Aggressors can maintain security because they do not allow any other perspectives into the images that define the self except those that are securely controlled: the idea that some portion of moral substance is invested in the uncontrolled histories and discourses of others is something to be ignored or resisted..
Lost Icons: Reflections on Cultural Bereavement, Rowan Williams
This is a particularly dense book that I'm currently reading. Nevertheless, there are a few things here and there that catch my attention, and this is one of them. Maybe it was because of the push-back that #blacklivesmatter is getting from #alllivesmatter. Maybe it was because of the recent tenor of the RNC convention in Cleveland. Maybe it was because of the people screaming, “We want our country back!”
Whatever it was, this quote from a book written sixteen years ago struck home. When I read it, I first thought of the current state of affairs with police shootings, retaliatory shootings, and the political rhetoric from all sides. But the more I sat with sentence, the deeper it got. This quote not only reflects our current state of affairs, but it reflects oppression throughout all of history: Men controlling women by limiting equal pay, denying the vote, denying positions of leadership, forcing women to take sick-time after childbirth (among others things); white realtors funneling minorities into “appropriate” neighborhoods; former slave owners getting Jim Crow laws passed; conservative Christians boycotting Target for that company's decision to remove Boy and Girl labels from toys; Nazis carefully crafting anti-Jewish propaganda and laws that led to the Holocaust; the list goes on. It wasn't that long ago that magazine advertisements were populated solely by white models, while interracial couples were never seen on TV.
It would appear that Rowan got it exactly right. When faced with the idea of equality, those in power, the aggressors, fight tooth and nail to keep those asking for equality oppressed. When the Black Lives Matter popped up, I noticed it was a white reactionary counter movement that created All Lives Matter. If all lives matter, then why aren't we working for equal pay, livable wages, universal health care, an end to sexual abuse and harassment, or free education for those in poverty?
The stories of the helpless, the outcast, the powerless, minorities, and victims must be allowed to be told through their voices – not through the voices of the dominant class who want to gloss over their own complicity in how those others have been, and continue to be, treated by society. Unfortunately the people in power don't want to hear those stories. What they want to hear, I think, are their own narratives that silence the Other so that they can continue not thinking about the issues.
Those stories of the Other are then continually ignored and/or resisted, because when the others start talking about equality, those in power don't see and hear calls for equality – they see and hear a loss of power for themselves and a loss of “what's rightfully mine.”
Our Baptismal Covenant asks us to “respect the dignity of every human being.” For us to do that we need to begin listening to the perspectives and stories of others. For us to do that, we need to stop trying to control those who are not like us.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
July 20, 2016
The Bible is not intended to be a mere chronicle of past events, but a living communication from God, telling us now what we need to know for our salvation.
Being Christian, Rowan Williams
I came across this quote in the book review section of The Living Church. The reviewer writes that this book “stands as a deeply Benedictine model for catechesis.” Consequently it's on my ever-growing list of books I need to purchase/read. I can't tell you anything about it other than that it sounds interesting and might make for a good read and tool if you are looking for a way to deepen your faith.
But that's not why I focused on this quote for this particular edition of the Wednesday Word.
As most of you know, one of the things I do is to lead a Bible study every Monday afternoon at the Rogue Valley retirement complex. We are currently working our way through Hebrews at the breakneck pace of one chapter a week. This past Monday we dove into Chapter 11, one of the more famous chapters in the New Testament.
It begins thus: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” And from there the author launches into the history of faith, beginning with Abel and going on down the line through Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Rahab, Barak, David, and others. This list reminds us that the Bible is not a book of rules. The Bible is not a seamless, perfectly aligned account of humanity's interaction with God. The Bible is not a science book, nor is the Bible a history book. Instead, the Bible, as Rowan Williams writes, is “a living communication from God, telling us now what we need to know for our salvation.” Or, as the author of Hebrews shows us, it is a compilation of acts of faith looking forward to the promise of things yet unseen.
That's the thing about a living faith – it is constantly looking forward. Lot and his daughters looked forward to a new life outside of Sodom. Lot's wife looked back and was turned to a pillar of salt. Moses looked forward to freedom. The Israelites looked back to Egypt, and only Joshua and Caleb lived to see the Promised Land.
Our faith has pillars and foundations that support and inform us, but those pillars and foundations aren't there to drag us down or keep us looking back, they are there to inspire us and support us as we move forward.
Where is your faith leading you?
Amen.
Being Christian, Rowan Williams
I came across this quote in the book review section of The Living Church. The reviewer writes that this book “stands as a deeply Benedictine model for catechesis.” Consequently it's on my ever-growing list of books I need to purchase/read. I can't tell you anything about it other than that it sounds interesting and might make for a good read and tool if you are looking for a way to deepen your faith.
But that's not why I focused on this quote for this particular edition of the Wednesday Word.
As most of you know, one of the things I do is to lead a Bible study every Monday afternoon at the Rogue Valley retirement complex. We are currently working our way through Hebrews at the breakneck pace of one chapter a week. This past Monday we dove into Chapter 11, one of the more famous chapters in the New Testament.
It begins thus: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” And from there the author launches into the history of faith, beginning with Abel and going on down the line through Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Rahab, Barak, David, and others. This list reminds us that the Bible is not a book of rules. The Bible is not a seamless, perfectly aligned account of humanity's interaction with God. The Bible is not a science book, nor is the Bible a history book. Instead, the Bible, as Rowan Williams writes, is “a living communication from God, telling us now what we need to know for our salvation.” Or, as the author of Hebrews shows us, it is a compilation of acts of faith looking forward to the promise of things yet unseen.
That's the thing about a living faith – it is constantly looking forward. Lot and his daughters looked forward to a new life outside of Sodom. Lot's wife looked back and was turned to a pillar of salt. Moses looked forward to freedom. The Israelites looked back to Egypt, and only Joshua and Caleb lived to see the Promised Land.
Our faith has pillars and foundations that support and inform us, but those pillars and foundations aren't there to drag us down or keep us looking back, they are there to inspire us and support us as we move forward.
Where is your faith leading you?
Amen.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
July 13, 2016
Ours is an associated worship: there cannot, therefore, be a more erroneous opinion than that upon which the practice of some seems to be founded, that the people are to be only hearers or spectators during the service of the Church. Our excellent Liturgy is so constructed, that it can neither have meaning nor effect in some of its parts, unless the people join in it with interest and devotion.
Pastoral Letter to the Diocese of Maryland by Bishops Claggett and Kemp, 1816
This coming Sunday we will hear the gospel story of Mary and Martha. If you need a refresher, Jesus comes to visit the two sisters and Martha, distracted by her many tasks, asks Jesus to intercede for her and have Mary get to work because she has been quietly listening to Jesus. This story has, through the ages, prompted people to ask, “Are you a Mary or are you a Martha?” The implication, of course, is that you are either one who chooses to listen to Jesus above all else (thereby being a “good” disciple) or you are one who chooses to push Jesus aside in favor of listening the the cares and distractions of the world.
But that binary thinking, that either/or way of presenting Mary and Martha, is problematic. It presents the question as having only one right answer. It requires us to make a choice between this and that. It can lead people to begin seeing everything in this either/or way that can be detrimental in the long run. Think, for instance, of the current state of affairs in our political parties – the ability and willingness to negotiate and compromise is hindered on all levels by a demand for “either this or that.” This either/or way of thinking can also have a negative aspect on our worship and spiritual lives, as Bishops Clagget and Kemp wrote.
Two hundred years ago these two bishops wrote to the people of the Diocese of Maryland in response to what they saw as an either/or theology of worship. Two hundred years ago these two bishops wrote to the people of the Diocese of Maryland in an attempt to get people beyond binary worship. Apparently the good people of Maryland had come to see themselves as Mary worshipers; not worshipers of the Blessed Virgin Mary, but worshipers in the style of the above Mary, sitting quietly and passively listening to the words being spoken by the teacher.
But this has never been the goal of our liturgy. Our liturgy is not something that we “attend.” Our liturgy is not a performance for your entertainment. Our liturgy is not passive.
Our liturgy is, properly, “the work of the people.” It is something that we work at. It is something we strive to perfect each time we participate in it. Our liturgy is active. It is a corporate performance where we are all the actors, having specific roles to play, with God as our audience. In our liturgy, we are both Mary and Martha; we are both hearers and doers. It is something where we should actively listen at times, and join in with interest and devotion at other times.
And here you thought that when I said, “Let's do that again” I was being cynical when, in fact, I was actually channeling my inner bishop from 200 years ago.
This Sunday when you come to church to sit, listen, and pray, also remember that there is work to be done.
Amen.
Pastoral Letter to the Diocese of Maryland by Bishops Claggett and Kemp, 1816
This coming Sunday we will hear the gospel story of Mary and Martha. If you need a refresher, Jesus comes to visit the two sisters and Martha, distracted by her many tasks, asks Jesus to intercede for her and have Mary get to work because she has been quietly listening to Jesus. This story has, through the ages, prompted people to ask, “Are you a Mary or are you a Martha?” The implication, of course, is that you are either one who chooses to listen to Jesus above all else (thereby being a “good” disciple) or you are one who chooses to push Jesus aside in favor of listening the the cares and distractions of the world.
But that binary thinking, that either/or way of presenting Mary and Martha, is problematic. It presents the question as having only one right answer. It requires us to make a choice between this and that. It can lead people to begin seeing everything in this either/or way that can be detrimental in the long run. Think, for instance, of the current state of affairs in our political parties – the ability and willingness to negotiate and compromise is hindered on all levels by a demand for “either this or that.” This either/or way of thinking can also have a negative aspect on our worship and spiritual lives, as Bishops Clagget and Kemp wrote.
Two hundred years ago these two bishops wrote to the people of the Diocese of Maryland in response to what they saw as an either/or theology of worship. Two hundred years ago these two bishops wrote to the people of the Diocese of Maryland in an attempt to get people beyond binary worship. Apparently the good people of Maryland had come to see themselves as Mary worshipers; not worshipers of the Blessed Virgin Mary, but worshipers in the style of the above Mary, sitting quietly and passively listening to the words being spoken by the teacher.
But this has never been the goal of our liturgy. Our liturgy is not something that we “attend.” Our liturgy is not a performance for your entertainment. Our liturgy is not passive.
Our liturgy is, properly, “the work of the people.” It is something that we work at. It is something we strive to perfect each time we participate in it. Our liturgy is active. It is a corporate performance where we are all the actors, having specific roles to play, with God as our audience. In our liturgy, we are both Mary and Martha; we are both hearers and doers. It is something where we should actively listen at times, and join in with interest and devotion at other times.
And here you thought that when I said, “Let's do that again” I was being cynical when, in fact, I was actually channeling my inner bishop from 200 years ago.
This Sunday when you come to church to sit, listen, and pray, also remember that there is work to be done.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
July 6, 2016
Blessed are the ears that hear the Divine whisper, and give no heed to the whisperings of the world.
The Imitation of Christ, Book Three, Chapter 1, Thomas A'Kempis.
One of the problems we have as humans is our seemingly constant need for newer, bigger, and better. Advertisers are constantly trying to get our attention with flashier ads for new and improved products. We get bored with the same ol' same ol'. A cell phone that worked well two years ago is now beyond obsolete because it can't take pictures or download apps. In 1979, “Escape,” the song about finding a new lover who liked pina coladas, talks about a relationship that has committed the unforgivable crime of becoming routine. If last week we watched a man juggling swords, this week we want him to juggle chainsaws, and next week we want to see him juggle chainsaws on fire.
It seems our relationship with God suffers from the same problem. The Israelites were freed from bondage by God, and they complained of no water. God brought water from the rock, and they complained of no bread. God rained down manna, and they complained of no meat. God sent quail, and they complained yet again. The people of the New Testament are no better as Jesus is confronted with cries of, “Do here what you did there,” and other instances that essentially equate to, “What have you done for me lately?”
How often in our lives are we driven by the desire to have the latest and greatest thing? Or the desire to “keep up with the Jones'?”
These are the whisperings of the world. Whisperings that say, “You deserve this,” or “You're falling behind,” or “Everyone else has one,” or “It's just a little white lie,” or “No one will know.”
Very rarely do we ever commit first-time sins on a grand scale. We don't decide to arm ourselves and rob banks, but we might very well decide to mention something we did at work over a nice dinner and then use that for a deduction on our taxes. More often than not we sin in small, whispering ways that take us off the path ever so slightly until, before we realize it, we're in over our heads struggling to get back on the right path.
God works in the same way. More often than not, God doesn't hit us over the head with a holy 2x4. More often than not, God doesn't address us with angelic hosts, visitations from archangels, or other spectacular heavenly light shows. More often than not, God speaks to us in silence and gentle calls. As Hymn 550 says, “Jesus calls us o'er the tumult of our life's wild, restless sea . . . saying Christian, love me more than these.”
The Divine whisper isn't concerned with flashy presentations. The Divine whisper isn't concerned with whether or not we can keep up with the Jones'. The Divine whisper is only concerned with reaching the heart of God's people over the din and misleading whisperings of the world.
We live in a world of sensory overload. We live in a world of multiple messages telling us how to be new and improved. It is through that noise and those messages where God whispers, “Follow me.”
What message are you paying attention to?
Amen.
The Imitation of Christ, Book Three, Chapter 1, Thomas A'Kempis.
One of the problems we have as humans is our seemingly constant need for newer, bigger, and better. Advertisers are constantly trying to get our attention with flashier ads for new and improved products. We get bored with the same ol' same ol'. A cell phone that worked well two years ago is now beyond obsolete because it can't take pictures or download apps. In 1979, “Escape,” the song about finding a new lover who liked pina coladas, talks about a relationship that has committed the unforgivable crime of becoming routine. If last week we watched a man juggling swords, this week we want him to juggle chainsaws, and next week we want to see him juggle chainsaws on fire.
It seems our relationship with God suffers from the same problem. The Israelites were freed from bondage by God, and they complained of no water. God brought water from the rock, and they complained of no bread. God rained down manna, and they complained of no meat. God sent quail, and they complained yet again. The people of the New Testament are no better as Jesus is confronted with cries of, “Do here what you did there,” and other instances that essentially equate to, “What have you done for me lately?”
How often in our lives are we driven by the desire to have the latest and greatest thing? Or the desire to “keep up with the Jones'?”
These are the whisperings of the world. Whisperings that say, “You deserve this,” or “You're falling behind,” or “Everyone else has one,” or “It's just a little white lie,” or “No one will know.”
Very rarely do we ever commit first-time sins on a grand scale. We don't decide to arm ourselves and rob banks, but we might very well decide to mention something we did at work over a nice dinner and then use that for a deduction on our taxes. More often than not we sin in small, whispering ways that take us off the path ever so slightly until, before we realize it, we're in over our heads struggling to get back on the right path.
God works in the same way. More often than not, God doesn't hit us over the head with a holy 2x4. More often than not, God doesn't address us with angelic hosts, visitations from archangels, or other spectacular heavenly light shows. More often than not, God speaks to us in silence and gentle calls. As Hymn 550 says, “Jesus calls us o'er the tumult of our life's wild, restless sea . . . saying Christian, love me more than these.”
The Divine whisper isn't concerned with flashy presentations. The Divine whisper isn't concerned with whether or not we can keep up with the Jones'. The Divine whisper is only concerned with reaching the heart of God's people over the din and misleading whisperings of the world.
We live in a world of sensory overload. We live in a world of multiple messages telling us how to be new and improved. It is through that noise and those messages where God whispers, “Follow me.”
What message are you paying attention to?
Amen.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
June 29, 2016
The Wednesday book group is currently reading The Harlot by the Side of the Road: Forbidden Tales of the Bible. It has been an interesting read of some less-than-savory stories not normally addressed in “good church company.” The book is divided up into seven stories. The format is that the author will retell the story he is addressing in a sort of contemporary midrash (we might call it 'historical fiction'), which is then followed by his critique-deconstruction-commentary on the story.
Last week we read and discussed the story of Jephthah's daughter. If you aren't familiar with that story, it can be found in Judges 11. But in short, Jephthah is a mercenary who gets hired for a particular battle. He prays to God, vowing to sacrifice to God the first person to come out of his tent to greet him. As it turns out, it's his only daughter who becomes the victim. As you would expect, we had an interesting time discussing this story and one of the questions asked of me was, “Why is this story even in the Bible? What can we possibly learn from it?”
My answer then was, “Because if anything, it makes the words of Jesus even more important – let your yes be yes and your no be no. By making over-the-top vows, you'll just get yourself in trouble.”
That answer is still valid; but I later read a blog post that put a new spin on this story and made it relevant for today.
On the blog FreedHearts, the author of this post was discussing the situation of a stereo-typical conservative Christian pastor in dealing with LGBT people. In this situation the only acceptable answer is, “Because the Bible says so,” and any open questions, or questions that challenge a particular understanding, are not allowed. The hypothetical question then became, “What if the pastor's child comes out as gay or trans?”
There are two possible answers. Either the pastor reevaluates his position regarding LGBT people, which will most likely result in his dismissal from the congregation, or the pastor “sacrifices his own child to preserve [his understanding of the Bible and the doctrine of his church].”
This is a modern-day example of the story of Jephthah's daughter. Jephthah's vow to sacrifice whoever came out of his tent put him in a terrible predicament. Jephthah's vow put him in a position of either sacrificing his daughter in blind obedience to that vow, or of ignoring that vow and running the risk of being damned for all eternity by a wrathful God. People in the pastor's position are faced with the same dilemma: they either sacrifice their own children in blind obedience to their vow of biblical inerrancy, or they face eternal damnation by a wrathful God because they ignored the “clear teaching of the Bible.”
What I see in the story of Jephthah's daughter and the story of so many LGBT people at the hands of the church are extremely similar: in both stories, the children who challenge the vows made to God are sacrificed on the altar of blind obedience; some tragically.
We can do better. We should do better.
And the only person we should be sacrificing is ourselves when we willingly step up and speak out in the name of love.
Amen.
Last week we read and discussed the story of Jephthah's daughter. If you aren't familiar with that story, it can be found in Judges 11. But in short, Jephthah is a mercenary who gets hired for a particular battle. He prays to God, vowing to sacrifice to God the first person to come out of his tent to greet him. As it turns out, it's his only daughter who becomes the victim. As you would expect, we had an interesting time discussing this story and one of the questions asked of me was, “Why is this story even in the Bible? What can we possibly learn from it?”
My answer then was, “Because if anything, it makes the words of Jesus even more important – let your yes be yes and your no be no. By making over-the-top vows, you'll just get yourself in trouble.”
That answer is still valid; but I later read a blog post that put a new spin on this story and made it relevant for today.
On the blog FreedHearts, the author of this post was discussing the situation of a stereo-typical conservative Christian pastor in dealing with LGBT people. In this situation the only acceptable answer is, “Because the Bible says so,” and any open questions, or questions that challenge a particular understanding, are not allowed. The hypothetical question then became, “What if the pastor's child comes out as gay or trans?”
There are two possible answers. Either the pastor reevaluates his position regarding LGBT people, which will most likely result in his dismissal from the congregation, or the pastor “sacrifices his own child to preserve [his understanding of the Bible and the doctrine of his church].”
This is a modern-day example of the story of Jephthah's daughter. Jephthah's vow to sacrifice whoever came out of his tent put him in a terrible predicament. Jephthah's vow put him in a position of either sacrificing his daughter in blind obedience to that vow, or of ignoring that vow and running the risk of being damned for all eternity by a wrathful God. People in the pastor's position are faced with the same dilemma: they either sacrifice their own children in blind obedience to their vow of biblical inerrancy, or they face eternal damnation by a wrathful God because they ignored the “clear teaching of the Bible.”
What I see in the story of Jephthah's daughter and the story of so many LGBT people at the hands of the church are extremely similar: in both stories, the children who challenge the vows made to God are sacrificed on the altar of blind obedience; some tragically.
We can do better. We should do better.
And the only person we should be sacrificing is ourselves when we willingly step up and speak out in the name of love.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
June 22, 2016
I and my immediate family have always been drawn to water. From the time before I was married I would take trips to Cannon Beach where I could be close to the ocean. Before that I would climb up onto my favorite rock at the diocesan summer camp located on Lake Coeur d'Alene and look out over the water. Mrs. Ref, The Kid, and I made annual pilgrimages back to Cannon Beach to be near the ocean and walk on the beach. As a priest in Montana, Mrs. Ref and I both looked forward to my annual stint as chaplain to the diocesan family camp located on Flathead Lake. And whenever we head east, we almost always stop at Multnomah Falls. We usually walk up to the bridge, sometimes walking up to the top of the 620' waterfall.
Whether it's sitting with my feet dipped in the lake off the dock, walking along the beach with the low rumbling of the ocean, or watching the power of a waterfall, there is something peaceful, frightening, and awe-full in that water. Peaceful because the noise of the water, whether lapping at your feet or the constant noise of the ocean and waterfall seem to have a way of taking me to a different place, or at least driving out troublesome and irrelevant thoughts. Frightening because, for as much as I feel drawn to water, I don't like to be in it; and being in a place where the edges are far away, or where there's a possibility of being swept downstream, or where storms can wash you away in an instant can be worrisome. Awe-full in that the beauty of the place, the sheer expanse of the water, and the immense power generated all remind me that I am but one small part of God's creation.
Peaceful, calming, challenging, frightening, awe-inspiring – these are just a few words to describe my complicated relationship with water. They also, as it happens, are the same words that describe my relationship with God. I am drawn to both water and God. There are times when both water and God are peaceful and calming, such as a lazy day on the beach or at Morning Prayer. There are times when both water and God are challenging, as when I find myself needing to swim farther than planned or in dealing with a sick, homeless person on the kitchen porch. There are times when both water and God are frightening, as in a storm or when being felt called into a new ministry. Both water and God are awe-inspiring, as when entranced by a majestic waterfall or when meditating on the presence of God.
And, coincidentally, when I am fully immersed in either there's a chance I might die. If I swim too far from shore, if I walk along the beach during a raging storm, if I allow myself to get pulled into the waterfall, there's a possibility I might die. If I immerse myself in God, if I listen to where God might be calling me, if I allow myself to get pulled completely into the presence of God, myself as I know it might die. And, quite honestly, I kind of like myself.
But that's where the similarities end. Death in the water is death, and there's no coming back from it. Death in God is a death of our old ways wherein we are resurrected, coming to life in new ways we cannot even imagine. But sometimes I get hung up on that word death, and rather than see it as a part of growth, as an event that leads to new life, I see it as an end of who I am, and that can be scary.
We probably all have something that is keeping us from immersing ourselves totally in the presence of God. There comes a point, though, when I need to let go of my fears and jump into the peaceful, challenging, frightening, awe-full presence of God with both feet. After all, the worst that could happen is that I die; and that can't be a bad thing.
Amen.
Whether it's sitting with my feet dipped in the lake off the dock, walking along the beach with the low rumbling of the ocean, or watching the power of a waterfall, there is something peaceful, frightening, and awe-full in that water. Peaceful because the noise of the water, whether lapping at your feet or the constant noise of the ocean and waterfall seem to have a way of taking me to a different place, or at least driving out troublesome and irrelevant thoughts. Frightening because, for as much as I feel drawn to water, I don't like to be in it; and being in a place where the edges are far away, or where there's a possibility of being swept downstream, or where storms can wash you away in an instant can be worrisome. Awe-full in that the beauty of the place, the sheer expanse of the water, and the immense power generated all remind me that I am but one small part of God's creation.
Peaceful, calming, challenging, frightening, awe-inspiring – these are just a few words to describe my complicated relationship with water. They also, as it happens, are the same words that describe my relationship with God. I am drawn to both water and God. There are times when both water and God are peaceful and calming, such as a lazy day on the beach or at Morning Prayer. There are times when both water and God are challenging, as when I find myself needing to swim farther than planned or in dealing with a sick, homeless person on the kitchen porch. There are times when both water and God are frightening, as in a storm or when being felt called into a new ministry. Both water and God are awe-inspiring, as when entranced by a majestic waterfall or when meditating on the presence of God.
And, coincidentally, when I am fully immersed in either there's a chance I might die. If I swim too far from shore, if I walk along the beach during a raging storm, if I allow myself to get pulled into the waterfall, there's a possibility I might die. If I immerse myself in God, if I listen to where God might be calling me, if I allow myself to get pulled completely into the presence of God, myself as I know it might die. And, quite honestly, I kind of like myself.
But that's where the similarities end. Death in the water is death, and there's no coming back from it. Death in God is a death of our old ways wherein we are resurrected, coming to life in new ways we cannot even imagine. But sometimes I get hung up on that word death, and rather than see it as a part of growth, as an event that leads to new life, I see it as an end of who I am, and that can be scary.
We probably all have something that is keeping us from immersing ourselves totally in the presence of God. There comes a point, though, when I need to let go of my fears and jump into the peaceful, challenging, frightening, awe-full presence of God with both feet. After all, the worst that could happen is that I die; and that can't be a bad thing.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
June 15, 2016
This past weekend several of the D.O.K. women gathered at The Bishop's Close for a quiet day. The Close was donated to the Diocese of Oregon in 1957 and it includes an old, quirky, beautiful house and the Elk Rock Gardens, 13 acres of wonderfully landscaped paths and plants. The weather was not “perfect,” but it didn't rain, it wasn't cold, nor was it blistering hot. Despite overcast skies and a few spittles of raindrops that never lasted, the women spent their time in the garden in silent prayer, meditation, or soaking in the beauty of the place.
The theme of the day was Eden Among Us, and I led them through various phases of contemplation on garden themes in scripture, particularly at creation, resurrection, and at the end of the age. It was in a garden where God breathed life into humanity, instilling in all of us a piece of God's grace. It was in a garden where Mary reached out to grasp the new creation found in the risen Christ. And it will be in a new creation where we are invited to partake of both the Tree of Life and the Water of Life.
At the end of the day I sent them forth with these words: May you find healing in God's creation, may you see the face of God in others, may others see the face of God in you, and may we help all people answer God's invitation to come and receive the gift of the water of life.
Do we find healing in God's creation? Can we see the face of God in others? Can they see the face of God in us? Where do we draw the water of life?
I didn't know it then, but those questions would have much more meaning for me early this past Sunday morning as I began to hear of yet another massacre of innocent people. Once again we heard of a man, armed with automatic weapons, who decides it's a good day for killing. Once again we hear of “thoughts and prayers” for the victims and their families.
This has become the liturgy of the United States: kill, pray, deflect, double-down. Rinse and repeat. Once again we hear hear any number of excuses – from, “This is the price we pay for the freedom to own guns,” to, “This is no time to politicize the issue,” to, “If the victims were armed, fewer would have died.”
“Thoughts and prayers for the victims and their families” has become, in my opinion, a hollow and meaningless statement. We need less thoughts and prayers and more willingness to put an end to the national tragedy of valuing our weapons fetish over the lives of God's children.
Today I wonder if God's creation has become just another commodity to use. Today I wonder if people even try to see the face of God in others. Today I wonder if the face I present to the world is godly in any way. Today I wonder if the water of life has become so tainted with the blood of innocent victims that we want no part of it.
It is hard to find the beauty of the world around us when the world around us is hell bent on killing us off. And yet, it's there. We may need to look a little harder, but beauty is there. The kingdom is at hand, but it has not yet arrived. Maybe our job is to be a little more bolder about the kingdom of God and a lot less tolerant of business as usual.
Amen.
The theme of the day was Eden Among Us, and I led them through various phases of contemplation on garden themes in scripture, particularly at creation, resurrection, and at the end of the age. It was in a garden where God breathed life into humanity, instilling in all of us a piece of God's grace. It was in a garden where Mary reached out to grasp the new creation found in the risen Christ. And it will be in a new creation where we are invited to partake of both the Tree of Life and the Water of Life.
At the end of the day I sent them forth with these words: May you find healing in God's creation, may you see the face of God in others, may others see the face of God in you, and may we help all people answer God's invitation to come and receive the gift of the water of life.
Do we find healing in God's creation? Can we see the face of God in others? Can they see the face of God in us? Where do we draw the water of life?
I didn't know it then, but those questions would have much more meaning for me early this past Sunday morning as I began to hear of yet another massacre of innocent people. Once again we heard of a man, armed with automatic weapons, who decides it's a good day for killing. Once again we hear of “thoughts and prayers” for the victims and their families.
This has become the liturgy of the United States: kill, pray, deflect, double-down. Rinse and repeat. Once again we hear hear any number of excuses – from, “This is the price we pay for the freedom to own guns,” to, “This is no time to politicize the issue,” to, “If the victims were armed, fewer would have died.”
“Thoughts and prayers for the victims and their families” has become, in my opinion, a hollow and meaningless statement. We need less thoughts and prayers and more willingness to put an end to the national tragedy of valuing our weapons fetish over the lives of God's children.
Today I wonder if God's creation has become just another commodity to use. Today I wonder if people even try to see the face of God in others. Today I wonder if the face I present to the world is godly in any way. Today I wonder if the water of life has become so tainted with the blood of innocent victims that we want no part of it.
It is hard to find the beauty of the world around us when the world around us is hell bent on killing us off. And yet, it's there. We may need to look a little harder, but beauty is there. The kingdom is at hand, but it has not yet arrived. Maybe our job is to be a little more bolder about the kingdom of God and a lot less tolerant of business as usual.
Amen.
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