tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269661472024-03-13T16:28:38.227-04:00Faith and Family: A Dad's Search for TruthFrederick Buechner once wrote, “The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you." I started this blog to share random thoughts about my quest to become a better father, husband, and Christian, and to discuss what I learn in my everyday life and where my place at the party might be. I look forward to comments and stories from you about your own journeys.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.comBlogger363125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-9648858341249283332017-01-17T19:06:00.003-05:002017-01-17T19:08:46.839-05:00England and the Piercing (in the Best Way) of My Heart<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">After a glorious week in Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, exploring places
throughout the Midlands and along the coast, I have most definitely discovered
one thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">My English roots, that at first seemed separated from me by a great
divide of generations and centuries, are in fact very much near the surface.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">It was hard to explain throughout my life why I felt such a pull to
England; I had never before visited and thus had nothing upon which to draw for
a sufficient answer. But the feeling was there nonetheless. There was something
about this place that was calling to me, not audibly or on the surface but in
an internal, very deep way. It would have been very easy to chalk it up to a
desire to experience the history of the place, to wander through villages and
castles and soak up the stories of the men and women who shaped this nation. I
could have pointed and said that I wanted to go because that is the place where
Richard III met his fate or a site where the Vikings camped on their
expeditions across the Europe. This first week, I have been truly blessed to
experience a bit of that history, to stand gazing at the Magna Carta and to walk
through a medieval village abandoned long ago and now tucked quietly and
largely forgotten in a valley in the Moors.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But beyond that, deeper than that, I have experienced in the many
opportunities for worship with my friend Trudy that my calling to this place
has been – all along – a deeply </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>spiritual</i></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">As an American and an Episcopalian, I still find myself amazed that I
am a member of a denomination that stretches back more than two centuries.
Certainly I am very aware that it grew from the Church of England, but that
connection for me was more a historical rather than spiritual one – something
to read about in my church history courses and simply think, “Oh, that’s quite
nice. We come from a great tradition and we owe them a lot.” But to have an
opportunity to explore those roots, to worship in places that – as Trudy
jokingly but very accurately reminds me – “are older than your country,” is
much more powerful indeed. A connection that before now was somehow missing has
now been made in an extremely powerful and emotional way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I was reading a newly-written Lenten reflection about Mary, the mother
of Jesus, reminding us that she had been told that because of who her son was,
her heart would be pierced. That is a very apt way of explaining the feelings I
have had with worship this week: my heart has been pierced. Before being
alarmed, it is not a painful piercing, the type Mary experienced. This is a
piercing that has made my heart full, a piercing that has injected me with
something utterly beautiful and almost completely indescribable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hearing the majestic sounds of a choir singing Choral Evensong in the
darkened Peterborough Cathedral in the way that it has been done for centuries.
Sitting in the ruins of Whitby Abbey and reading Celtic mid-day prayer in a
place where for nearly 1,500 years men and women prayed and devoted their lives
to nothing more than loving God and living God, the only sounds being their
voices and the crashing off the waves in the North Sea. Joining with three
other people in the cold choir stalls of a 12</span><sup style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">th</sup><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> century Norman
Church for a service of Holy Eucharist, stripped away of everything except the
words and the elements – and despite those absent parts finding it to be one of
the most meaningful Eucharists I have ever attended. And hearing my friend,
herself following the call of God into a new vocation and soon to be ordained a
priest in the church, read the Gospel and have her voice and those words echo
in the space and then slowly fade and blend into the ancient and communal
memory of the countless voices of those proclaiming God’s word since time
immemorial.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For me, there is a distinction between having roots and being rooted.
My roots are in rural Virginia, in the countryside resting in the shadow of the
Blue Ridge Mountains. There, too, are the roots of my personal faith journey,
in the Episcopal churches I attended in my youth. But I have now seen – have
now experienced – have now lived – the realization that I am rooted in a
church, in a faith, that stretches across the ocean and into cathedrals and
parishes, hidden villages and ruined abbeys. I have not been reminded that I am
rooted downward; experiencing God in this new way has very much shown me that I
am rooted </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>inwardly</i></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, held in place by the prayers and voices and worship
of saints and ordinary worshipers.</span></span></div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-87625815924190538212017-01-15T12:05:00.001-05:002017-01-15T12:10:29.014-05:00Reflections from the Brigg Road: One Sunday in North Lincolnshire<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><i>(Following attendance at two services in two different parishes in the Diocese of Lincoln this morning, I was asked to write a reflection on my experiences. This is the text of that reflection.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">One,
a market town with a population of roughly 5,600 along the River Ancholme. The
other, a tiny village numbering slightly more than 450 within the boundary of a
larger agricultural parish. In the first, a service of Holy Eucharist was held
in a recently-renovated church hall equipped with lighting and heat, kitchen
facilities and running water. In the second, a similar service took place in a
12<sup>th</sup> century Norman church with no electricity, no lights, no heat
and no running water. For those at the former, there is only the passing question
of whether to hang coats and scarves in the entryway or on the backs of their
chairs. Those at the latter need not ask; there, the question is instead how many
layers of cloaks and clothing are needed to insulate against the cold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">At
the Church of <a href="http://stjohnsbrigg.com/" target="_blank">St. John the Evangelist in Brigg</a>, you could <i>hear</i> the words of the Liturgy spoken by the congregation of 40. For
the four seated in the choir of the <a href="http://www.cadneycumhowsham.co.uk/all-saints-church/" target="_blank">Church of All Saints in Cadney</a>, you were also
able to <i>see</i> your words, each prayer
and each “Amen!” hanging in the air as the breath escaped the lungs and froze
in the chilled air. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two
parishes separated by just 2.9 miles – not even five minutes in a car – yet
seemingly coming from two different worlds. How, then, could anyone ever
compare worship in a modern space, with music and lights, with a service that
has been stripped of all except the words, in a space lit only by candles and
whatever shines through the windows? What do these two churches have in common?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAK1tCASPFwwKMbMPsm8vfGhXpEaqCVPpylG-tm-qMZEyGahXeMth-cbI2utcUgms6GL2q9AxSVJYDFWHOQF9QChTgEiv9u31WQNcqNuMNu35YNEUBCVo1QoKRlrHlrsx9T3k/s1600/IMG_2691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAK1tCASPFwwKMbMPsm8vfGhXpEaqCVPpylG-tm-qMZEyGahXeMth-cbI2utcUgms6GL2q9AxSVJYDFWHOQF9QChTgEiv9u31WQNcqNuMNu35YNEUBCVo1QoKRlrHlrsx9T3k/s200/IMG_2691.JPG" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Quite
simply, the love of God, the love of worship and the sacredness of fellowship. Despite
being in each for only a brief time, I could feel the strong presence of God in
the midst of these gatherings and see it reflected on many, many faces. In both places, there is a strong tie binding them together, even beyond simply being
present as members of the congregations. And for both, I experienced that their
true warmth comes not from central heating or bundling up in coats and scarves,
but from the welcome they extend to the stranger and the love they share with
one another. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">I
found myself on the receiving end of many smiles, handshakes and brief
conversations in Brigg, engaging with those who took it upon themselves to seek
me out as a visitor and make me feel welcome. I heard stories of life in Brigg
and of why St. John and its life in community have made the town identifiable
as a home in a much deeper way than any post code or street address. One even
told me of how he derives so much joy in sharing his gifts with others in
community theater productions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbaCltNMwy41X6uW29otxjc8GELPJR9QWixL-44HCDIUvyHb6VsPEYI2E7xSvUzyp5-iz1-7FsntvumGbof9AyxM3EhAPO7L-P1vyBAC-H0HT5id9m48E0zT7rVV9UisuZghp/s1600/Cadney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbaCltNMwy41X6uW29otxjc8GELPJR9QWixL-44HCDIUvyHb6VsPEYI2E7xSvUzyp5-iz1-7FsntvumGbof9AyxM3EhAPO7L-P1vyBAC-H0HT5id9m48E0zT7rVV9UisuZghp/s200/Cadney.jpg" width="150" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The
same was true with my visit in Cadney. Despite being a much smaller
congregation, I was accepted not for simply being someone visiting from the
United States for a day, but instead as a beloved member of their community,
kneeling as family at the altar in a shared act of worship. I was brought into
conversation with everyone, being asked about my home and about what I have
found </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> to be the most impactful moments during my time in England. I was even privileged to share in the joyful expectation of one who, as he said, was looking
forward to getting back home after the service to join with family and friends
in celebrating a beloved grandchild’s 16<sup>th</sup> birthday.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">My journey down Brigg Road revealed much. For all of the stark differences I expected to find, one thing was made clear. This was a journey between two brackets bounding a shared story. St. John and All Saints are joined by much more than simply being two parts of the Benefice of St. John the Evangelist. They are joined in the strength of and joy in their worship. They are joined in what as I witnessed as a living out of Matthew 25:35: "I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me." And they are joined forever as companions on the journey through this life and as faces of those seeking to serve God in all persons, truly loving their neighbors - and their visitors - as themselves.</span></div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-57423699114318139852016-08-14T16:26:00.002-04:002016-08-14T16:26:53.343-04:00A Modern Seminarian Reflects on the Ministry of a Martyr<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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Jonathan Myrick Daniels was the future of the Church. A seminarian at the Episcopal Theological School in Cambridge, Massachusetts, he was in 1965 just one year from graduation and embarking on his vocation in the ordained ministry. But the times in which he lived were anything but ordinary, and in the face of continued oppression of blacks - the denying of voting rights or equality of any kind, from opportunities for better jobs to access to better housing - something happened.<br />
<br />
In those extra-ordinary times, Daniels took an extraordinary step: he left what could have been an easy and comfortable time at ETS and voluntarily joined thousands of others - black and white, young and old, ordained and laity, rich and poor, known and unknown - on the front lines of the Civil Rights Movement. In the final year of his life, he put his seminary studies on hold and devoted his time and energy to fighting for equality in Alabama. He took part in the voting rights struggle in Selma. He worked for the integration of St. Paul's Episcopal Church in that city - the church where, 31 years later, I would be married. He lived in the Selma homes of the very men, women and children who were enduring the worst segregation and injustice imaginable. And he joined in protests against stores in Fort Deposit, Alabama that were operating under strict "Whites Only" policies. Sadly, it was this final act of non-violent protest that resulted in his death in the most violent of ways.<br />
<br />
Now, 51 years later, I myself am a seminarian. I am less than one year from graduation from Virginia Theological Seminary and (God willing and the people consenting) taking the next big steps into the vocation of ordained ministry. But even with the passage of time, and while things have improved somewhat, you need only open the newspaper or turn on the television news to see that we as a country still have a long way to go. Housing and economic inequality still burdens far too many individuals and families. Too many men, women and children still face segregation and racial inequality. Too many lives are being lost to the bullets and gunfire that ravage cities and towns across this country. We are losing far too many of our young people to violence, and far too many of those sworn to protect us are falling in the line of duty.<br />
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Five decades after our black brothers and sisters were given equal rights, what should be the joyful shouts of modern-day equality are sadly silent. In the 1960s, Jonathan Daniels recognized that black lives matter, and he followed a personal journey in answer to a call from Dr. King to work for an understanding of that fact. Today, parts of this nation still struggle with understanding that black lives <b><i>do</i></b> matter. They do not matter to the exclusion of any other segment of this nation's population, despite what some think when they see banners and social media hash tags. Black lives matter because they have been - and sadly, continue to be - demeaned and offered fewer opportunities to achieve their American dream. Black lives matter because they are the lives of the men, women and children who have been ignored. Black lives matter because when one part of our body is hurt, the entire body suffers. And when our brothers and sisters suffer continued subjugation and victimization, the entire body of humanity is hurt.<br />
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In the midst of all of this, the pain and grief that still holds this nation in its terrible grip, I think about Jonathan Myrick Daniels. I think about the man and the priest. I think about that time when as a young man of 26 he was the future of the Church. And as I reflect on the tragedy of his death, I rejoice in the fact that he wasn't just the <i><b>future</b></i> of the Church. He was - and <b><i>is</i></b> - the Church. To look at the example of Daniels' life is to look at what the Church that I love stands for. Loving all, and praying for our enemies. Respecting the dignity of <b><i>every</i></b> human being. Working to ensure that those <b><i>without</i></b> are given opportunities to live their lives <b><i>with</i></b>. Seeing that the face of God isn't reflected in the faces of a select few, but is seen in the faces of <b><i>all</i></b> of God's children.<br />
<br />
I think about Jonathan Daniels and how God was reflected in his face. I think about the courage he displayed and the life he led. And I pray that I can emulate his work and continue what he started - being one small part of the best of what the Church is and what it can be in the future.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-88276326781818506852016-07-10T13:56:00.004-04:002016-07-10T13:58:04.869-04:00Who are Our Neighbors? Just Look Around...A Sermon Preached at St. George's Episcopal Church, Arlington, Virginia<br />
The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, July 10, 2017<br />
Gospel Reading - Luke 10:25-37<br />
<b style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><br /></i></b>
<b style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>Who</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> is my neighbor?</span><br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">When this unnamed lawyer posed this question to Jesus,
I don’t think he had any idea what he was opening himself up for. And certainly
the Gospel writer may not have known just how important this parable would
become to generations of Christians around the world. On the surface, this
question – like many others posed to and by Jesus during his ministry – seems
like it would have a simple answer. But it doesn’t. Our neighbors are ones we
think of often – and in recent days, we have thought of our neighbors not out
of a sense of curiosity, but out of a feeling of pain and loss.</span> <br />
<br />
Several years ago,
our youngest daughter was upset when one of her neighborhood playmates moved to
another part of town. As she was talking to me about it, she asked, “Will she
still be our neighbor?” I said that they would – and she seemed relieved. Two
years ago, she and her sister both felt the heartache of having a friend with
whom they had grown up in the church move out of state. Our youngest again
asked, “Are we still neighbors, even though they live in Alabama now?” I said
that we were – and again, you could see the relief on her face.<br />
<br />
For our children,
being a neighbor is something related to <b><i>distance</i></b>. In their minds, the
greater concern is about where you live – whether it’s two blocks up the street
or 12 hours down the interstate. Often, that’s true for a lot of people. We
often think of neighbors as those we see regularly – at the community picnic or
out mowing their lawns on Saturday morning or walking down the sidewalk with
the kids on a cool evening. It’s a comforting thing, really – walking out the
front door in the morning and seeing some folks headed to work and others
headed to the bus stop. Those can be moments of stability, of reassurance.<br />
<br />
But being a
neighbor is also about relationship – <b><i>who</i></b> we are to one another rather
than <b><i>where</i></b>
we are in relation to one another. More importantly, it’s about <b><i>how</i></b>
we are to one another, and that was ultimately the point of the parable shared
by Jesus in today’s Gospel reading. The neighbor – in this case, a Samaritan, part
of a group that often found itself cast to the margins in the Israel of Jesus’
day – was the one who saw someone in need and stopped to care for him. It
didn’t matter that they were from different segments of society. In his
response, we see that the Samaritan didn’t see himself as a Samaritan, but as a
human being – and in this moment on this lonely wilderness road, he didn’t see
the man lying wounded as a Jewish traveler in need of help, but as a fellow
human in trouble.<br />
<br />
What’s truly
remarkable is that the Samaritan didn’t just offer immediate help; he provided
ongoing care. He demonstrated a love that wasn’t offered just out of a sense of
obligation; it was a love that was extravagant. He binds his wounds and pours
oil and wine on them. He gives up his seat so that the injured man will not
have to walk. He takes him to an inn and pays in advance for his care. He even
announces he will pass back through and pay for any care above and beyond the
money he has already provided.<br />
<br />
Jesus often tells
stories and shares lessons of what it means to give extravagantly from our
love. Does someone sue for your shirt? Give them your cloak, too. Love your
enemies. Learn from the vineyard owner who paid the last hired as much as the
first. Watch the joyful giving of the father who throws an elaborate banquet
and gives all he has to a son who had abandoned his home, his family and his
heritage. In each of these instances, just as we see in today’s Gospel, people
act as they do towards others – towards their neighbors – not because they have
to, but because they <b><i>want</i></b> to.<br />
<br />
Over the past few
weeks, these lessons of extravagant love have been lost in the echo of the senseless
deaths that have taken place around the country. Orlando. Baton Rouge. Falcon
Heights. Dallas. A list of communities growing longer, seemingly by the day, in
which dreams of living as neighbors have been shattered by the reality of gunfire.
Some of the tragedies, like Orlando, are of such a large scale that the names
themselves are lost in an endless stream of the photos of the dead. Others,
such as those we’ve witnessed this week, result in our learning the names of
those taken.<br />
<br />
Philando Castile. Alton Sterling. Brent Thompson. Patrick Zamarripa. Michael Krol. Lorne Ahrens. Michael Smith.<br />
<br />
Every one a life cut tragically short. Every one <i style="font-weight: bold;">a neighbor</i> - separated from us by distance, yes, but joined with us as part of God's creation.<br />
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<br />
A roll call of
senseless loss – and from these losses, an ever-increasing sense of anxiety and
tension. Rather than feeling like the Samaritan who offers help and healing,
these days have left me feeling like the one who was beaten and abandoned on
the side of the road. And for all of the emotion I have been feeling, it in no
way comes close to the hurt, anger, grief and marginalization being felt and
expressed by the families and friends of the young black men, police officers and
perpetrators who lost their lives this week.<br />
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So in the midst of this tragedy, as witnesses to the
racism, fear, hostility and division that still hold the country in its
terrible grip, we are all undoubtedly trying to find something. Where, we ask,
is the </span><b style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>good news</i></b><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">?</span><br />
<br />
I want you to do
something. Turn and look at the person next to you, or behind you. Don’t say
anything – just look.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>There</i></b>
is the good news. The faces of the people next to us – our friends and family,
our guests, our fellow St. Georgians – are the collective face of the good news
we are seeking. Yours are the faces of those welcoming the stranger, comforting
the poor, reaching out to the marginalized. It is your hands that throw open
the doors of this place and extend an invitation to the world, and it is your
desire to take the church beyond these four walls that offers a glimpse of
humanity’s best to those who have only experienced its worst.<br />
<br />
One of my heroes,
the civil rights leader and current congressman John Lewis, gave one of the
most powerful statements I have ever heard. He said, “We must learn to live
together as brothers and sisters. If not, we will perish as fools.” The people
of this city, this nation, this world are all brothers and sisters. We may have
different beliefs, different traditions, and different languages, and we may
live with different goals and dreams. But at the end of the day, we are all
part of the same creation.<br />
<br />
Who are our
neighbors? As a writer of a commentary on this passage wrote, “Love … must know
no limits of race and ask no enquiry. Who needs me is my neighbor. Whom at the
given time and place I can help with my active love, they are my neighbor and I
am theirs.”</div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
Amen.</div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-27077668435868524802016-03-26T20:50:00.002-04:002016-03-26T20:50:45.169-04:00We are the Nails: A Good Friday Sermon<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A Sermon Preached at Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Delaplane, Virginia</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good Friday, March 25, 2016</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gospel reading - John 18:1-19:42</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the name of one God,
the Father who created us, the Son who sacrificed for us, and the Holy Spirit that
strengthens and sustains us. Amen.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
lectionary from which we take our Lessons and Gospel readings throughout the
church year provides preachers with some outstanding material. We get to
experience anew the beauty and wonder of the creation of this Earth and the
universe in which we find ourselves. We can rejoice with the Israelites as they
at long last, after 40 years of wandering and struggling in the wilderness,
reach the Promised Land.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There
are the spectacular moments such as when Jesus taps 12 ordinary men –
fisherman and tax collectors – to leave their nets and counting tables and
follow him to do extraordinary things. And we can see through the eyes
of those whom Jesus fed and healed and freed from the possession of demons and
the dark hopelessness of their lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">W<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">ithout question, the
Bible is filled with stories of wonder, beauty and magnificence. But it is also
full of moments of hardship and tragedy and obstacles that seemingly cannot be
overcome. And that is where we find ourselves this evening, at the close of the
day on which we recall and reflect on the ultimate sacrifice that Jesus made
for each of us: the sacrifice of himself.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
passion narrative that we just heard is powerful and dark and – for many –
extremely emotional. And for me, that’s a great challenge as I stand in the pulpit: how does one preach on good news when faced with such a painful moment?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Throughout
his ministry, and especially the week between Palm Sunday and today, Jesus was
followed by large crowds. An untold number of people crowded around him as he
rode on the back of a donkey through the gates of Jerusalem.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They undoubtedly hung
on his every word as he spent his final days preaching and speaking against the
corruption of the authorities of the Temple and the Roman occupiers. And as we
know from his trial, a large crowd gathered to cry for the release of Barabbas
and the condemnation of Jesus to death.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Despite
the near-constant presence of crowds, however, the Gospel reading for today
only identifies a few people gathered at the foot of the cross: three women,
including Jesus’ mother; the anonymous beloved disciple; and some soldiers –
far fewer than were at the arrest in Gethsemane, for I think in the mind of the
authorities it would have been much easier to try and escape a garden than to
escape the cross.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I think that the
same crowds that had rejoiced at his arrival and then condemned him to death
were also there on this day. And I think they were standing off to the side,
watching the nails being driven into Jesus’ wrists and feet, listening as he
cried out to his Father, and looking on silently as he drew his last breath.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes,
I think the crowd was at the cross – but I think they were feeling shame, and
embarrassment, and fear. After following his ministry and sharing in his
journey, they were now uncomfortable and quiet and afraid. They had to have
been wondering, “<b><i>What</i></b> have we done?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In
these last hours, they had discovered for themselves the limits of just how far
they were willing to follow Jesus. They followed him <b><i>to</i></b> the cross, but they
were not <b><i>at</i></b> the cross.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And
somewhere deep inside, I think that as they listened to the sound of the
hammer, they may have even thought to themselves, “<b><i>We</i></b> are the nails.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How
often in our own lives might we ourselves have been nails, being driven into
others through our words and actions? Perhaps there have been words spoken in
haste and anger, without consideration for the feelings of those receiving
them. Maybe we allowed ourselves to forget
someone else who might need a bit of love or attention at a particular moment
in their own life, sacrificing our work as disciples for something we thought
was more important.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There
may have even been a time when we have felt the nails being driven into us as
the priorities and distractions of our lives step in and separate us a bit from
the God who loves us. The stress of making sure there’s enough in the bank to
pay the bills. Wondering if a damaged relationship with a treasured friend can
be mended. A health issue that, despite doctors’ visits and constant treatment,
won’t seem to go away. Times when everyday life brings sadness and fear rather
than joy and hopeful expectation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In
our own journeys, there are individual moments when we may find ourselves standing
a distance away from the cross. And<b><i> these</i></b> are the times when we see
glimpses of the good news. For it is in these moments that we have the
opportunity to take Jesus down from that cross.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In opposition to that crowd 2,000 years
ago that clamored for the crucifixion of Jesus and then stood by as the nails
were driven in, </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>we</i></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> have a chance to un-nail Christ – and in so doing, to free
ourselves to be un-nailed and redeemed by Jesus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sometimes
when I am working on sermons, I will take time to look at various icons on the
Gospel readings and see how different artists portrayed these events. While
working on this one, I ran across a photograph of an icon from an Orthodox
Church in Town and Country, Missouri. In this instance, the artist had depicted
the moment when Jesus was taken down from the cross. This rendering shows the
women and the beloved disciple had been joined by others – several other
people, in fact, who were carefully and lovingly taking him down.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In
the artist’s mind, where did these people come from? There’s no way of knowing.
We just heard that, with Pilate’s permission, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus
took the body – but I don’t think they did it alone. There’s no proof for this,
but I can’t help but wonder if some from the crowd – perhaps two or three men
and women – experienced something that brought them from standing near the
cross over to the foot of the cross, to bring down the body of the one
sacrificed for <b><i>their</i></b> sins. Two or three more joined with a small group that
removed the nails, embraced the body, and wrapped it for burial.</span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i>We</i></b>
are this small group. On this Good Friday, and throughout the year, we can take
out the nails and bring Jesus down from the cross – and in so doing, open
ourselves to the healing that we can and do receive from him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
often think of Henri Nouwen, who himself struggled with his own understanding
of what this day means. As he wrote, "Jesus was broken on the cross. He lived his suffering and death not as an evil to avoid at all costs, but as a mission to embrace. We too are broken. We live with broken bodies, broken hearts, broken minds or broken spirits. We suffer from broken relationships. How can we live our brokenness? Jesus invites us to embrace our brokenness as he embraced the cross and live it as part of our mission. He asks us not to reject our brokenness as a curse from God that reminds us of our sinfulness but to accept it and put it under God's blessing for our purification and sanctification. Thus our brokenness can become a gateway to new life."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let us remove the nails from ourselves and others. Let us be the ones who takes Jesus down off the cross. And let us allow our brokenness to be healed, so that we ourselves may be agents of healing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Amen.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></span></div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-9363708608610986942015-11-28T19:35:00.002-05:002015-11-28T19:35:38.882-05:00Art Dogmatics: Pollock and Rothko<em>For this one man - it is as if the framework is now filled out and burst through - is the Son of God who is one with God the Father and is Himself God.</em> - Karl Barth, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Church-Dogmatics-Doctrine-Reconciliation-Subject-Matter/dp/0567051293/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1448753210&sr=8-8&keywords=church+dogmatics+iv.1+the+doctrine+of+reconciliation" target="_blank"><em>Church Dogmatics</em></a> IV.1.<br />
<br />
No one could have been more surprised than me when a visit earlier this week to the <a href="http://www.nga.gov/content/ngaweb.html" target="_blank">National Gallery of Art</a> led to an outstanding spoken meditation on theology, liturgy and modern art. At the outset I have to say that, as much as I love art, the initial surprise arose when I discovered that I would in fact be interested in visiting the modern art exhibition - an era that I typically avoid in favor of the work done by anyone earlier than the early 20th century. Add to the mix that Trudy (a friend, fellow seminarian and ordinand from the Church of England studying this semester at Virginia Theological Seminary) had the specific goal of seeking out the works of Mark Rothko and Jackson Pollock, and this day was shaping up to be something that was far out of my usual comfort zone.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7oy-4FnrN64Trl5tM4O31IGUZH6cHM32u_L-dMyrnvND6g-bGdGrPmex57wAoObxs-NFw5_OVbebbNZQNueUxGl5MosL9ONNg4RFihftZOM-mBVOXp4MGfBkx2dR-ufYtj0Q/s1600/12308482_10206778814083243_6094421826823137071_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg7oy-4FnrN64Trl5tM4O31IGUZH6cHM32u_L-dMyrnvND6g-bGdGrPmex57wAoObxs-NFw5_OVbebbNZQNueUxGl5MosL9ONNg4RFihftZOM-mBVOXp4MGfBkx2dR-ufYtj0Q/s320/12308482_10206778814083243_6094421826823137071_n.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
Pollock's "<a href="http://www.nga.gov/collection/gallery/20centpa/20centpa-55819.html" target="_blank">Lavender Mist Number 1</a>" dominated the far wall in gallery G39, and while it was the second painting with which Trudy and I spent a great deal of time it was the one that seemed to dominate the conversation. The Barth quote found at the top of this post seems quite appropriate to this painting, as the two of us discussed how the busy-ness of the work - the chaos and rush of multiple images and impressions - seemed to be restrained by the thin metal frame surrounding it, just on the verge of bursting through. The National Gallery summary refers to the fact that there are no discernible focal points to this painting, and I think that contributed to its great attraction for me. As seminarians and (God willing) future priests in the Church of England and Episcopal Church, respectively, Trudy and I (and our many classmates and predecessors) are used to the process of discernment, of finding how God has been present and the Holy Spirit has been active throughout our journeys. Similarly, discernment is valuable in seeking out the hidden layers and meanings in artwork.<br />
<br />
During our conversation, Trudy applied the wonderful phrase "beautiful chaos" to the Pollock painting - a very apropos description. The quick glance that I would have typically given this work would have revealed nothing more than a giant canvas of paint splatters and the occasional handprint. But there are things that appear - that are seemingly created - out of the chaos found here. At first glance, I saw a thin, pale line of coral color weaving throughout, something that immediately evoked thoughts of the Holy Spirit winding throughout all that occurs. I then saw handprints, presumably the handprints of Pollock (and a later check confirmed this) but, at the time, symbols of the hand of God on all that is in us and around us. Trudy mentioned some of the conversations held in her liturgics class about the mysteries of the liturgy and some of the chaos found there. In reflecting on that I have been considering how - as with the various aspects of the painting that appeared to me with each new glance - there are things that appear in each service, how something I may notice with the Eucharist one week may be replaced the very next by something I see in the face of a congregant during the recitation of the Creed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6zrIF_242i0iHD_kSN5ooHsfAf-WSKujE6BUe08R9QXhFJGtuyEjZnpK-ZQTeK1R8xVLxI0CVcy73Smf934kAcMKR7ri0UytVrt9yWrbySMbwA6ff8ZYURQf7kPh-LdjHdpL/s1600/12241328_10206778814363250_2630322111345209769_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6zrIF_242i0iHD_kSN5ooHsfAf-WSKujE6BUe08R9QXhFJGtuyEjZnpK-ZQTeK1R8xVLxI0CVcy73Smf934kAcMKR7ri0UytVrt9yWrbySMbwA6ff8ZYURQf7kPh-LdjHdpL/s320/12241328_10206778814363250_2630322111345209769_n.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
And then there is the first of the two Rothko's which we explored, "Untitled 1955." Where the Pollock was chaotic, this is much more simple, unbounded by any constraint and flowing gently off the edges of the canvas. There is something very Trinitarian about it - three individual blocks of different colors and thicknesses, each maintaining their individuality but crucial to the overall unity of the piece. In considering it further, one might also see the ancient understanding of the three levels of creation: the heavens; the earth; and the underworld. It is orderly and held together by something greater and invisible, yet something that allows for the release of the tension of the solid blocks of color.<br />
<br />
This visit is one prompting ongoing reflection, and it has certainly given me the opportunity to ponder anew what gifts can be found in art that I would historically have preferred to ignore. With apologies in advance to Trudy, I would like to close with this excerpt from her post: <br />
<br />
<em>'Do we need to understand the art to appreciate or enjoy it?' Standing there we realised that we do not. We can simply be in its presence and enjoy what we personally take from the painting, whether that is simply liking the look of it, appreciating all that went into it or finding something profound. Similarly with liturgy, we do not need to know the intricate details of everything that is going on. We can simply be in its presence. Just like modern art, it is multi-layered.</em><br />
<br />
[Note: Trudy's full post on this experience and our reflections can be <a href="https://trudyschoice.wordpress.com/2015/11/26/musings-of-a-couple-of-seminarians-stood-in-front-of-a-rothko/" target="_blank">read here</a>.]NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-47010261062377323922015-08-04T16:41:00.001-04:002015-08-04T16:41:37.474-04:00Riding the Waves on the Sea of Life: A Brief Homily<em>(Delivered by Matt Rhodes during the MedStar Washington Hospital Center Community Centering Moment, August 3, 2015.)</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">One of my all-time
favorite novels is F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby.” For those of you
who might not have read it, this book is set during the “Roaring Twenties,” a
decadent era of extravagance in the years just prior to the onset of the Great
Depression. It was a time when people lived for the moment and did not give a
thought to what tomorrow may hold.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Of all the wonderfully
crafted lines of this book, one of the most powerful is the very last one on
the very last page: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back
ceaselessly into the past.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Boats against the current.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Or perhaps consider this.
Imagine yourself wading into the ocean, leaving the sand behind as you walk
into ever deepening water. After enjoying the waves for a few minutes, you turn
to walk back to the shore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But you can’t. The harder
you try to return, the more difficult the waves make that short journey. You
want to go <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in</i>, but the ocean tides
are pulling you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">out</i>. The more effort
you exert, the more tired you become.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Each of these examples is
a metaphor for how we find our lives sometimes. Just like a boat moving against
a current or a tide that is pulling us in the opposite direction of where we
want to go, how many times have we encountered a situation where it felt we
were trying to move <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">against</i> the flow
of something?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">An illness for which we
want a cure. A financial difficulty for which we need a solution. A clear sense
of direction about a major life decision we must make. Like that person trying
to walk in the ocean, we exert so much effort in trying to force a cure – a
solution – an answer – that we exhaust ourselves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Now imagine yourself back
in the ocean – and next to you is a surfer. But unlike you, the surfer is
taking a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">different</i> approach to the
waves. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Rather than going against
the tide, instead of fighting against the waves, the surfer instead goes <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with</i> them. On the longboard, the surfer
waits for just the right moment, stands up, and rides the wave back in. Does
this skill take practice? Yes. Does it require courage? Yes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And perhaps most
importantly, it requires the surfer to let go – to trust in the board and the
waves and the ocean currents.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">In our lives, the current
we feel is God. Like the ocean moving towards the shore, God is guiding us
towards a particular solution, a specific destination, to that one answer we
are seeking. But like the casual wader being pummeled in the surf, how often do
we find ourselves fighting him, choosing instead to try and make our own way, our
own solution, our own cure?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I can tell you from
personal experience that the end result of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my</i>
trying to do it on my own was exhaustion, sadness, and an overwhelming sense of
feeling beaten.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Rather than fighting the
waves – rather than going against God – it is so much easier to go with him.
Does it, like the surfer trusting in the longboard and the ocean, take courage?
Absolutely. Sometimes, tapping into our faith is one of the hardest things we can
do.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But once we have found
that faith, once we have embraced the grace that God has extended to us – once
we jump on top of that holy wave instead of trying to ride against it – the
journey becomes much easier.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Will there still be times
of difficulty? Without question. The best professional surfers still manage to wipe
out from time to time. Even as we go about our lives today, here in this
hospital and outside these walls, there will be moments of cross-currents – of
sudden undertows and waves that knock us off balance and drag us away from our
goal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But in those instances, be
calm – trust in the “board” that you have been given – and you will see that
the most incredible thing happens: God will reach out his hand, pull you out of
that treacherous water, and put you back on top of the wave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">All he asks is that we
trust, that we have faith, and that we continue to ride that wave across the
sea of life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Amen.</span>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-80553540860828561322015-07-11T17:27:00.003-04:002015-07-11T17:27:58.196-04:00Through God, All Things Are Possible: A Brief Homily<em>(Delivered by Matt Rhodes during the MedStar Washington Hospital Center Community Centering Moment, June 24, 2015.)</em><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span>We</span></i><span> are the tools of God. </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Think about that for a moment. The God
of infinite power; the God who created the smallest speck of dust and the
grandest galaxy; the God who graced us with hearts to love, minds to reason,
and hands to craft – that God needs each of us to complete some very important
work.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now I’m not saying that God’s power is
limited, and we need to pick up the slack for him. Quite the contrary. We have
been given the gift of this planet and the blessings of being joined on this journey
by our fellow man – and it is up to us to care for this wondrous creation. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But doing so is difficult. Often the
challenges appear daunting; sometimes, in fact, we may think they are
impossible to overcome. How can we heal or care for the sick under our charge in
this place? How can we ensure that all the hungry are fed and all the homeless
housed? How can we end the violent acts man commits against man and nation
against nation? What must we do to protect our fragile environment and ensure
its survival for future generations? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rather than stress over the enormity of
these challenges, however, we need to focus on one simple fact. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We do not have to do any of this alone.
Through God, all things are possible. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We already have been given all we need to
accomplish these tasks. Our reason; our intellect; our skill; our creativity;
our compassion; our love. Each of these is a tool in the toolbox with which God
has blessed us to do these things. But using them requires instruction –
careful guidance, a gentle hand showing us the way.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">We do not have to walk that path by
ourselves. Through God, all things are possible. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The late Harvard University professor and chaplain Peter Gomes reminded us of what to do in difficult times. As he wrote, “What is
the response for calamity? Endurance. Don’t rush, don’t panic. What are we to
do in calamitous times? We are to slow down. We are to inquire. We are to
endure. Tribulation does not invite haste; it invites contemplation,
reflection, perseverance, endurance.” Writing further on the recollection by
ancient people of God’s work on their behalf, he continued, “They remember …
how the Lord delivered them out of these troubles and helped them to endure and
bear and eventually overcome them.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">So as you go out into your day, remember
you do not walk alone. The difficult medical situations, the families
experiencing fear and sadness, the stress and exhaustion of your individual
challenges – you will not deal with them in a vacuum. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The solutions may be hard to find, the
answers a challenge to see. But you have a companion, a guiding hand, an
inspiration, a cheerleader. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For through God, all things are possible.</span></span></div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-60690522881185278832015-06-12T15:11:00.002-04:002015-06-12T15:14:12.746-04:00The Whisper of God: A Brief Homily<em>(Delivered by Matt Rhodes during the MedSTAR Washington Hospital Center Community Centering Moment on Friday, June 12, 2015.)</em><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With
the dawning of each day, we are presented with new opportunities to see God at
work – in our lives and the lives of those around us. We see God reflected in
the faces of patients and their families, in the doctors and nurses and support
staff. We see God in every man, woman, and child. We see God in each
magnificent part of nature.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On the
metro, on the Beltway, in the crowded lanes of traffic and long lines at the
supermarket – everywhere we look, we <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">see</i>
God.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But how
often, in the midst of our busy and rushed lives, do we stop looking for God
and start <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">listening</i> for him?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Often,
the perception we have of God’s voice has a very epic Hollywood feel to it. God
announcing his presence from a pillar of fire. God speaking from a burning
bush. God making a dramatic appearance in a dream. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How
often have we dreamed of having our own dramatic encounter with God? Perhaps
you or someone you know has. But others may have missed their moment because
the chaos and noise within their lives has drowned out God’s voice. Car horns
and telephones, arguments, screaming children, doorbells, news broadcasts,
television announcers. The chaotic situations that bring people to this very
building. There are many distractions that make hearing what is truly important
a great challenge.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But in straining
to listen for God’s voice over the noises of our hectic, over-scheduled lives,
we miss those moments where God can truly speak to us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We miss
those moments where God <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whispers</i> to
us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Think
of a conversation you may have had where there is suddenly a gap when no words
are spoken. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sing
your favorite song, and pay attention to that brief moment between verses.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
your eyes open in the morning, ponder that sliver of time before the first
thought of the day enters your mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even in
something as automatic as breathing, notice the moment between one breath and
the next.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It is
in these sacred seconds, these moments of quiet, where you will hear that
wonderfully blessed whisper – a whisper reminding you that you are loved, you
are valued. A voice that says, “You are my beloved child.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As you
depart this morning and go about the business of your day, listen for the voice
of God. Listen with your heart, and take notice of those instances of silence
and be amazed when you discover it is not silence you are hearing after all.</span></span><br />
<br />
It is God, whispering in your ear.</div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-40185300942358481002015-05-26T14:03:00.002-04:002015-05-26T14:03:31.590-04:00A Simple Gesture for Our Pets Means So Much MoreShortly after 4:00 this morning, our beloved cat Smokey - a moody, temperamental, independent, but very loving lady who was just shy of turning 19 - passed away. After living a remarkably long life, it had become obvious in recent days that time was growing short for her. She had accomplished all she wanted (as much as any cat could want to accomplish in life), and more and more of her time was spent looking for quiet places to rest. My wife awakened me early to tell me the end was at hand, and together the two of us sat with her, stroked her fur, and held her as she quietly and gently slipped away.<br />
<br />
In 45 years, this was the first time I had experienced death. I had not been with any of my family members who have died, and another much-loved pet who passed away last summer had chosen her moment when she was outside the house and away from us. Any death is a loss, as those of our pets have been for our family, but Smokey's has been particularly impactful. My wife and I first picked her up at the animal shelter on the day we returned from our honeymoon, and she has been with us every day since then. She has been as much a symbol of our marriage as our two children, marking the passing years, changing homes, and exciting developments in our lives.<br />
<br />
In thinking about these deaths, though, I continue returning to something my wife did for each of our cats when we realized the end was near. In both instances, she took them to the bathtub, gave them each a long and careful bath, wrapped them in a towel, and held them close for as long as possible. In a way, these were much more than baths; they were expressions of love and her special way of anointing them.<br />
<br />
Just as the three women went to the tomb that Easter Sunday to lovingly anoint the body of Jesus after his death, my wife lovingly took similar steps with our cats before theirs. Christ's time here was seemingly finished, but the love of Mary, Martha, and Mary extended far beyond that Friday at the cross. The simple gesture by my wife for our beloved pets demonstrated our love for them, a love that continues beyond their time with us.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-24206602136259593432015-01-20T20:36:00.001-05:002015-01-20T20:36:15.791-05:00The Shoulders of a Seminarian<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA565WoSUrFWwNMng78OM05C0HbFqRHcxqcxYKrUgmTzGhb5N6hdqVGk6nZYhWsbmEx-QmT30xcObm6MTIwzhNOU36-ilQMUEpYBGEvsjCEwYPBTo_V4z36MOtXnWg8m-odqF1/s1600/IMG_0978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA565WoSUrFWwNMng78OM05C0HbFqRHcxqcxYKrUgmTzGhb5N6hdqVGk6nZYhWsbmEx-QmT30xcObm6MTIwzhNOU36-ilQMUEpYBGEvsjCEwYPBTo_V4z36MOtXnWg8m-odqF1/s1600/IMG_0978.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
In the days that have passed since my most recent visit home to the foothills of the Blue Ridge, I've been thinking a great deal about the inestimable value of the human shoulder. I'm not normally given to pondering the mysteries of the human body, but a profoundly emotional moment at the altar rail during the Eucharist pushed musings on shoulders to the fore.<br />
<br />
At an altar I have visited countless times in my life, I knelt to receive the bread and wine - and almost immediately I was overcome by emotion, to the point that I cried. Yes, part of it was the feeling of being back in a place that means so much to me, one that was a root from which grew the person that I am today. More than that, though, it was the feeling I got while kneeling at the rail - the sensation that the hands of those I knew in that church, men and women whose friendship and support sustains me today as well as those who have long since passed on and are now the subject of wonderful memories, were all placed on me. All at once, in that moment, they each laid their hands on my shoulders, silent, unheard prayers of blessing and encouragement from those who were and continue to be guides and companions, at moments great and small, in my journey to the seminary.<br />
<br />
Shoulders are of great significance in both the Old and New Testaments. They were used to carry water jars in Genesis 2 and sheep in Luke 15. They have borne the burden of man's laws in Matthew 23 and the weight of Assyrian oppression in Isaiah 14. And they carried the weight of messianic power and responsibility as prophesied in Isaiah 9. Throughout history, we have put our shoulders to the wheel; Isaac Newton said that success in his life was only the result of "standing on the shoulders of giants;" W.H. Auden said that "every American poet feels that the whole responsibility for contemporary poetry has fallen upon his shoulders."<br />
<br />
In the months since beginning my first year at seminary, I have seen the true power and significance of shoulders in my friends and classmates. They have been a place for them lay their heads at stressful moments. They have been the landing point for many tears of frustration and anxiety. They have been a support for those recovering from brief moments of physically frailty and pain. More than anything else, however, they have been a place to receive arms thrown around them in joy and celebration as we have each shared in the many wonderfully profound and Spirit-filled moments experienced each day. <br />
<br />
Our natural inclination is to view shoulders as necessary for carrying weight or bearing burdens. For me, that is a glass half-empty; shoulders carry so much more. They carry the love of friends and family; they carry the hopes of our church; they carry the dreams for our future. And as I learned first-hand at the altar in that small, beloved country church, a hand on a shoulder is a sign of blessing from all those whom God has chosen to weave into the thread of our lives.<br />
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-84615421989782621352015-01-06T20:51:00.001-05:002015-01-06T20:51:28.424-05:00Fifty Years On, the Lessons of Selma are Still Being Learned<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDSNPGhlPg5FeYAUFwYV3pmF9E5QAOJ0rOe59SxnxgRgxgGnibtU0VCsEoA6dyDZQ7KcC3PZigAxPiAOwcu0U1zceZmGoUmPZu_f39iR20Bv4ODZvNuw2PvvTfc3t6QizV6kz/s1600/Pettus+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWDSNPGhlPg5FeYAUFwYV3pmF9E5QAOJ0rOe59SxnxgRgxgGnibtU0VCsEoA6dyDZQ7KcC3PZigAxPiAOwcu0U1zceZmGoUmPZu_f39iR20Bv4ODZvNuw2PvvTfc3t6QizV6kz/s1600/Pettus+2.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
I was not born in Selma, Alabama, nor did I live there (although I was married at the Episcopal church there, in 1996). I did not take part in the Selma to Montgomery march, being born five years too late. I was not there to express outrage at the discriminatory tactics taken by Sheriff Jim Clark to block blacks from exercising their constitutional right to register to vote. I did not witness the brutality of the state police against the marchers at the foot of the Edmund Pettus Bridge. I was not able to mourn the deaths of Jimmie Lee Jackson or James Reeb.<br />
<br />
But as I sat in a theater today watching the outstanding and powerful new film "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6t7vVTxaic" target="_blank">Selma</a>," I wept - and my tears encompassed all the sorrow and outrage that, while missed in March 1965, are just as real and just as raw for many today as they were 50 years ago. Equally present, sadly, is the need for many to learn the lessons of justice and reconciliation that are strong threads running through what Dr. King called "the moral arc of the universe."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgpcxmNjD3dheRji3vKXARKj1Hdak_Ot1dqQfPZBHduF-hNFjhDDI8y-7J9o-b5a5VJ9fypECNy_6iF43mO5knOE6OG2OdFDxioqMBic9x2Zqo3jEf0c4Koma-84nlMOVyBUd/s1600/Lewis+1A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgpcxmNjD3dheRji3vKXARKj1Hdak_Ot1dqQfPZBHduF-hNFjhDDI8y-7J9o-b5a5VJ9fypECNy_6iF43mO5knOE6OG2OdFDxioqMBic9x2Zqo3jEf0c4Koma-84nlMOVyBUd/s1600/Lewis+1A.jpg" height="200" width="192" /></a>There is much that has changed. In just two generations, the racial slurs that I can recall one of my grandfathers using in front of me, even in my very early years, have been replaced by the joy of two young daughters who have friends based on love and the ability to share good times together and not upon skin color or background. My wife and I have taught them the importance of honoring and respecting the equal worth of <strong>every</strong> man, woman, and child. We have talked to them about the important rights prayed and fought for by men like Dr. King, John Lewis - a personal hero of mine and someone I am honored to have met - and millions of other men and women, and why they should be remembered.<br />
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Despite all we have done, however, how do we find the words to explain why people like Michael Brown, Wenjian Liu, and Rafael Ramos die so needlessly? How do we talk to them about why there are so many people in the world who have a difficult time accepting and loving as easily as they do? Why have they been taught to forgive and yet see others who cannot, who <em>will not</em>, accept, nor love, nor forgive?<br />
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On Christmas 1957, Dr. King delivered a sermon on love and forgiveness that I think is very applicable. He said,<br />
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<em>This simply means that there is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies. When we look beneath the surface, beneath. the impulsive evil deed, we see within our enemy-neighbor a measure of goodness and know that the viciousness and evilness of his acts are not quite representative of all that he is. We see him in a new light. We recognize that his hate grows out of fear, pride, ignorance, prejudice, and misunderstanding, but in spite of this, we know God's image is ineffably etched in being. Then we love our enemies by realizing that they are not totally bad and that they are not beyond the reach of God's redemptive love.</em><br />
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As we approach the 50th anniversary of the Selma march, as we remember those who were and are oppressed, those who struggled and fought and fight still, who lived and died so that the future might be born anew, all in the name of equality and justice, I pray that the Pettus Bridge is remembered not only as a symbol of how many steps we as a nation have walked, but how many miles we still have to go. May the lessons of Selma go on, and may the bridge serve as a tool for crossing the divide that still exists and bending the moral arc completely back to justice, equality, and reconciliation.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-59415072430278016802014-09-22T21:04:00.001-04:002014-09-22T21:04:06.183-04:00The Best Source of Seminarian Pastoral Support? Other SeminariansThroughout my journey of discernment over the past seven years, I have been blessed to have some amazing men and women - mentors, guides, and counselors - placed in my path. Some have taken just a few steps with me, others have walked many miles by my side. As result, my life - my personal walk to Emmaus - has been richly blessed.<br />
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Now that I am well into my first semester as an Episcopal seminarian, I have been confronted with something new, a place my path has led me that is far from my comfort zone - vulnerability. For an admitted Type A who lives by lists, deadlines, and the certainty of those things in life of which I can be certain, the feeling of vulnerability, of being exposed and uncertain, is something for which I have no answers. And I would be lying if I said that it didn't scare the hell out of me. <br />
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The many hours of study, classwork, tests, exegesis papers, and translation are exciting, challenging, thrilling, and exhausting - and shared by all. Multiple daily opportunities for community worship are strengthening the bonds I'm building with the amazing men and women with whom I am sharing this experience. But despite all of this, of being in the same foxholes and trenches of formation with many other folks, talking about my vulnerability is something that I didn't initially want to do for fear of - you guessed it - making myself even more vulnerable.<br />
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My upcoming clinical pastoral education (CPE), a 12-week chaplaincy program next summer required of all seminarians, is something that had struck me particularly hard. My biggest fear grew out of the fact that, because I am such an emotional person, I would not be able to hold my emotions in check. Being in the moment with people when they most need prayers and support is something very important to me - but I'm worried that I will become too deeply involved in those moments of death and grief that many friends have experienced as part of their chaplaincy terms. Hearing stories of comforting husbands who have lost wives and parents who have lost young children moved me to tears - and made me wonder if I could be strong enough to do it.<br />
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And in the midst of this struggle, of wondering whether I would be able to keep it together for those who were in the midst of losing everything, I was embraced by my community. I was reminded of the good moments that are just as much a part of CPE as the sorrowful ones. I was reassured that emotion at a moment when others are emotional would be a blessing at those times when those in need are longing to be met in <em>their</em> moment. And I was reminded that I now have a new family that will be with me in <em>my</em> moments of need, of sorrow, of joy.<br />
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There have been days recently that have left me exhausted and feeling incomplete, a beaten traveler left on the side of the road to Jericho. It is at those moments that one Samaritan, then another, and still another, pass by and find me laying there - and without hesitation, they stop to bandage my wounds and get me back on my feet.<br />
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God knows what He is doing. When I wasn't sure it was me that He was calling to ordination, He knew what He was doing. In my moments of doubt, He knows what He was doing.<br />
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And in surrounding me with men and women who understand, who are walking the same three-year path of seminary, and who have been blessed with immeasurable pastoral gifts, He definitely knows what He is doing. My journey to Emmaus continues, carried aloft on the love, prayers, and support of my seminary family.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-73975014089195129002014-08-30T22:08:00.000-04:002014-08-30T22:08:15.663-04:00Shema Yisrael: A Story of Shabbat<div style="text-align: left;">
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For quite some time the statement "Shema Yisrael. Adoshem Elokeinu. Adoshem e'had." has been part of my email signature block. The phrase, which, loosely translated, means, "Hear, O Israel. God is our God. God is one and unique," embedded itself in me after reading Elie Wiesel's <em><a href="http://smile.amazon.com/Open-Heart-Elie-Wiesel/dp/0307961842/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409447110&sr=8-1&keywords=open+heart" target="_blank">Open Heart</a></em> a few years ago. Now, as an Episcopal seminarian studying Hebrew, the phrase is even more significant for me - the beginning marker of a highway on which I will learn to read the Old Testament not through modern translations and filters, but through the eyes of those for whom it was written thousands of years ago.<br />
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Five years ago, Amy and I attended a Shabbat service at <a href="http://www.templerodefshalom.org/" target="_blank">Temple Rodef Shalom</a> in Falls Church, an experience that I <a href="http://mwrhodes.blogspot.com/2009/06/shabbat-shalom-first-experience-with.html" target="_blank">blogged about at that time</a>. When I started at Virginia Theological Seminary last month, I was delighted to see another Jewish congregation, <a href="http://www.bethelhebrew.org/" target="_blank">Beth El Hebrew Congregation</a>, directly across the street from campus. My love of interfaith education and experiencing the religious customs of others once again kicked in, and a group of friends from VTS and I joyfully made the trek across the highway for last night's Soul Shabbat.<br />
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Shema Yisrael. Hear, O Israel. <em>Hear the voice of God calling.</em><br />
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The word "soul" in the title of the service was no accident, because that's exactly where it hit me - and there were more than a few tears shed. There was something almost indescribable in the sudden, jarring realization that I wasn't just attending a Jewish service - I and all of my friends sharing the experience with me were being pulled back through the centuries to the very roots of our Christianity. The history of the Jewish people - of repression, of tragedy, of exile - is <em>our</em> history, and yet despite all that they endured, Judaism remains a faith of hope, a faith of joy, a faith of celebration. And the Shabbat, to flip that last phrase, is a celebration of faith.<br />
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Shema Yisrael. Hear, O Israel. <em>Hear the call of your past</em>.<br />
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I so enjoyed watching the joy on the faces of my friends as they each experienced in their own way the wonder of what was happening. For one in particular, it was quite literally a transformative moment - an instance in which, as she said later, she suddenly felt reconnected to her own call after months of feeling separated from it. <br />
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Shema Yisrael. Hear, O Israel. <em>Hear the call to return to your beginning</em>.<br />
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And the music - mournful, reflective, joyful. It literally ran the gamut, and as a result so did my emotions. The cantor's singing of Stephen Richards' "R'tzei" (a video of another performance of the song is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lLg0F6idH9M" target="_blank">linked here</a>) brought me to tears (and made me question, just for an instant, whether I am <em>too</em> emotional to be a priest, since I am moved to tears so easily). And a rendition of this poem, with music playing just below the voice of the speaker, was equally moving:<br />
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<strong>Ein Li Eretz Acheret (I Have No Other Country)</strong><br />
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<em>I have no other country<br />even if my land is aflame<br />Just a word in Hebrew<br />pierces my veins and my soul - <br />With a painful body, with a hungry heart,<br />Here is my home.</em><br />
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<em>I will not stay silent <br />because my country changed her face</em><br />
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<em>I will not give up reminding her <br />And sing in her ears <br />until she will open her eyes</em><br />
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<em>I have no other country<br />even if my land is aflame<br />Just a word in Hebrew<br />pierces my veins and my soul - <br />With a painful body, with a hungry heart,<br />Here is my home.</em><br />
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<em>I won't be silent because my country<br />has changed her face.<br />I will not give up reminding her <br />And sing in her ears <br />until she will open her eyes</em><br />
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<em>I have no other country <br />until she will renew her glorious days<br />Until she will open her eyes</em><br />
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<em>I have no other country<br />even if my land is aflame<br />Just a word in Hebrew<br />pierces my veins and my soul - <br />With a painful body, with a hungry heart,<br />Here is my home.</em><br />
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<em>With a painful body, with a hungry heart,<br />Here is my home.</em><br />
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Shema Yisrael. Hear, O Israel. <em>Hear the songs of your past, and your present, and your future.</em><br />
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It was a beautiful evening, with wonderful conversation after with the Rabbi. I left feeling renewed, relaxed, and centered, and with an urge to experience more of Judaism as a way of strengthening the foundation of my journey toward the priesthood.<br />
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It truly was Shabbat Shalom - a peaceful Sabbath.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-88825816721422797452014-04-29T19:48:00.000-04:002014-04-29T19:48:05.617-04:00Two Trains Running ... Right on Schedule<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As much as I love drama, particularly those plays written by the masters of the 20th century, one of the great challenges for me (and, I assume, any other reader) has always been pulling the emotion and life of plays off the page. Reading "A Long Day's Journey Into Night" or "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" is a far more challenging task when trying to combine dialogue and stage direction in your mind to achieve a picture of the action. The saving grace is finding that one perfect production that forever lingers with you and gives you the emotion and life you're seeking and can carry over into future readings.<br />
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The <a href="http://www.roundhousetheatre.org/">Round House Theatre</a>'s current production of August Wilson's "Two Trains Running" is one that will most definitely linger with me for a long time to come. In advance of seeing a performance this past weekend, I obtained a copy of the play and read it. This was my introductory foray into Wilson's work, and I enjoyed it immensely. The one thing missing, however - as expected - was the humor, drama, sadness, and intensity contained within the story. My reading of "Two Trains" was gratifying, but I knew it would be reinforced by seeing it live, when I could <i>live</i> the play.</div>
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And was it <i>ever</i> reinforced.</div>
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I'll start with the staging and sound design. The diner owned by Memphis is set in an area of Pittsburgh slowly being abandoned by its residents and demolished to make way for the future. It's one of the final links to the past for a deeply-rooted community of residents, and you expect to see it run down. Scenic designer Tony Cisek successfully achieved that, but it had an even more powerful and personal impact on me - it was a glimpse into some forgotten part of my past, reminiscent of old buildings and diners I've visited in my life, places struggling to survive but still somehow managing to hang on, and hanging on in my memory. And sound designer Matthew Nielson did an outstanding job in selecting just the right music to accentuate the story and the scene transitions. There is a particularly effective use of Aretha Franklin's "Take a Look" that comes at a particularly poignant moment of the story.</div>
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In many plays I've seen over the years, there have typically been one or two exceptionally strong actors and a few other ones that are "okay" and provide the underlying support. Not so with "Two Trains;" <i>every single actor</i> delivered powerful performances, and like a great cathedral whose weight cannot be supported if one stone is removed from an arch or buttress, I cannot envision seeing Round House's production stand up if one of these actors was changed. After three hours, you leave feeling as if they are interlocked and are crucial to supporting each other.</div>
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Jefferson Russell (Memphis) does a wonderful job in coming across as a man cynical enough to think that things won't change, but hopeful enough to dream that one day they will. KenYatta Rogers (Wolf) is absolutely hysterical as the local numbers runner and resident ladies man. Michael Anthony Williams (Holloway) gives a great performance as the wise and somewhat cynical voice of experience - almost the play's version of a Greek chorus. Frank Britton (Hambone) does a lot with very few lines, and makes his character come alive as an even more tragic figure when sitting silently at a table lost in his own world. Ricardo Frederick Evans (Sterling) gives a great reading as an outspoken ex-con looking for a way to make a quick buck, but who matures over the course of the play into a man whose thoughts and actions are with others in mind, rather than himself. And Doug Brown (West) does a wonderful job as a man who has seen it all and, even with a hint of exhaustion from life, keeps on going.</div>
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And then there's Shannon Dorsey (Risa). With every other character in the play, we are given just enough insight to know a bit about their backgrounds - Memphis came from Mississippi and is divorced; Sterling has just gotten out of prison after serving time for a bank robbery; Holloway makes a living occasionally painting houses; West was a gambler before opening a successful funeral home; Hambone is a tragic figure who becomes permanently scarred because of not receiving payment for a job he had performed; Wolf has seemingly always run numbers. </div>
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But we don't have that same background about Risa; we know she has faced some tragic circumstances, but we don't know what. And for that, I have to single out Dorsey for her performance. With so little background to go on, Dorsey creates a character who is defiant and independent in one moment and scared, lonely, and withdrawn in the very next. Her facial expressions and reactions when she doesn't have any lines are just as funny or heart-tugging (and sometimes more so) as when she is speaking. </div>
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My only regret is that the play ends May 4. In retrospect, I would have loved to have seen it earlier in the run to be able to take in another performance. If I'm lucky, I may still. But if you have a chance to catch "Two Trains Running" during this final week of its run, do so - just leave a seat for me.</div>
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And kudos to the Round House Theatre team and everyone involved with the production. It's performances like the one I attended that will keep people coming back to the theater for years to come.</div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-16218054162093601602014-04-28T18:52:00.002-04:002014-04-28T18:52:52.982-04:00What Would Jesus Do, Governor Palin? Certainly Not What You Did...Dear Governor Palin:<br />
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Let me quickly share two passages from the Gospels to set the context for this post.<br />
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Mark 1:8. "I will baptize you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."<br />
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Luke 22:61. "And the Lord turned and looked at Peter. And Peter remembered the saying of the Lord, how he had said to him, 'Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.'"<br />
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I will quickly note here that I speak only for myself, an independent who is firmly rooted in his Episcopal faith. In my view, in your haste to corrupt the first passage above to suit your purposes before the National Rifle Association, you have cast yourself as a denier of Christ in the vein of Peter. Mind you, you are not on the same level as the first among the apostles, nor would I ever attempt to put you there. But by twisting one of the sacraments of the church purely for applause, you are belittling and denying the importance of that sacrament - and by denying that importance, you are denying Christ.<br />
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And that is disgraceful. You were raised in the Assemblies of God church, one ordinance of which is - according to the Website of one Assemblies congregation - a belief in a baptism of complete immersion in water, because that was the way Jesus was baptized. And while you profess now to be a non-denominational Christian, your very words are a corruption of the very faith in which you were raised.<br />
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Think a moment about what you said (perhaps a moment longer than you thought about it before you spoke these words): "Waterboarding is our way of baptizing terrorists." Waterboarding and baptizing. Drowning and blessing. Torture and rebirth.<br />
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Are these synonymous in your mind? <br />
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Do I worry about terrorism? Of course. Have I seen first-hand - as have millions of others across the U.S. and around the world - the devastating impacts of terrorism? Absolutely. Have I forgotten that Jesus lived in a time of persecution, murder, and horrible brutality at the hands of the Roman Empire and yet still managed in his own life to seek out and forgive his enemies? Absolutely not.<br />
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Just as I would pray for my family and friends, I pray for my enemies. And I pray for those for whom reconciliation and peace are difficult to find. Yes, Governor, for a moment of applause that has created sadness and anger among many, I will pray for you.<br />
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In his life, Jesus wept. He saw death, disease, violence, and oppression, and he wept. Shouldn't we strive for a higher standard and a higher goal as Christians - as members of the human race - to do things to make Jesus smile?<br />
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I would share with you this final prayer, a prayer of reconciliation written by Larry Reimer. Governor, it is my prayer for you today.<br />
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<em>O God of peace and healing,<br /> We come before you feeling powerless to stop the hatred that divides races and nations.</em><br />
<em>We come before you saddened and angered by the denial of human rights in our land.</em><br />
<em>We come before you with wounds deep in our hearts that we long to have healed.</em><br />
<em>We come before you with struggles in our personal lives that it seems will not go way.</em><br />
<em>And we pray Lord, How long?<br /> How long to peace?</em><br />
<em>And we hear, "Not long, because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice."</em><br />
<em>How long for racial justice? "Not long, because no lie can live forever.”</em><br />
<em>How long for our wounded hearts? Not long, I call you by name, you are with me; you are mine.</em><br />
<em>How long for our struggles? Not long, for my grace is sufficient. I hold you in my everlasting arms beneath which you cannot fall.</em><br />
<em>How long for the healing of what is broken inside and all around us? Not long, for we shall overcome, together in partnership, human holy partnership, we shall overcome.</em><br />
<em>AMEN.</em>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-33048046478059445022013-08-04T15:29:00.002-04:002013-08-04T21:08:56.645-04:00The Choice of the Episcopal Church: Prosperity, or the Poor?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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</a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">According to the Revised
Common Lectionary, the Gospel appointed for today is Luke 12:13-21, which reads:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Someone in the crowd said to Jesus,
"Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me."
But he said to him, "Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over
you?" And he said to them, "Take care! Be on your guard against all
kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of
possessions." Then he told them a parable: "The land of a rich man produced
abundantly. And he thought to himself, `What should I do, for I have no place
to store my crops?' Then he said, `I will do this: I will pull down my barns
and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I
will say to my soul, `Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax,
eat, drink, be merry.' But God said to him, `You fool! This very night your
life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will
they be?' So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not
rich toward God."</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></i></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Knowing that, it was
particularly disturbing to read in <a href="http://www.nypost.com/p/news/local/manhattan/towering_ambition_6BGj1CU6y1NeXMVH3ME2bN"><span style="color: blue;">today’s
<em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">New York Post</span></em></span></a>
that Trinity Wall Street’s rector, The Rev. James Cooper, and the parish vestry
are moving forward with plans to construct 296,000 square feet of new church
offices, meeting rooms, and residential space just behind the main sanctuary
(presumably at the corner of Rector and Trinity Place, if my memory of that
part of lower Manhattan is correct). Even more disconcerting was when I read
that Rev. Cooper forced out members of the vestry opposed to his plan and
replaced them with allies who are working with him to see the project through.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">While musing about this, a
friend pointed out an earlier <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/25/nyregion/trinity-church-in-manhattan-is-split-on-how-to-spend-its-wealth.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0"><span style="color: blue;">article
from the April 24, 2013 edition of the <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">New
York Times</span></em></span></a> that covered the revelation that, after years of
hiding certain financial data from the public, Trinity was forced - as a result
of lawsuit filed against it by a parishioner - to reveal that they are sitting
on assets totaling more than $2 <em><b><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">billion</span></b></em>.
To put that in perspective, the value of their assets is somewhat on par with
the 2013 state budgets of Wyoming ($3.4 billion) and Delaware ($3.7 billion). </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Now of course I recognize the
fact that assets are not the same as cash-on-hand, and it also doesn't take into
account any liabilities. But out of curiosity, what is the church doing with
the revenue generated by their assets? According to the <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Times</span></em>,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It reported $158 million
in real estate revenue for 2011, the majority of which went toward maintaining
and supporting its real estate operations, the financial statement indicates.
Of the $38 million left for the church’s operating budget, some $4 million was
spent on communications, $3 million on philanthropic grant spending and $2.5
million on the church’s music program, church officials said. Nearly $6 million
went to maintain Trinity’s historic properties, including the main church
building, which was built in 1846; St. Paul’s Chapel; and several cemeteries,
where luminaries including Alexander Hamilton and Edward I. Koch are buried.
The remainder went into the church’s equity investment portfolio.</span></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The statement also apparently
shows that the rector makes a salary of $1.3 million.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Nowhere in the article do we
read how much the congregation contributes in terms of tithes, so I can only
base my comments on what is presented here. Regardless, I question: where is
the spending for those in need? Where is the money to house the homeless? Funds
for feeding the hungry? Support for employment programs?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Are these programs included
in the "philanthropic grant spending"? If that's the case, why is
spending on that $1 million less than what is spent on communications? And does
an individual parish need to spend $4 million on communications - which seems
particularly ludicrous in light of the fact that the total expenditure on
communications in the <a href="http://www.generalconvention.org/files/2013-2015_Five_Marks_of_Mission_Budget_Proposal.pdf"><span style="color: blue;">FY
2013-5 budget of the <em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">entire
national Episcopal Church</span></em></span></a> is just under $9.1 million.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">In a letter to the members of
Congress from the Episcopal Church in 2011, regarding proposed cuts in the FY
2012 budget, the Church wrote, "The Episcopal Church urges you to find
budget solutions that do not further burden poor and vulnerable populations in
the United States, refugees and displaced populations, or impoverished
communities around the world. Funding for programs that serve the poor and
vulnerable sustains and saves millions of lives at home and around the world
and, particularly in times of economic struggle, it must not be cut."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">At the 2012 General Convention, a resolution was passed in the House of
Deputies directing the sale of the Episcopal Church's headquarters in New York
as a cost-saving measure; it was voted down in the House of Bishops. At the
time, Los Angeles Bishop Suffragan Diane Jardine Bruce said, "It is
fiscally irresponsible to demand immediate sell ofa building without knowing
where you're going, knowing if the economic climate is right. (The Rev. Dan
Webster <a href="http://www.episcopalcafe.com/daily/episcopal_church/the_churchs_mission_selling_th.php"><span style="color: blue;">posted
a good rebuttal</span></a> to this general sentiment at Episcopal Cafe.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Should Trinity Church - or
the national church, for that matter - take to heart the words in today's
Gospel, or is the Gospel being forgotten in some quarters? Are we about the
Gospel message - feeding, clothing, and sheltering the poor, eliminating the
margins for the marginalized, and sharing the Good News of Christ - or are we
about property, buildings, money, and assets?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"></span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Where are our priorities?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">After mulling all of this over, I planned on posting right away - but thought better of it and sent it to a friend to read through for her thoughts. The articles and my thoughts raised some other points in her mind, and (with her indulgence) I'll include them here as they merit strong discussion. I certainly don't have the answers - but I wonder if many focused on property and investment growth would in the church would have these answers:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">1) Trinity's position has the potential to allow them to do much good in the world - but also to corrupt the view of what is adequate and necessary. Right now, based on these articles and their own comments, they seem lost in the "worldly muck" of budgets, balance sheets, and investment portfolios.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">2) The reference to "philanthropic grant spending" shows the church has lost sight of the meaning, beauty, and reward of Christian language and replaced it with Wall Street-speak.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">3) One of the parishioners has referred to the new construction as symbolically wrong. Here, I'll directly quote my friend: "What does this say in action about our church? And also, very importantly, what does it symbolize? How do we teach the world through our actions that we are a church of a beautiful liturgy and gorgeous church buildings but that our life is <strong><em>not</em></strong> centered upon <strong><em>things</em></strong> but upon loving the poor, the outcast, and the downtrodden?" (Emphasis is my own.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">4) Again quoting, "How do we prioritize lifting up others? How do we DO it? How do we SHOW it to others?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In my reaction to all of this, one area in which I failed was prayer - prayer for the rector and vestry that they will recognize the perception of what they have chosen to do. Prayer for those who were removed from the vestry, or chose to leave, rather than face this future that has been set for Trinity. Prayer for the congregation which, as I know from my own experience, can be torn apart by decisions such as these. But most importantly, prayer for those in the community - those whom the church may be supporting already, and those who may not receive support because of other financial obligations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yes, prayer for all of these - and prayer for discernment: discernment of who we are as a church right now; discernment of who we are as God's chosen; and discernment of how we put worldly considerations aside and choose God and what God would have us do.</span></div>
NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-4910530643846477632013-04-14T12:14:00.001-04:002013-04-14T12:14:44.626-04:00Musings on Gifts and GraceToday's adult forum at church provided an opportunity for us to delve into the subject of grace and the receiving of gifts - how would one respond when given a gift?<br />
<br />
Response number one: "Thank you."<br />
<br />
Response number two: Take the gift and pay it forward, "re-gifting" it to someone else.<br />
<br />
The question that I didn't ask was to bring up a third option, from the perspective of a person who doesn't recognize that grace is given freely by God - "What did I do to deserve this?"<br />
<br />
And there's the subject of the old saying, "There but for the grace of God go I." Our rector said the simpler, more accurate thing to say is, "There go I." In the first, there is a thread of judgmentalism - if I didn't have God's grace, look at the mistakes I'd be making, like <em>that guy</em> over there. In the second, there is the recognition that we <em>do</em> make mistakes, <em>just like</em> that guy over there.<br />
<br />
But isn't there a third way to look at this? By changing two words, couldn't we completely change the direction of the comment? "There, BECAUSE OF the grace of God, go I." This would be an acknowledgment of the gift we've been given, and a sign to us that this grace is leading us in a new direction - giving us a new hope, a new purpose, a new sense of the immensity of God's gift to us and perhaps even the recognition that, instead of recognizing the grace we've been given and saying "I'm glad I'm not <em>him</em>," we take that grace and give it as a gift to someone else.<br />
<br />
Someone who will say, "Thank you."<br />
<br />
Someone who will take that gift and pass it along to someone else.<br />
<br />
And yes, even someone who might even question, "What did I do to deserve this?"NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-26564764410138537292012-12-17T12:09:00.000-05:002012-12-17T12:09:13.796-05:00Does an Evil Act Negate the Gift of Being God's Beloved?Can someone born a beloved son or daughter of God lose that beloved-ness? Or is it a gift that remains, regardless of how that person lives their life?<br />
<br />
In a talk delivered many years ago at the Crystal Cathedral, Henri Nouwen addressed the beloved-ness that we all, as sons and daughters of God, share – and how our very nature and being reflects the four main parts of the Eucharist. As with the bread, we, too, are taken, blessed, broken, and given. It is something that links us all and brings us closer to the experience of God on earth as Jesus. As Nouwen said, "Your spiritual life - your life as the beloved daughters and sons of God - is a life that is taken, that is blessed, that is broken, and given ... If you can live your life as the taken, the blessed, the broken, the given, the world will recognize Jesus in you.”<br />
<br />
Over the past several days, I’ve been struggling with the question of whether a person who commits an evil act still retains the designation of “beloved”. Their life has the same four elements of being taken, blessed, broken, and given – but to me, it seems the aspect of a beloved nature ends somewhere between blessed and broken. Just as bread is broken apart during the Eucharist, just as the life of Christ was broken through his crucifixion, the life of a person who commits an act of evil is also broken – but not broken as a sacrifice. It is broken through hatred, or confusion, or mental disability, or any of a number of other reasons.<br />
<br />
Our parish rector, yesterday during a discussion of the events in Connecticut last week, made the point that God doesn’t select one person to receive something good while another receives misery and hardship. As he put it, “It rains on farms owned by good people just as much as on farms owned by bad people.”<br />
<br />
Using this, then, a beloved nature is something that is “rained” upon everyone. We all receive it, the same as we all receive God’s grace. But by turning our back on grace – on God’s gift to us – and rejecting our status as beloved children, do we <em>lose</em> it? Despite weeping over the sins of man, does God still look at <em>all</em> as beloved?NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-19934601138499542652012-07-14T11:52:00.002-04:002012-07-14T22:05:46.549-04:00Many Missing the Mark on General ConventionAh, if only it were so easy for all of us to wave our hands dismissively at nearly two million people as it apparently is for Jay Akasie, the ironically named David Virtue, and Rob Kirby. To read their reporting on the just concluded 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church, you would think that everyone who stands steadfastly with that denomination - as I do - is going straight to hell.<br />
<br />
How dare we consider restructuring the hierarchy to make it a more grassroots-driven denomination!<br />
<br />
How dare we develop a budget that focuses on strengthening our capability for effective mission in the world!<br />
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How dare we pass a resolution authorizing the development of a provisional rite of blessing for same-sex unions!<br />
<br />
How dare we ... LOVE?<br />
<br />
Yes, Mr. Akasie, Mr. Virtue, and Mr. Kirby, the point you have missed throughout all of this is that we are a denomination of <em>love</em>. While you have gone in and selectively focused on the crozier carried by the Presiding Bishop, on whether to sell the church headquarters building in New York, and even on your continuing vitriolic (and horribly uninformed, Mr. Kirby) attacks on Bishop Gene Robinson, you have in your mad, blind rush missed the entire point.<br />
<br />
Everything - EVERYTHING - accomplished by our deputies and bishops in Indianapolis has been done out of a sense of God's abiding love for everyone (yes, even you, Mr. Akasie, Mr. Virtue, and Mr. Kirby, your best efforts to display your true lack of understanding of who we are and what we stand for to the contrary).<br />
<br />
Why pass a resolution authorizing this new rite? Because the Episcopal Church - as Mr. Akasie, a professed member of the denomination, should know very well - has a sign hanging by the door saying "All Are Welcome". Why would the church not take an action to live into our advertising? For that matter, why do we allow women to serve as priests and bishops? (Thank God that we do!) Why did our church both walking with Dr. King and supporting the Civil Rights Movement? (Mr. Akasie, Mr. VIrtue, and Mr. Kirby - any of you ever heard of Jonathan Myrick Daniels?)<br />
<br />
Because we Episcopalians love - we accept - we welcome.<br />
<br />
Christ's love is unconditional - he loved because he IS love - and it never misses the mark. The love of the Episcopal Church is unconditional, and it never misses the mark.<br />
<br />
Sadly, the absence of love - even the word itself - in some of what we're reading is full of conditions and misses the mark completely.<br />
<br />
So, Mr. Akasie, Mr. Virtue, Mr. Kirby, and others of your ilk - please stop reading everything with a hand over one eye. Stop finding what you want to see instead of looking for what's really there. And remember that, disagree with the Episcopal Church or not, disagree with our actions or not, you're missing the point.<br />
<br />
It's not dollars and cents. It's not resolutions and budgets. It's not walkouts or sell-offs.<br />
<br />
It's love.NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-53171154118326016572012-07-10T22:46:00.002-04:002012-07-10T22:46:39.318-04:00Walk Through the Door, for the Episcopal Church Welcomes YOU!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmEGmVV0Eekn-dY5beOuAlKLrbJEK_oGx02g08WDKwe74wmLpvgFMo3Wi70X17oOUYWhuZgQAByt3aRxDZYVPgb7upXUaCgWmdcRIgs4JVnSHB2AyJ14qf9x7v5BHhgkMku_e/s1600/EpiscopalChurchWelcomesYou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhmEGmVV0Eekn-dY5beOuAlKLrbJEK_oGx02g08WDKwe74wmLpvgFMo3Wi70X17oOUYWhuZgQAByt3aRxDZYVPgb7upXUaCgWmdcRIgs4JVnSHB2AyJ14qf9x7v5BHhgkMku_e/s200/EpiscopalChurchWelcomesYou.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two events this week at the 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church in Indianapolis have made me reflect on the famous logo found hanging at every Episcopal parish in the United States.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have always been proud of the fact that the sign proclaims boldly and clearly that the Episcopal Church welcomes YOU - no asterisks, no exceptions, no conditions. What has been disconcerting to me is the fact that our denomination has not always fully lived into the message we post on the sign - "It says I'm welcome, but do they mean ME?" "I'm a poor black woman; do they mean ME?" "I'm a gay partnered man; can they really mean ME?" For every class, ethnicity, lifestyle or income level, I'm sure that someone, somewhere has asked, "Does the Episcopal Church really want ME? Will they accept ME? Will they allow ME to be part of their family and feel the love and compassion that I need?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In short, yes, we will!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yesterday and today, the House of Bishops and the House of Deputies - by wide margins - each approved a resolution allowing for the creation of a liturgy for blessing same-sax couples. There are many things this is <strong><em>not</em></strong>: it is not a marriage ceremony; it is not mandatory; it is not something that every bishop will allow in their own dioceses, based on their own beliefs. But it is a move farther along the path than the church has taken up until now. And it is one more step down the road for the LGBT community who wants nothing more from their fellow Episcopal parishioners than the same love, acceptance and blessings they have already received from God.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
This is a big switch for the Episcopal Church, and as such it makes me view the sign with a slightly different logo - The Episcopal Church Welcomes <em>Change</em>. With this convention, it's not just change in liturgy; we are headed down the path for wholesale change in structure. Earlier today, in a overwhelming and - according to friends of mine who are in attendance at the convention - emotional vote, the House of Deputies voted unanimously (that's a unanimous vote by more than 800 clergy and lay deputies!!) to approve Resolution C095.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What is Resolution C095? According to the Episcopal News Service, "Resolution C095, Substitute, was adopted unanimously by the committee during its July 9 morning meeting. It grounds its action in the belief that 'the Holy Spirit is urging The Episcopal Church to reimagine itself.' It creates a special task force of up to 24 people who will gather ideas in the next two years from all levels of the church about possible reforms to its structures, governance and administration." Should the House of Bishops also approve the resolution, the report of recommendations will be completed this November and will be discussed and debated at the 78th General Convention in a few years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What will these changes entail? No one knows - the Spirit is just now beginning to move. Over the past several days, I've read reports of requests for the church to sell the Episcopal Church headquarters building in New York and use the excess money for mission. I've seen reports on a move to allow (require?) future presiding bishops to maintain their duties as diocesan bishops while leading the national church.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Whatever the future looks like - a changing hierarchy, an altered structure, a more grassroots level of leadership - the church will focus on mission, even more than it does today. As the Presiding Bishop said in her opening sermon, "Re-forming and re-imagining ourselves for mission in a changed world is the most essential task we have before us. We’re not going to fix the church or the world at this Convention, but we can do something to make the church a better tool and instrument for God’s mission if we can embrace that new wind, discover God creating new life among us, and listen and look for Jesus."</div>
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Listen and look for Jesus. With all due respect to Bishop Katharine, I think that last phrase should have a bit of different emphasis. Re-read it this way: "<em><strong>Listen</strong></em> ... and look for Jesus." With the events of the past several days, we're witnessing an Episcopal Church that <em>is</em> listening - listening to those who have been neglected or rejected or ignored and working to bring them through the front door. And when you change the way you relate to others, change the way you see others, and change the way they see themselves, you open yourself to the face of Christ.</div>
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And it is that Christ who is standing in the door of the Episcopal Church, welcoming <em>all</em>, comforting <em>all</em>, refreshing <em>all</em>. Yes - the Episcopal Church welcomes YOU!</div>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-25391723515153046852012-04-08T17:31:00.018-04:002012-04-08T18:16:45.035-04:00The Falls Church Episcopal: A Full Church Remembers the Empty Tomb<div align="justify"><div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAshDF2h4XRBhgrOZOaCuR_j_wvnupQS4ELfCOOeYRmXhsRYJEoUyYQv6xM3kXsbIhI28HwiLDP7l2uN7vuxXkq3sucfdkSEfagVGF8BX8OXSQdLzFC3YiG3aOOvoD6RlpZcEu/s1600/DSCN0785.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px; height: 150px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729147809233518770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAshDF2h4XRBhgrOZOaCuR_j_wvnupQS4ELfCOOeYRmXhsRYJEoUyYQv6xM3kXsbIhI28HwiLDP7l2uN7vuxXkq3sucfdkSEfagVGF8BX8OXSQdLzFC3YiG3aOOvoD6RlpZcEu/s200/DSCN0785.JPG" /></a>Walking through the doors of the Historic Falls Church this morning - our congregation's first day of worship on that property in more than five years - I had no idea what to expect.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Plans were in place for a large turnout, and we even had an option available if we were confronted by someone with a gripe against us and the Episcopal Church and who chose our service as the time to make a vocal statement of opposition. The signage was in place, the nursery was staffed and stocked with activities, and the police officer tasked with getting people safely across the street was stationed on East Fairfax Street.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Everything was ready, and yet I still didn't know what to expect. Truth be told, the whole situation felt a bit surreal. Amy, the girls and I were part of the nearly 80 percent of our congregation who joined TFCE after the 2007 split, and we were all returning "home" to a place we had never attended. Some I spoke with likened it to being tourists who had just been dropped off by our bus and were waiting to enter a historic site to take some pictures and enjoy a tour.<br /></div><div align="justify"><br />As I stood on the lawn of the church, snapping photos of fellow parishioners and enjoying the spirit of excitement, enthusiasm and joy flowing between and among those who were arriving, I kept hearkening back to some of what's happened in the past. The misconceptions and untruths being circulated about TFCE, from everything ranging from our financial viability to the size of our congregation. Comments from those like Mike McManus who, as recently as three days ago in Virtue Online, claimed that the Episcopal Church is prohibiting the Anglican congregation from the free exercise of religion and who opined, "Shortly after Easter, our 3,000 members must abandon the facility, valued at $10+ million, turn over vestments, prayer books and even our bank account to less than 100 people who remained loyal to TEC. We will have to worship in a high school. This is wrong."</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />I have been in the communications field long enough - and am enough of a history buff - to recognize and freely acknowledge that all media is slanted, all opinions are designed to favor one group over another, and that all history is written by the winners. As such, nothing that has been said surprises me, no matter how much it pains and disappoints me. And as surprising as this may be to some, I agree with Mr. McManus: this <strong><em>is</em></strong> wrong.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Yes, Mr. McManus, it is wrong - wrong that in the midst of a five-year legal battle, the rumors that continue to be perpetuated and the stories being spread have overshadowed why we are ALL here, are ALL Christians, and are ALL gathering this Easter Sunday: the empty tomb. Easter Sunday should be about the celebration of Christ's resurrection and about the event that makes us who we are as God's people, providing us with the salvation and redemption that God gives freely as the result of the death of His son. Easter Sunday should be about Jesus' triumph over death and the cross.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />For me, this Easter Sunday WAS and IS about that, despite what others may say. Plenty of people are anxious - in the words of the Gospel writers - to tear down the Temple, but are reluctant to build it back up. If the last five years have led me to reflect on anything, it is John 11:35.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />"Jesus wept."</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Yes, the last five years have made Jesus weep. Not for the loss of property or finances or leaving one denomination and aligning with another. Jesus has wept because of the way his children have acted. Jesus has wept because of the hateful words that have been spoken. Jesus has wept because of the way people who were once friends have turned their backs on one another.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />All of this was weighing on my mind before this morning's service. But if Jesus wept over the past five years, today He was smiling - and we at TFCE were smiling as nearly 400 people packed the pews ("filled to overflowing", <a href="http://www.fcnp.com/news/11532-episcopalians-return-to-historic-falls-church-to-pack-chapel-for-easter-service/">as reported by the <em>Falls Church News Press</em></a>). Apprehension melted away as nearly 400 voices were raised in unison with the first notes of the processional hymn. Concern about what may happen was replaced by the joy of seeing so many smiling, joyful people. Fear faded as Holy Baptism was held for the newest member of the Christian family. And the tears of the past several years - the tears of hurt and frustration - were replaced by tears of joy as families and friends, young and old alike, were led into the church by 98-year-old Jessie Thackrey, our matriarch and a woman who, despite her frailty, was determined to walk - rather than take her wheelchair - up the front steps and through the narthex door.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />And at the end of the day, the real meaning of Easter was as clear and evident as ever.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />The tomb <strong><em>is</em></strong> empty.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Christ <strong><em>is</em></strong> Risen.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />The Lord <strong><em>is</em></strong> Risen indeed.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />Hallelujah!</div></div>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-72236474826293076322011-12-16T08:19:00.026-05:002011-12-16T13:44:14.426-05:00Brief Reflections on Christopher Hitchens<div><div><div align="justify"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbvEX7Ym1Am4ve473S_0n0ivBfi6QMZ7Mk_i0qr1Y1OV1imWcvCqz1zdPv8Dp0IOAZVeGSvmbvpFCh2c6diXyTKK4MtQXPenPOkeaZV_ZlvsSLF-ZE2NoLOf30Ut9wGavHYNB9/s1600/Hitchens.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px; height: 150px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686798307328880722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbvEX7Ym1Am4ve473S_0n0ivBfi6QMZ7Mk_i0qr1Y1OV1imWcvCqz1zdPv8Dp0IOAZVeGSvmbvpFCh2c6diXyTKK4MtQXPenPOkeaZV_ZlvsSLF-ZE2NoLOf30Ut9wGavHYNB9/s200/Hitchens.jpg" /></a>The very first time I saw a photograph of Christopher Hitchens - one of many where he held a cigarette in one hand and a whiskey in the other - I thought to myself that here was a man who didn't want to see or be bothered by anyone.<br /><br />Hitchens was a fantastic writer, articulate, insightful and - more often than not - spot on in his arguments. Each book and article was a gift, and I knew that I was going to be smarter - whether I agreed or not - after having read them. As time passed, the image of the gruff contrarian I had built up in my mind no longer matched the words on the page.<br /><br />A few years ago, I thought I was on the receiving end of this perceived gruffness. I wrote a letter to Hitchens, asking whether - in lieu of my sending copies of all of his books to him for signing - he would consent to send me several signed bookplates to put in each. Month after month passed without the slightest hint of a response, and I had visions of my letter surfacing in the in-box on his desk and then being tossed aside with a scowl, an exclamation of "Bloody <em>hell</em>!", and the general response that any unwanted bill or letter would get. And then, one day, an envelope appeared; Hitchens had apparently tired of my letter continuing to circulate through his correspondence, thought "I'm putting an end to this NOW!", and sent off a reply. There was no note, no "thanks for writing", nothing - just a half-dozen strips of paper which he had apparently torn from a piece of Xerox paper, scrawled his signature on, and then shoved them in the envelope.<br /><br />I grinned at the thought of him muttering "That takes care of THAT!" as he dropped the mail in the post.<br /><br />In June 2010, in conjunction with the book tour surrounding the release of his autobiography, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hitch-22-Memoir-Christopher-Hitchens/dp/044654034X/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1324060771&sr=8-2">Hitch 22</a>, Hitchens came to Politics and Prose here in Washington. I, of course, was determined not to miss it, expecting to see the grumpy, "leave me alone!" contrarian who didn't really want to be there, but had to if he wanted to sell some books.<br /><br />However, I quickly discovered something that many people have discovered over the years. Christopher Hitchens, the man who always struck me as not wanting to be bothered with anything, who wanted to be left alone with his computer, his cigarettes, and his liquor, was in fact a charming, engaging, and interested man. During the Q&A session there were those in attendance who knew in their heart of hearts - mistakenly, of course - that they could best him in an intellectual duel. There were the requisite questions about his support for the war in Iraq and his atheism, all of which he answered with great wit and great skill - triumphant in yet more debates. If memory serves, one person who had lost the "Hitchens intellectual challenge" immediately left the shop; even if my memory is flawed, it's still a wonderfully hilarious picture to have in mind.<br /><br />I met him later, during the signing, and he was absolutely fascinating - one of those rare people who, even in the 2 or 3 minutes you have with them, seems genuinely interested in what you're saying. There were flashes of his wit, a few laughs, and a look of pleasant surprise when I mentioned the name of a mutual acquaintance. It was a wonderful time, one which I really enjoyed - and while pictures weren't allowed, the lady in front of me in line was kind enough to sneak this one for me. Naturally, it didn't catch the laughter or conversation; instead, he's looking at me like - yes - he can't be bothered.<br /><br />And now he is gone, claimed by the cancer which he had been fighting valiantly for some time. My sister wondered aloud this morning if Hitchens had perhaps now found what he had been looking for - an answer to the debate he had engaged in, with great spirit, for many years: whether the God whose existence he had denied would greet him at the gate.<br /><br />I don't know how to answer that - but if I had to guess, he probably can't be bothered with it now, anyway...</div></div></div>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-6535292368007147652011-12-04T20:53:00.021-05:002011-12-04T21:37:33.123-05:00Your Role in the Nativity: Shepherd, King - or Innkeeper?<div><div align="justify">Assume for a moment that you have been transported back two millenia and find yourself in Bethlehem (or Nazareth, depending on which of the scholars you take as more reliable) the night of Christ's birth. Now that you are there, let's say that you have the opportunity to be any of the secondary characters involved in the event (aside from Mary, Joseph or the child).<br /><br />Who would you be?<br /><br />Instinctively, I think most people would want to assume the role of one of the shepherds or visitors from the East who have come to praise the child and bring gifts. After all, don't we always want to be someone cast in the best possible light, one who adds something rather than one who impedes, one who assists rather than one who ignores?<br /><br />But in reality, deep down, aren't many of us - for good or bad, by choice or by impulse - more like the innkeeper? Someone who takes the easy way out and gives less than they could, if anything at all, to help someone in need? Isn't it really someone else's problem? And aren't the distractions in our own lives enough to worry about without having to help another through his or her own difficulties?<br /><br />Somewhere I heard or read (alas, I can't recall) that the innkeeper was a decent person who legitimately had nothing and did all he could to help - and perhaps felt guilt that he couldn't do more. If true, that would be wonderful - but somehow, no matter how many times I read and hear the Nativity story, the more the pessimistic view of the presumed "host" is the one that tends to win out.<br /><br />Several years ago, I wrote a <a href="http://mwrhodes.blogspot.com/2009/10/crisis-of-faith.html">post</a> on the cynicism I still tend to feel when approached by people on the street - and how I should work harder to recognize the face of Christ in everyone. Depending on how you look at it, that same cynicism could have been found in the innkeeper - someone who looked with a very wary eye upon the pregnant teenage girl and the disheveled, tired man leading her on a donkey through the darkened streets of the town.<br /><br />"May we have a room?" - "Do you have a dollar so that I can get something to eat?" In both instances, his answer - and, invariably, mine - are "I have nothing."<br /><br />In his collection of essays entitled <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Secrets-Dark-Sermons-Frederick-Buechner/dp/0061146617/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1323051532&sr=8-1">Secrets in the Dark</a>, Frederick Buechner writes of the innkeeper this way:</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />"'Do you know what it is like to run an inn - to run a business, a family, to run anything in this world for that matter, even your own life? It is like being lost in a forest of a million tress,' said the Innkeeper, 'and each tree is a thing to be done. Is there fresh linen on all the beds? Did the children put on their coats before they went out? Has the letter been written, the book read? Is there money enough left in the bank? Today we have food in our bellies and clothes on our backs, but what can we do to make sure that we will have them still tomorrow? A million trees. A million things.</div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><br />"'Until finally we have eyes for nothing else, and whatever we see turns into a thing. The sparrow lying in the dust at your feet - just a thing to be kicked out of the way, not the mystery of death. The calling of children outside your window - just a distraction, an irrelevance, not life, not the wildest miracle ofthem all. The whispering in the air that comes sudden and soft from nowhere - only the wind, the wind...'"<br /><br />Examine the way you help others - not through an intermediary organization, or by sending a check to nameless, faceless person, but when confronted face to face by someone in need. Will you be a shepherd and do what you can by simply offering praises for the person for who they are? Will you be as the visitors from the East, who brought gifts of enormous value and gave them freely? Or will you be like the innkeeper, who says "I have nothing here; go over there?"</div></div>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26966147.post-79438172680578941672011-10-31T13:10:00.003-04:002011-10-31T13:13:00.056-04:00Bishop Gene Robinson: What's Christian About Christian Leadership?<div align="center"><iframe height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_qxspuOCpnw" frameborder="0" width="420" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>NoVA Dadhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16661990626635939447noreply@blogger.com1