By Susan Fawcett

This Advent, you may spend time each day with the daily readings. You may have a devotional book of some sort. You may light the candles on an Advent wreath. Or, you might just find yourself plugging in your iPod.

Last year, a group of young priests, recent graduates from Virginia Theological Seminary, created daily Advent podcasts. The Rev. Lonnie Lacy and the Revs. Casey and Melody Shobe came up with the idea.

Lonnie explains: "When I was in college, only 7 or 8 years ago, we didn't have iPods. Walking across campus, you'd pass people and say hello. Everyone was engaged with one another. But now that I'm on this large campus as a chaplain, everybody walks around with their iPods on and their earbuds in. It struck me as an opportunity because I thought, if people are walking around so isolated because they've got the earbuds in and they're not engaging one another or the world-maybe we can put out some good content that would challenge them to think about what it does mean to engage the world."

Additionally, communicating a spiritual message through a tech-savvy platform meets people where they already are. "We wanted to create something that would be relevant and accessible, to fit into daily life and work," said Melody Shobe. Lonnie agreed. "These podcasts are an attempt to integrate the holy into our daily lives and activities. Driving to Walmart isn't in itself a holy experience. But to invite God with you, to try to shape your perspective in a way that is absolutely contrary to the way Walmart shapes our perspective, IS a holy exercise. There is nothing wrong in the world with people trying to integrate the holy into their everyday ordinary activities."

Just 5-7 minutes long, with a focus on a brief segment of the daily readings from Lesser Feasts and Fasts, and always including some piece of contemporary music, the 'Devo-to-Go' podcasts were available on iTunes. The creators got very positive feedback, and expanded their base of contributors for a Lenten podcast series. By the end of Lent, their listenership was up to 600 people. "What blew my mind," Lonnie said, "is that we had listeners in Japan and South Africa; they must have found it via iTunes. I felt like we were just a bunch of kids playing with headphones and computers. But the fact is that we give these 7-minute glimpses into what life can be life in the midst of a culture that is becoming more isolated. So it's a gift."

Melody said that, as opposed to preaching, podcasting "gives me the freedom to have a little more fun-to be a little more creative in how I respond to a text. It's partially the anonymity of it-I can tell a story about my childhood that I might feel a little less comfortable saying in a worship setting. It's the distance that technology gives." Lonnie added that podcasting can be a surprisingly more intimate medium than preaching: "You're talking right into someone's ear. So, writing for a podcast is more like trying to share something intimate with a close friend, rather than trying to shape the hearts and minds of a large group of people."

Casey Shobe, another of the original creators of Devo-to-Go, said that "As the weeks of Advent went on, the effort of writing and mixing the podcasts became a sort of spiritual practice in itself. It was very fulfilling that something that spoke to my personal spiritual life was then able to speak to others and help them experience the seasons of Advent and Lent."

With an expanded list of over a dozen writers, clergy and lay, from all over
the country, the Devo-To-Go podcasts will be available again this Advent at several locations, including the Diocese of Washington’s online Advent calendar, and on iTunes.

"I think that this exercise has been a good example of how much the young clergy of our church have to offer, both to the church and to the world," Melody said. "Most of the contributors are under 30 years old, and their work is definitely quality. I listened to every one and was fed by every one. It was a gift that the young clergy of the church have given me. It's a reminder that experience isn't the only voice that has to speak; the fresh
perspective and enthusiasm and passion that we have to offer is important too."

Preach it, sister.

The Rev. Lonnie Lacy serves as Episcopal Chaplain to Georgia Southern University and the Assistant Rector at Trinity Episcopal Church, Statesboro, GA. The Rev. Casey Shobe is the Priest Associate, Christ Church Cathedral, Houston, Texas. The. Rev. Melody Wilson Shobe is the Assistant to the Rector at St. Thomas the Apostle Episcopal Church, Houston, Texas. The Rev. Susan Fawcett keeps the blog This Passage. She serves a parish the Diocese of Virginia, and supports the work of the General Convention publication The Center Aisle.

By Kit Carlson

Yes, I got a Facebook page. I really shouldn't have one. I'm not in the proper generation (I'm at the tail end of the Baby Boom, and age 50 is looming into view). My kids, who ARE in the proper generation -- Milliennials -- have told me repeatedly that Facebook is their world and that I should stay out.

But one of the Michigan State students who is part of the campus ministry here asked me over the summer if I had a page, saying it would be easier for us to do some church business if I did. And I discovered that Facebook has opened its membership to anyone. It has become indiscriminately welcoming. I signed up. My kids shrieked in horror.

For those not in the know, Facebook is a social networking site like My Space, or Xanga, where one builds a page that then links to one's friends' pages. You can send each other virtual gifts, report on your social life, write on each other's "walls" (which are spaces for public messages) or send each other private emails. Developers continue to create all kinds of applications for Facebook pages, including interactive webs that show how all your friends are connected, a map of all the places you've ever been, links to your iTunes library, movie knowledge quizzes, and many, many, many virtual wars between pirates and ninjas, zombies and werewolves, and it goes on and on and on.

So I got my Facebook page, and immediately found myself surrounded by "so great a cloud of witnesses." My colleagues, far-flung friends, fellow clergy, and former professors also have Facebook pages. My seminary, Virginia Theological Seminary, has a page. Episcopal Cafe has a page. Our MSU Canterbury group has a page. There are groups for Episcopal clergy and Anglican clergy. There is a group for folks who like the Christian humor site Ship of Fools. There are the groups "There are no Episcopalians down in hell ... hell, no!" and "Episcopalians drink real wine." There is my favorite group, "Praise bands annoy God."

And through it all runs the interlocking, organic web of "friends." Facebook friends can be people you really know and really love ... I can be connected with my friends and former colleagues back in Maryland, send them little notes, share pictures, and check in with them quickly and easily. Facebook friends can be people you only know by name ... some of my fellow Episcopal Cafe contributors are now my Facebook friends, and I can see their pictures and begin to envision them as three-dimensional human beings. Facebook friends can be colleagues you haven't met yet. At our recent Michigan clergy conference, it was fun to meet people IRL (in real life) who were previously just Facebook friends. I have a Facebook friend who used to be a parishioner at my church, but who moved away before I arrived here. A few of my parishioners are my Facebook friends. My nephew in Italy is my Facebook friend. My best friend back in Maryland is my Facebook friend. My crazy hiking lady friends, who are scattered through four states, are my Facebook friends.

And yes, my kids, ages 20 and 18, did become my Facebook friends too. I try not to abuse the privilege. I rarely look at their pages. I refuse to let their friends friend me. I also do not friend youth members of any of my parishes, current or previous. Facebook was their world first. I try not to horn in. And because Facebook is, in the end, a public venue, I try not to post anything that would embarrass my children, my IRL friends or my parish.

But for me, the arrival of Facebook into my life has broadened my vision. I am able to see my colleagues across the church, working to serve the people of God. I am able to hear different voices, share different experiences of faith. I am able to play with my friends at a distance, remembering that life and the church are not always such deadly serious things. I have prayed over my friend list from time to time, holding them in my heart in the presence of God.

Facebook for me has become a foretaste ... of the heavenly banquet, of the great gathering at the throne of God that will be the culmination of all things. It is a visual and virtual reminder to me that we are all connected in ways we don't even envision, friends at a distance, friends nearby, each of us on a journey through life. Facebook reminds me that it is ultimately a journey shared.

The Rev. Kit Carlson, is the rector of All Saints Episcopal Church in East Lansing, Mich. In 2003, she played the apostle Paul on the world's first internet reality series, The Ark, a project of the Christian humor website Ship of Fools.

By Kit Carlson

Forces are at play in our world and in our church, and one of the best assessments I have heard lately of those forces came from a community reform expert. Peter Plastrik, co-author of Banishing Bureaucracy and The Reinventors’ Fieldbook, spoke recently at a training session for community leaders in East Lansing, Michigan. He outlined five forces, five “Gs”, that are affecting communities across America.

As he spoke, it struck me that these forces are the same ones affecting our church.

Plastrik’s “Five G’s” are:

Grand Rapids – as a metaphor for the global economy. The internet, easy international travel, and the ability to move jobs anywhere in the world have changed the economies of communities once based on manufacturing and local enterprises.

Goat meat – as a metaphor for immigration and all the challenges it brings. Consumption of goat meat in the U.S. has skyrocketed as immigrants from countries that eat goat arrive, bringing their national cuisines with them.

Greenland – as a metaphor for global warming. The ice on this large Arctic island is vanishing, and with climate change comes a host of new challenges for each community.

Gay people – as a metaphor for all the cultural challenges surrounding gender, age, and sexuality.

Geoffrey Canada – creator of the Harlem Children’s Zone, a community-based organization that seeks to serve 9,000 children, providing support from birth through college. Canada serves as a metaphor for self-empowered citizens, who don’t wait for government or other institutions to solve community problems.

A member of the audience added a sixth “G”, the Graying of America, as the long-promised demographic shift of the Baby Boom into old age begins at last.

Plastrik’s “G-forces” made a lot of sense to me. When people ask, “What is happening to our church?” they often think in terms of political movements -- liberals versus conservatives, progressives versus traditionalists. Instead, one might look at the power of these forces, playing out in the parishes and dioceses and provinces of The Episcopal Church and of the Anglican Communion.

G-1: The worldwide Anglican Communion was not so prominent 30 years ago. As the global economy has taken shape, a global Communion emerged in prominence and consideration along with it. And just as a global economy knows no borders, ecclesiastical relationships that cross borders and jurisdictions follow the same pattern of connections that criss-cross the planet and minimize the importance of local communities.

G-2: Rapid immigration into the United States brought Anglicans from around the world into American parishes. No longer is Anglican worship uniform across The Episcopal Church. Inculturation has come to us, and so we sing from many traditions, read scripture in other languages, practice Pentecost every day of the church year. The values and expectations of other cultures become part of our conversations about sex, worship, politics and a host of other issues.

G-3: The churches of the Gulf Coast still recovering from Katrina understand how climate change can affect our churches and communities. There is more to come, and Bishop Charles Jenkins of Louisiana has already seen it coming. His call for the church to focus on ministries of relief and development instead of on schism and division comes out of hard experience.

G-4: There is not much to say that hasn’t been said about the cultural challenges of inclusion and acceptance of GBLT people. Joan Chittister said it best perhaps … the Anglicans just got to the issue earlier than most.

G-5: Self-empowered citizens, entrepreneurial community activists … the church is full of them. Duncan, Iker, Minns and those who would develop an alternate structure are entrepreneurs in their way. Why wait for the agonizingly slow movement of the Communion and its provinces to address Windsor, gay bishops, a Covenant, or any other issue? Why not set up one’s own alternative diocese, alternative province, alternative Communion?

Finally, there is that sixth G-force, one that Plastrik dismissed as not of interest to him. But the Graying of America, the graying of the Episcopal Church, is a real force. As I look across the faces of my parish, I see a community that has failed to effectively share the gospel with the generations coming after it. There are faithful elders and faithful Boomers … most of whom have grown children who do not themselves attend church, who are not raising the grandchildren in any faith, and who have abandoned religion as irrelevant. The leading edge of the church is dying off, and it is not replenishing itself.

And so the question is probably not – what to do about gay bishops or authorized rites of blessing. The question is really: How will we navigate these powerful forces? In a global, migratory, entrepreneurial, aging, culturally conflicted, climactically threatened world … how are we going to be Church? How will we proclaim the good news of Christ in the face of forces beyond our control?

The Rev. Kit Carlson, is the rector of All Saints Episcopal Church in East Lansing, Mich. In 2003, she played the apostle Paul on the world's first internet reality series, The Ark, a project of the Christian humor website Ship of Fools.

By Marshall Scott

So there I was, today, looking in at one of the Episcopal blogs -- one of THOSE blogs. You know the type: issues are raised by blog owners and moderators, who do have a clear position, but who are themselves relatively orderly and polite. Then, extensive comments are posted, most by folks who agree with the owners and moderators; some by folks who agree intemperately; and a few by folks who are, well, virulent. I do visit such sites, of more than one position, and some more than others; but they exist across the spectrum of our current Episcopal and Anglican disagreements.

And for each of those sites there are a few respondents who don’t fit the mold. They may hold the “other” position, or they may simply want to play [angel’s or devil’s] advocate. And among them there are gadflies. Gadflies are usually civil (and uncivil gadflies usually get moderated out), but are always both consistent and persistent. They are convicted of the rightness of their respective causes, principles, and authorities. They assert much more than they reason, however reasonable they perceive themselves to be. They are happy, or at least determined, to stand as Daniel in the lions’ den in order to proclaim their positions. They delight in taking on all comers. They find moral satisfaction in being challenged, and even more in being attacked; for blessed are they indeed if they “suffer for the sake of the Gospel.”

And, predictably enough, it does indeed become a den, although whether of lions, foxes, or adders is not always clear. A gadfly is inevitably successful in generating not simply challenge and discussion, but also an attack. Shortly some few of the regulars on the site fall into intemperate and uncivil posts, largely of thinly veiled (if veiled at all) ad hominem attacks. There are those, of course, who seek to discuss and to argue logically and civilly; but they can be drowned out by the volume if not the number of the more personal, less temperate responses. And those less temperate responses are less likely to be moderated away, because the moderator is so conscious of the suffering that has led the responder to speak truth, however intemperately.

So, there I was today, looking at one of those Episcopal blogs, and I was struck suddenly by my favorite verses from Proverbs:

[4] Answer not a fool according to his folly,
lest you be like him yourself.
[5] Answer a fool according to his folly,
lest he be wise in his own eyes.
(Proverbs 26:4-5, RSV)

I spent Saturday of Labor Day Weekend in the midst of a cultural experience. Specifically, I attended my first feis, my first Irish dancing competition. My niece made her first parent-less trip to come and compete. Family members outnumbered dancers in the room, but they faded from view, overwhelmed by the colorful riot of dancing dresses. They showed every color in the crayon box (although there is surprisingly little green and, less surprisingly, even less orange), decorated as they were with shapes and patterns that once showed family and tribe and allegiance.

In a way, the current Episcopal and Anglican discussions have all the ordered chaos of a feis: within the parameters of the larger event there is the dull mutter of the crowded room, the mingling of hundreds of conversations, until someone calls a tune. Then, for a period there is great focused interest, as most in the room watch the competitors doing their very best to outdo one another in optimizing the balance of authentic choreography, competent performance, and that little bit of added presentation that might hold the attention of the judge. After that there is applause for all, or at least for one’s own; and impatient waiting to see who has outdone whom; and a return to the dull mutter. There will, of course, be some ranking at the end, and some competitors will be thrilled and some disappointed, and their respective families with them. But most present simply want to have danced well, and to have heard their efforts appreciated.

In parallel, we who want to take our own places in this discussion, have opportunities in the blogosphere (and elsewhere, certainly) to share our reflections and to see the reflections of others. At our best, we’re also trying to optimize a balance of authenticity, competence, and that little bit of added presentation that we hope will allow us to stand out a bit. Most of the time as a common enterprise I think we manage relatively well; but sometimes it isn’t any prettier for us than for the poor, unprepared dancer. And in all those situations, there are the colors and patterns of opinion that claim family and tribe and allegiance. It is in just those circumstances that we need to think about the passage from Proverbs: whether our participation will challenge foolishness, or simply contribute to it.

It’s September; and there are those who have seen events of this September, and of the Autumn to follow, as critical, literally as moments of crisis. There is much talk of deadlines and decisions, of imposition and resistance, of the standing and falling of many in Zion. Because I continue to think these are struggles for identity (and I do think it’s about identity, with such issues as sexual morality and Biblical authority and historical precedent being discriminators within the identities at issue), they’re all the more liable to be personal, ad hominem responses. I think Episcopal Café is one place that has worked hard to maintain discourse instead of dissonance; and while most of us who write here would be considered “progressive,” we have all sought to offer our best, and to offer the best of the Episcopal Church as we see it.

But out there in the rest of the blogosphere, on our own blogs and in responding to the blogs of others, I think we need to reflect on Proverbs. We believe the voices of the Net are meaningful and in some sense representative in Episcopal and Anglican discussions. We believe them part of the conversation, along with sermons and official statements and press releases. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be putting our own view out, and we wouldn’t be reading and responding to the voices of others. As we do so, let’s think carefully, and respond appropriately. The lessons from Proverbs should give us all pause; and if they don’t, there is always that other proverb: “Better to be silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.”

The Rev. Marshall Scott is a chaplain in the Saint Luke’s Health System, a ministry of the Diocese of West Missouri. A past president of the Assembly of Episcopal Healthcare Chaplains, and an associate of the Order of the Holy Cross, he keeps the blog Episcopal Chaplain at the Bedside.

By Helen Thompson

I've recently become fascinated with home improvement shows on HGTV, especially those that talk about fixing up a place on the cheap. Sometimes, it faintly reminds me of watching MacGyver when I was a teenager. They make household furniture out of paper clips and dry ice while window treatments created from repurposed cheese doodles really make that room pop! For those of you not familiar with these shows, they use a tricky technique to make sure you don't change the channel between room makeovers—they don't put a commercial break between shows. Vroom! You're hooked!

Just imagine what they could do for the vestry on a budget—new classy storage solutions for those nametags, stylish literature holders made from magazine holders spray-painted to resemble stained glass, and let's not forget the crown moulding chair rail with the two-tone paint job in the narthex. Woo hoo!

We're not strangers to changing floor plans. Full disclaimer: I was out of the church for 15 years. When I came back, many of the churches I went to had moved the altar forward and brought the Gospel into the aisles. And despite being completely churchless for a decade and a half, I had a typically Anglican response: I just really didn't know how I felt about all that. But then, over time, I realized that these changes were meant to bring the Gospel and the Eucharist closer to me.

Another makeover that had taken place while I was gone was that the Peace had become more like a farmer's market, with people wandering the aisles and chattering amongst each other, sometimes spending more time in this little walkabout than they did listening to the rector's homily. I'd just sit there staring and feeling lost. I still do, to a certain extent because my constant moves and frequent weekend travel are balanced by a solid attachment to my internet faithspaces, making me something of a technomadic parishioner rather than a truly peripatetic one. The Peace, to me, has become an exercise in overcoming mild social anxiety. And I'm going through it again, having just moved to a new town with a wonderful church where the Peace doesn't walk about as much and the Gospel is still read from the pulpit. And I find I miss the new stuff. You know how it is: how many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb? (Everyone, all together now, clap your hands to your cheeks like you're Home Alone and shriek, "CHAAAANNGGE??!")

But, see, that's what is so wonderful about the Church. I leave it for many years and come back to find it's grown with me, so much so that I'm staying put. And while the rest of the communion squabbles and dickers over who's sleeping with whom, I rest comfortably in the knowledge that I can sit comfortably between the Buddha and Paul, or between my conservative cousin and my aunt in the "unconventional" relationship, between my mistrustful-of-religion fiancé and my high-Anglican priestly friends. No matter whether I'm in an old stone country church or a contemporary worship structure or a coffeeshop with my emergent pals or the National Cathedral on a bright spring morning, no matter whether this week's faithspace has had an extreme makeover, churchified edition, or involves being somewhere sliding down a rock face near the Potomac River, no matter how the seasons or the scenery or the steeples change, I'm still the one who comes through the doors—literal and metaphorical—and can barely catch my breath for all the beauty that surrounds me.

Thank you, God.

Helen Thompson, known on the faithblogging circuit as Gallycat, is a writer living in the northern Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. She has written for the Philadelphia City Paper, RevGalBlogPals, Geez magazine and others. Visit her on the web at Gallycat's Lounge.

By Nick Knisely

I’ve been fascinated for years by technology and the way humanity uses it to solve problems. So not surprisingly, when I became a priest in the Episcopal Church, I found myself wondering a lot about how the Church and its mission are being molded by our changing technology.

This idea that the Church is molded by technology may seem counter-intuitive to those who are familiar with the rhythm and shape of our worship services. Much of what happens on Sundays and the special days of the church year is rooted in antiquity (and occasionally anachronism). The white robes we wear on such occasions are descended from the roman toga that was last worn commonly at least a thousand years ago. The bread and the wine are descended from Hebrew practices from a time three thousand or so years before that. And yet, the structure of modern church and its daily life (and worship life) are what they are in large part out of reaction to and because of technological innovations.

I’m not thinking about the Internet or the rise of the new media when I say this. Rather I’m thinking about the innovation that technology brings and the changes that happen to daily life as a result. For example, I can argue that the Church in the United States is still learning to come to terms with the fundamental changes that cars—and more importantly freeways—have brought to our culture.

Though I’ve not done the research to say this conclusively, my instincts tell me that the numerical decline of the Episcopal Church relative to the population of the United States is due in large measure to the fact that our parishes are still mostly in urban centers, but many of our parishioners (historically speaking) have migrated to the suburbs and exurbs. The denominations that have grown explosively in the past four or five decades are ones that have moved aggressively to plant new congregations with LARGE parking lots which cater to a motoring and mobile society better than a large downtown building with no parking and few bathrooms. Because the Episcopal Church has, by and large, been slow off the mark in responding to population migration we’ve declined and they’ve grown. (It has less to do with theological orientation than many people think, though the fact that more theologically conservative denominations are also often more evangelistically-oriented and more committed to new church starts has to be recognized.)

In other words, the numerical decline of the Episcopal Church may be caused as much by changing technology and our inability to respond to it as it is anything else. I wouldn’t be surprised if a shift of similar proportions wasn’t upon the church now as well.

As technology makes it easier for business and industry to customize their products for to the taste and needs of individuals, those same individuals are coming to expect the same sort of customization in the rest of their lives and from their faith. The rise of Gods carefully crafted in our image is less a result of a rising tide of selfishness and narcissism than it is a direct consequence of a person’s everyday experience of what has come to be normal. In a society saturated with messages that proclaim “Have it your way!”, why should we expect people to instinctively understand that learning to be accountable to a community and to God by dying to self is going to be the path to Truth and happiness? And yet, paradoxically dying to self is the way to true happiness and part of our mission as catholic Christians is to show that it is just so.

I don’t believe however that the solution is to loudly decry the rise of individualism in the West, or to point fingers at people whom we decide are acting selfishly. The interactions between society, religion and technological innovation are much too subtle and deep to expect such tactics be successful. The good news though, is that we have in our treasure an antidote. We have the ability to see the world through the eyes of people from different cultures and from different times.

The same technology that allows us to “narrow-cast” information to small sub-groups of people, can also make it possible for us to hear the voices of the sorts of people we might never have encountered before. It’s no longer remarkable that we can read in real-time the words of people who live in war zone. We can see, for instance, the horror of war directly without having it filtered by our society’s own lenses. Learning to see our own actions through the eyes of others makes it a great deal easier for us to truly love our others as ourselves—because technology allows us to become their neighbors.

But frankly, more importantly, we have in our treasure a gift that will allow us to see ourselves not just in the eyes of others, but in the eyes of God. The lessons that we have in the Bible, the collected experiences of the God’s people over thousands of years and the stories and teachings of Jesus give us a timeless perspective upon our own lives. And I think it’s that perspective that can allow us to be proactive and not reactive in the way that we use technology.

I’d frankly much rather we started being proactive. Learning to intentionally manage the changes that innovation is bringing is the first step to our re-claiming our call to tell the world about Jesus. Thanks be to God that the primary tool we need to do this is found in our weekly antiquated and occasionally anachronistic Sunday services. If we learn to use the perspective that this gives us, we then will learn to use the technology we develop so that it serves us, rather than having us react to it.

The Very Rev. W. Nicholas Knisely is dean of Trinity Cathedral in Phoenix, Ariz., and chair of the Episcopal Church's Standing Commission on Communications. He blogs at Entangled States.

Image (detail) "Communion" by Camilla Brunschwyler Armstrong