Saturday, February 25, 2012

Every year I look forward to Lent. There is the sense of anticipation, and there is also something akin to relief. For the next forty days I can stop paddling, slow down, and let the flow of life take me where it will.  I need to just be for a while. 

As I study the readings for today, I can’t help but think of a National Geographic series I have watched recently - "Doomsday Preppers." There is stockpiling of food and weapons, building walls and fortifying homes, target practice and plans for routes of escape. These folks are preparing for the worst that could happen, in what ever form that might take. It brings me thoughts of the myriad ways that people’s lives are driven by fear.  And if you think there is nothing to fear, well think again. There is always something to fear. When I was growing up it was The Communists. In high school it was Nuclear War.  In the last few years it’s been Financial Ruin. And let’s not forget Terrorism and oh yes - Cancer.  The list seems endless at times, and I’m thinking that things haven’t really changed all that much since Ezekiel’s time, David’s time, or Paul’s time. There were floods, famines and pestilence, the Plague, the Babylonians, the Philistines, and the Romans.

And where is God in all of this uncertainty?  Whose side is God on, anyway? How many times does humanity ask that question, and how many times will we assume the answer – that God is precisely where we left Him when we left Home to do our own thing, or when we gave up trying to figure it all out and just started stockpiling…

For this moment, today - I can hear Jesus praying for us sometime before he crosses the Kidron Valley to the Mount of Olives to begin that final chapter of his life. From John 17: 26: “I have made You known to them, and will continue to make You known in order that the love You have for me may be in them, and that I myself may be in them.” The fact that the words are on a page in a book that sits on my shelf in the 21^st century is wondrous; having made the cut, survived all the translations and revisions, they are yet able to convey a simple, powerful truth.

And how can I settle for an impoverished mentality that embraces doomsday and stockpiling when I study the wisdom in the words of Paul’s letter to the Church at Philippi. From Phil. 4: 11-13: “… I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength”

Every year I look forward to Lent, as Jesus keeps that promise and continues to make God known to us, and every year I come a bit closer to embracing the secret of wealth that Paul learned so well.

May you be blessed in your Lenten journey.

(Nancy Rogers)

Friday, February 24, 2012

Ezekiel 18: 1-4, 25-32

Philippians 4: 1-9

"Repent and turn from all your transgressions; otherwise iniquity will be your ruin. Cast away from you all the transgressions that you have committed against me, and get yourselves a new heart and a new spirit. Why will you die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord. Turn, then, and live."

Today's reading from Ezekiel strikes me as a very Christian message for an Old Testament writer, and it ends with a powerful line that captures the essence of our Christian faith in a way that I have never quite heard before.

"Turn, then, and live."

Whenever we turn, we set a new direction. We turn away from one thing, and in so doing we turn away from the path laid out in front of us. At the same time, we turn toward something else, set a new direction, and follow a new path.

Ezekiel asks us to turn away from our earthly ways; from our false idols and temptations and from the material demands of this world. He asks us to turn from self absorption, avarice, fear, anger, suspicion and self doubt.

At the same time, Ezekiel asks us to turn toward God, where we will find forgiveness and renewal.

"For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone, says the Lord". We are all invited. This suggests that it should be easy to turn; that we merely need to choose the path laid out for us by Jesus. But how do we do that? Why does it seem so hard? Paul helps us with these questions in Philippians:

"The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

"Turn, then, and live."

(Dick Welch)

Thursday, February 23, 2012

My husband and I are one of those couples that come to the Episcopal Church as a result of a “mixed marriage.”  I was brought up in the Congregational Church, with services steeped in the austerity and simplicity of the early New England settlers and church politics and policy endowed with quite a liberal, open philosophy.  Phil was raised in a big Irish Catholic family, with all the ceremony and tradition that that entails. Until meeting me he had very little exposure to any Christian denomination other than his own.  

When we decided to get married we met with both a U.C.C. minister and a Catholic priest (who jointly performed our wedding), but we both felt we needed to find a new path that was comfortable for both of us.  Happily we have found that at St. Francis.  There are still times, of course, when the disparity between our religious backgrounds becomes very clear, and none more so than the season of Lent.  (Christmas is easy; the story is not too confusing and the hymns are the same.)

I know we acknowledged Lent at my Congregational church; the gilt side of the cross above the altar was turned around, the minister wore his purple stole, and the scripture readings and Sunday School lessons progressed accordingly. We had Palm Sunday and Maundy Thursday (my favorite service of the whole year); I usually spent Good Friday baking and decorating eggs with my mother, listening to the “Godspell” and “Jesus Christ Superstar” soundtracks; and that brought us up to Easter Sunday quite tidily.  But for my Catholic friends, and my Catholic in-laws, these 40 days seem to matter more than the whole rest of the year; it’s a journey of prayer and penitence and self-denial that culminates in a week-long retelling of  “the greatest story ever told.”  And I am left to wonder, who is doing it right?

The good news is, we all are.  Psalm 37 (billed in my Bible as a Wisdom Psalm on “the certainty of retribution for the wicked”) recognizes the ongoing struggle of the righteous and faithful.  The psalm encourages patience and perseverance in the face of apparent triumph by the wicked: 

“our steps are made firm by the Lord,

when he delights in our way;

though we stumble, we shall not fall headlong,

for the Lord holds us by the hand.”

The road to salvation is a never-ending process; as Yogi Berra would say “it ain’t over till it’s over.”

This sentiment is echoed in Paul’s letter to the Philippians.  Paul admits that he is not there yet either, “but I press on.”  He argues that just because God has given the gift of righteousness we are still obligated to work hard to deserve it.  Like the Psalm, Paul acknowledges that each of us is a work in progress, struggling to attain the “prize of the heavenly call of God.”  

As I worked through these readings, I kept thinking to myself that nobody is perfect, and no one way to God can be the one right way.  We all have to find our own path.  But then I came to the Gospel reading, and remembered that there was one man who did know the way all along, and He is also our Way, whether we are Catholic or Protestant.  In John 17, Jesus seems weary and ready to take the next step on his journey, but even in his remaining hours he is praying for his followers to continue following him.

I confess that I still scratch my head about “giving something up” for Lent, and the whole no-meat-on-Fridays thing, but I am now able to see Lent as more than the story of the last days of Christ: it is a period of preparation, repentance and renewal. And no road is the perfect road; what matters is that we’re trying.  

(Leigh King)     

Ash Wednesday, February 22, 2012

"Jesus also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt."   (Luke 18:9)

The parable Jesus goes on to tell about an arrogant "religious" person and a guy who feels he is not worthy enough to even be in a house of worship might be funny if it wasn't so true. It might be a caricature, except I suspect we all know religious people who do act rather like this Pharisee. And, sadly, we probably also know "publicans" who feel unworthy to ever darken the door of any house of worship.

There is probably at least some small part of us all that has at least some Pharisaical tendencies. Lent gives us an opportunity to work on some of that. Our trust is rightly placed in God, not ourselves. The Torah can be boiled down to love of God and love of neighbor, and the one who views her neighbor with contempt is a long way from love.

But I think many of us also have an inner "publican"--we worry that we are not worthy enough, that we are not good enough. And that makes it difficult for us to hear the good news that we are beloved of God. It turns out, I think, that the parable is richer than it first appears because sometimes we can so focus on trying to be like the publican that we end up resembling the Pharisee: have you ever known anyone who is trying to be so humble that it really is rather arrogant? ("Oh it's not me, I'm a really simple person it's just God choosing to work through me!") Now that may be a very true statement. But I, for one, have heard it said in ways that make me queasy. And on the other side, I have learned that people who sometimes present as arrogant and self-assured are, underneath the mask, very often frightened to death. 

Whatever else this day is about, it is a clarion call to come home. It is a reminder that God's house is a hospital for sinners and there we find a community of sinners who are helping each other take at least a step or two toward becoming "the saints of God."  The beginning of faith is in learning that we need God and we need our neighbor. Our neighbor is there not to be jealous of, or lusted after, or derided, or mocked; but to become a companion along the way.

And so, as I see it, the reminder that we are dust on this day is not a threat. It is simply a reminder that we are human. It serves as a stark reminder that our trust, if well placed, is with God--not in ourselves. It serves to remind us that we are beloved of God already, because even if we are dust we are dust vivified with God's own breath. We don't need to prove ourselves, we just need to be ourselves. It is enough. 

For me, the dust serves as a reminder that the Pharisee and the publican are in fact brothers, and that we are invited to see the image of God in every person we meet - to embrace our neighbors as ourselves: beloved children of God.


(Rich Simpson)

A Poem, Before Our Journey Begins

Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
                                       (T. S. Eliot, “Ash Wednesday”)

If you don't know T. S. Eliot's poem, "Ash Wednesday" then I commend it to you as we prepare ourselves for tomorrow, and the beginning of the Lenten journey. I love the line, "suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood." It is amazing how blind we can sometimes be to faults others can so easily see in us, even when they are gracious enough to overlook them most of the time. Yet as Jesus reminded us, even when we see the splinter in another person's eye, Lent is a season for working on the beams in our own eyes! Lent is not a time to confess other people's sins, but of asking God to keep us from "mocking ourselves with falsehood."

But the line that speaks to me most is the one that comes next: "teach us to care and not to care." I first read this poem as an undergraduate English major thirty years ago. The line hit me then and still offers a pretty good summary of what I aspire to each Lent, and one of the ways I hope to turn again.

It has a kind of Zen feel to it, I think. But it is also a deeply Christian idea, and in truth probably just a healthy human goal. We can care too much. We can become focused (and over focused) on everything (and on the wrong things) and in so doing we can become paralyzed and immobilized. We can "flit" from cause to cause. Conversely, we can stop caring. We can become overwhelmed and grow numb to the pain of this world. So what does it mean to care, and not to care? What does life look like when we are learning that wisdom?

I don't have an easy answer to that, and the answer I might give a few weeks before my forty-ninth birthday is not the same one I would have given as a nineteen year old undergraduate.

But for me, Lent is an invitation to "sit still among the rocks" - to sit still and listen, and wait, and ponder, and imagine. It is a time to take the long view, but then to act where my action might make a difference. For me this notion of "caring and not caring"  is not exactly the same as the The Serenity Prayer but I think it may be a pretty close cousin. It calls me to live in the present, and to do what I can do, and to let go of what I cannot control. And of course it demands the wisdom to grasp the difference.

(Rich Simpson)

Two postscripts. First, this from Sue B., as a follow up to yesterday's post: check out this site as an easy way into praying the The Daily Office. And second, this from Julie M. (who didn't know that I was going to be posting a poem today!) but serendipitously sent me this link, which I pass along to  all of you: Poems and Poetry for Lent and Easter.

Praying the Daily Office

A reminder to those who may not be accustomed to praying "The Daily Office" as we begin another Lenten Season together with these on-line meditations.

The Daily Office, or the "Liturgy of the Hours," comes to us from the monasteries. In The Book of Common Prayer there are four liturgies for daily prayer: Morning Prayer (BCP 75-102), An Order of Service for Noonday (BCP 103-107), Evening Prayer (BCP 115-126) and Compline (BCP 127-135) Briefer, abridged versions of these four liturgies can be found on BCP 137-140 for use by individuals and families.

The Daily Office Lectionary is simply a two-year plan for reading the Bible as one prays the Daily Office. It can be found in the Book of Common Prayer starting on page 934. Since we are in Year 2 in 2012, the readings can be found on page 951. So looking ahead to tomorrow, Tuesday, Psalms 26 and 28 would normally be read in the morning while 36 and 39 would be read at night. Usually two readings would be read at Morning Prayer, e.g. Proverbs30:1-4, 24-33 and John18:28-38, while the epistle reading (Philippians 3:1-11) might be saved for Evening Prayer. Obviously people flex to fit their own availability but what this discipline does is, over the course of two years, give us an opportunity to listen to the many diverse voices found in Holy Scripture.

The meditations that will follow for the next forty days are based on this ancient Christian practice. Those who are writing devotions have been asked to reflect on either a thread that may run through all of the readings, or perhaps just one reading - or maybe even one verse from one reading, And then to connect that theme or thread or idea to their own life in Christ.

While I have said it before, it bears repeating: I am profoundly grateful to be pastoring a congregation where so many voices are willing to share their wisdom in this format. Blessings to all who read these meditations in this Holy Season through the wilderness, to the empty tomb.

Rich Simpson
Rector

Transfiguration

Manifest in mountain height, shining in resplendent light,
where disciples filled with awe, thy transfigured glory saw.
When from there thou leddest them steadfast to Jerusalem
cross and Easter day attest, God in man made manifest.

(The Hymnal 1982, #135, F. Bland Tucker)


Shrove Tuesday Supper at St. Francis: February 21 from 5:30 p.m - 7 p.m.
Ash Wednesday Liturgies at St. Francis: February 22 at 7 a.m. 4:30 p.m, and 7 p.m.