration. You will want for nothing, and nothing will be denied you."

Jesus stood up. "I know who you are and who you serve. I can and will serve only the God of Heaven and Earth, Creator and Ruler of the Universe, God of love and trust. He is my Father, and I owe all that I am and have to Him. I need nothing you can offer."

Bending over, Jesus picked up a small handful of dust. Opening his hand, he blew on the dust and dispersed it. "This represents the promises of your master. My Father offers living water and fertile fields. His children are as numerous as the stars in the sky, and the very Sun and Moon obey His commands. What does your master have that can compare?

"I cannot kill you, but I can defeat you with the Word and Power of my Father. Turn your ways toward the true God and away from the evil you and your kind wreak on the children of God. Only by doing that is your life ensured."

The man began to collapse on the ground. His countenance changed from the human form he had assumed and became more like the skin and ears of a bat. As he writhed on the ground, he raised his head as Jesus set his foot on his back. "You are correct, you cannot kill me, and I cannot change my allegiance to my master even though he can destroy me easily. One day we will meet again in a final battle. You have defeated me this time. I  look forward to our next meeting, Jesus of Nazareth."

At this point, the story stopped. The image of the carving began to fade, bit by bit. Still, I clung to the account my mind had created from it. Only by loving and following Jesus and obeying the commandments of God would I gain eternal life, a life that I was promised as a Child of God.

As I, and all other Christians, approach Holy Week and the days leading up to the joyous celebration of Easter at the end, the lesson is clear. We must believe, but we also must act. It is not enough to think of eternal salvation as an individual pursuit. We have to consider all the words of God that tell us to treasure and care for the earth but also to do the same for all the people of this earth. Easter seems a good time to rededicate ourselves to our Baptismal Covenant and acknowledge that God has given us work to do. Belief is empty without it fostering action. Only then can we genuinely claim all God has promised us through Jesus.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Tuesday, April 3, 2023.

God and Jeremiah's Underwear

 

Thus said the Lord to me, ‘Go and buy yourself a linen loincloth, and put it on your loins, but do not dip it in water.’ So I bought a loincloth according to the word of the Lord, and put it on my loins. And the word of the Lord came to me a second time, saying, ‘Take the loincloth that you bought and are wearing, and go now to the Euphrates, and hide it there in a cleft of the rock.’ So I went, and hid it by the Euphrates, as the Lord commanded me. And after many days the Lord said to me, ‘Go now to the Euphrates, and take from there the loincloth that I commanded you to hide there.’ Then I went to the Euphrates, and dug, and I took the loincloth from the place where I had hidden it. But now the loincloth was ruined; it was good for nothing.

Then the word of the Lord came to me: Thus says the Lord: Just so I will ruin the pride of Judah and the great pride of Jerusalem. This evil people, who refuse to hear my words, who stubbornly follow their own will and have gone after other gods to serve them and worship them, shall be like this loincloth, which is good for nothing. For as the loincloth clings to one’s loins, so I made the whole house of Israel and the whole house of Judah cling to me, says the Lord, in order that they might be for me a people, a name, a praise, and a glory. But they would not listen. – Jeremiah 13:1-11

Jeremiah was a prophet; as such, he listened to God and did what he was told, no matter what it was. Sometimes God told the prophets to do strange or weird things, like taking a journey they did not want to take or preaching to very sinful people who turned around toward God when the prophet definitely wanted them to be severely punished (the prophet was downright angry). God told one of them to run around the center of town stark naked for a period of time, nakedness being forbidden to any other than utter madmen. Still, that prophet did what he was told. The story of Jeremiah’s underwear is another story about doing God’s will, no matter how weird it sounded.

Loincloths very possibly were among the first articles of clothing worn by humankind since Adam had to lay aside the purported fig leaf. Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs show men wearing them, from pharaohs to enslaved people. Primitive tribes often used soft bark or tanned leather instead of cotton. Mahatma Gandhi wove his own from linen and even sent one to Queen Elizabeth II on the occasion of her coronation. Loincloths are still worn today, especially in hot and humid countries. They are even available from multiple sources on the internet.

But back to Jeremiah. God told him to go and buy a new linen loincloth and put it on, being careful not to dip it in water. I can understand buying something new and putting it on, but why not dip it in water or even wash it before wearing it, like we are so often told to do with new things? At any rate, Jeremiah was obedient and did it. But God had more for him to do: take the loincloth that he had on, go to the river, and hide it between two rocks. I wonder – did he take his old one with him to wear back home? At any rate, Jeremiah was told several days later to retrieve the newer piece of material from the rocks. The formerly new and briefly worn linen was ruined, stained by organic matter in the water, bits of dead plants and fish (and other things, no doubt), and abraded by the motion of the water and the rocks.

The point of the story is that things can quickly become unusable. God used that as a metaphor for the people of Judah and Jerusalem. God had created them to be as close to Godself as a piece of linen against the skin. Still, they had gone off, turned away, and become as useless as a piece of soggy, filthy cloth of no use to anyone, especially God. They were supposed to be God’s glory, his chosen people, and obedient to God’s every command. In internet terms, they would be considered as a FAIL.

Of course, God would forgive them and take them back if they would only see the larger picture, that of sin, repentance, and redemption, three of the big lessons of Lent. We should be doing this on a daily, if not weekly, basis. But punishment would be meted out if we needed a harsh lesson like the Judaeans and the Jeruselemites. God would prefer us to understand and make the necessary changes to prevent our becoming like ruined clothes. Punishment will come if we don’t listen to Jeremiah and the other prophets, both Biblical and contemporary.

We all sin, but we can all repent and be redeemed. It is simply a matter of listening, paying attention, and doing the right thing. It is much more important than giving up chocolate, coffee, pastry, or anything else we might think would be sufficient.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, March 18, 2023.

Finding Joy in Lent

 

I have no idea why it feels so strange to be in Lent already. It seems like it was Christmas just a few days ago, but now I find myself in March with Lent already a week or so old. Time seems to go so quickly.

I remember not knowing what Lent was. Growing up Southern Baptist, we did not observe it; it was never mentioned. As I grew up, I felt drawn to the Episcopal Church, and among the many things I learned that were different from what I had been taught before, I learned about Lent. It was a time of penance, to be more conscious of what sin was, try to avoid it, and give up something I was particularly fond of or enjoyed. I was not totally successful in giving up chocolate or Peeps, nor was I constantly looking for ways to avoid sinning. Every year I tried, and finally, I gave up observing Lent almost altogether. I avoided eating fish on Friday, but I’ve always liked fish, especially cod. It did not feel like a penance because I liked fish so much. I guess it was my first earnest attempt to observe Lent correctly.

I have since been a bit more conscientious, but I still cannot wholly observe Lent the way I think I should. Just today, I found a series of books on Kindle that I have not read in decades but have never stopped looking for. I am grateful that I found them at an affordable price, and I cannot wait to begin rereading them. It was a joyful discovery, which made me think about whether or not it was really something I should indulge in since it brought me joy in a season I was supposed to observe as a penitent.

I like the change in focus that has come into the church over the past few decades. Yes, we are still encouraged to be more spiritually focused, pray and meditate more, and try to avoid sinful thoughts and behaviors. I do try to do that, but it occurred to me that God created joy before evil crept in, so why not look for it more frequently than usual? Ok, I could probably ignore or put off some kinds of joy until Lent is over (like buying books). Still, one lesson I have learned over the years is that if I see something irresistible, get it because if I wait, it might be gone, and I will never find it again. This time I gave in and gave thanks that I had finally reencountered them and could read them at my leisure.

While my church still urges us to be less sinful and more repentant when we sin, we are now encouraged to take on things that help others and the world. We are encouraged to help our neighbor much more actively, helping with food banks and soup kitchens, finding ways to support the homeless, and caring for the poor, the children, and the elderly. We are urged to really look at our world and find ways to repair the damages we have done to it. In short, we need to learn to discover and enjoy what we do for others rather than simply the joy we find for ourselves.

I can find joy in Lent by knitting a prayer shawl for someone who could use the reminder that they are loved, not forgotten. There are some theological books I can enjoy and learn something from. Learning is a joy too. I can listen to someone who needs a pair of ears to really hear what they are saying, and I can lend my support to those I know who are sick, grieving, or suffering in some way. There is joy and enjoyment in those activities while also being opportunities to be helpful. 

Lent may not always have the joy of the pre-lenten parties and celebrations, but it can have a quiet joy that is good for the soul as well as the world. Let us find the joy and spread it – in Lent and beyond.

Giving to the Needy

 

He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, 'Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.' -- Mark 12:41-44

 

Once upon a time, there was an old couple who lived in a small cottage in a small town. They were not rich, did not have a lot of possessions, and did n0t seem to require a lot of goods they could not purchase for themselves or perhaps trade with neighbors for what they needed. They were content, and for them, they had enough.

One day, though, all that came crashing down, it seemed. The old man died, leaving his widow to think of the life that now seemed impossible to sustain. How could she manage without him? She did not feel she could maintain the garden full of vegetables they used for their meals and traded for other goods they did not grow. Without the income from the humble farm stand by the village street, how could she pay the taxes and upkeep the small cottage needed from time to time? How could she contribute their usual sum to the church whose income depended on those who lived lives similar to the old couple?

She went to the local church and sat in the spot where she and her spouse had sat for years. She sat alone, missing her spouse but still in a familiar place. She had a small amount of money in her purse for the offering. It was not as much as they used to contribute, but it was all she had. When the sidesman came around with the alms basin, she slipped her contribution in, hoping that no one would notice the slight clink of coins she put in. She asked God to accept it, as small as it was.

Like the widow in the Gospel story, this widow had contributed all she could, knowing that others would make much larger offerings. In the Gospel, Jesus noted her gift's size, noting to his disciples that although it was a pittance, it was still a gift from the heart. The part of the offering was more important than the size, and it was the difference between giving part of a more significant amount and giving all she had.

Even though the tithing season is past and church budgets have probably been set and approved, maybe I can look at the Gospel story differently. The main character is a woman, a widow with no man to protect and provide for her. When she came to the synagogue or temple to give her offering, she might have been the only woman in a crowd of men. She could have stayed at home, but she chose to do her duty and give what she could to God.

In a tradition that preached and encouraged practicing care for the less fortunate, it could be that every other person in the town or village would think it was someone else's responsibility. Jesus called the disciples to remember the gift. Still, I wish he had given us a little more about how the story was received and what difference it made in those who heard his teaching.

I want to think that the story of our first widow ended with people noticing her struggle and gathering around to comfort and support her. They would drop off "extra" casseroles or soups for her nourishment, occasionally help in the garden in exchange for some produce, or even run errands for her. They would keep an eye on her and sometimes drop in for tea or coffee. The church would help with spiritual support, noticing if she missed church and calling on her to see how she was doing. In short, she would be cared for by a community of people who, consciously or not, did what Jesus taught about loving their neighbor and helping those in need.

Widows and orphans and all sorts of people with needs surround us. The man on the street corner with a sign stating he needed money might be a scammer. Still, he also might be a man who was down on his luck and needed a sandwich, a cup of coffee, or a bottle of water. We are surrounded by developments with houses that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. However, we can still run into someone begging on the side of the road with all their possessions piled in a pilfered grocery cart. Those are just the ones we see; there are dozens more we do not see.

Before we say that it is someone else's responsibility or that we do not want to have to pay for someone too lazy to work, perhaps we should remember that Jesus said that we should care for all who suffer from misfortunes of various kinds. Even those who try to hide their troubles may sometimes need a shoulder to lean on, a hug, or a listening ear. Those do not cost a cent, but they can mean the world to someone who really needs it.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday,  February 18  2023.

Jealousy

 

I have been a fan of the British Royal Family and, in fact, of the UK in general since I got hooked on a copy of National Geographic about Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation and jewels. Oh, the beauty of those gems! I loved their colors, sparkle, and sheer quantity of them. And to think, she had even more of them in storage to be picked out and worn for various reasons and occasions! I have never worn a tiara, much less a crown, and I have never been jealous of those who can and do wear them. I am satisfied to look and enjoy, without really minding who is wearing them.

I thought the tiara Meghan Markle wore on her wedding day was quite lovely. Compared to those of other royal brides, it was not my favorite or even one of them, but it complimented her style and dress quite handsomely. To find out that there possibly was what amounted to a spat over whether she could wear the tiara she wanted or not was disappointing. Suppose someone offers me a selection of very expensive jewels to wear on a significant occasion. But if the one I wanted was not in the collection on offer, I think it would only be polite to say, “Thank you, I would really like to wear this one.” But, as someone with no chance of that ever happening to me, maybe I could be a bit more gracious about accepting a second or even fourth choice.

I will admit I have been jealous of a lot of people over a lot of things. It was hard not to be jealous of girls whose mothers were alive and close to them for many years, while my adopted mother was sick when I was about nine until she died in my early teens. It was hard to wear ballerina shoes with holes in the sole when other girls wore Weejuns with intact soles. In college, I was still wearing clothes from when I was in eighth grade, while others got new dresses or outfits just about every time they went home for the weekend. Diamonds and tiaras were as far from my vocabulary as most commonly used curse words today. Still, things couldn’t be changed, so I learned to accept what I couldn’t change – most of the time.

One thing I was never jealous of was my adoptive brother, who was twelve years older. We had a pretty good relationship, although we did have a lot of fraternal spats like all kids do. I never had to worry about who had priority. He was the son, I the daughter, and we each had our roles.

There have been a lot of brotherly spats in the Bible, from the Hebrew scriptures to the New Testament. Early in Genesis, there was the story of Cain and Abel, where Cain murdered his younger brother because Abel’s sacrifice to God was more acceptable than Cain’s own. Esau and Jacob were fraternal twins, with Esau being the elder. He was due to take precedence when it came to the inheritance of everything left by his father’s death. Jacob was unhappy with this, and when the opportunity presented itself, he tricked Esau into trading everything for a bowl of stew. This act separated them for years, but they eventually rebuilt their relationship.

Then there was the story of the prodigal son, who would be the ancient equivalent of the “spare” son. His brother would inherit everything necessary, so what would there be for his younger brother? There would be a pittance instead of plenty, so the younger took his mite and ran away to seek his fortune elsewhere. Instead, he found that living at home would have been much better with guaranteed food and shelter. He discovered his jealousy had taken him away from his father’s love and his brother’s company. He returned home, expecting to be rejected. Instead, he received a warm welcome. Then it was his elder brother’s turn to be jealous of that welcome. Sometimes things like jealousy simply pass from person to person, brother to brother, or even stranger to stranger.

Lately, there have been so many stories about Princes William and Harry, one accusing, one trying to remain above retaliation. Neither brother could change their birth order, and one resented being born second, jealous of the attention given his brother. Nearly every day, we hear about one side and the response (or lack of response) from the other. We keep hearing about the same things repeatedly, often revealing and amounting to airing dirty laundry in public.

We learn from these examples of families in trouble due to jealousy that even if we get our way in such a struggle, it is not always the best thing. People are hurt, families have ripped apart, and reputations have been ruined on both sides of the conflict. It is never a pretty thing or even a good or fair one. It is merely one person’s wanting something that someone else already has, and someone or even both sides get hurt.

So the lesson seems to be that when faced with jealousy, we must be cautious of how we react to it. Can something be done about it? Can the situation be changed, short of a capital crime or constitutional upheaval? God gave us a direction in the Ten Commandments, “Thou shalt not covet…” (Ex. 20:17). It amounts to not wanting what someone has. Most of the time, it is hard to do, but God would not tell us to do something completely impossible. It might require us to work hard to achieve it, but is it impossible? Never. Someone, please suggest this to some of the Royals.

A Progression of Reading

I was not much of a reader when I was a kid. I had too much to do -- playing outside, running off to visit the neighbors, getting into mischief, like any kid. I did get sick a lot, though, and Mama would spend extra time reading to me, so I learned that books were good. When I was about eight, I caught almost every childhood disease that came down the pike: chicken pox, measles, bronchitis, the works. I spent much time at home instead of school, mostly on the bed or couch. TV, a relatively new thing, didn't have a lot of stuff interesting to an eight-year-old, so I learned to enjoy books.

I never stopped reading just about any book I could get my hands on, though, and it did not really matter the subject. I still loved the King Arthur tales, but I was beginning to run out of fiction books for kids 15 and over, even if I were only twelve or thirteen. My parents had bought me a set of encyclopedias. I remember running home after school to pick a volume, open it up, and start flipping pages until I found something that attracted my attention. I'm fully grown now, but I still jump from subject to subject. It's my way of learning more about different topics.

Did I ever read the Bible when I was young? Yes, I did. In my early teens, I would walk to the local Victory Monument on a high bluff overlooking the river I considered mine. There was a huge pine tree on the bluff's edge, and I felt that was mine too. I would take out the little white Bible I was given when I was baptized and read the psalms or stories from the gospels. I honestly felt like God was sitting there with me, and although I could not hear a voice, it felt like we were having conversations. I do not remember any of them in particular now. Still, I felt good when I left the pine tree to go back home and do my homework – and possibly get some more reading done simply for pleasure.

The time came when I read more books on spirituality, biblical interpretation, and theology. Some of those books radically changed my view of scripture and religion in general, while others just confused me more than I had been. One spark of clarification was learning that I could not read the Bible as a literal account of everything that could be assumed to be just like life now. I had to learn about the geography, history, and cultural anthropology of life at that time and how similar things were happening in the surrounding areas. It was utterly fascinating and informative as well.

I learned that Bible Study was not simply about making verses in one part of the Bible point to other verses elsewhere, often in another testament. Granted, it does happen, especially words from the prophets applying to the coming Messiah. The ancient prophecies were often about events and behaviors much closer in time. Often they were about how the people's behaviors of that time would affect the future, like the exiles in Babylon and Assyria.

I am still reading and learning, and I do not think I will ever stop unless my eyes fail or my brain no longer functions as I need it to. Meanwhile, I can pass on things I have learned through reading (and writing) to another generation. Hopefully, they will learn to read the Bible in a way that brings the past to life and illuminates the stories in a way that shows what their life was like and how modern readers can find parallels in modern times.

Now, after I have read my lesson for today, do I want to read a DCI Gamache mystery or reread a book I read decades ago about building a cathedral?

Sacrifices

 

A tent was constructed, the first one, in which were the lampstand, the table, and the bread of the Presence; this is called the Holy Place. Behind the second curtain was a tent called the Holy of Holies.

But when Christ came as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation), he entered once for all into the Holy Place, not with the blood of goats and calves, but with his own blood, thus obtaining eternal redemption. For if the blood of goats and bulls, with the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer, sanctifies those who have been defiled so that their flesh is purified, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God! – Hebrews 9:2-3, 11-14

Saul of Tarsus was born a Jew of the house of Benjamin and a Pharisee. He studied under the famous and revered Gamaliel, a very learned rabbi and teacher. Under him, Paul learned all he needed to know to function as a Pharisee—observing strict practices and ceremonies, faithfully practicing the oral traditions and laws, believing in the afterlife and the coming of the long-promised Messiah. When he converted to become a follower of Jesus, it did not cancel his Pharisaism but turned it in a different direction.

In his letter to the Hebrews, Paul reminded them of some ancient history about the first holy place that the Temple in Jerusalem would eventually replace. Exodus 25 refers to Moses constructing the "first tent of meeting" or the tabernacle. This tent would hold sacred objects in front and a curtain separating the second section or the "Holy of Holies." This second section contained the Ark of the Covenant and what was known as the "Mercy Seat." During the exodus from Egypt, Moses received the Ten Commandments. The ark was built to hold the two tablets, considered the most sacred objects in Judaism. The tent was used until Solomon built the first Temple in Jerusalem, where the ark lay in the new Holy of Holies until the fall of the second Temple in 70 A.D.

The Temple was where sacrifices were made, the only place where this was allowed according to God's command. There were four kinds of sacrifices, with burnt offerings being the oldest and most common. With the destruction of the second Temple, sacrifices were no longer able to be made, ending the practice until a third Temple could be built in Jerusalem on Temple Mount. Jews are still waiting for that to happen, but strife and resentment in that part of the world seem to make a new Temple far-off or even impossible.

Christians believe that Christ made the final necessary sacrifice. We are taught that the blood he shed on the cross atoned for the sins of humankind so that no further blood sacrifices would be needed. Some denominations teach that all humans are responsible for Jesus's sacrifice and that we must all be constantly aware that each sin is like another nail in Jesus's flesh. Other denominations remind their adherents that they commit sins for which they must repent but that Jesus's atonement was all-encompassing.

That is the good news that Christians have relied on for millennia. Just as we teach children to say "I'm sorry" when they do something bad, we adults need to acknowledge when we hurt others in some way, mistreat the environment, or break one of God's laws. If we do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God (Micah 6:8b), it is much less likely we will break one or more of the Ten Commandments given to Moses. It would help heal the earth (Tikkun Olam) and bring the Kingdom of God back to the world and its people.

We do not need a tent or an altar for sacrifice to acknowledge our gratitude to God or repent of our wrongdoings. We must remember to be grateful to God and honor Jesus's sacrifice. Living in gratitude and seeking to bring justice would be a great start. Can we give it a chance, especially with Lent coming in the not-too-distant future?

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, January 21, 2023.

God, Grant Me...

 

I remember an old song by Luther Dixon: “Mama said there’d be days like this.”  The lyrics seemed to talk about good and bad days, but it always came back to Mama saying, “Don’t worry.” No matter what comes, there will always be good and bad days.

Today is one of those days, the “Don’t worry” kind, even though I know in my bones that worrying is a waste of time. I used to worry about everything, and you know what? It did not do a single bit of good. Good and bad happened, and I lived through all of it. Tomorrow will come, good or bad, regardless of how much or how little I fret about it.

Today is one day when I can identify with Jesus, specifically Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. He knew what was coming, and he dreaded it. I cannot think of him not being somewhat fearful, anxious, or full of dread. He understood that the next day would bring his death, coupled with anguish and feelings of desertion. He knew there would be unbearable pain and that he would have to endure it. He asked God to take this burden from him but knew that this prayer would not be answered.

 Ok, I am not facing crucifixion, scourging, betrayal, or humiliation. Well, maybe a bit of embarrassment. I am facing a “procedure” that is unpleasant in preparation for it, and then, tomorrow, having to go through with the actual procedure itself. It seems to be the one way to find out if I have something that is lowering my blood cell count, thus making me tired and short of breath after brief exertion. It could possibly tell if it is severe enough to compromise my immune system. Therefore, I have been trying to keep busy, forgetting about food (I am not allowed to eat today and until the procedure is over tomorrow), and hydrating like mad. I think Phoebe, my cat, knows I am stressed as she has been a bit clingy, which is unusual for her.

Like Jesus, I’ve been praying quite a bit as I do household things that need doing and that I have put off. The prayers fly out like arrows from a taut bow, asking for reassurance, courage, patience, and relief from dread. Usually, my favorite prayer, the Serenity Prayer, credited to Reinhold Niebuhr, does the trick. “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change” usually gives me a sense of calm and, oddly enough, the very serenity I ask for. Over the years that I have used it as my go-to prayer, I have become much calmer, less anxious, not as worried, and more able to cope with things that come my way. Today, believe me, that prayer is earning its keep in terms of helping me forget the dread I have experienced off and on.

It is no wonder that the Serenity Prayer is such a cornerstone for those suffering from addiction or watching a friend or loved one go through it. Sometimes medication is needed, and I know it can be helpful in my life. Still, I use a connection to God almost like a mantra or perhaps a bead on a rosary.

The image of Jesus in Gethsemane keeps flashing through my mind quite often today. As close as he was to God, I wonder what words he used in his prayer. What did he say to try to come to grips with what he was facing? I know that he felt pain, loss, and desertion on the cross by someone he had always counted on. How devastating that must have been, knowing the closeness he and God had always shared. I think, in a way, I will be feeling something of that total aloneness as I go into the hospital. I will be surrounded by strangers, even though I will have support waiting for me when I get out of the operating room. Jesus had women friends and family with him at the cross, but the main person he needed was not there – or was God there, weeping with the women? Even though I am a person who cannot seem to cry at appropriate times, I feel the pain and loss every bit as deeply as one who stands over a loved one’s casket.

So I will reflect on my “Mama said” tonight, keep reciting the Serenity Prayer, do some much-needed chores around the house, and then go to bed. I will be repeating the prayer once again before I hopefully fall asleep.

Tomorrow is another day.

Originally published on Episcopal Café as part of Episcopal Journal, Saturday, January 14,  2023.

Peace and Justice

 

Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the lake, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled:
'Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali,
   on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—
the people who sat in darkness
   have seen a great light,
and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death
   light has dawned.'
From that time Jesus began to proclaim, 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.'  

-- Matthew 12:4-17

Jesus's cousin, John the Baptizer, had been arrested. Maybe they hadn't seen or heard from each other for some time or possibly had lived near each other during John's early ministry, it would still be a shock to hear that a close relative had been arrested and taken to jail. What family is ready to hear news like that? Today, it is much more common than it used to be in many parts of the world, but the shock is still there, even and especially if the person is innocent.

Matthew tells us that Jesus moved to Capernaum after John's arrest. The two places were not far from each other, but it still would have taken at least a few days, if not a week, to walk that far. Why would Jesus move there other than to fulfill a scriptural prophecy from Isaiah? Perhaps it was time to leave home and start his ministry in new places, or maybe it was to identify himself with John's ministry and continue it. Whatever the reason, Jesus took John's message of repentance and proclaimed it. It was an identification that the kingdom of God was coming soon and the Messiah was near.

We may not have a Jesus or John proclaiming the kingdom or the coming of the Messiah. Still, we have seen more often where someone is accused, arrested, or even killed for something they were suspected of doing or because of what they said in public. We do not have to look far to see examples such as Martin Luther King Jr.'s arrest in Birmingham, Alabama, for protesting the treatment of Blacks. He took the message all over the country. That message spread worldwide and was often adapted to cover local concerns.

There have been protests for voting rights, rights to health care, justice for minorities, and all types of social issues. There have been local, national, and international spokespersons who have suffered arrest, imprisonment, and even death to preach the social gospel of justice for those whose voices were silenced because of who they were or what race, cultural, or religious group to which they belonged.    

Jesus preached about loving one another, helping neighbors and aliens alike, doing good, and loving God above all. It did not make him popular with those who disagreed with his interpretation of scripture, but he continued preaching his message anyway. Ultimately, he, too, was arrested and put on trial. He was sent to Pilate with blasphemy charges and crimes against the Roman government. He was subsequently executed by crucifixion that same day. Unlike today, where often something like this might happen, only women followers were present at his execution.

In contrast, others hid to escape arrest as Jesus's accomplices. These days, there are often demonstrations, protests, and sometimes riots to protest similar circumstances and charges. Sometimes protesters are caught and jailed, then put on trial for their expression of protest. Many of them are imprisoned, fairly or not.

We do not usually expect religious expression by crowds to be disrupted, hampered, or even stopped by civil authorities. Just because we do not expect them does not mean they do not happen. Still, we exercise our right to protest and carry our message to those for whom the matter is not a solid "yea" or "nay."

Jesus taught love and respect for others and demonstrated kindness and faith. He expects us to follow those teachings, even as those like MLK Jr, Nelson Mandela, and Cesar Chavez. Members of groups representing Jews or Muslims, LGBTQ+, Asian and Hispanic Americans, Native Americans, and others struggle for acceptance. Those who fight with them to preserve their rights and ability to live safely are helping to bring the kingdom of God to all, not just this or that group.

It is a new year, and perhaps this year is the time for new resolutions to follow Jesus in loving our neighbors, whoever they may be.  To know peace and grow the kingdom on earth, let us work to learn justice. 

Sing a New Song

 

Sing to the Lord a new song;
sing to the Lord, all the whole earth.

Sing to the Lord and bless his Name;
proclaim the good news of his salvation from day to day. – Psalm 96:1-2

 

Tonight is New Year’s Eve, a night of parties, loud booming music, dogs howling, horns blowing, and fireworks. For me and those like me, a regular bedtime may be possible, but certainly not guaranteed to sleep once midnight strikes. Noises increase, and fireworks pop, crackle, and boom for at least an hour and often several hours. It is bad enough for those with anxious pets for whom the noise is frightening. Yet I think about the strays without homes and even some who stray away from home, terrified by the noise and lack of places to escape it.

Tonight, I doubt many will do what the psalmist suggests: singing a new song and blessing God’s name. New Year’s Eve celebrates the end of a year and the beginning of a new one. It has been done for millennia, not necessarily at the end of December and the beginning of January. Ancient Romans celebrated the new year by marking the day Rome was founded in 702, but the day was in March (by our calendar). Jews traditionally celebrate the new year beginning with Rosh Hashana, which, in 2023, will start at sunset on September 15 and end at sunset on September 17. Rosh Hashana is not explicitly named in the Bible, but a reference to its observance is found in Leviticus 23:23-25. Other religions and cultures celebrate at various times, usually in spring, for the arrival of new life. 

We usually mark New Year’s by at least thinking about starting over fresh, putting away old things and habits, and starting anew. Everyone jokes about making resolutions and even more about how long a person can keep a resolution they have made. The most common are living healthier, exercising more, and losing weight. Some want to stop smoking or drinking alcohol. In contrast, others want to be kinder to others, give more time or money to charity, or even spend more time with their families. People of faith often resolve to pray more, attend church more, or try to live by Jesus’s teachings or God’s rules more than they do now. In a sense, those resolutions are the new song we sing to God as we promise to change or do something better.

The important thing is to take any promises or resolutions seriously. While losing weight or reading the Bible more may not have the intent of a monk or nun taking life-long vows of poverty, chastity, or obedience, we aren’t all called to make those changes. Most of us live in a world where temptations come constantly. We also live where to fail is to feel or experience shame and often to be considered a loser. Success means so much in our world, probably too much. According to his culture, Jesus might not have been considered a success like Caesar or the equivalent of the CEO of a multimillion-dollar corporation.

For some, taking a single step is a sign of success, especially for someone who has been unable to walk for some time, if ever. Jesus helped those who were shamed or considered failures to live new, healthier, happier lives simply by speaking a few words or perhaps a single touch. Did those whose lives were changed merely shrug off the changes that had happened and return to their former lives? Probably not. They recognized the depth of change and the cost of it. They owed Jesus, and the only way they could repay him was to spread the news of his gift and teachings. They could encourage others to go and listen and, hopefully, be changed.

Those whom Jesus touched learned to sing a new song, and they continued to sing it to all who would hear it. For them, the day they heard Jesus or a messenger with his words was a new year.

This year, I need to forget frivolous resolutions and make a solemn promise to sing a new song to God whether or not I say a word. My actions need to be part of my song and my life, and I mean it.

Happy New Year. Sing a new song!

O Mystical Night

 

There is something extraordinary about Christmas Eve. The excitement has been building since Advent began four weeks ago. A lot of work has gone into shopping, decorating, cooking, and wrapping. Even though two nights ago was the shortest one of the year, tonight will be only a minute or two longer.

I remember waiting for Santa Claus after my parents and I had come home from the Candlelight Christmas Eve service at the Baptist church across the street. I loved the lit candles in the windows, but the lights over the choir loft and the baptistry were too bright to suit me. Even then, I was a bit particular about church services. Also, I developed an aversion to "O Holy Night," which seemed obligatory every year.

Flash forward to my middle-aged years. Again I lived across from the church, Episcopal this time. I remarried, and my son was nine years old. My husband was Catholic, but I had tried that, and it did not work for me. The music was too modern. After a few centuries of letting only the choir and organ provide the music, the congregation was just learning to sing. This was part of a church with a thousand years of prayerful, worshipful, beautiful music that was seldom heard. It broke my heart.

I returned to my Episcopal church on Christmas Eve. I found just what I was looking for – communal liturgy, familiar readings, and music – oh, my, such music, in multiple parts and in languages from English to Latin, French, and Italian! I sang in the choir for over a decade after that, including Christmas Eves. Leaving the house a bit before 11 o'clock and pacing through the winter air, it was a joy to be there and participating. Yes, there was the obligatory "O Holy Night," just as I had experienced in the Baptist church.

 As I left the church after midnight, the air was colder, but somehow the stars were brighter. The traffic was gone, and the quiet allowed me to process what I had just experienced. It was a slower trip to my front door across the street, but I hated rushing it. There was a feeling in the air, something the church dubbed "a thin space" between heaven and earth. Perhaps that was why the stars were brighter, but I could feel the night's holiness unlike any other night of the year.

Even though it was colder, I wanted to enjoy every minute of remembrance. We had the procession to "O Come, All Ye Faithful," incense, a predictable liturgy with familiar readings, more carols, hymns, and finally, communion at the altar rail before the benediction and the recessional of "Joy to the World." On my walk home, I relived what the choir had sung and the sound of an entire church singing familiar music. I felt a shawl of faith and joy wrapping around me, even through my coat.

It was a mystical night, slowly beginning to wear off as I got into warm pajamas and climbed into bed. I did not want it to end. The flame of mystical joy brightened again as I said my prayers. I drifted off to sleep while listening to the radio play Christmas music or perhaps a service from England or Washington, DC.

I am not a mystic, but now and again, I feel flashes of something beyond the ordinary. More and more, I rely on streaming video to bring the church to me. There are still beautiful things, like the Jewish synagogue downtown allowing the Episcopal cathedral congregation to use their facilities much larger than the cathedral can seat. There will be music and a familiar liturgy. I may not be there in person, but I can still recall the feeling of taking communion on those nights that were almost magical. I can feel the presence of angels and those who have gone through the mystical veil into the very presence of God.

May you all have a safe, happy, holy, mystical Christmas Eve and a most joyous Christmas Day. Look for the mystery. It will come if I am patient and attentive, and it will work for you too.