A Notch on My Belt

When I was in the midst of my parish discernment committee, one of the members, the only other woman in the group, noted that perhaps I wasn’t called to ordained ministry at all. Instead, perhaps, I was merely “seeking another notch on your belt”.

Just as Paul told the church in Corinth that women should be silent in church, be subordinate in all things, the woman’s statement about the notch speaks loudly as to what it does not say.

Why would Paul tell women they should be silent? They must have been creating quite a ruckus for him to have had to write a letter from so far away telling them to shush it. Or rather, what the heck did Paul mean in 1 Corinthians 14:36? That, too, speaks volumes in what it doesn’t say. But I digress.

So what had I done in my past that made this woman feel I was seeking yet another “notch” on my belt? In many circles a “notch on the belt” means that one has scored a sexual triumph. I am sure that this woman more sincerely meant that I had past successes or achievements; nonetheless…

Considering the fact that I am 57 years old, have worked possibly 15 years of that time as a paid employee, regardless of the fact that I have two degrees, three, actually when one includes the associate’s, I have attained no great heights of success, at least not from our present cultural connotations of success. I am not financially successful, although I owe relatively little in relation to my income. I have no insurance (other than full comprehensive for my vehicle). My retirement plan reflects (foolishly, according to many) my financial plan of the moment, which is, if the need is there, God will provide. Yet, I have far more than enough. My assets outweigh my liabilities by a good piece.

However, to our culture, secular and in many cases, the church, I have failed to take care of myself. Worse yet, if I am wrong about God, then that society of which I am a part will be forced to take care of me. Grudgingly so, as far as the current political scene is concerned.

One can imagine the concern of the ministry commission when asked about my finances and my reply was, “I have come thus far trusting that God will provide as needed. I cannot stop doing so now.”

I can say I have and will continue to be a fool for Christ.

I will be foolish yet once more and proclaim that as long as we measure success in material things, we cannot continue to aver that the orders of ministry are full and equal orders and we will continue to have problems discerning the difference between lay, deacon and priest.

We can loudly protest that happiness is not measured in big houses, nice cars and big parishes and isn’t it nice that poor people can sing so loudly and joyfully in their churches but as we sit in our air-conditioned homes and drive our fossil fuel driven vehicles and seek status and privilege through our employment, we will continue to live within one very large lie.

We should be able to be joyful in our poverty yet, that is easy to say it and much more difficult to live it and be the “fool for Christ”.

I will go one step beyond and say that as long as ordinands to the diaconate have far less education to achieve, no GOE requirements and few or no prospects of being employed (that means paid, not used) by the parish they serve, the church will continue to have a mis-understanding of full and equal. As long as we live in a culture that says more is more and the church adheres to that idea (more education, set salary for priests; less education, no wage for deacons), there is no full and equal. As long as it takes money to be a priest or the willingness to put oneself in deep debt, we will not live into the idea of a radical priesthood. We are just too human to make it so. “Radical” becomes a four letter word.

One cannot desire or even perceive of one more “notch” on a belt of life when seeking to follow God in discerning our role to the people of God.

Either we are seeking God or we are serving a lesser god.

Let’s call it what it is. 

A New Name

Words have always been my friend, my companion when things got tough. I could write my thoughts and come into a clearer understanding of what was going on, how I felt and what I should do. But now, I seem to have nothing. No words.

Well, of course, there are words. The ones above are an example. I guess what I am saying is that over the past year or so, I don't like the words that come to me as I try to process. They feel empty, unimportant, with absolutely nothing solved. I remain in the same quandary in which I began.

I have spent a good part of the past ten years processing my thoughts and feeling by writing about the Episcopal Church, LGBT issues, bishops whose thoughts differ widely from my own. But many of those things have changed. If nothing else, I have changed.

I don't want to complain about the church anymore or who can or can’t be a part of it. I have no more idea what to do to make it better than anyone else. Besides, the best I can tell, it's better than a lot. Not perfect, but then it never will be. It's full of humans. A couple of thing I know…I am an Episcopalian and I believe that growth cannot be our primary concern.

I don't want to complain about LGBT issues anymore. Plus there are others who are far more up to date and able to debate the issues, both within the Episcopal Church, other denominations and in secular organizations. And I might add, they are doing a wonderful job.

And there are just so many other problems in the world. It is really difficult to focus on one. Just a small few of these...

budgets that feed the rich and further starve the poor…

a world out of balance environmentally, literally and figuratively...

violence which some feel can only be solved by more guns, more death, more prisons all the while screaming against abortion while showing large pictures of fetuses cut into pieces...

all the boys and girls who have been promised a job and an education if they will fight an unjust war in a foreign country so that we can play like we are safe here in the US. Oh, and oh yeah…the war…

Where does one begin? It is paralyzing.

And then there is God. What a joker! Or wrestler. Not sure which at this point. I vacillate between standing in confusion, scratching my head, feeling a bit silly for having come this far with so few directions up such a strange lane or feeling as though I have just been thrown to the ground and am now in a hammerlock. Either way, both feelings are debilitating to a degree.

To say I have been paralyzed is to tell only a part of the story. I have been rendered immobile with no ability to process.

So, imagine my delight when I found a new blog, new to me at least. It’s named Dirty Sexy Ministry. The name itself made me smile. One post resonated clearly, Disguised Blessings. It was particularly thought provoking.

The post made me re-remember that I know eventually I will come out of the other side of this thing and say "Aha!" as I nod slowly in appreciation for the understanding that what felt like an adversity was actually a blessing well disguised. Forget the fact that it was disguised in a bunch of what felt and looked like wadded up, wrinkled wrapping wet from whatever icky trash was tossed upon it before being pulled from the bottom of the waste basket. A blessing is a blessing. Thanks be to God.

I know I have been taking on a great many worries and concerns that do not belong to me -- right NOW, later maybe but now NOW -- I try to set these aside but they wash over me at unexpected moments in the middle of the night, in the midst of a prayer...even after offering a sermon, overwhelming me with joy and anxiety at the same moment.

So I suppose what this is not is the ravings of a mad woman (God knows I have wondered). Instead, I am merely involved in a struggle with what feels like the demons of the world rather than an angel of the Lord. I do believe there are demons of the world, however, I am fully aware that the process of understanding God's will for us almost always runs contrary to our culture's idea of ease and comfort therefore feels more like an affliction than a blessing.

I am not sure enough to tell the angel this but if it be demons, I say, Bring it on! Regardless of how well disguised it might be, I know who has my back.

If it’s an angel of the Lord, well, maybe it’s time for me to have a new name...regardless if it transforms me even more. 

Talking with Jesus

I know many people who have terrible things going on in their lives right now. Enough so, I feel fairly childish, churlish, petty and whatever other word might fit. Nonetheless, today, I miss the set of kids that just left to return home to Texas…which makes me miss all the family that wasn’t here. On top of that, it was just a crappy day. Perhaps it was a crappy day because of my attitude. Regardless, it sucked. Mean people always suck. People who make judgments based on what people say who are trying to cover their own asses suck just as much.

So, what do I do when I am missing kids, parents, Texas, sunshine, nice people and all that? I turn to Willie. Or Randy. And I listen to them sing gospel music. Deep roots. (for those who might not know – Willie Nelson and Randy Travis)

It all makes me feel better. Listening to Willie sing “Sometimes my path grows drear without a ray of cheer and then a cloud of doubt may hide the day. The mists of sin may rise and hide the starry skies but just a little talk with Jesus clears the way.” Because listening to this, I remember that Jesus loves me regardless of anything else in this world.

Regardless of my own sin that causes me to be petty or childish; regardless of how narrow other people see the world; regardless of all the disasters going on in people’s lives and the world, Jesus is still here.

“I may have doubts and fears my eyes be filled with tears, but Jesus is a friend who watches day and night.”

It may not be very deep theologically, but I don’t care right now. It’s all I need at this time. It reminds me that I am a feather on the breath of God and that the hot air that blows around me is not that breath and if I am still, I will know the difference. 

Serving My “Civic” Duty with a Hermeneutic Of Suspicion

A disclaimer: I know that there are many who believe that it is a good and right thing to be called to jury duty. I do not deny that. I do not wish to contradict that. The following is merely my observations and thoughts after spending two days within the judicial courts system.

Jury duty is touted as our civic duty – the responsibility to serve on a jury where another is being tried by that jury of his/her “peers”. Civic duty is, of course, our responsibilities as a citizen of our state and country. A peer is one with whom we share equal standing as in rank, class or age. That in itself is rather funny since the U.S. has always claimed to be a classless society. Let’s forget the fact that I am denied quite a few rights because of my perceived “life style”. Let’s just look at the idea of civic responsibility to serve on a jury.

Ccalled to appear on January 18 to serve on a “petit jury” at the Civil Courts Building in downtown Saint Louis, I diligently showed up at a few moments before the required 8:00 a.m. There was plenty of time to go through security, find the Jury Assembly Room, check in with the court clerk and squish into a seat in a very crowded room between two people who clearly left that space between them purposely.

I read the little handbook explaining all the things that would happen and how these events would unfold. I read about my civic duty and how fortunate I was to be called. I was being called into action to serve with my peers to keep justice in the forefront. We were there to keep the lawyers and judges just. On the walls around the room there were posters to substantiate the message of the booklet. Heady stuff.

All of this might ring a bit more true were it not for the fact that had I failed to show up for court or if I walked out at any given moment, I would be held in contempt of court punishable by fine and/or imprisonment. Suddenly I would have need of a jury to uphold justice for me.

A woman came on the loud speaker telling us, just in case we had not read the booklet, about the day(s). She thanked us for being there, told us again of our duty as citizens and tried to make us feel that all of the time spent would be rewarded by the idea that we were full citizens in a country that trusted our ability to form opinions. Oh, and don’t forget the $12 per day check we would receive!

She went on to let us know that if we had an “extreme” hardship that kept us from being able to serve, please come to the front desk to talk to the person there. And please, understand that loss of wages at a job that does not pay while one is on jury duty does not count as “extreme” hardship. It is our civic duty to suffer hardship for our state and country. Forget rent that needs to be paid; never mind about the electric bill. Tell the landlord and Ameren UE (electric company) that jury duty is far more important.

I, thankfully, have a justice minded board of directors along with a great boss who made certain that I lost no wages because of my civic duty begin served. Through the course of the day, I spoke with many who were not that fortunate and would suffer the consequences later in the week.

She also told us that there was a mezzanine on the floor above with vending machines and tables. A surprisingly few people took up the offer to leave the crowded room. I bolted up the stairs and found a nice table near the window.

There was something very surreal about sitting around all day waiting for my number to be called. There were hundreds of us there. At the sound of the intercom, all talking would cease. Or if one or two remained on the phone or created noise that interfered with the faceless voice, those listening expectantly threw glares at the offenders.

People sat with eyes closed or staring at a fixed point, heads cocked, ears tuned, listening intently for the one number that mattered. The speaker ceased calling the dozen or so numbers and a sense of normalcy returned to the room. Conversations were picked up where these had been dropped.

I sat a table with three other women. We knew that if we were not called on the first day, we would have to return the next morning. It took five rounds of numbers before my personal number was called. I was so used to it by that time; my comrades were the ones who caught it.

The weirdness if the situation returned as I told them goodbye. I felt a combined relief at a change in the game and a dread of what would come next.

Those of us called in the that round found our way to the front desk on the first floor where we were told to sit in the next to last row of a group of pews already filled to near capacity. Role was checked to make certain that those called were actually there. Six more jurors were needed to round out the required number.

We were once again thanked for attending to our civic duty and with paperwork done, we were told to follow the officer where he led us.

Following the officer down the stairs in single-file form, we passed signs warning us to remain quiet, no talking, no food, no drinks allowed. As I was near the end of the line, each time the line stopped for a few minutes, the cause was unknown. The sense of strangeness only increased because we were in a hallway and unable to see. Finally to a point of sight, it became clear that we were being herded onto an elevator. Eight people at a time. Another officer waited on the elevator. The other one counted us off: “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, wait right here” as he pointed for the next number 1 to stay outside of the elevator.

We rode up in silence to the 5^th floor. The officer in the elevator told us the division number and our judge’s name. She told us we would get off the elevator and await further instructions.

Throughout this procedure, I could not help but think of those before us who had been herded quietly into the unknown, in a single-file line with little chance to alter the course of events. Had I been one to panic at such scary thoughts, this would have been the time to do so. Thankfully, I held my calm.

We all wandered off the elevator and I, for one, was rather glad to see the unknown faces I had seen downstairs. There was no one at that moment waiting to tell us what to do or where to go so we aimlessly sat, leaned against the wall or paced uncertainly. It is rather amazing how quickly we can fall into a pattern of blind obedience.

After what seemed like a long time but was really only about ten minutes, an officer opened the door of the jury room and called in those assigned to the division number and judge. Within a few moments, role was once again called (in case one or two lost their way or bolted) and we were told where to sit. We were also alerted that this seat would be ours until jury selection was made. Looking up, I noticed that some of the light fixtures were in the style of the Scales of Justice.

Another five or ten minutes passed and a buzzer sounded. The officer called out, “All rise!” And we did.

The judge came in and we were told to be seated. He then began to explain the proceedings for the day. Again, he gave the now recognized spiel about our civic duty and how justice is only served when we are tried by a jury of our peers. The lawyers put forth evidence, the judge judges but the jury follows the letter of the law to decide beyond a reasonable doubt if the defendant is indeed guilty. And please do not forget that the burden of proof lies with the State to prove that the defendant is guilty because, as we all know, the one arrested, handcuffed and taken into custody until bail is set is innocent until proven guilty by a jury of his or her peers a year or so later (one year in this particular case). He told us the charges against the defendant (possession of a controlled substance) and reminded us that the only way we could give a verdict of guilty was in the event that the State offers evidence that convinces us “beyond a reasonable doubt” that the defendant is indeed guilty.

Then the fun began. Timeline review: checked in at 8 a.m., called to the jury assembly room around 2 p.m.( after 1 ½ hour lunch), sitting in the courtroom with the prosecuting attorney readying herself to begin questions at 3:15 p.m. The prosecuting attorney began polling the jury pool.

Law shows on television are obviously very popular. The reality of the courtroom can only be described as tedious, at least the reality of the courtroom as I saw it.

Obviously, the State’s evidence was tied up primarily in the testimony of two police officers and one analyst who ran the tests on the controlled substance because most of the questions were targeted at finding whether or not we, as individuals, could and would make a decision of belief based upon that testimony alone.

By four o’clock, my butt was numb and my brain was even more so. I felt trapped within a tedium that seemed interminable. Those who lifted their hands to answer questions were almost comical…at first. There was one I called “Jeremiah Johnson” who at each question would proclaim in a loud, booming voice, “Judge NOT, lest ye yeselves be judged!” Then there was the young woman behind me who was a waitress in a bar who answered, “well, you know, it’s like…well, I know both sides…they come into the bar and you know, I see, well, I see them acting like, you know…I am sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but you know, it’s just that, well, I see both sides and I, uh, just don’t know if I can be, well, you know, fair, because, you know, it’s just that, well, I see both sides…you know?”

Then there were the unending side bars. Does anyone realize the control that a Court Reporter has on a court? Nothing moves, no word is heard until she is in place and gives the nod to resume.

The judge finally called for a recess at 4:45 p.m. We were to show up the next morning at 9 a.m. and we were to be on time because to not be so would waste the time of the court and all present.

I can go on, but I would become as repetitious as the court itself. The basic point is this: I did not want to be there. I do not believe it is my civic duty to perform a duty at the threat of being incarcerated or fined if I do not perform that duty. I do not believe that drug possession should be a punishable offense nor do I believe that drug addictions will be cured or lessened by prosecuting those addicts.

Nonetheless, I do believe that I would have been as fair and impartial as possible regardless of the fact that I know of numerous instances of police harassment and unfair verdicts in court situations; in spite of the fact that I believe that racial profiling occurs often and the law is skewed in favor of those who have and against those who have not. Despite that, I would have tried to set these thoughts aside to listen to the evidence. After all, the burden of proof is always on the State to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, right?

What got me cut from the pool of jurors? When I finally had to hold up my hand to answer a question because to not do so would have had me sitting in willful silence, the lawyer answered my statement with, “So, are you saying that you could not be 100% impartial to the testimony of the police officers?” I answered, “Are you asking me if I would believe them simply because they are police officers?” She stated, “I am asking if you can be impartial because they are police officers.” I answered, “I can say to you that I will put forth a 100% effort to be fair and open to the evidence.” She again asked, “Does this mean that you cannot be 100% sure that you will be unbiased?” I answered, “I will always use a hermeneutic of suspicion in listening to any evidence put forth by the defense or the State.” She answered, “Thank you.”

I was cut in the next go round. 

Preached at St. Paul's, Carondolet on November 28, 2010. The Gospel text was Luke 7:28-35

“The Pharisees and lawyers rejected God’s purpose for themselves.”

That phrase leapt out at me.

I can just imagine the confusion the Pharisees and lawyers must have felt. What was Jesus talking about? They were following the letter of the Law – something they had studied all their lives.

Perhaps it impressed me simply because I am in the midst of reading Desmond and Mpho Tutu’s new book, Made for Goodness. For whatever reason, it is an age old quandary – why am I here? What is my purpose?

It is easy to get lost in all the information available – both then and now. The Pharisees thought they were doing what God intended for them to do. Here Jesus was talking about being baptized. What difference did that make to these men of the Law? It is so difficult to wrestle with the idea of what is known and that which is unknown.

In a world where there are so many unknowns, we reject the idea that God created us in goodness, for goodness – the point of the Tutus’ book.

Maybe that idea is just too simple to grasp.

St. Augustine wrote that our hearts are restless until they find their rest in God. But what does that mean? How do we find rest in this rush, rush world? Especially at this time of year? For that matter, how do we find God?

We hunger; we crave…something. This hunger eats away at us daily; causes us to seek and to sate that craving with things that take us so far away from the ideas of goodness and God’s purpose for us.

God blew breath into the first human – ruach – the breath of God.

God made those first humans and said, “It is very good.” Not just Good. Just good was for all the other aspects of creation. For the humans, God said it is VERY good.

We are made by God, for God, in goodness, for goodness.

It’s not that we SHOULD be good…it’s that we ARE good.

God said so. And that lives within us each moment of every day.

Yet even with that, the things that people fear most are alienation, separation…of being cast aside. We want to belong so badly that we seek out those things we that cause us to stray so far away from God’s purpose for us. Our lives are too often centered on trying to belong and … then, conversely, trying to run away. We want to be a part of things but when things get complicated we adopt the ‘fight or flight’ stance. We either join in some sort of fight… or we run away.

Yet if God created us all with the same goodness and if we are all called to love one another, then there has to be an understanding that we need one another

– every last one of us needs every last one of us, the first, the last and the most, the least – regardless of how complicated relationships make our lives.

.

Recently, four of the world’s religious leaders, including the Dalai Lama and our own Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori, met at Emory University in Atlanta. One of the leaders, Lord Jonathan Sacks, Britain’s chief Rabbi stated that spiritual happiness is the “greatest source of renewable energy that we have.”

Spiritual Happiness...Greatest source of renewable energy.

As an environmentalist, this is a profound statement to me.

All the leaders agreed that the more we give, the happier we are. My grandmother used to say that the more we give away, the more that comes back to us.

If we do need one another, if that is the way that God created us and if God’s purpose for us is goodness, made in goodness for the sake of goodness, then I think it is safe to assume that the answer to the question of God’s purpose for us is fairly clear.

Do good. Not for ourselves…but for others. Do good.

We reject God’s purpose for us when we put our needs above the needs of others or when we make ourselves the center of things. And it’s easy to make ourselves the center of attention – one way is to take on too much – to be in charge of this or that. To have to control so many things.

We live in an I, Me, Mine culture which promotes the idea that the individual is far more important than the whole…and that we actually have some right that others should cater to our … quirks. It keeps us from seeing very far from our own center point of being – rather than being centered in God, we center ourselves on ourselves. Not very stable. Mainly, it keeps us centered on that which we know.

The unknown scares the living daylights out of us. It scares us into a stubborn ignorance.

That is basically what the Pharisee’s and the lawyers did: John & Jesus, young men, newcomers telling the same story with a very different spin on it. How could they possible know all that these wise, learned men know, these men who had dedicated their lives to study the Law?

But John and Jesus did. They knew God’s purpose for themselves and they knew that it was to do good for others.

Advent is a time of meditation and reflection while awaiting the coming of something so spectacular and phenomenal that it alters our lives forever. It is a time where all creation is reconciling itself to God.

On this 2^nd Sunday in Advent, this Scripture reading from Luke calls us into a no uncertain recognition of God’s purpose for us -- reconciliation – with one another, this creation and with God.

When we reconcile ourselves to one another and to this great creation, we reconcile ourselves to God.

The only unknown in this is just to what extent will our lives be transformed.

Jesus, remember me

Our provost, Mike Kinman, offered a reflection on Sunday, November 21, the last Sunday after Pentecost. It reflected upon the request by the one criminal who asked, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Mike painted a picture of what it means to be remembered.

The picture that came first into my mind was, of course, of my family. My memories of this particular holiday are full of fabulous, my grandparents, parents, cousins, aunts and uncles, children, the smells as we walked into the house, the noise of so many people talking at once, the laughter and the warmth. These memories give me such feeling of family and what I think it means.

But what is it for me to be remembered by another?

I know that during the day tomorrow, I will be remembered by several people. Probably the one who will remember me most is my mom. My daddy too. The kids at one time or another will think about me, especially my daughter and grandbabies. My sister will remember me. My grandmother also.

The funny things about it all – as my own memories of Thanksgiving’s past will in many ways mirror their own.

In some ways, it tears my heart, I miss them all so badly. In other ways, I know that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. It doesn’t make it less painful, but it does make it a bit easier. To know that what I am doing now is important; that I am living a life that I believe I am called to live, it makes it easier.

But Lordy, I do miss my family!

So, tomorrow, as with every day, I am so thankful for so many things and so many people: Debbie, who has walked with me for this crazy journey and still loves me; Tucker, who has adapted as necessary to the craziness of our lives; Mom & Daddy, who love me unconditionally; for Amanda & Chris, who are taking care of business; Kyleigh, Kason, Caleb & Abby, who love me as only grandbabies can love a grandmother; for Josh & Karri and Matt who are my own even though others claim them; for my sister Jo who has been my best friend (and my best enemy in the past) and is always willing to support me;  my sweet niece Tori and her beautiful baby girl; and I am thankful for my wonderful, resilient, awesome grandmother, Bula Bell Click, 97 years young.

And just a few other things for which I also give thanks: for our friends far away in other lands and our new friends here in Saint Louis, for this crazy Episcopal Church, especially the Diocese of Missouri and her bishop, for my job, especially the new part of it!!!!!, for our new home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, and for the opportunity to breathe and laugh every single day! I give thanks for this great Creator God who has made us for goodness. Most especially, I give thanks for hope.

May God bless each and every one of you and fill you with love, laughter and Joy! It is good to remember and to be remembered. In our memories, we will always be united. 

"Increase our faith!"

How did I go to church all those years in the past and walk away with nothing more than a feeling that I had done what I was supposed to do?

Maybe it was the Baptist preacher style of Repent and Be Saved that kept me from hearing fully! I already knew I was saved so I didn’t feel the need to repent. For as long as I can remember, I have felt God’s abiding grace and love for me. If I heard “Increase our faith” long ago, I must have thought that I already had enough. I don’t know. I just don’t remember being that affected.

Perhaps it is the state of the world today. Maybe it is just me being older, more mature. Again, I don’t know. But what I hear now is this: Change. Act. Transform. Share the message. Share the passion. Feed my people.

In today’s Gospel reading (Luke 17:5-10), Jesus tells us that if our faith was the size of a mustard seed, still, we could tell a tree to uproot itself and plant itself in the sea and it would do so.

Right now, I am fairly disheartened at the state of things. So many people out of work, so many new people living on the streets and in shelters. So many children diagnosed with ADD, autism and all manner of other disorders. So much pollution. So much terror. So much hate and fear surrounding all people gay or lesbian. So many children dying at their own hands due to the hate and fear surrounding them.

So many people who have lost…or maybe never had…that faith the size of an itsy-bitsy mustard seed.

I think that one of the things that I never heard in all those sermons in the past was that it might be hard to live a life that demands transformation (of self…not of others). It means living on the edge…living outside of what is considered “normal”. I give thanks to God that I have never considered myself normal.

Ellen DeGeneres made a statement the other day that one gay teen suicide is tragic, four (and now there are six we know of) is an epidemic. And I agree.

What are we feeding ourselves that six boys could take their own lives in one month’s time and we cannot see this as an epidemic…as something to which we should Act…Now. Each one of these boys belonged to some mother, father, sister, brother. Each one of these children was loved by their families. Each one of these boys took his life because he was being tormented by other children who feared him. Except, the fear was acted out in hate and bullying. It is difficult to see the torment as fear when it is directed at one person by several (or many).

The mustard seed passage goes on to say that we have a place in this life. It is to plow and tend the sheep and then come in from the field and take care of the master. It is our job. It is what we are supposed to do.

Literally, we may not have a field to plow or sheep to tend. Nor do we necessarily have a “master” to whom we are a slave. Yet if we want that power of faith…so powerful that even a tiny portion can change the nature of things as we know these…if we want that faith the size of a mustard seed, we have to understand that not only do we have to take care of our daily business but we also have to take care of the business of Jesus. That business is making sure that we don’t just cry into our computers or newspapers as we read a sad story but that we work at changing that which is bound in fear.

We have to make a difference. The only way we can do that is by speaking out against fear; standing up in faith; shouting out in Love.

Today is the only day we have. Tomorrow may be too late. Another child may have died simply because he did not hear our voice saying, “It will get better.”

It will get better…IF we do something to make it better.

Change the world. It’s what we are supposed to do. 

Processing by Blogging

We found a house that we really like. Of course, there are many houses in this city that we really like. The point is, we can actually afford this one.

It is huge, perfect for visiting guests, family, anyone who needs a place to sit and heal. Lots of room but homey.

We turned an offer in on it yesterday. But it was such a good buy, in size, price and location, we were not the only ones. As a result, we were outbid.

The good thing is that because of the belief that God is always working in our lives, I didn’t get my hopes way up there. We prayed that God would guide us in the right way and guard us from ourselves. Because of that prayer, I was not really worried. If we didn’t get it, then I was ready to believe that was just part of the big Plan. If we did get it, well, then, I was just as ready to believe that was part of the big Plan too. Either way…it worked.

Regardless of hopes, the idea of once again owning a home brought me several points of consternation.

If we own a home are we tied down – to one place, to a mortgage, to jobs, to a certain economy and real estate market? That doesn’t fit into the gospel idea of ‘take nothing, sell it all, go and trust God’. When we first began this journey, we did take a few things, we didn’t sell it all but we go and for the most part of this journey, we have trusted that God is always with us and will always guide us.

If we own a home, does it make us less ready to go as God guides? We already proved that one. We had a home plus acreage. Plus animals. Once we said ‘yes, we are ready,’ all things fell into place. In a very short amount of time, we no longer had most of those things and we were on the road. We lacked for nothing.

Ok, so that answers one question. A home does not tie us down.

But what about too much? How much is too much? This house was huge. Seriously so. Over 3000 square feet. No, we certainly do not need that much room. However, it would have been ideal to create a hospitality house, to turn it into a place for short retreats, a home always open to those who need a space for a short while. Still…it was grand.

I don’t think I will ever be able to justify owning a home while so many in the world don’t even have a roof. I can’t even begin to try. Nor will I make excuses for the fact that I have a roof. I am no more deserving than another. But I can make certain that I use my home in a way that will be to the glory of God.

And always, I will remember that just as Jesus sent the disciples out into the world with nothing, so Jesus later told them to be prepared for the next stage of the journey.

I will continue to process this. But I do believe I feel change coming. 

July 29, 2010 Special Day

This is a very special day. 

Today, we celebrate Mary, Martha and Lazarus-Mary, for her willingness to listen; Martha for her ability to act and for the faith of both that allowed them to believe that Jesus was indeed the Resurrection and the Life and that all who believe will live forever. Upon that faith, Lazarus was returned to them. They are all symbols of faith, friendship and hospitality.

Today is also the birthday of our youngest grandson, Kason and our niece, Tori.

But today we also celebrate an event that happened thirty-six years ago. On July 29, 1974, I was three years out of high school and living what I thought was an independent life. Although my parents had already begun attending the Episcopal Church of the Holy Mount in Ruidoso, New Mexico, I was totally alienated from any type of religious institutions. It was a part of that time where I successfully drowned the niggling voice that came to me at odd moments. I was almost 21 and entertained no desire for any religious life.

My myopic view of life left no room for religion and very little concern for the political upheavals of the day. Therefore, I had absolutely no awareness of the 11 women “irregularly” ordained into the Sacred Order of Priests in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

There was no anger, no awe, no shock. Just total ignorance.

For the past 15 years, it has mattered greatly to me. So today, I lift up these women and the men who supported them in thanksgiving and in prayer.

Merrill Bittner
Alison Cheek
Alla Bozarth (Campell)
Emily C Hewitt
Carter Heyward
Suzanne R. Hiatt (deceased 2002)
Marie Moorefield
Jeanette Piccard (deceased 1981)
Betty Bone Schiess
Katrina Welles Swanson (deceased 2006)
Nancy Hatch Witting


Ordaining Bishops:
Daniel Corrigan
Robert L DeWitt
Edward R Welles
Assisting: Antonio Ramos

It is upon the shoulders of all these women and these men that I stand today. Thank you.

Praisin' in the grass is a gas, baby can you dig it?

A friend of mine from Fort Worth commented on my Facebook note about Mass on the Grass on Pride Sunday in Saint Louis, MO. He wrote “praisin’ in the grass is a gas, baby, can you dig it?” That paraphrase couldn’t fit any better!

And it was a joyous occasion with only one blot upon the service. That was the preacherman who rants each year a short distance from the crowd gathered to praise God and give thanks for God’s inclusive love. This year he stood much closer than in the past two years. He shouted throughout the service that God condemns all those who are gay and lesbian, bisexual and trangender. He yelled out that if we don’t change we will burn in hell. At one point, he asked if we thought that God would really listen to our prayers. A number of people nearer to his rant cried out in unison, “Yes we do!”

If he could be called nothing else, the word rude is appropriate to describe him. But many other descriptive terms come to mind. However, the emotion he brought out in me was an extreme and almost overwhelming sadness.

Sadness for him. That his idea of God is so small and his understanding so limited that he focused on a very few pieces of scripture rather on the theme throughout all scripture – LOVE. He attempted to thrust upon us a god so small and vengeful that only the fearful and hateful could ever worship a god such as that. All of his rantings were antithetical to my understanding of what God is to me.

I wanted him to hear the idea that if we are able to reconcile ourselves to one another, then we can be reconciled with God. He seemed a sad and lonely man, full of the fire of hell. Driven by a false dilemma that creates an inability to live in faith and love, he could not hear my message or that of others who tried to talk with him.

The Epistle reading for yesterday was Galatians 5:1, 13-25. I am sure that the preacherman knew the verses well. “Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these.” Sadly, I am also sure that his focus would be only the part dealing with sexual acts rather than viewing the verses as a whole.

Even sadder still is the fact that he does not reap the promise of the very next verses…”The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit.”

Preacherman is scared and filled with vengeance. Preacherman is afraid that if we, as LGBT people are accepted as full members into the living kin-dom of God, what does that say for him? If we are loved by God as children of God, and that in that love there is no “other” or “them,” where does that leave him in the hierarchal, patriarchal tenuous world he lives in? Where is his authority and power?

And that is the sad part. If we, as LGBT people hold an equal share in that love of God, he may see himself as losing the small amount of power and authority that he feels he can claim.

That is what fear does to us. It makes us worry that we are not getting our fair share. We put ourselves first rather than understanding that it is in the giving that we receive.

We are called into freedom but that does not mean that we can stand on a street corner and judge and condemn those we deem unworthy according to our own limited understanding. The “whole law is summed up in a single command.” We are called to love our neighbors as we love ourselves.

Preacherman can’t love me because his imagination won’t allow him to know how fully he is loved by God.

Because of that, he is not able to love himself. There is no way he could understand what was happening as we were “praisin’ in the grass.”

What is it to you?

I have worked at a few food pantries over the last 15 years. In each one, one of the biggest problems was combating the need to control who gets how much. Someone was always worried that those receiving help would take advantage of those giving it away.

If a food pantry wishes to receive canned FDA foods, there certain rules apply that the pantry must follow to qualify. The pantry has to keep records of the people who receive the goods, i.e. social security, picture ID, residency, income eligibility. Time restrictions on how often a person/family may collect food are also set. Each client according to family size receives a certain amount of protein (tuna, peanut butter, legumes), vegetables and fruit each time period.

The reason a food pantry follows these guidelines is that this food comes from the federal government at no charge to the pantry. It is free. That means there is a great deal more substantial food that can be given out to each family every month over and beyond what comes in as donations. But, as I have heard all my life, nothing in life is free. With the free food come rules that exclude. If the pantry does not wish to stock their shelves with federal foods, then that which is given away becomes subject only to the largeness of heart…or the fear that there might not be enough.  

Complaints that this, that or another “client” has a cell phone, a nice car, cigarettes, nice clothes or some other you-got-it-but-I-want-it material object causes these things to become a meter by which that client is gauged worthy (or unworthy) to receive free food.

Not long ago, I read Sara Mile’s Take this Bread. Now I am reading her book, Jesus Freak. Two things come to me from these books: Feed my sheep. Feed all my sheep, no exclusions.

It’s all about steadfast unconditional love…that hesed of God. “We can't be taken advantage of when we give away without condition. When we give with the only consideration being that we give to all, no one can take advantage of us. (Sara Miles in Jesus Freak when a student asked if she was afraid that people would take advantage of the St. Gregory of Nyssa Food Pantry) It’s sort of like that crazy verse, “whoever loses his life will save it; whoever is last will be first.”

This is important information for us to digest, not just from a food point of view but for all basic needs that people have. We need food. We need shelter from the elements. We need education and medical care. All these things make up a community. We need to love and be loved. We need community. By what do we monitor another’s need?

The world is full of people who worry that someone else is going to get something he or she doesn’t deserve. We are so worried about that idea that we can’t even see that people are dying from lack of medical attention, food, shelter, love…and more.

These things should not be used as bargaining chip in the game of life. Food, love, shelter and so many other things are not treats to hold over another’s head while asking that person to sit, beg, or play dead.

“Feed my sheep.” In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells Simon Peter – feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep. And then, when Peter worries about whether or not the beloved disciple should stay or go, Jesus says, “what is that to you?” He did not say, ‘if you think you have enough to share, then feed others.’ He just said, “Feed…” He said “Follow me” not, ‘come on, if and when you have the time.’

What is it to you or to me?

Jesus didn’t tell us who the lambs are. He didn’t tell us where we were going. We cannot assume that there are lambs less deserving. We cannot assume we have the answers. We have only the work that is in front of us. We don’t have time to worry about who we should exclude. The only thing we can safely assume is that Jesus meant all.

Every last one.

Now.

Today.

This very minute.