One, cold Saturday morning: A Metaphor

I've never seen the marsh frozen.

Ever.

Yes, it's that cold.

The frozen water clings to the marsh like ice on an old man's beard.

I figured the gulls must be hungry. They were gathering at the peer, all hunkered down against the cold chill. I felt sorry for them, even though most of the time they can be pretty annoying.

They shriek all the time and for no apparent reason other than to hear themselves shriek. And, they "drop" things on the deck - shells, half-eaten crab carcasses, and well, let's just say, "the remains of the feast."

This morning was too cold for them to even shriek. Since the water is frozen, they can't get any fresh fish or crabs from the marsh.

This poor gull was too cold to fly, so he just stopped on the ice. Poor baby.

So, I gathered up some stale bread and flung it out to them. As a special treat, I even opened up a can of tuna and spread it out on the ice.

They were THRILLED.

At this moment, the Inauguration Train is making its way from Wilmington, where Joe Biden lives, through Baltimore, to Philadelphia, before making their way back to Washington, DC for the historic inauguration on Tuesday.

I lived for a few years in Baltimore and knew sons and daughters of interracial parents who had not been allowed to marry in that city because interracial marriage was against the law.

That heinous law was repealed less than 40 years ago. And now, two generations later, here come Obama and Biden, elected President and Vice President of the United States - an interracial 'couple' such as could never have been imagined 40 years ago.

As I've watched the train make it's way, I've already gone through a box of Kleenex. It's simply amazing. I can't imagine what it's like for some of my friends.

In some ways, the frozen marsh and the train are a bit of a metaphor for me.

I know. I know. You can always depend on an Episcopal priest to wring every ounce of meaning from a metaphor. Especially a weepy Episcopal priest.

I do not count Obama as 'The Messiah'. I do think Dubya and Cheney deserves as much credit for creating the climate which made the election of BHO possible, if not even inevitable. I also believe that we are the hope we want. It's up to us, now, to be vehicles of that hope and agents of change.

At least someone is listening. Someone is hearing. Someone with the power to help change things.

But, you know, that train is as exciting and welcome to me as that bread on the frozen water was to those gulls.

It holds the hope that someone knows. Someone cares. Someone is doing something - even a little something - to change the present reality.

On this one, cold Saturday morning, I find myself occasionally weeping with gratitude.

Think I'll go spread some more bread on the frozen water.

Rhetorical 'Spin' 501: A whole new standard

Note: This brings 'spin cycle' to a whole new level. Hat tip to Doug for this one.

Judy Wallman, a professional genealogy researcher here in southern California, was doing some personal work on her own family tree. She discovered that Harry Reid's great-great uncle, Remus Reid, was hanged for horse stealing and train robbery in Montana in 1889. Both Judy and Harry Reid share this common ancestor.

On the back of the picture Judy obtained during her research is this inscription: 'Remus Reid, horse thief, sent to Montana Territorial Prison 1885, escaped 1887, robbed the Montana Flyer six times. Caught by Pinkerton detectives, convicted and hanged in 1889.'

So Judy recently e-mailed Congressman Harry Reid for information about their great-great uncle.

Believe it or not, Harry Reid's staff sent back the following biographical sketch for her genealogy research:

'Remus Reid was a famous cowboy in the Montana Territory . His business empire grew to include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets and intimate dealings with the Montana railroad. Beginning in 1883, he devoted several years of his life to government service, finally taking leave to resume his dealings with the railroad. In 1887, he was a key player in a vital investigation run by the renowned Pinkerton Detective Agency. In 1889, Remus passed away during an important civic function held in his honor when the platform upon which he was standing collapsed.'

Back into the middle . . .

. . .this time, it's religion and politics.

An early morning note from +Gene.

Well, in a few hours, after an ordination this morning, we'll be off to Washington for the inauguration. VERY exciting. Here are a few items that might be of interest. Please feel free to share them with whomever you deem appropriate.


1. I will be blogging from Washington, using my summer's blogspot: http://www.canterburytalesfromthefringe.blogspot.com/
Perhaps this should be renamed "Tales from Closer to the Center" but I didn't have time!

2. Sunday's opening inaugural event at the Lincoln Memorial will be taped by HBO. You may be able to watch it LIVE on HBO (I'm not sure.) What I DO know is that HBO will be airing it on Sunday evening -- and the signal will be available to EVERYONE, WHETHER OR NOT you are a subscriber to HBO! This may turn out to be an edited version of the event. Given that HBO is an ENTERTAINMENT channel, my prayer may be edited out. Who knows?! It's hard to understand why Bruce Springsteen and Stevie Wonder would be more important than the Bishop of New Hampshire, but there you go!

(Note to some of you on the Right: This is a little joke. +Gene is making a little joke here. Not a very sophisticated one, but it may still confuse some of you. This is only a joke. If this had been a serious comment, you would have been able to smell the hubris. That smell is not hubris. It's Aramis Cologne, which, for whatever reason, always seems to me to be what hubris must smell like. Must be the sandalwood or something. We now return to our previously scheduled announcement.)

3. The text of my inaugural event prayer will be available on our diocesan website (http://nhepiscopal.org/) on Sunday afternoon.

4. On Tuesday night, after attending the lgbt ball, sponsored by HRC and others, I will be Jon Stewart's guest on The Daily Show, a special live-from-Washington edition. At least here in the East, it is broadcast at 11:00pm on the Comedy Channel, and then rebroadcast the next night. Check local listings.

This promises to be an awesomely wonderful time. I am so honored and humbled to be so included. The President Elect has invited me to attend a small, private worship service on the morning of the inauguration, to attend the swearing in/inauguration itself, to view the parade from the Presidential viewing stand, and to attend the National Prayer Service at National Cathedral on Wednesday. I hope that through these invitations, in some small way, ALL of you will feel included in these events by our next president.

Please pray for me as I undertake this awesome honor. I hope to do us and the Episcopal Church proud!

+Gene

Gay but equal?

John Foster Dulles said to to Dwight D. Eisenhower: ' . . . put the facts on top of the table' . . and the Commission on Civil Rights was born.

Mary Frances Berry, chairwoman of the Commission on Civil Rights from 1993 - 20004, is calling for, "The creation of a new, independent human and civil rights commission (which) could help us determine our next steps in the pursuit of freedom and justice in our society. A number of explosive issues like immigration reform await such a commission, but recommendations for resolving the controversies over the rights of gays, lesbians and transgendered people should be its first order of business.

It's things like this that give me real hope.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/16/opinion/16mfberry.html?th&emc=th

Gay but Equal?

By MARY FRANCES BERRY
Published: January 15, 2009

Philadelphia

AS the country prepares to enter the Obama era, anxiety over the legal status and rights of gays and lesbians is growing. Barack Obama’s invitation to the Rev. Rick Warren, an evangelical pastor who opposes same-sex marriage, to give the invocation at his inauguration comes just as the hit movie “Milk” reminds us of the gay rights activism of the 1970s. Supporters of gay rights wonder if the California Supreme Court might soon confirm the legitimacy of Proposition 8, passed by state voters in November, which declares same-sex marriage illegal — leaving them no alternative but to take to the streets.

To help resolve the issue of gay rights, President-elect Obama should abolish the now moribund Commission on Civil Rights and replace it with a new commission that would address the rights of many groups, including gays.

The fault lines beneath the debate over gay rights are jagged and deep. Federal Social Security and tax benefits from marriage that straight people take for granted are denied to most gays in committed relationships. And because Congress has failed to enact a federal employment nondiscrimination act, bias against gays in the workplace remains a constant threat.

Gays are at risk under the military’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. And people who are only assumed to be homosexual have been subject to hate crimes. José and Romel Sucuzhañay, two brothers, were attacked in New York City last month by men yelling anti-gay and anti-Latino epithets. José Sucuzhañay died from being beaten with a bottle and a baseball bat. Yet the effort in Congress to enact a law that would increase the punishment for hate crimes against gays and lesbians is going nowhere.

Only two states, Massachusetts and Connecticut, permit gay marriage. New York acknowledges marriages from those states and from other countries, despite the federal Defense of Marriage Act of 1996, which was meant to allow other states not to recognize gay marriages performed elsewhere. Vermont, New Jersey and New Hampshire permit civil unions, which provide gay partners the rights, protections and responsibilities of marriage. On the other hand, a referendum that just passed in Arkansas goes beyond banning gay marriage to prohibit the adoption of children by unmarried couples. Mississippi, Florida and Utah have similar bans. And many Americans believe their religion forbids gay marriage or even civil unions.

In the 1950s, race relations in America generated escalating tension and strife. As Secretary of State John Foster Dulles told President Dwight Eisenhower, other nations vilified us for our treatment of “negroes” as less-than-first-class citizens. It was in this context that Congress, in 1957, granted Eisenhower’s request for an independent civil rights commission to “put the facts on top of the table.”

The commission conducted interviews and public hearings, prepared detailed reports and recommended new protections that would ultimately be passed in the form of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. These laws embodied the goals of the protestors who marched, went to jail and died to end racial discrimination.

The commission became what the Rev. Theodore Hesburgh, who was the chairman from 1969 to 1972, called the “conscience of the government” on civil rights issues.

There is no need to analogize the battle for the rights of gay and lesbian people to the struggle of African Americans to overcome slavery, Jim Crow and continued discrimination. But as Coretta Scott King said to me as she tried to imagine what position the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. would take on “don’t ask, don’t tell”: “What’s the yardstick by which we should decide that gay rights are less important than other human rights we care about?”

The Commission on Civil Rights has been crippled since the Reagan years by the appointments of commissioners who see themselves as agents of the presidential administration rather than as independent watchdogs. The creation of a new, independent human and civil rights commission could help us determine our next steps in the pursuit of freedom and justice in our society. A number of explosive issues like immigration reform await such a commission, but recommendations for resolving the controversies over the rights of gays, lesbians and transgendered people should be its first order of business.

Mary Frances Berry, the chairwoman of the Commission on Civil Rights from 1993 to 2004, is the author of “And Justice for All: The United States Commission on Civil Rights and the Continuing Struggle for Freedom in America.”

For the bible tells me so . . .

. . .went very, very well last night at Trinity Cathedral in Easton, MD.

The documentary was shown first and I must say, it gets more powerful every time I watch it. I 'hear' different things.

Like: Yes, you can read in the bible the following words: 'Homosexuality is an abomination'. However, that's not what the bible says. There is a difference between how you read the bible and what the bible says - depending on how you read it.

"An abomination" refers to the prevailing cultural and religious standard in that day. This is why the prohibitions against homosexuality are in with other sexual restrictions, like having sex during a woman's menstruating cycle, as well as dietary abominations, etc.

Leviticus is all about building up those who had fled from Egypt having been held in captivity and in bondage for all those centuries. Let's not waste "seed", which they felt was nascent and contained everything for procreation, on mastorbation or having sex when fertilization is not as possible or with another man.

It was also a way for the community to have a sense of atonement with God for whatever it was they had done (shame and blame) to anger God so that they ended up in slavery. If we can stay pure, the thinking went, we can stay closer to God and the closer we are to God, the less likely harm will come to us.

The prohibition against homosexual acts (because homosexuals as a demographic of people was not known in antiquity) was so powerful because it instilled a fear of God, a national and religious identity, and misogyny (Don't let our men be treated like women), all in one.

That was helpful to hear again.

My panelists were all brilliant. You can see us all in the pictures, together with the organizers. There's Bishop Bud Shand, the big guy in the blue sweater standing next to Mark Harris and directly behind Ted Mollogen there, in the middle chair (fourth one in from the left).

The Cathedral was PACKED, the questions were thoughtful, the food was delicious and the hospitality couldn't have been more generous and gracious.

I am convinced that it is from gatherings such as these that real social and spiritual change happens. That gathering last night was more effective than any 10 resolutions that have or might pass General Convention.

So, from that heady experience to the mundane. It's Friday. My day off. And, there are chores to do. I'm off now to Dover, DE to have my car serviced, then to RB to get my hairs cut (And not a minute too soon. I am having a Very Bad Hair Day).

Another day, another fifty cents in the Realm of God.

I must say that, on the drive down here yesterday I had this thought in my head. I woke up with it this morning. I think I'm meant to share it with y'all:

I believe it was a former Archbishop of Canterbury, William Temple, who said, "Sometimes we succeed, and God is present. Sometimes we fail, and God is present. Whether we succeed or fail, God is present."

So now g'won. Get on wid yo sassy selves. I'll catch up with you later.

Update: Thanks to Kelly Malone, one of the organizers of this event, for identifying everyone in the picture.

Back row, left to right: Rev. Phyllis Spiegel, Karen Kohn, Rev. Mark Harris, Bishop Bud Shand, Rev. Heather Cook, Rev. Paul Winters
Front row, left to right: Kelley Malone, Ted Mollegen :-), and Rev. Elizabeth Kaeton

On the road again

I am leaving later this morning to drive to Trinity Cathedral in Easton, MD to be part of a panel to discuss the award-winning documentary, "For the Bible Tells Me So."

With me will be the brilliant and amazing Mark Harris, blogger of the distinguished and intelligent Preludium, Ted Mollegen, a dear, long time friend and deputy from Connecticut with whom I worked for five years as part of the New Commandment Task Force. There may be a few others and I apologize if I do not have all the the participants correct.

We will be joined by Bud Shand, bishop of the Diocese of Easton, Heather Cook, canon to the Ordinary, as well as, I suspect, the Dean of the Cathedral.

I am honored and delighted to have been asked to be part of such an important occasion in the life of this diocese.

The Eastern Shore of God's Realm is not exactly a hot bed of liberal theological and political thought. While there are, at least for me, bright and shining spots like Trinity Cathedral, we have anticipated having in the audience at least a few of the sisters and brothers who do not share our view of God's inclusive love of the humankind which that same God created and called into being.

The plan is to show the documentary and then ask the audience, during the intermission, to write down their questions on file cards so that we may then divide them among us and answer each one. Hopefully, it will all be done in 'decent and proper order' as is our wont as Anglicans.

We shall see.

You know, I used to do a lot of this stuff, when I was Canon Missioner for The Oasis. I pretty much lived out of my suitcase, traveling around the Episcopal Church, being "Exhibit A". ("Oh, look, Mildred. There's one of those lesbians. Why, she looks so normal, doesn't she? And she seems so nice. Too bad she's going to hell.")

Bishop Spong used to call me "The Poster Girl for The Episcopal Gay Tribe." Some of my colleagues used to lovingly introduce me as, "The Lesbian Diva of TEC." Thankfully, I passed my tiara to Susan Russell, who is doing a far better job than I ever did. She has taken that crown and re-fashioned it and made it her own. She is, hands down, the "Queen of the Progressive Soundbite."

As I prepare for the long drive and the possibilities that await us tonight, I am awash with memories - many of them happy, but some of them not so pleasant. The death threats. The ugly emails and letters. The posters of Hitler mailed to my office. The conversations with FBI agents and local police.

Ed Bacon, rector of All Saint's Episcopal Church in Pasadena, California, has been on The Oprah Winfrey Show this week. He's been getting some of the same threats because of a comment he made while on the show.

He said, "Being gay is a gift from God." Imagine! Well, you can see it all here.


You can also read some of the correspondence Susan has been dealing with in her blog, "An Inch at a Time."

As Ed points out, the most mean-spirited letters and emails came from people who call themselves "Christian."

He also pointed out that it seems to have unleashed a flood of healing across the nation. That's what happens when you are vehicles of God's unconditional love.

I remember one situation when I was doing a workshop for a gathering of LGBT people for Lucent Technology in Philadelphia. All that was written in the program was, "Homosexuality and the Bible, the Rev'd Canon Elizabeth Kaeton."

Now, there were not a lot of Episcopalians in the bunch. Lots of 'lapsed' RCs and lots of "unchurched" - well, what Jack Spong likes to call "The Church Alumni Society". They had been deeply hurt and were seriously wounded by what the church had done to them, in the precious name of Jesus.

They didn't know me. They had no idea what I was going to say. And yet, the small conference room in that hotel was packed. PACKED! People were sitting on the window sill, on the floor, and there were about 20 people sitting on the floor, just outside the door.

You could feel the spiritual hunger in the air. The room became thick with anticipation and no small amount of anxiety.

At one point, someone asked the question about St. Paul's writing about the sin of men lying with men as if with women, and women lying with women as if with men, which St. Paul named and framed as the sin of 'acting against your nature'.

I pointed out that I had struggled long and hard with that piece of scripture and had come to understand that my 'nature' is to be lesbian; that, in fact, to go against my God-given nature was the sin.

One man, who had previously identified himself as a former RC priest stood up. He took a few moments to try to compose himself. When he opened his mouth, his voice started to crack, but he pushed himself to say, "You mean to say, all these years, all the times I read and studied that verse, I was reading it wrong?"

He started to weep uncontrollably, which set off a wave of emotion and tears in the room.

"Oh, my God," he whispered, hoarsely. "Oh, my God, you have no idea. Something has been unleashed in me."

"Can you say more," I asked gently.

He started sobbing again. I said softly, "Look, if you want, we can talk privately after this session ends. In fact," I said, looking around, "I'll speak with the organizers and see if we can get a private room and I'll speak with anyone here who would like to talk with me privately."

He finally got his composure and croaked out, "Thank you, and I'll take you up on that, but I just want to say this: I think I have finally found a spot in my soul and in my heart where I can begin to heal."

You know, it just doesn't get much better than that.

Suddenly, I understood the emotion - the spiritual hunger - that was in those places described in the Book of Acts when the disciples 'opened the scriptures' and the people rejoiced.

We've come a long, long way since that room in that hotel in Philadelphia oh, 10 or 12 years ago. I don't expect that we'll be having anything quite like that at Trinity Cathedral in Easton, MD.

But, God's children are still hungry and need to be fed. God's 'Rainbow Tribe' still need to hear "Being gay is a gift from God." I hope to carry that message with me tonight.

It's snowing right now, here in the Northeast Corridor of God's Realm, but I suspect, once I get past mid-Jersey, the roads will be clear.

I'm planning to spend the night in Easton, and then travel to our beloved Llangollen in Rehoboth Beach in the morning. It's there I will finish working on my sermon for Sunday. It' the call of Samuel and the call of Andrew - pretty amazing scriptural stuff to frame a sermon about the historic inauguration on Tuesday.

My only question this morning is this: How is it that people can see and know all of these marvelous things happening in these days of our lives - the beginning of the healing of the sin of sexism with the stellar campaign for President of the United States in Hillary Clinton, the inauguration of the healing of the sin of racism that has been unleashed by the election of Barack Obama, the consecration of the healing of the sin of homophobia that has been unleashed by the ordination of V. Gene Robinson - and not believe in a God who brings miracles into our lives?

Who could not see and know all these things and not know of the unconditional love of God in Christ Jesus?

I'm leaving with a part of the prayer we say at the Great Vigil of Easter on my lips: " . . . let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord."

And let the church say, "Amen."

A Little Geography Lesson

Note: A little advice to MadPriest, with a grateful hat tip to John.

THE GEOGRAPHY OF A WOMAN

Between 18 and 22, a woman is like Africa, half discovered, half wild, fertile and naturally beautiful!

Between 23 and 30, a woman is like Europe, well developed and open to trade, especially for someone with cash.

Between 31 and 35, a woman is like Spain , very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.

Between 36 and 40, a woman is like Greece, gently aging but still a warm and desirable place to visit.

Between 41 and 50, a woman is like Great Britain, with a glorious and all conquering past.

Between 51 and 60, a woman is like Israel , has been through war and doesn't make the same mistakes twice, takes care of business.

Between 61 and 70, a woman is like Canada, self-preserving but open to meeting new people.

After 70, she becomes like Tibet , wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages...only those with an adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge visit there.

THE GEOGRAPHY OF A MAN

Between 1 and 70, a man is like Iran, ruled by nuts.

Life in the fast lane

Yesterday was one for the books.

It began when I happened to walk into Ms. Conroy's "room" - not an office, exactly, but a "space" of her very own which is very different from my "space."

She had left her EMT squawk box on and, as I walked into the room, it started to crackle and hiss as it does just before an announcement is made.

An overdose. Transporting the patient to a local hospital.

I recognized the address immediately. It was the home of one of my parishioners. My heart sank.

I had been having some growing concern about this particular person. Nothing specific. Just a 'gut' feeling. I had been trying not to 'hover'. Just calling every once in a while. Just to 'check in'. Trying not to feel like a nag.

I found myself suddenly frozen in place. What to do? Strictly speaking, I wasn't supposed to have heard this information. But, and there was no mistake about this, I had. What to do? Now that I knew, no matter how I knew, what to do?

I called Ms. Conroy. We talked. I called a few colleagues. No answer. I emailed a trusted colleague I knew would be online. We strategized.

A plan emerged: I would go to the hospital and, while there, I would check the admission book. Oops! Why look! One of my parishioners admitted through ER. Guess I just better saunter my sassy self over there, right? Just to 'check in'.

I finished getting dressed - no lingering over that second cuppa joe this morning - and braced myself against the frigid weather for the drive over to the hospital.

That's when I met the first wrinkle in my dubious little pastoral plot.

HIPPA. Don't ask me what the acronym stands for. It doesn't really matter. The first letter must stand for "Hell." It's a heinous little federal regulation designed with the best of intentions. And, we all know where that leads (see first letter of the acronym).

It's supposed to protect the confidentiality of the patient. Right. This is not a bad thing. This is a good thing.

However, as my sainted grandmother always said "a little power in the wrong hands can do a great deal of damage." And so it is with HIPPA regulations.

You know, when someone is admitted after a car accident, or a cardiac episode, or a stroke, I flash my little hospital "pastoral care / chaplaincy" badge that has my picture and my name on it, and they clear the decks. I'm in there in a flash amidst the IV poles and cardiac monitors and the blood and the bandages.

Call the boys with the white coats and stern faces from the 6th floor psych unit and you can hear the lock down. The bars go up.

"No," said the lovely volunteer with ancient eyes at the ER Information desk, "I'm afraid we don't have a listing for that person."

"Hmmm . . ." said I. Maybe I got the wrong hospital. The ambulance might have been diverted due to an overcrowded ER. Happens all the time.

So, back I went to my car and drove to another community hospital.

"No," said the lovely volunteer at that ER Information desk, "No listing here."

She was very nice. I'm sure she was telling me the truth. I said, "Do you suppose they might have transferred to the community psychiatric hospital?"

"That may well be," she offered, clearly distressed at my distress.

"Wouldn't that be noted somewhere?" I asked.

"Well, yes . . .actually, it would." Then, she brightened, "How about I call over there and see what I can find out for you?"

I expressed my gratitude as she busily punched some numbers, got put on hold, made a face that expressed her distress at the 'musak' she was being forced to listen to, and then returned to me with disappointing news that my parishioner wasn't listed there.

She read the disappointment on my face and then, lowering her voice, she said, "You know, maybe if you go there, and they see your collar, maybe you'll have more luck." Then she 'mouthed' the (dreaded) word "HIPPA."

So, back into my car (thank goodness I have my hospital badges - I had already saved $6 in parking fees), and off to the psychiatric hospital for which I didn't have a badge, so I checked to make sure I had at least a few dollars in cash.

As I was tallying up the contents of my wallet, I also started to check into my calendar, and noted that my carefully laid out schedule for the day was now in complete shambles.

I sighed deeply. A for effort. F for time management. The report card of a pastor. The story of my life. Sometimes, I endure complete success and utter failure, and sometimes, in the exact same moment. Grrrr . . .

I called my Parish Assistant, made some phone calls, shot off some emails from my iPhone (whatever did we do before this technology?), and then drove to the psychiatric hospital.

Another brick wall. No one was giving me any information. Not whether my parishioner was there. Not if my parishioner wasn't there. Just the stone cold faces with icy smiles and pleasant voices of bureaucracy with a polished, cool, professional capitol "B".

I don't mean this to sound the way it's going to sound, but here it is, anyway: Since when was confidentiality an issue of concern for clergy?

Please don't hear that as arrogance or clericalism or expected, or assumed privilege. It's a cry from my pastor's heart. I mean, just because some well-publicized clergy have crossed boundaries, doesn't me we ALL do. That's a little like saying that just because you've had problems with an adolescent young man, or even a few teen-aged punks, that ALL adolescent young men are bad. Grrrrr . . . .

I got in the car and checked my email. I had blathered a bit of my frustration about the situation in an email on another subject to my Sr. Warden, without breaking confidentiality or giving any specifics, and he wrote back, "Please don't give up. Please keep trying to find our friend."

Of course. Of course. The irony was not lost on me that this person was feeling desperate because of a sense of crushing isolation and desperate loneliness and yet I was desperately throwing myself against not one, not two, but three brick walls, trying to connect. Trying to say, "You're not alone. I'm here. We're here. God's here."

Back in my car. And, just because God has a sense of humor, my phone rang. It was another parishioner. Her daughter was ill and couldn't make the NYC Ballet tonight. Might I be able to join her?

Hello? What?

This was so "out of the blue" it was purple! I almost couldn't get my head wrapped around what she was saying. What she was asking. I didn't know how to respond.

So, I laughed. She must have thought I was insane. And, in that moment, if being out of touch with reality is the definition of insanity, it would have been my picture, in the dictionary there, as Exhibit 'A', next to the word 'Crazy'.

I knew I had some diocesan pre-convention convocation something or other and I should go that evening, but you know, right in that moment, an evening at the NYBC with this woman sounded like manna from heaven. I accepted the invitation with absolute delight and gratitude.

I may have been flunking time management, but, to my everlasting gratitude, God doesn't wear a watch.

On the road again. Back I went to the first hospital where I was absolutely certain I would find my parishioner.

The ER staff was not happy to see me. "Let me ask you something," the ER attendant asked icily. "How do you know that your patient is here?"

"My parishioner? You mean to tell me that my parishioner IS here?"

He smirked, "I didn't mean that. I meant, what makes you think your . . . PARISHIONER is a PATIENT here?"

"Well," I fudged, sending up a quick request for forgiveness before I sinned, "A neighbor told me." Well, I assume it was a 'neighbor' who had made the announcement on the EMT squawk box.

"Ah, yes, Chatham," he said, "The posh little suburb where everyone knows everyone else's business."

I almost lost it, but I'm proud to say I didn't. I took a deep breath and then, got his attention, looked into his eyes and said, "Chatham is a community where many people care deeply about each other. Especially in my congregation."

He looked at me with obvious contempt, said nothing and returned to shuffling around his Very Important Paper Work.

It was then that I caught her eye - an lovely Black woman who was beckoning me over to her place behind a partition.

"Give me your cell phone number," she whispered, "I'll make a few phone calls and check on your parishioner. It may take me a while, depending on how quickly my calls are returned. I'll call you, if you don't mind coming back."

"No, no," I stammered, undone by her obvious kindness. A surprise encounter with human kindness always has a greater impact in the midst of cold, hard bureaucratic concrete.

I gave her my business card and circled my cell phone number. "Thank you," I said, aware that my eyes were filling with tears.

She gently took my arm. "If I were that person and you were my pastor, I would want someone to try as hard as you are trying to find me," she whispered.

I left the hospital and got into the office around 11. My poor Parish Administrator! Not only did he have to swing with the curves of my day, he also had to listen to me dump my crap all over the front office. Sainted man, is he.

Memo to self: Give this man a raise at the earliest possible moment.

An hour and a half later, the call came through. I just know she had pulled some strings in some pretty high places, but she got me in.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I said to her, then, catching my breath, added, "You know, I feel as if I've been living the Parable of the Lost Sheep. I've left the 99 in search of the 1 and it's been a pretty daunting process. I've got some things to clear off my desk, but I'm on my way."

"You know, Rev," the woman said, "I'd like to think that when Jesus went in search of that one lost lamb, there were some other shepherds in the field, helping him out."

"Ah," I said, "So THAT's how He did it!"

We both laughed and giggled and shared how good God is and how wonderful it is to be sisters and brothers in Christ. I suddenly felt 10 pounds lighter and ready to face whatever God had next in store for me.

Know why? 'Cuz I knew I wasn't alone. I could tell my parishioner that he wasn't alone, either and s/he'd know that I was telling the truth from my heart.

It's amazing how that all works, isn't it?

The ballet? It was COPPELIA, a delightful little piece of Balanchine fluff, something which debuted in Petersburg in 1884 which he adapted and debuted in 1974.

The woman who danced the part of Swanilda was from Salt Lake City, Utah. The man who danced the part of Frantz was born in Madrid, Spain.

I wondered if they ever thought, as little children, that they would one day be dancing with each other on the stage in New York City.

It IS a small world, after all.

Did I mention that the parishioner who invited me just turned 80? She plays tennis three times a week and got frostbite on one of her toes a few years ago playing paddle ball. She bounded up the two flights of stairs to the second tier (our seats were in the first row), like a veritable gazelle, and arrived poised and lovely.

I, on the other hand, was winded. And, I'm in the gym 3 times a week!

We missed the 10:15 train so caught the 10:49 and got home a little before midnight. Six o'clock came very early this morning.

Just another day in the life of a pastor in a sleepy if not fairly posh little suburban community.

Ain't nothing quite like it.

And you know, I wouldn't trade it for all the little ballerinas, cute as they were, on the stage of the NYBC in Lincoln Center, NYC.

Nope, not one.

Of Tortoises and Hares

I've been thinking about the difference between the zeal - and anxiety - expressed by some of our Evangelical sisters and brothers who seem to get themselves into a "state" about the state of The Episcopal Church.

They seem to equate "growth" - as in increase in membership - with health. They twist themselves into absolute pretzels about numbers and formulas and growth charts and time lines.

One adage goes that if one has 'planted' a church and, after three years, one does not have an ASA (average Sunday attendance) of 60-100, one should proclaim the adventure as a failure, close up shop and move on.

They forecast dire predictions for TEC - "the hemorrhage continues unabated" - and scream that we are losing an average of 1,000 members a week. Some of them do this with absolute glee, but more simply ring their hands and criticize the leadership of the church for 'not doing more.'

Their 'missionary zeal' is not unknown in scripture and, in fact, it is quite laudable. Except, of course, when it is used to 'shame and blame', and used to bolster the position that we are not growing because of the 'progressive' movement of the church.

There's a great deal of anxiety about 'mission'.

Got a problem? They got a program.

On the other hand, we've also heard, at least in this diocese, a great deal about 'congregational development'. I understand this to mean that 'congregational development' is a way to increase membership from within - to build up the infrastructure and membership base of the church.

Lumped under this heading come things like 'evangelism' - which is pretty much cultural marketing programs dressed up in a baptismal outfit, understanding congregational size and character (Arlin Rothage's stuff), parish life-cycle stuff, how to identify long and short term goals and how to write a mission statement, dealing with conflict, along with leadership development - mostly of clergy.

Got a problem? They got a program.

It's not that I'm not concerned about either mission or congregational development. I am. But, I think we're missing a few fundamental things.

I think we have to stop, back up a bit and see the bigger picture. I think we need to look at what's happening in the context of our times. Not only do I mean that in terms of what's been happening in our culture over the last 40 years, I think we don't take seriously how that has affected the cultural climate of our churches.

There are lots of factors which have colluded to make church community in general and community worship in particular irrelevant to many. Parenting styles, the 'Age of Anesthesia', and 'affluenza,have all called into question the nature and importance of God in our lives and the relevance of being part of a community of faith.

Let us also not dismiss the current "troubles' in the communion. Instead of seeing doom and gloom, might this not simply be a time of 'pruning' in the vineyard. Is God doing a 'new thing' - not just in TEC, but for those who are leaving?

It's as simple as the new math I almost flunked in the 6th grade: If you ask the wrong question, you're not going to get the right answer. Actually, the "right answer" isn't as important as the questions you asked to get to the answer.

Then, there's the old adage of real estate: "Location, location, location."

I've never really understood the phenomenon but it can not be denied that people in the South understand 'church' differently than in the North. Even Episcopal Churches in places like Memphis, Mobile, and Atlanta see 700-1,000 'bums in the pew' on any given Sunday, while in Boston, Philadelphia and New York, we think we're 'fat and happy' if we have 250 - 300.

I see the 'smirks' on the faces of my sisters and brothers to the South and I admit to some 'pew envy'. However, I also know that a Northern Pine would not grow in Alabama. Neither would a Palm Tree grow in Vermont.

It's a different climate, a different soil, different people.

While programs like "Alpha" may work in the Diocese of Dallas, it would certainly not fly in the Diocese of Newark. Then again, "Via Media," which has been well received here would probably fall flat and stay off the desks of most of the bishops in the Dioceses Florida.

There's lots more to this issue. This is just what I could think of, sitting here, without even breaking a sweat.

I've been thinking lately of Aesop's Fable of the Tortoise and the Hare as a modern parable of the state of the church.

I think the Evangelicals are the anxious Hares. Goodness knows, I've spent a good amount of time in that 'rabbit warren'. But lately, I've been thinking a lot about the Tortoises I've known and loved. I'm beginning to think that there is much wisdom in the adage: 'Slow and steady wins the race'.

It's not that I'm not concerned about the state of the church. I am. But, I think we've been asking all the wrong questions and trying to "fix" the problem without first taking the time to make an accurate assessment and diagnosis.

For example, instead of asking, "How can we ordain LGBT people or bless their relationships?" why not ask, "What might God be doing, at this time and place in our history, in bringing so many LGBT people to the church? What can they teach us about what we might have taken for granted about human sexuality, covenanted relationships, commitment and service?"

If we started with those questions, we might end up in an entirely different place.

To be fair, we should also ask, "What is God doing in bringing all the orthodites into the church at this time? What can we learn from them about conserving, and their perspective of scripture and their passion and zeal?"

What if we started paying attention to that which God has already given us - the 'bums' that are already in the pew? What if, instead of placing all our anxiety in programs for 'mission' and 'congregational development', we decided to also invest in deepening spirituality and prayer?

What might happen if we tended to the spirits that are in the vines already growing in the vineyard? Made them stronger? Helped them grow deeper?

Instead of answering the question, "Got a problem?" with "I got a program," what if we asked:

Got a problem?

And the answer were: I got a prayer.

I just got off the phone with a parishioner who was telling me of a problem she's having at work. We talked for about 20 minutes and she said, "This has been helpful, thank you. Now , I should get back to work."

"Wait," I said, "before you go, let's have a little prayer, shall we?"

"Prayer?" she said. "You mean, now? On the phone?"

"Yes," I said. "Would that be okay?"

She was still a bit befuddled, but said, "Sure. I mean, okay."

So, we prayed. I have no idea what I said, but after I said, "Amen," there was this very loud silence at the end of my receiver.

"Hello?" I said, "Are you still there?"

She was weeping softly as she said, "Yes, yes. I'm still here."

I let her compose herself for a few seconds and then I heard her say, "You know, maybe if we had prayed at the beginning of this conversation, we wouldn't have needed to have this conversation."

Well, I think the conversation helped to better frame the prayer, but she does have a point.

Maybe if we spent more time in silence, we'd be able to hear God's answer to our prayers. Instead of constant chatter, what if we developed some 'consistent contemplation'? You know, times when people can come together not to think or talk or socialize with each other as much as listening for the Spirit in our midst.

I know. I sound like a Quaker. Well, you know what? Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Many of the solutions to the social problems in this country - like civil rights and suffrage - were led by Quakers.

We could learn a few things by being still and listening, along with our glorious music and eloquent books of prayers - common or uncommon.

So, while I enjoy my relationship with the Hares in my life, I'm going to start celebrating my "inner Tortoise" - and encouraging others to do that, as well.

"Slow and steady wins the race."

I think that's my new mantra for 2009.

Neither rain, nor sleet, nor hail . . .

. . . nor even a snow storm will stop our family celebration of Little Christmas. In fact, it just prolonged it.

Our Massachusetts contingent were prevented from joining us, so we're just going there in two weeks.

Mackie and Abby got Butterscotch, the talking horse.

Don't ask . . .I have no idea. I just do what Nanas are supposed to do.

Abby also got a "Little People" Castle. Her father was thoroughly disgusted because when he was growing up, "Weebles" were ever so much better. He's right, actually. I suspect in 25 years, Weebles will be a collector's item.

I had the distinct feeling, in the moment he saw the "The Little People" that he was starting to feel old. It was a wickedly sweet moment.

Our girls LOVE to play games. Abby and our pup Lenny are getting ready to play a coloring game on Mia's iPhone. There was an amazing quiet for, oh, ten full minutes. And then Ms. CoCo got jealous and Mr. Lenny got even more needy and Ms. Abby got bored. You know. Like all families.

Mackie and Julie played a wicked game of "Travel Checkers." Mackie is a very good player, beating Julie 3 out of 5 games - and I should mention that Julie is the absolute Queen of Board Games.

Looks like she has a little competition for her crown.

The reverse side of the board is Tic Tac Toe, and I went head to head with Mackie in fierce competition, but it seems there's a few things her Nana can teach her grand daughter about strategy.

The children got together and bought us a new swing for Llangollen. Our son-in-law has even promised to come and put it together for us before the beginning of summer. We were more than pleased with our present.

We feasted on Chicken Piccata, red potatoes and broccoli (Ms. Conroy thought the red and green would look more like Christmas), and had a killer chocolate cake for dessert.

I'm pretty exhausted this morning - a bit like my car battery which was pretty low on juice this morning. I'm sitting here waiting for Triple A to come and give me a jump start. I wish someone could come give me a bit of a jump start on my day.

But, you know, the feeling of deep satisfaction of being part of this incredible family is a glow that keeps me warm on this absolutely frigid morning.

Christmas may only come once a year, but families - for good or for ill - are forever. So, why not make the best of them, if you can?

In the end, they are the best Christmas present ever - all year round - even in the midst of a frigid cold Monday morning after a snow storm.

The Inaugurational Invocation (for the rest of us)

Note: Several of us on the Progressive side of the aisle got this note from Bishop Gene earlier this morning:

I am writing to tell you that President-Elect Obama and the Inaugural Committee have invited me to give the invocation at the opening event of the Inaugural Week activities, “We are One,” to be held at the Lincoln Memorial, Sunday, January 18, at 2:00 pm.

It will be an enormous honor to offer prayers for the country and the new president, standing on the holy ground where the “I have a dream speech” was delivered by Dr. King, surrounded by the inspiring and reconciling words of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.

It is also an indication of the new president’s commitment to being the President of ALL the people. I am humbled and overjoyed at this invitation, and it will be my great honor to be there representing the Episcopal Church, the people of New Hampshire, and all of us in the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community.

For links to other articles, check out Episcopal Cafe

Transformation and Destiny

“You are my son, the Beloved;
with you I am well pleased.” Mark 1:4-11
I Epiphany - January 11, 2009
The Episcopal Church of St. Paul, Chatham
(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton, rector and pastor

I’ve been writing this sermon since our Monday staff meeting. One of our staff mused out loud that this was the story about ‘The Transformation of Jesus.”

Not ‘The Transfiguration of Jesus” – where Jesus becomes radiant and speaks with Moses and Elijah on Mount Tabor (Matthew 17:1-9). No, ‘The Transformation of Jesus.” The thinking was that through baptism by John in the Jordan River, Jesus was transformed to do the ministry he was called by God to do.

I’ve been musing about that distinction ever since – about transformation and the role of destiny. Yes, I said destiny. Blame it, in part, on my heritage. The Portuguese think quite a lot about ‘destiny’. We have even perfected a genre of folk music known as ‘fado’ – meaning destiny or fate. I like to think of it as ‘Depression Music of The Portuguese.'

Blame it also, at least in part, on some of the movies I have been watching this holiday season. If you have not seen ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ well, don’t miss it. It’s not the best story ever written – well, actually, it’s several stories.

It’s a love story, a story about the power of good and the forces of evil, a story about two brothers, a story about the cruelty of poverty in India, and yes, it’s a story about destiny. The thing of it is, it is a story very, very well told. Compelling. Powerful. Authentic. As brutally honest as the country in which it is filmed.

The context is the Indian version of a popular game show, “So you want to be a millionaire.” The contestant is Jamal Malik, a kid who grew up as the poorest of the poor in the slums of India, poorer that a dog – hence the name, ‘slumdog’.

By some fairly unusual twits and turns in his young life, Jamal finds himself a contestant on that game show. He is one question away from winning 20 million rupees. How does he do it?

A. He’s a genius.

B. He’s cheating.

C. He’s lucky.

D. It is written.

Unlike most of real life, in this game show, there is only one correct answer. And, I suppose, therein lies the difference. In real life, the answer, more often, is: ‘all of the above.’

I think, however, that each of these four components are an important part of the human enterprise. Indeed, I think these four impact on our spirituality and relationship with God.

So, what of genius? I think we all have our own particular genius in a variety of areas. Some of us are ‘genius’ by the usual definition of that word – a person who is gifted with intelligence or skill in one or several areas. It doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with education. It can also mean someone with strong individuality, imagination, creativity, and innovative drive.

One of my favorite geniuses was Ms. Maybelle Bird, a then 80-something year old woman who lived in Newark when I worked there, who once said to me, “Faith is coming to the ledge and knowing that, if you jump, two things will happen – you will either find you have something solid to stand on, or you will be taught to fly.” Her faith, her wisdom, was her genius.

The second possible answer is ‘cheating.’ We all ‘cheat’ in life in some way, don’t we? Yes, of course: cheating is usually meant to describe an illegal or immoral activity; but sometimes we ‘cheat’ because the playing field was uneven to begin with. We use our intelligence, our imagination, our wit and creativity to see a way around an obstacle or a barrier – to level the playing field – and find another way to achieve our goal.

There’s a commercial I saw the other day which depicts a little boy whose father wants him to be the best baseball player in the world. After several frustrating swings and misses, he stands up, smiles broadly and exclaims, “I’m going to be the best pitcher in the world!” See also: genius.

My father always liked to repeat the aphorism that ‘genius is 10% brain, 90% strain.” I suspect that somewhere in that strain are at least a few percentage points of ‘beating the odds’, which some also refer to in the more dramatic terms of ‘cheating life’ – or ‘defying fate’.

The third possibility is luck. Well, yes. There’s that. But, what is luck? Is it merely coincidence or is does it have to do with a combination of things like, say, circumstance – being in the right place at the right time? Being born in America instead of India? Well, then again, that might be certain parts of America or to a certain class of people in India. Or, is luck a series of choices you make and suddenly, you’re behind ‘Door Number One’ and you got the two week vacation in Hawai’i and not Bozo the Clown waving a ‘Loser’ flag.

The folks in 12 Step Programs like to say that “Coincidence is the name God uses when God wants to remain anonymous.” Serendipity is another. Luck, I think, is yet another. And, I suspect, they are all alias of God as the Holy Spirit.

Finally, there’s destiny. “It is written.” Many people – some are even good Christian folk – can be heard talking about “God’s will” as if one’s role in life were to find The Big Filing Cabinet in the Sky and search until you find the file with your name on it and follow exactly what it is God wants for you.

So do you believe that? Do you believe that "God has a plan for your life?" and your job is to figure it out "God's will for you"? Really? Then, what do you make of the gift of 'free will'? How do you factor in 'freedom to choose'?

Well, I do believe that there is an 'Intelligent Design' in Life, but I don't know that it is personalized for individual lives. I do believe God wants us to live the life given to us, not waste it searching for the correct formula or proper recipe - yes, even if we make mistakes. In fact, especially when we make mistakes.

A great theologian of the early church once wrote that "the Glory of God is (hu)man(kind) fully human." I couldn't agree more.

I suspect when we get to heaven, we’ll find the words, “Just Do It!” written somewhere around the entrance to the heavenly gate.

Then again, I think it is often ‘written’ but sometimes not followed, and sometimes it is ‘written’ after it is followed. As my friend, Ed Bacon once said, “I sure am glad Mary said ‘yes’ to the Incarnation of God before the theologians had a chance to write the doctrine.”

I guess it’s like that old question, “Do the times make the person or does the person make the times?” Are we born to fulfill our destiny, or do we create our own destiny – as well as that of others? Is destiny necessarily destination?

I don’t know if Jesus was transformed by his baptism at the Jordan but then again, I don’t believe Jesus was just any ordinary man. Because I believe in the Incarnation, I believe that Jesus was fulfilling what we would call vocation – his calling from God – which, I believe we all have. We are all called through our baptism in Him, to be faithful to our vocation – to re-present Him and His Teachings in and to the world in our own unique way.

In that sense, I suppose that Baptism is our ‘destiny’ as Christians which we re-affirm at Confirmation – to become more Christ-like. And, I suppose, when we say ‘yes’ to that destiny, in that moment, we are transformed by grace to do that which God has called us to do.

Somewhere between “In the beginning . . .” and “It is written . . .” we live our lives of faith. The experiences we have, the choices we make in life, form the pathway to our own salvation. If we pay attention to our lives, we may find the answers that hold the key to the questions of our past, which may also help to unlock the questions in our future.

That, in fact, is a big part of the role of religion – to help you pay attention to your life, to the questions your life asks and the answers you have given so that you might better answer them. And, in the process of discovering or un-covering or re-covering the answers – or, perhaps, changing or re-framing the questions – you may remain true and faithful to the idea of you, the dream of you, the essential spark of you, that God had of you when you were called into being.

That’s the path which your baptism sets you on. That process can be transformational, if you choose to take it while loving mercy, doing justice and walking humbly with God. But it is your path, your process, and no one else can walk it for you. No one can become the ‘you’ God created you to be.

That’s not so much about genius or luck or cheating or something called your ‘destiny’ as it is your own unique identity. It’s not about getting the right answer, A, B, C or D. It’s not even so much about the answer as it is being faithful to living out the question.

It’s about being in those moments and choosing, like Jesus or the Slumdog Jamal – who said ‘yes’ to love, to hope, to possibility, to goodness – to seize the opportunity, when you don’t know the answer much less really understand the question, and say ‘Yes’ to something greater –and better – than yourself.

It is in those moments, I believe, if we listen carefully, we will hear God says to us, “You are my child, my Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

Amen.

A Merry Little Complication

Years ago we started a wonderful little family tradition.

As our kids got older, got married, and started having families of their own - complete with inlaws - we said, hey, you know what? We want you to start your own Christmas Day traditions. Be with your own families. Celebrate the day with your inlaws, if that will keep peace in the family.

You are most welcome to come here on Christmas day, but here's the deal: Our family gathers on Little Christmas (the Sunday on or before or after The Feast of the Epiphany), and celebrates with a Big Meal and an exchange of gifts.

It has worked very, very well. No strain, lower tension, AND, we get to take advantage of all the after Christmas sales. Such a deal, right!

Our family was to start gathering tonight in anticipation of Little Christmas tomorrow. Except . . . .

There's a Very Big Snowstorm predicted to begin at noon. The National Weather Service is calling for 7-10 inches for our area, and then head up to New England, where our son and his wife and their three kids live.

Ms. Conroy was glued to The Weather Channel, and we were text messaging furiously to each other last night. The final word was: Let's wait and see what happens on Saturday afternoon. The New England contingent was even willing to get up at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning and make their way here.

So, we wait and prepare and try not to let our anxiety intrude on or invade our excitement.

The presents? Well, they can be given at any time. Mostly, we just want to be with each other, is all. To catch up and laugh and retell stories we've already shared by email but this time, we'll do it in person, and that will make all the difference.

See, in the end, it's really all about the Incarnation. It's not so much about 'the presents' as it is about 'being present' to each other and with each other.

We'll all be very sad if the snow keeps us from our Little Christmas celebration, but should that happen, we'll all be deeply committed to finding another way - to get to celebrate the gift of our family 'by another route' and at another time.

So, Mother Nature is going to do whatever She will. We'll not be wasting God's time with prayers about changing the weather. S/he's got people starving in India and a war in The Gaza Strip and Iran and Afghanistan to worry about.

Meanwhile, I'm going to start baking and cooking.

Haven't you heard?

It's almost Little Christmas!

"I'm sittin' in a railway station, got a ticket for my destination . . mmm"

I have always loved to travel by train. I much prefer it to any other mode of transportation. While I love driving my little VW Convertible Bug, a train ride is far more relaxing - and productive.

I can read the newspaper or my favorite book, work on my lap top, get up and walk to the Cafe Car to get a snack, and, occasionally, engage in some relaxed, interesting conversations with fellow travelers.

Oh, and eavesdrop on the conversations of others without a shred of guilt.

I took the train to NYC yesterday - a 45 minute ride on the Midtown Direct - which gave me the luxury of lingering over the New York Times and the New Jersey Star Ledger - something I rarely get to do because I pretty much scan stories online.

There's something about holding a newspaper in your own two hands that is deeply satisfying. Well, I suppose that is true for those "of a certain age".

I love the feel and the smell of the ink on newsprint, and although it doesn't happen much any more, I don't even mind getting some of the black stuff on my hands. I also love the juxtaposition of stories on the page - the way some stories seem, unintentionally, to be a comment on others.

Besides, there are some stories that appear in print that you simply cannot find online, and vice verse.

Yesterday's Star Ledger had an interesting article on the front page: "For time-challenged, spirituality comes in small bites" by Duke Helfand. I can't seem to find it online. (See what I mean?).

The article begins: "So you're racing through another jampacked day, late picking up the kids from basketball practice because you got stuck at the office. Then you pay the bills, walk the dog and perhaps grab cold pizza before collapsing into bed. When do you ever find time for God?"

Mr. Hefland continues to catalogue some new publications that address that question: "The One Minute Bible, Day by Day." "5 Minute Theologian: Maximum Truth in Minimum Time." "Aunt Susie's 10-Minute Bible Dinners: Bringing God into Your Life One Dish at a Time."

There's "7 Minutes with God," which promises, "Learn how to plan a daily quiet time that takes you just seven minutes."

And, what about your over-programmed 10 year old? What about "The Kid Who Would Be King: One Minute Bible Stories about Kids"?

Mr. Hefland had me when he quoted Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, "What's the scarcest commodity in American life?" she asks, "How do we invite people to connect their life of faith with their life at the soccer practice or in the coffee shop or at the pub or waiting in line for something? I think that's the biggest challenge the church is beginning to recognize."

Preach it, sistah! My answer: Well, one small step is to take the train more often. It's a place where you can not only help lower the level of pollution and keep the planet green, you can also defy the laws of physics: you slow down your brain without slowing down your body.

The story continued on page 5, amid continued stories about the Senate flap over Roland Burris, an ad inviting you to 'help fight children's cancer' by donating your car, another to move your business into a 'First Class Address" in Newark, and a "Giant HDTV sale at P.C. Richards and Son." ($1,000 off and up to 18 months No Interest on HDTVs)

It was the picture on page 4, just across from the Religion/Spirituality story that caught my eye. Pictured was a little boy with his father.

He's just a little guy and he has his shirt off. His father is holding his head and the boy is holding something over his shoulder that looks like a chain with something that looks like a small air plane propeller attached.

He is surrounded by other children and a few adults. The children look morbidly fascinated. Some look horrified. One of the male adults is looking away. A woman is clutching her heart.

You have to read the caption to get the story: "A Pakistani Shi'a Muslim teaches his son how to flagellate himself with knife blades on chains during a Muharram procession in Lahore, Pakistan, yesterday. Muharram, the first month of the Islamic calendar, is observed around the world with 10 days of mourning in remembrance of the martyrdom of Imam Hussein, the grandson of the prophet Muhammad."

Well, there it is, then. I suppose there's an argument to be made for having too much time on one's hands.

I put down my paper for a moment to consider the juxtaposition of the two stories when I was distracted by a few conversations around me, which I had been completely oblivious to previously.

I couldn't see any faces, but the voice was that of a young woman - oh, late 20s, early 30s.

"And so I said to him, I said, 'No way'," she said,

"And so now, . . . literally? . . .," she continued, "I have to run into The City for this interview and then . . .seriously? . . . I have to be on a plane . . . TONIGHT at 6 PM . . .for Albany."

"Swear. To. God." she said to him she said.

Then, she gasped dramatically, "Isn't that INSANE?"

The young gentleman with her made a sort of a grunting noise that I suppose was meant to signal his agreement. Then I heard him say, "It's CRAAAAZZZYYY!"

A few seats up and to my right, another conversation - same situation, young woman, young man - and she was saying, "Seriously? I am sooooo psyched for you! That's AMAZING!" she said.

The young man apparently agreed, "Right. I mean . . .literally? . . .it's just INSANE!" he said.

"CRAAAZZZZY" she agreed, enthusiastically.

Their . . . erm . . ."conversations" . . . continued like this for 45 minutes, wafting in and out of my reading and reflections on the newspaper articles.

They were clearly communicating to each other, but they seemed to be - almost literally - singing a different verse of the same sing-song story.

There was clearly the excitement and enthusiasm that often marks the ebullience of youthful conversations. I love the way they take the sound of words that are meant to be fact (Seriously. Literally.) and turn them into questions.

And, I suppose when you live in a world where you can be in NYC by train in the morning and Albany by plane that evening, the only descriptive word for most of the things in your life is "INSANE!"

Even God gets portioned up in 7 minute daily sound bites - 1 minute if you're a kid - so you can fit time in for The Divine as you multitask your way through the day.

I'm still ruminating on the question asked by Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, "What's the scarcest commodity in American life?" she asks, "How do we invite people to connect their life of faith with their life at the soccer practice or in the coffee shop or at the pub or waiting in line for something? I think that's the biggest challenge the church is beginning to recognize."

Or, to put it in the title of the book, how can we find "maximum truth in minimum time"?

Me? I love trains, where I can sit and listen and think about how small the world has become, and yet sometimes, when you travel to another country, you not only have to cross geography, you have to travel back - or forward - in time.

In some cases, like the picture of the young boy in Pakistan, we're not just talking "time zones". We're talking centuries!

The 'church catholic' has got quite a challenge on Her hands - perhaps more so than at any other time in "Her/story". The 'global village' has become so small, and yet we are still so far apart on so many levels.

Please don't misunderstand me - just a 20+ hour plane ride, give or take a few time zones, and that same father would be charged with child abuse in this country.

But, I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, if our faith were more embodied - more sensual, at least - perhaps it wouldn't be so hard to connect what we say we believe with what is happening in the rest of our lives.

You know, if you could hold and touch and feel and smell your faith the way I prefer doing that with the newspaper vs. reading the same story in cyberspace.

I mean, what if we MOVED more during our time of worship? What if we actually moved our bodies toward the altar during the offertory, instead of just our money and other offerings?

I remember reading somewhere that at St. Gregory of Nissa in San Fransisco, there is an option to pray the Lord's Prayer with your body as well as your mouth. Apparently, this was done in the early church.

I'm not a big fan of Liturgical Dance, but you know, when it's done well it can be the difference between saying the psalms and chanting the psalms.

I don't know. I'm just thinking that if we were more embodied in our lives - especially our lives of worship - we might actually understand more about the incarnation. Not as a doctrine, but as the Risen Lord who lives in us.

Then again, seriously? Literally? I just might be INSANE!

Just a Paycheck Away

A few months ago, I was contacted by Forward Day By Day, an Episcopal Publishing Company, to do a series of 'wee-bookies'(sometimes known as 'tract pamphlets') on hope.

The first arrived in my mail yesterday and I must say, it was apretty heady experience for such a small booklet.

Forward Movement Publications is an official agency of the national Episcopal Church. They produce pamphlets, booklets, and books of interest to Episcopalians, often about the 'nuts and bolts' of our faith. You can find a fascinating history of their founding here.

They are probably best known for the popular quarterly devotional "Forward Day by Day", providing daily meditations based on readings from the Bible appointed by the lectionaries.

Their website is: http://www.forwardmovement.org/

You can find my little contribution http://www.forwardmovement.org/showbook.cfm?prodid=2016

Just a Paycheck Away
by E. M. Kaeton


As our economy continues its bumpy road to recession, E. M. Kaeton offers a much-needed glimpse of hope. In this story of a man making the most out of what little he has, we see what is clearest in times in crisis: that a little bit of hope goes a long way.

"We're all just two or three paychecks away from living with the anxiety that steals any moment of joy you may find in the midst of your search for "normal," or "stable," or, well, just not being in desperate need any more....We are all just two or three paychecks away from losing it all, and the church stands guard there, at the brink of isolation and fear, offering relationships and hope."

Price: $0.60
Item No 2016
12 pages

David Letterman: The Top 10 Things We'll Miss About Shrub

My personal favorite is #2.

The really sad part is that these were some of his best moments.

America in shock.

I know we're all looking forward to the inauguration. We're even more anxious to finally be able to usher in "The End of an Error."

The Daily Brief in today's Huffington Post includes this article by Nathan Gardels. It's pretty sobering.

You can read it all here.

Here's a little something to whet your appetite:

The year 2008 is thus likely to go down in American history as an even more pivotal one than 2001, when the 9/11 terrorist attacks occurred, because the life of the average American is going to be shaped far more by the consequences. We're not talking about the inconvenience of lining up to go through metal detectors at the airport. We're talking about the transformation of the American model itself. Nobel Prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz was not exaggerating when he quipped to me earlier this year that "the fall of Wall Street is to market fundamentalism what the fall of the Berlin Wall was to communism." Just like that, we're in a different era.

In this circumstance, Barack Obama will not be judged by the color of his skin, or even the content of his character. He will be judged by the quality of his leadership and the success of his policies in staving off depression and putting America back on the path to prosperity.

Note: Yes, I wrote 'whet' your appetite. That's different from 'wet your whistle.'

Read about it here.

I don't know about you, but I've gotten some emails with an urgent time-sensitive plea to register my cell phone with a "DO NOT CALL" government site which blocks unwanted telemarketing phone calls.

Turns out, the information is mostly correct.

You can get the correct information here.

The Truth

The U.S. government has established a "do not call" registry where you can list phone numbers you want blocked from unsolicited calls such as from telemarketers.

That registry is for both wired and mobile phones and there is no deadline by which a phone number needs to be listed in order to be protected from telemarketing calls.
There is not a separate cell phone registry.

The registry is at: www.donotcall.gov.

At this writing there is discussion among mobile providers about setting up a mobile phone directory listing mobile phone numbers.

According to the Cellular Telephone and Internet Association (CTIA), a cell phone directory is proposed that would be available through calling directory assistance only, not published in writing or on the Internet.

So far, there is not a set date when that will be done and the CTIA says the numbers are not going to be "handed over" to telemarketers.

Users would have the option of not having their numbers listed in the directory.

Some telemarketers call some phone numbers regardless of whether they are listed in directories because they use devices that dial numbers in sequence looking for working numbers although at present, they are prohibited by law from including cell numbers.

The version that claims that the cell companies are being required by law to release the names by June 1, 2006, is also a hoax.

Thanks to a friend in Pittsburgh.

The State of the Church: Six Feet Under?

The Chatham Interfaith Clergy met at the rectory yesterday, for our annual Epiphany “Scones, Sherry and Proper Tea.” It’s always a great time. I am blessed with wonderful sisters and brothers in the faith we share in the One God of Abraham and Sarah.

Our Roman Catholic brother brought us a brochure that had just arrived at his parish. I’m sure my copy is in the office mail. I’ll read it more carefully later on today.

The brochure is from a local funeral home, informing the reader that it was now a ‘Full Service Funeral Home.’ Not only do they care for your loved one with ‘professionalism’ and your family with ‘compassion’, they also offer concierge service – someone who can help you with everything from a caterer for the funeral repast to hotel accommodations for out of town guests.

They can do a DVD of pictures of your loved one which can be shown during calling / viewing hours. They will then help you take all the ‘actual’ pictures and post them on tastefully done poster boards and position them around the parlor where your loved one lies in state.

Their website will post pictures of your loved one along with the obituary and any personal messages from the family. When you visit the webpage, you can choose from a selection of “condolence cards” which you can personalize and send to the family (no stamps, no running to the CVS to get a card – amazing, right?)

They also offer bereavement services with a licensed social worker, including bereavement support services.

But, wait! There’s more!

The funeral home now offers ‘specially trained’ (doesn’t say where) and ‘certified’ (doesn’t say by whom) . . . ready for this? . . . ‘celebrants’.

These ‘celebrants’ will work with the family of the bereaved to develop a ‘meaningful liturgy’ and ‘significant ritual’ with a ‘personalized eulogy’.

As you can imagine, a very interesting conversation followed. We began by speculating on those who might use this new service . It’s not hard to imagine that for those who are not connected to a church community, this new ‘service’ would be a godsend.

Or, for those who have difficulties with the current or interim pastor, or don’t have a regular pastor.

Or, perhaps for those whose loved one died a death due to alcohol, drugs or the cause of, say, a vehicular homicide.

We weren’t sure how we really felt about it, though. Is this a good thing, really? Should it be viewed as ‘competition’? Is it a sign of the further decline of the relevance of religion in our increasingly secularized culture?

Or, is it a sign that there is a deep hunger for spiritual nourishment which is simply not being met, much less fulfilled, by organized religion?

Is this an indication of the failure of the church to be relevant in the lives of people?

Or is it, rather, an unfortunate reality of the isolation of our consumer-oriented culture?

For many years, a person has not needed to ‘belong’ to a religious community in order to get married. There are Justices of the Peace and Mayors of Towns who do a lovely job. Wedding Chapels, complete with flowers and music have been in existence for years.

Confirmation and Bat Mitzvahs as a ‘rite of passage’ have been supplemented – and in some cases replaced – by elaborate Sweet Sixteen Parties – for boys and girls.

Why does anyone need to be a member of a church or a temple in order to have a ‘meaningful’ funeral service?

Why, you can simply purchase the service you need, when you need it, where you want it.

What’s next? Will ‘naming ceremonies’ replace baptism?

Well, sisters and brothers, how are we feeling about this? What do you think?

Is this a good thing or a bad innovation? Is this a threat or a benefit to organized religion? An indication of failure or irrelevance of organized religion or is it simply a sign of the times?

Is this just a way for funeral homes to keep their business successful at the local level and avoid being bought up by large, national chains?

Our Clergy Group is inviting the Funeral Home to come to our meeting next month to tell us more about this service. I’ll keep you posted.

I’m feeling pretty ambivalent about it, as a matter of fact. I guess I just need to process the information a bit more, which is why I’d love to hear what you have to say.