Is All Really Calm and Bright for the Church?

As we get ready for tomorrow's Christmas Eve liturgies, it seems a good idea to take a look at "A Tough Season for Believer" by Ross Douthat, a column in the New York Times on Monday, December 20. This is not a feel good Christmas column, but it is something that Christians (especially clergy and lay leaders of congregations) need to read. Douthat articulate well, I believe, the place of the church in 21st century American culture.

I encourage you to read the entire column, but here's what he writes at the end:

"This month's ubiquitous carols and crèches notwithstanding, believing Christians are no longer what they once were—an overwhelming majority in a self-consciously Christian nation. The question is whether they can become a creative and attractive minority in a different sort of culture, where they're competing not only with rival faiths but with a host of pseudo-Christian spiritualities, and where the idea of a single religious truth seems increasingly passé.

"Or to put it another way, Christians need to find a new way to thrive in a society that looks less and less like any sort of Christendom – and more and more like the diverse and complicated Roman Empire were their religion had its beginning, 2,000 years ago this week."

With a full church on Christmas Eve, it's easy to think that "all is calm, all is bright," which is to say it's easy to think that all is OK and we can just keep on doing the same old thing. But I suspect the popularity of Christmas these days has more to do with Santa than Jesus.

This is, in my opinion, an exciting time to be a Christian. But for that to be true, we need to find "a new way to thrive." Christmas may be a good place to start.

46 Years Later: An Advent Message We Still Need to Hear

On this date, December 10, in 1964, Martin Luther King was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. The United States has come a long way in 46 years, but we still live in a nation and world filled with too much injustice, oppression, poverty, and violence. King's words in his Nobel acceptance speech—which resonate from his deep Christian faith—are a good reminder of the need to live with an active hope and faith so that Christ can be known in the world.

Here are a few of his words from 1964:

"I accept this award with an abiding faith in America and an audacious faith in the future of mankind. I refuse to accept despair as the final response to the ambiguities of history. I refuse to accept the idea that the 'isness' of man's present nature makes him morally incapable of reaching up for the eternal 'oughtness' that forever confronts him. I refuse to accept the idea that man is mere flotsam and jetsom in the river of life, unable to influence the unfolding events which surround him. I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality. . . .

"I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. I believe that even amid today's mortar bursts and whining bullets, there is still hope for a brighter tomorrow. I believe that wounded justice, lying prostrate on the blood-flowing streets of our nations, can be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men. I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive good will proclaim the rule of the land. 'And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together and every man shall sit under his own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid.' I still believe that We Shall overcome!"

Now that is an Advent message!

Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly! In the meantime, empower us to proclaim and bear witness to the coming of your kingdom today and always.

Questioning the Place of the Institutional Church

Did you know we have a "marriage gap" in the United States? (And no, I am not talking about gay marriage.) What the heck is a marriage gap? I'm glad you asked.

Ross Douthat, in his recent column in the New York Times ("The Changing Culture War") defines it this way: "college graduates divorce infrequently and bear few children out of wedlock, while in the rest of the country unwed parenthood and family breakdown are becoming a new normal."

Without going through his entire column, Douthat is essentially sharing more data (in this case based on education levels) that tell us something we already know if we are paying attention: societal definitions of marriage and of family are changing . . . rapidly! For more reasons than I can name here, we're witnessing a huge shift in what it means to be a family. This is not insignificant as the family has been a core institution in our society (and I should add here that I believe this broader definition of family is a good thing).

What really caught my interest in the column is this paragraph:

"But as religious conservatives have climbed the educational ladder, American churches seem to be having trouble reaching the people left behind. This is bad news for both Christianity and the country. The reinforcing bonds of strong families and strong religious communities have been crucial to working-class prosperity in America. Yet today, no religious body seems equipped to play the kind of stabilizing role in the lives of the 'moderately educated middle' (let alone among high school dropouts) that the early-20th-century Catholic Church played among the ethnic working class."

I'm not sure if I agree with Douthat here, but I believe while sharing his thoughts on the institution of marriage he is saying something significant about the institution of the church and its place in American society. From his view, the institutional church is no longer strong enough or equipped enough to play a stabilizing role in a society in which fear and anxiety are prevalent and deep.

Is he correct? I hope not. I'd like to think that--at least on the local, congregational level--the church still manages to be a place of stability in people's lives.

But I have no doubt that--correct or not--he reflects an increasingly common view of the place and value of religious communities in American society. We are not in the center any longer.

So, what are we going to do about it?

A Prayer for World AIDS Day

December 1^st is World AIDS Day. With all the problems in the world, I don't hear much of anything about HIV/AIDS. Here are a few very good reasons to pay attention to this epidemic.

• 30.8 million adults and 2.5 million children. That is the estimated number of people throughout the world who were living with HIV/AIDS at the end of 2009.
  
• Over 67% of those living with HIV/AIDS live in Sub-Saharan Africa. That's 22.5 million people.
  
• Last year, an estimated 1.8 million people died from AIDS and the total number of children orphaned by AIDS (ages 0-17) by the end of 2009 was 16.6 million.
  
• An estimated 2.6 million people became infected with HIV in 2009.
  

To learn more, go to Avert.org.

In light of all of this, I thought I'd share a prayer today. I found this one on the Huffington Post, along with 14 other prayers and poems.

God who blessed our ancestors Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rebecca, Leah and Rachel, be with all of those who struggle with AIDS, whose health is impaired by this illness and whose lives have been placed in jeopardy. Give them courage and strength to face their illness and hope for a cure that will embrace them in life.

May your healing presence remain with those who have contracted HIV. Through your caring and the wisdom You have imparted to human healers they have been enabled to succeed in their struggle with their disease. Keep them on the path of health and life.

Be with those who care for people with AIDS and attend to their needs. Bless them with strength and compassion as they labor to ease the lives of those who look to them for comfort and well-being. Let them know the value of their labors, and assist them in the noble work.

Share your wisdom with those searching for an ultimate cure for this disease. Bestow your healing knowledge upon them and reward their efforts with fulfillment.

Bless all of us with compassion and understanding that we may see all those afflicted as You see them: not as recipients of some sort of retribution, but as worthy objects of our concern and love.

May the day come speedily when this scourge too, like so many before it, will not afflict Your children and all of us are liberated from the shadow of its terror.

Amen.

(by Mark Israel and Dan Polish)

Advent: Looking at the "Holidays" from a Different Perspective

How'd you like a $1 million Advent calendar? I was listening to a pod cast of "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" this evening while walking the dogs. One of the questions was about an Advent calendar on sale at Harrod's in London for $1 million. Seriously? I can't find it online, but I'm guessing this isn't the sort of thing you simply put on your credit card. I mean, what would it cost to ship that?

Given that astounding example on how so many of us in Western culture see (and value) the Christmas season, this video, Advent Conspiracy Promo on YouTube, needs no explanation or extra commentary from me. Click on it and take a look. It's a good reminder of what this season is all about.

Want to learn more? Check out Advent Conspiracy on the web.

(Thanks to the Rev. Annie Thornberg for sending this link to me earlier today.)

E’en So Lord Jesus Quickly Come: Another Advent Begins

This post is adapted from a column I wrote for the December 2010 edition of the Christ Church, Exeter monthly newsletter, "The Anchor"

And so it is Advent, the season of joyful anticipation of the coming of Christ . . . finally!

We need this season, I think, and not simply for the carols and the lights and the trees and the merriment that mark the secular holiday season. We need this season to give us hope in the face of some of the realities of life that could lead us to despair: the young men and women we pray for at Christ Church each Sunday who have died in service to their country in Iraq and Afghanistan;, the brave 6^th grade girl who has endured a stem cell transplant as she fights cancer with the support of her family, parish community, friends, and neighbors; people we know who are out of work and wondering how they will survive when their unemployment benefits run out; and national and global problems that seem too big to solve.

Ironically, it is during this season of deepest darkness in the northern hemisphere that we are invited to look toward the horizon with hope. Advent reminds us that Christ is coming . . . no matter what may be happening in the world or in our lives. Jesus—who was and is and is to come—brings the promise of the future into the present, not so much to fix all that ails our world but to raise our eyes so they can focus beyond today, looking with hope and faith toward the horizon.

When this happens—when we look at the world through the lens of Advent hope—the way we live and the actions we take today are transformed. We are filled with joy and we share that joy with others.

One of my favorite pieces of music during Advent is "E'en so Lord Jesus quickly come" by Paul Manz. The text is an adaptation of Revelation 21:1-4 (adapted by Ruth Manz). This, always, is my prayer for Advent. In the face of darkness and doubt, of uncertainty and isolation, of whatever may be troubling any of us, this is my response.

Peace be to you and grace from him
Who freed us from our sins,
Who loved us all and shed his blood
That we might saved be.

Sing holy, holy to our Lord,
The Lord, Almighty God,
Who was and is and is to come;
Sing holy, holy, Lord!

Rejoice in heaven, all ye that dwell therein,
Rejoice on earth, ye saints below,
For Christ is coming, is coming soon,
For Christ is coming soon!

E'en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come,
And night shall be no more;
They need no light nor lamp nor sun,
For Christ will be their All!

(To truly experience the power of this text, I encourage you to listen to "E'en so Lord Jesus quickly come")

A Thanksgiving Proclamation Continues to Ring True

There is not arguing that on this Thanksgiving Day 2010 Americans are gathering together under a cloud of anxiety such as we've rarely, if ever, experienced since the Great Depression in the 1930s. While it may be true that technically the Great Recession is over, too many Americans are unemployed and even more live in fear of the future. The economy, terrorism, continued war in Afghanistan, a federal government so caught in partisanship that nothing can get done: all this and more causes Americans to believe that the country our children are inheriting will be worse than the one in which many of us grew up.

How is one to be thankful in the midst of this sort of anxiety and with so many insurmountable problems?

Perhaps we can learn a bit from the past. Lincoln Caplan writes in today's New York Times about the Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1936 written by Wilbur Cross, the Governor of Connecticut from 1931-1939. In the midst of the Depression, in a year in which Connecticut had suffered from disastrous floods, labor strife, and the struggles to make ends meet day in and day out, Cross (to quote Caplan) lifted "his gaze to the stars" so the citizens of Connecticut could "rediscover their hopes and dreams."

All of which is to say that in the midst of dark and anxious times, we need Thanksgiving Day to remind us that we are blessed by God and that gratitude is a key ingredient to moving forward with hope.

In his Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1936, Cross reminded the people of Connecticut (and anyone reading his proclamation today) to be thankful "for all the creature comforts, . . . for all those things, as dear as breath to the body, that quicken a man's faith in his manhood, . . . for the brotherly word and act; . . . for honor held above price; for steadfast courage and zeal in the long, long search after truth; for liberty and for justice granted by each to his fellow . . .; and for the crowning glory and mercy of peace upon our land . . ."

Good words to remember this Thanksgiving Day.

Despite all that is happening in our world, we are blessed in countless ways. Thanks be to God!

Another Look at Thanksgiving: Beyond Turkey and Extra Pie

This post is adapted from a column I wrote for "The Anchor," the monthly newsletter of Christ Church, Exeter, New Hampshire

As we anticipate the Thanksgiving holiday this week, I am struck by the disconnect between the way we celebrate the day in American culture and the collect in the Prayer Book for Thanksgiving Day.

In the United States, Thanksgiving has primarily become a holiday in which we prepare more food than we need, eat more food than our bodies can comfortably hold, and prepare for the general indulgence that often marks the "holiday season." I'm not trying to be judgmental here. I love the excuse the Thanksgiving feast gives me to get second and third helpings and to enjoy some extra dessert! I also love the weeks between Thanksgiving and New Years, and not only for the holy parts associated with church.

Yet, I find the collect appointed for Thanksgiving Day a good correction for my cultural bias. It refocuses me on what this day is supposed to be about, at least from a Christian perspective.

Almighty and gracious Father, we give you thanks for the fruits of the earth in their season and for the labors of those who harvest them. Make us, we pray, faithful stewards of your great bounty, for the provision of our necessities and the relief of all who are in need, to the glory of your Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

After giving thanks, the collect asks that God make us "faithful stewards . . . for the provision of our necessities and the relief of all who are in need." This is, I believe, the heart of the prayer and words that are well worth praying over and over and over. Note that we are asking God to empower us to use the bounty of the earth so that our needs and the needs of others can be met. We are not giving thanks to God for the opportunity to indulge ourselves.

We live in a narcissistic culture in which we generally confuse our wants with our needs. There is a tremendous difference between what we want and what we need and it is important for us to differentiate them. When we confuse the two, when we begin to believe that what we want is what we need, we risk indulging ourselves at the cost of the needs of others.

The collect for Thanksgiving Day reminds us that we cannot live solely for ourselves. We are called to live for others. This does not mean sacrificing our own needs. It means we need to weigh our wants with the needs of others. The gospel paradox is that by doing so—by satisfying both our own needs and the needs of others—we create a "great bounty" for all.

One of the characteristics of the church as a "new commons" is that we commit ourselves to a common good, a good for society that seeks to lift everyone up so that all can experience the "great bounty" that God provides. For this to happen, we must listen carefully to the words of the collect and seek to make them real in our actions.

I'm not advocating here for some sort of holy austerity. I have more than I need in my life and I believe that as human beings it is important to treat ourselves now and then. I plan to enjoy indulging in a second helping of turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving Day (perhaps I'll even have a second piece of pie).

Yet I hope I do so with the knowledge that I am enjoying a want, not satisfying a need. And I hope that I might be inspired—after enjoying this great bounty—to be a faithful steward for the relief of all who are in need not only at Thanksgiving but throughout my life.

Skepticism to Faith?

One of the things I love about reading an actual newspaper is that I find interesting articles by flipping the pages that I would never read if I had to click on the title on my computer. Today, my journey through the New York Times took me to Life's Work Is a Talmud Accessible to All Jews. The article focuses on Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz who has just completed a translation of the Talmud into modern Hebrew. It took him 45 years!

I could write about his dedication (not too dissimilar from the Episcopal saint, Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky who spent decades translating the Bible into Chinese, but I'll leave that for another time).

What I found interesting in the article today was this quote by Rabbi Steinsaltz. Having grown up in a non-religious home, his religious belief developed during his teenage years. "By nature," the rabbi said, "I am a skeptical person, and people with a lot of skepticism start to question atheism."

Really? I've always heard it the other way around, that skeptical people question religion, thus becoming atheists (or agnostics or some other religion or something).

Somehow this strikes me as refreshing, that someone came to a religious faith not through grand experiences or because of acceptance of doctrine. He became a faithful person by asking questions. And then he dedicated most of his life to translating volumes of the questions and answers and questions and answers and questions that make up the Talmud.

Skepticism leading to faith. Now, there's a concept!

Prayer on Generosity

Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann prayed this prayer during a chapel service at Columbia Theological Seminary on September 26, 2002. As we draw closer to the end of the church's annual pledge campaign, it seems a good prayer to quote here. I'll let the prayer speak for itself.

On our own, we conclude:
that there is not enough to go around
we are going to run short
of money
of love
of grades
of publications
of sex
of beer
of members
of years
of life
we should seize the day
seize the goods
seize our neighbor's goods
because there is not enough to go around.

And in the midst of our perceived deficit:
You come
You come giving bread in the wilderness
You come giving children at the 11th hour
You come giving homes to exiles
You come giving futures to the shut-down
You come giving Easter joy to the dead
You come -- fleshed in Jesus.

And we watch while
the blind receive their sight
the lame walk
the lepers are cleansed
the deaf hear
the dead are raised
the poor dance and sing.

We watch
and we take food we did not grow and
life we did not invent and
future that is gift and gift and gift and
families and neighbors who sustain us
when we do not deserve it.

It dawns on us -- late rather than soon --
that "you give food in due season
you open your hand
and satisfy the desire of every living thing."

By your giving, break our cycles of imagined scarcity
override our presumed deficits
quiet our anxieties of lack
transform our perceptual field to see
the abundance ... mercy upon mercy
blessing upon blessing.

Sink your generosity deep into our lives
that your muchness may expose our false lack
that endlessly receiving, we may endlessly give,
so that the world may be made Easter new,
without greedy lack, but only wonder
without coercive need, but only love
without destructive greed, but only praise
without aggression and invasiveness . . .
all things made Easter new . . .
all around us, towards us and by us
all things Easter new.

Finish your creation . . . in wonder, love, and praise. Amen.

In Gratitude for One Who Shares God’s Dream for the World

Desmond Tutu is retiring!!! Tomorrow, October 7, 2010, will be his 79^th birthday and, at his wife's insistence, he will retire. I'm not sure what that means exactly, but I assume it means he will not be traveling or making public appearances. Perhaps he will no longer write. According to an article in Time magazine ("The Laughing Bishop," October 11, 2010) he will no longer take an active role in the Desmond Tutu Peace Centre. Whatever it means for his life, for millions of people, to quote the article written by Alex Perry, "a world without Tutu will be a bit darker, a little more dull."

Beyond the impact of on South Africa, his retirement is certainly a loss for the Anglican Communion. At a time when so many in Africa are beating the drum of exclusion, Tutu's voice was always raised in the spirit of radical hospitality and inclusion. For Tutu, the only thing that really matters is that we are all human beings, all children of God who are loved by our Creator. Having this in common, we are called to love and accept each other.

In his book God has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time Tutu wrote:

"In God's family, there are no outsiders. All are insiders. Black and white, rich and poor, gay and straight, Jew and Arab, Palestinian and Israeli, Roman Catholic and Protestant, Serb and Albanian, Hutu and Tutsi, Muslim and Christian, Buddhist and Hindu, Pakistani and Indian – all belong. . . . God's dream wants us to be brothers and sisters, wants us to be family. . . . In our world we can survive only together. We can be truly free, ultimately, only together. We can be human only together, black and white, rich and poor, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and Jew."

Looking at the world in which we live, seeing the barriers we erect and the chasms that often separate us, it would be easy to read Tutu's vision and think of it as pollyannaish. Yet, this vision arises out of a lifetime of experience with apartheid in South Africa and the long, slow journey toward healing that country still struggles to follow.

This reminds me of another statement by Archbishop Tutu written in a column a few years ago. I don't remember the exact words. He was writing about the peace process between Israel and Palestine. He wrote that he was not optimistic about peace ever becoming a reality in that troubled part of the world. However, as a Christian, he was filled with hope, hope that by the mercy and grace of God peace would someday be a reality.

Desmond Tutu is the personification of that wonderful verse from the letter to the Hebrews (11:1): "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." What sort of world might we live in if we followed his example? Perhaps the thing to do is start following his example right where we live, in our homes, neighborhoods, schools, workplaces, and communities. If we can't change the whole world, perhaps we can change where we live.

Happy retirement, Archbishop Tutu! Enjoy a well-deserved rest from your labors. And thank you for shining the light of Christ in our world.

Nurturing an Attitude of Hope

This past weekend I was in Fort Worth and Dallas to lead a seminar and a workshop, each of which focused on what it means to be "church" in the 21st century and how we might redefine our identity and purpose for this "postmodern" era in which we live.

During the workshop at the Episcopal Church of the Transfiguration in Dallas (which is a dynamic and faithful congregation!), I was speaking in the morning about the paradoxes of the culture in which we live. One paradox is that people today feel both empowered and powerless at the same time. We feel empowered because, even as individuals, technology allows us to reach out and influence the world in which we live in ways that we could not have imagined 10-15 years ago. We feel powerless because for all that we can do many of the challenges of our age seem unresolvable. For example, I can change all of the light bulbs in my house to be more energy efficient (thus feeling empowered), but global warming does not appear to be getting any better. In fact, it appears to be getting worse. This disconnect between my actions and the results can easily bring people to a place of despair.

During a break in the morning, a woman who is a member of Transfiguration challenged me on this point. She said, "But our actions do make a difference!" Well, of course, she's right. But the paradox I describe is also right. How can we both be right? Simply put, she is a faithful Christian who participates in a community that proclaims that our actions are a part of a larger purpose, a purpose which God will bring about, even if not in our time and even if we cannot see the results. What she was describing was the perspective of a person who belongs to a faith community. What I was describing is the attitude of someone who does not.

Her comment revealed an important truth about the power of a faith community to shape us. In the context of a community, our actions can lead us to an attitude of hope. Without a faith community, it is much easier to adopt an attitude of despair.

This morning I was reading an excerpt from an interview with Henri Nouwen from 1996. Nouwen said this:

"If you live with hope, you can live very much in the present because you can nurture the footprints of God in your hearts and life. You already have a sense of what is to come. And the whole of the spiritual life is saying that God is right with us, right now. So that we can wait for his coming, and this waiting is a waiting in hope. But because we wait with hope we know that what we are waiting for is already here. We have to nurture that. Here and now matters because God is a God of the present. And God is a God of the present because he is a God of eternity."

We have to nurture this. As a Christian people, as the Church, we need to nurture this attitude of hope so that the world does not fall into despair. We need to proclaim and invite people to participate with us in the world, not to strengthen our pledge base but to shine the light of Christ and nurture an attitude of hope.

Now, there's a sense of purpose!

Do Not Be Afraid

I just read a letter written by the Right Reverend Mark Sisk, Bishop of New York, concerning the controversy over the plans to build an Islamic Center in lower Manhattan, a few blocks from ground zero. Having been deeply troubled by the ugly and hate-filled accusations that have been made, I want to quote some of Bishop Sisk's letter here. He writes thoughtfully, faithfully, and personally about this religious and cultural struggle (to read the entire letter, click here).

"The plan to build this center is, without doubt, an emotionally highly-charged issue. But as a nation with tolerance and religious freedom at its very foundation, we must not let our emotions lead us into the error of persecuting or condemning an entire religion for the sins of its most misguided adherents.

"The worldwide Islamic community is no more inclined to violence that any other. Within it, however, a struggle is going on – between the majority who seek to follow a moderate, loving religion and the few who would transform it into an intolerant theocracy intent on persecuting anyone, Muslim or otherwise, with whom they disagree. We should all, as Christians, reach out in friendship and love to the peaceful Islamic majority and do all in our power to build and strengthen bridges between our faiths."

He states well what I believe is our responsibility as both Americans and Christians. We live in a country that consciously and intentionally support religious freedom, meaning people have the freedom to express their faith in God in ways far different from our own. Christians in the United States have enjoyed this freedom for centuries. Without that freedom we would not have the rich diversity of faith that strengthens and broadens our worldview. If we don't share that freedom with others, we deny a core value of our nation as well as a core belief of our faith: that God is the creator and sustainer of all creation, including of those who are not like us.

Isn't this entire controversy really an expression of a deep, existential fear, a fear that has been living within us since September 11, 2001 (if not before)? Will we let fear dictate our thoughts and actions? Will we let fear determine those we decide to include and those we decide to exclude? If we do, are we not simply giving the "victory" to the terrorists? If we deny the Islamic Center's right to exist, haven't the terrorists won?

"Do not be afraid," Jesus said (several times). Perhaps we should let Jesus' peace and love dictate our thoughts and actions. Don't you think he would reach out to the Islamic community instead of pushing it away?

Finding Holiness in a Certain Place

In the gospel appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary for this Sunday, July 25 (Luke 11:1-13) we read that "Jesus was praying in a certain place." I don't know how many times I've read this passage and I don't know why it strikes me today. There's something so definite about this "certain place," as though Jesus didn't choose a random place to pray. I wonder if Jesus had a favorite place he went for his quiet, meditative prayer time.

I have a favorite place in my home to pray. It's a chair in our living room, next to a large window that looks out to the east. I think what I like most about this place is the morning light. The light often changes, depending on the season or the weather. Yet every day, the light is there. I can count on that. In the quiet of the early morning, this "certain place" helps me to begin my day.

Now, I'm not holding myself up as a paragon of prayer. I can struggle with prayer as much as anyone. Some days my prayer time is rich and insightful; sometimes it is boring and lifeless. Sometimes it is easy; sometimes I have to work through it. On some mornings I'm awake and aware; on others I might doze off. There are days I don't want the silence to end; and there are other days I find myself peeking at the newspaper early, ready to move on.

What anchors me is the place, that chair in which I sit in the living room in the early morning light. It reminds me why I am there and with whom I am spending time. If I can't find the words or the energy or the openness to pray, at least I have "a certain place," a place I can be in communion with Jesus.

Where is your place to be in touch with God? What place feels most holy for you? Go there – in the morning, in the evening, or whatever time of days works for you – and spend a few minutes residing in the peace that only God can give.

You Belong

Tough week last week, at least in terms of dealing with the reality of human mortality. First, a man in his early 40s killed himself. His parents are Episcopalian, so they wanted the funeral to be at Christ Church. Then, a woman in her 70s (I think) contacted me to come see her as she prepares to die from cancer. Finally, I received a call from a family to come to the hospital to baptize a baby born prematurely who had died.

In each of these cases death came -- or is coming -- prematurely. For each of these families, there is deep sadness and pain.

What I'm struck with is how each of these families reached out to the church. In some way, they needed to know that they were cared for and loved not only by God but by a community of faithful people. Perhaps this doesn't seem strange to you, but according to the American Religious Identification Survey, 27% of Americans do not expect to have a religious funeral. That's over 80 million people!

In the case of the woman who is dying of cancer, she wants desperately to be a member of the church. She does not want to die isolated from a community or from God. It is not enough for her that I officiate at the funeral or bury her. What will give her peace of mind is knowing that she belongs, that she has a place, a people and a community, to which she is intimately a part.

She asked me what she needed to do to become a member. Well, I suppose I could have gone through the list of expectations and hopes we have for members. I could have talked about making a financial pledge, participating in worship, giving time, etc., etc. In other words, I could have talked about institutional stuff, the stuff I normally talk about.

Instead, I simply said, "You're a member. You belong. I'm the rector and I can decide that. You are now a part of Christ Church." In essence, I told her what she needed to hear (and what I believe to be absolutely true): she belongs.

To say she (and her family) felt relieved is an understatement. I think they were expecting me to set up a bunch of hoops for her to jump through to be a part of the Christ Church community. They certainly weren't expecting a simple embrace and acceptance (and I'm not touting myself to be a great priest here; I can't imagine doing anything else because I believe it is what Jesus would do).

Somehow, this all says a lot to me about how we need to be the church in the world today. It's so easy to fall back on institutional processes and rules. But what Jesus says when people approach him is "Come and see" (John 1:39). Do we need to do anything else?

I suspect one of the reasons that 27% of Americans do not want a religious funeral is that they look at us and see only institutional religion, not a loving, Jesus centered community. It's tempting to say that folks out there just don't understand us. But that's not good enough. We need to find a way to break down the doors and walls we have erected, the ones that make it too difficult to belong. We need to invite people to come and see. And when (or more likely, if) they do, we need to embrace them and welcome them home.

Building Bridges Wherever Possible

On Sunday, July 4, the Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church was preached a sermon in the Diocese of Brisbane, in Australia. Her sermon was based on 2 Kings 5:1-14, the story of Naaman, the Gentile, who was cured of leprosy in the River Jordan by Elisha the prophet. Her words are so relevant for the church today, that I quote her here:

Our communities are still pretty well divided up between the haves and the have nots, the white and those of darker hue, the straight and those who aren't. Yet we're all meant to cross over those boundaries that keep some enslaved to others' definitions. We are all invited to bathe in the river of freedom, to be washed clean of the shame of thinking that some are different enough to be pushed out of the community, away from the feast God has set from the beginning of creation.

That's at least partly what Jesus is telling his followers when he sends them out. . . . Go and proclaim peace. Eat with anybody who offers to share a meal, offer healing to anyone who's hurting, and tell them that God is near. And if you aren't accepted, don't fuss, just move on and try the next person. Healing and reconciling need our active labor and participation. Disciples are supposed to build bridges wherever possible.

There is at least one sort of division that your context and mine share – between the inside and the outside of the church. There are growing numbers of people who think that Christians are bigots, hypocrites, and uninterested in those who differ from them. The only real way to cross over that boundary is to leave these communities of safety and go on out there to find those who think we're unclean. We're going to have to wade into the river, even if, like the Brisbane, it does have a few bull sharks in it. There are far more dangerous creatures walking around on both banks. It's past time to go swimming.

In so many ways, we in the church have become too institutionally and internally focused. We deal with our own issues to the exclusion of what is going on in the world around us. Confused and concerned about dropping attendance and participation in our churches, we fail to engage and listen to the people who seek God but won't walk through our doors.

"Disciples are supposed to build bridges wherever possible." Amen to that!

Now, how am I going to do that?

What Does it Mean to be “Church”?

What does it mean to be "church"?

This morning a few people sat down together at the local coffee shop for a "Theological Coffee Hour." Our conversation was not particularly theological, if by that one means some sort of heady and intellectual discussion about God. On another level, it certainly was theological because God was at the center of our discussion.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that our conversation was ecclesiological because we spent most of our time answering the question about what it means to be church without having ever asked it! At the table were three generational views: Silents, GenX, and, yours truly, a "cusper" (born in between the Boomers and the GenXers). We had one clergy person and three lay people. Three of us could be considered "lifers" when it comes to participation in church and one would probably be considered a "seeker" who is looking for the community that best fits his journey of faith.

The question that took us into this ecclesiological conversation was simple: What is the Emerging Church? I won't go into an explanation here because there are probably better people to answer that in a technical sense.

What strikes me as a replay the conversation in my mind is the way our conversation moved from talk of the church as institution to the church as community. We didn't talk about doctrine or core beliefs or canon law. Instead, we talked about the yearning to participate in a community of faithful people who listen to God, follow Jesus in their daily lives, and live with an almost organic structure that encourages diversity and provides a place of contemplative silence. We talked about the American society in which we live with our lack of rootedness and our desire of home. We discussed the yearning people feel to be connected and the need to bring together generations so that we can discover and create a proper balance of wisdom and action. The church, we realized, is one place that allows all of this to happen, one place that provides a spiritual home for those who yearn to be connected with others and with something (or perhaps it is better to say Someone) beyond themselves.

In a recent blog, Diana Butler Bass wrote the following:

Younger Americans feel greater ambivalence toward the word "Christian" than do older adults. In 2005, the Barna group polled 16-29 year olds asking the question, "What do you think of when you hear the word 'Christian'?" 91% of young adults outside the church replied, "anti-homosexual;" 87% responded "judgmental;" 85% said "hypocritical;" 72% reported that Christians were out of touch with reality; and 68% pegged Christians as "boring." ("Who are Christians Anyway?", June 14, 2010)

Well, that's daunting, isn't it? Especially among GenXers and Millenials, fewer and fewer Americans see the church as a place where one can be a Christian. Or, they are simply rejecting Christianity because they equate being Christian with the institution of the church. For as long as I can remember, folks in the church have said that young adults will come back to church once they have children and want them to be baptized and go to Sunday School. Well, if the Barna survey reflects accurately the attitudes about Christianity and the church, the vast majority of those young adults are not going to walk through the doors of our buildings . . . ever!

Where is our hope? Well, I find hope in my conversation this morning with one GenXer who is seeking God through the community we call the church. I'm not sure if he will "join" Christ Church or not, but that may not be the most important end result. If we can find a way to help him ask his questions and find a deeper relationship with God through Christ, then perhaps that is a great success. Joining is, after all, a very institutional sort of thing. What matters most is that we open doors that invite people to follow Jesus, that we create relationships based on divine grace, joy, love, and radical hospitality.

So, what does it mean to be "church"? My conversation today tells me that how we answer that question will make all the difference when it comes to our future vitality as a community of faithful people. Ultimately, what will matter most are not the words we use to answer the question. What will matter is how widely we open our doors—the doors of our buildings and the doors of our hearts—and how faithfully we live in the world.

Relections from the Center of Exeter

I'm sitting at Me and Ollie's in Exeter, NH (a very informal place to hang out with some coffee) and blogging on my iPhone. I'm old enough to be struck by the oddity and wonder of the fact that I don't have my computer but I can still do this. Of course, it's possible this won't work, so I should probably keep this short (and the fact that I'm using this tiny keyboard should limit any reflections at the moment; my thumbs can only take so much!).

I hang out at Me and Ollie's a couple of times a week. Most of the time someone drops by for a conversation. Sometimes I have about 90 minutes to myself to read, catch up on email, or get some work done. By far the best days include a conversation.

With no one dropping by today I can watch people. Most are gathers in pairs having a conversation. A few are alone, reading or working on computers. Some stand in line waiting for their order to be taken. Some sit outside, some inside. A name is called when an order is ready. As the afternoon continues the crowd thins and the music played continuously in the background can be heard.

All of this strikes me as a 21sf century experience of community. In a sense, Me and Ollie's stands in the place of the old village greens, town commons, and town squares, those places that today are public parks but were in the past places where anyone and everyone gathered. Everyone is welcomed here and everyone is invited to find a place, with others or alone, connected by wireless or in conversation with another person.

I'm not sure what any of this says about building community in the church, but I suspect we need to create some new spaces to allow community to be formed more organically and less programmatically. This isn't my idea, by the way. I read about this in an article, the title of which escapes me at the moment. I believe this is one of the challenges and opportunities facing the church in 2010. We need to create common places that invite the creation of community. And we shouldn't concede that task to a coffee shop (no matter how much I like the
coffee shop!).

My thumbs are tired. Time to stop blogging, at least for now. If you read this and you live on the Seacoast of New Hampshire, drop by Me and Ollie's on Tuesdays at 3:30 or Thursdays at 7:30. I'll be ready for a conversation.

When the Church is No Longer in the Center of the Community

"In the 1940s and '50s, the church was vibrant and bustling . . . Those were the days of the blue laws, when few businesses were open on Sunday, which meant there were few excuses to skip service. Many homes did not have television. The church was the absolute center of the community, . . . a place where friends came in packs and families and neighbors mingled, a time when families' status, to a degree, could be judged by how 'churched' they were."

I read this paragraph this morning in the New York Times ("Some Harlem Churches in Fight to Survive and Stay Relevant" by Trymaine Lee, May 24, 2010). The article focuses primarily on All Soul's Episcopal Church in Harlem, a once large and vital parish that averages about 50 people for Sunday worship and has a rotation of supply clergy who lead services (meaning no regular ordained leadership for the congregation). While the paragraph above describes in particular the history of All Soul's and, more widely, the story of other congregations in Harlem, it also tells the story of countless congregations in the United States, whether they be in the middle of our largest cities, surrounded by farms, in the center of small towns, or in busy suburban areas. The society of the 1940s and 1950s in which the "church was the absolute center of the community" no longer exists. Even strong and vibrant churches, certainly in the northeast where I live and minister, experience the reality of a rapidly changing culture and the impact of this on congregational participation.

The existential feelings that arise from this crisis in congregational life are expressed well by one man who is a member of All Soul's: "It's an uphill battle. It puts a lot of pressure on the congregation because you have to dig deep into your pockets to keep the church open. Our congregation is older, many are sick, and I really don't know what the future holds."

There is something very sad about this, of course, as older generations (the Builders, the Silents, and the Boomers) who grew up in church watch the institutions they love weaken, and, in some cases, die. I just heard of an Episcopal congregation in western Massachusetts that will have its final liturgy on May 30 and then shut its doors, ending a long and treasured history.

So, what does the future hold? Don't I wish I had an answer to that question! Not knowing the future can paralyze us in the present, tempt us to look backward for answers and hope to resurrect the glory days of the past. Really, isn't this simply an opportunity for us to place our trust in Jesus? When Jesus invited people to follow, he didn't tell them where they were going. He simply invited them to walk, to live life in a new way.

In Karen Armstrong's book The Case for God, she writes that the "type of wisdom that Socrates offered was not gained by acquiring items of knowledge but by learning to be in a different way," so that "the important thing was not the solution to a problem but the path that people traveled in search of it." (Armstrong, page 62)

Institutional Christians today have a problem . . . well, we really have more than one. We also have opportunities, new possibilities to grow faithfully and to be the people God created us to be.

Perhaps instead of wringing our hands or jumping to solutions, we should start walking. As Christians seeking to follow Jesus, what is the path that we are being invited to follow toward new life and vitality?

 

Discovering Community at the Boston Marathon

I am of the opinion that my life belongs to the community,

and as long as I live it is my privilege to do for it whatever I can.

George Bernard Shaw

Yesterday, I participated in one of those quintessentially Boston events: the Boston Marathon. No, I most certainly did NOT run in the marathon. I was there to support a friend, Jim, from Texas. He ran while his fiance (Elizabeth, a dear friend for many years), my wife, and I did our best to support him. This included one "shout out" of support near Kenmore Square as he ran by (his fiance managed an early shout out in the Boston suburbs as well as the one in the city with us). Later he told us what a difference it made to have us encouraging him when he'd reached the point of just pushing through to the end.

Not running in the marathon (and I hereby proclaim that I have no intention of ever doing so!), gave me an opportunity to observe and participate in the entire experience. We walked along part of the route and saw an enormous number of people participating in some way or another. Some were there because they come every year. Some were there because it was a good excuse to start drinking early. Others were there because it was a state holiday in Massachusetts (Patriots Day). Some were there to see the Red Sox game (ANOTHER loss to the Rays! Ugh!).

Many were there to support a specific runner or group of runners. I saw all sorts of people in matching t-shirts, with signs, with "stuff" to give the runners in case they needed a boost. People stood along the route yearning to catch a glimpse of a friend or family member running toward them. When they saw that particular person, they began to yell out the person's name and a huge smile would appear on the face of a weary runner who was just gutting it out.

I've often thought of running as a solo athletic endeavor. In many ways it is, of course. Even when someone has another to run with, in the midst of a marathon each person is eventually on his or her own to make it to the finish.

But in so many ways, the Boston Marathon exemplifies the need we have for community even in something that is so highly individualized. After the race, Jim spoke of the noise from the crowds that kept up his energy, of the other runners along the way with whom he interacted, and of our support at a critical time in the race for him. Jim wasn't alone and didn't run alone. He ran with a community.

The non-runners are certainly feeling better today than the runners. We don't need to recover from yesterday. But each of us, in a different way, made the Boston Marathon experience possible.

I won't stretch the metaphor too much here. You know where I'm going with this, I'm sure. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. Jesus calls us to live faithfully for the long term, not the short term. Etc., etc.

Perhaps it is best to remember, as I was reminded yesterday, that we are in this together, that each of us has a part to play to make it to the end of the race. Life is meant to be lived interdependently, in community, with each of us sharing our gifts, talents, and skills for the good of the whole. It's only a question, really, of whether we are each willing to do our part so that the community can keep on running.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Today is Monday in Easter Week, according to the church calendar. For many Christians it is a day to relax and take a breath after the intensity of the Holy Week journey. In many cases, today is a day to "get back to normal," to get back to school, work, and the normal routines of life after several days focused on Jesus' passion and resurrection.

I hope, however, that those of us who participated in Holy Week and Easter -- who truly experienced the depth of the Good Friday darkness and the brightness of the Easter light -- will return to "normal" a bit transformed, changed in a small way. Perhaps "normal" can be renewed, if we choose to carry Easter with us into our lives. Perhaps we can live more fully into the reality of the resurrection and what it means for us today.

That's enough reflection for today. The church office is closed and I'm enjoying a sabbath day. Time to rest (or perhaps I should be using the time to finish my taxes!!).

Alleluia! Christ is risen!
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Thoughts on Good Friday

It is almost 2:15 PM on Good Friday, April 2, 2010. We are almost through the traditional three hours marked as the time Jesus was on the cross. I thought I'd share some reflections that I sent to parishioners yesterday. Good Friday is the critical day on our journey toward Easter. In our culture today it is often easy to move through Good Friday without reflection, to focus on Jesus' resurrection (the nice part of the story) and not on his suffering and death (the painful part of the story).

And yet, the day is called Good Friday, not Tragic Friday. The word "Good" in the title for the day comes from an older use of the word in English as an equivalent of "Holy." Good Friday, then, is Holy Friday. It is also, for all the focus on Jesus' death, a good day. It is good because it is the day that reminds us that Jesus died so that we might live, live free from the burden of our mistakes, weaknesses, and shortcomings (our sins, to use the traditional word) that become barriers to a full and loving relationship with God.

The day is good because the outstretched arms of Jesus on the cross are a divine embrace, an open gesture that reminds us that if we are lost, we can be found; if we are in darkness, we can find light; if we are in despair, we can find hope; if we are isolated and alone, we can find love.

The day is good because it reminds us that we are not alone in the pain and struggles that impact our lives. When we suffer, we remember that God through Jesus suffered for us and suffers with us.

The day is good because it reveals our human capacity to love one another in the midst of evil. While there are people in the passion story who mock, hurt, and kill Jesus, there are also those who stand with him and by him, who care for him as he suffers and in his death. Divine goodness made incarnate in Jesus and in us, we learn on Good Friday, overcomes evil.

The day is good because it is redeemed by Easter Day, the day of resurrection. We know that Friday is not the end of the story, that our sufferings and struggles in life are not the last word or the last action. God will bring good out of everything. No matter what, as Dame Julian of Norwich told us centuries ago, "all will be well, and all will be well, and all matter of things will be well."

On the Look Out for Flares

I just finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy (I have not seen the movie based on the novel). Set in a post-apocalyptic America, it is about as hopeless a story as I've ever read. The novel tells the story of a father and son trying desperately to survive, walking the road toward wherever it takes them, looking for the "good guys" who may be able to help them. At its heart, it is a story about people who are lost who seek a place to be safe and be known (I won't write anymore about the plot to avoid giving anything away).

While it is a dark story, I believe it is worth reading. Looking beyond the plot and the post-apocalyptic setting, McCarthy tells a story that resonates with the yearning of the early 21st century -- the yearning for relationship, for community, for belonging, for home. Perhaps, like the prodigal son in Jesus' parable (see the gospel of Luke, chapter 15), it is accurate to say that people today -- living a life often uprooted from family and close friends -- simply want to be found.

McCarthy articulates this desire -- this yearning -- in his story (The Road, page 245):

He loaded the flarepistol and as soon as it was dark they walked out down the beach away from the fire and he asked the boy if he wanted to shoot it.

You shoot it, Papa. You know how to do it.

Okay.

He cocked the gun and aimed it out over the bay and pulled the trigger. The flare arced up into the murk with a long whoosh and broke somewhere out over the water in a clouded light and hung there. The hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark and the pale foreshore tide started in the glare and slowly faded. He looked down at the boy's upturned face.

They couldn't see it very far, could they, Papa?

Who?

Anybody.

No. Not far.

If you wanted to show where you were.

You mean like to the good guys?

Yes. Or anybody that you wanted them to know where you were.

Like who?

I don't know.

Like God?

Yeah. Maybe somebody like that.

Reading that scene makes me wonder . . . How many people around us -- people we see every day at work, at school, in the neighborhood, at the store, and in our homes -- are sending up "flares" hoping that God or the good guys or "somebody like that" will see the flare and find them?

Isn't that a core job of the church? To notice? To see the "flares" that people send out?

Makes me think . . . I wonder if we've been so intent on getting our message out that we have not listened well enough to the yearning of the people who live right around us.

What might happen if we made it a task of the church to be on the look out for "flares"? How might we and the community we call the church be transformed, if we opened our eyes to the signals of those around us, the signals of those who yearn to be found?

Oh yes, once we've seen the "flares" it would be a good idea to reach out and invite the person who sent up the flare to come to church, to discover a faithful, Christian community in which all parts of the "Body of Christ" are cherished and respected. Even better, it would be a great idea to invite them into a relationship with Jesus.

Hmmmm . . . That may be the hardest part of all.

What do you think?

Starving and Searching in the Airport

Almost constantly, people, sometimes only one and other times several, stop and look up at the monitors. They are searching, searching for the flight on which they have a seat, hoping that it is scheduled to leave on time. I have the perfect vantage point to watch them, sitting here in the Austin airport waiting for my own flight to Boston and home.

So many people wandering through the airport. Some are waiting to depart. Others are arriving at their destination. Some are going home. Others are leaving home.

I'm struck by how little any of us pay attention to each other. Except for the occasional "excuse me" as we try to get around each other with our carry on bags, we are close together and very far apart.

And yet, we are all searching . . . for a flight, for an escape from home, or for a return from home. And, at least for most of us, we are seeking for so much more, something deep in our hearts and souls that resonates with "home" and our desire to be grounded in relationship with others.

According to Tony Jarvis, who spoke so eloquently and passionately at the conference of the Consortium of Endowed Episcopal Parishes this morning, what most of us are searching for is God. "People are starving," he told us this morning. They ask themselves existential and spiritual questions, whether consciously or not. Why should I get up this morning? What is the purpose of the work I do? What does all of this mean? What will I find when I get off the plane at another airport in another city?

Quoting Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, we were reminded that we are not human beings on a spiritual quest but that we are spiritual people on a human pilgrimage.

"People are starving," he told us. "They are starving for God." And they are starving for relationships, authentic relationships of love and grace. Here in the airport, surrounded by a crowd and yet so very alone.

As I watch people searching, searching for flight numbers and gates and destinations, as I ponder what Tony Jarvis said this morning I hear a woman named Kate Eaton singing the words "Follow me" over and over and over again (I'm not hearing voices, by the way, only listening to her CD "Arise" through iTunes).

Follow me. The words of Jesus to a starving people 2,000 years ago. Follow me.

What might happen if, as the Body of Christ in the 21st century, we simply repeated the invitation to all of these people who are searching and waiting and hoping and questioning? What might happen if instead of trying to answer all of their questions, we simply introduced them to Jesus? What if, instead of a program, we simply invited them into a relationship with the One who will welcome them home as they are and feed them with abiding love?

Oh, that sounds so simple . . . and so complex at the same time.

They're still looking up at the monitors. Shall we invite them to come home?

Inviting the Church into the Wilderness

I'm attending the annual conference of the Consortium of Endowed Episcopal Parishes this week. I was particularly struck by the different ways we prayed yesterday.

Curtis Almquist, the Superior of the Society of St. John the Evangelist led us in a simple breath prayer as we started the formal conference.

We celebrated the opening Eucharist at St. David's Church. It was a traditional, Prayer Book liturgy filled with the voices of many clergy and lay people who love the Episcopal Church (which means we were louder than most Sunday congregations with our enthusiastic responses -- "AND ALSO WITH YOU!" included an exclamation point).

Earlier in the afternoon I attended a workshop led by the leadership of the Wilderness, an alternative Eucharistic congregation based in the cathedral in Denver, CO. The worship was simple, yet profound. Prayer stations invited us to be active participants, to wander and experiment, before, during, and after the liturgy. We used alternative prayers, new arrangements for some traditional Lenten hymns, and a deep and holy silence.

In this worship, the most profound and moving of the three times of prayer yesterday, we entered the wilderness of Lent. On their website, the Wilderness describes the experience this way:

"The wilderness is a quiet place, free from the hectic bustle of life and free from distraction. It is a place of stillness, where mind and soul can wander, searching for meaning of life . . . and searching for God. It can be unsettling, a place of questions, but also of transformation. It can be a haven of peace and renewal, of nourishment and creativity. It is holy ground."

We need more of this, I think, more invitation into the wilderness, into a place in which open seeking is not only permitted but encouraged. How might this transform the church in the 21st century?