Choosing

Now when Jesus saw great crowds around him, he gave orders to go over to the other side. A scribe then approached and said, ‘Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’ Another of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead. -- Matt 8:18-22 (NRSV)

Jesus needed to get away to recharge his batteries, but even when he tried to make a polite but firm retreat, there are always a couple of hangers-on who needed to have their questions answered right now, sorry, can't wait until tomorrow. The answers they got, though, were probably nowhere near what answers they expected, but then, Jesus was kind of an unexpected guy with an unexpected message and way of looking at things.

Jesus was an itinerant - a person who roamed about, migrating from place to place. No little brick house with a white picket fence in Galilee or pied-à-terre in a nice neighborhood in Jerusalem for the season, no place to settle, put down roots and become part of the community. Following him meant accepting that kind of lifestyle, definitely an alternative lifestyle, that might not be all that scandalous in those days, given the travels of traders and prophets and the shepherds, but which would definitely raise eyebrows today.

Most of the itinerants we see today are people not very well-thought of: homeless people, undocumented immigrants, migrant workers. It's not that they like being homeless, rootless, overlooked, spoken of slightingly but otherwise ignored. They aren't rock stars; they don't require a lavish lifestyle with occasional retreats to rehab centers or private islands. They simply want what all of us want -- a place to call home, running water, electricity, food in the fridge and safety for themselves and their families. For the homeless, those dreams and hopes are often too far out of reach. Home is often a cardboard box under a bridge, running water is a water fountain six blocks away, food is found in soup kitchens and food banks, and safety is a pure illusion. They truly have no place to lay their heads. It isn't even that they don't want to follow Jesus. Maybe they do, maybe they don't, but before they can accept the kingdom they have to feel able to leave hell.
 
Perhaps this wasn't hell to the disciples who did choose to follow Jesus. Running water, electricity, supermarkets, soup kitchens -- none of those existed.  Jesus didn't spend nights in Motel 6, eat at the Four Seasons or even McDonald's, or anything resembling a constant state of comfort and ease. Following Jesus was certainly uncertain, but there were those who did choose to walk that road.
 
"Let the dead bury the dead"? Oh, now I get it. Those who look to their own comfort and safety but who ignore those who are poor, sick, homeless, widowed, orphaned or imprisoned for little or no cause, are still breathing but have a dead place inside them. They're interested in their own welfare but are far from actively concerned with the welfare of others. This goes fundamentally opposite to the message Jesus brought and emphasized, a message that the prophets brought long before Jesus' incarnation. Let those who are dead inside take care of those who are physically dead because those whose body has ceased to pulse with life have no need for compassion or assistance, except enough reverence to place the body in a place where it could rest undisturbed.
 
I wonder what happened to that scribe and that follower. The story stops just at the moment of greatest impact and the reader is left to wonder what became of those two questioners. Did they follow or did they return to their homes? Did duty to family take precedence over duty to fulfill God's expectations? Did they choose the kingdom or the little house in Galilee?
 
Which one would I choose? 

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

Psalm 118 (morning), Psalm 145 (evening)
2 Kings 20:1-21
Acts 12:1-17
Luke 7:11-17

"Getting a do-over" seems to be the theme in today's readings. Hezekiah appears to be on the brink of death; instead, he ends up getting fifteen more years and displays his gratitude through his generosity. Peter gets a surprise jailbreak through the intervention of prayer and an angel. The widow of Nain suddenly goes from being a person of "no status" following the death of her only son, to once again being part of a family, thanks to Jesus' healing touch. In all these stories, someone's fate literally "turned on a dime" in a moment of divine mercy.

Each and every one of us has had moments where "the world as we knew it" came to a screeching halt, and we could not even imagine life beyond the tragedy of it. Perhaps it was the death of a loved one, a divorce, being victimized in a violent crime, a natural disaster, addiction, a sudden estrangement following a heated argument, or a sobering medical diagnosis. We have all been somewhere on that spectrum of tragedy, and when it happens, it's as if a lead-laden black cloak fell upon our head and shoulders. We suddenly find ourselves pinned flat, whether it's denial, depression, or despair. We can scarcely breathe, let alone see--and the thought of anything beyond our frozen, inert, oppressive reality just isn't there.

Healing from tragedy is almost never visualized through the "pro-spectoscope;" rather, we tend to discover it through the lens of the "retro-spectoscope." When I look back at the times in my life where I truly did find healing, I recognize three universal truths. The first is that the healing that occurred almost never came in the form in which I initially visualized how it should happen. The second is that it often came in very unexpected (and sometimes unwanted) packages. The final universal truth in this for me is that if I were to graph it, it would not be a 45 degree straight line starting in the lower left hand corner of the graph and smoothly heading to the upper right hand corner. The graph would be full of annoyingly long plateaus punctuated with sharp peaks. As with our healing stories today, yes, things did "turn on a dime."

As much as we'd prefer our growth as Christians to be in an environment of "shiny and happy," the fact is that our tragedies, and our stories that emerge as we knit our lives back together following them, are probably more important in cultivating depth and wisdom in our faith. As Richard Rohr says in the book Falling Upward, in order for us to emerge into a deeper, wiser, and more faithful relationship with God, “a job, fortune, or reputation has to be lost, a death has to be suffered, a house has to be flooded, or a disease has to be endured.”

I am reminded of a joke that was told countless times during the 1993 floods in the Midwest, one of a man of great faith and a staunch churchgoer, stranded on the roof of his house in the floods. In the joke, two boats come by, and as the water rose higher and higher, even a helicopter came. Each time, the man found some fault with them (boats looked creaky, helicopters scare him) and he waved them off, saying not to worry, that God was going to save him. Of course, in the joke, he is eventually swept away and dies. When he arrives at the Pearly Gates, he expresses his annoyance to God that his faith was not rewarded and his prayers were not answered. "Well, for crying out loud!" God exclaims. "I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more do you want?"

Our readings today reveal the many-sided nature of "faith in the middle of tragedy." We are reminded that many times it will feel like we are praying to a blank wall. We are assured that Jesus doesn't even have to touch "us," he has to only touch the place where we lie dead and shrouded, to be raised up. We may well have no sensation that God is with us or near us, shrouded in the dark lead apron of our depression, or numbed by our searing pain. As is illustrated in our story in Acts, however, Peter's escape from prison was not through any of his own desires or wishes--it was the prayers of the community, while Peter was fast asleep, that led to the angel's appearance in his cell. The only things required of Peter were to have the good sense to wake up, and once awake, to obey.

When we are bound and inert within tragedy, faith invites us to the prospect that our healing, too, may come while we are fast asleep to the prospect of our own salvation, through the prayers of the community. We only need good sense enough to wake up, listen, and obey.

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, October 3, 2011 -- Week of Proper 22, Year One
George Kennedy Allen Bell, Bishop of Chichester, and Ecumenist, 1958
John Raleigh Mott, Evangelist and Ecumenical Pioneer, 1955

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 986)
Psalms 106:1-18 (morning) // 106:19-48 (evening)
2 Kings 21:1-18
1 Corinthians 10:14 - 11:1
Matthew 8:28-34

Paul instructs his congregations that they are free from laws and superstitions. They can live in the spirit, responding to the moment as Christ leads them. Throw out the scruples and legalisms. Simply be who you are -- you are Christ's.

Nice advice, but then comes the real-life application.

One of Paul's disciples in the congregation in Corinth seeks Paul's direction: I've got a neighbor who believes that the sun god Apollo oversees our town. He goes to the city convocations when the community thanks Apollo for defending and protecting us. It is a great festival, with abundant food and wine. He brings home some of the food, the meat from the slaughtered bulls that have been sacrificed to Apollo. He gets some of the best cuts. Delicious stuff. He's invited me to dinner at his house tonight.

I know there is no such thing as Apollo or any other god, except the God of Jesus Christ. So if the meat has been sacrificed to Apollo, that is meaningless to me. All of the butchers in the public marketplace offer prayers to Apollo each morning as they put out their wares. I eat it without scruple because I know there is no such thing as Apollo. Doesn't bother me. But my friend really believes that Apollo protects us. He takes this stuff seriously. I'm going over to his house tonight. Any advice?

Paul confirms his freedom. You are right. There's no such thing as Apollo; you are free to enjoy the meat sacrificed to meaningless idols. But, your freedom stops where your neighbor's conscience begins. If your neighbor believes in Apollo, and he knows you are a Christian -- he might be troubled should you eat meat sacrificed to Apollo. He might think you that believe in Apollo too, and so it would confirm his superstition. He might worry that your conscience would be violated if you ate the meat of the sacrifice.

So feel free to eat the marketplace meat at home. It is meaningless that it has been offered to an idol. But when you are with those who believe in idols, and they tell you that this is the meat of Apollo, for their sake and the sake of their scruples, politely decline. You are free, but your freedom should not violate the conscience of another, even one who is so weak that they still believe in idols.

It was a serious discussion in Corinth. And Paul's advice is also food for our thought today.

I follow his advice whenever I'm asked to pray in public. If I am at a church function among fellow believers, I pray in the name of Jesus. But if I am in public, where there are those who may have many other faith practices, I limit my freedom out of respect for their consciences, and I pray "in the name of all that is Holy," or with some other more inclusive invocation.

I won't ask for a glass of wine at a Baptist's home, unless they offer first. I don't serve pork to Jews or Muslims. I try not to talk politics at the Thanksgiving table. I turn the football game off at dinner, unless I am given explicit permission. If I smoke a cigar, I do it outside. I don't repeat racist or sexist jokes, even if they are funny.

Paul encourages us to limit our freedoms out of respect for other's scruples, conscience, or even their superstitions. It is a generous practice.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011 -- Week of Proper 22, Year One
Francis of Assisi, Friar, 1226

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 986)
Psalms [120], 121, 122, 123 (morning) // 124, 125, 126, [127] (evening)
2 Kings 22:1-13
1 Corinthians 11:2, 17-22
Matthew 9:1-8

There is a long history about religious people who do good, but their good acts provoke opposition from religious authorities. In today's reading Jesus does two good things things, but he provokes opposition because he acts outside the conventions and customs of his religious heritage.

First, Jesus speaks words of absolution and forgiveness that free and liberate a man in bondage. Scripture and tradition held that only God could forgive sins -- absolution is a divine prerogative. Therefore the religious leaders charged Jesus with blasphemy. Human beings do not have authority to forgive, they assert.

The second unorthodox aspect of this story is how freely Jesus dispenses this forgiveness. Traditionally forgiveness follows repentance. But this paralytic makes no expression of contrition or forgiveness. The only thing that has happened is that Jesus sees some people carrying a paralyzed man on a bed. "When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, 'Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven.'"

There is a folk saying, "One good turn deserves another." Around Jesus it seems that goodness and compassion always unlocks abundance -- healing, reunion, forgiveness, joy, hope. The kindness of some friends caring for their friend is enough faith. It becomes the catalyst that liberates the paralyzed, forgives the past, and strengthens for service -- instant access to the recreative power of God.

"The crowds ...were filled with awe, and they glorified God, who had given such authority to human beings." The authority to heal and forgive is no longer locked up behind religious rules, but given to human beings.

Today we celebrate the feast of Francis of Assisi, another religious person who provoked opposition by doing good. His radical embrace of poverty and of the sickest and dirtiest people of his community turned the conventional sense of propriety and success on its ear. He was willing to live on scraps from garbage rather than to put another out by begging. His attention focused on the infected, unclothed, diseased and dirty people of the street. Even his devoted followers couldn't accept and live by his embrace of total poverty and non-possession.

There is a story I like that comes from his devoted follower Brother Juniper -- from the time when the once homeless, wandering friars had begun to live in modest monasteries. A beggar came by when Brother Juniper was at the gate and asked for a little money. Brother Juniper said, "There is no money in the house. But wait a minute. Last week someone gave us an altar cloth with little silver bells attached. We don't need those. I will cut them off for you. They will be as good as money." And he did so. When the sacristan learned what had happened, he complained to the prior, who said, "We are fortunate that he did not give away the cloth itself. But send him to me, and I will scold him."

Brother Juniper came, and the prior scolded him until the prior was hoarse. Brother Juniper noticed that the prior was hoarse, and went to the kitchen and cooked him some mint sauce. He brought it to the prior, who had gone to bed. He said, "Father Prior, get up and eat this mint sauce. It will be good for your throat." The prior said, "I don't want any mint sauce. Go away and let me sleep." Brother Juniper said, "It's good sauce, and will be good for your throat." The prior said, "Go away, I don't want it." Brother Juniper said, "Well, if you won't eat it, how about holding the candle while I eat it?" This was too much for the prior. He got up and they both ate.

It takes only a bit of imagination to do great good. A touch of creative compassion can unlock healing, reunion, optimism, forgiveness, joy, hope. What surprising bit of love can we give away today?

Wednesday, October 5, 2011 -- Week of Proper 22, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 986)
Psalms 119:145-176 (morning) // 128, 129, 130 (evening)
2 Kings 22:14 - 23:3
1 Corinthians 11:23-34
Matthew 9:9-17

Today in Paul's letter to the church in Corinth, we read the oldest written record of the first Eucharist. Paul tells the church he "received from the Lord" what he "handed on to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, 'This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.'"

The gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke each have a similar narrative, Luke's being closest to Paul's version. Among the extra-canonical resources for this text are versions from The Didache in the early second century and a full Eucharistic Prayer text from The Apostolic Tradition of Hippolytus, dated in the early 200's, but representing an older tradition. The similarities are remarkable and trace an enduring tradition.

The context for this passage in Paul's letter is his scolding of the Corinthian church for their failure of community and charity. As the church meets together in Gaius' house in Corinth, there are different factions, divided along social and economic lines. It appears that those who have leisure come early to the meal and eat and drink to excess, while those who are poor remain hungry. Some have become sick because the church has not cared for them, Paul says. Paul expects this to be a communion of unity and caring.

This gathering for a common meal has been the distinctive mark of Christian worship from the evening of the resurrection on Easter Day until now. The last thing Jesus did before his passion was to give his disciples his own interpretation of his death by giving them the bread and wine as a witness to his sacrificial life and his continued presence.

During Jesus' life, his table had been a remarkable place. There he ate with outcasts and sinners as well as with the observant and religious. Zealot, tax collector and scribe all found welcome. Women such as Mary of Bethany were invited to be in conversations traditionally reserved to men. His table fellowship was so extraordinary that it caused scandal to many: "He sits with sinners and tax collectors."

After his crucifixion and death, on Easter evening somewhere near Emmaus, a stranger joined a group of disciples at a table. When he broke the bread, "they knew him." From that time on, the disciples continued to gather at table to tell the story, to break bread and drink wine, and to be with Jesus. It is in this particular context that we have known the risen Lord to be present with us for more than two thousand years.

In the meal we become one body, for we are constituted by the one bread and one cup. Jesus identified the elements of bread and wine with his very life. And so we know ourselves to be nourished and nurtured by the life of Christ in the sacrament of his Body and Blood.

He is present; he is with us. He feeds us with his own divine life, which heals, forgives, and strengthens us for service.

In this meal, we are one with Christ and each other. We become Christ's body in the world. We leave empowered to give to the world the gifts that Christ gave: reconciliation, healing, forgiveness, kindness, compassion, and above all, love.

"No ancient spiritual writer is more earnest in urging meditation on divine goodness than Mark the Hermit, the preacher of perpetual repentance. One wonders if he had not reversed the traditional order of virtues when he recommended that Nicholas begin with the perpetual remembrance of God's benefits. All he was really asking was that 'godly sorrow' go together with thanksgiving...You cannot have one without the other. Penthos [i.e. compunction, or mourning for lost salvation] without thanksgiving would be despair, sorrow that was not godly, while thanksgiving without repentance would be presumptuous illusion."

Irénée Hausherr, SJ, Penthos: The Doctrine of Compunction in the Christian East

There is a great deal to learn from this reversal. Too often, Christians dig such a deep pit for ourselves with our doctrines of sin that we have difficulty climbing out, even though we know we have Christ at our side. Beginning from the divine goodness saves us from the temptation of despair. It has the additional benefit of showing us the depth of our sin more clearly. Only in the light of Christ, who loves all people without exception or reservation, do we see how frail and petty and self-absorbed we can be. There is a risk of thanksgiving without repentance, and some seem so mesmerized by human potential that they fail to see our manifold shortcomings, but the real risk often lies on the other side. This could form the subject for profound meditation the next time the Body of Christ is pressed into our outstretched hands. Without for a minute doubting that the Gift is really given, how might the Lord's generosity point us to the ways that we are closed off from God and neighbor? How much more do we need to receive before his love takes root in us?

Bill Carroll

Deliver me, O LORD, from evildoers;*
protect me from the violent,
Who devise evil in their hearts*
and stir up strife all day long.
They have sharpened their tongues like a serpent;*
adder's poison is under their lips.
Keep me, O LORD, from the hands of the wicked;*
protect me from the violent, who are determined to trip me up.
The proud have hidden a snare for me and stretched out a net of cords;*
they have set traps for me along the path.
I have said to the LORD, "You are my God;*
listen, O LORD, to my supplication.
O Lord GOD, the strength of my salvation,*
you have covered my head in the day of battle.
Do not grant the desires of the wicked, O LORD,*
nor let their evil plans prosper.
Let not those who surround me lift up their heads;*
let the evil of their lips overwhelm them.
Let hot burning coals fall upon them;*
let them be cast into the mire, never to rise up again."
A slanderer shall not be established on the earth,*
and evil shall hunt down the lawless.
I know that the LORD will maintain the cause of the poor *
and render justice to the needy.
Surely, the righteous will give thanks to your Name, *
and the upright shall continue in your sight. Psalm 140

Protect me from them
Protect them from me
Take away the vat of violence
A stew with chunks of anger
and herbs of hatred.
Give us the bread of you presence
to cool the burning tongue.

October 8 - Commemoration of William Dwight Porter Bliss and Richard Theodore Ely

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the broken-hearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
They shall build up the ancient ruins,
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations. -- Isaiah 61:1-4 (NRSV)

Many passages of scripture that speak of God raining down punishment on disobedient people, individuals, families, tribes or nations. Depending on one's church's emphasis and theology, those might be passages that are heard often -- or almost never. Some relish those passages, particularly in times of uncertainty or disaster. It is proof to them that God is enraged at something and it's all the fault of those who are now experiencing whatever uncertainty or disaster that is going on at the time. Of course, if it happens to be themselves who are suffering, well, then it's God's test of faith and prayers go up for the strength to pass that test. It's all in how you look at the situation.

While it is necessary to look at the tough passages from time to time, it's always a relief to look at one that speaks of hope, reconciliation and restoration, especially in times of stress, anxiety or fear. Whether one is living in the ruins of a city destroyed by flood or earthquake, through a personal medical problem, a family crisis or the economic crisis of country and its trickle-down effect on individuals and families, there are definitely times when Isaiah's words are needed as a reminder of what God seems to have in mind.

Something I noticed about Isaiah's words, though-- they are not spoken to those who have much but rather to those who have little.. The words don't speak to the status quo or those who espouse a theology of limited resources and who are busily accumulating their own wealth and security while trying hard to fend off any attempt to even the playing field with those who have less and actually need more. There are no words here saying it is okay to look out for oneself and let the other guy take care of him/herself. When Isaiah speaks of "the year of the Lord's favor, and the day of vengeance of our God," the vengeance will be on those who have laid the burdens, not on those who bear them.

There's one other thing about Isaiah's words. To me, it feels like they are not just words about what God has in mind or will do, but it is also an invitation for those hearing the words to participate in bringing all this about. If we all just waited for God to swoop down and, in the blink of an eye, right all the wrongs, we would have learned nothing except that we have no responsibility in the matter; we can and do make a mess and then someone else has the job of cleaning it up, including God. But is that the way it is supposed to be? Is that what we teach our children to do or do we inform them that they threw all their toys on the floor and now it is time for them to pick them up and put them away?

They shall build up the ancient ruins,
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations.

God is inviting. What will be our response, individually and collectively?

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

Psalm 107:23-32
2 Kings 2:19-22
1 Corinthians 12:1-11
Mark 6:45-56

"The service we render to others is really the rent we pay for our room on this earth. It is obvious that man is himself a traveler; that the purpose of this world is not 'to have and to hold' but 'to give and serve.' There can be no other meaning."

~Sir Wilfred Thomason Grenfell

When one begins to look at the life of Wilfred Thomason Grenfell, it becomes clear that he put both his theology and his religion to good use, and probably "paid his rent for his room on Earth" many times over.

Grenfell, a surgeon, qualified for both his MRCS and MRCP medical degrees from the London Hospital Medical College in 1886, graduating in 1888. One of his mentors in surgery was Sir Frederick Treves, most commonly known as the physician who cared for John Merrick, "The Elephant Man." In an era when surgeons literally collected patients as medical oddities and exploited the hospitalized poor as personal guinea pigs for innovative and radical surgical treatments, Grenfell chose a completely different path. He had the credentials and connections that could have landed him a lucrative Harley Street practice or a prestigious spot at one of London's famed teaching hospitals; instead he devoted his life to the care of the people of Newfoundland and Labrador.

Early in his career, he joined the Royal National Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen, both becoming a master mariner, and outfitting the mission's first hospital ship. He served from Iceland to the Bay of Biscay. In 1892 he traveled to Labrador, where he found the poverty and disease of both the English and native population astounding and troubling. A prolific fund-raiser, he used both his medical collegial connections and his social connections to garner money for the establishment of hospitals, nursing stations, schools, orphanages, and social welfare centers throughout Labrador, as well as a seaman's institute in St. John's, Newfoundland. Grenfell was clear that these facilities were to be available for not only the Caucasian inhabitants, but for the native Inuit and First Nations populations there, a move which often provoked criticism by his peers. In more recent years, however, the criticism has been that Grenfell's centralized services and emphasis on a static community changed the culture of Labrador's First Nations people, who were originally nomadic. Nevertheless, the Grenfell missions were well received by the residents of Labrador at the time.

Grenfell's theology was, to be sure, a practical one. He saw service to the needy as a form of faith that opened us up to greater moral power and freedom, as well as something that transcended dogma. He saw emulating the life of Christ as far more important than debating theological principles.

"Then, if you are 'losing faith in the Gadarene pig story,' you won’t miss that one miracle so much if you have to abandon it," he wrote. "For, if it is not irreverent to say so, you will have a dozen solid facts you could swear to in a court of law from your own personal experience, which will be ten times more helpful to yourself and to other men today than your final decision as to the fate of those unfortunate animals. If you have the evidence of 'that which you have seen and heard' to give, instead of being ruled out of court by the majority of men because they appraise your evidence as unconvincing and inadmissible as mere book knowledge, you will be the most valuable witness for the Christ, and the most dangerous foe to the devil of doubt.... If you are anxious to help others to retain faith, get out and do something for Christ’s sake." ~Grenfell

Our readings today reflect Grenfell's connection with the sea in three places--in the 2nd Kings reference to the "wholesomeness" of salt water, in Psalm 107's imagery of the power of the sea invoking us to call out the name of God, and in Mark's Gospel, where Jesus gets in the boat with his terrified disciples and calms both them and the raging wind upon the waters. Our Epistle reminds us of the myriad talents that can be used to exalt the name of God by doing the work of the world to bring about the manifestation of the Holy Spirit for the common good.

We are living in a time where nature bares her teeth throughout the world, through vicious hurricanes and tsunami-producing earthquakes--and can live out Grenfell's vision of spreading the Word of God by spreading human care and kindness to the victims of nature's wrath. God is, indeed, present in human form amidst nature's violence. How will you choose to be a slice of God's presence in the storm today?

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, October 10, 2011 -- Week of Proper 23, Year One
Vida Dutton Scudder, Educator and Witness for Peace, 1954

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 988)
Psalms 1, 2, 3 (morning) // 4, 7 (evening)
Jeremiah 36:11-26
1 Corinthians 13:(1-3)4-13
Matthew 10:5-15

As I read the opening two verses of Paul's "Love Chapter" this morning, some real people came to mind.

"If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal." There is a writer who contributes regular columns to our newspaper. He writes extraordinarily well. Beautiful prose -- almost poetic. Compelling references to literature, music and history. Deeply reasoned articles and passionate argument. But his loves are limited. He loves learning and sophistication. He loves being smarter than the other person. He loves being right and putting the other in the wrong. But he doesn't communicate love itself. He doesn't seem to love people, especially those whom Jesus showed such particular love to -- those who are below him. His columns read like a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.

"And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." If have a correspondent who is full of certainty, knowledge and a fierce faith. He knows that the scripture is literally true, and he scorns those who might read it with a less than a literal interpretation. He knows things so certainly -- climate change is a hoax; anyone who doesn't accept Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior is going to hell; Obama is a demon. His faith is rock solid. Absolute faith. He believes in God and in Jesus as the only way, the only truth, and the only life. All else is folly or demonic. Yet he seems to communicate little love. I'm sure there is love in his life (I only know him from his emails). I'm sure he is loved and loving of those within his personal circle. But he writes only of judgment and certainty, with an aggression that borders on the violent. He seems like nothing, except awful.

As I read Paul's next verse about heroic actions, no particular person came to mind. "If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing." Although I thought of no one in particular, I have known some who were involved in heroic and sacrificial activism, who yet seemed so bitter and angry that it compromised their good intentions.

Some other people then came to mind. Some modest people of modest accomplishment. One person who is not so bright, but oh, so good, so loving. Another who seems to have made little impact in the world other than within her small family, yet there is a such glowing peace around her that her presence seems to create a quiet sense of coherence. I thought of a person who says she wishes she could believe more -- her doubts about God, Jesus, and religious dogma trouble her -- yet she lives with such transparent love and remarkable generosity, that the presence of the Spirit glows from her being. She has a knack for smoothing rough edges and a gracious gift of hospitality.

The good life is not really about intelligence, certainty, or acclaim. It really is all about love. Paul's description in 1 Corinthians 13 is like a formula for authentic living. We want to be with people who are like this. Hopefully, we want to be like this: "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

This past Sunday's epistle reading offered a similar formula for the good life. Paul writes from jail to say, "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." (Philippians 4:4-7)

Then he encourages us a bit more: "Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you." (Philippians 4:8-9)

Compelling teaching from Paul. Now... to actually live that way...

Tuesday, October 11, 2011 -- Week of Proper 23, Year One
Philip, Deacon and Evangelist

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 988)
Psalms 5, 6 (morning) // 10, 11 (evening)
Jeremiah 36:27 - 37:2
1 Corinthians 14:1-12
Matthew 10:16-23

How do we articulate God's Word in our time? How do we give our testimony? What is the prophet's message?

The evening psalm 10 closes this way:
God will hear the desire of the humble; *
you will strengthen their heart and your ears shall hear,
To give justice to the orphan and oppressed, *
so that mere mortals may strike terror no more.

That word finds resonance in me. It seems that for too long the interests of the wealthy and powerful have held sway in our nation. Maybe you've seen the graphs and statistics. For almost thirty years income and wealth has been flat or decreasing for most Americans even as workers' productivity has increased dramatically. Wealth and power has become concentrated in the hands of fewer and fewer people. Thanks to the reckless greed of financial manipulators, we now live with sustained unemployment in the worst economic downturn since the Depression, yet U.S. corporations have record levels of cash reserves. And PACS and Super-PACS allow even more money to influence the political process.

An inarticulate longing takes physical expression as a group moves to occupy the spaces of power. They sit in the public square and chant and invite the suits of Wall Street to sit down and talk with them. They try to give voice to the 99 percent in a country where the top one percent own 40% of the nation's wealth, 51% of the nation's stock, 5% of the nation's debt, and takes home 24% of the nation's income, dramatically increasing their share of that annual income during this decade. Protesters speak, but their message has not gelled.

All of today's readings in the Daily Office seem to reflect on the complexities of speaking God's Word prophetically.

Jeremiah and his scribe Baruch must dictate another scroll after the arrogant King Jehoiakim has burned the prophecy and threatened arrest. But the word of the prophet cannot be erased so easily by mere human power. Jeremiah continues to dictate to Baruch. The words are restored, and "many similar words were added to them." (Jer. 36:32) While the prophets live under duress, they live under God's eye and voice. And though the prophets may suffer, though the fulfillment may be delayed, God's Word will surely come to fruition.

Paul calls an inarticulate witness to prophetic articulation. "Pursue love and strive for the spiritual gifts, and especially that you may prophesy.... Now I would like all of you to speak in tongues, but even more to prophesy." I think of the "Occupy Wall Street" group and the various "Occupy" movements. A passion for justice and hope has energized them. They speak in many notes through various instruments. I find myself praying for "some revelation or knowledge or teaching" that will give the power of interpretation to their passion for justice.

In Matthew's gospel, Jesus speaks realistic words of encouragement to his little flock. He sends them "like sheep into the midst of wolves." The halls of power will resist their message of radical love. Yet Jesus promises that the Spirit will make them articulate. "When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say; for what you are to say will be given to you at that time."

I yearn for the prophet's message for our day, for the Spirit-filled testimony that speaks God's word. I do believe that God hears "the desire of the humble." I pray that God "will strengthen their heart and your ears shall hear." Let there be given "justice to the orphan and oppressed, so that mere mortals may strike terror no more." Ours is a day when we need the clarity of Jeremiah, the spirit of Paul, and the presence of Jesus to articulate the Word that will speak truth to power and bring justice and hope for the humble.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011 -- Week of Proper 23, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 988)
Psalms 119:1-24 (morning) // 12, 13, 14 (evening)
Jeremiah 37:3-21
1 Corinthians 14:13-25
Matthew 10:24-33

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.... So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows. (Matthew 10:29f)

I can remember hearing or reading this passage as a child and being deeply touched by it. If God watched, knew and cared about a little bird and its fate in this large, intimidating world, how wonderful, I thought, that God might be watching me, and caring. When I felt so small, weak and invisible, it was comforting and empowering to imagine God watching and delighting in me. Though friends may be mean, teachers demanding, and parents -- well, parents could be so many things to a child -- God's powerful and caring eye was on the sparrow and on me.

Most of the time God's eye felt warm and comforting. But on the occasions when I was doing something untoward, I really wished God's eye had something more interesting to watch. The notion of being spied on could feel as oppressive as being watched felt empowering.

"His Eye is on the Sparrow" is a Gospel hymn that has been a song of deep heart for so many singers, especially African American performers. Ethel Waters used the song as the title of her autobiography, as she told her story of struggle. She was born as the child of her 13-year old mother's rape, and raised in a violent, poor home, moving often. She herself was married at age 13 to an abusive man. Her singing became her way to power and liberation, and she challenged many of the attempts to continue to stereotype black performers. She became a successful and acclaimed singer and actress.

The song "His Eye is on the Sparrow" has an uplifting and simple, blusey message. "Why should I feel discouraged...? His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me. I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free."

The lyrics were written by Civilla Martin who tells of her inspiration:

Early in the spring of 1905, my husband and I were sojourning in Elmira, New York. We contracted a deep friendship for a couple by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Doolittle—true saints of God. Mrs. Doolittle had been bedridden for nigh twenty years. Her husband was an incurable cripple who had to propel himself to and from his business in a wheel chair. Despite their afflictions, they lived happy Christian lives, bringing inspiration and comfort to all who knew them. One day while we were visiting with the Doolittles, my husband commented on their bright hopefulness and asked them for the secret of it. Mrs. Doolittle's reply was simple: "His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me." The beauty of this simple expression of boundless faith gripped the hearts and fired the imagination of Dr. Martin and me. The hymn "His Eye Is on the Sparrow" was the outcome of that experience. (Wikipedia, His Eye is on the Sparrow)

The lyrics make a fine prayer for starting this day:

Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heav'n and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Refrain:
I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free,
For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Let not your heart be troubled, His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

God knows infinite things, all things, and heeds them all in particular. We cannot "do two things at once," that is cannot give our full heed and attention to two things at once. God heeds all things at once. He takes more interest in a merchant's business than the merchant, in a vessel's steering than the pilot, in a lover's sweetheart than the lover, in a sick man's pain than the sufferer, in our salvation than we ourselves. The hairs of our heads are numbered before him. ~Gerard Manley Hopkins, Notes for a Sermon on October 25, 1880 in The Major Works (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. 278-279.

As they say, God’s eye is on the sparrow. Those of us who fancy ourselves sophisticated might think such small stuff is beneath God’s notice. God certainly has the big picture in view, and is the master of the “long game.” But God is able to see both the forest and the trees—indeed, every branch, root, and leaf in the smallest detail. God is the deepest reality of each and all. In love, God made us all, by that incredibly subtle power of Wisdom, who pervades all things yet transcends them all. When we think about providence, we may be tempted to conceive of God’s will as something over against us, rather than that which establishes us in our very own being, from whom we depart only when we choose a duplicitous cleavage from our own inmost selves. Truly, God is closer to us than we are, more fully aware and attentive to our needs and heart’s true longings. God is ceaselessly at work, seeking our good and pouring out abundant blessings for each of us—each one in particular as a seamless part of an integral whole, a single community of creation. Thus, God takes more interest “in our salvation than we ourselves.”

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here.

Friday, October 14, 2011 -- Week of Proper 23, Year One
Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky, Bishop of Shanghai, 1906

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 988)
Psalms 16, 17 (morning) // 22 (evening)
Jeremiah 38:14-28
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
Matthew 11:1-16

I want to think a bit about Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky who is commemorated today. His is an amazing story.

A native of Lithuania, he was studying for the rabbinate when he became interested in Christianity. He moved to the U.S., eventually graduating from my seminary, the General Theological Seminary in New York City. (1859) He responded to a call for missionaries to China and learned to write Chinese during the voyage on ship. (That's remarkable.) Starting in Peking, he translated the Bible and parts of the Prayer Book into Mandarin. In 1877 he became Bishop of Shanghai and began translating the Bible into Wenli. He founded St. John's University in Shanghai. (That school is a fascinating story as well. Look it up.)

In 1883, at the age of 52, he was stricken with paralysis. For most of the rest of his life he lived in Japan where he continued his translation work, typing some 2,000 pages with the middle finger of his partially crippled hand. He lived until 1906.

Four years before his death, he said this: "I have sat in this chair over twenty years. It seemed very hard at first. But God knew best. He kept me for the work for which I am best fitted."

That quote humbles and awes me.

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Commemoration of Teresa of Avila

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. -- Romans 8:22-27 (NRSV)

I grew up in a faith tradition where saints weren't really a major deal unless they said something that the preacher learned about in seminary and it bolstered a point that he wanted to make in his sermon or lesson. I remember meeting kids from other traditions at school and being intrigued that they considered someone other than God and Jesus to kind of be there overhead to take care of all kinds of things. I remember Mama telling the story of going to school in New Orleans with kids who went to kiss the toe of the statue of St. Peter and request good grades on their tests and exams while she went home and studied. The saints, to them, were like part of the family - visited often and consulted frequently. At the time it did make me feel that my faith tradition was definitely lacking in something both interesting and important. Eventually I did graduate to a tradition where saints were a regular part of the faith, and I turn to St. Jude (my personal favorite) or St. Anthony (who has found my cell phone and car keys with some regularity) from time to time with no hesitation.

I'd never really considered Teresa of Avila, though. I could understand nuns and appreciate their calling to the religious life, but Teresa just seemed like one of those pious cards with a coiffed nun, eyes uplifted to heaven in an adoring gaze, hands precisely folded to indicate prayer and looking as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Then I read James Kiefer's biography and found something interesting. When Teresa was ill she was very diligent and fervent in her prayers, but when she got better she sort of slacked off, sometimes being very "lukewarm." Now this is something with which I can identify.

I pray when I am expected to -- before meals, in church, in meetings/groups where prayer is part of the regular process and often in the middle of a sleepless night -- but when it comes to ordinary life, I'm a bit lax. Oh, I do remember to say "Thank you" (most of the time) when the light stays green just long enough for me to get through the intersection, a parking space opens up right near the door of the store or when something actually works when I don't particularly expect it to. Perhaps that's simplistic, but there you have it. I did it just this afternoon when I was running late to an appointment and that light stayed green just long enough for me to get through the intersection without stopping. But it's when I'm wading through stuff, especially the really deep stuff, that I tend to pray more and express it less clearly. I can't always come up with words to say what I feel I need to say.

I am grateful for the Book of Common Prayer which so often has something that covers what I need, but there are times when I don't have a BCP handy or I'm struggling just to breathe, totally unable to remember that page 810 holds the list of available prayers and page numbers. I believe I do pray at those times, but if you asked me to say what words I was praying or what I was praying for, I don't think I could tell you. That's one reason the passage from Romans seems so important to me.

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

Psalms 148, 149, 150 (morning)
Psalms 114, 115 (evening)
Jeremiah 29:1, 4-14
Acts 16:6-15
Luke 10:1-12, 17-20

Our readings today, particularly the ones from Acts and the Gospel of Luke, remind us of the unpredictability of "welcome." Paul and Timothy find an avid listener and true hospitality in the presence of Lydia and her family-but our reading from Luke depicts Jesus instructing the disciples in the possibility that they will be poorly received at times, and to not take it personally or to linger any longer than necessary, should that be the case.

It's a long-standing joke that Episcopalians are uncomfortable with the "E-word"--Evangelism. Many of us are survivors of "traumatic evangelism" in other denominations that made it very clear we were unwelcome. So it should come as no surprise that many Episcopalians, by and large, are evangelism-squeamish to the point that even issuing someone an invitation to church feels edgy. We find ourselves at a bit of a quandary at times. For many of us, this church and its progressive, inclusive, incarnational theology has changed our life. We have found within the walls of our sanctuaries a certain degree of acceptance that perhaps we did not find in other denominations or in the secular world--yet we fear rejection or disapproval if our invitations are rebuffed. In our hearts we wish for a moment like Paul and Timothy found with Lydia. In our mind's eye, we see ourselves being scorned or ignored.

How, then, do we honor our Baptismal Covenant and "proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ" when "evangelism" in the traditional sense gives us the heebie-jeebies? how do we move from, in the words of church consultant Andrew D. Weeks, from "friendly fellowship" to "risky hospitality?"

Our Gospel reading provides a bit of insight here. I'm sure those seventy disciples, after hearing Jesus more or less tell them, "You can't control how people will react to you, and sometimes the reaction is that you'll be made unwelcome," didn't feel really great about their prospects. Yet we are told later that they were incredibly joyful upon their return. We don't control the joy in this proposition, either. Jesus speaks of the disciples' authority in his name in this passage, but it's important to remember that the authority of Christ came from a Jesus who went out of his way to reach out to the skeptical, the quizzical, the misaligned, and the scorned.

If you could create a joyful new ministry in your own parish, what would it be?

Have you ever shared that pipe dream at coffee hour?

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, October 17, 2011 -- Week of Proper 24, Year One
Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch and Martyr, c. 115

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 988)
Psalms 25 (morning) // 9, 15 (evening)
Jeremiah 44:1-14
1 Corinthians 15:30-41
Matthew 11:16-24

Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! ...And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? No, you will be brought down to Hades. For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Sodom, it would have remained to this day.

Sometimes I've wondered how I might have responded had I lived in Galilee during Jesus' ministry. Would I have paid attention to him and to his movement? Would I have listened and responded?

Had I been a fellow fisherman with Peter, James and John, I probably would have reacted to Jesus in a way that depended entirely of my opinion of his companions. Had the mercurial Peter and the "sons of thunder" ticked me off sometime in the past, I probably would have painted Jesus with their annoying, over-reactive brush. Had I been comfortable and settled, prosperous and blessed, I probably would have been suspicious of the potential for his movement to overturn the status quo. Had I been with the Roman occupiers or one of their Jewish collaborators, I would have judged Jesus from a guarded perspective, dependent upon my own sense of threat or stability.

Had I lived in Chorazin, thought to be a synagogue following the stricter teaching of Rabbi Shammai, I probably would have seen Jesus as a heretic and a threat to good religion. Had I lived in Capernaum, said to be allied to the milder teaching of Rabbi Hillel, I probably would have been more open to Jesus' message as it seemed compatible with what I would have grown up with.

I don't know whether I would have recognized and appreciated the opportunity to see him face to face, to know him personally, had I had the good fortune to live in one of the towns where he taught. I might have just been too busy to pay attention, too preoccupied with my own affairs. I might have been too embarrassed to risk association with one whose reputation was so mixed. I might have been too dull of spirit to recognize how this teacher was different. (I'm still haunted that I didn't hound my parents, like some of my friends did, to let me go to the Beatles concert in 1964. I didn't sense, as some of them did, what a big deal it was.)

Our context shapes so much of our character, opinions, vision, and potential. It limits and it opens possibilities to us.

The people of Tyre and Sidon did not have the same opportunities of those in Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum -- to hear and respond to the ministry of Jesus. Jesus tells his Galilean neighbors that the foreigners would have responded more energetically.

Sometimes I wonder how much of my response to Jesus is cultural because I have been raised in an Episcopalian home, and how much is my own heartfelt and creative embrace of his being. I'm sure that if I were raised in Islamabad, I would be a Muslim today. I imagine I would be a Muslim there in something of the same manner that I am a Christian here.

I feel fortunate to have grown up in the environment that raised me. But I wonder what I haven't seen and known simply because of my own cultural blindness. I wonder if other people from other cultures, if given my opportunities, might do much more and be far more faithful than I have been.

I'm always bothered by proud expressions of American exceptionalism, phrases like "the United States is the greatest country in the world; America is Number 1." Yes, we have been given so much -- natural resources, the protection of two oceans, a heritage of liberty. But I wonder, if some other tribe or people had been given these gifts, might they have done better with them than we have? I know there are cultures where people take care of each other and mitigate suffering with a profound sense of communal obligation. I wonder if our ancestors had been from some of those cultures, would we be a more just and loving nation?

Elsewhere, in Luke, we hear Jesus say, "From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded." (Luke 12:48b)

Jesus says to his listeners, "Just because you're from Capernaum and enjoyed my synagogue teaching doesn't mean you're more virtuous than the ancient people of Sodom." That message has teeth for us too.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011 -- -- Week of Proper 24, Year One
Saint Luke the Evangelist

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

EITHER the readings for Tuesday of Proper 24, p. 988
Psalms 26, 28 (morning) // 36, 39 (evening)
Lamentations 1:1-5(6-9)10-12
1 Corinthians 15:41-50
Matthew 11:25-30

OR the readings for St. Luke, p. 999
Morning Prayer: Psalms 103; Ezekiel 47:-12; Luke 1:1-14
Evening Prayer: Psalms 67, 96; Isaiah 52:7-10; Acts 1:1-8

(my reflection is from the gospel for Tuesday of Proper 24)

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Matthew 11:28-30)

Most people I know are so hard on themselves. They expect so much from themselves, whether they are talking about their behavior or their performance, their morals or their work. So many people carry the burden of feeling unable to live up to expectations -- sometimes it is the burden of the expectations of others; sometimes self-imposed expectations. So many people live with the perpetual feeling that they are not measuring up.

Most people in our culture have more to do than they can do. The first time I went on an Ignatian retreat our leader gave us some scripture to read and a style of active, meditative prayer for reflection. But then he offered a caveat. Don't worry too much about trying to pray right away. Rest. Sleep a while. Most people in our culture are perpetually tired. Usually you need to sleep the better part of two days before you can really pray. So, he said, rest. The prayer will come later when you are refreshed.

How liberating it is to let go of burdens and just be. To rest.

A pivotal a moment in the Christian journey happens when we realize that we are loved and accepted completely, just as we are. That is a moment of conversion. Conversion happens when we quit trying to earn love and simply accept it.

The yoke of Christ is the gift of unqualified love. There is nothing we need do to earn it; there is nowhere we can go where there is more divine love than right here. There is no time when God will love us more than right now. Loving acceptance is the gift God gives. It is present and effective right now and always.

We can let go of expectations. We can let go of the frantic side of working so hard -- either to avoid bad things or to earn something. Christ's message is Love. God is love. God loves you. God loves us. Just as we are. Right here. Right now. Take it easy. Relax. Trust. Rest in love.

Postscript:
Here is one of the most famous paragraphs from a sermon in the 20th century. From Paul Tillich:

Do we know what it means to be struck by grace? It does not mean that we suddenly believe that God exists, or that Jesus is the Saviour, or that the Bible contains the truth. To believe that something is, is almost contrary to the meaning of grace. Furthermore, grace does not mean simply that we are making progress in our moral self-control, in our fight against special faults, and in our relationships to men and to society. Moral progress may be a fruit of grace; but it is not grace itself, and it can even prevent us from receiving grace. For there is too often a graceless acceptance of Christian doctrines and a graceless battle against the structures of evil in our personalities. Such a graceless relation to God may lead us by necessity either to arrogance or to despair. It would be better to refuse God and the Christ and the Bible than to accept them without grace. For if we accept without grace, we do so in the state of separation, and can only succeed in deepening the separation. We cannot transform our lives, unless we allow them to be transformed by that stroke of grace. It happens; or it does not happen. And certainly it does not happen if we try to force it upon ourselves, just as it shall not happen so long as we think, in our self-complacency, that we have no need of it. Grace strikes us when we are in great pain and restlessness. It strikes us when we walk through the dark valley of a meaningless and empty life. It strikes us when we feel that our separation is deeper than usual, because we have violated another life, a life which we loved, or from which we were estranged. It strikes us when our disgust for our own being, our indifference, our weakness, our hostility, and our lack of direction and composure have become intolerable to us. It strikes us when, year after year, the longed-for perfection of life does not appear, when the old compulsions reign within us as they have for decades, when despair destroys all joy and courage. Sometimes at that moment a wave of light breaks into our darkness, and it is as though a voice were saying: "You are accepted. You are accepted, accepted by that which is greater than you, and the name of which you do not know. Do not ask for the name now; perhaps you will find it later. Do not try to do anything now; perhaps later you will do much. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!" If that happens to us, we experience grace. After such an experience we may not be better than before, and we may not believe more than before. But everything is transformed. In that moment, grace conquers sin, and reconciliation bridges the gulf of estrangement. And nothing is demanded of this experience, no religious or moral or intellectual presupposition, nothing but acceptance. (Paul Tillich, from the sermon "You Are Accepted," in The Shaking of the Foundations, chapter 19)

Wednesday, October 19, 2011 -- Week of Proper 24, Year One
Henry Martyn, Priest, and Missionary to India and Persia, 1812
William Carey, Missionary to India, 1834

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, 988)
Psalms 38 (morning) // 119:25-48 (evening)
Lamentations 2:8-15
1 Corinthians 15:51-58
Matthew 12:1-14

Whenever the response to human need is in conflict with the law, even if it be a Biblical law, even if it is one of the Ten Commandments -- love always trumps law. The opportunity to do good, to extend mercy, to act with compassion, to relieve suffering, to love is paramount. Mere law, rule, commandment, scripture, or tradition must move aside in the face of the opportunity to act with compassion.

Today we read a story of Jesus' breaking one of the Ten Commandments. The religious authorities are furious. They believe that his action threatens and compromises the foundations of their faith and religion. The Sabbath was one of the most distinctive characteristics of Judaism. Just over a hundred years before Jesus, many faithful soldiers during the war of the Maccabeans preferred being killed rather than to defend themselves on the Sabbath and thus desecrate the holy days.

You might argue that Jesus didn't really break the fourth Commandment: "Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy." You might argue that he was merely reinterpreting the tradition in a more loving, inclusive and compassionate way. But don't say that to a traditionalist. Don't make that argument to a literalist. Jesus' act was liberal revisionism and a threat to the faith once delivered.

Jesus and his disciples were walking through the grainfields on the sabbath. That's pretty suspicious in the first place. There was a strict limit on the distance one could walk without violating the sabbath. The disciples were hungry, so they began to pick grain from the stalk and eat it. Absolutely forbidden. That is a form of harvesting. Not allowed on the day of rest. When the controversy is raised in the synagogue, Jesus asks them, "Is it lawful to cure on the sabbath?" It's a good question. He enters a centuries-long conversation among rabbis about what is lawful and what is unlawful on the sabbath.

During Jesus' life two competing schools of the Pharisees debated: "Man was made for the sabbath," said Rabbi Shammai. "The sabbath was made for man," claimed Rabbi Hillel. About a hundred years after Jesus, Rabbi Akiba would help establish a widely accepted criterion: "Every case of danger of life allows for the suspension of the Sabbath." So, the basic rule would become: Don't do things that can be done on the day before or on the day afterward; but, if danger of life exists -- a woman in childbirth; a terrible accident -- you may act without violating the sabbath rest. In the strict community of Qumran, even aiding an animal giving birth or an animal in an accident on the sabbath was outlawed.

It is clear that Jesus sided with the more liberal interpretation of Hillel. (Maybe that influenced his move from Nazareth to Capernaum. The synagogue at Nazareth was an ultra-conservative sect, not unlike today's Hasidim; the synagogue at Capernaum aligned itself with the school of Hillel.) But even progressive Judaism did not go as far as Jesus did in Matthew 12. After all, the disciples could have fasted a day rather than pick the grain. And Jesus could always heal a withered hand the day before or the day after. Neither of these was life threatening. They need not be done on the sabbath.

According to traditional teaching before and after Jesus, Jesus broke the 4th Commandment.

Paul recognizes the implications. We hear him today at the end of 1 Corinthians 15. Adam's sin introduced the necessity of the law as the measure of humanity's wrong. The law was created to guard and bind sinful humanity. And the price of sin is death. But the life, death and resurrection of Jesus breaks the deadly stranglehold of all three -- sin, death and the law.

In Jesus, the question changes entirely. It is no longer, "What does the Bible say? What is the commandment or law or statute?" The question is now, "What is the loving, compassionate, healing, hopeful, merciful opportunity before you? Do that." Christians are still figuring out how to live into his radical example.

“One must have the courage to say that the goodness of Christ appeared greater and more divine and truly conformed to the image of the Father when ‘he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross’ (Phil 2:8) than would be the case if he did not will to become a slave for the salvation of the world.”

Origen, Spirit & Fire: A Thematic Anthology of His Writings, ed. Hans Urs von Balthasar (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 1984), p. 127.

This beautiful passage from Origen suggests something about the divine nature that we seldom give as much credit as we should. Often, we think of the humility of Christ as something accidental, added on at the right time, solely “for us and for our salvation.” It is true, no doubt, that the humility of our Lord in the Incarnation is part of God’s response to sin, suffering, and death. But, if Origen is right (and here, at least, he seems so to me), the humility of Jesus points to an eternal humility within the Godhead. Never is Christ more like the Father than in his humility and obedience unto death. From beginning to end, the story of Jesus Christ reveals the true character of God. In his person, the Son bears the very imprint of the divine nature (see Hebrews 1:1-4). And so, we ought to rethink our conception of God, from the ground up, in light of the humble, merciful, self-offering of Jesus Christ. Or, as the collect appointed for Proper 21 would suggest, God’s “almighty power” is declared chiefly in “showing mercy and pity.” (BCP, p. 234) In all that he does and suffers for us, Jesus reveals the Father’s love. Indeed, he and the Father are one.

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here.

Friday, October 21, 2011 -- Week of Proper 24, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 988)
Psalms 31 (morning) // 35 (evening)
Ezra 3:1-13
1 Corinthians 16:10-24
Matthew 12:22-32

There are holy places that seem to draw us toward the transcendent. There are places in nature that take us out of ourselves and help us become open to awe and beauty. I feel fortunate to live in the Ozarks which abounds with such locations. With the changing leaves and pleasant October weather, it is a perfect time to visit God's cathedral of creation.

Other holy places are made by hands in cooperation with the Spirit. There are certain rooms and buildings that elevate and silence us as we enter. That is something I feel when I enter my church. Many times I've walked inside our worship space to show it to someone unfamiliar with our life or tradition, and I've noticed their awareness. It is a special place. It inclines us toward the holy. Even visitors and strangers recognize it.

In Ezra we read of the laying of the foundations of the ruined Temple in Jerusalem. The priests have already restored the hours of prayer and worship in that holy place of prayer. Work has progressed to the point where once again there is a foundation upon which to build. Sixty years has passed since the Temple that Solomon built was destroyed. There is great rejoicing at this new beginning. There is also great mourning as those old enough to remember the grandeur of the former place contrast it with this modest beginning.

We don't have to have great buildings to worship and pray. The Jewish people discovered this during their exile. I've been with worshipping people in hotel rooms, auditoriums, homes and other locations where the Spirit of prayer and worship was authentic and wonderful.

But the great temples made by hands do seem to be sacraments of stone or wood. The ones that feel holy appear to have been constructed as an act of devotion and sacrifice. They are outward and visible signs of great love and offering to God. The extravagance of art and beauty that they so often evidence sings of a desire to give extravagant love back to God. That love continues to inspire for generations and sometimes, even centuries.

I am so thankful to our ancestors in our community, who in the 1870's, a time of post-war stress and depression, decided to build our place of worship, with wonderful cross beams and a high vertical ceiling. I wonder what the conversations were like for that Vestry. Did someone estimate the numbers and costs? How much might they have saved by lowering the ceiling, say ten feet? Somebody had to encourage some extravagance, some sacrifice to build it as it is. And now, 140 years later a stranger can walk in off the street and feel moved. Or any one of us can walk in and be drawn toward prayer that has been constant and present in this holy place for all of these generations.

The builders of the foundations of the Jerusalem Temple knew the significance of a holy place. Their story in Ezra and Nehemiah is a poignant one.
_____

P.S. Paul ends this letter to the Corinthians today with his hand-written postscript. He writes the Aramaic word "maranatha." Scholars believe it was an important word of faith for the early Church. The NRSV translates it "Our Lord, come!" which is the reading for marana tha. It can also be read "Our Lord has come!" -- maran atha. The ancient manuscripts do not have spaces to distinguish between those readings. That's worth thinking about.

Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother,to Philemon our dear friend and co-worker, to Apphia our sister, to Archippus our fellow-soldier, and to the church in your house: Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit. -- Philemon 1-25

Back in the mists of time, back when I was growing up, there were certain television shows that my parents wouldn't miss. One was Lawrence Welk on Saturday nights and the other was Perry Como. He had a very pleasant voice and interesting people on his program, but the thing I remember most was a tune that had the lyrics, "Letters, we get letters/ we get stacks, stacks, stacks of letters,/ dear Perry, would you be so kind/ to fill my request and sing the song I like best?"

With Paul, we have letters, we have fragments of letters, and we have mis-attributed letters (or at least, letters from his associates, signed with his name to lend veracity and weight to what they wrote). We have stacks of letters, but we also only have one side of the equation. What provoked (or promoted) the letters we don't really always understand, and so we are left hoping we're reading them right or, at least, not mis-reading them.

James Kiefer, in his biographical sketch, drew the picture of a worried Onesimus hanging over Paul's shoulder, knowing that his fate might well rest on what Paul wrote to the man from whom Onesimus had fled. Meanwhile, Paul writes words that would do Tony Soprano proud. Poor Philemon, no matter what he did he couldn't win. Philemon was a worm on a hook and he probably knew it as soon as he opened the letter.

I wonder -- what would I do if I got a letter like that? I'm not talking about one from the sheriff's tax enforcement force reminding me that if I don't pay my property tax I could lose my house but rather one from a friend and mentor telling me that I need to do something that goes against the grain, to not just forgive someone who has wronged or harmed me but to welcome them back into my house and my life. Oy, that's a tall order, but it's one that is fully compatible with the teachings of Jesus, Paul's boss. Paul's letter to Philemon might have been a more-or-less gentle twist of the arm (or an iron hand in a velvet glove), but Jesus was a bit more direct about forgiveness and the requirement for it.

I wonder how it all turned out. Did Paul ever get to use Philemon's guest room? Did Onesimus receive the welcome Paul wanted for him? Did Philemon maybe fall a little short of killing the fatted calf for his returning slave-now-brother or did he accept that the whole relationship had changed?

Now I have to ask myself -- am I Onesimus or Philemon? Am I the wronged or the one who wronged? Am I asked to be forgiving or to forgive? Am I a slave or am I free?

I just know that if I'm in trouble, I hope Jesus writes as good a letter for me as Paul did for Onesimus. Somehow, I think he would, no matter what. Then all I would have to do would be to live up to the letter.

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

The whole assembly kept silence, and listened to Barnabas and Paul as they told of all the signs and wonders that God had done through them among the Gentiles. After they finished speaking, James replied, “My brothers, listen to me. Simeon has related how God first looked favorably on the Gentiles, to take from among them a people for his name. This agrees with the words of the prophets, as it is written, ‘After this I will return, and I will rebuild the dwelling of David, which has fallen; from its ruins I will rebuild it, and I will set it up, so that all other peoples may seek the Lord— even all the Gentiles over whom my name has been called. Thus says the Lord, who has been making these things known from long ago.’ Therefore I have reached the decision that we should not trouble those Gentiles who are turning to God, but we should write to them to abstain only from things polluted by idols and from fornication and from whatever has been strangled and from blood. For in every city, for generations past, Moses has had those who proclaim him, for he has been read aloud every sabbath in the synagogues.”

Then the apostles and the elders, with the consent of the whole church, decided to choose men from among their members and to send them to Antioch with Paul and Barnabas. They sent Judas called Barsabbas, and Silas, leaders among the brothers, Acts 15:12-22a (NRSV)

The topic in the reading from Acts is whether or not Gentile converts to Christianity should be circumcised. James' statement that we ought not to "trouble" them is quite an understatement, all things considered! But the story brings up those "seven little words" we too often hear in church communities--"But that's how we've always done it"--and its sibling, "We've never done it like that before."

Now, this mindset is not the sole province of churches. Twenty years of teaching medical students and having gone through "the training years" myself have taught me those seven little words are uttered a lot in medicine, too. I learned many things a certain way for no good reason other than "That's how the people who trained me learned it." Yet, if we look at this literally, we would still be having students draw intricate line drawings of cells with colored pencils in their Histology class, we'd have students procure their own teaching material for Gross Anatomy via the "Resurrection men" and late night trips to the cemetery, and interns would be on call every other night--a situation we now know is dangerous to patients.

I remember when the school I worked for first considered using prosected (already professionally dissected) material rather than have students dissect "their" cadaver from stem to stern. The hue and cry was palpable. People gave all sorts of reasons why this was something all medical students "must" do for themselves--but as I heard all the reasons, I wasn't hearing very much "them" I was hearing "I"--"I, an anatomy professor, won't get to work with them in a certain way." "I, a surgeon, had to do that, and even though I don't really believe working on a formalin fixed body is the same as a live one, this was a rite of passage for me." The actual educational basis for the change (the students could be learning something else essential to their learning to become physicians, rather than be doing "grunt" work in the anatomy lab for hours at a time every day) became overshadowed by all these "I's."

At some point in a church's life cycle, change occurs that creates anxiety in a parish. Sometimes it is internal to the local parish (a new priest, the death of a beloved parishioner, or financial trouble, for instance) and sometimes it is external (The consecration of Gene Robinson as bishop, and, prior to that, the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, and prior to that, the ordination of women.) The tendency is to take three steps back, and say some version of "the seven little words," and make the hurt about us. The problem is that anxious people in anxious parishes tend to react in a way to relieve their own anxiety, rather than act for the good of the parish. Times of change in the shared life of a parish are precisely the times we should be giving up control and allowing God's process to take control rather than reacting through individual control to relieve anxiety.

It is for this reason, I believe, that our BCP has many prayers specific for the life of the parish. It's obvious that "parish anxiety" has been with us in our Christian history since the first days of the early church, from this passage. I'm sure the decision that the Gentiles need not be circumcised was met with great anxiety among part of the church (and great relief among another part of the church!) We historically call St. James "James the Just," but it might, in this day and age, be more valuable to think of him as "James the Non-Anxious Presence."

How often in the day-to-day life of the parish--in vestry meetings, before worship, together as committee members--do you actually sit down and pray about your shared life in the parish, as opposed to reacting to it? How frequently do you use the tools already available to you in our beloved BCP?

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, October 24, 2011 -- Week of Proper 25, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 990)
Psalms 41, 52 (morning) // 44 (evening)
Zechariah 1:7-17
Revelation 4:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9

Because the parable of the sower has become so associated with the interpretation that follows in Matthew's Gospel, it can be hard to read it fresh, as a simple parable without the framing interpretation. But our lectionary gives us that opportunity today.

As I read Matthew 13:1-9, the frame that came into my mind had to do with my own use of time, and my sense of effectiveness and efficiency. I thought of the seeds as all the things that I do. I spend my day in various activities. Some of my time is in study and prayer. Some in writing, some e-mailing, some on the telephone. I visit with people, I have meetings, I work with my colleagues. I eat, I rest, and I have some fun. I take care of some chores, and I waste some time. All through the day, I spend the precious gift of time like a sower sowing seeds.

And what do I have to show for it? What sort of harvest is there?

Sometimes I know immediately. I have just wasted a bit of time. The rocky soil was obvious.

Sometimes a problem is solved simply and quickly. Where is the next weed to pick?

Usually it takes some time to know if a conversation or an email has made a difference. Often I'll never know. I just sow seeds and trust.

As one who preaches, I've recognized that I often can't predict how what I say will be received. I've had sermons that I thought were hum-dingers when I finished writing them, that seemed to bomb when I preached them. I've come to the pulpit with something anemic, and later been surprised to hear someone say it was just what they needed to hear. I've had someone tell me what they heard, and it was exactly the opposite of what I thought I said or what I intended to say. Sometimes I know I have good seed that will fall to good earth. That feels satisfying. But not for long. There is another service, another sermon due just around the corner.

I've become somewhat passive about how my words might be received. So much depends upon the circumstances of the hearer. I think I am a better word-farmer when I relax and sow, and leave whatever germination or growth that might happen entirely to God.

But I digress. I started this reflection thinking about time. If every moment is a seed, how am I planting?

I do want to spend as much time as I can sowing healthy seed into well prepared ground. But I don't want to be so compulsive that I have to be accomplishing something significant every moment.

There is something comforting about the example of the sower in the parable. The sower works with a relaxed extravagance, as if there is all the seed in the world. The sower is willing to throw the seed continuously, regardless of the context -- path, thorns, rocks and deep soil -- all gets covered.

So much of my context is given to me or comes to me during the day. I can make a plan to sow in one particular field that I regard as important and potentially fruitful, but getting there sometimes involves surprising detours. It is nice to relax and keep sowing. I never know when something will take root. What looks like a rocky wasteland to me may hide a perfect nesting place for a seed.

It is a Monday morning. Time to begin a new week. I'll look at the to-do list and set some priorities. But I don't want to be too attached to my plan that I'll fail to throw some seed when I find myself on an unexpected path in thorns and rocks. Relax and sow. Relax and sow. No telling what might grow.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011 -- Week of Proper 25, Year One

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 990)
Psalms 45 (morning) // 47, 48 (evening)
Ezra 5:1-17
Revelation 4:1-11
Matthew 13:1-9

[Oops. I looked at the wrong line yesterday, and copied today's second and third readings. Yesterday I commented on the gospel reading for today -- the Parable of the Sower (without Matthew's allegorical interpretation). So this morning, in addition to Ezra 5:1-17, I'll read Revelation 1:4-20 and Matthew 12:43-50, the readings from yesterday that I overlooked.]

The rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple that Ezra records is also the rebuilding of the community and its renewal after exile. The Temple restoration becomes a focus and a metaphor for the whole process of the community's restoration.

I had a friend whose wheels fell off from alcoholism. He lost his job, his status in the community, and his financial security -- everything but his loyal wife. After detox and a rehab program, he changed jobs, moved to another town, and the family bought an old, rundown house. It was a rambling Victorian style place. The paint had peeled and the building was in severe disrepair. They set about rebuilding and restoring the house and their lives. It took patience, persistence and hard work. Progress appeared painfully slow. For years you might drive by and wonder who lived in that dump. But it did change, one day at a time.

Interestingly, they didn't repaint the outside first. The restoration was done from the inside out. I think they worked a room at a time, starting with the most functional ones -- bathroom and kitchen. Their lives were also rebuilding from the inside out. A dozen years later, they lived in a shining, lovely dwelling, and the whole family was restored and delightfully reestablished.

Recently I tried to trace some of the story of the building of our church. It is referred to as the "New Church" in our records. The "Old Church" from 1854 had been hit by lightning and burned during the Civil War. The church then met in homes and in a Masonic Lodge for over a decade.

A new priest, the Rev. Thomas May Thorpe arrived in 1872, "full of religious fervor and energy," our records say. But "he found us too poor to possess anything but a name and a little impoverished ground." These were the bleak days in the South following the War Between the States. "With his fine ability he gathered up the broken threads of despair, breathed new life into our souls and began the task of building a new house of worship."

We have newspaper accounts of the laying of the cornerstone, October 30, 1872, 139 years ago this Sunday. We also have the Rev. Mr. Thorpe's handwritten notes about that day, and a record of the items placed inside the cornerstone.

But the project stalled. Mr. Thorpe left. When his successor the Rev. J. J. Vaulx arrived in 1876, the walls were constructed but the ceiling had not been built. There were only about a dozen benches inside the walls and a small box stove for heat. The vesting area was a curtained-off space in the northwest corner of the church.

It is only a guess, but I presume that the roof was constructed by June 19, 1877, when the first marriage in our current church was solemnized between Miss Clementine Watson and Mr. Thomas D. Boles. In the late 1800's, she gave the window that graces our east wall over the altar. It shows Jesus with three children around him and a reference to Jesus' welcome of the children. In the old cemetery up the hill you can find Mrs. Boles family plot, with three small tombstones of her children who died as infants.

In 1 Corinthians, Paul speaks of ministry as a process of building. He laid a foundation, which is Jesus Christ. Now each member builds on that foundation, and the quality of the work will be revealed in the Day of the Lord.

Each day is a construction day. We have all received a foundation. Our fundamental foundation is our creation in the image and likeness of God and our acceptance revealed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. We have been given an abundant inheritance. We have also inherited an ambiguous heritage from our families and communities of origin. Today -- every day -- is another construction day.

There is something to be said for building from the inside out -- starting the day revisiting our fundamentals. There is something to be said for using quality materials in order to build that which will last. And we always start where we are, taking what we have, even if the vesting area is only a curtain in a corner. Life is difficult. We will suffer. But even that can be turned into offering, as today's worshipers can attest as we gaze at the beautiful stained glass image of Jesus and the children.

We are building our lives and the foundation for the future. What will our work be today?

Wednesday, October 26, 2011 -- Week of Proper 25, Year One
Alfred the Great, King of the West Saxons, 899

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 990)
Psalms 119:49-72 (morning) // 49, [53] (evening)
Ezra 6:1–22
Revelation 5:1-10
Matthew 13:10-17

We all have blind spots. But if you can't see, how do you know what you are missing? How do you know what your own blind spots may be? We need friends who see differently from us to help us fill in what we are missing. We need to read things that are written by people who have a different perspective, or a conflicting perspective from ours. Whenever we can see through another's eyes, we expand our field of vision.

Sometimes understanding another perspective is a corrective. I learn something, and I change. Sometimes it is only a tweak or a refinement of understanding. Sometimes it is repentance. I turn and go the other direction.

Sometimes understanding another perspective is confirming. I can see their underlying values and motivation; I can follow the logic of their thought; I can feel the satisfaction that their position gives to them. And I still disagree.

Because I write a lot and let that writing goes out into some fairly public venues, I am fortunate to be on the receiving end of some good "eye doctors." There are those who see my blind spots and offer an expanded vision. What a gift.

Every once in a while, someone writes who is certain that I'm mostly blind. Sometimes those emails are just too toxic to invite dialogue. But sometimes they are an invitation as well as a challenge. I can reply in order to seek more clarity even as I offer to be more clear.

There is an insight from F. D. Maurice (d. 1872) that is helpful during conversations between two of us who are half-blind: "A man is most often right in what he affirms and wrong in what he denies." If we can get past whatever it is we are denying about each other's views and move into the the territory where we each state our values, I often find that we move much closer to one another. Sometimes I find that I have very similar values as one who seemed to be an opponent, we just come up with different strategies for accomplishing similar ends. That realization can calm some of the rhetoric.

Occasionally I will run across someone whose values and world-view simply seems contrary to that which I hold dear. We could talk or email until we turn blue, and we will still be at cross purposes. If we have a relationship, I find it is not to difficult to arrive at a place where we can agree to disagree. Actually, that can be a lot of fun. Now I know where to go when I'm perplexed. When I run across something that makes no sense to me, I can ask a friend who experiences life from a different paradigm, and that friend usually has seen something that I was blind to. I still may think that it makes no sense, but at least I can understand where they are coming from.

And every once in a while I engage in communication with someone, usually by email, when I become convinced that we are in a win/lose situation. If that person is right, and their opinion prevails, I am convinced that the world will be damaged. We've talked, and there is no prospect for compromise or reconciliation. Our values and our vision are fundamentally in conflict. I thought about those situations when I read in today's gospel Isaiah's prophecy that we hear in Jesus' voice through Matthew: "You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people's heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes; so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn -- and I would heal them," says the prophet. Sometimes I have to go a step beyond agreeing to disagree. I have to say that they are wrong, and I must oppose them actively. Insofar as I can, I have to exercise whatever influence I may have to put boundaries around the damage that they might inflict. Even so, friendship, if it is present, can be sustained.

There are times when it is important to win and for another alternative to be defeated. I think it is important to recognize that territory. Yet, whenever I find myself there, I also have to accept that I continue to be near-sighted and occasionally downright blind. I have to be willing to be corrected. And, as Maurice reminds us, I'm most constructive when I am framing my vision in terms of values and affirmations rather than what I'm against.

"Although the baptismal Christ and indwelling Paraclete never cease for one moment to work within us, most of us--save on rare occasions--remain virtually unaware of this inner presence and activity. True prayer, then, signifies the rediscovery and 'manifestation' of baptismal grace. To pray is to pass from the state where grace is present in our hearts secretly and unconsciously, to the point of full inner perception and conscious awareness when we experience and feel the power of the Spirit directly and immediately."
Bishop Kallistos of Diokleia, The Power of the Name: The Jesus Prayer in Orthodox Spirituality (Oxford: Fairacres/SLG Press, 1974), p. 3.

Archbishop Kallistos is aware that grace is also at work in those who have not been baptized, but there is something very powerful about this image of true prayer as the "rediscovery and manifestation of baptismal grace." Surely, there are forms of apophatic discourse that would render this emphasis on experiencing and feeling the power of the Spirit suspect. And yet, true prayer is often exactly that, the rendering conscious of that which is happening within our hearts through the Trinitarian missions of Son and Spirit. If we have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ's own, then grace is always, already at work within us conforming us, each in our own unique way, to the image of Christ. Prayer is the work of the Holy Spirit within us, wherein we share in the Sonship of Jesus Christ. It means being caught up in a web of loving relationships, flooded with the Gift of God's own living charity, namely the Holy Spirit. And who would doubt that our spirit, when made alive to the presence of God's Spirit, might be conscious of the same, as we become one Spirit with the Lord, just as Christ became one flesh with us, distinct yet inseparable in a union more intimate than any marriage.

The Rev. Bill Carroll serves as rector of the Church of the Good Shepherd in Athens, Ohio. His parish blog is at here.

Friday, October 28, 2011 -- Week of Proper 25, Year One
Saint Simon and Saint Jude, Apostles

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

EITHER the readings for Friday of Proper 25, p. 990
Psalms 40, 54 (morning) // 51 (evening)
Nehemiah 2:1-20
Revelation 6:12 – 7:4
Matthew 13:24-30

OR the readings for SS. Simon & Jude, p. 1000
Morning Prayer: Psalm 66; Isaiah 28:9-16; Ephesians 4:1-16
Evening Prayer: Psalms 116, 117; Isaiah 4:2-6; John 14:15-31

I used the readings for Friday of Proper 25

All of the readings today include some expression of judgment between "God's people" and the "others." The readings address these issues in very different ways, however.

Nehemiah tells of his commission from the Persian King Ataxerxes to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem. He is sent in 445 BCE, about thirteen years after Ezra's mission. The wider context concerns the contemporary conflict between Persia and Egypt. A fortified Jerusalem could provide a military base for Persia. Ataxerxes sends soldiers with Nehemiah to underline his strategic intent.

There is a second aspect of Persian policy that is important. The Persian Empire controlled its occupied regions by controlling access to the land. The Empire exercised absolute control of land, thereby exercising their control of agriculture and decreasing ethnic conflicts. Persian strategy mandated a strict tribal autonomy over traditional land. Persia maintained that authority by creating strong boundaries between neighboring tribes. Intermarriage was forbidden because it tended to blur property rights. Persia encouraged each occupied region to maintain their traditional worship and to include prayers for the Persian King and Empire in their liturgies. The ties of worship also helped maintain tribal unity and purity, strengthening the attachments between people and land. It is Nehemiah's charge to carry out this Persian policy in Jerusalem. He seeks to completely separate the Jews from their regional neighbors.

Nehemiah will face opposition. Neighboring tribes will be jealous of the refortification because this imperial preference will bring new money and prestige to Jerusalem, supposedly at the neighbors' expense. Also, many of the Jews who had lived in Judah during the exile, and some who had returned, were married to members of the neighboring tribes. They had deep family relationships with their neighbors, some covering several generations. Nehemiah's plan for ethnic cleansing will rip those families apart. The building of the wall is a symbol and instrument of this plan of cultural separation. It will be controversial. It will create an enduring enmity between Jews and Samaritans.

The book of Ruth was written as protest literature against this separatist tradition. The hero Ruth is a faithful Moabite, married to a Hebrew. She becomes an ancestor of David. In later years, Jesus will reach past the resentments of centuries of history to offer living water to a Samaritan woman and to make a Samaritan man his eternal image of the meaning of being a neighbor.

In the book of Revelation, the opening of the sixth seal imagines the consequences of human destructiveness and the justice of God. Although no act of judgment is actually portrayed, we see the anxiety of the judged. Their fear is contrasted with the sealing of the foreheads of God's people. The forehead is a symbol of human will and worship. The symbolic number 144,000 is built on the number 12 (God's people) and the number 10 (all). All of God's people are gathered from the four corners of the earth. The vision culminates in tomorrow's reading when an innumerable multitude from "every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages" will appear before the Lamb, joyfully joining the song of heaven. It is a remarkably inclusive image.

In Matthew's gospel the church is told to leave judgment to God. In our world and in the church, good and evil exist together, the good seed and the weeds grow together. If we were to try to uproot the weeds, we would inevitably damage or even uproot some of the good plants. "Let both of them grow together until the harvest," Jesus says. Some have cited this passage to oppose warfare, for in every war the number of civilian casualties is greater than military causalities.

These readings have echoes today. Modern Israel has built a wall that not only separates Jewish territory from Palestinian, but also breaks off access between Palestine territories. The Wall is deeply offensive to Palestinians, and it impedes them from their relatives and confines them from the world in ways that damage their economy, their relationships and their dignity, not unlike the Soviet Iron Curtain. In the U.S., some Americans have called for a wall between our country and Mexico. American anti-immigration sentiment has a flavor of ethic cleansing to it.

So many international conflicts are energized by tribal and ethnic resentments.

The New Testament readings offer realistic images about the damage that human division, oppression and violence brings. The readings also offer a more non-violent, non-divisive solution, and an image of healing -- tolerance and inclusion, grounded in a vision of union.

Let the wheat and weeds grow together. Let God sort out the good and evil. We are not wise enough to separate justly. Let our imaginations be filled by the image of God's final resolution in the scene tomorrow from Revelation. There we see people from every human family in a remarkably inclusive vision of universal reconciliation.

He put before them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.’

He told them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.’

Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without a parable he told them nothing. This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet: I will open my mouth to speak in parables; I will proclaim what has been hidden from the foundation of the world.’ --Matthew 13:31-35 (NRSV)

A pair o’ parables, two stories about ordinary things on the surface but underneath having greater import. A mustard seed, a large bush, a bit of yeast, a large quantity of flour -- ordinary things that Jesus turned into lessons that we can still study today. Those parables served as a kind of starter for people's beginning to think in a new and different way.

Human beings have used parables, allegories and the like for since the dawn of civilization, using common things to teach lessons in morality, tradition, ethics, behavior, and religious tenets. Jesus used them to teach about the kingdom of God. It might be invisible now, but properly tended and used, it could become a mighty (and filling) part of life.

I bake bread now and then, or rather, I assemble the ingredients and my R2D2-shaped bread maker does the mixing and kneading. I put in the flour, the shortening, the milk and/or water, the tiny bit of sugar, the eggs and a small quantity of yeast. I turn on the machine and it begins the process of taking those raw ingredients and turning them into a fresh, hot loaf of homemade bread. At the beginning it just sort of sits there, looking like nothing but a lump of stuff with no particular shape or anything. Over a period of several hours, though, it grows and expands, gets punched down and kneaded again, then allowed to rest again while the yeast continues its work of growing and rising until it nearly reaches the top of the breadmaker. Then the heating element turns on and begins to bake the loaf to a lovely golden brown. And the scent -- what can smell better than the yeasty smell of fresh-baked bread. The yeast might have been invisible but look at all it did.

Jesus was undoubtedly familiar with the leaven that went into his mother's loaves of bread, and the bread of Passover which contained no yeast at all. One was the bread of haste, the other a bread of normalcy. One little ingredient can make all the difference.

I kind of look at life that way too. There are lots of people in my life but only a few add the leaven that makes my life more expanded and fragrant. I think God planned it that way. I can also see the action of just a little bit of yeast in society when someone stands up for those who can't stand for themselves or who are ignored by the majority because they seem small and insignificant. God planned that kind of thing too; Jesus taught about it and those who speak out exemplify it.

Sometimes these days it's hard to get the full picture since so much of what was normal and open for people in Jesus' day are out of sight and out of mind for us in our world. Sheep? Lots of city kids (and adults) have hardly ever seen a live sheep much less know about shepherding Jesus used as an illustration or a parable. Making wine? Yeast plays a part in that too, but unless I make wine at home or know someone who does, I probably don't really know the full process other than what the movies show of people standing in tubs of grapes, stomping them into pulp and releasing the juice to be fermented. Sowing and reaping? Well, I certainly know what weeds are and what grass is, so I have some basis for understanding parables about that kind of thing, but I don't have the everyday familiarity with the process that a farmer would have. It all begins with a small seed or ingredient, tended and fostered, that grows into something many, many times the size of the thing that started it.

I'm suddenly tempted to go grab the ingredients and make a loaf of my favorite Sally Lunn bread. I have the flour and the other ingredients, and I have the yeast. Perhaps now I have an even greater respect for the tiny granules in that packet that I open and add to the mixture. As I do that, though, I will consider where I can add leaven to the mixture of the kingdom. I may be only one grain of yeast, but that one grain has potential, if I just release it to do its work.

And with the warm bread and cheese I'll enjoy when it’s done, perhaps just a dash of mustard...

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

Readings for the feast day of John Wyclif, October 30:
Psalm 33:4-11
Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 43:26-33
Hebrews 4:12-16
Mark 4:13-20

John Wyclif was noted for his belief that believers had a direct relationship with God, with no requirement for the church or the priestly caste to act as intermediary, and this is most manifest in his translating the Latin Vulgate Bible into English. Through this contribution to the Anglicanism, he most personifies the opening words of today's reading from Hebrews--"Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart." Hebrews 4:12 (NRSV)

I first learned about the business of separating joints from marrow around age 10, when it became one of my household duties to "cut up the chicken." Now, this was one of my favorite tasks, because I was allowed to use large, sharp knives with very little supervision and very little admonishment other than "Don't cut your finger off." My mother, to save money, usually bought a whole chicken at the grocery store rather than pre-cut parts. I learned very quickly there was both a bit of skill and a great deal of satisfaction in learning to cut through the joints of a whole fryer.

One of the tricks I learned was to let the weight of the chicken help me. I quickly learned to hold up the whole chicken by the wing, find the joint space, and "pop" it through the dangling chicken, letting it fall on the cutting board. I also learned to cut the breast in such a way there would be a "wishbone piece" in it. Having the ability to get to make a wish every time we had fried chicken was a real treat.

Having a relationship with God through the living and revealed Word is not much different, really. We can sit in the pews on Sunday and have Scripture served up for us, like a plate of fried chicken, and enjoy a very fine feast, courtesy of the lector, the deacon, and the priest, but it's just not the same as when you are allowed to "cut it up yourself." Nothing opens up Christianity quite like taking up the Bible as a daily spiritual discipline, and it's pleasantly surprising how easy it becomes in a short time. The Episcopal Church's Daily Office allows us to go through the bulk of the Bible in two years' time (and the Psalms every seven weeks!)

Granted, our initial attempts at regular Bible reading may feel clumsy, and our ability to cut into it incisively at first might seem a little tentative, but a good commentary, study Bible, or study group can act as a whetstone for the knife edge of our spiritual imaginations. In fact, there are several sites on the Web that make use of the Daily Office readings. Help is readily available--there's no chance of "cutting our fingers off."

What we discover over time is once we stop worrying that we can't wrap our minds around the Bible in the same way a seminary graduate can, the words start miraculously wrapping around our hearts. Hearing the Psalms over and over causes certain verses and phrases to stand out, and hearing the familiar words of the Gospel begin to knit themselves to our own sinews. Suddenly, the stories are not about ancient people in ancient times, they are about us, in the present moment. There's something spiritually satisfying about popping through the joint of a parable and feeling the relief of the weight of the world drop from us, with a lighter heart. Most importantly, it becomes as much of a daily habit as brushing our teeth, and we will begin to miss it, if circumstances cause us to accidentally omit it.

Then, when we do hear these words on Sunday, they take on new meaning and allow us to become more discerning oracles in our community of faith. We start seeing everyone else's faults a little differently, forgive ourselves a little more easily, and begin to reach out to others in ways we could not imagine. Because we allowed the people of Biblical times into our imaginations, the people we used to think of as "the other" begin to look and feel more like "us."

Thanks to the life and efforts of John Wyclif, we can taste for ourselves the white meat and dark meat of the revealed Word, and live in the hope that there's always a wishbone.

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, October 31, 2011 -- Week of Proper 26, Year One
Paul Shinji Sasaki, Bishop of Mid-Japan, and of Tokyo, 1946
Philip Lindel Tsen, Bishop of Honan, China, 1954

Today's Readings for the Daily Office (Book of Common Prayer, p. 990)
Psalms 56, 56, [58] (morning) // 64, 65 (evening)
Nehemiah 6:1-19
Revelation 10:1-11
Matthew 13:36-43

So I went to the angel and told him to give me the little scroll; and he said to me, "Take it, and eat; it will be bitter to your stomach, but sweet as honey in your mouth." So I took the little scroll from the hand of the angel and ate it; it was sweet as honey in my mouth, but when I had eaten it, my stomach was made bitter. Revelation 10:9-10

The little scroll that John the Divine consumes contains another prophecy that John is to deliver. He will soon be speaking of coming conflicts and woes.

But as I read the description of the scroll, I was reminded of the characteristics of my temptations and addictions. So many things that bring us troubles appear attractive and may be "sweet as honey in [the] mouth," but they produce a deeper bitterness in the pit of our being. Our addictive behaviors and patterns then become the venue for much of the conflict and woe in our lives.

In his seminal little book Addiction and Grace, the late Gerald May offers a theological and neurological map of addiction:

I am not being flippant when I say that all of us suffer from addiction. Nor am I reducing the meaning of addiction. I mean in all truth that the psychological, neurological, and spiritual dynamics of full-fledged addiction are actively at work within every human being. The same processes that are responsible for addiction to alcohol and narcotics are also responsible for addiction to ideas, work, relationships, power, moods, fantasies, and an endless variety of other things. We are all addicts in every sense of the word. Moreover, our addictions are our own worst enemies. They enslave us with chains that are of our own making and yet that, paradoxically, are virtually beyond our control. Addiction also makes idolators of us all, because it forces us to worship these objects of attachment, thereby preventing us from truly, freely loving God and one another. (Gerald May, Addiction and Grace, HarperOne, 1991, p. 3-4)

May dissects the way we all become attached to our addictions, which always begin as apparently good things, as attractions -- sweet as honey in the mouth. But we become habituated to the sweetness, and our tolerance grows, so that we need more and more in order to continue to match our stimulation. Below our intention and will, our neurological system is creating super-highways of stimulation and desire for more of what does not ultimately satisfy -- our stomach becomes truly bitter.

While reading May's book many years ago, I took a little card and began listing some of my own addictions -- some of the things that I believe I need profoundly, yet they seem to limit my equanimity and freedom. I ran out of room on the little card when I had listed well over twenty addictions. That tasted bitter indeed in my stomach.

Gerald May goes on to explain that the power of our addictions lies at such a primitive place in our neurological system, that they are literally below our will, outside of the range of our intentional control. Addictions never sleep.

Our hope is grounded in grace. God's freely outpouring love liberates and frees us to receive the goodness that is sweeter than the desire of our addictions. We can open ourselves to grace, which seems to me much more a movement of surrender than of grasping. God's grace like God's being is a mystery, blowing where it will. Usually we find our experience of grace enhanced in community. The love and support of community can help us to let go of attachment and become open to grace. It is unqualified, absolute, divine love that truly satisfies our deepest desires and longings.

I find that my movement away from addiction and toward grace is less of a struggle, and more like a gentle, inward turning. There is the effort of discipline, to turn, but it is more accomplished in letting go, relaxing, surrendering into the love that is more dependable and fulfilling than my hungers and needs. From a place of deep, divine acceptance, love flows, creating hope that translates into freedom. Gently. Moment by moment.