Occasional thoughts of an Anglican Episcopal priest

Category: Acts (Page 8 of 9)

We Are All Called to Martyrdom – From the Daily Office – December 26, 2012

From the Book of Acts:

While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died. And Saul approved of their killing him. That day a severe persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, and all except the apostles were scattered throughout the countryside of Judea and Samaria. Devout men buried Stephen and made loud lamentation over him. But Saul was ravaging the church by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women, he committed them to prison.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 7:59-8:3 (NRSV) – December 26, 2012.)
 
Icon of Saint StephenOn the second day of Christmas the church remembers a murder, the martyrdom of Stephen, and our Daily Office lectionary won’t let us forget it. Often the readings of the Daily Office seem to have nothing to do with the season and they seldom are tied to a saint’s commemoration, but today the morning and evening readings tell the whole story in gruesome detail.

Stephen is revered as the church’s first martyr. The word martyr in Greek merely means “witness” but the church (and thus our modern society) uses it to mean someone who has suffered and died for their faith. The Celtic church would identify three kinds of martyrdom, only one of which involves death, so-called “red martyrdom.” The others were “green martyrdom” and “white martyrdom.”

The green martyrs were those who left ordinary society for the life of a hermit on the mountaintops or islands of Ireland following the example of the Egyptian anchorites. Eventually, they merged their individual dwellings into the monastic communities which dominated the Irish church from the 6th through 9th Centuries.

White martyrs went further. They left Ireland altogether as missionaries. The first of these were Columba and his followers who founded the monastery at Iona. Others following their example went into northern Europe and beyond.

The 2nd Century theologian Tertullian said that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” This is usually understood to mean that through the sacrifice of their lives the “red martyrs” led others to conversion and, on this Feast of Stephen, we see the great example of that in the eventual conversion of Saul, the zealous Jewish persecutor of the church, into Paul, the equally-zealous Christian missionary. But it seems to me that the blood of the green martyrs and the white martyrs, which was not spilled but continued to course through their veins during a life of prayer and service, was equally effective in the conversion of others.

It is not so much the blood of the martyrs but, as the original Greek word says, the witness of the martyrs, the example and testimony of the martyrs of all sorts, red, green, and white, that nurtures the growth of the church. On this second day of Christmas, we should remember that, in some sense, we are all called to martyrdom; we are all called to witness to our faith in the Child whose birth we continue to celebrate.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

KJV Paul or NRSV Paul? – From the Daily Office – September 22, 2012

From the Book of Acts:

Paul stood in front of the Areopagus and said, “Athenians, I see how extremely religious you are in every way. For as I went through the city and looked carefully at the objects of your worship, I found among them an altar with the inscription, ‘To an unknown god.’ What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 17:22-23 (NRSV) – September 22, 2012)

St Paul Window, St Paul's Church, Medina, OhioEvery Sunday I stand in front of a stained-glass window depicting this scene, the altar window of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Medina, Ohio. St. Paul stands magisterially among a group of attentive Athenians, his right arm raised, his index finger pointing to heaven; the Parthenon is scene in the background; a banner lost amidst Victorian decoration declares (in good King James English), “Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.” (v. 23)

The contrast between the modern (New Revised Standard) and older (King James) translations is absolutely striking! In verse 22 of the text as translated above, Paul praises the Athenians as “extremely religious.” In the KJV translation, he condemns them as “too superstitious.” In the translation of verse 23 above, they worship God as “unknown”; in the KJV, they worship “ignorantly.” In the modern translation, Paul is respectful of the Athenians; in the Authorized version, he addresses them with contempt.

In the Greek, the first term is deisidaimonia which can have either affirmative (“religious”) or negative (“superstitious”) meanings. The second term is agnoeo which is related to our English word agnostic; it directly translates as “not knowing”. Paul uses it frequently in his letters to mean such things as “unaware,” “uninformed,” or “not recognizing.” Like the first term, it can have either affirmative or negative meanings depending on context.

How should we read it? Like the good bishops and scholars who translated the Authorized Version under warrant of King James in the early 17th Century, or like the modern scholars who translated the NRSV in the late 20th Century? And which version ought we to emulate in our dealings with non-Christians?

It should come as no surprise to anyone that my preference is for the later translation. Although Paul is often forceful in his rhetoric, neither his letters nor Luke’s portrait of him in the Book of Acts suggests that he was ever deliberately rude. He was, rather, respectful of his audiences; I believe we should give him the benefit of the doubt and translate his conversation with the Athenians in that light. I believe, also, that as we engage those who are not of the Christian faith it is that same attitude of respect and courtesy that we should adopt.

The Athenians of our day are our neighbors, our friends and co-workers, who have adopted a new version of agnosticism, who say, “I am spiritual but not religious.” It is these “SBNRs” (as some current writers of church literature have labeled them) to whom we are commissioned to present the Gospel. Several months ago, I read a blog post by an author I like and respect which, I’m sad to say, takes the KJV attitude towards such folks. The post is entitled Spiritual but Not Religious? Please Stop Boring Me. In it the author, a clergy person, describes the experience many of us ordained have had of sitting next to an SBNR on an airplane; she complains that she finds such persons, these folks who “find God in sunsets,” simply uninteresting:

Being privately spiritual but not religious just doesn’t interest me. There is nothing challenging about having deep thoughts all by oneself. What is interesting is doing this work in community, where other people might call you on stuff, or heaven forbid, disagree with you. Where life with God gets rich and provocative is when you dig deeply into a tradition that you did not invent all for yourself.

Thank you for sharing, spiritual but not religious sunset person. You are now comfortably in the norm for self-centered American culture, right smack in the bland majority of people who find ancient religions dull but find themselves uniquely fascinating. Can I switch seats now and sit next to someone who has been shaped by a mighty cloud of witnesses instead? Can I spend my time talking to someone brave enough to encounter God in a real human community? Because when this flight gets choppy, that’s who I want by my side, holding my hand, saying a prayer and simply putting up with me, just like we try to do in church.

Now, as I said, I like and respect this author, but I can’t applaud the attitude betrayed by this particular comment. This is the attitude of the KJV Paul condemning the Athenians as superstitious and ignorant! This attitude is not going to win any converts. I sympathize with the author; I know how dull and boring those on-board conversations can be. I know what it’s like to get onto an airplane hoping for a little “down time” only to have to do the work of being a “professional Christian”. It’s hard work, but guess what? It’s the work we were baptized to do (not ordained to do, baptized); it’s the work to which all Christians are called – to love our neighbor as ourselves, to spread the Gospel, to make the faith attractive to others. We do that when emulate the NRSV Paul; we fail if we follow the example of the KJV Paul.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

God My Crag, God My Commonwealth – From the Daily Office – September 20, 2012

From Psalms:

In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge;
let me never be ashamed.
In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free;
incline your ear to me and save me.
Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe;
you are my crag and my stronghold.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 71:1-3 (BCP Version) – September 20, 2012)
 
Castle Kennedy, ScotlandThis is one of my favorite images from Scripture, God as strong rock, castle, crag, and stronghold. In fact, during my sabbatical last year this verse kept coming to mind as I explored the ruins of castles and monastic foundations in Scotland, England, and Ireland. My fondness for this metaphor today dovetails with my thoughts the past couple of days about the nature of sovereignty (see yesterday’s meditation on praying Psalm 72 in modern America) and God’s reign (the day before, considering the modern political implications of Christ’s triumphal entry in John 9).

Like any metaphor and every metaphor, God as rocky fortress is limited. All metaphors, similes, and analogies breakdown at some point. Nonetheless, this is where the metaphor in today’s Psalm takes me . . . .

Life in a stone castle was anything but relaxed and luxurious. Even the “lairds and ladies of the manor” would have had their work to do, although it wouldn’t have been as onerous as that of, say, the scullery maids, the chamberlains, or the stable boys. Monastic foundations weren’t much different: a division of labor shared by everyone from the newest novice or lay brother to the abbot or prior. The same would have held true in a Celtic or early medieval convent. Everyone would have had some share in keeping the community within the stone walls running smoothly to everyone’s good. In a very real sense, the castle, monastery, or convent would have been a “commonwealth”.

Although mostly used today in the context of international trade (as in “the commonwealth of nations”) or as a synonym for nation, state, or territory (as in “the Commonwealth of Massachusetts” or “the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico”), the word dates from the 15th Century with a different significance. Meaning “common well-being,” it connoted a community of interest promoting the public welfare or general good of every member.

In the 17th Century the philosopher Thomas Hobbes wrote his book Leviathan on the origin, nature, and forms of a commonwealth, explaining that the function of a commonwealth is to protect human liberty and provide security for the people living in it. Hobbes argued that the citizens or subjects of a commonwealth have the right to food, clothing, and shelter, the right to protection from harm or injury, the right to engage in lawful commerce, the right to an education, the right to health and safety, and the right to legal protection of one’s possessions; these rights are matched by the commonwealth’s mutual responsibility to protect them. Interestingly, Hobbes’s treatise suggests the notion that the kingdom or reign of God is an eternally perfect and spiritual commonwealth.

Which brings me back to the metaphor in the Psalm. God conceived of by the Psalmist as a castle, crag, or rocky fortress is not simply an image of God’s protection of individual safety; it is a metaphor of the community which in God lives and moves and has its being (Acts 17:28). The Psalmist’s strong rock, castle, crag, and stronghold is Jesus’ kingdom of God (or kingdom of heaven). It is the commonwealth of God, “the kingdom of our Lord and of his Messiah, and he will reign forever and ever.” (Rev. 11:15) It is the community of eternal life in which we, believing participants, have mutual accountability for our rights and responsibilities.

When we pray this Psalm and claim God as our stronghold, we also claim our rights and take up our responsibilities as “citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.” (Eph. 2:19)

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

“Average Sunday Attendance” – From the Daily Office – September 10, 2012

From the Acts of the Apostles:

The next sabbath almost the whole city gathered to hear the word of the Lord. But when the Jews saw the crowds, they were filled with jealousy; and blaspheming, they contradicted what was spoken by Paul.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 13:44-45 – September 10, 2012)
 
Forest“Average Sunday Attendance” – also known as “ASA” – has become a hot topic in church circles. It’s how we gauge the health of congregations, not that it’s a very good measure of that, but what other easily accessed metric to governing boards and denominational judicatories have? If the parish priest, pastor, senior minister, whatever he/she may be called is doing a good job, the assumption is, the pews are going to be full. So if we count the number of seats in the seats, voila! we know if things are good.

Well, maybe. I’m not convinced that attendance figures are that good a metric of clergy performance; I’m not even sure there is a metric that measures the effectiveness of pastoral ministry. But here’s an interesting observation. Go to Google. Put in “Average Sunday Attendance” as your search term. In the first several pages of search results, the majority of websites will be Episcopal Church related! We are obsessed with this measurement!

So, it’s a hot topic and one way it pops up is when folks compare attendance in traditional, so-called mainstream churches with the numbers who throng to revival-type events offered by popular evangelists. It’s one thing to compare our mainline, denominational parish ASA to the weekly attendance of a non-denominational evangelical congregation; there may even be some validity to such a comparison (though probably not as a measure of clergy competence). But comparing our weekly numbers to the crowds at a one-off rally-type event strikes me as less than legitimate.

That is what the Jewish synagogue leaders are doing in today’s lesson from the Book of Acts! Here in Chapter 13, Paul and Barnabas have come to the city of Antioch in Pisidia on what is basically a preaching mission. They are offering something new, something out of the ordinary, something which diverts from everyday run-of-the-mill existence, so they get big crowds. (Yes, I know that Luke ascribes the big numbers to the work of the Holy Spirit, but let’s just look at the story as secularists for a moment; the new thing gets a lot of attention.) The synagogue leaders, comparing their weekly sabbath attendance to the crowds coming to see the missionaries, are jealous. In their envy, the Jewish leaders impugn Paul’s and Barnabas’s message and are condemned here by Luke as blasphemers.

But Luke is making the same mistake the synagogue leaders are making, the same mistake we make when look to ASA as a metric of performance. Attendance figures don’t measure message; attendance figures don’t estimate effectiveness; attendance figures don’t rank repentance; attendance figures don’t calculate commitment. Attendance figures measure . . . attendance, that’s all! High attendance is good, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that people’s lives are being impacted. Personal lives are at least as important as the size of the crowds, if not more so! When we see only the aggregate numbers, the individuals get lost.

The focus on ASA blinds us to other measures, other metrics. It raises blood-pressure; it raises blinders; it raises barriers. Have you ever noticed something like this? – When I am angry or upset about something and my blood pressure goes up, my sense of hearing is affected. I don’t know what it is, but I hear something like a rushing wind inside my ears (maybe that’s the blood pressure) and it interferes with my hearing. That’s maybe what happened with the Jewish leaders. The synagogue leaders couldn’t hear the message preached by Paul and Barnabas because their of anger over the attendance figures; it interfered with their perception. To switch to visual metaphor, they couldn’t see the trees for the forest. Seems it’s the same today.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Crooked Lines – From the Daily Office – September 6, 2012

From the Book of Acts:

The magician Elymas (for that is the translation of his name) opposed them and tried to turn the proconsul away from the faith. But Saul, also known as Paul, filled with the Holy Spirit, looked intently at him and said, “You son of the devil, you enemy of all righteousness, full of all deceit and villainy, will you not stop making crooked the straight paths of the Lord?”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 13:8-10 – September 6, 2012)
 
Tangled wiresAs I look at life, crooked lines abound. It’s what human beings do. Bar-Jesus (as the magician Elymas is also named in the Book of Acts) may have been making the straight crooked with evil intent, but I suspect that most human beings just do it out of habit, out of an inability to do anything else, out of (maybe) some sort of primate instinct to make a mess. My mother used to admonish me, in a lot of circumstances, “Don’t get bent out of shape!” At sixty years of age, I have come to suspect that there is no way to avoid life getting bent out of shape! Crooked lines abound.

Way back when I was in college I had a good friend whose job was taking care of the animals used in our psychology department’s experimental work. He took care of pigeons and rats and cats and all sorts of critters, including some kind of monkeys (don’t ask me what kind . . . I don’t think I ever knew). I remember once visiting him at work and watching the monkeys play. Someone had given them a length of copper house wire (that thick 12-gauge stuff) and they were happily bending it into a mass of crookedness, then trying (unsuccessfully) to straighten it out.

That, it seems, is what happens in life. We get our monkey hands on things, even things that are straight, and we bend them up. And then we can’t unbend them on our own. Have you ever tried to straighten a bent-up mess of wire by yourself? Can’t be done. But there is an old rabbinic proverb, “God writes straight with crooked lines.” With God’s help, things can get straightened out. Wire, lives, relationships, paths to salvation. I don’t think Paul really had to worry about Elymas; God can take care of God’s paths. It’s our crooked lines that we need to worry about; with God’s help, we need to get them worked out, straightened out, or at least a little bit untangled.

One of my favorite prayer resources is the book Celtic Daily Prayer from the Northumbria Community in England. In it there is this lovely prayer picking up on the rabbinic proverb, acknowledging the bent-out-of-shapeness of our lives, and seeking God’s help with straightening things out:

O God,
I cannot undo the past,
or make it never have happened!
– neither can You. There are some things
that are not possible even for You
– but not many!
I ask you,
humbly,
and from the bottom of my heart:
Please, God
would You write straight
with my crooked lines?
Out of the serious mistakes of my life
will You make something beautiful for You?
Teach me to live at peace with You,
to make peace with others
and even myself.
Give me fresh vision. Let me
experience Your love so deeply
that I am free to
face the future with a steady eye,
forgiven,
and strong in hope.
Amen.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

We’ve Never Done It This Way Before! – From the Daily Office – September 1, 2012

From the Acts of the Apostles:

[Peter said to the circumcised:] “I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’ If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?” When they heard this, they were silenced.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 11:16-18 – September 1, 2012)
 
Changing a Light BulbA couple of days ago I talked about Cornelius’s conversion from pagan to Christian through some time spent as a pious not-quite-proselyte Gentile. In today’s reading Peter defends his decision to baptize the Gentiles (Cornelius and his entire household) with this great question, “Who was I that I could hinder God?” It certainly shut down his critics!

How often do we stand in God’s way? Well, how often have you heard these words: “We’ve never done it this way before”? Or it’s more affirmatively stated equivalent, “We’ve always done it this way before”? Both usually said in that dismissive, fatally negative tone of voice.

“How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?”

“Change??!?!?!??!”

It happens again and again in our churches. Nearly everyone will acknowledge that we need new carpet for the Nave or the Parish Hall, but then someone will ask, “What’s wrong with our old carpet? I like the old carpet.” I once served a church where there was universal agreement on the need to replace the carpet in the worship space, and everyone agreed that it should be red (the color of the previous carpet), but the Vestry debated for six months about the shade of red! (Finally, a member of the board just went out and ordered the carpet and put all out of our misery!)

I read recently about a church where a recently deceased parishioner had left a bequest of $15,000 for a new prayer garden. The memorial committee met for months, but eventually disbanded because they couldn’t decide where to put it or what it would look like. “We’ve never done it this way before!”

Wouldn’t be great if that were a cry of delight and adventure instead of the fatally negative dismissal of change it usually is?

A few years ago my wife and I made our first trip overseas together to Ireland, a country neither of us had ever visited. Everything we did on that trip was something we had never done before. We had never before driven on the narrow back-country lanes of Ireland, the single-track roads where one might meet a flock of sheep or a herd of cows and have to back up a hundred yards or more to wide spot and let them pass before you could go on. We had never before climbed the cliffs of County Antrim and seen the Giants’ Causeway. We had never before eaten “the full Irish breakfast” with black pudding, baked beans, sauteed mushrooms, and grilled tomatoes added to our usual fare of bacon and eggs. For eighteen days we lived an almost hourly experience of never having done nearly everything this way before, and we loved it.

Wouldn’t it be great if folks in the church, instead of fearing change and difference, would greet new things with “We’ve never done it this way before!” as a cry of delight and adventure?

We always need to remember Jesus’ words, “You did not choose me but I chose you.” (John 15:16) We have been invited by God to a surprising adventure. Just like Peter we need to ask (some of us constantly), “Who am I to hinder God?” Ours is not to hinder God, but to follow God; not to stand in God’s way, but to journey in God’s way; not to say dismissively, “We’ve never done it this way before,” but to cry with delight and excitement, “We’ve never done it this way before!”

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Occasional Missionaries – From the Daily Office – August 30, 2012

From the Book of Acts:

[Peter asked Cornelius,] “Now may I ask why you sent for me?’ Cornelius replied, “Four days ago at this very hour, at three o’clock, I was praying in my house when suddenly a man in dazzling clothes stood before me. He said, ‘Cornelius, your prayer has been heard and your alms have been remembered before God. Send therefore to Joppa and ask for Simon, who is called Peter; he is staying in the home of Simon, a tanner, by the sea.’ Therefore I sent for you immediately, and you have been kind enough to come. So now all of us are here in the presence of God to listen to all that the Lord has commanded you to say.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 10:29-33 – August 30, 2012)
 
Peter Baptizing the Centurion Cornelius by Francesco Trevisani (1709)Judaism is not a missionary religion. It is, however, a proselytic religion. This means that Jews don’t go looking for converts, but those who come to them interested in becoming Jews are instructed and initiated; these initiates are called proselytes. Cornelius might have become a proselyte, but we know that he was not because if he had been, Peter would have had no issues with seeing him, meeting him, eating with him. Peter did have those issues initially, but then was shown the vision of unclean animals which he was told to eat. Peter interpreted that vision to mean that he should not treat non-Jews as unclean; it was the beginning of the Jewish Christian church welcoming non-Jews (“Gentiles”) as members.

Christianity is a missionary religion. Christians go looking for converts – or at least we’re supposed to and in the beginning we did. Someone may have told Cornelius about Jesus and about the followers of Jesus or, more likely, someone simply lived a Christian life. Cornelius had already been attracted to the Jewish religion and was following some of its practices, but the only way he could have become interested in hearing “all that the Lord had commanded Peter to say” was if someone had primed the pump, so to speak.

Once in a long while someone who is not a Christian will call me or will stop in the office and inquire about baptism (in fact, it happened quite recently, but that was the first time in several years). It always turns out that they have witnessed something in the life of a friend or family member that they find attractive – a way of handling misfortune, of dealing with the death of a loved one, of helping someone less fortunate than themselves. Having seen this, the inquirer has talked to the person and somehow in conversation they have learned that their friend or family member is a church member. Further conversation leads to further inquiry which leads eventually to me, to a conversation not unlike this conversation between Peter and Cornelius. When I’ve asked my version of “Why have you sent for me?” I’ve never been told about a vision of an angel in dazzling clothes, but I have been told about Christians testifying to their faith.

Christianity is a missionary religion, and occasionally Christians act like missionaries. When they do, Corneliuses show up.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Preaching Like Stephen, Making People Angry – From the Daily Office – August 20, 2012

From the Acts of the Apostles:

When they heard these things, they became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen. But filled with the Holy Spirit, he gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. “Look,” he said, “I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!” But they covered their ears, and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. While they were stoning Stephen, he prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” Then he knelt down and cried out in a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he died. And Saul approved of their killing him.

(From the Daily Office Lecionary – Acts 7:54-8:1 – August 20, 2012)

Martyrdom of Saint StephenSaint Stephen, one of the first deacons of the church, has just preached a sermon in which he has reminded his hearers, Jewish authorities in Jerusalem, that the Jews had a history of mistreatment of prophets, Their ancestors, he has said, “killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One, and now [his listeners] have become his betrayers and murderers.” No wonder they were angry with him.

I’m increasingly coming to the opinion that Christian preaching ought to anger those who hear it. If it doesn’t make them angry at the preacher, it should make them angry at someone or something else, angry enough to do something . . . though maybe not a fatal stoning.

We who preach the gospel of Jesus Christ should have the courage and conviction of Stephen, if not that of Jesus himself. There is a lot in our society that needs to be “called out” – the obvious racism of the way Ohio’s voting hours are being limited, for example, or the obvious sexism of a senate candidate in another state who can conceive of something he labels “legitimate rape” or the callous disregard for the needs of poor children deprived of nutrition be the defunding of school meal programs. These are not merely political issues; these are moral, ethical, and spiritual issues about which the church – and the church’s preaches – need to speak out. There are no “merely political” issues; every issue has moral, ethical, and spiritual dimensions, and of those the gospel has much to say. It will not say it to our world, however, unless preachers address the issues. And if that makes someone angry, so much the better.

A 19th Century Chicago journalist named Finley Peter Dunne wrote under the pseudonym of an Irish bartender named Mr. Dooley. One of Mr. Dooley’s observations concerned the role of the press:

Th’ newspaper does ivrything f’r us.
It runs th’ polis foorce an’ th’ banks,
commands th’ militry,
controls th’ ligislachure,
baptizes th’ young,
marries th’ foolish,
comforts th’ afflicted,
afflicts th’ comfortable,
buries th’ dead,
an’ roasts thim aftherward.

In the 1960 movie Inherit the Wind, Gene Kelly played an H.L. Mencken-like newspaper editor saying, “It is the duty of a newspaper to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” Clare Booth Luce used a variation of this sentiment in her eulogy for Eleanor Roosevelt and numerous churchmen, including Reinhold Niebuhr, have applied similar words to the Christian faith, arguing that the preacher’s job, indeed the very nature of the gospel, is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Our job as ministers of the gospel is to offer hope and consolation to those who are hurting, while standing strong against the evils of injustice and oppression and selfish pursuit. And if that makes someone angry, so much the better.

The first deacon, Stephen, should be the patron saint of this kind of preaching, of which there should be much, much more.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

Citizenship and Prayer – From the Daily Office – August 11, 2012

From the Acts of the Apostles:

Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 4:32-35 – August 10, 2012)

This short passage from the Book of Acts describes the sort of world Jesus intended. Not just the sort of church . . . . the sort of world, the sort of human society, a complete community in which no one claims private ownership (it’s all God’s remember) and where there are no needy persons because what is needed is distributed equitably.

Dream world, right? Never gonna happen, you say? Then what do we mean when we say (some of us everyday, but a lot of at least once a week), “Our Father in heaven . . . your kingdom come”? If we don’t mean it, if we don’t want God’s kingdom to come, why do we keep asking for it? (Jesus taught this petition to his disciples when they asked him to teach them to pray. See Matthew 6:9–13 and Luke 11:2–4.)

I got into a beef in an on-line recently because another person attributed Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown’s criticism of his state’s Department of Transitional Assistance to his Christianity. Brown was upset because the department had mailed voter registration materials to some 400,000 welfare recipients; he interpreted this as a pro-Democratic-Party action by the department. (In fact, it was in compliance with a court order regarding the state’s failure to comply with “motor voter” regulations.) Nowhere in the article to which my correspondent referred was there any mention of Brown’s Christian faith (he is reportedly a member of the conservative Christian Reformed Church) by either Brown or the reporter. I objected to this person’s statement as a gratuitous and groundless comment, and a lengthy conversation ensued. (It was eventually and abruptly terminated by my correspondent.)

It got me thinking, though, about how we characterize the actions (political or otherwise) of other people and how in modern America we seldom hear positive actions (other than those expressly undertaken by the church) characterized as Christian! Programs which aid the poor, the elderly, the very young, or others in need are criticized as “socialist” even though that is precisely what the apostles set up in their first century community (long before, it should be noted, any western European economics theorist coined the term “socialist”). They are referred to as “entitlements”, a word often said with a sneer. If they are defended, it is on the grounds not of Christian practice but of some theory of economics or general ethics. The Constitutional separation of church and state, I suppose, is at work here. But for those who do support them and are Christians, if we really mean what we pray in the Lord’s Prayer (or any prayer of intercession for the poor and the needy for that matter), shouldn’t we applaud such programs as consonant with our faith? Shouldn’t we be giving and working toward their success because they are, in fact, elements of that world Jesus intended?

My staunchly Methodist grandfather taught me a number of things. A couple of them come to mind today. He taught me to never approach the altar of God without a gift of thanksgiving. Even if you’ve already made your weekly tithe (and he insisted that one give a tithe, a tenth of income), if you attend another prayer service give another offering. Those offerings, he said, are means by which God’s church carries out God’s work and answers at least some of our prayers. He taught me the same thing about taxes. I don’t know if he was familiar with Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes’s famous statement, “Taxes are the price we pay for a civilized society,” but that was certainly his attitude. He taught me that paying one’s taxes is the way the citizen enables the government to do the work it is created to do: the Preamble to our Constitution says that that is, among other things, to “establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity.” Providing for the poor, the elderly, the very young, and other needy persons sure seems to me to fit in there.

Another thing he taught me was never to pray for something I was not willing to work for. If you pray for someone to be healed, be willing (and available when called upon) to care for that person. If you pray for war to be ended, be willing (and available when called upon) to do the work of creating peace.

That’s what prayer was to my grandfather: giving and working. I think that’s what citizenship was to him, as well. If everyone who prays “your kingdom come” actually gave and worked toward the kingdom’s appearance, if everyone also looked at their citizenship that way, I suspect that we’d hear a lot less criticism of “entitlements” and that the world would look a lot like what is described in that short bit from the Book of Acts.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

How Is It We Hear? – From the Daily Office – August 3, 2012

From the Book of Acts:

“How is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabs – in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Acts 2:8-11 – August 3, 2012)

These are the words spoken by the great crowd of Jews and others who thronged the streets of Jerusalem for the Festival of Shavu’ot when the Twelve, empowered by the Holy Spirit, begin to tell the story of Jesus in languages they had never before spoken. Shavu’ot is a celebration with both agricultural and historical significance in Judaism. It is known as the “festival of the first fruits,” a harvest feast when the first fruits were brought as offerings to the Temple; it is also known as the “festival of the giving of the Law,” a celebration of the handing down of Torah on Mt. Sinai. It was called Pentecost, a Greek word meaning “fiftieth”, because it always falls on the fiftieth day after the Passover. That year it fell on the fiftieth day after the Resurrection and, thus, the Christian feast of the Holy Spirit carries that name, as well.

Twenty centuries later, the Jews still celebrate Shavu’ot and Christians still celebrate Pentecost, but what a different world we inhabit. Can we still find meaning in the notion of offering the first fruits to God? Does the giving the Law still have significance? And what of all those languages and the Apostles’ unprecedented immediate linguistic skill?

For us North American Christians an agricultural feast seems a distant and remote idyllic pastoral fantasy. We are no longer connected to the land. Our culture has moved away from an agrarian basis, through the industrial revolution, even beyond a manufacturing basis; we now live in what is being called a “service economy”. We no longer generally produce anything tangible! What are the “first fruits” of non-productive labor in a service economy? It just boils down to money, I guess.

And what about the myth (a word I use with no disrespect intended and with no suggestion that the story’s point is untrue) of God giving the stone tablets to Moses? In a time when that Law has been largely set aside by Christians and even many Jews – in a time when most people have separated the secular civil laws of everyday life from religious observance and custom – in a time when we conceive of the law as something made (“like sausage”) by a group of bickering, nasty, polarized, do-nothing elected officials – in such a time, how are we to give thanks for “the law”? Do we even want to?

Which leaves me to ponder that gift of languages? There are still plenty of them and there are more, in a sense, than ever before; even as actual, spoken tongues die out for lack of use, new means of communication arise – emoticons and email abbreviations have birthed tweets and hashtags – Facebook and LinkedIn and their ilk are the new “crowded streets” – night-time Twitter conversations are held by church people discussing ways “social media” can be used to spread the Gospel – tongues of flame seem to dance on computer monitors and laptops, on tablets and smartphones.

How is it we hear? How is it we understand? How is it we grasp the ancient truths of receiving the Law, the offering the first fruits, experiencing God’s deed of power? I’ve no doubt that hearing and understanding and comprehension are going on . . . but I often wonder if the church (the institution, not the people) is playing any part in that process of communication and comprehension. I hope and pray the Holy Spirit will alight upon us all and give us the gifts we need to do so, so that all may hear and understand in whatever “language” they best comprehend.

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Father Funston is the rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.

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