As the designated "youth guy" in my parish, preparing the teenagers for baptism and confirmations falls under my jurisdiction. As I've been refreshing myself on the Hebrew Covenants, Church History, the Bible (pretty much Christianity in a nutshell 101) ect, I've been reflecting on my own Confirmation a few years back, and my journey leading to it.
Before I even start there, I have to give a shout-out to my friend Mike. After months of going to youth service on Wednesdays at Canyon Hills, he was the only one to ever say hi, and introduce himself, and sit with me, and be my friend. I haven't seen him in years, but I am still thankful for those early years of friendship. Us gays gots to stick together!
Even though I can pull off the "Cradle Episcopalian", I must confess my roots go back to the Assemblies of God. My Mother raised me several different non-denominational Charismatic-type churches, but after she fell out with a congregation, I was sent with my Grandmother, and most of my childhood recollections in faith take me back to First Assembly, where just about three generations of my family prior had worshiped. One of my Grandmother's Bible's has it on record where I first "received Jesus in to his heart and put his trust in his Savior". I remember it well. It was a Kid's Crusade type night. I was about seven. I had knowledge of Jesus and his dying on the cross from an earlier age from my other churches, without question I considered it true. I had scrapped my knee pretty bad, and I asked the pastor to pray that God would heal it. Right after Pastor Pete lead me in the "Sinner's Prayer". Now, I have a lot to say about potential misguidance of the "Sinner's Prayer", and I of course did not have the St. Paul Conversion Experience which seems to be so stressed in that wing of Christianity, but I will consider that the first moment I considered myself as Christian.
When I was a kid, I would not shut up about the dude. I remember so clearly once at school I was feeling sick and laying down in the infirmary. Another kid came in and we started talking. I thought Jesus was way cooler than the fact that we were out of class. The kid wasn't having it, and my missionary attempts were put to a halt when the office lady said I was obviously well and needed to go back to class. Oh, the injustice I felt!
In sixth grade, for whatever reason I have yet to inquire on, my Mother and Grandmother thought I should try a different summer camp. They send me on the bus with Canyon Hills. I was terrified. None of my Sunday School mates were there and we were going to camp which I had no familiarity with. It ended up being okay, and since my Mother and I had not been to church together in ages, I suggested we started going to Canyon Hills. She agreed, and we did...for a month. We quickly became Chriesters (Christmas-Easter Christians).
It wasn't until the spring of my 8th grade year, I went to Camp Keep. My cabin counselor was an exchange student from Germany. Looking back, I honestly think it was a mixture of his strong faith, and the fact that I had no idea that the raging and changing hormones in a 12 year-old gay kid where making me crush on him, which instantly inspired me. I had a conversion experience, I found the faith which has been tossed aside. As soon as I came back from camp the only thing I wanted was to be baptized. So, I went back to Canyon Hills that Wednesday, I actually went to the high school group, and since I looked older, I passed off as a Freshman. Lo and behold, a sign from above, Baptisms were being done that Sunday. I signed up, and on Sunday, February 13 2000, I found myself being dunked in a jacuzzi like basin, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I was involved in the church throughout high school. Singing in choir, and playing cello on Sundays, going out of town to camps, conventions, and the yearly Fine Arts Festival. It wasn't until my senior year and summer before college that Canyon Hills lost its appeal. The pastor and his family had a monopoly on the congregation, it was almost a family business. Worship services were staged to be "spirit led". Flashy lights. Unneeded cameras doing close ups of people in worship. It was the most pathetic attempt at being a mega-church that I had ever seen. So, I returned to First Assembly with attempts to get closer to my family who still attended there, and recover from all excitement at Canyon Hills.
The tides turned five months later. I somehow received a catalog from the National Cathedral. While flipping through it, I came across the Anglican Rosary. I was instantly intrigued. I researched, and made on up of my own. I grew to love the prayers, the Jesus Prayer, Trisagion, and Gloria Patri. I would sneak it in and use it during services at First Assembly. It is easy to conclude that my first introduction to liturgy and contemplation.
Now, my girlfriend at the time and I had been together for almost 4 years, I thought it would be best if she and I started attending church together. She was raised more-or-less in the United Methodists tradition, and I was starting to question the unquestionableness of the fundamentalists. The First Sunday of Lent in 2005, we walked into the contemporary service at St. Luke's Episcopal (now affiliated with the Anglican Church in North America). There were only a handful of people there. I instantly recognized prayers from the rosary. I loved the pomp and circumstance of it all. I was there to stay. I experienced God in the Eucharist.
One of the reasons why I was initially attracted to the Episcopal Church was how open it is. It was my first year in college. When I was questioned on issues which related to my faith, I wanted to give a real answer. I did not want to give some sort of no-questions-asked sort of answer. This could be potentially offensive, and I don't apologize for it. When a person believes something which is contrary to what the natural world tells us, the answer almost makes excuses for God, rather than promote God through the use of intellect. I knew what I had been trained to say when I had studied Fundamentalism Apologetics, and those were answers which I wasn't comfortable with giving. This left me to come up with the answers myself, and the Episcopal Church gave me room to do so.
I served as an acolyte, and played bass guitar in the contemporary service. I wanted more than anything to be an official Episcopalian. In October of 2006, on St Luke's Sunday, and the day we celebrated the congregation's 50th year, Bishop Schofield placed his hands on my head, asked for God's blessing, and slapped me ever-so gently on my left cheek. I was confirmed.
What happens next is a major turning point in life, I will greatly condense the story by saying I came out, and Paige and I broke up. I emotionally took a year off from life to come to terms with my sexuality, and reconcile it with my faith. It was without a doubt the worst year of my life. For a time, I felt so guilty for receiving communion and wasn't sure if I had the same faith I had the year prior, so I stopped going for a time. Since I was heavy into meditation at the time, I almost made a conversion to Hinduism (my friend Sandra says there is no difference, I would still like my bells, incense, and shrines...she had a point). I slowly recovered my faith, I knew I was gay, and that God's love would never be irreconcilable. I had to discern whether or not the call to celibacy included me, but that would come in time. I resumed my activities at church.
At that time, the Episcopal Church in the area was very conservative. I loved my congregation, but knew I could never come out. There were, and still other parts of me, so that did not matter as much to me. I figured one day I would move on to an Episcopal Church elsewhere that would include me. All that changed when the Bishop announced that the diocese would cease to be affiliated with the Episcopal Church over the issues of Biblical interpretation, ordination of women to the priesthood, and inclusion of gays and lesbians.
It was a sad time. I tried to be involved with St. Luke's and the local Remain Episcopal group (now Grace Episcopal), but in the end I left St. Lukes (the Sunday one of my priests made a very nasty remark about my involvement with the "heretics"), and remained Episcopal.
One could say the spiritual life could be a series of conversions and confirmations. Of course, God see's his Church as we are, potentially good and potentially bad, but in need of guidance and salvation, and God see's us and accepts us as we are created. But on our end, we are still working on it, confirming our faith that we will be brought to the full conversion to be more Christ-like. In the sacrament of Confirmation, a person accepts and professes to their faith as an adult. The first of many confirmations to come.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Thoughts on sin
...but where sin increased, grace abounded all the more. Romans 5:20
Much of my theology of sin has been influenced by the 20th Century Lutheran theologian Paul Tillich. I was first introduced to him by my dear former therapist, David Atkins. I cannot for the life me recall what I was specifically going through at the time, but he knew that a copy Tillich's sermon "You are accepted" would help tremendously (he had a copy on hand, so it must have proven a useful tool to him often). For a period, the sermon nearly changed my life, you can read it here.
In his sermon, Tillich explains that sin is a state of separation; a separation from a persons individual self, from their neighbors, and from God. He also makes a point that sin since sin is life-long problem, it is erroneous to pluralize our own sin(s), a conclusion which left me to drop the "s" in sins when saying the Creeds on Sundays or in the Office adn in the Lord's Prayer.
I think the implications of the contemporary Confession found in the American 1979 Book of Common Prayer (pg. 79) paint a good picture.
In a standard Collect, the intent for the prayer is mentioned after God is addressed as being the one whom makes the intent happen through an invocation, or address. In this prayer, the address is make in the first three words, Most merciful God. This address implies that the petition for the forgiveness for sin is found in God, and that God is merciful to forgive, and that God alone is the forgiver in the word "most".
Though the option of private confession with a priest is in the Anglican tradition is available, this prayer is intended for corporate worship. That being said, the confession is made by those present, but the specifics are kept private to each individual. Surely, it is healthy to unload a heavy burden to a minister, or to a fellow Christian who will pray for them and stand with them as Christ does. But confessing to another person implies a potential judgement, whereas with God we know that we will receive forgiveness if we ask. And I think this implies two things. One, no matter, we ought to have the confidence in St. Paul's words that nothing can keep us from the grace of God. Two, that one must deal very carefully when being approached with another persons sin. Sin might have different and "greater" consequences, but separation from God cannot get bigger than what it already is.
Thoughts and comments are most welcome.
Much of my theology of sin has been influenced by the 20th Century Lutheran theologian Paul Tillich. I was first introduced to him by my dear former therapist, David Atkins. I cannot for the life me recall what I was specifically going through at the time, but he knew that a copy Tillich's sermon "You are accepted" would help tremendously (he had a copy on hand, so it must have proven a useful tool to him often). For a period, the sermon nearly changed my life, you can read it here.
In his sermon, Tillich explains that sin is a state of separation; a separation from a persons individual self, from their neighbors, and from God. He also makes a point that sin since sin is life-long problem, it is erroneous to pluralize our own sin(s), a conclusion which left me to drop the "s" in sins when saying the Creeds on Sundays or in the Office adn in the Lord's Prayer.
I think the implications of the contemporary Confession found in the American 1979 Book of Common Prayer (pg. 79) paint a good picture.
Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against you
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,
have mercy on us and forgive us;
that we may delight in your will,
and walk in your ways,
to the glory of your Name. Amen.
In a standard Collect, the intent for the prayer is mentioned after God is addressed as being the one whom makes the intent happen through an invocation, or address. In this prayer, the address is make in the first three words, Most merciful God. This address implies that the petition for the forgiveness for sin is found in God, and that God is merciful to forgive, and that God alone is the forgiver in the word "most".
What I didn't mention is my previous post (but might have implied) is that prayer a gift. God knows our concerns and what we are thankful for, but it is our lifeline, and is a gift for us to recollect ourselves in a healthy way. What follows in this prayer is a reminder or recap for those who pray it.
Though it can be argued that sin is a state of separation, and that individual sins are not what keep us in need for forgiveness, this prayer states the ways in which we sin. We sin generally in our actions: thoughts, words, and actions. And in those thoughts, words, and actions we place separation between us and God, us and our neighbors, and ourselves (I would argue that loving and forgiving yourself is key to making reconciliation between those around you and God, and should be close to priority, but alas; that could be my Western individualist talking). Sin is also done in not doing what God has given us to do (neglecting our responsibilities, not caring for those we should, ect.). An Eastern perspective would argue that in not doing something is action itself, and I agree that there is a point there, but that is a duality to be explored later.
Next, the confessor reacts to the sin committed, regretting what was done, and making a new. "delight in your ways" implies being forgiven of sin and living in a right state with God is God's intentions for creation.
Though the option of private confession with a priest is in the Anglican tradition is available, this prayer is intended for corporate worship. That being said, the confession is made by those present, but the specifics are kept private to each individual. Surely, it is healthy to unload a heavy burden to a minister, or to a fellow Christian who will pray for them and stand with them as Christ does. But confessing to another person implies a potential judgement, whereas with God we know that we will receive forgiveness if we ask. And I think this implies two things. One, no matter, we ought to have the confidence in St. Paul's words that nothing can keep us from the grace of God. Two, that one must deal very carefully when being approached with another persons sin. Sin might have different and "greater" consequences, but separation from God cannot get bigger than what it already is.
Thoughts and comments are most welcome.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Sleeping on a prayer.
The problem with my day job is that half the time I am working at night, and often such nights result in me getting home at around 3am. And every now and then, it is impossible to sleep. So, instead of falling asleep and sleeping till noon, I am going about my day with high hopes of making it till noon.
The oddly nice thing about days like this is that I have more time to myself than usual. Thus, I find myself sipping my triple grande caramel macchiato and nibbling on my cheese danish at Starbucks writing this blog. TGIF.
After I made the realization that sleep was not in my cards, I showered up and and took my Bible and Prayer Book outside in the cool twilight to pray and read the Morning Office. At some point during the service, I realized how much prayer has assumed a new (perhaps, renewed) role in my life.
As of fairly recently, I have decided instead of fighting against forced singleness, I would win the fight by choosing it willingly. It was like being on an extended fishing trip, a really bad one, where my line was constantly out, bait was changed every now and then. The line had a few nibbles here and there, and I even made a few catches where either I tossed the catch back, or the fish just jumped back in the water. In reeling this line back in, things have come up with this line that I weren't aware were there; leaving me with junk I'm not sure what to do with.
St. Paul tells us to "pray without ceasing". For century's Eastern monks have taken this to heart, literally. The common Orthodox "Jesus Prayer" (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner" is typically prayed at least 100 times before the monk falls asleep after the Great Compline. The intention here is to pray without ceasing, even during sleep. The monk tries to live their life in such a way that they learn to pray without ceasing at all times. By doing so, they attempt, and surely in some cases; do, leave leave profane completely and live in the sacred.
Easier said than done. Of course though in monastic setting it is much easy when the secular world is left behind and distractions are minimal. But what about the rest of us? Some are indeed called to live such a life, but what does this mean for person who pursues the reality of God, but must live in the world which is wholly other?
We have many outlets, channels, for expression. Expression is a gift. Expression is almost sacramental in how when we put ourselves in something physical, we experience the Grace of God on our most inner parts. Music, art, building, running, writing...all expressions, all gifts. Prayer, however is an expression where we cannot attribute something that "we did" by our own merit. Prayer places the merit entirely on God.
Prayer has allowed the space to do something with all that junk. In adjusting to a life where I am aware of being single by my own choosing, I have caught myself acting in ways where I compensate for what I have let go of. Listening and playing to music helps. As does things like this blog. But it is in prayer that I am able to let all that crap bubble out into one spot, and let it be dealt with in a healthy expression.
As of now, I am not receiving the call to monasticism. Until then, or until I die, or until the restoration of God's Kingdom, I along with the majority of humanity must live in this dichotomy of Sacred and the constantly complicated and inconsistent Profane. What makes it doable? Realizing that there is absolutely nothing than can be done about it, that it cannot be changed in my own merit, but only in prayer.
And now, join me in praying that the sacred manifests itself in the caffeine I have consumed.
The oddly nice thing about days like this is that I have more time to myself than usual. Thus, I find myself sipping my triple grande caramel macchiato and nibbling on my cheese danish at Starbucks writing this blog. TGIF.
After I made the realization that sleep was not in my cards, I showered up and and took my Bible and Prayer Book outside in the cool twilight to pray and read the Morning Office. At some point during the service, I realized how much prayer has assumed a new (perhaps, renewed) role in my life.
As of fairly recently, I have decided instead of fighting against forced singleness, I would win the fight by choosing it willingly. It was like being on an extended fishing trip, a really bad one, where my line was constantly out, bait was changed every now and then. The line had a few nibbles here and there, and I even made a few catches where either I tossed the catch back, or the fish just jumped back in the water. In reeling this line back in, things have come up with this line that I weren't aware were there; leaving me with junk I'm not sure what to do with.
St. Paul tells us to "pray without ceasing". For century's Eastern monks have taken this to heart, literally. The common Orthodox "Jesus Prayer" (Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner" is typically prayed at least 100 times before the monk falls asleep after the Great Compline. The intention here is to pray without ceasing, even during sleep. The monk tries to live their life in such a way that they learn to pray without ceasing at all times. By doing so, they attempt, and surely in some cases; do, leave leave profane completely and live in the sacred.
Easier said than done. Of course though in monastic setting it is much easy when the secular world is left behind and distractions are minimal. But what about the rest of us? Some are indeed called to live such a life, but what does this mean for person who pursues the reality of God, but must live in the world which is wholly other?
We have many outlets, channels, for expression. Expression is a gift. Expression is almost sacramental in how when we put ourselves in something physical, we experience the Grace of God on our most inner parts. Music, art, building, running, writing...all expressions, all gifts. Prayer, however is an expression where we cannot attribute something that "we did" by our own merit. Prayer places the merit entirely on God.
Prayer has allowed the space to do something with all that junk. In adjusting to a life where I am aware of being single by my own choosing, I have caught myself acting in ways where I compensate for what I have let go of. Listening and playing to music helps. As does things like this blog. But it is in prayer that I am able to let all that crap bubble out into one spot, and let it be dealt with in a healthy expression.
As of now, I am not receiving the call to monasticism. Until then, or until I die, or until the restoration of God's Kingdom, I along with the majority of humanity must live in this dichotomy of Sacred and the constantly complicated and inconsistent Profane. What makes it doable? Realizing that there is absolutely nothing than can be done about it, that it cannot be changed in my own merit, but only in prayer.
And now, join me in praying that the sacred manifests itself in the caffeine I have consumed.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
On waiting.
I had forgotten all about the existence of this blog. This is great! I don't have to go through the painful process of registering and setting up. Just change my profile picture and lay out, and bam. Good ol' blogger, your name might be changing, but you have waited and I have returned a few years later to continue to lay out my thoughts on theology and spirituality. I'm kind of excited, yet I am completely putting myself out on the open for criticism. Which of course, (if it is good), I will try to accept graciously.
My best friend Andrew has been waiting. He was telling me that he was waiting for his car to come out of the shop from its extended vacation, waiting for a background check to come through, and waiting to hear back from a new job.
I am in my own season of waiting. I did not make it into any of my wait-listed classes (the classes you have to wait to know if you are registered for, and praying that the first 10 people on the list don't show up). So, my academic goals are being placed on hold for another fives months, another five months being counted towards the fact that I am twenty-six and degree-less. Anyway.
Western culture, especially the younger generation, is not fond of waiting. We are instant-gratification driven.The more we can do in less of time, the better. But as human experience will show, waiting in the line at the bank Friday at noon is completely different from waiting to be a parent for the first time. I do think there is a difference between waiting in the profane, and waiting in the sacred.
I have no formal training, but I'm sure I could find someone to cite the fact that waiting is a huge spiritual theme in Judaism and Christianity. Judaism waits for the great "clean up" of the world through the coming of the Messiah and/or the return to the Holy Land. Christianity waits for the the return of Christ the Messiah and/or the Kingdom of God/Heaven. Both waitings have an idea of who, what, how. But not when.
I didn't bother to count, but Strong Exhaustive Concordance dedicates almost a whole page to the words "wait", "waiteth", and "waiting" (160 times according to wiki.answers.com). It's easy to recall how many psalms and other Prophet spoken passages mention something along the lines of "This is what is happening, and it sucks. But if you wait on God, then God will act".
I'm thinking a theology of waiting is more than a conditional statement. Waiting involves letting go of the condition all together. "If I make it into my classes, then I will be one step closer to a degree." Of course, I need my classes. But the motivation for school is is driven by the goal of graduating and moving on. The condition of my situation has not happened, but if I really believe that God has some sort of influence in my life, and I am doing the things I should be doing, then for right now the condition doesn't even matter.
In the liturgical seasons of Advent and Lent, the theme of waiting is accompanied by anticipation or expecting. I hate to challenge hundreds of years of Church practice, but when applied to every day life, this doesn't cut it. Anticipation and expectancy put ones eyes on the future. Anticipation and expectancy almost put the power in our own hands, when that power is not ours to begin with.
Waiting puts the power back in the hands of the divine. Waiting admits that there is little or next to nothing we can do until whatever "it" is happens. Waiting may not look to the future as much as it does to hope.
I'm also waiting for a boyfriend, but that is a whole other post coming.
My best friend Andrew has been waiting. He was telling me that he was waiting for his car to come out of the shop from its extended vacation, waiting for a background check to come through, and waiting to hear back from a new job.
I am in my own season of waiting. I did not make it into any of my wait-listed classes (the classes you have to wait to know if you are registered for, and praying that the first 10 people on the list don't show up). So, my academic goals are being placed on hold for another fives months, another five months being counted towards the fact that I am twenty-six and degree-less. Anyway.
Western culture, especially the younger generation, is not fond of waiting. We are instant-gratification driven.The more we can do in less of time, the better. But as human experience will show, waiting in the line at the bank Friday at noon is completely different from waiting to be a parent for the first time. I do think there is a difference between waiting in the profane, and waiting in the sacred.
I have no formal training, but I'm sure I could find someone to cite the fact that waiting is a huge spiritual theme in Judaism and Christianity. Judaism waits for the great "clean up" of the world through the coming of the Messiah and/or the return to the Holy Land. Christianity waits for the the return of Christ the Messiah and/or the Kingdom of God/Heaven. Both waitings have an idea of who, what, how. But not when.
I didn't bother to count, but Strong Exhaustive Concordance dedicates almost a whole page to the words "wait", "waiteth", and "waiting" (160 times according to wiki.answers.com). It's easy to recall how many psalms and other Prophet spoken passages mention something along the lines of "This is what is happening, and it sucks. But if you wait on God, then God will act".
I'm thinking a theology of waiting is more than a conditional statement. Waiting involves letting go of the condition all together. "If I make it into my classes, then I will be one step closer to a degree." Of course, I need my classes. But the motivation for school is is driven by the goal of graduating and moving on. The condition of my situation has not happened, but if I really believe that God has some sort of influence in my life, and I am doing the things I should be doing, then for right now the condition doesn't even matter.
In the liturgical seasons of Advent and Lent, the theme of waiting is accompanied by anticipation or expecting. I hate to challenge hundreds of years of Church practice, but when applied to every day life, this doesn't cut it. Anticipation and expectancy put ones eyes on the future. Anticipation and expectancy almost put the power in our own hands, when that power is not ours to begin with.
Waiting puts the power back in the hands of the divine. Waiting admits that there is little or next to nothing we can do until whatever "it" is happens. Waiting may not look to the future as much as it does to hope.
I'm also waiting for a boyfriend, but that is a whole other post coming.
Friday, October 9, 2009
My thoughts on B033 and D025
I know I'm alittle late on this. Only two months and some change.
This summer the Episcopal Church approved two resolutions regaurding its ministry to gay and lesbians. The church deceided to open up the floor to gay and lesbian priests to be ordained bishops, and gay and lesbian couples can have their marraiges blessed.
Now, as a gay male, I'm only partly pleased with the results. Of course, when the appointed time comes I can get my own relationship blessed, and if I'm ever ordained a priest in the church and if I do well, then I could possibly even get a pretty big promotion. Of course, I believe that the love of Christ is inclusive to all humans, and I believe the Episcopal Church is doing a good job for the most part in practicing the inclusion as a whole.
Now, in reguards to its relationship with its neighbors, the Episcopal Church is flunking. Just last month the Archbishop of Canterbury issued a statement that the USA branch of Anglicanism might face a reduced status in the Anglicanism.
The whole thing is a load of crock, if you ask me. I already know what second-class feels like in California, and I don't need that in Global Anglicanism. I think both parties are being selective.
First off, I know Rowan Williams has a lot on his plate. I wouldn't want the job, and if I did then some of the African bishops might be in trouble. But I don't think he is being fair. He would reduce the status of TEC and not the Church of England or Canada who have been progressing in a smiliar direction? He would favor the more conservative folk when GAFCON can ditch the Lambeth Conference for their own special gathering? I have heard more UnChristian statements out of Peter Akinola than any neo-Christian Episcopalian. You can support the death of practicing homosexuals and still be a practicing bishop? Its beyond me...
Second, TEC. Maybe its because I'm not getting married anytime soon, but I think the church should have waited at least two more General Conventions. Episcopalians should know that things move at glacier speed in this church. Gay rights in the church has only been going for forty years. And even in the secular world gay rights are only just now starting to catch on. Society is slowly catching up. And even though the Episcopal Church is a slow church, apparently it is also brash. And, if it really is a fully inclusive church, then provisions must be made for those who hold more traditional views on sexuality and marraige.
I could go on, but I just needed to get that out.
This summer the Episcopal Church approved two resolutions regaurding its ministry to gay and lesbians. The church deceided to open up the floor to gay and lesbian priests to be ordained bishops, and gay and lesbian couples can have their marraiges blessed.
Now, as a gay male, I'm only partly pleased with the results. Of course, when the appointed time comes I can get my own relationship blessed, and if I'm ever ordained a priest in the church and if I do well, then I could possibly even get a pretty big promotion. Of course, I believe that the love of Christ is inclusive to all humans, and I believe the Episcopal Church is doing a good job for the most part in practicing the inclusion as a whole.
Now, in reguards to its relationship with its neighbors, the Episcopal Church is flunking. Just last month the Archbishop of Canterbury issued a statement that the USA branch of Anglicanism might face a reduced status in the Anglicanism.
The whole thing is a load of crock, if you ask me. I already know what second-class feels like in California, and I don't need that in Global Anglicanism. I think both parties are being selective.
First off, I know Rowan Williams has a lot on his plate. I wouldn't want the job, and if I did then some of the African bishops might be in trouble. But I don't think he is being fair. He would reduce the status of TEC and not the Church of England or Canada who have been progressing in a smiliar direction? He would favor the more conservative folk when GAFCON can ditch the Lambeth Conference for their own special gathering? I have heard more UnChristian statements out of Peter Akinola than any neo-Christian Episcopalian. You can support the death of practicing homosexuals and still be a practicing bishop? Its beyond me...
Second, TEC. Maybe its because I'm not getting married anytime soon, but I think the church should have waited at least two more General Conventions. Episcopalians should know that things move at glacier speed in this church. Gay rights in the church has only been going for forty years. And even in the secular world gay rights are only just now starting to catch on. Society is slowly catching up. And even though the Episcopal Church is a slow church, apparently it is also brash. And, if it really is a fully inclusive church, then provisions must be made for those who hold more traditional views on sexuality and marraige.
I could go on, but I just needed to get that out.
Sermon for 3rd week in Easter
Don’t tell Tim or Vern, but I got off fairly easy this Sunday. While I was preparing for this sermon, I was amazed at the broad list of things I could potentially speak on from the readings appointed for today. The readings all give the same message: God, love, Jesus, death, repentance, forgiveness. But it would be too easy to just leave it at that. And I can’t disappoint Tim and let you all off the hook that easy either.
The readings I want to focus on this morning are the lessons from Acts and the Gospel of Luke. Again, they both carry the same message and mirror each other quite well. That would be because Luke’s Gospel and the Book of Acts were originally written as companion volumes for a Gentile audience; they offer an account of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection and a history of the early church in relation to what was written in the Old Testament. Luke’s writings were split into two different books when the Ecumenical Councils decided to organize the canonized books of the Bible.
Luke is a great story teller. In fact, the Gospel reading is actually Luke’s account of Jesus’ appearance to the eleven disciples which we read in Johns Gospel last week. Mark had nothing to say on the matter. John does a little better, as we read last week. And all Matthew had to write was “Now the eleven went to Galilee, to the mountain which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted” (Matt 28:16-17). Luke was probably that annoying guy at work who likes to tell you how the clock was made. He likes detail. He likes to engage his reader and is an excellent narrator.
In Acts, the story picks up right after Peter heals a crippled man outside the Temple. You could almost confuse Peter for John with how many times he says the word “You” in reference to the Israelites and their leaders. And that’s exactly what I want to focus on. Not anti-Jewish comments. But the distinctions made in Luke’s writings.
First off, Peter makes the distinction between himself and Israelites. He distinguishes between those who wanted Jesus dead, and Pilate who wanted to release him. Between God, and those who wanted Jesus dead. He next differentiates the “Holy and Righteous One”-Jesus- to the murderer who was released instead. Then between Peter and John who as was with him at the Temple, to those who wanted Jesus dead. Alright Luke, we get the picture. Then to appeal to the Israelites to repent, he addresses them as “friends” or as the Greek has it. “brothers” instead of those darn Israelites who wanted Jesus dead as verse four started out.
Luke’s Gospel gets a bit more interesting and this time Jesus does more of the distinguishing. Prior to this in verse thirty, two of the disciples who had just broken bread with Jesus went to go tell the news to the other disciples that he was alive. Jesus now makes his third and last appearance in Luke’s Gospel before his ascension. Poor Jesus. I can’t think of a worse way to be welcomed back from the dead. Jesus greets his disciples as friends, “Peace be with you”. But they reply-probably as we would-with, “Ah! It’s a ghost!” Being taken as Casper the unfriendly ghost forces Jesus to explain his physical scars and body are that of a resurrected body. Casper does not have such a body. Even after seeing his hands and feet they are joyful, yet disbelieving. And Jesus, in his understanding that they are afraid and do not understand that he is really alive, eats with them to prove his physical body and perhaps bring reality that his is risen indeed and confirm he is not Casper the Holy Ghost.
All the things just mentioned could be interesting sermon topics. We could think about ghosts and the paranormal as it is a personal interest of mine. We could talk about atonement for sins through God’s grand clean up plan for the world and our mission to
evangelize. Or how Jesus is revealed to us as the risen Lord when we gather at the Altar for the bread and wine as he was revealed to the disciples when he broke bread and ate fish. Or we could ponder the possible significance between Jesus eating fish and Jesus breaking bread back in verse thirty. To stay in continuity with Vern’s sermon last week, I’ll stay with the doubting hearts and joy of the disciples.
It’s moments like this in scripture where I fully understand that God works through most mundane and odd things. At times, I’d really like to give the disciples a break and play the “we’re only human” card. Then, at other times I’d rather like to see humanity get a break from its own ignorance and stupidity. We can’t be that dumb to miss the risen Lord. Are we? I suppose we do have the advantage over the disciples in that we do believe without seeing. As Vern pointed out last week, the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus. At least not until Jesus revealed himself to them and “opened their minds to understand the scriptures” as the Gospel states. Sure, they were human. But even more, they were willing and obedient to be appointed Jesus’ witnesses of his love and passion to all the nations. The Gospel doesn’t bluntly say that the disciples finally get it now. But when foot-in-the-mouth Peter testified that they were Jesus witnesses later in Acts and astonished the people with the healing of the crippled man, I’m pretty sure they do get it now.
One common theme which I feel link these two readings together is the reactions of the people who witnessed the healing at the temple and the disciples who saw Jesus resurrected. The “it’s too good to be true” complex. Doubt versus joy. Jesus poses the question to his disciples “Why do doubts rise in your hearts?” I’m sure we could give the answer, “Well, Jesus. It all has to do with this or that”. And I’m sure he would respond back to us, “Well, okay. Now, really…why do doubts rise in your hearts?” It’s easier to talk about doubt. One doesn’t have to look very hard to find it. However, one thing we can conclude from the lessons: in the mist of doubt, there is always joy. A good Anglo-Catholic friend of mine advised me once during my own doubtful months last year “We are meant to seek out joy in doubtful times. Its an advantage we have as spiritual beings”. Joy is more than simply making the best of it or faking it until you feel it. Joy happens in the moment where Jesus reveals himself to us. Joy is accepting that all the doubtful things which surround us can be used for something greater than we can imagine. It is an acceptance which transcends all doubt and assures us of God’s hand at work among us.
In all our individual experiences we have come to this point where Jesus has revealed himself to us in prayer, the breaking of bread, in service to others, in facing our own fears and doubts which set us back. We have our ghosts which haunt us, fingers that we point, doubts, fears, and joys. Jesus met the disciples as they are. As people who doubted, had fears, and were sometimes a little less than bright. And Jesus continues to meet us just as we are. As people who doubt, have fears, and who are sometimes a little less than bright. In our own journey, like the disciples, many of us in our past isolation from the Episcopal Church doubted that we would ever serve in such a faith community as Grace. In a world of uncertainty we have all lived in fear, leading us at times to run off course contrary to what would be best for us. Jesus continues to not only reveal himself to us, but also to assure us. And that assurance can transcend all doubts in us leading to joy. And of this we are certain. And we are ourselves are witnesses to this. Amen.
The readings I want to focus on this morning are the lessons from Acts and the Gospel of Luke. Again, they both carry the same message and mirror each other quite well. That would be because Luke’s Gospel and the Book of Acts were originally written as companion volumes for a Gentile audience; they offer an account of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection and a history of the early church in relation to what was written in the Old Testament. Luke’s writings were split into two different books when the Ecumenical Councils decided to organize the canonized books of the Bible.
Luke is a great story teller. In fact, the Gospel reading is actually Luke’s account of Jesus’ appearance to the eleven disciples which we read in Johns Gospel last week. Mark had nothing to say on the matter. John does a little better, as we read last week. And all Matthew had to write was “Now the eleven went to Galilee, to the mountain which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted” (Matt 28:16-17). Luke was probably that annoying guy at work who likes to tell you how the clock was made. He likes detail. He likes to engage his reader and is an excellent narrator.
In Acts, the story picks up right after Peter heals a crippled man outside the Temple. You could almost confuse Peter for John with how many times he says the word “You” in reference to the Israelites and their leaders. And that’s exactly what I want to focus on. Not anti-Jewish comments. But the distinctions made in Luke’s writings.
First off, Peter makes the distinction between himself and Israelites. He distinguishes between those who wanted Jesus dead, and Pilate who wanted to release him. Between God, and those who wanted Jesus dead. He next differentiates the “Holy and Righteous One”-Jesus- to the murderer who was released instead. Then between Peter and John who as was with him at the Temple, to those who wanted Jesus dead. Alright Luke, we get the picture. Then to appeal to the Israelites to repent, he addresses them as “friends” or as the Greek has it. “brothers” instead of those darn Israelites who wanted Jesus dead as verse four started out.
Luke’s Gospel gets a bit more interesting and this time Jesus does more of the distinguishing. Prior to this in verse thirty, two of the disciples who had just broken bread with Jesus went to go tell the news to the other disciples that he was alive. Jesus now makes his third and last appearance in Luke’s Gospel before his ascension. Poor Jesus. I can’t think of a worse way to be welcomed back from the dead. Jesus greets his disciples as friends, “Peace be with you”. But they reply-probably as we would-with, “Ah! It’s a ghost!” Being taken as Casper the unfriendly ghost forces Jesus to explain his physical scars and body are that of a resurrected body. Casper does not have such a body. Even after seeing his hands and feet they are joyful, yet disbelieving. And Jesus, in his understanding that they are afraid and do not understand that he is really alive, eats with them to prove his physical body and perhaps bring reality that his is risen indeed and confirm he is not Casper the Holy Ghost.
All the things just mentioned could be interesting sermon topics. We could think about ghosts and the paranormal as it is a personal interest of mine. We could talk about atonement for sins through God’s grand clean up plan for the world and our mission to
evangelize. Or how Jesus is revealed to us as the risen Lord when we gather at the Altar for the bread and wine as he was revealed to the disciples when he broke bread and ate fish. Or we could ponder the possible significance between Jesus eating fish and Jesus breaking bread back in verse thirty. To stay in continuity with Vern’s sermon last week, I’ll stay with the doubting hearts and joy of the disciples.
It’s moments like this in scripture where I fully understand that God works through most mundane and odd things. At times, I’d really like to give the disciples a break and play the “we’re only human” card. Then, at other times I’d rather like to see humanity get a break from its own ignorance and stupidity. We can’t be that dumb to miss the risen Lord. Are we? I suppose we do have the advantage over the disciples in that we do believe without seeing. As Vern pointed out last week, the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus. At least not until Jesus revealed himself to them and “opened their minds to understand the scriptures” as the Gospel states. Sure, they were human. But even more, they were willing and obedient to be appointed Jesus’ witnesses of his love and passion to all the nations. The Gospel doesn’t bluntly say that the disciples finally get it now. But when foot-in-the-mouth Peter testified that they were Jesus witnesses later in Acts and astonished the people with the healing of the crippled man, I’m pretty sure they do get it now.
One common theme which I feel link these two readings together is the reactions of the people who witnessed the healing at the temple and the disciples who saw Jesus resurrected. The “it’s too good to be true” complex. Doubt versus joy. Jesus poses the question to his disciples “Why do doubts rise in your hearts?” I’m sure we could give the answer, “Well, Jesus. It all has to do with this or that”. And I’m sure he would respond back to us, “Well, okay. Now, really…why do doubts rise in your hearts?” It’s easier to talk about doubt. One doesn’t have to look very hard to find it. However, one thing we can conclude from the lessons: in the mist of doubt, there is always joy. A good Anglo-Catholic friend of mine advised me once during my own doubtful months last year “We are meant to seek out joy in doubtful times. Its an advantage we have as spiritual beings”. Joy is more than simply making the best of it or faking it until you feel it. Joy happens in the moment where Jesus reveals himself to us. Joy is accepting that all the doubtful things which surround us can be used for something greater than we can imagine. It is an acceptance which transcends all doubt and assures us of God’s hand at work among us.
In all our individual experiences we have come to this point where Jesus has revealed himself to us in prayer, the breaking of bread, in service to others, in facing our own fears and doubts which set us back. We have our ghosts which haunt us, fingers that we point, doubts, fears, and joys. Jesus met the disciples as they are. As people who doubted, had fears, and were sometimes a little less than bright. And Jesus continues to meet us just as we are. As people who doubt, have fears, and who are sometimes a little less than bright. In our own journey, like the disciples, many of us in our past isolation from the Episcopal Church doubted that we would ever serve in such a faith community as Grace. In a world of uncertainty we have all lived in fear, leading us at times to run off course contrary to what would be best for us. Jesus continues to not only reveal himself to us, but also to assure us. And that assurance can transcend all doubts in us leading to joy. And of this we are certain. And we are ourselves are witnesses to this. Amen.
Sermon for 22nd Week after Pentecost year B
Pslam 8
Job 1
Hebrews 2
What is man that you are mindful of him? The Son of Man that you should seek him out? This question has been asked and answers have been sought out by many intelligent people through out history: Who are we? In Western thought where the emphasis is on the individual, we ask this question on a much more personal level: Who am I? And when we ask this question in the context of Psalm eight, who am I that God even cares? The question turns theological. When you look at humans who have a nice long history full of war, murder, violence and mistrust compared to a God who created “vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, and planets in their courses”, who are mortals that God should consider us or look at our direction? It seems that this is an occurrence in the Old Testament where there is actually a positive response to such a question. “You have made them for a little while lower than the angels; you have crowned them with glory and honor, subjecting all things under their feet”. But can this really be the full answer? Not that I can come up with a better answer than anyone else in the past thousand years, but sometimes I feel like my crowing with honor and glory might have gotten lost via Episcopal Postal Service. But, that might just be me.
The answer to “what is man that you are mindful of him?” may still be at least part of the answer given by the response of the Psalmist. You have made them “for a little while”, says the Psalmist, little lower than the angels. “For awhile”, possibly implying that our status as humans might be temporary. (Thanks be to God…)
In this transitory life we all know too well the moments where Jesus relates to our moments which are anything but honor and glory. Moments which are also only “for little awhile” but seem to last a lot longer. And of course, as it said, we can’t possibly know or feel what good and bad are if we don’t know them both. Nor can we can know glory without having experienced suffering on some level. In today’s reading from Hebrews the writer seems to suggest this. Jesus, who in verse nine, is “now crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone”. Now, since Jesus suffered doesn’t that mean the rest of us get a get out of jail free card? Not necessarily.
As the Buddha said, Life is suffering. Attachment to life causes suffering. Let’s boldly face it; we are collective individuals who suffer. Often it is the experience of our own suffering which aids us in making the mistakes we do, locking us in our patterns of behavior going around in circles as we try to find our identity. Other times, as wise man once said, Stuff happens. But suffering is indeed apart of our human identity and experience; which is exactly why Jesus had to suffer, it comes with the territory. It’s apart of the Incarnation. In becoming human, Jesus assumed every part of human identity; the good, bad, and ugly. And, by his grace, we in turn as Christians make the attempt to live out his nature given to us in baptism. When we read the Gospels, not only do we learn that Jesus assumed and experienced the same suffering that we experience, but he overcame his suffering by his identity. He suffered with his identity and suffered with purpose and reason. This is his glory and honor.
Now, what about us? Those who are sitting in the pews who are fully human but aren’t fully God? Job is a perfect example, a mere mortal whom God cared for. Though we just started the first chapter in the lectionary today, I’m sure I wouldn’t spoil the ending in telling you that Job either symbolically or literally went through more than what the average person should, and that it all worked out for him in the end. Job suffered, and though it would seem that his crowning with honor and glory came at the end of the book, I think Job would say different. He, like Jesus, set a prime example. Not necessarily that he never cursed God, but he was aware and secure in his identity not to curse God, and he accounted his glory and honor just in the fact that he was alive and breathing.
Even if it is “for awhile” the honor and glory we have as humans is the glory and honor which God has showed forth in our creation in blessing us with “memory, reason, and skill” and in making us caretakers of our planet. God gave us something which the heavenly bodies do not have: Identity. Identities which can love God back, and love each other on our own free will. This is why God looks past our faults despite the fact most of the time we know better.
If there is anything which can help us understand our individual identities here on Earth it might be this quote by French priest Teilhard de Chardin. “You are not a human being in search of a spiritual experience. You are a spiritual being immersed in a human experience." Keeping this in mind has helped me personally in those major and trivial moments where I’m not sure what the hell is going on. We have all had those moments where we ask on some level, “Why is this happening?” And most of the time we can’t find an answer. We might try to come up with answer and might succeed. But I think if we’re really honest with ourselves, we might have to admit that we came up short. But what else can you expect from spiritual beings trapped in limited human form?
In living our faith we must be mindful of our selves. If we are aware of our identities then we can be aware of Christ who dwells within us. We may not have the “why” of our long term eternal purpose and why God cares and loves us. But that almost doesn’t matter. We can know “what” and “who” which are equally important.
Imagine that your life on earth came to end, and finally you are in the next realm with Jesus, free from your mortal body and clothed in celestial brightness just as you were created. And Jesus asks you, “So, what did you learn”? You reflect back on your life and all that you had experienced and all whom you came across and loved. You search out your identity. And the answer to his question just might be the same answer to why God is mindful of us in the first place.
Job 1
Hebrews 2
What is man that you are mindful of him? The Son of Man that you should seek him out? This question has been asked and answers have been sought out by many intelligent people through out history: Who are we? In Western thought where the emphasis is on the individual, we ask this question on a much more personal level: Who am I? And when we ask this question in the context of Psalm eight, who am I that God even cares? The question turns theological. When you look at humans who have a nice long history full of war, murder, violence and mistrust compared to a God who created “vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, and planets in their courses”, who are mortals that God should consider us or look at our direction? It seems that this is an occurrence in the Old Testament where there is actually a positive response to such a question. “You have made them for a little while lower than the angels; you have crowned them with glory and honor, subjecting all things under their feet”. But can this really be the full answer? Not that I can come up with a better answer than anyone else in the past thousand years, but sometimes I feel like my crowing with honor and glory might have gotten lost via Episcopal Postal Service. But, that might just be me.
The answer to “what is man that you are mindful of him?” may still be at least part of the answer given by the response of the Psalmist. You have made them “for a little while”, says the Psalmist, little lower than the angels. “For awhile”, possibly implying that our status as humans might be temporary. (Thanks be to God…)
In this transitory life we all know too well the moments where Jesus relates to our moments which are anything but honor and glory. Moments which are also only “for little awhile” but seem to last a lot longer. And of course, as it said, we can’t possibly know or feel what good and bad are if we don’t know them both. Nor can we can know glory without having experienced suffering on some level. In today’s reading from Hebrews the writer seems to suggest this. Jesus, who in verse nine, is “now crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone”. Now, since Jesus suffered doesn’t that mean the rest of us get a get out of jail free card? Not necessarily.
As the Buddha said, Life is suffering. Attachment to life causes suffering. Let’s boldly face it; we are collective individuals who suffer. Often it is the experience of our own suffering which aids us in making the mistakes we do, locking us in our patterns of behavior going around in circles as we try to find our identity. Other times, as wise man once said, Stuff happens. But suffering is indeed apart of our human identity and experience; which is exactly why Jesus had to suffer, it comes with the territory. It’s apart of the Incarnation. In becoming human, Jesus assumed every part of human identity; the good, bad, and ugly. And, by his grace, we in turn as Christians make the attempt to live out his nature given to us in baptism. When we read the Gospels, not only do we learn that Jesus assumed and experienced the same suffering that we experience, but he overcame his suffering by his identity. He suffered with his identity and suffered with purpose and reason. This is his glory and honor.
Now, what about us? Those who are sitting in the pews who are fully human but aren’t fully God? Job is a perfect example, a mere mortal whom God cared for. Though we just started the first chapter in the lectionary today, I’m sure I wouldn’t spoil the ending in telling you that Job either symbolically or literally went through more than what the average person should, and that it all worked out for him in the end. Job suffered, and though it would seem that his crowning with honor and glory came at the end of the book, I think Job would say different. He, like Jesus, set a prime example. Not necessarily that he never cursed God, but he was aware and secure in his identity not to curse God, and he accounted his glory and honor just in the fact that he was alive and breathing.
Even if it is “for awhile” the honor and glory we have as humans is the glory and honor which God has showed forth in our creation in blessing us with “memory, reason, and skill” and in making us caretakers of our planet. God gave us something which the heavenly bodies do not have: Identity. Identities which can love God back, and love each other on our own free will. This is why God looks past our faults despite the fact most of the time we know better.
If there is anything which can help us understand our individual identities here on Earth it might be this quote by French priest Teilhard de Chardin. “You are not a human being in search of a spiritual experience. You are a spiritual being immersed in a human experience." Keeping this in mind has helped me personally in those major and trivial moments where I’m not sure what the hell is going on. We have all had those moments where we ask on some level, “Why is this happening?” And most of the time we can’t find an answer. We might try to come up with answer and might succeed. But I think if we’re really honest with ourselves, we might have to admit that we came up short. But what else can you expect from spiritual beings trapped in limited human form?
In living our faith we must be mindful of our selves. If we are aware of our identities then we can be aware of Christ who dwells within us. We may not have the “why” of our long term eternal purpose and why God cares and loves us. But that almost doesn’t matter. We can know “what” and “who” which are equally important.
Imagine that your life on earth came to end, and finally you are in the next realm with Jesus, free from your mortal body and clothed in celestial brightness just as you were created. And Jesus asks you, “So, what did you learn”? You reflect back on your life and all that you had experienced and all whom you came across and loved. You search out your identity. And the answer to his question just might be the same answer to why God is mindful of us in the first place.
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