Of Three and|in One

A short homily/reflection on the Trinity

(As a mentor once told me, it is difficult to talk of the trinity for more than five minutes without committing a heresy. Let us see how I do.)

Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Mother, Child, and Holy Breath.

Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer.

Which of those acclamations resonate to you? Why does it speak to you?

The language we use about God matters. Of that proposition there is very little valid argument. The arguments are instead about the language. I’ve opened with three different ways to emphasize the nature of the three separate aspects, or persons, of the unified deity we serve. I’m personally comfortable with them all; the words are all attested to in the Bible—in other metaphorical language—to describe the three and the One. And there are more!

Make no mistake, the concept of the triune God is a proposition. And a doctrine. It was developed in council to explain how the Christian community could make sense of the fact that they believed in one God, the God attested to in Hebrew scripture and in the teaching of Jesus. But they had experienced God’s son in the world and the Son’s death, resurrection, and ascension. …And the moment of Pentecost(!), which we celebrated last week: the moment in time in which the power of God infuses the community… a power that Jesus promised to us…a power that is continually working in the world as our advocate and source of strength and inspiration.

I came from a denomination that seemed, at least to me, to downplay the Trinity, even though it was our orthodoxy. Baptisms were the only time I heard the “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” referred to at one time. Everything else was in (only) the name of Jesus. Of course God the Father was important and ever-present, but I personally found this unfair to the Spirit, who seemed to rarely make an appearance in our speech or prayer.

It was through my later experiences in the Episcopal Church that I found a wonderful effect of the Trinity. There is One God…with multiple access points.

I am always interested in listening to people talk about their experience of God. Typically, one person of the Trinity is emphasized over the others.

I’ve met people who resonate with God because the parent-child relationship is very important to them…their own relationships to their parents were wonderful or terrible. There are those who seek the strength of the all/mighty God, the strong warrior God, the God of sure justice…or the tender care of the God who protects us and covers us like a mother hen, under her wings (particularly Matthew 23:37, Luke 13:34, but also the image of protective wings in Psalms 17, 36, 57, 61, 63, 91 (sometimes male, female, or ambiguous)). It is also a way of showing one's devotion to the personally-known parent as Jesus did.

Many, maybe a majority, identify strongly with Jesus…his saving presence, sacrificial love, servanthood, the work of the Cross, and appeals to teaching. …The Sinner’s prayer in which some specifically ask Jesus to “come into their heart” very much endears people to God the Son.

And then there are those who primarily identify with the Spirit. This is the camp I came from. The language of the Nicene Creed… in which “the Spirit proceeds from the Father and Son” to affect on Earth and in our hearts. My own confirmation in the Episcopal Church... sacramentally understood that when the bishop confirms someone, the Holy Spirit descends upon the confirmand and spiritual gifts are bestowed. ...The giver of Wisdom, or Sophia (the feminine mind of God?), whom we heard about in the text today.

And yet, God is also One. How do you hold all three as one in your mind? Perhaps holding all as one is the easy part...how do you hold the three persons separate long enough to make any claims about them while maintaining the integrity of the One?

I’d like to offer my own imperfect metaphor. I liken God to an improvisational jazz trio: imagine God the father on drums, laying the foundation for the tune, Jesus on trumpet, the Spirit on bass. Three working as one, and yet working in their own ways…but also beckoning us to join them in the music, for we are participants in God's projects. The trick is to listen for the cues so we can play along to God’s rhythm…

God’s harmony…

God’s music…

God’s purpose.

I asked you earlier which acclamation you respond to most favorably and why. I also invite you to spend the day thinking about how God presented God’s self to you… the triune God who invited you into relationship, and who continues to speak to you. Do you identify with one of the persons? Can you keep them in unity? Which of the aspects (or persons) of God do you feel in your life? How may you thank God for that gift?

Amen.

Sermon, 5/9/2010

Sermon
5/9/2010
Easter 6, Year C
John 5:1-9

“Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me."
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I’ve spent about a year and a half now in discernment, a year of which has now been officially “in the system.” While going through the process, I came to the question of what I have to offer the church and others. It occurred to me that it is better to be excellent at a few things than mediocre at many things, so I needed to get a sense of what my spiritual gifts are. There was a helpful book that gave me some exercises to do in order to figure out what I’ve already developed. I was asked to contemplate who my heroes are and what experiences in my life were particularly meaningful. I was floored by the last exercise: “What are your wounds?”

I remember thinking, “Wounds? What wounds?” I’ve been privileged to live a blessed life so far. Plenty of opportunity…loving family…a wonderful and patient wife… Surely if I have wounds, they must be mere nicks and scratches on my body, mind, and soul. For I’ve met many who have the equivalents of gashes, gaping holes, and amputations. Yet even nicks and cuts can hold power, for the experiences I call wounds were formative. They directed my academic studies and led me to the Episcopal Church.

The exercise was asking me to consider the implications of being a wounded healer, which stems from the idea that our own wounds and life experiences offer ways of understanding the ordeals of others. This image of the wounded healer is well described in a play by Thornton Wilder
There was a physician who was particularly gifted at healing and alleviating the suffering of others. He, however, suffered from a melancholy that seemed incurable. And so, he is a frequent visitor to the pool. One day, he sits down to wait with a few other people and an angel eventually appears and troubles the water.

The physician gets up and starts moving toward the pool, but the angel stops him, “This healing is not meant for you.”

The physician replies,” "Surely, surely, the angels are wise. Surely, you are not deceived by my apparent wholeness. Your eyes can see the nets in which my wings are caught; the sin into which all my endeavors sink half-performed cannot be concealed from you."

To which the angel replies “Without your wound where would your power be? It is your very remorse that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In Love’s service only the wounded soldiers can serve.”
“In the service of love, only wounded soldiers (or rather healers) may serve.”

Notice what was not said here. God does not will our wounds, nor our suffering. But by living in a broken world, we do not live scot-free… free of pain and suffering. This we know. The reading today from Revelation, in which the reign of God is described, is to be a kingdom in which the healing of the nations is offered.

The word ‘nations’ is telling. It is the same word that is given in Matthew 25, in which we are given the image of the Son of Man gathering all people to him so that he may ask us: Did you feed the hungry?…give drink to the thirsty?…clothe the naked?…visit the sick and the prisoner? The words ‘nations’ is collective, and yet it maintains a focus on an individual’s responsibility to “the least of these.”

What would it mean to work to bring about the Kingdom of God? How can we apply the Gospel today to what we know about our existence on this side of eternity.

First, notice that Jesus is in town for a festival. Presumably he would be heading to the temple… we know he ends up there later, but he goes to the pool first. He is going to a celebration, but he first seeks out the broken and the marginalized.

Second, Jesus seems to have sought out the neediest person, for the man in the story had been there for 38 years….the person for whom even this seemingly miraculous system of healing had failed.

Third, Jesus healed the man, but notice what is missing from this story. Jesus starts the conversation.

“Do you want to be made well?”

The man answered, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me."

The man had no idea who Jesus was, and when asked if he wanted to be healed, he talks about the pool. He has no interest in what this stranger before him may have to offer. We have Jesus, then, healing a man… with no preconditions… who did not ask for healing from Jesus…and who did not even know who Jesus was.

Perhaps this is the way we are to interact with the world as the Body of Christ, as the Church. To offer the peace of God and to attempt to heal the ills of our world, society, and neighbors…and to offer it freely!

Perhaps our own wounds and life experiences can inform how we are kind to others… How we understand their wounds… How we arrive at the ability to have compassion and love for the “blundering children on earth.”

The compassion that I am talking about does not come naturally. When one holds their broken body, mind, soul...their story...out to us, they clutch it at the same time...ready to draw it back in to themselves. They wait to see if we will minimize their suffering for the sake of our own comfort. We do this when we say things like, "Well that doesn't sound so bad," or "that was years ago, why are you still talking about it."

We pray for this kind of compassion every Sunday. Think of the blessing that Gil dismisses us with,

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers,
half-truths, superficial relationships,
so that you will live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice,
oppression, and exploitation of people,
so that you will work for justice, equity, and peace.

May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain,
rejection, starvation, and war,
so that you will reach out your hand to comfort them and change their pain to joy.

And may God bless you with the foolishness to think that you can make a difference in the world,
so that you will do things which others tell you cannot be done.

The blessing goes beyond asking for good things for other people! We ask God to grant us discomfort, anger, tears, foolishness. All the better to understand those whom we have a duty to comfort.

Maybe when we have that understanding, healing can commence.

Maybe when we seek to heal others, resurrection can occur...and the Kingdom of God may be glimpsed.'

Amen.
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Update 5/10/10:

I added a paragraph that was not in the draft but in the spoken sermon.

My visit to Yale

I’ve just spent two days at Yale Divinity School; I am exhausted and elated. The first day was spent in a more informal setting, going to classes, taking a tour of New Haven and the larger and campus, and participating in the life of the community. The second day was the official Admitted Students’ Day, full of the nuts and bolts of being a student at Yale… financial aid and such. Instead of going strictly chronologically through my visit, I will proceed more thematically.

Pictures from the visit.

Academics

We started the day in the common room at YDS. After getting a much-needed cup of coffee and a muffin, I was immediately drawn to a large oil painting hanging on the wall. The subject of the portrait was Margaret Farley, an ethicist who just recently retired from the YDS faculty and focused on justice in relationships. I chuckled a little when I saw the portrait…I had Prof. Farley’s latest book in my bag. I have been using her work for one of my MA portfolio papers.

We were given options of classes to attend during both morning session and afternoon session. I chose New Testament and a Class devoted to the work of Walter Brueggemann. In the New Testament class, one piece of advice that was given to us new students by a current student was that everything we knew about the Bible would be challenged in class. Yet, during the course of the class, I realized that much of the material presented I had already known, such as the issue of authorship of some of the letters attributed to Paul and the nature (and complement) of disciples writing in the name of teacher, which was a common practice in antiquity. All of the reading I had done under the tutelage of my rectors, grandparents-in-law, on my own, and through the religious studies program seems to have taken away the shock of modern Biblical studies. This is not to say that I have nothing more to learn, however, I certainly do... but I feel I’m prepared to be inspired by the insightful nature of the classes, not surprised by the nature of the field. The class was certainly insightful as we looked at the epistles to the Colossians and Ephesians.

Similarly, during the Walter Brueggemann course, it became clear that critiques of authors and pulling out the assumptions of their work is something I’ve been doing for a long time now. I can’t wait to learn the methods that come with the study of theology. In religious studies, one does not begin with the presupposition of God, which theology seems to do. One of the students in that class was interested primarily in the study of theodicy, and I expressed my interest in the field as well. I gave her the syllabus to the class on the Holocaust I am taking, which deals with Jewish (and Christian) theodicy in light of such evil. Later, she ran into me in the library and showed me that she had found and purchased one of the books from the syllabus, which she found in the YDS bookstore. By the way, the divinity school has its own dedicated bookstore.

Marquand Chapel

Ecumenical worship is held in Marquand chapel everyday at 10:30 am. The services seem to be consistently amazing and pull from many traditions. The worship also frequently borders on the experimental. Wednesday was sung Morning Prayer. The music was very much like was Chad has been doing: instrument ensembles and actively teaching parts on the fly­­--- trying to incorporate paperless, intuitive music. It requires paying attention to the choirmaster, who does a wonderful job of conveying instructions in the course of the song and is a deep reservoir of energy; the students from the Institute of Sacred Music modeled for us how to proceed. The instruments were cello, piano, djembe, and clarinet in an acoustically impressive room...and the music was pulled from many places…Argentina and Portugal, Africa, African-American spiritual, the “mainline” seasonal standards…

There was one hymn that I could not sing, however, because the words evoked the fact that to attend Yale I would be leaving the geographical proximity of St. Brigid’s Community and St. Augustine's Parish. The hymn is “The Parting Hand” and it so expressed the sentiments I feel that I choked up whenever I tried to join the singing.

If you have never heard the song before, I found a video of a choir performing it. It may be helpful to get a sense of the hymn, which strikes me as Appalachian:

My Christian friends in bonds of love,
Whose hearts in sweetest union join,
You friendship's like a drawing band,
Yet we must take the parting hand.
Your comp'ny's sweet, your union dear;
Your words delightful to my ear,
Yet when I see that we must part,
You draw like cords around my heart.

How sweet the hours have passed away
Since we have met to sing and pray.
How loathe we are to leave the place
Where Jesus shows His smiling face.
O could I stay with friends so kind,
How would it cheer my drooping mind!
But duty makes me understand
That we must take the parting hand.

And since it is God's holy will,
We must be parted for a while.
In sweet submission, all as one,
We'll say, our Father's will be done.
My youthful friends, in Christian ties,
Who seek for mansions in the skies,
Fight on, we'll gain that happy shore,
Where parting will be known no more.

How oft I've seen your flowing tears,
And heard you tell your hopes and fears!
Your hearts with love were seen to flame,
Which makes me hope we'll meet again.
Ye mourning souls, lift up your eyes
To glorious mansions in the skies;
O trust His grace -- in Canaan's land
We'll no more take the parting hand.

And now, my friends, both old and young,
I hope in Christ you'll still go on;
And if on earth we meet no more,
O may we meet on Canaan's shore.
I hope you'll all remember me
If you on earth no more I see;
An interest in your prayers I crave,
That we may meet beyond the grave.

O glorious day! O blessed hope!
My soul leaps forward at the thought
When, on that happy, happy land,
We'll no more take the parting hand.
But with our blessed holy Lord
We'll shout and sing with one accord,
And there we'll all with Jesus dwell,
So, loving Christians, fare you well.

If you'd like another idea of what the music at chapel sounds like, see this video (click here).

The seating arrangements for the ecumenical worship tended to change configuration, but always faced the center, either in square or circle (Episcopal Eucharist maintained a center aisle focused on the altar at the front). There was great poignancy and a sacramental nature to the worship, even if it didn’t seem to be intentionally so. To officially welcome all of the new students on Thursday, the service began with a song, and then a young woman came to the center. She poured a large pitcher of water into a basin, lifting the pitcher as she poured to allow all to see the gesture. As she offered a prayer, and invoked the Holy Spirit, she dipped her hand in the water and flung it over us all who were sitting in the circle, never breaking the recitation of her prayer. I crossed myself when the water hit. It didn’t matter whether or not she was ordained, the community had done its work in blessing the water; it counts.

The sermon that day was offered by a professor in Yale’s philosophy department.

Berkeley Divinity School

6pm on Wednesday is when Berkeley seminary holds Eucharist in Marquand, and this particular service was interrupted at crucial points so that explanation of the liturgy was offered for those who were joining an Episcopal service for the first time. The lectors noted that the short explanations in no way covered the breadth of meaning that can be found in the liturgy, nor were they meant to be totally definitive, but attempted to offer some general comments on what was going on. I very quickly caught on to some of the small differences in custom.

One of the already clear signs of Yale’s friendliness toward the LGBTQA community was that the homilist for the service, a senior, opened his sermon with a recounting of his coming out to his family. He was elaborating on the story of the disciples knowing Jesus in the breaking of the bread. It is frequently over meals in which we get to know people, particularly family. And so, when he came out, he knew where he had to do it, for it was where such important announcements were made… his grandmother’s dinner table. One of his other points in the sermon is to note the imperative to welcome all, for many have unknowingly welcomed Christ in such a way (he also invoked the Rule of Benedict here!).

After the service, the Episcopal students walked down the hill to the Berkeley house, which is where a few students have volunteered to live to practice hospitality; it also holds the seminary’s own chapel and is the dean’s residence. We had dinner in conversation; mostly introductions. The greatest part was the reminder it gave me of services at St. Brigid’s on Thursdays…children running around, a common meal, beer and wine, great conversation…

Berkeley students gather every weekday morning for Morning Prayer and Eucharist, which is how the seminary maintains the Anglican “mother tongue” in the midst of the wonderful ecumenical opportunities. Berkeley students also follow a rule of life that was recently adopted on the Feast of St. Luke. I plan on adopting it as my own, in addition to the one I have been working on for some time now.

Furthermore, there are opportunities to visit monasteries for retreat, including Holy Cross in New York and a trip to Canterbury in England (paid for by the school).

ELM

Part of my discernment process is now to find out what my vocation will be as priest. I’ve expressed interest in campus ministry, but little did I know that Yale has just started what is probably the only Episcopal seminary program dedicated to preparing seminarians for ministry in educational settings (all sorts of settings, from administration to all grades, secular to religious). I was walking back to YDS from Morning Prayer when I met up with the priest who is heading up the project. He has taught in schools for about 40 years before his “retirement.” (Yale really wanted him to start this project. He told them no, twice. Then Yale invited him to come for a “consultation.” He came, and then decided to stay for one year; I think he’s beginning his third year.) I told him a little of my story and about how part of my discernment was realizing that my best and most rewarding work as a teacher came from the moments in the hallway---in conversations with students about their lives and problems. He looked at me.

“If you have already realized that, then you were born to teach.” Ah, the discernment process begins anew.

He relies on case studies in his teaching. One of the examples of assignments he gives is that one must write a eulogy for a teenager who, after drinking, falls off of a balcony. And then deliver the eulogy. It doesn’t get much more real than that. While I am less worried about the academic, theoretical side of things, this kind of work is daunting.

There is more to be said, but I hope that these glimpses show why I am eager to attend YDS.

Short Sermon

I'm giving a sermon on Thursday for our St. Brigid Community Eucharist. The sermons generally don't go over five minutes.

The text I'm preaching from is Luke 13:1-9, which on first glance is pretty tough. Here is the rough draft.
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I can imagine the conversation revolving around why these things had happened. We still ask the same questions, don’t we?

Two tragedies had recently occurred; Pilate had desecrated bodies during a religious service, and a tower had fallen down, killing eighteen people.

Something interesting happens next. Something that goes against the grain for many people. The prevailing idea of the time was that the gruesomeness of the deaths must have been punishment for their sins. Does this sound familiar? Pat Robertson...blaming the Haitian earthquake on the supposed sins of the Haitians…Last week, a delegate from Virginia made a point that women who have abortions are subsequently punished with disabled children later on.

But Jesus confronts this claim. “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no!” Jesus says something similar in the Gospel of John when He is asked by His disciples why a man by the side of the road is blind. Jesus seems to be telling us that we are not afflicted by life as divine punishment.

God is not an abusive father, ready to mete out punishment once we step out of line. We aren’t killed for our sins.

Jesus rejects retribution and yet calls for us to repent, to turn to God, anyway. Why bother?

We are called to a harder Way. It is a mark of maturity to do what is right because it is right, not because we are afraid of the alternatives or punishment. Jesus calls us to follow God, to be lured to God...with love...not with flinching fear.
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Any thoughts?

Well, why not try?

I've decided to attempt to get an academic paper I've written published in the Christian Century, after some revisions to make it fit the medium.

Below is the rough draft from which I'll start editing. I'm going to add a story at the beginning of a priest I know who was dismissed from jury duty because he couldn't separate his faith from his sense of justice. There are many other examples of this that I know about, including a UCC pastor in Oklahoma who was told that mercy had no place in the courtroom while he was arguing for mercy--at least not the death penalty-- in the sentencing of a black, lesbian, mentally-disabled woman . The paper is currently devoid of religious connotation, which I would add as well...particularly since I think Christians, as a matter of principle, should not separate notions of care or justice. Feedback would be appreciated.
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Carol Gilligan suggests that most moral situations can be interpreted in terms of both the ethical perspectives of justice and care. Yet, it is an open question as to whether the justice perspective is better suited to social and political contexts and the care perspective is better suited to more personal relationships among people. While I agree with Gilligan that most moral situations can be interpreted validly in terms of either care or justice, I will go further to say that the two are not easily separable---that care and justice coexist along a spectrum. I would like to illustrate that, while there may be differences in degree in the equilibrium between care and justice, tension between the two perspectives is necessary to avoid a shift from virtue to vice by drifting from the mean of an outcome that is as ideal as possible. I will then address the differences between a societal debate and a personal debate using the issue of abortion and argue for the appropriateness of both care and justice as public ethical frames.[1]

Some definitions are in order. For our purposes, justice is defined as the emphasis and application of abstract rules revolving around one’s freedom from interference. To steal is to transgress another’s right to property; to kill is to transgress another’s right to life. Justice is also concerned with negotiating hierarchies of rights in a fair and just manner. This notion of justice is very minimalist in that it is not very “personal.” The caring perspective emphasizes the avoidance of breaking relationships and negotiating competing needs through communication; one must avoid hurting others while maintaining relationships that are healthful for oneself. This notion of care implies interpersonal relationship, whether we care for it or not.

One way of interpreting the relationship between justice and care is to think of care as the property which keeps justice within a mean. What the care perspective contributes to justice is a stronger emphasis on contextualizing the norms. Therefore, care may keep justice from either becoming solely retributive, tyrannical, or blind to circumstance (in favor of a rule). Likewise, Gilligan’s post-conventional mature care ethic is not only the ability to empathize, but also the ability to reason toward a balance of one’s own needs and the needs of others. Justice is similar in that one must be able to account for both parties’ claims in order to bring about a just end. Justice, as the ability to determine the fairness of disparate possible actions, could be seen as a way keeping a mean between excessive egoism and disproportionate self-sacrifice in cases of determining how one should care. The difficulty of finding and maintaining means of justice and care come more from matters of degree as opposed to a difference of kind. Exactly how much care (mercy) should justice allow? Who rightfully has a claim on another’s time, emotions, and attention? Neither care nor justice disappears in either case; it is a balancing act between the two.

So, whether justice should be the primary framework in social and political contexts is not so much a question about justice in itself, but a question of how care should be allowed to temper justice. The debate is familiar: shall our society writ large be “tough” on crime or “soft” on crime? To some extent, the question details how our society seems to operate: the state is more retributive in its standard for justice while private individuals are (generally) exhorted to be forgiving and caring of others. That level of caring and forgiveness is not generally treated as the state’s responsibility or duty, particularly in the criminal justice systems. Hence mercy in the courtroom is sometimes vilified as dereliction of duty on the judge’s part.[2] Yet, it is also true that in matters of education, healthcare, and the environment, a perspective of care is more pronounced even at the societal level (couched in terms like social justice). There are very few clear lines to demarcate when one shifts from justice to caring.

Finding equilibrium between justice and care comes into sharp focus in the debate over the morality (and legality) of abortion. Issues of care and justice are debated internally, on the individual level. To whom shall one do justice; for whom shall one care? Who (or what) is more important, the mother or the fetus? How will a decision to abort affect relationships? One must determine if abortion can ever be just. If abortion is not just and should therefore be restricted, will one allow for exceptions? Here is where a perspective of care is either denied (no exceptions allowed) or considered (in particular cases, abortion may be acceptable). When one conclusively (or perhaps just tentatively) satisfies oneself with a position, then they enter the public debate. And it isn’t a matter of translating one’s personal “caring” rhetoric into “justice” for the benefit of the public sphere …one maintains one’s own sense of an answer to the issue based on how he or she resolves the tension between justice and care.

Nor should such a translation be required. The balancing act between justice and care is the more proper way of conceiving of both public and private moral issues than a divided sense of justice and care that requires one to reframe in order to enter public debate.[3] To allow care and justice, in all of the viewpoints’ intertwined complexity, is also beneficial since the public debate should not become exclusive of other valid viewpoints. To consider the public realm merely the realm of justice would be to cripple the very real interplay between what justice means and the realities that frequently confound such meanings.

I have sought to clarify the relationship between the perspectives of justice and care as well as their relationship to public and private ethical debates. While one may speak accurately from perspectives of care and justice, the two are bound in a complex relationship and hold each other in necessary tension. Precisely because of this complex relationship, the notion that one must translate one’s private (supposedly) caring perspective into terms of justice in order to enter public debate is unhelpful and presents a false dichotomy. Instead, public debate should allow for the advocates to bring their own arguments as they have formed them. To exclude those who think in terms of an ethics of caring is to intentionally create an unhelpful blind spot in public discourse.

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[1] This essay is based upon the readings provided in Mike Martin’s Everyday Morality: An Introduction to Applied Ethics, 4 ed. (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth Publishing, 2006), 79-83.

[2] I am making a broad generalization here, for mercy in the courtroom is seen by some as exemplary…as attempting justice that is restorative as opposed to merely punitive.

[3] Reframing one’s argument is a wonderful skill, though. It enables one to effectively communicate across audiences.

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Redemption of the Sea

I was asked to write a devotion for Lent. I decided to take up the bad reputation of the sea as my topic.
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“The voice of the Lord is upon the waters;
the God of glory thunders;
The Lord is upon the mighty waters.” Psalm 29:3

Like most storms on the Gulf Coast, one can expect them like clockwork on summer afternoons and yet still be surprised by how fast they move. Laura and I were half of a mile offshore when the thunderclouds and lightning started to move closer, indeed corralled us. Yet, with all of the potential power of nature surrounding us, we lost the wind in the very real calm before the storm. The little sunfish sailboat, about 10 feet long, was barely moving. Neither of us panicked, but it did seem to be a matter of concern that the lightning was coming closer to the metal mast of our tiny boat.

The sea/deep/waters (tehom in Hebrew) is sometimes a scary place. The sea—over which the spirit moved in Genesis 1:2—is the sign of death and primeval chaos that God held back when God let creation be. Through the sea, God led Israel away from death in Egypt. It is out of the deep that we call to God (Ps. 130). By the waters of Baptism, we die and rise again in Christ. There are many other mentions of tehom; but finally, in the book of Revelation, we read that at the consummation of the Kingdom, the sea shall be no more (Rev. 21:1).

We live in this sea, do we not? We have each known the chaos, been in proximity to death, and will someday experience the end.

Death and chaos, and yet…creativity. Today’s Psalm reminds us that God is still upon the waters. It was also from the sea that God brought forth life (Gen 1:20)…and God is still there, opening possibilities and beckoning us to participate in our own lives. The sensing of this Divine Presence allows us to risk because we can trust in that Presence.

That day, Laura and I rowed ourselves back to shore with an oar we keep in the sailboat, landing mere minutes before the storm came upon us. Yet, we are always willing to go back out.

Why not risk other adventures?
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May I suggest a hymn for today?
“Eternal Father, Strong to Save”

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

O Christ! Whose voice the waters heard
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

Most Holy Spirit! Who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!

O Trinity of love and power!
Our brethren shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoe'er they go;
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

Tuesday will be my "official" meeting with the bishop regarding ordination. He has my psych exam report now, so that should be a fun conversation...or maybe he won't mention it if I'm sane enough. We have spoken before, I rose to speak in defense of campus ministries during the diocesan convention which he thanked me for after the fact. I also met him on the Day of Information. I'm going to ask, provided the the Commission on Ministry (COM) moves me along quickly, if I could possibly enter seminary in the fall. I may have mentioned that I've been interested in attending either the seminary in Berkeley CA or Sewanee TN. For reasons that I may go into later, I'm now thinking of going to the seminary at Yale. Yeah, the one in Connecticut. The bishop also went there, but I have some compelling reasons to go and I certainly want to do a campus visit.

Wednesday will be my meeting with the Canon to the Ordinary. In Episcopalese that means the bishop's chief of staff. He is my COM shepherd who is to lead me through the COM process and check on my paperwork etc. I've also met him before when he came to our Thursday night young adult service and stayed for dinner.

Saturday will be my interview with the COM. It begins at 1:30. Actually I have two interviews; the COM will be divided into two groups in two conference rooms and I switch conference rooms after thirty minutes. And I'm so nervous about that.

Judging Judgment

After some hand wringing about whether or not I am too hard on people, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is a big difference between judging and the practice of critique or discernment. The problem is that all three are thought to be the same thing nowadays. I would like to tease out the differences through scripture and example.

The reason I think I need to write/think through this is because “judging” has a bad reputation and it is frequently used in a strawman argument against religious progressives. Have you ever heard a conservative dismiss an argument made by a progressive because the progressive makes a judgment against the conservative and then the conservative accuses the progressive of being hypocritical? …Because the progressive is judging, and they shouldn’t be!

I’ve heard the point made and I need to make an argument against being made irrelevant. I also think there are some progressives who buy into the idea that they cannot make judgments. These progressives still make judgments even though they try to deny themselves the ability. Eventually, some religious progressives then deny themselves a place in conversation. I want to be clear that religious progressives can make discerning observations and make critiques without feeling guilty afterward. The fact is that we need judgment; it is impossible to function without some level of it. How can we recover an acceptable form of judgment?

Let’s start with the Sermon on the Mount and the phrase “judge not lest ye be judged.” The phrase is frequently uttered to someone who is being particularly harsh on someone else or on some circumstance. Here is the phrase in context:

"Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' and behold, the log is in your own eye? "You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye. (Matthew 7:1-5, NASB)

This passage isn’t about the practice of judging as much as it is about hypocrisy. That doesn’t mean one has carte blanche to judge so long as they feel themselves completely righteous. Humans are quite adept at minimizing hypocrisies and maximizing their sense of righteousness when it serves their purposes and it is imperative that one recognizes this. It seems implicit to me that that one must consider the Golden rule that appears seven verses later. I think that the proper response is to ask, in addition to “is the action in question right/wrong/neither?” but also whether I would want that standard to apply to me as well…and do I in actuality apply it to myself? There is then an immediate softening effect in the judgment.

My favorite story about judging and not judging is from John: the story of the adulterous woman.

^8:1 Jesus went unto the Mount of Olives. ² And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them. ³ And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, ⁴ They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. ⁵ Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou? ⁶ This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not. ⁷ So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. ⁸ And again he stooped down, and wrote on the ground. ⁹ And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last: and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. ¹⁰ When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee? ¹¹ She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more. (John, KJV)

This story is interesting for a few reasons. It was indeed the Law that adulterers were to be put to death (Leviticus 20:10; Deuteronomy 22:22). But one must ask— and I think the question would have run through Jesus’ mind—where was the man? Both are supposed to be put to death according to the Law. Another matter of interest is as to whether this story even belongs in the Gospel of John. In many of the early authoritative Greek manuscripts, the story is not there. It may have become canonical sometime as late as the 8^th-12^th centuries. Still, the story is consistent with Jesus’s program.

In the story we see what “judgment” is at its best. Jesus saves the woman from the death that would have been meted out by those who would have also been convicted according to their own standards. Jesus does not condemn her, but offers critique when he says, “go and sin no more.” As Jean Bethke Elshtain says, “"Judge not" is…not an injunction to spineless acceptance but a caution against peremptory legalisms that leave no space for acts of compassion and witness.” In the same article by Elshtain, she quotes Mary Higdon as saying that “Jesus' message was: do not stone people, do not cast them out, do not write them off. His target was punitive self-righteousness.” But we are still able (enabled, actually, by the gift of reason) to be critical and discerning. …How do we use that ability?

So my current, imperfect, definition of “proper” judgment is this:

1) the ability to critique an action of a person that does not negate the person’s inherent dignity or close off the possibility for positive growth and 2) the ability to critique the ideas of others, without attacking the person, and with the goal of fostering the idea’s improvement or jettison, after thoughtful and accurate consideration of the idea as it is.

Advent Devotional

We are coming up on Advent, which is the church season that is used to prepare for Christmas and begins four weeks prior to Christmas. I was asked to write a devotional for the church's booklet. My day was December 18 and I chose to write about a particular verse that was in the readings for that day.
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Be pleased, O lord, to deliver me;

Make haste, O Lord, to help me. - Psalm 40:13

O God, make speed to save us; O Lord, make haste to help us. -BCP, pg. 103

My family was tending to a relative in her last days and we were preparing for the inevitable. I would walk into that hospital room daily and, pausing at the door, I would say to myself, "O God, make speed to save us; O Lord, make haste to help us."
The verse is familiar. It is the opening versicle of Noonday Prayers in the Book of Common Prayer and it is also the versicle that opens most of the hours of monastic prayer. When one is praying according to these forms passed down by the Church, one is repeatedly asking for God's assistance throughout the day. Whether we think we need God's assistance or not, to open prayer with a reminder of our own limitations is appropriate. On our best days we are reminded of the changes and chances that are part of life on earth...our very human condition...we ask God to be attentive to what we cannot see. On our worst days we are asking God to be present, to provide the help we so desperately need.
In lieu of specific requests, it was the perfect verse that summed up my intercession to God. Standing at that hospital door, there was no way of knowing what the "perfect" resolution would be and no way of knowing what I would be called upon to do in the course of the day. And so my most honest prayer for all of us was "O God, make speed to save us..."