Trinity Sunday 2013
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Pentecost/CTrinity_RCL.html
Every morning that I drop my spouse off at her teaching job in the West Hills, I get back on the Hawthorne Bridge going east. At the top of the on-ramp, there is a “primo” corner for a panhandler that is always empty.
Up until last Fall it was always occupied. There sat Kirk Reeves, the “trumpet man”, clad in a white suit and Mickey Mouse hat. He played his trumpet and opened and closed a colorful collapsing plastic toy globe, or worked a hand puppet. Kirk inhabited that corner with whimsy and his own personal magic, and the day was only complete when you caught sight of him. Without words or a sign, Kirk called out with his simple, enchanting presence to all of us who were filled with our busy, distracted lives. No matter where your thoughts or attention were as you endured yet another commute, Kirk invited you ceaselessly into another reality, one of joy and surprise and pathos and sadness and compassion as well.
Tragically, Kirk ended his life last November. But for those of us who were touched by him, that eloquent empty corner still calls us and reminds us of joy and magic and of a human being whose life and struggle was lived in our midst.
“Does not wisdom call,
and does not understanding raise her voice?
On the heights, beside the way,
at the crossroads she takes her stand;
beside the gates in front of the town,
at the entrance of the portals she cries out:
"To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live.”
Like a gentle clown at the crossroads, the divine Lady Wisdom, she whom the Church identifies with the divine Son of the Trinity, also calls to the depths of our souls. Come near, listen, and live.
Today is Trinity Sunday, the most dreaded day of the preaching year. I cut my teeth on four consecutive Trinity Sundays during the four years of my curacy in St. Louis. Bob Skinner, the rector, would grin maliciously and growl, “You’re up, Neilson.” Bob had no wish, as he said, to “preach on a doctrine.” That very word “doctrine” sets off alarm bells for people, as if something dry and abstract said with the weight of some distant authority is about to be expounded. So today is analogy-day, and somewhere someone is probably trotting out the old Saint Patrick legend about the shamrock—three leaves, one plant—or other images taken from here or there.
All of these attempts do just what we do not want to waste time on—making God the Three into some intellectual puzzle that we trot out once a year. In the end, any “explanation” is so inadequate that it flirts with heresy. The deeper the mystery, the more we impoverish it with our explanations. The simple truth is that God the One in Three is a revealed mystery, a profound reality that we cannot ever get to the bottom of with our very limited minds. The one God is Three persons. At the depth of God is dynamic relationship. The stillness of God is found in the depth of endless love given and received, endless knowledge shared and returned.
We are in that reality, encompassed by it, blessed and created and re-created by it. The simple image that comes to me is that of a diver plunging with confidence into a pool from a high board. The best way to get the Trinity is not to think, but to plunge.
But whatever attempt we make to plunge, to enter the mystery as close to us as water is to a fish, cannot come close to the Trinity’s ceaseless attempt to plunge into us.
Holy Lady Wisdom calls out ceaselessly to us, as gentle and as vulnerable as Kirk Reeves on his on-ramp street corner. “Come, come with me, I who was present always at the heart of God.” The eternal Word of God is not just “with God” as the Gospel of John says, but is “toward God”, ceaselessly moving in love and desire to the heart of the Father. The power and passion of that movement is God the Spirit. This Spirit is given to us, poured out in us, given not as a measured dose but completely, in generosity and trust. A contemporary writer points out that one of the Greek roots of the word we translate as “God” is “to leap.”* God the Father longs for the Son, breathes forth the Spirit, the Son ever longs for the Father and moves deeper into the Father’s heart. And God longs for us, leaps powerfully over any obstacle that we imagine prevents us from seeing and experiencing God. God makes the leap, and yet does not overpower, does not coerce. God the Three, in whom we swim and soak, yet calls out to us in love and longing and sadness and humor and joy and delight all at once. Come, come be inflamed, come join my life. Come hear my voice, and take my hand, and plunge into my depths.
Come take the plunge today. If your feet feel heavy, let the Spirit bounce the diving board for you. Come hear the voice that calls out, with sadness and joy, unnoticed on the street corner as we pass by with our forgettable errands. Come plunge into the depths of life beyond life, delight beyond delight.
*Clement, Olivier The Roots Of Christian Mysticism (2nd edition). Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2013, p. 32.
archived musings and preachments
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Divine scattering
(Note: this text is a precis of two homilies, one given bi-lingually in an abbreviated form, on Pentecost Sunday 2013)
Pentecost 2013
(text: Genesis 11)
Here’s a quote: “Nun la tuta tero estis uno lingvo kaj uno parolmaneiro. Kaj dum ili migris el oriento, ili trovis valon en la lando SXinar kaj tie eklogis.”
Can you translate it? As Gandalf said in The Lord Of The Rings, “there are few who can.”
It is Esperanto. Esperanto was the creation of a very bright and well-intentioned scholar in the 19th Century. He wanted to create a world-wide, neutral second language for diplomacy, trade, and understanding.
It simply did not work. At least, not so far. At best, according to Wikipedia, 2,000,000 people speak Esperanto or have studied it to any degree. It’s more a hobby language and a special-usage tool.
Paul Ricouer, 20th Century Christian philosopher, said “We do not create language. Language creates us.” And, I would add, language re-creates us as we engage with one another, with our experience and with our classic texts, in search of meaning. We are our language; we are shaped by speech.
The Esperanto quote is the first two verses of our Genesis reading: “Now the whole earth had one language and the same words. And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there.” It is the famed “Tower of Babel” tale. For years I thought that this brief fragment was nothing more than a parable of why there are so many languages in the world. I now think it is much more. It is a vital and core tale of Pentecost itself—what is speech? and how is God’s freedom is embodied in speech?
In Genesis, people are “scattered” by God throughout the world. Scattering means variety, diversity, change according to journeys and challenges and the life one lives in common with others.
But the divine scattering stopped in that valley, with one language and one building project.
I cannot read this text and imagine a harmonious and co-operative effort to build some Middle Eastern ziggurat. Building projects in the ancient world were for the most part slave-projects, forced and brutal. One language is needed by masters and slaves, in order to tell the slaves who they are and what they are to do.
One language. Throughout history efforts to enforce one language is the prerogative of empire, of conquerors. After Alexander the Great’s conquests, the language was Greek. When the Romans held sway, Latin spread, as an “official” language in the West for law and scholarship and proclamation and religion. In colonial times it was French, and to this day French appears next to English in our passports. English functions as a universal second language today, a blunt tribute to American economic and military power and the all-pervasive impact of American popular culture, God help us. In time, perhaps it will be Mandarin.
Dominant cultures conduct “monologues”, one-sided speech in their own language that everyone is supposed to listen to and obey. The languages of non-dominant culture people are demeaned or ignored or actively suppressed. “Why can’t they just learn English?” “It’s better for them; it will equip them to function in ‘society.’”
Monolingual societies are almost always oppressive. So are monolingual churches. Years ago Jessie Jackson remarked that Sunday morning is “the most segregated hour in America.” He’s still right.
Monolingual societies are not a good idea according to Genesis 11. They result in labor for dubious ends that use up people. They involve one voice dominating the conversation.
It is the divine wisdom and the divine mischief that undoes the tower-building machine with one creative stroke. “Come, let us go down and confuse their language...” And with that, the pointless tower-project was abandoned, the overseers could no longer be understood by the workers (read “slaves”), and the divine scattering could continue.
Pentecost does not undo either the variety of languages or the divine scattering. Here we do not re-erect the Tower of Babel. Here we gather by divine gift. We bring the results of our divine scattering, the rich diversity of our lives and our experience. And we bring our languages, the delight and insight and savor of each tongue as rich as the smell of tamales con salsa verde or Aunt Imelda’s kielbasa and sauerkraut. Remember than on the day of Pentecost, in the Acts reading we did not hear, each person present heard God’s works proclaimed in their own language.
What speech shall shape us? A monologue? Or the scattered diversity?
Saints Peter and Paul is not Babel. The divine mischief and the divine mercy instead has brought us together in a Pentecost. We have two distinct languages represented among the membership (although many dialects), and two distinct cultural groups (although many cultures among each). There is really no such thing as “Latino culture”; there are Latino cultures plural. And there is really no such thing as “white culture”; there is great variety. It’s when things get homogenous and monolingual that there is trouble. The gift of Pentecost is to be gathered, not to attempt a monologue and unanimity, but in our very diversity. Here God is praised, in the very beautiful and mischievous diversity of languages and cultures. Here we share one bread, one cup, united not by monologue or imposition but by a free Lord who is praised by all, each in the language that they speak and understand.
Pentecost 2013
(text: Genesis 11)
Here’s a quote: “Nun la tuta tero estis uno lingvo kaj uno parolmaneiro. Kaj dum ili migris el oriento, ili trovis valon en la lando SXinar kaj tie eklogis.”
Can you translate it? As Gandalf said in The Lord Of The Rings, “there are few who can.”
It is Esperanto. Esperanto was the creation of a very bright and well-intentioned scholar in the 19th Century. He wanted to create a world-wide, neutral second language for diplomacy, trade, and understanding.
It simply did not work. At least, not so far. At best, according to Wikipedia, 2,000,000 people speak Esperanto or have studied it to any degree. It’s more a hobby language and a special-usage tool.
Paul Ricouer, 20th Century Christian philosopher, said “We do not create language. Language creates us.” And, I would add, language re-creates us as we engage with one another, with our experience and with our classic texts, in search of meaning. We are our language; we are shaped by speech.
The Esperanto quote is the first two verses of our Genesis reading: “Now the whole earth had one language and the same words. And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there.” It is the famed “Tower of Babel” tale. For years I thought that this brief fragment was nothing more than a parable of why there are so many languages in the world. I now think it is much more. It is a vital and core tale of Pentecost itself—what is speech? and how is God’s freedom is embodied in speech?
In Genesis, people are “scattered” by God throughout the world. Scattering means variety, diversity, change according to journeys and challenges and the life one lives in common with others.
But the divine scattering stopped in that valley, with one language and one building project.
I cannot read this text and imagine a harmonious and co-operative effort to build some Middle Eastern ziggurat. Building projects in the ancient world were for the most part slave-projects, forced and brutal. One language is needed by masters and slaves, in order to tell the slaves who they are and what they are to do.
One language. Throughout history efforts to enforce one language is the prerogative of empire, of conquerors. After Alexander the Great’s conquests, the language was Greek. When the Romans held sway, Latin spread, as an “official” language in the West for law and scholarship and proclamation and religion. In colonial times it was French, and to this day French appears next to English in our passports. English functions as a universal second language today, a blunt tribute to American economic and military power and the all-pervasive impact of American popular culture, God help us. In time, perhaps it will be Mandarin.
Dominant cultures conduct “monologues”, one-sided speech in their own language that everyone is supposed to listen to and obey. The languages of non-dominant culture people are demeaned or ignored or actively suppressed. “Why can’t they just learn English?” “It’s better for them; it will equip them to function in ‘society.’”
Monolingual societies are almost always oppressive. So are monolingual churches. Years ago Jessie Jackson remarked that Sunday morning is “the most segregated hour in America.” He’s still right.
Monolingual societies are not a good idea according to Genesis 11. They result in labor for dubious ends that use up people. They involve one voice dominating the conversation.
It is the divine wisdom and the divine mischief that undoes the tower-building machine with one creative stroke. “Come, let us go down and confuse their language...” And with that, the pointless tower-project was abandoned, the overseers could no longer be understood by the workers (read “slaves”), and the divine scattering could continue.
Pentecost does not undo either the variety of languages or the divine scattering. Here we do not re-erect the Tower of Babel. Here we gather by divine gift. We bring the results of our divine scattering, the rich diversity of our lives and our experience. And we bring our languages, the delight and insight and savor of each tongue as rich as the smell of tamales con salsa verde or Aunt Imelda’s kielbasa and sauerkraut. Remember than on the day of Pentecost, in the Acts reading we did not hear, each person present heard God’s works proclaimed in their own language.
What speech shall shape us? A monologue? Or the scattered diversity?
Saints Peter and Paul is not Babel. The divine mischief and the divine mercy instead has brought us together in a Pentecost. We have two distinct languages represented among the membership (although many dialects), and two distinct cultural groups (although many cultures among each). There is really no such thing as “Latino culture”; there are Latino cultures plural. And there is really no such thing as “white culture”; there is great variety. It’s when things get homogenous and monolingual that there is trouble. The gift of Pentecost is to be gathered, not to attempt a monologue and unanimity, but in our very diversity. Here God is praised, in the very beautiful and mischievous diversity of languages and cultures. Here we share one bread, one cup, united not by monologue or imposition but by a free Lord who is praised by all, each in the language that they speak and understand.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Why we are
We are people gathered together by our common hunger to know, to serve, and to delight in Christ.
We experience the God revealed in Jesus Christ as mystery, fascination, challenge, and joy. Spiritual hunger has been awakened in us in many ways, understood differently by each of us. At Saints Peter and Paul we have been welcomed by other searchers and welcomed by the God who kindles our hunger. Here questions are honored, searching is supported, a desire to serve is affirmed, and opportunities to serve are given. In our diversity of backgrounds, cultures, viewpoints, and even languages, we glimpse the rich diversity and endless fascination of God.
Together we find support, common warmth when alone we would cool to ashes, healing when we are wounded, challenge when we are complacent, invitation to grow when we are stagnant.
When we gather, our time together is shaped by the wisdom and richness of classical Christian worship rooted in the customs and viewpoint of the ancient Church. We hold these treasures in common with other congregations worshipping according to the usages of The Episcopal Church.
Each gathering is in itself a miracle, since in our culture little support is given to committed Christian life lived in common.
We begin our weekly time in a stance of listening. We believe God may speak through the words of the Bible read aloud, through the words spoken by a preacher, and by the silence in which God's "still, small voice" may move any of us, alone or together.
We end this time by a response of faith, couched in ancient words, and by prayers for the world and for ourselves. For we believe God calls in this way, among others, to participate in the healing of the world.
Shaped by God's speech, as a body we give thanks in a common action we call "Eucharist." We believe Christ joins us to himself in a great act of thanksgiving to God. In this we share in the unconditional love God has for creation and for us expressed perfectly for God's love for the beloved, Christ Jesus. We share in his life through blessed bread and wine. We call this experience a "sacrament", tangible things like bread and wine and one another's presence making real the unutterable love of God.
From this we are sent out to be "God's hands and heart in the world." It matter that we gather, for us and for those whom we are sent to know and to serve.
You are welcome to explore your own questions and longings with us. You may find, with time, that you wish to stay longer.
We are people gathered together by our common hunger to know, to serve, and to delight in Christ.
We experience the God revealed in Jesus Christ as mystery, fascination, challenge, and joy. Spiritual hunger has been awakened in us in many ways, understood differently by each of us. At Saints Peter and Paul we have been welcomed by other searchers and welcomed by the God who kindles our hunger. Here questions are honored, searching is supported, a desire to serve is affirmed, and opportunities to serve are given. In our diversity of backgrounds, cultures, viewpoints, and even languages, we glimpse the rich diversity and endless fascination of God.
Together we find support, common warmth when alone we would cool to ashes, healing when we are wounded, challenge when we are complacent, invitation to grow when we are stagnant.
When we gather, our time together is shaped by the wisdom and richness of classical Christian worship rooted in the customs and viewpoint of the ancient Church. We hold these treasures in common with other congregations worshipping according to the usages of The Episcopal Church.
Each gathering is in itself a miracle, since in our culture little support is given to committed Christian life lived in common.
We begin our weekly time in a stance of listening. We believe God may speak through the words of the Bible read aloud, through the words spoken by a preacher, and by the silence in which God's "still, small voice" may move any of us, alone or together.
We end this time by a response of faith, couched in ancient words, and by prayers for the world and for ourselves. For we believe God calls in this way, among others, to participate in the healing of the world.
Shaped by God's speech, as a body we give thanks in a common action we call "Eucharist." We believe Christ joins us to himself in a great act of thanksgiving to God. In this we share in the unconditional love God has for creation and for us expressed perfectly for God's love for the beloved, Christ Jesus. We share in his life through blessed bread and wine. We call this experience a "sacrament", tangible things like bread and wine and one another's presence making real the unutterable love of God.
From this we are sent out to be "God's hands and heart in the world." It matter that we gather, for us and for those whom we are sent to know and to serve.
You are welcome to explore your own questions and longings with us. You may find, with time, that you wish to stay longer.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Learning freedom
7 Easter C 2013
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Easter/CEaster7_RCL.html
What does it take to be free?
Our Acts reading is a story of liberation. The anonymous slave-girl who follows Paul and his companions around suffers from several slaveries at once. Legally she was someone’s slave. She was also enslaved by the magical practices of that time. Ancient Middle Eastern magic worked like this: you knew that on your own you were powerless. So through offering yourself, or through secret magical rites and incantations, you asked or persuaded or forced a spirit or angel or demon or even a god to do what you wanted. I think our slave girl had been offered to a spirit, literally in Greek a “python”, in order for her owners to make money. Think of this as spiritual prostitution. Her slavery was legal, financial, and spiritual.
But the Way of Jesus is a way of freedom. In an instant she was cast loose of spiritual and financial slavery at least.
I wonder what life was like for that slave afterwards? It is hard to be free. It is scary. You don’t know the rules, or you have trouble dealing with the fact that there are no rules that tell you who you are and what you can expect. The three young women in Cleveland, released from 10 years of hideous captivity and abuse, are in seclusion right now. Moving from slavery to freedom can be painful and jarring.
As Christians, we move from slavery to freedom all the time. At least, we should, if we are truly people of the Holy Spirit. “But where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” says Saint Paul. A young student for the priesthood who just finished his Greek studies excitedly shared with me how learning to read a little New Testament Greek really opened his eyes. “In Bible Greek, there really is no linear past or future as we understand it” he said. “There are cases that indicate action that is completed, or action that is ongoing. Everything is part of a dynamic, unfolding kind of Now where more is constantly coming to light.”
Well, we’re not all Greek students, but we are Christians of the New Testament, and it is good to think about what the young student said. We are in that part of Eastertide season where we remember that Christ ascended into glory. That is why the Paschal candle is gone, and the awareness of empty space in the chancel is a reminder of that physical absence of Jesus. There is empty space that is not simply loss but is creative emptiness and anticipation. We are in the nine-day period of prayer before the feast of Pentecost. These days are not simply memorials, pious habits that we observe dutifully year after year. The coming of the Spirit of Jesus is a dynamic, ongoing reality. Pentecost is still unfolding in our lives, in our congregation, in the wider church, and in the world. We are literally “in Pentecost.” "Pentecost" is a better verb than it is a noun: we are "Pentecosting." So what do we do?
We honor the creative empty space in our lives. As we live, we accumulate a lot of clutter. We begin to think and act as if we cannot exist without all the things, or the ideas, or the habits that make up who we think we are. Consider the accumulation of our own lives: what has built up, in terms of things or actions or attitudes that we simply cannot release? The same applies to our congregation: we are clearing out our physical space, amidst some wincing on the part of members who have memories attached to this or that, as a sign of clearing out our minds and souls. Freedom is hard. The slave-girl had to adjust to a new life. Can we adjust to a lighter, more agile Saints Peter and Paul, where our conversations center on the Now of God and Christ and the Gospel and the dynamic future opening before us? Can we leave aside any thoughts of defeat or frustration or disappointment, or any rose-tinted nostalgia of a past that in our memory seems so wondrous?
What does it take to be free?
The Collect asks that we not be left “comfortless”. That word has become fuzzy in modern English. “Comfort” means “with strength.” With strength may Spirit come, and make us the free daughters and sons of God.
It matters—not just us, but for the world. For all creation waits with eager longing for the freedom of the children of God.
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Easter/CEaster7_RCL.html
What does it take to be free?
Our Acts reading is a story of liberation. The anonymous slave-girl who follows Paul and his companions around suffers from several slaveries at once. Legally she was someone’s slave. She was also enslaved by the magical practices of that time. Ancient Middle Eastern magic worked like this: you knew that on your own you were powerless. So through offering yourself, or through secret magical rites and incantations, you asked or persuaded or forced a spirit or angel or demon or even a god to do what you wanted. I think our slave girl had been offered to a spirit, literally in Greek a “python”, in order for her owners to make money. Think of this as spiritual prostitution. Her slavery was legal, financial, and spiritual.
But the Way of Jesus is a way of freedom. In an instant she was cast loose of spiritual and financial slavery at least.
I wonder what life was like for that slave afterwards? It is hard to be free. It is scary. You don’t know the rules, or you have trouble dealing with the fact that there are no rules that tell you who you are and what you can expect. The three young women in Cleveland, released from 10 years of hideous captivity and abuse, are in seclusion right now. Moving from slavery to freedom can be painful and jarring.
As Christians, we move from slavery to freedom all the time. At least, we should, if we are truly people of the Holy Spirit. “But where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” says Saint Paul. A young student for the priesthood who just finished his Greek studies excitedly shared with me how learning to read a little New Testament Greek really opened his eyes. “In Bible Greek, there really is no linear past or future as we understand it” he said. “There are cases that indicate action that is completed, or action that is ongoing. Everything is part of a dynamic, unfolding kind of Now where more is constantly coming to light.”
Well, we’re not all Greek students, but we are Christians of the New Testament, and it is good to think about what the young student said. We are in that part of Eastertide season where we remember that Christ ascended into glory. That is why the Paschal candle is gone, and the awareness of empty space in the chancel is a reminder of that physical absence of Jesus. There is empty space that is not simply loss but is creative emptiness and anticipation. We are in the nine-day period of prayer before the feast of Pentecost. These days are not simply memorials, pious habits that we observe dutifully year after year. The coming of the Spirit of Jesus is a dynamic, ongoing reality. Pentecost is still unfolding in our lives, in our congregation, in the wider church, and in the world. We are literally “in Pentecost.” "Pentecost" is a better verb than it is a noun: we are "Pentecosting." So what do we do?
We honor the creative empty space in our lives. As we live, we accumulate a lot of clutter. We begin to think and act as if we cannot exist without all the things, or the ideas, or the habits that make up who we think we are. Consider the accumulation of our own lives: what has built up, in terms of things or actions or attitudes that we simply cannot release? The same applies to our congregation: we are clearing out our physical space, amidst some wincing on the part of members who have memories attached to this or that, as a sign of clearing out our minds and souls. Freedom is hard. The slave-girl had to adjust to a new life. Can we adjust to a lighter, more agile Saints Peter and Paul, where our conversations center on the Now of God and Christ and the Gospel and the dynamic future opening before us? Can we leave aside any thoughts of defeat or frustration or disappointment, or any rose-tinted nostalgia of a past that in our memory seems so wondrous?
What does it take to be free?
The Collect asks that we not be left “comfortless”. That word has become fuzzy in modern English. “Comfort” means “with strength.” With strength may Spirit come, and make us the free daughters and sons of God.
It matters—not just us, but for the world. For all creation waits with eager longing for the freedom of the children of God.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
When we gather...
Here is a draft intended as a response to some questions and conversations arising from our Lenten conversations and beyond. My concern has been to place into simple yet not dumbed-down words things that a newcomer might ask, or want to know in order to feel more a part of our worship life...
Above all, know that you are welcome as you are. Please feel at ease. Our worship is shaped by long tradition and an ancient wisdom, and so might look and feel different that other settings you may have experienced. Ancient Christian sources describe spiritual practice as "exercise"--think of our gathering as a new exercise routine that will take time to learn! Like other forms of exercise, the benefits will show in time.
We believe that when we gather, God is present, and our gathering itself is sacred, an experience of God's presence on earth.
Our worship space is designed to speak this truth. Notice what you see-images, architecture, sounds and even the smell of incense and candle-wax. All these are simply meant to call to mind the sacred nature of our gathering and of the conversation with God taking place.
Both music and silence may convey the mystery of God. We honor both.
Some of those serving in worship wear special clothes determined by tradition. This is meant to convey the fact that what we all do together is "holy", meaning set aside for a special purpose. Colors used change according to the season of the year, seasons that reflect on various aspects of the mystery of Jesus Christ.
You will notice that the members present change their body postures at various times. We pray with our bodies as well as with our understanding, our voices, and our emotions. Generally, we SIT to listen when we believe God may speak, we STAND when we express respectful attention or during some forms of prayer. Some choose to KNEEL for certain prayers. When crossing in front of the altar, it is our custom to BOW or to GENUFLECT ("bend the knee") in an ancient gesture of respect. We make the SIGN OF THE CROSS at various moments (when blessing is pronounced, when the Trinity is mentioned, and other times), touching the forehead, heart, left shoulder, then right. When the Gospel is about to be read we make small crosses on our foreheads, lips, and heart.
Our worship is a drama in three acts:
a) Listening to God-- we believe that the living Word of God may speak to us through the hearing of the written words of the Bible and of the preacher's sermon.
b) Responding to the God who speaks--by professing our faith, by prayer for the world and church and ourselves as one body, culminating in the Peace
c) Communing with God--giving the great "Thanks" and receiving Communion, the tangible sign and symbol of Christ knitting himself to us in the blessed bread and wine. From here we are sent out to be Christ's hands and heart in the world, serving in his name.
Please know that we welcome all questions, we engage all reflections, and we hope your time with us will be food for your ongoing journey.
Above all, know that you are welcome as you are. Please feel at ease. Our worship is shaped by long tradition and an ancient wisdom, and so might look and feel different that other settings you may have experienced. Ancient Christian sources describe spiritual practice as "exercise"--think of our gathering as a new exercise routine that will take time to learn! Like other forms of exercise, the benefits will show in time.
We believe that when we gather, God is present, and our gathering itself is sacred, an experience of God's presence on earth.
Our worship space is designed to speak this truth. Notice what you see-images, architecture, sounds and even the smell of incense and candle-wax. All these are simply meant to call to mind the sacred nature of our gathering and of the conversation with God taking place.
Both music and silence may convey the mystery of God. We honor both.
Some of those serving in worship wear special clothes determined by tradition. This is meant to convey the fact that what we all do together is "holy", meaning set aside for a special purpose. Colors used change according to the season of the year, seasons that reflect on various aspects of the mystery of Jesus Christ.
You will notice that the members present change their body postures at various times. We pray with our bodies as well as with our understanding, our voices, and our emotions. Generally, we SIT to listen when we believe God may speak, we STAND when we express respectful attention or during some forms of prayer. Some choose to KNEEL for certain prayers. When crossing in front of the altar, it is our custom to BOW or to GENUFLECT ("bend the knee") in an ancient gesture of respect. We make the SIGN OF THE CROSS at various moments (when blessing is pronounced, when the Trinity is mentioned, and other times), touching the forehead, heart, left shoulder, then right. When the Gospel is about to be read we make small crosses on our foreheads, lips, and heart.
Our worship is a drama in three acts:
a) Listening to God-- we believe that the living Word of God may speak to us through the hearing of the written words of the Bible and of the preacher's sermon.
b) Responding to the God who speaks--by professing our faith, by prayer for the world and church and ourselves as one body, culminating in the Peace
c) Communing with God--giving the great "Thanks" and receiving Communion, the tangible sign and symbol of Christ knitting himself to us in the blessed bread and wine. From here we are sent out to be Christ's hands and heart in the world, serving in his name.
Please know that we welcome all questions, we engage all reflections, and we hope your time with us will be food for your ongoing journey.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
At the House of Shame
6 Easter C 2013
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Easter/CEaster6_RCL.html
In the Old Testament, God cares for those on the margins.
The old Law commanded us to care for the widow, the orphan, the stranger and the foreigner, for those on the margins. Workers in the fields were commanded to not completely strip their fields at the harvest, to leave the margins of their fields untouched so those who were “on the margins”—the poor, the strangers—could come and gather grain.
In the Gospel, Jesus does more than care for those on the margins. He goes to the margins, and makes the margins the new center.
The pool at Beth-Zatha was a place for people on the margins. The name Beth-zatha can mean either “house of mercy” or “house of shame.” Both applied—think of a soup kitchen or a shelter: it is a merciful idea and it is needed by desperate people, but you may not want one on your street and you probably don’t want to be seen eating there. The pool was even a sketchy place religiously—some scholars think it was dedicated not to the God of Israel, but to Asclepius, the Greek god of healing.
On the holy Sabbath, Jesus goes to the sketchy House of Shame.
He picks some guy, some chronically ill guy, a regular. He asks him a powerful question: “Do you want to be made well?” Two miracles happen. One is Jesus’ command: “Stand up, take your mat, and walk.” The other is that the man obeyed, choosing to believe that there really could be a different life besides lying on a mat at the House of Shame.
He stands, he walks. And it was a Sabbath.
A lot of sacred rules were broken that day. If Jesus wanted to be thought well of, he should not even have been seen at the ol’ House of Shame. It was sketchy and half-pagan. Why be there if you are trying to make a positive impression on the influential and the pious? And the Sabbath? The abandoned are still the abandoned on the other six days of the week. Why not plan these things at a decent place and on an acceptable day so you are not breaking some of the most fundamental laws of the tradition? Why?
Because Jesus goes to the margins. Jesus makes the margins the new center. The margins are where the Gospel happens.
If we wish to follow Jesus, then we too will go in heart and mind and body to the margins. We here at SPP have been on a journey these several years learning how to reach out to those on the margins, to welcome them here, to remember that it is on the margins that the Gospel happens. Today, most people who come to us, even those who appear prosperous and independent, feel that they are in some way “on the margins.”
When we follow Jesus to the margins, we recognize that we too are marginal people, that we are as much “on the edge”, broken and in need as are they. Christian faith arises when we acknowledge a deep need. Ancient tradition spoke of the poor as blessed because they cannot escape the evidence of their utter dependence on God. We on the other hand are tempted to act and feel as if we are self-sufficient and not in need. On the margins we realize what Jesus meant when he said “Blessed are you poor…”
It is a gift to walk with Jesus on the margins. The risen Jesus, the source of all life, reveals that the margins are actually the center. Those broken and lying at the House of Shame are revealed as blessed. What happened that day at the House of Shame was holier than all the Psalms and all the incense and all the prayers offered across town at the Temple. Today, we stand with Jesus at that strange pool named the House of Mercy and the House of Shame. We blink in the sunlight, surprised and humbled and shaken to our souls as he turns his gaze to us in turn and asks, “Do you want to be made well?”
http://www.lectionarypage.net/YearC_RCL/Easter/CEaster6_RCL.html
In the Old Testament, God cares for those on the margins.
The old Law commanded us to care for the widow, the orphan, the stranger and the foreigner, for those on the margins. Workers in the fields were commanded to not completely strip their fields at the harvest, to leave the margins of their fields untouched so those who were “on the margins”—the poor, the strangers—could come and gather grain.
In the Gospel, Jesus does more than care for those on the margins. He goes to the margins, and makes the margins the new center.
The pool at Beth-Zatha was a place for people on the margins. The name Beth-zatha can mean either “house of mercy” or “house of shame.” Both applied—think of a soup kitchen or a shelter: it is a merciful idea and it is needed by desperate people, but you may not want one on your street and you probably don’t want to be seen eating there. The pool was even a sketchy place religiously—some scholars think it was dedicated not to the God of Israel, but to Asclepius, the Greek god of healing.
On the holy Sabbath, Jesus goes to the sketchy House of Shame.
He picks some guy, some chronically ill guy, a regular. He asks him a powerful question: “Do you want to be made well?” Two miracles happen. One is Jesus’ command: “Stand up, take your mat, and walk.” The other is that the man obeyed, choosing to believe that there really could be a different life besides lying on a mat at the House of Shame.
He stands, he walks. And it was a Sabbath.
A lot of sacred rules were broken that day. If Jesus wanted to be thought well of, he should not even have been seen at the ol’ House of Shame. It was sketchy and half-pagan. Why be there if you are trying to make a positive impression on the influential and the pious? And the Sabbath? The abandoned are still the abandoned on the other six days of the week. Why not plan these things at a decent place and on an acceptable day so you are not breaking some of the most fundamental laws of the tradition? Why?
Because Jesus goes to the margins. Jesus makes the margins the new center. The margins are where the Gospel happens.
If we wish to follow Jesus, then we too will go in heart and mind and body to the margins. We here at SPP have been on a journey these several years learning how to reach out to those on the margins, to welcome them here, to remember that it is on the margins that the Gospel happens. Today, most people who come to us, even those who appear prosperous and independent, feel that they are in some way “on the margins.”
When we follow Jesus to the margins, we recognize that we too are marginal people, that we are as much “on the edge”, broken and in need as are they. Christian faith arises when we acknowledge a deep need. Ancient tradition spoke of the poor as blessed because they cannot escape the evidence of their utter dependence on God. We on the other hand are tempted to act and feel as if we are self-sufficient and not in need. On the margins we realize what Jesus meant when he said “Blessed are you poor…”
It is a gift to walk with Jesus on the margins. The risen Jesus, the source of all life, reveals that the margins are actually the center. Those broken and lying at the House of Shame are revealed as blessed. What happened that day at the House of Shame was holier than all the Psalms and all the incense and all the prayers offered across town at the Temple. Today, we stand with Jesus at that strange pool named the House of Mercy and the House of Shame. We blink in the sunlight, surprised and humbled and shaken to our souls as he turns his gaze to us in turn and asks, “Do you want to be made well?”
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