"I'm so sorry for your loss."

Death Week at Seabury has finally. . . passed on.

Yesterday's Practicum class consisted, at least in part, of a mock funeral. Reception of the Body, Burial (Rite II), Eucharist and Commendation. The presider and liturgical party did a respectable job, coping with the extraneous details. . .

As it happens, I was assigned the role of "grieving widow," supported by a "sister" and a "daughter." We mourned our way through the service most effectively: copious use of tissues, pathetic sniffles and the occasional, well-timed shuddering sob. Our classmates were highly impressed, and more than one suggested we may have a bi-vocational opportunity as paid mourners.

We were accompanied, of course, by the suitably sepulchral funeral director, Mr. Unctuous (aka Dave), who alternated between obsequious sympathy and less-than-subtle efforts to sell us upgrades for urn, plot, etc. until the very last minute.

The deceased, so the story goes, died rather suddenly-- a heart attack. There might have been more sorrow at his loss, had he not at the time been in bed with a woman young enough to be his daughter. Suggestions of foul play are only unsubstantiated rumor.

Ears to hear

I can tell by the way you're walking

That you don't want company
I'll let you alone and I'll let you walk on
And in your own good time you'll be

Back where the sun can find you
Under the wise wishing tree
And with all of them made we'll lie under the shade
And call it a jubilee

And I can tell by the way you're talking
That the past isn't letting you go
But there's only so long you can take it all on
And then the wrong's gotta be on its own

And when you're ready to leave it behind you
You'll look back, and all that you'll see
Is the wreckage and rust that you left in the dust
On your way to the jubilee

And I can tell by the way you're listening
That you're still expecting to hear
Your name being called like a summons to all
Who have failed to account for their doubts and their fears

They can't add up to much without you
And so if it were just up to me
I'd take hold of your hand, saying come hear the band
Play your song at the jubilee

And I can tell by the way you're searching
For something you can't even name
That you haven't been able to come to the table
Simply glad that you came

And when you feel like this try to imagine
That we're all like frail boats on the sea
Just scanning the night for that great guiding light
Announcing the jubilee

And I can tell by the way you're standing
With your eyes filling with tears
That it's habit alone keeps you turning for home
Even though your home is right here

Where the people who love you are gathered
Under the wise wishing tree
May we all be considered then straight on delivered
Down to the jubilee

'Cause the people who love you are waiting
And they'll wait just as long as need be
When we look back and say those were halcyon days
We're talking 'bout jubilee

Mary Chapin Carpenter, "Jubilee"

Dark nights. . .

Discussing burial rites, and pastoral concerns pertaining thereto, in Liturgical Practicum.

A case study of death, and theologies of death and dying, in Biblical Theology.

Then, correspondence: a couple of emails that inadvertently pushed buttons, and stirred memories. Remembering deaths... of a loved one, in one case; of security and blind trust, in another.

Then reading Ezekiel for my OT class, and the ugly images there...

Enough, and more than enough.

Be our light in the darkness, O Lord, and in your great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of your only Son, our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Now, to sleep. I hope.

Look! Over there!

Today, in lieu of coming up with any original ideas of my own, I've got some well-chosen words of others to which to point you.

First on the list is Fr. Jake, with some thought-provoking views on patriotism, peacemaking and piety. A wake-up call, first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile, Songbird is approaching the death of a friend and parishioner with poetic grace. The whole issue of death has been a theme around here the last couple weeks, for one reason and another, so this was a gift to read-- and to share.

And to cap it all off, a maternal rant from the Yarn Harlot that left me, you should pardon the expression, in stitches, laughing at the life's truths we seem to share. Check it out.

Monday in the Fifth Week in Easter

John 14:21-26

Question: How many mothers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Answer: None. “Oh, don’t mind me, honey; I’ll just sit here in the dark!”

These little jokes do amuse me. Of course, like most jokes, the amusement factor stems at least in part because of the truth it contains. In this case, it’s an unfortunately familiar form of emotional blackmail that I suspect we’ve all heard at one time or another.

• If you love me, you’d know what I need without asking.
• If you love me, you’ll understand.
• If you love me, you’ll let me.

It struck me, as I was reading today’s Gospel, that this is one way you could hear Jesus’ statement. “if you love me, you’ll keep my commandments, and be loved by my father.” As though he were saying that we needed to prove our devotion in some way, in order to earn God’s love.

However, as Winslow lecturer Stephen Fowl would say, that is an interpretation which “does violence to the text.” It doesn’t fit with the message we hear elsewhere in scripture of God’s unconditional love, and the unearned, unmerited grace that God offers through Jesus Christ.

So instead, I think Jesus is simply stating a fact here. He is acknowledging that those who follow him, who keep his commandments, do so out of love. Obedience is not the way to earn God’s love; rather, the product of God’s love, and love for God, is obedience.

I’ve had occasion to give some thought to the nature of obedience lately. As most of you know, I took some vows of obedience, among others, a little over a week ago, when I was ordained to the diaconate-- along with Jeff and Rebecca. At the rehearsal, our bishop took a certain humorous pleasure in that. I can still see him sitting in the chair, grinning as we practiced. We didn’t do the whole of our vows then, but one thing did work its way in, every time. It sounded something like this:

"Jane, will you be loyal . . . yada, yada, yada. . . and obey your bishop?"

And yes, eventually I promised that I was willing and ready to do so. Later, Ed pointed out in his sermon that we were taking vows based on an awful lot of trust; that, no more than any other ordinand, we really didn’t know what we were getting into. Nor could we, really. And yet there we were-- standing before God and the community assembled, and making these promises, as disciples of Jesus have been doing ever since he walked out of the dessert and started saying, “follow me.”

We make similar vows of obedience when we are baptized, or when we stand and renew our vows in the words of the baptismal covenant.

Question Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior?
Answer I do.
Question Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?
Answer I do.
Question Do you promise to follow and obey him as your Lord?
Answer I do.

So the question becomes, what does that look like-- that obedience, that keeping of God’s commandments?

Well, let’s start with this: despite what you may have heard (and certainly what I have heard upon occasion) I do not believe, that it entails passive, unquestioning submission to authority. "Christian" does not mean "doormat." Think about this: Mary is an icon for obedience, but she asked for explanations from the angel before she agreed to anything. As Susie noted in her homily last week, Mary Magdalene was both gutsy and forthright-- and fully obedient, as she first took risks the apostles would not take, and then when she testified to what she had seen at the tomb, even when the others refused to take her seriously. Jesus is the ultimate example of obedience to the Father’s will-- obedience that included breaking the laws of the Torah, upending the furniture in the Temple, and calling out the religious authority (that “brood of vipers”) in no uncertain terms.

So, our obedience-- the keeping of God’s commandments in love to which Jesus urges us (at the last supper, the eve of his own greatest act of obedience) is not silent, mindless “doing what you’re told;” not at all. What it is, is downright risky stuff.

• To face head-on the questions, doubts and sometimes outright hostility that comes with saying, “yes” to a call to ministry.

• To directly disagree and even argue with that bishop I love, and have promised to obey, because I owe both him and God we both serve the respect of nothing less than an honest accounting.

• To embrace the soldier, when an angry peace protester calls her murderer-- and then to stand and speak against war, when blind patriotism calls you traitor.

• To care for and respect the homeless and unwashed, as well as the smugly comfortable. The criminal, as well as the victim. The abused, and the abuser. All those “inappropriate” souls who make our tidy Christian road so messy and hard to walk-- and who carry the face of God in their lives.

“If you love me,” Jesus says, “you will keep my commandments.” Risky stuff indeed. But my brothers and sisters, we are promised God’s unfailing love in this work, and the presence of the Holy Spirit in all that we do for the love of Jesus. And look around-- we are also given one another, as guide, and goad, and gift on the journey.

So let us begin.

Fifth Sunday in Easter

Acts 7:55-60
Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16
1 Peter 2:2-10
John 14:1-14

Philip said to Jesus, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." Don’t you love the apostles? No wonder Jesus is exasperated! At this point, he’s been with them for three years. In all the time they’ve been living together, they’ve had plenty of opportunities to see Jesus at work, teaching and healing. In addition, I have to believe that over and above all the things we read in the Gospels, they’d been party to myriad unrecorded conversations that were further moments for learning, and understanding.

Jesus’ efforts in this regard continue right up until the last minute. This conversation is part of John’s record of the Last Supper, so time is about up, and Jesus knows it. He’s trying to provide some last minute instructions, some comfort for them to cling to in the days ahead.

And still, here’s poor Philip. “Show us the Father, and we will be satisfied,” he says. Only one more answer, one more bit of solid evidence, one more definitive image, and he’ll be content.

Don’t we all do that? Thinking that if only we had that one more key item, or piece of information, we’d be better off. If we made just a little more money, if we had a little more education, one more fancy toy. . .

I can’t help but wonder if it’s simply something in our human nature, never to be quite satisfied. To be endowed by our Creator, as our constitution says, with the inalienable right to be in pursuit of happiness-- always looking past what we know (or think we know) seeking yet another answer. searching for ultimate truth.

There are two things I’ve often found to be true about this sort of seeking: first, that what seems to be the goal, the cornerstone, if you will, the ultimate point of satisfaction, is in fact neither of those things. That instead, it is more like a steppingstone, something that leads me to move onward, seeking yet something else.

Secondly, it strikes me that what we’re searching for is usually closer than we think. “Show us the father,” Philip says-- as he stands not only facing Jesus squarely, but among friends and fellow disciples, all created in the image and likeness of God, if only he had eyes to see.

Today is a special occasion, as we gather seeking in this place. We worship God together here, as we do every Sunday; we celebrate God’s gifts to us in the presence of Jesus, made known to us in the breaking of the bread. But we also celebrate God’s presence in the call he has placed on Larry’s life, to be a minister of the Gospel.

My brother, the charge and the challenge Philip puts forward is one, in a way, that you have committed yourself to spend the rest of your life answering. “Show us the Father,” the world says. Give us a reason to believe. Explain yourself, and your faith in Jesus, the Christ. Live your life every day in such a way that we can see the face of God in your soul.

No small responsibility that, and having come to know you, one I know you do not take lightly. But you also you are well aware that with the habits of prayer, and study, and Christian community that you cultivate, following this path becomes, if not easy, then possible. Keep them constant, my brother. Not only for your own spiritual health and well-being, but because that is the way you-- that we all-- become more aware of the presence of God nearby; that we’re less likely to overlook the work of Holy Spirit around us, every waking minute. You thereby become that steppingstone I mentioned earlier, providing a path and a direction, with the spiritual work and discipline to keep the direction true.

It is my prayer as you are commissioned this evening that, with God’s help, you will be strengthened in leadership, and in service. You have seen the Father, my friend and my brother; show us.

And may we, in turn, by God's grace, have eyes to see.

Soccer season

Last week was the official start of the spring soccer season; but we were busy last weekend, so today was the boy's first game this spring. Weatherwise, we would have been better off last Saturday-- this morning the order of the day was temps in the 30's, gusting winds and snow flurries. I joined the decidedly small group of parents on the sidelines, huddled in winter coats and blankets, and spent an hour or so turning into a Momcicle while my young defender ran up and down the field.

The good news is, this was a great excuse for coming home and making hot chocolate-- from scratch, with cocoa, sugar and milk, as that is how the boy prefers it. Almost made the numbness in my fingers and toes worth it.

Special events

There were a couple at Seabury, this week. Thursday night was the installation of our new dean, the Rev. Gary Hall. As you can well imagine, much pomp and circumstance accompanied this moment; and between faculty, clergy and students, those attending without being vested in some sort of academic or ecclesial attire were definitely in the minority.

The installation fell in the middle of the Winslow Lectures-- a series of four presentations, given by some noted (one might even say renowned) theologians. The third of these presenters was our own AKMA - pardon me, the Rev. Dr. A. K. M. Adam. This was especially significant, as the presentation marked his official inaugural lecture as full Professor of New Testament at Seabury. I will admit to a decided bias in favor of my favorite NT scholar; but even so, the consensus was that his dissection of the signification of meaning, and its impact on the interpretation of scripture, was (even to my decidedly non-academic ears) a brilliant piece of work.

My other favorite lecturer was the first in the series, a gently-spoken man named Stephen Fowl. His presentation on Aquinas' sense of the multifacted literal interpretation of scripture was both well-structured and cogent, and given in a comfortable style that did not require a theological translator to understand.

All in all, it was a wonderful series, and I'm glad I was able to attend all the lectures. I only have one quibble with the whole thing. Without meaning any disrespect to the gifted theologians who were invited, and with due regard for their obvious hermeneutical skills, I can't help but recall the group of caucasian, middle-aged, middle-class, bearded men with glasses who presented, and wonder if there wasn't at least one equally qualified theologian somewhere in the world who fell outside this normative system, and who could have been invited to participate. . .

Oh, look! A quiz!

It's been a while since I've succumbed to the temptation to take a silly online quiz; but this one is making the rounds, so here I go. My mother fussed about the way we spoke, especially eagerly correcting regional (read, "Chicago") pronounciations. I think she'd be pleased.

Your Linguistic Profile:

65% General American English

10% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

5% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Three New Deacons!

So, we had an ordination Friday night. God was praised, and we were caught up in that, and it was a gift and a joy.

Thank you, one and all, for your prayers and good wishes; every one of them nestled in our hearts and held us up that evening.

Veni sancte spiritus

Come, thou fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace!
Streams of mercy never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! Oh, fix me on it,
mount of God’s unchanging love.

Here I find my greatest treasure;
hither, by thy help, I’ve come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood.

Oh, to grace how great a debtor
daily I’m constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee;
prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here’s my heart, oh, take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.

Binding and loosing

After more than 3 years of metal-mouthed existance, our eldest got her braces off this week! When I talked to her that evening, she was working her way through an enormous bowl of popcorn, and reveling in the sensation of nothing getting stuck. She is understandably thrilled, though she notes that her mouth feels "good, but weird"-- unfamiliar. She will still need to wear a retainer for a while, to allow her teeth to settle in; but the omnipresent wires and brackets are gone for good.

Seems to me we have something in common. I'm just finishing 3 years of seminary training, formation for ministry-- a sort of bracket system if you will. A time of intentional learning and growth, allowing God to mold me into the kind of servant, the kind of leader, the kind of priest I am to be.

God willing, on Friday (tomorrow!) I will be ordained to the transitional diaconate. I will still need support, still be in training as I grow into this call; but like going from braces to a retainer, it will be different sort of formation. Not as structured. More freedom, but less security, and less familiarity. As my daughter notes, it feels good, but weird. Exciting, and a little scary. All right, more than a little. I'm not sure I'm ready; but I believe I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be.

So if any of you feel like praying tomorrow, feel free. I can use all the help I can get.

It ain't over until it's over

For those of you suffering bracket withdrawl, now that March Madness is done, allow me to suggest an ecclesial alternative:
Popeapalooza!

(Props to Steve for the link)

Odds and ends

It was an odd sort of day, here. Up and down...

I did some sewing for a classmate (converting some blouses into clerical shirts) before I left home this morning. This took a bit longer than I thought, so I was late leaving the house for school. I don't like to be behind schedule, even if it's only my own times and plans; so I flung my stuff into the car in a hurry, and headed north. I got all the way here, put away my vestments in the sacristy, carted my laundry basket up to my room-- and only then realized I'd left my backpack at home. Computer, homework, wallet... all 50 miles south. Ish.

Back in the car I got, and make the round trip again-- which ate into planned work/errand/study time, so I've felt a bit off kilter and out of sorts all day long.

Heather helped restore my equilibrium, though. Even though we needed to reschedule because of the aforementioned goof, she eventually came over with her guitar and we played together some. Actually, to be honest, she played, and I tried to keep up (thanks for your patience, sis!). I've got a long way to go with that, but it sure is fun trying.

I was the officiant at Evensong tonight, for the first time since last December, before field ed. I'd have preferred not to be singing through the remnants of this plaguey cold, but it felt lovely to be there, even so. Fortunately, the cantors this evening were all "A" team caliber, and so largely made up for my lack. And God was praised in the doing-- which is the whole point of the exercise.

Pensions and connections

We (the soon-to-be-Clergy Spouse and I) spent the last two days in South Bend at a seminar about clergy financial planning. It was presented by the Church Pension Group, and covered a fair amount of information: tax laws, savings, cash management, retirement planning, etc. Much of what we heard would apply to anyone, but there are some odd quirks for clergy: unusual housing arrangements (rectory vs. housing allowance?), and some special tax regulations that apply. It was good to hear the information, though I’m not sure how much actually I’ll actually remember, with my stuffed up head under the influence of decongestants. Fortunately, the CS is not operating under the same constraints, so hopefully his retention level will be greater. Me, I’m glad to have the 3-ring binder full of details that I can go over later.

The seminar was held at a hotel very close to the cathedral. In fact, we’ll be staying in the same place when we come next week for the diaconating. It’s a nice facility-- comfortable beds, good food (desserts that should be kept under lock and key), pleasant staff, and only two blocks from the church; but I was aggravated to learn that they charge extra for internet access. Even for overnight guests. Not only that, but they make a distinction between the ethernet modem available in the room, and the wifi in the lobby and restaurant area, and charge you separately for the use of each.

The desk clerk asked if I wanted to fill out a comment card. Oh, you betcha.

Hello? Anybody home?

Yes, I’m still alive. It’s just that this week has been a bit of a roller coaster, so I’ve been preoccupied with my corporeal life, and visits to cyberspace have been brief. A short summary:

First of all, let me share with you that I’m typing this on a brand new computer. Last week, my iBook’s video feed went AWOL. The hard drive was entirely functional, but the screen was dark. Everyone was home, but none of the lights in the house came on. This is not the first time I’ve had this problem, so I was understandably displeased, and said as much (politely, of course) to the Apple Support Dude with whom I spoke.

Now, here’s the good news: the Support Dude was utterly understanding; he turned me over to his Supervisor Dude, who was likewise sympathetic. Some 45 minutes later, they had arranged to ship me a new computer, rather than repairing my old one. And not only new, but significantly upgraded. And promptly, to boot-- I shipped off my old G3 on Friday, and the new G4 (with double the RAM and a CD burner!) arrived on Tuesday afternoon. Gotta love Apple.

Next, I have returned (after a hiatus for my seminary field ed time) to working and worshiping with the Church of Jesus Christ, Reconciler. It’s good to be praying and planning with Tripp and Larry again, and with the good folks who make up the core of our small congregation. If you read through some of the updates on that blog, you’ll notice that we’ve had a few adventures, with the worship space we rent and with establishing the church as a lgeally recognized body. Never to be a dull moment in this church planting business.

I’ve also spent a bit of effort on personal relationships, in some unexpected ways. This isn’t easy work; sometimes it can be difficult indeed. Surprising, and sometimes scary. There are no guarantees available when it comes to the human heart, and the risk inherent in being vulnerable-- of loss, and of hurt (both given and received) is always real. But I learned a long time ago that the hard thing to do is often the better choice, and the possibilities for joy-- sweet, and strong, and lasting-- far outweigh the risks. And so it has proven to be.

In between, I’ve managed to contract “The Seabury Plague:” a pernicious upper-respiratory bug going around campus. Coughing, and congestion, and my soprano voice dropping with a leaden thump into the tenor range.

I can hardly wait to see what happens next.

Reality Play

Classes are ongoing, and each challenging in their own ways. This week, the focus for me has been the course in liturgical practice. This is just what it sounds like-- each of us taking a turn stepping into the role of Eucharistic celebrant, trying it on for size before we venture into the world of ordained ministry and do it “for real,” with and for an expectant congregation. We started actual practice liturgies this week. In a moment of foolish inspiration, I signed up to be the presider in the first slot. Less time to get nervous, I figured. Don’t think about the temperature of the water; simply jump in and get wet. After all, that’s why they call it “play church,” right?

However, less time does not mean no time, and “play church” starts feeling more serious as I contemplate the reality of what we’re practicing. Invoking the Holy Spirit, and calling for the presence of Christ in the sacrament-- even in practice, in the context of learning-- is not something I take lightly. And so nerves set in as the time approached, until my prayers became simple: as one dear friend phrased it, “Dear Lord, please don’t let me screw up.”

And. . . ? Well, no one ran screaming from the nave. I did not drop the chalice, did not lose my place, and the words came out mostly in their proper order. It was. . . okay.

Yeah. It was really okay.

Second Sunday in Easter

Acts 2:14a,22-32
1 Peter 1:3-9
John 20:19-31
Psalm 16

Poor Thomas. You know, he gets a bad rap. Taking all the blame for doubting, when the other apostles are no better:

Mark 16 says that "When Jesus rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons. She went and told those who had been with him and who were mourning and weeping. When they heard that Jesus was alive and that she had seen him, they did not believe it."

Or check out Luke 24: "It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the others with them who told this to the apostles. But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense."

You might think they’d all have been more willing to listen, considering their experiences with him over the last three years; but apparently not.

There’s nothing comparable to the human will to disbelieve-- to be practical and logical, to deny anything as truth that we can’t see for ourselves, or grasp in our own two hands.

Why do we do that? I can think of a few reasons:

We don’t want to be thought foolish, or easily duped. This is the biggest part, for example, of why we can be reluctant to help those who ask for money from passers by on the street. How can we be sure whether the one who asks for our help , really needs it? How do we know we’re not being scammed?

Or maybe because we’re stubborn. We know what we know, and there’s security in that. Admitting that we might be wrong, or being open to illogical possibility, can be upsetting. I like my comfort zone just fine, thank you; and I don’t like to be pulled out of it.

We don’t want to be hurt. As a friend of mine says, “A pessimist is never disappointed.” It’s sort of a self-protection mechanism: if we don’t count on something, or someone, then we think we won’t suffer so much if it doesn’t live up to expectations. Well, maybe. . .

But now, think about what is contained in that creed that we’ll say together in a few minutes; the things we stand for, as we gather here tonight:
That an infinite God, creator of all that is, decided to contain all that into the life of a totally dependent baby with unfocused eyes and thrashing fists.

That an omnipotent God would stand silent as his death is ordered, a command given for no better reason than to satisfy the bloodlust of an unruly crowd.

That this whipped, crucified, pierced body would be miraculously restored to life.

And all, because he loves us-- each and every one of us foolish, stubborn, fearful people, beyond all logic, beyond all imagining.
Not easy at all; because what we profess makes no logical sense. And yet, here we are: gathered in the name of this intangible belief in an illogical God. And -- not only professing, but challenged to “show forth in our lives” the gift, the unmerited grace offered to one and all by that life, and death, and resurrection.
Almighty and everlasting God, who in the Paschal mystery established the new covenant of reconciliation: Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ's Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith...

Brothers and sisters, this is the lesson, and the challenge, that I hear in tonight’s Gospel: we are certainly blessed, as were Thomas and the apostles, by the gifts of God we see before us, every day; but even more so when we come to trust what we do not see, or control. When we are willing to look past the facts, and reach for the truth. And still more, when we are senseless enough to take the risk of sharing God’s love, and that search for truth, with those whose lives we touch-- regardless of how foolish it seems.

Singer Kathy Mattea puts this very simply:

"You've got to sing, like you don't need the money.
"Love, like you'll never get hurt.
"You got to dance, dance, dance like nobody's watchin'.
"It's gotta come from the heart, if you want it to work."