Tina Fey & The Holy Trinity

Chances are good the prayer book in your pew has never – and I mean EVER – been opened to page #864.  If you pick it up right now, open to that page, and listen very closely you will hear the sound of the binding breaking in a brand new place.  What you will find on the page – printed in very small type – is an ancient 6^th century document known as the Athanasian Creed.  Written to combat one heresy or another, it is the first Christian creed to state explicitly the equality of the Three Persons of the Trinity.  Here is some of what it says:

The catholic faith is this: That we worship one God in Trinity, and Trinity in Unity;

Neither confounding the persons nor dividing the substance.

For there is one person of the Father, another of the Son, and another of the Holy Spirit. 

But the Godhead of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit is all one, the glory equal, the majesty coeternal. 

Such as the Father is, such is the Son, and such is the Holy Spirit. 

The Father uncreated, the Son uncreated, and the Holy Spirit uncreated. 

The Father incomprehensible, the Son incomprehensible, and the Holy Spirit incomprehensible. 

The Father eternal, the Son eternal, and the Holy Spirit eternal. 

And yet they are not three eternals but one eternal. 

As also there are not three uncreated nor three incomprehensible, but one uncreated and one incomprehensible. 

Perhaps you will find yourself in agreement with the English writer Dorothy Sayers who said of this creed, “The whole darn thing is incomprehensible.” 

Today is Trinity Sunday – the one day during the church year when the preacher is charged with the task of confounding the congregation with an esoteric presentation of a doctrine beyond comprehension.  Or not!  Today I choose not to describe who God is, but to ponder how God works; how God interacts with all that God has made, especially with us curious and (at times) contemptuous human beings.

I grew up in a tradition that held to one degree or another God predestines all things.  That word is used in the bible several times and Scripture is clear that the end God chooses will come to pass.  How else can this be true, some reason, if God does not control – or preordain – all that happens?  For some time now I have rejected such thinking in favor of free will – the notion that we can and do make free choices all of the time.  But how can God’s end be assured if there is no guarantee you or I will play our parts? 

For years I have resolved this dilemma with the analogy of a chess match.  If you sit me down opposite a grand master and give me the first move, clearly I am free to move whichever piece I choose.  The grand master will respond.  I am free to make whatever second move I want.  We don’t know exactly how the game will play out, but one thing is sure… the grand master is going to win. 

God, in relating to us, is like the grand chess master.  We are free to move as we will, but God will counter and in the end the outcome is certain.  I am now beginning to ponder if this is the right analogy.  It still seems a little too mechanical; too cold and calculated; a pointless exercise.  It lacks playfulness and finesse.  It doesn’t mirror how I experience life. 

Recently I came across another analogy that has opened up new possibilities.  It is put forward by the comedian Tina Fey who, in her book Bossypants, articulates four basic rules of improvisational acting – the art form where two or more actors play out a scene with no predetermined script or plot.

According to Fey the first rule of improv is “Agree.  Always agree and say yes.”  You are required to agree with whatever your partner is saying.  For example, if your partner says, “Freeze, I have a gun,” do not respond, “That is not a gun.  You are pointing your finger at me.”  A better response, she says, would be, “The gun I brought you for Christmas!  How dare you!”  Rule #1: Agree.  Respect what your partner has created.  Be open-minded.  Say yes and see where it will take you.  

Fey’s second rule is “don’t only say yes, but yes, and.”  Don’t just agree, contribute.  If your partner starts a scene by saying “I can’t believe how hot it is here,” and you respond by saying, “Yeah” there is nowhere to go.  But if you say, “What did you expect?  After all, we are in hell!” the scene is off and running.  Yes, and requires the actor or actress not to be afraid to add something to the discussion.  It requires them to believe their initiatives are valuable.

The third rule is “make statements”.  If you continually ask questions – Who are you?  Why are we here?  What is in the box? – you put all the pressure on your partner to come up with answers.  Fey suggests instead of asking “Where are we?”, you make a statement like, “Here we are in Spain, Dracula.”

Which may not sound all that great, but it leads to Fey’s fourth rule of improv: “there are no mistakes”, only opportunities.  Fey says that if she starts out a scene trying to be a police officer riding a bicycle, but her partner thinks she is a hamster in a hamster wheel, she becomes a hamster in a hamster wheel.  In improv, she says, there are no mistakes, only beautifully happy accidents.

Is it possible that God relates to us in a way similar to how improv actors engage one another: “yes”, “yes and”,  “statement”,  and “there are no mistakes, only opportunities”?

Think about the story of Jonah.  Doesn’t it read like an improv scene?  God starts the scene by telling Jonah to go to Nineveh and proclaim God’s judgment on the city.  Jonah’s “yes”, and is actually a move to get on a boat and sail away in the opposite direction.  God brings about a storm and the vessel is in peril.  The ship’s crew and passengers enter the scene.  What will they do?  They toss Jonah overboard.  This might seem like a mistake, but God uses it as an opportunity.  God sends a whale to swallow Jonah.  Now that is a statement!  Three days later the whale vomits Jonah on to shore and he proceeds to Ninevah.  Once there, Jonah makes the statement God told him to make: repent or be destroyed.  The people of the corrupt city provide a surprising “yes, and”, and actually repent.  The story ends in a fascinating place with Jonah sulking because the city is not destroyed and God defending God’s right to forgive. 

It is a story that feels wide open.  It could go in any number of different directions.  God, far from controlling everything in a predetermined fashion, participates in a dynamic give-and-take with each of the partners in the scene.  It is as if God is truly curious to see where all of it will go.

Let’s look at today’s first reading from the Old Testament book of Isaiah.  The scene is set very quickly.  The text tells us it takes place “in the year that King Uzziah died”, creating a milieu similar to how we might react to the opening “In the months following 9/11…”  Isaiah makes his opening statement: “I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty.”  God makes the opening “yes” by appearing to Isaiah in radiance and splendor.  Heavenly beings add the “yes, and” with their worship and words of praise.  Isaiah’s first statement in the scene is a good one: “Woe is me!  I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.”

How will God respond?  If God says, “What was I thinking?  Of course you are completely unworthy of me,” the scene will come to a screeching halt. 

There are plenty of other rules to improvisation Tina Fey doesn’t touch on.  One of them is this: if you see your partner in trouble, rescue him.  Don’t let him suffer.  Come to his aid.  A seraph comes to Isaiah’s aid.  It flies over to the altar and picks up a hot coal using a pair of tongs.  This is an interesting act in and of itself, but what happens next is improvisational genius.  The seraph touches the coal to Isaiah’s mouth and makes a statement.  Consider the possibilities: “Keep your mouth shut in the presence of the Lord God,” or “Burn for your unclean words,” or “Human words pale in comparison to the ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’ of heavenly creatures.”  Again, every one of these derails the scene.  What the seraph says is a classic “yes, and”: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.”

God pushes the scene forward by asking, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?”  A likely answer would have been a seraph.  They are impressive and know how to get the job done.  But the scene draws to a close with a surprising twist.  Isaiah has the final “yes, and”: “Here I am; send me!”

This is much how I experience God in my own life and particularly in and through the ministry of this church.  God engages us more and more as we are willing to engage God.  Every development leads to new possibilities.  The church feels alive when we view every new thing as an opportunity even as we treasure all that has stood the test of time.  We are not cogs in some mechanistic game preset and determined by God.  Rather, we are active participants whose contributions either further the cause or end the discussion.  We either advance the work of the kingdom in our own interesting ways or we put it on hold by disengaging from the improvisation God has started. 

On this day that we celebrate the incomprehensible Trinity let me put forward a simple question: What will you add to the scene?

Come, Holy Spirit, Come!

Perhaps you saw the recent headlines about religion in America emanating from a new Pew Research Center survey.  Following up on a 2007 study, the center surveyed more than 35,000 people.  They discovered that in seven years the percentage of folks who describe themselves as Christian fell from 78% to 70%.  Those who identified as religiously unaffiliated grew from 16% to 23%.  Non-Christian faiths also grew from 4.7% to 5.9%.  While Christianity is still the dominant religion in the United States, its appeal is in decline. 

I attend conferences, read books, and follow posts that try to explain what is going on.  At one end of the spectrum is the thought that America is in the midst of a sweeping sociological change.  More and more, people identify less and less with institutions of all kinds – including churches.  At the other end of the spectrum are those who point to how the church has lost touch with people.  Its programs and presentation do not connect with how and where people live their lives.  Between these two poles – blame it on society and blame it on the church – lies a whole host of other explanations.

Still, there are places where Christianity is finding fresh expression.  One such occurance is in Durham, NC where Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and his wife Leah have founded Rutba House.  Named after an Iraqi town where members of their Christian peacemaker team were given medical care in a hospital three days after it had been bombed by U.S. forces, Rutba House is a community of people who live out monastic traditions in a contemporary setting.  They welcome homeless people to eat, pray, and share life together.  They work with neighborhood children and reach out to those in prison.

Jonathan is an author and sought after speaker.  He is often interviewed about his work and questioned about religious movements in our country that are transforming the face of Christianity.  Listen to his account of one such interview:

Not long ago I was talking with a journalist about religious movements and my hope for the future of faith in North America.  “You know,” I said, “the movement that grabs my attention is really pretty small – a dozen or so folks at its core, most of them not spectacular.  Only one of them is published.  A few of them used to have good reason to kill one another.  But somehow they’ve stayed together.  And this new life they’ve found with one another is so important to them that they are, to a person, willing to die for it.

A good reporter, ever eager for a good lead, this fellow asked where he could learn more about this movement.  “Oh, it’s well known,” I said.  “The best-selling book of all times has four accounts of its origins – Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.”

Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove points to something we should never forget and on this Day of Pentecost should celebrate – the amazing transformation that came about in the lives of Jesus’ early followers.  The four gospels, and especially the Gospel of Mark which we are reading throughout this year of the Lectionary cycle, portray the disciples as clueless while Jesus is with them.  There are times he gets so exasperated with them that you can feel his frustration wafting off the pages of the bible.  Then, in his hour of greatest need, they abandon him, deny him, and flee in terror from his side.  The gospels give not even a hint of what we find in the Book of Acts and there is absolutely no reason to believe the disciples will ever become a force that will change the world.

In the fifty days following the Resurrection, there seems to be three distinct movements of God’s Holy Spirit in the lives of the disciples.  The first occurs the evening of the Resurrection when Jesus’ followers are gathered in a room with the doors locked for fear the authorities are looking for them.  The Risen Christ appears in their midst and says, “Peace be with you.”  Then he breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”  With this imparting, the Spirit brings calm and tranquility – even joy – to a group of people who were out of sorts.  The Spirit’s work establishes a sense that all is well when moments before it felt as if life was spinning out of control.

We read about the second movement last Sunday.  After Jesus ascends into heaven, the disciples realize they need to identify someone to take the place of Judas.  The Spirit quietly leads the group to identify two candidates.  They pray and cast lots.  Matthias is chosen.  The Spirit enables the disciples to behave like, well, Episcopalians – solving problems and approaching opportunities decently and in good order.

Today we read about the third movement of the Holy Spirit.  This time, there is nothing about it that is decent or orderly.  The text says there was a “sound like a violent rush of wind.”  It was not a gentile, summer breeze.  Whatever it was, it was so violent and so loud a large crowd congregates around the house where the disciples are gathered. 

Peter addresses the diverse group and becomes the first person in history to tell the story of the Good News of God in Jesus Christ.  His words are powerful and provocative.  They are insightful and insight.  They expose what the authorities did to Jesus and explain what God did to transform their act into salvation for all.  In this moment a dozen or so folks, most of them not spectacular, a few with good reason to kill one another, find a new life in the Spirit so important to them that, to a person, they are willing to die for it.

You and I, we are now a part of the fourth and on-going movement of the Holy Spirit.  Just what does that look like?

A few years ago I was rummaging around the Guild Room and came across an interesting book titled Meditations and Devotions by François de Fénelon.  Inside the cover it has a plate that tells me it came from the library of James H. Newsom, Jr.  The book’s jacket says Fénelon lived in France from 1651-1715, during the “glittering” and “disastrous” reign of Louis XIV.  Of Fénelon, it says,

His life was wholly devoted to God even while he lived at the notoriously frivolous and licentious Court; and when given the choice of worldly power and popularity or disgrace and banishment, he chose the latter rather than betray his loyalty to God.

Listen to what Fénelon writes about this day, known to him as Whitsunday:

Lord, Thou didst begin to perfect Thine apostles by taking away what seemed essential to them – the actual presence of Thy Son, Jesus Christ.  Thou doest destroy all to establish all.  Everything is taken away that all may be returned a hundredfold.  This is Thy method.  Thou are pleased to overturn human logic.

Has that ever been your experience; that the moments of greatest personal growth come from the times of greatest personal challenge?  Is it the times when you feel most alone that you become acutely aware of how your own personal resources and reserves are absolutely inadequate?  What happens then?  Fénelon continues:

Then, having withdrawn the presence of Christ, Thou didst send Thy Holy Ghost.  It is possible for privation to operate more powerfully than possession.

Learning that our limits are insufficient for what we face has a way of opening the door to what God freely gives us.

Fénelon then describes a second very common experience:

Ah, Lord, where is this spirit that ought to be in my life?  It should be the soul of my soul, but where is it?  I do not feel it.  I cannot discover it.  I am conscious only of physical inertia and spiritual dullness. [And can there be a better description of our age than “physical inertia and spiritual dullness”?]  My weak will is divided between Thee and a thousand pointless pleasures.  Where is Thy Spirit?

He concludes with a prayer and plea: “Come, Holy Ghost, Thou canst find nothing more barren and stricken than my heart.  Come and bring it peace.”  Have you ever prayed a prayer like this?

Fénelon goes on to describe two things that happen to us when God’s Spirit moves in us:

The Holy Spirit fills the soul with light.  Those truths taught be Christ while He was on earth are implanted in the depths of our being…  We are made one with Truth; no longer is it something outside ourselves.

These words resonate with my own experience.  I sense God’s Truth deep within my soul, not that I always heed it, but I know it is there.  I experience God’s will for me as a light, rather than darkness, as clarity rather than confusion.  Do you sense this for yourself?

The second thing the Spirit does in us is this:

The Spirit of Love teaches the soul without words; without sound or sign everything is illuminated.  Nothing is demanded, and yet the soul is trained in silence for any sacrifice.  After experiencing Holy Love we are dissatisfied with any other and we learn to distrust and forget ourselves.  What utter joy is ours then without ever having sought it!  Love becomes the fountain of life flowing through our hearts.

If you were to ask me if I feel the presence of God’s Spirit in my life, I would nod and say yes.  If you were to ask me to tell you about it, I would struggle.  It is a Light which happens most often without words to accompany it.  But it changes me.  It changes what I desire and what I seek.  And it creates in me a fountain of joy and love for which I cannot account.

It is the same dynamic that transformed the disciples.  It is the same dynamic being expressed, albeit in very different, distinctive, and dynamic ways at Rutba House.  It is the same dynamic I see and sense at work in so many of you.  And while the Pew Center’s findings are certainly sobering and somewhat discouraging, our prayer is this: “Come, Holy Spirit, come.”

Jesus' Prayer for Us

After Jesus shares one final meal with his followers in the Upper Room on Maundy Thursday, he tells them he will be leaving them soon.    Then he looks up to heaven and prays for his followers.  Known as “The High Priestly Prayer”, the Lectionary divides it into three readings, one for each year of the cycle.  Today’s gospel reading is the middle section of that prayer.

You are forgiven if, in listening, you found it difficult to absorb.  I have been sitting with it all week and still find it dense and repetitive.  There are 338 words in these four verses.  ‘World’ is used 13 times, the verb ‘to give’ appears in one form or another nine times, ‘protect’ or ‘guard’ four, ‘truth’ four, and ‘name’ and ‘word’ three.  No wonder something gets lost in translation.

The idea of being given intrigues me.  Jesus states that the Father has given his followers to him and in his prayer he gives them back to the Father.  We don’t think often about giving a person to someone.  It happens at a wedding: “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”  For centuries daughters were thought to be the possession of the father and his answer of “I do” sealed a transfer of ownership to the husband.  Whatever the giving of a bride means today it certainly is not that.  When I was a kid we played a lot of pick-up games at a small park at the end of our street.  If one team dominated the other it was common for someone to say, “This isn’t fair.  You’ve got to give us Joey to it make it even.”  I’m not sure either of these examples gives us much insight into what it means that followers of Jesus are given to him and then given back to the Father.

Here is one that might.  When parents send a child to school, especially if it is a boarding school, there is a sense that they are giving their child to that school.  They are entrusting him or her to the faculty and staff with the expectation they will shape and form the child.  And, at least at the college I attended, my parents expected the school would keep me safe.  The Father gives Jesus’ followers to him in much the same way.  Jesus forms them through his words and examples.  And he protects them, both from the Evil One and from the world.

At every baptism we are reminded that in order to follow Christ we must renounce three things:

· Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God.

· The evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God.

· All sinful desires that draw us from the love of God.

Generally speaking, we Episcopalians do not talk much about Satan and spiritual forces.  I can recall only one time in my 28 years of ordained ministry I heard a parishioner say (in all sincerity) “the devil made me do it.”  Do you remember Jesus’ parable about the seeds that fall on different kinds of soil?  Do you recall what happens to the seeds that fall on hard, packed ground?  The birds eat them.  And when Jesus explains the parable, what does he say the birds represent?  The Evil One who snatches people after they hear his word.  Some in the Christian tradition believe that Satan is always on the prowl.  Some feel personally attacked by the devil.  My experience is more in line with Jesus’ prayer – whatever is out there and whatever it is capable of doing, I trust that I am protected, that I am guarded.

The world is a different story.  While there is much in God’s creation that is good and glorious, there is also much that can corrupt and destroy.  One of the things that first drew me to the Episcopal Church is the way we engage the world.  We are much more open to it than the tradition in which I was raised.  That tradition emphasized the fall and totally depravity.  Everything about society and the culture was riddled with sin.  The congregation was “walled off” from the world and the building was something like a bunker meant to keep out every bad influence.  Think about a church that has its own day school, athletic fields, and recreation center.  It is trying to protect its members from the world and its influences by giving them fewer and fewer reasons to be in it.

We in the Episcopal Church believe that the world is fallen, but not totally evil.  Our members live in the parish but also in the community.  We see the church as a place to receive spiritual guidance that we use as we reenter daily life and work.  We believe that our world is good and hopefully getting better.  Rather than pulling people out of the world into the protective confines of a church, we believe our mission is to go out into the world in order to be ambassadors of God’s kingdom.  By looking for the good in the world, from time to time we get soiled by the bad.  But I would rather run the risk of this than take the stance of completely removing myself from the world in order to sit in judgment of it.

Without a doubt, renouncing all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God is the most challenging of the three renunciations.  Jesus pointed to this when he taught that it is not what goes into a person that makes him unclean, but what comes out.  The words and the actions that come out of a person emanate from the heart, the home of our desires.

And while Jesus’ Priestly Prayer does not contain the word ‘heart’, there are two times he refers to it.  He says he gave to his followers the words the Father gave to him in order that they might be sanctified.  To be sanctified is to be made pure and set apart for a holy purpose.  Do you ever think of yourself in this way?  Some areas of my life and personality feel holy and pure, but other areas… not so much.  I see myself as a work in progress to be sure.  Perhaps you feel the same way about yourself. 

The other heart reference is to joy.  “I speak these things…,” Jesus says, “so that my followers may have my joy made complete in themselves.”  In his book Wishful Thinking, Frederick Buenchner writes:

“Happiness turns up more or less where you’d expect it to – a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation.  Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the one who bequeaths it.”

I like that.  Happiness comes and goes based on the moment and the circumstances, but a person either has joy or does not.  Tough times and difficult experiences will not take the joy out of a joyful person.  And moments of blessing and goodness may produce in a joyless person the brief emotion of happiness, but it will never lead to an enduring joy.  A sure and certain sign that a person has received what Jesus has given is the presence of joy in his or her heart.

The good news in today’s Gospel is that, while living in this world and following our Lord can be very challenging, Jesus is praying for us.  Jesus has entrusted us into God’s care and keep.  We are loved deeply, purely, truly, just as we are.  Knowing this produces a joy which endures and abides.

 

Seeping into the Cracks and Crevices of Society

The four verses we heard in our first reading draw to a conclusion one of the most significant events in the history of the Christian Church.  The 10^th chapter of the Book of Acts begins by introducing us to Cornelius, an officer in the Roman army.  We are told he is a devout man who, along with his household, fears God.  He gives alms generously and prays to God constantly.  One day an angel appears to him and commands him to send for Peter, who is staying in a nearby town.

Meanwhile, the next day Peter is praying on the rooftop of a house and he is hungry.  He has a vision of the heavens opening and a large sheet being lowered toward him.  On it are all kinds of creatures considered by Jews to be ‘unclean’, which means the Purity Laws forbad Jews to eat them.  A voice tells Peter to kill and eat, but he refuses.  The voice instructs Peter saying, “What God has made clean you must not call profane.”  This is repeated three times before the vision ends.  Peter has no idea what to make of it. 

At this exact moment Cornelius’ messengers arrive.  The Spirit instructs Peter to go with them without ‘hesitation’ (the Greek word used here means without ‘making distinctions’).  It is a startling word because, like the animals in the vision, Gentiles were also considered to be unclean.  Going to Cornelius’ house is not lawful for an observant Jew, but Peter heeds the instructions he has been given.

Peter and Cornelius meet and share their mysterious visions with one another.  Peter then preaches one of the most powerful sermons ever preached.  He begins by saying this:

“I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.”

From here, in concise fashion, he tells the story of Jesus.

“I truly understand that God shows no partiality.”  This was a revolutionary statement at the time.  It is a revolutionary statement even today.  In his book on ethnic relationships in the Book of Acts, Eric Barreto writes, “As a constructed social reality, ethnicity is a projection of our own anxieties and hopes, an inclusive impulse to identify who we are but also an exclusive effort to distinguish between ‘us’ and ‘them.’”  In other words, distinctions based on race, economic and social status, age, and nationality help us to understand who we are and who we are not.  We see them.  We make them.  And to some degree, we need them.  But God does not see them, does not make them, and does not need them. 

In his sermon Peter identifies new distinctions God invites us to make because of our faith in Jesus Christ: “In every nation anyone who fears God and does what is right is acceptable to God.”  Fears God.  This does not mean cowering in terror.  It means respect and appreciation.  It means honoring God as God should be honored.  Doing what is right.  God welcomes every decent human being.  From this flows a new distinction for God’s people.  Like the hymn says,

Who serves my Father as a son
is surely kin to me.

So now we pick up the story with today’s reading.  While Peter is preaching the Holy Spirit falls upon everyone in the room, including Cornelius and his household.  Now the Day of Pentecost, which we will celebrate in two weeks, took place in Acts well before this episode.  It marks the day the Holy Spirit fell on the followers of Jesus, all of whom were Jews.  This is the first time the Spirit falls on Gentiles.

Notice that the text says Peter’s Jewish companions were “astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles.”  These two words hint at the depth of the divide between these two groups.  But based on what he has seen, Peter proclaims the Gentiles should be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ and given full inclusion in the Christian community.  He stays with Cornelius for several days and the two become close friends. 

The story begins with Peter being perplexed and it ends with the Christian Church in an entirely new, different, and unexpected place; a place created in and through the working of God’s Spirit.  Peter does two things to make this happen.  First, he listens to God’s voice.  And second, he leaves the sheltered confines of how he has practiced his faith in order to preach and live the Gospel in an entirely new environment and context. 

In their book The Shaping of Things to Come, authors Michael Frost and Alan Hirsh describe what they call the attractional church.  Its approach to mission is to develop programs, events, and ministries that appeal to non-members, attracting them to the church.  They estimate that 95% of America congregations operate with a “come and listen” mentality. 

I give St. Paul’s high marks as an attractional church.  We have a beautiful building, quality worship, wonderful events for children and families, meaningful formation programs, and targeted outreach ministries that make a real difference in peoples’ lives.  Best of all, we are warm and welcoming to everyone.  There may have been a time when St. Paul’s was a stereotypical ‘country-club’ parish, but those days are past.  We are diverse and getting more diverse.  We are growing in our reflection of God who shows no partiality.  I don’t see this as a creation of our own doing, but rather evidence that God’s Spirit is working in and through us.  We are a place were God can bring any and every lost sheep, hurting soul, and searching pilgrim in order to find Christ’s love made manifest.

If it feels like there is a “but” to all of this, there is.  Frost and Hirsh point to a major problem with the attractional approach in today’s world.  It requires non-members and unbelievers to enter our sanctified spaces to hear the Gospel.  Simply put, this is not happening.  More and more it is like hoping the public will abandon their smart phone and revert back to the payphone. 

The unchurched are not here because they choose not to be here.  They may have no experience of being in a church and can’t even comprehend its value.  They may have grown up in a church and been bored by the experience.  That judgment still stands for them.  Or something very painful may have happened to them at a church and they are determined not to let it happen again.  The attractional church is not going to reach these people any more than Peter was going to reach Cornelius by saying on his rooftop praying.

At Clergy Day this week we heard the story of an Episcopal priest who decided to spend every morning over the course of a week in a Duncan Donuts store striking up conversations with people and asking them what they knew of the church where he was the rector.  After dozens upon dozens of conversations, he discovered that not one person had even heard of the parish, which was startling because it was located right across the street from the Duncan Donuts store.  Being warm and welcoming and offering great programs will not be an effective way to proclaim the Gospel in a culture that isn’t interested in coming onto our property in the first place.

Frost and Hirsh offer an alternative missional approach, which they call “incarnational” – the word we use to describe what God the Son did when he took on human flesh, left the heavenly places, and came to live among us.  They write that the incarnational church “disassembles itself and seeps into the cracks and crevices of society in order to represent Christ to the world.”  Like Peter, we have to go to Cornelius.

What this looks like I am not exactly sure.  One place to begin might be to form listening teams that go out into our community and strike up conversations with people.  Perhaps we need to listen and to learn.  Perhaps we can figure out what people are passionate about.  Our Clergy Day speaker reminded us that today, more than ever, people are looking for a place to belong.  They want to meet a variety of people and they want to explore questions about life, not simply be told to memorize a catechism.  They want to build something.  They want to make a difference.  They want to matter.

On Thursday, I chaired a meeting of the Commission on Ministry, which oversees folks in the ordination process.  We interviewed two people who have finished seminary and recommended to the bishop that they be ordained next month. 

One of the candidates told us about his experience working as a chaplain on a pediatrics floor of a large New England hospital.  He described a conversation he had with a teenager who had attempted suicide.  He asked the young girl to look him in the eyes and listen because he wanted to tell her the core of what his faith tells him.  He said to her, “One, you are loved.  Two, your life matters.  Three, whatever mistakes you have made, you are forgiven.  You don’t have to believe it, but you need to know that I do.”  He suspects he may be the first person ever to say these things to that young girl. 

It is a story that highlights the challenge attractional churches are facing.  We cannot proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ to a hurting and needy world unless we open the doors of our building and walk out into the neighborhood.  People around us are in great pain.  They are searching for something they cannot name.  They crave something that will help them have a purpose in life.  We have been entrusted with the Good News of God in Jesus Christ.  Doesn’t its echo sound nice within these walls?  Is there anything within you that burns to take what we know of God’s love to the cracks and crevices of our community in order to represent Christ to Suffolk?

Abide in Me

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.”

Throughout the winter, as I turned left out of Saratoga St. and began to drive west on Finney Ave., I noticed a tree in the median strip that had a broken branch.  It was twisted and snapped, but not completely separated from the tree itself.  I don’t know what happened to it.  Perhaps a vehicle passed too close and snagged it.  Maybe a person broke it with his or her bare hands.  One thing I did know is that come spring that branch would not sprout leaves.  It needed to be clipped off and thrown away.

In last week’s gospel reading, we heard Jesus say, “I am the Good Shepherd.”  Today we hear him say, “I am the Vine and you are the branches.”  Both images, while very different, describe the relationship Jesus has with us and we with him.  The shepherd image says something about how the relationship functions.  Jesus watches over us, guides us, protects us, heals us, cares for us.  We follow his voice and trust him to lead us.  The vine image says something about how we experience the relationship.  We are closely connected, inseparable.  Angelus Silesius, a seventeenth-century Polish mystic, put it this way:

God is the fire in me and I in Him the shine;

Are we not with each other most inwardly entwined?

It is truly a mystery and a wonder that the God who is immortal, invisible, and incomprehensible somehow is present in our hearts and in our minds. Even more remarkable is that we experience God’s presence as intimate, warm, and comforting.  God invites us into that love shared by the three Persons of the Holy Trinity in a relationship that is similar to that of a branch and a vine.  

The word that Jesus chooses to describe this relationship is “abide.”  To abide is to remain.  “Remain in me as I remain in you.”  One commentator points out that the Greek word for “abide” implies persistence, a “tenacious perseverance in one’s place and character.”   He writes, “Abiding in Jesus means a relationship of endless intimacy with him, a persistent orientation toward him, a remaining resolutely engaged with his presence.” 

Jesus’ image of the branch suggests that not abiding in him is a distinct possibility.  We all know what it is like to become too passionate about an interest that leads us away from God.  We all know what it is like to be overtaken by the cares and occupations of this life.  We all know what it is like to lose our way.  Some of us, at one point in life or another, have had to undergo a radical pruning and have come through that ordeal better for it. 

The direct result of abiding in Jesus is fruitfulness.  He makes it very clear that you cannot bear fruit unless you abide in him.  I took a class in Symbolic Logic my freshman year in college.  We learned such wonderful principles as Modus ponens and Modus tollens.  In Symbolic Logic you might set up an argument to say you cannot have B without A.  If you have B, therefore you can assume the existence of A.  This is exactly the proposition Jesus puts forward.  You cannot be fruitful (B) unless you abide in me (A).  Therefore, if we are fruitful (B), we can infer that we are abiding in Jesus (A). 

I have been thinking a lot about St. Paul’s over the past few months as I have facilitated other Vestry retreats and talked with colleagues and lay leaders from other congregations.  These conversations convince me that St. Paul’s is a parish of great abundance, of fruit.  I think about the joy we experience in our common life.  I think about the generous and kind way we treat one another.  I think of gifts and talents people offer in leadership.  I think about our staff.  I think about beautiful building and grounds and the Endowment Fund that helps us to tackle major repairs.  I think about the way we rally to support different causes and undertakings.  Yes, we struggle to fund our yearly operating budget, but this is hardly a place of scarcity.  I see abundance and blessing at every turn and it tells me we are abiding in Jesus.  As a community we are allowing ourselves to be drawn into deeper and deeper relationship with God.

There are other godly fruits in our midst that we will need in the coming months: courage and faith.  I hope you had a chance to read the e-news on Friday.  If you did then you know we are going to introduce some changes to our music this summer.  I am aware how the phrase “change the music” seems to trigger every person’s worst fear about what might happen: rock bands, swaying upraised arms, sappy praise songs, and (God forbid) projection screens.

In my experience, English hymnody, with its beautiful four-part harmonies and soaring organ accompaniment, is one of the most inspiring things I have ever encountered.  When done well, there is no more powerful and moving way to worship.  Here is the problem though: most Episcopal Churches do not have the resources needed to pull it off.  Our choirs, which typically consist of 6-10 volunteers led by a part-time professional, do their best to support our congregations in what feels like a sequence of hits and misses.  For every Amazing Grace we nail there seems to be a hymnal full of selections we stumble and mumble through.

What can we do?

One place to start is with the style of music.  To the best of my knowledge, there is no radio station playing 400-year-old tunes sung by a group accompanied by an organ.  Today’s radio plays a variety of styles that most often feature a lead singer supported by a group of backing vocalists.  Those who sing along in the car or shower may not know the verses, but certainly join in the chorus. 

What would it look like to incorporate this style of music into our Sunday morning worship? 

We have already dabbled in this approach.  For the past few Advent seasons, Al and the choir have led the congregation through a series of beautiful musical wreath-lighting liturgies.  We in the congregation picked up quickly on our parts and feedback has been very positive.  We want to see if we can tap into this kind of experience on a consistent basis. 

The Worship Committee, the Vestry, and I propose an experiment this summer at St. Paul’s.  From Pentecost Sunday (May 24th) through August, we want to explore our traditional hymnody in a new way.  This way will feature our Music Director – Al Reese – leading hymns using a keyboard and leading congregational singing using a microphone.   Choir members will function as backing vocalists.  Even on Sundays when attendance is down, one lead singer will be able to carry the music for us.  From time to time Al will add in some supporting instruments to give us an even richer musical sound.

We are not trying to convert St. Paul’s to “Praise Music”, although some new hymns will be tried.  We are trying to shift the style and presentation of our music to something that resonates with a contemporary preference.  Our hope is that our singing will have more energy and touch us at a deeper emotional and spiritual level. 

We ask for your participation, input, and feedback.  At the end of the summer we will engage the congregation in a thorough evaluation of the project.  I for one have no preconceived expectations for what might come of this other than we were willing to try something new.  I have encountered far too many Episcopal Churches that are in the twilight of their years not because they did not abide in Jesus.  They are wonderful people and faithful parishioners.  The common thread that links together these small, aging congregations is that not much has changed in their churches for several decades. 

I invite you to join me for Breakfast next Sunday at 9:00 in the morning.  At 9:30 we will have a forum about this proposal and engage in a question and answer session.  I pray you will have the courage to lay aside understandable fears to see where this might take us.  I pray you will have faith to believe that wherever it takes us, even if it is right back to where we started, Jesus will abide in us as he promises.

About that tree on Finney Ave.  I drove past it on Friday and noticed that its green leaves are out, but the broken branch is gone.  It looks like someone snapped it off completely, either a city worker or someone in the neighborhood.  All that is left of the relationship it once had to the trunk is a short, twisted nub.  Later today I will take my pruning shears and cut that off.  In time, new growth will sprout from the place where the branch once met the tree.

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.”

 

 

Thniking about Pastoral Care on Good Shepherd Sunday

Today, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, is known as “Good Shepherd Sunday.”  Our Collect of the Day began, “O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people...” and the Lectionary assigns readings from Scripture that hone in on this theme.  So what better way to start our celebration than with a couple of jokes! 

Q:   What do you get when you cross an angry sheep and a moody cow?

A:   A creature that is in a baaaad mooood.

Q:   What do you call a sheep with no legs?

A:   A cloud.

Q:   What happened to the sheep that went to church?

A:   It became a baaaaptist.

A few years ago, Charles Jaeckle and William Clebsch (two researchers) set out to write a book about the history of pastoral care.  They concluded that pastoral care, which at its heart is a shepherding ministry, has four basic functions: healing, sustaining, guiding, and reconciling.  The authors noted that while these four elements of pastoral care are always present throughout the history of the Church, at different times, when facing different needs, one form of care has been emphasized over the other three. 

For example, during the first two centuries of the Church’s existence, when it proclaimed the Gospel to a hostile culture and endured numerous forms of persecution, the sustaining focus of pastoral care was especially important.  Once Christianity became the sanctioned religion of the Roman Empire, reconciliation of lapsed souls seemed to be the greatest pastoral need.  During the medieval period the focus shifted to healing and it was around this time the priest’s appointment to a parish first began to be referred to as a “cure.” 

Throughout these periods the priest expressed pastoral care largely by administering sacramental rites.  The Eucharist sustained.  Holy Oil and prayers healed.  Confession and penance brought reconciliation.  As the medical profession developed and advanced it became the place people went for healing.  The priest’s pastoral work shifted from administering the sacraments to the preaching of the Word.  It moved toward guidance grounded in the moral and ethical authority of the Bible.  This was a huge change, but one thing remained constant; both practices of care were done in a communal setting.  The priest carried out his shepherding work largely in the context of public worship. 

For some time now western culture has emphasized the importance of the individual’s religious experience over and against what happens in a community.  This new focus on personal experience (where one’s thoughts and feelings about God and religion are more important than belonging to a community of faith) has had a profound affect on the nature of pastoral care.  The pastoral functions of sustaining, guiding, reconciling, and healing have shifted from being acts and signs done by the priest for and with the community to thoughts, words, and feelings conveyed by the priest to individuals.

In our time the pastoral work of the priest is not so much to connect us to the Good Shepherd through the sacraments and holy mysteries as it is to embody caring.  When the faithful look at their priest they want to know if he or she is a shepherd or a hireling.  They know that God cares about them, but what about the priest?  In Jesus Christ we have a Good Shepherd who heals us, sustains us, guides us, and forgives us.  But in our time the focus has shifted from the care that God extends to the whole Church to how the priest makes us feel.

Several years ago when I was serving at another parish, a woman happened to pull in the church’s parking lot just as I was walking to my car to head home.  She was interested in the church.  I talked with her, showed her around, and told her a little bit about the church’s life.  She told me that her health had not been good, that her parish priest had not shown interest in her, and that she was looking for a new parish.  The pastoral care I was able to extend to her that afternoon convinced her to attend to the church I was serving.

For several weeks the parish fit her fine.  Then we received a call from a relative.  The woman had been in the hospital for a few days.  Could I go by to visit?  I managed to squeeze a short visit into what at the time was a very hectic schedule.  She told me she would be going home in a few days.  We prayed.  I left and she did in fact go home.  Within a week another call came to the office.  The woman was back in the hospital.  I visited.  We talked.  She thought she would be going home in a few days.  I prayed and left.  It was Holy Week and after Easter I took a vacation.  By the time I got back I lost track of the woman. 

A few weeks later I received a letter from her.  She reminded me that she had spent a total of 22 days in the hospital and received just two short visits from me.  Because her illness was life threatening, and because she received so little care from me, she wrote to tell me she would no longer be attending our church.

Now, over the years I have received stacks of cards and letters from people who have been gracious enough to thank me for a visit and who wanted to express how much my care and concern meant to them.  I have even had my pastoral kindness mentioned in a book written by a parishioner whose husband suffered a traumatic brain injury.  But I also have a handful of letters like the one from this lady where a person did not receive the kind of care or the level of care he or she needed.

My observation about pastoral care at St. Paul’s is that it is a ministry you and I share together.  Our healing ministers who stand at the prayer station during communion are signs that God’s care comes to us not just through the priest, but also through one another.  Our Lay Eucharistic Ministers, serving both here at the Altar Rail, but also in taking communion to people at home or in the hospital also drive home this point.  God’s shepherd-like care of healing and sustaining in administered by all of us.

St. Paul’s is blessed to be able to offer several bible studies and gatherings that feature small group discussion.  My sense is that God’s shepherding guidance is present in these conversations.  Yes, people make appointments to talk with my in my office in order to think though a difficult situation, but the majority of these conversations happen in small groups or one-on-one encounters one parishioner seeking the input of others.

In pre-colonial times parish priests in Virginia were charged with settling arguments in the community.  One priest went to visit to two neighbors who were embattled in a nasty property dispute.  After much work, the priest went home and recorded in his journal that he was not able to affect much change.  There have been occasions here where one parishioner says or does something that upsets or offends another.  I have been impressed with the careful, loving way both parties have sought forgiveness and worked toward reconciliation.  It is another sign of God’s shepherding care in our midst. 

When I think back to that woman who was dissatisfied with the level of care she received from me I recognize that I can only do what I can do.  For some that is more than enough, while for others it will never be good enough.  In retrospect what I recognize now is how that parish, like this one, was a community that manifested God’s pastoral care to one another.  Perhaps she was too new to the church to experience it in its fullness.  Perhaps she was interested only in how the priest made her feel. 

The Good News on this Good Shepherd Sunday is that God loves us and cares for us.  Historically this care has been expressed as healing, sustaining, guiding, and reconciling.  It has come to God’s people both through the administration of the sacraments and the proclamation of the Word in settings both public and private.  God’s care has been incarnated through the diligent, faithful work of priests and lay people.  Today we celebrate the way we have brought God’s care to one another in our parish family.  My challenge is not somehow to rise above my limitations, but to encourage, equip, and mobilize each one of you so that you can do what God calls you to do… what in fact you want to do… to care for one another as Christ Jesus cares for you.