Word and words

Photo by an untrained eye on flickr.com

George von Stamwitz
Sts. Clare & Francis Ecumenical Catholic Community 

Liturgy for the 7th Sunday of Easter

Saturday Evening, May 19, 2012

Focus text: 1 John 4: 11-16 ("God is Love")

                You might be surprised to hear that around this community there is quite a bit of chatter about God. My impression is that in many churches folks don't talk much about their questions and evolving thoughts about God - it seems disloyal in a way. We also have a sizable group of people who hover around Sts. Clare & Francis because they think we just might be a safe place to talk about God. Today we get to talk about God as we are confronted with John's famous summary: "God is Love."  

             For most of my spiritual journey, this declaration has hardly been a conversation starter. I felt preachers and writers often avoided tough questions about such things as suffering and religious exclusions by stating in various conclusory ways that "it is all about Love - go forth and love better."  Thanks a lot. But lately three theologians I have been reading, coming from vastly different perspectives, keep honing in on these three words as they ponder what is next for the church of Jesus.  Indeed, Elizabeth Johnson uses this verse as a launching pad for her entire book "Quest for the Living God" that has received so much attention. For many thoughtful people it seems that "God is Love" operates to deconstruct bizarre and unchallenged images of God that have dominated both our culture and our religion for centuries and perhaps helps explain why religion is in such trouble. Let's see what conversations get started in ourselves and in our community as we grapple with this text this evening.

                                                              A Competition for the Concept of God

                At the time John was writing, there was a competition in the early church over how to understand God. On the one hand was the relational, more Jewish God Jesus spoke about typified by the image of the father in the Prodigal Son. On the other, there was a more regal image for God on a throne far away in heaven with Jesus wearing a crown at God's right hand. An all powerful, all knowing, controlling, judgmental, never changing God was being built in Ceaser’s image. This was understandable as Ceaser was wildly successful at this time in history.  Caeser won the day as the prevailing concept for God in the minds of much of the church. Elizabeth Johnson traces the prevailing image to "modern theism" which is reflected in most of the Christian religions in our era. Google "modern theism" sometime and you will see what I mean.

                Enter John. I love that he first says we should not take ourselves too seriously when we think about God because "nobody has seen God." He goes on to say that love is not just one attribute of an otherwise regal God (even Ceaser can sometimes be loving) - no, God is Love. By putting it this way John invites us to talk about God in language we actually know something about from our experience, and by looking at descriptions of love in the Scriptures, we see an obscure outline of a very different kind of God. For example, while a regal God patterned after Ceaser rules by fear, Love casts out fear. (1 Jn 4 ). While the regal God knows everything before it happens and has a precise plan for everyone, Love does not insist in getting its own way (1 Cor. 13:5) and "hopes all things" (1 Cor. 13:7). While the regal God demands loyalty, Love "bears all things and endures all things." (1 Cor. 13:7). I am beginning to see God cannot love and stay the same

                                                                            This I Believe

                What pictures enter your head when you think of God?  Can you see the intersection between our image of God and how we do liturgy?  Would we pray differently to a God that feels for us and is affected by us? Do these images help us deal with suffering in our lives and in the world? I am very attracted to the idea of us creating greater connections with  those who love despite how they describe the pictures of God that pop in their heads.

                This idea that God is Love has been turning my concept of God upside down.  A few weeks ago as part of a discussion group we have here I felt motivated to take the biblical images of love by John and Paul and put them into an "I believe" statement about a God. It goes like this:

                                   I have never seen God. God is a mystery to me.

                                   In my life I have experienced God most vividly as Love.

                                   I believe God is patient and kind, not jealous or boastful.

\                                  I believe God does not insist on getting God's own way.

                                   I believe God is not irritable or resentful. God does not

                                   rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices in truth. I believe God bears all things

                                   believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

                                   I believe everyone that loves is born of God and knows

                                   God, for I believe God is Love. I believe there is no fear in love.

                                   I believe love and God never end. I believe I am made in the

                                   image of God and that part of me that chooses love will never end. 

             This is what John's words inspire in me to think about God. What do you think about God? Let's talk about it. Let's grow in being a safe place for all to explore in love what we imagine about God.

Amen

Photo by Pink Sherbet Photography on flickr.com

Rev. Jessica Rowley
Sixth Sunday of Easter
May 12, 2012
Focus Text: John 15: 9-17

                I write this homily in a local coffee shop.  I notice that those who choose to linger at tables and couches all have at least one device occupying their attention (to be honest, I have two at my table).  Even the patrons in line to order their beverage text, check email, surf the web.  The occasional pair that comes in for a conversation is shot suspicious looks as their words wander into the private work and recreational worlds of others.  Coffeehouses, an institution that has long supported social meeting, art, idea sharing, and even revolution, is now the house for caffeinated social media sharing and remote offices, workers using headphones instead of cubicles to block out the other.  Moving through the world in our technology bubbles offers us the feeling that we’re always connected, interacting with the world on our terms, presenting ourselves in status updates and carefully chosen photos.

                You may already anticipate where I’m going.  This homily could easily be another critique of today’s digital culture that alienates us from each other.  But my objective is not to blast facebook or demonize smart phones   Social media and smart phones are just the next scapegoat for our increasing sense of loneliness that we feel in our culture.  From retail grocery stores that divorced us from our food providers to the telephone that made it no longer necessary to knock on our neighbor’s doors, technology and innovation has been pulling us apart for a over a century. 

                But the choices (as overwhelming as they may seem) are the same as they were since the Industrial Revolution: Use the technology, or let the technology use you.  In an article in the May issue of The Atlantic, ”Is Facebook Making us Lonely?” researchers are finding that it’s not facebook making us lonely.  Generally, people with healthy social networks outside of facebook translate them into social media, using the tool to organize real time interactions.  But we also transfer our loneliness to our digital world and increasing our online friends doesn’t change the epidemic levels of loneliness being experienced.  And this is where our reflection intersects with the Gospel today.  To be a friend of Christ, to befriend one another as an act of faith, as a response to the Gospel, has ramifications that offer life not only for us, but for our culture.  Stephen Marche, who wrote the article in the Atlantic reaches a profound conclusion:

What Facebook has revealed about human nature—and this is not a minor revelation—is that a connection is not the same thing as a bond, and that instant and total connection is no salvation, no ticket to a happier, better world or a more liberated version of humanity.[i]

So what does salvific friendship, liberated friendship look like?  Into what is the Jesus of John’s Gospel inviting us?  Getting out from behind a screen to be with a real person is a start, having someone to be with on Friday night is nice.  But we are capable of more, we desire more.

 I love being a pastor for a lot of reasons, but at the top of my list is the ability to ask someone, “So, how are you REALLY?”  And, a lot of the time they’ll tell me.  I have a conversation with someone at least a couple times per month that starts something like this:  “I really wish I felt closer to people in our community.  Or… I would really like to have people that I could talk to like we’re talking now.  Or… Being social exhausts me.  Maybe when I have more time or energy I can connect to people better.  Or… I have great friends, but I haven’t seen them in a while.”  We intuitively know that relationship is important. Really good, revealing conversation is a skill we can cultivate, and a skill I think this community may be in a unique place to offer to each other and our wider community.  But we can go deeper still. 

When we look at the word that is translated “friend” in today’s gospel passage in the original Greek it has a quality that comes closer to the word “beloved.”  This section of John is full of love language which is both revealing and confusing.  “Beloved” has certain connotations in our culture that hint at romance or a sexual relationship (perhaps that is why we read friend).  While I don’t want to totally jettison “beloved,” a term one that might be clearer comes from the Celtic tradition, anam cara, Soul Friend.  Celtic writer and poet John O’Donohue describes an anam cara this way:

With the anam cara you could share your innermost self, your mind and your heart.  This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging.  When you had anam cara your friendship cut across all convention, morality, and category.  You were joined in an ancient and eternal way with the “friend of your soul.” [ii]

That’s what we yearn for and Jesus modeled this type of friendship.  We see evidence all over the gospels.

A few examples:   Jesus and Mary Magdalene clearly loved each other.  Jesus revealed himself first to her at the resurrection.  She revealed her demons to him.  Jesus and the beloved disciple had an affectionate relationship that is never totally explicated, but implied throughout the Gospel of John.  These special friendships have certain things in common.  One is that they created some scandal, then and now.  Theology books, novels, entertainment shows have run off the energy of the scandalous claim that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had more than a platonic relationship.  Queer theologians[iii] have used Jesus and the beloved disciples’ same sex relationship as an example of Jesus’ radical love crossing social sexual boundaries.  It’s funny, even our own patrons, Clare and Francis, have had their share of scandalous historical reconstructions that show them romantically involved.  There are aspects of this effort that I applaud as they seek to redeem our incarnate experiences of sexuality and sensuality… but that’s for another homily.  It also tells me that we can be stuck in a dualistic sense of relationship as either intimate or not, involved or casual. 

But soul friendships “can be disruptive and awkward,” according to O’Donohue because they defy the categories constructed for us.  Jesus showed that the range and depth and breadth of human relationship are much greater than the sanctioned systems of relationship – patronage, marriage, discipleship, friendship.  They are radically loving, radically mutual, full of affection.

I look back at my life and can point many blessed soul connections.  But when I first experienced soul friendship and had the wherewithal to name it as such, it totally took me by surprise.  This anam cara is twice may age, lives thousands of miles away, has had life experiences that I cannot even wrap my head around (particularly in my young 20s)– and yet when we look into each other’s eyes (the widow to the soul) there is a deep familiarity, a recognition that neither of us can explain and can only accept as gift.  He is my son’s godfather and nothing can separate us from the bond we share.  Soul friendship, ultimately, is a gift of grace.  O’Donohue encourages us to pray for awareness of this gift because often times we have soul friends that we don’t recognize until loss takes them from us.

On this mother’s day weekend I am aware that some of you may have known a mother to be an anam cara, intimately connected to your body and soul, and others have not.  I have found great consolation in the experience of soul friendships that defies the boundaries even of death.  Since my mother’s passing I feel as though our relationship has only grown in compassion and understanding. 

Jesus knew the power of relationship.  The love he had for his anam cara broke through the veil of death.  It was not in any show of might, but perhaps in his unique ability to befriend souls that Christ, in body and Spirit, has transformed and is transforming the world.  May we grow together in awareness of the power, pleasure and salvation of soul friendship. 

Recommended Reading

Bourgeault, Cynthia.  The Meaning of Mary Magdalene: Discovering the Woman at the Heart of Christianity.  Boston: Shambhala, 2010.

Cheng, Patrick S. Radical Love: An Introduction to Queer Theology.  New York: Seabury Books, 2011.

Marche, Stephen.  “Is Facebook Making us Lonely?”  The Atlantic.  May 2012.  http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/05/is-facebook-making-us-lonely/8930/

O’Donohue, John.  Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom.  New York: Cliff Street Books, 1997.

Turkle, Sherry.  Opinion: “The Flight from Conversation.”  New York Times.  April 21, 2012.  http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/22/opinion/sunday/the-flight-from-conversation.html?pagewanted=1&_r=3

George von Stamwitz

Sts. Clare & Francis Ecumenical Catholic Community

Liturgy for the 5th Sunday of Easter

Saturday Evening, May 5th, 2012

Focus text - John 15:1-8
      

                A missionary was telling a story of the first time electricity came to his African village many years ago. He spoke of the drama as the wire was unrolled those last few yards and put through a hole in the roof of a home and finally attached to a single light bulb. A crowd gathered and cheered as the light went on. One man came late and when the crowd broke up he grabbed an extra light bulb and ran back to his home. He attached it to a string and waited expectantly for it to go on. He tapped it, then shook it. Nothing happened. 

                The man did not understand the importance of connection.  Today's image of the connection between the vine and branches is the last parable, in the last gospel, on the last day before the crucifixion. With an urgency of a last word, Jesus describes our deep abiding, mystical connection with God. Perhaps our generation has a leg up in grasping this text as we have never been so connected. It started with wires and pipes and now it is the hand held "web" and we feel shut down if we lose our "bars." This evening we ponder ancient images on our connection with God. If you ever felt like your spiritual life is like an unconnected light bulb, and you have tried numerous external things to get connected, this text is for you. 

I Am Becoming What I Know

                Like the final note in a musical progression, the invitation to abide in Christ like a branch connects to a vine comes after two other major invitations. Recall that Jesus first asks us to "come" to Him, to come and see and lay down our heavy burdens. Then Jesus asks us for more intention and commitment and beckons us to "follow." Finally Jesus takes us to our mystical core - don't just follow, "abide in Me, like a branch abides with a vine." 

                For centuries mystics have been referencing this parable and exclaiming "Yes, this is what it is like!" When we have those moments of spontaneous contemplative experience, we glimpse a keen awareness, a deep knowing, a bonding love. It is never of our own creation, it is a gift. Like the vine gives life to the branch, it never comes from "out there." Rather it wells up from deep within, like water finding a crack between my swirling thoughts and bulky ego. 

                James Finley uses the analogy of motherhood to capture this deep knowing. Imagine a woman who is not herself a mother, but who went to school to learn all about it. In fact she went all the way though graduate school and obtained a doctorate on Motherology. She wrote books and gave lectures around the world where hundreds of women would come and take copious notes about being a mother. Compare this image to an uneducated woman in the Philippines that each morning bundles her two year old on her back and works in the rice paddies. What would she say about motherhood? It would be an altogether different type of knowing - because there is a big part of her that is what she knows. She knows what she knows because she is becoming what she knows.

                You see, the connection with the Vine is so complete that at the connection itself there is a blurring, a blending of Life. It is like moments with a beloved when you feel more one than apart, like a musician that feels lost in the music but totally at home, like an artist that is so connected to the work that she exclaims surprise at what is in fact created. In us, the finite and the infinite find each other and lines blur. Words and concepts are not helpful at these moments. These moments help sustain our faith that Jesus' prayer later that evening is being answered: "I in you and you in me, that we can be perfectly one." 

A Fruitful Connection 

                On the one hand, this deep connection is the core of our existence, but on the other hand it feels like a crucifixion to that part of us that is all about ego and boundaries. In a vain effort to retain control, this part of us wants things outside of us, things we can control, to be our Vine. If you watch TV you would think your romantic relationship is the core of things. For some, being in the right church is the core of things. For others it is having the right morality.  Just watch the news and you would think getting the issue of contraceptives just right is the core of things!  If we try to make even good things outside of ourselves into our Vine it is like shaking and poking a dead light bulb. 

                Many times we are not blessed with any experience at our connection. James Finley studies Thomas Merton on this topic and finds two unmistakable signs of the connection whether we feel it or not. First, rather than remove us from all that needs to be done, the journey to our core helps us see the inherent holiness in all that needs to be done. Because we go to that place where the finite and infinite meet, we begin to see, however dimly, the inherent holiness in washing a cup, in working in the field, in caring for the sick, in working for peace.  We need to rejoice and follow every time we encounter this type of "seeing." 

            Merton is joined by mystics in both the east and the west in saying that a second unmistakable sign of the connection is the fruit of compassion. The Connection opens us up to see our connections with others. We come to slowly understand we can never be really free when someone else is enslaved. We can never be fully satisfied when someone else is hungry.  Paul tapped into this when he said in 1 Cor 12, when one member of the body suffers, all suffer. Tonight we tap into this fruit of connected compassion as we honor and join the work of Bread for the World after mass.

                What is your take away from our visit with this mystical parable? Perhaps we can discern our need for control and be more aware of all those voices that say something "out there" is the core of things. Our light bulb is not missing some obscure teaching, some brilliant methodology or the perfect retreat. May this community and this Eucharist continue to be a pathway to us to the Vine within and may the fruit of the Vine continue to flourish among us.

 Amen

Photo By patrick wilken on flickr.com

Rev. Jessica Rowley
Fourth Sunday of Easter
April 28^th, 2012
Baptism of Nia Sample (daughter of Liz McMullen)

Focus text Acts 4:8-12

                A black bird circles overhead, searching.  She swoops down to pick up a ribbon from discarded gift wrap picked up by the wind on garbage day.  Back at her nest she skillfully weaves this piece into a perfect example of found and functional art.  Brush pile twigs, twist ties, yarn from pulled sweaters, dryer lint are the stuff of the dwelling that will house her children.

                “The stone the builder rejected has become the cornerstone.”

                Today we celebrate with the McMullen/Sample family the Baptism of their precious child, Nia.  Nesting has happened, is happening as Liz and Nick create their home.  Nesting, for us humans, can take many forms, though.  Babies R’ Us presents one form, that of accumulating baby “necessities” for every corner of your house.  But nesting is also about redefining family, softening our boundaries.  It can be a project that reclaims things lost or rejected - the songs, the stories, adventures of childhood, becoming dusty during the years of adolescence and maturation, are become essential again.  Nesting can pull up strands of memories and feelings (good and bad) put by the curb long ago.

                Today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles tells us something about what it means to build a nest, to build a dwelling for our souls.  It’s a process that can look very different from the building projects of city planners that rely on logic, certitudes, tested and trusted materials.

                “The stone the builder rejected has become the cornerstone,” proclaims Peter, quoting Psalm 118.  At face value is seems like an attack -  you religious leaders, you had Jesus killed.  You rejected him and yet he still has power.  But the cornerstone, rejected and reclaimed, is more than a verbal attack, it’s a personal statement of faith. “The stone the builder rejected has become the cornerstone.”  Peter would know: Peter, the disciple who pledged his allegiance and then rejected Jesus in his hour of need.  “I do not know that man” he shouts in the courtyard of the high priest’s house as Jesus is interrogated inside.  Today we read he has cured a crippled man and, questioned before the Sanhedrin, he is filled with the Holy Spirit and boldly names source of his courage and power. Peter’s story bears witness to the rebuilding of a soul and the rebuilding of a community from material once rejected.

“The stone the builder rejected has become the cornerstone.”

Maybe you’ve experienced something like this.  Peter is a fisherman, doing what was expected, living the life within the expectations of society.  He becomes a part of the beloved community of disciples surrounding Jesus and in this community he experiences something he hadn’t known before.  He learns he can be bold, he learns that he can teach, he finds he can heal.  He lives believing and proclaiming and living the work of God with the guidance and example of his Master, his friend, Jesus, by his side.  In Galilee, among fishermen, farmers, shepherds, his voice never wavered.  But in Jerusalem, among the religious elite, the scholars and priests, in an environment hostile to Jesus and his message – Peter hides behind the guise of an innocent bystander, rejecting the insight and empowerment that made him Peter, “the rock,” back in Galilee.  He not only rejects knowing Christ but rejects the Christ that is in him (all of the boldness, the power, the authority he discovered) – because of fear, because of pressure, because of the social awkwardness. 

We too reject pieces of ourselves for being impractical, shameful, mundane, embarrassing.  We function out of assumptions we’ve picked up about what it means to be a man, a woman, to be family, to be a Christian, to be a responsible citizen.  But then we have experiences that reveal more of our wholeness: an experience of love and sexual awakening, a new idea that contradicts what we’ve known, an encounter with God that seems crazy, unexplainable, an encounter with a group or a friend where we don’t have to hide these seemingly out of place quirks.  But for one reason or another we closet ourselves again, we reject these truths for the sake of building a life that makes sense, that’s practical.   But today we are challenged to look at the rejected pieces of our identities as the cornerstone of anything worthwhile we’re going to build. 

Peter had to decide to reclaim Christ even though it might make him look foolish or silly, might put him at social and physical risk.  Peter had to come to terms with the truth he knew in the absurdity of a dying God.  He had to trust the power that no earthly authority had given him.  He had to be okay with being perceived as ordinary and uneducated by these high priests and boldly speak his truth.  This project of reclaiming what was rejected took time, like a bird slowly gathering found pieces.   A lot had happened between Jesus’ death and the moment we read about today – including many experience with the risen Christ.  Peter slowly reclaimed and rebuilt his soul and thus reclaimed Christ.

Brothers and sisters, this is not just the project of individual souls, this is the building project of the Church.  It’s our communal project.  It’s a project that is too often derailed by builders that insist on marble and gold, builders that invalidate experience for the sake of stability, builders that reject the very things that hold them together. 

At Sts. Clare & Francis we are not about building a cathedral of stone.  We are building a church.  It astonishes me.  The best materials are the one that get lobed into the dumpster.  Again and again, the materials that have been rejected become the cornerstone.  You are the stone the builder rejected because you love the “wrong” person… you are the cornerstone.  You are the stone the builder rejected because the life your pregnant belly carries started in a doctors office… you are the cornerstone.  You are the stone the builder rejected because you, wise with experience, have nowhere to share your story… you are the cornerstone.  You are the stone the builder rejected because you are a woman who dares to use her gifts… you are the cornerstone.  You are the stone the builder rejected because you gave your life to serve the homeless, the sick, the AIDS patient, the single mother… you, women religious of the United States, are the cornerstone.  You, all of you, are the cornerstone.  You are Christ.  We, collectively, are like the blackbird sitting in the tree watching the trash put out and know ourselves to be blessed. 

                And our building is never complete!  There will always be new experiences to integrate, new lives to embrace as we move closer to imaging the Body of Christ.  We build our spiritual nest, not out of hard stone, but lives made soft with true living. 

I have no doubt that this sort of nesting is happening in Nia’s home and family.  Her family not only knows, but leads and witnesses powerfully to seeking God in the most vulnerable.  The baby “stuff” will be packed away, but the cornerstones of experience and relationship will endure. As we today baptize Nia we are blessed to watch her grow in this remarkable family in our midst.  This child will be a cornerstone, essential material in all her strength and vulnerability.  Let us be church and welcome her into this nest of hope.

Photo by I Am Jeffrey at Flickr.com 

Sts. Clare & Francis

3^rd Sunday of Easter

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Acts 3:12-26
1 John 2:1-5
Luke 24:13-49 (focus text)

Homily

We continue this week to plumb the meaning of Easter.  The earliest disciples believed that they experienced Jesus resurrected.  However this experience was not the same as the way they experienced him before he died.  It was a more mysterious, yet real, presence.  Luke’s gospel is written 50 years or so after Jesus’ death and resurrection.  And this gospel represents 50 years of gathering for the eucharist every Sunday and then looking back on the resurrection of Jesus through what we might call a “eucharistic lens.”  Was this style of writing just a way of being clever?  Or is there a hint here as to how the early Christians continued to experience the real presence of Jesus week after week?  Let’s look at the text.

Our gospel this evening has “a twin.” The passage right before it is the story of two disciples walking together down a road.  In both that passage and in the one we have tonight there are the same elements^[1].

• Jesus is encountered, but not recognized, while the disciples are discussing what’s going on.
• Scripture is used to explain what’s going on.
• The disciples and Jesus eat bread or fish
• Enlightenment, recognition (literally, “knowing again”), eyes open, hearts burn
• Jesus departs, the disciples go to “witness” to what just happened

The disciples on the road wrestle with what is happening in their lives and in the middle of the discussing they encounter Jesus; but they think he is a stranger.  He explains the scripture to them.  Their hearts burn.  They “break bread” together.  Their eyes are opened.  They go and tell others what they experienced.

In tonight’s passage Jesus is encountered again.  While they are discussing their experience of joy and fear and doubt and amazement, Jesus is encountered, but not recognized.  Jesus invites them to touch him.  They share their fish with Jesus.  (Note that early eucharistic meals were often more of a meal than just bread and wine.  Also the word fish may have a certain significance on its own.)  He explains scripture for them.  Their minds are, as one exegete put it^[2], not just “opened” but blown, that is, they are really allowed to see things from the point of view of the much bigger story.  Jesus departs while the disciples are sent to be witnesses.

I want to make one aside here.  There are two kinds of doubt we can identify in stories like these.  The first kind of doubt is when we have not yet experienced the presence of Christ.  To borrow from the gospel of John for a moment, it is like we are Thomas and we have not yet experienced the risen Christ.  This is a kind of “I don’t know what you are talking about” doubt.  But there is another kind of doubt that happens when we do experience the presence of God.  This is a kind of “can this really be happening” doubt.  The experience is so magnificent that we can barely believe it is happening.  This is important to note because the mystical experiences that you and I may have at the eucharist will probably always have that mixture of knowing and wondering and questioning and not knowing how to put words to the experience.  This is the nature of being in the presence of the really Real.   It’s like staring in the face of your beloved.

These twin gospel stories together are a kind of study guide for our own experience of the eucharist.  We can ask ourselves a variety of questions.  Do I sometimes “come into the presence of God” and not really recognize just who is present?  Or not know what to make of it?  When the scriptures are broken open, do I experience my heart and mind opening up to “the larger story” that my life is a part of?  When I am eating and drinking the consecrated bread and wine, am I touching the Christ?  Do I ever feel like leaving this experience and telling others about it?  Would I be able to say to someone else something like, “I really like what I experience at Sts. Clare & Francis.  I can really feel God’s presence.  The homilies help me step back and put my life in a bigger, more life-giving, perspective.  We don’t just do communion; it’s more like experiencing communion.  It’s very special.” 

If we ever “witness” to others like this, we might notice that even in our “witnessing” the presence of Christ happens again, just like it did to the disciples in the gospel.

--Frank Krebs

Michelle Smith
Student Pastor
Third Sunday of Easter
April 14, 2012

This is the time of year for countdowns to Graduation. One of my friends at Eden has been counting at least since day 73 to graduation.  She’s not the only one counting and it is not just a thing that seminarians do.  We will have graduates from Pre-school, Kindergarten, elementary school, middle school, high school, trade school, junior college, college, and various types of graduate and professional schools.  Thousands of people will graduate this year and every year. But have you ever reflected on the other name for graduation:  Commencement?  I heard one commencement speaker quote from the song, “Closing Time,” that every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”  For the Church, this is the time of year when we are reminded of the new beginning in Christ’s Resurrection that comes from the end of Jesus’ life, an amazing gift to a sinful humanity.

To borrow from the Rev. Dr. Cecelia Williams-Bryant, guest lecturer and preacher for Eden’s convocation this past week, she preached that we are sent to be healing in the world.  So how can our readings today get us to the healing that is needed? 

Now, as a teaching moment let us revisit last weekend’s Gospel reading because if you were here last week you heard a different story about Mary Magdalene, Mary, James and Salome. We heard Mark’s Gospel and in that Gospel, the tomb is empty and these four encounter a young man in a white robe and he tells them that Jesus is risen and to go tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus is going ahead to Galilee and they will see Him as He told them. But with terror and amazement and fear gripping them they ran away instead; saying absolutely nothing to anyone. So, last week we hear they ran away and this week John’s Gospel begins with the Apostles locked behind closed doors for fear of what might happen for they’ve just seen Jesus crucified.  So if we were listening to these two Gospels together we may have a different picture of what happened.  However, John’s Gospel does not have Mary Magdalene and the others running away. In John’s Gospel Mary Magdalene told the Apostles exactly what she was supposed to and that happened in the chapter before the one we hear today.  So what does this mean? Which is the truth?  Mark’s Gospel or John’s Gospel?  The beauty of our Tradition is we have Four Gospels in the Bible, and we even have some Gospels that didn’t make it into the Canon, like the Gospel of Thomas or the Gospel of Mary Magdala. Yes child, there are gospels beyond the ones that were approved by the Church Fathers.

The beauty of the multiple gospel stories is that in the midst of ALL the stories lies the truth of the Mystery.  Take any one of the wonderful Lenten Witnesses that we had as we approached Easter and ask five of us who listened to tell the story in our own words and you would have five different stories about one truth. 

So, back to today’s Gospel reading, it picks up with the Apostles having heard the news of the Risen Christ from Mary Magdalene, but still possibly afraid of what might happen to them, in the midst of fear and trembling among the disciples Jesus stands with the disciples and says, “Peace be with you.”  In case you missed it the first time; in the midst of their fear and trembling Jesus stands with them.  In the midst of your fear and trembling and in the midst of my fear and trembling, Jesus is with us!

When they heard that familiar voice of their beloved Rabbi whom they’d just seen crucified he showed them his hands and his side and they rejoiced because they knew it was him, they believed what Mary Magdalene had told them and they rejoiced and in their rejoicing,  he said again, “Peace be with you.”  We sometimes refer to this as “confirmation.”  Many of you have felt this before.  It isn’t so much that you doubt, as you are a little slow to do what you know you’re supposed to do and then something happens, like Jesus showing you his hands and his side, or somebody saying something to you that reminds you or affirms you in your mission and we call it confirmation. Now let’s talk about a different kind of Confirmation; the Sacrament itself that we just witnessed a week ago and how we are sent each week to do the work of the Church.

So, Jesus has offered a calm in the midst of the storm to his friends and he’s offered confirmation that they heard Mary Magdalene correctly the first time and NOW this second offering of “Peace be with you” is the prelude to Jesus sending the Apostles forward to do their work – just like we hear every week at the end of Mass – “Peace be with you.”  After the Peace offering, Jesus says, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Do you hear the charge? Just as I have been on a Mission, now I am sending you on a mission.

And then, never to send his beloved disciples on a mission empty handed, Jesus gives them a gift when he breathes on them and saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”   This reminds me of the Creation Story when God created humankind and God BREATHED into the nostrils and gave life to humankind!  But the charge was for humans to have dominion over all of creation and we’ve fallen down on the job, so let’s get into the work shall we.  Right now, Big Mama is telling us, “Better straighten up down there.”

What are we sent to do? We are sent to forgive the George Zimmermans of the world. Hatred is not going to bring Trayvon back and we are called to love the unlovable and forgive the unforgivable.

What are we sent to do? We are sent to forgive the Jake Englands and Alvin Watts of the world. The two Tulsa gunmen have both been charged with murder and with hate crimes.  But they also are in need of Christ’s healing.

What are we sent to do? We are called to stand our ground as Christians against laws that are putting our citizens at risk.  We are called to bring healing to our world and to use the Holy Spirit, the Advocate, to guide us as we advocate for change when it is needed.

What are we sent to do? Our first reading today out of Acts of the Apostles explains to us how we are supposed to live as Christians.  Paul’s communities were expected to live as one big family, where no one was in need. Ched Myers lectured this week at the Eden Convocation and spoke of the “Gospel of Enough.” Ched Myers is the author of Binding the Strong Man and Who Will Roll Away the Stone? and he focuses his work on building biblical literacy, church renewal and faith-based witness for justice.  He shared how we are called to ensure that the “Haves” don’t have too much and the “Have Nots” want not.  That’s Paul’s theology of abundance.  Within a given community, everybody has what they need. That’s what the first reading today is really trying to tell us.

What are we sent to do? We are sent to take better care of God’s Creation. Let me share confirmation that I received about this message this week.

I’ve already heard from good people like the Nauerts many reasons to be prayerful about how I treat the environment, but this week I listened to Ched Myers, who said we cannot speak of healing in the world and not include ecological justice. In other words some of the healing we need to be about administering is to God’s creation. He shared with us information about Earth Overshoot Day; that this is the day that we officially use up all of the earth’s natural resources for a given year. Last year’s Earth Overshoot Day was around September 29^th.  He shared that at the rate we’re going, it is not unreasonable to believe we will have destroyed the planet in 100 years. That’s confirmation dear people!

Our mission is clearly set before us in our second reading from John.  Our mission is to love the children of God and obey God’s commandments.

We are people of faith and that means we can do all things through Christ who strengthens us!

We are people of faith and that means we have the victory in Christ Jesus whose Ministry, Passion, Death and Resurrection we celebrate not just at Easter, but every time we gather around the Table of plenty.

As believers we know that we are washed in the blood of the Lamb and saved by the blood of the Lamb, so we should have no fear as we take the gospel message to the streets.

As believers we know that the Peace of Christ is the cloak we carry into the world as we bring our testimony of God’s saving grace; bringing our voices of change to oppressive systems; bringing forgiveness to those who have done the unforgivable; doing what we can to save the Creation over which we were given dominion.

So as we come to the Table, let us remember that the food for the journey is fuel to go out and dispense God’s love to people in need. And when we leave let us remember the Peace of Christ we take with us will comfort and shield us as we go about our work until we gather again next time to be fueled once again to continue that which we are sent to do. Peace be WITH you. Amen.

Photo by Etrusia UK at Flickr.com
Sts. Clare & Francis
Easter 2012
Focus texts:
Genesis 1 (with commentary from Big Momma Makes The World by Phyllis Root)
Mark 16:1-8
Homily

Fascinating story!  Remember the young man who drops his linen cloth and runs away rather than follow Jesus on this journey?  (Last weekend’s gospel)  Well maybe Mark intends him to be the  young man in the white robe in this story.  Perhaps he was called back to integrity the same way that Peter was reminded of who he really was down deep.  We see this young man now a witness to the surprising mystery of God’s action.

And so it is a fitting background for our baptism this evening when a young man—well, OK, way younger than I—will don a white linen garment as a sign of his aspiration, of the life he wants to pursue and be immersed in.  A man, who the whole time he was in school was mistakenly called Simon Peter by his teachers, will be wear a white robe.  This robe recalls the linen burial cloth that Jesus earned by being faithful to his God until his death.  Our Simon Peet is already witnessing to the mystery of God’s action in his own life.   Simon wants to be the best dad he can be for Nora, his daughter.

This occasion and this celebration of Easter in general gives me pause.  Sometimes, brothers and sisters, I step back from what is happening here at Sts. Clare & Francis and marvel.  Why are we drawn together?  What is going on here that gives us such life?

It seems to me that the Great Story of the Judeo-Christian tradition, which was so beautifully read for us this evening, has really become our story.  We have really stepped into salvation history.  You heard “Big Mamma” tonight wanting some company on the porch; she was lonely and wanted conversation.  As George preached about Thursday evening, God didn’t want us on our knees so much as God wanted us to enter into a society of friends (“I no longer call you servants…I call you friends” John 15:15).  “Big Mamma” provides for each of us at Sts. Clare & Francis a sense of home.  And every time we hear her voice, whether in church or on our way to work, we breathe deeply and say, “Oh, God, it is so good to hear your voice!  It is good to be home.” 

And Big Mamma is such a mamma.  She says, “It’s good to hear your voice too, child.”  Then she pauses with the timing that is perfected in mothers over time; and she adds, “The whole world needs to hear your voice child.  I didn’t roll that stone in front of your gifts; but I rolled it back.  I didn’t roll that stone in front of that closet you were living in; but I rolled it back.  I didn’t roll that stone in front of your home and say stay in your place or in front of some avenue of life you wanted to pursue.  But I rolled it back.    I didn’t roll that stone in front of your neighborhood and say, “Don’t go beyond this street.”  But I rolled it back.  I didn’t roll that stone in front of your desire to live your life in high gear; but I rolled it back!”

Big Mamma doesn’t want her children to be captives, all locked up.  As Treasure Shields Redmond said last night at the Good Friday service when she reflected on Fannie Lou Hammer, “I may be bound, but I’m bound for glory.”  The Creation Story lives at SCF.  The Story of the Deliverance from Slavery lives at SCF.  The Easter Story lives at SCF.   God lives at SCF. 

I had a conversation with a member who said she was demonstrating recently at her former church out of solidarity with “her cousins” in that church.  She noticed the anger was gone…well, a certain kind of anger anyway.  The kind of anger that is anger about injustice was still there, but the hurt was all but gone; the desire to hurt back was gone.  This is the heart of non-violence.  There’s the anger against injustice that we must never lose; but we have to let go of the anger that destroys others and destroys ourselves.  We are a peaceful angry people, as the song goes. 

We may be fighting injustice, but we have a song in our hearts, a song inspired by Big Mama who told us the whole world needs to hear our voice.  A song can give you courage.  The air, which is a gift of creation, moves in and out of our lungs, which also is a gift of the Creator, and it can give us courage as we “stand on our own two feet.”   We begin to feel our voice, some say find our voice. 

[Then I invited the congregation to sing:]

We are a peaceful angry people.

And we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are a peaceful angry people.

And we are singing, singing for our lives.

We are women and men together.

We are gay and straight together.

We are black and white together.

We are all baptized together.

We are Clare and Francis together.

And we are rising, rising to our lives.

We are Clare and Francis together.

And we are rising, rising to our lives.

[adapted from http://music.peacefuluprising.org/track/singing-for-our-lives; listen to tune here.]

Happy Easter!

--Frank Krebs

a painting by Sieger Koder found on flickr.com

Liturgy for Holy Thursday

Sts. Clare & Francis Ecumenical catholic Community

Thursday Evening, April 5, 2012

Focus Text: John 13:1-15

          Most of us, most of the time, try to get along. We do not have a ton of strike issues. Then again, we sometimes come across a situation where we cannot bend and we react by saying "Over my dead body!" or "Not in a million years!" Peter had just such a moment when he saw Jesus come at him with a towel and a basin of water at the Last Supper.
 

             Now I admit getting my feet washed by another is awkward at best. But Peter's reaction was over the top and Jesus' retort right back showed how much was at stake. It is as if Jesus is saying that if Peter can't get his head around this, he is going to miss everything about Jesus. We are on holy ground. We honor this text and move toward greater awareness if we find in ourselves what Peter found so upsetting.

A New Society

           We are indebted to the biblical theologian Sandra Schneider for helping us see one of the reasons Peter got so upset. The issue was "status," and perhaps it took a women's perspective to see how radical Jesus' symbol really was. Peter's dangerous and unpredictable world was defined by status to bring some order to things. Some people, like Jesus, where superior by design and were entitled to receive service in the natural order of things. Others, like women and slaves, were obligated to provide service in the natural order of things. Nobody made a fuss. This was just the way things were.

           By washing feet as a symbol of His ministry Jesus is acting out what he had been saying all along. He is dismantling the "status" system.  In Jesus' society nobody is owed anything. Nobody is entitled to anything. Service is a free gift among equals. Here money does not get you more of things. Service is given without creating an obligation the way real friends serve each other. Returning to the tense encounter between Jesus and Peter, it is as if Jesus was saying "Peter, if you are just going to put my name on existing power systems, or worse, use me to baptize new power systems, you really do not understand me at all."

          The status symbols and inequalities among us are more subtle than among the disciples, yet we honor this text every time we root out such preferences. Our egos are so committed to protecting and promoting us that we instinctively seek status and seek the company of the influential. In addition, our world still sometimes recoils in horror at equality. Some are horrified by a young black man in Florida walking alone in a nice neighborhood. Some see a women presiding behind an alter and cry "over my dead body!"  When some consider a marriage ceremony between same sex couples they cry "not in a million years!"  Even recognizing the different strategies and biases of the left and the right, some are horrified at the simple premise that everyone should have access to basic healthcare.

From Power to Friendship

          There may have been a second reason for Peter's horror. Jesus' act of service suggests even Jesus wants the dignity and freedom of friendship where Peter returns service freely, not out of fear or domination or promise of reward. Immediately after our text today Jesus makes it explicit: "I no longer call you servants.....I call you friends." (Jn 15:14). The writer John Purdy captures why we find this unsettling: 

Part of us does not want to be face to face with a God who is less than all powerful.

          The spectacle of a kneeling God is devastating.

NO! Let God be seated on a throne, holding all the symbols of power.  Let us be the ones that kneel. No wonder Peter is horrified when he sees Emmanuel crouching at his feet.

          All concepts of God are inadequate, but perhaps Jesus uses the image of God as parent to get us ready for friendship with God. In the early stages of life we need an "all powerful" parent, and our relationship is full of boundaries and consequences. Remember when you were a hero to the kids? Remember when there were lots of rules and consequences like "time outs" and "getting grounded?" As we move into mid life we can move beyond any sense of power in the parental relationship, even move past the sense that service is owed one to another. Perhaps our relationship to God follows a similar pattern. The Creator God acts in our world with such renunciation and restraint that friendship becomes conceivable. "I call you friends." 

         So as we ritualize this story this evening, imagine for a moment Jesus is standing before you with a basin and a towel. Be aware of your reactions. Imagine the glory of service freely given without reward or duty or fear. Imagine true friendship with God and with each other. As we stand around the table this evening, take a moment to look around at a rare and fragile moment of utter equality, as we share what nobody is owed and what nobody has earned. 

Amen

George von Stamwitz

Photo by Digitalnative at Flickr.com

Sts. Clare & Francis

March 31, 2012

Palm/Passion Sunday

Focus texts:

Mk 11:1-10

Mark 14:1-15:47

Homily

You know perhaps that I often compare the artistry of the gospel narratives to paintings.  Let me play “the guide at the art museum” who points out important aspects of this huge canvas in front of us tonight. 

Actually there is a minor painting I need you to see first; that’s the gospel we read before we processed with palms into church tonight (Mk 11:1-10).  I want you to imagine this huge wall around Jerusalem with a number of gates.  Jesus is coming into the city on a donkey on one side of the city.  Pontius Pilot enters the city from a gate on the opposite side.  Pilot, who did not live in Jerusalem, wouldn’t and couldn’t miss this important festival.  So even though our painting doesn’t show him quite yet, we know that at about this time he was coming into the city.  Picture these two processions from the air sort of moving toward each other as if to clash and manifesting two very different kinds of leaders—Jesus and Pilot; their arrival is a kind of dramatic overture to the story of the passion, which is displayed on our main canvass.  The battle line between “the powerless person of integrity” and “the waffling person of power” is drawn.  Let’s look at the main canvass now. (Mark 14:1-15:47)

Looking at Mark’s depiction of the passion, you will see that there is an interesting little detail, off in the corner if you will.  When the henchmen show up to capture Jesus, they also grab a young man who, note, is following Jesus (Mk 14:51), i.e, he is a disciple.  He’s only wearing a linen cloth. He runs away from this opportunity to follow Jesus and curiously leaves behind this linen cloth. Notice too that the detail of this young man running away from Jesus as opposed to following Jesus is against the background of all the followers of Jesus running away in the same moment.  (Mk 14:50)  Think of the detail of the young man and the background of all the followers playing against each other like a solo singer and a chorus.  Mark wants us to get the picture.

This detail is a huge clue as to what this painting is about.  It is hard to imagine, from what we know of the baptismal practices of the early church, that the linen cloth the young man abandons didn’t have significance for the community of Mark, some 50 years later when this gospel is composed.  The newly baptized were naked and would be immersed in water, symbolizing their death to the old self, the false self.  Then they would arise out of the water and be wrapped in a white linen cloth symbolizing their new identity in Christ.  This was the beginning of life in the community, the beginning of following Jesus.  When Simon Peet (that’s our community member’s name; I didn’t misspell Simon Peter!) is baptized in our midst a week from now, he won’t be naked; but he will be clothed in white linen, following centuries of tradition and meaning.  This painting is instructive for us just as it was for the community of Mark two millennia ago.  It is an opportunity to reflect on our desire to follow and our desire to run, our choice to where the white linen and our choice to leave it behind.  So now that you have the nub of the painting, let’s see how Mark expands and deepens the meaning. 

During dinner the first words out of Jesus’ mouth are about his betrayal.  The twelve say to him “one after another, ‘Surely not I?’”  (Mk 14:19)  While Jesus is talking about Judas, Mark is reminding us of his theme, which is that all of the disciples dissemble, desert and flee. 

Notice here the lack of self-knowledge that is on display.  Each of them can’t quite seem to imagine dropping his commitment (remember the linen cloth) to Jesus.  Do they know themselves?  If they think they are already “their best selves” then maybe they don’t yet see the gap that exists between their integrity and Jesus’.  Mark will make sure that we do not miss this gap.

Notice the part of the painting where they finish dinner and go out to the Mount of Olives.  Jesus says flatly, “You will all become deserters.” (Mk 14:27)  This is literally unbelievable to Peter.  He seems incapable of seeing his own tendency to drop his integrity.  He thinks he is already embracing his integrity.  He says to Jesus, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.”  Again there is a chorus backing up the solo singer; Mark adds, “And all of them said the same.” (Mk 14:31) This painting is speaking to all of us who dine with Jesus every Saturday evening.  It is not meant to “put us down” or to “make us feel bad about ourselves.”  It is meant to introduce us to the truth about ourselves.

Then Mark paints the pitiful depiction of the disciples closest to Jesus (Peter, James, and John) starting to dissemble.  Jesus begs them three times to be with him in his darkest hour; they fall asleep each time.  In the middle of this sad faltering of the human bond, Mark uses a clear brush stroke to underscore important words of Jesus: “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.” (Mk 14:38)  Again, for the early Christians who were first listening to this gospel, these are jargon words.  “Spirit” is one’s identity in Christ; “flesh” is our old self or false self.  It is the self we revert to when we forget our true identity rooted in God, when we “fall asleep” instead of maintaining a conscious identity with Christ.  “Flesh” is when we drop and leave behind our linen cloth.

Now these three moments of “falling asleep” are kind of setting us up for the three times that Peter will clearly deny Jesus.  The third time he thinks he is lying, but he is not. “I do not know this man you are talking about.”  (Mk 14:71; comment about lying from O. Wesley Allen Jr., Working Preacher)  He does not know the Christ to whom he is supposedly committed.  He certainly has not identified with this Christ yet in an authentic way.  Peter has not named Christ as his best self, new self, or true self.  He really can’t at this point because he does not yet know the depth of Jesus’ integrity or for that matter the depth of Jesus period. The life Peter knows (experiences) is the life of the dropped linen cloth.  In a moment of “being awakened” by remembering the words of Jesus predicting his denial, he breaks down and sobs.  Now he begins to understand the gap between his integrity and Jesus’.  This part of the painting is in the exact middle.  It’s perhaps what Mark most wants us to see.

I want here to introduce an important brush stroke that Luke uses in this context but is not found in Mark.  It really brings out the point more graphically about Peter’s remembering the words of Jesus.  In Luke Jesus “turned and looked at Peter.”  (Lk 22:61)  Receiving “the look” is when Peter remembers. 

Have you ever had this experience of coming home from work?  Your spouse is in the kitchen.  You say hello perfunctorily.  Then you realize your spouse is just looking at you.  “What?” you say.  No response; just the look.  “What?” you press.  Then all of a sudden, after your mind has left the superficial and has been sifting through all of the “really important” categories of your soul, you say, “Oh, yeah!”  Perhaps this is why millennia of Christian followers have meditated using their imagination (or an icon) to look into the eyes of Jesus.  Try it sometime.  No words, except you can say, “What?” once or twice, until the call of your best self, your true self, arises within you and you find yourself really knowing what is most important…for you…you who are in relationship with this Jesus.  Just a suggestion.

Now back to our painting and its climax.  Jesus is crucified.  He is taken down from the cross and wrapped in (guess what?) a linen cloth.  Jesus earns the linen cloth.  Some throughout the centuries have told the story of the crucifixion as if God was demanding the death of Jesus for one reason or another.  We see a different story being celebrated here.  How could the God of Jesus not be proud that God’s son maintained his integrity amidst extremely trying circumstances?  This is the meaning of the linen cloth.  It is something Jesus earned and gave meaning to forever.

We don’t earn the white linen cloth.  But we get to wear it.  We are allowed to identify with Jesus as the bar for our integrity.  We are allowed the grace of staring in his eyes and having him summon parts of us to the surface that we, in our slumber, did not even know were there.  It will always be our choice to drop the linen cloth and run, but knowing the whole story of the passion and how it ends and how it speaks to the possibility of being faithful even in the face of death, we are strangely drawn to a truer self.

--Frank Krebs