No 'Plan B'

The world will come to an end on May 21, 2011.

That's the truth, according to Harold Camping, 89 year old founder of the California-based Family Radio, a Christian network worth more than $100 million that spans more than 150 outlets in the United States.

According to Camping:

On May 21, starting in the Pacific Rim at around the 6 p.m. local time hour, in each time zone, there will be a great earthquake, such as has never been in the history of the Earth. The true Christian believers will be "raptured". They'll fly upward to heaven.

And for the rest?

It's just the horror of horror stories, and on top of all that, there's no more salvation at that point. And then the Bible says it will be 153 days later that the entire universe and planet Earth will be destroyed forever.

Harold Camping - AP photo

And, how does Camping know this?

The Bible tells him so.

Don't believe him? Well, just crunch the numbers for yourself.

"In 2 Peter 3:8 . . . .Holy God reminds us that one day is as 1,000 years. Therefore, with the correct understanding that the seven days referred to in Genesis 7:4 can be understood as 7,000 years, we learn that when God told Noah there were seven days to escape worldwide destruction, He was also telling the world there would be exactly 7,000 years (one day is as 1,000 years) to escape the wrath of God that would come when He destroys the world on Judgment Day. Because Holy Infinite God is all-knowing, He knows the end from the beginning. He knew how sinful the world would become.

Seven thousand years after 4990 B.C. (the year of the Flood) is the year 2011 A.D. (our calendar).

4990 + 2011 – 1 = 7,000

[One year must be subtracted in going from an Old Testament B.C. calendar date to a New Testament A.D. calendar date because the calendar does not have a year zero.]

Thus Holy God is showing us by the words of 2 Peter 3:8 that He wants us to know that exactly 7,000 years after He destroyed the world with water in Noah’s day, He plans to destroy the entire world forever. Because the year 2011 A.D. is exactly 7,000 years after 4990 B.C. when the flood began, the Bible has given us absolute proof that the year 2011 is the end of the world during the Day of Judgment, which will come on the last day of the Day of Judgment.

Amazingly, May 21, 2011 is the 17th day of the 2nd month of the Biblical calendar of our day. Remember, the flood waters also began on the 17th day of the 2nd month, in the year 4990 B.C."

See? There it is - proof positive for those 'true believers' who truly believe.

Oh, ye of little faith!

If you are chortling in your coffee, there are many - untold numbers - who are as serious as a heart attack about this.

NPR reports on one couple, Adrienne and Joel Martinez.

"Knowing the date of the end of the world changes all your future plans," says 27-year-old Adrienne Martinez.

She thought she'd go to medical school, until she began tuning in to Family Radio. She and her husband, Joel, lived and worked in New York City. But a year ago, they decided they wanted to spend their remaining time on Earth with their infant daughter.

"My mentality was, why are we going to work for more money? It just seemed kind of greedy to me. And unnecessary," she says.

And so, her husband adds, "God just made it possible — he opened doors. He allowed us to quit our jobs, and we just moved, and here we are."

Now they are in Orlando, in a rented house, passing out tracts and reading the Bible. Their daughter is 2 years old, and their second child is due in June. Joel says they're spending the last of their savings. They don't see a need for one more dollar.

"You know, you think about retirement and stuff like that," he says. "What's the point of having some money just sitting there?"

"We budgeted everything so that, on May 21, we won't have anything left," Adrienne adds.

Nothing, except for the fervent hope that all of them will be raptured.

I listened to the NPR broadcast and pretty much shrugged my shoulders and sighed in sadness for this young couple and their daughter and unborn child.

"The crazies will always be with you," I thought to myself. Jesus didn't say that, I know, but if He were here, I suspect that's precisely what He might say.

Then again, if He were here, it would be The Rapture, right?

But, he won't. Not yet. Not for another 12 days, anyway.

Palmyra, NJ - NPR photo

I really didn't think much more about it until later in the morning, when I took Theo out for a walk along Memorial Drive here in Cambridge.

As we were walking, I met a young man - nicely dressed, a pleasant sort - who greeted me politely and said, "Good morning. May I give you one of these pamphlets?

Being Anglican, I suffer from TPP - terminal public politeness. Even though I certainly didn't want one, I took it anyway.

"Thank you," he said. "May you be blessed this day."

I started to walk away, glancing at the pamphlet, when I stopped in my tracks as I read "May 21, 2011: Blow the Trumpet! Warn the People! Ezekiel 33:3".

You know me. I simply couldn't resist.

I went back over to him and looked him square in the eye as he smiled pleasantly at me.

"Harold Camping? Family Radio?" I asked as I gently waved the pamphlet around.

"He's a prophet," said the young man, with obvious admiration.  "I've been listening to him for years, and I've crunched the numbers hidden in the code which God has placed in the words of scripture so those who truly believe will find them and know and be ready."

He said this without the sort of excitement or psychological, religious ecstasy some people exhibit when talking about The Rapture. I mean, it's not called "The Rapture" for nothing.

Rather, the man had a certain calm about him - a peace that certainly surpassed my human understanding.

"On May 21 - in twelve more days," he said calmly, "It will all be perfect. I will be perfect."

I smiled at him and said, "This life is not perfect. It wasn't designed to be. And," I added, trying to stay calm, "Even Jesus said that no one will know the exact time of Judgement Day. Didn't He say that 'The End' will come 'like a thief in the night'?"

"Yes," he agreed, "that's right, but God has written a code into scripture so that the true believers will know the truth."

I thought for a moment before I asked, "But, what if it doesn't happen? What's your 'Plan B?'"

"No 'Plan B'," he said, "I've paid off all my debt. I've said most of my goodbyes. I've asked forgiveness of those I've hurt in the past. This is it."

He said that with such serene confidence, it almost broke my heart.

I patted Theo's head and watched the Harvard Row Team in the Charles River.

I suppressed an urge to tell him that there is a long history of people predicting the end of the world unsuccessfully — Camping himself in 1994, which he attributed to a miscalculation.

Oopsie! I hate it when that happens, don't you?

Then there was the "Great Disappointment" when people in the early Adventist movement expected the Second Coming on specific dates in the 1840s and were not obliged.

Truth is, there have been many "Failed Armageddons" over the centuries.

Some doomsday sects have arisen in recent years, citing biblical or other religious sources. Camping's May 21, 2011, date has to share space on the doomsday calendar with others’ predictions of a 2012 apocalypse, based on some calculations involving the Mayan calendar.

I wanted to tell him all this, but decided he couldn't hear it anyway, so I just kept my mouth shut and hummed a little tune in my head. "Jesus loves the little children. All the children in the world . . ."

I can only imagine what he was considering telling me.

For a few minutes, all we could hear was the Harvard Row Teams from our place on the banks of the River Charles.

"Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!"

My friend took a deep breath and then said, "I was never able to say this before, but now I can. I'm gay. I think I have been all my life. It's been awful. Horrible. Sometimes, as hard as I tried, I just couldn't resist the urges. When I think of the many times I would sneak off into the bushes to have sex with men - well, it makes me tremble. By the grace of God, I never got arrested. But, I have confessed my sins and promised not to do it ever again. My pastor assures me that I am forgiven."

He smiled gently at me and then continued, "It certainly makes it easier, now that there's only 12 days left. I've been able to tell my parents and all my relatives and friends. I've told them not to worry about me. That I will be fine - and so will they if they prepare themselves and get ready."

"How did your parents and your relatives and friends respond to this news?" I asked.

"Oh, my mother cried, but, well, you know, it was Mother's Day," he said, without a trace of guile. "I think they were all shocked. Some tried to talk me out of it - they're all Roman Catholic, you know - but I am a true believer. I will miss them in The Rapture," he said, a touch of genuine sadness in his voice, "but well, God will work it out for them, I'm sure."

I took a deep breath, and then patted little Theo as I searched his black, silky coat for something to say.

"I'm not going to try to dissuade you," I started slowly. "I just want you to know that being gay doesn't have to be what you've experienced. My partner and I have been together for 35 years. We have six kids and five grandchildren. We've had a wonderful life. Not perfect, by any means - some of it has been painfully hard - but rich and rewarding and fulfilling."

"You can, too," I said, softly, "It's not about someone else's truth. It's about finding what's true and right within yourself, and rejoicing in the way that God created you, and living your life in the best way possible. Doing good. Being kind and compassionate. Working for justice and peace."

He opened his mouth to say something, stopped himself, and then just smiled. "I know The Truth," he said, "and The Truth is that all the so-called 'progress' made by the Gay Pride Movement and Same Sex Marriage are really just signs God has given us that the end is near."

"I'll pray for you," he said, reassuringly. I had no doubt that he would.

"Thank you, that's very kind," I said. "I will keep you in my prayers." And, I will.

And, not like that song 'Pray for You' that's been making the rounds (which I think is a hilarious take on the hypocrisy of some Christians).

We chatted a bit about Theo, the weather, the Harvard Row Team, the Boston Red Sox (of course) and then we said our goodbyes and I left. I walked a few feet away and then turned around to find him smiling and passing out more leaflets.

It's now a few hours later and I find myself feeling very sad. I'm sad for that young man. He never gave me his name and I didn't give him mine. I feel very sorry for Adrienne and Joel Martinez, their little girl and the child that will be born in June. Here. On this side of the veil. Of this, I have no doubt.

Then again, I feel bad for people who buy into the Amway business or those who were duped by Bernie Madoff's Ponzi Scheme.

What's that old saying? "If something seems too good to be true, it probably is."

Or, as P.T. Barnum reportedly, "There's a sucker born every minute."

I feel sad for anyone who looks for easy answers to life's complex and often confusing questions. I have found that the real joy in life is to welcome and embrace life's questions, living into them, as Rilke says, until I find the answers - or more questions.

As for me and my house, on May 21, 2011, you will find us living in readiness - trying our best to do justice and love mercy and walking humbly with God.

That's my plan. 'A'. And, 'B'. The whole alphabet of choices. 

Maybe I should try to find that young man on Memorial Drive and bring him a rainbow flag.

No, sillies, not as an incentive to join God's Queer Rainbow Tribe. He's already part of it, whether he knows it or accepts it or not. Although, what I really fear is that, when Armageddon doesn't happen on May 21st, it still will be the end of the world for him.

I can't imagine what he will do, now that he's 'come out' to everyone and then hopes it will all go away. Or, he'll go away. Up in the air. With Jesus. In The Rapture.

He may need the rainbow flag as a reminder of the bow God set in the sky as a sign of the Covenant with Noah that God would never again destroy the face of the earth (Genesis 8:21).

That's not written in any code. That's God's Covenant. A Sacred Promise. (Genesis 9:11)

If you can't trust in God's promises . . . well . . . it might just as well be the end of the world.

Finding Jesus

The Way to Emmaus - Piety Choi

It's Mother's Day. Our youngest daughter and her husband have come to visit me in Cambridge. They arrived yesterday afternoon. We're having a delightful time.

We'll be heading out to church and then get a bite to eat at Darwin's - a funky little place here in Cambridge where the service is lousy (lots of Cambridge attitude) but the food and the coffee are wonderful.

The Gospel for today is the story of the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35) which has prompted me to do some thinking, this Mother's Day, about finding Jesus.

There's also been a lot of talk on HOB/D (the House of Bishops/Deputies) list serve about Eucharist vs. Morning Prayer as the principle Sunday service (Imagine!)

The whole conversation brought back a flood of memories. I shared a bit of the following story on HOB/D yesterday (this is the fuller version, for those of you who read it first there).

I think it's a good Emmaus story - with an important point about Mother's Day.

So, here's the story, then:

I was a newly ordained priest at my first call as Chaplain at University of Lowell, in Lowell, MA. One of the first mission projects I created was to establish a weekly Eucharist at the Solomon Carter Mental Health Center.

I had carefully trained a handful of students in how to lead worship and, together, we had decided that two of them would come with me to the Center, on a rotating basis.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one did.

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

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

As I started to say the Eucharistic Prayer, one woman in the front - Helen, I'll never forget her - spoke up.

Helen's eyes looked like the last 20 or 30 years of her life had witnessed some pretty rough roads. Makeup clung to the deep wrinkles and lines in her face, her eyelids were a bright blue with a crooked line of mascara outlining them, and her lips were a misshapen bright cherry red.

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

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

"Yes," I assured her, "I am an ordained Episcopal Priest."

"Yeah," she said, taking a drag from her cigarette,"Well, I can't take communion. Divorced, you know."

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

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

I got through the Eucharistic Prayer and marveled as most of the people in the room seemed to be paying close attention to what I was doing.

As I prepared to distribute communion, Helen called out, "Hey, shouldn't we be singing something?"

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

So, she did.

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

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

In that moment I knew that Jesus was already there, in that locked Recreational Room, on the third floor of the locked ward of the Solomon Carter Mental Health Center, in Lowell, MA.

And, not just in the graham crackers and grapefruit juice.

We had only just brought the church to Jesus.

I wasn't taught that in seminary, but that's what I've come to know is closer to the truth of that wonderful and sacred mystery of Jesus and His body we call 'church'.

So, g'won. Go to church. Jesus may be waiting for you there this morning.

Or, you might find Jesus in the face of your mother - or your sister - or your daughter - or your friend.

Helen was someone's mother - and sister - and daughter and friend.

I saw the face of Jesus in her face.

I hope she saw the face of Jesus in mine.

The best way to honor Jesus today is to honor Him in the face of the one who is or has been your mother - and, honor your mother by seeing the face of Jesus in her face.

Happy Mother's Day!

The (increasingly Roman Catholic) Anglican Communion

Bishop William M. Morris - Getty images

Mother Church never ceases to astonish me.

Well, not so much Mother Church as some of her boys.

You may be aware of the recent firing of Bishop William M. Morris of the Australian Roman Catholic diocese of Toowoomba. The announcement caught my eye in a report earlier this week in the NY Times.

The statement was particularly strong. Normally the Vatican urges bishops to resign and then announces that it has accepted their resignation. This, however, was a firing, flat-out.

So, what heinous crime did the good bishop perpetrate? Did he sexually abuse little boys or girls? Did he engage in an illicit affair with a woman which produced an 'illegitimate child? Did he squander or pilfer from church funds?

Oh, no. This man of God and Prince of the Roman Catholic Church did something far more dastardly than any of those deeds.

He had the temerity to raise questions.  And, not just questions - questions about possible options to address the clergy shortage in his diocese.

I know, right? Whatever was he thinking?

Here's his problem: The Diocese of Toowoomba comprises 300,000 square miles and has just a relative handful of healthy priests to serve the church’s 35 parishes.

Bishop Morris addressed the priest shortage in a candid but still cautious Advent 2006 pastoral letter.

“We do face an uncertain future with regard to the number of active priests in our diocese,” wrote Morris. “Other options,” he wrote, “may well” need be considered. These include:

“ordaining married, single or widowed men who are chosen and endorsed by their local parish community;
welcoming former priests, married or single, back to active ministry;
ordaining women, married or single;
recognizing Anglican, Lutheran and Uniting Church Orders.”

That was Advent, 2006.

The long arm of Papal Authority apparently also has a long memory.

The Vatican announced just this past week that Pope Benedict XVI has fired Morris.

Eighteen years as bishop ended with the stroke of a papal pen.

What's fascinating about this is that what we've heard concerning the firing of bishops is simply not possible - even for those who have consistently turned a blind eye to clergy in their dioceses who are sexual predators.

Bishops don’t “work for” the pope, we have been told. Bishops are “fathers” to their flock – with all the unconditional love and commitment that entails – not employees subject to the whims, well-intentioned or otherwise, of the boss. Canonical procedures must be followed.

So much for that "infallible truth".

As an NCR editorial recently pointed out:

Philadelphia Cardinal Justin Rigali, for example, continues a life befitting a prince in splendorous surroundings, even as his flouting of church procedures (and perhaps civil law) resulted in nearly 30 diocesan priests facing administrative suspension and heat from local prosecutors.

And not to forget Cardinal Bernard Law, orchestrator of the Boston clergy abuse cover-up. His punishment? An extended Roman holiday and a healthy pension. Meanwhile, Morris gets the door.

Archbishop Charles Chaput - CNS photo

Apparently, shortly after the Advent 2006 pastoral letter was sent out, the Pope sent Denver Archbishop Charles Chaput to “investigate” the incident.

Since Chaput is known in Denver for being an uber-Roman Catholic, that's a little like sending the fox to investigate the hens.

As is so often the case in these situations, there is, apparently, a relatively small number of right wing Catholics in the diocese who have long been after the bishop.

I wouldn't doubt if they were also 'well funded' and most generous to the Vatican. Bishop Morris and others call them the "Temple Police". I hear their message, loud and clear.

Now, whatever has this to do with me, a woman and an Episcopal Priest? Surely, this is none of my concern.  Shouldn't I just mind my own business? Doesn't the Anglican Communion have enough of its own difficulties?

Ah, thank you for asking.

I was most keenly interested in something at the end of the NCR editorial:

In 2003, Fred Gluck, a former managing partner of McKinsey & Company who currently serves on the board of the National Leadership Roundtable on Church Management, wrote a memo to church leaders. It’s crafted in managementese, but disregard the jargon for the moment and pay attention to the message.

Wrote Gluck:

“Your organization [the church] has no effective central point of leadership that can energize the necessary program change.

“Your leadership is aging and also largely committed to the status quo or even the status ante.

“Your tradition of hierarchy dominates most of your thinking about management.”

“Coming to grips with this formidable set of challenges in an organization as historically successful as yours will be a daunting challenge, and can only be accomplished by a comprehensive program of change with strong leadership from the top,” he concluded.

No one in a position of authority paid any discernible attention to Gluck eight years ago. Sadly, we don’t expect that to change

Sound familiar?

No?

Okay - I'll give you a two-word hint:

Here's the first: Anglican.

And, here's the second: Covenant.

Thomas Nast - 1871

Look again at Gluck's description of the leadership style of the Roman Catholic Church.

Now, read it again and think the "Archbishop of Canterbury" and the Anglican Communion.

The Anglican Covenant codifies and legalizes the status-ante, and brings us perilously closer to Rome than we've been since before the Reformation.

Raising questions and suggesting some options for the problem of how to provide spiritual nourishment for the people of Australia was such a serious "offense" to the leadership of the Roman Catholic Church that there were serious "relational consequences" for one of her leaders.

Reportedly, Bishop Morris has written another open letter to his diocese, stating that he has "refused to resign" and will instead retire. He wrote that this is because the Pope had decided that "the diocese would be better served by the leadership of a new bishop". Which means the bishop will at least have the benefit of his pension - not that Rome seems at all concerned with the man's corporal or spiritual well being.

Don't think that could ever happen in the Anglican Communion?

No, neither do I.

It's not probable, but it is possible.

I'm sure that the Anglican Covenant will pass the required - but no more than required - Dioceses and Synods in the Church of England, but, from what I understand, it would never pass Parliament, whose approval is required in order to make that pesky Section IV have any impact.

I am also convinced that it will not pass the majority of Provinces and Synods in the Anglican Communion - not whilst Rowan is still in office.

It is being 'discussed' widely about the Anglican Communion - and, I suspect, it is in that 'conversational' process that many will be converted to understand the dangers inherent in what is being purported to be an "innocuous document of unity".

Time is of distinct benefit to the eventual defeat and effectual demise of this document.

So, what's the point, you ask?

The Anglican Covenant will stand as one of the 'historic documents'  - like the Thirty-Nine Articles - to which someone will point when someone else has given 'offense'. Someone who, no doubt is  actually thinking and acting like an adult disciple of Jesus Christ.

It may never find itself in the back pages of the Book of Common Prayer, next to the other 'historic documents' of the church.  However, like the Windsor Report itself,  the Anglican Covenant will be raised to a level having more authority than Scripture, and used as the basis for decision-making that makes absolutely no sense. 

It's real danger lies not only in the potential harm it will do to individuals, but in the harm it will do to the institutional church which is hungry - starved - for courageous change.

Meanwhile, the Anglican Covenant feeds us with the stale crumbs of the staus-quo and status-ante.

I grieve for Bishop Morris and the Diocese of Toowoomba in Australia. Clearly, the Church is guilty of the very sort of injustice which She purports to stand against.

I grieve for the Roman Catholic Church and so many of her faithful who expect and deserve more from their church leadership.

I hope this incident proves to be a cautionary tale for those in the Anglican Communion who seek to endorse the Anglican Covenant, mostly because they "want to support Rowan".

We are in perilously dangerous baptismal waters here.  The stakes are quite high.

We are in jeopardy of drowning under the weight of our own bureaucracy and hierarchy and legalism when what we so desperately need is the liberation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

It is - the whole of it - most astonishing, when it isn't so painfully sad.

Slut Walk

Apparently, the movement started in Toronto late last month.

A young student at York University was sexually assaulted. A police officer told the female university students there to "avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized".

A "Slut Walk" was organized at the university campus in Toronto in April to protest and fight 'slut shaming' - a common response to sexual assault and rape.

It is based on the false conception that if a girl or young woman is considered 'slutty' then sexual violence against her is not taken seriously.

Jaclyn Friedman, feminist co-editor of "Yes Means Yes: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape," reports that, after a woman is raped, "What gets said is 'Oh, she wanted it, and then she regretted it after' or 'Well, what'd she expected to happen if she went back to his room?'. Removing that shame is a huge part of combating sexual violence."

There will be a 'Slut Walk' in Boston tomorrow, May 7th starting at noon at Government Center and ending at Boston Commons.

It's all the buzz here in the metro-Boston area.

According to Friedman, "It's not about saying we should all identify as sluts all the time. It's a political act of solidarity. We are standing with women who have been accused of sluthood and told that it makes the violence to them not matter."

I don't know.

I mean, I understand.

I'll say this much: It's one sure-fire way in this still very Roman Catholic town to get media attention.

I have written several blogs about my alarm concerning the growing culture of rape in this country and the world - from the sexual assault of Lara Logan to the increase of the harassment, sexual assault and rape of U.S. military women serving in combat areas around the world.

The Episcopal Women's Caucus, which I am privileged to serve as Convener, wrote an open letter to The Presiding Bishop and the President of the House of Deputies of The Episcopal Church about our concern. 

You can find their responses to our letter on the Episcopal Women's Caucus web page.

On one level, I'm really glad that someone is calling attention to this violent backlash of sexism and misogyny in our current cultural climate.

I also understand the thinking and the logic of 'taking slut back' as a way to blunt the power of the word.

I'm just not convinced that re-appropriating pejoratives like 'slut' or 'bitch' works in the same way it has for some people of color, or the way LGBT people are moving away from the 'Alphabet Soup' of descriptors - which seems to add another letter every time I turn around - to just plain 'Queer'.

Or, maybe it's too soon to tell.

I think it's much more effective to say, "Stop using that word." Or, "Do not use that word around me," directly to the offender.

Then again, perhaps this is a short term solution to a problem of long-standing which really doesn't address the power some people get from calling a woman a 'slut' or a 'bitch' - or, the shame a woman feels when she's judged to be a 'slut' because of the way she dresses or 'bitch' because of the assertive way she behaves.

It's springtime in Boston. Young men are walking around Harvard Square or Boston Common in thin T-shirts or no shirts and low-cut jeans. They are considered 'sexy' or 'hunks'.

Young women are walking around in short-shorts and halter-tops or tank-top shirts - with or without bras - and they are considered 'sluts'.

Frankly, I don't much care for either 'fashion statement'.

I'm especially disconcerted when I walk around the close at EDS or find myself in the library or refectory and bump into a young, female Lesley University student who doesn't look like she could be a day over 15 years old, whose hair is purple or striped with neon green streaks, looking completely disheveled, and is attired in what can only be described as a state of half-undress.

I remind myself that she's doing what kids at that age are supposed to be doing. She's rebelling against her 'family values' in a place where Mom and Dad can't see.

She's 'finding herself'.

I just wish she didn't feel the need to walk around half naked in order to make that discovery.

I don't find it 'sexy' at all. I don't think I ever did. At the risk of sounding like an old fuddy-duddy, I think it's just rude. And, disrespectful of herself - and others.

There was a hearing late last month at Boston City Hall which addressed the problem of sexual assaults taking place on the multitude of college campuses here in the Greater Metropolitan Boston Area.

Fewer than five percent of rapes and attempted rapes on campus are reported, according to a study released in February 2010 by the Center for Public Integrity, a nonprofit journalism organization. One in five college women are victims of rape or attempted rape by graduation, according to the same study, but school-provided data rarely reflect this.

The probe reveals that students found “responsible” for alleged sexual assaults on campuses often face little or no punishment, while their victims’ lives are frequently turned upside down. Many times, victims drop out of school, while students found culpable go on to graduate. Administrators believe the sanctions administered by the college judicial system are a thoughtful and effective way to hold abusive students accountable, but the Center’s investigation has discovered that “responsible” findings rarely lead to tough punishment like expulsion — even in cases involving alleged repeat offenders.

At the Boston City Hall hearing, Councilwoman Ayanna Pressley disclosed that she was sexually assaulted as a BU undergrad, while recently elected Councilor Tito Jackson said his biological mother was a victim of sexual assault by two strangers.

These are the kinds of stories that will, ultimately I believe, call attention to the problem and begin to bring about changes to the law and law enforcement that will  not only keep young women safe, but begin to send out the message that 'No' means 'no'.

And, 'Yes' means 'yes'.

And, 'Stop' means 'stop'.

And, 'I changed my mind because I got scared' means 'I changed my mind because I got scared'.

A woman is not responsible for the reaction she evokes in men.

Men are responsible for how they handle their 'natural inclinations and impulses'.

Well, real men take responsibility for themselves.

And, real women take responsibility for their sexuality, as well.

Either way, the Boston Slut Walk will take place tomorrow at noon.

I'm trying to convince myself not to go.

There will be speeches and workshops after the March. Authors Friedman and Valenti will be there along with other professionals who work in the arena of sexual assault, violence and rape.

According to the Boston Slutwalk 2011 Web Page:

Workshops will take place at Encuentro 5, 33 Harrison Ave, 5th floor, Chinatown. The building has a small step in the entry way and an elevator. All workshops are free.

The Power of Language by Kali at 3PM to 3:30PM
Partner Violence by Network La Red at 4PM to 4:30PM
Men’s Role in Preventing Rape & Sexual Assault by Northeastern Sport in Society at 4:30PM to 5PM
SlutStyles (on polyamory and non-monogamy) by Honey from Poly Boston at 5PM to 5:30PM

It looks interesting, doesn't it?

However, I'm expecting our youngest daughter and her husband to visit this weekend. They're arriving sometime tomorrow afternoon.

Sunday is Mother's Day.

Hmmm . . . I remember when 'mother' wasn't half a word.

Language has power - enormous power - to shape attitudes and inform behavior.

I hope you will do whatever you can, wherever you are, to bring attention to this aspect of sexual assault and rape in particular and sexual assault and rape in general.

We need to stop all forms of violence - including verbal violence -  against women.

Now.

Obstacles and Opportunities

We're in the midst of Alumi/ae Days here at The Episcopal Divinity School. In addition to catching up with former fellow classmates and friends, the annual Kellogg Lectures are part of the festivities.

You know it's your 25th Anniversary when friends come up to you and say, "Hey, you look great!" and they act surprised. Harumph!

I, on the other hand, was not guilty of making such statements, preferring, instead, to pass on a genuine compliment about jewelry or dress, or gently teasing some of my male classmates whose hair has grown a little thin.

I did run into my church history professor and the leader of my senior tutorial, who is, now, ancient of days.

"You have aged well, sir," I said. And, he has.

"On the inside," he laughed, "I don't have a wrinkle."

I'm totally stealing that line.

Today, we will hear two lectures from Bonnie Anderson, President of the House of Deputies, who will speak at 10:30 and 2:30. Her lectures are titled "Courageous Change: What it takes, and how it happens" and will examine how intentional change, when created is a tool for the ministry of all the baptized.

Yesterday, we heard a panel of bishops who spoke about "Obstacles and Opportunities for Bishops Today" featuring Bishops Mary Glasspool '81, John Smylie '81 and Ian Douglas '10 who joined moderator/faculty member Fredrica Harris Thompsett.

I apologize for the poor quality of the picture, but that's them, above.

All three bishops spoke frankly about the obstacles and opportunities facing them in their individual and widely differing contexts, but all were united in optimism for the future of the church.

Bishop Glasspool is, of course, the Bishop Suffragan in the Episcopal Diocese of LA. She spoke briefly of the challenges and joys of the enormous diversity of her diocese. She also mentioned that women are bringing a different leadership style to the House of Bishops, one that is more collaborative with an emphasis on consensus building. "It doesn't change the politics, necessarily" she said, "but it does change the process." And that will, eventually, change the politics of our process.

John Smylie is the Bishop of Wyoming which has 49 congregations, 25% of which have a full time rector. Two of those congregations have an average attendance of three people - although, he later mentioned, one of those congregations had eight people in attendance on Easter, representing a 200% increase in ASA.

I do believe that makes it one of the fastest growing congregations in all of Western Christendom.

When you consider that WY has a population of 550,000, you understand that evangelism and church growth are particular challenges.

However, Bishop Smylie said that the greatest obstacles are the church buildings, naming it an "attachment issue". He also cited the climate of litigation and legalism in our culture and a lack of passion for the gospel, saying that we must reform the vision of the way we are and do church. "Theology by resolution doesn't work," he said.

No, bishop, but legislation that bears the marks of what we believe about God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit are an important means of doing the business of the institutional church.

Ian Douglas is Bishop of the Diocese of Connecticut where he has been functioning in that capacity just slightly over a year. He said, "The acknowledgement of our differences is an opportunity."

He was teased by Dr. Thompsett about the diversity of his diocese. "There was a New Yorker cartoon which showed a driver entering the state and the sign said, "You are entering Connecticut. Dress nice."

Bishops Douglas countered by saying that the stereotype of the state was as inaccurate as most stereotypes - that the affluent, white, heterosexual, male paradigm is still alive and well but pretty much contained in one place in the southeastern part of the state.

He said that the greatest opportunity he saw was a real hunger for change and that the greatest obstacle was the institutional church, the inherited structures of doing business as well as the buildings. He said his focus was on building relationships in community and fostering faithfulness to the gospel.

Bishops Douglas also dropped a bit of a bomb shell when he said that he believed in "direct ordination" - that is, if you are called to be a deacon, you should be ordained to the diaconate. If you are called to be a priest, you should be ordained directly to the priesthood. And yes, if you are called to be a bishop, you should be ordained directly to the episcopacy.

"Direct ordination," he said, "would begin to help break down hierarchical structures which are impeding the growth of the church and the faithfulness to the gospel."

There was a Question and Answer period which followed their presentations, but, to my dismay, no one asked him more about that.

I didn't get to ask my question, either, which was this: "Yesterday the College of Bishops, an independent 501-C-3 non-profit organization, founded in 1993 in response to a specific need to strengthen the Episcopal Church’s bishops, announced a $15 million dollar campaign to endow the work of this organization.

“Through its myriad of programs, offerings, and educational enrichment sessions, the College for Bishops has proven to be invaluable for our bishops, which in turn has greatly benefitted clergy and laity,” explained Bishop Matthews. “Our goal now is to make sure that these offerings are available for future generations of Episcopalians.”

I had two questions for this esteemed panel of bishops: First, given the obstacles and opportunities you have outlined, I'm wondering what your reaction is to this news. A second question is that I understand that there are more than 30 bishops who have signed on to the campaign. Are any of the three of you involved in this work, and if so, why?"

I did have a chance to speak briefly with Bishop Glasspool after the presentation. She said that she has undoubtedly benefited from her time at the College of Bishops, but, since this was the first time she had heard of the initiative, her initial thought was that the timing of the initiative was unfortunate.

I couldn't agree more.

Last night we had a wonderful reunion banquet which recognized the work of two distinguished alums who work quietly and without much recognition for the mission of Christ's gospel. One of them was Richard Witt, a member of my class, who does amazing work among the rural poor and migrant population in upstate New York.

This morning, I will be preaching at St. John's Chapel here at EDS during the 8:30 AM Eucharist. It's "Doubting Thomas". Again. I doubt I have anything new to say, but I trust Jesus will give me something to preach.

There are many obstacles and many opportunities to preach and live out the gospel of Jesus Christ. Sometimes, obstacles are opportunities. Other times, opportunities are occasions for paralyzing fear, as they represent change from the norm or status quo.

I am curious to know what Bonnie Anderson has to say to us about "courageous change" and what it takes and how it happens in the church.

Courageous change.

Courage and change.

God knows, we need both now, in this church of ours.

Off I go, then. I'll write more about these days of reunion and renewal later.  
I must say, however, that after being here for  a semester and listening to these three new bishops, I've never been more hopeful for the church. 

Hail to the (Cool) Chief

As I continue to mull over my feelings about the assassination of Osama bin Laden, I keep returning to the President's Speech at the White House Correspondent's Dinner just the night before the attack.

You can watch the video here or at the end of this post.

Obama makes some pretty amazing zings, most of which are aimed directly at Donald Trump. This one is a case in point:

“Donald Trump is here tonight,” the comedian in chief said, grinning. “Now, I know that he’s taken some flak lately, but no one is prouder to put this birth certificate to rest than The Donald. Now he can get to focusing on the issues that matter. Like, did we fake the moon landing? What really happened at Roswell? And where are Biggie and Tupac?”

'The Donald 'sat forward in his chair, rocking back and forth like a caged lion, looking mostly serious and uncomfortable, and ready to pounce, but if you look closely, every once in a while even he couldn't suppress an occasional nod and a schmirk.  It clearly conveyed that even The Donald thought The President had delivered a brilliant volley.

It was this one, though, that, looking back on it, is a bit unnerving.

“All kidding aside, we all know about your credentials and experience,” Mr. Obama said, as people in the room either chortled or grimaced nervously, all depending on their proximity to Mr. Trump.

In “Celebrity Apprentice,” Mr. Obama told Mr. Trump, teeth flashing, “the men’s cooking team did not impress the judges from Omaha steaks, but you recognized that this was a lack of leadership, so you fired Gary Busey.”

“These,” Mr. Obama said, “are the kinds of decisions that would keep me up at night. Well-handled, sir. Well-handled.”

It's funny, right?

It becomes a bit unnerving when you consider that the President had just ordered the execution of the most wanted man in the world, sending Navy Seals into Pakistan in a most delicate operation to accomplish what many thought no one could ever accomplish.

One only wonders how many sleepless nights Mr. Obama has had in coming to make that decision.

His staff calls him "Cool Hand Luke". His detractors say he is "too professorial". Too "aloof" and "out of touch" with the general public.

I'll tell you what - at the end of the day, I don't have to like the person who makes decisions like the execution of a terrorist in a politically fragile environment.

I'm sure glad someone with a clear head and steady hand is leading this nation.

Seth Meyers followed The President's remarks and joked that everyone was looking for Osama bin Laden, but the rumor was that he had his own show on C-span from 4-5.

Mr. Obama just grinned and laughed.  One can only imagine the very private joke he was enjoying in the moment. Who knew?

Meyers also commented on Mr. Obama's appearance.

"What happened, to you?" he asked, "When you were sworn in, you looked like the guy on the Old Spice commercial. Now you look like Louis Gossett, Sr.," adding, "I've never said this before to anyone, but maybe you should start smoking again. Is this the change you were talking about? ... Mr. President, look at your hair. If your hair gets any whiter, the Tea Party is going to endorse it."

He may be 'Joe Cool', but occupying the Office of the President does not come without substantial, personal cost. Underneath that calm exterior beats the heart of a human being. A man who is someone's son. Someone's brother. Someone's husband. Someone's father.

Obama Action figure from Gizmodo.com

I think I was in 8th Grade Civics Class when I had to write an essay on whether leaders are born or made - whether the leader creates the time or time calls forth a leader.

I remember getting an A minus on the paper with the comment, "You demonstrated a serious engagement with the question but your answer fell short of expectations."

I was an Anglican, even then.

I still don't have an adequate answer to that question. I only know a leader when I see one.

Say whatever else you want about the man, but Barak Obama is a leader.

He's also got a very cool deadpan delivery. Not exactly 'professorial' but very dry and stirred, but never shaken - like a good James Bond martini.


Well-handled, sir. Well-handled, indeed.

Prestidigitation

There was more magic in The Royal Wedding than the magical notions behind the fairy tale wedding of Catherine and William last Friday.

Take, for example, the moment when the Archbishop of Canterbury asked, "Who gives this woman to this man?"

If you watched carefully, as I did, you saw Michael Middleton, Catherine's father, take her hand and place it in the hand of the Archbishop, who then took her hand and placed it in the hand of the charming Prince William.

Now you see it, now you don't.

It was a deft sleight of hand which magically evaporated decades of struggle by feminist and other enlightened men and women who have worked tirelessly for the equality of women everywhere.

Well, at least, that's what the illusion was designed to convey.

So much for the "modern face" of the "New Royals"

There stood a young woman - well educated, bright, independent - who was being "given away" like so much property.

Presto-chango!

Oh, I didn't mind the white dress or the veil, even though the lack of her virginal status is not discussed in polite company - especially and obviously in the company of the Archbishop of Canterbury who steadfastly upholds the 'teachings of the church' with regards to sex outside of marriage.

If I were given only a mere quid for every non-virginal bride who walked down the aisle in a white gown and veil I'd still be quite wealthy.

When I preside at weddings, I always ask, "Who presents these two people for the Sacrament of Marriage?" And, I have asked the parents of the bride and groom - or, the best man and maid or matron of honor - to stand and say, "We do."

To me, that is consistent with what we do in the Sacrament of Baptism and, in those places where there is a "First Holy Communion" as well as the Sacramental Rites of Confirmation and Ordination.

The person or persons to receive the Sacrament or Sacramental Rites are "presented" or "sponsored" or have "Godparents" for this important moment of grace.

I have always found the "giving away" of the bride to be an odious throwback to the days when "traditional marriage" was, in actuality, a contract between two men - the father and the husband of the bride.

Catherine did not wish to include the word "obey" in her marriage vows. Good on her, as they say in Australia. But, she might as well have.

I was curious, as well, that there was only one ring at the ceremony. Hers. William, apparently, chose not to have a wedding ring. Apparently, this was okay with Catherine. Odd, I thought, but their choice.

This is not to question what Catherine chose to do. I may not like what she chooses but I would absolutely defend her right to choose what is right and good for her and her marriage.

My question, rather, is why does the Church choose to continue this arcane, odious, offensive practice?

I understand, from my friends Across the Pond, that this little ritual is in their prayer book - the 1662 version as well as the newer 'supplemental' books.

In my answer to my question 'Does that always happen in CofE weddings?', one British friend wrote.

The short answer is No.

This page from Common Worship: Pastoral Services contains the Note (6. "Giving Away') which provides for it on an optional basis.

Please remember that although this 1928 Proposed Book rite is still authorised, as shown here it is quite rare for it to be used nowadays. The vast majority of CofE weddings use this form.

When I complained that an estimated two billion people around the world saw this ritual and will assume, as I did, that this is the way it is 'always' done in the Church of England - indeed, in the Anglican Communion - some seemed absolutely befuddled by my annoyance at the sexism of the ritual act.

One wrote:

"The custom of the father handing over the bride's hand certainly arises from a more patriarchal time when women were chattel. But the custom is to hand over the bride, not to the groom, but to the Church. In this respect, it was incipient women's lib, in that it gave the bride a notional moment of freedom, when she belonged to neither father or husband. Admittedly, the moment of freedom was more notional than real, given that it practically meant the choice to become a religious, but still . . ."

But still??? Still, what? Still a "notional moment of freedom"? Is she not free, anyway? Are a woman's only two choices in life to become a nun or a wife?

Are you kidding me?  Hello! Welcome to the Year of our Lord, 2011.

This was not 'women's lib' - incipient or otherwise.

It is sexism. Flat-out.

However, this . .  THIS. . . is the response that really pulled my last, poor, tired nerve, and, in truth, prompted this blog/rant. Another otherwise intelligent, well educated man who also works for the cause of justice in the church wrote:

"I never thought of this loving gesture as "sexist".

"Most brides I have worked with love it."

My stomach still wretches, just reading those words again.

This 'loving gesture'???? Most brides 'love it'????

Yes, I suppose the way slaves love it when you stop beating them.

The future of my work in this justice group is under serious consideration precisely because of these two statements.

I simply don't know how anyone can work for justice in the church and not see the injustice of this church ritual.

I mean, why isn't this 'loving gesture' extended to the groom, as well? Might not men come to 'love it', too? If not, why not? Really.

Ask yourself those questions and you might get at the root of my problem and annoyance.

Want to know why there is such a hullabaloo about the ordination of women and LGBT people to the priesthood and consecration to the episcopacy in the Church of England?

Indeed, would you like to know why there is an Anglican Covenant and why most Synods in The Church of England will support it?

It is due, in part, this 'loving gesture' which, 'most brides love' which is 'quite rare' and 'optional'  in use in the Church of England, except, of course, where it is not - and, especially when it is broadcast 'round the world for all to see.

No, I'm not exaggerating to make a point.

At Lambeth 2008, I was part of a consortium of justice groups working together to raise awareness, educate and yes, lobby, the bishops about issues concerning women, LGBT people and justice issues in the church.

Every morning, we gathered for prayer, conducted by one of the LGBT justice groups that was working for full inclusion in the church.

By the third day, I could no longer tolerate the 'exclusive' language of the prayer service and stopped attending. That night, at our debriefing session, I asked the group to please, please, please consider 'cleaning up' the language of prayer. Several other (American) women in the group said, "Hear, hear!"

The guys 'got it' - well, they got that the American women were pissed off and they desperately wanted not to do that. It was the women - the British women - however, who looked at me as if I had two heads and one was flopping.

They didn't understand, really, what the fuss was all about. It was 'their' prayer book. This is how 'we' pray, here. You Americans don't understand the British. We've been praying like this for centuries. It is 'our' language.

'We' understand that 'mankind' is not an 'exclusive' term - 'humankind' is cumbersome and odd and does not slip off the English tongue well. 'We' understand that the use of the male pronoun for God is neither descriptive or proscriptive but rather the way 'we' talk about God.

It made me angry, when it didn't make me feel very, very sad.

It taught me more than I wanted to know, really, about assumed, unexamined male privilege and internalized oppression.

I was reminded of a woman who had sat, for three long years, on the vestry of an Episcopal Church whose rector was undoubtedly a champion of many social justice issues - especially for LGBT people.

She could be described as a rather 'dykey'-looking lesbian - a quiet, gentle woman who fits right in with the rest of the folks in the computer/IT department where she is very successful - and not the 'type' of lesbian favored by her rector.

For three long years, she had endured being cut off in mid-sentence or her ideas being flat out ignored by her rector. During her tenure, she had regularly insisted that the parish newsletter be handled by a professional printing company, arguing that producing it on the church's Xerox machine did not reproduce the words or pictures in a crisp, clear way that did anyone any justice and did not present a 'good face' to the community as the evangelism tool it was meant to be.

When her term expired, the man who was replacing her on the Vestry said, at the very first meeting, "You know, I've been thinking. We really should do something about the parish newsletter. It really needs to be more professionally done."

"Great idea!" said the rector, "Let's figure that amount in the next budget."

My friend did a slow burn and seriously considered leaving the parish, taking her substantial pledge with her. I encouraged her to speak with the rector about the situation, which she did.

And, do you know what he said? He said, "I had no idea! I wish you would have said something sooner."

Right.

Language is a powerful tool. Words are the pack mules of language. Words shape and form and carry images and inform actions which are, in and of themselves, sometimes even more powerful than the words of any language.

This was my experience of the 'loving gesture' of the ritual of the giving of hands at Catherine and William's wedding.

It was not 'loving'. It carried with it the sexism and misogyny that is inherent in some parts of the church from the ancient to the modern.

I am absolutely convinced that, at the root of all homophobia and heterosexism is a deep and abiding sexism and misogyny that have been with us since The Garden.

Beyond the 'ick' factor of homosexuality lies the belief that gay men are men who want to be women, and who on earth would want THAT, for God's sake! And, women who are lesbians really only want to be men, and that's ... well, that's 'disordered'.

Neither of those two things are true, of course, but when your world - and mind - is small, it has a logic all its own.

Sexism, mysogyny, homophobia and heterosexism are the very present, unexamined assumptions which are deeply embedded in the words of the Anglican Covenant about the 'proper order' of the world and God's Anglican people.

It is no mistake that the question of the authority of women to function as priests and bishops is closely tied to the same questions about LGBT people and their role and function in the church.

"Lex orandi, lex credendi" - the law of prayer is the law of belief - was never more evident in the otherwise beautiful Royal Wedding at Westminster Abbey last Friday.

Oh, how I wish I had a magic wand and - 'Abracadabra!' -  change that particular scene to make it more representative of the Sacramental nature of that wedding.

Alas, I can not.

I take some comfort in the fact that soon and very soon, Catherine will figure it all out. She's very bright. She'll understand that her supposed low estate as a 'commoner' who is a woman in this marriage is just a sad, pathetic illusion to prop up the sense of the importance of the monarchy.

We are all equal in God's sight.

The real magic of that wedding will be the transformation of Catherine Middleton to Catherine Mountbatten Windsor, Duchess of Cambridge and future Queen of England, who will become her own person in that marriage - despite the delusions purported by that not-so 'lovely ritual'.

I'm betting solid money that the girl-child Princess of Catherine and William will not be having any of that at her wedding.

At that same time, thirty or so years from now, I'm betting that the Anglican Covenant will be but a sad footnote in the history of the Anglican Communion.

That is not prestidigitation. That is my hopeful prognostication.

Now you see it. Then, you won't.

"Justice has been done"

It was late. I should have been in bed - would have been in bed - but I had been emailing with a friend about a joke he had sent me. Just light funny banter about something I can't even remember now but seemed hilarious in the moment.

"Turn on your television," came his cryptic message. "Do it now."

I did. There was the President of the United States, looking somber but confident.

Clearly, something important was happening.

I immediately feared we had been attacked. Another 9/11 on the first day of 5/11. May Day.  Oh, God!

Within seconds of grasping what the President was saying, a text message came from our daughter who lives on the Upper East Side in New York City.

"Can you believe this?" she wrote, "Bin Laden is dead."

Like many others who were watching at the time, I was stunned. I couldn't get my mind wrapped around what was happening.

The man named as the "mastermind" of the most devastating attack on American soil in modern times and the most hunted man in the world, was killed in a firefight with United States forces in Pakistan on Sunday.

Three other men were also killed, one believed to be his son and the other two his couriers. A woman was also reportedly killed when she was used as a shield by a male combatant, and two others wounded.

My mind was a cascade of images from 9/11 which kept intruding on the present reality.

The President said, "Tonight, I can report to the American people and to the world that the United States has conducted an operation that killed Osama bin Laden, the leader of Al Qaeda, and a terrorist who’s responsible for the murder of thousands of innocent men, women, and children."

We - the United States - have killed Osama bin Laden.

A few more seconds went by before my iPhone went off again with another text from NYC: "Is it okay to feel happy about this?" she wrote. "It feels strange. I'm happy, I think, but not really. Something's not right about this."

I agree. Something isn't right about being 'happy' about Bin Laden's death.

I agree, even though I know what she, personally went through. What we all went through on 9/11. As individuals and as a nation.

It wasn't quite ten years ago that I was driving down Central Avenue, on my way to my office in Newark, when the news came on my car radio.  I immediately thought of our daughter and remembered, to my instant horror, that she had a 10 AM appointment that very morning at the World Trade Center.

Without even thinking, I grabbed for my cell phone to call her. As I pulled over on the side of the road and waited for her response, I could see clouds billowing in the air from across the Passaic River.

No response. Fear gripped my entire body. I screamed into the cell phone, "Answer the phone! Answer the phone! Oh, God! Oh, God! Please answer the damn phone!"

As people on the sidewalk looked into my car, I tried to collect myself, reassuring myself that she was okay, that it was the cell phone towers at the WTC that were down that was causing the problem.

I later learned that she had been on that last train into the WTC which stopped and let all the passengers out.  She then walked, with hundreds and thousands of others, from lower Manhattan to Second Avenue to 84th Street where she lived at the time.

When she was finally able to get through - a little after 2 PM that afternoon - I fell to my knees and wept with relief and joy and gratitude.

"Mom," she said, "You should have seen it. It was something out of a WWII movie. We were all walking in the middle of the street. There were no cars. No one talked. We walked like the living dead. Oh, Mom. Oh, Mom. Oh, Mom. . . .  ."

Later, she would report that a friend of hers who lived in Alphabet City was in the kitchen making coffee when he heard the window in his bathroom crash. When he returned to the bedroom he discovered pieces of glass shattered everywhere and the bloody stump of a leg in his bed.

My daughter's boyfriend, at the time, was a detective for the NYPD. He and his partner had just parked around the corner from the WTC and were making their way into the building when they both realized that they had left something in the car.

My daughter's boyfriend, a feisty Irishman whose father and grandfather and uncles and cousins had all worked on the NYPD, said to his friend, "You go ahead. I'll be the one to be late," and returned to the car just as the plane hit.

His friend, a man with a wife and nine year old son, never came out of the building. My daughter's boyfriend never quite recovered. Indeed, their relationship was one of the unwritten casualties of that terrible day.

She spent the rest of most of that week over at one of the Piers in NY harbor, assigned to the Spanish-speaking area where families of those who were still missing were asked to bring in hair brushes and combs and tooth brushes of their loved ones for possible, later, DNA identification.  She listened to their stories, taking down all the information as she wept with them.

I spent the evening of 9/11 and most of the next few days at Seamen's Church Institute, just around the corner from what would - from that day on and forever - be known as Ground Zero.

I still can't talk about everything I saw and smelled and tasted and felt. It is the dust, however - the memory of the dust on everything - in the air, on the sidewalk, in our clothing, on our shoes, in our hair, in our eyes - that lingers.

We all began to shake the dust off our own and each other's clothing reverently, knowing, as we did, that mixed in among the concrete dust and powdered steel were the ashes of the victims whose bodies we would never recover.

I'd like to think that we are noble, my daughter and I and all those with conflicted feelings today. I'd like to think that we were, somehow, better Christians for not rejoicing and dancing in the streets, pumping our fists and chanting, "USA! USA! USA!"

I don't judge them for it. Some part of me understands. Completely.

I found myself annoyed that some of my FaceBook friends were judging those mostly young kids who were chanting and singing "like it was a sports event" in front of the White House and at Ground Zero and Times Square.

Their behavior is less a judgment on what ever it is that is 'appropriate behavior' when one very visible, very persistent manifestation of Evil has been killed and more on the Sports Industry which puts modern gladiators on display for us every weekend.

I rather think that my friends were passing judgment on the "tacky behavior" of those kids because it was easier that sitting with their own discomfort and conflicted feelings about the murder - the killing - the assassination - the hunt-down-and-shoot-to-kill death of Osama bin Laden. 

It certainly wasn't behavior in which I'd engage in, but, having lived through and lost friends and something of my naivete in the rubble and dust of 9/11, I absolutely understand. I don't condone it, but neither would I stop it or judge it.

Clearly, it was time for me to turn off the television, shut down the laptop and sit with my own discomfort, judgment, annoyance, memories, and jumble of conflicted emotions and feelings.

That was at 2 AM. The last time I looked at the clock before blessed sleep finally came, it was 3:30 AM.

The Vatican issued a statement which said:

"Osama bin Laden, as we all know, bore the most serious responsibility for spreading divisions and hatred among populations, causing the deaths of innumerable people, and manipulating religions for this purpose.

In the face of a man’s death, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibilities of each person before God and before men, and hopes and works so that every event may be the occasion for the further growth of peace and not of hatred.

I know some may find this hard to believe, but I think the Vatican has it exactly right.

It's much easier to point a finger and said, "Look at those idiots," than to sit with the discomfort of one's own reflection on the death of a human being - even one who was so obviously Evil as Osama Bin Laden - in the name of the United States of America.

My name. Your name.

The NY Times is reporting that Bin Laden's body was buried in accordance with Muslim law within 24 hours of his death. They report that his body was buried at sea, lest his graveside become "a shrine" to the fallen but indisputable hero of Al Qaeda.

Color me suspicious. And, fearful that the report of his death will forever be viewed with suspicion or simply dismissed by many Muslims in Afghanistan and other places around the world, allowing the impulse for revenge and more violence to fester.

It may have been a brilliant move. Take lots of pictures. Do the DNA and other forensics that will prove that this was, in fact, the body of Osama bin Laden, all the while being respectful of Muslim law and customs, and denying the impulse for some whack-a-doodle to steal and desecrate the body.

Time, as it is said, will tell.

I'd like to say that I adhere to and live by the words of Ezekiel (33:11): "As I live, says the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked but that the wicked turn from their ways and live."

Well, I can buy that. Absolutely. But, what when "the wicked" won't turn from their ways and live only to do murder and create more mayhem? What is a good, God-fearing Christian to do, then?

Kahlil Gibran wrote: "Your soul is often a battlefield upon which your reason and your judgment wage war against your passion and your appetite."

I've been sitting with those sage words most of this morning. This is precisely where I am.

The death of Osama bin Laden is of enormous psychological significance for those of us who saw the immediate effects of 9/11 as well as all those who have lived, for the past almost 10 years, under the dark, threatening clouds of "The Age of Terrorism".

Bin Laden's death has not ended that Age. I have absolutely no doubt that there are at least two others who have been carefully groomed these last ten years to be his successor.

An Evil man has been killed, but Evil persists in the world.

It always has. It always will.

Former President Bush issued a statement which said, in part, “The fight against terror goes on, but tonight America has sent an unmistakable message: No matter how long it takes, justice will be done,”

I've been looking at the statue of "Lady Justice" as an icon, of sorts, into what is going on in my soul.

She is blindfolded. And the scales she holds are always depicted as being slightly off balance. 

I find both those images oddly comforting - especially that the out-of-balance scales are held up high and have visual prominence.

It is the sword in her hand that is disquieting to my soul.

It is not being held up in either defense or offense, but is there, at the ready, when and if needed.

At least, that's the way it looks to me.

I would like to think that this is what happened in the assassination of Osama bin Laden. That those Navy Seals who stormed the house where he was living tried to capture him to take him to trial, but that, when Bin Laden and his son and his couriers fought back, they had no other choice. 

At around 2:30 this morning, I found myself praying this 'Prayer for our enemies' on page 816 of the Book of Common Prayer:

"O God, the (Creator) of all, whose (Holy Child) commanded us to love our enemies: Lead them and us from prejudice to truth: deliver them and us from hatred, cruelty, and revenge; and in your good time enable us all to stand reconciled before you, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

I also found this quote from Mahatma Gandhi

"If you hate injustice, tyranny, lust and greed, hate these things in yourself."

The fight against terror goes on.

No matter how long it takes, justice will be done.

Justice has been done.  Or, so we're told. Indeed, assured by no less that the present and former Presidents of the United States.

May God, in the wisdom and peace and justice of God that surpasses all human understanding, have mercy on us, every one.

Playing with doubt

Ben Steele's playful doubt on the veracity of Thomas Kinkade's paintings

"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

Acts 2:14a,22-32, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31,Psalm 16

II A Easter - May 1, 2011 –

The Episcopal Church of St. John the Evangelist

Bowdoin Street, Boston

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton

I seriously doubt that there is anything I could tell you about this morning’s gospel account of Jesus and the disciple Thomas that you don’t already know, or haven’t already read, or haven’t heard in countless sermons over the years about the disciple known throughout Western Christendom as “Doubting Thomas”.

This Sunday is known as “Low Sunday” – purportedly because it is such a comedown after the glory of Easter Day – but, in clergy circles, the ‘low’ estate of the day has more to do with the number of people in attendance – especially in comparison to the vast numbers of “C&E” (not to be confused with CofE) Christians who swell our ranks by coming to church only on Christmas and Easter. (Present company obviously excluded).

I doubt that it is known as “Low Sunday” because the embryonic Christian movement somehow hit a low with this story of the disciple Thomas and his impertinent question about the Resurrection of Jesus. Indeed, this Sunday is sometimes known as “Doubting Thomas Sunday”.

I doubt than no other disciple – well, none other than, perhaps, Judas – gets as much grief as does Thomas. “Doubting Thomas”, he is called. No other disciple gets a distinctive descriptive before his name. Not “Impatient, Immediate Mark” or “Inclusive Luke”.

I further doubt that many would agree with me that he would be better called “Risking Thomas”. Or, “Courageous Thomas”. Or, even, “Faithful Thomas” – but I’m not too concerned because I doubt that would ever happen.

You have also, no doubt, heard sermons about how doubt is a part of the faith journey. You have heard it said – and, perhaps do not doubt it yourself – that faith is risk, and risk wouldn’t be risk without doubt. You no doubt believe that faith that comes only after evidence is no faith at all. Maybe trust, yes, but not faith.

Faith is that daring commitment that climbs out on life’s limbs and leaps. As someone once said, faith is what leads you to have no doubt that, when you do leap off that limb, one of two things will happen: either you will land safely or you will be given wings to fly.

And what of risk and daring and courage? What has doubt to do with any of that? Well, as Piglet said, “I didn’t know I was being brave. It just happened after I panicked.”

So, whatever is to be done about this gospel story on Doubting Thomas Sunday for you, this wonderful, well-educated, faithful community of St. John's?

I know! I shall tell you a story. It’s what I do. Those who know me will tell you that of this, there is little doubt. Rain or shine, good or bad, I tell stories. You know. Like Jesus did.

Some of you know the story of how that Easter Egg got to be at the foot of the Black Madonna at the Easter Vigil. I’ll not tell you that story now. If you don’t know it, I’ll be happy to tell it to you after the service during the Eighth Sacrament of Coffee Hour. You’ll need to know THIS story in order to fully appreciate THAT story.

It’s a story about doubt and faith. It’s a story about what our collect prays that we may “show forth in our lives what we profess by our faith”. It’s a story about pushing your faith and playing with your doubts. It's a story about having faith and belief in the power of the Resurrection and the True Presence of Christ who comes to us in the midst of the torment of our doubts and unbelieving.

The story takes place just about twenty-five years ago, shortly after I had left this place as seminarian, was ordained a transitional deacon, and was serving as Ecumenical Chaplain at the University of Lowell. In those days, before there was a tear in the ozone layer, there were about 100 women who were priests and some saw, yet they did not believe. Indeed, unbelievably, some still don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“IN THE FREEZER??!!” she thundered.

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

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

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

I know. It’s not in the marriage vows. We didn’t hear William and Catherine vow to “love, honor and torment” each other on Friday. Trust me. They will. Eventually, they will.

Of this, I have no doubt.

Back to my story, then:

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

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

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

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

Act II. Same scene. I went over to the refrigerator, opened the freezer door, and said, “Barbara. It’s me. Jesus. Behind the broccoli. It’s freezing in here. Help me.”

Ms. Conroy emitted what can only be called a low growl. I knew I had been warned, but I simply couldn’t resist.

Pray for me, a sinner.

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

Act II. Same scene. And, ACTION.

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

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

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

“Where are you going?” I asked.

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

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

It’s that I believed it so much, I played with any doubt that He was present, even in frozen form.

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

I mean, do you suppose that it was Tuesday or Wednesday after the Resurrection when Peter slammed his hand on the table, looked around at the startled disciples and said, “I’m going fishing!”?

He walked right into his doubts, through his fears, and got about doing the ordinary, mundane things of life. And, in doing that, he met Jesus. And, the faith of the church was born. And the rest, as they say, is church history.

What if John is playing with our doubts in this gospel story? What if he is tormenting us with the obvious truth by setting up Thomas – with whom, some scholars believe, he had such serious rivalry as to write this story so as to shame him – to be the one who is the bearer of our doubts and questions about the Resurrection?

You know, sometimes, I think we take our faith too seriously – so seriously that we think we have to have it right – correct, perfect, "orthodox", God help us – or else we’ll get an “F” on our earthly report card and not gain entrance into heaven.

Here’s a secret. I know it because I’ve read the whole of Scripture and I know the end of the story.

Ready? Here it is: We’re all going to heaven.

That's going to get me into trouble with those who doubt that and will call me a "universalist".  That's okay. I've been called worse. Much, much worse. It doesn't make it untrue. 

You and me – yes, even me who confessed just this morning before God and this congregation that I am a sinner who torments those she loves – and a whole bunch of other people who you think are not going to be in heaven when you get there.

And, you know, they will. Be there. In heaven. With you. And, Aunt Millie who slapped you for no reason when you were nine and Uncle Harry, that no good loaf of a drunk, and your cousin Vinny who used to torment you in the third grade.

We’re all going to heaven because Jesus redeemed us on Easter Day.

Believe it or not, it’s true! As they say in 12-Step Programs, if you can't believe just yet, then believe in my belief.

Of this, I have no doubt. In fact, as they say in Philly, you can take that to the bank. Or, if you’re in Lowell, to the freezer.

Either way, here's the thing: I know that my Redeemer lives! He lives in you and he lives in me and he lives in that bread and wine we're about to consecrate - even if it gets frozen.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

Christ is alive! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

And, let the whole church say, “Amen.”