My Summer Field Ed. Parish

My diocese asked me to do several weeks of parish field education back home. I was very fortunate to land at Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Onancock, Virginia (Diocese of Southern Virginia).

Unexpected Friendship

In light of my recent post, "The Faces of God: God the Unexpected," I want to share a story with you.

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I lit my cigarette and began to walk down the garden path on the monastery grounds.  It had proven to be an extraordinarily long day.  The stress and anxiety had been building all day in our small flat in the retreat annex; the children had indeed driven my wife to the brink.  So when I arrived back from a day journey to interview a priest, I walked into the thick of it rather unexpectedly.

As I strolled along the gardens, I heard the bell calling the community to Compline--the final service of the day.  Compline simply means "complete" and it's a way of completing the day with a beautiful service praising God for the blessings of the daytime.  I fell down into the comfort of a wooden bench, perched strategically behind some blossoming flowers.  Privacy, I thought to myself, and a brief escape from the world.  I could not bring myself to enter the 

monastic church that evening, I was beyond my capability to use words or find a sentence to utter in the coming twilight.

After I snuffed out the butt, I sat there in a daze.  I wondered all about the predictable stuff: did we make the right decision to move our small family to England for a time?  At what cost was this to my family to merely live out one of my longest-held dreams?

Before I came round, I could see the movement of black cassocks in the distance.  I snapped to and glanced down at my watch.  Blimey, I thought, Compline was over and so was my free time. I needed to get back to help get the children to bed.  While I had not discovered any new answers to my cause, I had enjoyed a brief respite from the hell of cranky children and a distant spouse.  I dreaded going back, fearing another screaming, crying meltdown from the kids.  My ears were exhausted.  

Just then, a black cassocked monk strolled along the path.  He rose about five feet in the air

 and his grey scapular was neatly swaying as he walked with his hands clasped behind his back and his head hunched over.  It was too ironic or coincidental that this one brother of the Community had taken to fancy night walks following Compline and here I was in his pathway. He was clearly deep in reflection or what one professor loves to say when he daydreams, "off in wonder, love, and praise!"  I had met Father John several weeks ago during a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham down in Norfolk.  He is a Guardian of the Shrine and a runner.  A monk-priest from Northern Ireland, John has been in the Community for nearly thirty years--an incredible source of spiritual wisdom!  I remember vividly waking up from my power nap on the bus back from Walsingham when I overheard him talking about running to a nearby seminarian--he must be in his late 60's and the shock jarred me out of my slumber.  What was more surprising was this seemed to be the first time I felt as though I had something in common with another person in the Community.  Running, I thought, was the perfect God-given commonality so I went for it and begin a conversation with John.

"Father John," I cried out, "do you have a minute?"  Knowing full well that the CRs enter into their silence following Compline lasting until Matins, I chanced it.  I was desperately reaching out.  Being fully pastoral, John broke his silence and sat down next to me on the bench.  I had managed to pull myself together by this point, wiping away tears and fearing my awful smoke-stained smell.  

It did not take any remarkable power of observation to see that I needed the company and someone to talk to about what was going on inside.  John was able to talk sweetly in his Irish voice and helped me calm down.  His faith and insight truly makes him stand twenty feet into the air even though I tower over him. 

Thus began an unexpected spiritual friendship that continued on throughout my time at the Community.  He agreed to serve as my temporary confessor and spiritual guide and I remain forever grateful to him.  Just as I began to think I was alone and disconnected to the community that I found myself in, God gave me Father John.  It surpasses the explainable coincidence, this was truly a gift and one that I quickly recognized in the silhouetted figure of a small, Irish monk off in the distance.

God the Unexpected was the face that I saw that evening.  I even smiled afterwards thinking about this blog post and knowing full well that I had encountered this joyous face in the midst of my own stress and spiritual loneliness.  Thanks be to God for this and for what I believe will be a friendship for the rest of my life.

An Evensong Reflection

Preached at Halifax Parish Church

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Halifax, West Yorkshire (England)

The Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul

Jeremiah 11:1-14 

Romans 13:1-10

“Love is the fulfilling of the love,” writes Saint Paul.  Love, “all you need is love,” I overhead whilst in Liverpool the other day.  Jesus himself adds a new commandment, “love one another as I have loved you.”  How do we fit in our need for God’s love with the ever-present and enduring state of sin in our lives, knowing that the sword of wrath is nearby?  Judgment is not a popular preaching topic in most Anglican pulpits in America or I suspect here in England.  It’s simply too uncomfortable; too impolite.  We hear the words and the commands to love one another, to love ourselves, to love God and God’s creation.  But we never get clear instructions as to how we achieve this in our every day lives!  Is it physical or emotional?  Is it simply spiritual love?  Or is it Eucharistic?

Jeremiah’s warning from God about the impending disaster to befall Judah and Jerusalem seems to collide into what could otherwise be a pleasant reflection about God’s love.  How does this fit?  Covenants and disasters are not the purpose of the Old Testament.  Unfortunately, many Christians take the approach that God in the Old Testament is a jealous god ready to deliver punishment on a whim, a God of the law, and then with the flip of the page, the God of the New Testament is the God of Love revealed in the person and work of Jesus Christ.  In fact the proper Jewish understanding of the Law is that the Law is freedom, the law is our delight—it is not a burden but rather a map to living in a loving relationship with God.    

The previous chapter in Jeremiah reveals that Israel has fallen by clinging to idolatry and worshipping false gods. There we read, “I know, O Lord, that the way of human beings is not in their control, that mortals as they walk cannot direct their steps.  Correct me, O Lord, but in just measure; not in your anger, or you will bring me to nothing.”  And now we read of God’s pending wrath. 

The connection in these two readings comes by simply looking into the center of our lives and seeing what we hold up as truth, what we worship.  Idolatry in the Old Testament would easy translate into today’s desires for more money, better appearances, and generally anything else that pulls our hearts away from the love of God.  God is always faithful, waiting patiently for us to respond to the invitation of love.  Just as Jeremiah says, we cannot direct our own steps, we need God’s help in our everyday lives.  When we try and walk alone, we follow our own will and not “thy will.”  That’s when trouble begins.

In this season following Pentecost, most commonly referred to as “ordinary time,” I prefer to look at this space before Advent as simply “Kingdom time.”  This is a time following the inauguration of the Kingdom where we are called to live deeply into its truths and live out its promises of justice, equality, and above all, love.   If love is indeed the fulfilling of the law, then we must open up our very souls to be flooded with heavenly grace.   Living in the Kingdom is not just about being good, it’s about living by God’s directives.  The latter day prophet, Mother Teresa once said, “at the end of our life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.  We will simply be judged by 'I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was naked and you clothed me, I was homeless and you took me in.’”  If there’s any doubt, then, as to what we are to do in our daily lives as Christians it is simply that. 

There’s a rather young hymn in the American Church with a simple refrain, “they will know we are Christians by our love.”  How we love and what we love are equally important to the Christian task.  In this morning’s Gospel, we heard about Jesus giving to Peter the power of the keys—the power to bind and loose on earth.  What strikes me the most about this is that we tend to bind more than we loose.  We bind out of fear, fear of the unknown, fear of the other.  We bind out of judgment—repelling those things that we see in the world that we know exist inside of us.  We bind and thus we ourselves are bound.  In light of the command to love one another as I have loved you, we should be persuaded to loosen more than we do.  We do this by love, we do this by mending broken relationships, standing alongside others in their battles with addiction and recovery, being a strong shoulder for a loved one who has recently been diagnosed with a terminal disease, or simply stretching forth our arms to our sisters and brothers living on the margins of the world.  We loosen those chains in our lives by relinquishing the power of our own idolatry.   When we honor the Christ in each stranger, we are in affect loving the Christ that lives inside of us.  We love and so let go of those things that really bind us, loosening by God’s grace and allowing the light to shine brilliantly inside of us.  

Then, they will know we are Christians by our love.

Faces of God: God the Unexpected

Today in the Church of England's lectionary (it was also read in The Episcopal Church), we read two important lessons that I think reveal the face of God the unexpected.  The Old Testament lesson was from I Samuel 17:32-49 and the Gospel was Mark 4:35-41.  In both cases I was struck by the imagery of being caught unprepared and called out by God. I heard the story of David and Goliath the Philistine in a new, unexpected way this morning.  If one of Israel could kill Goliath, then the battle should end.  David, being chosen, is clothed by Saul with armour, "mail" was the translation we read today.  Something about the clothing remains powerful to me--it wasn't David at all.  He couldn't walk in the heavy suit, it was silly. How often do we put on images for ourselves only to be taken as ridiculous?  We try on things that our not suited for us in an effort to protect ourselves.  All the while, God calls on us to come out as we are and into the unknown with faith.  It seems no coincidence, here, that David cannot wear the protective armour, but must go out in front seemingly vulnerable and possibly on a suicidal mission.

Armed with his stones, the only weapons he knows, David relies on God's faithfulness and ultimately slays the giant with a single stone.  I've heard this story many times before but I never considered the idea of being called out by God to perform this task by ordinary means by ordinary people.  The image of one shepherd going out in front of the army lines, leaving behind the protection of the masses, David goes alone with God to meet the giant for what seems to be an impossible task.  Fear, yes, fear would be coursing through me at that point.    

Saul clothed David with his amour; he put a bronze helmet on his head and clothed him with a coat of mail. David strapped Saul’s sword over the armour, and he tried in vain to walk, for he was not used to them. Then David said to Saul, ‘I cannot walk with these; for I am not used to them.’ So David removed them. Then he took his staff in his hand, and chose five smooth stones from the wadi, and put them in his shepherd’s bag, in the pouch; his sling was in his hand, and he drew near to the Philistine."

I Samuel 17: 38-40

The Gospel lesson from Mark follows this same parallel.  Jesus is asleep in the boat with his disciples when a raging storm happens and causes great consternation among the sailors.  Our Lord simply asks them whether or not they have faith in God's providence.  Fear of death was all that they could think of in their future.  Jesus calms the waters and instantly their faith is restored.

Why is all this important?  God comes to us in the unexpected ways of storms and giants, calling us out of our spheres of comfort, out of our false clothing, to confront those fearful things that keep us from the love of God.  Testing?  No, I don't believe that God puts tests in front of us to see what we're made of, but rather God calls us to be authentic and stand for what and who we were created to be.  God the unexpected is the one who wants us to live fulfilling, happy lives, lovingly being who we are.  We stray from this out of fear, fear of acceptance, fear of the unknown, or worse to gain false comfort from money, job security, or anything else our culture deems important and necessary.  We do this for our will, not God's.  Thus, the storms and giants rise up as a way to strip away those things that are fleeting, like chaff in the wind. God's will and God's faithfulness is the foundation of our being, straying from that means trouble looms on our horizon.

God may act in unsuspecting ways, but I believe that all things come to some certainty in God's providence.  God the unexpected is trying to fulfill our expectant hope of eternal life in the Kingdom of Christ.  So mind those giants in your life.  Stand up and fight.  The storms will cause titanic waves to flood your sense of security, so stave them off with the faith from above. Be at ease knowing that you strive in your everyday life to live deeply into God's will.