November 16, 2016

It is not the strength of your faith but the object of your faith that actually saves you.

Timothy Keller, The Reason for God, pg. 245

On my last Sunday at St. Luke's, the parish held a farewell party where they gifted us with a gorgeous quilt (that will eventually be hung on one of our walls) and a coffee table book about the Rogue River (the author being a former student of my deacon) that was signed by everyone in the parish. It was a lovely party hosted by lovely people.

My senior warden also, in his quiet, unassuming way, presented me with two books by Timothy Keller; The Reason for God being one of them. I began reading it on the move to Maryland, and had every intention of finishing both of them before we arrived. I figured I'd have plenty of time what with changing drivers every so often, and quiet times at hotels and other places. I figured wrong, and I just finished the first one last week.

Timothy Keller is a Presbyterian minister and pastor of a large New York City congregation. The book is basically a recounting of how he has presented the Gospel to the people of NYC, the skepticism with which they view the church and Jesus, and how, by sticking to one message, that church has grown over time. And it is at the end of the book where this sentence appears. I don't agree with everything he says, but there are things he says that are valuable and insightful. This is one of them.

So often we wish or hope for a stronger faith. We see it in the Gospel of Mark when the father of an epileptic boy cries out, “Lord, help my unbelief!” We hear it when people lament, “If I only prayed harder.” Or we feel it within ourselves when we wonder if we really have the faith required to be saved.

But faith, like discipleship, is a journey. If we only focus on the end results, we may miss important events along the way. The two disciples on the road to Emmaus were so focused on one thing in particular (wondering how they could be disciples of Jesus now that he was dead) that they missed seeing Jesus among them.

There is also the possibility that we may injure ourselves. If we compare faith to exercise, we all want to be in the best shape possible. But if we begin our exercise routine by trying to bench press 250 pounds, well, you get the idea. We need to work up to that. Likewise, sometimes we might enter faith with unrealistic expectations and when things take a turn we don't expect, there's a possibility that we give up; thereby injuring, sometimes fatally, our faith.

This is why this sentence from Timothy Keller is so important. We are all at different places in our faith journey. If we begin to focus only on how strong or how weak our faith is, we have stepped away from God and have begun the process of relying on ourselves for salvation. If, however, we understand that our faith centers on God in general, and on Jesus in particular, then it doesn't matter if we have a “weak” faith or a “strong” faith – our faith, weak or strong, is centered on God, not us. When we allow that to happen, it is then we can faithfully sing, “Surely it is God who saves me; I will trust in him and not be afraid.”

November 9, 2016

A wise lover regards not so much the gift of the lover, as the love of the giver.

The Imitation of Christ, Book 3, Chapter 6, Thomas a Kempis

The drawing is crude by artistic standards. Uneven circular blobs with gaping holes for eyes, and the four sticks that impale the head to serve as arms and legs, look nothing like the people they are supposed to represent. In fact, a microscopic amoeba is better formed than what has been portrayed on this piece of paper. But this ill-formed piece of art will be treasured forever because it was given by a three-year old to a mother who was loved dearly.

Or take the story by O. Henry about a young, struggling couple deeply in love. He sold his gold pocket watch to purchase a set of beautiful combs for his long-haired wife. She sold her long hair for a platinum pocket watch chain. The gifts are now both meaningless and eternally meaningful.

These are two examples of what Thomas a Kempis was getting at. How many times do we receive a gift and wish it were bigger, smaller, a different color, more useful, more pretty? Might this be the reason that giving gift cards at Christmas has come into fashion – because the receiver won't have to suffer the indignity of the exchange line while the giver won't have to worry if the receiver likes it or not.

But gift cards and second thoughts miss the point. We give gifts to people mainly because we love them. There are, of course, exceptions – a housewarming gift to our new neighbors, for instance; but even that could be classified as, “Love your neighbor.” But on the whole, we give because we love. And if we evaluate the gift more than we value the love behind it, we are missing the point.

The point is this:  we are loved enough by another to warrant a desire by the other to give us a gift that represents their love for us.

If we take the time to look around us, we will see a variety of gifts that we have been given; and no gift is greater than that of the love of God bestowed upon us and exemplified in the person of Jesus Christ.  Through the creative powers of God, and through the life of Jesus, we can see that we have been gifted with hospitality, acceptance, forgiveness, and a desire to be brought within God's loving embrace.

On this day when it seems as if the forces of division, hate, exclusion, and fear have won, let us remember that we have never lived in a perfect world.  Let us remember the words of former Presiding Bishop Edmond Browning, who said, "There will be no outcasts in this church."  Let us remember that God so loved the world.  Let us remember to follow the example of God and continually offer a place of hospitality, acceptance, inclusion, welcome, and love.  Let us continually offer our poorly drawn stick figures that aren't so much about the perfectness of the gift but represent the quality of love.

Amen.

November 2, 2016

For to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended

            Preface of the Commemoration of the Dead, BCP 382

Today, November 2, is the Commemoration of All Faithful Departed, otherwise known as All Souls’ Day.  This may be stating the obvious, but today falls after November 1, All Saints’ Day.

As with any commemoration and tradition in the Church, the origin of All Saints’ Day has been clouded over time.  A form of remembrance of martyrs is attested to as early as 270 and John Chrysostom referenced a festival of All Saints in the late 4^th or early 5^th Century.  This practice evolved as a way for the members of the Holy Church to remember and commemorate those people who, through virtuous and godly living, and especially those who had professed their faith through a heroic death, were the heroes and exemplars of Christian living.

Over time people came to realize that there were many virtuous and godly people who had lived faithful lives worthy of commemorating in the life of the Church, but who were known only to God.  In other words, people just like us – people who were virtuous, godly, and faithful; people who had problems and issues and trials; people who were a mixture of success and failure; but people who, through it all, remained faithful.

Today is the day we honor all faithful departed; today is the day we honor all souls.  We will do some of this on Sunday, November 6, during our celebration of the Feast of All Saints when we read the necrology of those who have died this past year.  We will remind ourselves that, even though they are no longer with us on this earthly pilgrimage, they are alive in Christ.  We will be reminded that, for those who have died and for us yet to die, life is changed, not ended.

Today I am reminded of Mary, Bobby, Lester, Lucille, Paul, Tom, and others whose names I can no longer recall.  I am reminded of those people who have no Feast Day in the Church year.  I am reminded of people who gave of their time, talent, and treasure for no other reason than a sure and certain hope in the resurrection.  And I am reminded that, for the vast majority of us, we toil for the gospel and mission of Christ in anonymity or, at best, short-lived recognition. 

But that’s okay.  We don’t strive for the recognition of men.  We don’t give of our time, talent, and treasure for the sole purpose of putting our name on a plaque.  We do this, as those plaques say, for the glory of God.  Everything those saints of old did, everything those souls whom we commemorate today did, everything we do today, was and is to be done for one reason – to proclaim the message of Christ crucified and resurrected.

Today we remember all those people who have passed before us into glory.  Today we give thanks for their lives and witness that provided the foundation of this church we love.  Today we also remember that what we do now will become the foundation for the church of tomorrow, because at some point we will also pass into glory.

Gone but not forgotten; changed but not ended.  On this day let us remember that we are indeed surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, and let us give thanks for their lives in Christ.

Amen.

September 28, 2016

Hiatus

This is a Latin word meaning an opening or a gap.  We most often use it for a break in some regular aspect of our lives.  Today I’m using it to reflect the status of the Wednesday Word.

For the past several years I have written one of these brief meditations every week.  But it's now time for a break.  That break, that hiatus, isn't due to being worn out or to writer's block or to a lack of material, but to my upcoming move from one side of the country to the other.

This week we are scheduled to have our belongings loaded onto a moving van and sent back east.  For our part, we will be leaving the place we have called home for close to six years on October 1 and head east to Maryland and a new home, new town, new beginning.  We have said our goodbyes here (or will be saying the last of them shortly), and will be making our eastward trek via Washington, Montana, Illinois, Michigan, Ohio, and finally to Maryland.  The whole thing will take us about three weeks.  If everything goes according to plan, the moving van will show up the day after we arrive in Maryland.  That will give us just under two weeks to unpack and settle into the new place.

While we are traveling I will be taking a break from writing the Wednesday Word.  I'm sure that this time on the road will offer plenty of inspiration for future writings, but it will also be good for me to not worry about producing a weekly message while traveling across the country.  I do promise that I will begin writing these brief meditations in November.

For those at St. Luke's, you will no longer be receiving them via e-mail (see the October Luke's Log and my Ramblings regarding the proper protocol for a departing priest).  However, I have created a blog where I post each piece every Wednesday.  You are more than welcome to read them there.

For those at St. John's, you will have to wait to begin receiving them again during this October hiatus.  And if you want to know what I’ve written about in the past, you are also welcome to visit my blog.

I'm looking forward to the break.  I'm also looking forward to sharing mid-week meditation beginning in November.

Until then,

May the Lord bless you and keep you;
May the Lord make his face to shine upon you
and be gracious to you;
May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you,
and give you peace.

Amen.

September 21, 2016

“Bring Your Heart to the Altar”
The Living Church, September 18, 2016

This was the title of an article in the most recent edition of The Living Church, and it had to do with all of the various liturgical ministers and how people in those roles could keep from falling into a rut.  One of the beautiful things about the Episcopal church are the rhythms of the year: the patient but active waiting of Advent; the all too-short joy of Christmas; the proclamation and renewal of Epiphany; the self-examination and penitence of Lent; the unbounded joy and new life of Easter; and our continual working out how to grow as disciples during Ordinary Time.  There are ups and downs, fits and starts, periods of excitement and periods of boredom.  These rhythms keep us on track, keep us focused on our Lord, and help us avoid becoming a passing fad or the Church of What's Happening Now.

But, besides allowing us to experience the year in rhythm, besides allowing us to become lost in the familiarity of it all, it can seem as if we do the same thing week after week, month after month, year after year, with no real change at all.  We run the risk of seeing these rhythms as a rut.

Members of the altar guild might see their service as chores.  Acolytes might see their role as a place the adults put children to stay out of the way.  Lectors might see their role as unimportant because what they read is rarely the subject of a sermon.  And the list goes on.

But these roles – altar guild, acolyte, lector, and others – are not just something devised to keep people busy on Sunday.  These roles are an integral and vital part of how this branch of Christianity worships God.  The altar guild isn't simply washing dishes and doing laundry, they are prayerfully making preparation for people to worship God in the beauty of holiness.  Acolytes aren't there to make the sanctuary look impressive or to give parents hope that they won't misbehave, they are there to help the great drama and mystery of the Holy Eucharist unfold before our eyes.  Lectors don't read lessons so that the people can hear another voice other than the priest's, they help draw us into the stories of God's people in a way that allows the Bible to become alive and meaningful.

Another risk we face is in seeing only the visible, vested people as “liturgical ministers.”  Never forget that the question, “Who are the ministers of the Church?” in our Catechism is answered thus:  “The ministers of the Church are lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.”  On Sunday morning, everyone is a liturgical minister, and everyone has an integral and vital role to perform.  So instead of asking, “What do I get out of church?” we might want to consider asking, “What might God be getting out of my participation in worship?”

This Sunday, how might you bring your heart to the altar?

Amen.

September 14, 2016

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you:
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

Crosses are everywhere.  I have two that I wear when celebrating Holy Eucharist.  Somewhere along the way people started giving me crosses as gifts, and now my office walls are filled with crosses of every sort.  Members of the DOK pledge to wear a cross every day.  There's a cross at the end of my prayer beads.  And crosses have become a sort of fashion statement, worn by both men and women who most likely have no religious affiliation or knowledge.

But the cross is more than a pretty piece of jewelry or lovely piece of artwork, no matter how beautiful it may appear.  The cross is a powerful symbol of our faith.  In fact, it may be the most important symbol of our faith.

We must never forget that the cross was in instrument of terror, power, and pain inflicted upon a conquered people by the victorious Roman army.  The Pax Romana, the Roman Peace, was a period from 27 BCE to 180 CE which reflected a period of relative stability and peace throughout the Roman Empire.  One of the things that held that peace in place was the swift actions of the army to stamp out any threat to the empire – this included state sponsored terrorism in the act of crucifixion.

Crucifixion is a brutal, painful way to die.  Various aspects of crucifixion include breathing difficulties, fluid in the lungs, heart arrhythmia, loss of blood and drops in blood pressure, hypoglycemic shock, as well as the overall bodily shock of being beaten beforehand and coping with the pain of having nails driven through hands and feet.  Add to that the very public nature of the event and this was not a good way to die.

And yet the cross has become the universal symbol of Christianity.  It was on the cross that Jesus died for our sins; and not for ours only, but for the sins of the whole world.  It was at the cross that Jesus said, “I'll take the weight of this sinful world upon me so that you don't have to.”  It was on the cross that Jesus stretched out his arms of love so that everyone might come within the reach of his saving embrace.  It was on the cross that Jesus redeemed the world.

The cross was a symbol of the ghastly practice of state sponsored terror in order to keep the masses of conquered people in line.  But we don't dwell on that aspect of the cross.  We shouldn't dwell on that aspect of the cross.  The crosses we wear are empty.  The cross at the front of the church is empty.  They are empty because we don't dwell on the crucifixion, we dwell on the fact that Jesus defeated death.  It was Jesus who was victorious, not the cross.  There's a reason we sing, “The cross stands empty to the sky” on Easter.

On this day when we celebrate the Feast of the Holy Cross, take some time and reflect on something you probably see every day.  If you aren't sure where to begin, begin by asking yourself this question:

What does the cross mean to me?

Amen.

September 7, 2016

“For you created everything that is,
and by your will they were created and have their being;
And yours by right, O Lamb that was slain,
for with your blood you have redeemed for God,
From every family, language, people, and nation,
a kingdom of priests to serve our God.”
Canticle 18:  A Song to the Lamb

Canticle 18 is appointed to be read at Morning Prayer on Tuesdays and Thursdays after the lesson from the New Testament.  It is one of my favorite canticles that we say during the course of the week, which is a good thing since we get to recite it twice.

There are a variety of reasons this is a favorite canticle – channeling my inner Statler and Waldorf, it's short; it has a nice flow; it gives praise and honor to our God.  But the thing that really makes this my favorite canticle are the lines quoted above.

There is an acknowledgment that God created everything, and everything's very essence is wrapped up in the creative powers of God.

Because we were created by God, we rightfully belong to God.  As any artist, author, or someone holding a patent, what was created by them belongs to them.  God holds the patent on our lives and we rightfully belong to God.

Through the sacrificial act of Jesus' crucifixion, we have been redeemed.  We live in a world of God's creation, but we participate in a fallen and sinful world of our own making.  Jesus' Passion, his willingness to sacrifice himself, his dying so that we might live, his dying for our sins is that great redemptive act that makes us worthy to stand before God.

It was not only for our sins he died, but for the sins of the whole world.  The.  Whole.  World.  From every family, language, people, and nation, Jesus sacrificed himself so that everyone might become part of the kingdom of priests to serve God.

It just might be that last line that I appreciate, treasure, and ponder most of all:  every family, language, people, and nation.  When I wonder why certain families are the way they are, I need to remember that every family is welcome to be part of God's family.  When I begin to distrust people speaking different languages, I need to remember that all languages reflect the language of God.  When I get annoyed with certain people, I need to remember that all people rightfully belong to God.  When I fear people of other ethnicities, I need to remember that God has laid claim to all nations.

The Episcopal Church Welcomes You.

This canticle that is recited every Tuesday and Thursday reinforces that statement.  We are all part of a kingdom of priests, and you are all welcome here.

Amen.