The Great Lenten Experiment: Facing East

These are not the best pictures, taken as they were with a cell phone from the choir loft, but this will give you a sense of what we've been doing now for our Great Lenten Experiment.


As readers of this Blog will know, we are facing liturgical East during the Great Thanksgiving. To keep the solemnity of the Lenten Season, we have moved the Passing of the Peace from its status as 'half time' - a 'mini coffee hour meet-and-greet and an over correction of six years ago, to a liturgical action and part of the Eucharistic celebration.

The Peace is immediately followed by the Lord's Prayer. I've done that for purely pragmatic reasons. It's a good way to call the congregation back to prayer (Old habits die hard, and the Peace is still fairly raucous.).

As you can see, this is a good Episcopal congregation - everyone likes to sit in the back pews.

We are using Rite I at 8 AM and Rite II at 10. I must say, my experience thus far is that Facing East and Rite I go fairly well together. The more familiar language of Rite II seems to add to the oddity of Facing East.


This is the elevation, which the choir tells me is the most dramatic action of the Eucharist. Yes, we use Pita bread as well as wafers. We also offer allergy-free wafers.

The communion wine is a Tokay - not exactly white but easier on the fair linens and purificators than red wine. It's a compromise with the Altar Guild who are still asking women to blot their lipstick before coming to the communion rail - alas, to no great effect.

We have moved the Announcements to the end of the service, right after the Post Communion Prayer. The Benediction follows the Announcements and then the Dismissal.

It's an adjustment, but I think we've gotten most of the kinks worked out after three weeks. It will be interesting to see how it all flows when the bishop is with us next week.

So far, the response could only be described as 'tepid'. No one is wild about it - including yours truly - but it certainly is an opportunity to do what the bishop has asked us to do: to consider why we do what we do and how it is that our experience of worship glorifies God and edifies the people of God.

We've done a pre-survey and will do a post-survey during the first three weeks of Easter.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Facing East: The Great Lenten Experiment

This picture represents my clearest childhood memory of the Celebration of The Eucharist.

I don't ever remember being either repulsed or necessarily inspired by it. God was 'up there, out there' and the priest was leading us to . . . . . . HIM (but, of course).

We were all very clear, then, about who had the authority to decide these things, so no one asked questions or wondered why we did what we did the way we did it. It was just the way it was - like the way Spring always followed Winter.

I'll admit that there was a certain comfort and freedom in that, a certainty and reliability that inspired a sort of quiet confidence and provided a sense of solace and sanctuary in a world which was being rapidly changed by The War in Viet Nam, The Civil Rights Movement and The Feminist Movement.

It also paralyzed a few brain cells and inhibited religious imagination in the process, but this was no "thinking person's religion." We left that up to the Protestants who were, to a person my mother asserted, "educated idiots."

Until Vatican II. Then, everything changed - including the Celebration of the Mass in The Episcopal Church. While some are loathed to admit it, the 1979 Book of Common Prayer is a result of the theological considerations which were being discussed in the time after Pope John XXIII opened The Second Vatican Council in 1962 and Pope Paul VI closed it in 1965.

One of the first issues considered by Vatican II was the revision of the liturgy. Vatican II went much further in encouraging active participation of the people than previous Popes had allowed or recommended. The council 'fathers' established guidelines to govern the revision of the liturgy, which included allowing the very limited use of the vernacular (native language) instead of Latin. It also began to shift the theological emphasis from the mystery or transcendent nature of God to the immanent or nearness of God.

A very brief word on that before I continue, because it is important to understand these things and how they were very active in the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, which was in use at the time, and the shift to the 1979 BCP.

The word 'transcendence' refers to the great mystery that is part of the nature of God. God is above, beyond, outside all that God has made. God can never cease to be God nor can anyone become God. Belief in a transcendent God inspires awe, reverence and humility.

The language we use to address the transcendency of God is regal and formal. The liturgical role of the priest, the alter Christus or stand-in for Jesus, like Jesus, leads the people who have gathered to worship God. The nature and character of the priest is not important, so the priest faces God which means his (sic) back is toward the people. This is not a denial of the presence of the people, but rather, the posture of liturgical leadership, the ancient idea of bringing people to God through the intercessions of the priest, the alter Christus, who is our 'great high priest'.

The word 'immanence' refers to the nature of God that is inside all that God has made as well as outside. God is the Sustainer and Preserver as well as Creator, and the source of all power and beauty. Belief in an immanent God leads people to see God in all things - in themselves and others and in all creation. An understanding of the ever-presence of God provides comfort and solace in the midst of our busy, post-modern lives.

The language we use to address the immanence of God is informal and more intimate. The liturgical role of the priest, the alter Christus or stand-in for Jesus, like Jesus, leads the people who are gathered to worship God by facing them, being one among them. This is not a denial of the great mystery of God, but rather the posture of liturgical leadership, bringing people a sense that God is less than a heartbeat away and closer than the next breath they take. It is intended to bring people closer to the full embrace of God in Christ Jesus.

If you've gotten this far, you may be scratching your head and asking, "Yeah, so? Where are you going with this, Elizabeth?"

Well, hang onto your hats, kids and fasten your seat belts. We're going on The Great Lenten Experiment.

Let me explain why.

Bishop Mark Beckwith has set forth a marvelous vision for the next three to five years. You can find it here.

Very briefly, Bishop Mark has set forth a vision of 'The Gates of Hope' and provides us with what he understands to be four core values he has seen at work in our diocese: Worship, Spiritual Formation, Social Justice / Noviolence and Radical Hospitality.

He says this about the Core Value of Worship:

“Enter gates with thanksgiving; go into God’s courts with praise.” Psalm 100.3

Worship gathers and grounds us as individuals and as a community. Worship has the capacity to quicken the souls who come through the “gate of holiness” – and transform them into disciples of hope as they re-enter the world.


He asks us to consider these questions:

• What is your worship designed to do? What is its intention?
• How is the worship experience creating disciples of hope?
• How does each congregation design liturgy that invites the gift of mystagogia (which is the experience of living more deeply into the mystery of the divine hope), and then evaluate it?
• How best to use space, music, silence, language and, movement in the context of worship – for the soul’s health and transformation?


So, that got me to thinking.

+ In this affluent, suburban community of Northern New Jersey, how is it that our experience of worship on Sunday calls us to look beyond ourselves?
+ How, in fact, might our experience of Sunday worship contribute to our insulation and isolation as individuals and as members of a community?
+ How might our use of space, music, silence, language and movement in the context of worship, reinforce the 'rugged individualism' and our fierce reliance on our own intellect and resource?
+ How does our worship invite the gift of mystagogia, to live more deeply into the mystery of divine hope?


Which has led me to invite you into The Great Lenten Experiment. Ready? Here we go.

Beginning February 10, the first Sunday in Lent and throughout the Season of Lent, I will say the Eucharistic Prayer facing east. Well, actually, at St. Paul's, that means southeast, but mostly south. No, we're not going to get into a discussion about the architecture of our sanctuary. It is what it is and it is an excellent example of the architecture of the time. Let's leave it at that, shall we?

Why is it important to face east?

For me, the the importance is held in the power of the east as a symbol of that point of the compass so rich in symbolism all through the sacred Scriptures both the Old and the New Testaments. As far as is possible, all altars face the east, so that all Celebrations of the Eucharist face the east as well. The significance of the east was well known to the early Christians. Like the rising sun, Christ (the Sun of Justice and Light of the world) rose in the early morning on the first Easter Sunday.

The visual impact of the first rays of the rising sun piercing the rich stained-glass windows towards which the priest was offering the Body and Blood of Christ have always been overwhelming to me whenever I've attended Mass in the hush of the early morning. This is also the inspiration and motivation for those who attend "Sunrise Easter Services" to arise even before dawn. It's quite powerful.

While we still have a few of the 1928 Prayer Books tucked away, there are not enough to go around, even for the eight o'clock crowd, and I won't kill another forest by reproducing booklets for the pew, so we'll be using Rite I at the eight o'clock service, which has become part of the traditional Lenten experience for that community.

We'll be using Rite II for the ten o'clock service. As we did last Lent, we will sing the most ancient form of the Creed, "Jesus is Lord, we are the Body of Christ" instead of the Nicene Creed. Every time I lead the congregation in prayer, I will face the altar. The Lector will continue to go into the congregation and face the altar for the Prayers of the People.

I'll be doing an Adult Forum after church on Sunday, January 27 and there will be printed material around which explains what it is we're doing for those who aren't able to attend. This will also be on my Blog and on the St. Paul's Blog and in the next issue of The Epistle.

I'm going to ask you to be very intentional about noticing your reaction as well as your response to this experiment. I'm going to ask as many of you who can to make a commitment to attend both services - at 8 and 10 AM and compare your experiences. I will have copies of a very brief survey which I will leave in the Narthex and ask you to fill out immediately after the service ends. At the end of Lent, I will ask you to respond to the entire experience.

Not to worry. I'm not doing this as a prelude to making a permanent change. I'm doing this to have us all consider the questions asked by our bishop about what is undeniably one of the core values of our community. I'm doing this so we can have a greater sense of balance between the transcendence and immanence of God. I'm doing this so that we can be more intentional about what we do as a community, and why we do it, and to evaluate the effect of our Sunday worship on the rest of our lives.

Because, if the experience of church on Sunday is not connecting you with the rest of your life and that of others, if you do not have an opportunity to enter more deeply into the great mystery that is God, if Jesus isn't transforming your hearts and minds, your souls and bodies through worship, then why bother? You should probably just stay home.

One of the buttons one of our kids once gave me says, "Going to church will not make you a Christian any more than going to the garage will make you a car." Well, that's true, but only in part. Hopefully, the experience of church will inspire and nourish and sustain you to be a Christian in the world all the rest of the week.

So, are you ready? Will you 'Face East' and enter into The Great Lenten Experiment? I think it has the potential to be a great Lenten Discipline which we take on as a community of faith. I'm looking forward to it.

Let us join our bishop in what he calls "A guiding and galvanizing prayer" which he as adapted from a prayer by Victoria Safford:


O God, help us to claim our mission: to stand with the living Christ at the gates of hope. Not the prudent gates of optimism, which are somewhat narrower; nor the strident gates of self-righteousness, which creak on shrill and angry hinges; but a very different, sometimes very lonely place. It is the place of truth-telling, about our own souls first of all and its condition; the place of resistance and defiance, the piece of ground from which we see the world both as it is and as it could be, as it will be; the place from which we glimpse not only struggle, but joy in the struggle – with the Christ who sets us free; and we stand there, beckoning and calling, telling people what we see, asking people what they see. In Christ’s name we pray. -


And, let all God's children say, "Amen."

Update: My dear friend, Tobias Haller, BSG, has written his usual intelligent, thorough piece on this which you can find here.

The First Lenten Sunday Experiment

Readers of this Blog will know about The Great Lenten Experiment going on at St. Paul's in Chatham. If you don't, you can read all about it here.

Basically, we're taking Bishop Mark Beckwith's challenge to look at the quality of our worship life - why we do what we do with prayer, the space, the hymns and psalms, 'our souls and bodies' etc. - and what that says about our relationship with God.

During Lent, we will be looking at the 'transcendence' vs. the 'immanence' of God by 'Facing (Liturgical) East'. In other words, my back will be to the people, and I will be endeavoring to lead them to a deeper awareness of the transcendent nature of God.

To keep with the solemn nature of Lent, we have also moved the Passing of the Peace (which has become like half-time or intermission) to one of its ancient places in the liturgy - right after the Great Amen and before the Lord's Prayer. The Announcements have also been moved to the end of the service - right after the Post Communion Prayer and before the final blessing and recessional hymn.

I wish I had had the presence of mind to ask someone in the choir loft to take pictures. I will next week. Choir members were almost universally in awe of what they experienced. They LOVED it. Most in the congregation, however, did not.

The reactions have been interesting. And, most have been exactly that - reactions as opposed to responses. It was visceral. Deep. "I hate it. HATE it!' one member exclaimed. "I feel cut off from the altar. You are not leading us to God, you are cutting us off from him."

"WOW!" I responded. "What a GREAT reaction! This is FABULOUS! When was the last time you felt that passionate about something that happened in church?"

She looked at me completely befuddled. I suppose I was expected to cower and then grovel as I apologized profusely for having the unmitigated nerve to change something in our worship. So, no fool, I seized the moment.

"You have exceeded my wildest hopes and dreams for this experiment. The whole point is to get you to think about what we're doing and why we do what we do when we worship God, and to consider what that says about our relationship to God."

She walked away, muttering incoherently.

"But, you have spit in the face of tradition," said another, anonymously, of course, in the written survey form I have been circulating for two weeks about this Lenten Experiment. (We'll do another 'post survey' in Easter.)

The ironic thing, of course, is that the tradition of the Church has been to face East. Facing the people is a 'recent innovation' - only with us since Vatican II in the late 60's.

Those who grew up in The Episcopal or Roman Catholic tradition were flooded with memories of their childhood or teen years. There were lots of stories about 'watching Father' as a child from the choir stall, and feeling part of 'some Great Mystery."

Most were cautiously guarded. "I trust you, Elizabeth, in this experiment, but at first blush, I don't like it."

Me? I was too caught up in the mechanics and pragmatics to really weigh in at this point. I didn't like the disruption in the 'expected' flow of the liturgy. The altar space suddenly felt much smaller. It felt really awkward to have my back to the people. It also seemed more . . . 'natural' . . . to face East while using Rite I, as has been our custom at the 8 AM service during Lent.

On the other hand, I have never before felt the power of the moment of the elevation of the consecrated elements as I did as I faced East. I felt a participant in 'the sacrifice of the Mass' in a way I never have before.

Interesting.

We also did The Great Litany, chanted in procession. That's one long sucker, isn't it? In the second week of Lent, we'll begin with the Penitential Order and read the Decalogue. After that, we'll "simply" begin with the Penitential Order, Confession and Absolution and Kyrie and the rest of the service will flow . . . as 'normal'.

I'm glad I prevailed upon the Organist / Choir Director to select old, familiar hymns, including the Doxology (Old 100th) as the Presentation Hymn for the next two weeks. There's got to be some 'anchor of the familiar' for balance.

I'll keep you posted on how this progresses. And, next Sunday, I'll post some pictures.

The Bishop's Annual Visitation is scheduled for March 2nd. I'm sure he'll get an earful.

Please keep us in your prayers.

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.

'Living Bread' and Vegetables

One of the wonderful things about being on vacation is that I get to go to other churches and see other kinds of liturgy and hear other preachers.

One of the awful things about being on vacation and visiting other churches is that you sometimes see some liturgy and hear some preaching that is perfectly awful.

The really awful thing is not just because it is spiritually empty, but because it simply does not touch people where they are and nourish and inspire them to do the work of God.

I shall not reveal the location of this morning's experience. Suffice it to say that it was not the worst liturgy I've experienced or the most awful sermon I've ever heard, but both were certainly in the "Bottom 10".

The liturgy was traditional high Anglo-Catholic, and I confess that in the deepest part of my heart, I am an Anglo-Catholic. I love the litugry and the spirituality. I love the theology that directly connects what happens in the pulpit and at the Table and compels one into the world to do the work of God.

There was lots and lots of incense and sanctus bells. Everything was done with with impeccable precision. There was an East-facing altar (I watched in fascination as two of the acolytes moved the 'movable' altar off to the side chapel before the service.). The liturgy was complete with split T-formations, uniform bowing, and grand, swooping altar sensing - all done to absolute perfection.

I have come to know that, more often than not (although not in every case, certainly), just a little bit of gentle pastoral probing will reveal that - whether high Anglo-Catholic, Broad Middle or low Protestant - there is a direct link between such rigid ritual and some secret that the congregation and/or clergy are keeping.

It's just a sense - a hunch - an intuition one gets while sitting there. Sort of the same way one can discern that this - THIS - is a place where people pray.

One also gets a sense when something is not quite right. It's all a bit too precious. It's like the clergy are worshiping the worship instead of leading the people to worship God.

Know what I mean?

I won't speculate here, but my experience teaches me that there's a deep secret - some kind of unspeakable shame - that gets covered up when the liturgy is that precious and that precise and the ritual is that rigid.

What makes me angry is that it's mostly about the liturgy and the clergy, and not the needs of the people. I mean, as I looked around the congregation, no one was really paying attention.

First off, everything was waaaayyyy up there. The 'high altar' was quite high. You could have gotten a nose-bleed, it was so high.

When I looked around (because I found the rigidity of the ritual very off-putting), people were reading the bulletin or looking at the stained glass.

The woman in front of me was reading the Nicene Creed during the sermon, even though she obviously knew it by heart.

She was smart.

The sermon was awful. I mean, okay. It's hard to preach a creative sermon about bread three Sunday's in a row. Year after year. As I look ahead in the lectionary, another sermon about bread is in the offing next Sunday.

When the sermon started with the preacher saying, "You are what you eat," delivered in detached monotone, I knew we were in for trouble.

It went down from there.

Way down.

The good thing was, it only lasted eight minutes. Eight long minutes, but, mercifully, only eight minutes.

The worst part was, despite the fact that there were 'moments' in the sermon of some spiritual insight (although, for the life of me, they escape me now), I didn't believe one word he said. The preacher was absolutely disconnected from what he was saying. He read the words off the page mechanically, without any investment of himself.

Which should not really have come as a surprise. He preached in much the same way he presided over Eucharist. Mechanically. With precision. It was all performance, in the worst sense of that word. Disconnected from himself and the people he was supposed to be serving - feeding - nourishing - strengthening - sustaining.

The task of the priest is to break open the Word in the same way as s/he is to break open the Bread of Heaven and pour out the Cup of Salvation, so that God's people might be fed on both Word and Sacrament.

In the words of the priestly ordination vows, "In all (note: ALL) that you do, you are to nourish Christ's people from the riches of his grace, and strengthen them to glorify God in this life and the life to come."

I take those words as serious as a heart attack.

I'm sure he does, too. It's just that, well, in my experience, you simply can't do that while you are hiding behind ritual or form.

Preaching and presiding are two of the most transparent, naked, vulnerable things I do. At times, it can be absolutely terrifying. And, it's always a deep, profound privilege and honor.

And, and, and . . . here's the most important part: You do it all for Christ's people, that they, too, might come to Jesus "just as I am without one plea," and be changed and transformed and be made whole that they might live righteous, holy and godly lives of faith.

Listen, I know that I am not the best preacher in Western Christendom nor am I the best liturgist, but I give it my best shot. Every Sunday. Every time I preach or preside. And, as St. Paul tells us, the work is perfected in the doing.

Well, I found myself praying for my brother, that whatever secret fear he's been hiding, whatever collusion this congregation has in whatever secret they're keeping, might find exposure and healing. I pray that he might find nourishment for his soul so that he might nourish the people God has called him to serve.

As one of my spiritual directors once said to me: "There's a rule in the cosmos: You can't give away what you don't have."

And, I prayed that if that really was his best shot, if that's really the best he can do, that God might find a way to use it as a vehicle of God's grace. God knows, if God can use this broken pot of a vessel to some good, God can do anything.

And, God knows, God can. And does. All the time. Without any help from me. In fact, despite my anger and frustration and brokenness. God knows!

Needless to say, I came home spiritually hungry. I went to the gym where I found myself praying mightily on the elliptical machine, praying for forgiveness for my hardness of heart and asking God to help me to let go of my anger, find something positive to consider in the morning's experience, and become a better person and a better priest to the people I serve.

When I came home, I decided to check out a video clip a dear friend had sent me. I was deeply moved by it. Indeed, I felt as if I were hearing the sermon I missed.

I hope you will check out this video, too. It will be well worth the eight minutes you will spend watching it. Yup. Eight minutes. Just like this morning's sermon.

Coincidence? I don't think so.

I am quite certain this young man is not an Episcopalian. He's not clergy. But he is living out the Gospel with integrity and authenticity and passion and conviction.

The Word of God has clearly been broken open in his heart and he has been broken open by the Word which has moved him to mission and ministry.

I believe every word he says. Indeed, I feel compelled to join him. According to his website, Matthew 25 Farm, the goal at the farm this year is to grow ten acres of vegetables which will potentially feed 20,000 people. They intend to do this "completely by the support of the community which means that everything that we need to succeed will come from donations, loans, and volunteer labor."

There is a link where you can donate money or equipment. You can also "adopt a farm for a day."

That link will also take you to Current and Upcoming Events. This past week they needed help picking beans, along with some lettuce, carrots and even, perhaps, some onions. He figured that it would take about an hour to fill one 5 gallon pale full of beans. I'll check in later tonight or tomorrow to see what this week's assignment entails.

I've already sent this link to my Vestry and the chair of my Outreach Committee and have written up a "blurb" for the Parish Announcements.

I'm thinking there is a reason that my time at the beach has been delayed.

I'm thinking I should pack some jeans, an old tee-shirt, my boots and work gloves and take the four hour ride up to the farm this week. Check it out. Get my hands dirty.

I'm thinking this would be a wonderful inter-generational mission trip in early September for our congregation. I'm going to email my Youth Missioner right now and see what he thinks.

Jesus said, "I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh." John 6:51.

You know, it's true: God does work in strange and mysterious ways.

Sometimes, even a bad sermon can inspire you to do good things.

Sometimes, 'living bread' can look like vegetables grown by a community of strangers for the poor, who are our neighbors in Christ.

“Everything you ever wanted to know about Lent, but were afraid to ask.”

Note: This is a little 'blurb' I send out to my parishioners at the beginning of the Season of Lent to explain why we do what we do. I would love it if you wrote in and told me what you do in your parish that is different - or if your understanding of why we do what we do is different.

There are forty days and forty nights of the Season of Lent,beginning with Ash Wednesday and ending on Easter Day. If you count up the number of days in that period of time, however, you will note that the total is 48. That’s because Sundays are always considered a celebration of the Resurrection of our Lord and are, therefore, not counted.

Even so, we suspend the use of the “Alleluia’s” in Lent. The children “buried” them under the carpet by the baptismal font on the Last Sunday of Epiphany, and they will be “resurrected” on Easter morning. (Watch out! The children will be listening. If they catch you saying ‘Alleluia’ in church, you will be “fined” and they win a prize!)

We will celebrate Eucharist “Facing Liturgical East”. This is a way to accentuate the transcendence (rather than the immanence) of God, and underscore our time in the wilderness of Lent.

We begin Sunday observations of Lent with the Great Litany, which is chanted in procession, emphasizing the pilgrim nature of our faith. We will process again on Palm Sunday and Good Friday.

There are no shiny Eucharistic vessels or ornaments during Lent. Even the cross and Gospel book are veiled. The liturgical color for the season is purple, which points us to the Sovereignty of Jesus – a symbol of the supremacy of His sacrificial love for us.

The Exchange of Peace is moved to its historic place in the Eucharistic Prayer and the Announcements are made at the end of the Service. This is to underscore the solemnity of the Lenten Season.

The fourth Sunday in Lent is “Refreshment” or “Rose Sunday”. We will use rose colored vestments for that day.

Palm Sunday – the Sunday of Passion – is marked by our modern re-enactment of the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. We do this with Distribution of Palms which begins at 9:45 and a procession up Main Street, following a Jazz Band. The liturgical color for this day and all of Holy Week is a deep red. The mood suddenly changes when we return to the church and participate in a reading of the Passion of our Lord.

The most sacred part of Holy Week is the Triduum – the Three Holy Days – which begins with Maundy Thursday, with the traditional service of Foot Washing and the Agape Meal, a “Love Feast” that is a reflection of the Passover Meal observed by Jesus and his disciples. The altar is stripped and the church is left bare. A Night Watch is kept in the church.

Good Friday is the most solemn day in the Christian calendar, the day when we remember the crucifixion of Jesus. The children gather at noon to walk the Stations of the Cross, while the adults gather with other Christians in
Chatham for a retelling of the Passion of Jesus. The evening provides a powerful opportunity to venerate the cross and process it into the darkness of the night, hopeful of the promise of resurrection.

The Great Vigil of Easter is our most ancient liturgy which we observe on Saturday evening. Our salvation story is told in the midst of the drama of the lighting of the new fire, the paschal candle, baptism and the first Eucharist. The liturgical color is white. It is high liturgical drama of the first order, and not to be missed! A champagne and chocolate covered strawberry reception caps the evening.

Easter Day is a glorious celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus. The Special music and vocal offerings deepen the spiritual experience of this day. The children love to “unbury” the “Alleluia’s” and hunt for hidden Easter eggs.

In preparation for the "Easter Experience,” it is a long-standing Christian tradition to practice some form of Lenten discipline as we deepen our understanding of our “discipleship.” This can take the form of regular fasting (usually on Friday) of meals (imbibing only liquids) from sun up to sun down. Some prefer to eliminate meat from their diet one day per week. Others may “give up” chocolate, alcohol, nicotine or other favorite substances.

Fasting and other forms of sacrifice are not simply “what we do” in Lent. These are intentional acts which bring us into solidarity with those who suffer. In so doing, we open our minds and expand our hearts to greater compassion – a mark of a follower of Jesus.

Lenten Discipline also includes regular times of prayer and meditation, physical exercise, and devotional reading. It may also include challenging yourself to take on a new task, learn a new skill, or improve an old one. Lent is also a time for private confession. Please call to schedule an appointment

The point is that these “forty days and nights” are a time to discipline one’s self to be a better disciple. It’s a time which draws attention in a purposeful way to the things we do and helps us to examine why it is we do them. It is an opportunity to deepen your spirituality and strengthen your faith.

Snowcapolypse!

The wind is howling. I’ve heard that expression before but I’ve never quite heard it like this. It’s as if there were some invisible, angry, wounded animal somewhere out in the midst of the swirling white smog of wind and snow and sleet.

It’s a blizzard, a bona fide Nor’easter the likes of which no one around here ever remembers seeing.

The electricity went out around 3:30 AM. I woke up around 4:30, feeling a bit of a chill. When I looked at the clock something didn’t seem right, so I tried to turn on the light. That’s when I knew.

The realization of no electricity and no heat shook me hard and woke me out of that kind of early-morning quasi-sleep that promises, if you close your eyes and snuggle back down and think lovely thoughts, you can go back to sleep.

Wasn’t gonna happen. I jumped out of bed to check the water level in the Bay. That’s when I heard the first howl. Actually, it was more like a low moan – as if someone had been injured and was lying on the deck outside my window.

“UuuUUUuuuuhhhhhhh . . . . .OooooOOOOooooohhhhh”

Then came the thunder. Then, the lightening. How was it that I had slept through this?

I put on my silk long johns under my corduroy brown pants, two pairs of socks and my slippers, a white turtle neck, a gray sweater and then bulky knit sweater over it all and headed for the kitchen. Thermostat inside said 54 degrees. Outside – 36 degrees.

No coffee this morning (note to self: Get a small, French, drip coffee press next time you’re at Bed, Bath and Beyond to keep here), but a hot mug of tea would suffice nicely. I warmed up a blueberry muffin in the oven till it was piping hot and delighted to watch the smoke rise from the inside of the muffin as the butter melted.

Thank God for the gas stove in the kitchen and on the deck. At least I have a few sources of heat. I turned them both on, closed the doors to all the bedrooms, went out to the deck with my tea steaming happily in my mug and started to say Morning Prayer.

I didn’t use the iBCP on my iPhone as that seemed like a pretty silly waste of the battery – especially since I have a few BCPs lying around the cottage. I confess I was distracted in prayer by the cold and watching the Bay water rise steadily in cold, angry slaps against the railroad ties in the front yard.

I can only see out of two windows – the ones facing South. The widows to the North and East are completely covered by snow. The deck, which faces North, is completely snowed in, with a three foot drift blocking the glass door and insuring that, at least for now, no one will go out or get in without at least 10 minutes work with a shovel.

Around 9:15 AM my neighbor, Larry, knocked on the door. “You okay in there?” he asked from behind his black hooded face cap, resplendent in his burnt orange jump suit. Larry is a locksmith and a peach of a guy. Always checks in on us during a storm. Came with 5 gallons of water during "Ernesto" a few years back. If you look up the term "good neighbor" in the pictorial dictionary, Larry's picture is there.

Around 10:15, I got all bundled up, my "loose gravel" shovel and broom in hand, ready to shovel out the car. I had forgotten my boots back in NJ, so I put on three socks and Ms. Conroy's boots and then covered them with plastic bags.

It worked pretty well until the first wind blast hit about the time my foot went into a deep drift. The wind literally blew me over onto my side. When I tried to get up, the snow sucked my foot out of the plastic-bag-wrapped sneaker and left my foot in the snow.

It was a rather inelegant moment. I was glad I didn't know if anyone was watching me from their window. I must have been quite a sight.

I managed to get all the snow dusted off Lucy True Bug's body and rag top and removed it all from the windshield and wipers. I shoveled out the tires and the sides of the car. Now I have to shovel myself out of the parking lot and through the mound the snow plow has created a few feet from the back of my car.

Larry said his daughter and he would help me. I'm going to need it. There's a lull right now in the snow, but it's still blowing hard. The snow is expected to return later this afternoon, bringing another couple of inches before it ends around 1 AM.

The electricity came back on around 12:30 - THANKS BE TO GOD!!!!! - as did the heat. It's now a toasty 70 degrees in here. Cable and WiFi are back. I fixed myself some eggs and toasted an English muffin for lunch.

Life is good with the basics.

Of course, there's still a state of emergency declared in Delaware. All the major roads are closed to "non-essential vehicles". As much as I adore Lucy True Bug, I think she qualifies for that undignified status. I won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

It's okay. I'm safe - and now warm. I've got food and drink (including bourbon) to last me a week, if I need it. I've got great neighbors and good health, along with family and friends to pray for me and keep track of me.

There's nothing quite like a major event like a blizzard, hurricane or earthquake, to help you get your priorities in order.

I think there's something in the howling of the wind that calls that out of us. And you know, that's not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all.

Things earthly and heavenly

Things earthly and heavenly

St. George Episcopal Church, Georgetown, DE

Facebook: Sirach 26:10

Pentecost XV - Proper XX

September 18, 2022

 

It’s not always the case, but this week’s Collect prayer really sums up beautifully the point Jesus is trying to make in that complicated and complex parable of the Unjust or Shrewd Manager. Jesus says,

“No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth." 

Let me remind you of the beginning of that beautiful autumnal prayer, as things are passing away: “Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly . . .”

 

Not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly.

 

Let me tell you a little story about something that happened to me this past Monday.

 

I had just made a visit to one of our Hospice patients over at Atlantic Shores Extended Care Facility. I was parked in that small, unpaved, unofficial, pot-hole filled parking lot on the east side of the building, which, because of the rain the night before, became the autumnal version of what ee cummings described as “mud-licious” and “puddle-wonderful”.

 

Well, if you’re a kid and it’s spring, it’s wonderful. When you’re an adult and you’re working and you’re on a schedule and you feel like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, well, not so much. To make matters worse, I put my key in the ignition and . . . . nothing.

 

The radio went on, the lights went on, but the engine made absolutely no sound. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Bupkus. I tried a few more times. Silence.

 

My stomach flipped. No, no, no, no, no, NO! I don’t need this! C’mon, universe! Cut me a break here! I’ve got two more patients to see and it’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Ugh! I finally broke down and called Triple A and, after being put on hold and listening to that Gawd-awful muzak punctuated by commercials about the wonders of Triple A, was told by the nice lady that there was “heavy congestion in that area; it will be at least an hour before we can get a tow to you.”

And hour! It was hot. It was humid. It was muggy. The sweat was dripping off my brow. I was annoyed and angry but tried to sound calm and chipper as I called my supervisor and my colleague and my two scheduled patients to tell them of my predicament.

 

The good news is that, an hour later, almost to the minute, the tow truck arrived. Oh, it wasn’t just a truck. It was a HUGE flat bed truck. I looked at it and the small parking lot packed with cars and thought, “OMG! How in the world is he ever going to get me out of here?”

Out hopped the driver, a skinny, scrawny, scrappy young Sussex County man in maybe his early to mid-20s who introduced himself as “Jess.” He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt and he looked like he had probably caused his momma a few sleepless nights of walking the floor.

 

He quickly sized up the situation and saw the exact same challenges I saw. So, he first asked me for my keys to see if he could start the car. He tried a few times and then looked under the hood. It took him a few seconds to locate the starter – which is what I had feared it was – and said, “Yup, probly the starter. Welp, lemme see if I can get you outta here.”

 

I held my breath as he walked around the car, sizing things up. He looked at the other cars, then looked at the entrance to the parking lot. He paced a bit and then sort of jumped up as the solution seemed to hit his body and then he jumped into action.

 

He put my car in neutral and then pushed it out of the space. Then, through some miracle of physics or geometry or calculus he probably never took in high school but was just born knowing it, he was able to maneuver his tow truck on the street on the side of the parking lot and then, without jack-knifing it, backed that puppy in so that the flatbed was facing the front of my car. He quickly got the chains attached, artfully dodging all the puddles, and then set the hydraulic into motion to move my Jeep onto the flatbed.

 

And, just like that, we were ready to rock ‘n roll and head up the street a short distance to the JEEP dealership which I had already called and they were already waiting for me.

 

I pulled myself up the side of the cab of the truck, put all my gear in front of me, took a seat beside him and fastened my seat belt. When he came in the truck I said, “Well, Jess, I don’t know how much they pay you for this, but it’s clearly not enough.”

 

He smiled and said, “No, ma’am. No, they don’t. But then again, not too many of us get paid enough or what we’re worth. Not even you, and you’re doing God’s work.” He shook his head at the injustice of it all and said, "So, you know, I just do my best. Anyway."

 

I don't know why. Maybe it was the heat and humidity. Maybe it was that combined with my anxiety and anger and frustration and annoyance about the situation I was in. At any rate, my eyes started to sweat. (I'm not crying. You're crying.)

 

So, as he was paying attention to the traffic on the way to the dealership, I fished through my wallet and found two ones and a ten. I shoved the $10 into my pocket. He dropped me off at the service entrance and brought my car round the back. When he came back to give my keys to the service agent, I thanked him for his professional service, pressed the money into his hand and said, "Here, I just want you to keep doing your best."

 

I wish you could have seen the smile on his face. This tough, scrappy, skinny, Sussex County boy who has probably made his momma weep with worry more than a few nights looked at me and smiled like a very angel. Forget the $10. Two ones would just not have done. No, I couldn’t afford the $10. Then again, I couldn’t afford not to.

 

Heavenly things vs. earthly things, you see.

 

Jesus said, “No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.”

 

It’s so easy to fall into the trap of taking the easy way out, to throw up our hands and cave to the prevailing cultural values which always devalues the common worker, the one who is often more concerned with that which is of value in the heavens more than on earth – mostly because he has to work with his hands and the sweat off his brow and the smarts he’s picked up along the way of the rough road of life he’s had to travel.

 

Things like just doing your best, even if your compensation doesn’t reflect your value and worth. Anyway.

 

Things like stepping up to a challenge, standing up to those who say it can’t be done, and risking being called a fool because you knew the risks and, in the end, didn’t live up to your own hopes and expectations but you gave it your best. Anyway.

 

To love knowing that the love your give may not be the love you get and yet to love. Anyway.

 

Is that being ‘shrewd’? Is that, somehow, ‘unjust’? Personally? I don’t think so. And, I don’t think – not in a million years – that Jesus would have titled that particular parable using words like ‘shrewd’ or ‘unjust’.

I think it’s being human. I think it’s being the best human being we can be. I think it’s like what Jesus did in risking his life for the debts we owe and paying for them on the holy cross.

 

I think it’s like French scientist and theologian, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, once wrote, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

 

Anyway.

 

It occurs to me that our collect prayer for today is also perfect to say and, perhaps, remember on this beautiful autumnal Sunday; this, my second to last Sunday with you,

“Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.”

And let the church say, “Amen.”

Day 3, Post 1: Tom Woodward: Asked and Answered

Over at The House of Bishops in New Orleans, the lights are on but nobody's home.

That's because they are scheduled to do some construction work today.

No, not in terms of repairing any rips or frays in the fabric of the Anglican Communion or The Episcopal Church.

Rather, they are going out into New Orleans to lend a hand on a construction project as part of the on-going effort to rebuild that city after the destruction of Hurricane Katrina and the even more damaging effects of the incompetence of this Administration. That is wonderful gospel work, and I applaud them.

That also means that it's probably going to be a slow news day. And, for that, I applaud them with even more enthusiasm.

Here's a delicious little morsel for all you "church news junkies."

Tom Woodward is a priest in the diocese of Rio Grande. He is a creative thinker and one of my favorite commenters on HOB/D (House of Bishops/Deputies Listserv)I NEVER hit "delete" when I see Tom's name, unlike so many of the others.

He has written some wonderful stuff for The Episcopal Majority and has a great blog called "Turning Things Upside Down".

Catch his most recent essay "The Undermining of The Episcopal Church" which you can find either at TEM or on his personal blog.

One of the pieces of news that didn't get widely reported is that the Archbishop of Jerusalem, Mouneer Hannah Aris, addressed the House of Bishops with a stinging rebuke which ended with these words, "Please forgive me if I have said anything that offends you."

Well, here's Tom's response to that, which were originally posted on HOB/D and for which Tom has generously and graciously given me permission to repeat here. The text of Archbishop Aris' address follows.

See what you think.

1. The Muslims with whom we live will dictate the terms of what is essential in our faith and we dare not deviate from their judgment.

2. The American Church no longer values the historic Creeds, the Bible, Jesus or much else central to the Christian faith. What is the evidence for that? We just told you that it is so.

3. The Lambeth Conference, which at no time previous to its last meeting was ever considered a legislative body, has legislated the one and only one interpretation of seven verses of the Bible. If you don't agree with those interpretations, it is likely that, as others have told me, you are not Christian.

4. The Anglican Communion values diversity -- but only within the confines of uniformity. Some of my best friends are different from me.

5. Unlike the Roman Catholic Church, which enters into dialogue with complete openness to embracing our truths and discarding their own, the Americans have a real stake in the outcome of sitting around a table.

6. I am aware that I have hinted that you are a non-Christian religion and have been more than clear that you have no regard for standards or communion, but please forgive me if, by any means, I might have offended you.

In all charity, I can find little else.

Tom Woodward

NB: In all charity, here's the address of the good bishop of Jerusalem

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Thank you so much for inviting me here to come and listen to you and for giving me the opportunity to share my heart with you. I am very aware of my own shortcomings and weaknesses, but every word I want to say is out of love and concern for the unity of the Church of Christ.

I do not come with great authority, nor am I the primate of a province with a great number of Anglicans; I do however, come from a region where Christ walked and where the Church was born. I come representing the Church of Jerusalem and the Middle East.

The Church ion this region has faced many challenges since the first century. Our brothers and sisters in the early centuries were ready to sacrifice their very lives to stay true to the Faith they received from the Lord and his Apostles. Their blood was not in vain; rather it became the seed of the Church across our entire region. Many disputes and heresies took place in our region. In face of all the challenges, persecutions, and heresies our ancestors—people like St. Athanasius, St. Clement, Origen, and Cyril from Alexandria, along with Tertullian, Cyprian, and St. Augustine from North Africa—kept the faith of the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church. We are constantly learning from our ancient martyrs and forebearers how to serve the Kingdom of God faithfully.

Today our Anglican Church in the Middle East still lives within a very exciting and challenging context. We live among the Oriental Orthodox, the Greek Orthodox, the Catholics, the Jews and the Muslims. We greatly value our ecumenical relations and continue to work for unity.

We also deeply respect and appreciate our Muslim friends and value our interfaith relations while in no way compromise our faith. I have to tell you that many of these relations were severely strained after your decision to consecrate Gene Robinson as bishop in 2003. We are seen as the new heretics and this has hindered our ecumenical and interfaith relations as well as our mission in the region

My friends, like you, we want to be relevant to the culture in which we live. More importantly, we want to be salt and light to our societies. That is not an easy calling but it means we must remain distinct and humble at the same time. Without being distinct we cannot be salt and light; without humility we will not represent the one who said, “I am meek and lowly in heart.” We are also continuously challenged whether we should allow the culture to transform the Apostolic Faith we once received, or if we should allow the Gospel of Jesus Christ to transform our culture as it has in the past. As we struggle to answer this question we must never divorce ourselves from the faith that countless men, women and children died to protect. I believer that if we faithfully serve the Church of Christ, He will continue to fulfill his promise that the gates of Hades will not prevail against her.

Rupertus Meldenius said, “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity”. Our hope is to be united on the essentials of faith which are defined only by the whole church. WE are not in any way trying to impose rigid views on you. Like you we celebrate diversity, but we believe that such diversity should not be unlimited and should not contradict the essentials of our faith. We are not schismatic, but we are diligent to preserve the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace. We want unity but not unity at any expense.

Anglicans are aware with humility that we are not “the” church but we are one member of the body of Christ, the one Holy Catholic Church. We proclaim this every week in our churches. This places upon us the responsibility to listen to and respect our ecumenical partners.

My friends, you may believe you have discovered a very different truth from that of the majority in the Anglican Communion. It is not just about sexuality, but about your views of Christ, the Gospel, and the authority of the Bible. Please forgive me when I relay that some say you are a different church, others even think that you are a different religion.

I understand that it is difficult for you in your context to accept the standard teaching of the Anglican Communion. That is why you refused to accept Lambeth Conference Resolution 1.10. You also ignored all the warnings of the Primates in 2003, 2004, and 2005. Your response to the Windsor Report is seen by the Primates as not clear. You cannot say you value being a member of the Anglican Communion while you ignore the interdependence if the member churches. The interdependence is what differentiates us from other congregational churches. I would like to remind you and myself with the famous resolution number 49 of the Lambeth Conference of 1930 which declares “the Anglican Communion is a fellowship of churches that…are bound together not by a central legislative and executive authority, but by mutual loyalty sustained through the common counsel of the bishops in conference.” With respect, I have to say that those who would prefer to speak of laws and procedures, constitutions and canons, committees and process: you are missing the point! It is our mutual loyalty and fellowship, submitting to one another in the common cause of Jesus Christ that makes us of one Church one faith and one Lord.

It is clear that you actions have resulted in one the most difficult disputes in the Communion in our generation. You may see them as not core doctrinal issues. Many like me see the opposite but the thing that we all cannot ignore is that these issues are divisive and have created a lot of undesired consequences and reactions. For the first time in centuries, the fabric of our Communion is torn. Our energies have been drained and our resources are lost and it is difficult for both of us to continue like this.

My friends, if you really believe that the truth revealed to you is different from that shown to the rest of the Communion, then you need to uphold that claim with boldness even at the risk of losing unity. If you think it is right and necessary to ordain and consecrate practicing homosexuals and that you should bless same sex partnerships or even marriages, you should be true to what you believe is right and accept the consequences.

However, if you appreciate being members of the global Anglican family, then you have to walk along side the members of your family. Those who say it is important to stay together around the table, to listen to each other and to continue our dialogue over the difficult issues that are facing us are wise. We wholeheartedly agree with this, but staying around the table requires that you should not take actions that are contrary to the standard position (Lambeth 1.10) of the rest of the Communion.

Sitting around one table requires humility from all of us. One church cannot say to the rest of churches “I know the whole truth, you don’t”. Archbishop Rowan reminded us in his paper “Challenge and Hope” that “the whole truth is revealed to the whole church”. Sitting around one table requires that each one should have a clear stance before the discussion starts. It also requires that true openness and willingness to accept the mind of the whole. We do not have to be in the communion to sit around the one table. We do so when we dialogue with the Roman Catholic Church, the Orthodox and with other faiths. It would be extremely difficult to sit around one table when you have already decided the outcome if the discussion and when you ignore the many voices, warnings and appeals from around the communion.

Today I appeal to you to respond with great clarity to the requests that were made in Dar Es Salaam. If you accepted the Primates’ recommendations, would you be able to give assurances to the Executive Committee of the General Convention of TEC would ratify your response? It is the responsibility of the bishop to guard the faith as we promise during our consecration. In many of not most parts of the Communion and the historic churches, present and ancient, matters of faith and order, is the responsibility and therefore the authority of the Bishops to safeguard and teach.


If you don’t commit yourself to the Dar Es Salaam recommendations would you be willing to walk apart at least for a period during which we continue our discussions and dialogue until we reach a common understanding, especially about the essentials of our faith? Forgive me when I say that for many of us in the Communion, we feel that you have already walked apart at least theologically from the standard teaching of the Communion.

I know that you value personal freedom and independence. The whole world learns this from you. You need to demonstrate this by securing freedom for the American orthodox Anglicans who do not share your theological direction. Show your spirit of inclusiveness when you deal with them. I am afraid to say that without this more and more interventions from other provinces is going to happen. No one wants this.

I pray for wisdom and grace, for myself as well as for you, and I pray that God will lead us both in the right direction. Remember the illustrious history of God’s church and remember future generations who will sit in judgment on us. Remember also that the whole world is waiting and watching what you do.

Please forgive me if I have said anything that offends you.

May the Lord bless you.

+Mouneer Egypt

Don't Stop Believing

It’s Sunday night.

I wonder what Tony and Carm are doing.

You know. Anthony and Carmella Soprano. Last time I saw them, they were eating an appetizer of fried onion rings at the diner with AJ. Tony had ordered a plate, you know, for the table.

Watta guy, that Tone, huh?

They were listening to Journey sing “Don’t Stop Believing” while waiting for Meadow to join them for dinner. She was having some trouble parallel parking the car.

As Sil (Silvio Dante)would comment, pursing his lips and nodding his head with sage wisdom while that amazing pompadour hair style never moved, “Eh, you know, who doesn’t?”

There were a few moments of anxiety – no more than usual – as different shady characters engaged in the kind of suspicious behavior we’ve all come to take note of: the guy sitting at the counter, looking around, stirring his coffee. The two African American men who walked in – one wearing the ‘Members Only’ jacket.

Tony had it covered, though. Every time that restaurant door jingled open, he was on it, watching everyone’s every move. No one would get by that table without T taking some action to protect himself and his family. After all, he is, by definition, a ‘family man’ – in every aspect of that term: good, bad and ugly.

Here’s the thing: I miss them. I mean, I really miss them.

A lot. No doubt more than I should. I mean, they were just fictional characters in a cable television program, right? This is pretty crazy, right? Of course, right. Or, as T would say, “end of story.”

I have previously confessed on this blog that I am addicted to this story – to the characters. All of them. The way we watched them grow up – well, at least physically. It was an interesting phenomenon to see with my own eyes what happens when the passionate longings of the heart grow stone cold when mixed with blind desire and thoughtless ambition. It has the strange effect of stunting emotional, psychological, spiritual and moral growth but deepening character.

I love the scriptwriting. Okay, so at first the violence and the profanity and even the nudity bothered me – and I’m no prude. It was just that there was so much of it. So excessive. So over-the-top vulgar.

After all these years of watching this show, I have discovered that when you expose vulgarity for the sake of vulgarity, well, vulgarity loses the fullness of its negative impact. After a while, vulgarity is actually quite amusing, in its own curious way. You begin to see it for what it really is: one of the more pathetic attributes of the wretched part of the human condition.

Exposed is a good word for The Sopranos. Many things were exposed, and not just sex, violence and profanity. Yes, we got to see the inner workings of “La Cosa Nostra,” but turns out it’s really just a business. You know, like Haliburton or Enron, except it’s, well, more “family” oriented.

Yes, Tony was a mob boss and a philanderer, but one who suffered debilitating panic attacks and bouts of depression. He dutifully went to see Dr. Jennifer Melfi, his shrink, to work out his stuff with Livia, his mother the sociopath and Johnny, his father, the devastatingly handsome mass murderer with more than his share of gumads (mistresses). Is it any wonder that their manipulative daughter Janice was attracted to cruel sadistic men, and their son Anthony was born “under a bad sign with a blue moon in his eye”?

Exposed. Real. Raw. Primal. That was the attraction of the show for me. In the ‘serious suburbs’ where I live, where there are more sliced-white-bread-carved-out-of-cream-cheese people per square inch than any place I’ve ever lived before, whose homes are cookie-cutter perfect, where the only thing more immaculate than the landscaped lawns is their manners, and everything is always “fine, fine, we’re all just fine,” I’ve come to have a certain appreciation for real and raw and primal.

Nah, that’s not it. I’d love this show even if I were still living in Boston or Baltimore or East Orange, NJ. It’s really about institutions. About Tony’s struggle with institutions – the church, the government, the law, the media. You can’t trust ‘em – not any of ‘em. Corruption is everywhere. Hypocrisy is all around us and in us – in our families and friends.

In the post 9/11 world in which we live, Tony reflects the anxiety with which many of us live. Okay, so his anxiety is about his work as a mob boss. Never mind. We can all relate.

In one of his early sessions with his psychiatrist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi, Tony tells her, “Things are trending downward.” At the end of that first session, he tells her, “Lately I get the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.” Organized crime just isn’t what it used to be, he complains, adding in his own tragic-comic way of expressing himself that the high moral ground of omerta (silence) has eroded, “No one has time for the penal experience anymore.”

“What ever happened to Gary Cooper, the strong silent type?” he fumes. “That was an American. He just did what he had to do. See, what they didn’t know is that once they got Gary Cooper in touch with his feelings, he couldn’t shut up. It’s dysfunction this, and dysfunction that dysfunction vanffacul!" (You can translate that one yourself.)

Those lines could have been said by my father, or any one of my uncles. I’m not Italian-American. Close (Portuguese-American) but no cigars. I grew up in a neighborhood where I lived next to an “Uncle Junior,” went to church with a man named “Paulie” and shopped at a grocery store owned by a man named “Sally.” My uncles sold stuff out of the back of the trucks of their cars: sneakers, make up, perfume, radios, televisions, and small appliances. Cheap.

In my neighborhood, when you went to the “beauty parlor” you were in someone’s actual parlor in their home. You washed your own hair in the kitchen sink and then came out to the one barber chair in the middle of the room, facing a large mirror on the wall next to a row of two or three hair dryers – the kind with and upholstered chair and the hot plastic bubble dome which blissfully lulled you into a meditative state as it whirred in your ear and bathed your rollered head in hot air.

You not only got your hair done, but you could also buy your entire Easter outfit – dress, shoes, hat, gloves and nylon hose with a thick black line in the back that you wore with either a garter belt or a pantie girdle. Need something else? Not to worry. Paulie or Sally would be by soon to pop open the trunk of their car with the day’s specials.

While you were there, you could also purchase a bottle of paregoric, a mild narcotic to rub on a teething baby’s gums, or a bottle of “mother’s little helpers” to soothe the frayed nerves of the life of a second generation immigrant caught in the frenetic whirl of trying to live the American dream. No prescription necessary. No questions asked. No answers needed.

Before you rush to any judgments, let me tell you that these “beauty parlors” still exist – in bodegas and parts of the hood only trusted pastors get invited to attend, and only after she has gotten up in the middle of the night to help get a wayward grandson out of jail, or a pregnant granddaughter out of a situation of domestic violence.

See, I think that’s really the thing. From the beginning, The Sopranos has been about American life in microcosms, commenting on class mobility, sexism, racism, political and corporate corruption, sex and gender and even (unbelievably to me, in the character of Vito Spatafore, the finook on the construction crew) homosexuality. It’s every immigrant family’s story. It’s every story of every ambitious person who ever tried to buck the tide and make it on his own.

It’s the story of everyone who has ever believed and found his belief misplaced, her trust squandered, his dreams shattered, her faith shaken to the core. It’s a story with big themes, as all good drama is because ultimately, a life lived fully is always about big themes like belief and trust, faith and love.

One final note about Tony. I came to really like this guy, which is precisely what author David Chase wanted. Even the FBI careerists came to like him enough to tip him off about the rumors of family war, no doubt saving his life.

I realized I was in love with Tony after Dr. Melfi was raped. It was precisely the moment I found myself standing on my chair, after the police bungled the evidence and her rapist could not be prosecuted, yelling at her to give his identity to Tony. “Tell Tony! Tell Tony! Tell Tony!” I screamed at the TV set, half hysterical demand, half frantic prayer. Tony would fix ‘em. Tony would get ‘em. He wouldn’t be raping any other women once Tony was done with him.

And that’s when I knew. That’s when I rediscovered that fine, thin line which separates my soul from its own corruption. My own potential for evil. My own potential to hate. The line that was drawn the first time I loved and lost. A dream was shattered. A trust squandered. A faith misplaced. And I couldn’t do a damn thing on my own to get any of it back.

At the end of the series we come face to face with the truth. Tony is a bad man – worse than any evil we could ever imagine in ourselves. When he kills Christopher, the character who is for all intents and purposes his son, even more than his own flesh and blood, he does it with a chilling spontaneity, with absolutely no passion. It’s all a stunning sort of pragmatism. It has to be done. As he puts his fingers to block Christopher’s nose, you understand what Tony understands. It’s just good business. Except, in this business practice, Tony is revealed for what he really is: a stone cold gangster.

And we, thankfully, are not. Oh, we all have the potential for great evil, which is why we can recognize it in Tony. But, make no mistake. When you are able to lose touch with your humanity and the humanity of others over and over and over again, you have crossed the line and fallen with the other fallen angels into that abyss that separates heaven and hell.

And, the thing that will trip you up every time, the thing that places you on that slippery slope over the abyss, is the loss of your belief in humanity - your own and everyone else.

So, the irony is not lost that the closing song is “Don’t stop believing.”

Ultimately, we are all exposed as “streetlight people, living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the night.”

Which is why I’m missing Tony and Carm tonight. I suppose I will miss them for a very long time. When I wake up on Monday mornings, I won't have a blue moon in my eye and I won't get myself a gun. My world won’t exactly be turned upside down, but it will never quite be the same.

Just a small town girl,
livin' in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin' anywhere...
Just a city boy,
born and raised in South Detroit
He took the midnight train goin' anywhere...

A singer in a smokey room,
the smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on...

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night

Working hard to get my fill,
everybody wants a thrill
Payin' anything to roll the dice,
just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

(chorus)
Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlight people