From air and land and sea #1

Almighty Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep:

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

O Christ, the Lord of hill and plain

O'er which our traffic runs amain

By mountain pass or valley low;

Wherever, Lord, thy brethren go,

Protect them by thy guarding hand

From every peril on the land.

 

O Spirit, whom the Father sent

To spread abroad the firmament;

O Wind of heaven, by thy might

Save all who dare the eagle's flight,

And keep them by thy watchful care

From every peril in the air.

O Trinity of love and power,

Our brethren shield in danger's hour;

From rock and tempest, fire and foe,

Protect them whereso'er they go,

Thus evermore shall rise to thee

Glad praise from air and land and sea.

 

 

The original words of this hymn were written by William Whiting, headmaster at a choirsters school in 1860. Whiting was approached by a boy who was to travel overseas to America and was petrified of ocean travel. Having had his own perils at sea he wrote this hymn to "anchor" the boy's faith. The hymn has had mostly been used as the "fight song prayer" for those in the military, particularly the Navy. While that stands true that this is a military hymn (wikipedia has many words for this hymn depending on the branch of military service), the words to the 1940 hymnal for the Episcopal Church seem to apply to all who travel. God, protector of those who travel by sea, Christ the Lord of the hills and mountains, the Holy Spirit guarder of those in the air. The Holy Trinity, protector from natural disasters. For me implication is the same both of those who serve their country and the civilians who leave their home for work or leisure: they are called to do so.

God calls people in the Bible for all sorts of travel. Look at the trips Paul made all over Asia-minor, the calling of Abraham to the Promise Land, the pilgrimages the Hebrews would later take the Holy Land. There are other instances where travel isn't favorable. The numerous exiles of the Jews being one of them. While we know that before the Fall the world was paradise and perfect in order. Its my speculation that the need to travel may be a result of the Fall. When sin entered the world, our need of resources changed. Maybe they grew scarce? I'll add that to my many questions to ask someday but for the moment I'm more concerned with the theological/spiritual purpose of traveling. 

As I've said before, though I have no formal training in this area and am speaking from the armchair, theology is simply a framework to understand that "wholly other". The sacred which is beyond and infused in our mundane world. It's building will differ from tradition to tradition. Protestant traditions will build their theology only on the Bible (credit Martin Luther, even though he wasn't the first to say it). Roman Catholicism will build theology on Scripture and Tradition (Mary was "consummed" into Heaven because people saw it, and the Revelation kinda mentions it..ish). Blended traditions like mine will build on Scripture, Tradition, and Reason (we thought about it, and the lot of you are nuts). In any case, the framework allows a person or community to experience God. If you don't experience Spirituality in your theology, then you probably don't believe it, or your theology sucks. This framework helps us understand how God moves and acts in our lives by seeing how God has acted in the forebearers of our faith. 

Based on what we see in Scripture, God calls us to places which are other than our home. Sometimes for reasons we can't understand God forces us to places which are other than our homes. And sometimes, we just have to places other than our homes for need of resources. The one thing which scripture can't account for (please, if I'm wrong here then correct me) is travel for leisure. The need to "get away" just doesn't seem to be mentioned and I am super perlexed by this if its true.

The question I now pose is how do we build a theological framework around the idea of leisure travel? For instance when I make trips to San Francisco and much of my activities revolve around opprotunities for worship, am I just making a pilgrimage? When we take vacations to our favorite camp sites, are we just retrying to recreate the first time we went there, as Eliade would argue?

Oddly enough this was intended to be the first blog of my travel blog. I intend to backpack through Western Europe in November starting in Paris, then Taize, London, Edinburgh, and Dublin. That blog will chronicle my preparations starting now and through the trip itself. I was going to kick it off by looking for the spirituality in such a journey, but the post had another direction it wanted to go.

I'm at a loss here for the moment. I think this is going to be a three or four part thing.

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent.

This past Sunday I preached at the Episcopal Church of the Savior in Hanford. Father Luis had arranged guest preachers during Lent (all who are in part of the Discernment Process towards Ordination) with the theme of "Prayer".


The challenge of writing this sermon was extracting the theme of prayer out of the readings. At first I had wondered if the thesis was a bit stretch, but it seemed it was well received, and (mostly) well delivered. If you'd like to hear to me speak nervously and fumbled over words, you can do so here (click on Sermons and find my name).

Without giving too much away, in researching I discovered that families and individuals from liturgical backgrounds use Psalm 121 as a prayer before travel. I think it is a lovely tradition and adopted it this past week when journeying to the central coast.

Aaron Conner

2^nd Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a
Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
John 3:1-17

 Psalm 121

Whoever believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.  Next to the 23^rd Psalm, John 3:16 is probably the most quoted verse in the Bible. I remember countless Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings hearing this verse from the Pastor urging those who have not been “born again” to come forward, repent, and amend their lives to Christ and become Christians. Yup, a good old fashioned altar call, and I responded to that call as often as I could. Not wanting to sin anymore, and hoping that in my sincerity God would undo the “abomination” of my sexuality, I would repeat after the pastor the “Sinner’s Prayer”. The Sinner’s Prayer is directly linked to John 3:16 and Romans 10:9; it goes something like this: Dear God, I know that I am a sinner and that am going to hell. I’m sorry for my sins and I believe that you sent your son Jesus to come and die for me.  I accept him as my Lord and Savior. Amen. Bam, after that God heard your prayer and life was awesome, or at least supposed to be. Now, I am not one to condemn the honest and sincere expression of lamenting one’s sin and wanting to make spiritual amends to follow Christ, but I will point out how the Sinner’s Prayer affected my attitude and conditioning towards prayer: I treated it like it was magic and acted like the most important thing which should result from prayer was obviously that answer, the end result, everything after the “Amen”.   No matter how much I tried, I was never able to “pray the gay away” and looking back at it all I have realized that I had missed the point of prayer completely. I had a petition that I wanted answered immediately. God however had something more substantial and more engaging once I was ready to start listening, which wasn’t until I grew out of my adolescence into my adulthood where I learned that prayer is about the journey at hand.

Prayer in its simplest definition is conversing with God. Asking God’s blessing, provision, and protection for ourselves and those we care about. It is also communing with God in silence or in nature. Prayer is not just limited to our thoughts, words, or deeds. It is choosing to engage with God by acknowledging that God is always engaging with us.

Psalm 121 is in a section of the Psalter known as the “Songs of Ascent”, which were used by the Hebrews when making pilgrimage to Jerusalem.  Scholars suggest this psalm was used liturgically when beginning the journey. The traveler, using the pronouns “I” and “my”, would say to the priest at the temple, “I lift my eyes to the hills, from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and Earth”. The priest changing the pronoun would respond saying “He will not let your foot be moved and he watches over you shall neither slumber nor sleep”. The psalm speaks in declaration in God who protects us from dangers of travel: the surrounding hills hiding the bandits, from the beating hot sun, the dangers in the night, from the deception from the moon, in the God who is the foundation of creation, the maker of Heaven and Earth. The psalm speaks of trusting in God not so much for the arriving at the destination, but for the journey at hand.

Having made the first pilgrimage to the Promised Land, Abraham would have well appreciated this psalm.  Though Abraham is commended in Romans for his faith in God who would make him father of a great nation and secure salvation in the world to come, one can wonder about his own initial fears in making the first pilgrimage to the land of Canaan. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never cared for things which are sprung at me last minute, even if it involves traveling anywhere more than 30 minutes away. Traveling takes preparation of departure, time, what to bring, route deciding, and hoping you know what to expect when the destination is reached. And in Abraham’s case I’m sure nothing could have prepared him for having to round up the family, load up the camel and leave everything behind and relocate to an unfamiliar place.

Now, Abraham might serve us as an inspiration and a model as he didn’t complain or turn back. He can also serve as an unfair measure of judgment as one would think it would be easier to follow divine command when God himself appeared right before him. Insert Nicodemus here, the one who might be more relatable to us, the one who actually had God right in front of him. Scholars debate whether he was just up late studying the Torah, as was common for teachers of the Law, or if he was fearful of being found out for inquiring of Jesus, something that the writer’s style could imply. But nevertheless Nicodemus’ journey leads him to Jesus one night. His journey at this point is full “Huh? Did I get that right? I’m not sure I follow”. I’m sure all of us have these conversations with God at one point or another.

Paul Miller writes that, "Prayer is a moment of incarnation - God with us. God involved in the details of my life." Abraham, Nicodemus, and the writer of Psalm 121 all have this in common: they allowed God to be involved in the details of their lives, and allowed themselves to be vulnerable. Abraham trusted in God and allowed himself to be moved to a new location and set the world on a new course. Nicodemus, a Pharisee, in coming to Jesus showed he knew that he had more to learn and understand. Through the perils of primitive travel, the writer of Psalm 121 trusts in God for a safe journey. When we acknowledge that we are vulnerable, the journey of prayer begins and we come to find that prayer isn’t necessarily for God so much it is for us. We who are vulnerable can come to see that God is for us and walking with us in the very moment of our vulnerability. In Lent, we focus on our need for the Word made flesh, we emphasize the existence of our human condition by prayer and fasting, trusting to be accounted for like the forerunners of our faith in today’s readings. May we who are wonderfully created, yet inherently vulnerable, find God’s presence in our vulnerability. May our vulnerability be our own cross to carry while journeying to the Promise of the Resurrection to come. Amen.

Good Friday Sermon

Aaron Conner

Grace Episcopal Church-Bakersfield, Ca

Good Friday Sermon

March 29, 2013

Readings: 

Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
John 18:1-19:42
Psalm 62

Collect: Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Lord, you are in the midst of us and we are called by your name: Do not forsake us, O Lord, our God. Amen.

Religion grows and survives primarily on the commemoration or reinforcement of symbols.  The philosopher and historian Eliade writes that our human experience can be divided into two modes: the Profane, the physical, mundane, and yet chaotic would in which we live in, and Sacred, the reality of the Divine, set apart and out there somewhere in the ethereal.  The symbols where the Sacred has been manifested into the physical world for its creation to share and experience are called “heirophanies”; Jesus is the hierophany of the Christian tradition. The events in the life of Jesus have become the central points in the history of our faith as we look to those who have shared in Jesus and how Jesus is continued to be revealed to us. While Jesus is always made known to us in ways beyond Word and Sacrament, the Christian calendar commemorates the Incarnation of the Word made flesh, the Passion and crucifixion, and the Resurrection as the key revealers of who Jesus is.   On Good Friday, the Church commemorates the Passion of our Lord from his arrest, trial, execution, and burial.

 John writes a Christology which affirms the sacredness of Jesus’ divinity as the word made flesh, the Lamb of God, and God’s begotten Son. There is no such thing as a coincidence in John’s narrative of the Passion; symbols and heirophanies which have played a significant part in the faith history of our Jewish ancestors are now used to reinforce Christ’s divinity.  The actors who played their part in Act One have passed on, and now in the second act they have returned to haunt, seeking to be vindicated by the only one who can provide for them, and us, escape to the ultimate reality of God’s love.

After the Passover Supper, Jesus and his disciples retreat one last time across the Kidron Valley to the Mount of Olives, a place where Jesus frequently retreats for rest and prayer, and where some of his miracles take place. In contrast to the Upper Room, where the Passover took place which was purposefully kept secret, Jesus chose the location of his arrest to be open. Judas, along with a group of priests and Roman Soldiers, bring torches expecting to look high and low for their perpetrator. They bring weapons expecting a fight. Yet arrest isn’t even necessary, and Jesus offers himself to those who seek him. They approach him; John takes the liberty to reiterate three times that Judas was with them.  Jesus asks, “Who are you looking for?” They reply, “Jesus of Nazareth”. Jesus responds, “I am he”. Now, whether Jesus has revealed his glory in revealing his identity, or there was some visible sign associated with that revelation which John fails to mention, or in their souls the group who was seeking Jesus was actually on his side, they respond to the revelation of his identity by bowing before him.  Jesus asks again, “Who are you looking for?” They respond, “Jesus of Nazareth”.  

There are four chapters missing between our Gospel reading last night on Maundy-Thursday and tonight. In these chapters Jesus finishes up the Passover by encouraging his disciples in what is about to come. These moments being the last final moments to himself, Jesus makes pilgrimage across the Valley of Kidron to pray and recollect himself for what is coming, and this is made more apparent in the Synoptic Gospels. 

The Valley of Kidron (located between Jerusalem and the Mount of Olives) has a baggage of symbols attached it, and I think it’s safe to say the baggage outweighs the symbols from which it proceeds.  The valley itself is not so much a valley as it is a deep ravine and it is in this “valley” where the filth of the city has been washed out.  Centuries prior, Prophets called the people to repent of idolatry, and idols had been smashed to dust and washed out into the ravine. King David, the fulfillment of Jewish Covenant prior to Jesus, retreated across the Kidron to the Mount of Olives when his son Absalom was seizing the throne. After King David was reclaiming the throne, his closest advisor who betrayed him by aiding Absalom committed suicide, the only other person in the Christian Bible besides Judas to do so. It is here, where the blood of thousands of lambs which had been sacrificed earlier that day, and for centuries past, has ended painting the rocks and dust crimson, providing an eerie scene on the night of a full moon and a reminder to Jesus of his own sacrifice to come and his own lack of absolution in his innocence.  The “valley of the shadow of death” of Psalm 23 has competition with Kidron in the battle of worst profane places. Here in this valley, the sin of the people and atonement from the slaughter of the lambs are juxtaposed into a dry riverbed. It is here that David wrote Psalm 3 and 41 in his emotional anguish and it is here Jesus also perhaps prayed those Psalms written by his ancestor in asking God for this coming fate to Passover him, just as the firstborns were passed over on the Eve of the Exodus by the blood of lamb.  Among other things, the Kidron was pretty much the common sewer, the polar opposite of Kosher and profanity at its best. King David fled across Kidron, fleeing for his life. King Jesus processes across the Kidron to give his life up. And next to Kidron on the Mount of Olives was a Garden   It was in a Garden where the human race had its fall, and we’ve been trying to get back to paradise ever since. In this Garden, Jesus reveals to the soldiers and priests who were arresting him as the I Am, just as God was revealed to Moses.  And it is in this garden that Jesus, the New Adam, will make the move to bring reconciliation between God and humanity, and reconciliation to humanity with itself.

The poet might say that history repeats itself in ways which we don’t intend it to. The Hindu in this situation might say that Karma keeps us on the wheel of Samsara which turns over and over and over again until we find our escape from this chaotic would which we have been born into. What Jesus does is provide that escape for us with his opening words in tonight’s Passion reading.

“Who are you looking?”

We are truly products of our environment. We build, smash, and rebuild the idols which have kept us in contempt with God and our neighbors. We attempt to find atonement in the wrongs which we have done. We have those moments like David where we are trying to save our lives, and those moments like Judas when we just feel like giving up, and Jesus continues to ask, “Who are you looking for?”  Other variations in the Gospels include, “Who do you say I am?” or “What are you looking for?” Regardless of how it is asked, the answer is the same.

 In the messes of our own profaned gardens, where things have become overgrown by weeds or the soil has lost it fertility, and death is imminent in the things which we have planted, Jesus offers himself freely to us, offering the mercy in the amendment of life, and grace in our lives renewed. The funny thing about the Profane we live in is the fact that without it we are unable to seek the Sacred revealed to us. We all have reasons to seek Jesus; in fact, we are all seeking Jesus. Some have had the intentions like Saints and Prophets before us to seek Jesus for the purification of our minds and souls and to administer the justice and reconciliation and love of God due to all people. Others, like those who sought to kill Jesus, have sought Jesus for their own gain and twisting for the mistreatment of others. In our moments of confusion, illness, and whatever our lives will throw at us, and in the moments where we are most seeking God and doing the work God has given us, in the areas of our lives which we have profaned to the point where they have become sacred to our identities, Jesus is asking, “Who are you looking for?” Sometimes the answer might be a reality check on our part, or sometimes is might be the one word prayer we all need to pray. All we have to do is respond.  Amen.

Maundy-Thursday Sermon 2012

After finishing up the final-final Sermon for Good Friday I thought it would be fun to dig up my Maundy-Thursday sermon from last year. I'll admit that I was tempted to edit and revise the crap out of this before posting, but I'll leave it as is as one of my milestones.

April 5^th, 2012 Maundy Thursday

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

"Hi, how can I help you?"

After working several minimum wage jobs, I know these words and their variants all too well. Customer or Guest Service, they call it. Those of us in this field have actually often called it hell. Webster's defines service as "The action of helping or doing work for someone". But that's pretty vague and ambiguous for me to go with. Customer service involves an act of engaging. It usually implies some sort of love/hate relationship between two parties, where the goal is for both parties to leave satisfied for whatever services at hand. You ever heard the phrase, "You just can't find good service these days"? I think that sums it up.

I think at times, either because of our inflated egos that get in the way, or just for the fact that the word tends to be too archaic, we are too put off by the word "servant". These days, the word is just as relatable as are the lives of the footmen and maids in the BBC show Downton Abbey. The work of a servant often entails the work which no else is eager to sign up for. Think of those who might be considered our present day servants: janitors, pest control, field workers, telemarketer's, movie theater employees.

I do not in any way intend to reduce the role of Jesus in John's Gospel to the guy at In-And-Out getting your burger and fries ready. Jesus is putting up with a lot more than I ever could, for free even!

Jesus excels at creatively blurring the lines of everything we have been acculturated with. He tells his disciples "You call me Teacher and Lord, for that is what I am. Servants are not greater than their Masters". Don't you wish you were there for the disciples' reaction? "Then pray tell Lord, you're the Master. What the heck were you doing on the floor with that towel and basin of water, the servants work! Where is that guy anyway?"

Jesus, doing his best to make a point, takes on a role which causes the disciples heads to do a double take. Typically, a slave would be the person who would take on the task washing the guest's feet after walking a ways on a dusty road in their sandals. Specifically, it would have been a gentile slave, perhaps the lowest of the social class at the time. No matter the context, the role of the servant has an implied sense of responsibility, if not intimacy with their masters on some level. A relationship. The Master has to be able to say "I trust you" to their servant. The servant also has to reciprocate those words to the Master.

Let's roll with a couple of observations.

Number one. John does not mention any servants present that would have washed their feet. There were no servants.

Number two. Jesus and the disciples would have started the ritual meal with unwashed feet.

I think it is safe to assume that the act of Jesus washing their feet was not spontaneous, but premeditated.

Jesus knew that the next few days were going to be for the lack of a better term, a hot mess. Peter is going to deny that he knew him, Judas is going to regret his part in this whole drama, things might get a little bloody later in the garden, a whole mob is going to protest for Jesus to occupy the cross. This is going to be a long night. And the last thing the disciples want to do is break out the dice and cast lots to see who ought to be the one washing feet when they already have these tendencies to bicker about who gets the extra good stuff in the afterlife. The disciples don't have a clue. And even after his resurrection he foresees the trouble and danger which lay ahead. Jesus knows exactly what they need. A serious reality check.

Peter and Jesus are on two different realities. Peter, who is probably aware that he has a bit more clout than the other eleven, is against the whole idea. Jesus, the master, is not going to wash MY feet, he's thinking. Jesus responds, Peter if you want anything to do with me right now, just go with it. Well Lord, he says, it's all or nothing! From whence our Lord slaps his palm to his face sighing, Oye ve.

Here is where Jesus reprimands Peter's reality. Jesus says, Peter, you've already had your shower, just like everyone here, well…except for…Anyway, you're all clean. In fact right now, no one is cleaner than the other. So let me do what I need to do, and if you don't replicate this then how will you ever follow through with anything that I have taught you?

Now, this scenario of the disciples not having a clue isn't exactly new. But, one could argue what Jesus is doing isn't exactly new either. Jesus, who would have been properly dressed for the occasion and the one leading the supper, descends from his place at supper and strips himself down to his nickers, to do the dirty work, humbly just as he was born. At Christmas we celebrate "the word made flesh". Tonight, that flesh dwells among us. God becoming one of us. This picture of Jesus washing the feet has incarnation and theophany written all over it. Here, Jesus reveals something about himself, the great paradox which will save us all. Jesus, the Teacher; the disciples, students. Jesus, the proclamation; the disciples, messengers of that proclamation. Jesus, the Master; the disciples, servants. Jesus isn't beating around the bush; he is flat out saying that he himself is the central authority. And that is all the more reason for the disciples to follow Jesus' example. In washing their feet, Jesus is going out of his way to affirm his humanity. God, becoming one of us, to do the lowly work. Humility at this point is an understatement. It's one thing for God to become human, but for God to become human and not only put up with, but serve humanity? That just blows my mind.

And what is this putting up with and humanity? Its love. Just as Jesus takes the hand- on approach to show them how it's done, Jesus puts that action into a teaching. Just as the disciples ought to wash each other's feet, so should the disciples love each other.

In the whole Gospel up until now, Jesus has been setting the example of what we ought to do: Love. Jesus replicates this love when he became human. When he included the outcast .When He healed the sick. Feeds the hungry. And finally, on the night before he was handed over as a sacrifice to bring reconciliation into the world, knowing that they might not get it now, but they will later, he washed their feet. By examples of love, Jesus is preparing his disciples to take on his role after all is said and done.

Allow me to share a story. Five years ago when I was the ripe old age of 21 (yeah, yeah do the math), my buddy and I thought it would be friggin awesome to go on a road trip to Alberta, Canada. We packed my pick-up with sleeping bags, suitcases, tents, an ice chest, and my guitar. We were prepared for anything, except for the truck to breakdown in Idaho Falls, the middle point between Bakersfield and Edmonton. We ended up at a dealership. I'm sure the GM sized us up in 30 seconds. 21, from California, scared and stressed as all get out, financially unprepared for the fuel pump and fuel injector to go out. The first words he said, go take a nap in the lounge while we work on it, you're in good hands. Giving us top priority with his crew, he called us every few hours till 5 that evening. He informed us we could make it to our destination with the new fuel pump, but would need a new injector as they couldn't get a hold of the part. And there was a nice discount on the bill.

Customer Service is one of the job descriptions of the church. We can't fix all the problems in the world. We won't make everyone happy. But we do what we have to do in order to take care of each other, and go the extra mile to all we encounter. We are a people who should never say "No", when Jesus says "Yes".

Feet. There are so many metaphors. How many Psalms speak of the metaphorical path which we walk, how the enemy tries to trip us? Like the disciples, we all have been called from different walks of life. Like the disciples, we need our realities checked. Those of us who profess the Christian faith are only professing that we acknowledge the reconciling love of God which has come to the world through Jesus, and that there is still a work of reconciliation to be done. A few thousand years later we are still wearing sandals, along with shoes, flip-flops, and toe socks. But our feet still get dirty. Our feet still need washing. Our fuel pumps go out, and need to be replaced. And as long as this is the case, then there is always the need for someone to engage in the role of the servant. And here is the fallacy in my guest service rant from earlier. Jesus doesn't ask "How can I help you?". He just does it. If you will pardon the expression, we who try to walk in the way of Jesus have some big shoes to fill. Amen.

Finding joy in the desert.

I had an incredibly hectic day, the kind of day which seems to put something in my path every direction I took. I had the evening off, so I decided to go to the Advent supper at church and unwind with people I cherish.

It was a bit after 5pm, and as I pulling on to the freeway West-bound the sun was just at the last bit of its setting, and I beheld a gorgeous sight of black mountains outlined by the last bit of sunlight. It was the perfect contrast of gold and dark, had I not been driving I would have taken a picture, in fact it resembled one of the pictures which where shown of the Grand Canyon at a recent Bakersfield Symphony concert. It was then I realized the picture I was beholding was perhaps one of few clues left behind that this area was once mostly desert, and my mind went to the words of Thomas Merton.

This Advent, as last Advent, I have been reading "Thoughts in Solitude" by the Trappist monk, Thomas Merton. In the Bible, a trip to the desert seems to always assume this process by which someone undergoes some task or journey of self-discovery. The Hebrews had to wander in the desert for a ridiculously long time before they could "get it right" and reach the Promised Land. After his baptism, Jesus was sent by the Spirit to undergo fasting and temptation before he would begin his ministry. Merton writes that the desert was created by God to be itself, not to be tempered with by man, it offers nothing by way of survival and therefore the desert is perfect place for a person who truly desires to find their self and find dependency on God alone.

My feelings toward Bakersfield until recent years could be summed up in Merton's one word description of the desert: Despair. My whole life I felt I was raised in a bubble. Being gay in this town is doable, being just left of center politically is challenging, and dating is next to impossible. I've been reflecting recently on my failed plans to move to Fresno. A new life with the boyfriend (at the time), a bigger population, a chance to to leave this desert and start anew in what seemed like a utopia (which after further reflection, Fresno seems to be Bakersfield v2.0). God had other intentions for me, and after many prayerful struggles this year I appreciate what I have here. Had it not been for my home parish, and the Symphony, I probably would have made attempts to move on long ago before Joel had popped in the picture.  The discrepancies between this town and myself have definitely defined a large portion of who I am, in a good way. The despair of dating this year (well, or much lack of), has taught me not to just reaffirm my trust in God, but to find contentment in the gifts that I do have, the things which ensure my physical and spiritual survival.

Merton concludes the desert is everywhere, as is despair. The sample of spending 40 days in the desert is only a paradigm of the life which we live. "This then is our desert: to face despair, but not to consent...if we wage it courageously, we will find Christ at our side. If we cannot face it, then we will never find him."

 Paul writes, "Rejoice in the Lord, always. Again, I say, rejoice!". This last Sunday, the rose candle of Joy was lit in the Advent Wreath. The summary of Advent, waiting not for joy, but in joy, no matter the despairs the desert brings. It's a wonderful thing, the obscure idea that waiting for God in despair should bring joy. Psychologically, it's not practical. Thankfully, God's promises exist well beyond our/my idea of what's "practical".

The Advent according to...

Advent, the season of hopeful expectation. Or is it the season penitential preparations for the arrival a King? Or is the season of Incarnation, where the Divine and Profane intersect causing a rip in the space-time continuum which somehow actually fixes the world? There are several answers to the question of what Advent is and what it means, each with its group of proponents claiming that is has been done a certain way since before the Annunciation...

Advent is the first liturgical season of the Western Church calendar, starting no earlier than November 27th, starting the 4th Sunday before Christmas and lasting 4 weeks. The most common visual association is the Advent Wreath. Traditionally the Advent Wreath is a flat evergreen wreath with four candles surrounding which symbolize the four Sundays in Advent, with a taller candle in the center representing Christmas. The four Sundays represent the four centuries of silence between the Prophet Malachi and Jesus. Each candle has it's own meaning. The first candle is generally interpreted as Hope, but the other three have several meanings depending on which tradition a person is following which I don't care to dive into (having mini-themes in a major theme to me just seems kind of redundant).

At its core, Advent is the preparation for Christmas. How that preparation is used or interpreted can be summed up in two colors, a debate which my lucky non-liturgical Christian friends don't have to deal with: Purple, or Blue?

The Roman Catholic Church uses Purple, the Evangelical Lutherans use Blue, Methodists can use either, Purple is technically the official used in the Episcopal Church, while many congregations have switched over to Blue.

So, what's the big deal? I'll tell you. 

In ancient times, the color purple was associated with royalty as purple was an incredibly expensive color to dye. Liturgically, purple is associated with Christ as our royal King. Purple is also used and probably more associated with Lent and because of this, purple seems to have this baggage (I use that word as neutrally as possible) of penitence attached. While expecting the arrival of the Christ-child, the theme of the Second Coming of Christ the King is also highlighted. As in Lent, the preparation of the coming of Christ involves reflection on how we are living our lives, and how we ought to live our lives being mindful of our sin; thus the focus on penitence. The early practice of Advent make this very clear as Advent was a 40 day fast in the 4th Century (and still a season of fasting in Eastern Orthodoxy, in the equivalent season the Fast of the Nativity) with it's own version of Fat Tuesday (the Feast of St. Martin), where activities such as dancing and over indulgence in food were forbidden. The fast was relaxed down the line, but kept penitential in nature.

Blue has been seen on altars and wreathes more in the past thirty years, but the tradition isn't new considering it was used in Medieval until the Reformation, and was revived in the Oxford Movement in the 19th century in Anglicanism. In art, blue is often associated with Mary. And Mary, being the Theotokos or God-bearer  of the Incarnation, blue gives Advent a theme of hopeful expectation where we await the coming of Christ with joy, and not penitence.

Personally, I am proponent of using blue in Anglicanism, as blue connects back to our tradition in the Church of England, and it overall distinguishes Advent from Lent. But both camps have merit. Insert Via Media.

At it's core, Advent is about preparation. When a family is expecting the birth of child, all sorts of preparations are made. The women changes her activity patterns and dietary intake. Financial preparations are made. A room for the child is set aside. For me, making room in my life for Jesus must involve some penitence on some level. If that child is going to live in a room of mine, then I've got junk that needs to be cleaned out, and it call can't just be stashed in the closet (oh, the puns). The Gospel calls us to be watchful and expectant for that day when Christ returns. But it isn't the kind of preparation like when the VP of the company came to our location at work over the summer and we spent three weeks of fearful expectation that one wrong move and we were all fired. If anything, its like the long awaited reunion of two lovers, whose passion inspires in us to better ourselves not for the other person, but for the sake of loving ourselves enough to create a space for more love to exist  the other person.

Of course, in liturgical practice its very easy to fall into the trap off allowing passion and devotion to get stale, when liturgy is intended to do the opposite. Its always good to mix it up a bit and keep it fresh. I think if anything seasons such as Advent and Lent are intended for good habit building, its just a shame that both seasons are only separated by a few months. Things in liturgy should always express belief. I think to choose one side completely over the other misses the point. Do we believe that Jesus is merciful, or gracious? Isn't he both?

For me, Advent is about the Incarnation, God becoming man. The great unfathomable paradox that God chooses to reside in this mortal body which through the resurrection, he calls "good", and allowing that Incarnation to reside, until the final Incarnation where he returns in glory.

5am musings on Religion and Spirituality

The spiritual life is rooted in reality. It is not a separate experience which is worth-less or less superior than the one which a person wakes up to every day. To assume otherwise robs religion of its ultimate purpose: to act as a framework to understanding the Sacred.

It is often heard in 12-Step circles, or from those who have disgruntled experience with religion, "Religion is for those who want to avoid hell, Spirituality is for those who have been there". I hate to rob the spiritual experience of those who might agree with this statement, as I generally make a point to try not to judge any persons spiritual experience, as my own is questioned by the majority of people in my own faith tradition. Religion has certainly done its wrongs to many, and the word itself can carry its own set of heavy baggage, and to react to those wrongs and to find another pathway to peace is considered  normal psychology. However, the definitions most often used to define "religion" and "spirituality" have seemed to set the words in opposition of each other, a misconception which is worth addressing.

Religion, acts as a framework to understanding the Sacred. In our religious traditions we find not only a moral guideline and history of our ancestors in faith, but we find where God reveals God's-self. More specifically, we find how God manifests God's-self in the profane world in which we live. These manifestations are called "theophanies". Eliade writes that a study of religion could be reduced to a study of these theophanies. In the case of Christianity, God was manifested through the Incarnation of Jesus, and to those whom this theophany was revealed felt the urgency to tell of this theophany as the fulfillment of the Covenants from Judaism. From here, the history, moral guides and laws, rituals, the sacred texts, and the theological interpretation of those sacred texts, are formed into what we call religion. But all of the said is never the focal point of religion, but how God is revealed. It could be argued that even if a person who was raised in a particular religious tradition, that person no doubt was raised to have faith, but has not embraced the meaning of religion in their life until they have experienced a theophany in their own journey, from where they can fit that revelation to the ultimate theophany in which they believe in.

"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience", writes Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. Experience is fundamental in spirituality. In experience we hold our trials and errors and hopes and dreams. Experience may be something gathered in fragments (or bulks) from our pasts, but ultimately makes us who we are in the present. In our waking reality, we find what it means to be religious, to practice things which are considered wholly-other from the profane would. In the reality of our religious practice, we find what it means to be spiritual. Spirituality is linked to experience, an inner expression of the experience of religious practice which interacts with the Sacred. It is next to impossible to define spirituality otherwise. 

Through experience, religion over time will change, as will how a person understands God. How spirituality is expressed is subject to change. Life will always be changing, the Buddha went so far as to even teach the world we live in is chaos and suffering. But the experience of spirituality is constant, perhaps the only thing a person could ever truly consider constant in their life. This is the reality of spirituality.