tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-293732972024-03-13T15:09:06.208-04:00Telling Secrets"Finally, I suspect that it is by entering that deep place inside us where our secrets are kept that we come perhaps closer than we do anywhere else to the One who, whether we realize it or not, is of all our secrets the most telling and the most precious we have to tell." Frederick BuechnerElizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.comBlogger3524125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-70680310699571408092024-02-18T16:12:00.002-05:002024-02-18T16:12:19.486-05:00When Jesus Met Satan<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioJXzcRDebqdMkF0HO9f1qz1moPc5hthrz0_6oarJFz8gQLnvZQ8dGzTVxP1TBF5_GO5J3TOQR2lakrTnf7ivoCOUNBrtxKzv4_GRjXjEpee4kGJLIpU-084FXEkNa6XhY0vEE7tda9aqC8igbz5LI2Rlp_Tj5gFDrsazb_Y1VSwubcnrWkgR/s329/Jesus%20Met%20Satan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="220" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjioJXzcRDebqdMkF0HO9f1qz1moPc5hthrz0_6oarJFz8gQLnvZQ8dGzTVxP1TBF5_GO5J3TOQR2lakrTnf7ivoCOUNBrtxKzv4_GRjXjEpee4kGJLIpU-084FXEkNa6XhY0vEE7tda9aqC8igbz5LI2Rlp_Tj5gFDrsazb_Y1VSwubcnrWkgR/w268-h400/Jesus%20Met%20Satan.jpg" title="Jesus meets Satan" width="268" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><figure class="mw-default-size"><figcaption style="text-align: left;"><i> The Temptation of Christ</i>, by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_Bening" title="Simon Bening">Simon Bening</a></figcaption></figure></div><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">When Jesus Met Satan <br />St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Millsboro, DE<br />Lent I - February 18, 2024<br /></span></b></p><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><i>“He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan
; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”</i></b> Mark
1:9-15<br />
<br />
So, as tempting as it is to talk about Noah’s Ark, and as easy as it is to be
seduced into talking about The Flood and the Baptism of Jesus, well, it’s the
first Sunday in Lent. I won’t be with you again until the fourth Sunday in
Lent, and so, let’s just dive right in, shall we? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s talk about Satan. And, wild beasts. And, angels. Yes,
let’s roll up our sleeves and do that.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to talk about Satan because I’m really tired of him
taking the fall, as it were, for our shortcomings. And, yes, I’m just going to
say it: Sin. Yup, you are hearing a sermon on sin preached from an Episcopal
pulpit from a progressive woman priest. <br />
<br />
So, buckle up, friends. Satan, wild beasts, angels and sins. Looks like the
preacher is fired up. Except, this isn’t going to be a hellfire and brimstone
sermon. (Is Tommy Ray frowning? He told me once he loved a good hellfire and
brimstone sermon, but, he also told me that while he wasn’t used to my style of
preaching, I didn’t do too bad. I’ll take that.)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I want to talk about the Christian version of “When Harry
Met Sally.” Let’s just title this sermon, “When Jesus Met Satan”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By now I hope we know a little something
about Jesus. So how ‘bout we get to know this Satan a little better, shall we?<br />
<br />
Names for the Satan are numerous: Besides Lucifer, he may be referred to as the
Devil, the Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Baphomet, Lord of the
Flies, the Antichrist, Father of Lies, Moloch or simply - as the SNL Church
Lady says, “Saaa-tannn”.<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">The word “devil” derives from the Greek
diabolos, meaning “adversary.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>In
Judaism, “Satan” as a noun, means “adversary” but it is also a verb and
generally refers to a difficulty or temptation to overcome rather than a
literal being. In Buddhism, Mara is the demon that tempted Buddha away from his
path of enlightenment. Much like Jesus of Christianity resisted the Devil,
Buddha also resisted temptation and defeated Mara.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Turns out, all three Abrahamic faiths: Judaism, Islam and
Christianity, Satan is known as the fallen angel of God. His name in Hebrew is
Lucifer which means “The Shining One.” The Latin translation for Lucifer is
“The Morning Star,” or the planet Venus. In Greek, he is known as “Phosphorus”
which means<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“light bringer” and “Eosphorus,”
meaning "dawn-bringer".<br />
<br />
In one of the Midrash stories in Judaism, Lucifer’s original job was to present
humans with the opportunity to choose between good and evil. In other myths, Lucifer
acts as a prosecuting attorney in the heavenly Court. In that role, he brings
up all the wicked, evil, selfish choices of human beings before God for the
human to be judged. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But there is a myth that Lucifer was kicked out of heaven
because he wanted equality with God. Now, in some versions of the myth,
Lucifer’s plan is that no<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> <span lang="EN">one
would have the ability to sin against God, so that not one soul would be lost,
and all would be able to return sinless to the presence of Heavenly Father
without the need for a Savior. Sounds pretty cool, right?</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br />
</span>Ah, but as recompense for his plan, Lucifer demanded that the power and
the glory which God<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>possessed be
transferred to him, effectively making him "God." God, of course, saw
right through the plan and rejected it. Lucifer was furious and rallied other
angels to his side and started a war in heaven. The result of which, of course,
is that Lucifer lost and became “the Fallen Angel” and thus became more commonly
known as Satan, God’s adversary. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s Gospel, after Jesus is baptized, the Spirit
immediately sends him out into the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights. This
is, of course, a mini version of Moses and the Israelites, having been freed
from bondage in Egypt, who wandered in the wilderness for 40 years before
returning to Canaan, The Promised Land, Paradise, flowing with milk and honey. <br />
<br />
It is there, in the wilderness, that Jesus meets the ancient foe, the adversary
of God, Lucifer, the angel who fell from the brightness of the morning star to
the darkness of the depths of the abyss; one of the sons of God who tempts
Jesus just as others were tested. <br /><br />Buddha was tempted by the demon Mara who
challenged him to prove his enlightenment. Buddha touched the earth and called upon
the earth to testify for him. <br /><br />Muhammad was tempted by the demons of Satan with
suicidal thoughts to throw himself off the cliff of a mountain, but the angel
Gabriel appeared before him to reassure him that he was one of God’s prophets. <br />
<br />
When Jesus met Satan, in the <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Gospels
of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, the Holy Spirit leads Jesus into the wilderness
after his baptism. There he remains and fasts for 40 days and 40 nights. During
that time Satan tempts Jesus three times: to turn stones into bread, throw
himself from a temple, and submit to Satan in exchange for power.<br />
<br />
In other words, </span>Lucifer is taking on his original job to present Jesus
with the opportunity to choose between good and evil, to tempt Him and, in so
doing, to test the decision of God to gift humans with free will - the power of
choice - our own autonomy - our own moral agency. <br />
<br />
When Jesus met Satan, not only were humans given a clear sign of our liberation
in Christ, but God’s decision to give us the gift of free will in The Garden
was justified. <br /><br />When Jesus met Satan, God’s decision was reaffirmed when God
chose to place a rainbow in the sky as a reminder of the covenant God made with
Noah “and every living creature of all flesh” never to destroy the earth or the
human race ever again. <br /><br />When Jesus met Satan, God’s decision to send Jesus for
our salvation was validated. <br /><br />When Jesus met Satan, we were deemed worthy of
salvation. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Our baptism reaffirms the freedom God has given us to choose between good and
evil, wrong and right. That’s not to say that we don’t make wrong choices. We
do. All too often. And, when we do, we call that sin. But, that’s not the end
of the story. <br /><br />When Jesus met Satan, the end of the story was changed - or,
perhaps, completed - so a new chapter can begin. <br /><br />
Because of Jesus we have, as our prayerbook says, “the means of grace and the
hope of glory” if we but follow His way, obey his commandments and observe his
teaching.<br />
<br />
Here’s the thing: It really doesn’t matter what you call the forces of Evil in
this world - Satan, the Devil, Beelzebub, Lucifer. What matters is that you
understand these things: We all have within us enormous potential for good. We
also have within us enormous potential for bad. When we choose the good, we
call that being righteous with God. When we choose the bad, we call that Sin.
Sin is what separates us from God<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- and
often, from each other. <br />
<br />
Our Catechism in the BCP defines it this way: <b>“Sin is the seeking of our own
will instead of the will of God, thus distorting our relationship with God,
with other people, and with all creation.” </b>The key here is that we don’t
get to say what sin is for other people. Sin is a matter between God and each
person. And, each person, when they truly repent of their sins, can seek out a
good and faithful priest and make a good confession and be assured of God’s
absolution and pardon for their sins. When sin affects others negatively or
harmfully, then sin is a matter for the community, and sometimes, for the
courts.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But what is evil? It is said that sin is the root of all
evil. Some say love of money is the root of all evil. The sages hold that the
seven deadly sins - <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Lust, envy,
anger, greed, gluttony, sloth and pride - but, especially pride, is the root of
all evil. <br />
<br />
I think what Lucifer teaches us is that evil happens when we try to be like
God, when we want the power and authority of God by some sort of scheme or
negotiated plan. Evil happens we set ourselves up to be the one who decides who
lives and who dies and why; who gets food and shelter and clothing, the basics
of life - based on some human construct of worth or need. <br /><br />Evil happens when we
set ourselves up as the prosecuting attorney before the Heavenly Court,
charging people with crimes WE think they’ve committed because of their race or
gender, their age or social status, their country of origin, sexual orientation
or religion, or because we disagree with the decisions they make for themselves
and their lives. <br /><br />That, my friends, is evil.<br /> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Annie Lamott says that you can be reasonably certain that you have created God in your own image when it turns out God hates all the same people you do.<br />
<br />
Yes, there are evil forces, temptations, seductions, that can lead us astray.
Call those forces of evil what you will, but when Jesus met Satan we learned
that we cannot - not for one Red hot New York minute - blame our bad choices on
Satan. We have been given the gift of free will. It is our choice, not Satan’s
fault, that leads us away from God. We must take responsibility. We must hold ourselves accountable. <br />
<br />
Yet, even when we do, we are assured of the second gift God has given us in
Christ Jesus and that is the gift of GRACE. Grace to repent - to turn around,
to walk away, to start anew. Grace to seek and ask for forgiveness. Grace to
seek amendment of life and to “go and sin no more.” And, grace is always
available to us. As my friend, Jerry, the UMC preacher from Tennessee says,
“Grace is like grits. You don’t gotta order it. By God, it just comes.”<br />
<br />
When Jesus met Satan in the wilderness, after Satan left defeated, we are told
that <b><i>“the angels waited on him”.</i></b> So, too, will be our reward,
when we resist the power to pull us from the path of righteousness and <b><i>“seek
first the Kingdom of God.” </i></b>Amen.</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> <br /></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-71209525047546441702024-02-14T20:13:00.002-05:002024-02-14T20:13:59.332-05:00"To The Left" - Ash Wednesday<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXwkoRF4B0VmWHSPON9P06ES3ySKx5-UmhESFLfFiyJmSIuou6GUOUh_6c8qHqxWquTrUX_yJ_kyi1nX-AHkatY-0WG1Wzk9vKcydq8OfzWbE9w4zuHKen3Agjjq269iXAtyEamqzqJWP3z5JB0t92-WM1GkKfzdQ1e-pdcFKVTIfaYPwQ7OT/s352/1Temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="352" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXwkoRF4B0VmWHSPON9P06ES3ySKx5-UmhESFLfFiyJmSIuou6GUOUh_6c8qHqxWquTrUX_yJ_kyi1nX-AHkatY-0WG1Wzk9vKcydq8OfzWbE9w4zuHKen3Agjjq269iXAtyEamqzqJWP3z5JB0t92-WM1GkKfzdQ1e-pdcFKVTIfaYPwQ7OT/w400-h314/1Temple.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;">“To the Left.”<br />A Sermon for Ash Wednesday - February 14, 2024<br />St. Mark's Episcopal Church - Millsboro, DE<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;"></span></span></b><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;">There’s a wonderful book I’ve been reading (and recommend highly) called, <b><i>The
Amen Effect</i></b>, by Rabbi Sharon Brous. In the early pages of the book,
Rabbi Sharon describes a passage from the Mishnah about an annual pilgrimage
that took place when the temple in Jerusalem still stood. <br />
<br />
Hundreds of thousands of Jews “ascended to the Temple Mount, entered the
courtyard, turned to the right, and then circled and exited to the left,
except for one to whom something had happened.” <br />
<br />
That person, who “entered and circled to the left,” would be asked why. “They
would reply: ‘I am a mourner,’ and they were blessed,” the Mishnah text
continued. <br />
<br />
Another counter-circler might answer “Because I have been ostracized,” and also
would be blessed, although the content of the blessing is debated. <br />
<br />
The ancient Rabbis hoped that the blessing would open the heart of the one who
had been ostracized so that they might find their way to repentance and
forgiveness and the fabric of the community would be repaired.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;">Rabbi
Brous says that the word "Amen," comes from the Hebrew word <b><i>emunah</i>,</b>
meaning “to believe” or “to affirm.” The word amen serves as an acknowledgement
of the other. <b><i>Yes, I believe you, I see you. Amen</i></b><i>.</i><br />
<br />
Ash Wednesday, for me, is the day when Christians enter the Temple to the left.
Some of us are in mourning, yes, but others have been ostracized; still others
may not be formally ostracized but there is a separation, a rift, in a
relationship. <br />
<br />
Some of us are not so much mourning but rather are simply sad - sad about the
state of affairs in our families, our neighborhoods, our church, our state, our
country, or the world. Others of us know that something is wrong with us. Why
are we snapping and grumpy all the time? Why have I become so critical and
criticize everthing? </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;">Am
I using my busyness as a sort of defense - a barrier or boundary - to keep
myself, protect myself from the need to engage with others when I just don’t
have the energy - or the desire? Because maybe they WILL see me? And then, what
will I do?<br />
<br />
Are we really that tired and exhausted all the time, or has the sadness we
can’t really name become a form of depression? Some of us are scared and
anxious because we know our bodies - and perhaps our minds - are not what they
once were.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond", serif;"><br />
Ash Wednesday, as the beginning of Lent, marks us as the ones entering the
world from the Left. We’re the ones with a big black smudge of ashes on our
foreheads, announcing to the world that we understand that we are not going to
live forever, that our time on this earth is finite and limited, and that we
are struggling to come to turns with those facts. <br />
<br />
The smudge of Ash Wednesday declares that while everyone else is walking to the
right, we are taking this time to intentionally walking to the left.
Counter-circular. Counter-clockwise. Against time. Reclaiming our time to take
the time - 40 days’ worth of time - to repent, to turn around and take steps in
another direction and consider our lives in faith from a different perspective.
<br />
<br />
We have forty days to reconsider our relationships with others and the ways in
which we might take the risk of repairing that which is wounded or sore and
tender and needs healing.<br />
<br />
We have time - this time, this Lenten Season - in the words of that great hymn,
to “ponder anew what the Almighty can do” if we but open our hearts and our
souls and our minds and confess our imperfections, acknowledge our limitations,
and concede our shortcomings. <br />
<br />
This is also the time to look into the eyes of the people who are walking to
the right - those who seem to do it right, to have it right and all together,
at least enough to bless us if they stop to ask why we are mourning or fasting,
or marking Lent. <br />
<br />
Lent heightens our awareness that appearances can, indeed, be deceiving, and
when someone who is walking on the right looks at you, walking on the left, it
may well be because they recognize something in you that they know is in them,
too. Some who are walking on the right have not yet had the courage to walk on
the left, to admit that they are not perfect, that they, too, need healing and
a blessing. <br />
<br />
Lent is a time to exchange our Alleluias for an Amen.<span> </span>To say to each other, “Yes, I believe you.
Yes, I see you. Yes, I recognize your pain, your struggle with questions, your
quest for answers.”<br />
<br />
As I mark your foreheads with the ashes of the Hosannahs and Alleluias in the
palms of yesterday, let us whisper to each other, “Amen”. <br />
<br />
Let us say silently to each other, with our eyes which are an amplification of
the soul, “I see you. I see you are a beloved child of God. I see you are
hurting in some way. I bless you. Please bless me.”<br />
<br />Scripture tells us that we were created out of the dust of the earth, that we
are mortal, and only God is immortal. We know that life is a fragile gift and
our time here is limited, so how can we make it better? Make ourselves better
people? Become the person God had in mind when we were conceived and created? <span> </span><br />
<br />
On this particular Ash Wednesday, the 14<sup>th</sup> of February, while the
rest of the world walks to the right and celebrates Romantic Love, let us
smudge our foreheads with the stuff of our mortality, walk to the left and
celebrate the Love of the Eternal. <br />
<br />
Let us confess and say right out loud the words of our faith, that we believe
we are dust and to dust we shall return. <br />
<br />
And let the church whisper to each other, “Amen”. <br />
<br />
<i><br />
<br />
<br />
</i></span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-40470809589917358672024-02-14T20:04:00.004-05:002024-02-14T20:04:35.026-05:00Ash Wednesday - Sr. Bucky<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLp7WYFFXhq3n-2uTzU9Ay15uc4grYAJv_D9KuiOrK8BJZwII_jOCVegiIKsjDZ6sW89Ia8v3xxpP8A8iOdmeQw-lxoiFWYbimYpzPIAbJ3mnh71EuvZK6NpoTmjwr8H6YNYqeOBUnLndsppcGLZN0pSabgucuH7Mb7z6qkxbDz3tZT6hkXitK/s1120/Ash%20Wednesday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1120" data-original-width="999" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLp7WYFFXhq3n-2uTzU9Ay15uc4grYAJv_D9KuiOrK8BJZwII_jOCVegiIKsjDZ6sW89Ia8v3xxpP8A8iOdmeQw-lxoiFWYbimYpzPIAbJ3mnh71EuvZK6NpoTmjwr8H6YNYqeOBUnLndsppcGLZN0pSabgucuH7Mb7z6qkxbDz3tZT6hkXitK/s320/Ash%20Wednesday.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><br /> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Good Ash Wednesday morning, good people of Lent. It's the first of 40 days of the Lenten Season. Like a fine wine, this season needs to age and then aerate before it is fully appreciated. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It's amazing to me how many of us are still stuck in 6th Grade Sunday School when we were taught to "give up something" for Lent - a small sacrifice to reflect the Great sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I can still hear Sr. Bucky's high, thin, post-menopausal voice shrilling, "Surely you can give up yer bubble gum or penny candy for 40 DAYS and 40 NIGHTS after JESUS, himself (make a fast sign of the cross after a quick bow of the head) Suffered in AGONY on the cross for YOUR SINS."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">No, Bucky wasn't her name. It was Sr. Mary Joseph Something-Or-Another. We called her Sr. Bucky behind her back because she had really awful bucked and splayed teeth. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I know, I know. We were horrid children. Horrid. I know that because Sr. Bucky told us that at least three times a day. After a while, you know, you just figure, what the heck. No matter how good I am, she'll always and only think I'm horrid. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">SooOOooo . . . to her face it was, "Yes, sister," and "No, sister," and "Please, sister," and "Thank you, sister," but after school, far, far away from earshot of her or any of the other nuns, it was "Ugh! Sr. Bucky."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Then there came the day when one of the fathers of one of the kids in the church school who was a dentist "fixed" Sr. Bucky's teeth. Well, he yanked them all out and gave her dentures. I have to think there was another remedy to the poor dear's orthodontic challenge, but that was probably the cheapest and easiest and so it was what was done. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">She was so proud of those dentures. Seriously. And, you know, it did dramatically change her appearance. But, not her disposition. She was still a horrid human being. So, we continued to call her Sr. Bucky. And, for her part, she continued to call us horrid children. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, my memories of Ash Wednesday and Lent as a child are that we were served a double portion of the guilt trips and images of the suffering and agony of Jesus. I think the word "SUFFERING" was written on the BlackBoard and stayed there throughout the entire 40 days and 40 nights of Lent, lest we forget. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It was replaced the Monday after Easter with colorful butterflies who perched themselves on the words, "HE IS RISEN!". Or, "ALLELUIA!" Or "REJOICE!". It varied from year to year, depending on that particular nun's mood. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">How we ever made it through without losing our minds and breaking the Sixth Commandment I'll never fully understand.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Later on, after Vatican II as I recall, some clergy tried to make up for the sins of the fathers (as it were) and try a new tack. "Take something ON for Lent," was the new Lenten slogan. We were to try something new. A new way to pray or meditate. A new course of study. Learn a new language. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You know, something that was rollicking good fun. Which missed the point just as badly as giving up candy for Lent. I have come to know that Ash Wednesday is really a joyful day. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes, way. Okay, it's not like the joy of Christmas, and it's nowhere near the joy of Easter. There is a maturity to the joy of Ash Wednesday. Sort of the difference between appreciating a glass of Boone's Farm Wine at $1.99 per bottle and a glass of 2010 Domaine Armand Rousseau, Chambertin Grand Cru at $75,000 per bottle. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It begins with understanding that famous statement from Carl Sagan, "“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of star stuff”.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Once you get your head wrapped around that, you begin to appreciate that the smudge of ashes on your forehead on Ash Wednesday is the beginning of a process to connect you more securely with the origins of your life. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It is to understand that we are connected in ways too deep for human understanding that we are part of a Great Mystery that includes stars and comets, planets and asteroids, sun and moon, ocean and stream, mountains and valleys. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It's about understanding what Bill Nye (the Science Guy) used to say, "We are a speck on a speck, orbiting a speck, in the corner of a speck, in the middle of nowhere."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">That puts us all in our place, including Sr. Bucky who, poor tortured soul, didn't get to understand or appreciate that until after she, herself, returned 'dust to dust, ashes to ashes'. Which is why she treated us like dirt. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">She had no idea that when Joni Mitchell sang the words to Woodstock, she was not being a hippie radical, she was singing the joyful truth: </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">We are stardust, we are golden / We are billion-year-old carbon</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And we've got to get ourselves / Back to the garden</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, friends, Rejoice! It's Ash Wednesday! We're all gonna die. So, take this time to really live. As de Chardin said, "We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Your Lenten task is not to become spiritual. You already are. Your task, this Lent, is to become the BEST human being you can be before you return to the spiritual plane from which you came. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Let's get on with it, shall we? Don't give something up. Don't take something on. Be more of the image God intended when you were conceived and created. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Gratitude is a good place to begin. Find one thing to be thankful for today and then watch how your heart begins to open. I don't know how it works. It's a mystery to me. I just know that it does. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I am convinced that if you cracked open the middle of the middle of this planet, the sound that would emerge is millions of billions and trillions of voices saying in millions and billions and trillions of languages and tongues, "THANK YOU". </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But, all those languages would merge together and the sound you would hear is not specific words but laughter. Deep, raucous, joyful laughter. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And that, my friends, is your Lenten assignment if you choose to take it: To listen for the joy in the center of the universe. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I hope something good happens to you today.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Bom dia!</span></span><p></p>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-24900416317762291382024-01-14T15:35:00.002-05:002024-01-14T19:14:02.321-05:00The Luckiest Person<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8yPiJ3gyV2vTpt0jG5VEsfQcNNrpQsZMm024kJyaiQFykU-izx5XU2yx5YN2ZbwmANyMPh3g2TeqKdq4dfJTKNJj8ilPDfcsRdNK0xl6qnjBitn_CGuwK_6Rz6eBp0P68jEHNZqrIU818ka7d-dieO2seGDH7Xh4AFnGyW1KMsSoDBenIlND/s960/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS8yPiJ3gyV2vTpt0jG5VEsfQcNNrpQsZMm024kJyaiQFykU-izx5XU2yx5YN2ZbwmANyMPh3g2TeqKdq4dfJTKNJj8ilPDfcsRdNK0xl6qnjBitn_CGuwK_6Rz6eBp0P68jEHNZqrIU818ka7d-dieO2seGDH7Xh4AFnGyW1KMsSoDBenIlND/w400-h300/maxresdefault.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Epiphany II - January 14, 2024<br />St.Mark's Episcopal Church<br />Millsboro, DE</b></span><br /></p><p> </p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was 1925 and Yankee first
baseman Wally Pipp had a headache. He decided to sit out the game and lost his
position to Lou Gehrig, who would go on to play every game for the Yankees
until his retirement in 1939. <br />
<br />
That was a total of 2,164 games – or 2,130 consecutive games – a record that
stood for 56 years, until broken by Orioles hitter Cal Ripken, Jr., in 1995. <br />
<br />
Henry Louis Gehrig played first base and was a batter for the Yankees and,
during </span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">his
17 seasons, the Yankees won seven pennants and six World Series. Gehrig's World
Series contributions include a .361 batting average, 10 home runs and 35 RBI in
34 games.<br />
<br />
Gehrig played his last game for the Yankees on April 30, 1939. Gehrig's
consecutive games streak came to an end on May 2, 1939, when he removed himself
from the lineup after a dismal start caused by a mysterious neuromuscular
disease, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS – later known as “Lou Gehrig's
Disease.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gehrig was the Yankee captain
from 1935 until his death in 1941. He was 38 years old. <br />
<br />
On July 4, 1939, Gehrig stood on the field that he loved and gave a speech that
stunned everyone. My father said he listened to it on the radio and he
remembered it more than any speech given by any politician, or sermon preached
by preachers like Billy Graham, or even any passage from scripture, except, maybe,
when Jesus said, <b>“Love one another.”</b> <br />
<br />
Lou Gehrig - a man who had just been told that he had a rare neurological
disorder that would gradually rob him of his ability to walk, use his arms and
hands, or speak, and would die – sooner rather than later – of respiratory
failure - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that same man stood on that
field and said to the crowd<b>, “I am the luckiest man on the face of the
earth.”<br />
</b><br />
Some people said he was trying to make people feel better. Others said it was
because he was proud and didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him or have
anyone’s pity. Daddy said that only great men can make a speech like that, men
who know they are called to the job and give it their all. He said only great
men know and are so thankful that they were given certain gifts by God that
they use those gifts to the best of their ability. <br /><br />
My father said that when you know those things – that you have been gifted by
God, no matter what those gifts are, and that you use those gifts to the best
of your ability, and you have met all the challenges behind you – you know that
God will give you the strength you need to face all of the challenges before
you. <br />
<br />
He said, “The power you have before you is even greater than the power that has
been behind you.”<br />
<br />
All our lessons today – well, except for what St. Paul is saying to the church
in Corinth, God only knows why he was going on and on about sex or why the
people who put the lectionary together thought Paul’s words had a place in all
of this (because, you know, they really deserve to be taken seriously and
talked about by serious Christians) – but all the OTHER lessons in today’s
lectionary are about vocation. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Vocation. From the Latin “Vocare” meaning “to call”. It’s a word most
people think applies only to ordained ministry, to bishops, priests and
deacons. But, our catechism is clear. We have four orders of ministry – laity,
deacons, priests and bishops – and those four orders are equal. The
institutional church is a hierarchy and it is the hierarchy that ascribes to
those orders increasing or decreasing value. But, in our baptism, all four
orders are equal in call, equal vocations. <br />
<br />
Now, I admit that I had never considered baseball a calling but my daddy sure did.
He might miss mass on Sunday, but he would never miss a ballgame. Baseball, he
said, was like life. “You know, we’re all just trying to get home,” he said,
pointing up. “Sometimes in life, we’re just trying to get a base hit.
Sometimes, we just try to pitch one over the plate. Sometimes we hit a pop fly.
Sometimes, it’s a swing and a miss. Sometimes, we steal bases - you know, for
the good of the team.”<br />
<br />
“And sometimes, sometimes, you hit a homerun and, if you’re really lucky, you
hit a home run when the bases are loaded. That’s the best,” he said, “because
not only do you get home, but you bring three others with you.” <br />
<br />
“Even so,” daddy said, whether it’s a strike or a hit, we all get our time up
at bat and we all get three balls and we all get three strikes. And, nine
innings, with the possibility of overtime.”<br />
<br />
For my dad, Gehrig was one of several players who were uniquely gifted. How
could I forget their names? Babe Ruth, the Bambino. Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, the
Yankee Clipper. And, of course, Hungry Lou Gehrig, the Iron Horse. <br />
<br />
Understand, please, that these three men were all Yankees – well, daddy said
never forget that Ruth was “stolen” from The Boston Red Sox – and Boston Red
Sox fans are the natural born enemies of the Yankees. And, vise versa.<br />
<br />
In fact, my dad used to always say that he had two favorite teams: The Boston
Red Sox and any team who beat the Yankees. (I think I’m pretty safe in here
because I’m willing to bet that, come Spring, most everyone in here will be
rooting for either the O’s or the Phillies.)<br />
<br />
Baseball is like life, daddy said, and in his world, you were as called to the
mound as a priest is to the altar. He also felt that way about his factory
work. He felt he was called to it. As an immigrant, lucky to have the job.
Blessed to be part of a union that guaranteed his wages and the safety of his
work conditions and helped to provide health insurance for his wife and
children. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br />
It was hard work, dirty work, but it gave him dignity because it gave him
purpose and it gave him the means to support his family – a home run, rounding
the bases and bringing others home with him. “What a great country,” he’d say. <br />
<br />
How many of you feel that way. – or, felt that way – about the work you did?
Maybe you didn’t feel called to it because the institutional church can be
pretty stingy with the words it uses – words like vocation and blessings and
sacramental. <br />
<br />
Take old Eli in the first scripture lesson from the First Book of Samuel. <b>“</b></span><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions
were not widespread.”</span></b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> Eli’s eyes, we
are told, have grown dim, but it is not difficult for the reader to see that
far more than Eli’s eyes are in trouble.<br />
</span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In the previous two chapters, we learn
that his sons are out of control. They’ve been outrageous and irresponsible
with the spiritual authority they’ve been granted. Furthermore, we read that
Eli’s spiritual perception is weak; he has mistaken Hannah’s fervent prayer for
drunkenness, and now, in this encounter, he is slow to realize that it is God
who is calling Samuel. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Eli is the representation of
institutional religion of his day. And, he blew it. Several times. With his
sons, with Hannah and with Samuel. <br />
<br />
But, when God creates us, when we are “knit together in our mother’s womb” as
the Psalmist says, we are given certain gifts. We are called here to do
something or some things no one else can do. We all have our time up at bat. We
may strike out but there are nine innings in the game. There’s always another
inning to give it our best. <br />
<br />
And then, there’s Phillip, who followed Jesus and his eyes were opened to all
the possibilities that were laid out before him. Philip was from Bethsaida, the
city of Andrew and Peter. He went and found his friend Nathanael to share the
Good News (literally,) but it was Nathanael’s turn to be skeptical. <br />
<br />
<b>“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”</b> he asked. <br />
<br />
<b>“Come and see”</b> said Phillip<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When Jesus saw Nathanael, he
recognized instantly that this was an honest man. Nathanael, having been seen
for who he was, the gift of integrity he had, was able to see exactly what
Phillip and Andrew and Peter before him had seen: A man who was able to see
past the externals and into their soul, into their unique gifts and potential, and
call them to come and follow him, come and try out their gifts and put them to
use for others (for the team, as it were)<br />
<br />
That’s what got people excited. Oh, the miracles were wonderful. The healings
were incredible. His teaching was powerful. But, what got people excited, was
the invitation. <br />
<br />
<b>“Come and see.”</b><br />
<br />
</span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Babe Ruth,
Ted Williams, Lou Gehrig, are three of the best hitters in baseball history.
(Two of them – Ruth and Williams, my father would want me to say – were Boston
Red Sox hitters.). <br />
<br />
Even so, Lou Gehrig was up at bat 8,001 times. He had 1,888 runs, 1,995 Runs
Batted In, and 493 home runs. <br />
And, you would be pleased to pay attention, while he had 493 home runs, he
struck out 790 times – almost twice as many times as he hit home runs. <br />
<br />
But, he never missed a game. Unlike Wally Pipp, he didn’t sit one out because
of a headache. He was always there. Always ready to use what God had given him
to do the best he could with what he had been given. Always ready to accept the
invitation to <b>“Come and see.”</b><br />
<br />
Which is why, even though he had been given a diagnosis of a terrible
neurological disease that would slowly sap the life from his body and he would
die a terrible death, he could face any challenge before him because the same
God who had given him the strength he needed to face the challenges behind him
would also give him the strength he needed to face the challenges that were
ahead of him. <br />
<br />
As my daddy said, “The power you have before you is even greater than the power
that has been behind you.”<br />
<br />
And, if God can do that for Lou Gehrig, God will do that for you, too. Because
God has done that over and over again, with Eli and Samuel, Peter, Andrew,
Phillip and Nathanael, and so many, many others whose sacred stories we read in
holy scripture. We, too, can face any call, any vocation, any challenge, that
lies ahead of us, look it straight in the eye and say, <b>“I’m the luckiest
person on the face of the earth.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b><br />
<br />
Don’t believe me? <br />
<br />
<b>Come and see.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
Amen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">NB: Thanks to Boyd Etter for the story of Lou Gehrig and to Bill Shatzabell for some of the information in this sermon. I especially love the story of Babe Ruth who had a tough childhood and was adopted. Some sports journalists used to complain that the Bambino was arrogant b/c he was often not at the press conferences before the game. Ruth was visiting children at orphanages, bringing them hope. <br /></span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> <br /></p>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-60375279901627912742023-11-10T18:06:00.001-05:002023-11-10T18:06:13.122-05:00Abortion: A Christian Perspective<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxceMfPcGAN4XXnKJqnnYk1WvHGQ3A3-H4wlXVXooW_EYreqOithO_WUw9l0MM8WWhS2vMtCoPhjcuGf4wFZ2b0Qu6rQJmuuXGdk7Y_y5f6_aMRgb-vRrMSQe8WtigWTSdYe4aiYyGKQtVl1susJsyvA3ChOxt3Mq0yvS0cWH2BSx68hIdD4I/s4032/DR4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjxceMfPcGAN4XXnKJqnnYk1WvHGQ3A3-H4wlXVXooW_EYreqOithO_WUw9l0MM8WWhS2vMtCoPhjcuGf4wFZ2b0Qu6rQJmuuXGdk7Y_y5f6_aMRgb-vRrMSQe8WtigWTSdYe4aiYyGKQtVl1susJsyvA3ChOxt3Mq0yvS0cWH2BSx68hIdD4I/w400-h300/DR4.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> <i>Note: This is an essay I did for a catalog compiled for the art show: "<a href="https://drive.google.com/.../1lZY3BT0UUvTln5qYTO2GVr.../view">Deeply Rooted: Faith in Reproductive Justice,"</a> currently on display at Brandeis. There is also A Jewish Perspective and a Muslim Perspective in the catalog. I encourage you to read them.</i></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><i>My essay is below but it's really the art I want you to see. I've included <a href="https://drive.google.com/.../1lZY3BT0UUvTln5qYTO2GVr.../view">a link </a>to some of the work in the catalog. <span></span> I think art is one of the most political, emotional, and spiritually subversive projects of which the human heart is capable. </i></div></div><i><br /></i><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><i>I should also like to note that these women are Jews, Muslims, Christians, Baha’i, Buddhists, Hindus, Catholics, Protestants, agnostics, and "spiritual but not religious.". And, look: We're working together and making beautiful, strong art that makes a powerful, subversive statement about our own bodily autonomy</i>.<i> This work gives me great hope.</i><br /></div></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Despite
conclusions that might be drawn from media reports and protest marches, there
is no one, true, universal Christian position on abortion. There is, however, consensus
on one theological principle: All human life is sacred and every person is
created in the “likeness and image of God”. The questions which complicate the
matter are two: <br />
<br />
“When does life begin?”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">“Which has more
value: the life of a fetus or the life of a woman?”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">There are many
Christians, most of whom who would define themselves as Catholic, Orthodox or
Evangelical, who believe that human life is strictly a biological phenomenon,
measured from the moment of conception – when the sperm and egg unite. Psalm
139:13-16, Psalm 51:5, Psalm 22:10-11, Job 31:15, and Jeremiah 1:4-5 are often
used to support this conclusion. <br />
<br />
Further, often using the passage of Mary, the mother of Jesus visiting her
cousin Elizabeth when the fetus that would become John the Baptist ‘leapt in
her womb’ (Luke 1:39-44), it is believed that “From the first moment of his
(sic) existence, a human being must be recognized as having the rights of a
person.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church #2270). <br />
<br />
This, of course, means that, “Since it must be treated from conception as a
person, the embryo must be defended in its integrity, cared for, and healed, as
far as possible, like any other human being.” (CCC #2274); this requires the
prohibition of embryo research or use for </span><span class="hgkelc"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Embryonic
Stem Cell Research (ESCR) that entail the destruction of human embryos.
However, while Eastern Orthodox tradition opposes embryonic stem cell research,
it accepts such research when fetuses from spontaneous miscarriages and not
elective abortions are used.<br />
<br />
Other, equally devout Christians, believe in the biblically based principle
that human life begins at birth. </span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Citing Genesis 2:7, G-d forms a figure
from the Earth, but it does not become Adam until </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; mso-ansi-language: EN;">G-d "breathes into him the breath of life, and he
became man.” <br /><br />It is strongly believed by these Christians that life begins when
you draw your first breath, further asserting that this is when G-d places your
soul in your body. Before this moment, a person isn’t a person but a clump of
cells, dependent upon the body of the mother for life. <br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">Many faithful Christians
argue that there is no decisive basis in scripture to support the absolute
stance that life begins at conception and that abortion is murder. That said,
only one passage in the Bible speaks directly about the value of a fetal life
compared to the value of the life of a born person, Exodus 21:22-24:</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><i><<22
When people who are fighting injure a pregnant woman so that she has a miscarriage,
but no other injury occurs, then the guilty party will be fined what the
woman's husband demands, as negotiated with the judges. 23 But if the woman
herself is injured, the punishment shall be life for life, . . .24 . . . an eye
for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot, a burn
for a burn, a bruise for a bruise, a wound for a wound.“>></i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">It is this
question – the value of the life of a woman vs. the life of a fetus – and the
answer which decides clearly for the life of a woman, which seems to be most
compelling reason for the overwhelming support of the right to an abortion for
women who have suffered rape or incest or when the pregnancy places the life of
the woman in danger. <br /><br />
Of the eleven Christian statements included in a 2013 Pew Research Center
study, only the Roman Catholic hierarchy officially state that they oppose
abortion in all circumstances. <br /><br />All judicatories in the other denominations,
even the National Association of Evangelicals (NAE), the Southern Baptist
Convention, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS), and the
Missouri Synod Lutherans concede that abortion is justifiable when a woman’s
life is in danger. <br /><br />The LDS, the NAE, and the Episcopalians also specifically
mention that rape and incest are also considered justifiable reasons to
terminate a pregnancy.<br />
<br />
Many mainline Christian denominations have thoughtful and robust statements on
abortion that, like the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America’s statement,
calls for a public discussion of abortion that moves beyond the narrow binary
of pro-life and pro-choice. <br /><br />And many Christian denominations share the position
of the Presbyterian Church (USA) that women can “make good moral choices in
regard to problem pregnancies.” <br />
<br />
My own Episcopal Church holds that while they, “regard all abortion as having a
tragic dimension,” it expresses its “unequivocal opposition to any legislative,
executive or judicial action on the part of local, state or national
governments that abridges the right of a woman to reach an informed decision
about the termination of pregnancy or that would limit the access of a woman to
safe means of acting on her decision.” <span> </span><br /><br />The
Unitarian Universalists have been leaders on issues of reproductive health,
rights and justice since the early 1960s, believing they “have a moral
responsibility to demand and ensure that abortion protections are codified into
law.”<br />
<br />
</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">The argument for
or against abortion through the narrow lens of “pro-life” vs. “pro-choice”
simply does not suit the majority of American Christians.<span> </span>This is no doubt due to the fact that so many
Christians have had an abortion. <br /><br />A 2021 study completed by LifeWay, a
self-identified conservative “pro-life” group, indicated that 70% of all women
who have had an abortion identify as Christian, which includes Catholics (27%),
Protestants (26%), non-denominational (15%), and Orthodox (2%). Among
Protestants, more identify as Baptists (33%), Methodist (11%), Presbyterian
(10%), or Lutheran (9%).</span> <span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><br /><br />According
to a 2022 poll conducted by Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs
Research, 64 percent of U.S. Catholics (and 40 percent of Catholic Republicans)
agreed that abortion should be legal in most or all cases, almost identical to
the 65 percent of all adult Americans who held that view. <br />
<br />
In fact, many religious organizations and people – including Catholic,
Protestant, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Baha’i, and “spiritual but not religious”
– work together through the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice to
advocate for women’s reproductive health including continued access to safe and
legal abortion services in this country.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">While there is no
one “Christian perspective” on abortion, if we believe that we are made in the
likeness and image of God and, as such, human life is sacred, I believe that we
will be able to move beyond the narrow “pro-life/pro-choice” binary and into
that which honors and respects the “life, liberty and the pursuit of
happiness,” promised at the very foundation of this country. </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><br />
<i>The Rev Dr Elizabeth Kaeton is an Episcopal priest who has been involved
with the Religious Coalition for Reproduction Choice since 1997, having served
for a decade on the national board of RCRC, two terms as Vice President. She
was President of the Episcopal Women’s Caucus, on the Board of Integrity,
attended Lambeth 1998 and 2008 and served as elected deputy to four General
Conventions. She is the co-parent of six children, has six grandchildren and
lives in Delaware with her spouse of 47 years and their two Shih-Tzus, Eliot
and Olivia. </i></span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-36943886149106442072023-10-29T18:47:00.000-04:002023-10-29T18:47:04.252-04:00The Greatest but not The Easiest<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUsBGn0HDhCdsDUqEM77uF8BHKHZjyxeeHFf_kBzN4N7JMW5MAmbxtfenDzmssqQaL9jWYd-_lTTlMuuzpf8ihEtCa177WPE3zRJqrn_2IUUMi8Ynivnj5JVHcqnexNoTQN0gAfH9X5YN0wUw5-VklJ8VBogpW7sys3XpIYafuBqQZfIvoc24/s750/cd-design-wide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="750" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBUsBGn0HDhCdsDUqEM77uF8BHKHZjyxeeHFf_kBzN4N7JMW5MAmbxtfenDzmssqQaL9jWYd-_lTTlMuuzpf8ihEtCa177WPE3zRJqrn_2IUUMi8Ynivnj5JVHcqnexNoTQN0gAfH9X5YN0wUw5-VklJ8VBogpW7sys3XpIYafuBqQZfIvoc24/w400-h143/cd-design-wide.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pentecost XXII - October 29, 2023 <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Episcopal Church of St. Mary<br />Bridgeville, DE</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;">The idea seems
simple enough. “Love God, love neighbor.” The problem, as always, is in the
execution of the idea. Who is God? Who is my neighbor? What does it mean to
love them? <br /><br />Wrestling with these questions is at the heart of what it means to
be a follower, a disciple of Christ Jesus. If we’re honest, we’ve all struggled
with these questions at different times in our life’s journey. <br />
<br />
As a Hospice Chaplain, these are two questions people struggle with, even at
the end of life, sometimes one more than the other. As a person of faith, these
are two questions I have wrestled with my whole life.<br /> <br />If I’m honest, I struggled with those questions as I was writing this sermon and, in fact, right up until today. Part of the reason is
that the world moves so fast these days, it’s often hard to get your bearings. <br />
<br />
Not so when I was a kid. I knew exactly who my neighbors were. That’s because I
knew the borders and boundaries of my neighborhood. <br /><br />Furthermore, I knew the
rules – the family rules, the rules of the neighborhood and the rules of the
church. And, I obeyed them. <br />
<br />
In my neighborhood, we had a policeman who “walked the beat”. His name was
Officer Murphy. We all loved Officer Murphy. You could wind your watch when
he would appear on your street. He knew every kid by name and where we lived. We
felt safe whenever he was around. <br />
<br />
And, we loved Fr. Levesque, our parish priest, who also walked through our
neighborhood on his way back and forth from visiting with people in their
homes. He always had a tin can full of mints in his pocket that he opened and
put in our mouths as we swarmed around him like baby birds with our mouths
opened for this mid-week sweet communion. <br />
<br />
There was also Mr. DeMello, the Truant Officer. He was there to report you to
your parents if you skipped school. We didn’t have to worry too much about Mr.
DeMello, though. Not in our neighborhood. <br /><br />That’s because we had Mrs. Miller. Mrs.
Miller was a woman whose kids had all grown and her husband had died so she
always dressed in black and lived alone. <br /><br />If I close my eyes, I can still see
her, standing in front of her second floor window, a cup of tea in her hand
which she slowly sipped as she watched everything that went on in our
neighborhood. <br />
<br />
I don’t know if she counted us as we walked together to school but she knew
when one of us was missing. She made it her business to know where each one of
us was and exactly where we were when we weren’t supposed to be there. <br />
<br />
No one dared skipped school in my neighborhood. We were too scared of Mrs.
Miller who would come and find us (I don’t know how she found us but she always
did), pull us out of wherever we were by our ear, and march us all the way to
our parent’s home, still holding that ear as if her life depended on it – our
feet barely touching the ground – before depositing us in front of our parents,
giving us a hard smack upside the head before she left. <br />
<br />
You never wanted to mess with Mrs. Miller. Nosireebob. <br />
<br />
There were other people who came into our neighborhood: The Bread Man who came
every Wednesday and Friday, the Milk Man who, several times a week, delivered glass
bottles of milk or cream and tins of cottage cheese which he put into an
aluminum container that sat on everyone’s doorstep. He covered everything with
ice before he left. Funny, no one ever got sick. <br />
<br />
We were free to ride our bikes everywhere. I was nine years old and, as the
oldest of four, rode my bike at least once a week to the market to pick up
“just a few things” my mother had called ahead to the grocer who had everything
ready for me. He always asked me about school and what I had learned that week
and we would have lovely conversations about that subject. <br />
<br />
The rules in my neighborhood were also simple: You could play stick ball in the
street but one kid always had to be the lookout for oncoming cars, and you
always moved to the side as soon as a car appeared at the top of the street.
You showed respect. While the streets were for stick ball, the sidewalks were
for hopscotch and jacks, and everybody, I mean, EVERYBODY, had to be on their
own porch when the streetlights came on. <br />
<br />
As well as I knew my neighbors, I also knew God. He was a white man with long
hair and a long, white beard who sat on a cloud way up in heaven and, all he
had to do was point at someone who was being bad and ZAP! That person was dead
dog meat. <br />
<br />
I even knew what God sounded like. My father loved to read to us and I loved
nothing more than sitting on his lap, my ear pressed against his chest. One
day, as I listened to the sound of his voice in his chest, it occurred to me
that this is what God must sound like: mysterious, other-worldly, distant and
yet just as close to me as my next breath. <br />
<br />
And, the rules? Simple. There were 10. Follow those, go to church, listen to
the gospel, take communion, don’t skip school, do your homework, obey your
parents, do your best to follow the Golden Rule and love God and your neighbor
as yourself and you would go to heaven. Guaranteed. <br />
<br />
Simple, right? Easy-peasy! <br />
<br />
And then, ah, and then, I grew up. And the world was no longer simple or easy. The
War to End All Wars which my grandfather fought in rolled itself into WWII
which my father fought it; which rolled itself into the Korean Conflict which
my uncles fought it; which rolled into The Vietnam War, which was a war no one
wanted and everyone hated and protested. <br />
<br />
The world began to move very quickly and in 1966, the cover of Time Magazine
posed a question no one in my neighborhood would have dared to think much less
ask: Is God Dead? <br /><br />That was followed, five years later, by the 1971 Time
Magazine Cover of </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; mso-ansi-language: EN;">a Pop Art psychedelic Jesus who gazed serenely from
clouds. It was simply titled: “The Jesus Revolution.” <br />
<br />
By the time I was in seminary in the 1980s, I was enormously frustrated, trying
to understand a discipline known as Process Theology, founded by a man named
Alfred North Whitehead. <br /><br />I remember crying in a professor’s office because I was
so confused. She comforted me and then whispered, “Never mind. God doesn’t even
know what Whitehead is talking about.” <br />
<br />
And here we are this morning, more than 2,000 years later, listening to these
ancient words from both Moses and Jesus who are teaching us the ancient commandment
of God to “love your neighbor as yourself.” And, if we’re honest, in our
darkest moments, some of us are still asking Who is God? Who is my neighbor? <br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><br />
Who is this God who allowed a very sick man to shoot and kill 18 of his
neighbors and friends in Maine while they were bowling or otherwise having a
good time with other neighbors? <br /><br />Who is this God who allowed the beautiful
island of Maui, often called ‘Paradise’, to burn to the ground? <br /><br />And what kind
of God allows innocent men, women and children to die cruel, brutal, barbaric
deaths in a place known as The Holy Land, a place dedicated to God by people of
three different faiths? <span> </span><br />
<br />
Not the God we know. Which, if that’s true, raises other questions, ones with
which people have also been struggling to understand since the beginning of
time: If God is all powerful, then why do bad things happen to good people?
What role, if any, does God play in it all? <br />
<br />
Here's where I’ve landed on the matter. I’m not saying I’ve got it all figured
out. Far from it. As a Hospice Chaplain, I’ve had this conversation about these
questions many times with many people over the last many years. <span> </span>Here’s what makes sense to me and why Jesus
says that The Golden Rule is the Greatest Commandment: <br />
<br />
There are things beyond the intellect and reason of the human mind. God is
primary among them. As many advances as can be attributed to the human mind,
there are many things we simply can’t understand. <br /><br />Like, how to understand a
love that is so pure, so unconditional, that we have this terrifying freedom to
make choices, some of which are good and some of which are not. <br />
<br />
Like, no matter what we choose, good or bad, we always have the choice to love
because we are always loved. <br /><br />Think about this mystery: Even before we loved
God, God loved us. We are free to love this mystery we call God, who is far
beyond our wildest imaginings and yet never further away from us than our next
breath. <br /><br />Free to love this mysterious God with all our heart and with all our
soul and with all our mind. And, to love ourselves so that we can love our
neighbor as ourselves. <br />
<br />
Or, not. Whether or not we know God or love God, God still loves us. St. Paul tells us that nothing - absolutely nothing - can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Nothing. Not even ourselves.<br />
<br />
Turns out, The Great Commandment is not as easy as it once sounded. Turns out,
we grow up and find the world is a very complex and complicated place. <br /><br />Turns
out, one can choose to dedicate one’s whole life to living out that great
mystery, to love the questions and live into the questions – Who is God? Who is
my neighbor? – so that, as the great philosopher Rainer Maria Rilke said, we
may love the questions so much that, one day, we may live into the answer. <br />
<br />
That’s why, I think, Jesus says that this is the Greatest Commandment and the
second is like unto it. Not only do all the laws and the prophets hang on these
two commandments, but the very enterprise of being human hangs in the balance. <br /><br />Indeed,
I would add that the future of the world depends on the kind of love that is
humble enough to admit we don’t know everything and we don’t have all the
answers, and we cannot see God, but to love, anyway. To choose love. Even when
it makes no sense. <br /><br />As Pascal said, “</span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The heart has its reasons of which
reason knows nothing.”</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif;"><br />
<br />
Who is God? Who is my neighbor? Jesus has lots to say about that in later
Gospels that are worthy of our time and consideration and study. For now, and
in preparation of that, I’m going to leave you with the whole quote from Rilke
to which I think, Jesus would give his stamp of approval:<span> </span><span> </span><br />
<br />
<b>“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the
questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in
a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you
because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live
everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without
noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” <span> </span><br /><br />Amen. </b></span></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-45932058890578799082023-10-14T04:43:00.005-04:002023-10-14T04:48:30.237-04:00My Great Tuscan Adventure: Day III<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaC_kCychmax0o_NAJEX827Id1nc8V9HxfgaoSKIkytFzvIudJAtgvr4lVB6W1AuUzKYSt7AH2Vov9xxuYpkfTPyhWN3YDpl_0iSVnbzvlfQ-AKxI_mz9MYejCu3nM1vf5lUPCtBI2nc9eJ6EVnJ74oQtSdSHNVE_89otByKyvrURfx6gcNk9u/s3022/Scenes%20from%20an%20Italian%20Bistro.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2750" data-original-width="3022" height="364" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaC_kCychmax0o_NAJEX827Id1nc8V9HxfgaoSKIkytFzvIudJAtgvr4lVB6W1AuUzKYSt7AH2Vov9xxuYpkfTPyhWN3YDpl_0iSVnbzvlfQ-AKxI_mz9MYejCu3nM1vf5lUPCtBI2nc9eJ6EVnJ74oQtSdSHNVE_89otByKyvrURfx6gcNk9u/w400-h364/Scenes%20from%20an%20Italian%20Bistro.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Scenes from an Italian/Roman Bistro</span></span><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Monuments to Humanity and Museums of Human Beings.</b></span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />So, yesterday did not turn out the way I had planned but it unfolded exactly as it should have. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm not sure what it was, exactly. I know I'm not used to having espresso in the morning. Or, that much dairy, for that matter. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My stomach just kept flipping and lurching and I was in no shape to go to the Coliseum or any sight-seeing spot and deal with all those crowds of tourists. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It's okay. Truth be told, I hate that stuff on a good day. I am not cut out to be a tourist. Full stop. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, I pretty much hung out in the neighborhood, sitting on benches - not too far from restaurants and pizzerias with restrooms - watching people and their children or their dogs. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I saw some wonderful things - human beings being human beings (and, human doings). I got my bearings - geographically and biologically. I had some perfectly wonderful conversations with some pretty amazing people. </span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLsSUFvwsZrvSUw23G-oS11NGsJtVa0uyGE_GUwhqvt-3-tGLDamMVWYRpFiBKv6_kIh_gFi6kGGVeQ9E1QTJO-RIL6LsQG5vK5eOs3to0yFZBgFo8obOcpz6RQftuR36KoBmEy5wdNsEJv15LzJqI96FFWRbuyncnggAs2Uspyr70B6dIGcf/s2180/Roma_San_Paolo_fuori_le_mura_BW_1.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1518" data-original-width="2180" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWLsSUFvwsZrvSUw23G-oS11NGsJtVa0uyGE_GUwhqvt-3-tGLDamMVWYRpFiBKv6_kIh_gFi6kGGVeQ9E1QTJO-RIL6LsQG5vK5eOs3to0yFZBgFo8obOcpz6RQftuR36KoBmEy5wdNsEJv15LzJqI96FFWRbuyncnggAs2Uspyr70B6dIGcf/s320/Roma_San_Paolo_fuori_le_mura_BW_1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I spoke with a young couple who were walking to St. Paul Outside the Wall, an Episcopal Church not far from my “neighborhood”. I figured out that it's about a 10-minute walk from where I'm staying and it has some amazing mosaics that I understand are a brilliant inspiration to meditation. Indeed, that's one of the churches I plan to visit on Sunday. Maybe today I'll also walk to Santa Maria Maggiore, the oldest Marian church in Rome (4th century). </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway, this young couple said that they had both left The Roman Church out of utter disgust with, as the man said, "their exclusive nature". He told me his sister felt called to be a priest and had become a nun but was most unhappy and had left the convent "angry and bitter". </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">They both had "many gay friends, men and women" and were pretty pissed that they were excluded, too. "Almost all our wedding party is gay," they said. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">“How can you build a church on the teachings of Jesus Christ and then hate people because they don’t do what you think they should do?” she asked, slack-jawed with astonishment and utter confusion. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">They had found The Episcopal Church and, he said, “It was love at first sight. Just like us.” (They shot each other the most endearing look.) </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">They were absolutely fascinated to learn that I am an Episcopal priest. We must have talked for almost an hour, at the end of which, they asked for my name and a way to contact me. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">On their way back from their visit with the priest at St. Paul's, they spotted me in the Pharmacy and told me that they had told the priest that they really, really, really wanted me to preside at their wedding. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I laughed b/c it sounded so ridiculous to me at that moment but when I looked at their faces, I realized that they were dead serious. They said the priest said it was fine and they would fly me there and give me lodging and food. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">If I felt woozy from the espresso, you can imagine how that news flew through my body! </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, anyway, I've got their name, address, and number and we'll see how all of that works out. Honest to Ethel, huh? My great Tuscan adventure just got even more adventurous. </span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ya_si3g7zRPZwPYdHV3yxS8JRfX4KbrwuT6fXzApEWwMfm2v7KS46iAa7tHi-BQ3IiiDKULcZNuGUzivD1h2RqU1ca8FUH9tVfelUZYebfr4JBIJ6LG69tudb340K6iabjADyHFs7Ei2G5HzH1d67gj-oogdUk0a1WwG8_DdycOeiKFxm5pe/s1920/Fried%20pizza%20bread.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ya_si3g7zRPZwPYdHV3yxS8JRfX4KbrwuT6fXzApEWwMfm2v7KS46iAa7tHi-BQ3IiiDKULcZNuGUzivD1h2RqU1ca8FUH9tVfelUZYebfr4JBIJ6LG69tudb340K6iabjADyHFs7Ei2G5HzH1d67gj-oogdUk0a1WwG8_DdycOeiKFxm5pe/s320/Fried%20pizza%20bread.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><br />There were other conversations and other lovely things that happened but I have no pictures of any great sights because clearly, this is just not that kind of journey. I think I saw some of the greatest monuments to a civilized society in Rome today. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Young people in love. Young children at play who wanted me to play football with them. Old couples holding hands. Young women walking arm in arm, having relaxed, casual conversations. People sharing a gelato in the warm Roman sun. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I didn't take pictures. That would have been rude. Or, at least, awkward. Besides, they will live forever in my heart, their images longer lasting and grander than that of the Colleseum or the Parthenon and more deeply spiritual and religious than Vatican City. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I did learn of a bus one can take for 35 Euro which tours (drives by) all of the "important sites". I may take that so I can, in fact, say that I was in Rome and saw all those things. But, I can also say that, when I was in Rome, I did what Romans do, and I can assure you that it's not just visiting museums and statues. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1bhbk2pfH6F64Ci8WHp2pNqmv96hDOi61xLunqFVGDWFTzdL5XuKFyTthrf6WhWmJUZXa6LJErwh0suAWvpet9ooWySXg9-BqqSQfkL6PcgGHgVo_fWwE69y-SfpN76vbzzA-k5GDr6vVqnhGi-xOO_3iCc_-ZrUGJ3Zon3F4h18gVd3Ad4i/s4032/Tagliatelli%20et%20Funghi%20Porcini%20e%20Finferli.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1bhbk2pfH6F64Ci8WHp2pNqmv96hDOi61xLunqFVGDWFTzdL5XuKFyTthrf6WhWmJUZXa6LJErwh0suAWvpet9ooWySXg9-BqqSQfkL6PcgGHgVo_fWwE69y-SfpN76vbzzA-k5GDr6vVqnhGi-xOO_3iCc_-ZrUGJ3Zon3F4h18gVd3Ad4i/s320/Tagliatelli%20et%20Funghi%20Porcini%20e%20Finferli.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Around 8 PM, I felt ready to handle dinner. I went to Mabru Bistro, a five-star place down and across the street from my hotel. I had the Tagliatelle e Funghi Porcini e Finferli (Pasta and Mushrooms). OMG. OMG. OMG. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I chose that dish because first, I want to learn how to make tagliatelle pasta but also because it was stressed to me by several of the wait staff that the porcini are in season and "fresh, fresh, fresh, yes?" and "once they go out of season, there is no more until the next season."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I love the passionate urgency about the freshness of food. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I met the chef and he provided a "supplemento", gratis, the addition of a few Tartufo Nero in Aggiunta (Black Truffles). </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It was, in a word, amazing. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSkccPB7HzTnoNm8viDOQ5hr1CGeWS7IQu19iqHiDuxTZwAd5YuShSlJTO5Ts2HDPdJUHnd4malBTMbyy3S3TdXmYER-7dJRvgm_7ZkT2nohBh46Q0adS7FMx_P3A7SVZAn6_REaiG_lVoT4Xzox2MMOM3-7sUaSi7TQFKSEqCTHJnFOwkT7X/s4032/Ricotta%20with%20Pistaccio%20Filling%20&%20Nipple.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSkccPB7HzTnoNm8viDOQ5hr1CGeWS7IQu19iqHiDuxTZwAd5YuShSlJTO5Ts2HDPdJUHnd4malBTMbyy3S3TdXmYER-7dJRvgm_7ZkT2nohBh46Q0adS7FMx_P3A7SVZAn6_REaiG_lVoT4Xzox2MMOM3-7sUaSi7TQFKSEqCTHJnFOwkT7X/s320/Ricotta%20with%20Pistaccio%20Filling%20&%20Nipple.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>He then insisted that I have dessert ("gratis, on me, You simply must taste this before you got to Tuscany!") which was Capezzolo del Dio al Pistacchio – (Pistachio Nipple of the God) which was a mound of frozen ricotta, filled with green pistachio "juice" and topped with a crushed pistachio "nipple". </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I think I've died and gone to heaven. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I came here to learn how to cook but I'm learning that there are things I'm going to learn that surpass my understanding and imagination. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So off I go, then, into this new day. No cappuccino for this girl. Maybe not even eggs. Maybe just some buttered toast and some English Breakfast Tea. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqtMRKjovfDlMKp0MnEwlkqTDQDWlzN2GaWYJPAtnw_toUlWAqaku6N6-Uc9S5LtAktdJBlB2OyQsXji7s7oge6mBtaPZnoXX2gk2BWQB-_OPJIfycOdH_1q6i-cTShM727nirwbfGFLgB2RsZ_6k6v5QZgzByzuKv_hftxrQTsKOHg8jt_C7/s4032/5%20*%20Mabru%20Bistro%20Chef%20and%20Sous%20Chef.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqtMRKjovfDlMKp0MnEwlkqTDQDWlzN2GaWYJPAtnw_toUlWAqaku6N6-Uc9S5LtAktdJBlB2OyQsXji7s7oge6mBtaPZnoXX2gk2BWQB-_OPJIfycOdH_1q6i-cTShM727nirwbfGFLgB2RsZ_6k6v5QZgzByzuKv_hftxrQTsKOHg8jt_C7/s320/5%20*%20Mabru%20Bistro%20Chef%20and%20Sous%20Chef.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Then, it’s a long, lovely day of walking and watching, listening and engaging in conversation, and soaking in centuries of history and eons of hopes for the future which are all contained in conversations with the people on the streets of Rome and in their shops and bistros. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Today, my prayer for Palestine and Israel comes from the statement from Justin Welby, The Archbishop of Canterbury. First let me say that I am quite pleased that the news has begun to include interviews and conversations with Palestinians who have also lost loved ones in the war. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Someone asked, "If Palestinians do not want Hamas to represent them, why don't you throw them off?" The man showed enormous restraint and said, "Have you been to Palestine in the past decade? More and more, we have become an Israeli open-air prison. How are we to throw off two oppressors: Hamas and Israel?" </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">CNN, the NY Times and RNS (Religious News Service) have also been running some balanced articles along with some really excellent Podcasts, one of which featured interviews, side by side with an Israeli and a Palestinian journalist. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It is clear: War is evil. Full stop. And so is oppression. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Here are <a href="https://www.episcopalnewsservice.org/2023/10/13/archbishop-of-canterbury-statement-on-israel-and-gaza/">the words from Archbishop Welby</a>: </span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><blockquote><b><i><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"But in the face of a ground offensive in Gaza, I plead that the sins of Hamas are not borne by the citizens of Gaza, who themselves have faced such suffering over many decades. <br /><br />The price of evil cannot be paid by the innocent. Civilians cannot bear the costs of terrorists. International humanitarian law recognises that, for the sake of everyone’s humanity, some acts can never be permissible in the chaos of warfare. I pray that Israel does everything it can to limit the harm caused to innocent civilians.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Over two million civilians in Gaza, half of them children, are facing a catastrophe. A humanitarian corridor and convoy are needed as rapidly as possible, as set out in the Geneva Conventions. I pray particularly for the Anglican-run Ahli Arab Hospital and all those caring for the injured, who need medical supplies and generator fuel.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRPXyzFbIBZ0K57v7c9162JMVZJOlTD1A_ERhZsaNsYajME7g4bFMm4okGWJL5nQmCyDfVUZcyoDwO6CDvzDdK4pgR86FQXS-yOQYEVJzkFQs8CZND3ychGil5x8ZinUQwt2HmIz5JeQPO3KFijnm800qt5D7n-o1-xdD0pqzntzf2pH4GJb0/s2000/Official_portrait_of_The_Lord_Archbishop_of_Canterbury_crop_2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRPXyzFbIBZ0K57v7c9162JMVZJOlTD1A_ERhZsaNsYajME7g4bFMm4okGWJL5nQmCyDfVUZcyoDwO6CDvzDdK4pgR86FQXS-yOQYEVJzkFQs8CZND3ychGil5x8ZinUQwt2HmIz5JeQPO3KFijnm800qt5D7n-o1-xdD0pqzntzf2pH4GJb0/s320/Official_portrait_of_The_Lord_Archbishop_of_Canterbury_crop_2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>I join with the US Secretary of State and others in urging the Israeli government to exercise their right of defence with the wisdom that might break the cycles of violence under which generations have struggled. Amidst the chaos and confusion of war, and as much as is possible, I join the calls for Israel’s military response to be proportional and to discriminate between civilians and Hamas.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Pray for the people of Israel, Gaza and the West Bank. Pray for the future of the Holy Land. Pray for those who will weep, and fear, and die tonight.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Lord God, we pray, by your great mercy, defend your children from all perils and dangers of this night." </span></i></b></blockquote><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Amen.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Buongiorno! Make it a great day!</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-53881564388279287392023-10-13T06:36:00.004-04:002023-10-13T06:36:44.056-04:00My Great Tuscan Adventure: Day II<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDsj-rrV6O9k0W3lf_egb5SKhha9r8QtRkYVKrPoDgnpBG7bokVrZCty52f6SXa48rMkxJFm1awouQKcuSAx7QfarzTCAwIXfyYMxFoHMXYY5JXQ1M3iawhuSVOvWXlogfCl-5tfEDeVg1MeCDEgxmOjkwi_cCzqt908rmsdqlAqVvML9uBJj/s4032/Day%20II%20Breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXDsj-rrV6O9k0W3lf_egb5SKhha9r8QtRkYVKrPoDgnpBG7bokVrZCty52f6SXa48rMkxJFm1awouQKcuSAx7QfarzTCAwIXfyYMxFoHMXYY5JXQ1M3iawhuSVOvWXlogfCl-5tfEDeVg1MeCDEgxmOjkwi_cCzqt908rmsdqlAqVvML9uBJj/w400-h300/Day%20II%20Breakfast.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My Great Tuscan Adventure, Day II</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Buongiorno! It's my first morning waking up in Rome. I slept like a foolish man, as I heard said in Ghana, which is to say very, deeply and soundly, without even getting up once to pee (and I always get up at least once to pee.)</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay, that's probably TMI - Too Much Information - right out of the chute but, you know, I am discovering that this is The City of Too Much Information. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Italians have to explain EVERYTHING in great detail - and with their eyes and their faces as well as their hands - especially when they think they've done something that you think is wrong, but they KNOW isn't and they have to tell you why. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I've got an example with the door to my hotel room - it's not the key, and no, I haven't kept it near my cell phone, and look, even your night housekeeping staff can't get in without jimmying and jiggling so something obviously needs to be filed down or drilled or adjusted - but, instead, I want to tell you about breakfast this morning. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">First, as you have already surmised, I love food. I love it enough to respect it and my body. But aging is neither a gentle nor kind process so I eat a little more strategically these days. I try to portion and more evenly distribute my fats, sugar, and carbs throughout the two or three meals I eat a day.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This was my breakfast: scrambled eggs and a lovely cappuccino. What decaf? Decaf? Who drinks decaf? Impossible! And 2% milk? What fresh hell is that? Do you think the gods drink decaf coffee with skim milk in heaven? Are you out of your mind?</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">When the lovely young lady came to bring me my cappuccino, she looked at my plate and frowned. "Did you need some toast?" She inquired. No, thank you I smiled, admiring her heart-shaped frothy handiwork on the cappuccino. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"No?" she responded, looking as if I had just admitted that I thought matricide was acceptable in certain circumstances. "Ah, then meat? Would senora like me to bring some meat?"</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me explain here that "meat" in many European countries - as it apparently does here, as well - means "sausage" but is actually a hot dog; or bacon which is grossly under-cooked, sort of browned fat with thin strips of meat throughout and dripping and glistening with grease.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">No, I said, smiling. Grazie.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">For half a second she registered the same look of shocked surprise mixed with confusion she had when I had turned down the bread but quickly recovered with a cute, sweet Gina Lollobrigida pout.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"American, yes?" she said, probably picking up on my accent. "You eat bacon, eh?" </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course, I said, to her instant smile, but no, not today. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">She shook her head as if I had three heads and one was flopping, probably muttering to herself, "Go figure with these people!"</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I had finished my eggs and was halfway through my cappuccino when I decided some fruit was definitely in order, so I put my napkin on my plate, left my phone and my sweater (it's presently 67 degrees and rainy), and got up to return to the buffet in the area next to my table.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">When I returned - it was 3 maybe 4 minutes later - everything was gone. My empty dish. My lovely 1/2 cup of cappuccino, my sweater and . . . gasp and gulp! - my phone!!!</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Italian pickpockets are one thing, I thought, but Jeeze Louise, my phone!!! Are you serious right now?</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I flew out of the room and ran into my server. "My phone!" I said, sounding every bit like an emotional Italian. "My phone!" I said slowly and a bit louder than I intended but in that embarrassing way one speaks to another for whom English is not their Mother Tongue. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Yes, yes . . ." she said, trying to calm me down with her hands and her face as well as her voice, "Reception. Reception ... ermm ... desk. I put. Reception desk. Phone and sweater."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But, I was not finished! I said. Again, loudly. I... I... and then I sighed loudly, threw up my hands like a proper Italian, and ran toward the Reception-ermm-desk, with the kind of out-of-proportion anger melting into relief that follows anxiety. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The manager, looking up at my face coming toward him, held up my phone and then looked down to return to his work. I surmised this must happen at least six times during breakfast. He had that look of bored distraction Italian/Mediterranean men have with women when they just don't want to engage. (Don't say you haven't seen it because you have. Just watch Di Niro sometime.)</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">When I returned to the breakfast room, the young woman was waiting for me, full of apologies. Good Lord, was she ever filled with apologies! </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And that's when I got the Italian TMI. Full on. Hard press. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I have no real memory of all she said. Something about they have a lot of guests right now and they need to make sure everyone has a seat and that it is clean and that . . . . blah, blah, blah-ditty-blah-blah. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I had my phone. And, my sweater. I wanted my fruit. And, another cappuccino. I waited for a moment when she would catch her breath and I could stop her with, "Cappuccino? Yes? Per favore?" </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">She stopped right in the middle of her next explanation and snapped to attention. "Yes, of course, senora!" in that tone one uses when royalty has given a command to an underling servant, adding, "Right away. I fix especial for you. And, your fruit. I bring you a nice dish of fruit."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Which then made me feel bad. I slumped back into my seat, aware that the people in my little sitting area were looking at me. I looked up at them and they were smiling at me. Their faces said, "We tried but there was no stopping her." And, "Good for you!"</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I have only been in Rome a full 24 hours. I'm afraid I may be coming to a stereotype but I'm trying to develop a coping mechanism to get me through the next few days before I'm off to Tuscany which, I could be wrong but I strongly suspect will be much different than here, in Rome. Well, okay. Different.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a country, to occupy a space you call 'home', which is so steeped with thousands of centuries of history and exquisite art and music and deeply admired culture and copied and coveted clothing that you feel simultaneously proud and personally insignificant. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I think it leads to two things, I think. One, that you feel you must constantly explain things to 'outsiders' because, how can we know or understand, really? Except to understand - especially as Americans - that we can not ever fully understand what it must be like to be Roman and Italian? </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This leads to the posture of TMI which I experienced with the young Gina Lollobrigida in the Breakfast Room as well as the detached boredom which is easily confused with arrogance from the Robert Di Niro at the Reception Desk (I suspect it may be part of the job as a hotel manager but the attitude is Italian).</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I have so much to learn about people. The more I learn, the more I know that I need to learn more. In other words, part of what I love about travel is that I learn just how limited I am and how much more I need to grow.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This is the part of my travels when I realize that I need to slow down. Take a breath. Intentionally skip a few beats. Know my place. Understand my identity and role here. I am a guest. I am a lifelong student, engaged in the ongoing study of the human enterprise and the appreciative inquiry of the various cultural and ethnic and racial and class experiences of being human. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Being here is not about me. If I'm going to more fully enjoy my time here, I've got to get out of my own way. As I learned in Thailand, I have to stop asking, "Why do they do that?" Instead, I need to start asking, "Hmm... why do I do what I do when they do that?"</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This is about being curious about others, and learning from them so that I might be a better human being. It's about appreciating the rich history of being American so that I can appreciate the rich history of being Italian, upon which a great deal of being American is also all about. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And, to know that, in the end, Fr. Kourmranian, my Armenian priest mentor in Lowell, MA, was absolutely right, "God is God and people is people."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, off I go, then to experience more of Rome. It's stopped raining but it's presently 72. Air quality is reportedly poor, so I need to make sure to adjust my walking pace to "saunter". I'm headed over to the Colosseum and will probably get in a good 5-8 mile walk, stopping, of course, for a light lunch around 2 or 3 PM, before everything shuts down around 4 PM. Except, of course, pizza (which is square). </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't know if it's possible to be addicted to salad but, well, Hi, my name is Elizabeth . . . . . </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Or, as I'm called here, Eee-leesss-a-bet. Lovely, init? I sound like somebody else. Someone young and sexy and . . . Oh, shut up! Let a girl have her moment of fantasy, will ya?</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, was that TMI?</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Today's prayer for Israel and Palestine comes from the United Anglican Dioceses of Dublin and Glendalough, which operates the al–Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I offer today's prayer especially mindful that Israel ordered the evacuation of more than a million civilians from the entire northern half of Gaza. Egypt has refused to accept Palestinian refugees, unofficially acknowledging that Israel would never allow them to return to their homeland and refusing to do their work for them. The UN said the order would lead to “devastating humanitarian consequences,” and Gazan officials have told Palestinians not to comply.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, Lord, hear our prayer:</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"God of light and salvation, our refuge and our strength, we pray for the people of Israel and Palestine amid the escalating violence taking place in these days. We pray for those killed and injured by rockets from Gaza in southern Israel. May your rod and staff comfort them. We pray for those who are grieving and fearful. We pray for protection over those who have been taken hostage in Gaza.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh God, we call on you this day to change hearts, bring an end to this current violence, and protect the people living in this land that is so precious and dear to your heart. Amen."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Buona giornata! Ciao!</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-59447344971976190242023-10-13T06:33:00.002-04:002023-10-13T06:33:42.262-04:00My Great Tuscan Adventure: Day I<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gP1uaEJhWldFUDAB32RaEmbY-wkLyrn-iCcPW9lYpdXrO5Gay50PaOMEE9ayNd-nQbYAbd52UnaCDd_WAb43rTgm_syShY3dhX27aF2AY-G_2DOUJqSMWxEAGJoIL74GLNRs9qNVz591Pcc2wDThfjWQWp9gr_bwnxGe4G3Fh4FxNvH7Ewf7/s1950/Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1950" data-original-width="1650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8gP1uaEJhWldFUDAB32RaEmbY-wkLyrn-iCcPW9lYpdXrO5Gay50PaOMEE9ayNd-nQbYAbd52UnaCDd_WAb43rTgm_syShY3dhX27aF2AY-G_2DOUJqSMWxEAGJoIL74GLNRs9qNVz591Pcc2wDThfjWQWp9gr_bwnxGe4G3Fh4FxNvH7Ewf7/w339-h400/Moon.jpg" width="339" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My Great Tuscan Adventure, Day I</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, I arrived in Rome at around 9:00 AM, Roman time but it was actually 3 AM in my body. I figure I got about 2 hours of sleep. Which is about what I usually get on a plane but this was much more comfortable sleep. Had we had more time in the air, I would have slept longer. Of this, there is no doubt. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">As it is, I got to my hotel - about 45 minutes from the airport - and. by the grace of God or Pinocchio or Geppeto or the Blue Fairy or whoever it is who's in charge of things today, the folks at the front desk had mercy on me and allowed me in my room at 11 AM vs. 2 PM. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I am a bit disappointed with my room. It's small. That's okay. I'm only going to be here until Sunday morning. Three nights is all and I'm going to be out all day most days. But it has all the essentials one would expect and need: a bed, hot water pot with instant coffee (Yuck) and tea, a toilet, with a bidet, of course, a lovely shower, and a small closet for hanging clothes. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The view? Well, let's say I'm not looking at the Wonders of Rome. Indeed, I'm looking at another building and an alleyway. Bunch of concrete and a tangle of wires and metal. Not pretty.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I confess: I immediately took a nap. I slept fitfully but I slept. I'm now hungry so in a bit I'm going to head out to find something to eat. This is Rome. That ought not to be a difficult excursion. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I am also going to call Ms. Conroy. She's having her second eye surgery this morning. I hate that I'm away for that but this trip was planned long before her second eye surgery so we just have to suck it up and do the best we can. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Our dear friend Anita is driving her to and from the surgicenter and will be walking and feeding the puppies (no bending or stooping for 3 days). </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Our next-door neighbors John and Lisa are also going to be checking in on her and our across-the-canal neighbor Betsy is a retired nurse, so between them and all of our friends who will be checking in, I think we've got this covered. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I also left her with some soup in the freezer and one of her favorite meals of chicken, mashed potatoes and corn in the fridge so she won't starve. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'll call her again tonight around 8 PM my time, 2 PM her time which is about when she should be home. We are absolutely loving WhatsApp. We can text and video chat and there is no cost. I'm sure that, after they get you hooked there will be some cost. Just like Netflix and Hulu with their "introductory rates" that suddenly soar. Well, we'll deal with that later. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, a quick shower, fresh clothes, a bit of a walk for something to eat and that's about as much as this Happy but Weary Wanderer is going to be able to stand for the day. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Make it a great day, everyone. Walk into the day with a heart filled with gratitude and you'll be sure to end it with a heart filled with love and a mind filled with happiness. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My prayer for Israel and Palestine today comes from the mind and the heart of John Lenon: </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Imagine there's no countries</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It isn't hard to do</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Nothing to kill or die for</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And no religion, too</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Imagine all the people</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Livin' life in peace.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You may say I'm a dreamer</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But I'm not the only one</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I hope some day you'll join us</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And the world will live as one.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Bom dia. Ciao!</span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-45027111445605450352023-10-11T15:39:00.004-04:002023-10-11T15:39:52.424-04:00Issac Saul: From a broken, weary heart.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXUa0WFj7CMKHHgMesCGJ0RhGpYGtnX0Zge7mt4dGvGZd1DOTBKWgR48S5RV_wA7AZPb9eb6LCZAV5Ixzt8RGy2nqjMBC1aLv1iSqbkgudAf9ZmbQGggVADd80XB0j4VV_Jt-bmPgL0ewhdWfQELK613vzSpekKwraq9phld5a0QC_5PP_C_C/s399/i6-NfAT9_400x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="399" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXUa0WFj7CMKHHgMesCGJ0RhGpYGtnX0Zge7mt4dGvGZd1DOTBKWgR48S5RV_wA7AZPb9eb6LCZAV5Ixzt8RGy2nqjMBC1aLv1iSqbkgudAf9ZmbQGggVADd80XB0j4VV_Jt-bmPgL0ewhdWfQELK613vzSpekKwraq9phld5a0QC_5PP_C_C/w400-h400/i6-NfAT9_400x400.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">This is long but, in a word, brilliant. </span><span class="css-901oao css-16my406 r-poiln3 r-bcqeeo r-qvutc0">I don't agree with everything in it, but I appreciate the attempt to view the nuance, grey areas and humanity.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Isaac Saul</span><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">@Ike_Saul </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">People ask me all the time if I am "pro-Israel" because I am a Jew who has lived in Israel, and my answer is that being "pro-Israel" or being "pro-Palestine" or being a "Zionist" does not properly capture the nuance of thought most people do or should have about this issue. It certainly doesn't capture mine.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I have a lot to say. I’ve spent the last 72 hours writing, texting, and talking to Israelis, Jews, Muslims, and Palestinians. Much of my reaction is going to piss off people on "both sides," but I am exhausted and hurting and I do not think there is any way to discuss this situation without being radically honest about my views. So I'm going to try to say what I believe to be true the best I can.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me start with this: It could have been me.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">That's a hard thought to shake when watching the videos out of Israel — the concert goers fleeing across an empty expanse, the hostages being paraded through the streets, the people shot in the head at bus stops or in their cars. I went to those parties in the desert, I rubbed shoulders with Israelis and Arabs and Jews and Muslims, I could have easily accepted an invitation to some concert near Sderot and gone without a care, only to be indiscriminately slaughtered. Or, perhaps worse, taken hostage and tortured.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t believe Hamas is killing Israelis to liberate themselves, nor do I believe they are doing it to make peace. They're doing this because they represent the devil on the shoulder of every oppressed Palestinian who has lost someone in this conflict. They're doing it because they want vengeance. They are evening the score, and acting on the worst of our human impulses, to respond to blood with blood — an inclination that is easy to give in to after what their people have endured. It should not be hard to understand their logic — it is only hard to accept that humans are capable of being driven to this. Not defending Hamas is a very low bar to clear. Please clear it.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s not possible to recap the entire 5,000 year history of people fighting over this strip of land in one newsletter. There are plenty of easily accessible places you can learn about it if you want to (and, by the way, many of you should — far too many people speak on this issue with an obscene amount of ignorance, loads of arrogance, and a narrow historical lens focused on the last few decades). But I'll briefly highlight a few things that are important to me.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">In my opinion, the Jewish people have a legitimate historical claim to the land of Israel. Jews had already been expelled and returned and expelled again a half dozen times before the rise of the Muslim and Arab rule of the Ottoman Empire. Of course it’s messy because we Jews and Arabs and Muslims are all cousins and descendents of the same Canaanites. But Arabs won the land centuries ago the same way Israel and Jews won it in the 20th century: Through conflict and war. The British defeated the Ottoman Empire and then came the Balfour Declaration, which amounted to the British granting the area to the Jewish people, a promise they’d later try to renege on — all before the wars that have defined the region since 1948.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">That historical moment in the late 1940s was unique. After World War II, with many Arab and Muslim states already in existence, and after six million Jews were slaughtered, the global community felt it was important to grant the Jewish people a homeland. In a more logical or just world that homeland would have been in Europe as a kind of reparation for what the Nazis and others before them had done to the Jews, or perhaps in the Americas — like Alaska — or somewhere else. But the Jews wanted Israel, the British had taken to the Zionist movement, the British had conquered the Ottoman Empire which handed them control of the land, and America and Europe didn’t want the Jews. As a result, we got Israel.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The Arab states had already rejected a partitioned Israel repeatedly before World War II and rejected it again after the Holocaust and the end of the war. They did not want to give up even a little bit of their land to a bunch of Jewish interlopers who were granted it all of a sudden by British interlopers who had arrived a hundred years prior. Who could blame them? It had been centuries since Jews lived there in large numbers, and now they wanted to return in waves as secularized Europeans. Many of us would probably react the same way. So, just as humans have done forever, they fought. The many existing Arab states turned against the burgeoning new Jewish state. One side won and one side lost. This is the brutal and broken and violent world we live in, but it is what created the global world order we have now.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Are Israelis and British people "colonizers" because of this 20th century history? Sure. But that view flattens thousands of years of history and conflict, and the context of World War I and World War II. I don’t view Israelis and Brits as colonizers any more than the Assyrians or the Babylonians or the Romans or the Mongols or the Egyptians or the Ottomans who all battled over the same strip of land from as early as 800 years before Jesus’s time until now. The Jews who founded Israel just happened to have won the last big battle for it.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You can’t speak about this issue in a vacuum. You can't pretend that it wasn't just 60 years ago when Israel was surrounded on all sides by Arab states who wanted to wipe them off the face of the planet. Despite the balance of power shifting this century, that threat is still a reality. And you can't talk about that without remembering the only reason the Jews were in Israel in the first place was that they'd spent the previous centuries fleeing a bunch of Europeans who also wanted to wipe them off the face of the planet. And then Hitler showed up.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">American partisans have a narrow view of this history, and an Americentric lens that is infuriating to witness. As Lee Fang perfectly put it, "Hamas would absolutely execute the ACAB lefties cheering on horrific violence against Israelis if they lived in Gaza & U.S. right-wingers blindly cheering on Israeli subjugation of Palestinians would rebel twice as violently if Americans were subjected to similar occupation."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And yet, many Americans only view modern Israel as the "powerful" one in this dynamic. Which is true — they obviously are. It isn't a fair fight and it hasn't been for decades because Israel's government is rich and resourceful, has the backing of the United States and most of Europe, and has an incredibly powerful military. At the same time, Israeli leadership has made technological and military advancements that have further tipped those scales — all while the Israeli government has helped create a resource-thin open air prison of two million Arabs in Gaza.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Conversely, Palestinians are devoid of any real unified leadership, and the Arab world is now divided on the issue of Palestine. Israel is unwilling to give the people in Gaza and the West Bank more than an inch of freedom to live. These are largely the refugees and descendents of the refugees of the 1948 and 1967 wars that Israel won. And you can't keep two million people in the condition that those in the Gaza strip live in and not expect events like this.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm sorry to say that while the blood on the ground is fresh. The Israelis who were killed in this attack largely have nothing to do with those conditions other than being born at a time when Israel and Jews have the upper hand in this conflict. Some of the victims weren’t even Israeli — they were just tourists. This is why we describe them as “innocent” and why Hamas has only reaffirmed that they are a brutal terror organization with this attack — an organization that I hope is quickly toppled, for the sake of both the Palestinian people and the Israelis. But as someone with a deep love for Israel, with friends in danger and people I know still missing, it breaks my heart to say it but I'm saying it again because it remains perhaps the most salient point of context in a tangled mess full of centuries of context:</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You cannot keep two million people living in the conditions people in Gaza are living in and expect peace.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">You can't. And you shouldn’t. Their environment is antithetical to the human condition. Violent rebellion is guaranteed. Guaranteed. As sure as the sun rising.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And the cycle of violence seems locked in to self-perpetuate, because both sides see a score to settle:</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">1) Israel has already responded with a vengeance, and they will continue to. Their desire for violence is not unlike Hamas’s — it’s just as much about blood for blood as any legitimate security measure. Israel will “have every right to respond with force." Toppling Hamas — a group, by the way, Israel erred in supporting — will now be the objective, and civilian death will be seen as necessary collateral damage. But Israel will also do a bunch of things they don't have a right to. They will flatten apartment buildings and kill civilians and children and many in the global community will probably cheer them on while they do it. They have already stopped the flow of water, electricity, and food to two million people, and killed dozens of civilians in their retaliatory bombings. We should never accept this, never lose sight that this horror is being inflicted on human beings. As the group B’Tselem said, “There is no justification for such crimes, whether they are committed as part of a struggle for freedom from oppression or cited as part of a war against terror.” I mourn for the innocents of Palestine just as I do for the innocents in Israel. As of late, many, many more have died on their side than Israel's. And many more Palestinians are likely to die in this spate of violence, too.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Unfortunately, most people in the West only pay attention to this story when Hamas or a Palestinian in Gaza or the West Bank commits an act of violence. Palestinian citizens die regularly at the hands of the Israeli military and their plight goes largely unnoticed until they respond with violence of their own. Israel had already killed an estimated 250 Palestinians, including 47 children, this year alone. And that is just in the West Bank.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">2) Every single time Israel kills someone in the name of self-defense they create a handful of new radicalized extremists who will feel justified in wanting to take an Israeli life in retribution sometime in the future. Half of Gaza’s two million people are under the age of 19 — they know little besides Hamas rule (since 2006), Israeli occupation, blockades, and rockets falling from the sky. The suffering of these innocent children born into this reality is incomprehensible to me. They will suffer more now because of Hamas’s actions and Israel’s response, all through no fault of their own.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There is no way out of this pattern until one side exercises restraint or leaders on both sides find a new solution. Israelis will tell you that if Palestinians put their guns down then the war would end, but if Israel put their guns down they'd be wiped off the planet. I don't have a crystal ball and can’t tell you what is true. But what I am certain of is that every time Israel kills more innocents they engender more rage and hatred and recruit more Palestinians and Arabs to the cause against them. There is no disputing this.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">So, why did this happen now?</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm not sure how to answer that question except to say it was bound to happen eventually. It was a massive policy and intelligence failure and Netanyahu should pay the price politically — he is a failed leader. Iran probably helped organize the attack and the money freed up by the Biden administration's prisoner swap probably didn't help the situation, either. Israel's increasingly extremist government and settlers provoking Palestinians certainly didn't help. Nor has going to the Al-Aqsa mosque and desecrating it. Nor do blockades and bombings and indiscriminate subjugation of a whole people. Nor does refusing to talk to non-terrorist leaders in Palestine. Nor does illegally continuing to expand and steal what is left of Palestinian land, as many Jews and Israelis have been doing in the 21st century despite cries from the global community to stop. A violent response was predictable — in fact, plenty of people did predict it.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Israel is forever stuffing these people into tinier and tinier boxes with fewer and fewer resources. But if you want to blame Israeli leaders for continuing to expand and settle land that does not belong to them (as I do), then you should also spare some blame for Palestinian leaders for repeatedly not accepting a partitioned Israel during the 20th century that could have led to peace (as I do).</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Please also remember this: Hamas is still an extremist group. The Palestinian people do not have a government or leaders who legitimately represent their interests, and it sure as hell isn't Hamas. Will some Palestinians cheer and clap at the dead, or spit on them as they are paraded through Gaza? Yes they will. And they have. Many will also mourn because they loathe Hamas and know this will only make things worse. This is no different than how some Americans cheer at the dead in every single war we've ever fought. It's no different than the Israelis who set up lawn chairs to watch their government bomb Palestine and cheer them on, too. This doesn't mean Palestinians or Israelis or Americans are evil — it means some of them are giving in to their violent impulses, and their zealous feelings of righteous vengeance.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Solutions, you ask? I can’t say I have any. If you came here for that, I’m sorry. The two-state solution looks dead to me. A three-state solution makes some sense but feels out of the view of all the people who matter and could make it happen. I wish a one-state solution felt realistic — a world of Israelis and Arabs and Muslims and Jews living side by side with equal rights, fully integrated and defused of their hate, is a version of Israel that I would adore. But it seems less and less realistic with every new act of violence.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Am I pro-Israel or pro-Palestine? I have no idea.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-not-killing-civilians.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-not-trapping-millions-of-people-in-open-air-prisons.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-not-shooting-grandmas-in-the-back-of-the-head.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-not-flattening-apartment-complexes.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-not-raping-women-and-taking-hostages.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-not-unjustly-imprisoning-people-without-due-process.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm pro-freedom and pro-peace and pro- all the things we never see in this conflict anymore.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Whatever this is, I want none of it.</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-36135014860828725782023-10-08T16:27:00.004-04:002023-10-08T16:27:52.426-04:00Give God a Chance<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBdwE7eTPoytUa79d1DgwDUBBK4izxMNdKnBtbCE80fBJDA4mVJmIaubrjng2JhXt8Dzy_6-cJMzbFJDBkcrCZFanuZVdUug6gtkCYLM3qW22S56BZApqoPILgayf39jDnbcWyJtf-rw0mpJHc5X384rtjxkc8cegVUzGrryNHYI725YDc7JR/s1717/Human%20cost%20of%20Middle%20eEast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1717" data-original-width="1152" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicBdwE7eTPoytUa79d1DgwDUBBK4izxMNdKnBtbCE80fBJDA4mVJmIaubrjng2JhXt8Dzy_6-cJMzbFJDBkcrCZFanuZVdUug6gtkCYLM3qW22S56BZApqoPILgayf39jDnbcWyJtf-rw0mpJHc5X384rtjxkc8cegVUzGrryNHYI725YDc7JR/w269-h400/Human%20cost%20of%20Middle%20eEast.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Si vis pacem, para bellum (Publius Flavious, fourth or fifth century)</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">“If you want peace, prepare for war.” </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">That hasn’t worked out so well in the Middle East.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">On 7 October 2023, a significant escalation of the Gaza–Israel conflict began with a coordinated surprise offensive by multiple Palestinian militant groups against nearby Israeli cities, Gaza border crossings, adjacent military installations, and civilian settlements. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The images are horrifying: Innocent Israeli citizens being pulled out of their private cars and homes by Hamas (Palestinian) rebels and kidnapped, taken to one of the many underground tunnels in the city to be used as human shields. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Other images show homes and apartments and office buildings in Gaza being bombed, destroyed and demolished. People, innocent men, women, and children, being killed. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There is no doubt that this is the beginning of another long, protracted war in the Middle East. In the end, I fear Gaza will be no more, neither side wishing the other to live there. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I am no advocate of war. I abhor violence. Violence and war have never – ever – paved the pathway to peace. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Let me be clear: Hamas is a terrorist organization (not "a people" as one lovely but uneducated Christian lady told me) that has not served the Palestinians well. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Their actions should be condemned in the strongest possible terms. The images we are seeing are hideous and terrifying and no one – no one who’s been paying attention – ought to be surprised.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I'll repeat: No one ought to be surprised.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And, I'll say this: No one’s hands are clean. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There have been so many thousands of years of blood spilled on the ground of Israel and Palestine, that it is hard to believe any kind of life can be sustained there. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The ancient war continues today between the offspring of Ishmael, the firstborn son of Abraham and Haggar, and the offspring of Isaac, the son of Abraham and Sarah, over who is the “legitimate” heir of the land. The offspring of Ishmael are known as the Muslims and those of Isaac, the Jews. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Israel became an independent nation in 1948, shortly after the end of WWII. The Holocaust, which engulfed millions of Jews in Europe, provided the urgent impulse for the re-establishment of the Jewish state. The hope was to solve the problem of Jewish homelessness by opening the gates to all Jews and lifting the Jewish people to equality in the family of nations.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">However, the 1947 United Nations Partition Plan for Palestine was never implemented and, in fact, provoked the 1947–1949 Palestine War. Providing a home state for one nation prompted the expulsion of another. The UN agency created to serve the displaced population (UNRWA), reports that 5.9 million Palestinian are currently registered as refugees.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">There have been flare-ups, escalations, and de-escalations but ancient tensions persist. Most recently, the Israeli military has been carrying out an intensified campaign of arrest raids, particularly in and around the northern West Bank cities of Jenin and Nablus, after a spate of terrorist attacks in Israeli cities that killed 19 people in the Spring.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The military raids, which take place almost nightly, are often deadly. Close to 200 Palestinians and nearly 30 Israelis have been killed so far this year – already surpassing last year's annual figures and the highest number since 2005. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The Israeli authorities say that many of those were militants killed during clashes or while trying to perpetrate attacks, but some Palestinian protesters and uninvolved civilians have also been killed.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth makes both people blind and toothless. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was there in 2020, I saw The Wall. It is, in a word, hideous. The Wall separates families, and forces people to drive miles out of their way to get to work, or the clinic, or the hospital, or school. The Israelis have blatantly ignored the agreement made with the UN and built settlements on land that has been designated Palestinian. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Worse, when you look at the pattern of Israeli settlements on Palestinian-designated land, you see that they have done so with strategic limitations to access to water. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The Israelis control the flow of water and frequently and without explanation shut off the water supply. When pressed for a reason, they will say “routine maintenance” but everyone knows it is “routine power play” – just to let the Palestinians know who is in control. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I was struck by the number of large black cylinders on the rooftops of Palestinian homes. When I inquired what they were, I was informed that this was a reserve water supply, for those times when they would be denied water – sometimes for as long as 4-6 weeks – for “routine maintenance”. Besides homes, this affects Palestinian shops, stores, clinics, and hospitals. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Palestinians have no sovereignty as they are occupied by Israel. They are disenfranchised – they have no voice or vote or their own system of government, laws, local or national defense. They cannot travel freely as Israel will not issue them passports; Jordan will, but Israel looks scrupulously over their shoulder. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m just going to say this, flat out: The violence we see in the Middle East is the inevitable outcome of Israel’s persistent and systematic violation of the rights of Palestinians.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Golda Meir famously said, “Peace will come when Arabs love their children more than they hate us.” Yasser Arafat just as famously said, “Palestine is the cement that holds the Arab world together, or it is the explosive that blows it apart.” </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I saw these words of Nelson Mandela written on The Wall in Palestine: “We know too well that our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians.”</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">All I’m saying is this: Palestinians who are Muslims are not monsters. Neither are Israelis who are Jews. The descendants of Isaac and Ishmael are all – each and every one – children of God.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It is important to note that after Abraham tried to sacrifice his son, Isaac appears never to return home. He is not reported in attendance at his mother’s funeral. After the attempted sacrifice, Isaac is seen again in Beer-la’hai-roi, when his bride Rebekah is brought to him. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">If you look on a map, Beer-la’hai-roi is not at all far from Beer-sheba and Paran which is the place where Haggar and Ishmael came to live after surviving banishment by Abraham at the behest of Sarah, his wife. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I wonder. Did Isaac reject his parents and find comfort in the arms of Haggar? Did he find solace in his relationship with his brother Haggar? </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">How many years of peace existed between the tribes of Isaac and those of Ishmael? I wonder what difference it might make if the Israelites and Palestinians came to recognize and embrace this part of their mutual history and ancestry. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">All I am saying is this: Any comment or analysis of what is going on presently in Israel and Palestine that doesn’t take ALL of these facts into consideration today is shallow, hollow, immoral, and dehumanizing. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And, any interference by Christian evangelists who are invested in their interpretation of the Rapture at the cost of human lives is theologically and morally bankrupt. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Good Christians asking for prayers for Israel without asking for prayers for the Palestinian people are playing politics with prayer</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">All I am saying is this: I pray for the sovereign nation of Israel. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I also pray to see the formation of the sovereign nation of Palestine. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Because the origin of peace is not the preparation of war. Both the Torah and the Qur'an are quite clear: Peace is one of the names of God, and the origin of peace is in right relationship with God. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">All I am saying (with no apology to John Lennon), is give God a chance. <br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Here's a <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/07/world/middleeast/israel-gaza-conflict-timeline.html">short timeline </a>of some of the more recent history of the Middle East Conflict </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">PS: For a balanced religious perspective on the Middle East, please check out <a href="goog_1751737960">FOSNA: Friends of Sabeel North America. </a></span><a href="https://www.fosna.org/"><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>Please consider a contribution to these efforts: <br /><br /><a href="https://afedj.org/">American Friends of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem. </a><br /><br /><a href="https://www.basma-centre.org/">The Princess Basma Center</a></span></div><br /><br />Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-17868486690581336942023-09-24T10:13:00.003-04:002023-09-24T10:13:44.405-04:00Practice: In Memory of Her<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg973zVyXsnGhWZHiwFgcFd7Rzgf4mtdY_WRGemQYW4SF4cbGvlFwWpRVJ1Sl_abfbGrUIKx_NlKy1EjE9Sh7zM9L8uBB3RpCPO69udKR2c2IEhfLcfObdSuIQjS6BS_ny3wpb4_haGeuLquuk-mYjrIB_1APxyLiL3JS9foNuXXPv4fDT6sLT3/s207/Mary-Torkelson-1693408218.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="207" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg973zVyXsnGhWZHiwFgcFd7Rzgf4mtdY_WRGemQYW4SF4cbGvlFwWpRVJ1Sl_abfbGrUIKx_NlKy1EjE9Sh7zM9L8uBB3RpCPO69udKR2c2IEhfLcfObdSuIQjS6BS_ny3wpb4_haGeuLquuk-mYjrIB_1APxyLiL3JS9foNuXXPv4fDT6sLT3/w400-h400/Mary-Torkelson-1693408218.webp" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A Sermon in celebration of the life of<br />Mary Ann Torkelson, organist and choir director<br />St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Georgetown, DE<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’m
so glad we could be together this afternoon, despite enduring tropical storm Ophelia, to honor and celebrate the life of Mary Ann Torkelson. I
told her son, Brian, yesterday, that while I am unable to confidently report the
shape of her heavenly form, I can imagine the earthly Mary Ann pacing back and
forth on the billowy floor of heaven, worrying about all of us and what we
might risk to be able to make it to the church safely. <br />
<br />
In my imagination, she bundled up all that worry and went directly to the
heavenly organ and started to play. She loved music and she loved to play the
organ or piano. She said she was “just practicing” but you could tell that for
her, what she was doing was more than just practicing the music she was going
to play on Sunday. Much more.<br />
<br />
“Practice” meant doing the thing you love most so that you could do it even
better. <br />
<br />
In the meantime, practicing helped her work out her worry about something. Or
concern for the health status of a family member or a neighbor or a friend or a
fellow parishioner. Or worry over yet another manifestation of “church
politics”. Or, manage the anxiety about how to teach that particular, new,
unfamiliar arrangement of a hymn that would be offered as an anthem next
Sunday. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Practicing,
for Mary Ann, was a form of prayer; it was an act of generosity and love.<br />
<br />
I remember coming into the church quietly on Thursdays when I was here and she
came in to practice. I won’t say I “snuck into the church” because I didn’t. I
just came in through the side door, took a seat at the end of the front row and
quietly listened to her practice. <br />
<br />
I mentioned to her once that her playing sounded like prayer. She smiled and
asked, “How did you know?” And then we talked a bit about what was on her mind.
That happened a few times while I was here. I think she enjoyed our
conversations as much as I did. <br />
<br />
And that was the thing about Mary Ann. She was all about relationships. Music
was the key to having relationships with people. With the choir, yes, but with
the congregation. And, with the priest. Well, this priest, for sure. And, of
course, with God.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Some
leaders in the church – lay and ordained – are transactional. You do this for
me, I do this for you. Mary Ann was not transactional. Mary Ann was relational.
And, because she was relational, transformation was possible. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
watched her on Sunday mornings – before and/or after the church service –
leading the choir through practice. I saw her, on a few occasions, offer the
choir a new hymn or arrangement of a hymn and, if the choir was lukewarm and
one person really didn’t like it, well, that hymn was out. That said, she also
knew when it was that the choir just needed guidance and confidence and needed
to be challenged.<br />
<br />
I remember the first year I was here and we were gearing up for the first
Easter back in the sanctuary after COVID. We had lots of plans to make the
service simple yet simply wonderful. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Mary
Ann fretted that there would not be a choir for Easter Day. I remember saying,
“Mary Ann, I have great confidence in you. You’ll think of something.” <br />
<br />
A few days later she said to me, “Have you heard Charlie sing?” I am humbled to
confess that, at that time, I was so new to the church I wasn’t even sure who
Charlie was. She said, “Well, anyway, I’m thinking of asking him to sing an
anthem for Easter Day.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">“That’s
great,” I said. “Does he sing in the Choral?” “Umm . .. No,” she said, looking
away so my eyes wouldn’t meet hers, “Umm . . .Actually, he’s never sung before.
I mean, not in a choir. But, I think he can do this and, if it’s okay with you,
I’m going to ask him.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Of
course, I agreed. Well, I didn’t find out until later that Charlie had never
sung in a choir. Or, sung in public, much less sung a solo. Charlie agreed to
sing a solo for Easter based solely on two things: He wanted to sing for his
new church on Easter. And, he wanted to sing because Mary Ann had confidence
that he would do a good job. <br />
<br />
There were a lot of reasons to rejoice that first Easter after COVID when we
gathered back in this church to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. And, it
was truly a resurrection. COVID had decimated all the infrastructure of the
church: the Altar Guild, the Worship Committee, the Lectors and The Altar
Servers were all newly re-organized and, was, to be honest, pretty much a pick
up team situation, with last minute instructions being given at the very last
second. <br />
<br />
Nevertheless, the silver had been polished to a fair thee well. The pews were
glossy with lemon oil. The grass in the church yard had been freshly mowed and
the grass around the gravestones trimmed. The flowers were arranged beautifully.
The vestments and altar hangings were perfection. The hymn selection was
joyous. Mary Ann played her heart out on that organ. <br />
<br />
Ah, but it was Charlie, led by Mary Ann’s guidance and the confidence she had
in him, whose performance was the best sermon on faith and the power of our
resurrected Lord I have ever heard. It left me slack-jawed with awe and wonder
and weeping with joy at the possibilities promised by Jesus when we “love one
another as he and God love us.”<br />
<br />
Which brings us to today. The bell choir hasn’t convened in a very long time.
They have come together today in memory of her. The choir hasn’t done many
solos in a while. They are doing one today, in memory of her. Mary Ann’s dear
friend, Bonnie Kuhn is here, playing the organ, in memory of her. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">And,
we are honored to have members of the Choral here with us today who are joining
their voices with the voices of the St. Paul’s Choir, and all of whose voices,
I am quite certain, will join with the voices of angels and archangels and all
the company of heaven to sing praises to The One who created us all, but
especially created Mary Ann as a gift to us, whom we now return to God. We do
this, in memory of her. <br />
<br />
As Irving Berlin once wrote, “The song is ended but the melody lingers on.” <br />
<br />
The gospel for today tells the story of a woman who, I’m sure, was a distant
cousin of Mary Ann. Her name was Mary of Bethany, who did a bold and brave and
generous thing in anointing Jesus with expensive oil. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
When one of the disciples complained about her, Jesus scolded him and said, <b><i>“She
did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my
burial. <sup> </sup>Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached
throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”</i></b><br />
<br />
Mary of Bethany teaches us to take a risk and pour out our love boldly,
generously, lavishly, extravagantly,, wastefully. <br />
<br />
We all knew and loved her as “Mary Ann” but her family called her Grandy.
That’s the name she wanted her grandchildren to call her but over time,
everyone in the family called her Grandy. <br />
<br />
No matter. We called her Mary Ann. We all have our own favorite and particular
memories of the woman we have come to remember and celebrate and honor today.
Each one of those stories together tell the story of a woman to whom life was
not necessarily either kind or fair, but a woman who was unfailingly generous
and kind nonetheless. <br />
<br />
Here's what I think Mary Ann would like me to say to you: Practice doesn’t make
perfect. Practice makes prayer. When you practice – whatever it is: your voice
or your instrument, your art or science, your baking or cooking, your
needlework or woodwork – when you practice the gift you have been given, you
send up a little prayer of thanksgiving to the one who gave you the gift in the
first place. <br />
<br />
Remember that practice means doing the thing you love most so that you can do
it even better. Practice, ultimately is a form of prayer; it is the risk of
love that is poured out boldly, generously, lavishly, extravagantly, wastefully.
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Take
the risk of practicing your faith in whatever manner it has been given to you
and you will not only find the confidence to continue, you will be the
inspiration for someone to find confidence in themselves, to try something new,
to stretch themselves and give of themselves sacrificially so that others will
be inspired to do the same.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">And,
when you practice, do it in memory of her. <br />
<br />
Amen.</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-4803682146530521562023-09-17T17:20:00.002-04:002023-09-17T17:20:59.861-04:00Lament and Forgiveness<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Blg46co9CFBZZxEEfYtTHiMFQpM1qOhfbq94HpsayIrwt9jhnspKfxsyH6cjbCy6wLFEvhL5LVw-4ZpEB4SN2Hg9TZOaiUuVNBHBqIslLeCGNs0g2LIopC6RpGc6t03qXm_fzbVM0C66tzcY--XWFLAph47M47KAyk2tfiV8Hv9iBzgerjz0/s960/Someday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Blg46co9CFBZZxEEfYtTHiMFQpM1qOhfbq94HpsayIrwt9jhnspKfxsyH6cjbCy6wLFEvhL5LVw-4ZpEB4SN2Hg9TZOaiUuVNBHBqIslLeCGNs0g2LIopC6RpGc6t03qXm_fzbVM0C66tzcY--XWFLAph47M47KAyk2tfiV8Hv9iBzgerjz0/w400-h400/Someday.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Good Sunday morning, good people of the Sabbath. Happy New Year to all who observe and celebrate. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It's another bright-bright, sun-shiny day here on the Delmarva Peninsula. It's been a cool morning, temperature-wise. Fifty-six degrees when I woke up, but it promises to soar to the high 70s later today. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It's September in the Midlantic. This is just how we roll. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">It's been a Very Interesting weekend in the news. Turns out, a senior staff advisor to The Former Guy and the Governor of South Dakota, a "God-Fearing Family Woman", who is married, have been having a years-long affair. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">The Representative from the State of Colorado, another "good Christian woman," was also thrown out of the theater during a performance of Beetlejuice for vaping and mutual groping. She explained her current situation by saying that there's "no roadmap to work your way through a divorce" (BTW, from a husband who was in prison for flashing his penis in a public place at two young women, in the presence of his wife.)</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I can hear that super low baritone voice of Bowser from Sha-Na-Na, singing in the background, "How low can you go?" Of course, he we singing about doing The Limbo but lately, it seems to be the theme song of a particular political party. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Over at the Lectionary Page, Jesus - that guy some preachers say, "may not come when you want him, but he's always right on time" - has done it again. Or, his scriptwriters have (I suppose when you write scripts for Jesus, you don't need a union so you don't need to be on strike).</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> Peter asks Jesus, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't think that gives us a license to go out and sin again because, well, apparently we are compelled to forgive over and over and over again. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I mean, even Luther said, "Sin boldly, but love more boldly still."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I just re-read an essay written 5 years after the event, entitled, "I don’t forgive the man who murdered my cousin DePayne at Mother Emanuel," in Christian Century magazine by Waltrina N. Middleton. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I do have to repeat something she related: As her cousin and the others lay dead in pools of their own blood on the floor of the room where they had previously welcomed that young White man who had just studied scripture, prayed with them before opening fire and shooting them dead, the White police were driving him to the prison but first stopped off at the ("Have it your way") Burger King to buy him a hamburger and fries. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">She writes: </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Imagine being beaten, raped, stolen away from your land, subjected to agonizing suffering—and then having your captors christen you in a chapel inside a slave castle. Five years ago, when domestic terror traumatized a church, culture, and community, the resonance of America’s past was exposed like strange fruit. The insistence on a narrative of “the family forgives” created a missed opportunity for a time of deeper truth-telling, reconciliation, and healing. How do you promote a narrative of forgiveness while ignoring the very roots of racism that perpetuated such horror?</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">We can be committed to love and radical hospitality, to welcoming the stranger into our midst, to extending a seat to join us at the table—while also maintaining our right to be angry and to righteously resist the violence against our humanity. To insist on a narrative of forgiveness is dehumanizing and violent, and it goes against the very nature of lament. As Christians we celebrate the donning of ashes and sackcloth as a priestly act of lamentation and mourning. Why deny families, in a watershed moment of grief, this right to lament?"</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Five years before that, Roxane Gay wrote an Op-Ed in the NY Times entitled, "Why I Can’t Forgive Dylann Roof." She wrote: </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"My unwillingness to forgive this man does not give him any kind of power. I am not filled with hate for this man because he is beneath my contempt. I do not believe in the death penalty so I don’t wish to see him dead. My lack of forgiveness serves as a reminder that there are some acts that are so terrible that we should recognize them as such. We should recognize them as beyond forgiving."</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Seven times? asks Peter.</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Seventy-times seven says Jesus. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't hear those words from Jesus as I once did; Jesus isn't talking about the value of forgiveness as much as He is talking about the process of forgiveness. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I think Jesus is placing more of a value on our lament as a process of forgiveness, opening the possibility that our lament may well be the only form of forgiveness we can offer. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Not only are there some crimes that are too horrific and hideous to be forgiven - especially the betrayal of hospitality and trust while reading scripture and praying - but also when the commitment to forgiveness is used as an excuse to continue to perpetrate violence on a particular race, or gender, or sexual orientation. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Seventy-times seven? </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe even that's not enough for some crimes. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe our lament is the best we can do until the only forgiveness we can offer is simply to let it go so that carrying it around is more of a burden to us than the original pain. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">But, not before serving notice that you will work with all your heart and mind and strength to make certain that it doesn't happen ever again to anyone of any color or gender identity, creed or ethnicity, age or sexual orientation. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And, on that note, I'm going to take my leave for the day. It's off to church for me where I am privileged to preside over the sacred mysteries. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Yes, there are many mysteries in life that are sacred, including lament and forgiveness, but this one has to do with how God offers spiritual food and nourishment to us all - saint and sinner. It's what we do with that mystery of faith that makes all the difference in the world. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Literally. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Off I go, then, to "practice" the mystery of forgiveness. </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Make it a great day. Shana Tova!</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Bom dia!</span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Christian Century article: </span><a class="x1fey0fg xmper1u x1edh9d7" href="https://www.christiancentury.org/article/first-person/i-don-t-forgive-man-who-murdered-my-cousin-depayne-mother-emanuel"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.christiancentury.org/article/first-person/i-don-t-forgive-man-who-murdered-my-cousin-depayne-mother-emanuel</span></a><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">NY Times article: </span><a class="x1fey0fg xmper1u x1edh9d7" href="https://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/24/opinion/why-i-cant-forgive-dylann-roof.html"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">https://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/24/opinion/why-i-cant-forgive-dylann-roof.html</span></a></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-77901554092151903542023-09-10T16:30:00.001-04:002023-09-10T16:30:08.100-04:00Loosed & Bound & Chatty Benches<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMevzvTgCbiEIA1IlXmAngW_7OBr3eIofewvkjqbjwg4awSObZgjWNvpdP8yyFvWf1XKABC_ezXblc7qX8mVPHredhzFhRwO6N5t2t4e9eXXptcsUa1Sz9hkrx5rcZ5dpCAQ6WVOd30ZUU-k1nXtw1HjGls1SToWVKprLpmZ9YnxsH_Rja9scX/s1750/Angels%20Story%20of%20the%20Day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1750" data-original-width="1400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMevzvTgCbiEIA1IlXmAngW_7OBr3eIofewvkjqbjwg4awSObZgjWNvpdP8yyFvWf1XKABC_ezXblc7qX8mVPHredhzFhRwO6N5t2t4e9eXXptcsUa1Sz9hkrx5rcZ5dpCAQ6WVOd30ZUU-k1nXtw1HjGls1SToWVKprLpmZ9YnxsH_Rja9scX/w320-h400/Angels%20Story%20of%20the%20Day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: large;">St. Philip's Episcopal Church</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Laurel, Delaware<br />Pentecost XV - September 10,2023<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
When I worked as a Hospice Chaplain in New York, my office was located in
Herald Square, Manhattan. A Transit Pass was part of my compensation so I could
take a subway or a bus anywhere in New York City. Even so, as long as my schedule
made it feasible, I much preferred to walk the streets.<br />
<br />
There was one woman I ran into often. She was known by the locals as “The Blue
Lady” because she was frequently dressed in some shade of blue, but it was more
than that. She wore her sadness and loneliness around her shoulders like an
old, tattered sweater. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br /><br />Just looking at
her, pushing her grocery cart which was alternately filled with food she was
bringing home or laundry she was taking to the laundromat made you feel sad and
lonely, too. <br />
<br />
Some said that she was once beautiful and used to be part of the dance ensemble
on Broadway. Word was, she was pretty good. Not enough to be a star but she was
pretty and she was good and so she almost always made the auditions to be part
of the ensemble. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The word was also that she
fell madly in love with a male star who, once the run of show had ended, moved
on, leaving her behind with a broken heart that never really mended. There
followed many years of abuse of alcohol which, for the first time in her adult
life, earned her the label of “unreliable”. She made fewer and fewer auditions.
Gradually, she stopped trying. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Mostly, she was ignored.
Worse was when people – tourists, mostly – went out of their way to ignore her,
making a big show of stepping out of her way, as if she had leprosy or that her
body odor was much worse than it actually was. <br />
<br />
There were a few of us who either worked or lived in the neighborhood who went
out of our way to say hello to her – which was no easy task. You had to catch
her when she was standing still to look over some fresh fruit or admire a
bouquet of flowers and lingered to remember the time when her lover brought her
beautiful bouquets. Then, you hand to stoop down and look up under her hat in
order to catch her eye and say, “Good morning!” or “Hello in there!”<br />
<br />
Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, she would look up and study your face. And
sometimes, if you were really lucky, she accepted both your greeting and your
smile and say, softly, humbly, “Thank you,” as if you were paying her this
wonderful kindness which she had neither earned nor deserved. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Something always felt more
balanced in the world when I got that kind of response from her, or I saw her
response to the kindness of another. Her gratefulness was palpable and real,
and seemed to set off a minor vibration that just ever so slightly shifted the
energy around her and changed the world for the good. <br />
<br />
In this morning’s Gospel lesson, we hear Jesus teaching his disciples about how
he wants them to behave as leaders in the new order of the world which his
ministry is to bring into being. <br />
It's important to remember that Jesus lived in what scholars call am “honor/shame”
society where people were quick to take offense. So, Jesus is giving those who
will be the leaders of the new community a simple formula to resolve conflict. <br />
<br />
We are wise to take note of that process. As a country and a people, we seem to
have returned to that ancient, primitive way of being. Many of us seem to be
made of tinder and live in fear that the next person may be carrying a lit
match. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a time in our common lives – in homes, at
work, in families, and neighbors and friends – when tempers fly faster than
fireflies in the darkened woods. <br />
<br />
The information superhighway has never been smoother and faster, bringing
information from millions of miles away in the seeming blink of an eye. Problem
is, social scientists tell us that a lie can circle the globe three times
before the truth can be told. (Hear that again)<br />
<br />
This has led to what social scientists are calling “An Epidemic of Loneliness”.
How ironic, right? We have the best, fastest communication in the world and yet
there is an epidemic – a widespread, worldwide epidemic – of loneliness due to
social isolation. <br />
<br />
We’re also learning that loneliness is deadly. It is linked to strokes, heart
disease, dementia, inflammation and suicide. The surgeon general of the United
States warns that loneliness is as deadly as smoking 15 cigarettes a day, and
more dangerous than obesity.<br />
<br />
I’ve recently learned that England has installed what they call “chatty benches,”
where people are encouraged to sit down and start a conversation with anyone
else sitting there. There are also “talking cafes,” where you’re encouraged to
speak with other coffee drinkers. <br />
<br />
Imagine such a thing! Well, I can. This, my friends, may be a terrible time to
be a citizen of the world, but it is the best time to be a follower of Jesus.
Those of us who know Jesus and follow his teachings know that the very heart of
our faith is about community. <br />
<br />
Jesus has called us together to live together in some kind of harmony. Jesus gave
us a lot of teaching but only one commandment: Love one another. Thankfully and
mercifully, he never said, Like one another. That’s ever so much more
difficult. <br />
<br />
To love one another means doing no harm. It means adjusting our default
settings so that our first impulse is toward kindness and generosity of spirit.
To love one another means that even though you don’t like someone, you look for
the good in them. Anyway. At least, for the potential to do good. And, to love
one another sometimes means speaking a hard word of truth: You hurt me. When
you did that, I felt betrayed. You said one thing – promised one thing – but did
another. You promised you wouldn’t do that ever again and then you turned right
around and did that exact same thing again. <br />
<br />
Life would be ever so much better – families could be so much stronger – workplaces
could be so much safer – churches could follow Jesus more nearly if we loved
one another enough to do exactly what Jesus says and do the hard work of loving
one another enough to speak the truth in love FIRST to the person who made the
offense. <br />
<br />
That’s the wisdom of Jesus. This is how he wants us to be with each other. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speaking the truth in love takes courage. It’s
so much easier to be passive aggressive and let our anger or hurt come out
sideways. In my business, in pastoral care and counseling, we have a saying, “Hurt
people hurt people.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a hard truth
but nonetheless true: Hurt people who have never attempted to find healing and
reconciliation will, ironically, inflict pain on others. And, sometimes, like The
Blue Lady of Midtown, Manhattan, they will try to numb the pain with alcohol or
drugs.<br />
<br />
Jesus tells his disciples, “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will
be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” So,
you know, the stakes are high. Nothing happens in secret. It's Newton's Third
Law of Motion: To every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Or, as
my Grandmother used to say, "Live your life as if everyone will know
everything you've done because eventually, everyone will."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Or, as the Beatles once sang:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"There's nothin' you can know that isn't
known. /Nothin' you can see that isn't shown. There's nowhere you can be that
isn't where you're meant to be. It's easy" And then, of course, they
famously sang, "All you need is love."</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Well, love takes some work, doesn’t it? It takes intention. It takes an
adjustment of attitude from asking “What’s good for me?” to “What good can I do?”
God knows, there’s enough bad stuff happening in the world. It’s the people who
do small acts of kindness that help to balance things out. Newton’s Third Law
of Motion – the equal and opposite reaction which balances out the hate with
love. <br />
<br />
Small acts of kindness, like: The people I’ve seen who see liter on the side of
the road, pull over and stop their cars to pick it up. <br /><br />Or, the adults who are
coaching and cheering kids who are learning a sport while they are learning important
lessons in life as they learn how to be part of a team. <br /><br />It’s the 'volunteers'
who bring a meal and a smile and a bit of conversation to someone whose health
is fragile and body frail but their heart and soul just need a bit of attention
from another human being in order to flourish. <br /><br />It’s the folks who take the time
to read to kids in the library. It’s even someone who holds open a door or lets
a car pass or looks into the lonely eyes of someone and says, "Hello in
there.” By which they are saying, hello, I see you. I care.<br />
<br />
When those things happen, balance is restored and maintained in a world that is
teetering on the brink of imbalance. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">There is an ancient teaching
among the Rabbis – perhaps one even Jesus learned – which is this: Before every
human being go 10,000 angels who call out, “Make way! Make way for the image of
God!” <br /><br />What if we behaved as if that were true? What if we listened for the angels
and saw in every person the image of God? How might that change the way we
treated them?<br />
<br />
Perhaps it would mean that the next time we saw a lonely person we might invite
them to the nearest “chatty bench” and had a conversation. We might just be
able to find an end to the epidemic of loneliness, one smile, one greeting, one
lonely person at a time. <br />
<br />
I’m going to leave you with this thought: Now that this church is brilliantly providing
a space where people can be alone with their thoughts and in prayers with God
over at Old Christ Church, what if this church considered doing an equal and
opposite action? What if we came together and collected the funds to donate a “chatty
bench”? <br />
<br />
What if we placed it somewhere in Laurel? It could be in front of the church,
but perhaps it might be near the library or town hall? What if the bench had
the name and number of the church on it with the inscription that said
something like, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there
among them.” Matthew 18:20. <br />
<br />
I wonder what would happen. I wonder if people just might put down their cell
phones for 10 red hot seconds, look each other in the eye and say, “Well, hello.”
And maybe, follow that with, “How are you?” And, actually mean it. <br />
<br />
And, suddenly, they might be still enough to hear 10,000 angels call out, “Behold,
the image of God.” And, before you know it, they might actually have a bit of a
chat. You know. Just like people used to do, back when we had clothes lines and
had an after dinner walk and got cards and letters and newspapers in our mail
boxes, and greeted each other on the street and in the aisle in the supermarket
and had things to talk about other than the latest gripe or gossip.<br />
<br />
You might actually get a smile in return. And, you might perceive a minor
vibration that just ever so slightly shifted the energy around you both which changed
the world for the good. Or, at least, your perception of the world might change.
Which just might be enough.<br />
<br />
I wonder . . . . . . </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in
heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”<br />
<br />
Amen. <br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-43361656084132956542023-09-10T16:24:00.002-04:002023-09-10T16:24:29.328-04:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tG3jhVNTrwSCl-xEiaqoW-v3WIiLPHOESvQqxROLh9FyrpJWWtCcakz_dT4FagE9WRrXB1ntmUfpAkWULaXhT6F4rJxLe-hBz0vQI1Dzs1aHScWCGJt0M0XkxAXKJ0gcy_KW68aIYFs878Q9sV4TREHNne1aPpSgX_1tF5-ikUqy8TfPqjcm/s960/9%2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1tG3jhVNTrwSCl-xEiaqoW-v3WIiLPHOESvQqxROLh9FyrpJWWtCcakz_dT4FagE9WRrXB1ntmUfpAkWULaXhT6F4rJxLe-hBz0vQI1Dzs1aHScWCGJt0M0XkxAXKJ0gcy_KW68aIYFs878Q9sV4TREHNne1aPpSgX_1tF5-ikUqy8TfPqjcm/w400-h400/9%2011.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Sunday Morning, good people of the universe. The thunder and rain and lightning last night and this morning are not Hurricane Lee which is still south of us. Apparently, this is a storm coming from the West, over the mountains. We'll just call this "John the Baptist Weather," preparing the way for "Lee the Hurricane."</span><br /><br /><span>I've been watching the birds at the bird feeder outside our sunroom windows. They are picking through the seed which is soaked with rain. You can almost hear them muttering about how they really prefer their seed dry and not soggy. </span><br /><br /><span>But, they still cluster and pick, even if they occasionally complain and mutter. They seem to be there more for the company than the seed. </span><br /><br /><span>Or, perhaps that's my projection. </span><br /><br /><span>I've been reading a lot, here and there, about "The Epidemic of Loneliness" that is affecting this country as well as many so-called civilized countries around the world. </span><br /><br /><span>Of course, social media is being blamed for everything. Of course. It is ironic that in an age when communication - personal, national, international, global - is the fastest it's ever been in history that there should be an epidemic of loneliness. </span><br /><br /><span>One fact struck me hard: A lie can circulate three times around the globe before the truth can be told. </span><br /><br /><span>Just let that sink in for a red-hot internet second in real-time.</span><br /><br /><span>I know that it is not unusual for people to mark the days of their lives by a catastrophe.</span><br /><br /><span> "Well, the town hasn't been the same since Hurricane Rita." </span><br /><br /><span>"We used to have lots of lovely novelty shops downtown, and cafes and boutique shops but all of that changed after the Recession." (Or, the factory left. Or, the mine closed. Or, the economy tanked. Or . . . . .)</span><br /><br /><span>I don't think this country has been the same since 9/11. I'm keenly aware of that anniversary tomorrow. Something besides buildings was destroyed. Naivete or a sort of innocence about This American Life. Trust, I think, went with it. </span><br /><br /><span>And, once again, I really don't want to talk about it. </span><br /><br /><span>And, maybe I should. </span><br /><br /><span>I'm remembering just now one trip, years ago, to Ghana. We were in a village way up in the north, in Tamale, as I recall. We visited a village of women who were celebrating and wanting to share with us their joy because a church in Great Britain had sent them the money to be able to put a pump into their well.</span><br /><br /><span>Now, they said, we no longer have to pull up water. Now, look! See? We can just pull down on this pump and - Oh joy, we've seen it a hundred times now and we can still hardly believe it - Look! The water flows so easily into our containers!</span><br /><br /><span>Never mind that those were 20 and 30-gallon containers which they then lifted up and put on their heads to carry bac on the 1 mile walk back to the village. </span><br /><br /><span>One of the women leaned into me and asked, "Do you have such a marvel in your village?"</span><br /><br /><span>"No," I said, trying to contain the quiet laugh that gave rise spontaneously at the thought. "No, you see, we have faucets and sinks that bring the water directly into our homes."</span><br /><br /><span>She gasped at the wonder of such a thing. "Yes," I said, "and that water can be hot or cold. We have separate faucets for each."</span><br /><br /><span>She shook her head in amazement. "You mean, the water is right there, in your home? You do not have to carry it or bring it back to your village?"</span><br /><br /><span>"Yes," I said, "that's exactly what I mean."</span><br /><br /><span>And then, a sudden sadness overtook her face. She looked at me with great pity and sorrow. "What is it?" I asked. She put her hand gently on my arm as if to express her sadness and sympathy for me.</span><br /><br /><span>"Oh," she said, "if the women do not go to the village well to get your water, how do you tell your stories?"</span><br /><br /><span>Ah yes. One of the great ironies of our time. The rich American woman was so poor all she had was money.</span><br /><br /><span>The great irony of our time is that technology has made it possible that we've never been better able to talk with each other. Unfortunately, I think we talk TO each other - indeed, many times, we talk AT each other - and not WITH each other. </span><br /><br /><span>I don't know if we are really able to have conversations of any substance via email or on social media or X (formerly known as Twitter). There's something about incarnational conversation that is powerful because, I think, we're more apt to share our stories and when we share our stories, something transformational happens. </span><br /><br /><span>In this morning's Gospel, we hear Jesus give instructions to his disciples about how they are to handle conflict in community, after which he reminds them, "...whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven."</span><br /><br /><span>There are consequences. There are always consequences. Side effects. Collateral Damage.</span><br /><br /><span>See also: Epidemic of Loneliness. </span><br /><br /><span>I don't know what would be a "metaphorical village well" where we can go and tell our stories. Maybe that's the church? It could be, again, if the institutional church were to realize how much trust has been eroded and work to restore that again. </span><br /><br /><span>Well, anyway, that's where I'm headed. To church. I'm delighted to be with the people of St. Philip's, Laurel, DE this morning. I am going to talk to them a bit about this Epidemic of Loneliness and introduce an idea that started in England.</span><br /><br /><span>It's called a "chatty bench" which are placed around towns to encourage spontaneous conversations. The church has just created a lovely "Prayer Cove" over at Old Christ Church, the pre-revolutionary war church on the other side of town where folks can go and be alone and in prayer. </span><br /><br /><span>I'm wondering if they might consider Newton's Third Law of Dynamics: For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. What if, I wonder, the church put up a "chatty bench" outside the church or the library or the town hall as a place to encourage spontaneous conversations. </span><br /><br /><span>Just a little something with the name and phone number of the church and, perhaps, this: "For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”</span><br /><br /><span>Maybe, if we created places where people could share their stories, well, who knows what might happen?</span><br /><br /><span>Off I go, then, to wonder and ponder and pray and, perhaps, share a story or two, call that a sermon, and hope for the best. </span><br /><br /><span>Make it a great day everyone. </span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia.</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-50115171832267093622023-09-04T10:21:00.001-04:002023-09-04T10:21:14.831-04:00Labor Day: A FB Reflection<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJ4rMQX86Qogogn0Imknr-K_6l5B_Bm5SUpKkERnPwwtPC-q1KDcIuH8G0nvRvd6FqcoF6rfemuZGNLAUNvqufUAy6UuC00xgATGZ55UzPTcmPFAGyVSyy6dxkaGAeglk-CWVOs-ITh6oL7Nfe3N5kHyaskh-i3Pw3cz3v1m3YkcoTnv2QuFn/s250/8%20hours.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="202" data-original-width="250" height="323" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGJ4rMQX86Qogogn0Imknr-K_6l5B_Bm5SUpKkERnPwwtPC-q1KDcIuH8G0nvRvd6FqcoF6rfemuZGNLAUNvqufUAy6UuC00xgATGZ55UzPTcmPFAGyVSyy6dxkaGAeglk-CWVOs-ITh6oL7Nfe3N5kHyaskh-i3Pw3cz3v1m3YkcoTnv2QuFn/w400-h323/8%20hours.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Monday morning, good people of the last day of the long Labor Day weekend. </span><br /><br /><span>Oddly enough, many people will spend most of this day in their car, driving for miles on long stretches of asphalt when they're not sitting for long minutes in heavy traffic on the hot asphalt with thousands of other people who just want to get home after two glorious days at the beach.</span><br /><br /><span>Some people call this a 'holiday'. </span><br /><br /><span>We are actually celebrating the importance of work and the dignity of workers. </span><br /><br /><span>The eight-hour work week began as a socialist dream (shhh . . . don't tell that to some of my 'summer neighbors' with their pontoon boats loaded with coolers of food and beer kegs they claim they can't afford because of "the economy", flying flags that say, "Let's Go Brandon" and "F**K Biden" and - no surprise - "Trump 2024".)</span><br /><br /><span>Welsh textile mill owner and social reformer Robert Owen is credited as the first person to articulate the 8-hour work day, by calling for “eight hours labor, eight hours recreation, and eight hours rest” for workers in 1817. </span><br /><br /><span>That never really took in the UK but on 19 May 1869, President Ulysses S. Grant issued a National Eight-Hour Law Proclamation.</span><br /><br /><span>The origins of Labor Day date back to the late 19th century, when activists first sought to establish a day that would pay tribute to workers. The first U.S. Labor Day celebration took place in New York City on Sept. 5, 1882.</span><br /><br /><span>Labor Day has been a national holiday in the United States since 1894. To many, it may signify picnics, parades, a day off from work, or the end of summer and the beginning of fall. </span><br /><br /><span>As the daughter and granddaughter of immigrants who were labor union organizers, I grew up with a different understanding of Labor Day which was infused with a sense of the dignity and value of work. </span><br /><br /><span>My grandmother instilled it in us from the time we were very young. You never - ever - wanted to be like some of the kids you went to school with who sat around their house and got bored - or (gasp), had the temerity to admit boredom. </span><br /><br /><span>And if, by chance, your grandmother should see you and be momentarily concerned that you were not well and ask, "What's wrong, flower?" and you should lose your damn mind and sigh and say, right out loud, "There's nothing to do" . . . . </span><br /><br /><span>. . . . . . . WELLLLL . . . .</span><br /><br /><span>I still regret the day I said that, so many decades ago. </span><br /><br /><span>"Nothing to do?!?!?" she'd say, "NOTHING TO DO?!?!?!?!?" she'd repeat, raising her voice to an ominous tone. "Oh, I think we can find SOMETHING for YOU to DO . . . ."</span><br /><br /><span>And, just like that, I'd find myself sitting under the dining room table with a bottle of Murphey's Oil Soap and a soft cloth, polishing in between the "toes" of the claw of whatever creature it was whose carved wooden foot held up the table. </span><br /><br /><span>While I was down there, my grandmother would be sitting above me at the table, getting a bag of peas ready for me to shell once I finished that task, and then getting out the silver for me to polish after that, all the while extolling the virtues of work and repeating the "8-8-8" structure of the 24 hours God has given us in the day to work and play and rest. </span><br /><br /><span>She said that work brought purpose to life but so did play. To her, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," was tantamount to Gospel truth. And "rest" was equally important but that was different from "play". </span><br /><br /><span>To her, "Go out and play" was a holy command, meant to maintain the sacred order of life. </span><br /><br /><span>It was her "holy trinity" of the gift of life. </span><br /><br /><span>But it was the dignity of work that my grandmother stressed. I'm sure she was repeating some of the sermons she heard at her beloved Roman Catholic Church which was very involved in helping immigrants and in supporting the labor union movement, especially during work strikes. </span><br /><br /><span>For my grandmother, the dignity of work meant that hard work should pay off for everyone, no matter who you are or what kind of work you do. To her, it was wonderful - grand, in fact - if you were a doctor or a teacher. But that didn't give you any greater value as a human being than a factory or mill worker. </span><br /><br /><span>Everyone has value as a child of God. Everyone has a job to do as a child of God. The work of every child of God was valued and ought to be rewarded. Work gave everyone dignity because you were doing your part to further the Realm of God. </span><br /><br /><span>So, even though I came by my chores as a result of whining and sniveling and being a brat, there was always a reward at the end. </span><br /><br /><span>We'd make cookies or a pie together and then enjoy the fruits of our labor. Or, she'd slip a shiny nickel into my pocket and pat my head. And, she'd always say, "Thank you." That was more important to me than anything else. It put the "dignity" in the phrase "dignity of work". </span><br /><br /><span>As I grew older, I learned that "dignity of work" in the workplace means having zero tolerance for harassment, victimization, and discrimination. Being considerate towards colleagues, clients, and non-workers. Celebrating workplace diversity and differences.</span><br /><br /><span>So yes, it's important to have this Labor Day Weekend as the sort of last hurrah before it's back to school (which, in some places, happened weeks ago), and the beginning of the Fall Season. </span><br /><br /><span>It's more important, I think, to reflect on the work we do and why we do it and the conditions under which we work and how we can improve the quality of our lives by respecting and valuing the work that we do and the person doing the work. </span><br /><br /><span>I think those of us who are in leadership or management positions are especially called to this reflection. How is it that the way we treat those who work at our direction is reflective of the worth and value and dignity of being human? </span><br /><br /><span>So, let's get to it, shall we? Today is a beautiful gift of a day and it would be a shame not to open it up and see what's inside. </span><br /><br /><span>Make it a great day, everyone. </span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia.</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-51671039962739667532023-09-03T15:56:00.001-04:002023-09-03T15:56:42.145-04:00September Morn: FB Reflection<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuxUw9CuyW0XNsMvnKbL2z5mK-wywr8mZy0n3TB7fvrWAxAlUWe5RiX4G13-SBT_4Y-hX9xdLb0tY_McPWIRIDE-HuxOjvsVATLRY-enRYbVcF515mvvFh-gPQW2DoR80JKjrk6H4EtzWwwSfr1O-4OYw7uoRTKvYSas0tuZWs2e3pG2z8zH8/s2048/Whales.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1289" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbuxUw9CuyW0XNsMvnKbL2z5mK-wywr8mZy0n3TB7fvrWAxAlUWe5RiX4G13-SBT_4Y-hX9xdLb0tY_McPWIRIDE-HuxOjvsVATLRY-enRYbVcF515mvvFh-gPQW2DoR80JKjrk6H4EtzWwwSfr1O-4OYw7uoRTKvYSas0tuZWs2e3pG2z8zH8/w402-h640/Whales.jpg" width="402" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Sunday morning, good people of this lovely September morn. Didn't Neil Diamond sing a song with that title? "We danced until the night became a brand new day" is the line dancing around in my brain. </span><br /><br /><span>Not a whole lot of time to write down my reflections this morning. The pups were awake at ten. minutes. to. five. am. I'm not sure why. They just were. And so were we. </span><br /><br /><span>My hands smell of basil. And, parsley. And, pine nuts. And, Romano cheese. A friend has a very generous basil plant that has been giving us lots of bounty. I've made three batches of pesto and I'm about to make what I think will be my last for the freezer. </span><br /><br /><span>There's something wonderful about having the smell of food on your hands - especially things that come out of the earth like basil and parsley. </span><br /><br /><span>Yes, of course, it reminds me of my youth. My grandparents and my father seemed to always have their hands in the good earth. </span><br /><br /><span>For the better part of the year - except Winter - my father always seemed to have at least a stubborn small amount of dirt under his fingernails. It was as if it clung to him as fiercely as he clung to it. </span><br /><br /><span>If I close my eyes and let the smell of basil carry me, I can also smell the way the aroma of new potatoes fills the air. And, the distinctive smell of carrots and beets when you pull them up from their cradle in the earth. </span><br /><br /><span>These "memory odors" have carried me back this morning to a time when the world seemed so much out of my grasp of understanding and yet it seems so much simpler to me now, that I look back on it. </span><br /><br /><span>I was filled with questions about everything then. “Why” was, hands down, my favorite word. Or, at least, the one I spoke most often. I asked lots of questions that didn't have an answer - or, at least, not an easy one. </span><br /><br /><span>I still don't know why vegetables and herbs have their own distinctive smell but that's not become as important to me as that they do, and that those odors are strong enough to carry me back to happy memories that are still teaching me things I didn't think I needed to know. </span><br /><br /><span>Simple truths. Simple truths that get unnecessarily complicated by life's experiences and asking too many 'Why's' that don't have an answer because, if you are blessed to live long enough, you come to understand that not everything in life has an answer. </span><br /><br /><span>Furthermore, you're not entitled to an answer to everything. It's important to stay alert and aware and curious. Why? Because it opens you to appreciate the mysteries in life. </span><br /><br /><span>Truth be told, it was the smell of basil and parsley on my hands that carried me to an insight about the pericope from St. Paul's letter to the ancient church in Rome which is part of today's lectionary reading (Romans 12:9-21)</span><br /><br /><span>There are simple truths there: "Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers."</span><br /><br /><span>One of my colleagues suggested that this passage should be copied out and printed at the entrance to the church. </span><br /><br /><span>Simple truths. Old as dirt. Fragrant as basil and parsley. Maybe we should inhale them more often. The world might be a better place if we did.</span><br /><br /><span>That's it for today. I'm off to the House of the Lord to gather up the crumbs and broken bits from under the altars of my life and bring them to be blessed and and transformed and used for nourishment. </span><br /><br /><span>I hope you make of today the best of all the best that is being offered to you. </span><br /><br /><span>If nothing else, take a tip from Mr Diamond and “dance until the night becomes a brand new day.”</span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia.</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-51071371014772037472023-09-02T10:46:00.003-04:002023-09-02T10:47:01.881-04:00Labor Day Weekend FB Musing: Take up your cross<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6rGnOoT8VxgEzj99RGLCiJylBye88C15nR23UCW862f2l3XoN1nAMhSZSPG-s7W5Q1_Eu5AIUfR-Kj3SyJKL-1vgQe0iz8ue_9uS3QmN502NCn_2s531C-zsJwsCaIHFamHHW5NR5Y5GeXk63FbQPX_pabDQ0KwUlOP3d2qJu-voMWMnFr7K/s1950/Magical%20Life.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1950" data-original-width="1650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6rGnOoT8VxgEzj99RGLCiJylBye88C15nR23UCW862f2l3XoN1nAMhSZSPG-s7W5Q1_Eu5AIUfR-Kj3SyJKL-1vgQe0iz8ue_9uS3QmN502NCn_2s531C-zsJwsCaIHFamHHW5NR5Y5GeXk63FbQPX_pabDQ0KwUlOP3d2qJu-voMWMnFr7K/w339-h400/Magical%20Life.jpg" width="339" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Saturday morning, good people of Labor Day Weekend. It's a fairly glorious morning here on the Delmarva Peninsula. Almost picture-perfect weather for the first weekend in September. </span><br /><br /><span>The AC setting is on OFF for the first time in months - has been since last evening. It's just reached 60 degrees, having plummeted to the low 50s last night. All the windows are open. And, the sliding glass doors. </span><br /><br /><span>I had forgotten what it was like to fall asleep smelling the ocean and hearing the sounds of the marsh. It was magical. As they say in Ghana, I slept "like a foolish man." </span><br /><br /><span>Speaking of magic and foolish men, I've been thinking about the Gospel for tomorrow. It's from Matthew 16:21-28 and it's the follow-up conversation between Jesus and The Rock. </span><br /><br /><span>Jesus starts to lay out for the disciples what's about to happen - the betrayal, the trial, the crucifixion, and the resurrection. Peter, bless his heart, says he doesn't want Jesus to suffer. </span><br /><br /><span>That's when Jesus gets what we can assume is a bit miffed at Peter. "Get behind me Satan," are not exactly words of gentle admonishment. But then, he says something that contains words that still haunt me from my Roman Catholic youth. </span><br /><br /><span>"Take up your cross." </span><br /><br /><span>When the priests and nuns of my youth said that, it was hard to miss the Sado-masochistic overtones in their words. We would often be quoted the words from St. Paul: "Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."</span><br /><br /><span>I don't think any adult has any right to repeat those words to children - especially when they were used to justify Father gathering all the children into the auditorium to call up those who had gotten a C or below to shame them into improving their grades for the next semester. </span><br /><br /><span>It takes a great deal of emotional and spiritual maturity to understand the words and their context to understand the deeper meaning of trying to make meaning out of suffering. </span><br /><br /><span>So, yeah, I totally get Peter's reaction. “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” It ought never to have happened to anyone. But, it does. Even today. </span><br /><br /><span>Well, there are some places in the world where actual, brutal crucifixion still happens. We don't hear about it but that doesn't mean that people are - even as I type this - being tortured to death in horrid, obscene methods that make crucifixion look like a mercy and a kindness. </span><br /><br /><span>Then, there are people in this country who are being murdered for the color of their skin. A 21-year-old pregnant Black woman, mother of two, accused of shoplifting at a supermarket, was shot dead in her car by police in Ohio. (Say her name: Ta'Kiya Young.) The policeman who shot her is on administrative leave. (Seriously!?!?!?!?)</span><br /><br /><span>Women are being denied bodily autonomy and, in some states, being denied the opportunity to cross state lines in order to obtain the medical and surgical health care they need. Some young women who are deputies to the General Convention next year in Louisville, KY are concerned that if they are pregnant and suffer a miscarriage they could be jailed for getting the medical treatment they need. </span><br /><br /><span>Oh, and then there's the President of the House of Deputies who brought Title IV charges against a retired bishop who made sexually inappropriate advances to her, only to be surprised to learn that the "process" that promises "reconciliation" and not "justice" did just that. It made "nice" and did not provide her the justice she sought. (Some of us have been complaining loudly about this for years.)</span><br /><br /><span>There are also immigrants who are fleeing unimaginable suffering in their own countries who are being placed in busses with other immigrants and transported thousands of miles, far from any relative here in this country, by cruel politicians who want to make a political point. </span><br /><br /><span>And then, there's the personal, private suffering in our own lives. The emotional torture of betrayal and loss, anxiety and depression. Marriages broken. Alcoholism. Drug addiction. Psychiatric disorders. The almost unimaginable parental pain of the innocuous-sounding "adolescent rebellion," which can happen even when the adult child has supposedly matured.</span><br /><br /><span>I recently heard a psychiatrist (MD) estimate that on any given Sunday morning, at least - AT LEAST - one-quarter of the congregation is on some sort of anti-depressant and/or mood-elevating medication. Clergy are not included in that number but are most assuredly part of the statistic. </span><br /><br /><span>What comfort might we find in the words of Jesus to "Take up your cross and follow me"? </span><br /><br /><span>Damn little, is my answer. Trying to apply the specific words of Jesus, said to specific apostles at a specific moment in his ancient earthly journey is not always applicable to those of us who try to follow Jesus today. </span><br /><br /><span>It takes years of lived experience, of living through emotional and spiritual and even physical disasters, to begin to understand the concept of suffering, loss, and resurrection. </span><br /><br /><span>It's like a toddler trying to understand the game of "Peek-a-boo." Or, the preschool child trying to understand that at the end of the day, their parents will, in fact, return to come to get them and take them home and the pattern will repeat itself. </span><br /><br /><span>It's that moment when we all experience the magic of some sort inherent and waiting to be discovered in life. </span><br /><br /><span>Something that happens that defies logic, like coming upon a spider's web woven across two rocks in the forest, its intricacies heightened by the glistening morning dew. </span><br /><br /><span>The feeling in the heart of a grandparent that moment you realize that your heart has expanded, once again, to love each one and all your children and yet another grandchild, just as much as the moment you fell in love with the first newborn you held in your arms just moments after their miraculous birth. </span><br /><br /><span>The insight you get when you arrive at that moment in time - unannounced and unexpected (having long ago given up all hope, despite your endurance and character) - when you come face to face with a moment you thought would never arrive and the truth of MLK's words becomes clear: That the moral arc of the universe is long but it always, in fact, bends toward justice. </span><br /><br /><span>Those moments are precious and magical and you understand things with the logic which can only be found at the place where the logic of the heart crosses the reason of the mind. </span><br /><br /><span>And you learn that THAT is the cross you need to take up. That cross at the place which Martin Smith called "the crucifyingly obscure boundaries of our faith."</span><br /><br /><span>It's a long journey. For most of us, it's longer than the one from Galilee to Jerusalem. Then again, we're not Jesus. Or, for that matter, Peter or any of the other disciples. We just do the best we can with the little bit of stardust we have. </span><br /><br /><span>I hope you are able to enjoy today. I hope the current climate conditions where you are allow you to open a few windows breathe in the fresh air and listen for sounds you haven't heard for a while. </span><br /><br /><span>What can happen after that is really magical. </span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia!</span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-12370477080041574392023-08-27T19:30:00.004-04:002023-08-27T19:30:48.784-04:00Facebook Reflection: Why I go to church<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMW5_tqWqANqhxjqHXuBfj_UhEzjdlFw96SShuvUFNpMmx77N1UEf-F6VvuDTOFoVBp5ZK4ReOJ-3txmei7nevOF1vi429Jj9WEIw4sEs8LO5bVsFjLLyxTytzAXhWEbRSbpJqd65gHEqK0vZhgb8Rfjs06BBVz7jw3brRV4dhUSAW-vzPrW27/s1950/Love%20takes%20many%20shapes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1950" data-original-width="1650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMW5_tqWqANqhxjqHXuBfj_UhEzjdlFw96SShuvUFNpMmx77N1UEf-F6VvuDTOFoVBp5ZK4ReOJ-3txmei7nevOF1vi429Jj9WEIw4sEs8LO5bVsFjLLyxTytzAXhWEbRSbpJqd65gHEqK0vZhgb8Rfjs06BBVz7jw3brRV4dhUSAW-vzPrW27/w339-h400/Love%20takes%20many%20shapes.jpg" width="339" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Sunday morning, good people of the cosmos. It's a perfectly lovely morning in August, here on the Delmarva Peninsula. Temperatures are expected to stay in the seventies and there's a very light breeze coming from the NNE. Humidity, however, is 86% so a fan may be necessary. </span><br /><br /><span>We are getting ready for church this morning and I find my heart heavy. Actually, it's not so much my heart being heavy as my head being full. </span><br /><br /><span>There's a lot going on, you know? In the world. In the lives of some of my friends. In my life. Not a lot of it makes sense. </span><br /><br /><span>Sometimes, you know, you just can't think your way out of or even through things. </span><br /><br /><span>Sometimes, you just have to let stuff stew. Or simmer. Or marinate. Or, cool off. Before you taste a bit more, to see if you need to add something or if it just needs time before you can deal with it. Let the cake cool before you try to frost it. </span><br /><br /><span>That's when church can become important. It doesn't really matter if the choir is stellar or the preacher is particularly good (although that’s always lovely).</span><br /><br /><span>Sometimes, it's just being able to sit in the same holy space with people you know are also trying to sort stuff out, work stuff through, put stuff together. </span><br /><br /><span>You don't even really need to know the particulars of their story. You just see it in their faces. The way their shoulders slump. The something-something in their gait as they walk up to the communion rail and the way they walk back, hands together, head down. </span><br /><br /><span>Deep in the middle of the middle of The Deep.</span><br /><br /><span>Does misery love company? Perhaps. But, I don't think that's what's going on here. </span><br /><br /><span>I think The Holy is often found in a room filled with people who are broken and trying to make themselves whole again. </span><br /><br /><span>That's nothing the priest or the preacher or the choir director or choir has any control over. The only thing that makes that possible is for there to be an invisible but very clear sign at the entrance to the church and in every particle of every molecule of air in the "sanctuary" - the safe place" - that says, simply, "Come."</span><br /><br /><span>So, I'm off to go to a place where I know that's possible. It isn't always so every week. Some weeks, the message is stronger and clearer than others. You know, because we're human and nothing is ever perfect, except being perfectly human.</span><br /><br /><span>It's the possibility - nay, the probability- of unconditional welcome that's important. </span><br /><br /><span>So, I'm going to take a few minutes to gather up all the crumbs from under the little altars that are scattered everywhere in my life. I need to put them all together and bring them to the altar at my church where they can be gathered together with the other crumbs from under other altars.</span><br /><br /><span>And, through some mystery too deep for me to fathom, out of these many crumbs, gathered from many directions and wildly different sources, there will be enough to feed the souls of all who are there, with enough left over to be taken to those who are unable to be with us. </span><br /><br /><span>An ancient Palestinian Rabbi from Galilee has promised that it would be so. </span><br /><br /><span>I've learned over the years that the one promise you can always count on is one that comes from love that is incarnational. </span><br /><br /><span>So, off I go to be part of that. I hope the same can be true for you, too.</span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia!</span></span></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-29626203131007105142023-08-27T19:28:00.002-04:002023-08-27T19:31:01.157-04:00Facebook Reflection: Spiritual Revival <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YY7sIQ07fMJOu_rS5bMOeiFX4-9ogqtFvSdzY1lo4komlsJ6uQc5gIg38WZTzrrL80AWmCzGahvkEsJ218MtCX5hdQ2N8UFd8VZGKnSujloVXah7Wk4c425uy4U08rqMBD6LV5eTGQVO3Xwa1-nQJn__wEbnqA_D2b8ro_uPJ22Uw0w3SJ7j/s423/Cellular%20level.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="423" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YY7sIQ07fMJOu_rS5bMOeiFX4-9ogqtFvSdzY1lo4komlsJ6uQc5gIg38WZTzrrL80AWmCzGahvkEsJ218MtCX5hdQ2N8UFd8VZGKnSujloVXah7Wk4c425uy4U08rqMBD6LV5eTGQVO3Xwa1-nQJn__wEbnqA_D2b8ro_uPJ22Uw0w3SJ7j/w400-h279/Cellular%20level.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Saturday morning, good people of the lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer (I can hear Nat King Cole's voice as I write those words, can't you?). </span><br /><br /><span>I have chosen to make this a lazy day, which will be a bit of a challenge since today is "chore day" and I've got dusting and vacuuming to do, and, because I was away for three days, I've got more than my usual laundry. </span><br /><br /><span>It's okay. I've had one serving of the best cup of coffee in the whole world and I'm feeling brave and bold and up for the challenge. By the time I've had my second cup, I may actually find the courage to sit back down again and tune into MSNBC and watch the amazing mind of Ali Velshi at work.</span><br /><br /><span>I have been thinking about the question Jesus asks in the lectionary lesson for tomorrow. "Who do YOU say I am?" It's a critically important question for any religious leader to ask of their followers. </span><br /><br /><span>Actually, it's an important question for any leader to ask. I am just now remembering one of my favorite sayings of community organizer, Saul Alinsky, who said: "A leader without a following is just a person out for a walk."</span><br /><br /><span>A dear friend sent me a quote from someone named Alexander Den Heijur, "When I talk to managers I get the feeling that they are important. When I talk to leaders, I get the feeling that I am important."</span><br /><br /><span>I think that's a pretty good guess as to how a leader actually gets a following. </span><br /><br /><span>Who do YOU say that I am? I think everyone - but especially leaders - needs to ask another, similar question before they ask that one of others. </span><br /><br /><span>Everyone needs to ask themselves, "Who am I?" Not "Who do I think I am?" Not, "Who do I want to be?" The first question is to make a fierce, searing, self-inventory and ask, "Who am I?" </span><br /><br /><span>Those other questions will be part of the journey that takes you through the parts of yourself you keep in the shadows of the wilderness and deserts of your life and into the challenges and despair of the fires of refinement before you are able to find your "true self".</span><br /><br /><span>As I've been struggling with the question of Jesus, I've also been struggling with the image of The Mug Shot and all that it means, for our present reality as well as its historical significance at this moment in our common lives as a nation. </span><br /><br /><span>Let me just say this before I continue: There is no doubt that Donald John Trump knows exactly who he is. That's part of his power. He is crystal clear about his identity and he makes no excuses for who he is. </span><br /><br /><span>His rallies serve the purpose of opportunities for his followers to tell him who they say he is and he makes the necessary, minor adjustments, turning the various rhetorical control knobs up or down accordingly. </span><br /><br /><span>Whatever else you might say about The Former Guy, he is simply quite a brilliant leader. I wouldn't follow him to the Candy Store but that's because he's so clear about who he is that he makes the decision easy. </span><br /><br /><span>Here's what I do want to say: Because of all of this, I think there is every indication that this nation is in desperate need of a spiritual revival. </span><br /><br /><span>I'm not just talking about the rise of romanticism after the Civil War and again after the Vietnam War which influenced political ideology, inviting engagement with the cause of the poor and oppressed and with ideals of social emancipation and progress. </span><br /><br /><span>I'm talking about a deep, profound, radical examination and transformation of the Spirit of this country. The anger that is palpable and increasingly dangerous on the Right is not unmet by the rising anxiety and anger on the Left. </span><br /><br /><span>I'm probably troubled most by my own sense of satisfaction with the accountability inherent in the spectacle of the four indictments which is fine and good, but I am startled when it tips so easily into the vicarious enjoyment of the frenzied delight and triumphant jubilation that is so obvious all over the Left side of Social Media. </span><br /><br /><span>It's not that the triumphant jubilation is wrong; it's that it is done at the expense of those on the Right. They may well be, as Hillary said, "The Deplorables" but that is hardly a charitable perspective of our fellow Americans. </span><br /><br /><span>I don't know what good can come - how we can achieve 'e pluribus unam," (out of many, one) - when we create political and demographic caste systems. Then, we're no better than those on the Right who have a burning hatred for "The Elites."</span><br /><br /><span>Alinsky wrote, "First rule of change is controversy. You can't get away from it for the simple reason all issues are controversial. Change means movement, and movement means friction, and friction means heat, and heat means controversy."</span><br /><br /><span>We're certainly at a point, in this country, where controversy has generated a great deal of friction and friction has created heat. Many people are angry. Some are angry that they are angry all the time. </span><br /><br /><span>We throw political stones at each other: Immigration. Inflation. The economy. Crime. Corruption. Gun Control. Climate Change. No one does anything about these issues to bring about change. We just lob them at each other and wonder why we're hurt and angry all the time. </span><br /><br /><span>See also: The need for a spiritual revival. And, I think it begins with a fierce, searing inventory of our identity. I think we all need to ask ourselves, "Who do I say I am?" As individuals. As Americans. As people of whatever faith we profess. </span><br /><br /><span>This ought to be followed by "Who do we say we are?" As a nation. As Americans. As people of whatever political affiliation and ideology we claim. </span><br /><br /><span>As people who profess to believe in the founding principles of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." </span><br /><br /><span>I don't know how to get there except by following the lead of The Spirit, through the valley of the shadow of death and into the Shining City on the Hill.</span><br /><br /><span>It is this spirituality that Martin Luther King, Jr. tapped into 60 years ago today in his brilliant speech at the March on Washington. </span><br /><br /><span>"Tell them about the dream, Martin" Mahalia Jackson urged him. "Tell them about the dream." And, he did. </span><br /><br /><span>At the end of laying out the elements and components of his dream for this land that he loved, he said, </span><br /><br /><span>“When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: “Free at last! Free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”</span><br /><br /><span>That's the kind of spiritual revival this nation is desperate for. </span><br /><br /><span>At least, that's the way it looks to me this Saturday morning in August when I have chosen to make this a lazy day. </span><br /><br /><span>Not sure I'm succeeding but, well, as Albin sang in La Cage aux Folles, "I am what I am, and what I am needs no excuses."</span><br /><br /><span>Off I go then, to have a second cup of the best cup of coffee in the whole world and then maybe put a load of laundry into the washer. I'll save chasing the dust bunnies for the afternoon. </span><br /><br /><span>I hope you make it a great day today, whether it's wildly productive or amazingly refreshing. As you go through your day, perhaps you, yourself can reflect on these two questions: "Who do I say I am. " And, "Who do other say I am."</span><br /><br /><span>I'm thinking, at the very least, you'll hear tomorrow's gospel in a deeper, more relevant way. </span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia!</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-67602022414481637192023-07-30T12:40:00.001-04:002023-07-30T15:52:24.348-04:00Pearls of Great Price: The Philadelphia Eleven<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiia4oPvbkPKw2Ordnd_k8nTw3Ubfbx82E0PkaWP_FUznaBag895vQb5sRZyPzlFAWqWBVAuMqGSZuOno2H-AWxrx0gcGRLqMk0_80LcuImSKJ0brGCT7_iAfNmHDFYnazDgkY_KRRpc2vLn6EotpqGE6Chf6SZcQvvnZxI3jdMFEfuEI0VAhCx/s1200/Philadelphia-11-ordination.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiia4oPvbkPKw2Ordnd_k8nTw3Ubfbx82E0PkaWP_FUznaBag895vQb5sRZyPzlFAWqWBVAuMqGSZuOno2H-AWxrx0gcGRLqMk0_80LcuImSKJ0brGCT7_iAfNmHDFYnazDgkY_KRRpc2vLn6EotpqGE6Chf6SZcQvvnZxI3jdMFEfuEI0VAhCx/w400-h266/Philadelphia-11-ordination.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>The Ordination of the Philadelphia Eleven - July 29, 1974</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Church of the Advocate, Philadelphia, PA <br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />A Sermon Preached for Pentecost IX</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp12_RCL.html">Proper 12 A - Track I</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>St. Philip's Episcopal Church, Laurel, DE <br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>July 30, 2023 <br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“Wow!,” he said, this friend
of mine, also an Episcopal priest. “You know, sometimes, you can come on really
strong.” <br /><br />He’s known me for about two or three years. He said this like it was a
newsflash. I mean, most people who’ve known me for 10 minutes know that,
especially when it comes to the Gospel – preaching it or living it – I’m pretty
passionate. <br />
<br />
And, that’s what we were talking about. Preaching the gospel. And, that’s
exactly what I said to him, in response. <br /><br />“We’re talking about the gospel,” said
I. “You do understand, of course, the risks some have taken for that gospel?
For living it and preaching it? Right?”<br />
<br />
Yesterday, the 29<sup>th</sup> of July being the Feast of Mary and Martha of
Bethany, was the 49<sup>th</sup> Anniversary of the Ordination of the
Philadelphia Eleven ,who were eleven women who had been ordained deacons, were
ordained priests in God’s one, holy, catholic and apostolic church in the
Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia, PA. <br />
<br />
Talk about taking a risk for the Gospel! <br /><br />It was a monumental occasion in the
life of the church. The House of Bishops had, in 1972, voted 74-61 in favor of
the <b><i><u>principle</u></i></b> of the ordination of women as priests, but
in 1973 General Convention rejected the change. So, it was, “illegal”. <br />
<br />
The Roman Catholic and Episcopal churches in my home town, like many churches
around the country, flew the flag at half-mast; others flew them upside down – </span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">a universal signal of
“dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property”. <br />
<br />
The event was covered on the nightly news on all three major television
networks and the BBC, made the front page of The New York Times, and the cover
stories of Time and Ms. Magazines which made it difficult, if not impossible,
for the institutional church to ignore. <br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Despite the rhetoric to the contrary, the Ordination of Women to the
priesthood was not an event that sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus. <br /><br />The
movement had been building in the Anglican Communion since the ordination of
deaconesses in the Anglican Church in London in 1862 and in The Episcopal
Church in 1885, but it wasn’t until 1968 <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- almost 100 years later – that the House of
Bishops asked the next Lambeth Conference of Primates and Bishops to consider
the matter of women priests. <br />
<br />
It is worth noting that it wasn’t until 1967 that a constitutional amendment
passed that allowed women elected as deputies to General Convention to be
seated with voice and vote. That amendment was ratified in 1970. So, it’s been just
53 years since women have had the right to vote in The Episcopal Church. <br /><br />A
Special General Convention in 1968 allowed women to be lay readers and allowed
to minister the chalice – only 55 years ago. <br /><br />Let that sink in for just a minute. There are women serving as lay readers and ministers of the chalice today who grew up in the church thinking they would never be allowed to function in these capacities. <br />
<br />
We ought not to be surprised by this. In the 70s, women were trivialized. Look,
a woman in a hard hat! A woman in a police uniform! Bless their hearts, aren’t
they special? <br /><br />In 1975, I – a married woman with two children, gainfully
employed as a public health professional – applied for a credit card and was
told I needed the signature of either my husband, father or brother.<br /><br />
It's not anything that women had never experienced. In the first scripture
lesson, we hear the story of Rachel and Leah, but we hear it from the
perspective of Jacob, who, poor dear, was tricked by Laban, his second cousin,
to work 14 years for the woman he loved. <br /><br />However, Jacob had left home and was
with Laban because he had tricked his brother Esau out of his birthright. Some
might be inclined to say that being tricked by Laban served him right. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">But, I'm asking to look at this from another perspective. Imagine Rachel! </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /><br />Scripture tells
us that when Jacob met Rachel he kissed her and <b>“lifted up his voice, and wept”</b>
(Genesis 29:11). This was a rare event in ancient scripture. Men “took” women
for their wives – indeed, they “took” many women. David lusted after and took
Bathsheba, a woman married to one of his generals. <br /><br />But when Jacob met Rachel,
he loved her so much it brought tears to his eyes. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Imagine what it must have
been like for Rachel to have to wait fourteen years, to be obedient to the very
tribal custom that gave to the eldest, the first born male the birthright but to
the first born girl, the right to be first to be married. <br /><br />Imagine what it was
like for Leah, who got what was her birthright but not only got a husband who stole
his brother’s birthright, the truth was that he didn’t love her; instead, he really
loved and wanted her sister! Enough to work seven more years for her! Imagine
what those first seven years of marriage were like for Leah!<br />
<br />
St. Paul reminds us that <b>“all things work together for good for those who love
God.” </b>(</span>Romans 8:26-39)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />Eventually, Jacob’s sons would be the fulfillment of God’s covenant with
him. The six sons of Leah, the four sons of Jacob’s concubines, Bilhah and
Zilpah, Rachel’s son Joseph, who was Jacob’s favorite, and Joseph’s two sons,
Manasseh and Ephraim, would become the leaders of the 12 Tribes of Israel. God’s
covenant with Jacob would not have been possible without the women in his life.<br />
<br />
I have hung onto those words of St. Paul’s – that promise that <b>“all things
work together for good for those who love God”</b> – when I knew I certainly
loved God but things did not seem to be working together for anything good. <br />
<br />
I’ve known I wanted to be a priest since I was six years old. My mother says,
long before that, I used to set up the playroom with my dolls and my table and
chairs and while other kids were having tea parties, I was having communion
with vanilla cookies as wafers and purple Kool-Aid as wine. <br />
<br />
I remember one of those times in my Roman Catholic youth when the nun who was
leading our class asked us all what we wanted to be when we grew up. It was
first grade and the boys all said they wanted to be doctors and lawyers and
police and fire men. All the girls said they wanted to be wives and mommies –
some said they wanted to be secretaries or teachers first and then get married
and have babies. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Not me. When asked, I said,
right out loud, “I want to be a priest.” I mean, I went to mass every morning
with my grandmother. I loved it. I knew that’s exactly what God wanted me to
do. So, I wasn’t prepared for the laughter that ensued. The kids laughed at me
but so did the nun. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br />
“No,” she said, “girls can’t be priests. Girls become nuns.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">“No,” I said, “I want to be a
priest, not a nun.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She laughed again,
but this time, it wasn’t so funny. <br /><br />“No,” she said, her voice tinged with anger,
“boys are priests, girls are nuns.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I considered it. I did. And
then, I shook my head and said softly, to my shoes, perhaps sensing the danger,
“I want to be a priest.” <br /><br />And then, she slapped me. Hard. Right across my face. <br /><br />And
then she hissed, “Boys are priests. Girls are nuns.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It would be years until I was
able to give voice to my true sense of vocation. <br /><br />I was in my late 20s. I had been
an Episcopalian for two years. I was vaguely aware that there were women
priests in The Episcopal Church but it was 1981 – seven years after
Philadelphia and only five years after The Episcopal Church had changed its
canons to allow women to be ordained – four since it had actually started
ordaining women. <br /><br />I had not yet seen a woman priest. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Until one Sunday morning,
after church, we came home, fed the kids lunch and I settled in to read the NY
Times. You may remember The Times was like a mini library. The NY Times Sunday
Magazine slipped out from the various sections and advertisements and there, on
the front cover, was a picture of the Rev Martha Blacklock, sitting on the
steps of St. Clements’ Church in the Theater District of NY City, in her jeans
and sandals and – a black clergy shirt and collar. <br />
<br />
Suddenly, it all came back to me as sharp as that nun’s slap across my face. I
felt my eyes fill up with tears, felt them fall down my cheeks, heard myself
say in that same hoarse, fearful whisper of my six-year old voice, looking down
at my shoes, “I want to be a priest.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The next five years were an
amazingly incredible journey. Turns out, that nun’s slap prepared me for the
many challenges I would face in the journey to priesthood, but it turns out St.
Paul was right. <br /><br />Not only is it true <b>that “all things work together for good
for those who love God,</b>” it was never more true that <b>“neither death, nor
life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor
powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able
to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”</b><br />
<br />
That is the Good News of Christ Jesus as proclaimed by Paul that is worth the
risk. It’s like a teeny-tiny <b>mustard seed </b>that grows into one of the
most magnificent trees in God’s realm. <br />
<br />
It’s like <b>measure of leaven</b> that takes the dreams of a young, six year
old girl who was told she couldn’t be what she knew God was calling her to be
and expanded them beyond anything she could have asked for or imagined. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Good News of Christ Jesus
is like a <b>treasure, hidden in a field</b> and forgotten and then found. Just
as Leah and Rachel, Bilhah and Zilpah discovered that, that despite the rules
of patriarchy that made some legitimate, some more valuable than others, the
covenant of God could not have been completed without them.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Good News of Christ Jesus
is like a <b>pearl</b>, precious, precious, that formed as an irritant which
the ocean pushed through a crack in the shell. Once inside, a pearl grows from
a particle of sand into a beautiful internal luminescence that the shell can no
longer contain, so it must be pushed out for the whole world to see and
treasure.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The Good News of Christ Jesus
is <b>“like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind;”</b>.
One person who objected to the ordination of women said to me, “If we start to
ordain women, everything will change. Everyone will think they can become
Episcopalian.”<br />
<br />
Son of a gun if she wasn’t right!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br /><br />Those of
us who have been excluded are especially passionate about making certain that
absolutely everyone feels welcome to be a member of this old church of ours –
warts and all. <br /><br />We are passionate about casting the net wide and catching fish
of every kind into the kind of baptismal water that helps each one become the
best of who God created them to be. Different. Unique. Called to seek and serve
Jesus in the spark of divinity we see in ourselves and each other. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">And, when we are allowed to
grow and change, so does the church. Because we are – you and I are – the
church, The Body of Christ, part of the baptismal water where we are challenged
to be the living, growing, being and becoming the unique creature God intends us to be.<br />
<br />
And that, my friends, is something to come on strong about, to be passionate
about. And, even if it makes some people nervous or uncomfortable, living it is
a risk worth taking. <br />
<br />
I can’t imagine a pearl of any greater price. <br /><br />And, I am so very deeply, humbled
by and grateful for the gift of the women who are the Philadelphia Eleven who
made it possible for me to be the unapologetically feisty, impatient,
passionate priest I am today – warts and all. <br /><br />Amen. </span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mh0HSpqQJ5Q">Sermon begins at 22:50</a>
</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-57278335334522591882023-07-01T19:32:00.003-04:002023-07-01T19:41:58.993-04:00Barden & Johnson: A Tribute<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibH5Pl8z_oKSUG3t72X-FwbapCpJkpWKmUaPTr9QDzl-1CqP8BCEyrbFoYMS4u9tzk8zTf5wPRkBWEzgVpu1uCZyX65ApxAhtyL92Cd1uTfEwfVT_O7-ZXUP_pmStbmB8H-t95DR8fAx0VEfZq4kvAeynrJ2p3u7l4dN0n-1dwvPdGUAk349pK/s1095/Sheri%20and%20Lois.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1095" data-original-width="716" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibH5Pl8z_oKSUG3t72X-FwbapCpJkpWKmUaPTr9QDzl-1CqP8BCEyrbFoYMS4u9tzk8zTf5wPRkBWEzgVpu1uCZyX65ApxAhtyL92Cd1uTfEwfVT_O7-ZXUP_pmStbmB8H-t95DR8fAx0VEfZq4kvAeynrJ2p3u7l4dN0n-1dwvPdGUAk349pK/w261-h400/Sheri%20and%20Lois.JPG" width="261" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><span>It wasn’t until I got to the graveside that I finally cried. </span></span><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span>Lois has been gone for almost 3 years but I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye because of COVID. Sheri has been gone for a little more than a month but none of it seemed real because I hadn’t seen her since before COVID.</span><br /><br /><span>Oh, we had talked on the phone. Exchanged a few jokes on email. But, I hadn’t seen her in 3 years. I think I was pretty clear that she was now gone “home” as she often cried to me on the phone (“I just want to go home, Elizabeth, but Jesus is making me wait.”) but something in my heart and my mind and my soul hadn’t quite registered the reality enough for me to cry.</span><br /><br /><span>I clearly remember our first meeting. It was the winter of 1977. Ms. Conroy and I had “run away from home” in December of 1976, carefully mapping out an 8-hour ride from where we lived to anywhere, in either of the four directions. We figured an 8-hour ride would be one that would not only prevent family from “just dropping by” but also allow us time to (ahem) “straighten up the house”. </span><br /><br /><span>We decided on Bar Harbor, Maine – the end of the world – near the ocean we loved and the mountains that offered us inspiration. In February, my then-husband came up to have a weekend visit with the children. He picked them up in the morning and, just around the time we were starting to get worried about their return, called from the home of my parents to say that he had the children, was moving in with my parents, and they would work together to make certain that I would never see them again. </span><br /><br /><span>I can’t even begin to describe that moment or the next few days. Panic is a good place to begin. Devastation is also a good word. Crippling, immobilizing pain and despair born of a sense of isolation and a nagging sense of carefully-taught Catholic guilt that we somehow deserved this. </span><br /><br /><span>When I was able to gather my wits about me, I happened to have a copy of Ms. Magazine and, in the back ‘classified’ section, saw a small advert for an organization called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daughters_of_Bilitis">DOB ("Daughters of Bilitis")</a> and a PO Box. I immediately handwrote a letter and, by the end of the week, got a phone call from Sheri who said, “Come to Boston. You’ll stay with us. We’ll find you a lawyer. Hang in there. Help is on the way.”</span><br /><br /><span>We made plans to travel the next weekend, flying into Logan from Hancock County Bar Harbor Airport. We picked up some fresh Maine lobster on the way as a gift of gratitude. I still remember Sheri saying loudly (she only had 3 volume settings for her voice and loud meant 11) in her T H I C K Bawston accent, “Oh for Gawd’s sake! You can’t be spending your money on lobstah! What are you, Rockafellahs? You’re going to need it for your lawyer.”</span><br /><br /><span>Lois was away on assignment – in those days she worked as a Producer for the WGBH Public TV station program for children called “Zoom” – so it would be a weekend with this short, fierce, unapologetically Irish dyke, the first lesbian we ever met face to face and shook hands with, in her home in the South End of Boston which was about 10 years away from gentrification. </span><br /><br /><span>One of the last conversations I had with Lois was her laughing at Sheri’s description of us to her on the phone that night. “Oh, Loey,” she reportedly said, “these two kids are so scared I just want to feed them and hug them for a while until they calm down enough to make sense to the lawyer they are going to need. They have no idea how hard this is going to be.”</span><br /><br /><span>And, it was. Hard. Very hard. We were one of the first open lesbian custody cases in Bristol County Massachusetts. Not that we sought that distinction. It just was what it was. Our lawyer, Rick Rubino, had represented other lesbian women in custody court cases but not in Bristol County and not with the results anyone hoped for. </span><br /><br /><span>Lois and Sheri were there, every step of the way. They called every other day. They helped us budget money for the expenses. They gave us lodging every time we came to Boston. They introduced us to other lesbian women who shared their stories and their courage and their hope and their wisdom. </span><br /><br /><span>And, they provided the healing gift of laughter. Oh, my goodness! Did we laugh!?! And, laugh! There, in their South End home which had the phone wires tapped by the FBI for “subversive, deviant activity” (thank you Herbert Hoover).</span><br /><br /><span>That’s when I learned the Sheri Barden Philosophy On Life: <b>When faced with the unthinkably illogical, unbearable, and evil absurdities of prejudice and oppression, laugh right in its face. </b></span><br /><br /><span>We. Would. Not. Have. Made. It. Through. Without. Them.</span><br /><br /><span>I told much of this story as part of my reflections at their Memorial Service, which began with a clip of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_vLoDW5RQQ">the 10-year reunion of the documentary “Gen Silent” </a>in which they are one of the “senior couples” interviewed. The documentary chronicles this first generation to come out of the closet publicly, those whose work of activism laid the foundation for the freedoms we enjoy today who were now anxious and, often, flat-out afraid about how they would be treated in a Senior Living Center or Extended Care Facility.</span><br /><br /><span>I’ve included <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H_vLoDW5RQQ">that clip</a> in the first comment. It’s classic Barden and Johnson, in their 80s and still sharp as a tack in intellect and wit and, especially with Sheri, sarcasm – which is a frequently-employed survival technique of early LGBTQ activists. Drag queens have a particularly biting, sharp-tongued version of sarcasm. I wish it weren’t necessary but for some of us, it is. It does seem to help ease the sting of prejudice for daring to be who you are. </span><br /><br /><span>I did find myself choking up a bit when I finished my reflection by thanking them for being “family” for Barden & Johnson in their final years. Barden always called that facility, “Gawd’s waiting room.” Many of them nodded in understanding. Not a bad place to hang out for your final years, really. </span><br /><br /><span>One quick note that I told them. They knew Sheri as Claire. And, that was her birth name. Sheri was her “gay name” – a custom many people used in the 50s as a form of protection for their jobs and homes and, for some, their marriage. Many of their contemporaries knew that some called her Sheri and others called her Claire but even they had no idea of the kind of prejudice they lived through. They were shocked. </span><br /><br /><span>I can hear the Millennials sighing, “Okay, Boomer.” Sure, okay. Just you wait till you try to explain tablets and electric cars and SCOTUS Judges Alito, Scalia, Thomas, Barrett, Kavanaugh, and Gorsuch to the generations that come after you. You can roll your eyes now. It’s okay. I did the same with my parents and aunts and uncles and their friends. Just you wait.</span><br /><br /><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSiOcJQVVp9DSQGkD-SoBt9vncig9lCG266HpOMBId7ZoFN4tI9TfKudBT4ecM6pfD2N_o6eZ6PzDXlbx1d-1tGEH8KuqEJ00j4dBs6UCE1-Ep3RpXFhkqULoC1MSd0rlpAnmMKF5CkWwKSi8jLRPbWrH7IhNpqclNk4Cv5wiUKG_uPY2RbgeU/s4030/Gravestone.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2127" data-original-width="4030" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSiOcJQVVp9DSQGkD-SoBt9vncig9lCG266HpOMBId7ZoFN4tI9TfKudBT4ecM6pfD2N_o6eZ6PzDXlbx1d-1tGEH8KuqEJ00j4dBs6UCE1-Ep3RpXFhkqULoC1MSd0rlpAnmMKF5CkWwKSi8jLRPbWrH7IhNpqclNk4Cv5wiUKG_uPY2RbgeU/w400-h211/Gravestone.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>No, it wasn’t until I got to the graveside and saw their names engraved on the gravestone that I finally began to cry. <br /><br />I felt the earth shift under my feet just ever so slightly. Then, an odd sensation found its way up my spine, rested a bit on my shoulders, and then up my neck. Suddenly, my eyes began to burn and sting, my mouth dropped open, and I heard a sound something like a wail and a moan, and realized that it was coming from me. </span><br /><br /><span>I gave into it and found myself stooping over their gravesite in great paroxysms of grief and tears. Our friend, Penelope, who had driven me there, gave me space, waiting nearby on a bench overlooking the Mary Baker Eddy Mausoleum and Pond. </span><br /><br /><span>I pressed my face to the cold granite marker as tears fell freely and kissed their names, saying the only word that would come to my lips. I said it over and over. I said it as reality. I said it as a prayer. I chanted it as an antiphon to an ancient psalm. I said it from my heart and the deepest parts of my soul. I said it with every cell in my body that ever was, is now, or will ever be. </span><br /><br /><span>Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. </span><br /><br /><span>I am so grateful. Deeply. Richly. Blessed. </span><br /><br /><span>I am filled, even as I write this, awash with gratitude and in awe that God saw fit – found us worthy – to send them to us when we needed them most. <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span><br /></span>Sheri and Lois were together 57 years. Now they are together forever.<br /><br /><span>I am looking forward to seeing them again “in that great by and by”. I can’t wait to introduce my parents to Barden and Johnson – if they haven’t already sought each other out. I am who I am today, in great part, because of them. </span><br /><br /><span>I want to chant my antiphons of gratitude. I want to shout my Alleluia’s to the Love that is at the start and center of all creation. </span><br /><br /><span>That will have to wait because I’m not quite ready yet. I think I’ve got a few more things to do, a few more amazing places to make pilgrimage to and marvel at, and even a few more sermons in this heart of mine. </span><br /><br /><span>I’ll grieve and rejoice until then as a form of thanksgiving for all that was, all that is, and all that is yet to be. And, laugh. And, find the goodness in things. And search for the light I know will always be there, no matter how dark it gets. <br /><br />Indeed, there might yet be a young LGBTQ who needs some advice and direction and perhaps God will deem me worthy to be of some help to them. </span><br /><br /><span>Until then, I will make my song from my broken heart, “Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-35393796588853371912023-06-25T15:15:00.002-04:002023-06-25T15:15:34.518-04:00Lost and Found<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFh95XWmklAhJk32bOz-i_tVZ6OLH9p3EwFHxRJbmtQtf8FwvzK70NUKCpY3uThgRA-nT9rrXX7sWWgf72bcxzqifaW5NoQoRuUoALL5r6jFBGkmvmbPRufTzUqJ2WjvlXrkzCnd6jCsjyw4nDaZmnldgGhlB6vImwZquSBgHqk_DcMdf9de0/s255/Lost%20and%20found.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="255" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdFh95XWmklAhJk32bOz-i_tVZ6OLH9p3EwFHxRJbmtQtf8FwvzK70NUKCpY3uThgRA-nT9rrXX7sWWgf72bcxzqifaW5NoQoRuUoALL5r6jFBGkmvmbPRufTzUqJ2WjvlXrkzCnd6jCsjyw4nDaZmnldgGhlB6vImwZquSBgHqk_DcMdf9de0/w400-h309/Lost%20and%20found.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">St. Phillip's Episcopal Church</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Laurel, Delaware<br />Pentecost VI - Proper 7 - Year A<br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">June 25, 2023<br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Did you hear what Jesus just
said? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>“Do not think that I have come
to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I
have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and a daughter-in-law against her
mother-in-law; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and one’s foes will be
members of one’s own household.”</b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Well, after reading that
Gospel I can promise you this: Next time I am asked to be a guest preacher
anywhere, I am definitely going to read the lessons FIRST before saying YES.<br />
<br />
My friend and colleague, Margaret Watson, says, “Sometimes, you just gotta let
it lay where Jesus flang it.” And, that’s what I intend to do. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This is a sermon about how
God surpasses and transforms our expectations, bringing a sense of peace out of
turmoil, a sense of belonging out of a sense of abandonment, and a sense of
hope out of despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to
understand that, you must listen to and understand – out of all of the many
things Jesus says to us in this gospel passage – the following words:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Those who find their life
will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">First, let’s talk about families.
The first lesson this morning is about the abandonment of Hagar, the Egyptian
slave of Sarah, the wife of Abraham. Sarah gave Hagar to Abraham to conceive a
child, Ishmael, the firstborn, because Sarah was unable. It’s the first recorded
surrogacy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It wasn’t just that Abraham
abandoned Hagar and his firstborn son Ishmael; it was that he sent them to the wilderness
where they would face certain death. All of this because his wife, Sarah,
wanted to insure that the son, Isaac, whom she bore by some wonderful miracle
became the certain heir of his father’s legacy and did not have to share it
with Ishmael. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Pretty chilling, isn’t it? But,
some may argue that Abraham was just following directions from God, who told
him not to worry, assuring him that Ishmael would not only survive but would
live to see “a nation” come together under him, because he, too, is Abraham’s
offspring.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Is this what Jesus was
referring? This blind obedience to the voice of God, even if it causes the disruption
and destruction of families? Is this what Jesus meant when he said, <b>“I have
not come to bring peace, but a sword”? </b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Certainly, many preachers
over the years have interpreted these passages this way. In my work with
Hospice patients, I have seen family arguments lead to heartache when a well
intentioned person, dying of cancer or heart disease and convinced he or she
have been stricken with this illness as divine retribution for one sin or
another – sometimes grave, other times trivial like “I once had a cigarette
with some friends on the football field” or, “I had sex before I was married” –
and the only way they believed they were going to gain entrance beyond the Pearly
Gates was to leave their life savings not to their family but to a local pastor
or Televangelist. <br />
<br />
I have come to believe that the judgments we heap on ourselves – or the judgments
we allow others to heap on us – are seventy times seven worse than anything we
will experience when we come face to face with God. 70 x 7. I do not believe
that the God of unconditional love we see revealed in the life, death and
resurrection of Jesus is about judgement for infractions of what are human
constructs, limited human understanding, of Divine will, in the absence of
grace.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">That is not what Jesus is
talking about in this morning’s gospel. Jesus was warning against what it would
cost to go up against the Roman Empire in order to be one of his followers. Hear
Jesus say, <b>“Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul;”</b>
<br />
<br />
The possibility of death lies in the direct confrontation of the teachings of
Jesus with the ‘powers and principalities’ of the day. It is then that the
sword of Jesus will bring us the peace we seek when we act on our convictions,
when we find the courage to live in our lives what we say with our lips. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In the almost 37 years I’ve
been privileged to serve as a priest, I’ve come to know several people who have
made difficult decisions based on what they believe that has not killed the body
but came very close to killing the soul, the essence of who they are.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ve known young women who
became pregnant and their decision to have an abortion or to keep the baby and either
raise them on their own or get married to a man their family didn’t like or thought
too young to marry, caused them to be abandoned by their families. It was
devastating to those young women who, no matter their choice, were acting on
their beliefs. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ve known lesbian, gay,
bisexual or transgender people who made the world-shifting choice to be who
they understood God made them to be and “come out” – to be – their authentic
selves. Because of that choice, they were abandoned by their parents and
families. UCLA studies indicate that sexual minorities are twice as likely as
the general population to experience homelessness in their lifetime, the
highest proportion being transgender youth. <br />
<br />
And yet, in each and every one of the people I’ve known who have sacrificed
everything for their own integrity, their own authenticity, for their dream, find
a sense of peace that they have done the right thing, even as their hearts are
broken by rejection and abandonment.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
Like Hagar and Ishmael, God has provided a well of water in the midst of the
desert, and promises a new family and a new home to be built from the broken
pieces of abandonment and betrayal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
That is because no one is ever outside of God’s grace. No one. We can be outside
an awareness of God’s grace but the pathway to our salvation lies in our
awareness and acceptance of God’s grace, as St. Paul says, <b>“so we, too, (like
Christ) might walk in newness of life,”</b> even when it comes in most
unexpected ways and from strangers. <br />
<br />
A final story: Howard Thurman, was an African American author, philosopher,
theologian, mystic, educator, and civil rights leader. In his autobiography,
Thurman tells of his lonely years growing up in Daytona Beach, FL, a segregated
town, where the nurturing black community and a profound interest in nature
provided his deepest solace. <br />
<br />
Schools in Daytona Beach went only to the seventh grade, so Thurman's family
scraped together the funds to buy a train ticket for him to travel to high
school in Jacksonville. It was a dream for which many were willing to sacrifice
– a dream of a better life for this grandson of slaves –despite the lies some
people wanted them to believe about the limits or deficiencies or worth of the
life of a person of color. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Buoyed by the emotional and
spiritual and financial support of his family, Thurman set out to pursue his
dream. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, at the train station,
Thurman was told he had to pay extra to send his baggage. Buying the ticket had
left him destitute; he had no more to ship his trunk. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Suddenly, all the awful
things people said about him and people of his color and station in life began
to feel utterly defeated. This must be what it felt like to have someone “kill
your soul but not your body”.<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Thurman writes: <i>“I sat
down on the steps of the railway station and cried my heart out. Presently I
opened my eyes and saw before me a large pair of work shoes. My eyes crawled
upward until I saw the man’s face. He was a black man, dressed in overalls and
a denim cap. As he looked down at me he rolled a cigarette and lit it. Then he
said, “Boy, what in hell are you crying about?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
And I told him.<br />
<br />
“If you’re trying to get out of this damn town to get an education, the least I
can do is to help you. Come with me,” he said. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">He took me around to the
agent and asked, “How much does it take to send this boy’s trunk to
Jacksonville?” <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Then he took out his
rawhide money bag and counted the money out. When the agent handed him the
receipt, he handed it to me. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared
down the railroad track. I never saw him again.”</span></i><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And, just like that, God
gathered up the broken pieces of his dreams and wove of them out of the kind
generosity of a stranger in work shoes, overalls and a denim cap, a way in the
midst of the wilderness. <br />
<br />
God offered him a cool sip of the living water of hope when his mouth was
parched with despair. <br />
God cut through the darkness of uncertainty with the sword of possibility and provided
a way forward not only for Thurman but for the many students he would teach and
inspire, including people like Barbara Jordan, Alice Walker, and Martin Luther
King Jr.<br />
<br />
Thurman never forgot that act of kindness, and dedicated his autobiography “To
the stranger in the railroad station in Daytona Beach who restored my broken
dream sixty-five years ago.”<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">This is a sermon about how
God surpasses and transforms our expectations, bringing a sense of peace out of
turmoil, a sense of belonging out of a sense of abandonment, and a sense of
hope out of despair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to
understand that, you must listen to and understand – out of all of the many
things Jesus says to us in this gospel passage – the following words:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“Those who find their life
will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Amen.<br /><br />EK+<br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-11605907149701973612023-06-11T12:21:00.002-04:002023-06-11T12:21:18.948-04:00"As Jesus was walking along . . ."<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWizDahSd-P4gJRZ2wlB1W4u6Th2UX4x58LKJX-ROlZVuyoctcE6xdxexW6-lDggWPk5J2Vl-7SC9EQqxKSWnaU_CdEy-L059lrstyXqNfaf1-ofCZj4horrEyHiGhcAYnS4n6il6qi6eZlkdoKRZHhNcY6fmGmsHyDt83Bd31-PVaHfMLw/s1500/256252-1337956007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1371" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWizDahSd-P4gJRZ2wlB1W4u6Th2UX4x58LKJX-ROlZVuyoctcE6xdxexW6-lDggWPk5J2Vl-7SC9EQqxKSWnaU_CdEy-L059lrstyXqNfaf1-ofCZj4horrEyHiGhcAYnS4n6il6qi6eZlkdoKRZHhNcY6fmGmsHyDt83Bd31-PVaHfMLw/w365-h400/256252-1337956007.jpg" width="365" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> <span style="font-size: large;">St. Mark's Episcopal Church</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Pentecost II - Proper V<br />June 11, 2023<br /></span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />“As Jesus was walking
along . . . .”</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br />
<br />
So begins our gospel lesson today, which sounds so casual, so nonchalant, that
we cannot possibly be prepared for the incredible things that are about to
unfold. This include, the calling of Matthew and what Matthew witnesses as he
decides to follow Jesus:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The healing of
a young girl so sick she is presumed to be dead and the healing of an elderly
woman suffering for twelve years with hemorrhages.<br />
<br />
Now, when you stop to think about it, the calling of Matthew to be a disciple
was pretty amazing. He, himself, was a Jew who was a tax collector. That meant
he worked for the Romans, the occupiers and oppressors, extracting unfair taxes
from his fellow Jews and being paid an annual salary what was probably more than
his fellow Jews would make in their lifetimes. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">To say that tax collectors
were hated is to make an understatement. Even the Pharisees, who had an
unhealthy relationship with Rome, hated the tax collectors and complained to
Jesus when they saw him sharing a meal with them “and other sinners”. And here,
Jesus calls one of them, a man named Matthew, to be one of his disciples. And,
wonder of wonders and miracle of miracles, Matthew follows him. Here’s what
Matthew sees: </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“As Jesus was walking
along . . . .”</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> suddenly a leader of
the synagogue called to him, begging to come and heal his daughter whom he
presumed was already dead. He assures the man that she will live and “as Jesus
was walking along” to go and cure her, he is suddenly approached by an elderly woman
who touches the hem of his cloak in hopes of being healed. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">“As Jesus was walking
along . . .”</span></b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> he stopped and turned to
her and said, “Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.” And
instantly the woman was made well.<br />
<br />
It’s almost dizzying, isn’t it? So many miracles packed into – let’s see, 1, 2,
3 paragraphs. And all of it happened, <b>“As Jesus was walking along.”</b> It’s
all so casual that you might have missed the golden nugget of a lesson Jesus
provides in the midst of all of these nonchalant miracles. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Jesus says, <b>“Go and learn
what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” </b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Woah! Hang on! Let’s hear
that again: <b>“I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s a pretty heavy lesson he’s
nonchalantly dropped into the midst of nonchalantly performing three miracles. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I confess that, over the
years, I’ve probably lost count of the number of times I’ve preached on this
gospel passage, but I don’t think I’ve ever been struck as hard by these words.
I think I’ve preached on Jesus saying, <b>“Follow me”</b> and the significance
of the call to Matthew, the tax collector, and what it means to follow Jesus.
I’m sure I’ve preached on the healing of the little girl and no doubt the
healing of the elderly woman. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Maybe, in the midst of all
that’s happening in this Gospel, I’ve missed – or, perhaps more accurately,
avoided – the words of Jesus to the Pharisees, <b>“Go and learn what this
means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” </b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">For our Roman Catholic
friends as well as those in the Episcopal Church who understand themselves to
be Anglo Catholics, today is the Feast of <b>Corpus Christi</b>, also known as
the <b>Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ</b>, celebrating the
Real Presence of the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus in the bread
and wine of the Eucharist. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">In medieval times in many
parts of Europe, but especially in England, Corpus Christi was a time for the
performance of mystery plays. The plays in York, England were performed on
Corpus Christi Day for some 200 years until their suppression in the sixteenth
century during the Protestant Reformation. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The observance of this day is
frown upon by many as a relic of the kind of religion that moves the Eucharist
to the status of an idol to be worshiped – too much emphasis on the “sacrifice
of the mass” and not enough on the mercy of Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ll leave that question to
be debated by theologians as well as basic questions like, How is mercy
different from sacrifice? What is required of mercy that is not required of
sacrifice? And, what could any of those words, spoken to some ancient religious
men mean for us today? </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">No, I’m not going to run to
the dictionary and I’m not going to give you an exegesis on the passage. I
could do that but this is a sermon meant to inspire more than instruct. I’ll
leave all the classroom stuff to a weekly bible study or adult education class
where it rightly belongs.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">No, I want to talk about Ted
Lasso. Does anyone in church today know who I’m talking about? For those of you
who don’t, here’s the basic plot: American college football coach Ted
Lasso<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>heads to London to manage AFC
Richmond, a struggling English Premier League football team, which was part of
the divorce settlement of a very wealthy British woman, Rebecca Welton, whose
husband left her for a younger woman. <br />
<br />
Why would a British divorcee ask an American football coach from Wichita,
Kansas to coach a British soccer team – which is nothing like American football
– you ask? To destroy it and therefore hurt her ex-husband who loved the team
and get her revenge. Pretty dark, right? I’ve known divorces that were darker
and messier and meaner. Trust me. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Except Ted Lasso is no
ordinary coach. He embodies the kind of American can-do spirit some of us have
forgotten about, given all the negativity that swirls around us today. He is
unphased by his first loss as coach – and, his second. When the press asks him
about it he says something that is quite remarkable. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Ted Lasso says that if
coaching a sports team is only about winning and losing then a team will never
win. In Lasso’s mind, a great team is created by helping each player understand
who they are and learn to work with their abilities and limitations and by
becoming the best person they are, they can be the best team player. For Lasso,
it’s all about relationships. <br />
<br />
Hold that thought.<br />
<br />
So, a few episodes later, Lasso’s star player, Jamie, is sidelined for
disciplinary reasons and Ted puts a new player, Daniel Rojas in his place.
Daniel proves to be even better than Jaime but during practice, he is felled by
an injury. <br />
<br />
“It’s the curse of the treatment room,” someone gasps. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Turns out, in 1914 the club
teased young men to join the club to trick them into enlisting in WWI. Over 400
men enlisted. Very few returned. Those injured from the war who did return
ended up in the treatment room. Ever since, it is said, the room and the team
have been cursed. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Ted is determined to ‘reverse
the curse’ and asks the team to meet at midnight in the treatment room and
bring with them something of value to them which will be burned. At midnight.
In the hopes that Daniel will be healed and return to the team.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">What follows is nothing less
than astonishing. Roy, the team captain begins by bringing the blanket that was
given to him as a child when he came to London. It was his “security blanket”
which connected him to his family when he felt alone and scared. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Another player – Jamie, the
bully who was sidelined for disciplinary reasons – told the story about how his
mum encouraged him to play soccer and bought him his first pair of football
shoes. But his dad, he said, encouraged him to be tough. He said, “Sometimes, I
think I focus too much on being tough for my dad and not enough on why I came
into football in the first place.” In went the football shoes. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">And so on, one player after
the next, sacrificing what was of value to him, letting go of old memories, and
all for the sake of the health and healing of someone else. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">You all are smart enough to
know where I’m headed with this. I couldn’t provide a better illustration of
what Jesus means when he says, <b>“I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”</b> Because,
you see, for Jesus sacrifice is not about the suffering. For Jesus, sacrifice
is about what you do – a piece of yourself you give up and contribute – in the
service of others. Which is an act of mercy. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Which brings us to the “real
presence” we celebrate in “Corpus Christi” – the Body of Christ. We are asked
to <b>“make a sacrifice of thanksgiving”</b> and place it on the altar. In so
doing, the true, real presence of Jesus comes to us in the ordinary elements of
the bread and the wine. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">It’s not magic but it is
mystical. And, admittedly, a profound part of the mystery of our faith. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">I have no power but I have
been given the authority of the church and your trust in me to gather up all
the broken pieces of our lives – the petitions we make in the Prayers of the
People, said silently in our hearts or a loud, along with the worried lines I
see buried deep in your brow, the tears I see welling at the corners of your
eyes, the grimaces you make when you sit down or stand up, the whispered
worries you give me in the sacristy or at the entrance to the church about an
upcoming surgery or doctor’s appointment, the suffering of a relative or friend
or neighbor, your grief at the death of someone near and dear to you. <br />
<br />
I gather up ALL those broken pieces and lay them at the altar and together, we
pray over them, remembering the great sacrifice Jesus made for us and the mercy
he had for us. And, we ask Jesus to make of them his Body and Blood and for him
to be truly and really present to us. We ask him to nourish us with the Bread
of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">A sacrifice of mercy for our sacrifice
of thanksgiving so we may be merciful to others. <br />
<br />
<b>“As Jesus was walking along . . .”</b> a lot of stuff happened, according to
Matthew. Turns out, lots of stuff happens in the midst of the ordinary, mundane
events of our lives, which we can see if we but slow down just a bit and pay it
some attention. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">Jesus takes our pain and our
sorrows, our worries and our anxieties, our fretting and concern along with our
happiness and joy, our celebrations and commemorations, our triumphs and
successes and all those things are changed and transformed and become for us
his real and true presence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we are
changed and transformed and become, for him, the Corpus Christi, the Body of
Christ. <br />
<br />
It's nothing short of a miracle, I tell you, all sandwiched into a regular, routine,
Sunday in something on the church calendar we call “ordinary time,” which
begins when we, like Matthew, decide to follow Jesus. <br />
<br />
Amen. <br /><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">EK+<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style> <br /></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29373297.post-69598900053429347282023-06-04T16:55:00.000-04:002023-06-04T16:55:20.839-04:00Trinity Sunday: Imagine!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlR-sK0w1exoWPcMDPxelv4XIEXoUqGIRT6Uu0FoJrZA19XFUalIHhAegl4euZ6WDq0Vvw5P1Tpvfg_6djMkInAZW0TqAkia3V5II0hecf8H_J3E_vSwCcGms9mFsRN3aAOsio7EenBr09VyKaB2UXq548PdvCm7ssmiVST5OkO6c0g78ZgA/s1600/avatar_pandora_background_seed.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlR-sK0w1exoWPcMDPxelv4XIEXoUqGIRT6Uu0FoJrZA19XFUalIHhAegl4euZ6WDq0Vvw5P1Tpvfg_6djMkInAZW0TqAkia3V5II0hecf8H_J3E_vSwCcGms9mFsRN3aAOsio7EenBr09VyKaB2UXq548PdvCm7ssmiVST5OkO6c0g78ZgA/w400-h225/avatar_pandora_background_seed.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday morning FaceBook Reflection</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Trinity Sunday - June 4, 2023 </span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>Good Sunday morning, good people of the universe. It's a lovely, sunny-but-cool Spring morning, the first Sunday in June, and the early days of Pride Month. </span><br /><br /><span>In Christian circles, today is Trinity Sunday. I didn't go to church this morning. I watched it live-streaming. But, last night, I read a really good sermon on the Trinity written by a dear friend and colleague who is an octogenarian which really resonated with me. I've been "chewing" on it ever since - the mark of a good sermon, in my book.</span><br /><br /><span>I wish she had told a story - she's a good storyteller - but she had just enough of what I call "pragmatic mysticism" to be satisfying to my spirituality. I'm not going to get into a whole discussion of all the different kinds of mysticism practiced by various folk. Here's what I want to say about it: </span><br /><br /><span>A mysticism that is pragmatic deals with things sensibly and realistically in a way that is based on practical rather than theoretical considerations but not in the physical world. It deals with knowledge inaccessible to the intellect obtained through contemplation and meditation; it is not a system of beliefs or theoretical assumptions that are unreliable.</span><br /><br /><span>I think Jung described it best when he talked about things like "synchronicity" and "collective unconscious"- that place in the cosmos (or unconscious mind) that contains archetypes, or universal primordial images and ideas. It's a manifestation of the old saying, "There is no original thought."</span><br /><br /><span>In her sermon, my friend asked why we need a Doctrine of the Trinity. She answered it simply and honestly by saying that "we humans have to have an explanation for almost everything."</span><br /><br /><span>And thus we get not only one but two Creation stories in Genesis. And, the Virgin Birth. And, the Resurrection. And, of course, The Trinity. </span><br /><br /><span>I think the best explanation I've heard of the mysteries in life like The Trinity came from the character Neytiri in the epic film Avatar. Her student and Avatar, Jacke Sully, reports what she has taught him from her people, the Na’vi, who live on Pandora.</span><br /><br /><span>"There is a network of energy that flows through all living things. All energy is borrowed and one day you have to give it back."</span><br /><br /><span>That's it. Right there. The Resurrection and the Trinity explained in two simple sentences. We could bundle up all the theological doctrine and mysteries in those two sentences as well, including the Virgin Birth and Eternal Life. </span><br /><br /><span>It's pragmatic mysticism - something we 'know' to be true without needing an intellectual discussion or explanation. Or, perhaps, in spite of it.</span><br /><br /><span>I'm not preaching on The Trinity in a church today but if I were, I would begin by calling for a Spiritual Revolution, because that's what I think The Trinity does. </span><br /><br /><span>I think it begs for it. Insists on it. Practically demands it by continuing the Pentecost Effect and confounding everything we have carefully constructed to keep us separate: language, race, and now, creed and time.</span><br /><br /><span>God is no longer just a white-haired old man sitting high in the heavens, judging us. God is within us, revealed to us in Christ Jesus. And, God is around us and in all of creation, as revealed to us by The Spirit, the Advocate, the Paraclete. </span><br /><br /><span>God is not just one thing or one person. God is not even just The Trinity but more than that - dummied down so that we can pretend to understand how it all works. </span><br /><br /><span>But, we don't. We simply don't have the intellectual capacity and the language as humans to express the mystery that is at the center of every creature which lives and moves and has its being in all of the greater mystery of creation. </span><br /><br /><span>The closest we can come to understanding The Mysterium Grandum is that God is like a network of energy that flows through all things. </span><br /><br /><span>The Chinese call it Chi. In Sanskrit, it is called Prana. It is also called Ki or circulating energy in the practice of Asian acupuncture. In the Qur'an, it is called Ruh. In the Talmud, Ruach. In Greek, pneuma. </span><br /><br /><span>Among the indigenous people of the Algonquin, it is called Manitou. Among some Native Americans, there are nine spirit guides that sometimes appear on a Totem, calling their spirit energy to enlighten, enliven and protect the community (tribe). In some Native American cultures, the four winds are also called into being in the Medicine Wheel or Sacred Hoop to maintain health and healing. </span><br /><br /><span>There's more - much more - but I'll stop there.</span><br /><br /><span>Christians call it "Holy Spirit" which we say is part of The Trinity. And, in our arrogance, we think and act like we own the idea. </span><br /><br /><span>I think Trinity Sunday calls for a Spiritual Revolution to honor the network of energies - the Eywa - which connect us, everyone of every race, culture, language, age, and creed, and time to ourselves and to each other. </span><br /><br /><span>Imagine what would happen if we moved beyond the words on the dusty pages of doctrine and discipline and opened not just our minds but our hearts to be in relationships and interrelationships with each other and all creatures and creation. </span><br /><br /><span>Imagine. </span><br /><br /><span>I think that's exactly the Spiritual Revolution that The Trinity calls us to experience, deep in our souls. Imagine more than what's here. Imagine more than the limits of our intellect and the constructs of our time and place. Imagine relationships with some ones and some things vastly different from our selves.</span><br /><br /><span>Imagine what that would do to our world. Could war even be a possibility anymore? Might we be able to stop pollution, repair our climate, and heal our planet? </span><br /><br /><span>On this Trinity Sunday, were I in a pulpit, I just might challenge everyone to begin the Spiritual Revolution by eating an apple. I mean, eat it and really taste it - its skin and pulp and juices - and enjoy it as if it were a forbidden fruit. </span><br /><br /><span>Look at the Spiritual Revolution our ancestors tell us started when a man and a woman ate an apple in a garden and began to realize things they had never before imagined possible.</span><br /><br /><span>As Jake Sully says, "Sooner or later though, you always have to wake up."</span><br /><br /><span>Make it a great day, everybody. </span><br /><br /><span>Bom dia!</span></span></div>Elizabeth Kaetonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06787552280232329081noreply@blogger.com0