Category: Theology (Page 45 of 94)

We Just Don’t Know – From the Daily Office – August 5, 2014

August 5, 2014 / eric / 1 Comment

From the Psalms:

Hear my teaching, O my people;
incline your ears to the words of my mouth.
I will open my mouth in a parable;
I will declare the mysteries of ancient times.
That which we have heard and known,
and what our forefathers have told us,
we will not hide from their children.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary [Morning Psalm] – Psalm 78:1-3 (BCP Version)
– August 5, 2014)

Bible BCP and Shield This is the text from which I took the title of this blog, That Which We Have Heard & Known. I did so because of my conviction that we have heard and known many things from Scripture, but we don’t know that we know them. We have heard them. If we are Episcopalians we have heard them many times over, but they never seem to be familiar.

So I believe that we know them, we just don’t know that we know them.

Since the adoption of the current iteration of The Book of Common Prayer in 1976 (it is known as “the 1979 book” because it was ratified in that year having been first approved by the General Convention in 1976) with a three-year eucharistic lectionary and a two-year Daily Office cycle, Episcopalians have prided themselves on the fact that nearly all of Holy Scripture (about 80% is what I remember being told) is read in church in public worship in the course of 36 months. Since our adoption a few years ago of the Revised Common Lectionary with its “two track” options for lessons from the Hebrew Scriptures, an even more is read over the course of 72 months if both Old Testament tracks are used (I’m not sure what that percentage would be).

In addition, we like to point out that a good deal of The Book of Common Prayer — the prayers, the litanies and responsorials, the various liturgies, to say nothing of the Psalter — is taken directly from Scripture, so even when we aren’t specifically reading from the Bible, we are using and hearing the language of the holy text. However, in my estimation, we aren’t learning it! We’ve heard it, but we don’t know it.

If there is one abiding failure in my denominational tradition (and there are, I must admit, more than one, but for the moment we’ll limit our discussion), it is that we do not promote the biblical literacy of our members. And we seem to take pride in our failure. When Episcopalians are reminded about how much better some other Christian traditions are at remembering the words of Scripture, I have heard them reply along the lines of . . . “Well, in the Episcopal Church we aren’t required to leave our brains at the door; we’re allowed to think! We don’t just memorize bible verses.” I wonder if those who pride themselves on not “just memorizing” bible verses would also take pride in not memorizing the multiplication tables. If one’s brain is to function, if one is truly to think, if one is to undertake the calculus of faith, one must have at hand and in memory the data and the techniques required, just as one must know the numbers and the techniques of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division to do the calculus of higher mathematics.

One of my favorite prayers in the BCP is the collect for Proper 28 used on the Sunday closest to November 16. Because it comes at the end of Ordinary Time, which is frequently truncated, we often do not hear it:

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

We Episcopalians are pretty good on the hearing, not bad on the reading. But marking, learning, and inwardly digesting . . . those we need to work on. We have heard them; we know them; we just don’t know that we know them.

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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

Good Question, God – From the Daily Office – August 4, 2013

August 4, 2014 / eric / 1 Comment

From the Psalms:

O Lord God of hosts, how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers?

(From the Daily Office Lectionary [Morning Psalm] – Psalm 80:4 (NRSV) – August 4, 2014)

Question Mark I am becoming quite fond of the New Revised Standard Version’s Psalter! It keeps hitting me with new ways, often disturbing ways of understanding the hymns of David, which I have habitually read from the Book of Common Prayer (1979) since being ordained. However, I’m finding new insights by using the NRSV and other translations instead of the Prayer Book.

Take the fourth verse of this morning’s psalm, for example. The BCP version is:

O Lord God of Hosts, how long will you be angered despite the prayers of your people?

There’s a huge difference between this and the NRSV’s rendering, a staggering difference. God being angered “despite” our prayers is a very, very different thing from God being angry “with” our prayers! The Authorized (King James) version uses yet another preposition:

O Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou be angry against the prayer of thy people.

Any of these is a valid interpretation of the somewhat ambiguous Hebrew word ‘ad which has a root meaning of “until” and, frankly, the King James is perhaps the best because it picks up that ambiguity.

The Prayer Book’s “despite” suggests that our prayers ought to be acceptable to God, that God’s anger persists in the face of supplications and petitions which should be satisfactory to God and should placate God’s anger. The NRSV’s “with,” on the other hand, would imply that our prayers are not acceptable, that they are the cause of God’s anger. The KJV’s “against” could mean either.

In any event, the NRSV’s translation throws the question in the Psalm back at me in a way the BCP version never has, although even there it should. The question really is not how long will God be angry; the question might be, “What is it about my prayer that angers God or fails to assuage God’s discontent? What is inadequate or unacceptable in my prayer?”

Asking that question, however, reminds me of two things. First, I recall what I was taught about prayer as a child – that its purpose is not to change God, but to change me. The reason we pray is not to change God’s mind, but to conform our minds to God’s. Second, I recall a line from an ancient hymn: “God is love and where true love is, God himself is there.” Remembering those two things, the question changes again: “Is God truly angry, or am I [is the Psalmist] simply perceiving God as angry because I am not conformed to God’s love, because I am somehow out of sync, out of a proper relationship with God?”

The Psalm’s question to God, “How long will you . . . .?” is really God’s question of me, “How long will I . . . .?” How long will I persist in attitudes and behaviors that distort my relationship with God, that make me perceive God’s love as anger? God can’t (or won’t) answer that question; only I can.

Good question, God, really good question.

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

Uncounted, Unnamed Children – Sermon for August 3, 2014, Pentecost 8, Proper 13A

August 3, 2014 / eric / 1 Comment

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On the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, August 3, 2014, this sermon was offered to the people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(The lessons for the day were: Isaiah 55:1-5; Psalm 145: 8-9,15-22; Romans 9:1-5; and Matthew 14:13-21. These lessons can be read at The Lectionary Page.)

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Tabgha Mosaic - Loaves and Fish Today we are witnesses to one of the great and popular miracles of the gospel story, the feeding of the 5,000, which is actually the feeding of many more than that — notice the last few words of the gospel lesson text: “those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.” (v. 21, emphasis added) Matthew gives little thought to the men’s wives or their uncounted, unnamed children.

I would like to put us in context, both in time and space, so we have a fuller picture of what we have just witnessed. Matthew tells this story in the middle of chapter 14 of his gospel. In chapter 13 he related all those parables told by Jesus sitting in a boat off the shore of the Galilean lake at Capernaum, but at the end of the chapter he doesn’t leave Jesus sitting in the boat. Instead, he tells us that “when Jesus had finished these parables, he left that place [and] came to his hometown,” which would be Nazareth. (Mt 13:53-54) (You may recall that that didn’t go well: Jesus was heard to say that ” prophets are not without honor except in their own country” – v. 57)

Then, at the beginning of chapter 14 Matthew leaves Jesus altogether and tells us about the beheading of John the Baptist, which took place Sebastia, about 36 miles south of Nazareth. Matthew then brings us back to Jesus saying at the beginning of our lesson today that upon hearing the news of John’s execution, Jesus “withdrew in a boat to a deserted place.” (14:13)

Since Nazareth is not on any river or lake, I’m not sure how he did that! Here’s my difficulty: Nazareth is about 20 miles due west of the southern tip of the Sea of Galilee. In order to “withdraw in a boat” he’d have had to walk for a day or two first. It’s possible though.

Near by Nazareth, about four miles away, is the city of Sepphoris, believed to be the Virgin Mary’s hometown. In Jesus’ time it was a Roman city and may have been where craftsmen from Nazareth, like Joseph, worked. There probably was regular commerce between Sepphoris and the Roman city of Tiberias on Galilee; today there is a highway between them. Jesus may have walked to Tiberias and then gotten in a boat to make his way back to Capernaum (about 10 miles north along the shore).

Tradition tells us that the feeding of the 5,000 (or more) took place about three miles south of Capernaum at a place called Tabgha, or al-Tabigha in Arabic, a name derived from the Greek name Heptapegon meaning “seven springs”. As early as the Fourth Century there was a shrine at the identified location. A pilgrim woman from Spain named Egeria chronicled her travels in the Holy Land around the year 384 and, about Tabgha, wrote: “In the same place (not far from Capernaum) facing the Sea of Galilee is a well watered land in which lush grasses grow, with numerous trees and palms. Nearby are seven springs which provide abundant water. In this fruitful garden Jesus fed five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish.” (Egeria, of course, has thought only of the men, not their wives or their uncounted, unnamed children.)

In the floor of that shrine was a mosaic of loaves and fishes which has become famous throughout the Christian world. It is reproduced on your bulletin cover and is now preserved in the floor before the altar of the Church of the Multiplication, a Benedictine monastery church built at the site. The place is about a mile inland from the shore of Lake Galilee.

One last detail must be attended to and that is the question, “Could there really have been that many people there?” Possibly. That’s the best answer one can give. There are many towns and cities close enough to Tabgha that, if word got around that a miracle worker were there, people could have gotten there within a day or less of good solid walking, more quickly if they could ride a donkey or camel. Sepphoris had a population 40,000 or more, and Tiberias may have been of similar size; both were within a day’s journey. Capernaum probably had a population of 2,000 or more. The city of Chorazin, which Jesus (by the way) had cursed, is nearby. Migdala Nunia, the hometown of Mary Magdalene, is nearby. A large, m ixed crowd of Jews, Romans, and other Gentiles could easily have gathered. Matthew may be exaggerating, but even if he has increased the number of men tenfold, we are still witnessing something wonderful. Jesus is able to feed a whole lot more people than he ought with two fish and a few loaves of bread.

So that’s when and where we are as we witness this scene of Jesus providing lunch for an unbelievably huge number of people. We are on a hillside a mile from the Sea of Galilee where Jesus has gone in an attempt to get away by himself. He has just recently had a negative experience in Nazareth; he has just heard about the execution of his cousin John; he has tried to get away from it all, but the people have followed him and now find themselves with nothing to eat. And so they have turned to Jesus’ disciples, to the Twelve (who seem also to have followed him) and asked them for food. And the Twelve are at loss about what to do. They have taken stock and they simply do not believe that they can feed all these men, to say nothing of the women and the uncounted, unnamed children.

So they have a very reasonable suggestion for Jesus: “Send them away. Tell them to go back where they came from, or if that is too far away then to one of the nearer towns, and buy themselves something to eat. We cannot feed all these men and their women and their unnamed, uncounted children.”

Send them away! We do not have enough to share with these children who are fleeing drug wars and violence in Central America and illegally crossing our border and . . . .

O, wait . . . I’m mixing up my stories, sorry. This isn’t the Mexican border. This is the Holy Land. Right . . . .

Send them away! We do not have enough to share with these Palestinian children with their demands for civil liberty and a country of their own and . . . .

O, darn. I’ve done it again, mixed up my stories. This isn’t Gaza; this is the Galilee. Right . . . .

But the stories are easy to mix up. Unnamed people in need, unnamed children in need, and the response at the Mexican border is the response in Gaza is the response on that hillside at Tabgha. Send them away! Get rid of them! And whatever you do don’t count the children, don’t name the children, don’t even think of them as children.

Think of them as “law breakers.” Think of them as “illegal immigrants.” Think of them as “migrant hispanics.” And send them away. Get rid of them.

A few days ago, a major news organization quoted a North Carolina politician as saying (and, as God is my witness, I am not making this up): “To me, they’re breaking the law when they come here. If we can’t turn them back, I think if we pop a couple of them off and leave the corpses laying on the border, maybe they’ll see that we’re serious about stopping immigration.” (Raw Story)

Send them away! Get rid of them! And whatever you do don’t count them, don’t name them, don’t even think of them as children.

A few days after the current fighting in and around Gaza started a U.N. school was bombed — Hamas claimed it was an Israeli shell; Israel claimed it was an errant Hamas rocket; but to the seventeen children who died that was really irrelevant. The numbers of Palestinian dead began to rise and a disproportionate number of the dead every day are kids. By July 23, over 600 Gazans had died, 150 of them children. On that day, international aid agencies were reporting that “a child had been killed in Gaza on average every hour for the preceding two days, and more than 70,000 children had been forced to flee their homes.” (The Guardian)

That week, the Israeli human rights organization B’Tselem offered for radio broadcast a public service advertisement listing the names of some of the children. The Israeli Broadcasting Authority banned the ad saying its content was “politically controversial.” B’Tselem appealed and in its appeal said: “Is it controversial that the children [aren’t] alive? That they’re children? That those are their names? These are facts that we wish to bring to the public’s knowledge.” Its appeal was denied and the names of the children have never been published in Israel.

Whatever you do don’t count the children, don’t name the children, don’t even think of them as children. Think of them as “collateral damage.” Think of them as “Hamas sympathizers.” Think of them as “dirty Palestinians.” But send them away. Get rid of them.

On learning that the advertisement had been banned, the respected British children’s author Michael Rosen wrote a poem. Rosen, for two years, was British Children’s Laureate and has written more than 140 books for children. He is, incidentally, an ethnic Jew. This is his poetic response to the Broadcasting Authority’s ban:

Don’t mention the children.
Don’t name the dead children.
The people must not know the names
of the dead children.
The names of the children must be hidden.
The children must be nameless.
The children must leave this world . . .
having no names.
No one must know the names of
the dead children.
No one must say the names of the
dead children.
No one must even think that the children
have names.
People must understand that it would be dangerous
to know the names of the children.
The people must be protected from
knowing the names of the children.
The names of the children could spread
like wildfire.
The people would not be safe if they knew
the names of the children.
Don’t name the dead children.
Don’t remember the dead children.
Don’t think of the dead children.
Don’t say: ‘dead children’.
(Don’t Name the Dead Children)

“Send them away,” said the Twelve, “Get rid of them.” Jesus answer took them by surprise: “You feed them,” he said. And he proceeded to show them how they could, to prove to them that with whatever resources they had, they could care for those 5,000 men and their wives and their uncounted, unnamed children.

Lambs About a mile away from the spot where that happened, on the beach of the Sea of Galilee is another church. It is called by two names. One is the Church of the Primacy of Peter; the other is Mensa Domini, the Lord’s Table. It marks the place where, after his Resurrection, the Lord appeared to his disciples and cooked for them a breakfast of broiled fish. As they ate, Jesus asked Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter

said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.” (Jn 21:15-17)

On the Mexican border, in the person of our brothers and sisters who work in Episcopal Border Ministry or Episcopal Migration Ministry, we meet those refugee children fleeing violence and death in Central America . . . In Gaza, in the person of our sisters and brothers of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem who work in the hospitals and clinics our own Good Friday offerings support, we meet the Palestinian children facing bombs and rockets and death . . . And when we meet those uncounted and still in the media unnamed children, we are just like the Twelve standing on that hillside at Tabgha looking at those 5,000 men and their wives and their unnamed, uncounted children and wondering, “How are we going to deal with this?” Some of us will want to say “Send them away we can’t handle this,” but Jesus says to us as he said to the Twelve, “Feed them.”

Jesus asks us what he asked Simon, son of John, on that beach, “Do you love me?” And if our answer is “Yes” he will name those children: he will name them “my lambs,” and what he said to Peter he will say to us, “Feed my lambs.”

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A request to my readers: I’m trying to build the readership of this blog and I’d very much appreciate your help in doing so. If you find something here that is of value, please share it with others. If you are on Facebook, “like” the posts on your page so others can see them. If you are following me on Twitter, please “retweet” the notices of these meditations. If you have a blog of your own, please include mine in your links (a favor I will gladly reciprocate). Many thanks!

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

Death-Shadow – From the Daily Office – August 2, 2014

August 2, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalms:

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil;
for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary [Evening Psalm] – Psalm 23:4 (BCP Version) – August 2, 2014)

Dark Valley The 23rd Psalm is so popular, such a familiar and well-loved devotion for so many people, that one is loath to say anything about it. It was something my grandfather (staunch Methodist Sunday School teacher) insisted his grandchildren memorize and recite every night before bed, so I even have personal trepidation about messing with it. But mess with it I will.

I’m critical of the language used by the King James edition interpreters: “the valley of the shadow of death.” It’s not that it’s a bad translation. In fact, it’s almost a verbatim rendering of the Hebrew . . . and that’s the problem! A verbatim rendering misses the point (I think).

My entire life I have personalize “the shadow of death.” I suspect I’m not alone. I’ve always thought of this as a metaphor for the Evil One and, thus, have spiritualized this psalm. I’ve thought it had to do with passing through the some realm in the afterlife like Orpheus seeking Eurydice. But that’s wrong!

The Hebrew is tsalmaveth, a compound word made from tsel meaning “shadow” and maveth meaning “death.” It would best be rendered as “death-shadow,” meaning the deepest, thickest, blackest, gloomiest darkness one can imagine and, figuratively, a place of extreme danger.

The Complete Jewish Bible renders this verse, “Even if I pass through death-dark ravines, I will fear no disaster; for you are with me; your rod and staff reassure me.” Understanding tsalmaveth in this way (as deep darkness and potential extreme danger) makes so much more sense of the “comforted (or reassured) by rod and staff” part!

This isn’t about not going to or through or beyond Hell. It’s about getting through life, through real-life situations of danger, with God’s help.

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

Encountering Jesus with Mixed Emotions – From the Daily Office – August 1, 2014

August 1, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalms:

When my soul was embittered, when I was pricked in heart, I was stupid and ignorant; I was like a brute beast towards you.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary [Evening Psalm] – Psalm 73:21-22 (NRSV) – August 1, 2014)

Coexist - Religious Symbols I don’t know what to do about Israel and Palestine. Apparently no one knows what to do about Israel and Palestine. There is so much bitterness and emotion on both sides and from all quarters that no one can even talk about Israel and Palestine.

There’s a Facebook meme that I see from time to time: “How to start an argument online.” The instructions are simple: (1) express an opinion; (2) wait. With regard to the fighting and the deaths in Gaza, this is especially true.

Condemn the government of Israel or the Israeli Defense Force for bombing schools and hospitals . . . one is immediately labeled anti-Semitic.

Express sympathy for the people of Israel who have to deal with Hamas’ rockets . . . get called a Right-wing ideologue.

Vent one’s horror at the deaths of Palestinian women and children . . . you are obviously a supporter of Hamas.

Suggest that maybe the two sides should sit down and work out a way to live together . . . clearly one is naive or, worse, delusional.

So much bitterness and heartsickness on all sides; so much stupid brutishness as a result.

In today’s gospel, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go to the tomb, find it empty, and encounter an angel. Even though the angel tells them to not be afraid, they are; they leave the tomb “with fear and great joy.” They have, as my late mother was fond of saying about many things, “mixed emotions.” This ought to be, and probably is, what most people have about the situation in Israel and Palestine.

But what we seem incapable of doing is admitting that, that our emotions are mixed. Instead, we latch on to one predominant emotion and let it color every statement and conversation: horror at the death of children and we become passionate defenders of the Palestinians, unable to see that there is some right on the side of the Israelis; fear for the Jewish homeland and we become passionate advocates for the IDF, unable to see that there is good on the Palestinian side, as well. In the thrall of emotion, as the Psalm says, we become stupid and brutish.

The women, with mixed emotions, encountered Jesus.

One of the things we learned on our recent trip to the Holy Land was that there has been a significant, even drastic drop in the percentage of the population which is Christian. Thirty years ago, about 25% of Palestine’s residents were Christian; today, less than 2%. Israel blames “Muslim extremism” for causing the Christian exodus; Palestinians counter that it results from Israeli government policies. It really doesn’t matter, however; the decrease is a fact.

What is also a fact is that, on the ground — not from government or leadership sources, but from people we met on the street, both Israeli Jews and Palestinian Arab Muslims told us in no uncertain terms that they need the Christian presence, that they see in the Christian community the only possibility for peace and reconciliation. They believe that the Christian presence holds the possibility for mediation and a way forward for all.

They made it clear, of course, that by “Christian presence” they mean the traditional churches, the Roman Catholics and the Greek Orthodox, the Lutherans and the Anglicans, not the “Armageddonists,” the fanatics who support the ultra-Orthodox Jews who want to rebuild the Temple, the Dispensationalists who think the recreation of “biblical Israel” will hasten the Rapture, the Tribulation, the final battle, and the return of Christ. The presence of those folks holds only the promise of greater conflict.

No . . . the people we met on the streets and in the shops of Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Nazareth, and elsewhere want, with their mixed emotions, with their bitterness and heartsickness, to encounter Jesus in the people of his church. They want to, as the Lutheran bishop in the Holy Land said yesterday, engage in “interfaith dialogue, a dialogue which seeks the common values of peace, justice, co-existence, and non-violence.” (Bishop Munib Younan)

This is why the traditional Christians of Palestine must stay, and why the traditional Christians of other countries must support them with our prayers and encouragement, our financial contributions, and even our presence. We must not be afraid to go to the Holy Land to stand with them and to greet the other children of Abraham, the Jews and the Muslims, to say to all, as Paul said to the Corinthians, that there is a “still more excellent way.” (1 Cor 12:31)

“Without dialogue between religions, extremism will grow and moderates, including Christians, will be sidelined and marginalized in their own societies. It is time not only for governments to assume their responsibilities, but also people of faith.” (Bishop Younan)

We must not allow mixed emotions, bitterness, or heartsickness to turn us brutish and stupid. Rather, with all of our emotion and our intellects, we must encounter Christ and we must be the Christ others encounter.

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

Talking of Michelangelo – From the Daily Office – July 31, 2014

July 31, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Gospel according to Matthew:

When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who was also a disciple of Jesus. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus; then Pilate ordered it to be given to him. So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were there, sitting opposite the tomb.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Matthew 27:57-62 (NRSV) – July 31, 2014)

One evening during our recent pilgrimage to the Holy Land, while we were staying at the guest house of the White Sisters of Nazareth in Nazareth, our tour director took a group of us into the basement of the convent and then deeper underground. We entered an excavation in which a First Century home and, nearby, a tomb had been discovered and were preserved by the Sisters with little fanfare or public acknowledgment.

The tomb was the sort known as a “bench tomb” containing an outer room, where the bodies would be prepared, wrapped in linen and anointed with spiced, aromatic oils, and an inner room, where the bodies would be laid on stone benches carved in the walls. The bodies would repose for a few years while desert air, insects, and the processes of decay did their work. Later, perhaps after about four years, the bones would be removed, placed in an ossuary, and the ossuary taken to a necropolis for their permanent rest.

Our guide referred several times to the outer room as “the room where women wept.” It was the women’s job to attend to the bodies of the dead, to prepare them for their time of decay on the tomb’s stone benches. Each time he said it, I thought of a couple of lines from a poem by T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.”

And I wondered, what would the women have talked about as they went through the task of washing the bodies of the dead, anointing them with the oils, wrapping them with the linen bindings?

Would they talk only about the deceased? Or would the conversation move on to cover other things of daily life — marriages and births, departures from the village, illnesses and aches-and-pains? Would it stray into less familiar territory — philosophy and art, “talk of Michelangelo,” current politics, synagogue governance?

What might Mary Magdalene and the other Mary have discussed if they had had the opportunity to perform their ritual task that Friday afternoon? The gospels give us no clue and we are left with only our imaginations to fill in the gap. That is the frustration, as well as the beauty and wonder, of religion. True faith does not seek to answer every question, fill in every space, but leaves room for the believer’s active fancy to flesh out the story. What might the women have talked about? Use your imagination!

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

Prayers Not Ended – From the Daily Office – July 30, 2014

July 30, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Psalter:

The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Psalm 72:20 (NRSV) – July 30, 2014)

Muslim Man Praying in Sujood “Wait! I’ve never seen that verse.” I probably have, actually, but as with much of Scripture seeing it and paying attention to it are rather different things. In any event, that was my thought as I read the morning psalm today from the Bible instead of from the Book of Common Prayer.

I have read the Psalms four times a year for more than twenty years; I was ordained a deacon in 1990 and began, part of my clergy discipline, the regular round of readings in the Daily Office lectionary including its every-three-month rotation through the Psalter. More than ninety times now, and I cannot recall ever reading, saying, or chanting, “The prayers of David son of Jesse are ended.”

So . . . I turn to page 686 in my Prayer Book and discover . . . it’s not there! Verse 20 simply isn’t there in the Prayer Book version of Psalm 72. Maybe I haven’t ever seen this verse before!

I’m used to not seeing the Psalter’s superscriptions in the BCP, those blocks of information that precede the actual song in many biblical manuscripts, those introductory notes where we find primarily technical, descriptive terms and phrases that relate to the authorship or performance of the psalm to which they are attached. Some are there, but mostly they have been edited away. I presume that the Prayer Book editors considered verse 20 some sort of footnote of similar liturgical or spiritual import to the superscriptions (which is to say none) and, thus, deleted it.

But this morning I find myself drawn to it and intrigued by what it means to say that prayers are “ended,” particularly given alternative translations of the original Hebrew kalah. This word appears frequently in the Hebrew scriptures – over 200 times; it occurs twenty-one times in the Psalms and is variously translated in the psalter and elsewhere.

Here it is given what I take to be the simplest of meanings: Psalm 72 is the last of the psalms (“prayers”) ascribed to David – whatever follows are by other poets. But elsewhere it has been interpreted to mean something quite different.

For example, in Psalm 69 it is used to describe failure of one’s eyesight (for sight to “grow dim” as the NRSV puts it):

I am weary with my crying; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God. (Ps. 69:3, NRSV)

I have grown weary with my crying; my throat is inflamed; my eyes have failed from looking for my God. (Ps. 69:4, BCP)

In Psalm 18 it is rendered as “consumed” in the NRSV and as “destroyed” in the BCP:

I pursued my enemies and overtook them; and did not turn back until they were consumed. (Ps. 18:37, NRSV)

I pursue my enemies and overtake them; I will not turn back till I have destroyed them. (Ps. 18:38, BCP)

What if these meanings are what the final, BCP-exluded verse of Psalm 72 is really getting at? What would it mean to end a psalm with the thought, “The prayers of David have failed” or “The prayers of David are consumed” or “The prayers of David are destroyed”? In light of today’s conflicts throughout the world, especially in the Middle East, and most especially in Israel-Palestine, Psalm 72’s petition that the rulers of nations be given righteousness that they may govern with justice and in peace would certainly seem to have failed . . . .

Perhaps the most poignant and fitting alternative translation of kalah is found in Psalm 84, in which it is rendered as expressing deep desire and longing (“yearning”):

My soul longed and even yearned for the courts of the Lord; My heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God. (Ps. 84:2, NRSV)

My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God. (Ps. 84:1b, BCP)

Given the tenor of the petitions of Psalm 72, I think this may be the best way to understand verse 20. The psalms, the prayers of David are not ended. They are not destroyed or consumed. They have not failed . . . but neither have they not been answered. The world still longs for peace. The world still yearns for justice. The world still desires righteousness.

This is why the church continues, day in and day out, every three months, four times a year, to read, recite, chant, and sing the psalms. They express a deep, a very deep still-unfulfilled yearning for the reign of God. The prayers of David son of Jesse are not ended. Perhaps the Prayer Book editors were right in omitting verse 20 . . . .

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

“The cattle are dying; invest in vultures” – From the Daily Office – July 29, 2014

July 29, 2014 / eric / 1 Comment

From the Book of Judges:

Then the Israelites did what was evil in the sight of the Lord and worshiped the Baals; and they abandoned the Lord, the God of their ancestors, who had brought them out of the land of Egypt; they followed other gods, from among the gods of the peoples who were all around them, and bowed down to them; and they provoked the Lord to anger. They abandoned the Lord, and worshiped Baal and the Astartes. So the anger of the Lord was kindled against Israel, and he gave them over to plunderers who plundered them, and he sold them into the power of their enemies all around, so that they could no longer withstand their enemies. Whenever they marched out, the hand of the Lord was against them to bring misfortune, as the Lord had warned them and sworn to them; and they were in great distress.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Judges 2:11-15 (NRSV) – July 29, 2014)

Vultures My usual Sunday afternoon occupation, after presiding and preaching at church and making any needed pastoral calls, is reading the online edition of the New York Times, which is what I did Sunday. Among the many items that got my attention was a very short report on some economic statistics, specifically on the fact that the net worth of the typical American family has decreased by more than a third over the last decade: “The inflation-adjusted net worth for the typical household was $87,992 in 2003. Ten years later, it was only $56,335, or a 36 percent decline, according to a study financed by the Russell Sage Foundation.” (The Typical Household)

What happened during that decade, of course, was the so-called “housing bubble,” the debt default crisis, the packaging of sub-prime mortgages into derivative investments, the Great Recession, the bank bail-out, and a significant increase in student debt (made non-dischargeable in bankruptcy by a Congress which also refused to find ways to lower the interest rate on such loans). Typical Americans saw their biggest asset (the family home) substantially reduced in value while their indebtedness increased. Of course their net worth went down! I don’t want to believe that Americans have been given “over to plunderers who plundered them,” but Americans certainly are “in great distress.”

In fact, as I am writing this, I just received an email from Bill Moyers (a subscription service, of course; Bill Moyers doesn’t write to me personally) with this tidbit: “50% of jobs in the US pay less than $34,000 a year. And 25% of jobs in the US pay below the poverty line for a family of four: less than $23,000 annually.”

Now, in truth, I’m not the sort who believes that God hands people over to plunderers or sells “them into the power of their enemies all around.” That’s an ancient way to understand the law of cause and effect (and, perhaps, the law of unintended consequences), but as a metaphor for how the world works . . . it works for me. Especially if the metaphor makes us give thought to what “Baals and Astartes” we may be worshiping and with what consequent effect.

With the Times’ report still in my memory, I turned on NPR in my car as I went to make a call early yesterday afternoon and one of their many news and commentary programs were on — I think it may have been “The World.” The subject under discussion was the announced acquisition of the Family Dollar grocery chain by its “extreme value” competitor, Dollar Tree. The reporter was interviewing a stock market analyst, a specialist in retail commerce stocks, about the merger, asking if the analyst thought it was a wise move by Dollar Tree.

The analyst was just gushing about what a great deal this was and why stocks of “extreme value” retailers (it was from him I learned this term) are such a good buy for an investor. His basic reason: the number of people below the poverty line has doubled in the last decade! The number of poverty level households in the United States has gone from one-in-twelve to one-in-six. People living in such families are the natural market for “extreme value” retailers, so their market share has increased. They are poised, he said, “to make a killing!”

I was flabbergasted! I’d never heard anyone so overjoyed that more Americans are living in destitution, that so many of his fellow citizens are in need. He was, in essence, say, “A lot of people can’t afford good products, so the wealthy should invest in the stores that sell them substandard crap. Lots of money to be made there.” Isn’t that like saying, “The cattle are dying; invest in vultures”? Or (to use our bible metaphor today), “God is handing them over to be plundered; invest in the plunderers! God is selling them to their enemy; invest in the enemy!”

Who or what are the “Baals and Atartes” this society worships? Who are the “plunderers” to whom we are given over to be plundered? On what altars are we sacrificing and what is it we are offering?

On one level, this is just economics. The part of me that went to business school and has an MBA wants to say, “That’s just the way markets work.” But another part of me must respond, “But that’s just unacceptable.” And I remember Someone who said, “No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” (Mt 6:24, NRSV)

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

Foundation Stones – From the Daily Office – July 28, 2014

July 28, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

From the Letter to the Romans:

Greet Prisca and Aquila, who work with me in Christ Jesus, and who risked their necks for my life, to whom not only I give thanks, but also all the churches of the Gentiles. Greet also the church in their house. Greet my beloved Epaenetus, who was the first convert in Asia for Christ. Greet Mary, who has worked very hard among you. Greet Andronicus and Junia, my relatives who were in prison with me; they are prominent among the apostles, and they were in Christ before I was. Greet Ampliatus, my beloved in the Lord. Greet Urbanus, our co-worker in Christ, and my beloved Stachys. Greet Apelles, who is approved in Christ. Greet those who belong to the family of Aristobulus. Greet my relative Herodion. Greet those in the Lord who belong to the family of Narcissus. Greet those workers in the Lord, Tryphaena and Tryphosa. Greet the beloved Persis, who has worked hard in the Lord. Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord; and greet his mother — a mother to me also. Greet Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas, and the brothers and sisters who are with them. Greet Philologus, Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas, and all the saints who are with them. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the churches of Christ greet you.

(From the Daily Office Lectionary – Romans 16:3-16 (NRSV) – July 28, 2014)

Foundation Stones Paul often ends his correspondence with these requests that the readers convey his personal greetings to specifically named people. I often find myself skimming those parts of the reading, just passing quickly over them. But, also, I often find myself pausing at these names, wondering about them. Who were they? What did they do in their daily lives? How is it that Paul was personally acquainted with them?

Once upon a time I thought about preaching a series of sermons — or maybe writing some short stories — based on fanciful biographies for these named but now forgotten members of the early church. I gave up on that when I realized I had neither the gift for fiction nor sufficient knowledge of daily life in the First Century to do so credibly. Maybe someone else will do that — I would be among his or her readers if someone did.

When I read these names, I cannot help but think of a passage in the Book of Sirach, a passage read at my late brother’s funeral several years ago:

Let us now sing the praises of famous men, our ancestors in their generations. The Lord apportioned to them great glory, his majesty from the beginning. There were those who ruled in their kingdoms, and made a name for themselves by their valor; those who gave counsel because they were intelligent; those who spoke in prophetic oracles; those who led the people by their counsels and by their knowledge of the people’s lore; they were wise in their words of instruction; those who composed musical tunes, or put verses in writing; rich men endowed with resources, living peacefully in their homes — all these were honored in their generations, and were the pride of their times. Some of them have left behind a name, so that others declare their praise. But of others there is no memory; they have perished as though they had never existed; they have become as though they had never been born, they and their children after them. But these also were godly men, whose righteous deeds have not been forgotten; their wealth will remain with their descendants, and their inheritance with their children’s children. (Sirach 44:1-11)

These friends of Paul are those of whom “there is no memory,” those who “have perished as though they had never existed; they have become as though they had never been born.” Nothing of their lives remains other than these greetings in Paul’s letters. And there are countless others of those early followers of Jesus of whom even less is left . . . .

Except, of course, the church. These forgotten followers of the way are the lowest course of the living stones which are built up into the spiritual house that is the church (1 Pt 2:5), that “house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” (2 Cor 5:1) They are the foundation stones lying next to and alongside the Cornerstone.

The church is “their wealth [which] remains with [us] their descendants.” So don’t pass over the names of those to whom Paul sends personal greetings. Pause and give thanks for them. Without them, we wouldn’t be here.

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

Parables and Women’s Ordination – Sermon for Pentecost 7, Proper 12A – July 27, 2014

July 27, 2014 / eric / 0 Comments

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On the Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, July 27, 2014, this sermon was offered to the people of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Medina, Ohio, where Fr. Funston is rector.

(The lessons for the day were: 1 Kings 3:5-12, Psalm 119:129-136, Romans 8:26-39, and Matthew 13:31-33,44-52. These lessons can be read at The Lectionary Page.)

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Philadelphia 11 Ordination

Tell all the truth but tell it slant,
Success in circuit lies,
Too bright for our infirm delight
The truth’s superb surprise;
As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind.

That’s a wonderful poem, isn’t it? Tell All The Truth by Emily Dickinson: “Tell all the truth but tell it slant;” come at it obliquely, shaded as it were, because “the truth must dazzle gradually” otherwise everyone will be blinded. But for the fact that she wrote it 1868, I would suspect Jesus of having read it and following her advice in today’s gospel discourse. These several parables are very “slanted”!

Of course, it is very unlikely that Jesus related all of these parables at one time, the two we heard the last two Sundays and these five (or is it six) that are in today’s lesson, but that is the way Matthew presents them. Most probably, these seven or eight metaphors for God’s dominion were things Jesus said at different times, but as the oral tradition transmitted them to and through his followers in the years afterward the specific circumstances of each were forgotten. Just the “slanted” sort of weird imagery was remembered, so Matthew writing his gospel tale a few decades later was left to figure out how to fit them in and decided to just put them all together in one teaching session. So we have these five (or is it six) all lumped together on one Sunday, five ways to understand — I use that word advisedly — to understand God’s sovereignty played out “on earth as it is in Heaven.” The holy domain is

like a mustard seed (and the mighty big bush it grows into);
like yeast (leaven) in a lot of flour;
like a treasure buried in a field;
like a pearl of incredible value;
like a dragnet gathering in an abundance of fish; and
(maybe, I’m not sure of this one counts as a parable)
like a scribe tossing out a bunch of stuff, old and new.

As one commentator has suggested, “That is probably four [or is it five] images too many for one sermon.” So let’s deal with the first one primarily, the mustard seed and the tree into which Jesus says it grows.

Tree imagery as a metaphor for empire was well-known in Jesus’ time. There are at least three very important instances of it in the Hebrew scriptures, so it was familiar to the scribes, the priests, the rabbis, the Pharisees, and the Sadducees, and those who preached in the synagogues had probably made it fairly well known to their congregations, to folk like those who heard Jesus tell this parable. Those three instances are found in Ezekiel, Daniel, and the Psalms.

In the 17th Chapter of Ezekiel we read:

Thus says the Lord God: I myself will take a sprig from the lofty top of a cedar; I will set it out. I will break off a tender one from the topmost of its young twigs; I myself will plant it on a high and lofty mountain. On the mountain height of Israel I will plant it, in order that it may produce boughs and bear fruit, and become a noble cedar. Under it every kind of bird will live; in the shade of its branches will nest winged creatures of every kind. All the trees of the field shall know that I am the Lord. I bring low the high tree, I make high the low tree; I dry up the green tree and make the dry tree flourish. I the Lord have spoken; I will accomplish it. (Ez 17:22-24)

In the 4th Chapter of Daniel, King Nebuchadnezzar of Bablyon tells Daniel of a dream he has had:

Hear the dream that I saw; tell me its interpretation. Upon my bed this is what I saw; there was a tree at the center of the earth, and its height was great. The tree grew great and strong, its top reached to heaven, and it was visible to the ends of the whole earth. Its foliage was beautiful, its fruit abundant, and it provided food for all. The animals of the field found shade under it, the birds of the air nested in its branches, and from it all living beings were fed. (Dan 4:9-12)

As Daniel interprets the dream, the tree represents Nebuchadnezzar and his kingdom.

And, finally, from Psalm 104, these words would have been sung in the Temple liturgy:

You make grass grow for flocks and herds *
and plants to serve mankind;
That they may bring forth food from the earth, *
and wine to gladden our hearts,
Oil to make a cheerful countenance, *
and bread to strengthen the heart.
The trees of the Lord are full of sap, *
the cedars of Lebanon which he planted,
In which the birds build their nests, *
and in whose tops the stork makes his dwelling.
(vv. 14-18, BCP version)

Yes, metaphors of mighty trees would be part of the spiritual landscape familiar to Jesus’ hearers. But not mustard bushes! The people who first heard Jesus preach this parable must have thought he was crazy, or that he was mocking the prophets, or that he was making a joke at the expense of the priests and the rabbis.

The mustard was not, is not, despite what Jesus said, “the greatest of shrubs [which] becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” The white mustard which grows in the Middle East is an invasive weed, a self-propagating, rapidly-growing, garden-ruining, field-destroying weed. Let it get into your growing space and you will never get rid of it. Jesus’ parable is not, like Ezekiel’s prophecy or the psalm’s liturgical praise, a story of a mighty and stately cedar tree. It is a “frightening tale of an invasive plant sowed perhaps in desperation because it grows and therefore might produce something usable quickly, but with it is the threat that because it is so hard to get rid of it may stultify the land and make it unavailable for future better crops. Once it is grown big it will seed itself again and again….” (English clergyman Christopher Burkett) It can’t be controlled!

And that may be the point of Jesus’ metaphor: the domain of God is like the mustard seed, not because from small things great things may come (the usual interpretation of this parable), but rather because the invasive mustard cannot be controlled. It is like the Wind of God which “blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.” (Jn 3:8) Once it gets started, you cannot control it.

It’s one of those Jesus-turns-the-world-on-its-head things, Jesus-tells-the-truth-in-a-slanted-way things, using a perverse and noxious weed as a metaphor for the reign of God.

The parable of the yeast in the dough makes that same point! Our NRSV translation says that the woman “mixed” it into her flour and we assume that this would be so that the bread would rise. However, the Greek verb Jesus uses is not the word for “mix.” It is the word in Greek is engkrupto — the root of our word “encryption” — it means “to hide” or “to conceal.” Like the tiny mustard seed, the yeast could not be seen — it was hidden in the meal, into “three measures” of the meal, which is an important detail.

Yeast, for us, is a useful ingredient in baking. For First Century Jews, however, yeast was a problem; for Jews of Jesus’ day leaven was a symbol of filth and corruption. Anything that was leavened with yeast was forbidden in the Temple. This woman was playing with fire! As a symbol of God’s dominion, this yeast is fire of the Holy Spirit: wherever it is present, things get changed and transformed. A tiny, hidden bit of it can work major changes — when we understand that that “three measures” of flour is enough to make 150 loaves of bread, we get that point! The growth of the yeast and the changes it makes in a huge amount of dough are as uncontrollable as the invasive mustard weed that takes over the field — and the point is the same: you cannot control the reign of God; once it gets started, look out!

Yet another of those Jesus-turns-the-world-on-its-head things, Jesus-tells-the-truth-in-a-slanted-way things, using the foul corruption of leaven as a metaphor for the reign of God.

The hiddenness of the yeast, the small invisibility of the mustard seed, link these parables with the next two — the treasure hidden in the field and the unexpected discovery of the priceless pearl. The reign of God is not only uncontrollable, it is surprising. Hidden, invisible, unexpected, it comes upon us in surprising ways and, uncontrollable though it may be, the changes it makes in our lives are beyond price, more valuable than we could ever imagine.

Which brings us to the last two metaphors, the dragnet full of fish, some good, some bad, in need of sorting out, and the scribe who is like a master of a household sorting old and new. The metaphor of the fish is yet another image of the final judgment, like the separating of wheat from the darnel in the parable of the weeds, or the sorting of the sheep from the goats in Jesus’ description of the Last Day; it is a warning for the sinful, but also a promise for those who faithfully follow the Lord. What, however, are we to make of the master of the house bringing out things old and things new?

This parable, it has been suggested, authorizes the followers of Christ who have been properly instructed, who have studied our catechisms and who have continued to study scripture and church tradition, who are schooled in the scriptures and in our communities’ histories, to re-interpret that scripture and that tradition, to bring out of our treasure of scripture and tradition that which is new, new insights, new interpretations, new ways of being God’s People even though those may not explicitly have been recorded in any previous text, to tell the truth slanted in a way that no one has slanted it before.

This accords with the ancient presupposition that properly trained scribes had the ability to decipher and interpret sacred texts. Followers of Jesus are to be trained scribes. They — WE — are to continuously study the scriptures, to be educated and trained, to have the ability to invoke tradition (the “something old”) and to contribute novel insights that have not previously offered (the “something new”).

On Tuesday, we celebrate the fortieth anniversary of a small, but remarkable event in the life of the church. On July 29, 1974, eleven women were ordained to the priesthood at Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Their ordination was not sanctioned by the canons of the church; the ordination of women had been hotly debated in two or three or more meetings of the General Convention, but had not yet been approved. Nonetheless, four bishops decided that they could not wait further parliamentary wrangling on the question.

Newsworks, a Philadelphia news journal, this week published this description of the service:

It was hot that day — July 29, 1974 — and the church was packed with more than 2,000 people — including family, congregants, and media. Not all were friendly.

“There was one protester who was very dramatic and said that these women could offer up nothing but the sight, sound, and smell of perversion,” said [Allison] Cheek [one of the eleven]. “Some in the congregation began to boo and hiss at that moment.”

“On one level it was scary,” said [Nancy] Wittig, another member of the 11. “But it was very clear as we got started that this was not just some vacant daydream by a bunch of women, but indeed a movement that was happening in the church.”

Delivering the sermon was Charles Willie, an African-American professor of education at Harvard University and a member of the Episcopal House of Deputies. He compared the ordination to the civil rights movement.

“This shouldn’t be seen as an act of arrogant disobedience,” said Dr. Willie from the podium. “But an act of tender defiance.” (Newsworks, 24 July 2014)

That “act of tender defiance” changed the church. The next meeting of the General Convention, in 1976, voted to approve the priestly ordination of women and, as Newsworks noted, the decision was “broader than just allowing women to the priesthood — it called for gender equality at all levels of church hierarchy, including bishops.” Today, nearly a third of the priests in our church are women and our current presiding bishop is a woman: the Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori.

If the protestor at the ordination of the Philadelphia 11 was right, if there was about it “the sight, sound, and smell of perversion,” it was the perverseness of the mustard seed; it was the corruption of the yeast hidden in three measures of flour; it was the uncontrollable contrariness of the Holy Spirit and it has changed the church.

And for that we give thanks. Let us pray:

God of surprises, you startle us with truth we do not see, as we do not see the mustard seed; with truth that may be hidden from us, as the yeast is hidden in the dough; with truth that is as surprising as the unexpected treasure and as priceless as the great pearl. We thank you for the ministry of women throughout the church, and especially for the ministry of women ordained to the priesthood; we offer you special thanks for the witness and ministry of the Philadelphia 11 and of the bishops and others who supported them in their discernment of your call to priesthood. Amaze us with your power and grace; call us, empower us, and lead us through your uncontrollable Spirit to bring out of our treasure and into service in your world things new and things old, that your Name may be glorified among all people. All this we ask through your Son our savior Jesus Christ, who is alive and reigns with you and that same Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

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

Category: Theology (Page 45 of 94)

We Just Don’t Know – From the Daily Office – August 5, 2014

Good Question, God – From the Daily Office – August 4, 2013

Uncounted, Unnamed Children – Sermon for August 3, 2014, Pentecost 8, Proper 13A

Death-Shadow – From the Daily Office – August 2, 2014

Encountering Jesus with Mixed Emotions – From the Daily Office – August 1, 2014

Talking of Michelangelo – From the Daily Office – July 31, 2014

Prayers Not Ended – From the Daily Office – July 30, 2014

“The cattle are dying; invest in vultures” – From the Daily Office – July 29, 2014

Foundation Stones – From the Daily Office – July 28, 2014

Parables and Women’s Ordination – Sermon for Pentecost 7, Proper 12A – July 27, 2014

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