Wondrous Christmas, today and every day

This morning I read again the Christmas sermon of John Chrysostom, fourth century bishop of Constantinople.  Yes, the gendered language is archaic, and yes, some of the theology and biology is out of date, but the core message - the wonder that humanity and divinity are reconciled and united - is always current.  Here's an excerpt:

What shall I say! And how shall I describe this Birth to you? For this wonder fills me with astonishment. The Ancient of days has become an infant. He who sits upon the sublime and heavenly Throne, now lies in a manger. And he who cannot be touched, who is simple, without complexity, and incorporeal, now lies subject to the hands of men. He who has broken the bonds of sinners, is now bound by an infants bands. But he has decreed that ignominy shall become honor, infamy be clothed with glory, and total humiliation the measure of his Goodness.

For this he assumed my body, that I may become capable of his Word; taking my flesh, he gives me his spirit; and so he bestowing and I receiving, He prepares for me the treasure of Life. He takes my flesh, to sanctify me; he gives me his Spirit, that he may save me.

Come, then, let us observe the Feast. Truly wondrous is the whole chronicle of the Nativity. For this day the ancient slavery is ended, the devil confounded, the demons take to flight, the power of death is broken, paradise is unlocked, the curse is taken away, sin is removed from us, error driven out, truth has been brought back, the speech of kindliness diffused, and spreads on every side, a heavenly way of life has been implanted on the earth, angels communicate with men without fear, and men now hold speech with angels.

Blessed one, help me see and honor the holy presence everywhere today.

Release me from judging and editing your creatures.

Grant me reverence and humility before their divinity and my own.

Amen.

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Advent Blahs

I seem disconnected from Advent this year.  Some of that may be work pressure - we have two retreats coming up before January 8 - but it's not only that.  I think it has to do with the images of Advent that we invoke in our daily office, images that don't really speak to me.  I think it's a good sign that I'm noticing and naming that gap.  The gap isn't new, but letting it be present and important is.

Our antiphons for psalms all focus on coming of God "in the clouds of heaven," "with all the saints together," "with power and great glory."  The Matins hymn says "the Lamb descends from heaven above."  There's a lot of royal imagery throughout the offices.  I don't know; it may be "gender-neutral," but it's still loaded with images and metaphors that just don't express my faith.

My God comes in vulnerability, in poverty, in humility.   S/he comes gently, tenderly.  The glory is there, but it is not imperial.  It is more like a flashlight than a floodlight.  Or maybe it's like a grow-light, the lights that shine in greenhouses to nurture plants through the darkness.  This is the God I'm looking forward to seeing at Christmas - and today, and every day.  The imperial images are in the way of the glory, overshadowing it so to speak.

Now, many of these antiphons and hymns are ancient and traditional to monastic communities, and I have treasured them as part of that tradition.  But we, the Companions, are not simply passing on tradition in a new, "inclusive" mode.  We are actively questioning the images and language for the divine, and I find the questioning is working - it's messing with my ability to say the find God in the old words.

So, we need to rewrite the antiphons for next year.  Elizabeth agrees.  Our Covenant Companions have spent time discussing incarnation, Jesus, Christ, and I think I can say we all see some room to grow and change here.  In the meantime, I'm reading Daily Prayer for All Seasons on my own, and walking under the stars.  And I know, any day now I'll turn the corner.  Jesus is already here, was and is and is always.  God, open my eyes to see.

Wailing and Dancing

In today’s Eucharistic reading Matthew tells us of Jesus comparing those who resist his message to “children sitting in the market-places and calling to one another, “We played the flute for and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn”  (Matthew 11:16-19).  John came in his austerity and they said he had a demon.  Jesus comes in a more relaxed mode, and they call him a glutton and drunkard.  One way or another, they are determined to miss the point.

I don’t know about you, but I have often been determined to miss the message brought by another.  I’m not usually conscious of that at the time, though I might experience some unease.  Usually I’m just moving so fast I miss the feeling, and the message.  I don’t get it until something slows me down - some sort of mishap or disaster, or a more direct confrontation with another person.  Until then, I miss the point as long as I can.

When I do slow down and let the wisdom in, I can start to heal old wounds.  But first, there’s usually a painful reckoning, a soul surgery - or at least a biopsy! - that’s needed.  And of course, that’s what I’m resisting.   Healing means changing, turning, repenting.  It’s risky, letting God make me into something new - or something original, made new again.  It’s too risky.

But truly, wisdom is vindicated by her deeds.  I can cut myself out of the stream of life and love, I can refuse to join the party, but I can’t change the basic order of God’s world.  My choices do not change God; they only affect where I will be in relation to God.  Jesus is vindicated by his deeds.  Wisdom comes to the marketplace and calls (Proverbs 8:1-4).  Her offer is life and abundance.  Jesus calls us to life and abundance.

What is the message you’ve been resisting?  Will today be the the day you listen?

What Are You Waiting For?

As we move into Advent, the daily Eucharistic readings lead me to this question.  Yesterday we read Matthew 7:21-27, where Jesus disavows those who come in his name, working signs and wonders, but don’t live his words.  Today we read of Jesus healing two blind men (Matthew 9:27-31), in fulfillment of Isaiah’s promise that the blind will see (Isaiah 29:17-24).  But the healing is not the full promise, nor is it the point.  The point is that “they will sanctify the Holy One of Jacob, and will stand in awe of the God of Israel.  And those who err in spirit will come to understanding, and those who grumble will accept instruction.”

The miracles are not the point.  The miracles are signs of God’s presence.  They are meant to wake us up, to teach us, to call us to holy living.  If we cast out demons but don’t do justice, we have built our houses on sand.  If we are eloquent and call people to worship but we ourselves judge and abuse one another, we have not yet seen the promise.  If we feed the poor in order to look good, we miss out.  We remain in the dark, even if others find their way through the good works we do.

So today I’m praying for the deeper healing, the real promise.  I’m waiting for the appearance of Christ: I’m praying for the grace to discern the Christ that is already surrounding me and dwelling within me.  I’m praying to accept instruction, to come to understanding, to let God build my house a little more firmly.

What are you waiting for?

Scrawny Carrots

So, another post inspired by Clement.  The Eucharistic readings for his day include Colossians 1:11-20, one of my favorite pieces of Scripture.  It is the epitome of "high Christology," the cosmic Christ who was and is and is to come.  "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation . . . He himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together.  He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come have first place in everything.  For in him all. the fullness of God was pleased to dwell."

Wow.  That's a lot.  I might stumble over the masculine gendering of Christ, but I see the glory.  I know the glory is bigger than any one gender can handle, bigger than my mind or my language can take in.  These words, though, bring me into the forecourt of the Holy.

But here's where the carrots come in.  This immortal, infinite Word shows up as a Palestinian peasant who is crucified.  Not exactly how we might expect the "image of the invisible God" to show up.

I recently read about a woman who wanted to give her children the sweetest, nicest carrots, so when she went to the store she searched for the small and tender ones.  Years later her son told her of his resentment when he saw her choosing the "scrawny carrots."  He thought the big ones were the good ones, the ones that would show her love.  He didn't know that they were tough and tasteless; he thought they looked good.

So it is with gifts from God.  God gives us Herself, dwells with us, and all we see is scrawny carrots.  God is always giving me gifts: lessons I need to learn, people who help me along by challenging me as well as comforting or agreeing, other challenges that help me grow.  And I?  So often I see scrawny carrots.

So back to Clement's collect.  Give me, give us grace to discern your Word wherever truth is found.  Give me the grace to trust that you are picking out carrots that answer my need, however they look to me.  Give me the grace to see you in the poor, in the left out and rejected, in the arrogant and unpleasant.  Open my eyes to your love and your fullness, dwelling among us.  Amen.

Discerning the Word

Today we remember Clement of Alexandria, who died in 213 (we think).  As I read a brief bio by James Kiefer, I was thrilled by how Clement's story blended with what we as Companions of Mary the Apostle are trying to do.  Kiefer writes that Clement's "speculative theology, his scholarly defense of the faith and his willingness to meet non-Christian scholars on their own grounds, helped to establish the good reputation of Christianity in the world of learning."  Now, we're not doing a lot of scholarly work around here, but we are seeking to meet non-Christians where they are and to bring the good news of Christ in a language that can be heard today.  Our particular propositions and metaphors may differ from Clement's, but the project of teaching and proclaiming links us.

The collect from the Episcopal Church asks God "grant to your church the same grace to discern your Word wherever truth is found."  For me that doesn't mean always making others see Jesus where they might see another face of God.  It's for me to recognize Christ incognito, as Raimon Pannikar and others describe the encounter with other faiths.  It's for me to see that truth is broader than any one dogma or catechism, and it's for me to listen and discern when others are bringing an important facet of the Word.  I discern that Word primarily through "Jesus Christ our unfailing light," but I don't honor that Word by refusing to see it shining in other vessels.

In these days when Christianity has a less-than-good reputation with scholars and with so many others, it's incumbent on us to translate the good news.  Our Covenant Companions told us yesterday that that is a key to their part in the larger mission of the Companions.  They live and work in a variety of settings, including academia and the church, and in both places they encounter a lack of belief.  Through our companionship we offer a base from which to go out, and a community to discuss what we find.  They are continuing the work of Clement, and of apologists through the centuries, who speak to the priceless gift awaiting us if we open our minds and hearts.  May we all receive this grace today.

Blessed Advent!

Welcome to Advent!

I'm following the Eucharistic readings assigned by the Episcopal Church, and today we begin with the promise of salvation - of healing and wholeness.  Isaiah 2:1-5 predicts a time when we will all worship God together, when we will lay down our weapons and turn to tending the earth.  Matthew 8:5-13 tells of the centurion who believed that Jesus could heal, which led to Jesus pronouncing the future when "many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven."  Unfortunately, Matthew feels compelled to tell us that many Israelites will be "thrown into the outer darkness."  This inclusion is less a universal promise than a supplanting.

OK, so both these texts have problems.  But the promise is real too.  We are all invited to the table, to the mountain, to the house of God.  Not all of us will hear that invitation, not all of us will respond.  And it's not clear to me just what the entrance requirements are.  Must I acknowledge the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob as the only face of God?  Must I worship as the ancient Judeans did?  Must I believe in exactly the way the first generations of Christians did (knowing that in fact there was great diversity from the beginning)?  No, I'm not clear about a lot of things.

But I am clear about this: I am invited to walk with the Divine One, the Holy One known to Israel.  I am invited to lay down my weapons and turn to my erstwhile enemies with an open heart.  I am invited to end the divisions and hatreds that keep me from knowing God in our midst.  And you're invited too.

Welcome to Advent.  Welcome to the season of longing and expectation.  You are invited to watch, to listen, to prepare the way.  Each of us can do this, and no one can do it for another.  Welcome.

Thanks for your support!

Dear Friends,

We are in the midst of our annual appeal.  Many of you read online and don't receive our postal mailings, so we want you to hear from us about what your support means to us.  I hope you will feel moved to donate and help us keep witnessing to the power of resurrection and renewal.

When we decided to found the Companions we had many issues we wanted to address, but we knew that the central need was to move in together and pray to know what God's dream was for us.  In the past almost six years we have learned that the network, the dispersed community of Companions living by the Covenant and sustaining one another, is the key.  While we are open to others entering into shared vowed life with Elizabeth and myself, we see that the Spirit is spreading the Charism of the Companions by a variety of means.  Our monthly online covenant group, our weekly online meetings and daily text conversation with Covenant Companions, our weekly "face to face" group at Coffee Table Communion, as well as the hundreds of you who read our newsletter and follow us on Blogger or Facebook, all share in the conversation about God's love and power.

Elizabeth and I are privileged and blessed to "tend the hearth" of this extended community.  We are able to do this because money has appeared when needed.  We each lead retreats and offer spiritual direction, but those don't pay our bills.   Some of our members can't afford to attend Companions retreats or continuing education opportunities, and we do our best to make it possible for everyone to attend.  We need your donations to enable us to do this work.

If you believe in what we do, please consider supporting us.  Your donation is a sign of commitment and a real contribution.  I won't name a number - you know what you can afford and what you think this ministry is worth.  I will ask you to review your first number, and consider stretching it a bit.  Everyone is pinched right now, and long-time supporters can't all give what they have.

This is an opportunity for you to move closer in to the life of the Companions.  We do pray daily for our donors, and we're always open to specific prayer requests.  We hope you agree that the Companions offer a unique model of community and a needed voice.  Thank you for sharing your life with us.

Donations may be made via PayPal or checks sent to P.O. Box 226, West Park NY. 12493.  Donations are tax-deductible.

Blessings,
Shane Phelan CMA

Christian Erased

This past weekend I went to see "Boy Erased," the new movie about a teenager who is sent to "conversion therapy" to "cure" his homosexuality.  It is a powerful, chilling movie.  Conversion therapy is popular among conservative Christian groups.  The movie tells us that 36 states allow parents to place their children in these programs, and that 700,000 people in the U.S. have been "treated."  There is no data showing that these programs actually result in happy heterosexuals.  Even if they did, they raise the question of why anyone should try to change.  You see, I don't think LGBTQ life is lesser than heterosexual life.  In fact, I know it isn't.

As I left the theater, I was profoundly aware of the cross I wear.  I know it's a signal to many people, for good and for ill, but I'm rarely uncomfortable wearing it.  I was that day.  I wanted to shout to the other movie patrons, "That is not my Christianity!"  In fact, I don't think it's Christianity at all.  I don't think Jesus was in the business of isolating young people, shaming them, intimidating them, condemning them.  I don't think Jesus was more concerned about sexuality than about social justice, caring for the poor, or peace.  I know many other people agree.  But we are rarely the face of Christianity that makes news.

I wonder what sort of conversion therapy is needed for Christians to become followers of Jesus.  Clearly our current churches are lacking something.  The ones who are fierce about formation are usually the toxic ones, while the progressive churches seem sometimes to leave Jesus and devotion as an afterthought to social action.

Here among the Companions, we are trying to let God form us, to re-form us into the image She intended before we began erasing it.  We're just a tiny crew in a little boat on a giant sea, but we aren't the first such.  I pray for conversion of heart, mind, and soul, for myself and for those who would erase the innate beauty of others and themselves.  Pray that we may let God re-form us into a bold loving community across boundaries of dogma, sexuality, race, gender, class, nationality, language - across boundaries.  Let's erase the whatever stands between us and following Jesus.

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Let Go!

This past weekend I was with 40 women who are recovering from their own alcoholism and/or that of a family member.  I meet with them twice a year, and it's always inspiring and exhausting.  I'm used to my story, to the pain and the grace, but hearing others' stories always leads me to depths and heights that I can barely describe.  These women are miracles.  As am I.  And maybe you.

They aren't miracles because they've got it all together.  Many of them continue to struggle with the effects of alcoholism and abuse.  But they are alive, and contributing to others, and finding joy and meaning in their lives.  That's a miracle.

When I say they find meaning, I don't mean a simple "God kept me here for this specific purpose."  Some of them feel that way.  Some are just sure that God has a purpose for them.  And some are creating their purpose, confident that their Higher Power is with them.  But all of them are listening for where they might find that Power greater than themselves, and they know that they are most likely to find it through reaching out to others.

These lessons and that listening are not confined to people in recovery.  And the experience of abuse and addiction does not guarantee that we will find God or meaning or purpose.  Many people live and die without finding any healing.  But the lesson of addiction is one that we all need, one that Jesus tried to teach his disciples: we have to surrender in order to live.  We have to die to rise again.  Whether it's surrendering a substance or a behavior, or dying to who we thought we were, or risking a change that comes without guarantees, we can't find God's promise for us until we let go of our certainty and self-sufficiency.  We have to step off the cliff - or at least the curb! - to let God carry us.

I'm sad when I go to churches where people don't know how much they need God, or what is possible for them if they surrender.  As long as we go through the motions of looking OK, to ourselves and to others, we deny ourselves the love and strength that Jesus promised.

If you are nursing a secret hurt or desire, let it in.  Let it burn in your soul.  Don't try to manage it or ignore it.  Fullness of life is waiting for you, but God will not insist.  Ask and you will receive.  Knock, and the door will be opened.  Pound that door, loud enough for your own soul to hear it.  It is calling you to new life.

Incognito God

Last week I was in Newry, Northern Ireland, with the Mastery Foundation School for Leadership.  Mastery is an interfaith organization with one paid employee and hundreds of volunteers and participants.  Their mission is to "empower those who minister and serve others in creating new possibilities for themselves and for their communities."  They do this through workshops in the US, Northern Ireland, and Israel.  Basil Pennington was one of the co-founders, and silent prayer is a key part of our common life.   

I am a graduate of the School, and it transformed my life and ministry.  I continue to volunteer in a variety of ways, because I want others to get what I got.  Elizabeth has also gone through the School, and is preparing to serve others as a coach.

So, what does this have to do with you, dear reader?  Mastery itself is not a "faith-based organization," and we don't "do theology" together.  Yet I see God so vividly there:  in the participants, and in the community gathered around this work.  We are several kinds of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim (seeking breakthroughs in other communities as well).  The generosity and love manifest among us is clearly of God.

The new cohort of participants includes people who are working for the environment, for immigrant families, for an end to sectarian violence, for peace.  They do this as social workers, nurses, lawyers, priests, rabbis, imams.  They give their lives for the love of the world.  I give my time to equip them for the work they do.

I come back from these annual trips exhausted and exhilarated.  I'm part of communities within Mastery that meet monthly to make sure the whole School is available for the participants, and I am renewed in every meeting.  One of our principles is that we each have to receive as much as we give in what we do.  I am sure that I receive much more than I give.

I want you to know of this amazing group, and to notice all the other groups that are making our world better.  God is alive, sometimes incognito, in all these people and places.  If you are part of such a community, make sure to acknowledge your partners - it's a precious gift you share.  If you aren't part of such a community, go looking for one.  Where do you see God at work in the world?  Where do you hear a call to bring God's love?

Blessings on all you do, all you are, all you might become.

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Still Blowing . . .

Last night we welcomed Ernesto Medina as a Candidate for Covenant Companionship.  Ernesto invited some friends to join us for the ceremony, and two new people joined the Covenant Group, so our usual 12 members doubled to 24.  Through this technology people could join in from Britain, Germany, and all over the U.S.  Here's what it looked like:

We are so blessed to be surrounded by the gifts and the desire of so many people.  With each new step Elizabeth and I are learning about letting go and letting others lead us.  It's a little scary - no, it's terrifying - but it's what we've longed for from the beginning.  Please pray for all these people, that we continue to grow in love and joy together, and share that with everyone we meet.

The Spirit is Blowing!

There are times for everything.  There's a time for plodding along, being faithful and trusting.  (Well, every time is a time for being faithful and trusting.)  There are times for pushing more actively.  And there are those times when it seems that everything is coming to me, and all I need to do is keep surfing the waves.  This is one of those times.

This has been the "year of rebooting," when Elizabeth and I went back to basics and asked God to send whoever and whatever we were to do next.  We've relaxed into accepting where we are, not itching to have others join, getting that all is well however it is.  And suddenly we are rebooting in a delightful way.  Other people are showing up, sharing their gifts and energy and moving us along.

A friend needed a place to stay while she is between houses and jobs.  She's spent the summer shuttling from place to place, and it's hard to build a life like that.  So we offered her our spare bedroom, and she accepted.  Now, just like when the two of us began the Companions, we don't know her very well.  It turns out that she is gifted in many areas, and eager to share them with us: from cooking to reconfiguring the flow of furniture to fundraising to healing arts.  She's a delightful addition, and she's giving us the gift of practicing living with a third person.

At the same time, one of our Covenant Group members asked to become a Covenant Companion, a more demanding and intimate relationship.  He too brings many gifts that he's looking to use, including creativity around organizations and seeking solutions, lots of small group experience, and his own unique history.   We are blessed to have him with us.

With all this energy flowing in, it can be easy for me to "fly off" in all directions.  It's more important than ever to keep praying, keep meditating, keep doing the things that ground me.  But just as important is the celebration that God is up to something.

For years we have said that CMA is not just Elizabeth and me, but people looking in could easily not see that.  With each day, it seems, it is becoming a reality that others will be able to see and share in.  And it's not up to me to make it happen.  I am tending the hearth, but I am not the fire.  The fire of the Spirit is doing what She does, and it is beautiful.  Thank you, God!

Our September Newsletter - and a Warning

Hi everyone,

The link to our latest newsletter is below.

We had a scare that may not be over.  Suddenly 2000 Russian trolls showed up in our newsletter list.  We had blocked it so each subscriber needs to be confirmed, and I deleted all these, but they will try again.  If you tried to subscribe and were denied, please write us directly.

Trolls work by inserting conflict and negativity into conversations, so people drift away or get misinformation.  If you find yourself on a Companions link where nasty stuff is being said, please let me know.  And ignore it, it isn't us!  We may be challenging at times, but our goal is to build up the Body of Christ, not tear it up.

Blessings to you all in this season of equinoxes (whichever hemisphere you find yourself in).

Shane

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How Great Thou Art

(Warning: This post could get somewhat obscure.)

This morning on my walk I was awed, as always, by the wonder of creation.  There's always something to see or hear or touch or smell (taste only with caution!).  Sunrise, clouds, bushes, trees, rabbits . . . the usual cast of wondrous creatures.  And I, in the midst of it, praise God.

And I think about the distinction between creation and creator.  I was taught that this distinction is essential to proper theology and worship.  "Worship the creator, not the creation/creature."  But if God is in the creation, as I believe and sense, this distinction is problematic.  Here are some of the problems that came to me:

What is gained by separating creator from creation, positing a creator "behind" the creation?  This seems to me a hangover from Platonism.  At the limit it curbs idolatry, so that I don't start worshipping particular creatures or artifacts, but I don't think I have to go all the way to a creator that is separate from the creation.  I need the distinction between them, but I don't need to separate them.

Who is the "I" that worships?  I too am part of this creation.  If God is not behind or separate from creation, neither am I.  My ego consciousness approaches the world as separate, but my deepest awareness is that we are all one.  The "I" that worships is a tiny ship bobbing on the sea of Self that is one with God and with creation.

And what is this "worship"?  I think worship is the I approaching the creation as Thou, as separate.  In the land where all is one, worship doesn't make sense to me: there is no I to worship, no Thou to be worshipped.  But in the land of I and Thou, of ego and object, worship is the closest I can get to union.

So I walk.  I see the sky and I say, "Thank you.  Thank you for letting me be part of this, and letting me be aware of it as a creature.  Thank you for letting me be the sort of creature who can be aware on this level."  I address the creator, because that's what my language allows and my ego consciousness needs.  But on another level, I say nothing.  There is nothing to say, no one to say it, no one to receive it.  It's said, it's done, it is.  And that feels to me like worship.

Now I go inside, to our chapel.  I will say Morning Prayer, with its psalms and readings and hymns and prayers.  I will address God as the one who creates, and the one who receives us when we return to dust.  I will do my best, with my feeble "I," to remember my essential unity with this immanent, omnipresent God - including the faces of those I will serve today.

May you worship today, in whatever way brings you closest to the God who is closer than your own breath.  May you know the wonder that is bigger than any words, any worship.  God be with you.

Effing the Ineffable

Last weekend we led a retreat on Christ Sophia, the feminine face of God.  The participants were challenged and stimulated, and so were we.  We kept noting that God is in fact beyond categories, beyond masculine and feminine, encompassing all.  We are the ones who assign markers and boundaries and shapes to God.  It's important to see images of God beyond patriarchal ones, and to hear language of God in her wisdom, but it's a way station to the real mystery of God.

As we prepared for the retreat, I was deeply challenged to encounter this God beyond images and words.  I've always had an icon on my prayer desk.  Usually it's been Jesus, but sometimes Mary Mother or Mary Magdalene has been there.  But there's always been an image, a person for me to address.  But lately I just can't do it.  Or, I won't.  I don't know who I'm addressing in my prayer, and I don't want to pre-form the encounter by imposing my images.  I thought of getting an icon of one of the wonderful Christ Sophia images available now, but I don't want that either.  I need to let God be.

Elizabeth felt the same way.  Perhaps it's from spending the summer outside, encountering the powerful forces of nature.  Perhaps it's simply the reading and prayer that come with retreat preparation.  Anyway, we agreed.  So, in time for creation season, we each cleared out the icons.  Our chapel is centered on rocks and sea creatures we found this summer, and on the world outside our windows.  This doesn't substitute the rocks for the icons as images of God (I hope!), but gives us a focal point that can't be turned into a person.

We did  keep the tabernacle.  We talked about this: who are we to keep God in a box?  Did God tell us to build Her a house?  But we agreed that we, embodied humans, need that reminder of God's presence.  The fact that it is closed confirms that it is not for us to see casually, that the contents of the box exceed our comprehension.  But we need the sign of the presence, even as we know the presence cannot be contained in one location.

So, we are walking this strange land, wondering who we will be if our God images change.  Maybe you've wondered the same thing.  I don't know the answer.  I'm uneasy with the quest, one I've not sought exactly but which I find myself on.  I like to think that others are on that road with me.   I like to think that you are.  God be with you, wherever you are.

Quotes and Jottings

I'm finishing Metz' book A Passion for God, and I was reviewing the places where I put markers.  As I did, I knew I wanted to share them with you.   Herewith is my selective introduction to his work.

"If . . . the community is the locus for a guilt that has been recognized and acknowledged, then it must also prove itself to be the locus for taking on an undivided historical responsibility, a locus for the interest in universal justice and liberation." (p. 39)

"It is dangerous to be close to Jesus, it threatens to set us afire, to consume us.  And only in the face of this danger does the vision of the  Kingdom of God that has come near in him light up.  Danger is clearly a fundamental category for understanding his life and message, and for defining Christian identity."  (p. 48)

"Whoever hears the message of the resurrection of Christ in such a way that the cry of the crucified has become inaudible in it, hears not the Gospel but rather a myth.  Whoever hears the message of the resurrection in such [a] way that in it nothing more need be awaited, but only something confirmed, hears falsely." (p. 56)

"Could it be that there is too much singing and not enough crying out in our Christianity?" (p. 125)

"The traditions to which theology is accountable know a universal responsibility both of the memory of suffering. . . it always takes into account the suffering of others, the suffering of strangers.  Furthermore, this memoir . . . considers even the suffering of enemies and does not forget about their suffering in assessing its own history of suffering. . . . Respecting the suffering of strangers is a precondition for every culture; articulating others' suffering is the presupposition of all claims to truth.  Even those made by theology." (p. 134)

"What is really at stake is a fundamental theme of Christianity: a passion for God that encompasses the suffering and passion of those who will not let themselves be dissuaded from God, even when the rest of the world already believes that religion does not need God anymore."  (p. 151)

"One could almost say that Israel's election, its capacity for God, showed itself in a particular kind of incapacity: the incapacity to let itself be consoled by myths or ideas that are remote from history.  This is precisely what I would call Israel's poverty before God, or poverty of spirit, that Jesus blessed."  (p. 158)

Want more?  I'd start with his little early book, Poverty of Spirit.  It's all there.   If anything, his message is more timely now than ever; like climate change, we might have listened 50 years ago but chose to stop our ears. Unlike climate change, we can turn now without government action (or action by churches, for that matter).

Today, if you would hear God's voice, harden not your heart!

What's on My Mind

Phew!  We're back from vacation, back from the slowness of summer.  It was a fruitful time, full of reading and reflecting, and it is bearing fruit for how we work and serve this year.  I know for me that part of that will be a return to more regular writing here, as I miss this chance to reflect and share.

What's been up for me this summer is dis-ease.  I've been reading Johannes Baptist Metz' collection, A Passion for God.  Metz was a founder of "political theology," indebted to the Frankfurt School of social theorists and to Karl Rahner.  He continually calls the Church to face the hard questions about God and justice and suffering.  He sees the danger to the Gospel and the Church in a facile happiness, and the subtle ways we abandon eschatology for a focus on our present satisfaction and personal afterlife.

Reading him makes me ask, What do I mean by proclaiming resurrection?  I don't mean to avoid the hard places and the pain, but do I end up doing that?  Am I just purveying my own "good news" instead of the Gospel's call to seek God in the midst of the monumental injustice and destruction of our time?  Where have I substituted my personal "salvation" for the health and wholeness of the world?  Where have I in fact abandoned hope in favor of optimism?

Metz' general challenge takes on specificity when I read it with Jennifer Harvey's book, Dear White Christians.  The Companions are reading it for our September group reading, and it's painful.  Harvey makes the case that no racial reconciliation is possible until white Americans face their own racial specificity and privilege, and work actively for reparations to overcome the legacy of slavery and colonialism.  She documents the failures of the American churches to respond to this challenge.  It is painful reading.

Now, let me say that I used to teach political theory, including the Frankfurt School.  I used to teach women studies, and lgbt studies, and I wrote about white women's need to face their whiteness and privilege.  That makes me more horrified to realize that I have just dropped the ball for 18 years (if I had the ball before!).  Since I entered religious life I entered an all-white world full of "nice" people bringing comfort to those who are weary.  The churches I've served have been shaped by the optimistic, happiness theology that Metz decries, even as their leaders worked to intervene in injustice.  I've insulated myself from the pain of the world, even as I pray daily for those in pain.

So what will I do?  I don't know, honestly.  I know I can start by just naming this, by writing.  I can start by asking questions and noticing where I'm settling for easy answers.  I can start by facing the painful truth that alone I can't do much.  I can at least stop letting it be OK.

I know this is a long post.  If you're still reading, please join me in praying to know what to do, from where we each are.  Pray that the Companions will begin a conversation that invites our transformation and really opens us to serve God in others.  And pray for our world as it groans under the weight of growing tyranny and oppression.  God, make speed to save us!

Prayer and Community

This morning I was thinking about this coming Saturday, when Elizabeth and I will miss evening prayer to attend a movie (shocking!  scandalous!).  I need to let people know, since we stream our prayers via Zoom to our covenant group members and covenant companions.  And that made me think about the importance of community in prayer.

Before I entered religious life, I joined the Guild of St. Benedict.  The central practice was a four-fold daily office.  We never met in person, but I knew that people around the globe were praying - some when I was, others at other times.  It was a powerful mystical bond.

Later, when I lived in a convent, I got used to having people to pray with every day.  But there were times - rarely, but occasionally - when only 3 or 4 of us were there.  Once it was only me.  And those were powerful times too: I knew that I was praying not only for myself, but for my sisters who were called away.  I was doing my part to keep the community praying.  That not only strengthened my connection to God; it strengthened my awareness and connection to my sisters.

Now the people who join us online may think that we are praying, and they are praying with us.  But if we aren't there, if there's no computer, they may think they can't pray.  Au contraire, mes amies!  You have your turn to uphold the Companions in prayer.  And Elizabeth and I do pray when we're gone: if we're in the car we sing the Phos Hilaron and the Magnificat, say the Lord's Prayer, and close.  There is no wrong way to pray.

So I say, not only to our immediate community but to all of you: when you pray, you join the great stream of prayer flowing out of God and back to God.  You join sisters and brothers in joy and pain.  When you take your turn in prayer, you receive back the gift of connection to God and others.

Let us pray.  Amen.

Sermon July 29 2018, at Hopewell Junction NY

I’m glad to be with you today, but I have to be honest.  I wish our time together was beginning on a different note.  There’s good news in today’s readings, but there’s a lot of pain too.  It would be easy to avoid the pain and focus on the loaves and fishes.  Or we could enjoy the beautiful prayer of Ephesians.  But there’s no shortcut to that prayer, to that abundance.  We cannot buy our joy at the price of ignoring sin and horror.  There’s no resurrection without the cross.

Two weeks ago we heard the grim story of Herod’s beheading of John the Baptist.  Today we are confronted again with the abuse of power.  David, the Anointed One, the ancestor of Jesus, is guilty of rape and murder.

For many years we didn’t hear the word rape.  If people mentioned this story, they called it a seduction.  But the text says not a word about persuasion or seduction.  David saw her, he wanted her, he sent for her, he took her.  And he knew it was wrong.  He knew it needed to be hidden.  But rather than repent, he compounded his sin by having Bathsheba’s husband, David’s faithful servant, killed in battle.  He will repent later, but the damage has been done.

Now, I could preach a whole sermon about the dangers of absolute power.  And it’s true, Samuel warned the people when they called for a king: a king, he said, will take your daughters and sons.  He will take your land.  He will exploit and oppress you.  He didn’t say any particular king would do this; he said, this is what kings do.  And certainly the Scriptures give us plenty of examples of this abuse of royal power.  So when the people want to make Jesus king, he flees.  That is not the sort of authority he carries, or desires.  His vision for the people is greater than their own desire or imagination.  The reign of God is about community, not hierarchy; it’s about caring for the least of these, rather than indulging the whims of the rich.

But I don’t want to focus on David.  In this era of #MeToo, it’s time to listen to Bathsheba and her sisters.  What do we learn from Bathsheba?

First, we can learn simply to read more sides of a story.  I wonder, what was life like for Bathsheba after the rape?  She learns she’s pregnant.  When she tells David, her husband is killed in battle in a most conspicuous way.  She knows he’s been killed so that David can hide his crime and take her for himself.  The child born of that rape dies.  Later she will bear a son who becomes king in turn, and who in his turn will be known both for wisdom and for opulence.  He built the first Temple, and a palace, using the forced labor of thousands of men.  Bathsheba has a royal life indeed.  

Does that erase the scars?  We don’t know.  We’re left with more questions than answers.

One of the strengths of Judaism is the willingness to confront God, even knowing that we will not get the answers we seek.  It’s part of Jewish piety to question God, to express outrage, to lament.  The Psalms give us some of that picture.  We too can be outraged and still be faithful.  We can ask, “What are you thinking?  Where are you?” as part of an honest prayer life.  Praise and petition that doesn’t acknowledge hard feelings is just flattery.  God hungers for real relationship.

After this section of Scripture, we hear of Bathsheba once again.  Matthew’s Gospel opens with a genealogy of Jesus.  In the long line of male ancestors, four women are listed.  Bathsheba is there, though her name is missing: she is known only as “the wife of Uriah.”  She takes her place with Tamar, who was used by her father-in-law as a prostitute and bore Perez; with Rahab, a prostitute who helped the Hebrews conquer Canaan; and Ruth, a poor Moabite widow who offered herself as slave to Boaz.  She gave birth to Jesse, father of David.  These four women are the ones Matthew wants us to know about.

What does this tell us about God?  The Hebrew Scriptures make clear that being used or called by God does nor make anyone morally superior.  David is truly called by God, anointed, and that is not changed by his sin.  But neither does his call erase the sin or justify it.

God works by redeeming what has been broken and lost, but we must acknowledge the brokenness.  If we try to deny or justify, we cannot open to God’s grace.  We can’t ignore suffering on our way to glory.  God stands with the victims and the powerless.  We are called to stand there too.  

God’s power, working in us.

We are the ones through whom Bathsheba and her sisters will be redeemed.  We do that by welcoming those labelled unclean, those victimized by powerful and ruthless people - whether they be kings or other political officials, corporate titans, or simply the petty tyrants who keep others imprisoned through poverty or unjust incarceration or human trafficking.  Victims of domestic or political violence are part of Jesus’ family.

We also need to welcome those who have perpetrated these injustices.  The reign of God does not leave anyone out.  David is called to account by Nathan, and he does repent.  When we confront oppressors, when we name the truth and offer forgiveness, we make a space for them to return to God and to human community.  Jesus does this.  We can do this, with God’s grace.

This is a challenging way of life.  But we see it lived around us: in the Truth and Reconciliation process in South Africa, in the Amish community that forgave those who killed its children, in the movement for restorative justice that brings together criminals and victims to create a new future for them both.  This is the work of the Spirit, and the promise of Christian community.  

I pray that each of us, and all of us, may be strengthened in our inner being, that Christ may dwell in our hearts by faith, that we may be rooted and grounded in love, and that we may know and be filled with all the fullness of God.  To God be the glory.Se

Daily Prayer

Our normal daily pattern at the Companionary is to pray together at 7 a.m., 12 noon, 5 p.m., and 8 p.m., plus Eucharist at 8:30 a.m.  For five years we've used the St. Helena Breviary at Matins and Vespers, and adapted resources from other places at Compline.  We sit in meditation at noonday.

Lately we've been restless with the Breviary.  There's a lot to love there, but there's still some theology that's hard to take even in gender-neutral language.  We wanted to experiment but weren't sure how to go.  So God stepped in, in the form of Ernesto Medina.  Ernesto is a priest in Nebraska, who is part of our covenant group this year.  He shared in creating a prayer book for "busy people" that follows the pattern of the offices in a brief format.  It's called Daily Prayer for All Seasons (Church Publishing, 2014).  It's inclusive, not neutral.  It's inclusive across cultures as well as as genders.  It's beautiful.  And it's brief!

We are experimenting this summer by using this lovely book.  It's challenging to not say psalms, to not follow the daily lectionary.  (I'm reading the lectionary readings on my own each morning instead.). I'm sure I will miss the standard canticles.  But I really want to sink into the potential that is offered here.  Plus, since they have the office of None, I now have a 3 p.m. pause built into my day!

It's so easy to get restless with the same old routine, and so hard to let go and do something new.  I'm grateful to Ernesto for sending us this just when we were ready to try something.  I'm grateful to the committee who gathered and shaped the material, and to the Holy Spirit who inspired the writers.

Let me recommend this to you busy people who want to pray.  Ten minutes at a time, sometimes two, is enough.  Start with one office at each end of the day.  Carry the book with you and dip in during a coffee break.  It's better than checking your email - or reading this post!

Blessings on your journey.  Let us know what you find.

Trinity

Today is Trinity Sunday.  It's a cliche in the American churches that observe this Sunday that this is the only feast day devoted to a doctrine rather than a person.  This shows us what a bad job the churches have done in educating their people, including their clergy!

It's true, there's a lot of ink spilled over the Trinity.  It's true that it became a tenet of faith in a way different from believing in the historical reality of Jesus, or relating to God the Creator.  But at its heart, the Trinity is no less about "people" or "history" or "experience" than is any other aspect of our faith.  In the Trinity we experience three persons, three faces of God.  We encounter the love of God, not only as it relates to us but as it forms the very being of God.

This may be the problem.  We seem to be onlookers in discussion of the Trinity.  It's all about God, and not about us!  Or so it seems.  Except that God's love for the world animates God to come to us, messed up as we are.  Except that God's love lives among us and within us, healing and renewing us daily.  It is all about God.  And it's about God's relationship to us.

But let's say it is about God in Godself.  I don't know about you, but I can be curious about the being of a person or thing quite separately from how they impact me.  Scientists and inquirers of all sorts demonstrate that, as do those who serve others.  So why not be curious about God's inner dynamics?  Yes, it's abstract and hard to get a handle on, but so are many things worth thinking about - perhaps most things worth thinking about.

The problem isn't that the Trinity is a doctrine.  The problem is that we have learned about it only as a doctrine.  As some friends say, we eat the menu and wonder why the meal doesn't taste good.  The doctrine is only the menu.  To taste God's goodness, we need to move into and beyond doctrine.  Lectio divina is one way.  Get curious.  Why these texts today?  What can you find, beyond the words "Father," "Son," "Spirit"?  Where do you hear love?

I will be in church.  I'll bind myself to the Trinity, the reality and archetype of dynamic relationship.  I'll sing the hymns and pray the prayers, and listen for the love of God.  May you do likewise.

Happy Trinity Sunday!

Sobornost

"What if humanity came together in the light and spirit poured out at Pentecost? Would it not be possible to become of one heart and mind and to discover a unity in the language of the heart taught by the Spirit, to make that society without fragmentation of which the ancients of Babylon dreamed? In such a society all people would find their place, neither lost in the collective, not alienated and alone outside of it. This ideal acquires an urgency in the age of globalization. Can we live together and touch the Divine?"

- Bishop Seraphim Sigrist, A Life Together

Yes.

Love

The past several weeks we've been reading from First Corinthians at Matins.  I had felt guilty that I wasn't writing much, but so much has been going on!  Then we read Chapters 12 and 13.  Paul is describing the variety of gifts in the Church, stressing that all are needed.  Then he crowns that with his chapter on love.  No matter which gifts I bring, if I don't have love I'm nothing and my gifts are nothing.

This helped me.  The commitments that have kept me from writing, I realized, have come from my increasing capacity to love those near at hand.  I'm more involved with people in face-to-face work, doing more community formation, trying to live the balanced and sane life our Covenant calls us to.  So sometimes my writing takes a back seat.  I suddenly saw that rather than being a problem, there's an invitation to listen with love, to listen to love, and do what is needed.

Don't get me wrong.  I "love" to reflect and write, and I feel such fondness for those of you who write back or respond.  But lives shift, concerns and needs and context shift, and those shifts call us to let go as well as take up.   I'm still writing, though not often.  But I'm thrilled beyond measure that some other calls, calls that brought me into religious life 18 years ago, are finally manifesting.

When I left New Mexico for the convent in 2000, I told people I was ready for the advanced course on love.  Wrong!  I was a mere beginner.  But living in community taught me how far I have to go.  Continuing this life as a Companion of Mary the Apostle is working on me.  I'm still not ready for the advanced course, but I'm making progress.

As we head toward Holy Week and the supreme acts of God's love, I invite you to be looking for the love you give and the love you withhold, or don't know how to give yet.  God will teach us, if we ask. But, as Jesus knew, love is a risky and painful business.   Asking to love is asking for trouble.

May you be blessed with trouble this season, and rise to new life in Christ.

Inclusion?

Everyone is buzzing about the Episcopal Diocese of Washington's resolution to adopt gender-neutral language for God.  Curiously, most of the reporting about this is from conservative or reactionary sources: whatever.  Friends are celebrating.  I am too, mostly, but I have a caveat.

The resolution calls for "inclusive" language and images, but also, and more clearly, for "neutral" ones.  I've spent a long time praying in gender-neutral language, and it does indeed make God more accessible to me and many others.  I've also learned from that, however, how deeply the masculine abides within the neuter/neutral.

When I say "God" instead of "He" or "Father," people are mostly OK.  But if I say "She" or "Mother," I can hear the breath drawn in throughout a congregation.  This reaction isn't just from opponents; it's often a breath of delight, of daring to claim such an affiliation with God.  I have heard of parishioners who've said it's "disrespectful" to refer to God in the feminine.  Both sets of reaction tell me that "neutral" is often a license to avoid the fact that "God" is still masculine.

We learned this more deeply by reading the daily lessons as written, but substituting feminine pronouns for God.  So "She" goes to war, issues commandments, punishes, as well as nurturing and covenanting.  It sounds different.  It will bend not only your image of God, but your image of the feminine.  That's a good thing.

When the language is neutral, we don't have to notice.  It's like the Elizabethan compromise: you can believe what you want, just use these words when we pray together.  And that may be as good as it will get for a generation - or longer.  But it's not the goal.

My goal is that we can really celebrate God's excess of meaning, God's beyond-ness, not by silencing but by multiplying images.  Father and Mother.  Divine Daughers and Sons.  Fierce mothers and tender fathers.  Plus all the images from the Scriptures that don't have easy genders.  Plus all the gender-bending mothers and fathers and daughters and sons.

Julian of Norwich wrote that Jesus is our mother.  That's where I'm going.
God, Wondrous Mother.  Until we can say that without stumbling, we won't be an inclusive Church.

Onward!

Freedom and Frankness

We are reading a lot of John Main lately, and look to continue for quite a while.  He is not as widely known as some contemporary teachers, but Elizabeth and I find him to be a rare soul, full of love, and a guide on our road of new forms of community.  He left England to found a Benedictine priory in Montreal, in which they shared the practice of mantra meditation along with the traditional Benedictine life.  He died too soon, in 1982, and the priory eventually closed, but his successor continued to build the network.  Today it is the World Community for Christian Meditation.  Check it out at http://wccm.org.

Today I read these words:
"As our society becomes increasingly less religious its need for the authentically spiritual intensifies.  Religion is the sacred expression of the spiritual but if the spiritual experience is lacking then the religious form becomes hollow and superficial and self-important. . .

How often does the violence with which men [sic] assert or defend their beliefs betray an attempt to convince themselves that they do really believe or that their beliefs are authentic?  The spectre of our actual unbelief can be so frightening that we can be plunged into extreme, self-contradictory ways of imposing our beliefs on others rather than simply, peacefully, living them ourselves.

When religion begins to bully or to insinuate, it has become unspiritual because the first gift of the Spirit, creatively moving in man's [sic] nature, is freedom and frankness."

May you be blessed with that Spirit today.

(Source: John Main: a selection of his writing, ed. Clare Hallward.  Springfield IL:  Templegate.)

Our January Newsletter

Happy Florence Li Tim-Oi Day!

And here's the link to our January newsletter:

http://conta.cc/2F2KEE1

Thank you for reading!

Happy Anniversary!

Today is five years since Elizabeth and I made our initial declarations of intent to live as community.  You might think of it as our postulancy reception, except no one was receiving us - we were stepping into a space we were creating as we went.  We made our declaration at Vespers at Holy Cross Monastery.  We said:

I desire to know God and serve God with my whole being.  I desire to walk with others on the road of discipleship, and to learn about life as a Companion of Mary the Apostle.

The next month someone came to us asking us to start a women's group.  Since then we have been growing and evolving and learning, struggling and rejoicing.

We are still only two in residence, but we see the community developing around us.  We are welcoming three new candidates for Covenant Companionship, and beginning a new Covenant Group for people who are exploring their vocation with us.  We are surrounded by gifted and loving advisors and counselors.  Something is happening.  God is with us.

Please join us in giving thanks this day for all those who follow their hearts in seeking God.  Give thanks for those who help others on this path.  We give thanks for you, and for one another.  God is awesome.  Hallelujah!