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Sometimes simple is better.

2/27/2018

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Last week, I had the privilege of flying to California with two of my colleagues from the Commission on Ministry to spend a few days with other clergy and laity from around the country learning more about the Restoration Project. I commend the book to you if you don't know it - and I suspect that we'll be influenced by some of what we heard in CA last week. For now, though, what I want to say is that what was most profound for me about those days in San Rafael was the call to return to the ancient practices of the church.

I talk with people so often about the presence of God in their lives. And often, in the midst of that conversation, I hear a deep desire to connect more deeply with God, to be drawn further into the mystery of God's presence in and among us. In Lent, this desire often rises even more clearly to the top as people seek new opportunities to serve or take on new practices of prayer and meditation. How do we pray? How do we participate more fully in God's mission? How do we follow Jesus more closely? All good questions, and particularly relevant in this season.

The truth is that for generations, the saints of God have been drawn more and more deeply into the mystery of God by walking down particular paths and practicing our faith in particular ways. They include prayer, service, study of scripture, stewardship of our time and resources, and communal worship. While this isn't the flashiest of answers - in fact, it seems rather run of the mill, doesn't it? It's actually the case that this time, the simplest answer is the best. Why do we recommend that you focus on these things in Lent? Because tradition tells us that generations of the faithful have come to know God more fully when they submit themselves to a life that is marked by these practices.

We come to know God better when we dwell in the Word - when we spend time each day - studying and learning from scripture. We are more centered and more grounded people when we find our strength and our comfort in daily practices of prayer. And we are better stewards, better neighbors, and more faithful creatures when these practices are priorities in our lives rather than just things we get to if we have time. That's part of the reason the knee-jerk reaction in Lent is often to add time for silent prayer or mediation or to join a Bible study. And of course, the ultimate hope is that, if you make time for this priority during the 40 days of Lent, you might be so transformed by the end of it that this habit simply becomes part of your life. No longer something you tried on for a while, but something you decide you cannot do without.

For me, I've committed this Lent to create even more time for my own silent prayer with God. Though I begin and end every day with prayer, I wanted during this Lent to add an extra twenty minutes in the middle of my day to just be quiet - no matter where I am - and to invite God again into my heart and into my day. I decided it was okay for this 20 minutes to float. So, today it happened rather early, around eleven because I have a rather full afternoon. Other days it may happen closer to one or two. In any case, the point is for me to remember in the middle of the busy-ness of my day, whose I am, and why I am so busy. On who's account I'm busy - and how much it is a privilege for this to be the case.

Perhaps you're really humming along with your Lenten practice. Perhaps you aren't. Perhaps you still haven't picked one? No matter where you are on this spectrum, I want to encourage you today to consider what you might add intentionally into your life to create more room for God. Maybe, like me, you need a pause in the middle of the day to stop and remember. Maybe it's something entirely different. No matter what it is, decide today, offer it to God, and remember that sometimes the simplest answer is the best. Bless you.
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Light among the ashes.

2/14/2018

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Today looks a bit different for us at St. Andrew's than it has for the last few years. Without being able to worship in our own space, it is necessary for us to change our pattern of worship. Which means, I'm only presiding at one liturgy today instead of multiple - and it means that twice already today (and it's only 4pm), I've had the chance to worship while others preside. I've received ashes twice. Once at the Commons at a midday liturgy as we worshipped with ECCT staff, and once at the CT Baptist Home as I visited one of our folk who lives there. Both liturgies, though in different traditions, invited the gathered Body of Christ to a time of repentance, of self-reflection, self-denial, and penitence. Both liturgies invited us to contemplate the mortality of our bodies and, by the grace of God, the eternal lives of our souls. 

It has been quite a few years since I have been able to sit in a  pew on Ash Wednesday, so it was a particular gift for me today. When we hit our knees, the muscle memory took me back to a small chapel at St. Patrick's in DC, the chapel where I received ashes throughout college, the chapel where I really discerned my call to the priesthood. When our celebrant, the Rev. Molly James, invited us, in the name of the Church, to a holy Lent, I was reminded of other moments when I've been so invited. And throughout the liturgy, was reminded of what a privilege it is for us to draw near to God. 

In many ways, the season of Lent is an invitation to draw nearer to God and to each other, and in some ways, it is an invitation to draw more near to the people God calls us to be. The ashes on our foreheads remind us of our mortality and of the ever-changing nature of this life. They remind us, too, as Molly said earlier today, that nothing in this world lasts forever. And yet, they take the same shape as the cross traced on our heads at our baptisms, a cross that reminds us of something very permanent - something that can never be destroyed or taken away from us: the promise of life in Jesus Christ who is victorious over death.

In our burial rite, we say, "In the midst of life we are in death..." And I'd say that the reverse is true as well - particularly in Lent - when we are the midst of death. Then as Christians, we know we are called back to life, because we are resurrection people. We believe in a Messiah who rises again, a light that shines in the darkness, and hope that cannot die. We know that even at the grave, as we make our song, God has already won the victory - and that death has already been conquered for us through the power of Christ and the cross. And so in Lent, I think it is fitting for us, even as we enter into a holy Lent, as we may space to listen for God, as we examine our lives and our patterns, we must remember WHY we do this. It isn't to focus just on our mortality, or the ways in which we are flawed, or to feel ashamed or badly about ourselves. We enter into the Lenten season of a deep desire to be more faithful, to walk more nearly with Jesus, and to clear some of the clutter out of our lives that will allow us to do that.

So, I pray that no matter who invited you today to observe a holy Lent, that you hear those words and take them in. I pray that you will makes peace - in whatever way will help you most - to listen and wait for God and to examine your life in the light of the Gospel. I hope you will join with the faithful around the world in repenting of those things we have done wrong and those good things we have failed to do. And I pray that you will remember throughout the season that God loves you and has made a way for you. May we all, when the light of Easter breaks, have journeyed faithfully enough that this light might be born again in our hearts, ready to shine the light of the Gospel in the world around us. 

God bless you as you begin this journey.
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Plus ça change...

2/4/2018

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PictureOur patron, Saint Andrew, turns up in the Gospel. He of course felt lots of urgency apparently as he was "first called" by Jesus and immediately left everything to follow.
This weekend, I had the incredible privilege of spending some time away at Camp Washington with some colleagues and some of the folks in the ordination process in the Episcopal Church in Connecticut. In the changing landscape of the church, and the changing landscape of formation for ordained ministry, we are often asking ourselves, "What do we wish we had learned more about before being ordained?" Or, "What do ordained folks need now that they aren't getting in other areas of their formation?" And out of those questions arose some thoughts for our time away this weekend - in which we gathered to explore broadly the "priestly role." How does one preside? How does one think through how to preside in liturgies and how to assume the role of priest in the world, at bedsides, in church, and in the homes of the people we serve? What does it mean for us, with our hands, minds, feet, and bodies to step into the authority of this role and the privilege of service?

To protect the sacred space of our time away, I won't tell you too much about it - but it's important for the sake of this post for me to share the fact that we spent a significant amount of time exploring the theology of the Eucharist that is offered to us in our own Book of Common Prayer. We looked back thousands of years at some of the earliest examples of Eucharistic Prayers and considered together how one might move, what gestures one might use, and why it matters that we understand the intention of the church when we all gather at the Altar. For me, now more than six years into active ordained life, it was refreshing - almost like a retreat. A chance to stop for a while and re-consider the great gift that is the Eucharist and the way it mysteriously binds us together. What's so incredible about this great mystery is that from the very beginning, it's clear that Christians believe that something special is happening at the Eucharist; that Jesus is present with us in our prayers and then ultimately in the bread and wine. This belief, this ritual, is passed down through time, through the muscle memory of the Body of Christ, from one congregation to another, one generation to the next.

​As I prepared for the sermon this morning, looking at Mark's Gospel (which you can read here), and to a certain extent the Epistle for the day as well, I was reminded of the urgency of God's mission. In the Gospel, we have an example of something Jesus does from time to time - he shows up in a place, does the work he's there to do, and then rather suddenly disappears - moving on to the next place, the next need, the next person who needs to hear the good news. This is a pretty common move for Jesus. He's constantly scanning the horizon for the next thing - in fact, Mark quotes him today as saying, "Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.” That is what I came out to do. 

​If we, as Episcopalians, believe in a priesthood of all believers - and that all of us are called to be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world, part of God's mission to reconcile and restore creation, then all of us have this same call on our lives - this same urgency. It's not about rushing - but it's also not about lingering too long. When the story has been told, the good news shared, the work finished, the needs met - then it's time to go on to the next place. Time for us to be looking for the next opportunity to tell the story, do the work, love and serve the next person who needs to know Jesus. It means that our work - our call in faith, is constantly changing. In part, that's because the world is constantly changing; and yet it's also because needs change, people are different, and so the way that we share the good news will change as well depending on where we are, who is around us, and what tools we have at hand. Jesus does a number of different things as he travels. From time to time he tells people the good news, teaches, shares stories - at other times he casts out demons, heals the sick, questions corrupt authority, prays, preaches, and performs miracles - which include feeding people and turning water into wine (just to name a few!). Jesus' own ministry requires a lot of flexibility - a lot of gifts - a lot of willingness to change and adapt to the situation in which he finds himself.

You may not think these two ideas go together - the consistency of the Eucharist (of Jesus' presence with and in the Church) - and the urgent and emergent change we experience and are called to - and yet, these two ideas are deeply linked. In some ways, they must be linked for the church to survive. As we change (we the church, not just the Episcopal Church, but many Christians), our work will change as well. We will continue to be called to meet new needs, to be flexible in new ways, to share the good news with new words and with new technologies. And while we're called to urgently go and do the work, to love and serve and change the world, we'll need still to return to that which doesn't change - to Jesus' presence in and amongst us - to the way we experience Jesus in the Eucharist and in the sacraments. It is this presence that grounds us, these rituals that remind us who we are, these sacraments - moments outside of time and space - when God calls us beloved - that we remember whose we are. And the truth is, we must have both. We must experience the urgent nature of being sent and know that we can only serve well if we have first been fed by Word & Sacrament - because our identity as God's beloved never changes, never moves, never leaves us.

We must be urgent - and ready - and flexible - ready to go and share the good news. We must be people of hope who are constantly looking for the next way to tell the story of Jesus and the next person we can serve in his name. And we must remember that our identity, our strength, our nourishment comes from this great river of faithfulness that stands outside of time and space connecting us to the saints that came before - and the saints who will come after us. We must have both the urgent change and the stable faith.

In these last few weeks of "Ordinary Time", I pray that you will hear God calling to you - pressing on you - urgently - to do the work to which you have been called. The work that is yours to do. And that as you seek to do that work, you will draw on the peace and strength that comes from the presence of God in our worship, in the gathered Body of Christ, and the unchanging witness of the Church throughout time and space. God bless you.


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Photo Credit:"© Plamen Agov • studiolemontree.com [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons" 
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Vocation...? Say what, now?

11/21/2017

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On Sunday, while the lessons painted a bit of a fiery picture, one of the couples of our congregation reaffirmed the marriage vows they made to each other 30 years ago. At the main service, in the sight of the congregation, gathered with friends and family, these two gave thanks for the gift of God's blessing on their life and looked forward to (at least) another 30 years of marriage together. What a gift it was to be with them as they and God reaffirmed this covenant.

This was also the Sunday just following our Diocesan Convention here in the Episcopal Church in Connecticut. So, I wanted to tell the congregation a little bit about what Bishop Ian had talked about in his Convention address. And, on top of that, I felt the need (as I always do) to talk about the Gospel for the day - even if I wasn't going to dig into Zephaniah and Thessalonians (and the fire and brimstone of the coming of the day of the Lord). 

And though it may not seem like these three things are connected, there is, in fact, a common thread. And that thread is vocation. In the secular world, when we talk about vocation, it's often in reference to a particular kind of skill or work. That's why we have places called "vocational schools," a place someone goes to learn a particular craft. In the church, though, I'd suggest that this word means a little more. It's less a call to a particular kind of work - and perhaps more a call to a particular kind of life (which is inclusive of particular work). Before I was ordained, I spent a lot of time explaining to folks, and hoping that others would see and affirm what I felt was a vocation to the priesthood - a call to this particular kind of life as a priest. The other really important thing about vocation, at least as I hear the word in the context of the church, is that ultimately, one of the gifts - or one of the signs - of vocation is that Christ is made more visible; that somehow because of our willingness to submit to this call, God helps us to show Christ's love in the world.

It's important to remember that in the Episcopal Church, we believe that God has work for all Christians to do - which means that each one is called to a vocation - or several vocations. And that's important because it's not just me who is called to make Christ's love visible - in fact, it's all of us - it's just that you might be called to do that work differently than I am. You can be sure that God does call you to something particular, and that engaging in that work is intended to help others come to know Jesus. By virtue of our baptism, all Christians are called this life - a life outlined by our Baptismal Covenant - a life of following Jesus, participating in the life of the church, and respecting the dignity of every human being. We are also called to repent of our sin, return to the Lord, seek and serve Christ in all people, and hopefully someday soon - to cherish and protect the wonders of God's creation. It's quite a tall order. And, in this world that becomes increasingly individualist and faith-less, this vocation to be a Christian is, indeed, a very particular kind of life. A life that inherently calls you to very particular work - that of relationship building, justice-making, and learning to love your neighbor.

So, on Sunday, I talked a little bit about what I heard in our Bishop's address as an exciting call to discover a new vocation. As the world around us continues to change, as the needs of the communities around us continue to change, Bishop Ian asked us to let go of the past and to begin to see the wonders and challenges of the new season in which we live - a new missional era. He reminded us that we will need to be brave in this new season, that there is more change yet to come, and that God will have God's way. In all this, I hear something really exciting - a call to newness of life - a chance for us to re-imagine and re-engage what it means to be Christian today...what this particular life looks like to which God calls us. I believe, as do our Bishops, that God is still knitting us together in the Episcopal Church in Connecticut - that we are still being formed - more and more into a Body that can share Christ's love, that can offer an image of Jesus to a hurting world.

This is not unlike the way that we've discovered our vocation here at the parish in the last few years. Through our listening and praying and our exploring of the neighborhood around us, we have discovered a passion for feeding people - and in large part, I believe that's because Jesus is calling us to this work. In no uncertain terms, he tells us to love and feed our neighbors - and so we're working hard to do just that. This has become our vocation as we relate to the world outside our walls - as we try to build community, create new relationships, and feed our hungry neighbors. In all of this, I hope that what we're offering people is an image of Christ's love: Jesus who would sit and talk, Jesus who would open the door and welcome folks in, Jesus who would feed without asking questions. This is a really important part of our vocation as a parish family.

Marriage is a vocation, too. Like all vocations, this means that not everyone is going to be called to this particular way of life - and by that, I mean that there are other ways to live as a faithful Christian without being married. For those of us who are called to it, however, it is also intended to offer an image of Christ's love to the world. The married couple must learn to love each other - to forgive each other - and to bear with one another in good times and in bad. And in so doing, they offer each other a glimpse of the unfailing, overwhelming, omnipresent love of God. And, if they submit to this work, if they give themselves to one another, by the power of the Holy Spirit, they become a new creation - a new unit - capable of showing an image of God's love to the people and communities around them. 

The Gospel on Sunday, the Parable of the Talents, touches on individual vocation. (You can read the parable here.) The slave who takes his talent and buries it in the ground neglects the responsibility he has been given. The other two take their talents and invest them - use them, capitalize on them. Perhaps in the process, they also invest in others - or in a particular market - so they use their investment wisely not only for themselves, but perhaps their actions have an effect on others as well. In the response of the Master, there is a stark difference. The two who invest their talent are rewarded with more responsibility. The other, who hid his talent in the ground, is cast out into the darkness - left out of community, with severed relationships, and no more access to responsibility.

I believe this passage, too, is a call to vocation. It reminds us that God has given gifts (and talents!) to each of us. These take many forms, but they include our skills, passions, intellect, abilities, wealth, relationships, and time. And we are intended to invest them in the Kingdom of Heaven - to capitalize on them, to make good use of them - to have a positive effect on others and to offer the people around us God's love. To use our gifts, to live into our vocation as Christians, to make the world around us better in the name of Jesus - so that more people might know Jesus' love. The trouble comes when we don't use these gifts in that way - when we take what we've been given and hoard it for ourselves, when we hide it in the ground out of fear, when we refuse to risk enough to use these gifts for the greater good. Because here, too, all that we have is a gift from God, intended to be used by us (Jesus' hands and feet in the world) to show people the image of Jesus.

Vocation. Corporate - as it is in the church, as we learn together about our new vocation, our new ways of showing people Jesus in this changed landscape. Relational - as it is in marriage or in any deep, faithful relationship - in which we are called to love one another and bring out the best in each other, relationships in which we have the opportunity to love each other - and out of this love - produce for the world around us an image of Jesus. And vocation is individual - by virtue of our baptism - each one of us is called to go out into the world ready to love and serve the people we meet - to tell them this great story, and ultimately, to show them the love of Jesus.

What are your vocation(s)? To what work are you called by God and because of your baptism? How does that work figure into your every day life? And how well are you living into these vocation(s)? How well are you loving your neighbors, using your talents, and showing people Jesus?

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Of vineyards, winepresses, & wine.

10/8/2017

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The lessons today all seem to be focused on the harvest - fitting for the fall season, even if it doesn't feel like fall outside. Three times today we heard the image of the people of God as a vineyard - which God digs round, prepares for, tends to, and ultimately seeks to harvest. Both in the Gospel and in Isaiah's text, it's clear that God (or the landowner) has given the vineyard - and the vineyard workers - everything they need to succeed. Based on all the work God has put in, the vineyard should produce big, ripe grapes which can be turned into good, hearty wine.

Wine, in the first century, was much more a common piece of life than it is now. Now, we might go out to a restaurant and order a nice glass - or we might think about pairing it with a particular meal - for dinner or a special occasion. At the time, though, the wine was something folks drank much more often - throughout the day, even - not to pair with their food or even to have a good time - but because it was the cleanest, safest thing to drink. Think about it - the first century wasn't known for it's cleanliness and irrigation. So, wine was one of those necessary things for life. Not a luxury, not a hobby, but a necessity. So, you can imagine, that a vineyard would be a valuable thing to own - and it produced something not just valuable - but important to the life and health of the whole community around the vineyard.

If we continue further into the allegory of Matthew's Gospel, we can begin to see that God is the landowner - leasing the vineyard out to the tenants who ignore, beat, and then kill the "slaves" or emissaries that the landowner sends. We, of course, are the tenants - the workers in God's vineyard - and the vineyard is the whole people of God - from which God hopes to reap the harvest of righteousness: a harvest of good fruit, brought forth by faith and good work, a harvest that can be pressed and transformed into the wine that will nurture, care for, and ultimately change the world.

The trouble is, the tenants (so, us) don't want to hear that it's time to give back the harvest. The tenants want to hold on to their work - which, on some level, I suppose we can't fault them for. The work is hard. It's laborious. It's heavy - and the climate is hot. First they have to grow the grapes and tend to them. Then they have to harvest them. And then, they go into this great wine press in the middle of the vineyard. And the winepress of the first century is rather like a shallow basin with a steep floor in the middle - and it's on this incline that the grapes would be pressed (stomped on, actually) by the workers. The juice runs down, collects in a basin, or goes right through a couple of holes into channels that take it further into vats. And in these vats it tends to sit for a few days as it ferments and turns into wine that's safe to drink. There are a lot of steps. And most of it is hard work. Hot, messy work that yields something incredible - not just through our own work - but also through the work of God - present in the waiting wine, in the magic of fermentation - in the wonder of nature that God has created that we can only try to understand. So, we do the labor - God does the transformation.

If, in this parable, the whole people of God is the vineyard - and as individuals, we are the workers, then each of us has specific work to do - work that contributes to the project as a whole and ultimately, through the health and wellbeing of the community around us, helps to build the Kingdom of God. And, it's helpful that the parable seems to recognize that our work is hard. Though we have assigned roles, specific gifts, Kingdom building work is never easy - it's always messy and hard. We don't always know the right way to go, the right thing to do, and sometimes it requires more of us than we expected. And we always need God to come in among us, with the power of the Spirit, to transform us and our work - because God can use even the little things we do to accomplish more than we ever could have imagined.

There's two really hard things about this parable, though. The first is the killing of the prophets - and then the killing of the Son. In a perfect world, with people who were inherently faithful, this wouldn't have happened. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it - God builds the vineyard and fills it with people. People like us, who are imperfect - who make mistakes - and who are always tempted to look out for ourselves first. So, these folks didn't necessarily want to hear the words of the prophets - calling them back to right relationship with God and with each other. And they (and we, lest you think we get to shove this off on other people) don't want to hear the words of Jesus, either - who comes to remind us that all that we have is a gift from God - and we are intended to use all those gifts for the building and growing of the Kingdom - so, in other words, for the harvesting of fruit, and the pressing of wine, in anticipation of what God might do.

The trouble with the tenants is that they forget that all they have - the food they eat, the land they live on, the tools they use - all of it belongs to the landowner. Rather like us. The life we live, the air we breathe, the family and friends we love, the resources we have in this life - everything has been given to us by God, who has given us a season to live in the vineyard - and to produce good fruit. The parable is intended to convict the Pharisees - and us, if we're honest; to force us to look at the gifts we have been given - and whether or not we're using them.

Are we contributing to the needs of the saints? Are we feeding our neighbors, clothing the poor, and loving the stranger? Are we calling our senators and representatives to protest unjust laws? Are we using all of our power and means in order to create a society in which everyone has what they need? Are we using our spiritual, intellectual, financial, and social resources in order to speak up for those who are voiceless and create space for those who are marginalized? Are we learning to be better allies, to own our privilege, and to stand with - specifically in our country today - our African-American, Immigrant, Jewish, Muslim, and LGBTQ brothers and sisters? And are we seeking to be peace-makers around the world?

Or, are we just enjoying the gifts we have? Keeping them for ourselves?

Because you see, it's important that the winepress is at the center of the vineyard. It's the place where all the grapes come to be transformed before they are sent back out in a different form to the whole community. The grapes come in as fruit, harvested yes - but still raw, untamed. And they are pressed - and shaped - and re-made into something else - by the labor of the workers - and the goodness of God. This press is rather like the church. Where we come each week, from all around, to do our part - to serve - to be reshaped - and, by the goodness of God, to be transformed before we are sent back out to nurture the neighborhoods and the world around us. Sent out, as the Apostles were, to change the world. From this one central place - which should also be the center of our lives if we are, indeed, the people of God.

Now, if you're saying, wait a minute...we're the vineyard, and the workers...and the wine? Yes, I hear you, but I'm not suggesting we're the wine, exactly...but that, in fact, the wine is the fruit of our faith being transformed. I'm suggesting that when we come to church, to be restored, we bring with us the raw scraps of our hearts - our lives - our intentions, our successes and failures - and that when those raw things come together - with our work and God's blessing, something else is created that can comfort, challenge, love, pull at, feed, nurture, and completely change the world around us. I'm also suggesting that sometimes in church, there are times when we are the ones doing the hard work of pressing (on ourselves or on others) - and sometimes it's others who press us into new ways of being and new understandings. And in all cases, I'm suggesting that if we do the faithful work, the work each of us has been given to do - that God will come, mercifully, lovingly, and bring the transformation. And make sure that what's in the wine - is just what the world needs.

​In my sermon this morning, I also talked a little bit about what happens if we don't do the work - which is a present warning in the parable. The threat isn't what the Pharisees foresee - but instead, it's the idea that those who don't do the work will be replaced. Those who wish to keep the fruit and the wine for themselves, or those who are too distracted or too lazy to do the work - will be replaced by people who will do the work and who will give back the produce. God will have God's way one way or another. God's mission will continue with or without us - God will find ways to restore right relationship between us and bring everyone into relationship with God - even if we are too lazy or too caught up in ourselves to help. And the tragedy of being replaced isn't that we believe in a punishing God who will hurt us or terrify us - it's that we'll be left out - that we'll miss out - on the joy of this work, on the gift of community, and on the blessing and transformation of God. The tragedy is that we miss out on the fullness of life now. And who really wants to miss that? I can't imagine wanting to miss out on the beauty - and wonder - and sometimes bittersweetness of the building of the Kingdom of God.

So, I hope that today - and throughout this week - you'll let this parable confront you. Take stock of the gifts you've been given. Remember that they all belong to God. And that from them you are intended to harvest good fruit - which you must give back to God - through your faith and your participation in Christian community - AND through your faithful engagement in the world around you on behalf of your neighbor...

And know that if you do that work, no matter how messy and difficult it may be, God will work through you to do more than you ever could have possibly imagined.

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​To read the lessons for the day, click here. We're on Track 2.
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Harvey and Irma

9/6/2017

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We have been praying a lot around here for the folks who were affected by Hurricane Harvey - and now we must add to our prayers those who are in the path of Irma. It feels like so much is shifting in our world, in our country, and there is so much tension in the air. Now, we add another hurricane. Many of you, like me, have family in either Texas or in Florida. So, I share your deep feeling of concern and anxiety. As Christians, we are always called to lift up our brothers and sisters - and perhaps that call is even more important in moments like this one.

On Sunday, we offered you the chance to contribute financially to the suffering in Texas. Episcopal Relief and Development does an amazing job on the ground, representing us and our church, and caring for those who have been affected by tragedies like these. They are consistent, helpful, and have years of experience doing this life-saving, emergency work. So, as we wait for news of Irma, I commend to you two very important things.

If you can, consider giving to ERD. 100% of the money donated goes directly to the folks who are suffering - and it's used well and wisely.

And most of all, commit yourself to praying for these folks. For the victims of Harvey, and for those who will suffer the wrath of Hurricane Irma. Hold them up in your prayers, and reach out to those who may be feeling scared and concerned during this time. Let your faith encourage you as you care for those around you. Know that God sits with us in pain, in sadness, and in suffering - that God never leaves us alone - and that God is always wanting to bring us back to a place of peace and light.
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Change comes fast.

7/22/2017

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You might have started to notice some changes around our kitchen. That's because the summer lunch program is up and running! Our partnership with Change the Play is growing as the days go by - and I'm grateful that this relationship continues to develop. This week, we have the chance to start serving up to 400 meals a day. You read that right. 400 meals a day to kids in Meriden who are not able to eat in the summer without the school lunch program. That's so awesome.

That also means we're going to have to rearrange the kitchen a little more. We'll likely need another fridge - and at some point we'll have to replace the freezer we threw out a few months ago (it wasn't up to code anymore!). This might take some creative thinking on our part - and what a great problem to have. This week, we'll also begin some conversations about how this program might morph into an after-school program in the fall. That would be a much more involved effort. We'd need not only to prepare and feed the kids, but also have activities and programs in which they can participate. It means kids would be spending time at the church every day. 

We're still in the exploratory phase of this - but what a great opportunity for us to use our building for the sake of the community. To provide a safe place for kids to hang out in the afternoons and some good, healthy food for them to eat. 

I'm so grateful to the crop of volunteers at St. Andrew's who have plugged right into making these meals - and putting together these sandwiches. It has really been a community effort - and y'all are so great! Thank you for stepping in to this so easily. What a difference it makes in our community.

If you have ideas - or if you want to talk more about what might be possible in the fall, please let me know. In the meantime, I pray God's blessing on you, on the growth of these partnerships, and on the people we're privileged to serve.
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On these two commandments...

7/13/2017

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Yesterday, I watched as twitter exploded - and slowly realized why when I read Jonathan Merritt's article about Eugene Peterson's newly articulated support of same-sex marriage. And I watched as my feed filled up with arguments on both sides of the issue - and then the fall-out from the fact that Peterson endured (and will likely endure) nothing compared to the price that Jen Hatmaker endured for her statement on God's inclusive love last year. There's a lot, here. There's the piece about sexism in our religious debates - why it's more acceptable for a man to differ in opinion from his colleagues than a woman. There's the issue itself, of course, which I don't really want to get into today. While it's deeply important to me that LGBTQ+ folks find welcome in our communities (and I've written about that lots of places - including here), what troubled me yesterday in a new and different way was all the rhetoric. The implications. The tone of the argument(s). The damage done.

While there were a few prominent Christian folk (like Rachel Held Evans) who asked what they could do in the moment to be allies - most folk, on both sides of the debate, were perfectly fine to yell and scream at each other without really considering the impact of their words. On anyone. Most folks were more interested in making their point, in being right, and in throwing stones than they were in being a witness to the love of Jesus. And this yelling and screaming, by the way, happens on the backs of people who are already hurting - in this case, the LGBTQ+ population. It happens over top of us - as if we aren't in the room - and don't have feelings or thoughts worth adding to the conversation. In fact, it's a little like parents arguing over a child who's in the room. Except, in this case, the child turns out to be 42 - looks at both parents in disgust - and walks out. This further alienates the faithful among us, and quite frankly, scares off so many of the others who might have been reaching for God.

This infighting does us all a disservice. It's one thing to have a difference of opinion. Even if that's a deeply held theological opinion. God is big enough for all of our beliefs and projections. And the Episcopal Church, I think, is wide enough and a big enough tent for us all to have our own opinions, too. What isn't okay - what our tent is not built to house - is the unkindness with which we argue those positions. What we cannot abide is the damage we do to one another - and to the name of Jesus - when we have these huge, public, battles. We are responsible for our behavior - both in our own tent, and in the wider church. What I don't understand, and perhaps never will, is what folks think they're accomplishing when they participate in big, nasty, horrific, and very public fights like yesterday's battle in the Christian community.

What was accomplished yesterday wasn't that the whole church came to a new understanding of same-sex marriage or LGBTQ+ people. What was accomplished today wasn't helpful, kind, or loving. No one was showed compassion. No one experienced the grace of God. No one was welcomed or cared for - no one heard the good news. No one came to a deeper understanding of God's love or will for their life. No one who participated in the flinging of rocks and insults yesterday went to bed last night more connected to God or their neighbor - even if they did go to sleep feeling accomplished and "right".

​What was accomplished yesterday? A production. A production that made people unwelcome. A production that involved throwing around doctrine, insults, and the name of the Lord. An exceedingly public production that brought discord rather than unity, brokenness instead of wholeness, chaos instead of peace. I believe deeply that Jesus wept yesterday - at the damage done - at the stumbling blocks thrown up to those who might (have) come to believe - at the brokenness of the church.

How will the younger generations ever believe that we can love them when we cannot even love each other? What kind of a message do we send to the "un-churched" about our "faith" if we cannot even live by this one core teaching? One of the commandments on which hang all the law and the prophets? Read: one of the commandments on which hangs EVERYTHING we do and claim to be. Jesus tells us to love God - and love one another. These two commandments are the very beating heart of our faith - the beating heart of the church - and the thing that tells the world whether we are Christian or not (see: they will know you are Christians by your love!). 

​This infighting happens in our congregations all the time on a smaller level. And it's no less damaging. When  we gossip, when we lie, when we are exclusive, we hurt ourselves and the life of the whole congregation - and we create obstacles for the people who see our behavior, whether they're believers or not. So why wouldn't it be that - if we do that on the public stage - as we did yesterday - that we wouldn't also damage the image of the church universal*? 

We must, as the Body of Christ, despite all our differences and all our challenges, learn to come to a place where we don't hurt each other just to prove a point. A place where we avoid the kind of damage we did yesterday. Damage that will be visited upon all of us - damage untold, really. Because we can't count how many people were witnesses to this great battle who decided that "Those Christians really don't love each other..." or "So much for that..." or "Well, good to know no one's safe there..." or any other configuration of doubt, fear, and disappointment.

Matthew 22 says this:

34 When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, 35and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 36‘Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?’37He said to him, ‘ “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” 38This is the greatest and first commandment. 39And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” 40On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’

We set the tone for this love here in our own community. And I believe our love can change the larger Body. So as we welcome all people (because that's what we do, here), let's also remember that when we bear the name Christian, our words and actions also reflect on a lot of other people - and ultimately on Jesus himself. When we choose to take up the name of Jesus, our responsibility becomes so much greater. And God's expectations of us are so clear: love first, love last, love always, love so much you sacrifice yourself.

May we be worthy of the sacrifice Jesus made. When we fall short, may we try again. And again. May we be made always into more faithful servants of the good news. Apostles sent to the world, bearing the love of Jesus Christ.





*By that, I mean the whole church. Inclusive of all the faithful, of every denomination, all over the world. All of us. Together.


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Room enough for everyone.

7/5/2017

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This past Sunday, we moved to our summer schedule, which means that Sunday mornings feel a little rushed to me. We start with Morning Prayer in the church at 8:30am and then celebrate the Eucharist downstairs in the Parish Hall at 9am. It's jarring for the first few weeks, I think, for all of us to take on this change of location. Everything feels different. Instead of the organ, Wayne plays the piano. Instead of pews, we all sit on folding chairs. Instead of melting, the air conditioning makes it actually a bit chilly. And instead of the formal feeling of our sanctuary, there's a casual feeling to our worship downstairs.

What's remarkable about all of that is that God still shows up. In fact, I really enjoy our worship downstairs because you all are so much closer. I can see your faces better. The first row of chairs is probably no more than two feet away from the altar, whereas upstairs you're all quite far away. It feels to me like we're celebrating the Eucharist together - in a much more intimate way - and I love that feeling. It also frees up the kids to run around a bit more - which tends to make us all a little more joyful.

As our congregation continues to grow, all of this reminds me of the Gospel that we heard last week. It was a short passage from Matthew, but one full of lessons. The one, in particular, I'm thinking of is about welcome. In the Gospel, Jesus said:
"'Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.’" Matthew 10:40-42
Whoever welcomes a prophet will receive a prophet's reward...And whoever welcomes a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous...

Gosh, that sounds like Jesus. Always giving away rewards to people who doesn't seem to have done much (or any) of the work. Prophets, after all, lived difficult lives. They struggled for the sake of God's word and God's vision. Historically, they were really unpopular and their work was hard, folks didn't want to listen to them, and God was pretty relentless. So how is that someone can just swoop in at the end, offer welcome, and receive the same reward?

There are two things to say about this (probably more, but I'll keep to two). First, welcome, really, at the end of the day, is a radical thing. Any of us that have ever experienced real hospitality, when we needed it most, can tell great stories about the difference it made in our lives. Real welcome is not an easy thing to offer anyone. Welcome, the way Jesus intends it, means a giving over of power and authority, a giving up of resources, a submitting of our will to the will of God, in who's name we welcome others - and particularly, in this case, others who seek to do God's work. Welcome deserves a reward because it demands more of us than it might seem.

Second, God's economy is profoundly different than ours. In God's economy there is more than enough for everyone, all the time, no matter what. It's the same as the workers who go into the vineyard (a parable you might know that I love!) at different times of day - and when they all come back, they receive the same payment. Because God desires for us to show up and do the work - and to claim our equal inheritance in the kingdom that is eternal - and in the justice-seeking kingdom we're supposed to be building together here and now. All of us bring different gifts with us to this work. All of us come to it from a different direction - and sometimes at different points in our life. And that's okay. There's still work for us to do, still ways for us to contribute, still room for us at the table. And isn't that wonderful?

As we continue to change and grow in this place, I pray that we will continue to work on the welcome we offer others. Those who come sit with us in the pews (or the folding chairs) and those who come to be fed in a number of other ways. How can we make our welcome more broad? How can we continue to put others and their needs ahead of our own? And how can we share the good news that God's love is so big and broad and wonderful that there is room enough for all of us? And good work for us all to do?
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Acts & the Present

6/20/2017

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In our adult education series at the church this summer, we've begun watching a series that was on TV a year or so ago called AD: The Bible Continues. As we watch, we're also reading through the first ten chapters of the book of Acts. If you haven't spent much time in Acts, I can't say enough about it. It's a fascinating read about the struggle of the early "church" to discover it's identity, to survive, to thrive. It's filled with all the things we say we like about novels - there's intrigue and warring parties, danger and risk, love and sincerity. There's also quite a lot of surprises in there that you really wouldn't expect. So, if you read no further into this post, go read the book of Acts!

If you're still reading my words, I'm telling you this because our discussions after we watch each episode have me thinking about the struggle for faith. Everything was new and scary - everything was shadowed and ambiguous in the world of the early apostles. There were no maps, no clear paths, nothing they could really take for granted. And yet, a movement that so many tried to squash, that so many thought was irrelevant, has been inexplicably successful - spreading all over the world - and now comprising nearly a third of the world's population.

Now, we find ourselves in this new era of ambiguity. What does it mean to be a Christian in this day and age? What does it mean for us to be "church" in this time and place? So many of us in our parishes across the country are asking these questions. Our Presiding Bishop is so eloquent in his explanation and preaching of the "Jesus Movement" - and our own Bishops are inspirational in their preaching of "God's Mission" - and how we participate in it. How we get on board and become part of what God is already doing around us.

I wonder, too, if we don't need to rediscover the struggle of the book of Acts. If we don't need to rediscover the persistent, joyful posture of the apostles - people who needed to be brave, flexible, and inventive about sharing their faith. Isn't it time we return to this book? And learn how to really be with one another as we seek still to be in the world speaking Jesus' name? 

Our modern-day doctrinal and theological arguments are no different - and no less important - that the arguments of their time - especially between Peter and Paul. Ultimately, so many of these arguments are about who is "in" and who is "out". And our struggles are no greater, no more complex, no more pressing than the very real, life and death struggles of these early communities. So, as we watch this (largely fictional) series, as we read the text, and compare and contrast what we've seen - as we pull at and explore these early decisions - I invite you to read this great book of the Bible with us. And see what you think. I'm curious to know what you think about the book - and what it might have to teach us today about God's mission and our part in it...and how well - or not well - we're doing at loving and being with each other. It's rich ground. And I look forward to what you think.

​If you're looking for a good translation to read for free online - you can go right here - and read chapter by chapter beginning with Acts 1.

Also - what do you think the title of our book would be? Will be? When the story of our time is written? If you were in charge of the cliff notes - both for our parish and for the church more broadly - what are the highlights? And are they good? Or are there lowlights* as well?

Peace to you.



​*I think I just made that word up? But you know where I'm headed.
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    The Rev. Marissa S. Rohrbach is an Episcopal priest and is currently serving as the Rector of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church in Meriden, Connecticut. The views expressed here are her own and do not represent the views of any other body or insititution. 

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