Day 5: O God of all the earth

December 22
We are not the beginning and the
end of the universe. We are part
of a vision of humankind, seen in
Jesus, and yet to be achieved in
us, a vision of global sharing,
universal peace and individual
security.
— Joan D. Chittister, OSB

Prayer
O Ruler of Nations, cornerstone of
the people, desire of all; from the
clay of the earth, by your own hand
you have formed us and fashioned
us. Come and open our hearts to one
another.

You may chant this prayer along with the sisters here.

Day 4: O Key of David

Meditation
We are called to the kind of
Christian commitment that opens
doors and breaks down barriers
between people, that brings unity
to a divided world. Try to unlock
one door that is keeping someone
locked out of your heart.
— Joan D. Chittister, OSB

Prayer
O Key of David, rod and staff of the
house of Israel, one who opens and
no one closes, the one who closes
and no one opens. Come lead
prisoners caught in darkness.

You may chant this prayer with the sisters here.

A personal note: We had our Third Blue Christmas Service tonight and more than doubled our attendance. People came from Morris Plains and as far as Nutley. It helped that our service got a little press on Thursday with an article in the Star Ledger.

I only pray that more churches have this kind of service. It is, without a doubt, the most pastoral thing I do at Christmas.

By the way, Jeff Diamant, the Religion Editor at the Star Ledger, is officially 'on my list' for calling me 'Liz' - and doubly so for putting the word in my mouth.

Not to worry. He won't be on it for long, though. He's a good guy. And, it's almost Christmas.

P.S. You can find an example of our liturgy here.

The Purpose Driven Inauguration

I've been surprised by all the outrage and righteous indignation coming from my LGBT sisters and brothers and straight allies about Obaman's invitation to have Rick Warren deliver the invocation at his inauguration as president of the United States.

I'm disappointed, of course. And, my annoyance can sometimes roll into anger.

But surprised? Not in the least.

I was helped somewhat by the very fine statement from Susan Russell, the President of Integrity. You can read it here.

Update: Read Susan's Open Letter to President-Elect Obama here. It's very measured and clear. This is Ms. Russell at her best.

It's not that I don't get it. Duh! I've been a religious activist for longer than I care to admit.

I have long ago ceased being surprised by anything a politician says or does.

Perhaps that's why I don't get that everyone is surprised by this - or has enough energy to mount an angry protest.

Not that I don't think it's important to protest. It's just that I'm surprised that everyone is surprised by Obama's choice.

I remember pinning Big Expectations on Bill Clinton's presidency. I remember thinking, "This guy gets it. He gets the 'Big Tent' idea that is central to the Spirit of Anglicanism. In fact, we should make him an honorary Anglican."

The 1992 presidential election was a case in point. Then nominee Bill Clinton promised to lift the ban on gays in the military. When Clinton renewed his promise after winning the election, he was met by a storm of protest from both Congress and the military, especially the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Clinton reportedly turned to (I believe it was) Mel White, head of Soulforce and said, "I had no idea how much they hate you people."

Right. Translation: "Holy Crap! If I pursue this, this is going to cost me not only my re-election, but my entire political career."

In the end the president settled for a compromise that pleased virtually no one.

On July 19, 1993, President Clinton announced what he called an "honorable compromise," a "don't ask, don't tell" policy, under which potential recruits would not be asked their sexual orientation, would have to keep that orientation private and not engage in any homosexual conduct and would require the military to curtail its investigation of suspected homosexuals and lesbians.

Gay men or lesbians who let their identity be known or who act on their sexuality would still be discharged from the Armed Forces. Similarly, President Clinton's support for Congress' enactment of the Defense of Marriage Act ("DOMA"), which enables states to refuse to recognize same-sex marriages performed in other states, also drew fire from civil rights advocates.

On the other hand, the Clinton Administration made several important regulatory changes, including issuing an executive order banning discrimination based on sexual orientation in all civilian federal workplaces, as well as an executive order prohibiting sexual orientation and other forms of discrimination by federally conducted education programs; and granting asylum for gay men and lesbians facing persecution in other countries.

I have come to understand that this is the way the politics of social progress works: Two steps forward, three steps back - and if it's going to scare the horses and cost votes, the promises made to LGBT people are the first to go out the window.

When have we seen this before? Hmmm . . .

Consider our own Presiding Bishop who, when she was Bishop of Nevada was supportive of Blessing Same Sex Covenants and, has been widely reported by the "orthodites"(I refuse to call them 'orthodox'. Their theology is NOT 'right'.),even had Jack Spong in her diocese (The acid-test for being beyond redemption).

She hadn't been elected first woman PB for more than three days when she asked General Convention to support B033 - that heinous resolution which asked sitting diocesan bishops and standing committees not to approve the election of any person whose 'manner of life' might cause a problem in the world wide Anglican communion.

Not long after that, she asked LGBT people to enter into "season of fasting." As if that weren't enough, she asked us to "stand in a crucified place" and be patient.

Somehow, that feels a heck of a lot worse than asking Rick Warren to deliver the invocation at the inauguration. At least Obama hasn't asked LGBT people to be "patient." Indeed, it has apparently provoked him to say that he has been "vigorously supportive of gay rights."

Well, no, actually, he hasn't. He has been lukewarm. Which is just fine. I'll take that any day after the last eight years. Somebody just make sure we've got that statement on tape and let's play it for him every time the issue of civil rights for LGBT people is the topic du jour.

And, that leads me to my point. Having Rick Warren deliver the inaugural invocation is not the worst thing in the world. It's not the best. That would have been having Katharine Jefferts Schori or, perhaps, Gene Robinson, with whom Obama has reportedly had several telephone conversations.

Indeed, the 'trade off' to having Rick Warren is that his debt to Obama for this political capitol is far greater than Obama's debt to him. In fact, Obama owes Warren nothing. Indeed, Obama gets a great deal from this little trade.

Stop clutching your pearls and think for one red hot second about what Obama can do with that debt. Obama gets a lot more political capitol from Warren and tons of evangelicals without - And pay close attention to this - costing LGBT people any of our rights.

This is part of the horse-trading of politics. I know. I hate it too. And, I'm not saying you shouldn't feel hurt or angry or outraged. You have an absolute right to feel all of those things.

Write letters. Rage. Protest. Organize.

Yes, do all these things. These are all an important part of the politics of change, which is why we elected Obama in the first place. And, change doesn't - can't - happen in a vacuum.

It happens by creating a climate where adversaries can find some middle ground.

You know. Just like Anglicanism.

We would do well to remember the opening sentence of Rick Warren's book, "The Purpose Driven Life" which, I think sums up this purpose driven inauguration:

"It's not about you."

It's not even really so much about Rick Warren or Barack Obama.

It's about change.

Remember? It's what we voted for.

And, as one ancient Civil Rights worker in Newark once said to me, "Child, if a mountain were easy to climb, it would be smooth."

We've got a few more steep, rough mountains to climb, children, before we get to the promised land of Civil Rights. Let's not waste our energy. Let's get on with it.

Let's be the change we seek.

Waiting for Advent Snow

If you're lucky enough to live in a place where there are four seasons, I suppose you're lucky enough.

For those of you who are 'lucky enough' to know what I'm talking about, I have a question: Have you ever noticed that something happens to the sky just before a snow storm arrives?

There is a bright blue stillness. The clouds become very white and heavy. Slowly, gradually, the sun goes in and the sky becomes filled with gray clouds. There is a steel grayness to everything which is accented by prolonged moments of an almost erie stillness.

Anticipation of the storm has already limited traffic.

The birds have fallen silent. There is no perceptible wind.

It's as if Someone is repeatedly saying, "Shhh . . . Wait . . . Shhhh . . . Wait."

And then, suddenly, at the precisely unpredictable moment when you've become weary of the wait and busy yourself with this and that, you look out the window and there it is . . . White, fluff pieces of the heavens, gracefully dancing in the gentle stillness.

It won't take long, however, for that gentle dance to become a white, whirling dervish, the large, fat flakes of wonder falling vigorously, almost violently, to the ground in a randomly precise pattern, falling where they are blown and yet exactly where they are supposed to be.

Something in me will not be able to resist the call to put on hat, coat, boots, gloves and scarf and run into the middle of it like a woman meeting her long lost lover.

I will turn my face up, right into the oncoming flakes, to feel their kisses covering my face with wild abandon.

Just as I did when I was a child, I will open my mouth and welcome a few flakes to fall on my tongue like pieces broken off a celestial wafer.

Holy Communion.

Oh, in no time at all, I'll be grinching and complaining about how I have to shovel it off my walk and driveway. I am human. Very human.

But it is now, now in the stillness.

Now in the gray quiet.

Now in the sweetness of anticipation.

Now in the memories.

Now in the mindless busyness of waiting.

Now in the expectation of the gift.

Now in the silence that has even hushed the birds from chirping their "O Antiphons."

Now in this suspended moment in time.

Now comes Advent.

Now. Now. Now.

Day 3: O Flower of Jesse's Stem

December 19
It takes generations to build the
Christ vision in the world, just as
it took generations after Jesse to
prepare for the coming of the
Christ. It is our task to root ideas
now that will bring the next
generation to wholeness.
— Joan D. Chittister, OSB

Prayer
O Root of Jesse, standing as
protector of the people; silencing
rulers, inspiring the people to make
supplication. Come do not delay,
deliver us.

You may chant this prayer with the sisters here.

For the person who has everything

Seven days left before Christmas! You haven't finished your Christmas Shopping. You have several people on your list who have everything.

What to do? What to do? Whatever to do?

Here at Telling-Secrets, we aim to help you reduce the stress of holiday shopping - especially for that person who has everything.

Apparently, these are actual items one can purchase through an on-line catalogue.


BANANA GUARD - Protect Your Banana!

Are you fed up with bringing bananas to work or school only to find them bruised and squashed? Banana Guard allows you to safely transport and store individual bananas letting you enjoy perfect bananas any time, anywhere.

LOCK-CUP

Lock Cup - Anti-Theft Coffee Cup. Are you tired of others stealing your coffee cup? Well now there's a solution. The Lock - Cup has a hole which prevents most people from using it. Only the owner of the cup can use his/hers shaped key to close the hole.

TRANSPARENT TOASTER

You love toast, but you always burn it? Than, this invention us for you. This transparent toaster allows you to see the bread while it is toasting so you just have to take it out when the colour is right. This idea is based on a transparent heating glass technology.

DAY CLOCK

What day is today? You don't know? Then you need a Day Clock. It's uniquely designed to keep track of weekly events like your golf day, card night, movie night, and so much more. It's ideal for vacations and cruises when it's easy to lose track of the day.

TOILET SEAT LIFTER

'Who left the Toilet Seat up?' The Peace Maker will end the battle of the toilet seat. Merely step on the pedal to activate the lifting mechanism. When finished, remove your foot from the pedal and the seat gently comes to a rest where it started.

ILLUMINATING CAR SLIPPERS

Do you get up at night to drink water, go to the toilet.... Do you wish you could see in the dark? Remarkably bright LED lights are triggered by your footsteps and light up the floor 30 feet in front of you; ultra-soft plush style are extra comfortable and cozy warm. (Now I would clarify this as a necessity!)

'THE THING' - INFANT PILLOW

The Zaky is an ergonomic infant pillow designed by a mum to mimic the size, weight, touch, and feel of her hand and forearm to help her baby with comfort, support, protection, and development.. The Zaky can help calm your baby and help your baby sleep better through the night.

WHEEL-MOVING BENCH

Whether you want to sit on the sun or in the shade, near the river or under the tree... Now you have your movable bench, to sit wherever you like.

And, last but not least . . .

I found a bug in the last e-mail you sent.................

Here - you can have it back.

Now, if these didn't inspire at least one or two chuckles, forget it (I'm especially partial to the automatic toilet seat lifter, for when our son and son-in-law comes to visit).

If you can't laugh, the person who has everything has more than you'll ever have.

There's an unwritten rule in the cosmos: You can't give away what you don't have.

Perhaps the one thing you can give to the person who has everything is to share yourself and a good laugh.

Perhaps it's the one thing the person who has everything really needs: Not presents, but presence. Your presence. And, the gift of laughter.

And, if you can't laugh, even through the 'holiday stress', you can't really enjoy the spirit of Christmas anyway - because . . . .

Everything is precious.

Everything is simple.

Everything is sacred.

The 'O Antiphons', Day #2: O Adonai

Today is the second day and my second invitation to you to pray the O Antiphons with the Benedictine Sisters of Erie.

Today we pray, "O Adonai".

Here is a meditation by Sr. Joan Chittister, OSB

December 18

When we build a vision of life it is
necessary to realize that Jesus
must be the center of it—not our
institutions, good as they may be;
not our plans or personal talents,
necessary as they are.
— Joan D. Chittister, OSB


Prayer
O Adonai, leader of the ancient
Israel, giving Moses, while in the
burning bush, the law on Sinai.
Come with outstretched arms and
teach us.

You may wish to chant the prayer with the sisters here.

Requiescat in Pace: Sr. Clare, OSH

Some of you may have known one of the sisters of the Order of St. Helena, Sr. Clare, who turned 101 on Thanksgiving Day.

I have received word from Sr. Ann Prentice, OSH, who writes that "Sr. Clare died this past Sunday morning while her sisters were gathered around the altar for Communion."

I have excerpted some of what Sr. Ann writes of Sr. Clare, which shines as witness to the One who is come to us as The Light of the World.

"The Hospice nurse on duty came to the chapel to get Sr. Elsie to come--Elsie had been Clare's helper for several years, reading to her, helping her dress and move about with her walker. Clare had macular degeneration in both eyes but her mind was fine; Elsie has frontal lobe dementia, but she's very fit and has no problem reading--she reads the lessons in Chapel, and keeps up with our prayer services with no problem. She still makes her famous chocolate chip cookies and puts out breakfast every morning. Elsie is 84 or 85, and is now the oldest sister, chronologically.

"Clare converted to Catholicism in 2000. She never could accept within herself that women should be ordained, but she didn't try to hinder our sisters who are priests (about 1/3 of our Order). She wanted to continue to live with us and to wear her cross and ring, which are the visible symbols of the religious life, and to be buried here in the convent cemetery--a circle of dogwood trees with Easter lilies in the ground--at the edge of the woods on our property (note: in Augusta, GA). Two other sisters are buried there. She always loved our Chapel here, which is open to the natural surroundings, and, although she said she couldn't sing, she was always present for our four daily Offices, and until 2000 she would receive Communion with us when we had a male priest presiding at the Eucharist.

"Most people did not know she was no longer an OSH Sister (legally she couldn't be when she joined the R.C. church because they are not "in communion with the Episcopal church"), but we included her in every way except that she couldn't vote in our elections. It is the end of an era. The stories we'll be telling should be written down!

"Her two sisters are still living--one 96, the other 92.

"There will be a Requiem Mass for her tomorrow (Thurs) at noon at the Roman Catholic church which she attended up until a week ago, at which we sisters (and others who are not Roman Catholic) will not be able to receive Communion, BUT two of us have been invited to read the Lessons and two other sisters will bring forward to the altar the bread and wine for Communion. It's a first, and a generous acknowledgement of her more than 50 years' vocation as an Episcopal nun.

Please pray for us."

I am covetous of your prayers for Sr. Clare and for her sisters and family who grieve her loss. May they receive the comfort of their faith.

May the gracious, generous spirit of accommodation which marked the life of Sr. Clare, her sisters and her church family inspire us to follow The Wisdom of The Christ.

+ May the soul of Sr. Clare, and the souls of all the faithfully departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace and rise in glory.

The 'O Antiphons' Begin: O Wisdom

I took this picture at 6:30 this morning on my way to church.

The Jaime Tree has had her first snow, which ruffled her twinkling red lights just a tad. I don't think she minded. It makes her look as if she's smiling, doesn't it?

Today we begin the 'O Antiphons'. Here's what the Benedictine Sisters of Erie (PA) say about them:

The "O Antiphons," one of the oldest liturgical rituals in the church, are prayed around the world during the final days of Advent. For the seven days before Christmas, we recall in these prayers a quality of Christ that must be realized before the presence of Christ can consume the world.

I look forward every year to praying and meditating and chanting them with the Sisters - home of one of my s/heroes, Sr. Joan Chittister.

It has become part of my Advent spiritual life. I could no sooner go through Advent without them than I could go through Christmas without singing 'Silent Night.'

I never tire of them, and I feel that my soul is strengthened by being in the company of these amazing women as we take our final steps in our journey to the manger.

Here is a meditation from Sr. Joan.

O Wisdom

December 17

Wisdom: the ability to see the
world as God sees it. Try reading
the newspaper today through the
eyes of a God who was born in a
stable, counted to be of no
account, hounded by society from
one place to another.

— Joan D. Chittister, OSB

A prayer to Holy Wisdom:

O Wisdom, flowing from the mouth
of the Most High; reaching far and
wide, disposing of all things sweetly
and mightily. Come teach us the way
of prudence.

And, a link to chant this prayer with them here

Mid-week joke

Why am I not laughing?

Must have lost my sense of humor in the midst of all that "quiet, contemplative" time I've been having this Advent.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

Sorry, gotta run. Mass at 7 AM and a day that won't end until after Vestry meeting tonight around 10 or 10:30 and visiting with a few Old Souls in between.

If you see God, tell Her we are not amused.

Wresting with Angels

'Tis the season.

There were two ordinations on Saturday and another this Saturday.

I was privileged to be a Eucharistic Minister this past Saturday for the priestly ordination of Sr. Eleanor Francis, Assistant Superior of Convent St. John Baptist in Mendham, NJ.

The story of her journey to her ordination as a priest in The Episcopal Church is a fascinating one and I have been privileged to walk the past 10 years of that journey with her. Indeed, I clearly recall the conversation we had when, after her first professional vows, a 'vocation within a vocation' was being revealed to her.

It is the story of her conversion to Christianity, however, which is most compelling. She had been a Vedantan nun for 20 years, living in a convent in California. She is also an excellent musician, and began playing the organ for a nearby Episcopal Church on Sunday as a source of income for her religious community.

The great hymns of the Episcopal Church became her vehicle of conversion. She became curious about This Jesus of whom so many great hymns were composed and sung with passion. She began studying and became convinced of his divinity and, more important, his meaning for her life.

So, she ran away from the convent in the dead of the night, and was baptized and became a practicing Christian.

Well, we joke about the fact that once you begin to "look East" it's only a matter of time before you move there. In her quest to fulfill her vocation to religious community, she joined one Episcopal order of nuns, which did not work out for her or them.

About 10 years ago, she finally settled in with the community of women known as the Sisters of Convent St. John Baptist in Mendham, NJ and the rest, as they say, is history.

The preacher was the guardian of the community, the Rt. Rev'd Herb Donovan, retired bishop of Arkansas and former rector of St. Luke's, Montclair. He took a close look at the ordination vows and spent quite a bit of time on the idea that the priest is to "share her ministry".

After the service, I was reflecting with a dear colleague, now retired, about the challenges of parish ministry. I said something to the effect that I wish someone had told me in seminary that when you "share your ministry" with others as priest, you share your life, and people share their lives with you, and that's the wonderful part.

The part that no one tells you is that when the people with whom you share your minitry become sick, or lose their jobs, or a child, or die, it breaks your heart and a little piece of you dies as well.

My wise friend said to me, "Vocational discernment is always about wrestling with angels and demons. We wrestle angels and demons in order to become priests because that will become our life-long vocation."

I have been reflecting on that for a few days and I realize that he is so right. A significant part of being a leader in a community of faith means that we wrestle with angels and demons - those God sends to us and those of our own making.

A long time ago, one of my spiritual directors told me that Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order, is the one who coined the term "vocational discernment". He reportedly said something like, "whenever you come to a border crossing, all the angels in heaven and all the demons in hell arise and call to you from either side of the border. Vocational discernment is about listening to the voices, determining which ones to engage, and deciding which ones to follow."

We come to those "crucifyingly obscure borders of our faith" (Martin Smith) whenever we experience loss.

Vocational discernenment is not, of course, the sole task of the priest. However, when the priest enters into a shared ministry with others, we have the distinct privilege of making the journey with others as they wrestle with the angels and demons at the borders of their lives of faith, helping them to listen, determining which ones to engage and deciding which ones to follow.

It is an awesome, holy task, but not one without its personal costs.

It is one that I gladly pay, for I am much more the debtor for the experience and privilege. And, it is become my life's vocation as priest.

As we begin our approach to the manger, I am aware that many of us are approaching borders of faith. There are angels and demons everywhere. The task for us it to "hush the noise and cease your strife and hear the angels sing."

Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? It is not, I assure you.

It is as difficult as listening for the mighty voice of God in the pitiful, vulnerable cry of a newborn infant.

The Chrismas (Episcopal) Spirit

When a young couple were in graduate school at Duke University,their parish put on the standard children's Christmas pageant.

The little boy who was to play the innkeeper kept insisting that he just couldn't turn Mary and Joseph away.

Those in charge explained repeatedly that he had to; that's how it happened.

So the moment came in the pageant, and the boy said, "I'm sorry, there is no room in the inn, but won't you at least come in and have a drink?"

The Jaime Tree

The 'Greening of The Church' inspired us to come home and have the 'Greening of The Rectory'. (Don't you love how Anglicans can take an ordinary event and make it seem like The Event of the Year?")

Well, truth be told, the Staff and Volunteer Christmas Party is tomorrow, so the pressure is ON for the (%&^*@#) Christmas Tree to go up as well as the rest of the decorations.

This, while I'm trying to prepare lunch for 14.

I love to cook - especially for such an appreciative crowd.

The 'Martha Stewart' stuff I could do without.

Big Time.

Except for this. The Jaime Tree. This is the tree we planted this spring in memory of our daughter who died four years ago.

We decided to decorate her all in red, Jaime's favorite color. I think she looks grand. Simply grand.

Looking at her makes my heart twinkle and shine.

And, we "hung" Santa on our front door this year.

We used to put him in the rocking chair so the grandkids could sit on his lap. Not this year. Santa's on his own. The rocking chair is mine.

Ah, well. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.

Back to preparing the shrimp. The chicken is all set to rock 'n roll and the vegetarian stuffing is cooked and in the fridge, ready to be warmed up in the morning. The guacamole is done and ready to be put out with the chips.

I'll start cooking furiously around 10 AM. Lunch is at noon.

Until then, it's Martha Stewart time. The fireplace mantle is done with everyone's baby picture stocking holder and appropriate Christmas stocking hung on it, but the Christmas Tree is yet to be decorated.

Ms. Conroy has pleaded for one hour of rest before we begin again. This is me, being magnanimous. Sounds like ignoramus. I fear she and I will collapse in a dead heap before the night is through.

What was it I preached this morning? Oh, yeah. "I am not the Messiah."

Pray for me and I'll pray for you.

I am not the Messiah!

“I am not the Messiah.” John 1:6-8, 19-28
Advent III – December 14, 2008
The Episcopal Church of St. Paul, Chatham
(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton, rector and pastor

In most parts of the Anglican Communion, the third Sunday in Advent is known as Rose Sunday or Mothering Sunday. With every passing year, I continue to LOVE these Rose Vestments.

It is also known as ‘Stir up Sunday’. That comes from the Collect Prayer for today, which begins, ‘Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us . . .’.

That being said, those who hail from the British Isles or those among us who are Anglophiles know that ‘Stir up Sunday’ has more to do with Christmas pudding than it does with God.

If you know anything about Christmas pudding (you might want to pay attention as there will be a quiz at the end of the sermon), it contains large quantities of figs and dates, oranges and apples along with several kinds of nuts, all mixed together with perfectly obscene amounts of stout and rum and brandy (yes, AND brandy).

Indeed, in 1664, Christmas Pudding was banned by the Puritans as a lewd custom unfit for people who followed the ways of God. In 1714, King George I re-established pudding as part of the Christmas feast, thanks be to God, even though the Quakers strongly objected.

One would begin to make one’s Christmas Pudding on the 25th Sunday after Trinity Sunday with 13 ingredients to represent Christ and his disciples. Every member of the family took a turn stirring the pudding with a wooden spoon from east to west, in honor of the three kings.

When it is served, the tradition is to soak the pudding in brandy and set it aflame to represent Christ’s passion (which is as good an excuse as any for more brandy). A sprig of holly as garnish is a reminder if His ‘Crown of Thorns.’ It was often planted near houses in the belief that it protected the inhabitants. And, after imbibing that much alcohol, I suppose you were poised (or, um, not) to believe just about anything.

Well, that’s all well and good, but I suppose you are wondering whatever in the world this has to do with today’s Gospel on John the Baptist. Well, watch closely as the preacher ties this all together. (And I do it all without a net.)

Given the gospel’s description of John, the cousin of Jesus – living out in the wilderness, preaching repentance, dressed in camel hair and a leather girdle, eating wild locust and honey – one might suppose from his manner and dress that, were there any to be had in those days, clearly, this man would have also partaken in more than his share of – ready? – Christmas pudding!

I mean, really, church! Tell me you didn’t see that coming!

Well, talk about someone who could stir things up! John the Baptist could any day of the week and twice on Sunday – and not just the third Sunday in Advent! All foolishness aside, John does say something that is very important for us to hear today – especially as we make our way closer to the Blessed Madness of Christmas.

“Who are you,” the priests and Levites who had traveled from Jerusalem to see him asked. And John responded with five words which I have found myself repeating to myself more times than I care to admit, just this week alone. Indeed, these are such important words, with such an important message, that I want you to pay close attention so that you might repeat them to yourself this week.

When you find yourself elbow deep in baking Christmas cookies to package up and mail to relatives, and shuttling the kids from one activity to another, and trying to get that work that you took home completed, and getting the last minute Christmas gifts done, and . . . .everything else that stirs up your anxiety and blood pressure, and you can’t even remember your own name, much less the names of your own children, or grandchildren, or even that of your next door neighbor, remember the words of John the Baptist who, when asked who is was said this:

“I am not the Messiah.”

You may need a Messiah, but you are not the Messiah. Neither am I. Jesus is.

And, yes, Jesus lives in you, and Jesus lives in me, but neither one of us is Jesus. That’s the temptation of these frenetic times – to think we can do it all, make it all work, get it all done. That we can accomplish 27 hours of work in 24. “I’m on it,” is our triumphant cry.

Multi-tasking combined with technology can sometimes be a cruel trick, leading us to believe that we actually have super-human abilities.

In those moments when you are tempted to think you can push the needle on the meter of your life just a little bit further, repeat the words of John the Baptist to yourself:

“I am not the Messiah.”

You are not the Light, but whether you know this or completely understand or fully comprehend this, the truth is that your life is a testimony to the one who came to be the Light of the World.

The question for your life of faith is not, “How much can I accomplish?” Rather, it is, “What is the meaning of my life?” And, “What does God want from this gift, this present, that is my life?”

Robert Fulghum, author of ‘Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten’ tells a story about a Greek philosophy professor. It seems that it was his custom to end each lecture by asking the class, “Are there any questions?” One day a student raised his hand and – half-jokingly said, “Yes … what is the meaning of life?”

The professor replied, “I will answer your question,” pulled a small hand mirror out of his pocket and told this story: "When I was a small child, living during the war [WWII], we were very poor and we lived in a remote village. One day, on the road, I found the broken pieces of a mirror. A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.

"I tried to find all the pieces and put them back together, but it was not possible, so I kept only the largest piece. This one. And by scratching it on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy, and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine - in deep holes and crevices and dark closets. It became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.

"I kept the little mirror, and as I went about my growing up, I would take it out in idle moments and continue the challenge of the game. As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not just a child's game but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I came to understand that I am not the light or the source of the light. But light - truth, understanding, knowledge - is there, and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.

"I am a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape I do not know. Nevertheless, with what I have I can reflect light into the dark places of this world and change some things in some people. Perhaps others may see and do likewise. This is what I am about. This is the meaning of my life."

John the Baptist said, “I am not the Messiah.” Neither are you. Neither am I. So, even as we pray on this ‘Stir up Sunday’, remember that our petition is directed to God. We are asking God, on this third Sunday in Advent, to ‘stir up God’s power and asking God to come among us.’

We are not asking God to make us a Messiah, but to be our Messiah, because many of us – especially at this point in time – are sore in need of a Savior.

So, repeat after me, church. “I am not the Messiah.”

Say it again. “I am not the Messiah.” Good.

And, one last time, for good measure: “I am not the Messiah.”

Well done. Now, believe it. Live it.

And, remember, you’re to stir the Christmas pudding, not have a taste of it, and if you can do that, you’ll have a sweet taste of the belief that you are who you are: you are a fragment of a mirror whose whole design and shape you do not know. You’ll understand that while Christ lives in you, you are not the Messiah.

You are not the Light, but your life will have greater meaning if you reflect light into the dark places of this world and change some things in some people. If you give the gift of hope to those who live in the darkness of hopelessness. Perhaps others may see and do likewise, and together, through hope, we can change the world.

This is what your life in Christ is about. This is the ministry we share with the one we call John the Baptist.

In fact, you know, I don’t think it would hurt to say this prayer again:

“Stir up thy power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let thy bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom with thee and the Holy Ghost, be honor and glory, world without end.

Amen.

A One Man, Four-part A Capella Ode to John Williams

Hat tip to VT Crone for sending this on. The kid's amazing.

Grab the scrolls! Grab the scrolls!

My dear friend, J. Michael Povey, pointed this out to me. The author is a friend of his, Pat Kaplan Andrews, who posted this on her blog, "Meditations" on December 11.

I, like him, think it superb. I trust you will, as well.

While you're lurking about the internet, consider a visit to Michael's Blog, "Povey Prattle". He's got some neat snaps of his cat posted.

Thursday, December 11, 2008
Watching in Advent

I watched a wonderful PBS special about the making of the Torah. Some old scholarshp with illustrations and commentary made a colorful, even moving, review of Biblical history.

They showed pictures of stones with early Hebrew alphabet to pinpoint earliest date for writing around 1000 BCE (unless and until they discover older stones in the future). Cue brushes on sheepskin, historians in David's court. Then cue the Dead Sea Scrolls from (when?) 300 BCE marked by those scratchings.

Music and vague images of men in robes grabbing scrolls through fire portrayed the Babylonian exile as I always pictured it-- "Grab the scrolls, grab the scrolls!"--and helped me understand Sabbath better, the priestly construction of a Temple in Time.
Beautiful. Those priests were geniuses and all at a time when everything was over: the Covenant with David, the Holy Temple, the Promised Land, all just--gone. The exiles had no way to predict Cyrus would conquer Babylon and let them go home; they had only hopeful gorgeous prophesies of Return; and they believed them.

One thrilling find: Archaeologists have dug up numerous little fertility goddesses and other pagan statuettes from the time before the 6th-century BCE Babylonian Exile. From the layers since the Return under Cyrus of Persia, they have found not a one. Evidence from absence that the prophets were heeded.

Even the most academic, secular retelling cannot get around the Lord. When Hebrews escaping Egypt entered Canaan around 13th century BCE, they blended with the locals, who adopted the newcomers' Exodus story as their own history (a kind of reversal of the way we later immigrants retell the Pilgrim story in America). It was almost in embarrassment that TV scholars acknowledged that the runaway slaves from Egypt "had a divine experience." They sounded like Toad in American Graffitti mumbling, "and a pint of Old Harper's..." trying to mix it in with his order of a comb and beef jerky.

But like the clerk in Toad's store, I God's child, caught the main point ("ID, please"). I drew deeply from the divine Word as I watched the scholars coming to grips with the historiography and the archaeology--e.g., a big royal compound has been excavated that could be David's palace! (A lot of building and writing seemed to start up all at once, not to mention the music of Psalms!) This show was my idea of thrills.

And also food for reflection:

We also stand on the brink of sincere peril. If apocalypse descends to us, as it did then to Judah, grab the scrolls, throw out the astartes, remember the divine experience, and hold fast to the promises. A new heaven and a new earth is being created. This message I took from my Advent watching.

As the Anglican World Turns - Episode 152 (Or, is it 163? I lose count)

I've found myself praying, off and on today, for the legal proceedings happening in the Diocese of Central New York.

I've been praying that, despite who claims to be right and who is judged to be wrong, justice will be done and the truth will have out.

The long and the short of it is that the clergy, wardens and vestry of Church of the Good Shepherd, Binghamton, NY who have left the Episcopal Church for the more 'orthodox' uber-Calvinist (but apparently accepting of the ordination of suitably obedient, subservient women) Anglican Church of Kenya, are in a bit of a legal wrangle with the Bishop and the Diocese of CNY over - guess what? - the property.

You can read a brief synopsis of the situation here. I don't know all the details, so I won't comment, but I'm certain of one thing: It's all more complicated than the alleged victims would have us believe.

Fast on the heels of all this drama, comes a note from a certain retired but still very active uber-orthodox bishop on the HOB/D listserv.

He was shocked - SHOCKED, I tell you! - about the news release, published 25 October, about the cost of the legal proceedings.

There was the distinct sound of annoyance in his note that no one personally picked up the phone and told him, as well as the hint that, somehow, the leadership of TEC was withholding this information.

Not only that, he said this:

"Of course, some cast the blame for this matter on those clergy, and congregations, and now, dioceses, that felt abandoned by the leadership of TEC, and concluded they could no longer remain in this Church, and chose to leave. Then there are others, myself included, who see this Church as having abandoned 4,000 years of Biblical teaching and doctrine that has been upheld by the Church of Jesus Christ for 2,000 years, and is still upheld by the rest of the Anglican Communion, and most of the rest of Christendom throughout the world.--that sexual relations outside of marriage, between a man and a woman, are wrong in the sight of God, and contrary to His Will.

As for who is ultimately right, and who is wrong in this matter , I believe,
we will need to wait on that one, for the ultimate judgement (sic) of Almighty God, and may He bless us all."

As Bishop Spong once said, "Literalism in any form is little more than pious hysteria."

(I love that quote, don't you?)

Well, at any rate, I fear it pulled my last, poor, tired nerve.

Here's how I answered him:

"Yes, bishop, some of us did see that news release. And, with all due respect, sir, the two issues you present do not create a situation of 'cause and effect."

Of course, the two are not unrelated, but TEC is not "paying" for its actions. You didn't say that. You also didn't say this, but neither is it God's judgment against TEC. Although it is a shame and there's lots of blame to go around, this is not about "shame and blame". It is decidedly unhelpful - if not flat-out wrong - to frame the situation in that way.

You have an absolute right to your opinions and beliefs about my suitability for ordained ministry on the basis of my gender and my sexual orientation, both of which are God-given, I might add, as are yours. You also have the absolute right to your opinions and beliefs about the "correct" interpretation of scripture, or liturgy, or how to interpret the rubrics, or anything else in this church.

Obviously, I don't agree with you, but that's not the point. The point is that at the heart of classical, traditional Anglican Spirituality is an understanding of gracious accommodation of a variety of beliefs, all held in tension.

That has eroded over the past 10-15 years as the voices on the right side of the aisle have become more strident in their insistence on the notions of conformity and purity, and the voices on the left side of the aisle have become more insistent on enacting the messy notion of the inclusion of all the baptized in all of the sacraments and sacramental rights of the church.

We now find our selves in a lamentable situation of schism in The Episcopal Church and, sadly, in The World Wide Anglican Communion.

The folks who have earnestly disagreed with the direction of TEC also have a right to leave and find - or create - a home where they can believe and worship whatever they wish. And, they can call themselves whatever they wish. There is no copyright on the brand 'Anglican'. That does not make them Anglican, but they have the right to call themselves that.

All of these rights are, to turn a phrase, 'self-evident'.

What the folks who have decided to leave don't have is the right to is this: church property. I would submit to you, good sir, that THIS is the problem. THIS is what is causing the obscene legal fees. It is the arrogance and hubris to assume the right to church property based on the fact that you think your theology is 'right'.

Being theologically 'right' has never been the basis of assumption for legal right.

In this lamentable situation, 'possession is not 9/10 ths of the law'.

That would be enough difficulty, in and of itself, but the infamous Chapman Memo makes it clear that this is part of the strategy of those who have been plotting and scheming to form their own identity, cause TEC to be shunned by the rest of the WWAC, bankrupt TEC, and then supplant her as the Anglican 'franchise' in North America.

It is sad in the extreme to note that this obscene amount of money has been spent on legal fees. It is tragic that, over the next decade, more money will need to be spent on legal fees. It is and will be, however, our reality.

It is my prayer that as these dissident groups continue to splinter off, the Tree of Life in TEC will be healthier and happier for the pruning and better equipped for mission and ministry.

I also pray that those who understand their beliefs to be 'orthodox' will also flourish and grow so that all who see their works will give glory and praise to God, in the name of Jesus.

Even so, TEC will 'keep the porch light on' for those who wish to return - as some reportedly already have. I have no doubt that more will return. I rejoice in that possibility. They will be welcomed home not to sign onto or lock-step to a 'liberal progressive' agenda; rather, they will keep us more faithful to the essence of what we claim to be at the heart of what it means to be Anglican.

I submit to you, bishop, that it is unhelpful, unfair and flat-out wrong of you to frame the issues of our theological and ecclesiological disagreement and the status of the finances in TEC as cause and effect with such bold strokes, heaped with shame and blame.

However, if you insist on doing so, please make sure the offending sacristy slipper is on the right foot."

I LOVE Robin Williams!!!

Okay, he's frenetic, but you have to admit, he's BRILLIANT.

Enjoy his take on Obama, McCain and Sarah Palin.

Just a little humor on a humorless, bitterly cold, miserably rainy Thursday night in the Northeast corridor.

OBTW and PS: All my Christmas presents that have to be mailed are wrapped and ready to be put in the mail tomorrow.

WOO HOO!

All I want for Christmas is her mind back

When I met her almost seven years ago, she had tears in her eyes.

"I'm so glad you came," she said, as a tear trickled down her cheek.

Meaning, that I had come as the new rector and pastor of St. Paul's.

She had never told anyone in the congregation, but she had been in relationship with another woman for more than 40 years.

Now in her late 70s, she had been married, with two sons. An elementary school teacher.

She had lost her job and her children after she divorced her husband and moved in with "the love of my life," as she described her partner, a librarian.

A 'Boston marriage' they called it in those days.

Shortly after I arrived, she began talking openly about her partner with members of the congregation. Her partner began attending church with her on the "high holy days". None of this even raised a question mark among members of the church. It was simply not an issue.

She erroneously credited me for this 'instant acceptance', adding, with tears in her eyes, "I'm so glad you came."

I've been watching, the past three years, as she has become less and less of herself. She lost her appetite and started losing weight. Then, she would 'forget' how things were set up as she went about her tasks on the Altar Guild. She would ask the same question three or four times and then get embarrassed when she realized what she had done.

Less than a year ago, she came to me, again with tears in her eyes. "I have early Alzheimer's Disease," she said, "and I'm absolutely terrified."

So was I. So were we all.

We had all noticed, but none of us wanted to say anything. We all get old. We all get forgetful. Or, so we said, mostly to brace ourselves against the obvious.

We didn't know it then, but we had begun 'the long goodbye'. What would come as additional surprise was how quickly the disease would progress.

She moved to an "Extended Care Facility" late this past August. Her partner still lives in their wonderful old apartment where they have lived for over 40 years. They talk on the phone every day and she comes to visit several times a week.

So does her son and daughter in law, who take her to church as often as they can. Her other son lives across the country and calls her often. He's coming with his wife and children to visit her at what may be their last Christmas together - whether or not she's still alive. Physically, that is.

She came to church last Sunday. I saw her after the service and promised to have lunch with her on Wednesday - yesterday. It was the third or fourth time in the past four months I've been to see her in her new home. I was not prepared for what I saw.

Like so many other things in her life, she had forgotten my promise. Her face has grown expressionless, but there was no hiding the joy in her eyes when I took a seat next to her and the two elderly Jewish women who keep her company.

"I'm so glad you came," she said as she smiled.

"Ackch," said one of her friends, "So, this is the 'high priestess' she always talks about!" Then, whispering to me, she added, "She keeps insisting that you are a priest. My father was Catholic. I know from priests," she said.

I smiled. "Well, she's right. I am a priest. An Episcopal priest."

"Ah, well," said the other friend, who smiled at my parishioner who was beaming and, looking at the other woman, put her finger under her chin to close her mouth. "Turns out not everything is what we think, either."

We all laughed. I didn't know then that I would be grateful for that little window of humor.

My friend must have asked me six times, "What are you doing today?" When she wasn't asking me that, she was asking, "Where's Ms. Conroy?"

I tried not to look as horrified as I felt, but it broke my heart.

I ordered my lunch and watched in alarm as she pushed her grilled cheese sandwich around her plate. She had obviously lost more weight. Her beautiful camel hair jacket, which she often favored to wear to church, hung from her shoulders.

"Is the sandwich not to your liking?" I asked. "Shall I order something else for you?"

"It just doesn't taste right," my friend offered.

"She eats like a bird," one of her Jewish friends offered.

"Is that rye bread?" I asked, knowing that she didn't like rye bread.

"I don't know," she answered. "What are you doing today?"

I answered her - yet again - and said, "You know, when we would go to Angie's for lunch, you always ordered whole wheat bread. I don't think you like rye bread."

This caused a bit of a stir at the table. I mean, who would not like rye bread although one would have to admit that cheese and rye did not really enhance the flavor. Now, a good tuna salad or maybe some corned beef . . . .

With her permission, I excused myself and took her plate back into the kitchen to ask the chef if she might make another sandwich, this time using whole wheat bread.

Within minutes, it arrived and my friend took a skeptical bite. Then, her whole face beamed with remembrance. "Now I remember. I do like whole wheat bread better." And, she began to eat the sandwich, if not exactly with gusto, at least with a level of enthusiasm I had not seen in a while.

In fact, she seemed to think it called for a celebration of sorts, and ordered wine for the table. Red. She had remembered that she liked red wine. We all seemed grateful for these two small but significant victories over this dreadful, horrible disease.

As we finished our coffee and dessert, someone came to the table to remind her that she had an appointment to have her hair done at 1:30. She didn't want to go. "I don't want you to go." She said to all of us at the table.

"I haven't had this much fun in a long time," she said as we all smiled.

It was a fleeting moment, one quickly robbed of us by the cruelty of the disease.

She then said, "But I suppose we'll have to get back to class. Mr. Crushank is such a dreadful teacher. How can one man ruin such beautiful literature? There's something to be said for tenure, but this old man just needs to be replaced. He's getting forgetful and repeats himself over and over again. I mean, really! It's embarrassing. If I get 'senile dementia' when I'm old, somebody take me out back and shoot me. Please. Just shoot me."

We all listened in horror. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under us. Her two friends looked away. She looked at me and then at them and the smile that had been on her face, the feisty youthful mischief that had momentarily flickered in her eyes faded and was suddenly replaced by that now all too familiar blankness.

She looked at me and said, "What are you doing today?"

I answered her question again and then offered to walk her down the hall to the beauty parlor. She didn't want to go, but her friends urged her and she finally succumbed. But first, she insisted on walking me to the door.

Old habits die hard. She had always done that when I visited her at her home.

I said my goodbyes to the table and, as we turned to walk to the door, one of her friends mouthed, "It's so sad." I nodded and shook my head sadly.

As we walked, we chatted about this and that. Her daughter-in-law had made the beautiful candy cane wreaths that hung on the door. She seemed very proud - as much about her daughter-in-law's efforts as the fact that she remembered.

She wanted to see where my car was parked, so I pointed it out to her. She was stalling, I knew. Next, she would ask me to see it. Even though it was rainy and cold and she had no coat or umbrella, and she had actually been inside my car on a couple of occasions.

The horror of this disease is that, at this stage, at least, she has a sense of when she is lucid and when she's not. She is clearly still capable, however, of thinking strategically. I had no concern that she was plotting an escape - just angling for more time for a visit with me all to herself.

Finally, a look of resignation came over her face. She looked up at me, smiled and with tears in her eyes said, "I'm so glad you came."

"I am too," I said. A small part of that was a lie. We both knew that. As much as it broke my heart to see her this way, it was clear, at least in that one, brief moment of blessed, cruel clarity, that didn't she like being seen this way, either.

"I'll be back," I promised.

"And, I'll be so glad you came," she smiled.

We live in 'sure and certain hope'.

Sometimes, the incarnation can be more painful than birth - or death.

Gold, Common Sense and Fur

Someone sent this gem of an essay to me. Our Christmas Pageant is Sunday, the 20th. These are three of the 'littlest angels' from our Christmas Pageant a few years ago.

I can't wait.

GOLD, COMMON SENSE AND FUR
by Linda C. Stafford from Chicken Soup from the Soul

My husband and I had been happily (most of the time) married for five years, but hadn't been blessed with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if He would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with all my heart and raise it with His word as my guide. God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son. The next year God blessed us with another son. The following year, He blessed us with yet another son. The year after that we were blessed with a daughter.

My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old. I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella."

I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children and I didn't want to disappoint Him.

I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks. I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours to catch all twenty-three frogs.

When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess.

In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children.

While I couldn't keep my promise to be a perfect mother. I didn't even come close. I did keep my promise to raise them in the Word of God.

I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too.

Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."

My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant. My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine. My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes." But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes."

My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes." A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.

I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama, Mama." Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up and held it tightly as the wise men arrived. My other son stepped forward wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts of gold, common sense and fur."

The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation. "I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," Pastor Brian laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense and fur."

"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug through my purse for an aspirin."