Category: Episcopal (Page 113 of 114)

Running Behind!

September 25, 2011 / eric / 3 Comments

I am running behind with blogging about this trip – one of the things we’ve discovered about the west of Scotland (out in the Islands and the Highlands) is “iffy” internet … either the B&B doesn’t even provide it (or some do at an unreasonable cost) or the connection is sporadic. So it has meant not much opportunity to upload photos and blog postings.

Here’s what we’ve done:

We stayed in Oban and visited the Isle of Mull and the Holy Island of Iona. We went from there through Fort William to Portree on the Isle of Skye, with a stop at Eilean Donan Castle. On Skye we visited the Faerie Glen, the village of Uig and a pottery there, then Dunvegan Castle, and finally the Talisker Whisky Distillery.

From Skye we drove to Inverness along the shore of Loch Ness with a stop at Urquhart Castle. We have really enjoyed Inverness. We took a quite bus tour of this small city, then visited Inverness Castle (only the outside because it is a functioning government building closed on Saturdays), St. Andrew’s Episcopal Cathedral (where we will go to church this morning), and the House of Fraser Kilt Makers (Evie won’t let me buy a kilt), where we learned how kilts are made. We also walked along the River Ness and crossed it on “the bouncy bridge”. In the afternoon, we drove to Culloden Moor where the Jacobite Rebellion ended in the last battle fought on British soil and to Cawdor Castle where some sort of food festival was in progress so we didn’t stop and go in.

Today, after church, we will drive through the Cairngorms, visit a couple of castles along the way as well as the Glenfiddich distillery making our way to Aberdeen where we will be for two nights.

There is a lot to write about … but just as when I was driving around Ireland with Caitlin & Jeff and Patrick & Michael, I’m finding very little opportunity to sit down and do the work of writing (to say nothing of the tasks of reviewing, editing and up-loading photographs). So bear with me … the travelog may get written after we return to Ohio, but it will get written.

Reflections on the Tenth Anniversary of “9/11”

September 10, 2011 / eric / 7 Comments

The following is a sermon I will preach at St. Paul’s Parish, Church of Ireland, Banagher, County Offaly, Republic of Ireland, on 11 September 2011, the tenth anniversary of the Al Qaeda terrorist attack on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and possibly the White House (the third of three hijacked planes crashed into a field in Pennsylvania when passengers fought the hijackers). The closing prayer is adapted from a litany adapted by the Rev. Paul Gaston from WCC materials.

Good morning! Let me tell you a little bit about who I am and how I happen to be standing in front of you offering a few thoughts about our lessons from Holy Scripture on this tenth anniversary of the Al Qaeda attack on the World Trade Center.

I am a priest of the American Episcopal Church, a part of the Anglican Communion. In our church it is the usual practice for clergy to take sabbaticals after some period of service, usually somewhere between five and seven years in a given parish. I’m the rector of St. Paul’s Parish in Medina, Ohio, and have been since the summer of 2003; was unable to take a sabbatical in the normal course because of a variety of obstacles, but this year it proved possible, so here I am spending time in Britain, Ireland, and Scotland visiting places important in Celtic Christian history, reading and translating old Irish hymns, and arranging some music.

Part of my sabbatical design was to also spend time with my adult children, who with their partners have each spent a week with me based here in County Offaly and visiting different places around the country. This is my fourth trip to Ireland, so I had some ideas of things they might like to do; they had places they wanted to see; and they found more things to do and places to visit once they got here. So I’ve driven all over this island and gone to many places many of you may never have seen. (I have found in my own life that my wife and I only visit attractions near where we live when we have guests and there are many places in the Cleveland area that, after eight years of living there, we’ve still not been. So I suspect the same may be true of you.)

Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin, Ireland

One of the places that I visited for the first time while my son Patrick and his wife Michael were here last week was Kilmainham Gaol. As one interested in Irish history, you would think that I’d have gone there before now, but it just never happened until last Monday. It was a fascinating place to see and our tour guide’s comments about the actions of the British officials at the time of the Easter Rising of April 24, 1916 got me to thinking about the reaction of the American government to the events of 9/11, and both seem to me to highlight something about our lessons from Scripture today.

You know your own history, I’m sure, but let me just remind you that Rising was not popularly supported! It caused a great deal of death and destruction and there was considerable antagonism towards the rebels. After their surrender on April 29, as they were marched away by the British troops, they were hissed at, pelted with refuse, and denounced as “murderers” and “starvers of the people”. The British soldiers had to protect them from the civilians!

The 1916 Corridor - Cells Where the Volunteer Leaders Were Incarcerated

It was what happened just a few days later that turned the tide of public opinion – the courts martial and subsequent executions of the Volunteer leaders: Patrick Pearse, Thomas MacDonagh and Thomas J. Clarke on 3 May, of Joseph Plunkett, William Pearse, Edward Daly and Micheal O’Hanrahan on 4 May, of John MacBride on 5 May, of Eamonn Ceannt, Micheal Mallin, J.J. Heuston and Cornelius Colbert on 8 May, and James Connolly and Sean MacDiarmada on12 May. As well, the tale of the hastily arranged pre-execution wedding of Joseph Plunkett and Grace Gifford, and the treatment of the couple by the authorities affected public sentiment.

Stone Breakers' Yard at Kilmainham Gaol, Where Executions Were Carried Out

Now, I don’t want to suggest in any way that the Al Qaeda terrorists who flew those planes (and their innocent passengers) into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and that field in Pennsylvania are the moral equivalents of the leaders of the Rebellion; they are not. But I would like to suggest that the subsequent actions of the United States government led at the time by President George Bush bear an uncomfortable resemblance to those of the British authorities in 1916.

On September 12, 2011, the tide of world opinion was essentially the same as that of the Irish people on April 24, 1916 – it ran decidedly against the Muslim extremists just as Irish opinion ran against the leaders of the Rising. But just as the British authorities squandered the goodwill of the Irish people by their vengeful and unnecessarily quick executions of the Volunteers, the American authorities squandered world-wide goodwill toward America by starting not one but two vengeful and unnecessary wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, one of which continues to this day and is likely to continue for the foreseeable future, both of which have proven exceptionally costly to the people of those countries, to America, and to the whole world.

Recently, Robert Hutchings, Dean of the Lyndon B. Johnson School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas in Austin has said, “Sept. 11, 2001 was a watershed event in this country and throughout the world. Now, with the passing of 10 years, it is a unique time for reflection.” Similarly, your president Mary McAleese has referred to the Easter Rising as “that watershed event in Ireland’s narrative.”

Which brings me to today’s Scriptures….

In our reading from the Book of Exodus we are told that “the waters were divided. The Israelites went into the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left.” The Exodus was a watershed event par excellence, one might say, the major turning point in the history of the Hebrew people, the one to which they look back as the moment which defines who and what they are, the one which they re-enact each year in the Feast of Passover as the defining moment of their community.

The "New" East Wing of Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin, Ireland

We should note that the response of the national authority (Pharaoh and his army) to the departure of the Hebrews was not terribly different from the response of the British authorities to the Easter Rebellion nor of the American administration to the attacks of 9/11 – it was military reaction, a violent reaction, and ultimately a response which has failed. Our world is neither safer nor more peaceful than it was a decade ago; some would argue it is just the opposite.

As history has shown over and over in many countries and many contexts, such responses by those in power are ultimately doomed to failure – the
response of the British Raj to the nonviolent revolt of the Indian people led by Mahatma Gandhi, the response of segregationists to the Freedom Riders in the American South and the Civil Rights movement of Martin Luther King, Jr., the response of the Apartheid regime of Southern Africa to efforts of the non-white population – all echo and repeat the response of Pharaoh and his army to the freedom march of the Hebrews. We and our political leaders again and again, over and over forget the lessons of history.

Again, I do not want to suggest in anyway that the murderers who killed 3,000 or more people on September 11 are equivalent to the Hebrews, the Irish Volunteers, or those who marched for freedom in India, America, or South Africa. But I do want to suggest that the responses of those in power in all those instances were similar and all resulted from our human failure to learn the lessons of history and of Holy Scripture, that ultimately the violent military reaction is doomed to failure.

In contrast, in the Gospel lesson for last Sunday, Jesus laid out a plan of conflict resolution for the community we call the church. You may remember that in last week’s lesson Jesus said: “If another member of the church sins against you, go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.” In other words, in a conflict situation, we followers of Jesus are admonished to seek reconciliation, not retaliation; to respond with measured deliberation, not react with hasty violence; to forgive, not to avenge.

Mural of the Virgin Mary Painted on her Cell Wall by Grace Gifford, Kilmainham Gaol

In today’s Gospel lesson, my favorite apostle Peter (who never quite seems to get things right) questions Jesus about this: “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.” Other translators insist that this text should be rendered “seventy times seven times.” And scholars tell us that this number, whether “seventy-seven times” or “seventy times seven” is an example of Aramaic hyperbole representing limitless, unfathomable infinity. Jesus is telling Peter to always forgive, to constantly seek reconciliation, to never react in retaliation.

And that is what the hasty, violent, military response is … a reaction. Forgiveness, on the other hand, is a decision. Forgiveness does not mean forgetting; it does not mean blotting out painful memories, but it does mean not reacting out of them. Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who headed South Africa’s post-Apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commission, once said:

In forgiving, people are not being asked to forget. On the contrary, it is important to remember, so that we should not let such atrocities happen again. Forgiveness does not mean condoning what has been done. It means taking what happened seriously … drawing out the sting in the memory that threatens our entire existence.

Forgiveness means saying to ourselves and to others, “I will not allow what has happened to control my life. I take control of my life back from the perpetrators. From now on I will control my life.”

Jesus calls us to make the decision to forgive, to take control of our lives and of our world, to foreswear violent reactivity, to be deliberative in reconciliation, to always seek peaceful resolution.

Dean Hutchings, whom I quoted earlier, said that on this tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attack, our task should be to “honor those whose lives were lost on that day, but [also to] continue to try to understand the longer-term meaning and import of those events, even as we tackle a host of new challenges.” It was a watershed event which has changed the very nature of our world.

I suggest to you that the extreme polarization we see in current American politics, the rise of the so-called “Tea Party” on the Right and their counterparts on the Left, is in large part a result of the reactive, violent, military response to the events of 9/11 (though its roots probably go back further than that). I suggest to you that in large measure the shape of the American and world economy is a result of the costs of two wars started in that reactive response, one of which continues at a cost (according to some estimates) of about a third-of-a-billion dollars a day or more.

I challenge you to consider this question – what might our world be like today, ten years on, if the US government had responded differently to 9/11? What might Ireland have been like if the British authorities of 1916 had responded differently in the days following the Easter Rising? We can never know, of course … but we do know this … that in contrast to violence, in contrast to reactive war, in contrast to hasty executions, a different response – the decision to forgive and seek reconciliation – is the Gospel mandate.

Chapel at Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin

Let us pray:

God of peace and justice, we recall today those who lost their lives, those who lost loved ones, and those who gave themselves in service on September 11, 2001, and in the violent decade that has followed. We hold the whole of your world in prayer, praying that violence may be overcome and the path to peace and reconciliation may be found. God of life, God of love, in the face of tragedy we turn to you. Hear our cry, listen to our prayers and to the heavy silence of our hearts, which we offer in the name of your son Jesus Christ who trod the path of peace and forgiveness in the face of violence. Amen.

Sunday, a Sermon, and Superstring Theory

July 27, 2011 / eric / 2 Comments

Time away from the Irish (the language, not the people)….

On Sunday, 24 July 2011, I left my teach loistín (“boarding house”) and drove the 32 km from An Cheathrú Rua to Galway to attend the Sung Eucharist at the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas, a church which formerly (pre-Reformation) was the central church of the city. That distinction is now held by the Roman Catholic Cathedral, “The Cathedral of Our Lady Assumed into Heaven and St. Nicholas”. (How the BVM was assumed into St. Nicholas, I have no idea….) But St. Nicholas Collegiate Church, now an Anglican congregation of the Church of Ireland, continues to play a central role in the life of the city. The church has marvelous acoustics and is host to a variety of concerts, dramas, conferences, and other cultural and educational events throughout the year.

Interior of St. Nicholas Collegiate Church, Galway

It also plays the role of providing a place of worship for visiting tourists who do not wish to attend a Roman Catholic Mass. The Sunday morning congregation, especially during the summer, is an aggregation of Irish Anglicans, Protestants of several sorts (many of whom do not speak English), and tourists with little or no religious background at all (some of whom, I sure, wander in on Sunday morning to see the historic church and get “trapped” in the service). Such was the congregation this Sunday.

Interior of St. Nicholas Collegiate Church, Galway (from choir)

I arrived in Galway about one hour before the service, so I went to a local café and had a cup of coffee. Thirty minutes before the service, I made my way to the church and found a seat – not difficult as there were very few people there. A church warden introduced himself and offered me a leaflet which included nearly the entire service with an insert of the hymn lyrics. On learning that I am a priest, he asked if I would read one of the lessons for the day, to which I assented.

One of the transepts of the church has been closed off with a partial glass screen and made into the choir room. The choir was practicing and their music filled the church – it was grand! It put one into a prayerful mood and prepared one to enter into worship.

Transept, St. Nicholas Church, Galway (used as choir room)

About 15 minutes before the service was to start, a woman priest vested for the day began greeting those of us seated in the nave. She was to be the presider in the absence of the rector, who is on holiday this month.

The service started on time with a procession of crucifer, choir, and clergy. Although lay eucharistic ministers would later assist with the distribution of communion, they were not vested and did not process with the altar party. The placement of choir, clergy and altar assistant was interesting and, given that everything is moveable (and moves frequently for various events), I wondered if this is a standard arrangement or if they experiment regularly with different seating plans.

The service followed a fairly familiar pattern, more similar to the American church’s liturgy than were the Church of England services I experienced a couple of weeks ago, although as in the English church, the service began with a confession and absolution before the Gloria in Excelsis. Then there were the reading of the lessons, a sermon, a variant form of the Creed (sort of a Q-&-A format), prayers, the Peace, the offertory, the Great Thanksgiving, the distribution of Holy Communion (at stations, a central position for the Bread from the priest and four cups of Wine), the final blessing, the last hymn and the dismissal. It all followed a familiar and comforting pattern.

Free-standing Altar, St. Nicholas Church, Galway

The lessons for the day were those of the Revised Common Lectionary – from the Hebrew Scriptures the story of Solomon asking God for the gift of wisdom; from the Epistles Paul’s assurance in Romans that nothing can separate us from the love of God; from the Gospel’s Jesus rapid fire mini-parables that the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, a buried treasure, a pearl of great price, a net thrown into the sea.

Altar Window, St. Nicholas Church, Galway

The homily admonished us to do as Jesus did and look for God’s reign in the ordinary things, the ordinary places, the ordinary people of our lives. In the course of the homily, the preacher compared the structure of Jesus’ delivery of the parables to that of the Psalms referring to the Hebrew practice of parallelism as “the rhyming of ideas.” That description stuck with me.

Chancel and High Altar, St. Nicholas Church, Galway

Later in the day, I relaxed with a book, The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene. In it, describing the findings of quantum mechanics as an introduction to a discussion of superstring theory, the author writes:

Even in an empty region of space – inside an empty box, for example – the uncertainty principle says that the energy and momentum are uncertain: They fluctuate between extremes that get larger as the size of the box and the time scale over which it is examined get smaller and smaller. It’s as if the region of space inside the box is a compulsive “borrower” of energy and momentum, constantly extracting “loans” from the universe and subsequently “paying” them back. But what participates in these exchanges in, for instance, quiet empty region of space? Everything. Literally. Energy (and momentum as well) is the ultimate convertible currency. E=mc2 tells us that energy can be turned into matter and vice versa. Thus if an energy fluctuation is big enough it can momentarily cause, for instance, an electron and its antimatter companion the positron to erupt into existence, even if the region was initially empty! Since this energy must be quickly repaid, these particles will annihilate one another after an instant, relinquishing the energy borrowed in their creation. And the same is true for all other forms that energy and momentum can take – other particle eruptions and annihilations, wild electromagnetic-field oscillations, weak and strong force-field fluctuations – quantum-mechanical uncertainty tells us the universe is a teeming, chaotic, frenzied arena on microscopic scales.

As I read this I was reminded of the first words of Holy Scripture:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Transfiguration Window, St. Nicholas Church, Galway

People ask why I read books on particle physics, quantum mechanics, and string theory for relaxation. I really don’t have a good answer, and I have to admit that a lot of what I read, though it fascinates me, goes right over my head! But, for reasons which are probably beyond anyone’s comprehension, including my own, my idea of relaxing reading is exactly the sort of stuff that bored me to tears 40+ years ago – physics books. In the new understandings of quantum mechanics, superstring theory, the multiverse speculation, and other work seeking the “theory of everything” (or “TOE” as Greene and others call it), I see science converging with religion. As microscopic physics gets “weirder” (Greene’s term, again), it seems to me it gets more theological, as well. Every so often a passage strikes, if you will, a theological cord. This was one of them … the description of even empty space as “teeming, chaotic, frenzied” seems to me to echo, to “rhyme” (to use the preacher’s term) with the idea of the writer of Genesis that “a wind from God” (the Holy Spirit) sweeps over creation. Numerous theologians have taken off from this Genesis account to assert that the Holy Spirit “enthuses” all things; that the wind from God blows through and within all of creation … even empty space. How great it is that science’s new understanding of empty space as “teeming” and “frenzied” rhymes with faith’s vision of empty space as filled with God’s wind!

In Sunday’s sermon, the preacher reminded us to seek God in the everyday stuff of life. As scientists probe the “weirdness” of the smallest dimensions of everyday stuff, I think they’re doing just that … seeking God. They may be calling it the search for the TOE, but to from my perspective it’s just a variation of the same search human beings have been on for millennia, the search for meaning.

Baptismal Font, St. Nicholas Collegiate Church, Galway

And now … back to the Irish.

Shrewsbury Abbey – 12 July 2011

July 14, 2011 / eric / 5 Comments

Several years ago a woman named Edith Mary Pargeter began writing a series of murder mysteries set in the Middle Ages under the pseudonym of Ellis Peters. The “detective” protagonist of these mysteries was a monk named Cadfael. When dramatized by the BBC the actor Derek Jacobi played Brother Cadfael. Brother Cadfael’s monastic community was Shrewsbury Abbey, which is a real place. The abbey church of Shrewsbury Abbey still stands and is a functioning congregation of the Church of England. I visited the Abbey Church the morning of 12 July 2011.

Initially a small Saxon church, the Church of Saints Peter and Paul which was founded by Roger de Montgomery, a relative of William the Conqueror in 1083. It subsequently became a Benedictine Abbey and during the following 450 or so years it grew to become one of the most important and influential abbeys in England. In 1147, the relics of a Welsh Saint, Winefride, were brought to the Abbey and his shrine became an important place of pilgrimage. In 1283, the first English Parliament in which the Commons had a legal share took place in the Abbey Chapter House, and in 1398 Richard II summoned the Great Parliament in the Abbey. The Abbey was surrendered to the Crown in January of 1540 when Henry VIII disestablished the monasteries. Although much was destroyed, the nave continued to serve, as it does today, as the place of worship for the Parish of the Holy Cross.

In the nineteenth century plans for restoration of the Abbey were drawn up, but financial constraints compelled the building of only part of the plan; everything to the east of the pulpit and lectern are the work of the Gothic Revival architect John Loughborough Pearson, best known for designing Truro Cathedral; his work dates from 1886. The Pearson plans were put on hold and never completed because of the intervention of World War I.

Here are some pictures of the church:

This is the façade of the church seen from the small car park for the church staff:

Facade of Shrewsbury Abbey Church

This is the side of the church along which a major highway now runs (in the city of Shrewsbury this street is called Abbey Foregate, but it is national highway A5191 with lots of traffic). This would have been the side on which the cloister, dormitory, and other living spaces of the monastic community were built; you can see the ragged edges where the broken-down walls once adjoined the structure. The building is made of a red sand-stone native to the Shropshire area.

The interior of the church is quite large and spacious and, despite the dark stone from which it is built, natural light from the clerestory windows makes it quite bright. A very handsome painted reredos in the chancel (with a much gilt) fairly glows, and below it the altar is draped with a heavily embroidered frontal:

Nave of Shrewsbury Abbey Church

Reredos of Shrewsbury Abbey Church

Altar Frontal, Shrewsbury Abbey Church

Around the side aisles of the church are tombs, such as these. The first picture is the tomb of a medieval priest; the second, of an Elizabethan couple.

Medieval Tomb, Shrewsbury Abbey Church

Elizabethan Tomb, Shrewsbury Abbey Church

There are numerous stained glass windows, old and new, such as these two. The first dates from the Middle Ages and shows the Adoration of the Magi; the second is of quite recent vintage and celebrates the Brother Cadfael series!

Adoration of the Magi Window, Shrewsbury Abbey Church

Brother Cadfael Window, Shrewsbury Abbey Church

The ladies of Shrewsbury Abbey church were quite gracious when I visited. They have a small shop set up just inside the entrance to the church and a small coffee and tea bar at the rear of the left aisle. It was quite astonishing and rather funny to see a kitchen sink and countertop with modern appliances set up right next to an Elizabethan tomb, but this sort of “repurposing” is something the church needs to do and needs to do more frequently!

As I was about to leave, one of the ladies asked where I was from. I said, “Near Cleveland in the state of Ohio.” “Of course, you’re from America,” she said, “you such a lovely accent!” I nearly burst out laughing … I thanked her and went on my way, hoping to see a neolithic ring fort at Old Oswestry about an hour away. Unfortunately, road construction, indecipherable signage, and a GPS error made that impossible.

St. Alban’s Cathedral

July 9, 2011 / eric / 1 Comment

The other cathedral church I visited on 8 July 2011 was that in the town of St. Albans. It might not actually be a town. British law makes distinctions between hamlets, villages, towns, and cities – and perhaps other urban designations (I don’t really know). There are also parishes (of two types, ecclesiastical and legal), boroughs, and counties. Each of these legal geographies has its own council or other form of government, and their interactions (amongst themselves and between them and the national government) are the stuff of much news commentary. In any event, there is a place called St. Albans and I’ll call it a town whether it legally is one or not.

St. Albans was founded by the Romans who called it Verulamium. The town now has a really lovely public park call Verulamium Park and parts of the old Roman town’s wall are on display there. There are also lovely rolling green hills, huge willows and other shade trees, and a delightful pond which is the home of swans, geese, and ducks who are regularly fed by the citizenry. Here are a couple of pictures of the park (including the wall):

Pond at Verulamium Park, St. Albans

Roman Wall, Verulamium Park, St. Albans

St. Albans Cathedral seen through the Roman Wall, Verulamium Park

The cathedral is dedicated to, and the town gets its current name from, St. Alban, first martyr of Britain. The story is that Alban was a pagan Roman soldier. According to James Kiefer’s hagiography, “he gave shelter to a Christian priest who was fleeing from arrest, and in the next few days the two talked at length, and Alban became a Christian. When officers came in search of the priest, Alban met them, dressed in the priest’s cloak, and they mistook him for the priest and arrested him. He refused to renounce his new faith, and was beheaded. He thus became the first Christian martyr in Britain. The second was the executioner who was to kill him, but who heard his testimony and was so impressed that he became a Christian on the spot, and refused to kill Alban. The third was the priest, who when he learned that Alban had been arrested in his place, hurried to the court in the hope of saving Alban by turning himself in. The place of their deaths is near the site of St. Alban’s Cathedral today.”

Front porch, Cathedral Church of St. Alban, St. Albans, UK

The shrine of St. Alban is inside the cathedral. It forms a separate chapel behind the “screen” or reredos behind the high altar (and before the Lady Chapel which takes up what an American church member would think of as the “chancel” area of the building). While I was photographing the shrine, one of the cathedral guides came up and engaged me in conversation. In the course of our discourse she said, “We have a bone you know?” – “I thought the saint’s whole body was here!” – “Oh, no! The bones were taken away when Henry the Eighth abolished the monasteries! Most of his bones were taken to the continent and an awful lot of them were taken to the cathedral in Cologne. A few years ago the Bishop of Cologne visited and he brought us a bone – Alban’s right shoulder bone! Of course, we’re Anglicans so we’re not much on relics … but we said, ‘Thank you very much’ and accepted his bone.” – “Oh… well, where is this bone?” – “It’s in a lovely box under the shroud on the shrine!” So here’s a picture of the shrine … under that red cover somewhere is a “lovely box” contained a shoulder bone, allegedly Alban’s…..

Shrine of St. Alban, St. Albans Cathedral

The reason I visited this particular place, other than it’s Roman history connection (there’s no Celtic connection that I know of), is that I was ordained on the feast of St. Alban (well… the eve, actually, but we used the Propers for St. Alban’s feast), so I consider him the patron of my priesthood.

St. Edmundsbury Cathedral

July 9, 2011 / eric / 2 Comments

On 8 July 2011 I visited two cathedrals, the first of which was St. Edmundsbury Cathedral (which is in the town of Bury St. Edmunds – don’t ask me why the names are differently formatted; even the cathedral guide I spoke with couldn’t tell me). The town and cathedral are named for St. Edmund, King and Martyr, who was king of the East Angles; he was killed by Danish invaders in 869 CE. They had offered him peace on condition that he would rule as their vassal and forbid the practice of the Christian faith. For his refusal, he was tied to a tree and shot with arrows. Around 900 CE, Edmund’s body was brought to Bedericesworth (now called Bury St. Edmunds) and housed in a shrine in what developed into a great Benedictine abbey. That shrine became a great place of pilgrimage and Edmund was the patron saint of England, until St George replaced him.

The Diocese of St Edmundsbury and Ipswich was created in 1914, the Church of St James (on the grounds of the Benedictine abbey’s ruins) was designated as the Cathedral. In 2009 the Cathedral changed its dedication to become the Cathedral Church of St James and St Edmund.

Here are a few photos from the cathedral. First, exterior as seen from the gate from the Abbey Gardens. It was a very rainy day when I visited, so I did not go around and take a photo of the front of the cathedral from the High Street.

St. Edmundsbury Cathedral seen from the Abbey Garden gate

The main nave of the church:

St. Edmundsbury Cathedral Interior

The High Altar and then the altar in a side chapel:

St. Edmundsbury Cathedral High Altar

St. Edmundsbury Cathedral side chapel

Finally a couple of pieces of statuary. First, a wood carving of St. Edmund inside the cathedral. There is a larger bronze statue on the grounds, but because of the rain, I wasn’t able to get a picture of it. The second statue is a piece commemorating explorer Bartholomew Gosnold who gave Martha’s Vineyard, Massachusetts, its name. He sailed to the island in 1602. On seeing wild grape vines growing there, he named it for his second child, who died in infancy, and who was named Martha. Martha Gosnold had been christened in St James Church and her body is buried it its churchyard.

Wooden carving of St. Edmund, King and Martyr

Statue commemorating explorer Bartholomew Gosnold

After visiting St. Edmundbury Cathedral, I left the city and drove to the university town of Cambridge to have lunch with friends. Unfortunately, the English roads, English traffic, and English congestion got the better of me and I never made it to the lunch date. I tried … but I can now say, “I have been to Cambridge, where I failed.” Instead of meeting my friends for lunch, I threw up my hands in frustration and drove on to St. Albans where I visited the second cathedral of the day and about which I will write another post later.

Preaching on Teen Suicide

October 10, 2010 / eric / 0 Comments

The following is the text of an email I sent to some friends with whom I am part of an on-going internet community of some duration – an “email listserve” that has been in existence for several years.

This is long, but I have to write it down and share it with someone. And I apologize in advance for what I know to be offensive content below. It offended me – and I protested to the sender.

This morning I preached about the rash of recent gay teen suicides. I want to share the experience with you all. I preached ad lib with only a few notes.

I began reading John Donne’s Meditation XVII (“No man is an island, etc….”) and said that we had all been diminished recently by the suicides of Tyler Clementi (18 y.o. freshman at Rutgers), Asher Brown (13 y.o. middle school student in Houston), an unnamed 11 y.o. child in California, and Sladjana Vidovic (a Croatian immigrant student at a high school in Mentor, Ohio, age 16). Each of these children was driven to commit suicide because of bullying, teasing, oppression aimed at them because they were perceived as “different”, as outcasts. And the fault lies with each one of us because we have all participated in behaviour which has made such bullying permissible in our society. We have all sat by silently as jokes or political comments or gossip which was racist or sexist or heterosexist were uttered in our presence; we may even have told those jokes or made those remarks ourselves.

I then exegeted the lesson from Jeremiah and talked about how the Jews were the foreigners, the “other” in their exile in Babylon, and how although Jeremiah seems to be counseling assimilation, he is actually telling them to be proud of their heritage in a way that is respectful of those who are their oppressors, to pray and work for the welfare of the society in which they find themselves because in its welfare they will find their own wellbeing. And I noted how when they returned from exile, they hadn’t learned the lesson of what it is like to be “the other” in a strange society, how they had excluded the “Samaritans” from participating in the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple and how the Jews continued, some of them even to this day, to practice religious intolerance and an exclusionary theology, noting particularly how it affected groups like women, gentiles, tax collectors, and the chronically ill (lepers) in Jesus’ day, and Palestinians today. I then moved on to the Gospel and focused on Jesus’s last words to Samaritan former leper – “your faith has made you well.”

I argued that it is our faith which can make our society well, if we will simply live up to it. Basically my message was “Stop it!” – do not in anyway participate in jokes, comments, conversations, that promote racism, heterosexism, sexism, or any other exclusionary ism. If you are with someone …who starts that kind of talk, tell them to stop it!

I made note of the fact that I had heard members of the congregation criticizing and making jokes about the President in the vilest and most racist of language, that I had heard men in the congregation make jokes about their wives or other women that were not fit to repeat, that I had heard women in the parish make jokes about gays and lesbians that were decidedly unladylike … and that I had said nothing when I had, but fair warning – no longer – if someone from now on says anything of that nature in my presence I will tell them “Stop it!”

I noted that in our Epistle Lesson, Paul warned Timothy of the power of words, of wrangling over words, and that’s basically what we have to deal with — the power of abusive, exclusionary words, of taunting and teasing and “making fun of” (a terrible euphemism if ever there was one). I made mention of James’s letter in which he notes that the tongue is a flame which can start a conflagration — and that is what we have – a conflagration of youthful suicides which result from words being spoken abusively, in a social climate which makes that acceptable behaviour. It is NOT acceptable and so we must stop it! So from now on, I will speak up and protest when I hear it. I will not do it myself … and I begged them not to do it and to speak up when they hear it.

Jesus told the outcast (the leper) that his faith had made him well – only our faith can make our society well – but that faith must be public and vocal – we must tell those who make an atmosphere of abuse acceptable through their racist, sexist, hetersexist jokes and snide remarks to STOP IT! And we must do it because that is the only way to be faithful to Jesus Christ!

That was my sermon, in a nutshell; it was longer, but that’s enough for here for now.

I expected a negative reaction from some, and I’m sure there was some. Mostly those who agreed with me told me as much, and those who didn’t avoided talking with me at all, even those very conservative members who usually do exchange pleasantries didn’t do so. Oh well….

Anyway, I came home … had lunch … checked my email.

So now I need to explain that we have a men’s group loosely affiliated with the church. It started as an attempt to create a men’s fellowship, but devolved into a poker and Scotch-sampling group and includes men whose families, for whatever reason, have left the Episcopal Church as well as members of the parish. This group meets on the 2nd Tuesday of the month and though I am usually unable to take part, I’m still on their email list. Tuesday is the next meeting and so several emails have been exchanged about where they are gathering, who’s hosting, the need to replenish the stock of various labels of Scotch, and so forth.

One of the men whose family are former members of the parish (now worshiping in a Southern Baptist church because of the couple’s very strong right-wing and Christian conservative feelings) … sent this email which I found in my in basket this afternoon:

Sorry guys, if any of you are offended by the attachment below, just couldn’t help it.

This will be my daily routine, through to 2012.

HOW TO START EACH DAY WITH A POSITIVE OUTLOOK

1. Open a new file in your computer.
2. Name it ‘Barack Obama’.
3. Send it to the Recycle Bin.
4. Empty the Recycle Bin.
5. Your PC will ask you: ‘Do you really want to get rid of ‘Barack Obama?’
6. Firmly Click ‘Yes.’
7. Feel better? GOOD! – Tomorrow we’ll do Nancy Pelosi.

Could there have been a more timely email, a better example of exactly what I was talking about? This offensive drivel was sent to about twenty men, mostly members of the parish, at least half of whom were in church this morning.

I sent this reply to the same recipients:

I am offended. This kind of nonsense is precisely what is wrong with this country. It comes from both sides of the political spectrum and it has to stop. This country and our society will only get worse if this kind of disrespect continues.

If anyone is tempted to send me anything of this nature, whether it be from the Left or the Right — Please don’t. And think about what you are doing and take my advice … don’t send it to anyone.

Stop this! Stop it now before this country sinks deeper into the abyss of incivility.

The sender very quickly sent a one-line email to the same list – “I apologize to everyone.” And I sent a quick one line, “Apology accepted. Thank you.”

It has to stop … it is this kind of incivility to those perceived as “other”, the demonizing of those that are different from ourselves, that has brought us to the point where 11 y.o. and 13 y.o. and 16 y.o. and 18 y.o. children are killing themselves because they are the targets of this sort of thing. It has to stop.

We have to stop it and we can only do that by standing up to it and demanding it stop.

What’s at the Core? (Sermon for St. John’s Day)

June 29, 2010 / eric / 0 Comments

On June 27, 2010, my parish hosted the local Masonic Lodge at its later worship service, as explained in the sermon below. The lessons for the Revised Common Lectionary for the day (Pentecost 5, Proper 8C) were 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14; Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20; Galatians 5:1, 13-25; and Luke 9:51-62. At the later service, however, we used the lessons from the Episcopal Church’s Common of Saints for the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist: Isaiah 40:1-11; Acts 13:14b-26; Psalm 85:7-13; and Luke 1:57-80. The following sermon was written to preach at both services with either set of lessons.

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Today at the 10:00 a.m. service we will be commemorating St. John the Baptist.

We are hosting the local lodge of Free and Accepted Masons, whose custom it is to attend church together on the Sunday closest to the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, also called “St. John’s Day.” In the Gospel lesson for that service, John’s father, the priest Zechariah (who had been rendered mute before John’s birth), utters a prophecy on the day John is circumcised. He says to his infant son:

You, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Luke, the writer of the Gospel, then concludes, “The child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day he appeared publicly to Israel.”
In our Gospel at this [our early] service, we encounter Jesus, John’s cousin and Lord, the one for whom John was the forerunner, as Jesus encounters a variety of people who offer to follow him … after taking care of other business. Again, our Gospel writer is Luke:

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

These two stories from Luke’s Gospel speak to us about what is central and what is not.

Today in the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion, and indeed in nearly all mainline Christian denominations, we are engaged (as we have always been) in a discussion about what is central to the Christian faith … what is core doctrine and what is not?

Some centuries ago, someone in the church laid down the maxim, “In essentials unity, in non-essentials liberty, in all things charity.” This has been attributed variously to St. Augustine, to John Wesley the founder of Methodism, to John Amos Comenius the founder of the Moravian Church, and to Peter Mederlein a 16th Century Lutheran theologian. I don’t really know who first said it, but it’s a good rule to follow. The problem is in determining what is central to religion, what is essential, and what (on the other hand) is peripheral or non-essential.

Today’s Gospel stories, whether of John the forerunner or Jesus his cousin and Lord, are guides for us in considering that question.

John was the son of a priest for whom one would have thought the religious establishment was central and essential. As Luke tells us, he “grew and became strong in the spirit.” As the son of a priest, it would have been expected that he would become a priest – the priesthood in Ancient Judaism was hereditary. Like his father, he would be expected to learn the rituals and to take his regular place in the rotation of priests serving in the sanctuary of the Jerusalem Temple, to be at the very center of power in the Jewish religion. Instead, he retreated into “the wilderness until the day he appeared publicly to Israel.”

In the religious world of John’s and Jesus’s day there were two important and powerful groups of Jewish leaders, both of whom are mentioned in the Gospels: The Sadducees and the Pharisees. The Sadducees were a priestly group, Aaronites, associated with the leadership of the Temple in Jerusalem; they claimed descent from Zadok, the high priest who had anointed King Solomon. Their approach to religion focused primarily on properly performing the Temple rites; they emphasized that portion of the Law of Moses which dealt with sacrificial ritual and did not believe in an afterlife. Most importantly, they rejected the so-called “Oral Torah” or “Talmud”, which concerned the daily life of Jews and which was revered by the Pharisees. For the Sadducees the center of power and authority, the Temple and its rituals was all important. John was, by birth, a Sadducee but he rejected all of that.

The Pharisees, in contrast to the Sadducees, embraced and emphasized the “Oral Torah” and its many and detailed rules for daily life, and they did believe in a resurrection and an afterlife. The Pharisees are the ancestors of today’s Rabbinic Jews with their rules of “keeping kosher.” The Pharisees believed that all Jews in their ordinary life, and not just the Temple priesthood or Jews visiting the Temple, should observe rules and rituals concerning home life, purification, and family relationships. For them, the center of religious power and authority was the Synagogue where the everyday Jew was taught to obey, and where they the Pharisees enforced, the rules of daily living.

Jesus the Rabbi was probably a Pharisee, or at least more sympathetic to their understanding of religion than that of the Sadducees. Nonetheless, in the encounters between Jesus and the three persons who want to follow him in the regular lectionary Gospel today, we find Jesus rejecting precisely these things: he has no “home life” (for unlike a bird or a fox, he has no home!); he has no concern for purity (“let the dead bury the dead”); and he couldn’t care less about family relationships (turning back to bid a parent farewell renders one unworthy of following him). Just as John, who would blaze his trail, rejected his Saddusaic heritage and its concept of the center of religious life, Jesus rejects his Pharisaic origins and its understanding of the core of religion.

Or were they? Were they rejecting their roots entirely or were they instead rejecting those peripheral things which those traditions had wrongly placed in the center of the Jewish faith? Were they instead rejecting the non-essentials with which others had covered over and obscured the essential? The non-essentials, whether ritual temple sacrifice or kosher laws of daily life, were central to the power structures of the day, but not to religion as John and Jesus saw it.

The Sadducees had put Temple ritual and sacrificial system at the center of their version of the Jewish faith. John rejected all of that. When the Sadducees and the Pharisees came out to see what he was doing at the Jordan River, he called them both a “brood of vipers” and admonished them to “bear fruit worthy of repentance.”
“The answer to sin,” he said, “is not offering some animal on the Temple altar! The answer to sin is repentance, turning back toward God! Having a contrite heart and washing here in the Jordan is more effective than any Temple sacrifice.” “Repent!” he said, because “one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.”

That One, his cousin Jesus, also encountered the Sadducees and the Pharisees together. On one occasion the Sadducees put to him a rather silly question about the afterlife, imagining a woman who had seven husbands: Whose wife would she be in the here-after? Jesus dealt handily with that question and was then asked by a Pharisee, “What is the greatest commandment?”

Most folks understand that question to mean “Which of the Ten Commandments is most important?” or “Which of the many many rules of daily living in the Talmud is most important?” I believe that Pharisee was asking something very different. I believe he was asking, “Is the Saddusaic emphasis on the Laws of ritual sacrifice and Temple rite the central core of our religion, or is the Pharisaic emphasis on living a pure and holy daily life with all its minute rules at the core of our faith?”

And Jesus answered in a way that made it quite clear that he and his cousin John were right on the same track. “Neither,” was his answer.
“‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

God was his answer, as it had been John’s answer and as it should be our answer.

The essential core of our faith is love of God and those whom God loves. About that we are and must be united! Everything else, temple rituals, religious rites, rules of daily living and purity of conduct, questions of whether to use vestments or not, what color they should be if we do, who can be ordained or not, who can be married or not, whether to use candles or not, whether to have music, and if we do whether it can be accompanied by musical instruments, and all the other things we debate …. those are peripheral, the non-essential. With regard to those we can disagree and we must give each other the liberty to differ. And in all things we can and must treat one another with charity and good will. As St. Paul wrote to the Galatians, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law with regard to such things.”

“In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.” Amen.

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An Ordination Sermon

May 8, 2010 / eric / 3 Comments

On May 8, 2010, I had the privilege of preaching at the ordination of Jennifer Claire Leider to the Sacred Order of Priests. The lessons chosen by the ordinand were Isaiah 52:7-10; Ephesians 4:11-16; and Matthew 28:16-20. This is what I said:

We have heard three lessons from Scripture today. First, Isaiah’s radiant and joyful oracle: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace …..” (Isa. 52:7) The prophet reminds us here that we are all called to become those beautiful, swift-footed messengers who bring good news and announce salvation even as we go about our daily life.

Then Paul’s reminder that every one of us is gifted in some way to accomplish that mission, that each of us is given gifts “to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ.” (Eph. 4:12) And finally, the Great Commission: Christ’s injunction that we as a church are to “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that [Jesus has] commanded [us].” (Matt 28:19-20a)

These are not lessons usually read at ordinations, nor are they the lessons set out for the Feast of Dame Julian of Norwich, which today happens to be. They are lessons chosen by Jennifer because they speak particularly to her. But they are lessons which speak not so much to the office of the sacramental priesthood but to the ministry of the whole church, to the calling of the priesthood of all believers to spread the Gospel of Jesus Christ, to be disciples who make disciples, to invite the rest of the world into Jesus’s fellowship, to build up this wonderful and sacred mystery we call “The Church.”

Whenever I read or hear the words of Paul addressed to the Church in Ephesus that were read for us this morning, those wonderful words about the variety of gifts given to God’s People, I am reminded of my experience as rector of a congregation which grew rapidly and thus needed to construct a new building. That parish chose a phrase derived from Paul’s letter to Ephesus as its fundraising slogan: “Gifts for the Building Up of the Church.” (Not, I admit, the best bit of exegesis every done!)

Of course, one of the things that congregation needed to do, like any congregation in a building program, was to hire an architect, which we did as if we were calling a new pastor. We reviewed written submissions; we interviewed; we narrowed the field to four designers with church-related experience… and then we started visiting churches they had designed. We must have visited 50 or more religious buildings over the course of several weeks.

As we did so, we began to notice certain commonalities and similarities, and also certain distinctions between religious traditions. We noted, for example, that in ever church there was a room set aside for the use of the clergy in preparing to preside and preach, a room where they could adjust their vestments, review their sermon notes, and meditate with God before leading God’s People in worship. And we found that in that room there was always a sort of devotional focus object, an image, an icon, a statue on which the clergy could focus as they prayed. We discovered that we could predict what that object would be based on the denominational tradition of the church building, or conversely that we could pretty accurately guess what denomination’s church we were in by what that object was.

For example, in Lutheran churches one nearly always finds either that cross-within-a-heart-within-a-rose emblem that was Luther’s personal seal, or a picture of Martin himself. In Methodist churches, we always found a copy of that famous painting of Jesus holding a lighted lantern knocking at an ivy covered garden door. In Baptist churches, without fail the devotional focus image was Salman’s famous “Head of Jesus”. In Roman Catholic churches, of course, the clergy would pray before a statue or icon of the Blessed Virgin. And in Episcopal churches, there is always … a full length mirror…

So let us take a moment this morning and look into that mirror to see what is reflected back to us about this thing we call “priest”, this office of ministry into which the Bishop and the College of Presbyters will ordain Jennifer Claire Leider this morning.

Let us first of all see if Isaiah is correct about the feet of those ordained to announce the reign of God: “How beautiful,” Isaiah tells us … “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger ….” (Isa. 52:7) That may be, but as we look into our mirror please note, and let me assure you, that there is perhaps only one in a thousand, maybe only one in a million of the ordained who has beautiful feet like Daniel saw in his vision, “feet like in colour to polished brass” .. a body like beryl, a face as the appearance of lightning, eyes like lamps of fire, and a voice the voice of a multitude. (Daniel 10:6, KJV) One in a million, maybe… but as our mirror should show us most of us priests have feet of clay! We are as prone to stumbling, as prone to making missteps and mistakes, as prone to wander from the straight path of the Lord we love as any other member of the church.

In other words, dear friends, as I said before, priests in this church of ours are human beings! Whatever else we priests may be, whatever else we may be making of our sister Jennifer, she is and will remain as frail and fallible a human being as any of us. We have this treasure, as Paul reminded us, this light shining in our hearts, this poor and partial witness to the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ, in earthen vessels, in clay jars prone to crack and break if we over-use and over-burden them. (2 Cor. 4:7) So let us remember that, above all else: The priest in this church is just a human being!

We have a tendency to forget that, that our priests are human beings. Almost since its beginning we Christians have struggled with two images of the church and thus of the clergy, and this is especially so at times like this when we ordain and empower leadership for the church: Is the church the Virgin Mother, pure, unsullied, and unstained? Or is she an Earth Mother gathering her wayward children to her skirts?

In the Virgin-Mother church, no eye is pure enough to see God, no tongue clean enough to speak God’s name. This church is vigilant in covering her children’s ears and eyes, trying to keep them from seeing or touching the world’s impurity. Her clergy are paragons of virtue, models to the flock in perfection and holiness, in morality and goodness.

In the Earth-Mother church, however, the dirty hands and unwashed faces of her children are a delight. “I am come that you might have life,” Jesus said, “and that you might have it abundantly.” This church’s children gather to her like Ma Kettle’s kids coming in from the barnyard, frogs in their pockets and grass stains on their jeans. What they lack in cleanliness they more than make up in liveliness and in joy. Her clergy are real people with real flaws, earthen vessels prone to breakage.

Of course, we Anglicans are “both/and” sorts of people and live with the tension between the clergy expectations of the Virgin-Mother church and the clergy reality of the Earth-Mother church. So, as we gaze into our full-length Episcopal mirror, let us be especially cognizant of that fact: let us acknowledge that the expectations we hang on the framework of a simple human being are phrased in the terms of that purer Virgin-Mother church.

In our liturgy, we will say today of Jennifer that we expect:
that she will exalt God in the midst of God’s people,
that she will offer acceptable spiritual sacrifices,
that she will boldly proclaim the gospel,
that she will rightly administer the sacraments of the New Covenant,
that she will be a faithful pastor,
that she will be a patient teacher,
that she will be a wise councilor.
And, finally, that in doing all these things, she will do so without reproach.

And let us admit that it is audacious of us to do so, to expect all of that from a frail and fallible human being. It’s not only audacious; it’s outrageous! Outrageously audacious! Or rather that it would be if we did not also believe and trust in Jesus’ promise at the end of Matthew’s Gospel to be with us always, to stand with the human beings we entrust with the church’s ministry, to fill them with the power of the Holy Spirit. Still, it’s a lot to ask of an earthen vessel – to be acceptable and bold and right and faithful and patient and wise and pure and good and holy!

So, Jennifer, why do you want to be a priest? I know you have already answered that question because I asked it of you almost two years ago, and I know that others have asked it of you many times over the past five or so years, but it bears repeating: “Why do you want to be a priest?”

We don’t expect you to answer it again today, because we know the answer. All of us presbyters have been asked it and we have answered it. We may have phrased the answer differently, but for each of us it is the same. It’s not that the person called to priesthood wants to be a priest; it’s that that person must be a priest!

Presbyterian pastor and author Frederick Buchner spoke for us all when he answered that question in his book, The Alphabet of Grace:
“I hear you are entering the ministry,” the woman said down the long table meaning no real harm. “Was it your own idea or were you poorly advised?” And the answer that she could not have heard even if I had given it was that it was not an idea at all, neither my own nor anyone else’s. It was a lump in the throat. It was an itching in the feet. It was a stirring of the blood at the sound of rain. It was a sickening of the heart at the sight of misery. It was a clamoring of ghosts. It was a name which, when I wrote it out in a dream, I knew was a name worth dying for even if I was not brave enough to do the dying myself and if I could not even name the name for sure. Come unto me all ye who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you a high and driving peace. I will condemn you to death. (Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace, pp. 109-110)

Buechner’s last sentence describing this call to priesthood is mind-blowing: “I will condemn you to death.” It is terrifying and it is terrific! We follow the Christ who leads us through death to life. Death to selfishness, death to ego, and life to the truest self within. We die to self to uncover what the Quakers call, “that of God within” or the “inner Teacher” … the True Self. Your call, Jennifer … our call is to continue dying to self and, as a result, to continue becoming truly alive, to continue growing in boldness and righteousness, in faithfulness and patience, in wisdom and, yes, even holiness.

It is, as any priest here will tell you, a painful process. To be a priest in Christ’s church is, as Paul made quite clear in his letters to the congregations in Ephesus and Rome, a gift; it is a wonderful, precious, costly, and painful gift. As you, Jennifer, have already learned in your hospital work, it will take you into the deepest intimacy with God’s people, with your people. As you have observed, at times you will be with them in the midst of their worst nightmares – death and divorce, devastating illness and the depths of despair. At times, you will feel put-upon and misused. At times, you will feel left out and neglected. At times, there will be conflict, and it will seem like it is eating you alive. People will hurt you, intentionally and spitefully, but also negligently or simply because they are in pain.

We could, I suppose, shelter you from that pain, but we won’t. Because the source of that pain is also the source of the most exquisite joy, when that same intimacy will privilege you with sharing God’s people’s, your people’s happiest and most blessed moments – when two people commit themselves to one another for life, when their children are born, when they know themselves to be God’s beloved.

But be forewarned…. In the midst of all the pain and joy, in dying to self to find your True Self, it is easy to lose yourself. So, it is a good thing every once in awhile to look into our Episcopal full-length mirror and take stock, to remind ourselves who we are and, more importantly, who stands with us.

It is traditional at this point, as an ordination sermon comes to its end, to ask the one whose life is about to be fundamentally altered to stand to receive a special charge. So now I will do that.

Jennifer, my charge to you is a story and a short list of rules.

The leaders of two nations met for a very important summit meeting. As they were talking, a subordinate of one rushed in … angry and livid. The prime minister responded, “Peter, remember Rule #6.”
“Ah! Yes, sir,” and he bowed out.
Another staff member rushed in, totally stressed, obviously overwhelmed.
“Maria, remember Rule #6.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I almost forgot. Thank you, sir.” She too bowed out.
A third rushed in. Same scenario.
The visiting leader is amazed. “Three people have rushed in, almost out of control. You simply mentioned Rule #6, and they immediately calmed down. I have to know this rule.”
“Oh yes,” responds his host. “Rule #6. It is a very good rule. Rule #6 is this: ‘Don’t take yourself too damned seriously.’”

Here are the other five rules:

Rule #1: Be very clear and committed to God’s Purpose and Mission. Die daily to self that you may continue to become truly alive. Share your people’s good times and bad in all the terrifying pain and terrific joy of it. If you don’t, you destroy your chances of bringing God into in their lives.

Rule #2: Be very clear and committed to your Vision and Principles. You are the messenger announcing peace; you are sent to proclaim the Good News and to baptize all nations. Do whatever it takes to share Jesus with others.

Rule #3: Get out of the church, frequently! There are two reasons for this rule. First, you must meet people where they are. If you are going to reach the nations and teach them, you need to search for them and you won’t find them inside the church building. Second, for your own sanity, find some friends who aren’t members of the Episcopal Church!

Rule #4: Mentor ten people to do ministry at least as well as, and preferably better than, you can. All those gifts Paul mentioned are given to the whole church – find the people who have them and help them learn to use them!

Rule #5: Do not avoid conflict. Conflict is messy and it can be painful, but it is also creative and it can be the door to intimacy. Just learn to not take it personally.

And, of course, Rule #6: Remember what G.K. Chesterton said about angels: “They can fly because they take themselves lightly.” Don’t take yourself too damn seriously. I am tempted to tell you to get a full-length mirror … but I’ve found at least three of them in every Episcopal Church I’ve served in, so I’m sure you’ll find one to use. Over the coming years, every so often, look in that mirror. Remind yourself, you may be a priest … but you are still just a human being! Remember who you are, and remember whose you are; remember who is standing with you. Remember the last sentence of the Great Commission: He is with you always, even to the end of the age! Amen. (Matt. 28:20b)

A Vision

April 27, 2010 / eric / 0 Comments

This (edited to remove some awful, glaring typographical errors!) is the “Rector’s Reflection” I wrote for the May 2010 issue of St. Paul’s Epistle, the newsletter of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio.
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What Is A Vision?

In Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase version of Holy Scripture called The Message, he renders a portion of the Prophet Habakkuk’s prophecy this way:

And then God answered: “Write this. Write what you see. Write it out in big block letters so that it can be read on the run. This vision-message is a witness pointing to what’s coming. It aches for the coming; it can hardly wait! And it doesn’t lie. If it seems slow in coming, wait. It’s on its way. It will come right on time.” (Habakkuk 2:2-3)

The first half of Proverbs 29:18 in the Authorized version reminds us that “Where there is no vision, the people perish….”

In seven years time, April 2017, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church of Medina, Ohio, will be 200 years old. We will have much to look back over and to celebrate. Gwendolyn ______________ does a wonderful job of reminding us of our history, both long-ago and more recent. (In this issue of St. Paul’s Epistle, she relates the story of our Columbarium and Memory Garden.) We are very grateful to her for that ministry for it keeps us reminded of and connected to our foundation on the good works many.

That foundation provides us a good vantage point, not so much to look backward at our history as to look forward to our future. Sir Isaac Newton once wrote to a friend, “If I have seen a little further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” Sir Isaac, in turn, was quoting an aphorism of the early medieval scholar Bernard of Chartres. According to his student, John of Salisbury, “Bernard of Chartres used to say that we are like dwarfs on the shoulders of giants, so that we can see more than they, and things at a greater distance, not by virtue of any sharpness of sight on our part, or any physical distinction, but because we are carried high and raised up by their giant size.”

I believe we have not only the opportunity, but the duty to look forward, a duty to have a vision “pointing to what’s coming”, a vision that “aches for the coming,” that “can hardly wait!”

As one write has noted, “A Vision is an ideal and unique image of the future. It answers the question, ‘What should we become?’ How would you finish this question: ‘If anything is possible, if there no restraints whatsoever, our church ideally would be _______’? ”

A Vision is not a goal. Goals are good. We should have goals. Challenging goals help us to keep on doing what we have been doing, only more of it or getting better at it: win more games, get better grades, build nicer buildings, increase attendance at worship, broaden our musical horizons, serve more hungry people through Free Farmers’ Market.

A few years ago, a couple of business writers suggested that business organizations should have what they called “Big Hairy Audacious Goals” or “BHAGs”. They defined a BHAG this way: “A true BHAG is clear and compelling, serves as a unifying focal point of effort, and acts as a clear catalyst for team spirit. It has a clear finish line, so the organization can know when it has achieved the goal; people like to shoot for finish lines.” (Collins and Porras, Building Your Company’s Vision, 1996)

Goals are great! BHAGs are super! And it is said that goals, even the biggest and hairiest of them should be SMART, which means that a goal is Specific, Measureable, Attainable, Relevant, and Time-bound.

But a Vision is something different. A Vision is something that speaks to us so powerfully that those who hold it can say with conviction, “If we could achieve that, my life would have the deepest meaning?”

Where a goal keeps us doing what we’ve been doing, a Vision propels us to a different place, to a future radically different from the past. It has been said that the difference between a goal and Vision is continuity – a goal is continuous is the past, which a vision is radically discontinuous, a Vision gives us a compelling picture of a new tomorrow.

The Next Hundred Years

A few days ago the Senior Warden and his wife, Ray and Vicki _____________, took Evelyn and me to dinner at a local oriental restaurant. Predictably, our very pleasant time together ended with Fortune Cookies. My fortune was this: “If you keep doing what you’ve always done, you’ll keep getting what you’ve always gotten.”

WOW!

Could there have been a clearer statement of the need for a Vision for one’s life or one’s business … or one’s church? I don’t think so! If we simply change the word “you” to “the church” in that fortune cookie aphorism, the result is compellingly stark:

IF THE CHURCH KEEPS DOING WHAT IT’S ALWAYS DONE, THE CHURCH WILL KEEP GETTING WHAT IT’S ALWAYS GOTTEN.

Back in 1988, the Bishops of the Anglican Communion and, with them, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, declared that the 1990s would be the “Decade of Evangelism.” To quote a recent politician, “How’d that go for ya?” Do you remember the church doing a lot of evangelism? Do you remember a lot of growth happening in the Episcopal Church during the 1990s? If you do, please tell the rest of us about it, because I sure don’t remember it! The Bishops and the Convention may have made a declaration, but the church kept doing what it had always done, and it kept getting what it had always gotten … at least what it had gotten since about 1965 – decreasing membership and increasing irrelevance to the lives of those around it.

Why wasn’t the Decade of Evangelism successful? Because it wasn’t compelled by a Vision. Recently, I wrote a note to a clergy friend with whom I was discussing our history of evangelistic success or lack thereof. This is what I wrote:

What I recall is “The Decade of Evangelism” being declared by the General Convention and then practically nobody, from “815” (i.e., our national headquarters) on down, actually doing anything about it. A few “progressive” parishes did some good work of evangelism and grew, and a few more “conservative” congregations did some good work of evangelism and grew, but for the most part the Episcopal Church just said, “We’re going to grow in this decade” and then sat back and assumed the rest of the world would invite itself to know Jesus.

What that experience proves, of course, is that it doesn’t matter whether a particular parish is progressive or conservative. What matters is whether the people in that parish learn how to tell the story of their relationship with Jesus and share that story with others. If we can do that, we grow; if we don’t do that, we die. Whatever else we do isn’t all that important if we’re not doing that.

So how about this as a Vision for our future, as a Vision for St. Paul’s Episcopal Church of Medina, Ohio, in the next hundred years?

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of people who know Jesus Christ personally, who know Jesus Christ so well that they can and do tell their story of knowing him to others wherever and whenever the opportunity presents itself, who know Jesus Christ so well that they recognize him in the neighbor who’s struggling with a broken marriage, in the homeless person on the street, in the hungry family whose monthly income has run out a week before the next paycheck and who have nothing to feed the kids!

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of disciples who follow Jesus so closely that we’re practically treading on his heels and who are so happy and joyful doing so that others, to whom we shout out invitations to join us, want to do exactly that because they can see that we’re on to something!

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of worshipers of every generation who know and tell all sorts of faith stories, who know and sing all sorts of music, who celebrate and share the Holy Eucharist as if it were (as it is!) the greatest party we’ve ever been to, who sometimes have to stand up during worship, not because the Prayer Book rubrics say to do so but because there are no seats left in the Nave!

My Vision for our parish is to be a community of Easter People who know the Real Presence of our Risen Lord among us and who share his presence with the world around us!

Alleluia! Christ Is Risen! The Lord Is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!

Category: Episcopal (Page 113 of 114)

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