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?