Honoring a New Hampshire Saint on Martin Luther King Day

Jonathan Myrick Daniels, a native of Keene, New Hampshire, was killed in Alabama on August 20, 1965. He was a 26 year old Episcopal seminary student who gave his life so that an African-American teenager, Ruby Sales, would not be harmed. He is rightly considered a Christian martyr and a saint of the church whose feast day on the church calendar is August 14.

Daniels and Sales are two of the countless people--people of different ethnicities, religions, ages, backgrounds, and political beliefs--who participated in the civil rights movement and helped to bring about the transformation of our nation.

I'm reminded of Daniels today because of an excellent column in today's Boston Globe by Adrian Walker, "On King holiday, honoring heroes," that focuses on Daniels passion and sacrifice. Beyond his willingness to give his life, Daniels' commitment, as a white northerner, reminds us that real transformation in our nation--a transformation that is ongoing today--comes when we open ourselves to those who are different from us.

As Ruby Sales said (as quoted in Walker's column): "If I had never met Jonathan Daniels, I would have only had a monolithic view of white people and he would have had one view of black people. We opened each other's worlds so we could see each other's humanity. That's really what the movement was about."

Following Jonathan's and Ruby's examples, perhaps the best thing to remember on this Martin Luther King Day is that the world will only become a better place when we open ourselves to relationships with those who differ from us, with those who are often separated from us. When we do this, we not only "see each other's humanity," we create community.

I highly recommend taking a few minutes to read Walker's column in the Globe. Not only does he give a fuller picture of Daniels' life and commitment than I've giving here, but he articulates the essence of what this national holiday is truly about.

Take Away the Arrogance and Hatred Which Infect Our Hearts

Six people killed and a member of Congress in critical condition in the hospital. The tragedy in Tucson has saturated the news as people try to respond and comprehend what happened. In what has become a common rite in western society, people have been leaving flowers, keepsakes, and notes in support of Congresswoman Giffords and those who were killed and injured.

Lost in the midst of this tragedy is one reported in the Boston Globe on Wednesday, January 12th in an article titled "Students Mourn Nebraska School Administrator Slain by Teen." A school principal was shot last week by a student she had suspended earlier in the day. Later that same day the student killed himself.

It seems at times, doesn't it, that we live in a society gone mad. I'm not sure if these sorts of things happen more often than they used to or if we just hear about it more because of the overload of information that comes to us. Whatever it is, I wonder what my response is to be to this as a Christian person. These events happened far away from me and my life really has not been changed by them. But do I just let them pass or is this a call to live in a new way?

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I know where I start in situations like this. I start by praying the prayer "For the Human Family" found on page 815 of the Book of Common Prayer.

O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus Christ your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Once I've prayed the prayer, the question becomes: How do I put this into action? It's fine to place my faith in God and wait for God's "good time" to bring the divine purpose into fulfillment. But that doesn't mean I bear no responsibility for the society in which I live today.

As Christians, one of our primary calls is to create community, a special sort of community that lives by faith, hope, and love despite the differences that might divide us. As God's people, as the Body of Christ, we have it within our power to make a difference by showing the world that there is another way to live together.

What might happen if we took seriously not only praying this prayer, but also living it?

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?

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.

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.

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.

How Do We Find Unity in the Midst of Animosity and Division

The current tenor of the presidential campaign has become disturbing. Negative political campaigning is not new in the United States. Historians can point back to the early 19th century to find negative (and untrue) claims made about opponents.

This year feels different and, in ways, frightening. On the one side we hear angry outbursts against Barack Obama at Republican rallies, including reports of people yelling "Kill him!" On the other side, people at Democratic rallies boo when they hear John McCain's name and some are accusing McCain of being the next George Wallace.

These reactions are caused to some extent by current political ads and accusations. According to an article in today's Wall Street Journal online edition ("Hopes Quickly Fade for a Postpartisan Era"), Democrats are accusing the McCain campaign of character assassination and Republicans are increasing security at campaign offices because of acts of vandalism and intimidation by Obama supporters.

While the line between reality and misperception is very blurry here, I believe the cause of so much unrest runs deeper than the current political campaign. Both the campaign and the uncertain times in which we live stoke the fire of fear and anxiety about the unknown or the unfamiliar. The still burning embers of discrimination and prejudice kindles the rage and hopelessness that can make some feel trapped while they watch others prosper.

Pollster Peter Hart, quoted in the article referenced above, asks a profound question: "How do you knit a nation back together with this kind of animosity?"

I'd really like to answer this question by pointing to the Church. Perhaps you might remember that old song which I sang growing up, "They will know we are Christians by our love." For years I said that one of the characteristics I appreciated about Anglicans was our willingness and ability to hold together a variety of theological and doctrinal perspectives within a common practice of worship and community. I believed the Anglican Communion stood as a witness of unity to the rest of the Church and the world.

For anyone who has been paying attention the past few years, the Anglican Communion is hardly a witness of unity. Anglicans seem to be caught in the same cycle of fear, anxiety, anger, and accusation that characterizes the presidential campaign. I'd like to claim that we are at least a bit more polite when we point the finger at "the other side" but I'm not sure that's true.

Paraphrasing Archbishop Desmond Tutu (who once wrote of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict that he was not optimistic about peace but, because of his Christian faith, he was hopeful), I'll write here that I'm not optimistic about how we knit our nation together or how we restore the Anglican Communion ... but I am hopeful.

My hope is found not in the larger society or communion, but in my local congregation. In a recent forum discussion on a Sunday morning a group of parishioners and I listed the variety of ways we are diverse here in Exeter. While on the surface most of us look the same (this part of New Hampshire is about 96% white) when we dig deeper we find a great many differences in background, family status, economic status, worldviews, and theological perspectives (just to name a few).

Despite our differences, we seem to have found a way to be in community with each other. I'd love to list the reasons for that, but I'm not sure I can, not in a simple way at least. In a variety of ways we manage to hold together the community while also remaining open to what is new and possible. We both maintain the boundaries and live inclusively. We are certainly not perfect and we have had our low points. People have come into the community and people have left. Through it all, we just keep trying.

So, how do you knit a nation back together with this kind of animosity?

I always find these words from the letter to the Colossians a helpful reminder.

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:12-17)

What might happen if we lived this way? What difference might it make? I'm not sure I'm optimistic, so I'll stick with hope. And next time I'm in conversation with someone with whom I disagree, I'll start trying to follow these words myself.

Labor Day and the Common Good

For worship yesterday morning I chose to pray the Collect for Labor Day as the conclusion for the Prayers of the People. Generally, I like to pray a collect at this point that is not generic but speaks to the theme of the sermon, an current issue or event that will be in the minds of the congregation, or that focuses attention on a holiday or holy day that is being celebrated.

I've prayed the Collect for Labor Day many times before, but it struck me differently this time. Here it is:

Almighty God, you have so linked our lives one with another that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives: So guide us in the work we do, that we may do it not for self alone, but for the common good; and, as we seek a proper return for our own labor, make us mindful of the rightful aspirations of other workers, and arouse our concern for those who are out of work; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

What strikes you in this collect? I'm struck by the underlying assumption that we are bound to each other, "that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives." Living in New Hampshire (the "Live Free of Die" state) I find this statement from the collect compelling. We are not simply a collection of disconnected individuals who happen to live in the same place and time. We are a community of interdependent individuals whose lives impact each other, for good or ill (and, of course, technology allows us to be connected even when we aren't in the same place). So, we pray in the collect that God will guide us so that our work, in whatever form it takes, will not be "for self alone, but for the common good."

This leads to other questions. What is the common good? If the purpose of our work is not to enrich and advance ourselves but to improve the common good, what are the goals of our work? What are we trying to achieve?

Laurent Parks Daloz, Sharon Daloz Parks, James Keen, and Cheryl Keen focus on defining the common good and the type of people who work for it in their book, Common Fire (published by Beacon Press in Boston, 1996). They define the core elements of the common good as follows:

• global scope;
• recognition of diversity;
• and, a "vision of society as composed of individuals whose own well-being is inextricably bound up with the good of the whole." (Common Fire, page 16)

They go on to write that the common good "refers to the well-being of the whole earth community -- its safety, the integrity of basic institutions and practices, and the sustaining of the living systems of our planet home. The common good also suggests broadly shared goals toward which the members of the community strive -- human flourishing, prosperity, and moral development. A recognition of the common good thus casts light on the significance of openness to new learning, critical and systemic thought, and the search for 'right naming' -- images, metaphors, language -- that convey the deepest truths of our common life." (Common Fire, page 16).

The Collect for Labor Day, then, gives us the language (the "right naming") to better understand our purpose as a people created by God. It also articulates a vision of a society in which diverse peoples are not separated by their differences but "inextricably bound up with the good of the whole."

At its best, a faith community embodies the language expressed in this collect. It exposes us to people of diverse backgrounds and opinions who gather around a common table. And, it challenges us to live our lives not for ourselves alone but to consider at all times the needs and desires of others.

"All human beings need identifiable networks of belonging to ground us in a positive sense of place and identity." (Common Fire, page 13) At the intersection of community responsibility and individual choice, the church reminds us that we are not called by God to work solely for our own gain but primarily to dedicate ourselves to the good of all. Because what is good for all, is ultimately good for me, isn't it?

Barriers Breaking, Dreams, and Faith

I turned on the TV at just the right time yesterday evening. I had expected to watch the evening news, not to witness an historic moment. But that's exactly what happened as I watched the last 20 minutes or so of the roll call at the Democratic National Convention. In an ironic twist, Hillary Rodham Clinton moved that the convention elect Barack Obama by acclimation to be its nominee for President of the United States. And with an explosion of cheers and a great many tears, Obama became the first African-American to be officially nominated by a major political party for President.

Whatever one's political persuasion or party, it was a moment to celebrate.

As I watched I found myself close to tears. I wondered why. I am a 45 year old white, heterosexual man who grew up in an upper middle class family in Virginia. I have not experienced the "walls" and "ceilings" that have been barriers to minorities and people on the margins for so long. I have not experienced discrimination and I have not been the subject of prejudice. I've not lost opportunities because of the color or my skin or my sexual orientation or my gender. Society's doors have been opened for me throughout my life.

Perhaps my tears had something to do with my daughter's reaction. Her attitude was "What's the big deal?" This had nothing to do with the fact that she's too young to vote or doesn't care. She reacted this way because she is growing up in a generation that believes anyone can achieve anything. For her, an African-American man or a white woman being nominated to be President (or being elected President) feels absolutely normal. That's a change to celebrate! Alleluia!!

So, what does any of this have to do with living faithfully in the 21st century village? Well, I'm struck by what I'll call the "prophetic timing" of Obama's nomination. Nominated yesterday, he will make his acceptance speech on the 45th anniversary of the March on Washington in 1963 when Martin Luther King gave his famous, "I Have a Dream" speech.

I took some time today to listen to and re-read the speech (see the link below, if you'd like to do the same). The speech is not overtly religious. He sprinkles in a couple of biblical verses, but it is definitely a speech for a civic event, not a sermon for a religious gathering.

What makes the speech religious (or spiritual, if you prefer) is the faith that is at its heart. King's passion and determination are driven and supported by his faith. He trusts and believes that someday, somehow, this dream will be fulfilled. He stated this most clearly when he said:

"This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day."

We need faith. We cannot live without it. Faith allows us to dream, to break down barriers, to walk forward when we want to retreat. Faith allows us to see not only the world as it is but also the world as it should and can be. Faith empowers us and sustains us.

We need spiritual communities, formal gatherings of people who seek God. We need this not to ensure that we go to heaven, but to empower us to live passionately and faithfully in the world. We need communities that are not consumed with institutional preservation but are willing to, as a parishioner of mine just wrote to me, "be creative and break some molds." And we must break these molds soon before we lose a generation of young people who want to be spiritually alive but not institutionally bound.

I have much more to say about that, but I'll save that for another entry. If you want to read and listen to Martin Luther King's speech, you will find it at http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm.

I invite your comments and thoughts. Please join the conversation. Thanks!