It was 25 years ago today

I was ordained to the priesthood on the Feast of St. Luke, 1986, at The Episcopal Church of St. Ann in Lowell, MA. I was part of that first 10 year wave of "regularly" ordained women in The Episcopal Church.

So many of the women I meet in the church have absolutely no idea what it was like to not have women in roles of ordained leadership in the church. To go through the ordination process with an extra measure of scrutiny and skepticism - just because of your gender.

I have this very clear memory of one woman on the Commission on Ministry in the Diocese of Maine, which was my first canonical residence. I had been given a necklace by Brooke Alexander, the first woman to be ordained in the Diocese of Maine. It was a woman's symbol - you know - a circle with a cross on the bottom. It was small, silver and quite discrete.

She gave it to me to wear during my interviews because, she said, when others see it, it will look like a woman's symbol. But, when you look down at it, you'll remember that your role is to represent Christ to the world.

I want you to know that I was grilled - interrogated - by this woman for a full 10 minutes about that necklace. Hand to Jesus.

She wanted to know what it meant. I told her. She wanted to know what it meant to me. I told her. She wanted to know if it had some "hidden meaning". I said no. She was not convinced. She plummeted me with question after question until I finally started to look around the room at the four other people who were part of the "interview team", pleading with my eyes into their eyes for some relief.

Finally .... FINALLY.... someone called her off but by that time she had worked herself up into a lather, poor dear. I don't think I'll ever forget the look in her eyes. And, that wasn't about my sexuality. That was about my gender. She was Very Clear that women were "not suitable material" for ordination.

So, I look today at women who have been ordained in the last, say, 10 years, and I marvel at the fact that most of them grew up in a church where there has always been ordained women - in the diaconate, priesthood and episcopacy.

They have no idea and, it seems, no real desire to learn about history.  They can therefore make no connection between the discrepancy in either the vocational opportunities or compensation packages between themselves and their male colleagues.

They think it's just a tough economic time for everyone. And, it is, of course, but that doesn't explain the continued disparity in vocational calls and compensation between men and women. Except, of course, that institutional sexism is not much more subtle and, therefore, more difficult to discern.

One interesting statistic from the Ms. Foundation is that 36% of men negotiated the terms of their first position, while only 6% of women did. I think that says something that's pretty powerful about the expectations of our culture and us as individuals.

And, I think, it's a pretty serious called to ministry for the church, to help young women have the confidence and the ability to negotiate for the compensation they deserve.

Perhaps that's what I'll start doing in the next 25 years of my ordained career. What? You think I'm done, just because I hit a major milestone?

No. Way. I'm heading into NYC in just a few minutes, heading in to join the folks at Occupy Wall Street. I'm meeting up with some friends and later, my daughter.

There's still lots of work to be done. In some ways, it's just beginning.

I can't imagine a better time or place to be a Christian who is an Episcopalian. That I've had the privilege of 25 years of ordained service in the church is an additional blessing.

I am deeply, deeply grateful. So, off I go to make "Eucharist" - to offer a 'sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving' by presenting my 'self, my soul and body' to the souls and bodies on Wall Street.

It's going to be a great day.

The Magic of Mission

“The magic of mission” – John 21:1-12

A sermon preached for the Celebration of New Ministry

The Episcopal Church of St. Paul’s in Bergen

October 16, 2011 – The Rev’d Dr. Elizabeth Kaeton

Please Pray with me: O God, take my mind and think through it. Take my lips and speak through them. Take all our hearts and set them on fire with the mission of your Gospel.

So, what do you think? Was it Tuesday or Wednesday after the Sunday of the Resurrection of our Lord, when Peter looked around at the faces of fear and anxiety and confusion and slapped his hand on the table and said, “I’m going fishing”?

And, Thomas – the one John called ‘The Doubter” – and Nathaniel, of Cana in Galilee and James and John, the sons of Zebedee, got up and went out with him near the Sea of Tiberius to do the one thing they knew how to do: fish. And even then, Scripture reports, they didn’t do it well.

They fished all night and caught nothing. The next morning, Jesus appeared on the shore and said, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” And they said, “No.” So, he made a wee, little suggestion. On the face of it, it sounds pretty silly. Indeed, it makes no sense, if you think about it for a red hot NY second.

“Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” Absurd! As if the fish were all huddled together on the left side of the boat, but not the right, because – oh, I don’t know – the net wasn’t there? How ridiculous!

But the boys must have either been so exhausted and so distressed and so beaten down and weary and, no doubt, hungry, that they actually paid attention to the man they thought was a stranger, for they did not recognize Jesus in their midst.

St. John tells us that they dutifully cast the net on the right side of the boat, “and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish.” Imagine that! It’s a miracle! A mystery wrapped inside of a conundrum!

Well, that’s what we often call things that happen that we don’t quite understand.

Jon and his Sr. Warden

So, what do you think? Will it be Tuesday or Wednesday after this day we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord and this new mission and ministry you began together a little over a year ago when you called Jon Richardson to be your priest when one of you will slap your hand on the table and say, “Well, I don’t know about the rest of all y’all but I’m going to go __________”?

What? What will you do? What is your mission here in Bergen? What is it you intend to accomplish in the next two years together in the name of Jesus?

Now, don’t panic. This is not a test. I’m not going to ask you to have a well-articulated mission statement with a business plan on my desk by Wednesday at 3 PM. Now, the bishop may ask you for that but I’m not going to.

Jon and Elizabeth

When Jon was my seminarian I might have gotten away with such a request but I can’t now. He’s no longer “my seminarian”. He’s a duly ordained, wonderfully skilled and talented, articulate, passionate, deeply committed and pretty amazing priest in his own right who now considers me one of his mentors. I am deeply honored and even more deeply blessed.

On Tuesday, the Feast of St. Luke, I’ll celebrate the 25th Anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood by joining the demonstrators at the movement known as “Occupy Wall Street”. I can’t think of a better way to mark that date on my calendar than hanging out with people from all ages and all walks of life and every denomination and creed because they are exactly the folks I think Jesus would hang with if he were walking among us today.

Scripture tells us that the heart of Jesus is with the one lost sheep, but as a measure of just how far we’ve strayed, that equation has now completely shifted. It’s the 99 who have been left behind. Pushed to the margins. Fallen through the cracks. “We” are become“them”.

Many of us live just a paycheck away from financial disaster. Some of us are two paychecks – or one serious illness without health insurance, or one serious unexpected accident, or one sudden death of a loved one or an unplanned pregnancy and complicated birth of a handicapped child – away from losing our homes and the lifestyles to which we have become accustomed. We’ve been faithfully fishing on the same side of the boat for years – doing what we know how to do in the same way we’ve always done it for years – but our nets are empty.

Many of us are exhausted, just from trying to make ends meet. We’re weary and frightened and spiritually hungry. Isn’t it enough just to take care of ourselves? Shouldn’t we be more concerned with doing good liturgy and having wonderful music, education and pastoral care and maybe some good old fashioned outreach? Won’t people come and seek us out? If we just ‘build a better yesterday’ we’ll have a better today and a brighter future, right?

Either that, or, we’ll just wait for a miracle. God will provide. God sent us Jon. He can do it. Maybe he can find the magic combination that will bring people back to church. Maybe he can find the hidden diocesan treasure that will send us a much-needed infusion of cash. Maybe the bishop will help us find a miracle.

I want to say four things about that. The first is this: If what you’ve been doing isn’t working, repent. Jesus said that all the time: Repent! Many people think that has to do only with sin. Repent actually means “turn around”. You don’t like this road or where it’s leading you? Repent! Turn around! Take another road! Put your nets down on the right side of the boat!

The second is to tell you that you are in charge of your own story. Don’t like the narrative history of St. Paul’s, Bergen? Repent! Start a new chapter. Rename your ship. Author Diana Butler Bass reminds us that we have a choice. We can either consider ourselves on the Titanic, hitting an iceberg and doomed to sink. Or, we can consider ourselves on the Mayflower, headed for one place but landing in another and on a new adventure.

The choice is yours. You are writing your own story. You are living history. The new chapter began a year ago when you called Jon.

What will you call the boat on which you sail: The Titanic or Mayflower?

What will you name your journey: Disaster or Adventure?

What is your destination: The bottom of the deep ocean or the beginning of a new commonwealth?

It's your call.  Your choice.

The third thing I want to say is that there is no mystery or magic to mission. Simon Peter started off to do what he knew best: fishing. And, when the others saw his conviction, they followed. They weren’t at all successful until they made one wee, small change. They stopped doing what they knew how to do best and started doing it a different way. They repented. Turned around. Moved from the left to the right side of the boat. And suddenly, they were catching more fish than their nets could hold.

You may have noticed a few small changes in tonight’s liturgy. For example, here’s a contemporary lesson from Blessed Oscar Romero about not aspiring to have more but to be more. Like the Prophet Jeremiah before him, he reminds us that we are clay in the potter’s hands.

“We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work,” says Romero. “Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.”

God’ mission, you see, is already in the world. Our job, as the church, is to catch up with it and do our part in advancing it further in the world.

Perhaps by bringing in, from time to time, a few contemporary voices who speak of the gospel to us in a slightly different way, and in a new time – our time and our place –we’ll be doing the modern equivalent of putting our nets down on the right rather than the left side of the boat.

It’s not magic or 'hocus pocus'. It’s about taking small risks for the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

Megan, Elizabeth, Jon and Brandon

Which brings me to my fourth and final point: Get yourself a theme song. A little something you can hum to yourself while you’re hauling up the heavy net from the left side of the boat, and listening to people grumble about how this is crazy and what do you think you’re doing and why do you think you’re going to change anything by putting the nets on the right side of the boat.

Just a little ditty to keep yourself on track when you get tempted to turn back and follow the same old road you’ve always known.

Now, I asked Jon if he had a favorite song that could become your theme song, but he’s so smitten with The Indigo Girls – who are, admittedly, wonderful and have important things to say but they say it in complex words and music and harmony – that you just couldn’t hum it when you’re anxious or whistle it when you’re in the dark.

As he said of himself, and I quote, “I totally suck at picking out a theme song.” Good man. I always taught him that a strong leader is one who knows his or her own weaknesses.

So, here’s one I picked out for you. Actually, I picked it out for Jon on the first Sunday after his ordination when he was presiding at his very first mass at St. Paul’s in Chatham.

I mean to tell you that that boy was as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He was sweating and his hands were shaking. Which, of course, was precisely where one should be every time one presides – no matter how many years one has been ordained – before the awesome experience and privilege and joy of presiding at Eucharist.

Well, that is, if you know what you’re doing. Which is to admit that none of us really knows what we're doing. We simply preside - as we walk - by faith alone.

At that time, I gave him a theme song which I’m sure he’ll be pleased to share with you. Perhaps you’ve heard it before. It’s called “The Hokey Pokey”. Before you completely dismiss me as a crazy and a fool, let me tell you the story behind the song so you’ll understand why I think this could be your mission theme song.

This was told to me by my friend, Rev. Lauren Stanley, who has been a missionary to Sudan and was most recently was a missionary to Haiti:

During World War II, a musician by the name of Larry LaPrise served in the European Theater. After the war, LaPrise and his friends formed a band called the ‘Ram Trio’ that entertained the crowds coming off a day of skiing in Sun Valley, Idaho. One of the songs he wrote – or so the story goes – is one that all of us know: The Hokey-Pokey. Most of us have sung it and danced to it, usually as kids and then again, for some unknown reason, at weddings.

The words “Hokey Pokey” come from the words “hocus pocus,” which most of us know are the words you speak when you’re doing magic. The words “hocus pocus” come from the Latin phrase, Hoc est corpus meum – “This is my body,” – the words the priest speaks when s/he elevates the bread during the Eucharist.

Elizabeth, Jon, Bishop Mark, Erik

In the old days, when the priests would celebrate in great stone cathedrals, they would turn their backs to the people, and sing the Mass: “Hoc est corpus meum!”

Their voices would reverberate throughout the cathedrals, and as the echo moved throughout the cathedral, what they would be signing – “Hoc est corpus meum” – would sound like Hoooo-cuuussss pooooocuuuuus . . . . . . .

From that term – “hocus pocus” – LaPrise came up with the “Hokey Pokey” (although there are some who claim that the song and dance existed in England during the war). In 1949, LaPrise and the Ram Trio recorded the song and it soon became nationally known.

So, what does this silly song and dance have to do with the mission of the church? Well, think again about the last part of the song: You put your whole self in, you put your whole self out, you put your whole self in and you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about!

Isn’t that what I’ve told you mission is all about? “Repent” means “turning yourself around.” That’s what Jesus tells us to do – and in tonight’s gospel, he’s telling us how to do it. Stop doing things the way you’ve always done it. Switch sides. Change your perspective. Change your attitude. That’s what the Hokey Pokey tells us to do: Turn ourselves around!

Turn around and walk together – as the Body of Christ, coming to the table to most fully meet the Body of Christ. Every time we do that, we’re turning ourselves about – away from the things that society tells us are important to the things that God proclaims are important. Turn around and come into the mission of the gospel.

How is that done? Well, you start with one hand, because sometimes that’s all you can do because you’re already juggling three balls in the other hand. Then you put in a foot because you want to test the water. Then you go for your right side, followed by your left.

And then, if you can, if you’re willing to be bold – to take a risk for the Gospel, for Jesus, who gave His all for you and wants all of you, just as you are without one plea – if you can have that kind of courage, Jesus asks that you put your whole self into the Body of Christ. As the Body of Christ (known as the church), you turn yourself around and you commit yourself to Christ.

It’s something we have to do over and over again, this turning around, this committing ourselves. But we can do it. And we can start to do it through the Hokey Pokey, believe it or not. It’s a silly song, at least on the surface. But when you learn the real meaning of it, when you learn what the words are and what the intentions are, it becomes something a whole lot more significant.

Jon Richardson

So, this is my three fold charge to you. Would the members of St. Paul and your rector and wardens and vestry please stand up?

Dear friends in Christ Jesus, as you begin the second third of your time with Jon, I want to remind you that the way to new life in Jesus is through true repentance.

I want you to repent three times: Don’t like the road you’ve been traveling or where it’s leading you? Repent! Turn around Take another road!

Second, You are in charge of your own story. Don’t like the story you’ve been living out of? Repent! Turn around! Write a new chapter. Change the name of your journey from disaster to adventure!

And finally, remember tonight’s gospel story. Mission is not magic. It begins when you do what it is you love. When you work from your strengths, not “oughts” or “shoulds”.

Have you been doing what you know and love but still not finding success? Repent! Turn around! Try something different.

Mission is not magic but when it happens, it is magical. It’s hocus pocus – hoc est corpus meum. This is the Body of Christ. You are the Body of Christ.

Well, are you willing to do this? Are you willing to stand up and dance the Hokey Pokey with me? To begin to take a small risk for the gospel?

Okay, then. Let’s do it. (“Oh no,” you’re thinking, “She’s not going to make us get up!” Oh yes she is!). C’mon! Everybody form a circle around the church. That’s it. Let’s do the Hokey Pokey. Right here in church. You too, bishop. C'mon, choir! Ready? Everybody sing and dance!

Put your right hand in. Take your right hand out. Put your right hand in and shake it all about. Do the Hokey Pokey and turn yourself around. And, that’s what it’s all about.

Put your left foot in. Take your left foot out. Put your left foot in and shake it all about. Do the Hokey Pokey and turn yourself around. And, and that’ what it’s all about.

You put your whole self in, you take your whole self out, you put your whole self in and you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around.

‘Cuz that’s what it’s all about.

Yes, that’s what the magic of the mission of the Gospel is really all about!

And you, too, can do it! There's no magic. But it is magical when it happens.

As Simon Peter and Nathaniel of Cana and James and John of Zebeddee and the people of St. Paul’s Bergen have discovered: the magic of mission is created in the doing.

Amen.

Chump Change

The Pharisees went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, "Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?" But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, "Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax." And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them, "Whose head is this, and whose title?" They answered, "The emperor's." Then he said to them, "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away. Matthew 22:15-22

I've always loved the term 'chump change'.

I think the word 'chump' comes to us around the same time that words like 'speakeasy' for a place where illegal alcohol was served (or, in lower class establishments, 'blind pig' or 'blind tiger') and, when there was also gambling involved in the establishment, some carried signs that said, 'No Tomatoes', meaning that no women were allowed.

A 'chump' is a foolish person. A 'hick' from the country who is unsophisticated, gullible and easily deceived.

'Chump Change' is an insignificant amount of money, money that can be easily disposed of. I have heard some of 'the girlfriends' describe some men in that way, "He nothin' but a broke-ass, chump-change dawg."

If Jesus had lived in this modern time period, I suspect he might have at least been tempted to use the term with the Pharisees who, near as I can figure, just about invented the term 'gotcha question'.

Jesus says, essentially, that whatever we give to Caesar is chump change compared to what we give to God. Which is more - much more - than than money. God wants our hearts and souls, our minds and bodies. What money we give to God is 'chump change' in comparison to how we use whatever else we've been given to the glory of God and the furthering of the Realm or the Kin-dom of God.

Now, there are those who see Stewardship Season as a time to build up the coffers of the church vs. a way to teach people something about the nature of God and their relationship with God and each other that involves an odd and wondrous combination of sacrifice and praise and joy and hope.

For those people, a pledge is like a tax - a percentage of income - that needs to be factored out of their wages through a sense of duty and obligation.

But a pledge is very different from a tax, isn't it? I don't know about you, but while I pay my taxes with a sense of sacrifice, in no way does it inspire praise or joy in me.

In a sense, my taxes are chump change compared to what I get in return for my pledge or my tithe to the church.

Jesus turns a 'gotcha question' into a 'gotcha response' - not just to be snarky about being tested but to speak directly to the chumps who quibble about change in order to bring about real transformation in their lives.

Unfortunately for them, they just walked away, leaving them to define themselves by the very label they tried to place on Jesus.

It's a great gospel about hope and transformation which I trust will give you something to consider about value and worth, especially in these times of economic fragility and crisis.

You are a child of God, of inestimable value and worth, not 'chump change'.

Mutual Ministry Review

I'm on the road this week. I'm heading up to Boston this morning where I'll be working with the Wardens, Vestry, rector and staff of a small church there on a Mutual Ministry Review.

Then, it's back to NJ to preach on Sunday afternoon for a former seminarian of mine who is celebrating, with his congregation, his presence among them as their "Priest-In-Charge". I heard the term "Covenant Priest" as a replacement term for PIC. Both still sound awkward to my ears. I think I err on the side of Vicar, but I digress.

I'm hanging around for some more tests as a result of my Annual Physical stuff done last month, and then I spend the 25th Anniversary of my priestly ordination with the folks at Occupy Wall Street - if they're still allowed to be there. I can't imagine a better way to mark that anniversary.

Leading a Mutual Ministry Review is also a good way to begin the observation of so many years of ordained ministry.

It's just what it says it is:

Mutual, as in shared.
Ministry, as in the work we do for Jesus
Review, as in looking over and backward before moving forward.

We've actually started this Mutual Ministry Review months ago. The Wardens and Vestry have been gathering information and interviewing parishioners. Then, tonight and all day tomorrow, we'll review all the information, celebrate achievements, note what has been "left undone" and why, and then begin to develop goals for the next year.

Which actually begins the Mutual Ministry Review for next year.

Which is the point.

It then give people an opportunity to evaluate the performance of the rector and staff as well as assess the role of the Wardens and Vestry.

It's really about vigilance and persistence. I like to think of it as being similar to the way we tend a vineyard or a garden. If you want good grapes or vegetables, you can't just go to the place where things have been planted and expect to simply pluck grapes off the vine or pluck veggies from the ground. The soil needs to be tilled and nourished, weeds need to be pulled and vines pruned, and the wise gardener or vine dresser always prepares for the frost of winter.

Ministry is no different. We are all working in the Vineyard of the Lord, until we get back to The Garden once again.

So, off I go, then. Depending on the availability of Wifi on Amtrak, I may not be able to post again until late Saturday.

Don't mess with too much of my stuff while I'm gone.

And, would someone feed the fish? Thanks.

Pledging your troth

Thirty-five years ago today, Ms. Conroy and I pledged our troth to each other.

According to the Free (online) Dictionary, to pledge one's troth means:

"troth [trəʊθ]
n Archaic
1. a pledge or oath of fidelity, esp a betrothal
2. truth (esp in the phrase in troth)
3. loyalty; fidelity
[Old English trēowth; related to Old High German gitriuwida loyalty; see truth]

No, we were not "married". We made promises to each other of loyalty and fidelity and truth.

And, for 35 years, we have kept that pledge. Without the "benefit" - however you define that -  of marriage.

It has not been - is not, still - an easy thing to do. For a variety of reasons. Some of them personal. Others of them cultural.

We've co-parented - and continue to co-parent - six children. Five of them have graduated from college. With honors. Four have Master's Degrees. One is working on her doctorate. One is profoundly intellectually and physically challenged and lives in a sheltered group home.  One has died. Four are married. There have been no divorces. Two have given us five grandchildren.

We are all good citizens. We are all gainfully employed. Some of us own homes. One rents an apartment. We pay our bills and our taxes. We all enjoy good health and we have good health insurance plans.

Ms. Conroy and I have a domestic partnership in NJ and will have a civil union in DE when it becomes legal here in January, 2012.

We will do that because it gives our family some measure of protection. Legally. Financially.

But, it's not the "troth".

Which is going to be difficult for some of you to hear.  Hear me clearly: this is not an argument against marriage equality. We both fully support it and will continue to work for it.

Here's the 'troth' of the pledge of our troth: At this point, even if we had Marriage Equality in DE - or, throughout the United States - I'd have a problem talking Ms. Conroy into "tying the knot". She says, at our age, we have all the legal and financial security we're going to get. More than we've ever enjoyed in previous years. Our lawyer agrees.

Besides, she argues, we've had a Blessing of our relationship within the context of our family and our home. That was at our 10 Anniversary. Half of our rag-tag community of faith in Boston made the trek to Lowell, where we lived at the time, to witness and celebrate the event with our rector who, at the time couldn't - wouldn't - bless the 'troth' we had made ten years - and all those kids - earlier within the context of a ceremony in the church.

So, we've been blessed by our community of faith. Indeed, we've been blessed by our family and life itself. We have legal protection. What more could we possibly want?

Well, I say, Marriage Equality.

She shakes her head and says that we've gone this long without it, we don't need it. It won't add anything and may take away some thing.

Like what, I ask.

Like, she says, our integrity.

How, I ask.

By capitulating to the fact that the past 35 years have been somehow illegitimate, she says. That's a lie I'm not going to participate in. I'm not going to let the state suddenly legitimize what I know to be a truth that's been in existence for 35 years.

Think about it for a minute. You have to admit, she's got a point. I don't like it. I don't agree with it. But that doesn't mean it doesn't have validity.

Then again, she's the ultimate pragmatist. I'm the dreamer.

She's a Realist. I'm a Romantic.

I'm a Democrat.  She's a Republican (Hand to Jesus!).

Maybe that's the secret of the past 35 years.

The fascinating thing is that she's more of a cultural rebel than I was 35 years ago. Really. That's something I would have said when we first got together.

Now, hear me again: I - we - will continue to fight for Marriage Equality. For. Every. One. It is a civil right and everyone should have the right to choose that. Or, not.

Indeed, it just may so happen that if the Marriage Faerie came and sprinkled magic dust that removed the homophobic, heterosexist film from the eyes of the bigots and gave courage to our legislators and Marriage Equality came to the land for everyone, I'm not so sure she wouldn't capitulate.

But, that's not the point. Her point. Which really points to the essence of what marriage is really all about.

Is marriage a financial contract? A social status? A legal license?

Yes, of course it is - when viewed only from the perspective of The State.

Is marriage about God's blessing and sacramental grace?

Yes, of course it is - when viewed only from the perspective of The Institutional Church.

The essence of marriage - what we've lost over the centuries or, perhaps, do not clearly understand - is that the heart of marriage is not about contracts and social status and license. Neither is it about the Church's ability to pronounce blessing and sacramental grace.

Marriage is really about sacred covenants and pledging troths.  Truths. 

Neither the church nor the state can either give that to anyone or take it away.

I'm deeply grateful for the 35 years we've had and proud of the things we've been able to accomplish.  I'm especially proud of our family and the people and the citizens they have become.

So, here's to pledging troth and families and love and commitment. 

And, here's to Marriage Equality for absolutely everyone, everywhere - lesbian, gay, bi, straight, transgender, intersex and queer - if they so choose.

Here's also to being able to pledge one's troth to another, which gives value and worth and status and depth and breath and meaning to the whole enterprise of marriage and makes it matter - whether the church or state recognize it or not.

Of Pies and Their Crusts

Sugar-free strawberry pie with gluten-free pie crust

It's been a while since I've blogged on food and baking and recipes thereof.

Last night, I experimented with a sugar-free strawberry pie with a gluten-free crust. It was a birthday surprise for a clergy colleague who turned 81 years young on Monday (but you'd probably guess he's at least 10 years younger). I made it for our clergy gathering this morning, amidst a rousing version of "Happy Birthday to you" and much frivolity.

I was pleased to receive accolades for my efforts, but then again, I think it was more the spirit of the celebration and the gratitude for a wee bite to eat.

Pie crusts, in my experience, are not as easy as they look. Oh, you can make them LOOK good, but the taste. Ah, there's the proof of experience in the flour and lard and the butter and a deft hand with a cold marble rolling pin and equally cold marble surface on which to roll out your dough.

Gluten-free pie crusts present yet another challenge but well worth the effort if you have loved ones with an intolerance to gluten.

Yes, I said lard AND butter. Leaf lard is preferable and much, much better for you than Crisco or other lards. It's made from "rendering" hog fat in very high temperatures until the impurities (called "cracklings") float to the top and are removed. The result is a white and creamy non-hydrogenated block of perfection with zero trans-fat that has a mildly neutral taste. One pound equals about one cup of lard.

And, it makes the BEST flaky pie crust you'll ever eat. It's the only thing my grandmother used and she made the BEST pies. Evah.

Oh, and did I mention the butter. Absolutely. I mean, hey, if you're going to sin, why not sin boldly?

The trick is to keep everything COLD. The lard AND the butter. Indeed, I just take the butter and lard out of the freezer and use a cheese grater to grate it into the flour. 

ICE COLD is really the only way to work with the stuff. Even then, it's a challenge. The finished dough should be rounded in a ball, wrapped in plastic wrap, and kept in the refrigerator for at least 20 minutes before you try to work with it.

It becomes even more of a challenge when you try to make a gluten-free dough. The one advantage is that if the dough tears when you roll it out, you can just rework it without any concern about making it rough. It's gluten-free.

Now, I have used King Arthur Gluten-free Flour and it works just fine. Just substitute it for the flour in your favorite recipe and follow the instructions on the back of the package.

Last night, I experimented with a gluten-free recipe that I think is even better than the box of flour. But, that's just my particular taste. Or, maybe it's just because anything that takes this kind of preparation HAS to taste better. Right?

Whether you use your own recipe with King Arthur gluten-free flour or the one below, there are a few other tricks I've learned.

The first is to invest in a food processor, if you don't already own one. It really does make a difference in the finished product and is so much easier to work with.

So much of making pie is by sensory experience. The lard and butter should be cold, the water should be cold, and the dough should feel good in your hands. It's great fun to play with, but the food processor will ensure a much better mixture of the flour, the lard and the butter.

The second is to weigh the ingredients. Really. On a food scale. This is especially important if you substitute flours. For example, brown rice flour is heavier than sorghum although they measure out the same.  If you just use the standard measure, your crust will come out tough. If you WEIGH the ingredients, you'll get a much better finished product.

Here's a trick I learned from my grandmother about measuring lard. I use the displaced water method of measuring lard. Example: If you need one cup of lard, use a 2 cup measure and fill with one cup of water, add lard, keeping the lard below the waterline. When the waterline reaches the 2 cup mark, you then have 1 cup of lard and 1 cup of water.

Just pour off the water and the lard is ready to use. I like to use cold or frozen lard for this method of measuring. If you don't want to go through the bother, then know that about 1 pound of lard equals one cup. But, when I do this, I feel the spirit of Julia Child in my kitchen. And, she's smiling.

The third is to roll out the dough on parchment paper. This is helpful with all doughs but it's especially important with gluten-free dough. It's so much easier to roll out a THIN crust and then transfer it to the pie plate. Really. There's nothing more frustrating than rolling out the dough to perfection, only to have it stick to the surface or tear when you're making the transfer.

So, here's the recipe. You can get most of these ingredients in the supermarket or in your local natural food store. Failing that, you can order them online. I've added links where you can order the various ingredients listed. If you have someone in your family who is gluten-free and you like to make pies, having these items in your pantry shelves will be worth the investment.

This recipe makes 1 pie, with enough crust for bottom and top.

Gluten-Free Pie Crust

1 1/4 cup (5 ounces) almond flour (this is not the same as almond meal)
2/3 cup (2 ounces) gluten-free oat flour
2/3 cup (2 ounces) tapioca flour
1/2 cup (2 ounces) teff flour
1/2 cup (3 ounces) potato starch
1/4 cup (2 ounces) sweet rice flour
2 teaspoons xanthan gum
1/4 teaspoon guar gum
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
5 tablespoons butter, cold (or non-dairy butter sticks)
4 tablespoons leaf lard, cold (see note below)
1 large egg
6 to 8 tablespoons ice-cold water

Whisk the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the almond flour, oat flour, tapioca flour, teff flour, and potato starch. Slow down as you add each flour and whisk repeatedly, until they have become one flour. Add the xanthan and guar gums and the salt. Mix well.

Adding the fats. Add small pieces of the ice-cold butter to the flour mixture, not much bigger than a pea. (Or, freeze your butter beforehand, then grate the frozen butter into the flours. Move quickly.) Afterward, add the leaf lard in small portions, of equal size.

Making the sandy dough. Use your hands to scoop up the flours and mix in the fats. Go slowly. Rub your hands together. Feel the fats work into the flours with your fingers. Lift and rub the flour and fats, scoop and let them all fall through your fingers - just like you did when you were a kid. Don't worry. No one will yell at you, but d'on't play too long at it. You don't want the natural heat from your hands to melt the leaf lard and butter. You’ll know when you are done. You’ll feel done. The flours will look sandy now.

Finishing the dough. Combine the egg with 3 tablespoons of the water and whisk them together. Here’s where you can go two ways. If you want to do everything by hand, then do so. Add the eggy water to the dough. Work the dough together with your hands, or a rubber spatula, or whatever feels right. When the dough feels coherent, stop.

Or, you can do what I have come to realize makes gluten-free pie dough even better than making it by hand: finish it in the food processor. Move the sandy dough to the food processor and turn it on. As the dough is running around and around, drizzle in the eggy water. Stop to feel the dough. If it still feels dry and not quite there, then drizzle in a bit more water. If you go too far, and the dough begins to feel sticky or wet, sprinkle in a bit of potato starch to dry it out. Again, after you make pies for awhile, you’ll know this by feel alone.

Making the crust. Separate the dough into two balls, wrap the pie dough in plastic wrap (or in a bowl) and let it rest in the refrigerator for at least 20 minutes.

Take one ball out of the refrigerator and roll out the dough between two pieces of parchment paper. This means you won’t work any extra flour into the dough. Roll it out as thin as you can. Thinner. Thinner. Come on, you can do it — thinner still. Carefully, lift the top piece of parchment paper and turn the dough upside down on the top of a pie plate. Rearrange until it is flat.

If the dough breaks, don’t despair. Simply lift pieces of the dough off the counter and meld it with the rest of the dough. Remember, there’s no gluten, so you can’t overwork the dough. Play with it, like you’re a kid again. Place the pie dough in the pie plate and crimp. When you have a pie dough fully built, you are ready to make pie.

Put the pie pan in the refrigerator with the other roll of dough while you preheat the oven to 325° and make the filling of your choice.

I made Strawberry Pie filling but substituted sugar for "Splenda for Baking". It comes in a big bag so you don't have to stand there and open all those silly yellow packets.  You can do the same for apple, peach or whatever kind of pie you choose or suits your fancy.

When your filling is ready, bring the pie pan out from the refrigerator. Fill the pie pan with the filling. Put several pats of butter over the top.

Roll out the remaining pie dough between two pieces of parchment paper. Remove the top layer and lay the pie dough over the filling. Pinch the edges of the two doughs together, then crimp the pie dough. Or, you may prefer to use a lattice top. Your call.

Brush with an egg wash, if you want a golden crust. Make a few small slits in the top crust.

Bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling starts to bubble out of the slits on top or around the sides, about 30-40 minutes. Remove from the oven and let the pie cool.

Don't worry if the coloring isn't exactly even - a little browner in some spots than others. It won't affect the taste. Trust me on this. And besides, your family or guests will know it's not store-bought.

You may eat this pie whether you are gluten tolerant or not. You won't miss the gluten. At. All. Promise.

As Julia Child used to say, "Bon appetit!"

Come out, come out, whatever you are

Today is National Coming Out Day.

It's a day to celebrate the gift of the fullness of our humanity which includes the gift of human sexuality and sexual orientation.

It's a bold move. A courageous move in our culture which is still struggling with the remnants of our Puritan roots and the conflicted propriety of the Victorian era.

And then, there's scripture, which is sometimes used as the "ultimate weapon" of cultural control.

Of course, no one follows any of the other "cultural norms" found in scripture. Polygamy is no longer allowed. Neither is stoning your wife or daughter for disobedience. I don't know too many people who abstain from heterosexual intercourse during menstruation, nor do heterosexual women have a ritual bath after menstruation and before resuming sexual relations with their husbands.

I could go on and on about dietary laws and materials used for clothing but, thanks to Dr. Laura, we're all pretty educated about those parts of Levitical Law - which even most but the ultra-orthodox of Jews do not observe.

the Rev'd Ed Bacon

In January of 2009, Ed Bacon, a dear friend and the rector of All Saints', Pasadena, appeared on the Oprah Winfrey Show. A young, gay man called in and told Ed that all his life he had been told that being gay was bad.... that it was a sin.

And, Ed responded with seven words that absolutely rocked Oprah off her chair, lit up Oprah's switchboard, and almost crashed All Saint's email server.

He said, and, I'm delighted to repeat:

"Being gay is a gift from God."

Now, I've known Ed Bacon for more years than either of us would care to admit. We have been in difficult situations together when neither of us knew what to say. We have been in joyful situations when words simply could not hold the emotion of the moment. And, we have been called to testify difficult words of truth to powerful people in the church and in the world.

My favorite moment with Ed Bacon was when we were in Seattle, WA, attending the first gathering of something that was to be known as "The New Commandment Task Force". It was a movement to bring reconciliation to the various, divisive forces at work in The Episcopal Church, trying to avoid the apparently unavoidable schism that now is our present, sad reality.

We were in the car - five of us - at the end of a long and difficult day. We were dropping Ed off at the hotel where he was staying. Tensions were running high about what was to happen the next day, but we were confident of our position. Ed opened the door, started to get out of the car, and then stopped.

He turned around and looked at us all and said, "I love everybody in this car!" And then, he left.

Now, I haven't talked about this with Ed, but I am pretty sure that he did not plan to say those seven words on the Oprah Winfrey Show. I'm pretty sure he was so moved by the sound of that man's voice and the sadness and pain he heard in it, that he just simply said what was in his heart from a place of truth at the core of his being.

"Being gay is a gift from God."

Ed can say that because all love is from God. Everything we are, everything we are not, everything we have - our hearts and minds and souls and bodies, our intellect and emotions, our gender and our gender orientation, our sexuality and our sexual orientation: gay, bi, lesbian, straight, queer, curious - is a gift from God.

Coming Out Day is about being who you are, no matter who you are or who you think you are. It's about truth and honesty - not lies and secrets.

It's not about 'flaunting' anything - especially a so-called "lifestyle". It's about accepting who you are and living faithfully and honestly, with authenticity and integrity.

Coming Out Day is about accepting all the gifts God has to give - including your sexuality and sexual orientation - and celebrating them.

If nothing else, celebrate today the timeless Truth that God is love and nothing - no thing, no person, no church, no temple, no institution, no government, no power, no how, no where - can separate you from the love of God.

So, celebrate all of who you are - no matter who or what you are.

Come out, come out, whatever you are.

Occupy Columbus Day

As a kid of an immigrant family growing up in a "mill town" of Massachusetts, I loved Columbus Day.

For us, it represented how this country was built by the very immigrants whom "the landed gentry" now held in disdain. As if we weren't "worthy" enough to call ourselves "Americans" because we didn't come from the UK and the ink on some of our passports and visas hadn't completely dried.

We didn't have the "seniority" - a concept my labor-union organizing family understood. Which is why so many of us second and third generation immigrant Americans felt - and still feel - the burden and the challenge of bearing the hopes of The Great American Dream held deep in the hearts of our parents and grandparents.

Prince Henry the Navigator

So, we rejoiced with our Italian neighbors and celebrated our own "Great Portuguese Navigators" like Prince Henry the Navigator, whose statue sat at the intersection of Eastern Ave. and Pleasant Street in my home town of Fall River, MA.

My family joined hundreds of other Portuguese immigrant families who reverently placed flowers at the foot of his statue every Columbus Day as well as any other major Feast Day in the Roman Catholic Church.

My father would always tip his hat at Prince Henry as he drove by on his way from picking up some linguica or chourico sausage, or, perhaps some freshly fried and sugar-sprinkled malasada from the bakery. Tipping his hat was the same gesture of respect he used when he drove by a Roman Catholic Church or passed a woman on the street.

The history books I read in school, which were reinforced by the Roman Catholic Church of my youth, supported the idea of "Manifest Destiny" and the attendant notion of "rugged individualism"  that, I was told, "made this country great".

My real education, however, began one Columbus Day weekend, with an unexpected outburst of anger from a classmate of mine in nursing school.

Her name was Carol. She was the not the first but the only African American woman at St. Anne's Hospital School of Nursing where I attended. She was a senior which you could tell because she was allowed to wear white stockings and her white nurses cap which had three, thin 1/4 inch stripes of blue velvet. She would earn her "real" nurse's cap - a large, thick 3-inch band of black velvet across the width of her cap - after graduation.

I was yet a "probie" - in the first six months of my nurse's training - and wore no cap to crown my pale blue sack of a uniform, over which was a crisply starched white pinafore with equally starched white collar and white cuffs on my sleeves. As a "probie", we also wore black stockings, which would be traded in during a solemn "Capping Ceremony" in the hospital chapel for white stockings and a white cap with one, thin 1/4-inch blue velvet stripe. (Juniors were easily detectable by the two thin 1/4-inch stripes of blue velvet on their caps.)

Where there was rank, there was order. Sort of like the military. We all knew our place. 

Several of us were pooling gas money to take a ride to Newport, RI, to drive in the sparkling October afternoon along the 12-mile drive of mansions along the ocean, and then hit all the bars and pubs in the city, maybe getting a few sailors who were on "shore leave" from the Naval Yard nearby to buy us some drinks if we flirted and giggled with them.

Poster by Marty Two Bulls, Sr.

Carol came into the lounge and someone asked her if she'd like to join us. Carol was a fairly quiet and very serious young woman. Smart. All A's. A great clinician with excellent diagnostic skills. A real favorite of the nuns.

The word about her was that she had "not been allowed" admission to medical school. Some of us believed that was because she was a woman. None of us said what we really knew to be the obvious barrier to her acceptance in one of the prestigious medical schools in Boston.

If we didn't talk about race, it didn't exist.

Carol demurred from our invitation, saying she was going to catch up on some sleep and maybe visit her family on Cape Cod.

Someone said, "Hey, c'mon, Carol. Give yourself a break. Come with us and have some fun."

Carol continued to demure until someone said, "What kind of American are you? This is a holiday that celebrates the discovery of America! Remember The Nina, The Pinta and the Santa Maria!" Someone started to sing, "In fourteen-hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue!" And we all sang along, accompanied by gales of giggles and high spirits.

Carol had her back turned, leaning over the stove where the water she was boiling for her tea was starting to steam. So was she.

Suddenly, she turned around and, to our great surprise, the Carol we knew - and secretly admired and wanted to be closer to but she wouldn't allow it - was no longer there.

The calm, quiet, thoughtful, graceful, "nice girl" Carol seemed to have disappeared. In her place was an angry young woman, eyes flaring, who raised her voice in a mixture of anger and frustration and sarcasm and pain and said, "Discovered America? 'Discovered' America? How great an accomplishment is it to 'discover' something that was already there?"

We were all stunned into silence as she continued, "And, what did he 'discover'? Native American people whom he stupidly called 'Indians' because the idiot thought that by going west from Portugal he could actually find a shorter route to Asia where he could bypass "The Silk Road" which had been closed by the collapse of the Mongol Empire and the rise of the Ottoman Empire."

I remember thinking, "What is she talking about? I took history in high school, too. I never heard about 'The Silk Road'. And, what has Christopher Columbus got to do with the Mongol or Ottoman Empires?" I made a mental note to check out what it was she was saying.

"And then," she said, "Columbus 'discovered' the First People and tried to make them just like Europeans. But first, he took their land. And, enslaved them. Other Europeans would follow the "Doctrine of Discovery" which he laid out and continued to take their land because it was the White European "Manifest Destiny"."

"And then," she continued without seeming to take a breath, "other White Europeans would take my people - MY PEOPLE - from Africa and enslave them to work the land that they had stolen from the Indigenous People."

"So," she concluded, "go ahead and celebrate Columbus. Go ahead and drive by mansions in Newport that were built on the backs of slavery and colonialism and  the post-colonialism that still persist today.  But, know this. What you're really celebrating is GREED. Human greed that justifies slavery and colonization in the name of progress and 'discovery' and 'adventure'. "

Carol turned her back to us as we stood in silence as she prepared her tea. When she turned around again, suddenly, Carol was back. Composed and confident. "Have a nice day, ladies," she said as she smiled and returned to her room.

You could have cut the silence in the room with a knife. As I remember, we all quietly disbursed for about twenty or thirty minutes before finding our way back again into the lounge to plan our trip, but this time, the mood was much more subdued - and, remained so for the rest of the day.

Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce

It would be years before I would read about "The Doctrine of Discovery" and what that did to the nations of The First People.  I wept the first time I read Chief Joseph's 1879 address at Lincoln Hall in Washington, DC. I weep at them today:

"Too many misinterpretations have been made; too many misunderstandings have come up between the white men and the Indians. If the white man wants to live in peace with the Indian he can live in peace. There need be no trouble. Treat all men alike. Give them the same laws. Give them all an even chance to live and grow.

All men were made by the same Great Spirit Chief. They are all brothers. The earth is the mother of all people, and all people should have equal rights upon it. You might as well expect all rivers to run backward as that any man who was born a free man should be contented penned up and denied liberty to go where he pleases.

If you tie a horse to a stake, do you expect he will grow fat? If you pen an Indian up on a small spot of earth and compel him to stay there, he will not be contented nor will he grow and prosper. I have asked some of the Great White Chiefs where they get their authority to say to the Indian that he shall stay in one place, while he sees white men going where they please. They cannot tell me.

I only ask of the Government to be treated as all other men are treated. If I cannot go to my own home, let me have a home in a country where my people will not die so fast.

When I think of our condition, my heart is heavy. I see men of my own race treated as outlaws and driven from country to country, or shot down like animals.

I know that my race must change. We cannot hold our own with the white men as we are. We only ask an even chance to live as other men live. We ask to be recognized as men. We ask that the same law shall work alike on all men. If an Indian breaks the law, punish him by the law. If a white man breaks the law, punish him also.

Let me be a free man, free to travel, free to stop, free to work, free to trade where I choose, free to choose my own teachers, free to follow the religion of my fathers, free to talk, think and act for myself — and I will obey every law or submit to the penalty.

Whenever the white man treats the Indian as they treat each other then we shall have no more wars. We shall be all alike — brothers of one father and mother, with one sky above us and one country around us and one government for all. Then the Great Spirit Chief who rules above will smile upon this land and send rain to wash out the bloody spots made by brothers' hands upon the face of the earth. For this time the Indian race is waiting and praying. I hope no more groans of wounded men and women will ever go to the ear of the Great Spirit Chief above, and that all people may be one people.

Sounds like something we've heard before, doesn't it?

"Jesus looked up to heaven and said: ‘I do not pray for my disciples alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me because of their word, that all may be one as you Father are in me, and I am in you.” (John 17: 20-21)"

Frederick Douglass said, "Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property exist."

Sojourner Truth said, "We do as much, we eat as much, we want as much," and asked, "And, ain't I a woman?"

Martin Luther King, Jr., said, "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

My long-ago classmate, Carol, made all those connections long before I did. I find myself grateful for her anger. Grateful for the courage she had to express her anger. Grateful that her anger started me on the journey to understand the effects of slavery and how the effects of colonialism affected my immigrant family and my own post-colonialist mindset. 

Some of you reading this will sigh and point to evidence of the fact that I am just another "bleeding heart liberal," and how I'm spoiling all the fun of this holiday.

I'm not trying to spoil anyone's 'fun'. Well, wait a minute. Strike that. Yes, I am. Especially if your 'fun' is had at the expense of the ignorance of the true story - the 'history' - of this country.

To quote Chief Joseph, "You might as well expect all rivers to run backward" as that I - or any person - should enjoy the freedoms we know without being mindful of how the freedom of others were - and continue to be - compromised or denied so that we might "enjoy" the freedom we have.

Part of the "Occupy Wall Street" Manifesto

Which is why "Occupy Wall Street" makes more and more sense to me as this movement grows day by day and is sweeping the nation.

A friend sent me this link to an essay by Dante Atkins in the Daily Kos which, I think, sums up what I'm feeling this Columbus Day:

The legions in New York and across the country do not protest wealth; they do not hate success. Rather, they object to those who extract value through predation (plundering, marauding) rather than contribute value through innovation and creativity.

You know. Just like the greed that inspired Christopher Columbus to "discover" America in 1492.

We have much yet to discover about the true story of this country, which will help to set the history straight. The Episcopal Church has repudiated The Doctrine of Discovery and has urged the U.S. government to endorse the U.N. Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

You can see a good video of it by clicking this link.

It's a good start, but it's just that:  a start. 

Why not consider spending at least a bit of today on your own "discovery"? Teach your children. And, your grandchildren.

Perhaps we can transform Carol's righteous, justifiable anger into passion to right the wrongs of the past. Perhaps we can transform the understandable despair of the First People of this Nation into the hope of the "Patriot's Dreams".

This Columbus Day, let's turn The Doctrine of Discovery on its side so we may  Occupy the Truth of our Story.

Some of us still hold this truth as self-evident: Until all are free, no one is free.

Sometimes, a parable is just a parable.

Agnus Day

Hubboy!

The Parable of the Wedding Banquet in today's Gospel reading is one I wish had never been repeated by either Matthew or Luke.

First of all, Matthew’s version of this parable is harsher than Luke’s, but then it comes later in Jesus ministry in Matthew, at a time when he was facing severe opposition from the Jewish leaders.

Indeed, the context of Matthew's version is what we now call "Holy Week." Jesus is about to be betrayed and crucified, so we ought not be surprised that this parable condemns the contempt that the religious leaders of Israel had for God’s gracious invitation through Jesus the Messiah.

The important thing about parables, however, is that they are open to interpretation.  And, misinterpretation. Or, interpretation in whatever way we wish to express our theology, our understanding of the nature of God and our relationship with God.

Wherein lies the problem I have with this parable.

Oh, there will be preachers today - Yes, in Episcopal Churches. Yes, in this country - who believe with all their hearts that this parable is a warning of destruction and dishonor for all who reject the invitation and the king's provision. But for those who receive the gifts he gives, the King and his Son provide a royal banquet without end.

You see, it's one thing to be invited. Everyone, they will say, is invited to the Great Banquet (read: heaven). But, they will sternly warn, not all will get there, especially if one is not wearing the right garments (read: having been baptized in Christ Jesus and/or free of sin).

Sigh.

Augustine thought the garment was charity. Gregory the Great said it was love.

I think Jesus was talking about the religious leaders of his day. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I'm reminded of a story Tobias Haller told recently:

"There was a wonderful series of interviews with church leaders a few years back after a swath of hurricanes went through Honduras.

All were asked 'Why these terrible storms?'

The local evangelical church leader said, 'God is punishing the people for their waywardness.'

The Italian incumbent noted, 'God is testing His people.'

The Episcopal Bishop (Leo Frade, now in Florida) said, 'It's hurricane season.'"

Sometimes, the job of the priest is pointing out the obvious.

Agnus Day Cartoon

And, sometimes, the obvious is a mystery. 

If the invitation is to all, then all are invited, right?

Whatever happened to "Just as I am without one plea?"

Is it God's belief in us that is in question or our belief in God that is not sufficient? Not "big enough"? And, who decides?

God desires salvation for us all, so why do we question that? Why would The One who is Creator of all only provide salvation for some?

Or, does this have nothing to do with any of that? Was Jesus just using this parable to talk about what was happening - and, about to happen - to him?

As I follow the path of this parable, that's exactly where I end up. With the obvious. Well, for me.

Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar. And a hurricane is just a hurricane.

And, sometimes, a parable is just a parable.

Yes, that's the way I read it because it supports my theology - my understanding of the nature of God and our relationship with God. Others will read it differently, which supports their understanding of the nature of God and our relationship with God.

I've stopped fighting with them  -  those who use scripture to support their idea of the limits of God's love which, in their estimation, does not include those who are not baptized in the Name of Jesus. Or, those who are but do not live up to their standards of "righteousness".

Which is why, if there be any interpretation of the meaning of the symbolism of the "wedding garment", I'll err on the side of Augustine's charity and Gregory the Great's love.

When I act in charity and love, I get a glimpse of heaven. I can't imagine being able to enter into the unimaginable glory of heaven without wearing the garments of charity and love.  For everyone. Even those who would deny me entrance because I don't live up to their standards. Or, those whose entrance I would question because they don't share my standards.

And that's the point. To love and be charitable in all things.

Anyway.

Even if you think you have an invitation that has been addressed specifically to you and written in gold, signed personally by the hand of God.

Because you do.

We all do.

Like it or not.

And, if you don't - like it, that is -  I'll bet, for you, that's just pure hell. Sorta like being stripped naked of your pride, your hands and feet bound by your own expectations, and being cast off into the outer darkness of despair.

Or, something like that.

Because, you know, sometimes a symbol is just a symbol.

A cigar is just a cigar.

And, a parable is, well, just a parable.

Jobs: Connecting the Dots.

NY Times photo

Steven Paul Jobs, the man who invented The Apple, has died of pancreatic cancer.

I started using Apple products about eight years ago. It began with an iPhone which I preferred to my Motorola cell phone because the key pad on the iPhone was just like the key pad I had learned on my ancient electric typewriter (remember those?).

Besides, it was intuitive. Whenever I got into a place where my brain screamed, "I don't know how to do this, find the instruction manual!", I simply calmed down and moved my thinking to the part of my brain that doesn't. Think.

I would begin with the attitude of a child playing hide and seek, "Hmmm..... let's see....might it be here? No? Okay, let's look there......" The amazing thing is that, instead of getting frustrated, it became fun.

First lesson I learned from Steve Jobs: When technology is less frightening and frustrating, it can become fun. And, when it becomes fun, technology not only works, it sings.

It didn't take long for me to trade in my PC for a Mac Book Pro. That was a bit more of a challenge, but again - and, even today - I just allow my intuitive process to inform my thinking.

And, it works. Every time.

Eventually, I got an iPod. It was a birthday present. I wanted something for my small VW Bug that didn't involve carrying around stacks of CDs.

Which makes me laugh, because I remember the excitement about 8-Track players. They were certainly smaller than an "album" but larger than an "album" recorded on "tapes" but the sound was much, much better.

When you look at the size of the 8-track tape it was amazingly compact and portable when compared with an album.

The CD was an even more amazing improvement, with three or four CD discs taking up the space of one suddenly cumbersome 8-track tape.

With the iPod, however, I can bring thousands of pieces of music with me wherever I go, not to mention videos and discussions and books and photographs. All in my little VW Bug. Or, the gym. Or a hotel room in the middle of 'all-gospel-music-and-preachin' radio stations which seem to flourish anywhere south of the Mississippi.

I am going to resist buying the iPad only because its almost time for me to purchase another laptop. This time, I'm going with the Mac Book Air. I don't need a CD - I rarely, if ever use it - and all I really need is contained in about 2 pounds of machinery with a 13 inch screen.

Imagine that!

Well, Steven Paul Jobs did. Long before any of us were able to conceive of such an innovation.

How did he do it? Well, we get some clues from the commencement address he delivered at Stamford in 2005.

In that address, he tells three stories - one about his young life, one about love, and one about death. They are all wonderful stories, but the media reporting his life and death seems to be focused on what he had to say about death.

Which is wonderful. Really. I want to focus on what he said about his young life.

Jobs talks about how his young, biological, unwed, college student mother put him up for adoption but insisted that the couple who adopted her child be college graduates and promise that her child would go to college.

Turns out, the young lawyer couple who said that wanted him changed their minds when they discovered he was male and the couple who did want him were not college graduates but promised to send him off to college.

Which, they did. Reed College. At age 17. Except, Jobs dropped out after six months because, he said, "I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK."

There are some things you can only learn by reading a book. There are other things you can only learn by trusting your intuition.

Here's what Jobs had to say about that:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

I love this. It speaks so much to my own life. How I got here, in this beautiful place on Rehoboth Bay, an Episcopal priest who hailed from a second floor tenement apartment above my grandparents strict Roman Catholic home in the middle of an immigrant neighborhood that was part of a gritty mill city in New England.

It takes stopping, from time to time, to connect the dots of your life. You can't do that by looking forward. You have to stop, look back, and, as Parker Palmer so wisely says, "Let your life speak".

I think Jobs went to his death knowing that his real wealth was the joy he experienced in his life - not the reported 4.6 billion dollar estate he left his wife and four children.

I certainly don't have - can't imagine (which is probably why I'll never have) - that kind of financial wealth, but I have something that I share with Steve Jobs: the joy of seeing the connections between the dots in your life and seeing that unique, wondrous pattern begin to emerge.

I suppose being closer to death puts that pattern in sharper, clearer focus. Which must make it bittersweet, then. I still have years before me - but I am increasingly, keenly aware that I have more years behind me than those which lie ahead of me.

And I'm aware that, still, I need to stop every now and again, to connect the dots. Follow my heart and my intuition. It's a wonderful, if not scary, way to live life. To see failure not as something of which to be ashamed but rather a lesson I couldn't have learned any other way.

And, that failures are still possible because I'll always be learning something new. Adapting. Adjusting. Downsizing my storage areas in order to make room for more knowledge or information.

And, love. And, joy.

Jobs was once asked if he was glad he had kids. He said, "It’s 10,000 times better than anything I’ve ever done.”

Children and grandchildren, parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins and friends are all part of the dots that connect our lives in a wonderful, unique, complex pattern of relationships that hold our lives together.  Relationships are the glue in the center of the life of the cosmos.

Jobs said to the graduating class of 2005 at Stamford,

"Most importantly, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”

Thanks, Steve Jobs, for your life and the rich legacy of amazing gifts you have left behind.

In the great, mysterious puzzle of life, your life has been an important, connecting dot in the ever-emerging puzzle of our complex, modern lives.

Thanks, mostly, for encouraging us to take a bite out of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge and to rediscover ourselves naked and beautiful again in the midst of the Paradise that rises out of the intuitive mist when the heart connects with the mind. 

That, I think, is your greatest legacy. Not so much the new, modern things you invented but the ancient truths you rediscovered.

As we move forward into a future we can't imagine, I hope we are able to follow your lead and, every now and again, look back and connect the dots.

And, take another bite out of the apple.