Our priest has spent the last couple of days sick with the flu, so in order to ensure that she was well enough, I wrote the backup sermon. Because if I write it, I won't need it. So, this is what is not getting preached at my church for our late service.
Welcome to Christmas Eve. Or, rather, Welcome to the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord, the beginning of the Great Feast of Christmas.
Some of us are more about the Great Feast and the twelve days of Christmas than others...It's currently serving as my excuse as to why some people are getting their presents a little later than tomorrow morning. Fair is fair, I was told that someone else was “Going Orthodox” about presents since it didn't look like it was going to make it by mail in time.
But now is the space of time where we breathe. The shopping is done, and gifts are either here or not. The presents are wrapped and under the tree. Santa will show up this evening to fill the stockings. You're as prepped as you're going to get until tomorrow. Your family is here, or will show up to feast in the morning or the afternoon and there is nothing you can do about the stressful parts until the dawn.
Tonight – tonight we breathe.
Tonight we remember.
The waiting is over. The white candle is lit. Christ is born!
People like rituals. We like routine. Making our coffee in the morning is a ritual. Thanksgiving dinner is a ritual. And this gathering of people is one of our greatest rituals, that binds together the church universal. All over the world this night people gather in churches and chapels and homes and read this short little story – about a babe, lying in a manger, because there was no room in the inn. Amidst war and peace, fear and joy, this quiet reading reminds us that two thousand years ago, a child was called Emmanuel, God With Us.
The incarnation is the greatest gift ever given. Imagine willingly taking on the messy, illogical, chaotic, and limited form of a human baby. A wet diaper is no fun, even if you're God. An infant is essentially helpless, and the “fully human” part of the equation meant he couldn't just skip past that bit. God, creator of the universe, chose helplessness, chose to feel pain. It's part of what shapes us and defines us, our childhoods. Sure, He could heal a skinned knee or a sprained ankle as soon as they happened, but getting injured hurts in the first place. And He chose to feel sorrow, because when someone died, he was here and they...were not.
God also chose to feel happiness. And exultation. For the first time, He could celebrate with people. He could hug them close or swing them around or play silly party games at the festivals that He had decreed. He who created the sun and the earth and the vine...got to have a drink with friends.
Incarnation was a choice, and Christ chose us. A short three months from now, we will gather again, to celebrate the results of that choice, a journey that took him thirty years. But those thirty years were human, a set of limits on the limitless one. And tonight, we remember and rejoice in that decision, in the knowledge that a helpless child will grow up and become the savior of the world.
We gather together as people are doing everywhere, and sing Silent Night. And we will light candles, for the light of the world has come among us, and that light grows as passed from person to person throughout the earth.
And we remember. Tonight, the waiting is over. Christ is born!
Monday, December 24, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
At the table of the lord
Episcopalians did the unthinkable this morning: there was *applause* for the offertory anthem. Choir is seriously kickin' it. I need to figure out some of the vesting issues, including taking up some robe hems for our shorter members and acquiring more belts.
I'm teaching Nehemiah for this six week segment. It's been really interesting - I have a fabulous study I'm working from looking at leading projects biblically, esp in a church setting. We're having a really good discussion every week, and this morning we semi-diverged from the topic (Resolving Internal Conflicts) to over-arching goals. What are our goals as a community? What is the specific burden placed in the heart of this parish? Who are we supposed to be to each other?
As a church, we have a vision statement. We are to be Christ's presence in the community. What does that mean? What does that look like?
What are we supposed to do when someone's behavior doesn't look like that?
Because we are Episcopalians. We are the people of the broad theology and the accepting nature and the constant politeness. How dare we judge? And it's so much easier to be passive, to not call someone out, to not say, "No. That's not right." I do it. It's 'picking my battles'. But that's not what I'm called to do, not with my brothers and sisters. I am called to be active, to not just let things slide. I am called to say, "Are you sure?" right along side "Can I help?" and "What is best?" Sometimes, rarely, I must say, "I don't think so," or the dreaded, "Stop. No. That is not right." It's not my job - I am not their clergy. But I am their friend. I am their sister in Christ. I am also tasked to help others be the presence of Christ in the world, and sometimes that task requires breaking the comfortable silence and not letting things just...go, when that damages the world's perception of the church. Or when it damages them.
These are people with whom I share a Table. In the midst of all our lives, the presence of that shared meal is important, because it requires me to care. It enjoins me to open my heart and mind and ask the hard questions...and truly listen and hear the answers.
This morning's communion anthem has very quickly become a favorite. I hear in it the sound of a call, of a reminder that part of what it means to be a Christian, is to come to the table, to be fed, renewed, and made one, the body of Christ. It's up to us, to be the visible work and community of God in the World.
I'm teaching Nehemiah for this six week segment. It's been really interesting - I have a fabulous study I'm working from looking at leading projects biblically, esp in a church setting. We're having a really good discussion every week, and this morning we semi-diverged from the topic (Resolving Internal Conflicts) to over-arching goals. What are our goals as a community? What is the specific burden placed in the heart of this parish? Who are we supposed to be to each other?
As a church, we have a vision statement. We are to be Christ's presence in the community. What does that mean? What does that look like?
What are we supposed to do when someone's behavior doesn't look like that?
Because we are Episcopalians. We are the people of the broad theology and the accepting nature and the constant politeness. How dare we judge? And it's so much easier to be passive, to not call someone out, to not say, "No. That's not right." I do it. It's 'picking my battles'. But that's not what I'm called to do, not with my brothers and sisters. I am called to be active, to not just let things slide. I am called to say, "Are you sure?" right along side "Can I help?" and "What is best?" Sometimes, rarely, I must say, "I don't think so," or the dreaded, "Stop. No. That is not right." It's not my job - I am not their clergy. But I am their friend. I am their sister in Christ. I am also tasked to help others be the presence of Christ in the world, and sometimes that task requires breaking the comfortable silence and not letting things just...go, when that damages the world's perception of the church. Or when it damages them.
These are people with whom I share a Table. In the midst of all our lives, the presence of that shared meal is important, because it requires me to care. It enjoins me to open my heart and mind and ask the hard questions...and truly listen and hear the answers.
This morning's communion anthem has very quickly become a favorite. I hear in it the sound of a call, of a reminder that part of what it means to be a Christian, is to come to the table, to be fed, renewed, and made one, the body of Christ. It's up to us, to be the visible work and community of God in the World.
Friday, November 2, 2012
To Conquer Death
Isaiah 25:6-9, Psalm 24, Revelation 21:1-6a, John 11:32-44
When you have had a year of death, coming around to the readings for All Saints is like another punch in the face. Because chances are, the last time you heard these scriptures was at a funeral. And while they are supposed to be there to give comfort, that those we love are not separate from us forever, it's a reminder that they're gone now. And that's hard. The reading from John, while often cited as “see, Jesus raises people from the dead!”, when it is in this context, makes my inner 5 yr old want to ask, “but why didn't He do that for Grandma?”
This is supposed to be full of joy, and I just can't get there. I get the concepts of the great feast and the holy city and the coming of God to dwell with His people. And these are good things, things to be celebrated, to be greeted with loud hosannas and songs of praise. Knowing my grandmas, one has baked a pie and the other cooked some asparagus for that feast, because it's not right to just show up without bringing something! Their certainty is my certainty, that we will see each other again in a day to come. I hold to that, in the darkness, that there will come a day when death itself is no more, and all our tears wiped away.
Doesn't mean I don't miss my grandma.
When you have had a year of death, coming around to the readings for All Saints is like another punch in the face. Because chances are, the last time you heard these scriptures was at a funeral. And while they are supposed to be there to give comfort, that those we love are not separate from us forever, it's a reminder that they're gone now. And that's hard. The reading from John, while often cited as “see, Jesus raises people from the dead!”, when it is in this context, makes my inner 5 yr old want to ask, “but why didn't He do that for Grandma?”
This is supposed to be full of joy, and I just can't get there. I get the concepts of the great feast and the holy city and the coming of God to dwell with His people. And these are good things, things to be celebrated, to be greeted with loud hosannas and songs of praise. Knowing my grandmas, one has baked a pie and the other cooked some asparagus for that feast, because it's not right to just show up without bringing something! Their certainty is my certainty, that we will see each other again in a day to come. I hold to that, in the darkness, that there will come a day when death itself is no more, and all our tears wiped away.
Doesn't mean I don't miss my grandma.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
My teacher, let me see again.
Proper 25: Job 42: 1-6, 10-17 Psalm 34:1-8 Hebrews 7:23-28 Mark 10:46-52
It's about seeing. It's about sight. It's about the Lord opening the eyes of the blind and the blindered.
Sometimes, the hardest challenge is being willing to look. We describe many things as “eye-opening” experiences. Often, the other adjectives are “sobering” and “world-changing” and that's scary. Even in a situation that is horrible, you often know the boundaries. It becomes comfortable, a known quantity, and it's easy not to look beyond where we find ourselves, because it's a strange world out there. It may be better, it is often worse, it is always different. Change, in perspectives, in realities, in the perspectives of reality, of someone else's reality...that's hard, shifting out of the world we know so well. It will leave marks, visible or invisible. It's a choice.
People say there are things that one can't unsee, but that's not true. Memory is subject to will, and the choice to forget, to ignore, is present. We watch people do this every day; the boss who does not see bullying, the person who walks right past a beggar. We can choose our blinders, to narrow our perspectives down to what is acceptable, what will fit with the world we want to know. There is a burden on the Christian, though, to not do that. God opens eyes, and it's our duty to not close them again. The world is our stewardship, we must see it as it is in order to put it back in order. That means feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and it means if we can do nothing else, we have a responsibility to see, to acknowledge, to know, because it is someone else's reality, even when it is not our own. That's scary, that's strange, and that is the choice we have, because to see often creates another burden, one on our hearts, to change the status quo, to make the impossible possible. It will drag us out of our comfortable world, where the boundaries are known, into somewhere, something else, and once you start to practice seeing, it becomes difficult to stop.
Remember, though, to not use the other set of blinders, the ones with the wider range of view, but only of the negative things. Despair follows, for the world is full of things about which to wail and sorrow. But God enjoins us to also see the good things – the bright fall day, the perfection of a child's smile, the joy of people in love. Seeing is a skill, it is a duty, a responsibility, a joy; the gift of God, sight to the blind.
Taste and see that the Lord is good.
It's about seeing. It's about sight. It's about the Lord opening the eyes of the blind and the blindered.
Sometimes, the hardest challenge is being willing to look. We describe many things as “eye-opening” experiences. Often, the other adjectives are “sobering” and “world-changing” and that's scary. Even in a situation that is horrible, you often know the boundaries. It becomes comfortable, a known quantity, and it's easy not to look beyond where we find ourselves, because it's a strange world out there. It may be better, it is often worse, it is always different. Change, in perspectives, in realities, in the perspectives of reality, of someone else's reality...that's hard, shifting out of the world we know so well. It will leave marks, visible or invisible. It's a choice.
People say there are things that one can't unsee, but that's not true. Memory is subject to will, and the choice to forget, to ignore, is present. We watch people do this every day; the boss who does not see bullying, the person who walks right past a beggar. We can choose our blinders, to narrow our perspectives down to what is acceptable, what will fit with the world we want to know. There is a burden on the Christian, though, to not do that. God opens eyes, and it's our duty to not close them again. The world is our stewardship, we must see it as it is in order to put it back in order. That means feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, and it means if we can do nothing else, we have a responsibility to see, to acknowledge, to know, because it is someone else's reality, even when it is not our own. That's scary, that's strange, and that is the choice we have, because to see often creates another burden, one on our hearts, to change the status quo, to make the impossible possible. It will drag us out of our comfortable world, where the boundaries are known, into somewhere, something else, and once you start to practice seeing, it becomes difficult to stop.
Remember, though, to not use the other set of blinders, the ones with the wider range of view, but only of the negative things. Despair follows, for the world is full of things about which to wail and sorrow. But God enjoins us to also see the good things – the bright fall day, the perfection of a child's smile, the joy of people in love. Seeing is a skill, it is a duty, a responsibility, a joy; the gift of God, sight to the blind.
Taste and see that the Lord is good.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
liminal spaces (redux)
A good friend of mine is often heard to say, “People make better walls than doors,” when someone is blocking the only passage between spaces. It's a habit that we've all watched happen – humans tend to like to stand in doorways or hallways. It's like we're cats, but with the attraction being spaces between places rather than sunbeams.
Transfiguration Sunday is about being between – between the joy that is Epiphany and the sorrow of the onrushing Lent. Thresholds are by their nature both concrete and immaterial. The readings this morning emphasize this balancing act, the presence of liminal spaces within our lives, and show the importance of spaces not entirely of one type or another – crossing points between us and God.
As much as walls, rivers are a boundary, and it takes special conditions to cross. It's one of the miracles of Elijah that he just creates the proper conditions, separating he and Elisha from the fifty prophets who followed them. They could not smack the water with their cloak and have the waters halt and part. It is part of Elijah's holiness and part of his legend, to be like Moses and cause the waters to allow him to walk on dry land through the middle of a river. God creates the space, stopping the water and making the earth to be solid, and Elijah walks*. The two are still walking when God creates a boundary, the famous chariot of fire, that comes between Elijah and Elisha. At this point it is Elijah who exists in liminal space, no longer of the earth, but not yet of heaven, caught up in God's whirlwind of air, and Elisha who cannot cross the wall God has created. It's good biblical storytelling – four verses and mastery of four elements, crowd of witnesses and sole witness. It's also more than that – As I've said before, my God is a god of the spaces between.
The mountain of the gospel is also a space not entirely of one thing or another. High points have long been mediation zones between men and God – before the temple was built in Jerusalem, there were altars on mountains and hilltops all over Israel. And that makes sense. If your concept of heaven, of God, is “up there in the clouds,” the higher you get, the closer you are to God. The stories of Moses and Ten Commandments, Abraham and Issac, etc., just reinforce this particular theme. The Temple itself was built on top of a hill, as Jerusalem was built around it. So Jesus goes up to this liminal space, where feet are on earth, but the rest is in heaven. We know this is heaven because Moses and Elijah show up. Arguably, all three of the prophets on that hill were just those sorts of liminal beings – interfaces between the word and will of God and his people on earth, being born or transformed by the presence of God to be not of either while on earth. They were living thresholds, doors between mundane and divine. With their presence, they reinforced the old theme – the boundary between the seen and unseen, between God and man is thinner in such places. Peter wanted to create structures to mark this liminality, to set aside a space to say “here, this place is sacred, where the wall between God and Man has a way through.”
The purpose of churches, of any sacred space, is to thin those boundaries. There is no difference between a house, a church, or a shack, when it comes to “God is in this place.” However – churches are built to be liminal spaces, a place between the mundane, every day world and God, where the two can meet more easily. Not every church or sacred space has this quality, and none of them have it all the time. Roofs leak, heaters break, people argue, the outside world intrudes into the sacred. But there is a reason such places are “set apart”, not entirely of this world, not truly of another. We need these spaces that make hearing God a little easier. These are Sanctuaries in the old sense, a place of safety where not only the walls between heaven and earth are thinner, but also other walls – those that we've built ourselves, between us and God, between our perceived selves and our real selves. Churches are crossing points, creating doors in impenetrable structures, creating a way forward where there was none, or illuminating the proper path at life's crossroads. And while all these things can happen in places that aren't sacred, because God is everywhere in all things, it's a little bit easier in the space set apart for just that sort of communication with God.
* For me, the note about dry land is just as impressive as 'parts the waters'. It's a river bottom – the mud left behind when the water stopped would make crossing nearly as impossible as if the water still flowed.
Transfiguration Sunday is about being between – between the joy that is Epiphany and the sorrow of the onrushing Lent. Thresholds are by their nature both concrete and immaterial. The readings this morning emphasize this balancing act, the presence of liminal spaces within our lives, and show the importance of spaces not entirely of one type or another – crossing points between us and God.
As much as walls, rivers are a boundary, and it takes special conditions to cross. It's one of the miracles of Elijah that he just creates the proper conditions, separating he and Elisha from the fifty prophets who followed them. They could not smack the water with their cloak and have the waters halt and part. It is part of Elijah's holiness and part of his legend, to be like Moses and cause the waters to allow him to walk on dry land through the middle of a river. God creates the space, stopping the water and making the earth to be solid, and Elijah walks*. The two are still walking when God creates a boundary, the famous chariot of fire, that comes between Elijah and Elisha. At this point it is Elijah who exists in liminal space, no longer of the earth, but not yet of heaven, caught up in God's whirlwind of air, and Elisha who cannot cross the wall God has created. It's good biblical storytelling – four verses and mastery of four elements, crowd of witnesses and sole witness. It's also more than that – As I've said before, my God is a god of the spaces between.
The mountain of the gospel is also a space not entirely of one thing or another. High points have long been mediation zones between men and God – before the temple was built in Jerusalem, there were altars on mountains and hilltops all over Israel. And that makes sense. If your concept of heaven, of God, is “up there in the clouds,” the higher you get, the closer you are to God. The stories of Moses and Ten Commandments, Abraham and Issac, etc., just reinforce this particular theme. The Temple itself was built on top of a hill, as Jerusalem was built around it. So Jesus goes up to this liminal space, where feet are on earth, but the rest is in heaven. We know this is heaven because Moses and Elijah show up. Arguably, all three of the prophets on that hill were just those sorts of liminal beings – interfaces between the word and will of God and his people on earth, being born or transformed by the presence of God to be not of either while on earth. They were living thresholds, doors between mundane and divine. With their presence, they reinforced the old theme – the boundary between the seen and unseen, between God and man is thinner in such places. Peter wanted to create structures to mark this liminality, to set aside a space to say “here, this place is sacred, where the wall between God and Man has a way through.”
The purpose of churches, of any sacred space, is to thin those boundaries. There is no difference between a house, a church, or a shack, when it comes to “God is in this place.” However – churches are built to be liminal spaces, a place between the mundane, every day world and God, where the two can meet more easily. Not every church or sacred space has this quality, and none of them have it all the time. Roofs leak, heaters break, people argue, the outside world intrudes into the sacred. But there is a reason such places are “set apart”, not entirely of this world, not truly of another. We need these spaces that make hearing God a little easier. These are Sanctuaries in the old sense, a place of safety where not only the walls between heaven and earth are thinner, but also other walls – those that we've built ourselves, between us and God, between our perceived selves and our real selves. Churches are crossing points, creating doors in impenetrable structures, creating a way forward where there was none, or illuminating the proper path at life's crossroads. And while all these things can happen in places that aren't sacred, because God is everywhere in all things, it's a little bit easier in the space set apart for just that sort of communication with God.
* For me, the note about dry land is just as impressive as 'parts the waters'. It's a river bottom – the mud left behind when the water stopped would make crossing nearly as impossible as if the water still flowed.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
OWS and Matthew
So, one of my major problems with Occupy Wall Street is it's tendency to make the 1% an Other, the Them against Us. As a Christian, I have a problem with the thought of making anyone an Other. If we have two primary commandments, Love the Lord your God with your heart, soul, and mind & Love your neighbor as yourself, then making anyone Other says unhealthy things about our obedience to Part 2. It says that either 1) I have a problem with an explained-in-next-couple-verses, expansive view of neighbor, obeying the commandment to love them, and by extension loving *all* people or 2) because I don't love and appreciate myself as a whole child of God, I don't have a problem not loving someone else and making them an Other. Both of those are legitimate issues. Actually, I think both of those are perfectly human issues – we have a tendency to not always like ourselves, and we have a tendency to organize into tribes of Us and Them. One of the points of Christianity, though, is to help us overcome those natural, destructive human tendencies. The vilification of the 1% as inhuman, objectivist, and/or evil, is not healthy. It has the potential to eat away at our souls, to cause us to be petty or mean to another child of God. I'm pretty sure that's not the point of the movement, though.
What I hear as a point is that those in power remember the “least of these” from this morning's lectionary. In Matthew, it's the last reading before we begin the passion narrative. It's the final public teaching of this rabbi who is finding himself persecuted by power and authority, knowing he's about to die of his words.
You know, I'm just going to quote the whole thing. It's one of the most powerful pieces of scripture I know, and informs my faith, and hopefully my practice of faith.
Yeah, that final justice? Is a long way off, at least for a lot of people. And that justice being standard in the corporeal world* is what I hear as one of the goals of Occupy – that the hungry be fed, the homeless, sheltered, the sick, tended. That the least of these be cared for and loved and appreciated as the child of God that they are, as the human being that they are. That we love our neighbor as ourselves. What I hear as the danger is that by our anger we forget that every member of the 1% will, at some point, be a stranger in trouble, needing the help of people they have never met. It is hubris, to put ourselves in the place of God in judging the worth and worthiness of our neighbor. And if we say of the people in that upper niche that they don't deserve our help when they are in need, we have lost something of our own Christianity.
This is not to say that we should not condemn actions that are counter to bringing justice for all into the corporeal world. As much as our brethren to my right have co-opted the phrase “hate the sin, not the sinner,” it's still a biblical truth. It's also against human nature and extremely hard to actually pull off. (Christianity ain't easy on a good day.)
Protest is a good thing. Notifying those in power that this is Not Right, that we have Noticed, and we're going to stay here until you Make It Right is epitome of the Occupy movement. We're supposed to tell our brethren when we feel we have been sinned against, so that they may have the opportunity to correct their error. Sometimes we need to tell them very loudly, or with witnesses. If they still don't listen, we are commanded to tell them this isn't a Christian way to act, we forgive you for failing the ideal, but please come back when you are ready to make amends. Forgiveness is not forgetfulness or acceptance of behavior patterns. It is what has been done that is the wrong, the person/actor is still a child of God, worthy by definition of our love, because they are worthy of God's love, and He's got a bigger grievance list than we do. On the other hand, my church's theology says that even God has standards for rejoining the community, even as He loves those who have moved away from it. Those standards are that you have to really understand what has been done is wrong, that you are sincerely sorry that it happened, and that you ask forgiveness of the people you wronged, always including God.**
At this point, I see the Occupy movement as sitting at part two, starting towards three. In general, Christians have a really, really hard time with part three in-community. I don't know if the clergy of those in power (who may have a better chance of being heard as reasonable people or authority figures) have talked to their congregants about the behaviors that got us into this situation, and the consequences in this world for oppressing those their faith enjoins them to lift up. The fact that few of the clergy of those in power have come out saying “this is wrong, and I've told them that this is wrong and not Christian behavior” is suggestive, and that saddens me for the faith of all those involved. Clergy have the mandate even more than laity to speak truth to power. And not everyone who is responsible for this mess is even a Christian, to be rebuked by the Christian community. However, many profess this as their faith, which means that *I* am required to tell them that I think they're really, really, really wrong.
Hopefully, OWS won't have such a hard time succeeding at part three in the governmental sphere, though I would hope that as a people the focus is less on “throw the idiots, criminals, incompetents out!” than “Let us try to solve the problem.” The first again makes an Other, implying that the speaker has never been and will never be wrong, the second looks towards solutions that include everyone. Acknowledging that the problem is huge, beyond what any one person could solve enables us to find people who are trying or who will try if given power their level best to seek justice for “the least of these”.
*Long standing pet peeve. God and Religion should not be visited on Sunday morning and left behind in that building when you go home. There is not a Secular world and a Sacred world. And if 'material world' and 'real world' didn't have so many other anti-religious connotations, I'd use them.
** also, notice that forgiveness on the part of the community is necessary before it's asked for, otherwise the non-forgiveness can have toxic effects on the rest of the community.
What I hear as a point is that those in power remember the “least of these” from this morning's lectionary. In Matthew, it's the last reading before we begin the passion narrative. It's the final public teaching of this rabbi who is finding himself persecuted by power and authority, knowing he's about to die of his words.
You know, I'm just going to quote the whole thing. It's one of the most powerful pieces of scripture I know, and informs my faith, and hopefully my practice of faith.
Matthew 25:31-46
25:31 "When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.' Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?' And the king will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.' Then he will say to those at his left hand, 'You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.' Then they also will answer, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?' Then he will answer them, 'Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.' And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life."
Yeah, that final justice? Is a long way off, at least for a lot of people. And that justice being standard in the corporeal world* is what I hear as one of the goals of Occupy – that the hungry be fed, the homeless, sheltered, the sick, tended. That the least of these be cared for and loved and appreciated as the child of God that they are, as the human being that they are. That we love our neighbor as ourselves. What I hear as the danger is that by our anger we forget that every member of the 1% will, at some point, be a stranger in trouble, needing the help of people they have never met. It is hubris, to put ourselves in the place of God in judging the worth and worthiness of our neighbor. And if we say of the people in that upper niche that they don't deserve our help when they are in need, we have lost something of our own Christianity.
This is not to say that we should not condemn actions that are counter to bringing justice for all into the corporeal world. As much as our brethren to my right have co-opted the phrase “hate the sin, not the sinner,” it's still a biblical truth. It's also against human nature and extremely hard to actually pull off. (Christianity ain't easy on a good day.)
Protest is a good thing. Notifying those in power that this is Not Right, that we have Noticed, and we're going to stay here until you Make It Right is epitome of the Occupy movement. We're supposed to tell our brethren when we feel we have been sinned against, so that they may have the opportunity to correct their error. Sometimes we need to tell them very loudly, or with witnesses. If they still don't listen, we are commanded to tell them this isn't a Christian way to act, we forgive you for failing the ideal, but please come back when you are ready to make amends. Forgiveness is not forgetfulness or acceptance of behavior patterns. It is what has been done that is the wrong, the person/actor is still a child of God, worthy by definition of our love, because they are worthy of God's love, and He's got a bigger grievance list than we do. On the other hand, my church's theology says that even God has standards for rejoining the community, even as He loves those who have moved away from it. Those standards are that you have to really understand what has been done is wrong, that you are sincerely sorry that it happened, and that you ask forgiveness of the people you wronged, always including God.**
At this point, I see the Occupy movement as sitting at part two, starting towards three. In general, Christians have a really, really hard time with part three in-community. I don't know if the clergy of those in power (who may have a better chance of being heard as reasonable people or authority figures) have talked to their congregants about the behaviors that got us into this situation, and the consequences in this world for oppressing those their faith enjoins them to lift up. The fact that few of the clergy of those in power have come out saying “this is wrong, and I've told them that this is wrong and not Christian behavior” is suggestive, and that saddens me for the faith of all those involved. Clergy have the mandate even more than laity to speak truth to power. And not everyone who is responsible for this mess is even a Christian, to be rebuked by the Christian community. However, many profess this as their faith, which means that *I* am required to tell them that I think they're really, really, really wrong.
Hopefully, OWS won't have such a hard time succeeding at part three in the governmental sphere, though I would hope that as a people the focus is less on “throw the idiots, criminals, incompetents out!” than “Let us try to solve the problem.” The first again makes an Other, implying that the speaker has never been and will never be wrong, the second looks towards solutions that include everyone. Acknowledging that the problem is huge, beyond what any one person could solve enables us to find people who are trying or who will try if given power their level best to seek justice for “the least of these”.
*Long standing pet peeve. God and Religion should not be visited on Sunday morning and left behind in that building when you go home. There is not a Secular world and a Sacred world. And if 'material world' and 'real world' didn't have so many other anti-religious connotations, I'd use them.
** also, notice that forgiveness on the part of the community is necessary before it's asked for, otherwise the non-forgiveness can have toxic effects on the rest of the community.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Oh God, at times such as this,
when we realize that the ground beneath our feet
is not as solid as we had imagined, we plead for your mercy.
As the things we have built crumble about us,
we know too well how small we truly are
on this ever-changing, ever-moving, fragile planet we call home.
Yet you never forget us.
Oh God, come to our assistance
Today, so many people are afraid.
They wait in fear of the next tremor.
They hear the cries of the injured amid the rubble.
They roam the streets in shock at what they see.
And they fill the dusty air with wails of grief and the names of missing dead.
Comfort them, Oh God, in this disaster.
Be their rock when the earth refuses to stand still,
and shelter them under your wings when homes no longer exist.
Embrace in your arms those who died so suddenly in this tragedy.
Console the hearts of those who mourn,
and ease the pain of bodies on the brink of death.
Fill our hearts with compassion,
we who watch from afar,
as the poorest on this side of the earth
find only misery upon misery.
Move us to act swiftly this day,
to give generously every day, to work for justice always,
and to pray unceasingly for those without hope.
And once the shaking has ceased,
the images of destruction have stopped filling the news,
and our thoughts return to life's daily rumblings,
let us not forget that we are all your children
and they, our brothers and sisters.
We are all the work of your hands.
For though the mountains leave their place
and the hills be tossed to the ground, your love shall never leave us,
and your promise of peace will never be shaken.
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
Blessed be the name of the Lord, now and forever. Amen
Author unknown. Found at http://www.nz-hymns.come2see.co.nz/Resources_Prayers.html
when we realize that the ground beneath our feet
is not as solid as we had imagined, we plead for your mercy.
As the things we have built crumble about us,
we know too well how small we truly are
on this ever-changing, ever-moving, fragile planet we call home.
Yet you never forget us.
Oh God, come to our assistance
Today, so many people are afraid.
They wait in fear of the next tremor.
They hear the cries of the injured amid the rubble.
They roam the streets in shock at what they see.
And they fill the dusty air with wails of grief and the names of missing dead.
Comfort them, Oh God, in this disaster.
Be their rock when the earth refuses to stand still,
and shelter them under your wings when homes no longer exist.
Embrace in your arms those who died so suddenly in this tragedy.
Console the hearts of those who mourn,
and ease the pain of bodies on the brink of death.
Fill our hearts with compassion,
we who watch from afar,
as the poorest on this side of the earth
find only misery upon misery.
Move us to act swiftly this day,
to give generously every day, to work for justice always,
and to pray unceasingly for those without hope.
And once the shaking has ceased,
the images of destruction have stopped filling the news,
and our thoughts return to life's daily rumblings,
let us not forget that we are all your children
and they, our brothers and sisters.
We are all the work of your hands.
For though the mountains leave their place
and the hills be tossed to the ground, your love shall never leave us,
and your promise of peace will never be shaken.
Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.
Blessed be the name of the Lord, now and forever. Amen
Author unknown. Found at http://www.nz-hymns.come2see.co.nz/Resources_Prayers.html
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Placeholder post
My God is a god who transfigures things (changes essential nature so they look different)
Great Flood - transformed by water
Moses' face - by the presence of God
Earth - in her seasons
Wedding at Cana - water to wine
Christ on the Mountain - Transfiguration, the
Will pull/elaborate more later.
Great Flood - transformed by water
Moses' face - by the presence of God
Earth - in her seasons
Wedding at Cana - water to wine
Christ on the Mountain - Transfiguration, the
Will pull/elaborate more later.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
David Weber and the Liturgy
I was reminded Sunday morning of one of my "When Geekdoms Collide" moments, and they did so badly.
David Weber has been writing an excellent SF series set on the world called Safehold. The premise is that they are the last colony of humans in the galaxy, the other worlds having been destroyed by an evil alien race who is bent on crushing any other group who achieves spaceflight. Having been sent here in coldsleep and needing to build a low-tech planet, some of the administrators of the colony brainwashed the helpless colonists that the admins were Archangels and messengers of God, and set up this religion, compiling the 'best parts' version of a human religion, with themselves venerated as much as God. (yes, there is an opposition, and we'll not get into their cliches.) Most of the story takes place in a early-industrial-revolution tech level with a medieval church.
So, early in Book Four (A Mighty Fortress) is a mass. And here's where I run into an issue with the fact that I listen to these as audiobooks.
"Lift up your voice."
"We lift them up to the Lord, and to his Archangels"
"Let us give thanks to the Lord our God Who made us, and unto Archangel Langhorne, who was, is, and always shall be His servant"
"It is meet and right so to do"
"It is very meet, right, and our bounden duty, that we should at all times and in all places give thanks unto You, O Lord, Creator and Builder of the Universe, Everlasting God. Therefore, with the Archangel Langhorne and the Archangel Bédard, and all the blessed company of Archangels, we laud and magnify Your glorious Name; evermore praising You and saying—”
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, heaven and earth are full of Your glory: Glory be to You, O Lord Most High. Amen.”
I have to say, this was one of the more jarring moments I've ever had reading science fiction. The additions just...took something which is sacred to me, a liturgy that I know and love, and twisting it. I found myself dropping into the conditioned call-and-response about a third of the way through the second line. To have them altered that way, for a religion that feels false and that also feels like a screed against Catholicism. And here was where it would be most apparent to someone who knows the forms - the screed against the corrupt and venal medieval church has been obvious from the beginning, but this is supposedly a service by a reformer and proto-saint, one of the good guys. And this is when it hit home that DW/the charecters had just taken the good bits and pieces and twisted. What is DW saying - that it was a good liturgy twisted by the evil admins or the whole of the liturgy is wrong?
Having the wrong words there was like a bucket of ice water dropped on my head. And I had to stop the iPod and shake with shock for a bit. Yeah, most people, not going to have that reaction.
But I was reminded of this Sunday morning by Hymn 525 in the 1982 Episcopal Hymnal, from which two of the series' titles were pulled.
Though with a scornful wonder
men see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder,
by heresies distressed;
yet saints their watch are keeping,
their cry goes up, "How long?"
and soon the night of weeping
shall be the morn of song
Wait, was I supposed to have a point? It's not "Don't change the liturgy" or even "Don't use the liturgy in SF." It may be "Don't blaspheme using the liturgy, you idiot!" I can't tell. But it happens.
David Weber has been writing an excellent SF series set on the world called Safehold. The premise is that they are the last colony of humans in the galaxy, the other worlds having been destroyed by an evil alien race who is bent on crushing any other group who achieves spaceflight. Having been sent here in coldsleep and needing to build a low-tech planet, some of the administrators of the colony brainwashed the helpless colonists that the admins were Archangels and messengers of God, and set up this religion, compiling the 'best parts' version of a human religion, with themselves venerated as much as God. (yes, there is an opposition, and we'll not get into their cliches.) Most of the story takes place in a early-industrial-revolution tech level with a medieval church.
So, early in Book Four (A Mighty Fortress) is a mass. And here's where I run into an issue with the fact that I listen to these as audiobooks.
"Lift up your voice."
"We lift them up to the Lord, and to his Archangels"
"Let us give thanks to the Lord our God Who made us, and unto Archangel Langhorne, who was, is, and always shall be His servant"
"It is meet and right so to do"
"It is very meet, right, and our bounden duty, that we should at all times and in all places give thanks unto You, O Lord, Creator and Builder of the Universe, Everlasting God. Therefore, with the Archangel Langhorne and the Archangel Bédard, and all the blessed company of Archangels, we laud and magnify Your glorious Name; evermore praising You and saying—”
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts, heaven and earth are full of Your glory: Glory be to You, O Lord Most High. Amen.”
I have to say, this was one of the more jarring moments I've ever had reading science fiction. The additions just...took something which is sacred to me, a liturgy that I know and love, and twisting it. I found myself dropping into the conditioned call-and-response about a third of the way through the second line. To have them altered that way, for a religion that feels false and that also feels like a screed against Catholicism. And here was where it would be most apparent to someone who knows the forms - the screed against the corrupt and venal medieval church has been obvious from the beginning, but this is supposedly a service by a reformer and proto-saint, one of the good guys. And this is when it hit home that DW/the charecters had just taken the good bits and pieces and twisted. What is DW saying - that it was a good liturgy twisted by the evil admins or the whole of the liturgy is wrong?
Having the wrong words there was like a bucket of ice water dropped on my head. And I had to stop the iPod and shake with shock for a bit. Yeah, most people, not going to have that reaction.
But I was reminded of this Sunday morning by Hymn 525 in the 1982 Episcopal Hymnal, from which two of the series' titles were pulled.
Though with a scornful wonder
men see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder,
by heresies distressed;
yet saints their watch are keeping,
their cry goes up, "How long?"
and soon the night of weeping
shall be the morn of song
Wait, was I supposed to have a point? It's not "Don't change the liturgy" or even "Don't use the liturgy in SF." It may be "Don't blaspheme using the liturgy, you idiot!" I can't tell. But it happens.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Definitions of the Mass
This came in an email forward this morning, and I laughed. A lot. As I nodded. It's supposed to be about catholics, but, really....
AMEN:
The only part of a prayer that everyone knows.
BULLETIN:
Your receipt for attending Mass.
CHOIR:
A group of people whose singing allows the rest of the Parish to lip-sync.
HOLY WATER:
A liquid whose chemical formula is H2OLY.
HYMN:
A song of praise usually sung in a key three octaves higher than that of the
congregation's range.
RECESSIONAL HYMN:
The last song at Mass often sung a little more quietly,
since many of the people have already left.
INCENSE:
Holy Smoke!
JESUITS:
An order of priests known for their ability to find colleges
with good basketball teams.
JONAH:
The original 'Jaws' story.
JUSTICE:
When kids have kids of their own.
Kyrie Eleison:
The only Greek words that most Catholics can recognize besides gyros and
baklava. (for you non-Catholics it means Lord have mercy)
MAGI:
The most famous trio to attend a baby shower.
MANGER:
Where Mary gave birth to Jesus because Joseph wasn't covered by an HMO.
(Bible's way of showing us that holiday travel has always been rough.)
PEW:
A medieval torture device still found in Catholic churches.
PROCESSION:
The ceremonial formation at the beginning of Mass consisting of altar
servers, the celebrant, and late parishioners looking for seats.
RECESSIONAL:
The ceremonial procession at the conclusion of Mass led by
parishioners trying to beat the crowd to the parking lot.
RELICS:
People who have been going to Mass for so long, they actually know when to
sit, kneel, and stand.
TEN COMMANDMENTS:
The most important Top Ten list not given by David Letterman.
USHERS:
The only people in the parish who don't know the seating capacity of a pew.
Little known facts about the Catholic Church in Las Vegas:
There are more churches in Las Vegas than casinos. During Sunday
services at the offertory, some worshippers contribute casino
chips as opposed to cash. Some are sharing their winnings - some
are hoping to win. Since they get chips from so many different
casinos, and they are worth money, the Catholic churches are
required to send all the chips into the diocese for sorting. Once
sorted into the respective casino chips, one junior priest takes
the chips and makes the rounds to the casinos turning chips into
cash. He, of course, is known as "The Chip Monk."
AMEN:
The only part of a prayer that everyone knows.
BULLETIN:
Your receipt for attending Mass.
CHOIR:
A group of people whose singing allows the rest of the Parish to lip-sync.
HOLY WATER:
A liquid whose chemical formula is H2OLY.
HYMN:
A song of praise usually sung in a key three octaves higher than that of the
congregation's range.
RECESSIONAL HYMN:
The last song at Mass often sung a little more quietly,
since many of the people have already left.
INCENSE:
Holy Smoke!
JESUITS:
An order of priests known for their ability to find colleges
with good basketball teams.
JONAH:
The original 'Jaws' story.
JUSTICE:
When kids have kids of their own.
Kyrie Eleison:
The only Greek words that most Catholics can recognize besides gyros and
baklava. (for you non-Catholics it means Lord have mercy)
MAGI:
The most famous trio to attend a baby shower.
MANGER:
Where Mary gave birth to Jesus because Joseph wasn't covered by an HMO.
(Bible's way of showing us that holiday travel has always been rough.)
PEW:
A medieval torture device still found in Catholic churches.
PROCESSION:
The ceremonial formation at the beginning of Mass consisting of altar
servers, the celebrant, and late parishioners looking for seats.
RECESSIONAL:
The ceremonial procession at the conclusion of Mass led by
parishioners trying to beat the crowd to the parking lot.
RELICS:
People who have been going to Mass for so long, they actually know when to
sit, kneel, and stand.
TEN COMMANDMENTS:
The most important Top Ten list not given by David Letterman.
USHERS:
The only people in the parish who don't know the seating capacity of a pew.
Little known facts about the Catholic Church in Las Vegas:
There are more churches in Las Vegas than casinos. During Sunday
services at the offertory, some worshippers contribute casino
chips as opposed to cash. Some are sharing their winnings - some
are hoping to win. Since they get chips from so many different
casinos, and they are worth money, the Catholic churches are
required to send all the chips into the diocese for sorting. Once
sorted into the respective casino chips, one junior priest takes
the chips and makes the rounds to the casinos turning chips into
cash. He, of course, is known as "The Chip Monk."
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