“One never knows what joy one might find amongst the unwanted.”
Lola, Kinky Boots
Lola uttered these words to Charlie Price, the reluctant owner of a shoe manufacturing company, while he (Lola) was sitting in the storage room full of discarded and/or unwanted shoes.
Many years ago I used to ride the Greyhound bus from Seattle to various points in eastern Washington fairly regularly. Buses seem to attract a lot of . . . characters. On one trip I climbed aboard, found two empty seats, and hoped nobody would sit next to me. I almost got my wish; until the last person to board came running up with her ticket and luggage. As I looked out the window, I knew I was doomed.
Sure enough, she clunked her way into the bus, down the aisle, and right to my neighboring seat. She was probably in her mid-forties. Her clothes had seen better days. She was generally unkempt. And she had long, black hair that was matted together in spots, looking like it hadn't been combed in weeks.
I promptly settled in for a long nap.
Unable to feign sleep any longer, I woke up about halfway through the trip. She greeted me, asked if I'd had a good nap, wanted to know where I was going, shared her chocolate bar with me, and we talked about the virtues of both PacMan and the Episcopal Church. I sort of felt like I was living a version of Alice's Restaurant where I was nervous at first but then ended up having a groovy time with the people on the Group W bench, as this turned into one of the best bus rides I'd ever had.
It was during that bus ride that I had my first experience of what Lola was telling Charlie. It seems that we all want to be part of the popular, the current, the new, the up-to-date, the hip, the “normal” part of groups. We not only fear being irrelevant or unwanted, we fear the person who represents the unwanted, the different, the “not normal.” So in the name of staying current and staying safe, we ignore (at best) or persecute (at worst) the unwanted and the uncomfortable.
You see this played out in stories such as Rudolph, Charlie Brown, The Elephant Man, Toy Story, The Breakfast Club, Edward Scissorhands, The Green Mile, Kinky Boots and so many more. This doesn't even begin to touch on real life where we treat the unwanted either overtly or covertly as unwanted, thereby further cementing their status.
But it was amongst the unwanted where Jesus found some of his greatest joy and greatest love: the sinful woman who anointed his feet; the blind beggar who received sight; the tax collector who was welcomed; the leper who was cured. It was amongst the unwanted where Charlie began to see Lola not as a cast-off to be used for his own benefit, but as a real person. It was with an unwanted seatmate that I had a lovely and joyful conversation.
We don't necessarily need to search out the Lola's of the world; but when we meet them, it might help to focus on the joy they can offer rather than focusing on the differences that make us uncomfortable.
Amen.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
January 20, 2016
In his book, A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, Rev. W. Paul Jones presents a variety of opportunities to do just that: he asks us to see God and the Church as being in the lost and found business; to see our daily, mundane activities as a holy liturgy; to see activities and relationships with both “first time” and “last time” eyes; and to participate in the old, old story of Christ, rather than simply “tell the old, old story.”
I appreciate his ability to make me look at things in new and fresh ways. And I appreciate his ability to help me form a holy space around the entirety of my life (not that I live up to that ideal of holiness, but I appreciate the attempt).
This book talks a lot about sacraments – in particular Baptism and Eucharist. In a section where he discusses the Eucharist, he said something that caught my attention (and something I wish I had originally said). I, like millions of Christians before me, with me, and after me, have referred to that meal Christ shared with his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion as “the Last Supper.”
But Fr. Jones takes a different approach. In discussing what we understand as the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, he says, “The Church grasped early that what Christ intended by what they had assumed to be the last supper, was in fact the first supper of an endless stream of resurrection banquets.”
We all should have an, “Aha” moment every now and then. This is one.
Yes, Holy Eucharist is the Sacrament of the continual remembrance of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. Yes, we “Do this in remembrance of me.” Yes, we celebrate the memorial of our redemption, recalling his death, resurrection, and ascension. And yes, we receive those gifts in remembrance that Christ died for us. The whole of the Eucharist is a re-remembering of the God story as reflected in Jesus Christ.
But it might be helpful if we recognize that this event was also the first of its kind. During those last few hours with his disciples, Christ gave them a new, first commandment. Mary Magdalene met the resurrected Christ on the first day of the week. We celebrate the Eucharist on that same first day. Eucharistic Prayer C says in part, “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table . . . for pardon only, and not for renewal.” And we recognize that in Holy Communion we receive a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.
How would our theology change if we looked upon the Eucharist not as a remembering of things past but as an introduction of things to come? How would our theology change if we viewed worship in general, and the Eucharist in particular, not as a remembrance of how we've always done it, but as a new way of living into first things?
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” The Eucharist is a new thing. The Eucharist is the first thing. May this meal remind us not of how things were, but as how things will be. And may we live out that theology of first things in our daily lives.
Amen.
I appreciate his ability to make me look at things in new and fresh ways. And I appreciate his ability to help me form a holy space around the entirety of my life (not that I live up to that ideal of holiness, but I appreciate the attempt).
This book talks a lot about sacraments – in particular Baptism and Eucharist. In a section where he discusses the Eucharist, he said something that caught my attention (and something I wish I had originally said). I, like millions of Christians before me, with me, and after me, have referred to that meal Christ shared with his disciples before his arrest and crucifixion as “the Last Supper.”
But Fr. Jones takes a different approach. In discussing what we understand as the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, he says, “The Church grasped early that what Christ intended by what they had assumed to be the last supper, was in fact the first supper of an endless stream of resurrection banquets.”
We all should have an, “Aha” moment every now and then. This is one.
Yes, Holy Eucharist is the Sacrament of the continual remembrance of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. Yes, we “Do this in remembrance of me.” Yes, we celebrate the memorial of our redemption, recalling his death, resurrection, and ascension. And yes, we receive those gifts in remembrance that Christ died for us. The whole of the Eucharist is a re-remembering of the God story as reflected in Jesus Christ.
But it might be helpful if we recognize that this event was also the first of its kind. During those last few hours with his disciples, Christ gave them a new, first commandment. Mary Magdalene met the resurrected Christ on the first day of the week. We celebrate the Eucharist on that same first day. Eucharistic Prayer C says in part, “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table . . . for pardon only, and not for renewal.” And we recognize that in Holy Communion we receive a foretaste of the heavenly banquet.
How would our theology change if we looked upon the Eucharist not as a remembering of things past but as an introduction of things to come? How would our theology change if we viewed worship in general, and the Eucharist in particular, not as a remembrance of how we've always done it, but as a new way of living into first things?
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” The Eucharist is a new thing. The Eucharist is the first thing. May this meal remind us not of how things were, but as how things will be. And may we live out that theology of first things in our daily lives.
Amen.
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
January 13, 2016
Open carry.
What goes through your mind when you hear those two words? For some people those two words are a victory for their constitutional right to keep and bear arms in any manner they see fit. They see it as a victory against the overreach of the government. They see it as a victory for personal protection and safety against “the bad guys.”
For other people those words are another slide into the downward spiral of violence and a mad belief that more weapons will stem the tide of death. They wonder what will happen when the general public in a a restaurant, movie theater, or grocery store begin randomly shooting in the general direction of where they thought they heard gunfire. They wonder how people will be able to tell the difference between the bad guys and the good guys when there are no video-game icons to make that distinction.
With more and more places passing open carry laws (think Texas most recently where open carry supporters gathered on courthouse steps to celebrate their victory), there is no shortage of opinions on this movement. I’ve read a couple of essays regarding this issue in the past few days, and one in particular, by the Rev. David W. Peters, caught my attention. In this piece, Fr. Peters advocates for an open carry of a different kind.
There are many ways we announce to the world who we are and what we believe: DOK members wear a distinctive cross; people proclaim loyalties to schools and sports teams on clothing; bumper stickers announce love of family, pets, and political parties. Openly carrying a weapon announces at least three things: 1) I am fearful of others; 2) I believe in the power of my gun; and, 3) I see people as enemies and potential targets.
But those views are not the views of God. In God, there is no fear – Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. Our power resides in God, not in the number or size of our guns – There is no king that can be saved by a mighty army, a strong man is not delivered by his great strength; our soul waits for the Lord, he is our help and our shield. And in God we see people not as enemies – This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you – but as fellow members of God's kingdom – many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.
Knowing that I put my faith and confidence in God, and looking for a way to quietly announce that to those with whom I come in contact, as well as give myself a tangible sign of comfort, I decided to follow the suggestion of Fr. Peters by openly carrying my prayer beads.
I've had a string of Anglican prayer beads since seminary and have used them off and on over the past twelve years; it has been an inconsistent practice at best. But now, following the advice of Fr. Peters, I strap on my prayer beads every morning and head out into the world wearing a constant reminder that there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.
Open carry. It doesn't always mean what you think it means.
Amen.
What goes through your mind when you hear those two words? For some people those two words are a victory for their constitutional right to keep and bear arms in any manner they see fit. They see it as a victory against the overreach of the government. They see it as a victory for personal protection and safety against “the bad guys.”
For other people those words are another slide into the downward spiral of violence and a mad belief that more weapons will stem the tide of death. They wonder what will happen when the general public in a a restaurant, movie theater, or grocery store begin randomly shooting in the general direction of where they thought they heard gunfire. They wonder how people will be able to tell the difference between the bad guys and the good guys when there are no video-game icons to make that distinction.
With more and more places passing open carry laws (think Texas most recently where open carry supporters gathered on courthouse steps to celebrate their victory), there is no shortage of opinions on this movement. I’ve read a couple of essays regarding this issue in the past few days, and one in particular, by the Rev. David W. Peters, caught my attention. In this piece, Fr. Peters advocates for an open carry of a different kind.
There are many ways we announce to the world who we are and what we believe: DOK members wear a distinctive cross; people proclaim loyalties to schools and sports teams on clothing; bumper stickers announce love of family, pets, and political parties. Openly carrying a weapon announces at least three things: 1) I am fearful of others; 2) I believe in the power of my gun; and, 3) I see people as enemies and potential targets.
But those views are not the views of God. In God, there is no fear – Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. Our power resides in God, not in the number or size of our guns – There is no king that can be saved by a mighty army, a strong man is not delivered by his great strength; our soul waits for the Lord, he is our help and our shield. And in God we see people not as enemies – This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you – but as fellow members of God's kingdom – many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.
Knowing that I put my faith and confidence in God, and looking for a way to quietly announce that to those with whom I come in contact, as well as give myself a tangible sign of comfort, I decided to follow the suggestion of Fr. Peters by openly carrying my prayer beads.
I've had a string of Anglican prayer beads since seminary and have used them off and on over the past twelve years; it has been an inconsistent practice at best. But now, following the advice of Fr. Peters, I strap on my prayer beads every morning and head out into the world wearing a constant reminder that there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.
Open carry. It doesn't always mean what you think it means.
Amen.
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
January 6, 2016
Almost everything we do is an unspoken liturgy – the order to which one dresses; the “usual” for breakfast; the same pew at church.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, The Rev. W. Paul Jones, p. 98
I've talked about the need to find God in the everyday, or the holy in the mundane, several times. This is not a new idea – Ignatius of Loyola developed a type of spiritual discipline or practice which has as its key insight the understanding that we can find God in all things. The God of patient waiting is found in the short checkout line you choose which turns into a long wait because the person in front has expired coupons. The God of grace is found in the crush of traffic entering Caveman bridge and letting in those right lane late-mergers. The God of joy is found when the sun breaks through the fog. The God of new life is found when tree buds burst forth in color. Ignatius taught us that we can find God in all things if we take the time to see.
Liturgy is a term that means “work of the people,” and was originally used to define the role of a public servant. Road construction, for instance, was a liturgy, and instead of a “Men Working” sign, that sign might be read, “Liturgists Ahead.” But it soon began to be used in relation to worship services. Today it is almost always associated with the worship of Roman Catholics, Orthodox, Anglicans and Episcopalians, Lutherans, and a few other churches we would define as “liturgical churches.”
Liturgy is, in essence, how we worship. From the opening sentences and hymn to the dismissal, everything we do has a particular place, form, and procedure. For those who grew up with it, it is familiar and comforting. For those who came into it later, it might be holy mysterious and beautiful. For those who have never really participated in it, it can be rigid, rote, and confusing. And even non-denominational Protestants follow their own liturgy, although they would never admit to it.
This quote from Fr. Jones' book caught my attention because he touches on Ignatian spirituality in a different way than either he or we might have thought. If Ignatian spirituality finds God in all things, and liturgy is the form and function of how we traditionally worship God, then we can take this line from Fr. Jones and find the worship of God in all things – Ignatian liturgics, if you will.
Today is the Feast of the Epiphany, the day we celebrate the arrival of the wise men, their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles. Today it is no longer the star that leads people to Christ, it is us, and we do that in part through our words and actions. How would it be if we tied together our worship and our spirituality in our everyday lives? How would it be if we no longer saw our daily routines as routines, but as a daily liturgy that reflected God in all things?
Beginning today, I invite you into a form of Ignatian liturgics. I invite you to see not routines, but a divine liturgy of form and procedure that is intentionally designed to allow for holy mysteries to be experienced and expressed in the everyday. From the first time we open our eyes in the morning to our final evening prayers, life is a liturgy. May you begin to move through your daily life with the same intentionality, the same awareness, and the same openness to seeing God as when you participate in the liturgy of the Holy Eucharist.
Amen.
A Table in the Desert: Making Space Holy, The Rev. W. Paul Jones, p. 98
I've talked about the need to find God in the everyday, or the holy in the mundane, several times. This is not a new idea – Ignatius of Loyola developed a type of spiritual discipline or practice which has as its key insight the understanding that we can find God in all things. The God of patient waiting is found in the short checkout line you choose which turns into a long wait because the person in front has expired coupons. The God of grace is found in the crush of traffic entering Caveman bridge and letting in those right lane late-mergers. The God of joy is found when the sun breaks through the fog. The God of new life is found when tree buds burst forth in color. Ignatius taught us that we can find God in all things if we take the time to see.
Liturgy is a term that means “work of the people,” and was originally used to define the role of a public servant. Road construction, for instance, was a liturgy, and instead of a “Men Working” sign, that sign might be read, “Liturgists Ahead.” But it soon began to be used in relation to worship services. Today it is almost always associated with the worship of Roman Catholics, Orthodox, Anglicans and Episcopalians, Lutherans, and a few other churches we would define as “liturgical churches.”
Liturgy is, in essence, how we worship. From the opening sentences and hymn to the dismissal, everything we do has a particular place, form, and procedure. For those who grew up with it, it is familiar and comforting. For those who came into it later, it might be holy mysterious and beautiful. For those who have never really participated in it, it can be rigid, rote, and confusing. And even non-denominational Protestants follow their own liturgy, although they would never admit to it.
This quote from Fr. Jones' book caught my attention because he touches on Ignatian spirituality in a different way than either he or we might have thought. If Ignatian spirituality finds God in all things, and liturgy is the form and function of how we traditionally worship God, then we can take this line from Fr. Jones and find the worship of God in all things – Ignatian liturgics, if you will.
Today is the Feast of the Epiphany, the day we celebrate the arrival of the wise men, their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles. Today it is no longer the star that leads people to Christ, it is us, and we do that in part through our words and actions. How would it be if we tied together our worship and our spirituality in our everyday lives? How would it be if we no longer saw our daily routines as routines, but as a daily liturgy that reflected God in all things?
Beginning today, I invite you into a form of Ignatian liturgics. I invite you to see not routines, but a divine liturgy of form and procedure that is intentionally designed to allow for holy mysteries to be experienced and expressed in the everyday. From the first time we open our eyes in the morning to our final evening prayers, life is a liturgy. May you begin to move through your daily life with the same intentionality, the same awareness, and the same openness to seeing God as when you participate in the liturgy of the Holy Eucharist.
Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)