Category: Lectionary (Page 69 of 100)

Evil Lies in Our Own Voice – From the Daily Office – May 14, 2013

May 14, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel according to Luke:

[Jesus said to his disciples] “Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Luke 10:16 (NRSV) – May 14, 2013.)

Church Window I’ve been thinking a lot about this listen to voices stuff. A few weeks ago, the Fourth Sunday of Easter (April 21, 2013), we heard one of the “good shepherd” lessons in which Jesus says, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” (John 10:27). Now, he says, we hear his voice in the voices of his apostles, those whom he has sent. (This verse is taken from his instructions to and commissioning of the Seventy who are sent out to preach the Good News and heal those who come to them.)

And elsewhere he suggests that we hear his voice in the pleas of the needy for help. In Jesus’ explanation of the eschaton (end time) when the king shall separate the goats from the sheep, those who fail to help the needy from those who provide aid, he says, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matt. 25:40) Clearly, in some sense, those who render assistance have “listened” to those in need; the needy speak on behalf of Christ when they seek relief.

On the other hand, it is often said that God normally speaks to us through our consciences. That “still, small voice” that Elijah heard (1 Kings 19:12, KJV), that voice that speaks within the heart of a person is understood to be the voice of God. This is why prayer is described as a conversation with God, why prayer is understood to be as much (if not more) an activity of listening as of speaking. The thoughts that come to me in those moments of prayer, the promptings expressed by that “small voice,” however, sound like me. I hear my conscience in my own voice.

At a conference in the past few days, I heard a recovering alcoholic say, “I have a disease which lies to me in my own voice.” He went on to suggest that this is true of the power of evil in general, that it lies to us in our own voice. That interior voice we hear speaking to us may not, in fact, be God.

I’ve learned through the years that anything I hear in that “still, small voice” (which, I must admit, always sounds like my own voice) needs to be tested. I need to take those promptings and subject them to examination in the light of Scripture, but (again) that’s usually just me and my own voice doing the examining. I also need to take those promptings and lay them before one or more trusted advisors; I need to listen to those whom God sends into my life to aid in discernment. These may be family members, fellow clergy, lay leaders and members of the church, a spiritual director, or the hierarchs of my denominational tradition. Whomever, they help me to figure out if what I am hearing in my own voice is from God, from the power of evil, or from my own ego and wishful thinking.

“Whoever listens to you listens to me,” but whoever listens only to his or her own voice may not be doing so. Yes, God speaks to us in our own still, small voice, but the power of evil lies to us in our own voice. Inner promptings must be tested by community discernment.

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

Economic Excrement, Financial Feces – From the Daily Office – May 13, 2013

May 13, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Prophet Ezekiel:

[God said to Ezekiel] “You shall eat it as a barley-cake, baking it in their sight on human dung.”

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Ezekiel 4:12 (NRSV) – May 13, 2013.)

Dung Fire Today’s Old Testament reading is a disturbing piece in which the Prophet Ezekiel is instructed to lie down for several days (in fact, for more than a year) as a sign of the number of years Israel and then Judah will be punished.

While lying down, he is to make grain cakes from specific measures of spelt, millet, wheat, barley, lentils, and beans, and he is to drink specific measures of water each day. This is to symbolize that during their punishments, the Israelites and the Judeans will lack bread and water; they will experience poverty and deprivation, and “look at one another in dismay, and waste away under their punishment.” (v. 17)

The selected verse is from God’s instructions to Ezekiel on how he is to prepare and bake his grain cakes, representative of the way in which the soon-to-be-exiled People of God will have to cook their food during their banishment.

The very thought of cooking with excrement must have been shocking to Ezekiel who objected and was given leave to use cow dung rather than human excreta. It would have been shocking in the extreme to people whose God had commanded them to cover their bodily wastes immediately after defecation because the very sight of it was offensive to God:

You shall have a designated area outside the camp to which you shall go. With your utensils you shall have a trowel; when you relieve yourself outside, you shall dig a hole with it and then cover up your excrement. Because the Lord your God travels along with your camp, to save you and to hand over your enemies to you, therefore your camp must be holy, so that he may not see anything indecent among you and turn away from you.

The “designated area outside the camp,” though initially commanded as the latrine, was where everything unclean was to be disposed: the offal of sacrificed animals, warriors’ garments soiled with the blood the enemy, the stones of houses in which plague has been found, and the idols and altars of other nations are all commanded in the Law to be taken there. Persons deemed unclean because of leprosy, menstruation, issue of semen, or slaughter of animals were sent outside the camp. The “designated area outside the camp” was a place of defilement, uncleanness, impurity, corruption, dirtiness, filthiness, pollution, contamination, condemnation, punishment, rejection, castigation, and reproach. It is where disease, dung, and death were. To cook one’s food over excrement wasn’t simply distasteful, it was to imbue one’s nourishment with everything foul and unholy from the “designated area.” The smoke from a cooking fire of whatever fuel flavors anything cooked upon it; the smoke from a fire of human feces would pollute everything cooked over it.

In modern kitchens where we cook on electric burners or over clean natural gas flames, we no longer appreciate how the cooking fuel affects the flavor of the food. Many years ago, the summer of 1969 to be exact, I went to study in Florence, Italy. Upon arrival, I discovered that my pensione (boarding house) would not have a room for me until the next day. So, I checked into a small bed-and-breakfast hotel where I was offered an evening meal of chicken cacciatore. Having no other plans, I accepted. Unfortunately, the hotel kitchen used a kerosene stove. Chicken cacciatore cooked over kerosene is inedible; so too (I discovered the next morning) is coffee.

On the other hand, several years later, I had occasion to rent a cottage near the River Shannon in Ireland. It was heated by a peat stove and on that stove I could also boil water for my breakfast tea. Although I prefer coffee, one does want to be traditional occasionally when living in a 200-year-old, turf-fire-heated Irish farm cottage. My tea tasted of peat, which was an odd flavor, but not an inedible one (like kerosene). By the end of my month there everything I owned – my luggage, my books, all my clothing – smelled of peat. A couple of weeks later, touring a whisky distillery on the Isle of Skye, I discovered that good Scotch whisky (the malt for which is toasted over open peat fires) reminds me of my Irish cottage and, especially, of my morning tea.

I cannot imagine what food cooked over human feces might taste like, and I certainly do not want to find out! Apparently I’m not alone: a couple of years ago, a Japanese scientist perfected a method of making a vegan meat substitute using proteins extracted from human waste. Of over 12,500 who responded to an internet survey, 76% said there was no way they would even try the substance and another 11% said they were unsure whether they would. We can be very sure that the Israelites and the Judeans would not have wanted to; even the thought (or the threat) of eating food cooked over excrement was a religious affront to them.

However it might have tasted, the prophetic meaning is clear: food cooked over human feces is a symbol of abject poverty and want. It is a symbol of something unclean and contaminated to be avoided, not only for ourselves but for everyone. Poverty and deprivation are an abomination; any system which creates them should be viewed as corrupt and filthy, as economic excrement, as financial feces. It does not matter what name we may give such systems — capitalist or communist, socialist or fascist — if the success of the financial institutions created by those systems depends upon human beings being made destitute, those institutions and the system which creates them should be relegated to the “designated area outside the camp.” Like the smoke from a cooking fire of human dung, they pollute everything they touch. They are, simply put, shit not fit for human society.

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

The Crisis of Lifelong Learning – From the Daily Office – May 11, 2013

May 11, 2013 / eric / 2 Comments

From the Letter to the Hebrews:

For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic elements of the oracles of God.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Hebrews 5:12 (NRSV) – May 11, 2013.)

Jesus Teaching As I read this verse from the Letter to the Hebrews, continuing education in the faith (an “adult Christian formation” program) has apparently been an issue in the church for quite a while. There is certainly a crisis of lifelong learning – or the lack of it – in the church today!

Despite the fact that the Episcopal Church declares that Christian formation is a lifelong process in which each persons should grow in his or her relationships with God, self, others, and all creation, and encourages participation in adult education, it doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen in my congregation, despite my best efforts and despite the efforts of good lay people to offer and sustain Bible study groups; and if my colleagues in other congregations are being truthful, it’s not happening in other places either.

That strikes me as tragic in a denomination which has published a charter for life-long learning which asserts that God continually invites God’s People

To enter into a prayerful life of worship, continuous learning, intentional outreach, advocacy and service.
To hear the Word of God through scripture, to honor church teachings, and continually to embrace the joy of Baptism and Eucharist, spreading the Good News of the risen Christ and ministering to all.
To respond to the needs of our constantly changing communities, as Jesus calls us, in ways that reflect our diversity and cultures as we seek, wonder and discover together.
To hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s people, placing ourselves in the stories of our faith, thereby empowering us to proclaim the Gospel message.

Over a year ago, my seminary classmate the Rev. LeeAnne Watkins, offered a video confession of the “failure” in on-going education in her parish. It struck a chord with clergy throughout our denomination, and in the past couple of weeks I have seen some Presbyterian and Lutheran colleagues make reference to her video on their Facebook pages, so I know that chord is resonating in the broader mainstream.

I don’t know what the solution is. What I do know, from reading this verse from the Letter to the Hebrews, is that the crisis of lifelong learning and the problem of sustaining on-going Christian formation has been around a long time!

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

Timidity in the Dump – From the Daily Office – May 10, 2012

May 10, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Letter to the Hebrews:

Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Hebrews 4:16 (NRSV) – May 10, 2013.)

Landfill I have an inch-long scar on the palm of my left hand; if I look closely, I can still see the pin-prick scars on either side of it which represent where the sutures that closed the wound were placed. The scar is just below my left pinky finger, which doesn’t work quite so well as my right pinky because underneath the scar the tendon was cut and had to be reconstructed. I’ve had this scar and this less-than-functional finger since I was not quite nine years old. It is a reminder of the need for boldness.

The summer of 1960 was spent like many summers of my childhood visiting my paternal grandparents (if you’ve been reading these blog posts, you know that they had disinherited my father, but even so they still entertained their grandchildren). My cousins Bob (two years older) and Randy (a year younger) were also there. Bob and I decided to go scavenging in the city dump (then within walking distance of the town). We had to climb up a large, sandy hill at the edge of the landfill and then go down its other side to get to “the good stuff.”

When we got to its summit, Bob – brasher, bolder, older, heedless of danger – ran down the sandy slope into the bowels of dump. I, more timidly, afraid I might fall, picked my way down the slope and, sure enough, my footing gave way; I fell backwards and to the side, extending my hand to brace my fall. Under the sand, I found a broken bottle. That put an end to the expedition, angered my cousin, and ruined my summer. (I took off my t-shirt, wound it around my bleeding hand, and walked back to our grandparents’ home. Bob, accepting the fact that something was seriously wrong, ran ahead and prepared our grandmother, who got in the car, met me on the road, and took me to the emergency room.)

If I had simply done as Bob had done and boldly ran down the slope, my momentum would have carried me to the bottom. It was my timidity in trying (and failing) to carefully pick my way that was my undoing. Timidity leads to failure; temerity may not always lead to success, but timidity almost never does.

I think this is what the author of Hebrews is saying, too. If we timidly approach the throne of God, we’ll never get there. There will be obstacles (sandy hillsides and broken glass, for example) that we will not be able to overcome. If we approach with boldness, our spiritual momentum will carry us past those obstacles. We may (being human, we will) make some mistakes along the way, but as Martin Luther said, “Sin boldly, but believe more boldly still.”

I love this verse, and whenever I hear it, I think of that stupid, timid boy who got hurt in the landfall; if I’d just headed down that slope boldly, how different that summer would have been! The city dump may not be an appropriate analogy for the throne of grace for some folks, but it works for me.

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

The Quintessence of Dust – From the Daily Office – May 9, 2013

May 9, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalms:

What is man that you should be mindful of him?
the son of man that you should seek him out?

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 8:5 (BCP Version) – May 9, 2013.)

Dust Storm It’s sort of the basic existential question, isn’t it? I mean it strikes me as equivalent to asking such questions as “What is the meaning of life? Who am I? What is my purpose? Is there a god, and, if so, what is God’s nature?” These are the questions that, in my life, occupy the “wee hours,” the dark times. I never seem to ask these questions when it’s bright and sunny, when it feels like “God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world.” It’s when things aren’t right that these questions arise.

I’ve noticed that my “atheist” and “agnostic” friends — I put those terms in scare quotes because I’m never sure that those who use them mean the same thing by them that I do — whenever I hear them use those words I remember that line from The Princess Bride: “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” Anyway . . . I’ve noticed that they actually use this same question to argue against the existence of God. They don’t actually quote the Psalm, but they make the assertion that it is ridiculous to think that the creator of all that is should take any interest in humankind at all. Although they call themselves “humanists” — by which I assume they mean that humanity is the pinnacle of their belief system — by answering the Psalmists question negatively, they actually denigrate human beings. Their reasoning must lead to the conclusion that, assuming there might be a God, humankind is nothing in which that God would be the least bit interested; in a word, worthless. Mere dust.

Obviously, I reject that notion. Rather, I like Shakespeare’s answer to the Psalmist query, as expressed by Hamlet, “What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals.” Human beings are, as Hamlet added, the “quintessence of dust” — the fifth, or purest, extract from the dust of which all things are compounded.

Of course, Hamlet in his melancholy rejected is own description of humanity. “Man delights me not,” he declared. There is much to criticize in our species. We have been terrible stewards of creation. We treat each other badly. We make incredibly stupid decisions and terrible, terrible mistakes. And, yet, God is mindful of us; God does seek us out.

Us . . . the quintessence of dust. Think about just how wonderful that is. Especially in the “wee hours”, the dark times, when things aren’t quite right.

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

Pecking Chickens – From the Sanctoral Lectionary (Julian of Norwich) – May 8, 2013

May 8, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel of John:

Jesus said to her, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

(From the Santoral Lectionary – John 4:26 (NRSV) – May 8, 2013.)

Roosting Chickens Note: Today, my verse for contemplation isn’t from the Daily Office Lectionary. It’s from the sanctoral lectionary for the commemoration of Julian of Norwich. Today is the 23rd anniversary of my ordination to the Sacred Order of Deacons; we used the lessons for Julian’s feast. So, I took the personal prerogative of reading those lessons this morning.

Jesus and an unnamed Samaritan woman are conversing by a village well where she, an unmarried woman apparently living in an adulterous relationship, has come to draw water at a time when other women will not be present. He, a Jew traveling through this hostile countryside, in contravention of Law and custom, has spoken to her. At the end of what must have been the oddest conversation of her life, he drops this bombshell: “I am the Messiah.” I’m sure she could hardly believe her ears!

Yesterday I spent the afternoon at a conference for clergy in which the presenter at the opening session asked us to engage in a bit of silent reflection, first to remember our sense of call (when did it happen? has it faded? when did it start to fade? what is different, then and now?), and then to call to mind the ways in which we feel bound up and exiled from that original sense of ministry. During our time of silent reflection, the presenter softly read selected verses from the Psalms.

As he was reading, I closed my eyes. I listened carefully to the words he was reciting. I tried to recall that growing understanding of discernment, of a sense of urgency about doing ministry as an ordained person. But a sound intruded, a rhythmic but irregular tapping, a familiar staccato, as if my consciousness were being pecked by hens the way my hands often were when gathering eggs in my grandmother’s chicken coop. I tried to ignore it . . . but there it was: tickety-tick-tick-tack, tackety-tack-tick-tick, pause, tickety tickety tickety. Pecking away at my mind. Suddenly I recognized it — the tapping of the keys on a lap-top computer not unlike the one I am using right now. I could hardly believe my ears!

I opened my eyes and searched the room. There! One of my colleagues across the room, typing away on a MacBook or a Dell or something. Apparently not listening to the speaker sonorously reciting the Psalms. Apparently not contemplating, reconnecting with his call. Not seeming present to the moment at all.

At first I was amused. I smiled. I closed my eyes again, determined to ignore the sound; now that I knew what it was, I could filter it out. — But I couldn’t. The more I tried not to hear it, the louder the typing became: TICKETY-TICK-TICK-TACK, TACKETY-TACK-TICK-TICK, TICKETY TICKETY TICKETY! I stopped smiling; I wanted to strangle my colleague! Those damned hens were pecking away at my soul!

Suppose the speaker had quietly announced in that tone of voice we all have heard, the one that cannot be denied, the one we know in the depths of our souls is speaking truth . . . suppose he had said to us, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.” Would my colleague have heard it? Would I have heard it?

I don’t blame my colleague. I had arrived late, so I had left my lap-top in my car and run into the conference room just as the session had started. If I’d gotten there early, I’d probably have found an electrical outlet, plugged in my converter, fired up the ol’ MacBook, and started working on something. And when it came time to close my eyes and contemplate my sense of call, the chickens at my own hands would have pecked so loudly I’d never have heard a word of what was said.

The woman who came to the well came at a time when only she would be there. When the foreign rabbi spoke to her, she put down her bucket. She listened. She contemplated. She connected. She was present in the moment. No chickens pecked at her consciousness; no chickens pecked at her soul. She was able to hear him say, “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

We need to do that from time to time. We need to do that often. We need to get away from the pecking chickens so that we (and those around us) can hear.

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

Entering Silence – From the Daily Office – May 7, 2013

May 7, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Letter of James:

If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – James 1:26 (NRSV) – May 7, 2013.)

Silent Cloister There are a lot of people today who claim to be religious but do not bridle their tongues. Just spend a few hours searching the internet. Limit yourself even to Facebook. Plenty of “religious” people saying lots of, shall we say, non-religious things. I won’t say their religion is worthless, but I do wonder how much they actually value their religion and what it teaches.

But what about those who do not think they are religious? You know, the ones who claim to be “spiritual but not religious” (SBNR). Sometimes they don’t do a very good job of bridling their tongues either. Would James condemn their spirituality as worthless? Would James even acknowledge a difference between religion and spirituality? Would he rather not focus on the unbridled tongue which seems to be a commonality between many so-called religious and many so-called SBNRs?

Some of the religious are so busy defending religion against the SBNRs. Some of the SBNRs are so busy denouncing religion as unnecessary. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if both would simply bridle their tongues for a while and enter into silence?

In the Ignatian spiritual tradition, silence is a mark of spiritual maturity. In the Hindu tradition, the sages teach that if we have something to say that is truthful, kind, or useful, we should say it; if what we have to say is not, we should not say it. In some Muslim teachings, it is said that the voice of the soul is in love with silence and will only speak when its beloved comes; conversation with this voice, which speaks for the inner spiritual world, is impossible in the absence of silence.

We may claim to be religious. We may claim to be spiritual. But if we do not bridle our tongues and spend time in silence, we are neither. If we do, if we enter into silence, we may find that there is no difference between them and that we are both.

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

The Helplessness of God – From the Daily Office – May 6, 2013

May 6, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Book of Deuteronomy:

Know then in your heart that as a parent disciplines a child so the Lord your God disciplines you.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Deuteronomy 8:5 (NRSV) – May 6, 2013.)

Frustrated Man Recently, I sat down with a fellow clergy person, a cleric about my own age who is also a parent. We were talking about our kids and how there are times when, as mothers and fathers, we simply have to let go and let our children live their own lives and make their own mistakes. He made the interesting comment that, until he was parent to a maturing teenager, he hadn’t really understood what helplessness is. “As parents, ” he said, “we are essentially helpless.” This, he suggested, gives us a clue to understanding God.

I told him I wasn’t quite comfortable with the concept of helplessness; it feels somehow negative and akin to “playing the victim.” But then none of the synonyms of helpless – powerless, ineffective, inadequate, impotent – seem any better. I know what my friend is getting at . . . how to express it, that’s the issue.

I read this single verse of Deuteronomy and, as parent to adult children, I think, “How does one ‘discipline’ an adult child?” One doesn’t. It’s that simple. Adult children are adults, free to do as they will. The “children of Israel” had come of age. Like any nation, like any adult individual, they were free to do as they would. How was God the parent to discipline this mature, adult nation? Disinheritance? It wouldn’t work; I can attest to that from personal experience.

My parents, shortly after both turned 21 years of age, married in the face of parental opposition on both sides; neither set of my grandparents approved. So what did my grandparents do, on both sides? They disinherited my parents. And what did that accomplish? Nothing, except to alienate my folks from their siblings, and deprive me and my brother, my children and my brother’s children of any possibility of first-hand knowledge of our heritage. Who got punished? Who got disciplined? Certainly not my parents. I think the only people who really got hurt were my grandparents.

How does one “discipline” an adult child? One doesn’t. One simply loves them. One acknowledges that one is . . . helpless . . . it really is the only word to use . . . and one simply loves them. That’s a pretty good clue to understanding God.

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

One of Those Weeks (Salvation Belongs to Our God) – Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter – April 21, 2013

April 21, 2013 / eric / 3 Comments

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This sermon was preached on the Fourth Sunday of Easter, April 21, 2013, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(Revised Common Lectionary, Fourth Sunday of Easter: Acts 9:36-43; Psalm 23; Revelation 7:9-17; and John 10:22-30. These lessons can be read at The Lectionary Page.)

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Etching of the Heavenly Throne Room It’s Good Shepherd Sunday . . . the Fourth Sunday of the Easter Season is always Good Shepherd Sunday. Every year, regardless of which of the three years of the Lectionary cycle we are in, we hear some lessons which mention shepherds or lambs, and we recite the 23rd Psalm as the Gradual, and we sing every “Shepherd hymn” in the hymnal. I’ve been preaching Good Shepherd sermons for 25 years, so I pretty much thought this was going to be one of those Sundays when I could just “wing it” and preach extemporaneously.

But it’s not. The events of the past week have made this a Good Shepherd Sunday unlike any that has come before. This Good Shepherd Sunday, as I read the words of the 23rd Psalm, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,” (Ps. 23:4) I cannot help but be aware of all those who, unknowingly, were in that very place on Monday afternoon; I cannot help but think of Boylston Street, Boston, as “the valley of the shadow of death.”

Today’s Gospel lesson is John the Evangelist’s story of an event that happened before Jesus’ crucifixion, something that happened as he was teaching in the Jerusalem Temple. “The Jews,” which is John’s way of naming the temple authorities (the priests and scribes) gathered around Jesus and put him on the spot. “Are you the Messiah?” they ask, “Tell us plainly.”

Jesus’ answer is to say that he has said as much and that it is plain to those who are his sheep, because his sheep understand what he says: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” (John 10:27) They hear what I say; they understand my words; and they do what I tell them.

Well, maybe . . . .

Let’s be honest. Understanding Jesus and doing what he says aren’t always very easy. For example, St. Luke tells us that Jesus said, “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.” (Luke 6:36-37) And St. Matthew tells us that he commanded, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matt. 5:44) I know what those words mean, but when it comes to the events of this week, they are not easy to obey.

But . . . OK . . . let’s give it a try. Our prayer book heritage gives us words to pray when we cannot think of the words ourselves, so let’s give this praying for those who hurt us a try using some of those prayers:

O God, the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth: deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer 1979, page 816)

Into your hands, O Lord, we commend Tamerlan Tsarnaev, as into the hands of a faithful Creator and most merciful Savior, praying that he may be redeemed in your sight. Wash him, we pray, in the blood of that immaculate Lamb who was slain to take away the sins of the world; that, whatever defilements he may have contracted in the midst of this earthly life being purged and done away, he may be presented before you pure and without spot; through the merits of Jesus Christ your only Son our Lord. Amen. (Adapted from the BCP 1979, page 488)

O God, whose mercy is everlasting and whose power is infinite; Look down with pity and compassion upon Dzhokhar Tsarnaev; and whether you visit him to test his fortitude or to punish his offences, enable him with your grace to submit himself willingly to your holy will and to your judgment. O Lord, go not far from him or any person whom you have laid in a place of darkness; and seeing that you have not cut him off suddenly, chasten him as a father and grant that he, duly considering your great mercies, may genuinely turn to you with true repentance and sincerity of heart; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Adapted from the Book of Common Prayer of 1789, A Form of Prayer for the Visitation of Prisoners.)

This is what our Shepherd requires of us, that we pray for the repose of the soul of Tamerlan Tsarnaev and for the salvation Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, even though we find it very difficult to do.

When I was still practicing law, I had occasion to defend a dentist whose hobby was sculpting. One of the pieces he showed me was a very nicely done, and in most respects very traditional, Crucifix. What was nontraditional about it was the expression on Jesus’ face; it was contorted in obvious and quite extreme rage.

I asked him about that saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Christ depicted in that way, and I can’t say that I’ve ever conceived of this reading any of the Gospels’ crucifixion stories.” He answered by asking me, “You know in the Gospel according to Luke when Jesus says, ‘Father, forgive them . . . . ?’ I’ve always heard that as angry, as Jesus saying to God the Father, ‘You forgive them because, right now, I can’t.'”

If you, like me, are having some difficulty in praying for those two boys, let these prayers be offered in that same spirit. We pray for God to take them, for God to forgive them, because right now, we can’t. We know exactly what Jesus meant but right now, we can’t do it. So we ask our Shepherd to do it for us. Because, as the multitude witnessed by St. John of Patmos cried so clearly, “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!” (Rev. 7:10)

That’s one of the Good News lessons for today, for this week, I think. Jesus asks us to pray for and forgive those who do us wrong, but if we can’t, he can do it for us. We don’t need the fancy words of prayers out of the prayer book tradition. We just need Jesus’ own words, his words on the cross, “Father, forgive them.” That’s really all we need to say, “Father, forgive them.” Because even if we can’t, he can.

I think the other Good News lesson for this week is in something else Jesus says in today’s Gospel lesson: “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand.”

Yesterday, I was at a diocesan leadership conference and, as you might expect, during the break times, our conversations centered around the events of the week.

A colleague commented at a diocesan meeting this morning, “It’s been one of those weeks.” My first thought was, “One of what weeks? There aren’t very many weeks like this!” The more I thought about it, however, I think maybe every week is like this. Every week people die. It’s an uncomfortable reality, but it’s true. Every week people die. It’s nothing to fear, however. I remember hearing a bishop (it may have been Desmond Tutu) say that being a Christian means (among other things) accepting the fact that you have already died. Certainly that is the witness of scripture: “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.” (Rom. 6:3-4) And, again, “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” (Col. 3:2-3) And, again, “The saying is sure: If we have died with him, we will also live with him.” (2 Tim. 2:11) The very meaning of the Easter Season which we continue to celebrate is that death has been conquered, and that to God’s faithful people “life is changed, not ended; and when our mortal body lies in death, there is prepared for us a dwelling place eternal in the heavens.” (BCP 1979, page 382)

And every week people do awful things to other people. Sometimes those things are hugely catastrophic for many people, like the bombs at the marathon finish line. Sometimes those things go unseen by nearly everyone except the one injured, like the bullying that has led so many teens to commit suicide. Such things, awful things happen all the time. But . . . “Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless.” (Isaiah 40:28-29) And, again, “The Lord upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down.” (Psalm 145:14) And, again, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” (Philip. 4:13) The very meaning of the Easter Season which we continue to celebrate is that the power of God overcomes anything, any-awful-thing, the evildoers of this world can throw at us.

Not very long after the bombs exploded in Boston, comedian Patton Oswalt posted a reflection on his Facebook page in which he said:

I remember, when 9/11 went down, my reaction was, “Well, I’ve had it with humanity.”

But I was wrong. I don’t know what’s going to be revealed to be behind all of this mayhem — one human insect or a poisonous mass of broken sociopaths.

But here’s what I DO know. If it’s one person or a HUNDRED people, that number is not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the population on this planet. You watch the videos of the carnage and there are people running TOWARDS the destruction to help out. (Thanks FAKE Gallery founder and owner Paul Kozlowski for pointing this out to me). This is a giant planet and we’re lucky to live on it but there are prices and penalties incurred for the daily miracle of existence. One of them is, every once in a while, the wiring of a tiny sliver of the species gets snarled and they’re pointed towards darkness.

But the vast majority stands against that darkness and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, they dilute and weaken and eventually wash away the evildoers and, more importantly, the damage they wreak. This is beyond religion or creed or nation. We would not be here if humanity were inherently evil. We’d have eaten ourselves alive long ago.

So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, “The good outnumber you, and we always will.”

I think that is the reality to which Scripture testifies; I think that is the triumph of Easter — that the good will always outnumber the evil. “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand.”

So I guess my colleague was right. It’s been one of those weeks . . . a week when life was changed for some, a week in which the Presence of God helped people get through some really awful stuff, a week when the good outnumbered the bad. It’s been one of those weeks. Every week is. Thanks be to God!

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

The News vs. The Truth – From the Daily Office – April 20, 2013

April 20, 2013 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Third Letter of John:

Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, just as it is well with your soul. I was overjoyed when some of the friends arrived and testified to your faithfulness to the truth, namely, how you walk in the truth. I have no greater joy than this, to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – 3 John 2-4 (NRSV) – April 20, 2013.)

Truth The first verse of this bit from John’s Third Letter brings to mind an old hymn, the first verse of which is

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

In today’s world, it seems, the sea does not so much roll with sorrows, although there are plenty of those, as with speculations and rumors. There is a difference between “the news” and “the truth.”

For the past five days, since the bombs went off near the finish line of the Boston Marathon on Monday afternoon, the news media and social media have been awash in a sea of speculation into which have splashed the occasional fact and, more often, gross inaccuracies. It has all been “news,” but it has not often been the truth.

In the world of 24-hour news cycle anything and everything gets reported. Jon Stewart of The Daily Show eviscerated John King of CNN for his very early and very incorrect report that a suspect had been identified, found, and arrested. The report was apparently based on a misinterpretation of a tweet from a single law-enforcement officer. Such things used to be called “rumors” and checked out – now they are treated as sensational “breaking news” until disproved, and then the “news” becomes an excuse-laden analysis of “why we got it wrong” although it is never put quite so bluntly. It’s always someone else’s fault . . . . It’s all been “news,” but it has not often been the truth.

We have sacrificed truth on the altar of sensation; we have drowned it in the sea of speculation.

This morning we know who the perpetrators of Monday’s horror were. One of them is dead; one of them is in custody. Will we get to the truth of the matter? Will we ever know why this thing was done? I doubt it. We will learn some facts, perhaps, but the sea of speculation is deep and the truth may never surface.

In this environment, how does one read John and his praise for truth? How does one read Jesus’ claim to be “the Truth”? If one truly “walks in the truth,” if one is a follower of “the Truth,” I think it means viewing every report with suspicion; it means withholding judgment until “facts” are verified and more is known. It means being both skeptical and charitable. View the “news” in such a way and you may find the truth, and it will be well with your soul.

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

Category: Lectionary (Page 69 of 100)

Evil Lies in Our Own Voice – From the Daily Office – May 14, 2013

Economic Excrement, Financial Feces – From the Daily Office – May 13, 2013

The Crisis of Lifelong Learning – From the Daily Office – May 11, 2013

Timidity in the Dump – From the Daily Office – May 10, 2012

The Quintessence of Dust – From the Daily Office – May 9, 2013

Pecking Chickens – From the Sanctoral Lectionary (Julian of Norwich) – May 8, 2013

Entering Silence – From the Daily Office – May 7, 2013

The Helplessness of God – From the Daily Office – May 6, 2013

One of Those Weeks (Salvation Belongs to Our God) – Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter – April 21, 2013

The News vs. The Truth – From the Daily Office – April 20, 2013

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