This truly is the vision of God: never to be satisfied in the desire to see him. But one must always, by looking at what he [or she] can see, rekindle the desire to see more. Thus, no limit would interrupt growth in the ascent to God, since no limit to the Good can be found nor is the increasing of desire for the Good brought to an end because it is satisfied.

St. Gregory of Nyssa, The Life of Moses (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1978 ), p. 116.

True prayer arises from our limitless desire for an infinite Good, i.e. God. For Gregory, because God is infinite and we are finite, the satisfaction of our desire gives rise to yet greater desire. In the near presence of God, there is, in fact, never ending growth and transformation.

Limitless desire is a frightening thought, probably because so many of our desires are disordered, out of proportion to their object. Sometimes, in the case of our human relationships, we can seek to control or possess our beloved, and depersonalize them in the process. Or perhaps we may lose something of our own integrity and sense of self in close relationship with another. Even in the most holy and life-giving of relationships (to say nothing of those that are inherently abusive or otherwise fatally flawed), we may fall into either or both of these traps, which are mirror images of one another. In both cases, we bump up against limits imposed by sin and finitude.

What is life-giving about a human friend or lover is the extent to which he or she participates in God’s mystery and self-giving, making us more ourselves, causing us to grow and flourish in the image and likeness of God, as they themselves do likewise, through a mutually enriching exchange of gifts.

And yet, our participation is never perfect. Only God loves consistently and without fail, always giving more than we could ever receive, always remaining true to self and allowing us to do the same. Only God is the proper object of limitless desire, in whom all our other loves find their fulfillment and, if need be, discern their limitations.

Bill Carroll

Friday, September 2, 2011 -- Week of Proper 17, Year One
The Martyrs of New Guinea, 1942

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 982)
Psalms 31 (morning) 35 (evening)
1 Kings 11:26-43
James 4:13 - 5:6
Mark 15:22-32

Perspective changes when we see reality through the cross. Mark's spare, straightforward account of Jesus' execution is so gaunt and factual. It is raw, like a pitiless camera.

"Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take. It was nine o'clock in the morning when they crucified him..." (Mark 22-25)

Helplessly we watch. The taunting and shaming -- even his fellow victims join the insults as they die.

There is something purging about our attachment to this scene. It changes the way we see injustice and suffering. And being willing to see, able to see injustice and suffering, changes the way we perceive everything.

If we can look upon this scene and see hope, we have cause for an unquenchable hope in all circumstances. What God does is resurrection. What God does best is to bring new life out of death. Whenever we see another human tragedy, or even evil itself, we know we are looking at another manifestation of the cross of Jesus. We can look at the new horror with the same stark reality as Mark's depiction of the cross; we can look, and not turn away. We can see, and yet hope. For we have seen the cross, and we know the resurrection.

Pain can be revelatory. Robert J. Wicks tells about a Dominican priest, Albert Nolan, who worked extensively in South Africa during the saddest days of Apartheid. Nolan once said, "There is nothing to replace the immediate contact with pain and hunger -- seeing people in the cold and rain after their houses have been bulldozed, or experiencing the intolerable smell in a slum, or seeing what children look like when they are suffering from malnutrition." Wicks goes on to interpret: "In saying this, his message was not one of despair and defeatism, it was one of faith. To a faith-full person, such an experience would certainly hurt, but more than that, it would lead to compassion. Faith gives us the opportunity to listen for the call of Christ in pain just as we listen to his support and encouragement during times of joy. With such faith, no matter what the circumstances, the step toward hope is a real and natural one."

(Robert J. Wicks, Living Simply in an Anxious World, Paulist Press, 1988, p. 5. The quote from Albert Nolan is from Spiritual Growth and Option for the Poor, a speech to the Catholic Institute for International Relations, London, June 29, 1984)

Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. James 5:7-8 (NRSV)

The ground cracks
in time of drought

The Rev. Ann Fontaine, Interim Vicar, St. Catherine's Episcopal Church, Manzanita OR, keeps what the tide brings in. She is the author of Streams of Mercy: a meditative commentary on the Bible.

Reading for the feast day of Paul Jones, Sept. 4:
Psalm 76
Malachi 2:17-3:5
I Peter 3:8-14a
John 8:31-32

Bishop Paul Jones, one of the fathers of modern pacifism, is not a universally well known figure in our liturgical calendar, but his story is of interest in light of today's highly polarized political messages in the news and on the Internet.

Bishop Jones was elected Missionary Bishop of Utah in 1914 as the outbreak of World War I ensued. Although the United States did not enter the war until 1917, Jones was publicly outspoken against the war, as well as war in general, stating that war was un-Christian, and that war could not be reconciled with the teachings of Jesus. He clearly opposed Germany and alternatively lobbied for other means by which to show this opposition. However, his views cost him his see. Despite the fact that many laypeople and clergy were on record defending his right to speak his mind on the topic, even if they disagreed, in 1917, vestry members from two large Utah parishes, allied with the District Council of Advice, organized a campaign against Jones. A convoluted investigation ensued, and the commission's recommendation was that he resign. Jones did indeed resign in 1918. This, however did not deter his zeal for the Social Gospel, and he was instrumental in the formation of what is now the Episcopal Peace Fellowship.

Our reading from Malachi describes the refining effects of when we are called to speak the revealed truth. We may well have to endure the consequences of being unpopular, whatever the subject, but we are assured that we will live these consequences as a transformed person if we can only endure, with God's help. Our Epistle calls us to a spirit of non-retaliation in the face of evil--to avoid repaying evil with evil or abuse with abuse. Our Psalm reminds us that no evil is too great to be transformed into peace and reconciliation by God, and finally, our Gospel reading, short tidbit that it is, gives us words of assurance that the truth, no matter how unpopular, no matter how icky or painful, frees us to be unbound in the presence of God.

This message, and the message of the life of Bishop Paul Jones, is just as important today as it was at the time of World War I, and as it was in antiquity. The Internet has given any of us the power to be an instant pundit (and an anonymous one at that) through blogs, Facebook, and the comments section of news sites. How many times have we shied away from what we feel in our bones about the truth God has revealed to us about war, the Federal budget, poverty, or the right to hold unpopular opinions, because the majority voices surrounding us are so vitriolic or strident? How many times do we launch an attack on people who disagree with us that throws the issues in the ditch and goes straight for the throat of our worthy opponent?

In short, how many times, when discussing things of a political nature, have we disregarded our Baptismal Covenant, when we are asked, "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?" and "Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?" Each of us can only answer that one for ourselves, with God's help, but on this feast day of Bishop Paul Jones, it's probably worth spending some time asking ourselves the question.

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepsicatoid

Monday, September 5, 2011 -- Week of Proper 18, Year One
Gregorio Aglipay, Priest and Founder of the Philippine Independent Church, 1940
Labor Day

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 982)
Psalms 41, 52 (morning) 44 (evening)
1 Kings 13:1-10
Philippians 1:1-11
Mark 15:40-47

A Collect for Labor Day (BCP, p. 261

Almighty God, you have so linked our lives one with another that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives: So guide us in the work we do, that we may do it not for self alone, but for the common good; and, as we seek a proper return for our own labor, make us mindful of the rightful aspirations of other workers, and around our concern for those who are out of work; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

From Tilden Edwards, Living Simply Through the Day

How But how do we serve? Especially how do we simply serve? We are pressed from every side with opportunities and challenges: in our work, our family life, with friends, with materially and emotionally destitute people, with animals and plants, with social, political, and economic structures crying for justice. Then there are those cries from within: our own bodies and minds crying for nourishment.

Attitude
As with our prayer and spiritual development as a whole, it is our basic attitude that is most important, the same attitude is needed for everything else: patient attentiveness. Just as we do no wait for God but on God, so we do not wait for but on others. Even those who are closest to us remain surprising mysteries. If we think we know others and their needs perfectly well, our form of service is likely to be oppressive: we will act out of our assumptions and give them what we think they need, which more than likely is a projection of our own needs. Our greatest service to others will be to give them "space": to provide an environment which will help free their spirits to unfold and their bodies to heal. (Paulist Press, p. 162)

Edwards footnotes Thomas Merton's Contemplation in a World of Action, Doubleday, 1971) -- Thomas Merton in his own way elaborates on this danger, and integrally ties together awareness and action, when he says: "He who attempts to act and do things for others or for the world without deepening his own self-understanding, freedom, integrity, and capacity to love, will not have anything to give others He will communicate to them nothing but the contagion of his own obsessions, his aggressivity, his ego-centered ambitions, his delusions about ends and means."

Tuesday, September 6, 2011 -- Week of Proper 18, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 982)
Psalms 45 (morning) 47, 48 (evening)
1 Kings 16:23-34
Philippians 1:12-30
Mark 16:1-8(9-20)

Today's selection from Paul's letter to the Philippians is a muscular passage, ripe with military and athletic imagery. Paul writes from prison, and he writes joyfully. Some of his joy is his sense of the spread of the gospel, which he sees facilitated by his imprisonment. The word that is translated as "spread" (or sometimes "progress") is a word related to the activity of cutting a path for an army's progress. Even in jail, Paul is cutting a path for the spread of the progress of the gospel.

Paul says that he has become familiar to the whole praetorium, and that they know that his imprisonment is related to his witness to Christ. Scholars debate over whether Paul is speaking of the imperial guard in Rome, or the praetorium of another Roman administration in places like Caesarea, Ephesus, or Corinth. Whatever the setting, we see Paul vigorously debating his case and Christ's cause, making progress to spread the gospel among his guards and elsewhere. His imprisonment is an active one.

Paul knows that part of his struggle is with competing Christian leaders, probably Judaizers, who insist that the Jesus movement continue as a reform of Judaism, with the expectation that Christians continue to observe the Torah, including the practice of circumcision and kosher. Paul's lengthy conflict with these fellow Christians mark them as his enemies. He indicts their motives. He says they intend to increase his suffering in his imprisonment. Yet he also can rejoice or rationalize. "What does it matter? Just this, that Christ is proclaimed in every way, whether out of false motives or true; and in that I rejoice."

Paul offers us a helpful image in the conflicts and competition that affect the Christian church, with all of our divisive issues and various denominations today. Paul is self-defining and combative, but he also recognizes and rejoices that "Christ is proclaimed in every way." He honors and respects the presence and centrality of Christ even among those groups he regards as being seriously wrong in their theology and practice.

You get the feeling that Paul really lives with a deep joy that overcomes the circumstances of his imprisonment and the theological battles that he wages. His expresses a deep sense of security. If he suffers or dies, he shares Christ's suffering and death. If he lives and "cuts a path," he progresses and spreads the faith of Christ. Joy abounds.

Paul closes this section with a series of military images -- "standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, and in no way intimidated by your opponents" -- he speaks like an encouraging coach, urging his readers to persevere, "since you are having the same struggle that you saw I have and now hear that I still have."

My memory goes back to the late Hubert Humphrey. He was nicknamed the "Happy Warrior." I remember his characteristic smile and radiant being. He left college as a boy because of his family's financial troubles, and helped his dad start a new drugstore. He worked there for seven years, but he did not enjoy pharmacy (a form of imprisonment?). Eventually he returned to school to study political science. He came to national prominence at the Democratic convention of 1948 when he successfully defeated the rather modest civil rights plank urged by incumbent president Harry Truman. Humphrey lead a successful minority resolution on behalf of a strong statement in support of equal rights. The actions of that convention split the party as Southern Democrats created the Dixiecrat party.

Humphrey was an outspoken and energetic proponent of civil rights, arms control, a nuclear test ban, and many humanitarian causes. He introduced early legislation to create the Peace Corps. He was instrumental in the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights bill.

A joyful protagonist. Paul's letter to the Philippians is the letter of a happy warrior. In muscular and athletic language he urges his readers to be strong and secure, active and proactive, happy and joyful. On the day after Labor Day, we resume our work. May we do so with energy and joy, and, when necessary, a bit of the competitive spirit that Paul models for us.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011 -- Week of Proper 18, Year One
Elie Naud, Hugenot Witness to the Faith, 1722

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 982)
Psalms 119:49-72 (morning) 49, [53] (evening)
1 Kings 17:1-24
Philippians 2:1-11
Matthew 2:1-12

It seems so odd that some expressions of Christianity are as hostile as they are toward other religions and toward science. In today's Daily Office readings we have stories that offer to us another spirit.

We begin our sequential reading of Matthew today starting in the second chapter. Wise men from the east come to the manger of the infant Jesus. At the manger, they are welcome.

Who are these wise men? They are not Jewish. They are people who practice another faith. In some way, they are first century scientists. They observe the movements of the planets and stars. At the manger of Jesus, their knowledge is welcome.

How small is your God? How small is your Jesus? At our best, we proclaim a God in Christ who is perfect truth, the fullness of all that is is in God. So, wherever truth is discovered, it is a manifestation of the truth of God. And wherever faith becomes real it is the manifestation of the Word of God whom we speak of as the Second Person of the Holy Trinity. Whenever scientists discover new truth by observation or by experimentation, whatever they discover is consistent with the God of truth, because God is truth. There is no inconsistency between the truth of evolutionary theory and the Biblical truth that God created the heavens and the earth.

Whenever someone following a different faith tradition connects with the depths of spiritual reality and lives with faith, love and compassion, that person experiences the Word of God manifest.

We return to the wise men. Following science and the practice of their own faith, they come to the manger. They find welcome. They are not opposed as followers of another religion. Their gifts are not refused because they are the fruits of a scientific or foreign religion process. Their faith and their knowledge are welcome at the manger, because all faith and all knowledge are grounded essentially in God.

In our first reading, Elijah finds refuge in the home of a foreign woman, the widow of Zarephath, a town in Sidon. Presumably she follows the faith of her people, worshiping Baal or one of the fertility cults that was common among the non-Jewish neighbors of Israel. She and Elijah live in peace and mutual accord during the drought. She welcomes him, a foreign prophet. He raises her son from the dead. She doesn't become Jewish. The son isn't circumcised. But goodness, truth and life comes from their relationship as they treat one another with deference and honor.

Which bring us to the reading from Paul's letter to the Philippians. "Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others." In an "honor culture" where people see themselves as competing against one another to gain honor as a limited commodity, this is startling language. Paul suggests that it is in emptying ourselves that Jesus is exalted. The path of humility and servanthood is the path that reveals Jesus. There is nothing coercive or prideful about this way. But this is the way that will ultimately reveal the glory of Christ, who because of his self-emptying, "God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father."

So the path Paul offers for glorifying Christ is to "regard others as better than yourselves," looking to their interests rather than your own." That is a context of peace, love and respect within which we can be in relationship with those of other faiths and other knowledge.

We can trust that all faith and all knowledge leads to God. We don't have to challenge or compete for God to be true. We need only be humble, faithful and charitable -- like the holy family at the manger, and like Elijah in Zarephath. No need for arrogant attacks at science or threats of hell to Buddhists. That is all very unlike Jesus.

“Once on Pentecost Sunday I received the Holy Spirit in such a manner that I understood all the will of Love in all, and all the modes of this will of the heavens and of heavenly things, and all the perfection of perfect justice, and all the shortcomings of the lost; and with regard to all, I saw the will in which they then were, either of truth or of falsehood. And since then I have felt in the same way the love of all the persons I saw, in whatever degree they then were. And I have understood all the languages that are spoken in seventy-two ways. The multiplicity of all these things was hidden from me and has vanished. But that simple gazing upon him, and the burningness of Love, and the truth of his will, from that time onward have never been extinguished, and have never been silent, and have never been appeased within me.”

Hadewijch, The Complete Works (New York and Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press), p. 271.

The report of this vision from a thirteenth century Beguine mystic is at times cryptic, but this much is clear: on the Day of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit touched Hadewijch and conferred on her an understanding of the divine will, described as the will of Love, which touched all persons, saints and sinners alike. The experience left her marked forever, so that “that simple gazing upon him, and the burningness of Love, and the truth of his will, from that time onward have never been extinguished.”

Many Episcopalians may be shy about recounting a spiritual experience like this one, even when they have had one. And yet, we know that in Holy Baptism, we receive the same Spirit that Hadewijch received. For we have been “sealed by the Holy Spirit” and “marked as Christ’s own forever.” The same Pentecostal fire that burned within this holy woman now burns in our hearts, showing us the deep things of God. What do we see there, if not God’s own self, however dimly and obscurely, and the burningness of Love, which impels us, as it did our blessed Lord, to give ourselves—and, if need be, give our lives—for our neighbor.

May the fire of this love, which even now fills the heart of Christ Crucified, consume every malignancy that opposes the will of God, until Love be all in all.

Bill Carroll

Friday, September 9, 2011 -- Week of Proper 18, Year One
Constance, Nun, and Her Companions, Commonly called "The Martyrs of Memphis," 1878

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 982)
Psalms 40, 54 (morning) 51 (evening)
1 Kings 18:20-40
Philippians 3:1-16
Matthew 3:1-12

"If anyone else has reason to be confident in the flesh, I have more... I regard everything as loss, because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord." Philippians 3:4b, 7b-8a

Paul had an outstanding resume. He had done as well as you can do. He was disciplined, accomplished, prayerful, observant. He knew the religious expectations for a moral and pious life, and he had lived up to those expectations. He obeyed the law. He was zealous and obedient. He had done life right. But he was miserable. Perpetually anxious.

Performance anxiety. He asked himself constantly: Am I doing everything right? Am I forgetting anything? Is my heart pure? Have I treated all with proper respect? Have I neglected anything? His vigilance was so constant, that he could always acquit himself. Yes, he was following the straight and narrow. No one could fault him. He obeyed every law of God, he observed the statutes and commandments, he crossed every "t" and dotted every "i." No one could touch him for his conscientiousness and scrupulosity.

So why was he miserable? Why perpetually anxious? He did his best. He followed every moral and religious expectation of uprightness. But he was miserable. Perpetually anxious.

He wanted to feel that he was okay. He wanted to know that he was okay with God. He wanted the comfort of knowing that he was accepted and acceptable before God. The old words were "justified" and "righteous." He wanted the comfort of knowing that he was justified and righteous before God -- that God accepted him.

But Paul was trapped in a condition of anxiety. Performance anxiety. He did his best, but was it good enough? And maybe he had done everything right yesterday, what about today? ...and tomorrow? What if he missed something? What if he let his guard down for even a moment? What if he failed? If he ever failed, would that ruin everything? Forever? The "what-ifs" haunted him. Deep within he wanted to escape them. What if it wasn't so hard? What if God wasn't a perfection demanding judge? What if God really loved him, really accepted him?

Don't think about that. Just stay vigilant and never let down your guard.

Like so many of us, Paul projected his misery on to others. It disperses your anxiety and self-questioning if you can find someone whom you know has failed and correct them. Take out your misery and anxiety on someone who really deserves it, someone you know is worse than you, someone you know is living in the wrong.

So Paul persecuted a sect who followed the false Messiah Jesus. But as he persecuted them, he saw in them a joy and freedom that eluded him.

On the road to Damascus, armed with arrest warrants to purge the wrongdoers from the earth, it all became too much for him. The righteous indignation and internal anxiety was too much to hold together. His whole world imploded. He was struck blind. He realized he was wrong. You can't earn your place before God. Paul couldn't. Nobody can. He had been wrong about that for his whole life. It's not all about performance. Nobody can perform perfectly enough to stand before God. But, it struck him, it doesn't matter. That's what the Jesus followers were saying. God loves us anyway. It's all about love. Paul was blinded by love.

It's all a gift. God's gift. God chooses us before we can earn it. Even while we are failing, God loves and forgives us with infinite grace. Just because that's the way God is. That's the God Jesus points to. It's all in the cross. The cross is the ultimate human failure, human evil. In Christ, God soaks up our failure and evil, and gives back nothing but love -- love that overcomes evil; love that overcomes even the last evil -- death. God swallows up death with resurrection.

And Paul's eyes were opened to the light. He knew that he was accepted by God -- justified, made righteous, in a right relationship with God. His justification was pure gift. Grace. It was God's pleasure to love Paul and to declare him beloved. All Paul had to do was accept the gift. That's faith. Trust that God loves us and accept the gift of unqualified love that frees us. Justification by grace, through faith.

Anxiety goes away. It's not about performance anymore. It's about love. We are loved. We are accepted. It's a gift. We are free.

Out of the energy of that loving acceptance, Paul found he was free to love as he had never loved before. As God as loved us, so we can walk in love. It's the most natural thing in the world. No more anxiety. Just love. And when you are loved so fully, you are free. Free to respond in a spirit of love. That's life in Christ. Everything else is just rubbish. Paul's only desire was to live "in Christ," and "be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but one that comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God based on faith. I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the sharing of his sufferings by becoming like him in his death, if somehow I may attain the resurrection of the dead." (Philippians 3:9-11)

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. -- Phil. 4:1-7 (NRSV)

There's something about reading through old letters and cards. They bring up so many memories of experiences and conversations long past but which return to freshness in the mind when something happens, like reading those old letters, that accesses the file in the brain containing those memories. To anybody else the card from M might be amusing but in the context of an old friendship, it has a bit of hilarity that makes me laugh every time I see it or think of it. Stuff in the letters tell stories that bring back the sights, sounds, even smells and tastes of things we did together. Those memories are important to me, especially those from those with whom I will never share another memory.

The trouble with letters and cards, though, is that they only reflect one side of the story. The ones that mean so much to me will mean just about nothing to my son when the time comes for him to clean out what I haven't been able to throw away. Names may be familiar, places might be, but beyond that, zip. The context has been lost. Even one generation away from another can make the difference between being on the inside of the joke and being left wondering why others are laughing. That's sort of how I feel about Paul's letters. I can understand part of it but most of it just sort of goes over my head.

From this part of the passage, I figure there's something going on between Syntyche and Euodia. It sounds sort of serious--but what? Paul admits that they have worked with him and need to come to agreement on something. Somehow it sounds more important than whether to use the linen tablecloth or the red-checkered plastic one, the good china and silver or Chinet™ and plastic forks, roast beef or pulled-pork barbecue. What is interesting to me, though, is the idea that women and men worked together in Paul's group. Paul acknowledged this, ascribing to them and others a place in the "book of life" for helping to spread the gospel in an often hostile environment. At any rate, Paul must have felt enough regard for them and their work to want Syntyche and Euodia to be able to work together as a team. He couldn't be there in person to help heal the situation so he actually asked another co-worker to help mediate between them. I wonder if the problem ever got solved?

I wonder too why so many have a problem with women being co-workers in ministry outside of Sunday School teachers, church-cleaners and organizers of Vacation Bible School and children's pageants. I mean, if Paul could acknowledge their role as co-workers, what's the deal? Why base a theology of exclusion on a few verses from some Pauline letters while verses from other Pauline letters reference women, calling them by name and acknowledge their gifts, dedication and service. Context is everything, and we don't have CNN or MSNBC to give us a clear (or even slanted) view of current events. So who (or which) are we to believe? Will the real Paul please stand up?

It would be fascinating to know what the behind-the-scenes story was. It feels like such unfinished business, but Paul says what he needs to say and then proceeds to the conclusion and benediction. It's frustrating, but that's what we have to live with.

I guess there is a benefit to old letters, even if some of it does keep us guessing about what it was really all about, who the players were and what their roles were. I doubt my old letters will have any such questions asked about them, much less after nearly 2ooo years. Heck, I doubt that after one year anyone will care. But then, I'm not Paul, and I'm not an evangelist working in the field, building congregations and communities of faith in far-off places and with a dedicated cadre of co-workers, male AND female. And context IS everything.

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it;
for he has founded it on the seas, and established it on the rivers.
Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in his holy place?
Those who have clean hands and pure hearts,
who do not lift up their souls to what is false, and do not swear deceitfully.
They will receive blessing from the Lord,
and vindication from the God of their salvation.
Such is the company of those who seek him, who seek the face of the God of Jacob. Selah
Lift up your heads, O gates! and be lifted up, O ancient doors! that the King of glory may come in.
Who is the King of glory? The Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord, mighty in battle.
Lift up your heads, O gates! and be lifted up, O ancient doors!
that the King of glory may come in.
Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory.
Selah. Psalm 24 (NRSV)

One of the wonderful mysteries of lectionaries, whether we are talking Daily Office or Revised Common Lectionary, is when the lectionary readings for the day seem to have been given a whopping dose of divine serendipity. Anyone who does the Daily Office or RCL readings as part of his or her spiritual practice has witnessed this. A reading "jumps out" in relation to a certain day or event.

I am incredibly struck that one of the Psalms for September 11, 2011--the tenth anniversary of events in three locations that struck us dumb with fear and grief--is the Psalm from which a portion of Handel's Messiah is derived. On the tenth anniversary of one of the most horrible days in our nation's history, we are told (in King James English,) "Lift up your head, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors! For the King of Glory shall come in..."

This Psalm, on this day that will be commemorated with speeches and prayer and a certain amount of controversy a decade later, a day where people on the East Coast still feel acute pain and people in other parts of the country feel, at times, secretly bewildered about the intense feelings of their East Coast neighbors, is speaking loud and clear:

"The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it."

Time has a way of bringing the world closer to the Realm of God. Not too long in the future, and maybe, in some situations, already, September 11, 2001 is slowly moving to a place where much of the acuteness of our pain, grief, and fear has dissipated, and is becoming relegated to the world of "Where were you when (fill in blank with tragedy of choice.)" Someday, the gut-wrenching fear we felt at the collapse of the World Trade Center, the events at the Pentagon, and the crash of a plane in a lonely field in Pennsylvania will fade as surely as the celluloid prints of the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and the sinking of the Arizona in Pearl Harbor have. Grass already grows in a field in Pennsylvania, I-beams from the Twin Towers placed as memorials oxidize and rust, and the Pentagon has been physically repaired.

Much of it, frankly, will die when we die, and when the last person who was there at these events dies, these events will become dessicated versions of what we remember, stuffed away in dry history books for seventh graders to remember right answers on exams they don't care to take.

We say "never again," over and over, but our psalm reminds us that all of our "never agains" will randomize into the entropic leveling power of God making all things new.

A Psalm we sing during Advent, in the melodies of Handel's Messiah, heralds the stark truth that "The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle," fights his battles with the love of a helpless child born in a dirty stable to parents whose own premarital story was, in the eyes of local gossip, sketchy at best. To borrow from another portion of the Messiah (and from Isaiah,) "Every valley shall be exalted, every mountain and hill laid low, the crooked will be made straight, and the rough places made plain."

Today, as we commemorate the events of this day, ten years ago, let us remind ourselves that the most powerful weapon against evil is not fear-based retaliation, but love. May we lift up our heads and "be ye lift up"--and when we do, may we see the King of Glory come in.

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepsicatoid

Monday, September 12, 2011 -- Week of Proper 19, Year One
John Henry Hobart, Bishop of New York, 1830

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 56, 57, [58] (morning) 64, 65 (evening)
1 Kings 21:1-16
1 Corinthians 1:1-19
Matthew 4:1-11

Thomas Keating describes the false self as three energy centers within us, which motivate us to act to satisfy our ego's exaggerated needs. These energy centers emerge in early childhood, when we are most vulnerable, as our attempt to cope whenever we experienced a sense of depravation or fear. The three primary energy centers of the false self, says Keating, are our exaggerated needs for security, esteem and power. We have legitimate needs for security, esteem/affection and power/control, but out of our vulnerable sense of insecurity, we inevitably exaggerate our needs. Most of our problems are related to our attempts to satisfy these exaggerated needs by trying to accumulate whatever symbols of security, esteem and power make us feel good.

Keating is putting into contemporary terms the same thing that the Gospel writers told through story two thousand years ago. Today's Daily Office gives us Matthew's version of the temptation of Christ.

Christ has been in the wilderness fasting for forty days. He was famished. The tempter offers Jesus a quick shortcut to meet his security needs for food -- turn the stones into loaves of bread.

The tempter next offers Jesus a dramatic act guaranteed to raise esteem for him as he begins his public ministry. From the pinnacle of the temple, the most visible sight in Jerusalem, Jesus can throw himself to the ground safely, for the angels love him so much they will protect him (the devil quotes scripture to prove it).

Finally the tempter offers Jesus the power and splendor of all the kingdoms.

Jesus turns away from each of the false offers. Instead, Jesus embraces God the Father as his source of perfect security, perfect love, and perfect power. Accepting security, esteem and power as a gift rather than trying to achieve them on our own is a fundamental exercise of faith.

Our needs are so exquisite, and their fulfilling is so tempting, that it is hard to resist the notion that we can reach out and achieve them for ourselves. It takes trust and discipline to dismantle our addiction and attachment to the ways we try to satisfy our exaggerated needs. For most of our lives, it is the first order of business of the spiritual life to turn away from these compulsions.

Freedom begins when we unanxiously accept ourselves as perfectly secure, loved, and empowered from God, here and now. Free from compulsions, we can respond as Jesus did -- living from every word that comes from the mouth of God, not putting God to the test, but worshipping and serving only God.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011 -- Week of Proper 19, Year One
John Chrysostom, Bishop of Constantinople, 407

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 61, 62 (morning) 68:1-20(21-23)24-36 (evening)
1 Kings 21:17-29
1 Corinthians 1:20-31
Matthew 4:12-17

For God alone my soul in silence waits;
from God comes my salvation.

How long will you assail me to crush me,
all of you together,
as if you were a leaning fence, a toppling wall?
(Psalms 62:1-3)
St. Helena Psalter

[God] is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption... (I Corinthians 1:30)

I have an incredibly easy life. A loving family. So many friends and good colleagues to share work. Good health. A great community. No enemies. No really significant problems. ...Except. I let my "to do" list (and unanswered email) "assail me to crush me, all of you together, as if you were a leaning fence, a toppling wall." As I write this, it even sounds like whining.

My crippling myth is that if I get a little extra time, and if I work hard and fast enough, I'll catch up and get it all done. Somebody calls that "practical atheism." It's all up to me. I've got to do it, and if I don't, nobody will, and... Well... Catastrophe!!

What rubbish.

That's my personal version of Paul's pre-Damascus Road pathology. Paul was trying to be perfect, and doing a pretty good job of it. But he suffered from performance anxiety and couldn't relax, and just be. My performance anxiety is less compelling than Paul's. At least he was anxious about pleasing God. I'm just anxious about my silly email/to-do list.

Stop. Quit. Surrender.

For God alone my soul in silence waits; from God comes my salvation. God alone is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold, so that I shall not be greatly shaken.

God is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God, and righteousness and sanctification and redemption.

So I relax. Center. Give it all to God. Then, do what I can, relaxed and connected, moment by moment. And leave the universe to God. Including my email and my to do list. (Seems like I get more done that way too.)

Wednesday, September 14, 2011 -- Week of Proper 19, Year One
Holy Cross Day

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer)

EITHER the readings for Wednesday of Proper 19 (p. 984)
Psalms 72 (morning) 19:73-96 (evening)
1 Kings 22:1-28
1 Corinthians 1:1-13
Matthew 4:18-25

OR the readings for Holy Cross Day, (p. 999)
Morning Prayer: Psalms 66; Numbers 21:4-9; John 3:11-17
Evening Prayer: Psalms 118; Genesis 3:1-15; 1 Peter 3:17-22

For Holy Cross Day

Sometimes I do my own form of anthropomorphising the story of Jesus' death. Maybe I'm using that word wrong, but here's what I do. I wonder how I would have interpreted what was happening, had I been Jesus, when the bottom fell out of Jesus' mission and ministry, and he had to face the time of trial. I wonder how I would have reacted. Would I have resisted the inclination to despair and depression?

I know I am too motivated by results. I want things to work out for the best. I like to see a plan start, to solve the inevitable problems, and get it to a place where it is working. Then I like to go to the next plan. I like to see things improve.

At my healthiest, I can do the best I can do right here, right now, and let go of most of my attachment to results. I can be patient as we tweak a plan, solve problems, and work now for something that is likely to come to fruition in the future. I tend to be an optimist, to keep plugging away and hope that things will get better. But if I get to the place where I'm having a hard time imagining that something is going to work out eventually, I tend to get stuck.

I can imagine the excitement that Jesus might have felt working with people day by day, bringing a bit of light and healing and coherence to their lives. Sometimes I get to do that myself. I can imagine his sense of process as he slowly puts together his team of disciples and watches them become more empowered and loving, despite the occasional quarrels and pettiness. I can enjoy his joy in teaching and telling stories that help others bring new perspective and clarity to a greater reality. What joy it is to connect people with God.

But when it all falls in around his ears, and his doom seems certain, how did he move through that? When it looks like everything he had worked for would probably be destroyed, how did he face that faithfully? How might I have moved through that? When he had to give up all that seemed good and satisfying and hopeful in his life and work, how did he remain coherent?

I'm reminded of a quote from a letter from Thomas Merton:

Do not depend on the hope of results. ...You may have to face the fact that your work will be apparently worthless and even achieve no result at all, if not perhaps results opposite to what you expect. As you get used to this idea, you start more and more to concentrate not on the results but on the value, the truth of the work itself. And there too, a great deal has to be gone through, as gradually you struggle less and less for an idea and more and more for specific people. The range tends to narrow down, but it gets much more real. In the end, it is the reality of personal relationships that saves everything...

...there is no point in building our lives on ...personal satisfaction, which may be denied us and which after all is not that important. ...You are probably striving to build yourself an identity in your work, out of your work and your witness. You are using it, so to speak, to protect yourself against nothingness, annihilation. That is not the right use of your work. All the good that you will do will come not from you but from the fact that you have allowed yourself, in obedience of faith, to be used by God's love. Think of this more and gradually you will be free from the need to prove yourself, and you can be more open to the power that will work though you without your knowing it...

The real hope, then, is not in something we think we can do, but in God who is making something good out of it in some way we cannot see.

(Thomas Merton, quoted by Robert J. Wicks, Living Simply in an Anxious World, Paulist, 1988, p. 42)

Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ was lifted high upon the cross that he might draw the whole world to himself: Mercifully grant that we, who glory in the mystery of our redemption, may have grace to take up our cross and follow him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.
(The Collect for Holy Cross Day, Book of Common Prayer, p. 244)

"The horos--the standard or definition--of Christian life is 'the imitation of Christ according to the extent [or 'measure'] of His incarnation' (Longer Rules XLIII). Basil comes back repeatedly to this theme: Christ is the servant of all in his earthly life and nothing less is demanded of us. In a short treatise 'On Renouncing the World' (de renuntiatione saeculi 211C), he says quite simply that 'humility is the imitation of Christ'. And this includes a readiness to sacrifice our lives, our whole selves, for righteous and sinners alike, since Christ loves all alike and dies for all alike (Shorter Rules CLXXXVI). Everyone has equal claim on the Christian's unconditional service, because of the unconditional self-offering of Christ to all. Grace is free to everyone, and so must be the love and practical compassion of the believer; we may recall Basil's indefatigable energy and ability as a social reformer, the schools, hospitals, and orphanages which sprang up in such abundance around his episcopal seat." Rowan Williams, The Wound of Knowledge (Westminster/John Knox Press, 1980), p. 100.

We could qualify and blunt the radicality of this monastic vision in a hundred ways. I know that I am tempted to. Those of us with families to care for and jobs to hold down introduce one set of qualifications. Heirs of Paul, Augustine, and/or the sixteenth century Reformations may be concerned about works-righteousness and therefore introduce another set of concerns. As I survey the landscape of contemporary Christianity, I am more worried that we don't hear the demand of Christ with sufficient clarity to know that we have fallen short and need mercy. And I am delighted to see Basil deriving the extent of the demand from the radical self-giving of the Lord.

If Christ, who sets the standard, lived his life and died for all, so ought we to love our neighbor. I wonder what the world would think if it saw us living and dying like that? We might catch a glimpse here and there, but is that our reputation today? The works of mercy once won a world for Christ. They might well do so again, provided that our love hasn't grown cold.

Bill Carroll

Friday, September 16, 2011 -- Week of Proper 19, Year One
Ninian, Bishop in Galloway, c. 430

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 69:1-23(24-30)31-38 (morning) 73 (evening)
2 Kings 1:2-17
1 Corinthians 3:16-23
Matthew 5:11-16

There is an old saying that I have ambivalent feelings about: “Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you.” I've seen it attributed to St. Augustine and to St. Ignatius of Loyola. Sounds like Ignatius.

For such proverb to work, it seems to me that you really have to emphasize the first phrase, and work out of the joy, strength and discernment that comes from your prayer. Otherwise, it's too easy to fall into the unhealthy pit of willfulness and control.

I sense some of this aphorism's tension in the readings today.

Paul cautions the Corinthians about depending upon their own wisdom or upon the wisdom of this world. He urges them instead to trust God's wisdom, which is displayed in Jesus' surrender on the cross, which is, as he says elsewhere, an apparent folly and foolishness to the wise. He reminds them that "all things are yours, whether ...the world or life or death or the present or the future -- all belong to you, and you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God." (1 Corinthians 3:22f) Sounds like "Pray as though everything depended on God."

But this comes in the context of the previous paragraphs where he urges them to work, to build with care on the foundation that Paul has laid. "The work of each builder will be come visible, for the Day will disclose it... If what has been built on the foundation survives, the builder will receive a reward. If the work is burned up, the builder will suffer loss; the builder will be saved, but only as through fire." (1 Corinthians 3:13f) Sounds a bit like "Work as though everything depended on you."

Matthew 5 opens with an invitation to deep trust in God. The Beatitudes speak blessings to those who are walking in a path of trusting surrender. Sounds like "Pray as though everything depended on God." Blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted and reviled. God blesses and rewards you.

Then we are encouraged to be salt and light. Sounds like "Work as though everything depended on you. "Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven." (Matthew 5:16)

I ran across a story attributed to Rabbi Levi of Berdichev:
Rabbi Levi taught that everything in God’s creation has good in it. A student challenged the Rabbi, asking him what could be good about atheism. Rabbi Levi responded: “The atheist can’t look at a poor person and say, ‘God will help you.’” The atheist knows that we must provide for our fellow human beings in time of need. We who believe in God, on the other hand, pray that God will bring an end to all forms of want and deprivation. We are tempted to let God feed the hungry or clothe the naked. And yet, we must act as if God has absolutely no power in this realm, giving freely of our own resources and time to alleviate poverty and inequality,illness and loneliness. (Does God Pray? Sermon given January 18, 2002, by Rabbi Barry H. Block, http://www.bethelsa.org/be_s0118.htm, quoted online at http://emp.byui.edu/marrottr/Pray-hypocrisy.pdf)

I am convinced that God holds us accountable. God expects us to respond generously and compassionately to "end all forms of want and deprivation" and to " alleviate poverty and inequality, illness and loneliness." That is our job and our responsibility. As the epistle of James says, "If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,' and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?" (James 2:15f)

I also think this is a political as well a a moral responsibility. In August, 2000, Congress cut $12 billion from future food benefits. That more than twice what food banks and food charities deliver in a year ($5 billion). All of the food that people receive from food charities across the country amounts to about 6% of the food the poor receive from federal food programs, mostly food stamps and school lunches. At this moment, Republican lawmakers seem to have programs like these in their crosshairs for funding cuts so we can reduce a deficit created by tax cuts, unfunded wars, an unfunded drug benefit and a depression created by loose regulations on the greed of the financial industries. Sounds like "Work as though there is no God."

I tend to need to be reminded first and foremost to "Pray as though everything depended upon God." For me, it comes too naturally to "Work as though everything depended on you." Such work becomes oppressive, for me and for others. There is a way to have low expectations and high hopes, to relax and let be, and then respond responsively in trust. I know how to do that, when I remember. But it has to start with prayer. "Blessed are the poor in spirit." Surrender. Trust. Love. Out of that comes the energy for compassion and responsibility that makes for good work. Otherwise, I'm projecting my shadow and my anxiety.

Yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there,

living things both small and great.
There go the ships, and Leviathan that you formed to sport in it.
These all look to you to give them their food in due season;
When you give to them, they gather it up;
when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.
When you hide your face, they are dismayed;

when you take away their breath, they die and return to their dust.
When you send forth your spirit, they are created;
and you renew the face of the ground.

May the glory of the Lord endure forever;
may the Lord rejoice in his works—
who looks on the earth and it trembles, who touches the mountains and they smoke.
I will sing to the Lord as long as I live;
I will sing praise to my God while I have being.
May my meditation be pleasing to him, for I rejoice in the Lord.
-- Psalm 104:25-34 (NRSV)

"The all-powerful and unutterable God, who was before ages but did not have a beginning nor will ever have an end, formed every creature in a wonderful manner with the creative power of willing and then placed every creature in a wondrous manner." - First Part, Vision 6:1*

I can't read the part about the "the ships, and Leviathan that you formed to sport in it" without smiling. My vision is that of a great three-masted clipper with sails fully set, dolphins riding the bow wave and a great whale sounding nearby. I'm sure that wouldn't have been Hildegard's vision as clipper ships hadn't been invented yet although sailing vessels certainly had. And my "vision" certainly doesn't qualify to be in the same category of Hildegard's either. Mine is merely an image while hers had greater import. Still, whether "formed to sport in it" or "placed...in a wondrous manner," I still see the flukes of the whale and the splash it creates.

But the Psalmist also speaks of "creeping things innumerable are there, living things both small and great." I wonder how he knew of all the things? Did the Psalmist live by the water? Did he know how to fish? Did he see the octopus and the skate, the tuna, goby and grouper?

What the Psalmist didn't know is that while God provides food for the sea creatures as he does the land creatures, man has upset the balance that was present in creation, and many species that were once plentiful in the great waters are now extinct or reaching extinction. Has God turned his eyes from the innocent and taken their breath away? It doesn't seem like the God I know.

I haven't read all of Hildegard's writings so I don't know whether she addressed a world so full of greed and selfishness that it causes the deaths of creatures placed by God in their proper places. I do think she would include something like this as part of the rebellion against God, the sin that caused Lucifer to fall from heaven and the unrighteous to find themselves in the same predicament as the rich man who refused the beggar Lazarus even the crumbs from his table (Luke 16:19-21).

May there never be a world without a leviathan sporting in the deep waters or dolphins riding bow waves. May there always be fish, cephalopods, crustaceans, brachids, and all the variety of life the Psalmist (and Hildegard) could never imagine. May humanity wake up to the diversity of life that extends so far beyond the species of homo sapiens.

All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.
~Cecil Frances Humphries-Alexander

*Hozeski, Bruce, trans., Hildegard of Bingen's Scivias, (1986, paperback ed.) Santa Fe NM: Bear & Company Inc., p. 68

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Readings for the Feast of Edward Bouverie Pusey, September 18:

Psalm 106:1-5
Ezekiel 36:24-28
1 Peter 2:19-23
Luke 3:10-14

Several of us in the Episcopal Church self-identify as "Anglo-Catholic" and are not a bit embarrassed to admit that we are drawn to the bright shiny objects of "smells and bells" liturgy like magpies. We have Edward Pusey to thank for much of that. He, along with John Henry Newman, were two of the brightest lights in the Oxford Movement, the period of time in Anglican church history where we first began to grapple with the more catholic roots of our Angican theological heritage. Unlike Newman, though, who packed his bags for Rome, Pusey remained Anglican, despite some serious opposition within his own theological scholarly community.

The end result of his faithfulness in remaining Anglican is now reflected in our 1979 Prayer Book, when we moved to Eucharist, rather than Morning Prayer, being the norm on Sunday mornings. It's hard to conceptualize what seems routine to any of us who came after the 1979 BCP, as once being highly controversial.

Pusey had to feel, at the least, disappointed, and at most, betrayed, by Newman's defection to Roman Catholicism, yet he stayed the course in a time of theological upheaval within our denomination. His fidelity is reflected in the Collect of the Day:

Grant, O God, that in all time of our testing we may know your presence and obey your will; that, following the example of your servant Edward Bouverie Pusey, we may with integrity and courage accomplish what you give us to do, and endure what you give us to bear; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The collect, as well as Pusey's story in relation to the Oxford Movement, is a good reminder that many things in the history of the Episcopal church started out as minority opinions but, over time, became the face of the church. Decrying slavery and ordaining women were just as unpopular notions at the time they were introduced. The "three legged stool" of Anglican theological process--scripture, tradition, and reason--is not the fastest way to move the direction of the church, but history has shown us that it is a reliable one. Most of us in 2011 can barely imagine Sunday worship without the Eucharist, but the people of the time of the Oxford movement (1833-1845) went to their grave never seeing what they had brought to the pulse of our denomination. As we moved from a more penitential theology to a more incarnational one, it opened the door for us to "live Eucharistically" in the world outside our red doors.

One of the more striking coincidences is our reading today from Ezekiel is what Claude Akins, as the Rev. Jeremiah Brown, quoted in Inherit the Wind, but with a different tack. He quoted parts of this passage in the scene when he was concerned about "saving" his daughter's soul from the perils of being in love with evolution-promoting Bertram Cates, and her refusal to believe the Stebbins boy died outside of a state of grace:

I will take you from the nations, and gather you from all the countries, and bring you into your own land.

I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my spirit within you, and make you follow my statutes and be careful to observe my ordinances. Then you shall live in the land that I gave to your ancestors; and you shall be my people, and I will be your God. Ezekiel 36:24-28 (NRSV)

The fictional Rev. Brown chose to use this verse to justify his self-righteousness, rather than to focus on the healing qualities of being bonded to each other in the waters of baptism. In contrast, Pusey never undercut Newman for his differences in opinion. Instead, he focused on Eucharistic worship being a unifying facet of our varied shared lives.

As we live in the tension of the newer struggles of our denomination with regard to controversies such as inclusivity, or interpreting the vagaries of the Bible in a popular culture that prefers a more literal interpretation of Scripture, let us remind ourselves to keep the focus on the transformational process of our own faith in community. Many a sermon delivered from an Episcopal Church pulpit points to the power the Eucharist can generate in both self and in community; because of the steadfastness of Edward Bouverie Pusey, we can celebrate that Eucharist more frequently.

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepsicatoid

Monday, September 19, 2011 -- Week of Proper 20, Year One
Theodore of Tarsus, Archbishop of Canterbury, 690

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 80 (morning) 77, [79] (evening)
2 Kings 5:1-19
1 Corinthians 4:8-21
Matthew 5:21-26

In his Anglican Theological Review memorial tribute to the late theologian Richard Norris, historian Richard Corney recalled a sermon that Dick Norris preached using as his text a verse from today's first reading. The Syrian general Naaman has approached the home of the prophet of Israel, Elisha, expecting the prophet to perform a great miracle to cure his leprosy. The prophet merely sends a messenger to tell the general to go wash in the River Jordan seven times and he will be cured. Naaman is underwhelmed and insulted.

Dick Norris introduced his sermon with this quote from Naaman (2 Kings 5:12a): "Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?" "Doubtless they are," spoke Norris, opening his sermon.

Norris continued, making his point -- when God calls you to something, you do not waste time suggesting that God might find a better way to do the task. You just go ahead and do it.

Naaman -- a Syrian general -- must wrestle with his pride and expectations in order to accept such a nondescript and humble command sent to him second-hand through a messenger of the prophet Elisha. It is not the way things are done in the Syrian court.

Paul is wrestling with the pride of his Corinthian church as he writes them from a distance. They have become arrogant, boasting of their spiritual wealth, and probably their material wealth as well. Yet Paul, their founder and father in the faith, lives a life on the edge. The apostle who has become "a spectacle to the world, to angels and mortals. We are fools for the sake of Christ, but you are wise in Christ. We are weak, but you are strong. You are held in honor, but we in disrepute. To the present hour we are hungry and thirsty, we are poorly clothed and beaten and homeless, and we grow weary from the work of our own hands. When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; when slandered, we speak kindly. We have become like the rubbish of the world, the dregs of all things, to this very day." (1 Cor. 4:9f) Paul wouldn't have it any other way. He's having a great time.

Paul knows that he is doing what he was born to do. When he was confronted and called on the Damascus Road, despite his pride and expectations, he didn't waste time suggesting that God might find a better way; he launched boldly into his mission to the Gentiles. Now he's on fire.

I have a friend who models something for me. She lives with a concentrated intuitive attention to what it is that God is calling her to, moment by moment. She is simply convinced that God is intimately interested, involved and concerned with her every action. Each situation is a potential call from God. She lives expecting God to care for whatever may be catching her attention. She expects God to lead her, show her, prod her. She expects that God will use her continuously, and she is certain that God is doing important things around her, with her, and through her. And, what do you know? God does.

I'm too proud for all of that. I tend to think God has other, more significant things on the divine Mind. God has the more serious business of the great rivers Abana and Pharpar to attend to. Are the thoughts and attentions of God intimately concerned with my little River Jordan affairs? Doubtless they are.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011 -- Week of Proper 20, Year One
John Coleridge Patteson and his Companions, Bishop of Melanesia, Martyrs, 1871

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 78:1-39 (morning) 78:40-72 (evening)
2 Kings 5:19-27
1 Corinthians 5:1-8
Matthew 5:27-37

Right behavior was at the heart of the ethical tradition that Jesus received from his inherited religion. Religious teachers in Judaism strove to define faithful behavior in all activities of life. They based their descriptions on high ideals of justice, community responsibility, purity and faithfulness toward God. The objective standards were challenging but achievable. Anyone who behaved according to the law could be regarded as righteous before God and humanity.

But Jesus raised the bar. It is not only our observable behavior that is is accountable before God, but also our inward motivation. God knows our hearts. Jesus encouraged his followers to concentrate not primarily on outward behavior, but rather on our inner motivations, the "thoughts of our hearts," the heart being regarded as the center of being, both feeling and thought. Jesus wants us to be people with awakened hearts, loving hearts.

The contrast between the two approaches is especially stark in today's reading from Jesus' words in Matthew's collection that we call the Sermon on the Mount. He starts, "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery.'" That is the law, the Seventh of the Ten Commandments. It is an objective ethical standard based on right behavior. Even at that, there could be some room for interpretation -- what actually is adultery? (Is it adultery if we don't "go all the way"?) For the most part, we know what "Thou shalt not commit adultery" means. So, a conscientious person could know -- if you have not had sexual relations with one who was not your spouse, you are righteous with regard to that commandment; you have followed the law; you can stand before God.

Jesus goes further. "But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart." Gulp. When we look at the motivations of our heart, no one can stand confidently before God possessing a righteousness of our own.

Jesus' commandment is a great leveler. The distinction between sinner and righteous dissolves. All have harbored some form of unfaithfulness in our hearts. No one is righteous. Not one. And yet, Jesus teaches that God loves and forgives all. God embraces us in our sin. God accepts and loves us unconditionally.

Now, in the face of that unconditional acceptance, Jesus invites us to look at our hearts, and be disarmed. Whenever we look at another person with lust, we realize that our thoughts are God's possession. We drag God into our own adultery. Nevertheless, God does not reject or abandon us. God loves us even as we foul God. Humbling, isn't it? God's love is our motivation, both for surrender and for transformation.

Awaken, O my heart. Let God's penetrating and disarming love transform what seems beyond my control.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011 -- Week of Proper 20, Year One
Saint Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer)

EITHER the readings for Wednesday of Proper 20, (p. 984)
Psalms 119:97-120 (morning) 81, 82 (evening)
2 Kings 6:1-23
1 Corinthians 5:9 - 6:8
Matthew 5:38-48

OR the readings for St. Matthew (p. 999)
Morning Prayer: Psalms 119:41-64; Isaiah 8:11-20; Romans 10:1-15
Evening Prayer: Psalms 19, 122; Job 28:12-28; Matthew 13:44-52

I chose the readings for Wednesday of Proper 20

"You have heard that it was said, 'An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.' But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile." Matthew 5:38-41

Jesus invites his followers into a path of aggressive, shrewd nonviolent resistance.

A strike on the right cheek would typically describe a common way for a superior to assault an inferior in an act of dominance. It would be a backhanded strike with the right hand. To turn the other cheek to offer the left side would present a challenge to the attacker. A backhand slap could not be accomplished. The angle would be wrong for a right handed strike, and the left hand was not used for such things. If the aggressor were to strike with the open right hand, it would communicate a challenge of an equal. If the aggressor were to punch, it would also be the action of an equal to an equal. To turn the left cheek is to stand before an aggressor as an equal. It is an aggressive, non-violent act of a disempowered person to compromise the honor of the more powerful.

If a creditor claims a debtor's coat, and the debtor removes both the coat and the cloak in response, the debtor poses two problems to the creditor. First, the Torah prohibits a creditor from taking the cloak from a debtor (Deuteronomy 23:10-13). Second, in the Hebrew culture, to view the nakedness of another brings shame to the viewer. (See the story of the curse of Ham, Genesis 9:20f) By removing one's coat and cloak, the creditor forces the debtor to break the law and to be shamed.

Roman law allowed their authorities to demand subjects in occupied lands carry equipment and messages for up to one mile. It was a violation of Roman law to force one to carry anything beyond one mile. Officers convicted of doing so faced military discipline. To go the second mile after being forced to carry something for one mile might subject the officer to legal charges.

Jesus' advice is consistent with nonviolent strategies often employed by disempowered people.

But he goes a couple of steps further. "Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you." Such radical generosity if widely embraced might be the undoing of aggressive economic practices.

"You have heard it that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." Part of loving one's enemies and praying for one's persecutors can include acting in nonviolent ways to free them from their acts of aggression, to liberate them from their role as oppressor. When oppression is so exposed that it brings only shame to the oppressors, the oppressors may reclaim their honor by turning away from their unjust activities, liberating both the oppressed and the oppressor, opening the path of reconciliation.

"The next exclamation of the celebrant, 'let us lift up our hearts,' we find in no other service--it belongs exclusively to the divine liturgy [i.e., the Holy Eucharist]. For this exclamation is not simply a call to a certain lofty disposition...it is an affirmation that the eucharist is accomplished not on earth but in heaven...We already know that this ascent to heaven began with the very beginning of the liturgy with our very entrance and 'assembly as the Church,' when our true life was 'hid with Christ in God.'...We can lift our hearts 'on high' because this 'on high,' this heaven is within us and among us, because it has been returned, restored to us as our real homeland of the heart's desire, to which we returned after an agonizing exile, for which we have always groaned with homesickness, and through the memory of which all creation lives. If we speak of the earthly, of ourselves, of the Church in categories of ascent, then we speak of the heavenly, of God, of Christ, of the Holy Spirit in categories of descent. But we are saying the same thing: we speak of heaven on earth, of heaven having transfigured the earth, and of the earth as having accepted heaven as the ultimate truth about itself." Alexander Schmemann, The Eucharist: Sacrament of the Kingdom (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 2000), pp. 168-169.

This beautiful reflection on words we pray at every celebration of the Eucharist comes from a chapter of Schmeeman's work entitled "The Sacrament of Anaphora," taking its title from a Greek word that means offering, more specifically that which is carried up in sacrifice. Anaphora is a standard word for the Eucharistic Prayer, the Great Offering, by which God's People are united to Christ's one offering of himself. It is closely tied with the Johannine notion of Christ being "lifted up" to draw all people to himself.

Language about ascending and descending could be used to suggest a kind of otherworldliness. Schmeeman's account avoids this pitfall, as heaven and earth are in fact united in a dynamic, transformative manner. Ultimately, this has much to do with the arrival of God's future in the here and now, for Christ is both Alpha and Omega, the first and the last. It might, furthermore, be tied to the vision of sovereign grace that pervades the Our Father, wherein we implore God to reign on earth as in heaven. Thus, heaven transfigures the earth, even as earth finds in heaven the object of its longing and accepts heaven as its ultimate truth. Every celebration of the Eucharist is at once the action of the Holy Spirit and the action of God's People. In the very act of celebrating, the mystery of Incarnation is made present and we are drawn more deeply into Christ.

When we hear these simple words "Lift up our hearts," how well do we pay attention to the Advent and merciful reign of the Lord? For it is here that heaven breaks out among us in order to transfigure our frail and sinful flesh.

Bill Carroll

Friday, September 23, 2011 -- Week of Proper 20, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 88 (morning) 91, 92 (evening)
2 Kings 9:17-37
1 Corinthians 7:1-9
Matthew 6:7-15

"Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven." (Mt. 6:10b)

From Robert J. Wicks, a clinical psychologist who teaches pastoral counseling:

For years I would read the Scriptures and quietly pray that I could be more obedient to God, more single-hearted. For years I would pray that I could be enthusiastic, rather than exhibitionistic, achievement-oriented rather than competitive. For years, being an impetuous person, I would pray that I wood not be swayed by people's reactions -- positive or negative -- or be a victim of my insecurities and needs to be liked, but only be concerned with doing God's will. And for years the sense I received in prayer was simply: "Just do my will; it is enough." And to this I would always reply in a very down-to-earth way: "It's easy for you to say! I just can't do it. It's not enough for me. I need a reward. If it's not people's good thoughts, if it's not the applause, if it's not my image, then I must have something.

Then one day, when I was praying for something else, I sensed a response not only to this request, but also finally to my original one as well. The impression I had was this: "You have asked that you not be concerned with your image or success but only with my will; your prayer will be answered now." To this I became anxious and was even sorry I had prayed for help at all. I was concerned that with the gift more would be asked of me. (My lack of faith and sinfulness continues to astound and almost overwhelm me.) Yet, this insecurity did not dispel the sense I had of God's presence. And the impression I had of the Lord's response continued clearly in the following manner: "If you seek to do my will and focus only on it and not your success or the way people respond, you will find you won't have to worry about whether or not you are accepted and loved by others. You shall have another reward that will make you secure -- in every lecture, in every therapy hour, in every encounter on the street, when you only concern yourself with doing my will and forget about the reactions or results, you will be in the Presence of the Spirit. . . . Is that enough?"

[B]ut obeying the commandments of God is everything. Let each of you remain in the condition in which you were called. Were you a slave when called? Do not be concerned about it. Even if you can gain your freedom, make use of your present condition now more than ever. For whoever was called in the Lord as a slave is a freed person belonging to the Lord, just as whoever was free when called is a slave of Christ. You were bought with a price; do not become slaves of human masters. In whatever condition you were called, brothers and sisters, there remain with God. - 1 Cor. 7:19c-24 (NRSV)

Sometimes I wish Paul had had a crystal ball -- or less of a legal background. Only a lawyer (ecclesiastical or otherwise) would try to think of every possible angle of an issue and then try to list them in such a way that there was little or no wiggle room left for change. Had he had a crystal ball, he might have seen the untold human misery that those words have caused. But he wrote to his time and his culture (and also to the culture he sought to reach through evangelism).

Paul had good motives; he was using an analogy of physical states that would be immediately understandable to those reading his words. To the slaves it gave hope that even though they were slaves now, they would be free in Christ. To their masters, it spoke to the fact that they may be free now but they would be slaves to Christ. The hard part was that of "remaining in the condition" that they found themselves because, of course, God called them to that station and there they should remain as evidence of their dedication to the care and obedience to God.

"Remaining in the condition," however, goes against nature in a sense. Nature changes, never remaining static although the changes are often miniscule and almost invisible. Tall mountains gain or lose fractions of an inch a year due to upthrust or weathering. People grow old, unless accident or illness intervenes and ends that life prematurely. Spring moves inexorably through summer and toward fall. Aggressive ants take over colonies of non-aggressive ones and produce more aggressive colonies. We learn that many species are far more intelligent and resourceful than we ever thought possible. Whether the word "evolution" is accepted or shunned, it expresses the concept that change happens, and nothing really remains statically in the "condition" in which it first found itself.

There's really nothing wrong with change except that sometimes it is hard to accept it. It's hard to be comfortable and then find that something has changed and it's not so comfortable any more. It took a long time but people finally came to believe that slavery is wrong, yet it still exists in places and in different situations than we read about in the history books. Change still needs to happen.

Paul didn't have a crystal ball to tell him when the parousia was going to happen; Jesus had said that some of his generation would not taste death until the second coming had come about so Paul wasn't taking any chances. I wonder if he felt like some of the prognosticators these days who predict the end of the world only to have to admit they had miscalculated so while they thought it was going to be today it is really scheduled for the third Thursday in July two years from now.

The second coming hasn't happened yet. Meanwhile do we just sit and contemplate our navels or do we go to work to make the world a better place and ourselves better people while we wait? That in itself would represent change, change for the positive.

And isn't that what Jesus' message was about -- changing, not just "remaining in the condition”?

Linda Ryan co-mentors 2 EfM Online groups and keeps the blog Jericho's Daughter

Psalm 87
Proverbs 4:1-9
1 John 2:15-17
Luke 8:16-21

When the Metropolitan Alexis felt his life was drawing to a close, he summoned Sergius to him, wishing to bless him and appoint him as his successor. Fearfully, Sergius declined. One of the symbols of authority worn by the Metropolitan was an icon of the Blessed Virgin Mary suspended by gold chains. "From my youth up," Sergius replied, "I have never possessed or worn gold, and now how can I adorn myself in my old age?"

The excerpt in Holy Women, Holy Men states that Sergius was "simple and gentle in nature, mystic in temperament, and eager to insure that his monks should serve the needs of their neighbors." Our readings today remind us of several facets of what makes up a piece of the monastic lifestyle--love of God, a desire for wisdom over "stuff," and a charge in Luke's Gospel that we must seek to be active listeners in the process and to be mindful of what has been bestowed upon us--"Then pay attention to how you listen; for to those who have, more will be given; and from those who do not have, even what they seem to have will be taken away."

That part about "from those who do not have, even what they seem to have will be taken away" really sticks with me. I think back to the much more financially lean times of my life. It never failed--when my bank account was getting down to zero/zip/nada, it always seemed like I could always count on something like a flat tire, my furnace gasping its last breath, or a major plumbing leak to be foisted upon me.

In short, it's the mindset of scarcity. When our means feel scarce, we almost expect for things to become more scarce just to kick us to the curb even further.

When we live our lives like there is never enough, guess what? There never will be enough. One of the things I've mused about over the years is it never matters how much any of us make, we get to the end of the week or the end of the month and say, "Where did the money go?"

Yet when we look at the life of Sergius, this monk of very little means influenced an entire country and helped myriad people. The life of Sergius is counter-intuitive to everything our popular culture tells us.

Our culture seduces us with the delusion that our wants, are, indeed, our needs. It confuses us even when we try to do good and live more simply. We have so many choices in our society it's hard to discern what the "good" choice is.

For instance: I really don't care much for certain mega-chain stores. They fill their shelves with things made in places that I can't vouch for their labor policies, and I don't always agree with the labor policies of these stores themselves. But in little old Kirksville, MO, the big box store provides jobs for several people I know personally. It's all good to be high and mighty about our principles, but in small towns that can have tremendous local economic repercussions. My choice to stick to "green" or "fair trade" might cost my neighbor his or her job, because in a small town, I would have to buy those things online sometimes.

The impossibility of these kinds of choices brings us back to this business of "living more simply." What, really, are our needs? How many our wants morph into "needs?" Compared to the bulk of the world, we are the ones who "have," and are probably the ones to whom "more will be given." But why is it so painful to even think about what we could give up so that others can have 1/10th of what we have?

The answer, I believe, lies in that business of changing our life pattern from "a mindset of scarcity" to "a mindset of abundance."

Last time I checked, God's grace is not a finite quantity. God's mindset--one of abundance--frees us from the need to hoard. Hoarding our money, our time, our stuff, and our emotions only sidetrack us from the possibility we have enough. Once we admit what we have is enough, it actually allows us to be lavish and extravagant in our giving with few regrets--and living more abundantly, over time, makes us feel abundant.

What, in our lives today, can we risk doing without, in order to plant the seeds of a real sense of abundance?

Maria Evans, a surgical pathologist from Kirksville, MO, writes about the obscurities of life, medicine, faith, and the Episcopal Church on her blog, Kirkepiscatoid

Monday, Septemeber 26, 2011 -- Week of Proper 21, Year One
Lancelot Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, 1626
Wilson Carlile, Priest, 1942

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 986)
Psalms 89:1-18 (morning) 89:19-52 (evening)
2 Kings 17:24-41
1 Corinthians 7:25-31
Matthew 6:25-34

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life... But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you as well." Matthew 6:25a, 33

These two familiar phrases bracket today's popular passage from the sermon on the mount. It strikes me that there are at least two ways to think about this passage. A traditional and comforting way of reading this passage is as an exhortation to relax and trust. That's a good message. We all do our best work and live most fruitfully when we are relaxed, optimistic, and open. Anxiety and worry only waste our energy.

But another way of thinking about this passage is to focus on the last verse first, connecting it with the Lord's Prayer we have been given earlier in this same chapter. Indeed, if the economic admonitions of the Lord's Prayer and the other parts of this sermon were actually practiced, the needs that we worry about -- "what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body what you will wear" -- such needs would be eliminated.

The Sermon on the Mount begins with a series of Beatitudes that showers blessing and happiness especially upon the poor, weak and humble. Such is the priority of the Kingdom of God that Jesus proclaims. Jesus invites us to be salt and light; to treat others justly, especially those of our closest relationships; to "give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you;" to "love your enemies;" to give alms humbly; to pray; to store up treasures not on earth but in heaven. Jesus is describing what the Kingdom of God looks like.

In the center of all that wisdom he teaches us to pray "Your kingdom come." In such a kingdom, God's will would be done; our bread for tomorrow would be given; we would forgive our debtors and be forgiven our debts. In a political and economic order like that -- a kingdom like that -- the basic needs of life would be protected. If in our kingdom here in the United States we were striving first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, all of these things would indeed be supplied to all.

Two phrases: "Do not worry... Strive first for the kingdom of God."

It is a good thing to let go of worry and anxiety. It only wastes our spirit.

It is also a good thing to practice the ethics and economics of the kingdom of God. Were we to do so, no one would have a realistic reason to worry about what we will eat or what we will wear. Such a kingdom (rule, government, authority, economic system, political practice, etc) would be our practice of God's reign. It is the central desire of Jesus for us. "Thy kingdom come."

How can I let go of worry and anxiety today?

How can I promote the values of the kingdom of God -- personally, economically, and politically?

Tuesday, September 27, 2011 -- Week of Proper 21, Year One
Vincent de Paul, Religious, and Prophetic Witness, 1660
Thomas Traherne, Priest, 1674

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 97, 99, [100] (morning) 94, [95] (evening)
2 Chronicles 29:1-3; 30:1(2-3)10-27
1 Corinthians 7:32-40
Matthew 7:1-12

We hear the teaching of Jesus through the scholarship of Matthew today speaking within the great tradition of Jewish Rabbinical teaching. He tells us: Do not judge others. Take care for your own failings first. Do not force the teaching on unwilling ears. God is benevolent and wishes to give good gifts -- ask, seek, knock.

Verse twelve is Jesus' version of the Golden Rule: "In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets." This ethic of reciprocity is found in virtually all religions.

In 1893 the first Parliament of the World's Religions gathered to create an international dialogue on faiths. The President Charles Bonney said the Parliament hoped "to unite all religion against all irreligion and to make the Golden Rule the basis of that union." The centennial celebration of the Parliament in 1993 published a "Declaration Toward a Global Ethic" which is worthy of study as a starting point for claiming a universal ethic. (The introduction to the text is the first two pages of the full text found here.

The great Rabbi Hillel who died during Jesus' childhood offered the same principle of reciprocity in the negative: "What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the Law and the Prophets; the rest is commentary, go and learn."

There are many parallels between the teaching of Jesus and the teaching of Hillel. Jesus attached himself to the village of Capernaum whose synagogue was influenced by Hillel. Hillel was a moderate interpreter of the Jewish Law. His teaching was challenged by the stricter interpretations of Rabbi Shammai, who lived during Jesus' life. Until 70 CE, the House of Shammai tended to predominate among Jewish synagogues; after 70 the influence of the House of Hillel prevailed, and became the tradition from which modern reform Judaism traces its roots.

It appears to me that many of the conflicts we read of between Jesus and the Pharisees, colored by the early church's conflicts with the synagogues, are better interpreted as conflicts with the teachings and disciples of Shammai. Jesus' own teaching has many consistencies with the teaching of Hillel. One famous conflict that we have in our gospels regards the sabbath. Shammai taught that "humanity was made for the Sabbath," but Jesus and Hillel both taught that the "Sabbath was made for humanity," a more moderate view that allowed provision for response to certain human needs in spite of the Sabbath observance. For Hillel and for Jesus, love of one's neighbor was the central ethic for all people.

How ironic and tragic that Christianity and Judaism fell into such dark historic conflict. The heart of our origins is so similar. How many injustices and how much violence might have been avoided had Christians been faithful to our Rabbi and his teaching: "Do not judge... How can you say to your neighbor, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' while the log is in your own eye? ...In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets."

Wednesday, September 28, 2011 -- Week of Proper 21, Year One
Richard Rolle, Walter Hilton, and Margery Kempe, Mystics, 1349, 1396, c. 1440

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 101, 109:1-4(5-19)20-30 (morning) 119:121-144 (evening)
2 Kings 18:9-25
1 Corinthians 8:1-13
Matthew 7:13-21

Last Sunday's gospel opened with Jesus asking a question of challenge to the chief priests and elders. "Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?

How do we know what is from God -- what originates in divine energy -- and what is from us -- coming out of our energy and our too self-centered human motivation?

In our three Daily Office readings today, we see conflicting and contrasting paths. How do we know what is the will of God? How can we give priority to God's will rather than to our self-centered motivation?

In 1st Kings we see a nation relying on its military power -- the Assyrian Rabshakeh brags to the besieged city of Jerusalem that he could give them 2000 horses if they had that many cavalry to ride them, knowing they don't. We also hear him claim that his seige of the land is directed by the God of the Hebrews as God's punishment to them. Jerusalem and King Hezekiah can rely only on God in the face of overwhelming threat. The alliance with Egypt will bring no deliverance. Israel's military power is no match for the superior Assyrians.

In our lives, there are times when our resources seem exhausted in the face of threats we cannot overcome? Sometimes we think we have earned the misfortune -- maybe this is God's punishment, as the Rabshakeh says. How do we know?

The prophet Isaiah will offer spiritual direction to Hezekiah, saying, God is in charge. Trust God. It is God's will to deliver you. How does Hezekiah know whether God intends to deliver or to punish Israel?

Paul speaks of our total freedom under Christ, and then urges us toward self-discipline if there is someone whose scruples or weakness or ignorance might be troubled by our liberties.

I ask myself, when have I willingly compromised my rights so as not to bother someone who just wouldn't understand? When have a flaunted some liberty, and caused pain to another's conscience?

And the Gospel reminds us to take the narrow gate, for the wide road and gate is one that leads to destruction. Sometimes I'm not sure which is the narrow gate and which is the wide road. Sometimes it seems that you can only tell which way is right way at the end of the road -- "you will know them by their fruits." (v. 20) How can I know the right road?

How can we know what is from God and what is from us?

There is a place of moral orientation that seems like a "gold standard" to me -- a place I can trust more than my sense of power, my sense of freedom or my sense of direction. In Galatians Paul speaks of the fruit of the Spirit. The fruit of the Spirit is the result from walking the right road, the narrow road: "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things." (Gal. 5:22) Whenever I can act out of these motivations, I believe it is more likely that I am following God's will. A commitment to action that is more likely to produce these fruits will be a truer direction than power, libertarianism, or popularity.

Friday, September 30, 2011 -- Week of Proper 21, Year One
Jerome, Priest and Monk of Bethlehem, 420

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 984)
Psalms 102 (morning) 107:1-32 (evening)
2 Kings 19:1-20
1 Corinthians 9:16-27
Matthew 8:1-17

Today we have two of Matthew's stories about Jesus operating around and across the borders of Jewish society.

In the first story, Jesus encounters a man with leprosy. It is not unusual for a leper to ask healing from one who had a reputation for healing. The leper observes convention by approaching at a distance, kneeling before Jesus. But then, two surprising things happen.

First, Jesus chose to heal him. Lord, if you choose, you can make me clean. Jesus answers, I do choose. That was not the conventional choice. The dominant conviction was that diseases like leprosy were probably sent by God as a punishment, either for something the person had done, or possibly some sin or debt inherited from ancestors. To heal such a one would be to interfere with the judgment of God. Jesus chose to heal without regard for the worthiness or unworthiness of the sufferer. (Says something about the way we tend to offer our charity. Some are reluctant to give to those who may have some complicity in their own plight. Generosity toward those made homeless by a hurricane is easier to market than generosity toward those whose life choices have left them homeless.)

The second unusual detail is the phrase He stretched out his hand and touched him. That would have stunned all. There were health and religious reasons preventing Jesus from touching the man. Leprosy was a generic word referring to various kinds of skin diseases, but most were contagious. Many were spread by touch. To touch a leper would be to expose oneself to the disease. Moreover, a person with leprosy was also ritually unclean. To touch a leper would be to defile oneself religiously. One would be disqualified from entering worship without going through the prescribed rituals of purification. Nevertheless, Jesus touches the man, and he is made clean.

Then Jesus does something very conventional. He tells the man to go present himself to the priest with the appropriate gift for sacrifice. He tells him to follow the Biblical ritual laws by which a person once ill and unclean with leprosy may be certified to be well and clean, and thus reenter the worshiping community.

Today's second story is another encounter with the borders -- this time with a Gentile Roman officer. The Centurion is a man of power, commander of up to 100 soldiers. Yet the Centurion offers his powerlessness to Jesus, requesting the healing of his servant. When Jesus moves as if to approach the man's house, the Centurion stops Jesus. The officer knows -- to enter the house of a Gentile would defile Jesus in Jewish eyes. Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; but only speak the word, and my servant will be healed. It is a beautiful phrase of humble trust which has found its way into the prayer and piety of the church. Many Christians use that prayer just prior to their receiving communion. Jesus honors the faith of the officer and heals his servant. (In Matthew's gospel, Jesus never enters a Gentile's home. Mark and Luke have scenes at tables in the homes of non-Jews.)

These stories have reminded me of a story. When the AIDS epidemic was at its height, there was a church in Dallas that was particularly welcoming to gay men, including many who were HIV positive. It was not a large church. As I recall, the congregation lost over eighty of its members who died during the epidemic. The Rector noticed that some members who had traditionally sipped from the common cup began to practice intinction. He was bothered. It seemed to him to be an expression of fear and a compromise of their communion as one body. His wife also noticed. She then adopted the practice of waiting to receive her communion last, from the cup. Then, the priest performed the ablutions, not in the sacristy, but at the altar, publicly consuming the rest of the wine from the communion. It was their quiet testimony of faith and communal identity.

Where are our borders? Who are the unclean in our world? Where are our fears of communion? Who is hard to touch? Whose home would it be a scandal to enter? What would Jesus do?