Words and Promises

In the Gospel, Jesus tells the parable of two sons who were asked by the father to do something. We don’t know the task. We don’t know if it was trivial or important. But we have a fairly common problem: A father, two sons, and a job to do. Like painting the side of a house or getting dinner or picking up mom.

One says “of course” and then promptly forgets, either willfully or not. We don’t know. The other refuses: “nope, dad, got something better to do.” But then does. Who did the will of the Father? The one who agreed to act but didn’t? Or the one who refused, and did? The answer is easy. The one who did as his father asked.

Everyone gets the answer right.

The easy lesson of the parable is “do” rather than “say.” We’re already familiar with how that our actions speak louder than words, that leading by example makes a deeper impression than a casual command, and that talk is cheap. We see these things all the time. After all, we’re in the middle of a political campaign.

When I was in Korea, a Korean parliamentarian reflected upon the use of Western law in Korea. She said, “one problem is that we Koreans believe that words lie.” In oppressive contexts, where tyrants rule, and power is located not in the law but in the person enforcing it, words mean nothing. You have to guess the hidden meaning within the layers of language that make law, and hope you won’t get killed. The language of empire – one that can include law – can be one of cruelty and fear.

Granted, we need words. Words, themselves, are almost like magic in what they telegraph. Words are at the heart of the law and judgment. Some say that words themselves are where God lives.

Words also communicate judgment. Yet sometimes when we say something about others, we probably could say the same things about ourselves.

Still, if consistency and action were the criteria for saying anything, I think we probably wouldn’t say very much at all, or be reduced to making bland comments about the weather and the Mets and what the heck happened to them this year.

Sometimes we use words to lead us into a future – like promises: “Yes, I’m going to be held accountable for this future action even though I might be easily distracted.” Words help us establish trust. Words can also help us reframe our thinking so that we can act more confidently.

I can imagine that one of the problems in our current economic crisis is that people don’t trust what others say. “You say you have money, but I don’t believe you. So I’m keeping what money I have.” And perhaps we’ve seen a lot of misplaced words and promises in our current situation.

Perhaps we are invited to consider that words themselves are actions. The problem with the first son is that he was careless, and flippantly went on his way thinking that what he said did not matter. His words weren’t actions to him. They were just words. They were breaths of air, babbling sounds to ease a conversation. Alternately, the second son valued his own words, and then changed his mind. And perhaps it is also useful to remember that it is alright, in our faith, to change our minds. We can say what we think, recognizing that yes, the world changes, and so can we.

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A couple thoughts on General Convention

Over the summer, the General Convention of the Episcopal Church met in Anaheim, California. There was plenty of good work getting done. The church considered a variety of issues, from benefits for lay employees, support of the Cuban Church, and the other foundational work that allows us to support each other.

One issue excited the media: the affirmation that sexual orientation should not be a bar for the episcopacy. In 2006, General Convention resolved that the church would have a moratoria on consecrating gay bishops for the sake of the communion. It wasn’t suitable for many who opposed, who were looking for a rejection of Bishop Robinson, the first openly gay bishop in Catholic Christendom.

The resolution merely affirms this: The Episcopal Church finds no theological reason to discriminate. One’s sexuality will not be the primary criteria for a Church’s appointment.

Although this may disturb many people, it is a consequence of the democratic nature of the institution and the fragmentation of denominational life that has been happening since the early 70’s.

Because General Convention, our ruling body, is a democratic institution, the church will always accommodate changing cultural views – and the Episcopal church is an accurate bellweather for the views of the culture at large.

The shift toward an agnostic perspective toward sexuality is exacerbated by the cultural shift of the church from a “voice” institution to an “exit” institution. “Voice” institutions are like families: you might not like it, but you don’t leave the family. “Exit” institutions are like franchises or stores.

We are in an era where churches compete, like other businesses, for attention. Conservatives may leave for friendlier franchises while social liberals dominate the Episcopal church. This is the consequence of the church succumbing to the ethos of a commercial society. Do I think this is bad? Not necessarily, but I’m sentimental.

When we divide we are truly succumbing to a cultural shift that affirms our own particular ideological preference is more important than the relationships we have. That said, I do think that “capitalism” – even as churches compete – is more responsible for peace than war. And I’m willing to argue about it (and be proven wrong as well).

However, I worry as we move away from the conservative – and honorable – traditions that affirm loyalty, tenacity and engagement; that familial relationships and traditions are of equal importance to individual preference.

What does this mean for the church? My predictions:

1) The episcopal church will still continue to select primarily married male bishops.
2) Dioceses throughout the world will be split. Bishops in Africa who need our help will be in conflict with other bishops who find the Episcopal view taboo. This split will be difficult in some places, but allow for greater pockets of safety for individuals of different sexualities in less tolerant countries.
3) The Episcopal Church will become a niche church for those who are socially libertarian and theologically modern.
4) The Church of England will be forced to confront its own hypocrisy in its clerical orders as the Archbishop tries to figure out what to do next.
5) The Episcopal Church will continue to build relationships with dioceses throughout the world based on feeding the hungry, clothing the naked and visiting the prisoner.
6) Most Episcopal Churches will continue to decline because they do not offer compelling alternative views to the culture at large.

I do not think the church will grow because of our church’s clarity. It may grow. But people rarely join churches because of an idea. My friends who are cheering the Episcopal church’s liberality aren’t the sort who will find themselves darkening our doors. However, church communities that offer authentic hope, help and hospitality grow, no matter what their beliefs are.

At St. Barts I have been deliberate on ensuring that our own church does is not divided by social, political or economic issues. What unites us our mutual trust and gratitude in being able to experience God’s grand creation.

When the Lord said, “love one another” he didn’t continue with the word, “but…” or “if….” It seems like a simple command, doesn’t it? But how difficult it is when what we believe matters more.

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David and Bathsheba

Over the last several weeks we’ve been discussing the David story in Samuel. A king, a bit impetuous, handsome, a celebrity. There’s illicit sex, pointless violence, hard-fought redemption. It is a story that still resonates.

In the Hebrew bible, the heroes make mistakes; they break the rules; they ignore tradition; even the anointed are punished and the righteous are wrong.

David’s seduction of Bathsheba and murder of her husband, if anything, demonstrates that being divinely approved does not insulate one from doing wrong. David, so inebriated by his own power, succumbing to his immediate whims, is blind to the violence and misery he causes. Instead of examining himself, he believes that only other men are capable of evil. After being a soldier for so long, it was always the other country.

Nathan – his prophet – tells him a parable, effectively holding up a mirror, shocking him out of his narcissism; warning him of the consequences. David is shocked by what he sees.

The theologian James Alison notes that religion can build a fortress from which we judge others and protect ourselves; or it can be a source of inward reflection and self-understanding. It can teach us to judge others; or it can be a way of changing our own behavior. David was king, chosen by the Israelite God who broke the code of law, believing he had every right to.

But then he is challenged by the prophet, who embodies the conscience. “You are the man!”

A journalist once reflected that the most pious individuals are most at risk to cut moral corners. The morally rigorous justify their severity towards others, but keeping their own shortcomings in private. Those who believe that they speak the Word of God are often those who have the most to hide.

And yet, if we are willing to reflect inward, to see in ourselves our bare humanity, we will find an opening for the transcendent to break in, offer enough clarity to understand who we are, and grant us enough resilience to handle the vicissitudes of our life with confidence. It is thus only with humility and great trepidation may we judge the moral consciences of others, and make the mistake that we are different than our fellow human beings.

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All the Credit We Need

Remember when the market crashed in 2008?

You saw the images of traders. Some were about to cry. Others rubbing their forehead, trying to figure out their next step: the frustrated frown; the blank incredulous stare; the head on the desk, the graph of the market plunging downward, probably weeping, billions under his care suddenly vanished.

Where did it go? Did they ever even exist? All that light over the internet, symbols of great wealth and power, going dark, as the numbers rapidly decrease.

What to do? Governments are cutting rates; others are taking over banks. They are busycajoling people to share and stop hoarding, to get the big monetary institutions to trust each other again. But even governments themselves are having a hard time. Iceland, after 10 years of buying up parts of Europe, is back to fishing.

Mark Taylor, the theologian, uses the metaphor of poker to describe the desire to keep the markets trading. But the poker game has ended. We’re sitting around the table, deciding its time to go and cash in our chips, when the banker of the house says, I’ve got no money. Your chips are worthless. Perhaps we were just playing for fun (add wan smile and shrug).

The banker himself had invested a fair amount. He’d thought that when others bought into the game, they’d use real cash themselves. But some of us asked for credit as well when we anted up and we all agreed. Why not? We were doing it ourselves.

Most of us.

But now all the players are left stranded.

Nobody thought they’d want to end the game. They thought it would continue forever, until the end of time, or the King Returned. People would add money and our pots would just get bigger. Everyone could keep buying in.

Until just one person, or two, or three, decided they wanted to cash in.

Some will suggest that we have to continue playing: Give everyone a half-credit; redistribute the chips; Get some real money in the system. But everyone’s tired and nobody trusts the banker. Or each other.

Nobody realized that nobody had actually given the house any money.

I’m not an economist. I don’t have a crystal ball about the future. And I don’t think it’s all that helpful to offer a Panglossian veneer on the subject. People are hurting and scared and poorer. Bless them. Bless the investor, bless the banker, bless the retiree, the businessman, bless the homeowner.

At the very least, the light that was the virtual pool of wealth in cyberspace, has also revealed itself to connect every person in our commercial reality. So what are we to do with each other? Judgment? Of course. Mutual Aid? A few wishful chants of “never again?” Why not, if it makes us feel better.

I had begun writing this essay before seeing the Dow, exploring this idea of being the “master of the universe.” It’s what lots of traders thought of themselves as they were busy exchanging vast sums of money. Perhaps now comes the hard truth that we are not masters, even the most die-hard self-actualizing Rand worshipping libertarian. Once a master, now a servant.

I don’t have many suggestions. Buy low? If you’ve got money, then go ahead. Sell? Well, that’s what everyone else is doing. Invest in green infrastructure? It is tangible, but it won’t help the church endowment right now and that will have to wait until after the election that to have any impact. When you come to church, I’m not going to give you any stock tips. Except Berkshire Hathaway, and you’ve probably already figured that one out yourself.

But I do know this:

I hope that at the end of the day, if you’ve lost gobs of money trading, you have a sweetheart you can go home to who just doesn’t give a damn about the millions you’ve lost.

I also hope that your number isn’t published.

I hope that your children will run up to you and give you a big kiss on the cheek just because you exist and ask you to play catch or read them a story.

I hope to Jesus that when your best friend calls you, it won’t just be to ask you about the thousands of his you lost investing in Lehman brothers, but about how your holding up. I hope he forgives you and will accept your buying him an extra round a drinks.

(By the way, what in God’s name were you thinking? You could have done a little research on credit swaps. They were toxic.)

And for those of us who don’t have much invested, we’re going to have some people to help along the way. Our soup kitchen is going to get a bit more crowded, our thrift shop will get a bit more busy (although these last two quarters we’ve had record breaking receipts. Ka-Ching!), and there will be a few people selling their businesses, or being terminated from their jobs.

I hope that here, our treasure was never in the stock market to begin with.

It was right here. Our confidence was somewhere else.

In our small tendernesses; in our sharing of scripture and stories. It was right here when ten of us drank three bottles of wine celebrating the new altar we built ourselves.

It was right here when the thrift shop ladies, myself and Debbie had soup and salmon right in the middle of the sanctuary.

Let everyone else hoard their stashes of money. Here we share a little of our mutual gratitude. Let it be enough.

Its enough for us to love each other and pick up the shards of that remain from the broken spirits and hearts around us. Its enough to be the presence of God for those who’ve been only in the presence of mammon. It is enough to just be the jar that contains the spirit of hope and courage.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

And in a world that always wants more perhaps that’s what’s we’re saying. We know what our treasure is. And it is enough. And we can still share it and spread it around a bit.

We’ve got a little love, and we’ve got a little faith, and that’s enough.

It’s all the credit we need.

Praise Him!

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On Being Separated From Humanity

Over the last three week’s we’ve been exposed to some fairly severe tragedies: the murder of three women by an angry, lonely, depraved man; the drunk mother who drove the wrong way on the Taconic, killing eight.

For most of us, these are clear examples of right and wrong, concrete representations of injustice and horror. I’ve heard the word “evil” spoken even by individuals who believe that everyone is, in their hearts, good. “How could she do such a thing?” I’ve heard over and over; “That man will burn in hell.”

Anger, surprise, frustration – all rational responses. The rage and selfishness of these two individuals seem beyond our comprehension. How did the man get to that stage of anger? How could that woman have been so selfish?

And our moral outrage is justified. It is our way of honoring the humanity of those whose lives were cut mercilessly short.

Last week the scriptures stated that Jesus is the “bread of life.” This poetic description of Christ is an alteration: instead of Jesus being violently sacrificed for the sake of peace, we’re invited into a different way of gathering people into a community.

What happened in the community of hearers was a complete change in their relationship with one another. As Jesus was inviting them, through love, into a relationship with a different, non-violent, non-judgmental, loving spirit, they were invited into gracious, encouraging, joyful and hopeful relationships with each other. The bread of life was the glue that helped them endure each other’s quirks, frailties and challenges: because being in relationship with other people is hard work. Jesus is saying – stay connected. And you don’t need to kill people to do it.

George Sodini and Diane Schuler were both extremely isolated. To some extent, they were free to make the decisions they made; although theologically, Augustine would argue they were “slaves to sin.” Sodini was enslaved by his anger; Schuler was enslaved by drink.

The church’s perspective is not much different than the popular view, in some ways. We mourn the dead. We hate what is evil. We pray for justice. We trust that witnessing tragedy evokes some transformation toward what is beautiful and good in others.

These two individuals, who were closed from society and their own deep own emotional needs, stand in stark contrast to the fundamental task of the church. We exist to keep people connected; to remind people that they can learn to hold their anger, rage and sorrow without violence, while trusting in a community of faithful believers, if they so choose. A friend of mine, sober for 22 months said to me, that by giving up the hooch, she gained close new friends. Although not everyone needs to be abstinent, the truth is that it is often our connections that save us, and we find many ways to cut people off.

We say there is no justice sacrificing others at the altar of our own self-righteousness, frustration or hatred. There is no eternal redemption or peace at the bottom of a bottle. They are temporary, ephemeral satisfactions at best. And at worst they destroy lives, and break our hearts.

As the innocent die, the cross again represents. As well as we must confront the implicit, if paradoxical, challenge to those of us witnessing: it didn’t need to be that way.

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Jesus Encounters the Woman

Based on Proper 19

In this week’s Gospel reading, Jesus has his encounter with the Syro-phonecian woman. She asks for her daughter to be healed. Jesus initially refuses and insults her. But the woman entreats him. Jesus, then moved by her directness, heals her daughter. In a short passage we see our Lord move from being provincial to magnanimity.

It’s not easy to be magnanimous. It requires regular reflection and spiritual discipline. Even those who love us can utter words that can seem cruel and contemptuous. We offer ultimatums, we misunderstand intentions, we have suspicions. In the midst of a fight, magnanimity in these cases seems delusional.

But magnanimity is one of the virtues Christ embodies. It means, sometimes, managing our own anger; interpreting the best (or misinterpreting the best) in other people. We let people make mistakes, and we create an opening of trust that can become an anchor for the future. It means we reject revenge and manage the internal life that would render other people small and inconsequential.

It takes practice. Sometimes it hurts as much as a hard workout – because our natural response to being rejected or hurt is to respond with the same. It requires some bravery. And as one Greek philosopher said, it requires we endure tactlessness with mildness.

As Christ was, let us have the inner strength to be generous to the defeated and broken. The only expense is our own pusillanimity. Perhaps it is the secret of our spiritual healing. It is worth the price.

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On Repentance and Raising Money

A friend of St. Barts once came in to the church to discuss raising money. He suggested an ambitious plan, and we began talking about what people seek and need in their congregations.

He grew up in the parish (mid 40’s), but wandered before finding his own path. He said that he wished that the church had given stronger instruction about how to live and be transformed in a way to find peace and wholeness in the light of God’s presence. His comments were provocative and intriguing. He was talking about repentance.

He was not talking about repentance in the fashion of a street-corner preacher yelling in the public square. You jerk. Don’t you know that God despises your carnal thoughts and contemptible fashion sense? Most of us think that when we are asked to “repent” we’re asked first to feel bad and then obey what someone else, who is more perfect and uptight, tells us is good for us. And for a lot of Christians this means mainly rules about sex, tax cuts, and swearing.

This sort of repentance may be useful for some people. It can be exactly what they need to hear: stop drugging yourself, holding others accountable for your own actions, and get on the straight and narrow. Repentance in this sense means making verbal proclamations about what one believes and then changing what one does. You agree to what I, your priest and spiritual father, tell you and you are magically altered into a different, more holy, better person.

I wish I had that sort of magic wand some days, although I’d probably have to use it on myself.

But there is another way of understanding “repentance.” In fact, my friend used the word “transfiguration.” They fit neatly together. Repentance in the Greek is “metanoia” which is derived from the word for mind, thought and understanding. In some places scripture repentance is a conversion, and in others it suggests remorse.

I think that Episcopalians are wary of the part that emphasizes the total depravity of human consciousness that a few medieval theologians suggested. Rather, we rightly acknowledge that our conversion to the spirit is about joy and empowerment. It means sometimes saying “stop” or “no” so that we can better understand what the divine “Yes” means. It’s hard news sometimes.

I wonder if repentance means understanding two things that are very difficult in this day. The first is that we do have limits, and that limits are good. I encounter this fact when I get a bottle of wine at a local store: too many and I become disempowered. The human mind can often only handle a limited number of choices. It makes us more free when we do this to ourselves.

The second is that the good life is a committed life. It may be running, it may be music, it may be self-discipline, and it may be supporting a community of friends, but without commitment, life doesn’t happen. It just floats on by. It passes quickly. As the wisdom writer puts it, we become unmoored, like vapors.

And to be committed to each other often means a “changing of the mind” – a repentance. Especially in a day when it is the thoughtless God of convenience, inattention and immediate gratification that commands our lives so utterly. To make that conversion is hard work, and most of us will make it in fits and starts. It does require tenacity, self-examination, and vigilance (it sounds, perhaps, like dieting), but in a community of loving souls, all things are possible.

There are rewards. Saying no to some things means saying yes to others. I have spilled miso soup on my computer, which means that when I come home I am computerless, and yes generally it is a drag.

But for that reason, the other evening I had the unexpected opportunity to spend an evening in quiet meditation on my porch, with a cigar, just considering God, the world, and its utter beauty. I was given the opportunity to say “no” to the allures of the internet, and to say yes to the world.

Not that I will always be so wise to make that choice. But I slept better that night.

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Kanye West and Joe Wilson

Although I’ve tittered at the media spectacle of Joe Wilson, Kanye West and others, I’m going to hold back on making any grand comments. I haven’t read the health care bill, nor have I ever been interested in the Video Music Awards.

I do think there is a general anxiety about the loss of order around us. To some extent we’re relearning and creating the etiquette, the simple rituals and courtesies, that order our common life. Gone, it seems, are titles and euphemisms. Instead, equality and directness.

The old school perspective was like so: honor the traditions of your fathers and mothers – they still make sense. Hold on to your principles. Respect the rituals that keep us gathered. Be loyal to your family and friends. Acknowledge that there are culturally holy places. Respect the role and office, even if you disagree with person holding it. Let there be civility.

Here’s the critique: sometimes etiquette masks and legitimates provinciality, ignorance and arrogance. It perpetuates injustice by evading simple issues of fairness. In these cases, speaking out makes sense, because the truth needs to be spoken. And the old school perspective is hard to maintain when money needs to be made at civility’s expense. Rudeness sells.

We need both reverence and the shock of truth. When we aren’t sure of what is going on, then we may respect the red lights, the stop signs and the social cues around us. Sometimes in the midst of disorder, being more intentional about respecting others is crucial. But when we need to make a change, speaking the truth is part of how we move forward.

Of course, sometimes we may be wrong when we speak. That’s another risk. But we can survive our mistakes because the tension between order and the catalyzing force of truth is held together by one thing: charity. It may not have been shared with us. But it is necessary for us to survive things changing, and the many mistakes we make along the way.

If we can’t show magnanimity even to our enemies, how can we move forward?

It is difficult to do such. However, the source of that strength is nothing else but faith that we have the strength to be magnanimous in the first place. And the faith that it works. Faith that love is what God wants for us, and part of his infinite beauty. Even Joe Wilson and Kanye West, though they broke the rules, even though they might be wrong, may also in time, be forgiven by God.

The media, however, not so much.

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On the Internet

In the midst of our current environment, I’ve been intrigued by how much implicit authority technology has to frame our perspective.

Brain scan imaging demonstrates how the tools we use become extensions of our bodies and minds. Technology affects how we think, work, play and pray. Our humanity has always been linked to our ability to manipulate objects; but it also seems true that objects have power over us.

Technology can’t easily be separated from how we pray or articulate our faith. Our sacred stories moved from speech to script. Eventually they were collected into a codex, and a millenia later, these codexes became mass produced. Scrolls meant to be heard became books meant to be read.

The alphabet itself is technology that allows us to convey meaning, making words physical, so that we can take it from one place to another. The written word was how people could send clear instructions into the future. For those who couldn’t read, the technology of stained glass windows told the story.

Our most recent technological innovations have compressed space and time. In our immediate news cycle, we are invited to react and respond quickly, without thought or reflection, imitating whatever outrage or anxiety that seems most familiar to us. The ancient values of prudence and patience seem quaint, cautious and dull while we are perpetually stimulated with whatever moment of insanity exposed to us.

And yet, technology is not the enemy. Facebook, Twitter and other social networking sites are often fun and useful. They may build real connections. But they are meant to enable connections, not replace them. Cyberspace cannot heal the body, the way a physical presence can.

Yet it is in rest, in patience, in slowness, where we actually find the spirit. It is fine to be busy. It is virtuous to have work. But it is no virtue to worship speed. Over time, choosing a screen over a body corrodes the soul.

I wonder if spending one day a week with no electronic media would enable us to strengthen the tender virtues that are quickly diminishing from our daily practice. It would remind us that we have some authority over the tools we construct, and how we use them. We would be more aware, also, of how our tools have authority over us.

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One perspective on faith

Paul says in Romans: “The faith that you have, have as your own conviction before God. Blessed are those who have no reason to condemn themselves because of what they approve.”

In this passage he is making faith subjective. Faith is located in the individual. He’s almost saying, “if it feels good, do it!” He tempers this a little later in the letter, but he is also insinuating: don’t judge other people’s faith. Your conviction is your own. It’s a blessing in its own right. But it also means we can’t go around dismantling the hope of others, or judging them on their lack of confidence.

Have you ever been suspicious of the way people use the word “faith?” I have. Sometimes it seems like a short-cut for thinking, or a synonym for foolishness. “Faith-based” can also be a codeword for institutions like churches that want to have some say in the political sphere.

I believe, however, that “faith” is not merely about believing in things that simply won’t happen or in the supernatural. “Faith” is a description of what we trust. It provides a lens with which to see the world. It may be sometimes grainy, but it helps us understand what we see. In this thin sense, human beings are imbued with a faith as deep as the alphabet we use to speak.

It may also be the location where we find our strength: such as the love we have for our kids; the support we get from our loved ones; our commitment for a changed world order; in the belief that our parish can become a place to experience creativity in our communities.

“Faith” also describes those rituals, practices and thoughts that are so ingrained we don’t even reflect upon them. We aren’t even aware they are there. That we wake up, have breakfast, go to work, take care of the dog, and come home requires a habit of action that assumes the presence of millions of other actors and actions that may change at any moment. So to some extent, to say “I have faith” is to be redundant. Perhaps the best way to say we have “faith” is to say nothing at all, but merely to live confidently in the world, believing, however foolishly, that what we do matters.

Even more so, faith allows us to say that we can reflect upon our rituals, and have some choice about who we are and what we can be. It might be a faith that allows our awareness, our sensitivity, or our creativity to be harnessed to enchant the world and reveal the loveliness of the world that has been made and we continue to make. Blessed be!

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