What does it mean to be a Christian? What am I supposed to do?
It's really simple. It was today's reading.
With what shall I come before the LORD
and bow down before the exalted God?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?
Will the LORD be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousand rivers of olive oil?
Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
On Religion in Early America
A good friend of mine posted earlier this week, hypothesizing on the reasons for a lack of socialized medicine in this country. He was blaming the Calvinist tendencies of the Puritans.
As it happens, I'm in Church History II this semester, making this very subject top-of-the mind. Last week we were going over colonial religion and movements in England and America during and after the Reformation.
I don't disagree with his basic premise, that there is a very definite Calvinist thread through the American meta-culture, that if you're poor, then it's because you deserve to be poor, and if you're sick, that's because you did something to deserve to be sick. It hearkens back to the doctrine of the Elect, that God chose the saved before the beginning of time and you cannot know if you are saved from Hell or not, so you better act as if you were. After a while, to justify theologically rulership, wealth, and power, things shifted. If you were healthy, rich, and well-born, you were obviously favored of God. Conversely, if you were poor or sick, it was because of your sins or the sins of your parents. In larger terms, America is the nation of the Elect because it was founded by Christians and brought the gospel to all corners of the world. Also, we're wealthier and more influential than anyone else.
This is an older idea than the Doctrine of the Elect. This type of thinking, which has it's modern form in the "prosperity gospel" churches, is older than Rome. The empire one. Caesar is favored by the gods, so much so, he's almost a god himself. Citizens of Rome are favored of the gods, otherwise, they wouldn't be citizens. Those who are slaves deserve to be enslaved. Athens is favored of Athena, thus is the center of scholarship and wisdom and trade. The Children of Israel are chosen by God to inhabit a land of milk and honey. The doctrine of the Elect was twisted to fit within human preconceptions and our need to have reasons for the class systems we like to build, but we needed that justification and we'd thrown out the Roman one. (Luther was much more egalitarian. We all suck, we all sin, undeserved grace is the only path to salvation, and it's open to anyone who asks).
On the other hand, I think it is massively unfair to blame the Calvinist threads on the Puritans.
The Puritan movement started really during the reign of Elizabeth I, after the Elizabethan Religious Settlement of 1559, which appointed the monarch as the head of the church and did away with many of the more physical Catholic trappings of Mass and instituted the Book of Common Prayer as the format for all worship in England. At this point, there were two main factions of the reformed Anglican church - those who believed that the church had gone far enough, in the formation of the Book of Common Prayer, the changes in the theology to make it more accessible to the people, and the slimming of the trimmings of the Catholic Church. The other crowd wanted to further purify the church of anything that looked vaguely Catholic - skip liturgical seasons, vestments, crucifixes, communion wafers, bishops, etc. - and put the laity in charge of almost all decisions. They did pick up the Calvinist theology about simplicity in worship and a congregationalist stance on Church government, but stayed kinda out on much of his other points and added quite a bit about sanctity of God's law in the lives of men, including the purity of the sabbath, and a high emphasis on works. Charles, unlike Elizabeth and James, took sides in this particular argument, and the Puritans left in something between a voluntary and involuntary exile to the Netherlands, where it was acceptable to be any Christian denomination other than Armenian. While there, they solidified their doctrines. The Puritans came into significant theological and social conflict with the Dutch Reform Church, a Calvinist/Zwinglian branch of the Protestant Reformation and the predominant church of the Netherlands. So much so, in fact, that they have the distinction of being one of the few groups the Dutch invited to leave as intolerable in their intolerance. They came to America because they wanted to found the perfect society, where everyone agreed with their theology.
No, we can blame those Calvinist threads in the American zeitgeist on the Dutch Reform Church, the English Reform Church, and the Presbyterians - contemporaries of the Puritans, but people who were never a serious part of the Anglican church. They were always Calvinist and bent on true reform of the church from without instead of the original Puritan view of reform from within. As such, many had much more hardline views about the position of the Elect in the world, and that because they had accepted and believed the one true way as revealed through scripture by Calvin and Zwingli, they were obviously the elect. They were founding their own colonies in the New World at the same time and those threads of justification dug in hard and deep.
As it happens, I'm in Church History II this semester, making this very subject top-of-the mind. Last week we were going over colonial religion and movements in England and America during and after the Reformation.
I don't disagree with his basic premise, that there is a very definite Calvinist thread through the American meta-culture, that if you're poor, then it's because you deserve to be poor, and if you're sick, that's because you did something to deserve to be sick. It hearkens back to the doctrine of the Elect, that God chose the saved before the beginning of time and you cannot know if you are saved from Hell or not, so you better act as if you were. After a while, to justify theologically rulership, wealth, and power, things shifted. If you were healthy, rich, and well-born, you were obviously favored of God. Conversely, if you were poor or sick, it was because of your sins or the sins of your parents. In larger terms, America is the nation of the Elect because it was founded by Christians and brought the gospel to all corners of the world. Also, we're wealthier and more influential than anyone else.
This is an older idea than the Doctrine of the Elect. This type of thinking, which has it's modern form in the "prosperity gospel" churches, is older than Rome. The empire one. Caesar is favored by the gods, so much so, he's almost a god himself. Citizens of Rome are favored of the gods, otherwise, they wouldn't be citizens. Those who are slaves deserve to be enslaved. Athens is favored of Athena, thus is the center of scholarship and wisdom and trade. The Children of Israel are chosen by God to inhabit a land of milk and honey. The doctrine of the Elect was twisted to fit within human preconceptions and our need to have reasons for the class systems we like to build, but we needed that justification and we'd thrown out the Roman one. (Luther was much more egalitarian. We all suck, we all sin, undeserved grace is the only path to salvation, and it's open to anyone who asks).
On the other hand, I think it is massively unfair to blame the Calvinist threads on the Puritans.
The Puritan movement started really during the reign of Elizabeth I, after the Elizabethan Religious Settlement of 1559, which appointed the monarch as the head of the church and did away with many of the more physical Catholic trappings of Mass and instituted the Book of Common Prayer as the format for all worship in England. At this point, there were two main factions of the reformed Anglican church - those who believed that the church had gone far enough, in the formation of the Book of Common Prayer, the changes in the theology to make it more accessible to the people, and the slimming of the trimmings of the Catholic Church. The other crowd wanted to further purify the church of anything that looked vaguely Catholic - skip liturgical seasons, vestments, crucifixes, communion wafers, bishops, etc. - and put the laity in charge of almost all decisions. They did pick up the Calvinist theology about simplicity in worship and a congregationalist stance on Church government, but stayed kinda out on much of his other points and added quite a bit about sanctity of God's law in the lives of men, including the purity of the sabbath, and a high emphasis on works. Charles, unlike Elizabeth and James, took sides in this particular argument, and the Puritans left in something between a voluntary and involuntary exile to the Netherlands, where it was acceptable to be any Christian denomination other than Armenian. While there, they solidified their doctrines. The Puritans came into significant theological and social conflict with the Dutch Reform Church, a Calvinist/Zwinglian branch of the Protestant Reformation and the predominant church of the Netherlands. So much so, in fact, that they have the distinction of being one of the few groups the Dutch invited to leave as intolerable in their intolerance. They came to America because they wanted to found the perfect society, where everyone agreed with their theology.
No, we can blame those Calvinist threads in the American zeitgeist on the Dutch Reform Church, the English Reform Church, and the Presbyterians - contemporaries of the Puritans, but people who were never a serious part of the Anglican church. They were always Calvinist and bent on true reform of the church from without instead of the original Puritan view of reform from within. As such, many had much more hardline views about the position of the Elect in the world, and that because they had accepted and believed the one true way as revealed through scripture by Calvin and Zwingli, they were obviously the elect. They were founding their own colonies in the New World at the same time and those threads of justification dug in hard and deep.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Epiphanytide
(I have a strong aversion to the transferal of church feast days to the following, more 'convenient,' Sunday. This gets really tricky at the end of October, when you end up with Reformation Day, Feast of All Souls, and Feast of All Saints in a three day period...which can spread those three days over more than a week. However, given my current computer woes, the moving of the celebration from Thursday to today gives me a bit of an excuse. Really.)
Epiphany is a season of joy, the counterpoint to Advent before and Lent to follow. All things cycle, and Epiphany is one of the high points. It is about things revealed, acknowledged, known, and brought forth into the light.
The story opens with wise men from the east coming before Herod, having followed a star westward. These are men of learning, astrologers who have discerned that this star, a light shining in the darkness, heralds the birth of the King of the Jews. Who better to ask than Herod, current ruler? He'd know, right?
And the sages of his court did know - the prophets had foretold it. Bethlehem, in Judea.
This is not a sudden knowledge. This is something studied, learned, consulted about. Slowly, bits and pieces revealed to scholars on a hunt. Having talked with their colleagues and continuing to use the star for more specific navigation, they came to the house where Jesus and Mary were staying.
The only big, dramatic, instant divine 'epiphany' was the dream that told the wise men to go home a different way than they had come.
Herod also spend time in thought about this situation, and obviously concluded that whatever had happened in Bethlehem was a threat. Someone besides those visitors might read the signs in the same way, and that was a danger to his power base, to have someone wandering around Judea claiming to be the King of the Jews (or having it claimed in his name). The slaughter of all the children under two years old ensured that no one could claim to have been born under those stars in the right time frame to threaten him.
Neither the wise men or Herod acted in haste, without deliberation. They both looked for the answers, and found solutions to the problems they perceived. But it wasn't anything sudden, it didn't happen overnight or in an instant. Slowly, through what they found, lives were changed...both selfless and selfish ideas espoused after careful, thought out plans, both centered around revelations about a small child in Bethlehem.
Christ himself was revealed piece by piece, his ministry starting out small, his status recognized by few, slowly growing until the crowds followed him everywhere and he could not get away. His was a life that led people, slowly convincing by word and deed that he really was special, someone to follow, a light in the world, no matter how cruel life seemed. The feeling of 'it doesn't have to be this way' present in so many ways...the difference between what is and what could be made more obvious in every step he walked.
Epiphany is not only the time of sudden insight, but also a season of the slow reveal and of acknowledgment of contrasts. The wise men and Herod both worked to pull information together and came to wildly different conclusions as to what to do with the information. And as we gather our information, search our hearts, and discern God's will in the world, we have some questions we need to ask: What are we called to do? What insights into our lives, into our hearts, do we need to face? Where does the difference lie for us between who we are as sinners and who God wants us to be? In light, darkness, and in darkness, light. In the liturgical year, the foil of Advent's somber waiting or of Lent's dark sorrow is the night against which a single star shines brightly, leading the way.
Epiphany is a season of joy, the counterpoint to Advent before and Lent to follow. All things cycle, and Epiphany is one of the high points. It is about things revealed, acknowledged, known, and brought forth into the light.
The story opens with wise men from the east coming before Herod, having followed a star westward. These are men of learning, astrologers who have discerned that this star, a light shining in the darkness, heralds the birth of the King of the Jews. Who better to ask than Herod, current ruler? He'd know, right?
And the sages of his court did know - the prophets had foretold it. Bethlehem, in Judea.
This is not a sudden knowledge. This is something studied, learned, consulted about. Slowly, bits and pieces revealed to scholars on a hunt. Having talked with their colleagues and continuing to use the star for more specific navigation, they came to the house where Jesus and Mary were staying.
The only big, dramatic, instant divine 'epiphany' was the dream that told the wise men to go home a different way than they had come.
Herod also spend time in thought about this situation, and obviously concluded that whatever had happened in Bethlehem was a threat. Someone besides those visitors might read the signs in the same way, and that was a danger to his power base, to have someone wandering around Judea claiming to be the King of the Jews (or having it claimed in his name). The slaughter of all the children under two years old ensured that no one could claim to have been born under those stars in the right time frame to threaten him.
Neither the wise men or Herod acted in haste, without deliberation. They both looked for the answers, and found solutions to the problems they perceived. But it wasn't anything sudden, it didn't happen overnight or in an instant. Slowly, through what they found, lives were changed...both selfless and selfish ideas espoused after careful, thought out plans, both centered around revelations about a small child in Bethlehem.
Christ himself was revealed piece by piece, his ministry starting out small, his status recognized by few, slowly growing until the crowds followed him everywhere and he could not get away. His was a life that led people, slowly convincing by word and deed that he really was special, someone to follow, a light in the world, no matter how cruel life seemed. The feeling of 'it doesn't have to be this way' present in so many ways...the difference between what is and what could be made more obvious in every step he walked.
Epiphany is not only the time of sudden insight, but also a season of the slow reveal and of acknowledgment of contrasts. The wise men and Herod both worked to pull information together and came to wildly different conclusions as to what to do with the information. And as we gather our information, search our hearts, and discern God's will in the world, we have some questions we need to ask: What are we called to do? What insights into our lives, into our hearts, do we need to face? Where does the difference lie for us between who we are as sinners and who God wants us to be? In light, darkness, and in darkness, light. In the liturgical year, the foil of Advent's somber waiting or of Lent's dark sorrow is the night against which a single star shines brightly, leading the way.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Sacred Places
Ok. You know I'm a geek. Here's where it becomes obvious.
I've spent the last couple of days at a workshop put on by Partners for Sacred Places, a non-sectarian non-profit dedicated to helping places of worship use their spaces more efficiently and for the betterment of the community.
If you follow that link, there are a lot of resources that they publish, as well as the results of a study they did a couple of years ago. Some of the numbers that struck me that I intend to be quoting a lot:
93% of urban congregations open their doors to outside ministries
On average, congregations use the building 19% of the time. 81% of building use is by community organizations.
Also, everybody needs a roof.
Much of it focused on being able to tell the story of a congregation clearly in three steps:
Who we are - the heritage and culture of the congregation
What we have - buildings, grounds, and other resources
What we do - areas of ministry
So, both the cocktail party version and the one page case story and the ten page grant proposal all come out of knowing those three things.
Further, break it down:
What is the heritage and culture of the space? Why was it founded? Who founded it/built it? Who spoke there? Who paid to put stuff there? Who's buried there? What role has it historically had in the community it serves? Who worships there?
What are the buildings? What shape are the buildings in? What needs to be done for the physical plant? What are the available rooms? What are the resources of the congregation? What do members of the congregation like to do? What are they good at? What are the gifts of God within the congregation? Where do they work? What are their other interests/activities outside of church?
What happens inside our building outside of Sunday morning? How many people who are not members/attendees use our building? What's that percentage? What ministries do we run as a congregation? What is the value to the community in dollars, if the community had to replace our space and staff and pay the volunteers?
Once you figure out the story and what you have, you can figure out what you need, who to ask, and how to do it efficiently.
Other people are doing our programs better, somewhere. How do we start conversations so that we can all work towards the betterment of all our communities?
Life, health, and safety issues first. Then the rest of it.
I have shiny tools for asset mapping, finding money, and writing grants. I'm still processing a lot of things.
One of the suggestions put forth was to do a historic church tour of St. Louis. There are enough of them around that each neighborhood could probably come up with their own. If you ran it in conjunction with another neighborhood event (say, Taste of South Grand or the Shaw Art Fair), we could probably manage to make at least a little money off of it.
This is supposed to be about conversations in the community. What conversations should we be having?
I've spent the last couple of days at a workshop put on by Partners for Sacred Places, a non-sectarian non-profit dedicated to helping places of worship use their spaces more efficiently and for the betterment of the community.
If you follow that link, there are a lot of resources that they publish, as well as the results of a study they did a couple of years ago. Some of the numbers that struck me that I intend to be quoting a lot:
93% of urban congregations open their doors to outside ministries
On average, congregations use the building 19% of the time. 81% of building use is by community organizations.
Also, everybody needs a roof.
Much of it focused on being able to tell the story of a congregation clearly in three steps:
Who we are - the heritage and culture of the congregation
What we have - buildings, grounds, and other resources
What we do - areas of ministry
So, both the cocktail party version and the one page case story and the ten page grant proposal all come out of knowing those three things.
Further, break it down:
What is the heritage and culture of the space? Why was it founded? Who founded it/built it? Who spoke there? Who paid to put stuff there? Who's buried there? What role has it historically had in the community it serves? Who worships there?
What are the buildings? What shape are the buildings in? What needs to be done for the physical plant? What are the available rooms? What are the resources of the congregation? What do members of the congregation like to do? What are they good at? What are the gifts of God within the congregation? Where do they work? What are their other interests/activities outside of church?
What happens inside our building outside of Sunday morning? How many people who are not members/attendees use our building? What's that percentage? What ministries do we run as a congregation? What is the value to the community in dollars, if the community had to replace our space and staff and pay the volunteers?
Once you figure out the story and what you have, you can figure out what you need, who to ask, and how to do it efficiently.
Other people are doing our programs better, somewhere. How do we start conversations so that we can all work towards the betterment of all our communities?
Life, health, and safety issues first. Then the rest of it.
I have shiny tools for asset mapping, finding money, and writing grants. I'm still processing a lot of things.
One of the suggestions put forth was to do a historic church tour of St. Louis. There are enough of them around that each neighborhood could probably come up with their own. If you ran it in conjunction with another neighborhood event (say, Taste of South Grand or the Shaw Art Fair), we could probably manage to make at least a little money off of it.
This is supposed to be about conversations in the community. What conversations should we be having?
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas
Luke 2:1-12
Factum est autem in diebus illis, exiit edictum a Cæsare Augusto ut describeretur universus orbis. Hæc descriptio prima facta est a præside Syriæ Cyrino: et ibant omnes ut profiterentur singuli in suam civitatem. Ascendit autem et Joseph a Galilæa de civitate Nazareth in Judæam, in civitatem David, quæ vocatur Bethlehem: eo quod esset de domo et familia David, ut profiteretur cum Maria desponsata sibi uxore prægnante. Factum est autem, cum essent ibi, impleti sunt dies ut pareret. Et peperit filium suum primogenitum, et pannis eum involvit, et reclinavit eum in præsepio: quia non erat eis locus in diversorio. Et pastores erant in regione eadem vigilantes, et custodientes vigilias noctis super gregem suum. Et ecce angelus Domini stetit juxta illos, et claritas Dei circumfulsit illos, et timuerunt timore magno. Et dixit illis angelus: Nolite timere: ecce enim evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum, quod erit omni populo: quia natus est vobis hodie Salvator, qui est Christus Dominus, in civitate David. Et hoc vobis signum: invenietis infantem pannis involutum, et positum in præsepio. Et subito facta est cum angelo multitudo militiæ cælestis laudantium Deum, et dicentium: [Gloria in altissimis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis.]
Factum est autem in diebus illis, exiit edictum a Cæsare Augusto ut describeretur universus orbis. Hæc descriptio prima facta est a præside Syriæ Cyrino: et ibant omnes ut profiterentur singuli in suam civitatem. Ascendit autem et Joseph a Galilæa de civitate Nazareth in Judæam, in civitatem David, quæ vocatur Bethlehem: eo quod esset de domo et familia David, ut profiteretur cum Maria desponsata sibi uxore prægnante. Factum est autem, cum essent ibi, impleti sunt dies ut pareret. Et peperit filium suum primogenitum, et pannis eum involvit, et reclinavit eum in præsepio: quia non erat eis locus in diversorio. Et pastores erant in regione eadem vigilantes, et custodientes vigilias noctis super gregem suum. Et ecce angelus Domini stetit juxta illos, et claritas Dei circumfulsit illos, et timuerunt timore magno. Et dixit illis angelus: Nolite timere: ecce enim evangelizo vobis gaudium magnum, quod erit omni populo: quia natus est vobis hodie Salvator, qui est Christus Dominus, in civitate David. Et hoc vobis signum: invenietis infantem pannis involutum, et positum in præsepio. Et subito facta est cum angelo multitudo militiæ cælestis laudantium Deum, et dicentium: [Gloria in altissimis Deo, et in terra pax hominibus bonæ voluntatis.]
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Veni, Veni Emmanuel
From here on out, my major problem with Christmas isn't the anticipation. In some ways, I could really use the season being over, for God's sake. Every Sunday in Advent brings another church function that I really need to be at after Mass, or one that I need to come back for, or one where I show up at 8 am and leave at 6. There are opportunity for spirituality every week during the week and on the weekends. There is shopping that needs to be done, social obligations that I really should find the time to go to, and somewhere in there, I'm supposed to work at my real job.
Then there's my 8:30.
Going to it is often a struggle, because I've gotten home, eaten, petted the cats...It's cold outside, and dark, and do I really want to leave my house again?
At 8:20, I find my coat and keys and walk over to the church. Michael's usually there before me, marking our books with the page numbers. His partner will show up soon if he's not there already. The priest's husband comes. A couple other people trickle into the lighted warmth.
The service of Evensong and Compline in Sapentiatide reminds me why I struggle. In this season of dark and cold, there comes light and music. The waiting is almost over. There is something to wait for, and I know it. The prayers are deep in my bones, I *have* to pay attention to what I'm saying because it changes slightly everyday...there is no glossing inattentively. And with the attention, with the pacing of the service slowly and with deliberation, I hear what the words tell me about myself and about my God to be incarnate.
Michael gave me the gift of the sung service a couple years ago, and when our relative schedules went wonky, it was one of things I missed most. I still try and do Compline occasionally by myself, but it is not the same without two people. These are services to be done in community, and they remind me of my own.
To thee before the close of day
Creator of the world we pray
That with thy wonted favor thou
woulst be our guard and keeper now.
Then there's my 8:30.
Going to it is often a struggle, because I've gotten home, eaten, petted the cats...It's cold outside, and dark, and do I really want to leave my house again?
At 8:20, I find my coat and keys and walk over to the church. Michael's usually there before me, marking our books with the page numbers. His partner will show up soon if he's not there already. The priest's husband comes. A couple other people trickle into the lighted warmth.
The service of Evensong and Compline in Sapentiatide reminds me why I struggle. In this season of dark and cold, there comes light and music. The waiting is almost over. There is something to wait for, and I know it. The prayers are deep in my bones, I *have* to pay attention to what I'm saying because it changes slightly everyday...there is no glossing inattentively. And with the attention, with the pacing of the service slowly and with deliberation, I hear what the words tell me about myself and about my God to be incarnate.
Michael gave me the gift of the sung service a couple years ago, and when our relative schedules went wonky, it was one of things I missed most. I still try and do Compline occasionally by myself, but it is not the same without two people. These are services to be done in community, and they remind me of my own.
To thee before the close of day
Creator of the world we pray
That with thy wonted favor thou
woulst be our guard and keeper now.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
COOOKIES
It's the Third Week of Advent, and y'all know what that means...
STIR UP SUNDAY!
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.
Also, a not-so-proper collect for the week:
Stir up our hearts, O Lord, as we stir our bowls. Let us have sufficient butter, sugar, flour, and eggs, let our ovens be hot and compliant, and may the cookies come off the pans. Help us to remember, O Lord, the sheet we left in the oven and the pot on the stove as we also remember why we bake; through Jesus Christ, who called us to be as children. Amen.
(And yeah, I know it's Wed, but the collect is for the week. Have you made your Christmas cookies yet?)
STIR UP SUNDAY!
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.
Also, a not-so-proper collect for the week:
Stir up our hearts, O Lord, as we stir our bowls. Let us have sufficient butter, sugar, flour, and eggs, let our ovens be hot and compliant, and may the cookies come off the pans. Help us to remember, O Lord, the sheet we left in the oven and the pot on the stove as we also remember why we bake; through Jesus Christ, who called us to be as children. Amen.
(And yeah, I know it's Wed, but the collect is for the week. Have you made your Christmas cookies yet?)
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sacred Places
Eden is doing a seminar with Sacred Places, an organization dedicated to helping pastors and congregations preserve their older church buildings and making them still feel both usable and sacred. (Jan 6-7, check their website under events)
It looks like I may get to go, which I'm really looking forward to. I'm hoping to learn about resources for St. John's, and more generally, resources for the wider church.
In some ways, this dovetails with an idea planted by discussion I had at church this weekend. What is it that makes it a sacred space?
Right now, I think it's the liminality of a church. There is an aspect of it being God's space, but all space belongs to God, so that's not all of it. There is also an aspect of it being a place for a congregation to gather. Mostly, it feels like it's about the space between those two, where we meet God and God meets us.
To walk into a church or into any other dedicated house/place of worship is to cross a boundary between the mundane and the divine...though, because we're still human, we are still bound to the world even in such a space. Stuck between. The table seems to be even more so, being the stuff of the earth made by human hands, and yet it's God's table, the bread and wine representing holy substance for the nourishment of our souls, and Jesus, being fully human and fully divine, is the ultimate liminal being.
So if a sacred space is the place between, that doesn't mean we're just talking about churches or about buildings. It also means the spaces inside us where we shove enough of the 'real world' aside to listen to God and maybe to hear God. It's also everything about our journey in God/with God, through life, because we're on our way between places, times, identities, states of being.
And there was the Eureka (damn it)! moment, going "bong!" in my head. If the sacred space is the space between, and I feel like I'm on the road to Ninevah or lost in that famous desert, that's where I need to be, because it's the space between that is most important and sacred and special in it's own right. (Eventually, I will get why "it's the journey, not the destination" is such a koan if God pounds it into me enough!)
Of course, this is what I'm thinking this week. After two days of listening to experts, expect a post on the same general topic, going a different direction, because I know it will happen that way. It usually does.
But as I think about it, God seems to frequently have a more felt presence in liminal spaces, at boundaries of time (at the Beginning and in the End, at our births and at our deaths), at crossroads of life and the world, the borders of reality, waiting to open doorways (just knock!), or on roads. It's not that God's *in* Damascus or Tarsus or even Ninevah, it's that God is on *the road to.*
And now that I've processed that all out, I'm going to go smack myself in the head for not getting it sooner, that this situation counts just as much as any other I've ever dealt with.
It looks like I may get to go, which I'm really looking forward to. I'm hoping to learn about resources for St. John's, and more generally, resources for the wider church.
In some ways, this dovetails with an idea planted by discussion I had at church this weekend. What is it that makes it a sacred space?
Right now, I think it's the liminality of a church. There is an aspect of it being God's space, but all space belongs to God, so that's not all of it. There is also an aspect of it being a place for a congregation to gather. Mostly, it feels like it's about the space between those two, where we meet God and God meets us.
To walk into a church or into any other dedicated house/place of worship is to cross a boundary between the mundane and the divine...though, because we're still human, we are still bound to the world even in such a space. Stuck between. The table seems to be even more so, being the stuff of the earth made by human hands, and yet it's God's table, the bread and wine representing holy substance for the nourishment of our souls, and Jesus, being fully human and fully divine, is the ultimate liminal being.
So if a sacred space is the place between, that doesn't mean we're just talking about churches or about buildings. It also means the spaces inside us where we shove enough of the 'real world' aside to listen to God and maybe to hear God. It's also everything about our journey in God/with God, through life, because we're on our way between places, times, identities, states of being.
And there was the Eureka (damn it)! moment, going "bong!" in my head. If the sacred space is the space between, and I feel like I'm on the road to Ninevah or lost in that famous desert, that's where I need to be, because it's the space between that is most important and sacred and special in it's own right. (Eventually, I will get why "it's the journey, not the destination" is such a koan if God pounds it into me enough!)
Of course, this is what I'm thinking this week. After two days of listening to experts, expect a post on the same general topic, going a different direction, because I know it will happen that way. It usually does.
But as I think about it, God seems to frequently have a more felt presence in liminal spaces, at boundaries of time (at the Beginning and in the End, at our births and at our deaths), at crossroads of life and the world, the borders of reality, waiting to open doorways (just knock!), or on roads. It's not that God's *in* Damascus or Tarsus or even Ninevah, it's that God is on *the road to.*
And now that I've processed that all out, I'm going to go smack myself in the head for not getting it sooner, that this situation counts just as much as any other I've ever dealt with.
Priest Noir
Ok. I know I'm a geek when it's making me squee to give someone Apocolypse Door as a Christmas present. (again. Gave out two copies last year.)
But really, these stories are like the Urban Fantasy version of what Dan Brown should have done, only with a lot more wit and humor.
Peter Crossman is a Templar and a Priest, and that Order Militant is still alive and still guarding those treasures which are too dangerous for humanity, and guarding humanity from the minions of Hell, acquiring the powerful objects which aren't yet possessed by the church before Hell takes advantage. In this book, he is sent to find a group of UN observers who seem to have gone astray, been traced as far as New York, and then disappear. His partner is a Sister of the Poor Clares who is far too knowledgeable about weaponry and bespoke Italian leather suiting (she's been sent to kill him). There are also aliens, holy occurrences that in other circumstances might be termed "magic", and walk-ons/drive-bys/drop-ins from various other pieces of the Christian mythos.
I will say the book feels like it suffers "first book" syndrome (a little stilted, the pacing isn't quite right), but that may be because I have read a lot of the author's later works and enjoyed them immensely. But this is perfect for anyone who geeks out about history, church legend/mythology, and likes some humorous fantasy.
On the other hand, if it sounds really good, please don't buy it before Christmas?
(yes, this is the source material for my character for Bel Noir. It's so much *fun* to play her!)
But really, these stories are like the Urban Fantasy version of what Dan Brown should have done, only with a lot more wit and humor.
Peter Crossman is a Templar and a Priest, and that Order Militant is still alive and still guarding those treasures which are too dangerous for humanity, and guarding humanity from the minions of Hell, acquiring the powerful objects which aren't yet possessed by the church before Hell takes advantage. In this book, he is sent to find a group of UN observers who seem to have gone astray, been traced as far as New York, and then disappear. His partner is a Sister of the Poor Clares who is far too knowledgeable about weaponry and bespoke Italian leather suiting (she's been sent to kill him). There are also aliens, holy occurrences that in other circumstances might be termed "magic", and walk-ons/drive-bys/drop-ins from various other pieces of the Christian mythos.
I will say the book feels like it suffers "first book" syndrome (a little stilted, the pacing isn't quite right), but that may be because I have read a lot of the author's later works and enjoyed them immensely. But this is perfect for anyone who geeks out about history, church legend/mythology, and likes some humorous fantasy.
On the other hand, if it sounds really good, please don't buy it before Christmas?
(yes, this is the source material for my character for Bel Noir. It's so much *fun* to play her!)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Isaiah 6
Sometimes, God whispers our name to the wind, and sometimes he hits us upside the head with a weighted clue.
Isaiah ended up on the "more obvious" end of the scale.
I think Isaiah 6 has the most neglected call and response between God and Man. It's read at ordinations, but why just then or when it comes around on the guitar of the lectionary?
I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty: and the hem of his robe filled the temple...Then the Lord said, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" and I said, "Here I am, send me."
Vocation is a funny thing. What is God calling us to do? Is it to be more involved in someone's life? Make friends with a homeless person? Work in a hospital? Change jobs, change careers, change our lives? He's sending us all somewhere (often somewhere uncomfortable, somewhere that pushes us past our boundaries). And when we became Christian, we answered this very call - maybe not those words, but similar ones. By saying "I am a Christian," we acknowledge that God called us and sent us forth again, to be representatives of Christ in the world.
Isaiah had a dream, with God and thrones and angels and coals to burn away the sin. I had a quiet church, being stripped of its bones. And what about you? What does it take for you to hear the call? Does it have to involve fire and trumpets and a personal appearance? Or will you hear what He is asking of you when he whispers it in your ear?
Isaiah ended up on the "more obvious" end of the scale.
I think Isaiah 6 has the most neglected call and response between God and Man. It's read at ordinations, but why just then or when it comes around on the guitar of the lectionary?
I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty: and the hem of his robe filled the temple...Then the Lord said, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" and I said, "Here I am, send me."
Vocation is a funny thing. What is God calling us to do? Is it to be more involved in someone's life? Make friends with a homeless person? Work in a hospital? Change jobs, change careers, change our lives? He's sending us all somewhere (often somewhere uncomfortable, somewhere that pushes us past our boundaries). And when we became Christian, we answered this very call - maybe not those words, but similar ones. By saying "I am a Christian," we acknowledge that God called us and sent us forth again, to be representatives of Christ in the world.
Isaiah had a dream, with God and thrones and angels and coals to burn away the sin. I had a quiet church, being stripped of its bones. And what about you? What does it take for you to hear the call? Does it have to involve fire and trumpets and a personal appearance? Or will you hear what He is asking of you when he whispers it in your ear?
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