Recognizing the desire

This is the view out of the kitchen door of the rectory, taken midway through what is now being called 'The Blizzard of 2010'.

Well, that's what it's being called 'Noth Joisey' anyway. We're too tough for 'Snowmarghedon' or 'Snowcapolypse'. Snow? Eh, fuggeddeboutit!

It's very different from my experience in LSD (Lower, Slower Delaware). Very Different. I'm quite certain that they still have not yet dug out from the weekend's blizzard. They got hit with another 18-20 inches yesterday. It will take weeks before they return to anything that appears "normal".

In sharp contrast, the streets here are pretty clear. I'm waiting for the guys with the plow to come dig out the rest of my driveway - especially the pile of snow that has accumulated at the end of my driveway. A little gift left by the street plow.

What is most remarkable is the silence. The neighborhood is very quiet. Very Quiet. No sound of the chatter and giggle of children on their way to school. Even the birds are quiet.

It is something I'm used to when I stay in LSD. Not so in North Jersey.

In the midst of the quiet, I've found myself reflecting on yesterday's statement from the Church of England Synod which "recognized the desire" of members of the ACNA to remain in the Anglican family.

The vote displaced the language of the original motion that would have "express[ed] the desire that the Church of England be in communion with the Anglican Church in North America”.

Episcopal Cafe reports that

"The debate made it clear that ACNA was not a part of the Anglican Communion. If ACNA wishes to be a part of the Anglican Communion there are procedures for that, procedures ACNA is not interested in following. And, the Archbishop of ACNA's answer to the question "is the ABC Anglican?" is no, at "the cost of his office".

It looks to me as messy as the remains of the Blizzard of 2010. Messy, but not anywhere near as paralyzing.

I find the language of 'desire' strange. Indeed, it is almost ironic when you consider that what the ACNA finds so repugnant about The Episcopal Church is that we 'recognize the desire' of LGBT people to be 'in communion' with each other and God in the sacred vow of marriage in the church in which they are baptized members.

We're not talking about the affirmation of a 'lifestyle' - whatever that means. We are talking about affording the sacramental grace to those who desire to live by the values and principles of the gospel.

The folks at ACNA are so repulsed by this thought that they ask for "inclusion" based on their exclusion of LGBT people and, by extension, the part of the Body of Christ that would welcome and include "the outcast" of our culture

Astoundingly, the entire argument for their inclusion in The Anglican Communion was based on half-truths and attacks on The Episcopal Church.

I have always found it fascinating that people who have stated plainly that they are no longer part of TEC are upset when TEC agrees and takes the steps necessary to remove them from the rolls of the church. AND consider it "persecution" if the church seeks to recover property that all knew was covered by canons giving the TEC a trust interest.

What the ACNA "desires" is to have it both ways - or, as my now sainted father would huff, 'They want an egg in their beer.'

The CofE Synod behaved very much like Mother Church. "Yes, dears," they said, "We know what you 'desire' but I fear you're going to have to wait until your 'Daddies' (in this case, The Archbishops of Canterbury and York) come home."

Note to ACNA: Don't hold your breath during your tantrum, darlings. In matters of conflict, your Daddies aren't known for having either a spine or a backbone to share between the two of them.

The ACNA, however, is rejoicing.

The Most Rev. Robert Duncan, archbishop of the Anglican Church in North America, thanked Mrs. Lorna Ashworth of Chichester for bringing the church to the attention of the General Synod. “We are very grateful to Mrs. Ashworth and the scores of other friends in the Synod of the Church of England for all they did to give us this opportunity to tell our story to the mother church of the Anglican Communion. It is very encouraging that the synod recognizes and affirms our desire to remain within the Anglican family.” said Archbishop Duncan.

Even one of the little kids in my neighborhood can recognize a 'snow job' when they see one.

Meanwhile, Synod will go on to discuss the matter of women in the Episcopacy. The prediction is that won't decide anything on that, either, given the fact that the committee charged with the work of making recommendations was unable to complete their work.

They said, essentially, the same thing. They "recognized' the desire of women and other people to provide "all the sacraments for all the baptized" but were at a loss to come up with a strategy of appeasement for those who simply can not abide the authority of the office of bishop to be open to women.

Read: We are hopelessly spinning our wheels in the snow and icy slush of misogyny. Poor dears need someone to come by and give them a push.

In the quiet of the morning, I'm remembering the words of Dr. King:

"Vanity asks the question: is it popular? Expedience asks the question: is it politic? Cowardice asks the question: is it safe? But conscience asks the question: is it right? And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither popular, nor politic nor safe but one must take it because one's conscience tells one what is right."

It's time to do the right thing. Indeed, it is past time.

In the blizzard of words that have come from across the pond, it is time to bring out the plows.

Will it be costly? Of course it will. Will everyone be happy? Of course, they won't. The gospel has never been about making everyone happy. The gospel has always been about our recognition of the desire of God to have us do what is right.

In the quiet of the morning, it is Dr. King's words that float across the silence, plowing through the mess left over by the storm of rhetoric and making a path obscured by the desire for raw power and control.

"I refuse to believe that we are unable to influence the events which surround us. I refuse to believe that we are so bound to racism and war, that peace, brotherhood and sisterhood are not possible.

I believe there is an urgent need for people to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to violence and oppression. I believe that we need to discover a way to live together in peace, a way which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation.

The foundation of this is love.

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. I believe that right temporarily defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. I believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits.

I believe that what self-centered people have torn down, other-centered people can build up by the goodness of God at work within peoples. I believe that brokenness can be healed. And that the lion and the lamb shall lie down together, and everyone will sit under their own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid."

Let us recognize the desire for 'Unarmed truth' and 'Unconditional love'.

With those two plows, we can clean up any mess left over by any blizzard.

"Our Collective Spirits Soared"

Tomorrow is the 20th Anniversary of the release of Nelson Mandela from prison in South Africa.

He had been sentenced to life imprisonment for resisting against the ruling party's apartheid policies and was lodged in Robben Island prison off Cape Town from 1964 to 1982. Thereafter, he was at Pollsmoor prison, near the mainland. He was released February 11, 1990.

If you're doing the math, you know that as momentous an occasion as this is, Mandela spent more time behind cold iron bars than he has in the warm sunshine of freedom.

His hair may be gray and his body may be showing the unmistakable signs of age, but his mind remains keen and sharp. His spirit still inspires us.

His dear friend and spiritual mentor, Desmond Tutu, the retired bishop of Cape Town and Archbishop of South Africa who became the 'voice of one crying in the wilderness' against the evils of Apartheid, said,

“The day Nelson Mandela walked free from Victor Verster Prison our collective spirit soared. It was a day that promised the beginning of the end of indignity. Four years later we voted for the first time. Some termed the new South Africa a miracle, the Rainbow Nation of God.

“Now, 20 years and four national elections down the line, our infant democracy is learning to walk. So much has been achieved, and there is so much yet to achieve.

“When we look around us and see the number of our compatriots still living in squalor, attending under-equipped schools, crammed like sardines into unsafe minibus taxis… we wonder when the fruit of democracy will reach the tables of all of our people.

“If we really want to make a difference we must recapture the spirit of that day of Nelson Mandela’s release. We must recapture the spirit of pride once articulated by Steve Biko.

“We must not forget the past.”"

I am remembering another momentous day in my past - the second time I met Desmond Tutu.

The first was at the Omni Hotel in Washington, DC. It was January, 1986. I had just finished taking the General Ordination Exams and, as a present, my bishop sent me to attend the Consecration of Edmund Browning as new Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church.

I was there and heard Ed Browning's newly minted gospel promise that, "in this church there will be no outcasts." He paid a very high price for that promise, but living the promises of the gospel of Jesus Christ has never been without cost.

After the service, I had taken a table way over in the corner. I had walked about three miles from the National Cathedral to the Omni Hotel - not a bad hike - but I had worn my proper Episcopal pumps for the occasion and, quite frankly, my feet were sore and I was cranky.

I just wanted a few minutes - 15 or 20 - to be by myself before the rest of the madding political crowd arrived and started the relentlessly chipper glad-handing and back-slapping and prognostication - and well, gossip - that always happens at events like these.

I had been seated about 5 minutes when I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a delightful male voice in an accent I couldn't quite place ask, "May I join you at this table, please?" When I looked up, there he was. Desmond Tutu.

I'm not sure what I said, exactly, but what I meant to say was, "Certainly, I'd be honored. Please sit down." It must have come out something pretty close to that because, the next thing I knew, there we were, sitting next to each other like long lost friends, catching up on each other's lives, sharing a bowl of ice cream.

I later learned that his security had selected this particular table because it was near an emergency exit - very important when death threats follow you wherever you travel. It was hard not to notice the bullet-proof vest he was wearing.

He asked me what had brought me to this event. I explained about the GOEs and my bishop's gift. His eyes brightened. "You will be a priest?" he asked.

"God willing and the people consenting," I said, laughing.

He laughed and then looked deep into my eyes for a few very uncomfortable seconds.

"Good!" he declared, rather loudly, which startled me. "I see compassion. Which means you know something about suffering. And so, God's love. And, you have a great laugh. You will be a good priest," he said, then, slapping his hand down on the table and laughing, declared, "This is good."

I could hardly breath. I was stunned that he could see something in me that neither the Commission on Ministry nor anyone at my seminary had even questioned me about, much less discussed with me as something that qualified me for ordained leadership in the church.

No one had even asked me about Jesus or my prayer life. What everyone seemed most concerned to know is where I, a woman - which was bad enough - but a woman in a committed relationship with another woman and a family of six children, thought I could find work.

As I tried to regain my composure, he continued, "We do not ordain women in South Africa. Yet. Do not worry. It will come. Justice and mercy will come to South Africa. It will come more fully, even to the church."

This was 1986. In June of that year, the State of Emergency declared 10 years earlier after the Soweto Uprising was extended to the entire country of South Africa. Apartheid would not officially be over turned until 27 April 1994 when the first democratic elections were held in South Africa, with people of all races being able to vote.

There are so many wonderful stories I could tell you about that amazing one hour visit with Desmond. Perhaps you and I, one day in the not-too-distant future, will also have a serendipitous meeting and we'll sit cross-legged on the floor, me with my bourbon and you with your favorite libation, and I'll tell you all about it.

Right now, I really want to tell you about what happened the second time I met him, more than a decade later.

I was at a special awards ceremony at NYU where one of our daughters was working. Both Hillary Clinton and Desmond Tutu were slated to be speakers. Our daughter, having been regaled over the years by my stories and sermons about Tutu, thought I might like the opportunity to see him again at the special reception that would take place just before the ceremony. Gee, ya think?

"Ah," said the Archbishop when he saw me, "You made it! You are a priest!" I think my jaw hit my chest. Could it be that he remembered me? No! Not possible. He's just a very clever man, I thought.

Not so. He actually recalled parts of our conversation and, when I looked astonished, dismissed it by saying, "When I share a bowl of ice cream with someone, we are friends forever. Besides," he added with a twinkle in his eye and looking Mrs. Clinton, "I never forget a priest. Especially one of the first women priests I ever met."

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

As I struggled to gain my composure, I asked him about his health. He had been recently diagnosed and treated for prostate cancer. He seemed genuinely flattered that I would ask and said that he got tired from the radiation but that his "spirit was still strong."

"You know, I must say, bishop," I heard myself say with surprising calm, "that when I heard that you had taken on the position of Chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, shortly after your diagnosis, I thought to myself, 'Is he crazy?'"

Tutu roared with absolute delight and said, "Yes, yes. Now you know the secret."

And then he looked at me. The same way he had looked at me more than a decade earlier. Everyone else in the room seemed to fade away and it was just me and the archbishop, looking someplace deep into my soul.

"When my President. . . you know 'My President', yes? Nelson Mandela - when Mr. Mandela asked me to chair the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, I declined," he said.

"I said to him, Mr. President, I am not well suited for this position."

"'Why?'"asked President Mandela."

"'No, no, no, sir,' I said to him, 'You see, I am tired. I am weak. And besides, I laugh too much.'"

"'Hmmm, said Mandela', who then brightened and declared, "Then you are perfect to be the Chair of Truth and Reconciliation Commission!'"

"'How is that, sir?'" I asked."

"'Well,' said my President, 'if you are tired and weak, then you know something about the hard work of telling the truth, and if you laugh too much . . .," Tutu paused, raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly for me to finish the sentence.

"Then you know something about the nature of reconciliation!" I exclaimed.

"Ah!" said the archbishop,"See!" he said, looking over his shoulder to Mrs. Clinton, "I told her years ago that she would become a good priest!"

I must say, in that moment, my spirit soared.

If he had said, "Drop whatever it is you are doing and come, follow me," I would have done it in a heartbeat.

What he said was, "It has been so good to see you again. Now, you must go and so must I. We each have something Jesus wants us to do. Go. Follow him."

And then we embraced and he was escorted to the stage.

Over the next twenty-four hours, political pundits will wax poetic about the leadership of Nelson Mandela and the Evils of Apartheid. Analysis will be made, opinions will be expressed, and accolades will be given.

Yes, it took a political process to overturn the governmental system of Apartheid. Yes, there is still much work to be done in South Africa. On the entire continent of Africa. And, Asia. And Europe. And North America. Indeed, right here in my neck of the woods. And yours, too, I imagine.

In the end - as it was in the beginning - it will be through the eyes of the soul that a vision of liberty and justice for all will be seen.

It will not be politics that transforms the world. It will be the human heart.

It will not be human strength that carries out the vision of justice and peace. It will be telling the truth of our stories and seeking reconciliation, both of which sit as sentinels at the entrance into the Realm of God.

All that is required is the courage to admit that we are weak and tired.

Nothing will make our collective spirits soar higher than to laugh - even too much or too loudly - into the face of evil.

Laughter, I have come to learn, is the greatest statement of faith. If you can laugh in the face of evil, there can be no doubt, no doubt on earth as it is in heaven, that you believe and trust in God.

Congratulations, Mr. Mandela. Congratulations, Archbishop Tutu. Congratulations, Steven Biko. Congratulations, South Africa.

May the love that is among us, the love that is between us and the love that is within us always inspire our collective spirits to soar to the Love that is above us.

Because, if you lose your sense of humor . . . .

. . . . then the Nor'easter wins.

Here are some quotes from that fabulous TV Program, "Hollywood Squares."

Q. Paul, what is a good reason for pounding meat?
A. Paul Lynde: Loneliness!
(The audience laughed so long and so hard it took up almost 15 minutes of the show!)

Q. Do female frogs croak?
A. Paul Lynde: If you hold their little heads under water long enough.

Q. If you're going to make a parachute jump, at least how high should you be?
A. Charley Weaver: Three days of steady drinking should do it.

Q. True or False, a pea can last as long as 5,000 years.
A. George Gobel: Boy, it sure seems that way sometimes.

Q. You've been having trouble going to sleep. Are you probably a man or a woman?
A. Don Knotts: That's what's been keeping me awake.

Q. According to Cosmopolitan, if you meet a stranger at a party and you think that he is attractive, is it okay to come out and ask him if he's married?
A. Rose Marie: No wait until morning.

Q. Which of your five senses tends to diminish as you get older?
A. Charley Weaver: My sense of decency..

Q. In Hawaiian, does it take more than three words to say 'I Love You'?
A. Vincent Price: No, you can say it with a pineapple and a twenty..

Q. What are: 'Do It', 'I Can Help, and 'I Can't Get Enough'?
A. George Gobel: I don't know, but it's coming from the next apartment. (hotel room)

Q. As you grow older, do you tend to gesture more or less with your hands while talking?
A. Rose Marie: You ask me one more growing old question Peter, and I'll give you a gesture you'll never forget.

Q. Paul, why do Hell's Angels wear leather?
A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily.

Q. Charley, you've just decided to grow strawberries. Are you going to get any during the first year?
A.. Charley Weaver: Of course not, I'm too busy growing strawberries.

Q. In bowling, what's a perfect score?
A. Rose Marie: Ralph, the pin boy.

Q. It is considered in bad taste to discuss two subjects at nudist camps. One is politics, what is the other?
A. Paul Lynde: Tape measures.

Q. During a tornado, are you safer in the bedroom or in the closet?
A. Rose Marie: Unfortunately Peter, I'm always safe in the bedroom.

Q. Can boys join the Camp Fire Girls?
A. Marty Allen: Only after lights out.

Q. When you pat a dog on its head he will wag his tail. What will a goose do?
A. Paul Lynde: Make him bark?

Q. If you were pregnant for two years, what would you give birth to?
A. Paul Lynde: Whatever it is, it would never be afraid of the dark.

Q. According to Ann Landers, is there anything wrong with getting into the habit of kissing a lot of people?
A. Charley Weaver: It got me out of the army.

Q. It is the most abused and neglected part of your body, what is it?
A. Paul Lynde: Mine may be abused, but it certainly isn't neglected..

Q. Back in the old days, when Great Grandpa put horseradish on his head, what was he trying to do?
A. George Gobel: Get it in his mouth.

Q.. Who stays pregnant for a longer period of time, your wife or your elephant?
A. Paul Lynde: Who told you about my elephant?

Q. When a couple have a baby, who is responsible for its sex?
A. Charley Weaver: I'll lend him the car, the rest is up to him

Q. Jack ie Gleason recently revealed that he firmly believes in them and has actually seen them on at least two occasions. What are they?
A. Charley Weaver: His feet.

Q. According to Ann Landers, what are two things you should never do in bed?
A. Paul Lynde: Point and laugh

(Hat tip to Larissa for the laugh.)

"Never let a crisis go to waste"

This is my dear friend Wayne who lives in Rehoboth Beach. This was two years ago, in happier times.

Wayne (sometimes known in the comment section of this and other blogs as "The Cajun") has been without electricity, heat and running water since late Friday night.

He told me that, the day before yesterday, he went out to his porch to get some snow and bring it into the kitchen so it would melt and he'd have water. Except, when he got up in the morning, it was still frozen.

He called his boss at Dos Locos (only the BEST restaurant in RB) who took him (and his landlady) to breakfast for a hot meal and then found them both temporary lodging with one of the staff. (A shout-out to Joe and Daryl - you guys are the BEST!) When I spoke with Wayne last night, he's now safe and sound - warm and hydrated.

Except that there's another Nor'easter on its way Tuesday night which promises to bring at least another 18-24 feet of snow to the Mid-Atlantic States and, depending on the progression of the storm and the area of New Jersey, any where from 12-18 inches of snow.

It's not New Jersey I'm concerned about. Oh, I'm not looking forward to the mess, but we can cope. We'll manage. We've got the infrastructure to provide the back up to managing the effects of the storm.

The last time a storm - or a winter - like this happened in Delaware was 102 years ago. They just aren't ready for it. It's not like folks are apt to keep snow blowers in the shed, just in case. Or, even the basics like snow shovels or ice melt - things you can get in any grocery store in New Jersey.

I was not too surprised as I left to head back to Jersey yesterday, to see how bad the roads were in my housing development. It was all packed snow and ice with occasional ruts of slush. We had been warned on television and radio news reports not to expect a "side street" to be given high priority in the clean up.

I was shocked when I got out onto the main roads. It was more of the same on my side street. Driving could only be described as treacherous. As I approached Route One, it was more of the same. At least, through Rehoboth Beach and Lewes.

The National Guard was out with large back hoes and dump trucks. When you're "The Nation's Summer Playground" you don't keep crews and equipment to deal with snow.

Besides, Rehoboth is still repairing the damage left over by the last hurricane. The board walk is under repair and the sand on the beaches still needs to be replenished.

I understand that the roads headed toward Bethany and Dewy Beaches were even worse.

As I got out of Lewes toward Milton, the roads got better. The closer I got to Dover Air Force Base, the road conditions improved considerably (remember, the storm hit Friday night through early Sunday morning).

There was no trouble at all once I got to Dover, and it was clear sailing from then on. Until then, however, it was a 'white knuckle drive' the whole way.

When I stopped at Perry's at the top of my street, the buzz was that there had been five storm related deaths in the area. One man froze to death in his own home.

Everyone at Perry's was singing the praises of the local EMTs who took care of a man in his early 40s who had a heart attack while shoveling snow. The street had not yet been plowed, so the EMTs carried their equipment in thigh-high snow to care for him in his driveway.

Once they got him stable, they CARRIED him on the stretcher back to the ambulance. In thigh-high snow. Up the street. About a quarter of a mile. I understand he's in stable condition at BeBe Memorial.

That's the spirit of a small community. Those men and women deserve a medal. As the story was being told, one elderly man took his hat off and put it over his chest as a sign of respect. I found myself deeply moved by that small, important gesture.

I suppose it's a bit of survivor's guilt on my part. I was only out of electricity and heat for nine hours. I still had running water, and a gas stove to make myself a hot cup of tea or to heat up a can of soup. I was also blessed to have a small gas furnace out in the sun room to keep me comfortable.

I had a neighbor to help me dig out my car. He did it because he wanted to help. I left him some money, anyway, in an envelope tucked securely under the windshield wiper of his car. I left him $40, which was all I had on me at the time. In NJ, what he did would have been expected to earn him $100. Easy.

I hope that was enough. I hope he isn't insulted by my gift. I'm sure he could use the money and is grateful for it. What he may not understand is that it is I who am deeply, deeply grateful for his help.

I worry about my friend, Wayne, and all the more than 60,000 people who still don't have electricity or heat and have been displaced from their homes. Please join me in prayer for them.

Please also pray for everyone who is involved in the recovery effort - the men and women of the National Guard, those who work for the utilities companies who are working around the clock to restore electricity and heat, as well as those who are working feverishly to clean up the side streets and make them safe for the police and paramedics to do their jobs.

No, it's not an earthquake or a tsunami, and the Delmarva Peninsula, while it has its poverty, is certainly not Haiti. Dangerous weather is dangerous weather and people, after all, are people.

If anything, this experience has opened my heart even more and encouraged me to give again to the recovery effort in Haiti. There's an expression in my business: "Pain touches pain." Human suffering anywhere causes every human heart to suffer.

So, prayers, please - especially as we prepare for yet another Nor'easter to come barreling up the Mid-Atlantic coast.

We will survive, and we'll learn some things about ourselves and the importance of community in the process. We might even rediscover the qualities of kindness and generosity. Even 'going the extra mile - or, quarter of a mile - in the snow!

Perhaps we'll regain a little respect for Mother Nature and redouble our efforts to care for Mother Earth.

Oh yes. And, maybe we'll learn again with a sense of awe and wonder about prayer.

What was that Rahm Emmanuel said? "You never want to let a crisis go to waste".

Somebody say, "Amen."

Free at last!

This is not the best of pictures (the sun was Really Bright), but I wanted you to see just how much work it took to free Lucy True Bug from her snow bound imprisonment.

Them's some pretty deep ruts right there. Lotsa shovelin'.

My neighbor Larry and I shoveled for about 30 minutes and then it took another 30 of 'rockin' and rollin' - drive/reverse/drive/reverse - before I finally got her to the street.

All's well that ends well.   I have a conference call at 8:30 AM and hope to be on the road, such as it is, by 10:30.  The side roads, like mine, are a mess - just a thick layer of ice with deep ruts of icy water - but all the main arteries are in pretty good shape, I understand.

It has been announced that local schools are closed until Wednesday or Thursday.  There is a Regional School System here, so everyone takes the school bus.  Because the side roads are in such bad shape, it's not safe to run the buses on them.

It's also estimated that it's going to cost $35 - $40 Million to clean up this mess.

You'll excuse me if I don't wax poetic about snow.

That does not mean that I'm totally without a sense of aesthetics - or humor.  Check out the above fashion statement.

This is the latest from the House of Kateon "Necessity is the Mother of Invention" fashion line of snow boots.

Don't laugh too hard.  They worked.  Except, they were admittedly a bit slippery.  No traction with plastic.  My feet were dry, however, which was the point.

What's that old expression?  "Redneck is as Redneck does."  I think I've done my share, thank you very much.  Not full fledged Redneck.  It would have been full fledged Redneck if I had used duct tape.  I couldn't find it so I used packing tape.

Close enough.  Enough to be considered - (Wait for it!) - 'White Trash'.

(Thank you, thank you very much.  I'm here all week.  Try the salad bar.)

Off I go, then.  Back to the rectory and then to the Old Salt Mines for Jesus.

I sure am gonna miss this place - snow drifts, cold winds, icy ruts and all.

UPDATE:  Perhaps I spoke too soon. There was a broken water man on the main road off Long Neck, which has delayed my leave time by "a coupla hours".  Sigh. I hope to get out of here by no later than 2 PM - in plenty of time to miss the next snow storm scheduled to dump another foot of snow beginning sometime Tuesday night.  Amazing! Simply amazing!

Snowmarghedon

That's what the President is calling it.

As I look out my widows this morning, this view toward Indian River looks like a Winter Paradise, doesn't it?  

Trust me, it's not. In the above picture, you can see the railroad tie which separates our dock from the water and, just beyond it, the line in the snow where the water rose over it. Not bad, actually. Not as bad as some of us feared it might be.

We are officially in "Recovery Mode" from the worst storm to hit the Mid-Atlantic states - indeed, in Delaware - in 102 years.

Here in LSD (Lower Slower Delaware), it has almost crippled everything - roads are open but still dangerously slippery. There's a thick coat of ice underneath all that beautiful snow.

This is the view from the door to our deck. I still can't open the door because of the drifts of snow that are against it.

What you can't see  in the shadow is the inch and a half of snow and ice that is on the deck.

The snow drift is up against the master bedroom window. Awesome, right?  Ms. Conroy says it will provide "insulation." I suppose she's right, but it still makes me feel cold, just to look at it.

Here are some more views, looking out to Rehoboth Bay from the "sun room".

The marsh is completely covered with ice and snow. No birds in the air.  No ducks in the water.  Just a very strange silence.

Last night, just before the snow stopped and the wind died down a bit, I heard some Canada geese overhead.  I looked up and there was a formation of about 8-10 of them, bravely making their way somewhere as the wind and snow pushed them around in the sky.

Back to Canada, perhaps.  I suspect this little winter sojourn in a more "moderate climate" has not worked out exactly the way they might have intended.

 

This is the view from the back (street) entrance to the house.   You can see how the snow drifted due to the strong 35 -40 mile an hour winds that were blowing and howling.   

I parked Ms. Lucy True Bug (my car) in my neighbor's yard behind the boat, thinking the boat might protect her from most of the wind and snow.   It was a good idea.  It's going to take me most of the morning just to clear out enough snow to get to her.

If you look closely, you can even see the lines in the snow where the wind left its mark.  I expect to see that sort of stuff on a mountain range in Maine.  But, in Lower Slower Delaware?  I don't think so.

That little indentation to the left of the boat is where there is a yard ornament - a few pieces of drift wood tied together with some rope. Looks sort of 'beachy' and summery - when it's not almost completely covered by snow (and ice).  

Oh, and that "bump" leading from the bottom of the picture to the boat?  That's the path I have to shovel.  Yeah, I've already taken an Aleve.

And these are the stairs.  That I need to shovel first.  Before I can get to the path.  Before I can get to my car, Ms. Lucy True Bug.  Before I can shovel out the high mound of snow (and ice) left by the snow plows.

The Governor of the State of Delaware is scheduled to make an announcement at 3 PM about schools and public transportation.  The estimate is that it's going to cost around $35-40 million to clear everything - before the next storm hits on Wednesday.

That's a pretty hard, cold reality 'wake up' call for those who wax romantic and poetic about the snow. 

I admit, it's lovely to look at, especially from my wee cozy-warm cottage where I have food and running water and electricity and heat.  There are still over 40,000 people in Delaware who don't have those luxuries this morning.  And, those are just the homeowners.  God only knows where those who don't have any homes woke up this morning.

Thank you for all your prayers and wise tips about how to stay safe during the storm - especially when I lost electricity and heat.  When I lived in Maine, I knew all those things.  It was great to have so many of you send me helpful reminders.

Special prayers of praise and thanksgiving to God for all those who were out in the Blizzard, cleaning streets, hooking up electric and cable lines, and keeping us safe.

The morning has warmed up and the Aleve has kicked in so it's time to get bundled up and start shoveling.  It's a daunting task.  I'm planning to take it slow and stop when I get tired.

The biggest challenge is that I don't have any boots here, but I think I've got a plan: 

Plastic and duct tape.

If it's good enough to protect us from "The Terrorists" it's good enough to help me dig myself out from the aftermath of 'Snowmarghedon'.

Snowcapolypse!

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

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

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

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

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

“UuuUUUuuuuhhhhhhh . . . . .OooooOOOOooooohhhhh”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life is good with the basics.

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

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

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

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

Snow at the beach

This is a sight I never thought I'd see - snow on the pelican planter and sea grass. I mean, we purchased a home in a more "moderate climate" so we wouldn't have to deal with the white flaky stuff.

It's really starting to come down now with much, much more predicted to come. The nifty little temperature gauge our friend Bill installed last month at our kitchen window says it's 36 degrees outside.

It's toasty warm in our wee cottage - thanks be to God!

Ms. Conroy just called with instructions on how to start the gas stove on the sun deck, just in case we lose electricity.

Losing electricity is really the only thing that concerns me. I suppose I can do without light and even my cell phone. At least I'll be able to keep warm and dry.

Global warming? What an inconvenient truth!

We're about to have us some weather

This is the way the front of the house looks from the remains of last week's storm. We're about to have us some more 'weather'. At least, that's what the Delmarva Peninsula Baymen told me this mornin', up to Perry's Deli at the top of the street.

The Governor of DE has declared a state of emergency. A Nor'easter is on it's way. The prediction is for anywhere from 12 - 28 inches of snow, with thunder and lightening and the possibility of coastal flooding.

I sure know how to pick a weekend away at Llangollen, our wee cottage on Rehoboth Bay. Just a quiet day and a half, unplugged and relaxed.

Right.

I spent the morning in search of a snow shovel and an ice melt. There isn't any on Long Neck. None in Rehoboth Beach, either. I checked Lowe's, Home Depot, and even Walmart (God help me!). Nothing.

I went to Happy Harry's, CVS and True Hardware. Finally, on my way home, I stopped in to see Mr. Caswell at Caswell's Hardware Store. For $14 I got a "loose gravel" shovel, which Mr. Caswell said would be the best to shovel snow.

Instead of ice melt, I have two five pound bags of old fashioned kitty litter - $6 for the two bags. At Mr. Casewell's suggestion, I also got two flashlights and more lamp fluid for the two "hurricane lamps" I have here at Llangollen.

I had packed my iPod /radio travel alarm clock which is all powered up, as are my Kindle and my phone and my lap top.

Yes, I went out and got milk, bread, eggs, coffee and toilet paper. Oh, and chocolate. I have learned that as long as there's chocolate, you can get through just about anything - even a Nor'easter.

I'm set.

The snow is supposed to start later on this afternoon and continue through the night and most of Saturday, ending around 5 PM.

The folks at the Community Center know I'm here, as does Mr. Ollis, the President of the Homeowner's Association. He's a peach of a guy. I feel safe just knowing that he knows I'm here.

Of course, I may not make it back to church for Sunday. I do plan to leave as soon as I can on Saturday but I suspect it may take a bit of work to get me shoveled out from under.

If need be, I'll leave early Sunday morning. I'll miss the 8 AM Service, but should be there in plenty of time for the 10. Jon's preaching and is happy to preside, so 'no harm, no foul'.

I've got my favorite snuggle pillow, my comforter, a prayer shawl, and a good book to read on Kindle ('Alice').

I'll leave you with this lovely piece of nostalgia from "White Christmas" (thanks, Frank). A lovely, light flurry just started to fall on the marsh.

It's not going to stay pretty for long. I'll keep you posted. Until then, let's just stay with the romance part of snow. It will make Jon happy.

IntegrityUSA Seeks Full Time Executive Director

Integrity USA, a non-profit organization working for full inclusion of LGBT persons within the Episcopal Church, seeks qualified candidates for the position of Executive Director. The person who fills this full-time position may be located anywhere in the United States and will work from his/her own city.

In concert with the Board of Directors, the E.D. leads the organization strategically in advancing its mission and in sustaining its support, tangible and intangible. He or she serves as spokesperson, development officer and administrator. The Executive Director is responsible for the day-to-day management and execution of all aspects of the organization's operations, including programs, resource development, and administration.

The Executive Director of Integrity must be knowledgeable about the Episcopal Church and its people. He or she must be knowledgeable about the struggle for the moral equality of LGBT people in the church and society. He or she must have demonstrated experience, knowledge and skills in church and/or nonprofit management, development, and governance. An individual who has earned a bachelor's degree is preferred. Compensation will be commensurate with experience and qualifications.

To apply or for more information, contact board president David Norgard at davidnorgard@od180.com. Application deadline is February 21, 2010. For more information about Integrity USA, go to www.integrityusa.org.

At the Edge of Chaos

How are the following connected:

The War in the Congo, Human Trafficking and Don't Ask, Don't Tell (DADT)?

How are The Proposed Legislation in Uganda, "The Family", and today's National and American Prayer Breakfasts connected? 

Indeed, how are they all connected, one to the other?

I can hear some of you tut-tutting already. You think they're not. You think I'm stretching to make a point.

No, I'm not. Not if you subscribe to the application of Chaos Theory. Not if you're paying attention.

In in the early 1960s, Edward Lorenz, an MIT meteorologist who tried to explain why it is so hard to make good weather forecasts wound up unleashing a scientific revolution called chaos theory.

Lorenz realized that small differences in a dynamic system such as the atmosphere--or a model of the atmosphere--could trigger vast and often unsuspected results.

These observations ultimately led him to formulate what became known as the butterfly effect--a term that grew out of an academic paper he presented in 1972 entitled: "Predictability: Does the Flap of a Butterfly's Wings in Brazil Set Off a Tornado in Texas?"

Lorenz's early insights marked the beginning of a new field of study that impacted not just the field of mathematics but virtually every branch of science--biological, physical and social.

Chaos theory can be applied to human relationship systems such as families and teams. The emerging fields of systemic coaching and systemic psychotherapy provide massive insight into the behavior of individuals.

Applications of chaos theory in the social sciences can unite physical, emotional, mental and spiritual realities - if we can let go of classical, pre-systemic notions.

The first order of business then, is to abandon - at least for a time - linear thinking.  Expectations of "natural order" or the "natural progression" of  events and our mastery over "predictability" have to become secondary to curiosity and imagination and creativity.

That's because Chaos Theory maintains that under the chaos, at the core, is an order that has a logic all its own.  It's the inexplicable hope and trust that gave rise to an ancient understanding that God is in the midst of the whirlwind of the chaotic storms of life.  It's the believe that, as St. Paul writes, when one suffers, we all suffer, and when one succeeds, we all rejoice.

So, yes, the "forgotten war" in the Congo can remain isolated and abandoned, or we can allow the suffering to motivate us to see our connections to the people there and try to make a difference. 

We can allow the practice of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" to be applied on a different scale. If we turn our heads and avert our eyes from the truth - even personal, intimate truths, then we can also ignore the truth about what some people feel is "really none of our business".

We don't see "the stranger in our midst" and learn of the "Bitter Guest Worker" stories of human trafficking from which corporations are making huge profits.

Indeed, we ignore that the role of Immigration and Customs Enforcement — reported in The Times by Julia Preston — is, thankfully, being investigated by the Department of Homeland Security and the Justice Department.

This particular story connects an oil rig company in Mississippi with people in India, many of whom invested their life savings, for a chance to earn a green card and come to this country for a chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

The story of The Great American Dream has been deeply tarnished by greed and avarice. In some ways, it is a permanent stain on the Book of Life in the USA.

Nicholas D. Kristof has a brilliant Op-Ed piece in this morning's NY Times about a woman named Lisa Shannon who watched an episode of Oprah about the hideous effects of massacre and rape in Congo and was moved to build a "Sisterhood" that today, five years later, is making a real difference in people's lives - at no small personal cost to herself.

Much has already been written about the connections between "The Family" which is, this morning, hosting a "National Prayer Breakfast," to the proposed draconian laws in Uganda. President Obama is being encouraged by no less than the likes of Bishop Gene Robinson to address the issue in his speech.

“Prayer is a good thing, and Americans ought to gather to pray, but we better be careful what we pray for,” said the Rt. Rev. V. Gene Robinson, the Ninth Bishop of New Hampshire and the first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal church, speaking at the National Press Club Tuesday morning. “We have a duty to confront those who are praying for those things that would break God’s heart.”

“I call upon our president to make himself known to be in opposition not just to the death penalty but to this violation of human rights for all of God’s children in Uganda and beyond,” Robinson added.

That, my friends, is one of the finest applications of Chaos Theory I've ever seen.

It's not just about "teh gays". It's about the order in the midst of the chaos that is calling us to new life. We are, at this time in our common lives, at the edge of chaos. Indeed, we are standing at the precipice, peering over into the abyss.

The edge of chaos is a critical point of a system, a phase transition or crisis, where small changes can either tip the system into chaotic behavior or into stability. During a crisis, tiny details from our past or present can have enormous and unpredictable impact on our future.

We may surprise everybody, including ourselves, with solutions that shorten or prolong our survival. Crisis provides motivation - not just for us as individuals to change - but for us to transform ourselves and the world in which we live.

At the edge of chaos, when little makes sense and everything is possible, miracles can happen. But hoping for a miracle rarely ensures survival. Survival requires endurance, a benefactor or transformation - a change in identity that helps us find and manifest previously unimaginable solutions.

I'll leave you with a quote from Kristoff's article about Lisa Shannon, the woman from Portland, Oregon who is making a difference in the lives of people in The Congo.

Lisa tells her story in a moving book, “A Thousand Sisters,” that is set to be published in April. Congo is now her obsession, and she is volunteering full time on the cause as she lives off the declining royalties from her old stock photos.

She earns psychic pay when she sees a woman here who named her daughter Lisa. After we visited Congolese Lisa, I asked American Lisa about the toll of her Congo obsession — the lost business, man and home they had shared.

“Technically, I had a good life before, but I wasn’t very happy,” she mused. “Now I feel I have much more of a sense of meaning.”

Maybe that’s why I gravitate toward Lisa’s story. In a land where so many “responsible” leaders eschew responsibility, Lisa has gone out of her way to assume responsibility and try to make a difference. Along with an unbelievable cast of plucky Congolese survivors such as Generose, she evokes hope.

On this visit to Congo, Lisa is organizing a Run for Congo Women right here in Bukavu, for Feb. 28, with Congolese rape survivors participating. You can sponsor them at www.runforCongowomen.org. And one of those participating in the run, hobbling along on crutches and her one leg, will be Generose.

But, please read the whole thing. Initially, it may make you feel uncomfortable. Indeed, I hope it does. Like everything's out of control. You know, chaotic.

Just remember that God always stands with us at the Edge of Chaos. That's because God is at the center and very core of Chaos, breathing Ruach - the breath of life that stirs and whirls and brings about new order, and a new creation.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.

Das Boot ("A journey to the edge of the mind")

Sometimes, life presents us with stories that are wrapped up inside stories. Those stories would not have happened outside the context of the "meta narrative." Sort of like a big box of chocolates. You just never know what you're going to get.

This morning, boys and girls, I want to tell you all about the 'mini-drama' that happened in the midst of some serious Diocesan Convention drama.

I had worn my black boots to Convention because I knew we'd be walking from the Robert Treat Hotel (where the business portion of Convention was conducted) to Trinity and St. Phillip's Cathedral, Newark, for the opening Eucharist.

It was C.O.L.D. and they kept my feet warm. I was glad I wore them. My heart and soul were even more deeply warmed that we had such a wonderful witness on the streets of Newark.

When we got back to the hotel, however, it didn't take long for my feet to get hot. So, I took my boots off and put my shoes on. I knew we'd be coming back to the same table for dinner after the hearings, so I slid my boots under the table. I thought I'd take them home with me at the end of the evening.

Except, when I got back to the table for dinner (which was TWO HOURS LATE), my boots were gone. I checked with the folks at Convention Arrangements and they assured me that I could get them in the morning at "Lost And Found".

Saturday morning began with the Women's Commission Brunch at 6:45 AM followed by Eucharist at 8:30. I began checking Lost and Found around 10:30 - without any luck.

It was only after it was announced that lunch would be an hour late (indeed, that some of our Diocesan staff were "downstairs" helping to make sandwiches!!!), that I started to fear I'd never see my boots again.

The Secretary of Convention, who has been organizing our conventions for at least 20 years, got so frustrated that he actually announced, "I've learned something this week end. I've learned that 'incompetence' is spelled R-O-B-E-R-T T-R-E-A-T."

By 3 PM, I decided to go directly to the management office at Robert Treat. A very well dressed and neatly coiffured woman behind the desk starting dialing Housekeeping as she listened to me tell my story to the Manager.

"Good news!" she called over from her desk. "We found your black boots."

"Wonderful!" I said, "where can I pick them up?"

She looked over at me, smiled, looked me in the eye and actually said these words: "She said she gave them to a man with a collar."

My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe my ears. I looked at her. She was still smiling happily, like she had solved the mystery and done A Very Good Thing.

I gulped and said, "Um. . . a man with a collar? Did you get a name?"

Our Little Ms. Chirpy Clueless, looking a little confused and befuddled by my reaction, said into the phone, "Did you get a name?"

When the voice on the other end of the phone responded, it finally sank in. She looked at me and said sheepishly, "Um . . Father?"

I am not making this up.

See comment above about how to spell 'incompetence'.

Well, all's well that ends well.

I got an email yesterday afternoon. My black boots had been found. Thanks be to God!

I mean, it's not like they were brand new. In fact, I think they were old enough to vote. I remember getting them on sale for like $15 or $20. That's not the point. There were lots of memories in those boots. We had walked many miles together over some pretty rough times. And, they were Very Comfortable.

Good thing they were found. I had gotten the name of the Director of Best Western Hotels (which "owns" or manages the RTH) and was planning to write a scathing letter about the Really Bad service we had gotten.

Instead, I wrote this post because I just had to tell someone. As I've said so many times before, writing is a way for me to stay sane. Some might argue that it doesn't have much efficacy. You should see me when I don't write.

Sometimes, life is more interesting than I'm ready for. People, on the other hand, never fail to be fascinating.

No wonder God created us. Our entertainment value alone makes us priceless.

Problem is, we are not God and we are often not amused by each other.

Which is why, I think, God created chocolate.

More on this great theological insight later. I'll say this much: Forrest Gump was right. Life is like a box of chocolates. Some times you get a sweet cherry. Sometimes you get a nut. And sometimes, you get a gooey, sticky mess.

Good thing I love chocolate.

Right now, I've got to find another pair of boots to wear in this morning's snow. I'll be so glad to get my old pair back this afternoon.

Somebody's gettin' maaarrrreeeeeddd!

And that somebody would be our beautiful youngest daughter, Mia.

Her beau of almost two years proposed this weekend. I've been waiting for the word to spread the word. Sitting on this much joy has been a real labor of love.

That's a picture of her engagement ring which he designed. The diamonds come from his grandmother's engagement ring.

She is a beautiful young woman. Intelligent. Creative. Kind and genuinely compassionate. Deeply spiritual. She went off to college at age 16, graduated with her Associate's Degree at 18 and earned her Bachelor of Arts in Early Childhood Education and Psychology at age 20.

No high school diploma. No prom gown or pictures. But, she has an Associate's Degree and two Bachelor's degrees. Which is just fine with her. She seems to have her priorities in order. She went on to receive her master's in Early Childhood Education, and holds an international certificate as a Montessori teacher.

She is talking about going back to school to become a Certified Nurse Midwife. Which is fascinating to me. Her great grandmother, for whom she is named, was the lay midwife in our neighborhood.

(Someone cue the orchestra to play "The circle of life".)

Her fiancee is a very handsome young man. Equally intelligent and creative with a great sense of humor. An artist with a good business sense, he is gradually taking on his father's business in the creation and repair of stained glass. He is also thoughtful, kind and compassionate.

They make each other happy. I love the way they share secret whispers and giggles when they are around each other. I love the way they look at each other in those rare times when they are across the room from each other. I love they way they have respectful conversations - not always agreeing with each other, but carefully considering the other's perspective before responding.

What more could a mother want for her daughter?

Well, all that is somewhat tarnished by the truly unfortunate fact that he has, apparently, converted her to becoming a Yankees fan. I've actually seen pictures of her with a Yankee's cap on. At an actual Yankee's game. She's actually cheering. It's painful to admit that, but well, there it is. What's a mother to do?

However, that will all be mitigated by the fact that they will, one day in the not too distant future, make beautiful babies together.

No date set for the wedding, so I suppose we'll have some time to save up our pennies for the wedding. Fortunately, both of these wonderful young people do not place their priorities in material possessions.

As a Quaker, she lives simply. I imagine their wedding will be a very simple affair. No frills. The emphasis will be on their love and their joy and their future. Which is as it should be. (See above re: 'priorities in order')

I'm delirious with happiness. I just couldn't wait to tell you!

Here' - I'll the Muppets do it.

The New Supremes!

I suppose it's not a surprise, but the Supreme Court justices decided
that their official group photo needed updating only one week after they issued their decision that allowed anybody, including corporations, to donate unlimited amounts of money to political campaigns.

Hat tip to Doug (who usually sends me pictures I can't publish).

Alternatives

Well, after a jam-packed weekend that included a two-day Diocesan Convention and an Annual Parish Meeting, I'm not quite brain dead but pretty much zapped.

I still have a few gray matter cells left in my brain, however, to be outraged over this blog post from Bryan Fischer of 'Rightly Concerned' (a Blog maintained by the American Family Association), in which he calls for legal sanctions for LGBT people.

Here are some "low lights" of his post:

* It might be worth noting that what I actually suggested is that we impose the same sanctions on those who engage in homosexual behavior as we do on those who engage in intravenous drug abuse, since both pose the same kind of risk of contracting HIV/AIDS.

* If you believe that what drug abusers need is to go into an effective detox program, then we should likewise put active homosexuals through an effective reparative therapy program.

* The bottom line here is that, biblically, those “who practice homosexuality” should come under the purview of the law just as much as those who take people captive in order to sell them into slavery.

* If you believe all Scripture is inspired, then you are compelled to accept that legal sanctions may appropriately be applied to those who engage in homosexual behavior.

No, he's not from Uganda. This is a United States Citizen. A man who purports to be Christian (even quotes the Bible). This is America where you have to be brave in order to maintain your freedom.

It would be easy enough to dismiss this as just so much inflammatory rhetoric from the Right Wingnuts, but we do so at our peril.

These are the folks who sponsor the National Prayer Breakfast - a gathering of Washington senators and congressmen, lobbyists and power brokers and other Washington elite cognoscenti - which will be held this week.

In the past, some of our shining liberal stars like Hillary Clinton have attended. It has become the place to "see and be seen."

Well, now there is an alternative.

The Lead over at Episcopal Cafe is reporting:

A coalition of organizations is sponsoring The American Prayer Hour as an alternative to the National Prayer Breakfast which is connected to both the semi-secret religious and political group known as The Family and, through them, to the 'Kill-The-Gays' bill being proposed in Uganda.

The American Prayer Hour is "an inclusive, justice-oriented time of prayer and action" which will be launched on February 4th.

The American Prayer Hour will be anchored by events in the following cities:

* Dallas—Creating Change (Sheraton Dallas – Dallas Ballroom A)
* Chicago Theological Seminary (The Chapel)
* Berkeley–Pacific School of Religion (The Chapel)
* Washington, DC (Calvary Baptist Church, Chapel)
* Anchorage, AK (Church Life Alaska)
* Boynton Beach, FL (Church of Our Savior, MCC)

The website also provides some suggests as to how "we the people" can be involved.

There are four ways to get involved:

1. If you live in a city where an American Prayer Hour event is already occurring, please consider attending.
2. If you are interested in creating an American Prayer Hour event in your hometown, please contact Wayne Besen, wbesen@truthwinsout.org.
3. Spread the word about the American Prayer Hour and the truth behind the National Prayer Breakfast
4. Pray where you are—wherever you are—for a world safe for all families regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

You don't have to be half-brain dead to recognize the hideous evil of the prejudice espoused in the name of Jesus by Mr. Fischer.

Neither is it hard to miss a great idea and a good alternative like The American Prayer Hour when you see one.

Please spread the word to your folks in Washington and urge them to consider attending or participating in the alternative to prejudice and bigotry and ignorance wrapped in the mantle of prayer.

Please pray for all families everywhere that God, who calls us together in the sacred vocation of family, may also give us the courage and strength to live out that vocation with integrity and love.

"Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness" as founding principles of this country are exceptional values from which no citizen in this country is exempt.

Freedom to Choose. It's one of the building blocks of American democracy.

The Right Wingnuts may claim ownership of "the fundamentals of faith" (newsflash: they don't), but you don't have to be half brain dead to remember the fundamentals of life.

I mean, I may not have gotten much sleep this weekend, but I did still wake up in America, right?

Who do you think you are, anyway?

“Is this not Joseph’s son?” Luke 4:21-30

IV Epiphany – January 31, 2010

The Episcopal Church of St. Paul - 2010 Annual Meeting

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton, rector and pastor

Just who does Jesus think he is, anyway?

That, my friends, is the question asked by everyone in the Temple who heard the sermon he preached in the synagogue at Nazareth.

The home town boy was doing well. “All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that come from his mouth. They said, ‘Is this not Joseph’s son?”

I’m sure some of them said things like, “Isn’t this the kid who came to us in swaddling clothes and was born in a manger?” And, “I knew him when he was in diapers!”

Some were probably thinking, “Hey, I heard he turned water into wine at the wedding feast in Cana. Wonder what miracle we can get him to perform here? This could be really big here in the East Podunk, Nazareth in Bethlehem in Judea.”

Jesus was already ten steps ahead of them. He reminded them of God’s favor to the widow at Zaraphath in Sidon and the healing of the leper Naaman, the Syrian.

Here’s the good news he proclaimed: widows and lepers are the recipients of God’s favor, or, as the liberation theologians name it, God has a “preferential option for the poor.”

This should not have come as any great surprise. He had just read to them the passage from Isaiah about bringing “good news to the poor,” and “release to the captives” and recovery of sight to the blind.” He was proclaiming the Year of the Jubilee  -  the “Year of the Lord’s Favor.”

In so doing, he informed them that there would be no magic show, no ‘insider trading deals’, no special treatment for the good citizens of Nazareth. The synagogue was not like being a member of “American Express” where “membership has its privileges.” Indeed, neither is the Realm of God.

Well! Just who, exactly, does Jesus think he is?

As we say in my profession, “Now he’s quit preaching and gone on to meddling.”

When the crowd heard all this, all of them were filled with rage. “They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff.”

Episcopal priest, Barbara Brown Taylor, once voted one of the Top Ten preachers in America, was once asked when and where she sees Jesus in our world today. Without missing a beat, she said, “I see Jesus whenever someone speaks the truth with such clarity it makes me want to kill him.”

Clearly, being a preacher comes with its own set of difficulties, but none so perilous as preaching the Good News of Jesus Christ. I mean, it’s a pretty audacious thing to get into a pulpit and preach a sermon.

Each week I pour over the scriptures, understanding the context in which they were given, applying them to the context in which we find ourselves today, searching for deeper meaning.

I pray. A lot. I have learned that there is greater efficacy in the silent, patient listening part of prayer than there is in constant pleading and harassing and haranguing God for ‘a word of knowledge’ to preach to you.

I mean, just who do I think I am? And so it was, this week, as I wrote this sermon in the midst of preparing for Diocesan Convention Friday and Saturday as well as our own Annual Meeting later this morning.

The Good News from Jesus is always good, but the news from the Body of Christ can be pretty bad – especially when we, like those who heard the first sermon of Jesus, start to believe our own press releases about ourselves, rather that the truth of what God knows about us – and, in our heart of hearts, we know about ourselves.

Just who do we think we are, as the Diocese of Newark?

That was the question that lingered in the air during Convention. I have always maintained that the budget of any Christian church or organization is the best statement of the theology of that church or organization – better than the mission statement or logo or anything anyone might say about who we think we are.

There were lots of controversial elements to the diocesan budget which represented a very serious shift in the theology we have always held about ourselves as a diocese.  These shifts were made manifest in specific line items in the budget - on both the income and expense sides of the ledger.

Now, all of it might well make perfect business sense - indeed, I'm sure it did - but there hadn't been a whole lot of diocesan-wide discussion about them during the actual budget process. 

When did this shift happen? Who allowed it? Who do we think we are? Who do we allow to define who we think – or say – we are? It’s one thing to say, “Money follows mission” – which I believe. It’s another to make a profit off mission. What kind of theology is that? Just who do we think we are?

You may be asking the same questions when the proposed budget for this church is revealed later this morning. There have been some serious programmatic cuts – some serious reductions in some staff positions and some consolidation in others.

What does this say about who we think we are? Have we been living into an illusion? Did what we think we know about ourselves become a false idol? Or, is it still true, so we have to think of new, creative ways to be true to our identity and what we know of our authentic vocation as a unique Body of Christ?

Just who do we think we are?

Here’s the real gospel question: Just who do you think you are?

As I pondered this question, I remembered something Nelson Mandela said in one of his first speeches to the newly constituted South African government.

This is a man who spent forty years of his life behind bars because he believed Apartheid was an Evil that had to be overthrown. The South African government, however, believed him to be an Evil that must be incarcerated as a danger to society. Who do you think you are, Mandela?

Actually, Nelson Mandela quoted something Marianne Williams wrote, and he was using it in a very, very different context than our own. Nevertheless, I think these are words we need to take into our Annual Meeting with us. These are words I wish I had said at our diocesan convention.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us. It’s in every one of us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

These words are an echo of the magnificent words St. Paul wrote to the church in Corinth about love.  

It is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth.  Admitting the truth about yourself is always difficult.  As difficult as it is to tell the truth about your shortcomings and failures, I think it's even harder to tell the truth about your gifts and graces. 

These are words I think Jesus was saying in response to the crowd asking, ‘Is this not Joseph’s son?’

It’s not so much who you think you are or who others say you are but what God knows you to be. It’s not about the miracles God can perform for you as the miracles you can perform for God.

These are words I think we all need to hear any time, but especially when faced with challenges that sometimes feel daunting.

These are words that are appropriate in the Season of Epiphany – the season of Light – the season of God in humankind made manifest – the season of the divine spark in each one of us.

 We were meant to shine.

Why don’t we?

Just who do you think you are, anyway?

Amen.

Postcards from a Diocesan Convention #2: The Last Word

One down, one to go.

Diocesan Convention is over and Annual Meeting at St. Paul's is tomorrow.

The above picture was taken at Friday afternoon's opening Eucharist at The Cathedral of Trinity and St. Phillip in Newark. That's Bishop George Councell, bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of New Jersey in the pulpit who gave a wonderful opening sermon.

His opening story was one I understand he tells everywhere he preaches. Even though I had heard it before, it was good to hear him tell it again. So, here it is:

A deacon, a priest and a bishop were all found guilty of a high crime and sentenced to death. They were each asked for their last request before execution.

The deacon asked for a grand meal: steak, lobster, and a great dessert. The bishop was appalled that a servant of the servants of God should ask for such extravagance. "Before I die, I wish to preach one more sermon for the glory of God."

The priest said, "In that case, my last request is that I be executed before the bishop gives his last sermon."

+George looked out at the congregation and said, "Too bad for you."

There were other really great moments in that sermon but I'll leave that for another time and post.

Here are three members of our deputation: Ms. Conroy, Charlie and Mark, looking very much like they are earning their keep.

They did. It was not an easy convention.

We only had four resolutions, a record for the Diocese of Newark - at least in my recollection and I've been here since 1991. There was one limiting the terms of the Trustees (from 'life' to 5 years). One which asked for the development of a liturgy, suitable for Sunday Eucharistic celebration, which honors veterans and is to be used on Memorial Day and Veterans Day.

Two resolutions were proposed by the Women's Commission. One asked congregations to utilize the resources at our Bishop Anand Center to bring the issue of human trafficking to the attention of our congregations.

The other asked the Human Resource Advisory Commission and the Women's Commission to survey search committees and vestries in terms of clergy compensation. We are especially interested to see the discrepancies (because we know they exist) of salaries in terms of gender . We will do that and report to Convention 2011.

The rubber hit the road in terms of the budget. My view is that the budget is the most powerful theological statement a diocese - or church, or any body that purports to be Christian - can make. There were some serious theological shifts which resulted in some policy decisions which made us all uncomfortable.

For the first time in anyone's memory, the budget was challenged. That resulted in a resolution which called for greater transparency as well as better communication in the budget process.

That was a good thing, but it took a great deal of work to get us to that point.

During lunch, our deputation went to various workshops - one on Prison Ministry and another on Ministry of the Laity. Both returned enthusiastic about what they had learned.

I was working on budget stuff and the other deputy chose to 'schmooze' with the nuns among us. I won't mention her name, but she's pretty hopeless around women in long black or gray skirts. It's her natural default position.

And here am I with John Donnelly - holding down different ends of the theological spectrum. John and I have had our sharp differences in the past - he, at one point, was the President of the NJ Chapter of the American Anglican Council. He remains solidly 'orthodox'.

He and his wife, Ellen, have served as co-rectors of St. Michael's, Wayne, since 1991. You will note that he and Ellen came into the Diocese of Newark at about the same time Ms. Conroy and I did.

Indeed, when Bishop Spong was diocesan, he would invite new clergy to his home on the first Monday of the month for a home cooked meal (Christine would do the main course and he would prepare dessert).

I'll never forget the occasion. It was All Saint's Day. While seated at the dinner table, +Jack asked John and Ellen to tell us about their family. When they finished, he turned to Ms. Conroy and, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, asked, "Why don't you tell us all about your family?"

She returned his mischievous glint and began to talk about our six kids. I can still remember the looks on the faces 'round the table. Ms. Conroy did so well that +Jack and Chris invited us many times to their home - especially when they had visiting bishops or clergy from conservative dioceses.

At some point during the meal, +Jack would look at Ms. Conroy and say, "Why don't you tell us about your family?" And, right on cue, Ms. Conroy would wax eloquent about our children and what they were all doing.

It was Ms. Conroy and +Jack's special "thing" which has become even more special to me over the years.

If you click on the link on John's name, you will find his position on homosexuality as reported by VirtueOnLine, which couldn't be any further from my own position.

You have to know that John and I really like each other as people. I don't know a more authentically Christian man who holds his positions as passionately as I do my own.

I greatly admire and deeply respect what he and Ellen have done at St. Michael's. Most recently, they closed the church one Sunday and asked everyone in their congregation, instead, to "engage the world" in ministry. At the end of the day, they all returned to the church and worshiped and praised God together.

See what I mean?

I love being in a diocese where John and Ellen and Ms. Conroy and I can live and move and have our being and worship the God of our understanding in our own way: They with a Praise Band, hands in the air, speaking in tongues as the Spirit moves. We with our traditional BCP liturgy and music from the Hymnal.

This is the Diocese of Newark that I know and love.

Diocesan Convention is one part business, one part legislation, one part prayer and worship, and one part 'My Big Fat Episcopal Family Reunion'.

And, you know what?

I wouldn't have it any other way.