Pressure

 

My son and daughter-in-law got me an Instant Pot for my birthday and Mother’s Day presents rolled into one. It’s an imposing thing, reminding me somewhat of the round bread maker I had some years ago that looked like R2D2, only this is a different color with no clear dome on top.

I often give my mechanical and electrical things names. For instance, my computer is TheaJane while the printer is Mabel (after a dear aunt who could talk the ears off a doorknob, every word worth hearing). If my machines misbehave or break down, the name is usually a word I won’t use here because it would offend a friend who has a donkey to whom we refer a lot in our EfM class. This new widget is too new to have earned a name yet, although I’m tending toward Darth since it scares the bejabbers out of me.

I’ve used electric frying pans, microwave ovens, electric grills, toaster ovens, panini grills, electric can openers, crock pots (slow cookers), and a few others, but Darth is in a class by himself. Darth cooks, sears, steams, makes yogurt, stews, and more stuff I can’t remember. It does, in addition, acts as a pressure cooker, and therein lies the fear factor. I have never used a pressure cooker, although Mama used one occasionally. Unfortunately, she died before she could teach me how to use one, and I don’t know whether to be grateful for that or not. My son, however, has embraced the technology wholeheartedly and has joyfully used his for the past several years. I feel like a bit of a lousy mother to have to ask my son how to use one now. He’s become a kind of evangelist on the benefits of using his Instant Pot almost daily. I’m feeling a bit of pressure to take the step – after I read the book I bought to tell me how to use the thing without blowing up the house.

I was actually only joking about my son being an evangelist for this kind of cooking. He doesn’t get enthusiastic about culinary things very often. But, since he does most of the cooking in his house, I tend to listen to what he has to say. I’ve had contact with many kinds of evangelists in my life, so I tend to pick who I listen to as well as the subject they’re recommending, whether it’s an appliance, a philosophy, political stance, financial investment, diet, or religious belief.

The word “evangelize” causes me to react much as the word “pressure cooker” does. I understand what it means, and how it works, and that it can be a very beneficial thing. Jesus didn’t know about pressure cookers, but he did know about evangelism. It was his stock in trade, so to speak. He was earnest and honest, interesting to listen to, and interested in listening to others. He had a message to sell to the world, but he didn’t use the pressure tactics we see now. He could be scornful to those who refused to accept his message, but he would turn to others who were more receptive. It was more persuasion than coercion. But, of course, he died because of pressure, a fear that he was a threat to not only the empire but the Temple, its structure as well as its hierarchy.

We’ve had our share of pressurized politics. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to go away. Pressure is the mechanism to convince followers and skeptics that red is green and the loser is really the winner. The current government will take everyone’s guns away and, by the way, their hamburgers and beefsteaks, and any number of dire consequences.  I hear that social justice is socialism in very thin disguise, and the more that is given to the poor, the less the rich will get, and that isn’t the way God wants it. Is this the message that Jesus brought us? 

Something that has been running through my brain with all the thoughts about pressure is that nothing ever changes without some form of it. So when is pressure good, and when is it destructive? It may be suitable for making a fantastic boeuf bourguignon, but how much does a concept, ideal, or even a necessity need to make a beneficial and change to a mode of thinking in line with the teachings of Jesus?

Sooner or later, I will get the hang of this new (to me) way of cooking, but will I ever be able to see what is right and good through what amounts to what I could see while trying to look through the pressurized water coming through a fire hose right in front of me? Yes, I know that prayer, Bible reading, listening to wise preachers and theologians, and simple faith answer the question. Unfortunately, for years, I followed the wrong ones. It was pressure to understand the Bible one way and quote specific verses in a literal manner to prove that this particular thing was sinful. At the same time, another one approved of something else that is now almost universally condemned.

Some of the things that changed my perspective nearly 180-degrees felt (and still feel) a bit like I am under that fire hose, while others came as gently and gradually as a stream gently flowing into a pond. I still may  be wrong about some things, but I don’t feel the pressure so much any more. I guess maybe I’ve surrendered to God, and if I feel resistance to something, I don’t let the pressure get to me. Instead, I think, read, listen, and pray about it, and then just let God take over. It saves me a lot of headaches.

Now to turn Darth over to God – and the stuff I’m reading in the guidebook on how to use it. Today boiled eggs, tomorrow boeuf bourguignon.

Julian, Anchoresses and Hermits

 

Suppose there is a religious figure that lived centuries ago yet speaks to us today. In that case, I think many would consider Julian of Norwich, otherwise known as St. Julian (although the Roman Catholic Church has not officially canonized her), Dame Julian, or Mother Julian, to be a relevant and comforting figure.

She was born around 1342, but her date of death is unknown, although likely after 1416. We know nothing of her life before the age of 30, but in May of 1373, she became dangerously ill and near death. During that brief but terrifying illness, she had fifteen visions or "revelations" from God.  After her recovery, she wrote about the visions and meditated on them and their meaning. These became known as the "Short Revelations." Later in life, she wrote an expanded version known as the "Revelations of Divine Love," a theological classic that has endured to the present day.

Was she a nun? We don't know for sure, although we aren't certain that "Julian" was ever her given name but rather a name taken from the church of St Julian where she entered as a recluse probably around 1394. For the remainder of her life, she lived as an anchoress in a small set of rooms attached to and yet separate from the church itself. Anchoresses (and anchorites, the male version) lived in a small room with three small windows: one opening into the church so that the anchoress could hear and see the mass and receive communion; a second opening so that her maid or servant could pass food in and remove containers of waste from the cell; and a third where Julian could receive and counsel those who came to her for spiritual advice. She was well-known for her wisdom and holiness, which brought many to her, including the English mystic Margery Kempe, a noble and notable layperson who made pilgrimages across Europe to sacred sites for prayer, meditation, learning, and, her particular gift, copious bouts of crying while contemplating the cross, crucifixion, pain, and death of Jesus Christ.

Julian, as an anchoress, took various vows before being sealed in her cell or rooms until death came for her. Like most religious orders, those who take final vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. These rules also apply to those called hermits, who were recluses who chose to live in isolation although were free to move from place to place. The Desert Fathers (and Mothers) were among the first Christian monastics, and the later Christian orders grew from these hermits. Anchorites took one additional vow of stability,  a promise to remain not only staying in one place but being walled in with no exit and only the three small windows until the day the anchorite died.

In a sense, we have had a sort of hermit-like life over the past year or so, and sometimes even a sense of being locked into a house with limited contact with the outside world. We have felt cut off from family and friends, our church, even the simple act of going out to eat or shop. We have worn masks much as monks, nuns, or even hermits wore identifying habits to mark them as set apart for religious or health reasons. Granted, the masks we wore were many and varied rather than cohesive or unifying, but as a sign that we were following a discipline for not only our own safety but for that of others.

While we were sequestered due to our pandemic, we also had the opportunity to live a bit of an anchorite's or anchoress' life, with time to devote to extra prayer and meditation. In addition, we could participate with new people we had never met but with whom we had a common interest in spirituality and faith formation in the way Julian could meet with those of her day with the same concerns and interests. I wonder what Dame Julian would make of Zoom?

One of Julian's most famous quotes is, "All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well." Probably nearly every Christian has heard that wisdom at some time or other in their spiritual journey. If ever there was an anchor to hold on to in good times and bad. Heaven knows, we have all shared some tough times recently, ranging from inconvenience to ultimate tragedy. We may not have the opportunity to go live in solitude in the desert; however, we still have the chance to find a small space in our houses to go and be alone to practice our spiritual exercises much as someone with an exercise machine could set aside space to ride a stationary bike or run on a treadmill. So likewise, our hearts can set aside room for us to communicate with God and listen as well. Granted, it takes discipline, but then, religious intention takes work, another word for discipline.

So, as we think on Julian today, we can use her words and example to anchor us in the present and to a firm foundation of faith and hope. So it is using ancient words to fill a current need, one that is always present.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 8, 2021.

Were They Listening?

‘If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’

Philip said to him, ‘Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, “Show us the Father”? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.  – John 14:7-14

The Gospel reading for the commemorations of St. James and St. Philip reviews the interaction of Philip with Jesus. Jesus had stated that those disciples who had seen him had also seen God. Philip immediately asked for proof, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.” Philip’s request not sitting well with Jesus, he expounded about how he was in the Father and the Father was in him. Mystical, but nonetheless a teaching that Jesus hinted at more than once. Philip must not have been paying attention in class. James, fortunately, kept any such questions to himself. 

James Kiefer points out that there were many Jameses in the New Testament, each with a slightly different designation – like “son of Clopas,” “son of Zebedee,” “the Greater,” and several others. Perhaps no reference to James in this passage might be due to confusion over which James was present! Kiefer does an excellent job of sorting them out as to who was who, to whom each was related, or why that particular James had a specific identifier.  Perhaps the many Jameses are one and the same, each named for a different stage of life and ministry? 

Today’s passage followed Passover when Jesus dismissed Judas to go and do his nefarious deed. Jesus went to the upper room where he washed the disciples’ feet and spoke to them at length about the time of his death being close. Jesus wanted them to understand all that he had taught them, whether or not they completely appreciated his teaching at the time. He was attempting to convey his whole message; his time was short. They, fore their part, would have to continue learning his teaching after Jesus’ death, resurrection, and ascension. 

James and Philip travelled with Jesus throughout his ministry. Yet even some of the closest disciples to Jesus, like Peter, still did not appreciate the fullness of the message. Was their faith shallow? Was Jesus trying to teach nuclear physics when the disciples could not pass simple addition and subtraction? Education in Jesus’s time was primarily oral learning, often by storytelling and repetition of passages; did they not pay close attention? If Jesus sent them out to heal and preach and yet they came home complaining of being unable to do so, why not? 

Of course we have been taught to love our neighbors and do good to those in need for two millennia. How can I have question the disciples’ inability to catch on after just a year or three?

I have heard Bible stories my entire life, and have read them for most of that life. Yet, there are times when passages I always thought of as clear are now cloudy – as I ponder them in different ways. Perhaps the disciples had many of the same questions I now have, only without answers in the back of the book (meaning, Jesus to answer them, even if in parables and metaphors). Maybe the disciples seemed so dim so that we might learn to think the questions and lessons through and find solutions through prayer and contemplation rather than accept it literally word-for-word. 

We have the Bible as a guide, but we have to learn to read it in the manner of the writers. What was familiar to them that is very different for us today. How can we reconcile the two? 

Time to do some homework, lest I be called on like Philip and not have the right Jeopardy question to the answer Jesus gives. 

God bless..

Originally published at  Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, May 1, 2021.

Genocide and Remembrance

 

Today President Biden may cause a ripple in history that could create international problems in an area with which our country already has strained relations. It will only be a one-word change, but it will reflect a choice of words that has stood for over a century and represented a degree of barbarity that almost defies belief. The word is “genocide,” coined in 1941 by Raphael Lemkin.1  In 1947, the United Nations defined genocide and brought it into the world’s eye as a crime unparalleled in gravity. Still, it has been around for time immemorial. 

There are synonyms for actions similar to genocide, namely: purges, ethnic or racial cleansing, revolution, and Holocaust; all of them involve picking out a specific group and determining to wipe them out to create a more homogenous, cohesive group alike in beliefs, thinking, and purpose. Many people can still remember the genocides, ethnic cleansing, and purges not all that long ago: Rwanda (1994), Germany (1939-45), Uganda (1969-79), and Afghanistan (1986-2001)2,  to name a few. We remember the Holocaust because we see images and hear stories from survivors of the concentration camps. Sadly the number of these survivors decreases each year. Unless we take care to remember history, it will be, for the most part, forgotten – like Rwanda, Uganda, Afghanistan, China, Japan, Cambodia, and Bosnia-Herzegovina. 

The Bible is not innocent when it comes to violence and, indeed, genocide. One passage often quoted as proving God was harsh and promoted genocide is found in Deuteronomy 20, which gave the rules for warfare, including v. 16-17, “But as for the towns of these peoples that the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance, you must not let anything that breathes remain alive. You shall annihilate them—the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites—just as the Lord your God has commanded.” Perhaps there is a reason for this command attributed to God; who can know?

Joshua chapter 11 tells of Joshua’s attack on the massed Northern Kings and his subsequent pursuit and total victory over them. Again, he did this was for the same purpose described in Deuteronomy, only his was a longer campaign. Still, Joshua followed what he believed to be God’s instructions. In the name of God.

We often ponder stories in the Bible telling of cruelty, rape, murder, betrayal, and mass killing. How did such stories appear in this book we are asked to revere and study? What are we supposed to learn from them when we also read that we are not to kill, steal, etc.? We often get confused when we hear Jesus commanding us to love one another, forgive, and care for others, regardless of whether they are religiously or ethnically our brothers and sisters, do we not? 

Would God approve of genocide, such as we read about in the history books and the newspapers? Often, it seems, the events are caused by differences in beliefs similar to those differences between the Israelites and the pagans. The root cause is often intruders want the settled land that the victims already occupy. Religious differences then become the reason (or excuse) for the mass executions. It is hard to reconcile that the God we are taught to love, respect, and honor might approve of such actions. Yet, it seems as though God commanded the Israelites to do just that to clear the land for God’s people. 

Perhaps it might help to consider events such as the Armenian genocide to put things in perspective. We often have a hard time looking at the mass killings on our streets, stores, churches, and neighborhoods, even if the number of casualties is almost insignificant when compared to the millions in World Wars I and II and the various mass executions like the Holocaust and the purges of Russia and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Why is it so easy to look past genocides and yet seem to care so much about random victims of gunfire? Will gun ownership cut down on the possibility of more mass shootings? Will God reward those who carry guns for “self-protection” and which may kill an innocent person in a rush to kill the perpetrator of a crime or an intruder in the gun owner’s home? Where does forgiveness come into this scenario?  Where is God? 

Maybe we should look at the price of human life, which God gave to each of us, with the only cost being that God wanted us to love and obey God. How do we reach any type of agreement with others so that we all can live in peace and harmony? Why does it seem we aren’t even willing to try? 

May God’s mercy be upon all those who have been victims of genocide, mass murder, hatred, fear, or greed. May we learn to be peacemakers rather than fear-mongers, and shepherds rather than threats to other children of God. May we remember the past so that we will not repeat it. 

God willing.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 24, 2021.

Mary or Martha?

 

During my working life, I looked forward to retirement. I would be able to spend time doing what I wanted to do, reading all day if I so chose, or going shopping during the week when the crowds weren't so large as on weekends. As I had a husband much older than myself, I thought perhaps I would be widowed early. It turns out that proved to be before I stopped working. I knew it was going to happen, and every day I woke up with the thought of "Is today the day?" The day finally came, and my single life began for the first time in over 27 years.

But retirement finally came, and I reveled in it – most of the time. I could go to bed when I liked, get up when the cats allowed it, watch whatever I wanted on TV, have a breakfast of peanut butter on toast or bacon and eggs at 10 am, and dinner of pizza or cereal at 4:30 pm. I could read all day, dust or mop the floor, or do dishes when I felt like it (and the dishware cabinet and tableware drawer weren't completely empty). It was nice.

I could study all day if I chose, and some days I did that. The books I read were frequently religious in content, although I snuck in quite a few British cozies. I did some writing when the Spirit moved me and napped whenever the Spirit sent me in that direction. I had lots of "Mary" moments, but there were moments of "Martha-ism" as well. It was lovely being able to choose.

I don't live across the street from the church like I used to, or I probably would spend a lot more time there. There have been changes, so it doesn't really feel like home like it did years ago. I miss that – but I just can't go back now. So much for being Mary, or even a Martha on the Altar Guild.

For me, life always seems to be a choice between those two exemplary women. Martha undoubtedly would have an immaculate house, always something baking in the oven, and well-planned, healthy meals. Mary would be studying the Bible, often in prayer, always conscious of God's presence, and eager to sit at Jesus's feet as he taught the disciples, never caring that it wasn't a "womanly" thing to do when there were meals to be cooked and served, cleaning and laundry to do, or sitting quietly away from the men, sewing or mending. Inside the house, they could have some autonomy, but it was limited to household matters only. Everything else was under male control. And retirement? There wasn't any. Most people died before they could retire, and, provided they were rich, could have servants to do the work and make money, with children to care for them.

I'm glad I don't live back then. I'd miss things like the variety of food we have, often shipped from far away via fast transit that ensures stuff like fruits and vegetables that aren't in season where I live still arrive crisp, flavorful, and fresh. I would definitely miss modern indoor plumbing, washing machines, electric lights, fast internet, and many channels I can watch on TV. I'd miss being able to buy and read books by the dozen if I so chose and on topics that I would want to read. I'd miss even being able to read since quite a bit of the world doesn't see girls as worthy of learning anything but household care, bearing and raising children, and perhaps tending herds of goats since goats were considered women's work. There would be little time to be Mary since from morning until nightfall, being Martha was the only possibility.

In the story of the two sisters of Lazarus of Bethany, it is clear that the role of Martha and her busy-ness is typical to most of the world. She was doing what she was supposed to do. She was perfectly within her sphere of influence to demand that Mary also live up to the norms of the time. But Mary had chosen her path, and that, at least at that particular time, didn't include slicing bread and cooking a meal for a group of men.

In church, we are taught that Mary had chosen the better part, sitting and learning from the Master while he was on earth.  At that time, the disciples didn't know he would soon be gone, but we benefit from a knowledge of the past. It makes a difference.

I have lots of choices and abilities Mary and Martha didn't have. Still, I don't have the opportunity to sit and listen to Jesus in person. Well, if I'm into my studies deeply enough, I can imagine I hear his voice speaking as I read the words ascribed to him by the Gospelers. If I'm wise, I would take the terms in, like Mary was doing, but then perhaps recall them as I go around, being busy in my Martha phase.

I think I need to be more conscious of where I am during the day. Am I doing things that build me up spiritually, or am I making my house cleaner and more comfortable to live in? Am I being active like Martha or being lazy and trying to fool myself into believing I'm a Mary? I've got some hard thinking to do (and probably some hard rearranging) to get my life in actual order, inside and out.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 17, 2021.

Christianity and Care for Creation

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
    It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
    It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
    And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
    And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
    There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
    Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs —
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
    World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

              -- Gerard Manley Hopkins

               It always amazes me when I keep running into something several times when I usually don’t see or hear of it for months or even years. I take NCIS’s character, Leroy Jethro Gibbs’s Rule #39, “There’s no such thing as a coincidence,” with great seriousness. However, I have been surprised by coincidences from time to time.  For example, recently, I found the poem “God’s Grandeur” on my Facebook page, read by HRH Charles, Prince of Wales. It was written in 1877 by Gerard Manley Hopkins in a traditional sonnet (14-line) form, and the prince’s voice made the reading sing. Many read poems as if they were reading the New York Times headlines, but this reading was slow-paced and emphasized places that begged to be stressed. It surprised me that I went back several times over the following week or so to hear it again, me, a person who doesn’t really like poetry.

Behold my surprise when I opened my Reading and Reflection Guide for this year’s Education for Ministry (EfM) program just a couple of days later. The chapter for study this week included the very same poem that had made me stop and think the week before. We have been working a lot with Christianity and its role in care for creation and all of God’s creatures, so Hopkins seemed to be right on the money there.

What a hopeful and eloquent statement is laid out in the very first line, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” It has been part of the faith and tradition since the creation itself. In another coincidence, I ran across a short series of programs about “Jewish Law,” which again stressed the necessity for caring not just for people but also for creation itself. God put Adam and Eve in charge of the Garden of Eden to preserve and enjoy it, and what happened? One sin led to another, which started the ball rolling, as the poem indicates.

We have reached the point where species, which were once plentiful, be it plant, animal, or mineral, have vanished partially or even completely. We can no longer feel the kinship or even the holiness of the ground we walk on because we have polluted the earth. Even worse, we don’t notice the pollution we’ve caused because we always wear shoes with soles, often quite thick. There are people in this world who either wear thin soles or none at all and can sense the health or illness of the soil, but we seldom listen to or even hear them when they warn us.

God gave the world, indeed the universe, a great gift of the ability to renew and replenish itself, often regenerating seemingly on its own. At other times, it requires the help of humankind to reseed, reap, or remove the contamination and assist in restoration. Given time, an area blasted by a firestorm will usually recover. Still, it will probably take centuries to begin to resemble the place that had been there before. Humans can replant trees in the burned area and hasten the growth process. It is a healing kind of thing, both for the land and for the humans who help or even pass by the former scene of destruction and see new life springing up in hope.

The poem reminds us that morning comes after even the darkest night, and that morning brings hope itself. God, in the form of the Holy Spirit, spreads God’s wings and nurtures the world as a mother coos over her offspring. It is an image that is powerful, but somehow it seems to be one we have lost in our busyness and hurry to make money or gain power. Still, God is always there, whether we notice or not, participate in re-creation or not, and even whether or not we care about it.

Sometimes it takes a coincidence to bring something to the forefront. I know focusing on how a particular topic of study and how it impacts our lives and Christian practice often makes it more understandable in a context in which we had never considered it. Sometimes it takes hearing something said or seen differently that changes our thinking.  This change of thinking propels us to right old wrongs, clean things that are soiled and spoiled, and become closer to God through the everyday toil of caring for creation in all its diversity. The world was made diverse for a reason; otherwise, it would be as dull and colorless as many of our futuristic novels portray.

I think I’ll have to look for more coincidences. It might be fun to have new things to think about instead of rehashing old topics and news.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 10, 2021.

Three Traditions of Good Friday

 

This year I thought I would reflect on Good Friday since I have reflected on Holy Saturday for at least eight years, if not more. Everyone knows that it was the day when Pontius Pilate condemned Jesus to death. Following that condemnation, Jesus was scourged, forced to wear a crown of thorns, then carry his wooden cross through the streets to the site of his execution. Since medieval times, people have followed the path from the former Antonia Fortress to the Church of the Holy Sepulcre. The church considers it a particularly religious practice when done on Good Friday in Jerusalem. Many churches have images called “Stations of the Cross,” which commemorate the events from the condemnation to his internment in place of the physical journey. The stations are frequently done weekly throughout the year but have special significance during Holy Week, especially Good Friday.

Flagellation is a frequent practice among two vastly different groups of practitioners. One group represents those who enjoy pain, often in a sexual context. The second group is composed of some monastics and members of rigorous religious organizations where repentance is heavily emphasized. Flagellants scourge themselves with whips, sticks, thorn branches, rope strings with bits of metal on the ends, and canes.  Public flagellation is, in some countries, used as a punishment for legal or moral infractions. The chastisement can range in severity and the number of lashes, depending on the crime. A penalty of 100 lashes is often fatal. 

The Philippines is predominantly Roman Catholic and has many places known for their intense dedication to their faith. In Pampanga province, north of Manila on the island of Luzon, they have been celebrating representations of the stations of the cross, including rows of flagellants walking for miles while scourging themselves until their backs are raw and their blood flowing. 

Another Good Friday practice performed in Pampanga is that of actual crucifixion. Men and women who have chosen to do this are frequently repenting of sins but also may do it to share in the passion of Christ or even to thank God for particular events such as loved ones recovering from near-fatal illnesses or accidents. For some, it may be a rather painful way to be like the Pharisee in the temple, raising his religious status by showing himself to be pious. Still, I am sure that the vast majority of those who do participate do it for the glory of God and to show their love and reverence. They want to imitate Jesus as much as possible, and this is one way to do that.

Some participants choose to don a white loincloth and then be tied to the crossbars of the crosses they have carried for some distance before being raised upright. Others lie on the cross in the traditional position, have their arms tied to the cross member in several places, then have four-inch nails driven through their hands and five-inch spikes through their feet. They remain upright on the cross for as little as five minutes or as much as an hour, depending on how much pain they can bear. Spectators worldwide come to see the spectacle enacted every Good Friday except for the past two years due to the pandemic. I expect there are other places in the world where reenactments like these take place, but Pampanga is one of the best known and most publicized.

Jesus, as we traditionally see his crucifixion portrayed, wasn’t always shown with bindings and footrests to help support his weight. The bent knees we see on crucifixes, and the downward slump of the corpus had the purpose of illustrating a posture of slow suffocation since the ribs could not inflate fully. The corpus also shows the incision of the spear point and even the trickles of blood from the crown of thorns. What crucifixes often can’t show is the sun beating down mercilessly, sweat trickling into the raw gashes of the scourge marks, the slow dehydration that can cause delusions, and eventual death. 

Jesus, as the gospels tell us, spent six hours in this torment, not to mention the previous torture of the scourging, carrying the cross until he could bear it no longer, and the strength-stealing suffering of a sleepless night and the prospect of more torment to come. 

I do not imagine Jesus went through all that he did because he wanted to. It seems more of an act of submission, much as the actions of the penitents today. Many Christians put crosses on their front lawns, hang rosaries from their rear-view mirrors, wear necklaces showing crosses, crucifixes, and other iconic symbols. It is showing their religious affiliation but also as an act demonstrating their faith. The liturgies and prayers we attend or participate in during Holy Week are symbols of what our faith is about and reminders of who and what Jesus was besides being a charismatic preacher, teacher, rabbi, and human being during his earthly lifetime. 

May we take the time on this Holy Saturday to reflect deeply on what Holy Week represents, especially Good Friday. In what other ways can we show our submission to Christ, emulate his life, illustrate his teachings, and devotion to God? There is more to Holy Saturday than dyeing eggs, stuffing baskets with candy and chocolates, and new clothes. There’s more than starting preparations for a large dinner (or a smaller one if the family can’t travel to visit). There is more to faith than twice-a-year attendance at the major celebrations of the church. 

How can you demonstrate your faith? 

Have a blessed Easter.

 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, on Saturday, April 3, 2021. 

The Diversity of Flotsam

 

It is spring, with blooming trees and flowers (and pollen and weeds), windy days and nights, and temperatures edging up. Spring is a kind of midpoint. The change between winter and summer is most enjoyable, usually only short-term, but still quite pleasant.

After more than a year of COVID with its closures, masking, and complete change in ways of life, it would seem that this spring would be a happy time for people. They can get out more (hopefully obeying the mask and social distancing protocols), plan for reunions long denied, see items that were in short supply becoming more available, etc. That doesn’t seem to be good enough, though. Mass shootings are up, increased examples of demands for privilege,  images of violence and hatred constantly on the media, and protests on behalf of members of various races and cultures increasing as instances of bias and hate grow against them. It is beginning to feel like the primary color of spring is now blood red.

Growing up, we never heard the word diversity. Granted, we all knew what segregation was, and we children were taught that it was just the way life was, at least in the part of the world I lived in. My parents taught me to be polite to the Irish and Scottish family up the street, respectful of elders, and kind to the Black citizens of our town. The latter lived in the next street or even next door. That didn’t mean we shared churches, schools, or facilities at the bus or gas station. It took a lot of education before I began seeing the wrongs of the society in which I had belonged.

The last time I went home to Virginia, I noticed many changes, including acceptance of diversity in a much more significant proportion than I had learned growing up. There was more education about the place of Black Americans, Native Americans, and others in the history of our area for about four hundred years.  It wasn’t superficial teaching but a real emphasis on a hidden part of our history.

 The last time I was back home, I walked down the beach that bordered my river and suddenly saw some familiar things differently. I didn’t just see debris; I saw a diversity that had a beauty of its own. There were whole shells and bits of others, often translucent jingle shells or heavier pieces of clam and oyster shells. A red bit was a piece of fired brick, edges worn down and smoothed off by the power of the waves. A tiny dead crab exposed its underbelly to the sun as it rested among the strands of eelgrass that seemed to frame most of the wrack that had washed up at some time or other.

I’ve thought about that memory quite often over the years. When I think of it, I can almost hear the wind, smell the salt water, and appreciate the many bits and pieces that formed such a vivid image. How dull the beach would be if there were only grains of ground-up quartz and other bits of stone that made the sand. It took diversity to give the whole an unforgettable beauty.

I think I have to remember that beach when I look around me. Like the jingle shells, some people seem to let the light shine through, brightening the world.  The clam and oyster shells are like those who feed both humans and sea creatures, with covers that can be used in many ways after the shellfish they had protected have been consumed. The brick piece is like a person who builds and protects, enabling us to live in safety from predators, wind, and weather. The eelgrass provides hiding places for sea creatures like the little crab, feeds sea birds, provides stuffing for mattresses, roofs a cottage or house, serves as food, and helps keep the bottom of the river stable.

I need to look at people and groups in much the same way. No matter how different they may appear, each person is a child of God, created to live in other places and ways, yet with value beyond what we may see. Like the wrack at the beach or colors of paint, the beauty and usefulness are in the diversity, just as God planned it. Some may be more beautiful or talented or even useful, but each has a purpose, even those who seem to have little or none. A tramp and a queen are equal in God’s eyes, as they should be in ours.   The famous verse from John, “For God so loved the world…” seems to mean not only the physical appearance and status of the planet but all things in and on it, including people.       

Sit with the picture of the beach for a few minutes. See what part of it speaks to you, and then contemplate why that is. Then go out and look for someone or something in your part of the world that reflects that part. Take the object into your soul and let it lie there. Keep looking for other reminders of what is in your soul that may need to refresh itself or perhaps become part of how you see the world. Incorporate the examples you find into your prayers and daily life. It’s another way of recognizing how much God’s love permeates everyone and everything, and you are a part of that love.

Happy beachcombing!

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

Simple Words, Difficult Lessons

 

When many of his disciples heard it, they said, ‘This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?’  But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, ‘Does this offend you?  Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before?  It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life.  – John 6:60-63.

Sometimes reading the gospel of John is almost like reading Paul. Paul is wordy, with not a lot of punctuation and answers to questions that have been asked but not stated so we can figure out the context of his response. John is a mystic and, like Jesus, sometimes talks in what seems like riddles even though they quote Jesus and some of his more mysterious teachings. This passage, part of the longer gospel reading for this morning’s Daily Office, was like a two-by-four hitting me between my eyes. It partly translated itself into what is going on today, “ ‘…This teaching is difficult, who can accept it?’”  I know that the quotation reflected teachings on eternal life to the disciples. Still, it also applies to some of the lessons we either have or have not learned over the past few years.

Jesus had been teaching to a large crowd about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. It immediately sounds cannibalistic to us and possibly did to the people hearing it in person.  We understand that he was referring to the Eucharist, the bread and wine which he had blessed. We believe the elements are blessed and made holy, if not necessarily as the actual body and blood as some denominations believe, or merely representations as other denominations proclaim it. For those of us who are Episcopalian, it is somehow neither – and both. Jesus’s presence is within it, and thus we accept it as food from heaven to bless and mark our joining in the celestial banquet.

But that wasn’t what grabbed me in the reading. Just as the teaching Jesus gave to the crowd was hard for them to understand, there are many things today which we have been given but which seem to be equally as puzzling. One of the hardest things is “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

Loving some people is relatively easy. They are wise, not seeking fame and earthly goods, and may have a charism about them that almost seems visible. People follow them and try to let their lives reflect the faith they have in these saints-on-earth-sans-haloes. Many of these will never be remembered except by a few who knew them, and within a few decades, their memories will fade away. We will recall them along with all the saints that surround God’s throne in the eternal home in heaven. People have been trying for millennia to learn and live up to that commandment and haven’t all mastered it yet. Still, we keep preaching it and, hopefully, practicing it as well.

Today, it occurred that even simple teachings, laws, ordinances, or wise sayings appear to be impossible to be understood. For instance, take “Wear Your Mask.”  Three short words that are demonstrations of “Love your neighbor.” I wear a mask during this pandemic to keep myself safe, sure. Most folks do. But some folks also have the idea of keeping others safe from the virus that can be lethal to susceptible people. Those are our neighbors that we are commanded to love. Yet some “Christians” seem to demonstrate that their personal rights to go maskless everywhere supersedes “Love your neighbor.” Granted, Jesus didn’t tell us to wear masks or even love our neighbor in this lesson.  Still, he knew that not all would hear, obey, or even believe. Many left him after the teaching he gave earlier in the chapter.  They still leave him, being unwilling to understand or accept his words and lessons.

How much does loving our neighbors today reflect in our daily lives? Would cutting someone off on the freeway to save us a minute and maybe cause an accident that takes other lives show our love and caring for others? How about passing legislation that benefits a group of people who already have a great abundance of wealth but crushes the poor under the foot of the rich? Does targeting members of other racial or ethnic groups, even religious groups, make our faith stronger?

Do “Hate Crimes” act as “Love Acts” by those who perpetrate them? Do they actually “love” their own group so much that they have to preach against others to prove they love their group more? I seldom (if ever) see signs, billboards, and posters that say anything loving about groups that proclaim hatred for others. Church signs, and occasionally posters and billboards, sometimes proclaim the basic tenets of their mission – loving others as God loves us.

Maybe Christians as a group need to do more things like wearing masks, regardless of dirty looks or snide comments from others who are maskless. Perhaps we should be first on the front line with tools to repair, replace, or clean damage caused by haters who have marked buildings, graves, and houses. There are thousands of things that could be done, like donuts to first responders, volunteering to help at soup kitchens and child care centers, offering rides (while wearing masks) to aged and infirm elders who have no one to rely on for assistance. Kids (and adults) could make posters and hang signs thanking the people who have been so vital in keeping our lives running as smoothly as possible in these past trying months.

I could go on and on with ideas, but hopefully, I’ve sparked something that the reading sparked in me. If a problem (or teaching) seems difficult, don’t reject it out of hand. Keep wrestling with it, meditate on it, pray about it, try looking at it through different eyes. Start with simple things like “Love your neighbor” and work from there. It might be more straightforward than it first appeared.

God bless.

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

Mirrors

 

“He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: ‘Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax-collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax-collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” But the tax-collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.’ -- Luke 18:9-14

It’s an often-told parable, that of the Pharisee and the tax-collector in the temple, each praying. The Pharisee reminded God of how righteous he was, tithing properly and not being a sinner like the people around him, both in the temple and in the streets. Of course, he mentioned the tax-collector, a sinful collaborator who worked for the Romans, considered the lowest of the low among Jews. In his own eyes, the Pharisee was worthy of all the blessings God could bestow on him, and he didn’t mind letting God know that he was aware of it. The tax-collector, on the other hand, simply confessed to being a sinner and asked for mercy. It was a simple, humble statement of remorse, one at which the Pharisee would undoubtedly laugh.

I’ve written about this parable several times, but reading this time, part of the first sentence caught my eye: “He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.” He wasn’t just telling a story to teach the disciples. He had a crowd around him, a mixed bag of ordinary people, Pharisees, ultra-righteous and out-and-out sinners alike. It was a lesson for all. He was holding up a mirror to an entire crowd, telling them to look at themselves and see their authentic images, not just a reflection.

Mirrors can be convenient when we want to see how our hair looks, makeup applied correctly, don’t have a seed stuck between our front teeth, or our tie is straight. A mirror reflects what is placed in front of it. Of course, there are the trick mirrors at carnivals and fairs, creating significant distortions and making us laugh at the images they produce. There are fancy dome-like mirrors in elegant gold frames that see fish-eye reflections of glittering chandeliers, rich tapestries, marble floors, and tiny purse-sized mirrors to check lipstick or face makeup quickly. All these mirrors still only reflect what is before them. None of them see beyond the surface, down to the root of what is hidden by that very surface.

If a mirror were more like an x-ray, it could see beneath the skin to identify breaks or imperfections in bones and organs. If the mirror were like a CAT scan or ultrasound, it could show problems in organs, blood vessels, and softer tissues. It could show tumors, benign and cancerous, but can’t always differentiate which is which without a biopsy or surgery.

No mirror can show our soul and what is in our heart of hearts. A lot of what is there comes out in how we think, act, or talk. In this vein, the Pharisee would come out as someone who was vain and so sure of his status and appearance in the public arena that he didn’t mind reminding God of it. Some would call it out-and-out entitlement. Others might consider it narcissism and egotism.

God gave us inner mirrors to look at ourselves. If we looked sincerely and honestly, we could see flaws that needed to be corrected. We need to develop discretion to judge what is right and good and what needs changing in what we think, see, and believe. Seeing things as they actually are is necessary to keep our inner and outer images in line with what God would expect of us.

Am I a disciple? Pharisee or tax-collector? Am I pride-full or humble and trying to be better? Am I trying to show Jesus’s teachings and God’s love in my appearance, actions, and words? We’ve all seen what hubris and egotism can do.

I can polish the mirrors in my house to make them shine and reflect more light. I can’t add anything to the cleanser to show me what I look like inside. I have to remember to check my interior looking glass more frequently so that God will be pleased with me.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 13, 2021.