I’m going to take another day or two to reflect some more on the confirmation process that I’m currently taking part in at St. Barnabas.
There is a term that has been floating around for a few years now. That term is “Welcoming.” Most of us use it to describe a person or place where anyone, regardless of who they are, what they think, what color their skin is or what gender they describe themselves as. It has become almost a password for progressives. I can imagine someone walking up the the door in a 1920s speakeasy. The little port opens and a burly face with heavy eyebrows and a square chin looks out. “Welcoming,” whispers the person on the outside. The burly-guy then opens the door. The correct password was given.
And, for the most part, it’s really easy to say that we’re welcoming.
Especially, for churches.
I’ve been to churches where the priest or pastor stands in front, arms wide open and a big smile on their face as the proclaim, “Of course, we welcome LGBTQs here! I would love for them to come!” Unspoken is, “So we can show them the love of Christ by pointing out what filthy, wretched sinners they are. Hallelujah!”
But, welcoming is not enough, I think. Not nearly.
I think that something is bigger than that. And, far more difficult. Something that comes closer to how Jesus, himself, treated people.
That is Acceptance.
Let me explain. We can welcome a gay man into our group or fellowship. That’s really the easy part. Especially, if he doesn’t try to spread his gay cuties around. But, can we accept that gay man, who is married, as our priest and pastor? How about the divorced woman who was abused in her church? Can we accept her? Are we able to accept her pain as our own and allow ourselves to heal with her in our community? Can we accept her and the gifts that God has given her to be a fellow-worker in God’s garden with us? What of the person who struggles with emotional or psychological stresses? We surely can welcome such a person so that he may find comfort and healing. Right? But, can we accept such a one as a peer who is loved and gifted by the same Holy Spirit as we?
It’s easy to welcome and accept people who look, act, and think as we do. “But, how does that make us any different than the pagan?”, Jesus asks.
I am glad that I am both welcomed and accepted at St. Barnabas. I am ever so much more glad that St. Barnabas is becoming, not only welcoming, but accepting.
Last night was the first of six confirmation classes at St. Barnabas. Eleven of us showed up for Episcopalian lessons. I was excited to be getting on with this. As I’ve written before, St. Barnabas is becoming a community where the Love of God is beginning to blossom and bloom.
As the class began we were all asked to share a bit about who we are and why we were at this particular church. As we went around the room, each telling snippets of their personal journeys of faith, I was impressed with the diversity present. There are women, men, young-ish, older, high church, low church, and everything in between. Some were open and vocal. Others, reserved and quietly present. Some of us came out of churches where toxic theology ate at our souls. Others are simply seeking a place to call “home.”
One thing that we all seemed to share was a desire to be a part of a living, welcoming, diverse, and inclusive community where God’s love is openly shared with all.
Is that St. Barnabas?
Well…Maybe.
This church is currently still in transition. She is searching for her identity in the larger Body of Christ. After all, this church has fairly recently gone through a major upheaval brought on by previous leadership. Upheaval that was painful and steeped in theological error. Many people suffered…A Lot…because of the actions of those who were entrusted with the care of these people.
Fortunately, the leaders of the diocese were wise enough to provide emergency medical care to this parish. Over a period of several years they supported those few who were left behind after that messy split. They appointed interim leadership who provided the necessary treatment to stabilize the church. A bit over a year ago a new Priest was called to help the community, now stable, to work to become healthy. That’s where we are now. A diverse, some may say Rag Tag, group of people who desire to live with one another and serve one another and the larger community in which we live. We are people with scars and hurts and histories that would make the best fantasy novel seem like Dr. Seuss. We are learning. And, if we eleven who are beginning the journey in Confirmation class are an indication of the direction in which God is leading, well, let’s just say that this journey will be good.
Well, tonight I begin the official process of becoming an Episcopalian. I have been attending a local parish for a bit over a year. I had promised myself that I would spend a full year before making this leap. Over the course of that year I found a place to call ‘Home.’ I was kind of surprised to find the lively Presence of God there. I had come to this church with no expectations, really. I was simply looking for a liturgical church that I could show up to on Sundays. And, go back home on Sundays. I knew that I would find Life in the Eucharist. There was no doubt about that. My own faith would carry me through that. But, what I found was something well beyond my meager expectations. I found a place where God seems OK with hanging out. The people, simple folk, really seem to love each other. They even seem to LIKE each other! Yeah! Go figure! Right? So, tonight I, and several others, are beginning Confirmation classes. Really. Confirmation classes. Just like I went through when I was, what? 13? Fortunately, everyone tonight will be adult.
Is this a lifetime commitment? I don’t know. But, for now, St. Barnabas will be my home. I’m kind of excited about it. It’s a new experience for me.
Tonight I’m going to be meeting with something called the “Spiritual Growth Committee” at St. Barnabas. Now, I’m not really sure why this committee was originally formed. I guess I’ll find out later. I do know that the Bible study that I have led for the past few months is somehow under the auspices of that committee. So, there’s that.
Those who know me can maybe understand my apparent ambivalence to this. First off, I’m not a big fan of ‘committees.’ They are usually formed for some arbitrary reason like, “Gee! Maybe we should form a committee for that!” (Whatever “that” is.) There rarely is a need for them. Then, once formed, they tend to exist for the singular purpose of ‘existing.’ In the rare event that there truly is a need and a mandate for a committee to form, the mandate seems never to be met and the committee just lives on and on and on……
I also really hate meetings. Another example of existing for the mere purpose of appearing to do something. Anything. At all. Even when nothing of any real substance is, in fact, taking place. “Hey, Bill! Let’s get the committee together to have a meeting.” “What do we need to talk about,” Jim? “Oh, I don’t know. But, at least we’ll look like we’re accomplishing something.” “Good call, Jim!” Yeah, meetings…not a big fan.
So, you ask, why am I involving myself with these two things that I really don’t hold in very high esteem?
Well, sometimes I think that we must entertain some things that appear pretty much useless in order to add legitimacy to something that IS important and NEEDS to be addressed. In this case, appearances are pretty important. People seem to really like it when something appears to be important and official. I don’t know, to me it seems pretty silly, but hey, there are “People.” You know?
Ok, so what’s so important that it can get me to leave my house and miss Jeopardy!?
Spiritual Growth and Formation. That’s what.
I’m convinced that the only thing that separates the Church from every other social justice organisation on the planet finds its source in those few words. In fact, most of those secular organisations can do the work far better than the Church. They can mobilize a larger slice of the population and, far and away, they can fetch the financial resources needed far more easily. I’m not implying that the Church should abdicate this vital work and allow secular groups to own all of that work. No, no, no. The Scripture is clear, and our hearts concur, that justice for those who are in need and who are ostracized by society is part of what God desires us to pursue. All I’m saying is that on the ground these other organisations are really well-equipped to do that work. (In fact, it’s usually a good idea for the Church to partner with them. Together much good can be done.)
Back to Spiritual Growth.
The Church is unique in that she can help people find a path that leads to the Source of Life.
Yeah, that’s what I said. A pathway to the Source. That alone is not necessary to do good works. But, it is necessary for the Church to be the Church. It is our Raison d’être. Awareness; Presence; Communion is the fertile soil in which ALL other expressions and acts of faith sprout and grow. This produces good fruit in the life of the Church and in the lives of the people.
I am convinced that attention to Spiritual Formation is the ONLY thing that can make the Church the Incarnate Body of Christ. The living, breathing Gift of God to the Cosmos.
In May my parish Priest asked if I’d be willing to lead an adult Bible study. He had led one in the weeks before Lent. Some people seemed to enjoy that and asked if it could be revived. So, he came to me. (Scary, I know!)
I agreed to take on the project. Not so much as a ‘leader’ or ‘teacher.’ But, rather as a facilitator. I would be someone who could add context and color to the study. There was no way that I would presume to tell people what the ‘Bible says,’ or ‘this is what God said.’ That’s not study. That’s at best preaching. And, at worst, bullshit.
Anyway, as I prepared myself for this role, I spent a lot of time quietly in God’s presence. That’s a good place to be, by the way. I was considering where this study would take those of us who joined together for it.
And, I was not disappointed. God did reveal a snippet of Grace that illuminated a path that could be traveled.
For years, (and years), I had been told by those who supposed that they knew what they were talking about, that there were “nuggets” of truth hidden in the pages of Scripture. We needed to dig deeply into the text in order to find and unearth these precious bits of God’s will for our lives. It was hard work being a miner. And, the payoff, while precious, was always just a ‘nugget.’
But, in the quietness of God’s presence I saw something different.
Far from being a dark, dirty mine from which we needed to crawl into in order to find a bit of blessing, I saw the Scripture as a vast, living, and vibrant world. It was a world where the sun shone brightly on fields of ripe grain. There were trees laden with fruit just waiting to be picked and eaten. Birds were flying in the sky. There were mountains and oceans. It was a world where we could pick the grain for food, or distill it for our happiness and enjoyment.
This IS the world of Scripture. This IS where the Spirit of God dwells. This is the world that I wanted to open to those who came to listen.
So far, the study has gone well. I think. At least the same people keep coming back every week. ;o)
I hope that together we can develop a passion to wander in this Living World of the Bible. A passion that will make us better readers of it, for sure. But, also will allow us to pick some fruit and sit under a tree in God’s World.
How long has it been? 40 years? 45? Such a long time to be alone. Yet, not alone. Or, was I simply lost in a crowd? Maybe that’s closest to the truth. Lost in a crowd of people who claimed to be family. Yet, they weren’t quite. Am I alone? Or, am I part of something larger?
In our Western, particularly U.S., culture an odd creature was birthed. This creature had no apparent need for anyone else. No nature; no nurture. It just sort of “appeared” in our collective popular mythos.
Over time this creature became known as “The Rugged Individual.”
Those of us old enough to remember will recall this creature
seated atop a strong horse with mountains in the background. He was smoking a
Marlboro cigarette.
Perhaps this creature was born out of our nation’s desire to cut ties
with ancestral homelands and make a go of it as a New Nation that needed no one
else. No king or pope or other “authority” was going to tell us what to do. We
are an Individual Nation.
Or, maybe the whole idea of the Rugged Individual has always
been somewhere sleeping, latent within our individual psyches.
I really don’t know.
What I do know, now, is that while this creature surely exists,
it is surely a lie.
It is a dangerous lie, to boot.
Now, I can take this idea in several directions.
I could make it a defense of Socialism. After all, isn’t Socialism ultimately a
critique of individual accomplishment? Doesn’t it strike at the heart of MY
will and well-being having preeminence over the will and well-being of the
collective?
No, I’m
not going there. Maybe some other time.
I could touch on Hillary Clinton’s 1996 book “It Takes a Village” to
discuss how we must work together as a “village” to properly raise our
children.
While that is an excellent topic for discussion, it’s not what I have in
mind here.
No, I think that I want to touch on something a bit more
personal. Something that has impacted me, my family, and my community at a
visceral level. It has chipped away at my soul and my mind to create something
that doesn’t
quite resemble the Rugged Individual. Nor, does it quite fit as a piece of some
ethereal ‘Whole.’
It actually quite resembles the confused person described at the beginning of this post.
For quite a long time I’ve tried to discover my place in life. You
know, trying to answer those unanswerable questions like “Why am I here”? What’s
the meaning of life? Why is there air? (Uh, no, that’s not one of them. The
answer to that is obvious: to fill soccer balls.)
When I first came to faith in Christ as a 16 year old idealist, I was taught that God loved ME. In fact, God loved ME so much that if I had been the only human on earth, Jesus would still come to give His life so that I could live. I participated in a Billy Graham event where he preached a message that claimed that I could not be saved unless I made a confession of MY PERSONAL sin and received Jesus as MY PERSONAL savior. It was all about ME and MY and MINE. Graham wasn’t the first to explain faith in this way. The concept he preached has been around since at least the time of John Calvin. But, it found fertile soil in this nation of Rugged Individuals who saw God vindicating their Rugged Individualism. God didn’t save a collective. No! That was a communist plot! God saved ME!
But, then I met a bunch of hippies who believed in God. I
started to hang with them. We were part of a larger movement that became known
as the Jesus Movement. (Profound. I wish that I could have helped them come up
with a better handle. Anyway, I digress.) Together we began to play around with
the concept of Community. We tried to model this new thing after what we
understood about the early Church as described in the first few chapters of the
Acts of the Apostles. These prototype Jesus People sold their belongings and put
the proceeds in a community account that all could draw from as needed. COOL!
They cared for one another as sisters and brothers in a large extended family.
STILL COOL! They shared all things in common and lived together in peace and
harmony. WAY COOL!
We found out that the Bible talked a lot about how we should
live together in love. We were a Kingdom of Priests and a Holy Nation. This is
the language of community and togetherness. And, this all came at a time in our
nation’s
trek through history when we desperately needed such a concept. We had become
fragmented as a people. Race; War; Politics. It seemed that all of the powers
of the Universe had conspired to break our world into little pieces. We needed
to try and find some cohesiveness. There was something embedded deep in our
human DNA that cried out for an end to the splintering of our world. So, these
ideas from the Bible resonated with us.
But, we still held on tightly to our identities as Rugged
Individuals. After all, that concept had been drilled into us for generations.
It would not simply sit back and say, “Oh, right, community. That’s cool. I’ll
just pack up and leave.”
No. We still, after all that we were learning about our
interdependence, militantly held on to our independence. So, we changed the
story a bit. We started to preach that God made us for one another. To live
together in true Christian community. But, to join you needed to confess YOUR
INDIVIDUAL sin and accept Jesus as YOUR INDIVIDUAL savior. Hmmm…not much of a difference
there.
Eventually, we made some emendations. We elevated Family to the
place of an actual individual. So, now our community could be called a Family
of Families. Isn’t
that sweet? This became a point of contention with me at a former church. The
church leadership insisted that the Eucharist, the celebration of Communion,
should be celebrated within the confines of the family unit. So, the head of
each ‘household’ came up and received the bread and wine. They then took the
elements back to their INDIVIDUAL families to share. For me, this practice was,
and is, antithetical to the whole concept of the sacrament. But, that’s a
subject for another post.
So, why have I spent this time and more than 1,000 words to say all of this?
A week ago the priest of the church I now attend talked about a parable that Jesus taught. It was about a certain shepherd who realized that one of his sheep was missing. Now, he still had 99 sheep that were safe and sound. But, being the dutiful shepherd, he left the 99 and sought out the missing sheep. This story has been used over the years to show how much Jesus cares about the INDIVIDUAL. He will abandon 99 and leave them to the elements and go off in order to seek and save the lost ONE. Wow! I’m really pretty important to Jesus!
And, that my friends, is the point that people using this text
want to make. It appeals to our emotions in a deep way. It paints the portrait
of No One Left Behind. It appeases our Rugged Individual.
Is that what God intended for the story?
Well, maybe. In part.
But, perhaps there is another take away from it. A way to
understand it in the light of one of the overarching themes of the entire
Bible.
Throughout the Scriptures there is the idea that God is forming
a People. He is in the business of Nation building. Images of sheep, (plural),
and goats and lambs and flocks abound in its pages.
What if the story of the lost sheep is more about the condition
of the flock than the lost sheep?
What if it’s
the flock,restored to wholeness, that is the point of the story?
I think it is.
I think that unless we can get beyond ourselves as individuals
and drive a stake into the heart of the Rugged Individual we, as people, will
suffer. Unless we can reach even beyond that and somehow see that we are not
just a single species, but part of a greater community made up of all of the
Cosmos, we will suffer.
God, in the beginning created Adam. He created THEM. And, then
graciously placed THEM in a Garden full of their fellow creatures to live and
thrive TOGETHER.
Today I’m going to repost my take on Jesus’ birth at Bethlehem. As anyone who has read me knows, I do not hold to the whole “Away In A Manger” story. That story really has nothing at all to do with 1st Century Palestinian life. I believe that this story is a better representation of that. Plus, this opens us to a greater understanding of who Jesus was and our part in His family.
The caravan moved slowly up toward Jerusalem. It had been a long journey from Galilee through Samaria. We could not travel very fast because of the young, pregnant woman. Most of the caravan stopped in Jerusalem. We, however, had a few more miles to go to get to our ancestral home of Bethlehem.
We entered the town and located the home of Joseph’s cousin. Entering, we greeted those already gathered. “Shalom! Baruch hashem Adonai!” “Peace! Bless the name of the Lord!” Unpacking our donkeys, we noticed that there were a lot of people already present. It seems that the whole clan had answered Caesar’s demand that we return for this census. Joseph helped Mary up to the living quarters while I got fodder for the donkeys. As I turned to climb the stairs I saw Joseph gesturing angrily.
“No guest room?! My wife is going to give birth at any moment! You must make room for her and the child!”
“No, we cannot. There are too many people. We cannot have one room given to her alone.”
“Wait,” one of Joseph’s aunts said. “We can fix a place for her down below. There is plenty of fresh straw. And, we can put blankets down to help make her more comfortable.”
Mary, being young and new to the family looked at Joseph and nodded. She was already suspect, being pregnant already. She did not want to give the family any more reason to look down on her.
Evening came. Mary was having contractions every few minutes. One of the aunts acted as midwife. They made Mary as comfortable as possible.
Joseph was upstairs with the rest of the family. He was pacing the floor. One cousin scolded him, “Sit down and relax! Everything will be fine. This is not the first child ever born!”
But, everyone knew that many first pregnancies did not end well. Especially, when the mother was as young as Mary. In addition, both Joseph and Mary were anxious about the child. That strange man that had appeared nine months ago had said some very strange things about this child. As the birth drew near, the young parents wondered what kind of creature was about to enter their world.
It seemed as though Mary had been laboring for hours. With a final push the child arrived. With a cry, the child took his first breath. The midwife lifted the child and tied off the umbilicus.
“It’s a boy!”
Joseph gave a sigh of relief. The others began to pour bowls of wine and a party celebrating the birth of a first-born son began. They sang and danced and drank. When Mary was cleaned up and the child wrapped in clean cloths, Joseph was summoned to come down. He looked compassionately at Mary. She was so strong and brave…no longer a child. Joseph reached into the feeding trough in which his newborn son had been laid. He picked him up.
“My son, Yeshua!”
A little later I looked up and saw a small group of people entering the house. By the staves that they were carrying I could tell that they were shepherds.
“Who let this rabble in?” I thought. Shepherds were not usually welcome among respectable people. They walked over to where the child lay sleeping.
“We were out in the field tending the sheep. Suddenly, there was a great light in the sky! We feared that something was going to take our sheep and harm us! Then, we heard a voice saying that a child had been born…here…in Bethlehem. The voice said that this child is the Messiah who we have been waiting for!”
Another shepherd spoke up saying, “Then there was a great host praising God! They gave God glory and said that peace was to reign between God and those whom God favors!”
We poured bowls of wine for the shepherds and continued to celebrate throughout the night.
However, Mary had a puzzled look on her face. She said nothing.!
