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Sometimes simple is better.

2/27/2018

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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Our 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.

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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Sometimes simple is better.

Light among the ashes.

Plus ça change...

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