Our hope is not yet lost

Pomegranate, figs, passion fruit, dragon fruit, cactus pear, pepino melon

Sunday evening (9/16/12), in synagogues and temples across the countries, the Shofar will sound at sunset, calling all Jews to prayer as the observance of Rosh Hashannah - the New Year - begins.

Like the American celebration of the New Year which celebrates the past and plans for a better year with "resolutions", the Jewish New Year is a time to begin introspection, looking back at the mistakes of the past year and planning the changes to make in the new year.

The ten days starting with Rosh Hashannah and ending with Yom Kippur are commonly known as the Days of Awe (Yamim Noraim) or the Days of Repentance. This is a time for contemplation, a time to consider the sins of the previous year and repent before Yom Kippur. 

I've been fortunate to have been invited, several times, to Rosh Hashannah observances with various friends over the years. I find myself missing it this year.

I love the sound of the Shofar. The short, whimpering blasts and extended tones are symbolically meant to extend the cries of the people to awaken the ears of G-d (pious Jews never spell out the name of the Divine One) and arouse G-d's mercy and love for us.

Even the the horn's shape - narrow on one end and wide on the other - is symbolic of the painful pressures that burden us and hold us back, and the open escape to deliverance and freedom on the other side. "From the narrow places I called G-d; G-d answered me with wide expansion." (Psalms 118:5 and recited before the Shofar blowing service).

Small Shofar horn

Jewish ritual is opulent and extravegently rich with such symbolism, which extends even to the food one eats.

I must admit that the one ritual I love is that of eating new fruit. They are called "Shehechayanu fruits" - fruits that have not been eaten since the last Rosh Hashannah - and therefore bring a special joy to those who taste of it.

If you're lucky, there will be a dish of fresh honey to drizzle onto your piece of fruit, reminding you of the sweetness of G-d's mercy and the delight in G-d's abundant creation.

Shehechayanu is a special commemorative blessing which can be said when one is experiencing something that occurs infrequently or from which the person derives special meaning or pleasure. 

It can be as simple as not having seen a friend for more than 30 days, or the purchase of a new utensil or a new suit or a new home. 

It's a simple prayer, easy enough to remember in Hebrew or English:

Blessed are you, Lord our G-d
Ruler of the Universe,
who has granted us life, sustained us
and enabled us to reach this occasion.

During Rosh Hashannah, the Hatikvah is usually sung. Hatikvah means 'Hope', and this song has become the national anthem of Israel. While it has come to represent the fervent prayer of many Jews to return their ancient homeland, and to restore it and reclaim it as a sovereign nation, it is also a wonderful prayer to sing at the New Year.

As long as in the heart, within
A Jewish soul still years
And onward, towards the ends of the east
An eye still looks toward Zion.

(Refrain) Our hope is not yet lost
The ancient hope
To return to the land of our forebears
The city where David encamped.

I understand the longing.

I'm reminded of a song Episcopalians sing, "Jerusalem, my happy home / when shall I come to thee? / When shall my sorrows have an end? / Thy joys when shall I see?"

Of course, Christians are singing of the hope of the unity and joy in the afterlife, while Jews are singing of a reunion in an actual time and place in this life.

Being a good Anglican, I guess I long for both - a bit of that joy and peace here while having faith and hope in Life Eternal with Jesus.  Indeed, I think I catch glimpses of both, from time to time, if I keep the eyes of my soul open and expectant and hopeful.

Sunday morning, when Christians gather to worship and praise G-d through Jesus, we will hear from the Gospel of Mark (8:27-38). We will hear Jesus say,

"For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?" 

Sounds like a call to introspection and contemplation to me.

Maybe it was Rosh Hashannah. 

It seems to me that Christians and Jews have dedicated times of introspection and contemplation. Christians have Advent and Lent. Jews have 10 Days of Awe. Both long for an end to sorrow and strife and for the hope of endless joy and lasting peace, reunited with the people we love.

Our hope is not yet lost.

To me, eating the new fruit on Rosh Hashannah - wonderful, exotic stuff which I have either never tasted or not tasted in a very long while - blessing G-d for the experience, and singing songs of hope is about as joyful an expression I know to celebrate the New Year.

It's positively Eucharistic! Then again, we did take so much of the foundations of our theology and ritual and liturgy from our Jewish sisters and brothers.

Faithful Jews believe that Rosh Hashana marks the new year, the Day when G-d draws up plans for the world and for all of us.

Through the cries of the Shofar, they believe that G-d's love for us is aroused, and we live in sure and certain hope that G-d may then inscribe and seal us all for life and a Sweet New Year!

Faithful Christians believe in the divine gift of free will to make the choices life presents us. Hopefully, they are wise choices. If not, there's always the divine gift of grace - unearned, undeserved and always available.

Either way - once a year or all the time, no matter the specifics of your religious beliefs - there is always plenteous redemption with God!

Our hope is not yet lost.

Isn't it good to rejoice in the things we share, rather than focus on that which separates us? When we draw lines around the differences in our religious expression, the result, more often than not, is violence.  If you haven't heard it, just listen to what Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, had to say in a powerful speech about religion after the recent violence in Libya.

Here's a bit of what she said:

“I so strongly believe that the great religions of the world are stronger than any insults.  They have withstood offense for centuries,” said Clinton. "Refraining from violence, then, is not a sign of weakness in one’s faith; it is absolutely the opposite, a sign that one’s faith is unshakable.”

She asked the crowd to work towards building a world where if one person commits a violent religious act, millions of people will stand up and condemn it.

“We can pledge that whenever one person speaks out in ignorance and bigotry, ten voices will answer,” Clinton said forcefully. “They will answer resoundingly against the offense and the insult; answering ignorance with enlightenment; answering hatred with understanding; answering darkness with light.”

The secretary urged the audience not to be discouraged by the hatred and violence that exists, but instead resolve to do something tangible to promote religious tolerance in their own communities.

I think G-d is most pleased whenever we celebrate whatever gifts we have been given.  I think G-d is especially pleased when we can celebrate our differences and rejoice in the varieties of ways to worship and praise G-d.

In that moment, everything seems new and sweet and joyful.

K'siva v'Chasima Tova. L'Shanna Tova! Happy New Year!

May you know 12 months of Happiness. 52 weeks of Gezunt (health). 365 days of Brochas (prayer). 8760 hours of Mazel (luck). 5256000 minutes of Simcha (joy). 31536000 seconds of Shalom (peace).

Our hope is not yet lost.

Happy 18th Birthday VAWA!

Today is the 18th anniversary of President Clinton's signing of the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) into law. The National Task Force to End Sexual and Domestic Violence Against Women, one of the partner organizations of the Religious Coalition for Reproductive Choice (RCRC - I am privileged to serve on the National Board), has developed the important statement below that I want to share with you and hope you'll share with many others. 

Please call your Representative and Senators today and ask them to pass the inclusive VAWA bill now!

Statement from the National Task Force to End Sexual and Domestic Violence Against Women on VAWA 18^th Anniversary:

Happy Birthday, VAWA!

This week, we celebrate the 18^th anniversary of the Violence Against Women Act being signed into law.  Many who worked to make VAWA a reality in 1994 will remember the ceremony on a warm September day in the White House Rose Garden and the sense of relief that followed: we finally had the tools to address the epidemic of domestic violence.

Since that day, VAWA has expanded its protections to victims of dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking.  Since that day, VAWA has saved thousands of lives and brought safety to thousands of homes.  VAWA’s programs have trained law enforcement, prosecution and court personnel to better understand the dynamics that make these four crimes such a burden on U.S. communities.  Over the years, VAWA has created historic protections for immigrant victims and victims on tribal lands.  VAWA has raised awareness about and improved responses to sexual assault and stalking.  VAWA programs have disseminated prevention programs in middle schools and high schools.  The homicide rates for victims of these crimes has dropped significantly.

Yet any child born on that bright day in September 1994, now turning 18 years old, still faces the specter of victimization, because there are so many areas VAWA did not cover in the 18 years since its passage.  So in 2012 the Senate developed a new improved version of VAWA, a reauthorization that fills in so many of those gaps that pose dangers to youth who have never lived in a world without VAWA.  Without the new version of VAWA, an 18 year old victim of sexual assault will not be able to secure safe housing.  Without the new version of VAWA, an 18 year old victim of dating violence will find it difficult to obtain justice on campus.  Without the new version of VAWA, many underserved communities, including the LGBT community, immigrant victims, and Native women, will have no place to go for help.

VAWA has done a stellar job of helping millions of victims of domestic violence, dating violence, sexual assault, and stalking over 18 years.  Let’s celebrate VAWA’s birthday by making sure all victims of violence can access help and justice.  Congress can best say “Happy Birthday, VAWA!” by completing an inclusive bill and getting it to the President to be signed, as it once was on a bright September day.

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PLEASE CALL NOW and ask your Representative and Senators to pass an inclusive VAWA bill now! Click here to enter your zip code and find your Representative and Senators contact information.

Suggested message: “As a person of faith who believes in compassion and justice, I urge the Representative/Senator to support passage of the inclusive VAWA bill immediately. The inclusive bill rightly includes protections for some of the most vulnerable groups, including Native American women, immigrant women, and LGBT violence survivors. Thank you."

It's the ideology, stupid.

The Republicans are getting nervous.

“If the Republican Party cannot win in this environment,” George Will told his fellow panelists on ABC’s “This Week” on Sunday, “it has to get out of politics and find another business.”

He was echoed by the popular radio host Laura Ingraham: “If you can’t beat Barack Obama with this record,” she told her listeners, “then shut down the party.”

Likewise the historian and prominent Romney backer Niall Ferguson, who told Newsweek’s readers that Obama’s robust poll numbers proved that “the law of political gravity has been suspended.”

Conservative Republican journalist, Ross Douthat, has an article in this morning's NY Times. You remember Ross Douthat, right? He's the guy who said that the more progressive The Episcopal Church becomes, the more it shrinks and essentially "blamed teh gayz" for the downfall of The Episcopal Church.  

The guy is in the "blame and shame" business and he's at it again. This time, he's blaming former POTUS George W. Bush for the looming diminishing electoral returns of the Republican Ticket.  

But, not before taking a swipe at liberals and progressives via sociology and pol-sci.

In their quest to explain the president’s resilience, conservatives haven’t just done the obvious thing and piled all the blame on Romney himself. They’ve started reaching for structural explanations for Romney’s underperformance, from “the left-controlled education system that has profoundly shaped the Millennials” (in the words of National Review’s Stanley Kurtz) to liberalism’s success at making the “government economy” of “federal welfare benefits” seem more important than the real economy of job creation (to quote the influential conservative blogger John Hinderaker).

Why can't conservatives just 'man up' and take responsibility for what's really wrong here?

It's not Dubya and it's not Romney. They are just the mouth pieces for the "new Republican" thinking. It's a mutually beneficial situation. Duby and Romney both have, shall we say, "father issues". Dubya had to be a two-term President to redeem his father's second-term loss. Mitt had to be nominated to redeem his father's defeat to Barry Goldwater's nomination.

Of course, Obama has his "father issues" as well, but both Dubya and Romney will do - have done and said - anything to get nominated and/or elected.  For Dubya it was buying into the whole "weapons of mass destruction" lie that got us into not one but two wars. For Romney, it means that he has become known as "Mr. Etch-A-Sketch", sometimes - even twice in the same day - change his position on issues which range from the Affordable Care Act to Reproductive Justice.

James Carville coined the Clinton strategy phrase, "It's the economy, stupid."

Well, Ross Douthat, it's not Dubya. It's the ideology.

John Gast - Manifest Destiny

The Republican Party Platform is so narcissistic, so anti-community and pro-individualism, as to be antithetical to everything I know about America.

It's all "pull-your-self-up-by-your-bootstraps" and "Manifest Destiny" which is completely devoid of the fundamental principle a government, "of the people, by the people, for the people."

Personal, individual progress while sacrificing the personal, individual freedoms of others.

Smaller government with fewer regulations on businesses and corporations while injecting government into the private lives of people.

Winning is the thing - by any means necessary: fear-mongering, redistricting, voter suppression, lies, stonewalling - whatever it takes.

That's not the Republican Party I grew up knowing. It's not the Republican Party my Republican friends grew up knowing. 

Here's the thing: It's not good for this country not to have two strong political parties. While I grow more and more confident of a Democratic victory in the White House as well as some significant victories in the Senate, I lament what will happen to the Republican Party after November 15th.

The Democrats have finally had a month of successful fundraising - raising more money last month than the Republicans.

The polls indicate that the Republicans did not get the "boost" they hoped for after their Convention.

Michele Bachmann seems to be in trouble in her home state of Minnesota, in a virtual tie with Democrat Jim Graves for that congressional seat.

Voter suppression efforts are being overturned in the courts, even as local community groups are making certain that every registered voter has the recently required picture ID anyway.

All of these are harbingers of a Democratic victory. People are not as stupid as some people would like them to be, thanks to that "left-controlled educational system".

The Republicans have admitted that their last tenure in the White House was an unmitigated disaster. Indeed, their last Republican President was quite noticeably absent from the RNC.

And yet, they want us to return to the same policies - domestic and foreign - that brought us to this disaster in the first place.  It's not just the educational system, folks. People have brains and eyes and ears and they function quite well, despite what we hear on Faux News.

A former great Republican President once said, "You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time." Time for some Republicans to pay attention to their own wisdom.

Add these two events.....

Televangelist Pat Robertson (yes, he's still alive and well and living in the same time warp he's always maintained on television) - fresh from spending the weekend with the Romneys -  encouraged a man on his TV program to become a Muslim so he can beat his "rebellious" wife who was making him "lose his confidence" in himself as a man.

And, the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals in Idaho overturned the charges of illegal abortion against Jennie McCormack for using the drug RU-486, which she procured online. This ruling now calls the validity of Idaho's anti-abortion law - and many like it in many other states - into question.

...... and you begin to see the unraveling of a well-planned, carefully orchestrated, highly financed ideology.

What concerns me is that, as the election date draws closer, we just may see a few dirty political tricks being played to sway the election.

These are desperate people in desperate times and they will do desperate things. It's happened before. It will happen again.

Think: Chad, as in hanging, dimpled and/or pregnant.

Meanwhile, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but let's leave old Dubya alone. God knows, he's got amlot to answer for, but it's not just his fault.

It's the ideology, stupid.

You never really forget

The beautiful, sparkling autumn day, that Tuesday, September 11, 2001, is hard to forget.

The sight of an airplane, from out of nowhere and yet an every-day occurrence in the Manhattan skyline - dwarfed by the Twin Towers, this one flying right into it.

The disbelief of what was happening, right in front of your eyes.

The exact moment someone said, "Ground Zero" and you instantly knew of what and where they were speaking. 

Likewise with "The Pit", the sound of which hit you in the core of your being, delivering a momentary paralyzing sting that could only be diminished by putting your body into action.

The fire. The smoke. The black billows of clouds against the beautiful clear blue sky.

Hearing over and over and over again, "What's happening?" "I don't know." Like a versicle and response in a Psalm of Confusion. 

The smell of the thick rubber soles of the working boots of the responders which melted because the ground was so hot at Ground Zero, at The Pit. 

The tears. The confusion. The pushing through the tears and confusion to help others. The pans of ground hamburg and hot dogs and baskets of rolls, donated by a local restaurant to Seamen's Church Institute, that became endless trays of sustenance and nourishment for the workers.

The bizarre scene of a NY rooftop picnic - hamburger, hot dogs, mustard, relish, mayo, potato chips, macaroni salad, - while the searchlights punctuated the black sky and the acrid smell in the air irritated your nostrils and the stung back of your throat.

Someone's office - desk and chairs pushed aside - now filled with boots and socks, donated by a local 'Surplus Store' so the workers could change from the ones that had melted on their feet.

The cheers that, not-often-enough, punctuated the gloom of the afternoon and evening when one somebody's someone had been found. Alive. Or, the tears of grief and relief when someone perhaps, was found dead. But, found.

The EMTs, and doctors and nurses, in their scrubs, hanging outside the hospital, waiting to tend to the injured that never arrived.  Not even a dead body to identify and tag.

Can there be anything more desperate than being skilled and trained and ready to help but unable?

The look and feel of the determination to fight against despair and push through exhaustion to continue the search to find someone's father or brother or sister or niece or nephew or neighbor or friend. Somebody. Anybody. Dead or alive but alive, please. Please?

The hushed conversations. "I think he may have jumped." "I hope she didn't feel any pain." "If he jumped, do you think there's a chance......?" "Oh, God, Oh God, O, God."

The mutterings of some of the Irish Firemen, "No absolution. No absolution. No absolution."

The whispered words from the Eucharistic Service for the Burial Service, "Life is changed, not ended," which offered little consolation but somehow allowed you to put one foot in front of the other to offer help and consolation to others which, in itself, provided a measure of comfort.

The overwhelming sense of incompetence and impotence when all you can offer is a prayer. How to pray in the face of evil? What to pray in the face of evil?

The burly Irish American fire chief who said to me, "Giuliani says that crying makes you strong."  "I suppose Giuliani is right," I said. "If that's true, then I must be a 600 effin pound gorilla," he said.

And we laughed and cried and discovered that laughter and tears are the only authentic prayer in the face of overwhelming evil.

The sound of the thud as my knees hit the ground and the silent scream of relief and prayer that ricocheted round and round in my head when I heard our daughter's voice on the end of a cell phone say, "Mom? Mom? I'm okay. Yes, I'm okay. I'm okay. Are you okay?"

Walking into St. Paul's Chapel to have a moment of quiet prayer and praise and thanksgiving and seeing that a chiropodist had set up a "Maundy Thursday" station in the sacred-because-it-was-historic George Washington pew, tenderly caring for everyone's feet.

The stories. Of those lost. Of those found. Of those who searched. Of taking combs and brushes and toothbrushes to a central location for DNA testing. Of forms filled out and translators needed: Anyone speak Spanish? Portuguese? Lebanese? Saudi? French? Creole? Swahili? Anyone?

The ashes - a mixture of pulverized concrete and human cremains - which clung desperately to everything, everywhere, with the silent, urgent message: Do Not Forget Me.

We dared not shake the dust from our clothing. Or, our shoes. Or, our hair.

It was a day too horrible to speak of - except, maybe, once a year. 

We remember, but we'd like to forget.

Truth is, you never really forget.

You'd like to.

You can't.

Eleven years later, you never really forget.

Why the Creeds?

 

It happened twice in the receiving line at church yesterday.

Most people simply whisk by and say, "Good Morning." Others will comment on the weather or the day or something that happened in the service. If you're lucky, some may actually comment on your sermon. Rarely, however, will you get a theological question.

Yesterday, I got two.

The last time I preached, I got an invitation to lunch where this was also the question:

"Why do we say the Creeds?"

I took the questions as signs of intelligent life in the congregation. 

Maybe it's because I introduce the Creed. After I've preached and before we start the Creed, I try to take a few moments - 30 seconds, at least - to allow the words of the sermon to settle in. Then, I stand and say something like, "And now, let us join our voices with the ancient voices of the church, as together we say the words of the Nicene Creed found on page 358 of the Book of Common Prayer - the red book in your pew."

Perhaps hearing something different about the Creed causes people to think about what it is, exactly, that they're saying.

We say the Nicene Creed every Sunday. The rubrics of the Book of Common Prayer require it for the principal Sunday Eucharist.  We use the Apostle's Creed during Baptisms, Funerals and the Daily Offices of the Church.

I don't think too many people really think about what they are saying, week after week.  As I look over the congregation, many people are resting their hands on the back of the pew in front of them, their heads are off to the side, some are mouthing the words but many are silent.  Everyone looks bored and singularly uninspired. Even those who are reading from their Prayer Books look like adults who are being forced to read a 1st Grade Primer.

When I think about the history of the Nicene Creed, I wonder if the people who put it all together - these bits and pieces from scripture and tradition - might react if they came into a Christian church of a Sunday and heard and saw what I hear and see. 

That, in and of itself, is not a good enough reason to stop saying the Creeds, but it does make you wonder why we continue to say them. 

Saying the Creed for many Episcopalians - especially those of a certain generation - is the mark of a Rite of Passage. You learned about it in Confirmation Class, had to be able to recite it, and then were allowed to receive Holy Communion.

For others, it's like being able to say the Pledge of Allegiance when you go to the First Grade, or the Girl/Boy Scout Pledge, or the pledge of the Elks or the Masons. It's an "outward and visible sign" that you are "in" - a member. You know what it means to belong to this group. 

Problem is, it doesn't. Not so much any more. 

Some theologians will tell you - in much higher language, of course and with many more complex sentences - that the Creeds are important as "an affirmation of biblical truth and a defense against false doctrines".

Problem is, it doesn't. Not so much any more.

Heresies abound and are rarely refuted. I thing there's nothing quite like a good heresy to make us think about what we really believe the Bible says about Creation and God and the Trinity and the Incarnation and the Atonement and the Resurrection and The Church.  

Other theologians will tell you that saying the Creeds is about our catholicity or ecumenicity (see also: higher language and complex sentences). The Creeds, for Christians, make us one in Chrsit across ecumenical denominational likes.  Well, that's the intent, any way.

Problem is, it doesn't. Not so much any more.

Okay, so the Roman Catholic Church will use the Nicene Creed at the principle Sunday Eucharist but many have gotten round to designating only one service as the 'principle' Service and the others skip the Creed entirely. One RC priest told me that they are compelled to keep the service under an hour - 45 minutes, if possible - so they have enough time to empty and then fill the parking lot. 

There are practicalities and pragmatics to the Holy Mysteries - even for the Romans. So, then, a 3 minute homily, out with the Creed except during one of the services on Sunday, only a wafer - no wine - and no kneeling during Communion because it takes too long. 

Get 'em in, get 'em out, start all over again. The absence of the Creed is the least of their worries.

Many Protestant denominations do not celebrate weekly Eucharist and, when they do, they do not feel constrained to say the Creed - any Creed.

Given that and the difference in the Creeds and the various uses of the different lectionaries, are we then really being the 'one, holy, catholic and apostolic church' we profess in the Creeds?

I've come back to the questions that were asked of me twice yesterday: "Why do we say the Creeds?"

Now, I'm asking a question, here.

I'm looking forward to your responses.

In the Land of Astonishment

 

“In the Land of Astonishment” (Mark 7:24-37)

Pentecost XV – Proper 18 B – September 9, 2012

The Episcopal Church of All Saints, Rehoboth Beach, DE

(the Rev’d Dr.) Elizabeth Kaeton

This morning we find ourselves right smack dab in the middle of what scholars call a “Classic Markan Sandwich” – two different stories, slathered with a rich gospel “special sauce” and held together by the Bread of Hope.

Today, we’re confronted with the story of the woman who wouldn’t stop talking and the man who couldn’t speak.  After listening for the last two weeks, back-to-back, of political conventions, I think I prefer the later to the former.  It won’t get much better between now and mid-November, so I suggest we all fasten our seatbelts and try to endure this bumpy ride through the election season.

We may well need this Markan sandwich for nourishment and sustenance to get us through the difficult months ahead. It has ever been thus. The Gospel is not just for times like these but for all times of difficult decisions, made in hope to bring about change.

I want to talk about the place I find myself in the midst of these two stories.  I’m calling it “The Land of Astonishment”. The journey to that place usually begins in an unfamiliar place where you may have very carefully planned to be but unexpected things happen. And sometimes, if you are fortunate, you find yourself moved from dislocation to astonishment and into transformation.

Let me begin by putting these Gospel stories into context.

Jesus is in the region of Tyre, heading eastward and a little north towards the Sea of Galilee.  Although there were undoubtedly many Jews living in this region, Mark is clearly telling us “This is Gentile Country”.  This is important to note.

Jesus – whom we believe to be ‘fully human and fully divine’ – is out of his human cultural element. He’s in an area where there is great commerce and trade, which means that there is great diversity in the population. Indeed, many of the Jews there intermarried with some of these “foreigners,” which some considered anathema to the purity of the Jewish blood line.

They were considered “mongrels” or “dogs” – which helps us understand when Jesus calls the Syrophonecian woman a “dog”.  He was talking as much about her ethnicity as anything else. Oh, but wait! There’s more background story to this part of the Markan sandwich.

The local Tyreians were heavily invested in what today we would call ‘commodities’. Grain was the name of their game and their gain and they bought up all the grain they could and sold it to the less fortunate – especially the Jewish ‘homesteaders’ –  at a huge profit.

Now, the people of Tyre couldn’t do that all by themselves. They needed some help to haul that grain and ship it to where they could get the highest profit. And, guess where they got a little help from their friends?

The Phoenicians! Now the Phoenicians were great seafarers but they were also known to be less than above-board in their business practices. The great Greek epic poet Homer tended to paint them a little on the greedy and tricky side, and not above kidnapping or extortion to insure their piece of the pie in this operation.

Dogs, indeed! Dirty, low down lyin’, thievin’, sell-your-mother-and-steal-your-father-blind kinds of junkyard mongrel dogs.

Perhaps you understand a bit better the reluctance of Jesus – already out of his cultural and ethnic human element – when this woman, this Syro-Phonecian woman – asked him – begged him – to heal her daughter.

Now, the human part of Jesus rejected her, at first, saying, "Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs." Right. You got your gain from grain. I’m all about feeding the children of Israel first.  That’s my commodity.

But the woman astonishes him by saying, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs." Imagine that! Not only a woman and a Syrophonecian woman, but a smart one. Not only that, but she is humble and faithful to boot.

Jesus is astounded and, in the mist of his astonishment, his human heart is softened by his own divinity and he finds the compassion to heal the woman’s daughter.  Not only that, but he finds his own understanding of his vocation and ministry to be profoundly changed and transformed  p expanded to include Gentiles – and he was never again the same.

I think, when we find ourselves in an unfamiliar place which we may have very carefully planned, but unexpected things happen. Sometimes, if you are fortunate, you find yourself moved from dislocation to astonishment and into transformation – if you keep your heart open.

I have been, several times, to this Land of Astonishment. One of those times was last March, when I was privileged to visit Thailand for three weeks. Thailand is known as “The Land of Smiles” not only because of the natural, lush beauty and rich historical resources, but because the people there are so naturally friendly. I suspect part of that smile is the secret they keep in their hearts when they see the astonishment of the faces of ‘foreigners’ like me who visit there.

The first thing I had to get accustomed to was being called ‘Sir’.  Yes, just like Anna in “The King and I”. Men called me ‘Sir’ and most women called me “Madam” (MA-dam, please. Not 'Madam'. I'm not from Nevada.) That’s because, in Thailand, the use of the pronoun is dependent not upon the person but by the person using the pronoun. So, a man will say, “Saawaadee (or, Good day), Kap (sir),” to a man or woman, and a woman will say, “Saawaadee Ka” to a woman or man. 

I know. It’s confusing. It makes sense after a few days of being there. So do the smiles you see on Thai faces when your face registers confusion and astonishment – especially when you don’t know what you’re doing and you say, “Saawaadee Kap” to a Thai man or a woman.

I was a ‘farang lady’ – a foreign woman – and a source of seemingly endless delight as well as many smiles for many Thai. One waitress at a local coffee shop giggled and said to my friend, “Farang lady ding dong.” You KNOW that became a term of endearment for me for the rest of my stay there. Still is. When I get letters from my friends in Thailand, their salutations are always, “Dear Farang lady, ding dong.”

About my third day in Thailand, I went to a local “Wat” or Buddhist Temple to be part of a great national Thai observance known as Makha Bucha Day. The third lunar month is known in the Thai language as Makha. Bucha is also a Thai word meaning "to venerate" or "to honor". It’s the day, nine months after Buddha’s Great Enlightenment, that 1,250 Arahta - or "Enlightened Ones" (priests) - without so much as a memo, email, text or tweet much less an appointment - suddenly and spontaneously arose together and came to see the Buddha and were all simultaneously ordained by Buddha himself.

I had an incredible spiritual experience or enlightenment that day which led me to pray with the monks every day I was there. I’ll save that particular story for another time but I want to tell you about one of the simple, unexpected conversations with one of my brother monks wherein I found myself in the Land of Astonishment.

The monks called me a Thai phrase which translated “Little Lamb”. One day, I asked, “Perhaps I am missing something, but I have not seen any lambs in Thailand. Why do you call me that?”

“Is that not what you call your Arahta, your Jesus? Was he not the ‘Lamb of God?”

“Why, yes,” I said, a bit astonished that he would know this much about Jesus when I knew so little about Buddha.

“Then, it follows,” he said, smiling, “that you would be his ‘Little Lamb’.” He walked away, smiling as he said, “But you are not Mary. You do not have a little lamb. You are one.” 

Thai monk make little joke on farang lady ding dong. Ha! Ha! Ha!

One day, I arrived early for daily prayers at the Wat to discover a large truck making deliveries to the monastery.  I was astonished to see box after box after box of Apple computers and screens and laptops being unloaded. I knew these monks lived – by choice – in poverty, so I couldn’t imagine how they might afford – or even need – these brand new, never out of the box – computers and laptops.

One of the monks suddenly appeared at my side – they always seemed to be doing that – and  said, “It is a great generosity, is it not, Little Lamb?”

“Then, these are gifts?” I stammered, and then, suddenly blushed with embarrassment.

“Ah, so,” he said. “You think these things a sign of wealth?”

I blushed again. Frankly, I didn’t know what to think much less say, so I did what my mama taught me and let him think me a fool rather than confirm his suspicions by opening my mouth and saying something stupid. I became the woman who wouldn’t stop talking to the woman who couldn’t speak a word.

“You would be right, Little Lamb, “ he smiled one of those beautiful Thai smiles, “but that is not the wealth you think it is. The computers themselves are not the symbol of monetary wealth. They could be that, but if they were only that, it would cheapen the gift and make it vulgar. No, they are but a symbol of the wealth of generosity that is inspired by a life of poverty.”

“I….I….don’t understand,” I said, honestly.

“Ah, so,” said the monk. “Then, come and pray. There is much you need to learn about the poverty of your own wealth and the wealth of your own poverty and the inherent beauty and harmony of each. Prayer will help you learn about that. Come, let us pray.”

All of a sudden, right there in the parking lot of the Wat, I found myself standing in the Land of Astonishment that leads to transformation.

Here’s what I learned while there: There is nothing in the world wrong with being wealthy.  What is wrong with being wealthy is when you have all that you have and do not share at least some of what you have with others. Gladly. Willingly. Gratefully. Expecting nothing in return.

There is nothing in the world wrong with being poor. What is wrong with being poor is when you do not choose it for yourself or you have it forced upon you by greed and avarice and arrogance and injustice. 

What I’ve learned from Jesus this morning, as I learned from my brother monks, is that there is everything in the world wrong with taking away the hopes and the dreams of the poor AS WELL AS not affording the rich the opportunities to be generous and kind and compassionate.

In this morning’s Letter from James, we hear,  

“Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? But you have dishonored the poor. Is it not the rich who oppress you? Is it not they who drag you into court? Is it not they who blaspheme the excellent name that was invoked over you?……

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”

When you travel outside of your comfort zone, if you keep your heart and your mind open, you may often find yourself in the Land of Astonishment. There, you will confront all of your unexamined assumptions and cultural and religious expectations. You will discover that, as that old song goes, “You have to be carefully taught” about prejudice which can only be unlearned by being astounded and confronted by another’s Truth.

There are no road maps to the Land of Astonishment. You cannot book passage there or fly first class or even travel in steerage.  No one can tell you how to get there, or even show you or lead you there. Rather, you find yourself there by planning to move outside of what is familiar and comfortable. So, you probably won’t find it in too many churches, unless those churches, like this one, provide you with opportunities to put yourself in places that are foreign to you.

Celtic spirituality has a name for those places of dislocation and discomfort. They call them the “thin places” – places where there is a thin veil between heaven and earth. They are the places where, like Jesus in this morning’s gospel, our humanity is confronted by the divine spark that is within us all. We’re not Jesus – fully human, fully divine – but we are all born with enough divine spark within us to find our way to the ‘thin places’ – if we are willing pilgrims with open hearts and minds.

I think we have much to learn about out own wealth and our own poverty – and the poverty of our wealth and the wealth of our poverty and the inherent beauty and harmony of both. 

Come, let us pray and trust that we will often find ourselves in the Land of Astonishment where we, like Jesus, can be changed and transformed and never again be the same.  Amen.

Louise Brooks: Stay on Message

Louise Emerson Brooks

Note: The following is the sermon preached today at the Memorial Service for Louise Emerson Brooks by the Rev'd Ed Bacon, rector of All Saint's Episcopal Church, Pasadena, CA. Louise would have been well pleased, especially since she produced most of it herself. Get out your hankies. Trust me. It's wonderful.

Louise Brooks: Stay On Message
Saturday, September 8, 2012
The Rev'd Ed Bacon, rector

Louise Emerson Brooks’s email address was tvprod@____. It was a double entendre.

Of course, tvprod was short for television producer. I think it also invoked the word, ‘prod,” meaning  to poke or jab in order to rouse or urge to action

Louise was an Emmy nominated producer for The Love Connection and Leeza.  She was one of the first women producers of ABC’s Wide World of Sports at the lake Placid Olympics. A member of the Screen Writer’s Guild, she taught screenwriting and earned a law degree from Loyola Law School of L.A. No one will ever know how many documentaries, shows, and most of all people Louise actually produced.

I can certainly testify to the fact that she produced me.  By that I mean that she inserted herself whenever she thought I needed media training.  The most dramatic example was during the years 2005-2007 when All Saints Church was being investigated by the IRS.  Louise sent word that I needed her and that she would be in my office on such and such a day at such and such an hour for my tutorial.

I didn’t resist because I had seen her in operation when a few years earlier she had transformed this campus of All Saints Church into a production studio, producing the internationally used Via Media instruction series to disseminate throughout the Epipscopal Church what many of us consider healthy religion and theology.  She transformed my office here into a film set and in three days had developed a set of DVDs still in use in some places.

So when Louise sat me down for media training in 2005 her main thesis was the importance of Staying On Message. We rehearsed the fact that All Saints Church had promoted the freedom of speech and the freedom of religion and had not blurred the line separating church and state.  Then she role-played with me, she playing the role of a journalist trying to get me off message.  My job was to ignore the bait and feed the message back with consistency.

When it was time to fight for marriage equality in the Prop 8 days here in California, she sent me an advisory email.  Included was a paragraph on “Not Buying Into Scare Tactics.”  Louise wrote for me and others to say the following words,

“As a pastor I’ve counseled dozens of troubled marriages over the years and in not a single one of them was the problem in the marriage the gay couple down the street.”

There was a second document attached to that email on “words to use and words to lose.”

She was forever annoyed that there were no progressive religious voices on TV.  She had been formed as a Christian in Richmond, Virginia, by John Shelby Spong, one of the strongest and most articulate progressive voices the Episcopal Church has ever had.  Although Louise’s mother was a delegate to the Republican convention for Barry Goldwater, Louise’s politics and theology were differentiated by 180 degrees of separation.

When I appeared on Oprah TV Louise volunteered to share with me her evaluation: 

Wed 1/7/2009 7:02 PM

Hey Ed,

What a thrill it was to see you on Oprah today! It is exciting on so many levels, but especially seeing a national forum with a progressive religious voice...that was YOURS!!!

As a former producer of daytime talk shows, I recognize their strengths and weaknesses. The strengths are a huge audience in the millions. The weaknesses: a tight format, short segments, too many guests and a host that talks more than anyone. In spite of that, the Oprah show did a great job of highlighting all the guests. You were exceptional! Pastoral and interesting...two qualities any talk show producer prays for in a guest.

One of (the many) moments that resonated for me was the intros. I know I have nudged you in the past to write a book and I hope you will give that some thought. (I am bugging Susan about that as well.) We need progressive religious voices on the best seller lists.

Oprah did a much different show than I had imagined but it was extremely relatable for her audience.  You did a wonderful job with the constraints that situation offers. I especially liked your responses to the woman whose mother has cancer and the gay man. As one of your media trainers, I have only good reviews for you and one piece of advice:. The person who jumps in and answers the question first usually gets more airtime, so I would urge you to think about jumping right in next time. I know it doesn't always feel like the right thing to do, but it is proper protocol for tv.

I am very proud of you and looking forward to next week.

Love,

Louise

When All Saints Church, Pasadena, hosted Bishop Christopher of Uganda who had had to escape for his life and come to the states in sanctuary because he had stood in opposition to that country’s evil anti-gay laws and had himself protected openly gay Ugandan men and started the first Integrity chapter in Uganda, Louise wrote me schooling me on how I should interview Bp Christopher.

The last email I received from the “tvprod” was a congratulations for a recent re-airing of an interview with Oprah Winfrey.  Her evaluation?

“You stayed on message.”

Louise herself stayed on message.  She told me when I conducted pre-marital counseling prior to marrying her and Susan Russell, the love of her life, she spoke of how important it was to her to have a relationship where you could really let the other person know what you believed and how you felt without any fear that the relationship would fracture or fray because of the candor. Probably the only thing she agreed with the first President Bush was when he said, “Candor is a complement.”

Louise wanted others to stand toe to toe with her, argue for the sake of arriving at truth and justice for all.  She wanted to talk across the divide and exercise such compassion in the process that the relationships became stronger for the conversation.

Louise served on two different discernment committee processes here at All Saints – prayerful probing conversations to discern if the Holy Spirit was not only calling an aspirant to the priesthood but calling the faith community to recognize that calling. One of her best friends in that process was Cooper Thornton.  He wrote:

“In my time with Louise, there didn't seem to be any noticeable transition, any distinct switching from the pleasant conversational surface exchange to the level of interchange where two people can be transformed by each other, by what happens/is shared between them. 


“It was glorious to be with Louise when I knew she knew that what was being offered up was pure tripe, and witness her still work to walk that person through their tripe and out the other side... especially when it was my tripe we were wading through. Louise had the amazing ability to set aside her own prejudices and just listen. I think she had such a strong sense of who she was that being with her made me more sure of who I am.”

Someone we all know and love who is in great pain because after strenuous efforts he could not arrange flight itineraries to be with us is Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire.  I asked him to send us some words.  He wrote,

“The last text message I got from Louise was explaining her decision to have surgery.  "Surgery will be grueling but I will be cancer free, so it's a no brainer," she wrote.  And indeed, today, she IS cancer free, resting in the arms of Jesus who loved her "beyond her wildest imagining" from the womb to the grave, who gave her life purpose and meaning, and gave her soul Susan, her beloved.

“Susan Russell and I know something about being married to the strong, silent types!  They don't talk a lot, or often!  But they listen, and they watch, and when they DO decide to speak, you'd better listen up -- because it's gonna be something powerfully wise, something astoundingly perceptive, or something very, very funny.  Louise brought her keen eye and sensitive ear to everything she did -- and we all benefited from her sight and her listening.  And her latest creation, that which turned out to be her last, crowning achievement, the video "Out of the Box," put her skills to the perfect test in opening up The Episcopal Church to the reality and the beauty of transgender people.  Official, institutional discrimination in our church against transgender people was challenged and defeated because Louise Brooks herself thought outside the box, and then acted.

“Louise, I'm going to miss texting you about everything and nothing.  I'm going to miss your crazy, unworkable ideas that turned out to be brilliant and possible after all.  But you've got better bigger fish to fry now on the other side.  Tell Jesus we'll all be right along in no time.  And know that we loved you more than we ever told you, and were loved BY you, more than we ever deserved.”

+Gene Robinson

Louise, I think, wants me to remind each of you that your job in life is to “Stay on Message.”  And here are the words she would suggest to you.  These are her very words she sent to me as her understanding of the Message:

“As a person of faith who believes that all people are created in the image of God, I believe it is just plain wrong to take fundamental rights away from anyone.

A core value of my faith is the call to love your neighbor as yourself. You don’t love your neighbor by taking away their rights; it is simply wrong to eliminate fundamental rights from anyone.

My faith teaches me to love my neighbor -- and ALL our neighbors should have the same fundamental rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of the kind of happiness that marriage and other basic human rights can bring.”

Now, Louise is free of cancer and all the other mortal coils that impede us in any way.  In death, life is changed not ended.  So don’t be surprised if you hear and feel Louise even more powerfully telling you that your job in life is to Stay on Message.

Amen.

Wind Serenity

Wind Serenity

There is a strong wind today.

The clouds have hung in the air, obscuring the sun, but occasionally, the wind seems to blow hard enough and long enough to whisk them away, allowing the sun to shine fiercely.

It matches my mood.

This morning, there will be a Burial Service and Celebration of the Life of my dear friend, Louise Emerson Brooks. This afternoon, there will be a Celebration of the life of another dear friend, Michael Harnois.

Louise fought a valiant battle against renal cancer. Michael fought a difficult, lifelong battle against depression. Both lost their battles. Both fought hard for that great wind that would blow away the dark clouds of despair and allow the fierce rays of hope to shine.

I'm struggling with the need to be at both services - one today at 11 AM in CA and the other at 4:30 PM in MA - and still be able to be here on Sunday to preach and preside.

My mind understands that both are physically impossible, but don't tell that to my heart.

Well, perhaps if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, or were a Very Important Person, I could hire a private jet and do both.

Instead, I'm here on the deck of my wee cottage on the big waters of Rehoboth Bay, watching the wind blow the clouds away.  The gulls are having a hard time flying in it and I find that I am strangely longing for the sound of their calls which can sometimes be annoying because they can be so incessant and insistent.

Funny how you can miss the very thing that you sometimes find annoying.

My heart is heavy but just when I think I can't bear it any longer, the wind picks up and the clouds disperse and the sun shines, warming my soul.

My heart is dancing between sadness and hope, tossed about by the wind of the Spirit.

It's good, in a way. It means that the lives of Louise and Michael were not in vain. If they were, I wouldn't hurt so much.

It means my life of faith is not in vain. If it were, I wouldn't long for the feel of the sun and the supplicant sound of the gulls.

I'm naming this time and this place I find myself "Wind Serenity".

In a time and place where nothing feels good, it feels strangely right. Electrically alive. Aware of the precious gift that life is. Grateful for a heart that can still dance, even if it is a jazz ensemble set to a music that sounds like a fugue.

The discordant note of grief is answered in the tonic response of hope.

And, in the winds that swirl the notes around my heart, I enter not into Leonard Cohen's "victory march" but rather, a "cold and broken Hallelujah".

That amazing song (listen to KD Lang's heartbreaking yet hopeful version here) ends with these remarkable words:

And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

I am finding myself this morning in that odd place of serenity, calling 'Hallelujah' over the water and into the wind.

Oration

I love the art and the science of oration.

The word “oration” comes from the Latin word “oratio” for “speech” and “orare” for “to plead, speak, or pray.” It is sometimes - unfortunately, in my estimation - associated with a sort of high-flown pomposity.  I suppose it can be, but there's a real art to it. Some are born with this gift or a natural proclivity to it, but I think, like any other art or skill, it can be learned.

Plato and Aristotle were well known orators and the art of public speaking was taught for use in court, politics, or any time the need arose.

As a preacher - someone who has to communicate a message from the pulpit - I'm fascinated by orators - those who have a gift and the skill of public speech - and their ability to communicate their message. I've actually listened to speeches given by Adolph Hitler, more trying to figure out how he convinced an entire nation to rise up and hate a people of another nation than anything else.

I'm always amazed by the vast variety of techniques and styles or orators. I mean, compare the gravely voice of Winston Churchill with that of the broad, flat, undeniably New England tones of John F. Kennedy, Jr. Or, the clipped, almost Shakespearean cadence of Tony Blair with the gravely, sexy, Arkansas drawl of a Bill Clinton.

What is it that makes the difference?

My dictionary tells me that the word 'oration' also comes to us from Middle English, oracion, meaning prayer. As in ora pro nobis (Pray for us). I think this gives us a little hint about the power of oration.

That means that a good speech, in part, not only speaks for me but inspires me. It says something I've thought about but puts it in such a succinct way that it's not only crystal clear but something I can remember and repeat. ("We have nothing to fear but fear itself".). It offers me hope and points me to another way of thinking about things as well as to something greater than myself.

In that way, good oration is a little prayer.

For me, it's not so much the content of the speech - the message - as important as that may be. It's more the authenticity of the messenger who is delivering the message. That message can be the best speech ever written by anyone, anywhere, but if the "audience" or "congregation" senses that it is not coming from a place of truth, they can smell that out in 10.5 seconds.

Author Tennessee Williams had his character, Big Daddy, say in the play, 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,' "There ain't nothin' more powerful than the odor of mendacity . . .You can smell it. It smells like death." Indeed, it does.


I have learned, over the years, that authenticity is absolutely critical in delivering the message. If I don't believe what I'm saying, no one else will, either.

In order to be effective, the message has to be embodied - in and from my body. It has to be congruent with the rest of the way I live my life. I think that's what makes people I strongly disagree with  - like Newt Gingrich or Paul Ryan - effective with other people. They do not speak my truth, but they speak a truth that others hear, and that truth has congruence with the way they live their lives.

There needs to be a least a few sparks of passion in the delivery of the speech. I don't like it when people yell but I do expect their voice to rise with the emotion in their hearts. In that way, we can not only excuse the speaker when they "choke up" or, perhaps, stumble over a word. It's understandable. It makes them more human.

It also helps to have a sense of humor - to be able to make people laugh. Sometimes, that can even be at the speaker's expense. It makes them more human. More real. More accessible. People do want to be engaged in what the speaker is saying and humor often engages people.

There is not only a coherent theme to the speech, but it is delivered with a certain rhythm- a cadence - of speech. Think of Martin Luther King, Jr's "I have a dream". Even Ronald Reagan had a way of holding onto the podium and swaying his body slightly as he spoke that was very effective.

Finally, in a great oration, it's also about "the whole enchilada" - the way the speaker looks and dresses and acts - and the consistency of their message. It's the "chemistry" and the science and the art of good oration.

For all those reasons, and some I can't articulate, I though Michelle Obama's speech last night was an absolute, unequivocal "10" to the 10th degree.

She was positively brilliant. Hands down. No contest.

All that....and, and, AND...she was dressed beautifully in a simple silk pink and gray dress by Tracy Reese, a young African American designer, which showed off her beautifully toned arms. She was feminine and strong, all at the same time - just like her speech.

She did not slight any Republican but you still knew she was addressing issues raised by worthy opponents in this Political Campaign.

Yes, she told stories about her father and her husband's grandmother, but they didn't just hang there like political props. She used those stories to lift up the values and principles she and her husband and their children and this administration and the Democratic Party stand for. 

She was so believable when she described herself and her husband, "So young, so in love, so in debt" that when she confessed that their student loan payments combined was higher than their first mortgage, you knew it was true.

There was enormous authenticity when she said of her husband, “He believes that when you’ve worked hard, and done well, and walked through that doorway of opportunity, you do not slam it shut behind you. You reach back, and you give other folks the same chances that helped you succeed.”

And this was, for my money, the most quotable character quote of the night:  "I have seen firsthand that being president doesn't change who you are, it reveals who you are,"

I suspect people will be talking about this First Lady's speech for a long time to come. It will at least become the measure by which all other speeches by every other potential or actual First Lady is judged. She set the standard, and those standards are incredibly high.

I woke up this morning proud to be an American. Proud to be a woman. Proud to have Barack and Michelle Obama and their daughters in the White House, working for me.

And, committed to work for the re-election of this President and this administration.

I have never - ever, not once in my life - put up a presidential campaign sign in my yard. Mostly, that's because I've lived in rectories or diocesan owned housing and did not feel it was appropriate.

This is my home. Indeed, next month, the mortgage will be paid off in full.

The "Obama-Biden" sign is going up in my yard tomorrow.

And that, dear friends, is what excellent oration can do.

VOTE!

Thy chastening rod

I just have to get this off my chest.  It's been bugging me for two days now.

The lessons for Sunday presented a stark difference in the images of God.  There, in the Song of Solomon (2:8:13), was a marvelous image of God as our cosmic lover, beckoning us to come out and play.

My beloved speaks and says to me:

“Arise, my love, my fair one,

and come away;

for now the winter is past,

the rain is over and gone.

He Qi, China

The flowers appear on the earth;

the time of singing has come,

and the voice of the turtledove

is heard in our land.

The fig tree puts forth its figs,

and the vines are in blossom;

they give forth fragrance.

Arise, my love, my fair one,

and come away.”

What a wonderful image of a God who bids us throw all caution to the wind and enjoy the gifts of nature.

The preacher picked up on this theme and played with this image with us, teasingly saying, "And, to this we say with droll voice and flat affect, 'The Word of the Lord'?".

It was an excellent sermon.

Compare this image of God with the one revealed in Jesus and painted by Mark (7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23) 

Then he called the crowd again and said to them, "Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person."

Agnus Dei

This is the God of rules and expectations, not the one who wants us to throw out all propriey and come and play.

I suppose both are true and it is when we are "doers of the word and not merely hearers" (James 1:17-27), that we get closer to image God has of us.

I got that and loved it. There was much about the service I enjoyed - the 'Pia Jesu' was exceptionally well done - and found meaningful.

I got stuck on the first hymn:  # 574: "Before They Throne, O God, We Kneel" (St. Petersburg)

Search out our hearts and make us true,
Wishful to give to all their due;
From love of pleasure, lust of gold,
From sins which make the heart grow cold,
Wean us and train us with Thy rod;
Teach us to know our faults, O God.

I couldn't finish the last two lines, beginning with "Wean us and train us with Thy rod."

I felt the cold shock of memory course through my body.

I knew it had been a while since I had sung that hymn, but I suddenly remembered why. In the Diocese of Newark - oh, must be 15 years or so ago - we actually passed a resolution at Diocesan Convention which asked congregations not to use this hymn and others like it which subtly but clearly promote this kind of violent infantalization of our relationship with God.

At first, I closed my Prayer Book / Hymnal and then closed my eyes, as memories of my own childhood abuse flashed before me.  I remembered the "strap" my father had fashioned from leather. He kept it on a hook in the kitchen, not far from the picture of Jesus.

My mother would make a list - an actual list - of our transgressions during the day. When my father came home from work, he would hear my mother's complaints and administer the "appropriate" discipline.

I'm certain it was their way of "sharing parenthood" - my mother the homemaker and caretaker, and my father the breadwinner and disciplinarian. Guess where they got that model?

I could hear his drunken slur as he administered punishment for talking back to my mother or not picking up the clothes from the floor of our bedroom - things I had long ago forgotten or already taken care of. "You think I like doing this? I'm doing it for your own good."

Wean us and train us with Thy rod.

I picked up my Prayer Book / Hymnal and held it close to my chest as I offered a silent prayer for my father and all parents who felt that this is the way to 'train' children, somehow secure in the knowledge that this 'discipline' was sanctioned by the church.

The Bible has been used as a cover for lots of violence. God knows, there are many 'texts of terror' in scripture which have been used over the centuries to justify violence.

And, God knows, there are many undisciplined kids running around these days. I'm constantly amazed and aghast when I go to a coffee shop or restaurant and watch parents ignore their children as they whine and cry and yell and run - RUN! - around tables, disturbing other patrons while their parents seem absolutely oblivious to it.

It's not only not 'cute', it's a form of parental neglect.

I am in no way saying that parents ought to whack their child or otherwise verbally abuse them, but I think this 'benign neglect' has become malignant and virulent. 

One of my former parishioners used to tell her adult children about her grandchildren, "You are not only raising children, you are raising future parents."

I wish more parents heard that message.

I watch one of our daughters with her two children. When they need admonishment, she takes them aside - away from anyone's ear shot so the child is not shamed or humiliated - and they talk. She has a system of expectations for behavior and responsibility as well as accountability to those expectations.

It's exhausting to keep on top of it and remember what privilege gets lost and what one has to do in order to regain the privilege - especially when it would be so much easier to yell or raise a threatening backhand or smack them soundly.

She is not just teaching them about good and bad and acceptable behavior and consequences. She's teaching them about self-discipline and moderation and control.  She is modeling the kind of behavior she expects from her children.

She's raising children who will, too soon, become adults and future parents. It's an awesome, holy task, this business of being a parent. We underestimate its value to our own peril.

Eventually, I will have a conversation with my rector and my organist/choir director about the selection of hymns. I'm quite certain they will cringe when I point out this hymn to them and, in the future, they will be more attuned to the words of the hymns before approving them for use.

Somewhere between the image of God as a lover who beckons us to wild abandon and God as one who has expectations for our behavior is the reality of our relationship with God.

We have been created in God's delight to enjoy and care for each other and the rest of creation and, together, to usher in the Commonwealth of God.

There is nothing outside us that can defile what it in us. There is, however, everything inside us that is good and noble and kind that can honor and respect all of God's other creatures and creation.

We can do that with violence or we can do that with a love so deep as to take care and attend to that which may seem to some to be inconsequential and insignificant.

Like children.

Like words.