February 28, 2013

¹ Be pleased, O God, to deliver me.
 O Lord, make haste to help me! 



⁵ But I am poor and needy; hasten to me, O God!
You are my help and my deliverer;
 O Lord, do not delay! 

An age-old prayer, a single syllable. Help. In the first verse of Psalm 70 and the last, the Alpha and Omega. Help.

If we could spend this one day of Lent meditating on that word, what would we gain? What would we lose?

For me, perhaps I’d remember Who Alone is in charge. And maybe I could shatter the myth of the self-made (wo)man -- for today anyway. Help. I am loath to admit I need help because I feel so capable. Help me remember who is in charge of my very being.

Anne Lamott says, “There’s freedom in hitting bottom, in seeing that you won’t be able to save or rescue your daughter, her spouse, his parents, or your career, relief in admitting you’ve reached the place of great unknowing. This is where restoration can begin, because when you’re still in the state of trying to fix the unfixable, everything bad is engaged: the chatter of your mind, the tension of your physiology, all the trunks and wheel-ons you carry from the past. It’s exhausting, crazy-making. Help. Help us walk through this. Help us come through. It s the first great prayer.” (Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers, pp. 14-15)

Today, I will meditate on help. What it means to ask for help, to offer help.  

February 27, 2013

            In today's gospel reading, John tells a story of Jesus healing a man who had been an invalid presumably for most of his life. At first glance, it is not unlike many other stories we read about the miracles Jesus performed. Jesus asks the man if he wants to be healed, and then he heals him, and then kind of ducks out of sight so as not to draw too much attention to himself. But at the start of the story, the man doesn't seem to be terribly interested in getting better.  Jesus finds him at the pool of Bethesda, which legend has it is occasionally stirred by an angel. The first person to reach the pool after the water is stirred will be healed.  The man has been hanging around this pool waiting for his turn for 38 years, and tells Jesus that someone a little more agile always gets there first, and he has had no one who would help him. But even though it seems he is kind of making excuses, Jesus takes pity on him and tells him to pick up his mat and walk.  And the man does just that—he picks up his mat and walks. Away. No "thank you," no "who are you?," certainly no worshipful reaction of praise. And this is where the story diverges from Lazarus, and the blind man, and the 5000.

            "Now that day was a Sabbath." So when the religious leaders in Jerusalem see the man walking around with his mat, they are more concerned with the fact that he has broken a Sabbath rule about moving furniture than with the fact that a miracle has clearly occurred and the man doesn't even know who his healer is.  When the man is reunited with Jesus in the temple, he still doesn't appear to show any sign of appreciation. Rather, he turns around and reports to the authorities the identity of his healer. The Jewish leaders are already well aware of Jesus' actions by this time and he has already been marked for death, but this Sabbath-breaking incident seems to really trigger their wrath with him. And when questioned as to why he dared encourage a man to carry a mat on the Sabbath, Jesus simply says, "My Father is still working, and I also am working."  

            I think Jesus' answer to the Jews at the end of this story is one of the best lines I've ever read that sums up what it means to be a Christian. "My Father is still working, and I also am working." If God doesn't get a break, then neither do we. You don't take a day off from being compassionate. There are no time-outs when you can just not care. You step in and help, even if it's Sunday. The man at the pool wasn't even asking Jesus to help him; he didn't show any signs of piety or even recognition. It didn't matter to Jesus if he was Jew or Gentile. It didn't matter to Jesus if it happened to be a Sunday. And it didn't even matter to Jesus if he got a thank you. He saw someone in need of help and he helped him. And in this season of Lent, when many of us consider giving something up, perhaps it is more important to consider giving someone a hand.

- Leigh King

February 26, 2013

Psalm 62; Jer2:1-13; Rom 1:16-25; John 4:43-54

The readings for this day call us to compare our relationship with God and our relationship with our experience of the mortal world. Jeremiah the prophet is dealing with people who have, literally, begun to worship other gods in the form of Baal and others. He is desperate to turn them back to the Lord who has given them all they should ever need. “…for my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and dug out cisterns for themselves, cracked cisterns that can hold no water.”

What are the “cracked cisterns” in our lives? Where do we go to draw water to give us life? For me, and perhaps for many, it may be our modern, and perhaps very American, quest to be independent, self-determinative, competent, self-sustaining. We are told to “just do it,” and given all manner of self-help books. We are entitled to have it all, we just have to work for it. We teach our children to study hard, practice more and they will succeed. But do we take time each day to recognize that without God, we are empty and powerless? Yes, God wants us to do our best, be productive, live well, but He also wants us to recognize that He is the source of all that we are.

Psalm 62 tells us “...if riches increase, do not set your heart in them.” That water from our cisterns may taste good for now, but do we take time each day to see our many riches as manifestations of God’s love for us? Perhaps we could begin this Lent a practice of opening our eyes and thanking God for whatever is ahead for us that day and offering our achievements as well as our concerns to Him.

In Romans we hear more about worship of idols. “Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man or birds or animals or reptiles. Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, to the degrading of their bodies among themselves, because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshipped and served the creature rather than the creator who is blessed forever.”

There are those cracked cisterns again. The lies we tell ourselves and that we hear all around us from our friends, our coworkers, our parents, our teachers, the media. But the passage from John tells us a redeeming story. The story is of the official whose son is near death who implores Jesus to heal him. Jesus tells the man his son will live and the man believes him without hesitation. He does not rely on his own authority, status in the world, or his achievements. He knows this belongs to God. But being human, he double-checks the time his son was healed and confirmed what he already knew…

Let us pray that we can more freely accept God’s living water.

February 25, 2013

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,

   for in you my soul takes refuge;

in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,

   until the destroying storms pass by. - Psalm 57

It’s hard not to take this passage from Psalm 57 literally when it talks about God providing refuge from “destroying storms.” From the ice storm that crippled much of New England a few years ago to Hurricanes Irene and Sandy to Winter Storm Nemo, big weather seems to be much on everyone’s minds lately. Religious skeptics blame God for sending deadly storms, but then take beautiful sunny days and replenishing rains for granted. We the faithful, on the other hand, give thanks to God for fair weather and blame ourselves for causing global warming and building homes near the ocean. Where is the truth in all this? Is it possible that a storm occurs in the Northeast because God sent it AND because a butterfly flapped its wings in India? I don’t know, but I do know that the best thing we can do is to pray.

Pray and perhaps try to look for the Holy Spirit at work in the world. I’m reminded of a joke that could almost be called a modern parable: A flood comes and a man’s house begins to fill with water. As he moves upstairs to avoid drowning, a rowboat comes by and someone offers him help. “No thank you,” he says. “God will save me!” Now the water rises above the second floor and he must climb onto the roof. This time a Coast Guard speedboat comes cruising by and someone offers to rescue him. Again he says, “No thanks, God will save me.”  The water then covers the roof and he must cling to the chimney. A helicopter comes by and someone reaches out their hand. The man declines again, saying, “God will save me!”  Finally he drowns and when he gets to Heaven he asks God “I trusted you - how could you let me drown?”  God replies, “Let you drown? I sent you a rowboat, a speedboat and a helicopter!”

While we certainly haven’t seen the last of winter this year, my thoughts have turned to spring. I’m an avid gardener, so my windowsills have been crowded with seedlings for several weeks already and I’m itching to get outdoors and start working the soil once more. It always occurs to me at this time of year that some of the most frequent prayers that God has received over the millennia must have been prayers for a good growing season. With supermarkets conveniently and reliably stocked with food all year long, we forget how dependent we are on decent weather to make crops grow. Farmers and gardeners watch the weather closely and feel drought, flood, late frosts and other extreme weather viscerally. But even the most insulated urbanite would starve if the weather turned exceptionally bad for a long period of time. And let’s not forget that a significant portion of the world’s population still depend on subsistence farming for basic nourishment. I don’t know if there’s a liturgically traditional prayer for a good harvest season (if not, there probably should be!), but Psalm 65 might be a good place to start:

9 You visit the earth and water it,

   you greatly enrich it;

the river of God is full of water;

   you provide the people with grain,

   for so you have prepared it.

10 You water its furrows abundantly,

   settling its ridges,

softening it with showers,

   and blessing its growth.

11 You crown the year with your bounty;

   your wagon tracks overflow with richness.

12 The pastures of the wilderness overflow,

   the hills gird themselves with joy,

13 the meadows clothe themselves with flocks,

   the valleys deck themselves with grain,

   they shout and sing together for joy. - Psalm 65

Pray for good weather!

- Brion Keagle

February 24, 2013

…and looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers.”

Mark 3:34

Ouch! Any parent who has watched a child choose friends over family (or been asked to please not get out of the car when dropping him or her off) can feel Mary’s pain upon hearing these words from her son. In this reference to his mother and brothers, Jesus, of course, isn’t talking about Mary, Joses and James, but instead appears instead to be claiming kinship with his followers.

This was a radical statement on the part of Jesus, one that flew in the face of the culture into which he had been born. To whom you belonged meant everything at that time; it was how one was identified. People were known as the children of their fathers; Jesus was the son of Joseph, and James and John were the sons of Zebedee. So, when Jesus stated that no, Mary and Joses and James weren’t his family, his followers were his family, it was bound to raise some eyebrows. Yet he wasn’t being a rebellious son; he was, as he so often was, simply defying expectations. The new world he was ushering in would play by different rules. As his kingdom comes, old boundaries are erased and we belong not to families or countries or political parties, but to the body of Christ.

Paul is trying to tell the Corinthians the same thing in his letter. Because they already thought in terms of community, it was a bit easier for the early Christian church than for us. Their centuries of waiting for a Messiah were in expectation of a Savior who would come for the salvation of Israel, not for personal salvation. (A first century Christian wouldn’t even have understood the question if asked if he had accepted Jesus Christ as his personal Lord and Savior.) In verses 16 and 17, “Do you not know that you are God’s temple and that God’s Spirit dwells in you. If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person. For God’s temple is holy and you are that temple,” the Greek word used for you is plural, not singular. Paul’s challenge was to convince them that the “you” he was referring to was not defined by their nationality, their families or even their religious practices. They were, and we are, holy, because they were and we are the body of Christ.

Hear Paul’s words to a community struggling to adjust to a changing world and an uncertain future: ^“So let no one boast about human leaders. For all things are yours, whether Paul or Apollos or Cephas or the world or life or death or the present or the future—all belong to you, and you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.”  His words remain true today and for our community; for all things are ours, whether Gordon or Rich or Karen or the world or life or death or the present or the future—all belong to us, and we belong to Christ and Christ belongs to God. Truly this is good news.

- Robin Carlo

February 23, 2013

AM Psalm 55; PM Psalm 138, 139:1-17(18-23)   
Deut. 11:18-28; Heb. 5:1-10; John 4:1-26 

John 4:9  The Samaritan woman said to [Jesus], ‘How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?’ (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.)  

I’ve been reading and reflecting in the Lenten devotions and for the Adult Confirmation Class about what signs (sacraments) mark us or what encounters help us see how we are connected to a community or congregation. What provides us with a sense of belonging, of responsibility towards our community and who decides or gets to decide? In John’s Gospel, Jesus encounters the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well, we are told, in part because of the route he was obliged to take to get back to Galilee from Judea. “But he had to go through Samaria.” Their encounter is cast as improbable, but the conversation Jesus startles her into effectively converts her. I think all of us have at some point in our lives been surprised by someone speaking to us or even inviting us to do something or attend some event (social or professional) that we maybe don’t feel we should be invited to. When that has happened we might have wondered why we were selected. You got the wrong guy, we want to say. We might even accept whatever the invitation is even as deep down we suspect that whoever invited us must not really know who we are. It can be unsettling to rethink our understanding of who we “share things in common with.”

The Samaritan woman at the well was open to such rethinking, in part because she was thirsty, but sometimes we don’t make such openings because we feel so certain in our ways. Once when I was about 12 my four younger siblings and I were all packed in the family station wagon on a routine shopping errand with my mom that took us past a public elementary school (not our school). This particular time as we drove past the school my youngest sister wondered aloud (to all of us) why it was that none of us attended that school to which another sister who was probably about 8 then promptly and knowingly (smugly?) replied as if it were the most obvious thing under the sun, “Because we’re CATHOLIC … not public.”  I was old enough to think that my sister’s logic was funny, cute even, but I didn’t think much more of it and I don’t recall if my mother even heard the original question or if any of us tried to provide an alternative explanation. I think I knew Catholic wasn’t the opposite of public …really… but given that our neighborhood church and school, Our Lady Star of the Sea (OLSOS), was so close to home (3 blocks away) and the only church and school in my neighborhood, it sometimes felt like my family and friends, we all belonged to OLSOS/the Catholic church and we did not share things in common with people outside that group (read: the “public” people), even if matters weren’t nearly as proscribed as they were for Jews and Samaritans.   

I hadn’t thought about that story and my sister’s early confusion about Catholic versus public in a long time, but recently was prompted to reflect on the faith tradition that shaped me as a child and this moment in the family car came to mind. It seemed emblematic of our inability to conceive of the possibility that these worlds might meet and even blur. We were confident that they did not. Where did that sureness, this absolute certainty come from? And more urgently for me now and in this season of Lent, what does understanding yourself and your community as a distinct faith tradition or denomination mean? I have been using the term “post-denominational” for a while to describe myself, for better, for worse, but then I wonder, if that is (still) accurate, especially as I think of how I want to teach my own children and why we bring them to St. Francis to learn and be raised in a faith community. How have we been invited in? How do we invite others to be part of our community?  In conversation during the Confirmation Class this past Sunday, Rich said something about how the Episcopal Church must be “radically hospitable” (if I’m remembering this correctly) and that phrase struck me and has stuck with me. I shy away from evangelizing or proselytizing, but I welcome the opportunity, the challenge of being radically hospitable.

-       Kathleen Suchenski

February 22, 2013

             Towards the end of John 3:22-36, he talks about how Jesus “testifies to what he has seen and heard.” God touches us in our lives just as he did with Jesus. We all experience God in different ways. Some may see God acting through another’s good deeds, such as someone selflessly letting another driver pass in bad traffic. Some may feel God’s mercy in having their home spared during a devastating storm. It’s important that we share even the small moments so that people know God’s spirit is here with us.

- Marcus Papandrea

February 21, 2013

About divers and watchers, about entering God’s rest and about dives into calm New England lakes and about the ripples spreading outward; I want to write about today’s reading from Hebrews:

Hebrews 4:1-10

4Therefore, while the promise of entering his rest is still open, let us take care that none of you should seem to have failed to reach it. ²For indeed the good news came to us just as to them; but the message they heard did not benefit them, because they were not united by faith with those who listened.^{* 3}For we who have believed enter that rest, just as God^* has said,
‘As in my anger I swore,
“They shall not enter my rest” ’,
though his works were finished at the foundation of the world. ⁴For in one place it speaks about the seventh day as follows: ‘And God rested on the seventh day from all his works.’ ⁵And again in this place it says, ‘They shall not enter my rest.’ ⁶Since therefore it remains open for some to enter it, and those who formerly received the good news failed to enter because of disobedience, ⁷again he sets a certain day—‘today’—saying through David much later, in the words already quoted,
‘Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.’
⁸For if Joshua had given them rest, God^* would not speak later about another day. ⁹So then, a sabbath rest still remains for the people of God; ¹⁰for those who enter God’s rest also cease from their labours as God did from his.

Our family’s matriarch died in hospice yesterday, a couple of weeks short of her 95^th birthday, after a massive stroke last weekend. Taking this path was her wish and she started down her last journey in her way: with grace towards others and a wry sense of humor. She died surrounded by her family: in the hospice room and around the world.

So “entering his rest.” I want to think of this like diving from a floating platform into a deep, calm New England lake. There’s the experience of the downward splash for the jumper and there’s the experience of the upward splash and the spreading ripples seen by the watchers.

Divers: I’ve long loved the story of Gandhi’s last words: "At first shot, the foot that was in motion, when he was hit, came down. He still stood on his legs when the second shot rang out, and then collapsed. The last words he uttered were "Rama, Rama.”  Seems to me these are the words of one on the way to God’s rest. Similarly, in Britney Gengel’s last text message home, just before the earthquake in Haiti took her life, she wrote, “They love us so much and everyone is so happy," she wrote. "They love what they have and they work so hard to get nowhere, yet they are all so appreciative. I want to move here and start an orphanage myself."  And there are the last words of Jesus as he was dying on the cross: Today you will be with me in Paradise.

Ripples: My wife and I have enjoyed reading in the Worcester Telegram of the Gengel family’s work to create an orphanage to complete Britney’s last wish. Just one example of the centuries-long, millennia-long ripples from Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. My mother-in-law’s grace and humor will be lifelong inspirations to her family and all those who knew her.

Part of diving well is discipline and practice, part of it is grace and love of the sport and part of it is a gift from God. Part of watching is seeing the beauty of God’s creation: lakes and trees and muscles and minds; and another part can be noticing the ripples and taking them as inspiration.

‘Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.’

Today, Lord, please help me to notice the ripples and please help me to be inspired by their beauty.

—‘today’—

February 20, 2013

Psalm 119:49-72; PM Psalm 49, [53]   
Deut. 9:13-21; Heb. 3:12-19; John 2:23-3:15 

Scripture is a funny thing. We all hear it differently, depending on where we are at.  When I read the readings for today, this one spoke to me:

John 8:30-32 As He was saying these things, many believed Him.  Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, ‘If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.’

The message in context seems to be about how Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection will reveal the ultimate truth of his being the Son of God.  My interpretation takes it  further, where I hear a message of faith and hope that things will be OK even as He leaves.

OK, so the obvious point of relevance here for us at St. Francis is Rich’s upcoming departure. For me, several other departures of key figures in my family’s life are happening at or around the same time, so clearly this is why I hear this message as I do.  I find myself asking this question:  How do we find our way to that place of faith amidst uncertainty?

An image from yoga keeps coming to mind.  The pose Warrior II is pictured here.

This is one of my favorite poses, for the way it feels, and the imagery it shares.  It speaks to the importance of balance.  In this pose, if we lean too far forward, our front leg takes all of the weight, and if we lean too far back we overtax the back leg.  Neither brings balance.  I’ve heard this described as a metaphor for life: if we rush into the future (lean too far forward) or stay stuck in the past (lean too far backward), we can’t live in the present (balance).  Yet holding this pose for a long time can be hard – muscles ache!  It is helpful to be balanced the best we can so that we can endure the demands of holding the pose…and if we are to be truly in the moment (in yoga terms) the ultimate goal is to find “comfort in the discomfort” or in other words, to find peace while feeling pain.

Finding precious balance isn’t easy. It takes a lot of practice.  Some days are harder than others, and continual readjustment is often necessary.  The important thing to recognize is that it CAN be done, even if it’s hard, even it isn’t as graceful as we’d want.  In yoga and in life, we can become stronger and more peaceful as long as we have faith, hope, and perseverance.

Lori Churchill

February 19, 2013

Today’s Readings:

AM Psalm 45; PM Psalm 47, 48  
Deut. 9:4-12; Heb. 3:1-11; John 2:13-22 

                                      Strega Nona and Psalm 45

¹⁰ Hear, O daughter, consider and incline your ear;
 forget your people and your father’s house,
¹¹   and the king will desire your beauty.
Since he is your lord, bow to him…

¹⁶ In the place of ancestors you, O king,^* shall have sons;
 you will make them princes in all the earth. –Psalm 45

This psalm is said to be an allegory of the heavenly wedding between God (the King) and God’s love for Israel (the bride). I found these words offensive, since they sound sexist to me. How could I find gospel in them?

As a first grade teacher, my students and I listen to, read, and compare and contrast various versions of classic literature every day. We adapt and retell the stores in our own words until they become our own. Taking a clue from my seven-year-olds, I got busy searching for adaptations of this psalm.

First, I found Lutheran Nadia Bolz-Weber explaining that the psalmist makes the king appear a bit “nerdy,” in her opinion. Hear her in an audio here, beginning at about 1:00. http://castroller.com/podcasts/TheEmergentPsalter/1402575

Next, I found Barbara J. Monda’s Rejoice, Beloved Women, which retells the psalm as if it was written by a woman:

Your consort takes his place at your side.  He is clothed in gold but is blind to everything, save your beauty. He renounces all he has just to please you…Your daughters will proliferate…

If God is neither male nor female, it can’t really matter if God is portrayed as a king, or a queen, can it?  It’s refreshing when adaptations turn things on their head!

And finally, in Psalms in Ordinary Voices, edited by Andrea Ayvazian, I read:

I … follow the woman who leads

And follows well,

But is not led

Into forgetting…

I breathe the infinite wind of justice strong and kind to be remembered in all generations.

Given the hundreds of translations and interpretations of the psalms down through the centuries, who can say what the “best” is?  A few days ago, as I was reading aloud to my students Tomie dePaola’s classic, Strega Nona’s Magic Lessons, the main character’s words caught my attention.  The wise witch, Strega Nona, counseled her apprentices about the wisest way to learn magic. I think her words can apply equally to the work I am attempting with this psalm. They can also help in appraising other scripture:

You must learn to see and not to see.

You must learn to remember and to forget;

To be still and to be busy …

But, mostly

 you must be faithful to your work.

Julie Mankowsky

February 18, 2013

Deuteronomy 8:11-20 Hebrews 2:11-18 John 2:1-12

John 2:1-2 …there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding.

John’s Gospel and Genesis begin with the same words: “In the beginning.“ In Genesis God’s Word creates over six days, then the seventh day is reserved for resting and enjoying what had been made - a Sabbath.

John’s Gospel too begins with six days of creating - in the first two days John the Baptist points his disciples away from himself and toward Jesus saying, “Behold, God’s Lamb.“ John directs them away from him and toward Jesus who is shaping a new community of disciples. Over the next four days Jesus calls disciples directly or disciples draw in other disciples. By the sixth day the new community has been fashioned - the followers of Jesus. On the seventh day this new community goes to a wedding feast to celebrate with good wine and good food. When the inferior wine runs out, Jesus - who has been transforming lives - now transforms water into wine. The new creation has begun. Ever since then people have been invited to help reshape the world. We cannot look at the world and wearily say, “This is just the way the world is!” That is too easy and evasive. When we look at the world our antiphon of celebration or regret has to be, “This is the way we have made the world.” It can be remade.

I visited Mt. Vernon years ago and saw the slave quarters where our first president housed his human property. Last month I saw our nation’s First Lady stand alongside her husband as he took the presidential oath. She is the descendent of slaves. We make and can remake our world.

I am sure that you can, as I can, look back and see how so many times life invites or forces us into recreating in some way. We lose a job or are drawn toward a new one and begin again. A relationship ends or changes, and we begin again.

This recreating does not just happen to us individually. It happens in our country when history curves in new directions, and we see situations with new eyes as if for the first time. It may lead us to wonder where our blind spots are now - and what we may be refusing to see now but which may become visible to us later and call out to us to help refashion a situation.

I try to remember that this needing to begin anew is good for us, and I so admire those who keep open to it. Years ago I was asked to visit a woman in her 90’s who had recently moved to Maine from Massachusetts leaving her home of over 40 years to go along with her daughter’s desire to have her close in a retirement home. As this woman and I became acquainted on our first visit, I commented that I imagined this change must have been difficult for her. She smiled and said, “I decided to look upon it as an adventure.” I never forgot her words. When I visited people in that place, I always saved my visit to her until the end because of how good I felt when I walked away from her room and her presence. I often said a silent “Wow!” to myself. In her 90’s and still open to the recreating.

- Janice M. Schuyler