If you want to change the world

  

"If you want to change the world"

A sermon preached on Facebook Live Broadcast

Sirach 26:10 The Headstrong Daughter

Christmas II - January 3, 2020

 

In May of 2014, one Navy SEAL and Admiral William H. McRaven, delivered a commencement speech to the 8,000 graduates of the University of Texas. His speech “If you want to change the world” was so well received that it became a book.

 

The book was not titled by the title of his speech. It was titled “Make Your Bed” because of the first piece of advice was this:

“If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.”

 

Now, I know some of you are thinking, “Right. Good. That's terrific. But, what does any of that have to do with this Gospel Story of the Three Kings?”   

 

I’m going to get back to this idea, I promise, but first I want to talk about how the world is changed not by gold and incense or power and might but by dreams and intuitions and vulnerability and how, sometimes, we are off by nine miles.

 

Before I begin, I want to credit theologian and author Walther Brueggemann for this idea which I heard him lecture more years ago than I can remember but has stayed with me all these many years later.

 

To begin, it’s important to know that Matthew was not the first to imagine three rich wise guys from the East coming to Jerusalem. The whole story line comes from the 60^th chapter of Isaiah in a poem recited to Jews living in Jerusalem. 

 

It was about the year 580 and the Jews had been living in exile in what is now present-day Iraq. After several generations, they had returned to Jerusalem only to find it bombed out, torn down and in despair.

 

Isaiah anticipates that, no matter how bad things look right now, things will change for the better. “Rise, shine, for your light has come,” he invites his depressed, discouraged fellow Jews. He envisions a renewed Jerusalem with a new center of international trade.

 

“Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn,” writes Isaiah.

Isaiah even tells them that there will be caravans loaded with trade goods like gold, frankincense and myrrh, carried on camels, which will come from Asia and bring prosperity and celebration and joy. This is God’s promise, promises Isaiah.

When The Three Intellectuals from the East come and pay homage to King Herod, they ask him  "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage."

Herod does what all incompetent rulers do when faced with a challenge and a threat to his power and control: He panics.  In his panic, a strange thing happens: Herod invites the leading scholars of Torah and Talmud and Mishnah to tell him about Isaiah 60.

 

They tell him that, well, see, actually, Isaiah was talking about the return of Jerusalem to a place as the center of global economy. The urban elites can recover their former power and prestige and – honestly? – nothing will really change.

 

Well, says Herod, do you have a better text? Well, yes, they say – afraid of their King who is clearly unhinged by the thought of losing his power. However, they are more afraid not to tell him the truth.

See, they say, the more accurate text is Micah 5:2-4:

 

`And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'

 

This is the scene we pick up in today’s gospel. Herod tells the Three Intellectual Men from the East about Micah’s prophecy and charges them to go to Bethlehem and “search diligently for the child and when you have found him, bring him to me so that I may pay him homage.”

 

Bethlehem is about nine miles south of Jerusalem. It’s a very quick ride. An easy day's walk. Well, it used to be. Now, there’s a wall that physically divides the country, a reflection of the deep divisions that have brought so much suffering and pain to Palestine and yes, even Israel.

 

The traditional intellectuals and scholars that had studied Isaiah but had forgotten Micah had been off by nine miles - nine physical miles and galaxies of thought apart.

 

It’s difficult to fathom how the story might have be different if Herod’s interpreters had not remembered the prophecy in Micah 5 – how the world might NOT have changed.

 

What would have happened if The Three Scholars from Asia had not had a dream about the King’s directions and did not return to Herod, not even with the child?

Indeed, what would have happened if Joseph hadn’t had a dream warning him about Herod and how he should flee to Egypt? 

 

How might the story be different if Joseph hadn’t been later told in a dream that Herod had died and it was safe to return to Palestine, to the district of Galilee to the town of Nazareth?

How might the world NOT have changed? How many more millennia might it have taken for the story of salvation to unfold?

 

Matthew’s story of the Visitation of the Magi (the Epiphany which we celebrate Wednesday, January 6) is, in once sense, the story of these two ancient places: Jerusalem, with its great pretensions, and the “little town of Bethlehem,” with its modest promises.

 

And, here is the message found in the middle of these two places, separated by only nine miles: We can choose a “return to normalcy” in a triumphalist mode, a life of self-sufficiency that contains within it its own seeds of destruction. Or, we can choose an alternative that comes in innocence and a hope that confounds our usual pretensions.

 

Isn’t it funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same? How it is that the very choices faced by those in ancient times are not much different from the ones we face today?

Here’s the thing: Most of us are looking for a new start in a new year in the wrong places. We are off by at least nine miles. As we look with joy into the new year of 2021, we find on January 1 that we still have many of the same problems and crisis we knew on December 31<sup>st.

There is no magic bullet. No miracle cure. No magic wand</sup>.

 

The pandemic is worse and promises to take even more lives, despite the availability of a vaccine. 

 

White supremacist groups are, even now, gathering in the nation’s capitol for a large demonstration on Wednesday - and they're not there for the Epiphany.  

 

Despite a controversial pandemic relief package, two million people have not regained the jobs they lost to COVID – millions more are facing eviction.   

 

Millions of men, women and children – some of them in our neighborhoods – are living with food and shelter insecurity

 

Into this time in our lives we are invited into a new Epiphany. We are bidden to enter into this story and to travel those hard, demanding nine miles away from self-sufficiency and into mutual dependency which we have had to learn during this pandemic, symbolized most poignantly in the wearing of a face mask.   

 

We are being asked, once again, to join the Jesus Movement and change the world.

 

Which brings us right back to Navy Seal and Admiral William H McRaven’s suggestion that if we want to change the world, we start by making our bed. Here’s what he said:

If you make your bed every morning you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task and another and another. By the end of the day, that one task completed will have turned into many tasks completed. Making your bed will also reinforce the fact that little things in life matter. If you can't do the little things right, you will never do the big things right. And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made — that you made — and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better. 

NB: You can find a transcript of the entire speech here.  Don't miss what he has to say about hope and singing while up to your neck in ice cold mud in the middle of the night.

You have to start somewhere, my grandmother always said, reminding us frequently that the longest journey always begins with the first step.

Scripture is a good place to start, but as this gospel shows only too well, a lot depends on how scripture is interpreted. You can be wise and learned and scholarly, but if you don’t trust your self and take the risk of your own intuition, you can still be nine miles off.

 

A dream is a good place to start but only if you put your dream into a plan and your plan into action. As my grandmother would also say, “Wishes don’t wash dishes.” (usually with a dish towel thrown over her shoulder and one hand in her apron pocket while the other pointed the way to the kitchen sink).

 

I once worked with a hospice nurse who never left a patient’s room without emptying the trash and cleaning off surfaces, sometimes even washing the dishes. I asked her once, while we were walking to our cars, why she did that.

 

She smiled and said, “I had a nursing supervisor who once said to me, ‘If you are not willing to empty the trash for a patient, you better start looking for another job.’ A leader serves. And a servant leader is not above the one she serves.”

 

The voice of Micah is the voice of a peasant hope for the future, a voice that is not impressed with high towers and great arenas, banks and urban achievements. 

 

The voice which called to The Three Wise Men is the same which first called to Mary and then to Joseph, and called to Jesus and knocked Paul off his horse and calls to us all: the well-being of a people is not brought by high, lofty, political ambition but by attentiveness to those on the ground.

 

So if you’ve not yet made your New Year’s Resolution, here’s one for you: If you want to change the world and make it a better place, start with yourself.

 

If you want to continue what was begun thousands of years ago with the birth of Jesus, if you want to be like The Three Scholars from Asia, The Three Wise Men, and have your own epiphany and transform yourself, thereby setting in motion your participation in the plan to change the world - or, at least, your role in it - well, make your bed.

 

Amen.

Anglican Prayer Beads: The Nameless Women of Scripture - Sisters of Jesus

 

As I count them, among scholars who have searched scripture, there are approximately 26 unnamed women in the Christian Scripture. Checking these same sources, there are about 80 unnamed women in Hebrew Scripture.

 

To many of us, that is not at all surprising. At quick glance, it looks like there are hundreds of women who are named, mostly in Hebrew Scripture. However, comparing the nameless women in both scriptures, it would appear that women were more apt to be named in Hebrew Scripture than in the time of Jesus’ birth, ministry, death and resurrection.

In the genealogy, it is clear that women were not named after the Babylonian Captivity. That seems to have been carried over once they returned to “The Promised Land”. When women were named, it was, at best, inconsistent.

 

In the weeks of Christmastide and Epiphany, when we celebrate the Incarnation and the Manifestations or Showings of the Incarnation, I want to lift up the lives of some of these women and mediate on their lives using Anglican Prayer Beads.

 

My particular focus will be on the Nameless women. Since so little is known about them, much of what I will write might fall under the heading of “Christian Midrash”. It’s what I like to call ‘respectful conjecture and supposition’, which places it somewhere below the lofty, scholarly approach of “Christian Midrash” but, I hope, far above “Parlor Gossip”.

 

I want to begin with the Sisters of Jesus. No, that’s not the name of a religious order. The sisters of Jesus are actually mentioned in two places in Scripture:

 

Matthew 13:55, 56:   “Is not this the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother called Mary? And are not his brothers James and Joseph and Simon and Judas? And are not all his sisters with us? Where then did this man get all this?’”

 

And, Mark 6:3:  ^“Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary^[a and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?’ And they took offence at him.”

 

The context of both these pieces of scripture is the return of Jesus to his home in Nazareth. When the Sabbath came, Jesus began to teach in the synagogue and “many were amazed”. But, some balked at his presumption to teach them. I mean, wasn’t he the son of Joseph, the tekton, the master craftsman? Don’t we know his brothers and sisters? Isn’t he punching above his weight?

 

“His sisters” are not mentioned anywhere again in scripture. Early Christian literature seems to name only two women, but there may have been more. The Gospel of Philip names them Assia and Lydia. Other writings name them Maria or Anna and Salome.

 

Some writers identify Salome as the daughter of Joseph from a first marriage. Which begs others question – First Marriage? Who was the first wife of Joseph? – which will never be answered, but will go on my list of questions to ask Jesus when I get to heaven. 

 

Can we surmise that these two sisters may have been part of the “other women” who went to the grave to tend to the dead body of Jesus? Salome is named in Mark’s Gospel as “the mother of James and John” and Matthew names her as “the mothers of the sons Zebedee”.

 

Since “Mary, the mother of Jesus and widow of Joseph of Nazareth” is named as being in that group, is it possible that Salome, the sister of Jesus, was also there, as well as Mary (if that was her name) one of several Mary’s named in that passage? (Luke 24:10)

 

There is more we don’t know than we do know, but the “sisters of Jesus” provide us, at the very least, with an understanding that Jesus grew up in a close community of siblings who squabbled and fussed and teased each other as sisters and brothers often do.

 

The fact that he had sisters gives us a window of possibility as to why Jesus changed his mind about the request from the Canaanite woman whom he initially dismissed with a racial slur but then granted her request of healing for her daughter. (Matthew 15:21-28)

 

It may also provide an insight as to why Jesus sat and engaged the Samaritan woman in conversation at the well, which was shocking to the apostles when they returned. (John 4)

So, to the Sisters of Jesus, whether they be Assia and Lydia or Anna or Mary and Salome, we owe a debt of gratitude. Their relationship with Jesus undoubtedly influenced his life and his ministry.

 

As we remember them, let us recall the words spoken to her by the Angel Gabriel and the song their mother no doubt sang for them and taught them to sing, which certainly reached the ears and touched the heart of their brother, Jesus.

 

The Cross

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee

Blessed art thou among women and blessed is

the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

 

The Invitatory

The Holy One has cast down the mighty from their thrones, 
and has lifted up the lowly. 

G-d has filled the hungry with good things, 
and the rich have been sent away empty.

 

The Cruciform
From this day all generations will call me blessed: 
the Almighty has done great things for me, 
and holy is the Name of G-d.

 

The Weekly

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, 
my spirit rejoices in G-d my Savior. 

 

Watch it here on Facebook

Love In The Time of COVID: That which is essential

 

 

Earlier this evening I had the enormous privilege of presiding at a Celebration and Renewal of the 30th Anniversary of Wedding Vows.

 

It was via Zoom. And, by cell phone.

 

Let me explain.

 

The couple are Roman Catholics who left their church earlier this year. I didn't ask why and they didn't say. Actually, we just haven't had time for that conversation. Yet.

 

They have been attending an Episcopal Church where I've been helping out Here's the thing: They've never been inside the church building, proper. They were just invited to the weekly Zoom-charist by a friend who is a member of the church and serves on the vestry. They loved the experience and stayed. Or, rather, they keep clicking on the Zoom link every Sunday.

 

They didn't fall in love with the church architecture or the sound of the organ. They didn't love the choir or the beautiful stained glass windows. They have never even tasted the wonderful goodies or the excellent coffee at coffee hour.

 

They've never had a face-to-face, actual, in-person meeting with other congregation members or the previous interim priest who has left, nor I, helping out when I can, especially recently, through Advent and Christmas.

 

So, yes, I've never met them in person, but I've already provided some pastoral care and presided at a family prayer service for the husband's 84 year old mother who died in a hospital in Florida of COVID. She was, undoubtedly, the family matriarch. No family members were allowed to be present at her death.

 

That led the couple to say, "Hey, we have an anniversary coming up. We'd like to do something to mark that. Something just simple and quiet. But, maybe we could, well, maybe gather the family? Do you have any ideas about what we can we do?"

 

Do I haven any ideas? About liturgy? About gathering family and community?

 

They obviously don't know me, right? Well, they're learning.

 

Of course, I put together a service - patched together from Episcopal, Lutheran and Roman Catholic sources. It sounded familiar enough to their ears - which they loved - and yet it was unique to them.

 

Suddenly, this turned into a family affair. They invited their children and family and the original wedding party to the event. I don't know how many were actually on the Zoom call, but it seemed quite a lot.

 

Unfortunately, there was some sort of glitch in the Zoom session - the husband thought he had set up two sessions and had sent me the 'trial run' and I couldn't get onto the one with the rest of the family and friends.

 

So, not to be deterred, they called me on my cell phone and put their cell phone next to the computer. And, everyone could hear me and I could hear them. And they made such a joyful noise.

 

People cried and laughed and the couple kissed and everyone said how much they didn't know they needed this as a family after losing Grandmother last week but they were so grateful.

 

I'm just astounded by what technology allows us to do.

 

You know, this pandemic is wretched. It is evil. Of that, there is no doubt. And yet, it presents us with the best time to be Christian. We have so many tools available to us.

 

We are so advanced and yet we're learning that we still have so much more to learn.

 

Our buildings are lovely and they are important, but they are not necessary. Our faith is inspired by our beautiful music and musicians and glorious instruments, but it is strengthened by prayer in community that gathers where and how it can.

 

Death may steal some from our midst, but life has this way of going on. "Life is changed, not ended," our Prayer Book reminds us. Joy finds its way into the necessary moments of our life.

 

Even at the grave we make our song, "Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!"

 

These are uncommon, extraordinary times. So, our response is necessarily uncommon and extraordinary.

 

Love in the time of COVID is still love. Only more so.

 

In the time of COVID, the church is still the church. Only more so.

 

We're just learning that, sometimes, we're more of the church outside the building.

 

We're learning what the fox taught the Little Prince, "That which is essential is invisible to the eye."

 

The Word Made Flesh

 A Sermon preached via Facebook Live Broadcast

Sirach 26:10 The Headstrong Daughter

Christmas I - December 27, 2020

 

"And the Word was made flesh and lived among us."

Believe it or not, this is John’s Nativity Story. This is his answer to Matthew’s genealogy. This is St. John walking away from Luke’s embroidery of the Nativity and getting right to the very heart – the middle of the middle – of the incarnation.

 

These are the things that matter to St. John – words. Actually, The Word. The word that was in the beginning, is now and forever will be. That same sacred Word of God that became flesh and lived among us.

 

This passage is why St. John is always depicted as an eagle. His Christology – his theology of Jesus the Christ – is summed up in the image of an eagle, the only one of God’s creatures who can soar so high in the heavens that he has seen the face of God.

 

I believe it was Maya Angelou who once said that words and language are what separate us from other life forms and make us human. It's the conversations we have that deepen our human relationships. It is those conversations we have that give shape and form to our individual human identity.

 

So, let me tell you a story of creation that was written by a modern mystic, poet and Jungian psychoanalyst, one Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Here is her story about the use of words and the creation of stories.

 

Imagine pulling up your mat, sitting with your legs crossed. Now, place yourself in the sacred circle and listen: Once upon a time……there were no stories.

 

“How did stories come into being? Ah, stories came into the world because God was lonely.

 

God was lonely? Oh yes, for you see, the void at the beginning of time was very dark because it was so tightly packed with stories that not even one story stood out from others. Stories were therefore without form, and the face of God moved over the deep, searching and searching – for a story. And God’s loneliness was very great.

 

Finally, a great idea rose up and God whispered, “Let there be light.” And, there was a light so great that God was able to reach into the void and separate the dark stories from the stories of light. As a result, clear morning stories came to life and evening tales as well. And God saw that it was good.

 

Now, God felt encouraged, and next separated the heavenly stories from the earthly stories, and these from the stories about water. Then God took great joy in creating the small and the tall trees and brilliantly colored seeds and plants, so that there could be stories about the trees and seeds, and plants, too.

 

God laughed with pleasure, and from God’s laughter fell the stars and the sky into their places. God set into the sky the golden light, the sun, to rule the day, and the moon, the silver light to rule the night. And in all, God created these so that there would be stories about the stars and the moon, stories about the sun, and stories about all the mysteries of the night.

 

 

God was so pleased with these that God turned to creating birds, sea monsters, and every living creature that moves, every fish and all the plants under the sea, and every winged creature, and all the cattle and creeping things, and all the beasts of the earth, according to their kind. And from all these came stories about God’s winged messengers, and stories about ghosts and monsters, and tales of whales and fishes, and other stories about life before life knew itself, and about all that had life now, and all that would come to life one day.

 

Yet, even with all these wondrous creatures and all these magnificent stories, even with all the pleasures of creating, God was still lonely. God paced and thought and thought and paced and finally! It came to our great Creator. “Ah, Let us make human beings in our image, after our likeness. Let them care for, and be cared for in return, by all creatures of the seas, all those of the air, and all those of the earth.

 

So God created human beings from the dust of the ground, and breathed into their nostrils the breath of life, and human beings became living souls, male and female God created to them. And as these were created, suddenly, all the stories that go along with being completely human also sprang to life, millions and millions of stories. And God blessed all of these and placed them in a garden called Eden.

 

Now God strode through the heavens wreathed in smiles, for at least, you see, God was lonely no more. It was not stories that had been missing from creation, but rather, and most especially, the soulful humans who could tell them.”

 

Meister Eckhart, a 13^th century theologian and mystic, said it this way, “God laughed and begot the Son. Together they laughed and begot the Holy Spirit. And from the laughter of the Three, the universe was born.” 

 

I think, each time we tell our stories, God smiles and laughs and something in us is released into the cosmos, bringing new life to the rest of creation and deep into our very souls.

 

When we live into – and out of – the Gospel story, bringing justice and liberation to all of God’s creatures and creation, Jesus smiles and laughs and something in us is released into the cosmos, bringing healing and hope to the rest of creation and deep into our very souls.

 

When we create stories and poems and art and music and sculpture and instruments and tools and ideas, and concepts, The Holy Spirit smiles and laughs and something in us is released into the cosmos, bringing new life and a new spirit to the rest of creation and deep into our very souls.

 

And, all three members of the Trinity laugh together, and that laughter, that joy, that creative energy, I believe, is what is at the center of the universe, allowing it to renew and give birth to itself again – despite our human penchant for foolishness and arrogance which make our relationships with each other and the rest of creation toxic, and pollutes the face of the earth.

 

And that, my friends, is the best Nativity Story. Ever.  Indeed, I think the laughter and joy at the center of the Universe – when heaven and earth laugh and rejoice together in creation – may well be God’s favorite Nativity Story, too.  

Amen

 

Celtic Advent - Day XL - December 25

 

Celtic Advent - Day XL – December 25

 

Wildly Unimaginable Blessings

Alden Solovy

Let us dream
Wildly unimaginable blessings…
Blessings so unexpected,
Blessings so beyond our hopes for this world,
Blessings so unbelievable in this era,
That their very existence
Uplifts our vision of creation,
Our relationships to each other,
And our yearning for life itself.

Let us dream
Wildly unimaginable blessings…
A complete healing of mind, body, and spirit,
A complete healing for all,
The end of suffering and strife,
The end of plague and disease,
When kindness flows from the river of love,
When goodness flows from the river of grace,
Awakened in the spirit of all beings,
When G-d’s light,
Radiating holiness,
Is seen by everyone.

Let us pray —
With all our hearts —
For wildly unimaginable blessings,
So that G-d will hear the call
To open the gates of the Garden,
Seeing that we haven’t waited,
That we’ve already begun to repair the world,
In testimony to our faith in life,
Our faith in each other,
And our faith in the Holy One,
Blessed be G-d’s Name.

 

When I began the process of writing a reflection for each day of the forty days of Celtic Advent, I really had no idea what I was committing myself to. Seriously. ‘Round about Day twenty I thought to myself, “Really? Only halfway through? OMG!”

 

Turns out, the process became a ‘life review’ of sorts. As I spent time in meditation and reflection, I allowed my ‘monkey brain’ to have at it and see what memories it would uncover. Some were funny. Some were uncomfortable. One or two were actually painful.

 

And, those were just the ones I chose to share in public.

 

The thing of it is I didn’t know when I started was that this was actually important work, necessary work for my soul, especially in the midst of the pandemic.

 

And yes, I’m going to say it: It was therapeutic. Without the therapist. Self-therapy. Well, okay, if I’m honest, a lot of this stuff – these stories – and the insights I’ve received, were first uncovered in therapy sessions.

 

I can tell you this as the honest-to-God, hand-to-Jesus truth: There are at least two therapists out there who have new living room furniture or a lovely new deck on the back of their homes because of my neurosis.

The amazing thing, well, to me anyway, was so many of you could relate. These stories and reflections touched something in you that I thought was just in me. And, it made you laugh and it made you cry, right along with me.

 

What an unexpected gift!

 

Oh, and I got to brush off my skills at using Roman Numerals. Please do note that I remembered the Roman Numeral for forty. XL. Right there. My 9^th Grade Latin teacher is smiling down from heaven.

 

Her name was Ella Bella Philpot. No, I’m not making that up. She was a mousey little woman who was probably in her 40s but looked like she was in her 60s. She had a slight facial tick and often blinked her eyes several times in rapid succession which we all could see despite the fact that she wore heavy coke-bottle thick glasses with thin gold wire frames.

 

She also had a very bad case of dandruff which covered her glasses like her own, personal year-long snow flurry.

 

She wore dowdy tweed Jonathan Meyers suits every day of the three seasons of the school year.  She would often pull down the ends of her tweed jacket with a smart jerk, especially after writing on the board but often after one of us had successfully conjugated a verb – at which point she would add a very rare smile.

 

I saw her out at the town fair one hot July evening. She was wearing a lovely, light colored summer dress with a flouncy trim all around her neckline and the bottom hem of her dress. I remember that she was wearing open-toed shoes – with nylon stockings. She was being escorted by her brother, a very thin, tall drink of water who was wearing a light, short-sleeved, pastel colored plaid shirt, with a pastel blue bow tie.

 

I remember whispering to my mother that THAT was Ms. Ella Bella Philpot and THAT was her brother Robert James Philpot, IV.

 

I was dying to see the reaction on my mother’s face. She managed to maintain control but her left eyebrow escaped and raised itself in a delightful upside down parenthesis which matched the slight uplift to her lips and seemed to contain whatever it was that she wouldn’t allow escape her mouth.

 

“What an interesting pair,” was all she said.

 

As you can see, my monkey brain has been active this morning.

 

Some of you have been very kind and suggested that I have these reflections published. I confess, that thought is rather daunting to me. Mostly because I haven’t the faintest idea about the publishing world. It feels daunting and very presumptuous of me to take all these stories and think I might be able to sell them to people who would actually pay money to read them.

 

It is humbling, however, to think of walking into a WalMart and finding copies of my book in a pile of others in a display marked, “75% off”.

 

We’ll see where the Spirit leads. I do thank you for your kind words.

 

All of this is to say I hope you will “muddle through” all of the restraints and constrains of this most bizarre holiday and have yourself a Merry Little Christmas now.

 

May this be The Best Pandemic Christmas Ever – and, please God, the last.

 

I will leave you with the second prayer Alden Solovy wrote for the end of 2020 and the beginning of 2021. 

Pervasive Peace

Alden Solovy

May it be Your will, G-d of our fathers and mothers,
That the year ahead bring a pervasive and complete peace
On all the inhabitants of the earth,
Beyond all the dreams of humanity.

,יהי רצון מלפניך, אלוקי אבותינו ואמותינו
,שהשנה הבאה תביא שלום מוחלט ושלם
,על כל יושבי תבל
.מעבר לכל חלומות האנושות

May it be so. Amen.

 

Merry Christmas to you and all those you love, near and far!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Celtic Advent - Day XXXIX - December 24

 

Celtic Advent - Day XXXIX - December 24

 

What do I get for this? I said
& the angel gave me a catalog
filled with toasters & clock radios
& a basketball signed by Michael Jordan
& I said, But this is just stuff
& the angel smiled at me
& swallowed me in her arms.
I'm so glad you said that,
she whispered to me.
I knew you still had a chance.

     ~ From StoryPeople

 

Do you need a Savior?

When I was serving a suburban congregation in Northern New Jersey, one of the littlest of the children did what all parents in the Tri-State Area consider a Rite of Passage. She went with her parents to Radio City Music Hall to see The Nativity Story.

I’m told she was absolutely enraptured by the performance, positively caught up watching the story which she had only been read now dramatically unfold before her eyes: The sweet baby Jesus, meek and mild, the young Virgin Mary, the strong, silent Joseph.

Just before the dramatic ending, when, of course, Santa makes his entrance and the Rocketts dance on stage . . . . (Funny, I don’t remember that part from scripture. Well, never mind.) . . .the melodious voice of one, speaking in very measured tones from behind the curtain, calls out the rest of the story. That this child that was born would grow to be the savior of the world. That he was born so he could die for us . . . .

At which point, this wonderful precocious child of our community sat forward on the edge of her chair, looked with wild bewilderment at her parents and said, “He DIED? He’s DEAD?”

Her parents, being very wise, said, “You know, we’ll be in church tomorrow. Why don’t you ask Reverend Elizabeth?”

So, the very next day, just before service, her father came and told me the story, “Heads up!” he said. Such is the lot of a parish priest.

Right after the service, right on cue, the child came running to me, most distressed and breathlessly dramatic. “Reverend Elizabeth! Reverend Elizabeth! Did you know that Jesus is DEAD? Did you know that they KILLED JESUS?”

I took her by the hand and led her to the stairs at the entrance to the Parish Hall and prayed a frenetic little prayer to the Holy Spirit to come. We sat down and I heard myself say, “Well, you know, the people who were around Jesus were good people. They were just scared people. And, when people are scared they can sometimes make very bad decisions and do bad things. Even people today do the same thing.”

She nodded her head in agreement like a wise person in her 50s. “But, why did they have to kill BABY JESUS?” she pleaded.

“Oh, they didn’t kill Baby Jesus,” I said “Jesus was 33 years old when he died.”

“THIRTY-THREE?? That’s how old my MOTHER is!” she said, which made the adults who had gathered at a safe distance chuckle and snort.

“So,” she said, they didn’t kill BABY Jesus?”

“No,” said I.

“Oh,” she said as she got up and straightened her dress, “That’s different.” And then, she ran into the Parish Hall and headed straight for the cookies.

Do you need a savior? Especially one who is weak and vulnerable and dependent on you?

Well, here’s my answer. It’s in the form of a story – one of my favorite Christmas stories so don’t stop me if you’ve heard it before.

It’s about my 6^th or 7^th  Christmas. That was the year I got my own room. I am the eldest of four children and there were only three bedrooms in our apartment. My parents fixed up the room in the attic just for me. Oh, at the time, the room was bare – almost Spartan – but I knew it had great potential once more of my things were moved in. I was absolutely thrilled. I felt this was going to be the best Christmas ever.

In my first night in my own room, I was all snuggled into my bed, surrounded by my comforter, reading my favorite Nancy Drew book when my mother called up that it was time to turn off the light and go to bed.

That’s when I discovered the problem. The light was in the center of the room. In the ceiling with a pull string. That meant I had to get up from my bed to turn off the light. Which meant that, once the light was off, I would have to make it from the center of the room back into my bed. And, I had to do that before the monsters who lived under my bed came out to attack me.

How could I do that? I decided to ignore my mother. It became a pattern in my life.

My mother called again. I felt the tears well up in my eyes, and my throat began to burn. I couldn’t let her know that I was crying. Big girls don’t cry and I didn’t want to loose my big girl’s room so soon after getting it. So, I screwed my courage, threw off the covers, and ran to the light, turned it off, and ran back into my bed – walking so fast I’m sure my feet did not touch the floor.

But, I knew. I just knew that the monsters would come and get me anyway. I knew they didn’t like to be fooled and they had been tricked out of getting me. Soon and very soon they would start to appear. I shut my eyes tight and waited for the inevitable.

Suddenly, miraculously, I heard a “click” and I opened my eyes to see a small sliver of light at the bottom of the door at end of the stairs that led to my attic room. My mother had turned on the hallway light. Perhaps she had heard the anxiety in my feat as I ran to turn off the light.

But, in the midst of the darkness there was light. A small sliver of light, but light. That light was all I needed to feel safe. To find some sense of security. To be saved from my worst nightmare and imagination of the unknown.

Jesus is, for me, that small sliver of light at the bottom of my worst fears and imaginings.

I don’t know about you, but I need that light in my life.

When people fail me – when they disappoint me – I need that small sliver of light in my life to give me hope.

When I fail others – when I disappoint them – I need that small sliver of light in my life to call me back to my best self again. To confess and repent and try to do better and be better. To lift me from my depression and call me into peace and joy and love and hope.

Do you need a savior?

Well, whether you need one or not, one is on the way.

Do you need a savior?

Ready or not, here he comes – again. There is the voice of one crying into the wilderness of our lives. It is saying, “Prepare the way of the Lord” – who may not come as you expect in a great, flashy show, but as a small sliver of hope.

A minute dollop of peace.

A tiny scrap of joy.

A seemingly insignificant morsel of love.

Even so, it will be enough to save you from your worst imaginings of the world, your harsh experience of others and the deepest fears and terrors you suffer in the wildernesses of your life.

I'll leave you with these thoughts about faith and church from Rachel Held Evans

“One of the most destructive mistakes we Christians make is to prioritize shared beliefs over shared relationship, which is deeply ironic considering we worship a God who would rather die than lose relationship with us.” ~ Rachel Held Evans

“Faith isn’t having everything figured out ahead of time; faith is about following the quiet voice of God without having everything figured out ahead of time.” ~ RHE

“I am a Christian,” I concluded, “because the story of Jesus is still the story I’m willing to risk being wrong about.” ~ Rachel Held Evans

Celtic Advent - Day XXXVIII - December 23

 

CELTIC ADVENT – DAY XXXVIII – December 23

 

“God’s grace is a gift that is freely given to us. We don’t earn a thing when it comes to God’s love, and we only try to live in response to the gift. No one is climbing the spiritual ladder. We don’t continually improve until we are so spiritual we no longer need God. We die and are made new, but that’s different from spiritual self-improvement. We are simultaneously sinner and saint, 100 percent of both, all the time. The Bible is not God. The Bible is simply the cradle that holds Christ. Anything in the Bible that does not hold up to the Gospel of Jesus Christ simply does not have the same authority. The movement in our relationship to God is always from God to us. Always. We can’t, through our piety or goodness, move closer to God. God is always coming near to us. Most especially in the Eucharist and in the stranger.”
― Nadia Bolz-Weber, Pastrix: The Cranky, Beautiful Faith of a Sinner & Saint

 

 

The pandemic has forced us into some interesting scriptural and liturgical gymnastics in order to bring the Eucharist to congregations. Some churches are doing “drive by” communion. Others are doing “parking lot” communion.

 

There are some churches that have created “Pod Churches” where a Eucharistic Visitor is specially commissioned and assigned to a specific household to bring consecrated hosts. Together, they watch Eucharist being live streamed and, at the appropriate time, the communicate themselves.

 

Other churches have chosen to use the idea of “Spiritual Communion” wherein a prayer of special intention from Armed Forces Handbook is said while the priest is live streaming Eucharist. I’ll post a copy of that prayer at the end of this reflection.

 

Bishops and priests and deacons are, understandably, nervous. On the one hand, we want to take seriously the notion of The True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. On the other hand, some are concerned about the Eucharist becoming a fetish of sorts. Trying to find the balance means some experimentation, which some bishops are loathed to allow.

 

Meanwhile, people are spiritually hungry. We are muddling along as best we know how, but none of it is completely satisfying – especially as we come to celebrate the Feast of the Incarnation in the Nativity of Our Lord.

 

Which brought back a memory of my six months of diaconal ministry in 1986 when I was a Chaplain at the University of Lowell in Lowell, MA.

 

We were serious as a heart attack about the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, of which I had no doubt and about which I was – and am, still – very sober and somber, but as a transitional deacon there were pragmatics and practicalities to be consider as I endeavored to establish a weekly “Spaghetti Supper and Eucharist” at our home in Lowell for the University Students every Sunday evening.

Ann Fowler, a dear friend of mine, had been ordained to the priesthood and, as it turned out, had an abundance of home baked bread which had been consecrated but not used during her ordination service.

Ann asked if I would like to take it home. I was thrilled to do so, as I had been borrowing consecrated hosts from my brothers (only brothers, then) in the Episcopal Churches of Lowell – St. Anne’s, where I was to be ordained that October –  and St. John’s.

Ms. Conroy looked at the three loaves of bread I was carrying back to the car and, when I told her what they were, was absolutely, positively horrified.

“What are you going to do with them?” she asked, “They certainly won’t keep for more than a week!”

“I shall put them in the freezer,” I said, cheerily.

“IN THE FREEZER??!!” she thundered.

“That’s the Body of Christ,” she said, breathlessly. “You can’t put Jesus IN THE FREEZER!”

Now, let me pause here to explain something about long-term relationships.

There comes a point when you understand that your role – your job, indeed, your bounded duty – in any sacred, committed relationship, is to torment one another.

I know. It’s not stated in the marriage vows. But, every couple, at some point in their marriage eventually understands this.

Back to my story, then:

In that moment, I knew that Ms. Conroy had just written out, signed, sealed and delivered, a License to Torment. And, it had my name on it. I couldn't actually see it, but I had no doubt. I went home, put the consecrated bread in the freezer, and hardly slept at all in gleeful anticipation of the morning.

There she was, in the kitchen, drinking her morning coffee and reading her newspaper. I went to the refrigerator, opened the freezer door and said, “Barbara. It’s me. Jesus. I’m so cold. Help me.”

Ms. Conroy looked up from her paper, frowned, stirred her coffee, returned to her paper, and said nothing more.

And it was night, and it was morning, the second day.

Act II. Same scene. I went over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer door, and said, “Barbara. It’s me. Jesus. Behind the broccoli. It’s freezing in here. Help me.”
Ms. Conroy emitted what can only be called a low growl. I knew I had been warned, but I simply couldn’t resist.

Pray for me, a sinner.

And it was night, and it was morning, the third day.

Act II. Same scene. And, ACTION.

On cue, I opened the freezer door and said, “Please, Barbara. It’s Jesus. You have to help me. I’m so cold. I'm FREEZING!”

And I said, “If you really are the savior, help yourself!” And slammed the freezer door.

At which point, Ms. Conroy slammed her hand on the table, went over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer door, removed the three loaves of frozen consecrated bread and starting walking to the back door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I’m going to feed this bread to the birds!” said she, and stormed off as I watched her from the kitchen window, chuckling as she tried to tear pieces off the frozen loaves of bread, which would have required a miracle for her to perform.

Now, it wasn’t that I doubted for a minute that Jesus was – IS – present in the consecrated bread. Indeed, I pushed that point of belief to its ultimate, albeit ridiculous conclusion.

It’s that I believed it so much, I played with any doubt that He was present, even in frozen form. Better in frozen form, I reasoned, which could be thawed and consumed than to have grown moldy and inedible and then, I suppose, burned.

And, I think that’s the point of faith – to believe enough to play with your doubts.

 

Tomorrow evening on Christmas Eve, we will hear the story of the Nativity and much of it will surpass the bounds of logic and reason. And, it won’t make a lick of difference. We’ll all enter fully into the story and, even though we aren’t in church and the organ isn’t playing all the familiar and much loved Christmas carols, Jesus will still be present to us, even though he will come to us via cyberspace.

 

As the angel Gabriel said to Mary, “For with God, all things are possible.”

 

I will leave you with these words from Nadia Boltz-Weber to consider as we prepare our hearts to make room for the Savior in the manger of our hearts – and computer or laptop or smart phone screens

“My spirituality is most active, not in meditation, but in the moments when: I realize God may have gotten something beautiful done through me despite the fact that I am an asshole, and when I am confronted by the mercy of the gospel so much that I cannot hate my enemies, and when I am unable to judge the sin of someone else (which, let’s be honest, I love to do) because my own crap is too much in the way, and when I have to bear witness to another human being’s suffering despite my desire to be left alone, and when I am forgiven by someone even though I don’t deserve it and my forgiver does this because he, too, is trapped by the gospel, and when traumatic things happen in the world and I have nowhere to place them or make sense of them but what I do have is a group of people who gather with me every week, people who will mourn and pray with me over the devastation of something like a school shooting, and when I end up changed by loving someone I’d never choose out of a catalog but whom God sends my way to teach me about God’s love.”
― Nadia Bolz-Weber, Accidental Saints: Finding God in All the Wrong People

 

 

Prayer for Spiritual Communion

Armed Forces Handbook.

 

In union, O Lord, with your faithful people at every altar of your Church, where the Holy Eucharist is now being celebrated, I desire to offer to you praise and thanksgiving. I remember your death, Lord Christ; I proclaim your resurrection; I await your coming in glory. Since I cannot receive you today in the Sacrament of your Body and Blood, I beseech you to come spiritually into my heart. Cleanse and strengthen me with your grace, Lord Jesus, and let me never be separated from you. May I live in you, and you in me, in this life and in the life to come. Amen. 

 

Celtic Advent - XXXVII- December 22

 

Celtic Advent – Day XXXVII – December 22

 

“Some rabbis say that, at birth, we are each tied to God with a string, and that every time we sin, the string breaks. To those who repent of their sins, especially in the days of Rosh Hashanah, God sends the angel Gabriel to make knots in the string, so that the humble and contrite are once again tied to God. Because each one of us fails, because we all lose our way on the path to righteousness from time to time, our strings are full of knots. But, the rabbis like to say a string with many knots is shorter than one without knots. So the person with many sins but a humble heart is closer to God.”      

                         ~Rachel Held Evans, A Year of Biblical Womanhood

 

 

I was a newly ordained priest at my first call as Chaplain at University of Lowell, in Lowell, MA. One of the first mission projects I created was to establish a weekly Eucharist at the Solomon Carter Mental Health Center. I had carefully trained a handful of students in how to lead worship and, together, we had decided that two of them would come with me to the Center, on a rotating basis.

 

The third floor of the Center was a 'locked unit' - pretty much a human waste basket for all those people who had been released from psychiatric facilities - where they would stay for a few weeks, be released to the streets for a few weeks and then, readmitted again after a brief stopover at the Lowell Police Station and the City Jail for some obtuse, vague charge as 'disturbing the peace'.

 

I had secured permission to provide a service of Holy Communion, as it would be advertised, making sure the staff knew that I would be bringing in bread (or, hosts, if need be) and wine.

 

"Nope," they said, "can't bring in anything - not hosts, not bread - from the outside. Especially not wine."

 

"Okay," I said, "Can you provide me with a few slices of bread and some grape juice?"

 

"No bread," they said, "We had a 'suicide-by-stuffing-bread' last year. No bread on the ward. And, no peanut butter. That's even worse."

 

"Okay," I said, "No problem with the peanut butter. How about some saltine crackers and some grape juice?"

 

"Deal," they said, "We keep them in packages of two - no 'stuffing' - and you can just open up as many packages as you need."

 

Imagine my surprise when I appeared for that first service and found, waiting for me, some graham crackers and grapefruit juice.

"It's all we had," they said without apology, adding, "It's the end of the month. Supplies are low."

 

In I went, to the locked "Recreation Room". I heard the door lock behind me and realized that I was alone in the room with two terrified students and about 25 people who were in all sort and manner of 'altered states' of consciousness.

 

People were walking around nervously, pacing, smoking, muttering to themselves, occasionally shouting out obscenities.

 

I set the table, yelled out what was about to happen, and asked people to take their seats.

 

No one did.

 

I started anyway - said a few, abbreviated opening words, one of the students read the first lesson, the other led the psalm. I went right to the gospel and then said a few words about it.

 

To my amazement, some of the folks actually sat down and were listening to me. The room was not exactly quiet, but the din had certainly decreased a few decibels and was now a dull buzz.

 

As I started to say the Eucharistic Prayer, one woman in the front - Helen, I'll never forget her - spoke up.  Helen's eyes looked like the last 20 or 30 years of her life had witnessed some pretty rough roads. Makeup clung to the deep wrinkles and lines in her face, her eyelids were a bright blue with a crooked line of mascara outlining them, and her lips were a misshapen bright cherry red.

 

She looked like a tragic clown in a very painfully human circus in this "Recreational Room".

 

"Hey, are you allowed to do that? I mean, being a woman and all," she asked in a gravelly voice.

 

"Yes, I am an ordained Episcopal Priest," I said, sounding every bit like a newly ordained and slightly insecure Episcopal Priest.

 

"Yeah, sure you are" she said, taking a drag from her cigarette, "and I’m the Queen of Sheba. Well, I can't take communion. Divorced, you know."

 

"Sure you can," I said, "Everyone is welcome at the Lord's Table."

 

She looked at the oblong utility table where I had set out the starched, white corporal, and had the shiny silver paten and chalice, raised an eyebrow of suspicion, shrugged her shoulders, and lit another cigarette from the one she had almost finished.

 

I got through the Eucharistic Prayer and marveled as most of the people in the room seemed to be paying close attention to what I was doing. Perhaps a memory from childhood or an earlier day was awakened, and they recognized this as a holy moment.

 

Even after the words of institution, the mood in the room remained solemn. As I prepared to distribute communion, Helen called out, "Hey, shouldn't we be singing something?"

 

"Sure," I said, "Why don't you lead us in singing one of your favorite hymns?"

 

Oh, do be careful what you ask for. I asked her to sing. And so, she did.

 

She leaned back her head, closed her eyes and started singing in the most reverent tones I've ever heard, "She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes. She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes. . . ."

 

By the third verse, about a dozen or so people joined her. "She'll be driving six white horses, she'll be drivin' six white horses (big finish) WHEN. SHE. COOOMMMES!!"

 

You know what? In that moment, when the absurd met reality, and the profane intersected with the sacred, I knew that Jesus was already there, in that locked Recreational Room, on the third floor of the locked ward of the Solomon Carter Mental Health Center, in Lowell, MA.

 

And, I had this epiphany. Jesus was fully present to us, but not just in the graham crackers and grapefruit juice. I had already figured that out.

 

My epiphany was this: We hadn’t brought Jesus to church. We had only just brought the church to Jesus.

 

We are three days away from celebrating the birth of Jesus. It is still unthinkable to me that we will not be in Church on Christmas Eve. I cannot get my head wrapped around the fact that there will be no Christmas Pageant, no organ music accompanying the choir singing all our favorite Christmas carols.

 

The worst is that we will not have That Moment when the house lights go down, the candle tapers are lit, we get on our knees and sing, “Silent Night”.

 

As tempting as it is to wallow in my sorrow, I find myself thinking of that Eucharist – indeed, those Eucharists – at the Solomon Carter Center in Lowell, MA.

 

The ancient church did not meet in a building they called “the church”. They understood themselves to be the church. They celebrated Jesus in their midst in their homes.

 

This Christmas, we can’t go to church but we can be the church – in front of our laptops or smart phones or television sets – and worship God together in the best way we can which, turns out, is also the most ancient way.

 

And, Jesus will be present.

 

 

“This is what God's kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes. And there's always room for more.” ~ Rachel Held Evans

 

 

“Christianity is one beggar telling another beggar where he found bread.”

                                                                                    ~ D.T. Niles

 

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack, a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

                        Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”