Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Cast Down and Raised Up: A Favorite Prayer




Also on the blog for the Episcopal Diocese of Washington

At the Good Friday service this year I was struck once again by one of my favorite prayers in the prayer book -- a prayer we encounter most often at ordinations, and so a prayer treasured by many in the clergy -- but one that most of the laity do not hear except on Good Friday, if they are in church (and sometimes at the Easter Vigil -- I’ll get to that).   It comes at the point in the service when we have heard the story, and been drawn as deeply as we can be into the utter brokenness of the world God loves, and the mystery of the Cross - whatever it has come to mean to each of us on this year’s round of our shared journey.   We gather at the foot of the cross, as the Church, and we offer prayers for healing and reconciliation for the whole world -- and the prayers are summed up in this collect:

            O God of unchangeable power and eternal light:  Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery;  by the effectual working of your povidence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.  (BCP 280).

The prayer names the connection between the utter darkness and ugliness and cruelty of the Cross-- Jesus, the loving God experiencing all the brokenness that our human sinfulness creates-- and the Cross as the beginning of the story of  Resurrection that we are continuing to live:  “things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new”.   By offering this prayer we are drawn into the New Thing that God is already doing, and invited to join in.  And it all begins at the foot of the Cross.

The other place this prayer appears, besides in the ordination services, is at the Easter Vigil, after the last reading from Zephaniah  which tells of the gathering of God’s people (BCP 291)   Even if we attend the Easter Vigil we may not always hear this prayer offered because most churches choose just a few of the readings, and Zephaniah isn’t always one of them -- but I like it that this particular prayer is placed right before the celebration of Baptism at the Vigil, reminding us what it means to be the Church, the Body of the Risen Christ in the world.  I’d like to see the people of God claiming and offering this prayer more intentionally, and I use it a lot in my teaching about the vocation of all God’s people.  But I was especially moved again this year by the reminder that we offer this prayer first on Good Friday, at the foot of the Cross.  I am offering it in my own prayers this Easter season, breaking up the central part of it as a poem, so I pay closer attention:
Let the whole world see and know
That things which were cast down
Are being raised up
And things which had grown old
Are being made new
And that all things are being brought to their perfection
By him through whom all things were made.

Or to put it another way: 
Christ is Risen!   The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
 

Monday, March 25, 2013

"Stop! No more of this!” Holy Week Musings on Violence and kenosis





       I was glad to hear on the news today of the witness of Episcopalian leaders from the diocese of Washington and the diocese of Connecticut, among others, against gun violence, and it seems fitting that they embodied the protest in the ritual of the Way of the Cross, right in Washington DC   In a way this meshes with two thoughts that have been working on me, since yesterday’s observance of Palm Sunday with its  reading of the Passion narrative in the gospel of Luke.  I listen with a poet’s ear, for patterns and language that seems to shimmer..  And the phrase that sticks  with me now is “Stop! No more of this!” (Luke 22: 51 Common English Bible version) )
            Jesus says this in the garden when he is being arrested.  Peter has just cut off the ear of Malchus, the high priest’s slave, in an effort to defend Jesus, and Jesus says -- in what I imagine is a voice of weariness and anguish:  “No more of this!”
            And then he heals the slave boy’s ear: the last act of healing we see him do in the gospel.
            This goes with something he has just said at the end of the Last Supper, when he has warned his disciples:  “Remember”, he says,” how I sent you out to preach without a purse or a sword, just relying on the good news itself to carry you?  Well, now,” he says,,  “you are friends of an outlaw -- time to get your purses and swords because things are going to get dark.”  It’s a warning -- like the one he gave earlier in Luke’s gospel, when he said “if anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.”   “Now we’re there, “ he’s saying to them:  things will start to get ugly: whoever has a sword had better grab it now.”   I really think he’s speaking figuratively there though I can’t prove it -- because when they say (trying to be helpful?)  “Look, we have two swords” he says (again, I imagine, with weariness:,  “It is enough” -- Not, I think, as in “we have enough swords to fight the Romans.”  But really, “enough violence, already.”  Enough of that! (Luke 22: 38)   Or as he will say in the next scene:  “No more of this.”
            In our time, every bit as violent as was the time in which Jesus lived, the resistance to violence that the story of his  Crucifixion and Resurrection offers is profound.    It is deepened for me  by another lesson that we read on Palm Sunday (the second thing staying with me this week):  the passage from Philippians 2 where Paul writes that Jesus, “Though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself.”  This is the theological heart of the gospel -- the theological word is the kenosis,  the self-emptying of God  (not as a scapegoat to offer payback for our sinfulness, but in love, to show us a God who will give everything for our transformation). The one who says “No more of this!” to the violence offered on his behalf is also the God who has “emptied himself,” sharing our human experience and bearing all of the evil consequences of human brokenness, in order to open a different way.  It is a mystery -- grasped more in the reading and acting out of the story than in any analysis, and I am moved by the thought of the One who made and loves us, now facing his own human death and saying “No more of this” to the violence that will culminate in his death.  He heals the victim of the violence offered on his behalf, and a little later in the story, he will speak to the lamenting women of Jerusalem and protesting what is being done to him, again naming and protesting the violence: “If they do these things when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”  As if to underscore the counter-cultural love he embodies, we see reconciliation happening around him,  even in the extremes of this time--the rivals Herod and Pilate become friends,  and in Jesus's presence the thief on the Cross is given the hope of  Paradise. That's how the story is told in this part of Luke:  it is all active, nonviolent resistance in the midst of a culture of violence.

            Here is a God who knows all about the sinfulness, the brokenness of the world and who decides to come and bear the human consequences of it all, offering a gospel of healing and reconciliation.  The message of Incarnation-Cross-Passion is, and continues to be:  “You can’t kill the love , the mercy or the justice of God, because God knows it all and continues to draw us into newness of life.”     That is what I am carrying into this Holy Week:   Jesus as the God who takes on the broken world, in total self-offering, shows it for what it is,  and calls his followers to look squarely with him at the world’s violence and brokenness , at its victims, at our own complicity.  And to say with him, in faith: there is another Way:     “No more of this!” 

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Making a Place

also on episcopal cafe - (posted 1-25-13)

I haven’t posted in awhile because for the last three quarters of 2012, I was in the process of moving, from the split level house where we have lived for 24 years, and where our children grew up,   to a newer house,  walking distance from my husband’s work, a “tradeup” that worked for us in the current economy.  I posted this piece on episcopal cafe in January, during Epiphany -- but it continues to undergird my reflections now as I move through Lent in our new place.
            My goal when we started was to be settled in the new place by Christmas, and we were: we welcomed family and friends and celebrated the new places where we now find ourselves.
            Then, moving into the New Year, in the season of Epiphany, I finally settled down to write, in this spacious, light filled space that is the main floor of the new house.  Only then could I begin to reflect on what the move has meant for me.
            Though friends have commiserated along the way about how traumatic a move is (some have said “why would you choose to move?”)the process has been oddly serene for me.  Yes: it has involved sorting through and throwing out the accumulated mess of 24 years and more.  But it has also involved deciding to keep a lot of things that seem to contain our story:  we have space, so I have kept boxes of memorabilia from our childhoods and college years, and from our children’s years in school, camp, growing-up-life.  Some things we probably should relinquish but cannot yet:  our complete collection of vinyl records -- the music we acquired separately and combined into a fabulous classical music collection.  We grew and enjoyed that collection during the first decade or so of our married life -- before digital vinyl gave way to CD’s and mp3s.    We did throw things away: truckloads, in fact.  But we have kept a lot, too.
            I have seen this especially as I put our books back on the shelves: the last step in the move-in, which makes me feel fully “at home here.”  I arrange them by genre, and alphabetically by author, with special photos and knickknacks breaking up the monotony of library shelves.  Fiction and poetry in our large rec room Theology and literary criticism, Bible and more poetry in my own study.  As I put the books out I relive my intellectual life. I wonder about the people whose books I’ve bought and not yet read, about the projects ahead of me that some of the books may open up. The library is testimony to an ongoing life of learning.  There are books here that I will read or return to. “There you are!” I say to a book that I’ve loved and not seen since June, when I packed so much away to “stage” the old house for sale (Prospective buyers, apparently, would view too many books as “clutter”).  These are my friends.  It’s good to have them back.
            I have of course thrown out boxes and boxes of books, clothes, papers, and given away more.  So arranging our things in the new place is not a matter of grasping or attachment.  Rather, for me it has been a process of letting our things tell our story.  There is something sacramental about the act of placing them here, with intention, in this new place -- as if I were offering for blessing the history that has already formed us, and hoping to give it new space, new expression, in the years ahead.
            For this is the turning of a page, with a new chapter of life ahead.  There is space here for guests, for new family members should they arrive, for a new way of being together as a couple.  As I have sorted and stacked and boxed and unpacked the things that hold our story, our life as a family, I have done so sometimes with surface weariness and stress, but mostly with a deep-down sense of peace, as if God were working in my spirit in ways that I can’t access just now.  And the work with the stuff, on the surface has been a good distraction, keeping me out of God’s way.
            There are already hints of what this new chapter will bring:  2013 will be the year that I turn 60.  It is also the year that we will inherit more “things” -- as we help to close up and sort out both our mothers’ homes, and inherit more things laden with family history.  I already see times of both grieving and celebration in the year ahead.  So am sure that the process of moving has been a preparation for me, a loosening of control and opening to new things. I have emerged from the work of moving in January and stepped into a busy spring semester of teaching , a short Epiphany, and now the "growing season" of Lent.   I continue to be  deeply curious,   turning the page, to see what this new chapter of my life will bring. 

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Why I'm Voting FOR Question Four - the Maryland Dream Act

Since it's election season, I do want to share this concern as widely as I can:  It's no secret to my friends that I'm a strong supporter of President Obama and the Democrats but going a little deeper into the Maryland ballot there's an item that hasn't gotten as good publicity as it should and we're relying on grassroots conversation like this to get the word out.  So  I've sent this note to all my friends & contacts I can think of who are Maryland voters, and am posting it here just for good measure.
I want  to encourage Maryland voters reading this to vote FOR question FOUR , also known as the Maryland DREAM Act, when you go to vote over the next few weeks or on Election Day. With all the advertising we’ve heard for other referendum questions a lot of people may not even know the DREAM act is on the ballot, and that’s why I’ve gotten involved in trying to get the word out.  Most people who know what it says will be in favor of this act, regardless of other political views.  It simply says that if you graduate from a Maryland high school and your family pays Maryland taxes, you can pay in-state tuition at Maryland public colleges. This applies to undocumented students who were brought here legally as children as well as to active duty military and veterans. The question is called “Public Institutions of Higher Education: Tuition Rates” You can find the exact language at 
I’m working with Action in Montgomery (AIM) on this effort and have promised to get commitments from at least 30 people who will pledge to vote FOR question FOUR.

If you already know all about this and are planning to vote FOR Question FOUR , could you just email me back with your address and phone # and let me know you are “in” so I can add you to my list.    Or, perhaps easier, go straight to the AIM website and  hit “pledge your support”, listing either my name or “COS” (for my church, the Church of Our Saviour, which is part of the AIM effort) under “organization.”.  The link is at http://www.md-iaf.org/     And consider joining supporters on Tuesday evening October 23 at 7 to show support for the DREAM Act - details on the same website.    Thanks for your support. 

If you’d like more information, please read on: 
Quite limited in its scope, this law nicknamed the “Maryland DREAM act” basically allows young people who were brought here by their families as children, but who are undocumented, to qualify for in-state tuition at Maryland four-year colleges and universities.  It doesn’t subsidize their education or give them an edge in admissions; it just qualifies them to attend college at a more affordable rate, and even this is only for the last 2 years, after they have completed 2 years at a community college.    (compare in-state tuition of $8700 at a Maryland university to out-of-state tuition which hovers around $25,000!)    The act also applies to veterans and to active duty military members stationed in Maryland.   Contrary to what you may hear from the opposition, this act does not take away in-state spots from other Maryland students.  It does not create an extra direct cost to taxpayers, as some claim, but will be absorbed by the institutions universities and colleges accepting qualified students.  These institutions have come out strongly in favor of the DREAM act.   All this question does is provide access to in-state tuition to well qualified young people who otherwise would be unable to afford access to higher education.  These young people are our neighbors and students in our local schools; they are people we want to educate for the future in Maryland.  There's a good editorial on this at http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/the-payoff-of-marylands-dream-act/2012/10/10/04aa9a2c-1253-11e2-be82-c3411b7680a9_story.html


Saturday, August 25, 2012

Why Church?

(also on Episcopal Cafe)


Why Church?
Kathy Staudt

A recent NPR story about Americans’ widespread claim that they believe in God but not “institutional religion” has left me feeling impatient (read it at here ) and I’m trying to tease out why.  Part of it is that this is just more of the same discussion that we’re having within the church about what needs to change to attract the next generation -- too often I think it goes to “how do we get more people to come to church?” i.e. it remains about institutional survival.  Further, I’m starting to think that when we listen to those who are offering critiques of the church from the “spiritual but not religious” perspective, we are listening to at least two different streams of thought -- both important, but worth distinguishing because they’re different audiences for our witness, if we decide that witnessing to the gospel is ultimately going to be what we’re about.  On the one hand, there are those who have left the churches they grew up in or attended for many years because they are disillusioned by the controversies, the fighting, the focus on institutional politics rather than on God.  Those are the people who say, rightly, that they are not hearing in church the transformative gospel that Jesus proclaimed, the Gospel that calls us to change and grow for the sake of a broken world.  They can say that because at one time or another they did hear that gospel, probably in church -- but they now see churches that seem to have lost their way.

On the other hand, there are the Seekers and the unchurched, people who were not raised in any religion and who are curious about what Christianity is all about.  Some of these folks wander into churches and encounter the gospel in something they hear, or in the experience of worship -- but many others I’ve talked to have been just puzzled:  they have basic questions about why we do what we do, why we use the words that we do, and often no place to take those questions.  I’m wondering how many of us have a good answer, if someone who is disillusioned, or  unchurched or puzzled by religion asks us: “What’s the point?   Why Church at all?   (I should note that a young person, Jacob Nez, has already opened this discussion on the café with his Why are Youth in Church” - read it here-- so that gives me courage to pose the question positively for all of us). 

Why do I keep going to church? What is it, for me, that makes the desire to worship so strong that it doesn’t matter whether services are sometimes boring or people in churches are fighting? I wonder if this is the place to start, rather than looking at marketing strategies or polling or tweaking of our Sunday practices:  What is our testimony, those of us who do keep showing up, week after week, for worship?  Why church at all?  I’m asking that of myself

In an interview reported by Barbara Bradley Haggerty, a churchgoer says that the church “puts skin on God.”  “Putting skin on God” - I like that.  It expresses what I hope is true: that it is possible for human beings to draw near to be touched by, a mystery that is beyond our full comprehension and in our gathering to lend a human face, a story to that Mystery that we experience as also reaching out to us.    That’s the main reason I go to church, I think, even in a culture where it seems fewer & fewer people do so.  I want to spend some time each week around people who have glimpsed the same hope, and who express that hope by gathering together, in words, song, bodily movement.  Even when it’s inconvenient or I don’t feel like it, even when some of the people irritate me, showing up regularly in this way does me good.  I would even say that over the years it has been a transformative practice for me.

The stories we tell, the words we use, the prayers we say in church, if I listen to the words, proclaim  that there is something greater than me or even than “us”, the particular people gathered on a given Sunday. When we gather for worship,  we are putting ourselves in the presence of something bigger than all of us, and yet people down through the ages have written prayers and hymns to try to touch this experience.  I’m a word-person, so in any given week  I always listen for words that may speak to me.   Often nothing speaks; sometimes what I hear offends me or puts me off -- but I remember that these are words that have spoken to others, that are speaking to people who are at worship with me now.  And they are speaking of something that is ultimately beyond our words. And there is something powerful about our gathering to listen to these words together, even as we may hear different things on any given Sunday.

For me the practice of going to church is a way of saying, to myself, to God, to the world,  “I want to be part of the Better Thing that is still happening, even beneath and within the brokenness of the world around us.  And  I know that in order for this to happen, I need to keep growing and changing.”  The Biblical images of leaven in the world, a lamp shining in the darkness,  a treasure hidden in a field, all speak to this intuition.   The teachings of Jesus and St. Paul call us to be transformed into people who will be a blessing to the world.  It’s the churches that have to hold up that vision.  That many churches don’t is not a sign of the demise of Christianity, though it may be the sign of the need to shake off some ways of “doing church” that have become entrenched and dysfunctional.

It is also true that a little time spent in governance and leadership in church be very discouraging.  And it is a tough time in history to be someone whose livelihood depends on the church as it is currently structured, so it is no wonder that many clergy are disillusioned and angry, though many others are rising to the challenges.  We can get so anxious about institutional survival and so embroiled in our own power struggles that we wind up wounding each other and losing track of what we’re doing here.  I do understand why so many people leave the church and decide they can live the teaching of Jesus better outside it, undistracted by the human ugliness that is so particularly distressing in many church “families.”   And yet for those of us who stay, the hard work of listening to one another, holding one another accountable and seeking forgiveness and reconciliation is part of what helps us grow in faith.  Life in community, with all its messiness,  is part of the answer to “Why Church?”

Why this Church?
In the Episcopal/Anglican tradition, our Sunday worship is centered on the celebration of Eucharist or “Holy Communion” and that celebration speaks, for me, beyond the limitations of words.  It invites each one of us, whoever we are, whatever we look like, however we are feeling today, to come forward and join with everyone else present, and be fed so that we may be energized to bring blessing to the world.   The experience of receiving communion with a community of people not necessarily at all “like me” or in the same place in faith, life or culture also raises the possibility of a God who is bigger than any one person’s preferences or beliefs.  I sometimes experience that mystery, as an overflowing sense of love and presence, when I receive communion.  Sometimes.

Even more, the Episcopal/Anglican tradition appeals to me because we have always paid a lot of attention to the mystery of the Incarnation,  which to me is the most exciting idea that Christianity brings to the table, in the conversation among world religions.  (I appreciated Bill Carroll’s post about this on a recent Episcopal Café http://www.episcopalcafe.com/daily/episcopal_church/the_episcopal_church_not_neces.php_).   Frederica Harris Thompsett has called us the “church of Christmas Eve,” and it is perhaps not an accident that even people who do not have a church tradition may be drawn to a Christmas Eve service in an Episcopal Church, or a service of 9 Lessons and Carols during the Christmas season.  We celebrate, not just at Christmas but always, the joyful mystery of a God who becomes human, shares our suffering and our joy, and understands our humanity, and calls us constantly to renewed and transformed lives as companions and friends of God.   Other Christian denominations also preach this of course -- it is the heart of Christian faith.  But the Anglican focus on the mystery of the Word made flesh keeps us always rooted in this world, seeking transformation rather than escape, and holds out the hope for the presence and participation in our lives of a God who knows our brokenness and offers Resurrection.  And who never gives up on us. 

All of this, I know, is holding up an ideal that is far from the reality.  But my point is that in addition to looking at what is driving people away from church, it might still be useful to ask those who are still in church, “What is it that sustains you about the regular spiritual practice of church-going, at a time when so many people seem to be leaving or disaffected?” How do you answer the question “Why church?”









Wednesday, August 8, 2012

What if it's All True (II): A Reprise in Response to Tony Jones



Tony Jones, on the Patheos Progressive Christian blog,  has challenged bloggers to post something about God, noting that “Progressive” Christians seem to be writing about everything but God.  I’m with him here and grateful for the invitation.  And I’m responding mostly with words I have posted before, in a post called “What if it’s all True?”  that went up on my blog and also Episcopal café  during Lent of 2011 but without much response. I notice that though the post was all about God, I didn’t use the word “God” in it at all. That has more to do with the baggage that God-language carries for many people than with a reluctance to reflect theologically.  I’ve added the word once, just to meet Tony’s challenge - and  I’m making bold to post this again, since the question has come up.   So here’s the reprise:

What if it’s all true? What if (to begin)” the One we call “God,” the Ground and Source of our being, our life, our connections with one another and the earth, is real and alive, though beyond our ability to name. What if this Reality is best described and apprehended in personal terms, through our human images of love – mother-love, father-love, the love of devoted friends, the love of an artist or a gardener for what she has made or nurtured, the love that desires, above all things, the well-being of the beloved. What if it’s all true? What if the heart of Reality is that love?

And what if it’s true, as we Christians claim (set our hearts to – as the word “credo” implies) that this Love became human, took on fully our experience of bodily life, limiting itself (himself/herself – for this is a personal Reality) to a person in history, with parents, friends, enemies, a culture, a community.? What if Jesus is the Word made flesh, “Incarnate,” as we say. A mystery beyond our understanding, perhaps: but what if it’s true? What if, fully human, he experienced what it is to be loved and cared for, and to be oppressed, rejected, betrayed, killed. And what if the witness of all those early disciples is true – that death could not contain him: that the life Jesus lived and brought and called us to is actually eternal life, and has already begun, even in a broken world?

And what if it’s true that that Life and Love cannot be killed. What if, in the life of Jesus, in companionship with him, we can re-learn that love at the heart of Creation, and embody it in our lives here and now?. What if he really does live on in the gathered worshipping community (ekklesia/) that we call the Church. It seems so unlikely, and yet what if, through all our divisions, abuses, human distortions, abuses and misunderstandings of the good news, his life still lives in us. What if we are held, despite it all, in something that could be called “the Divine Mercy”?

And what if it is still possible to somehow be, in this world, that risen body of the Holy One, through our life together, through our relationships, through the choices we make for ourselves and for others. And what if there is power available to us, beyond what we can find within ourselves, to become what we were made to be – whole, and just and loving, bearers of the divine Love. What if there is a Holy Spirit, working through us, that really can transform and change? What if the whole thing is a whole lot bigger than we thought? What if it’s all true?

What would it be like, truly to live in the hope that it’s all true?

Saturday, July 7, 2012

I'm Back: More Ponderings on Faith, Life and Church

I've been away from blogging for some time.  For part of that time I was fruitfully immersed in the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola,  a spirituality that opens us to the Love of God active through all aspects of Creation and our daily lives, work and vocation.  I'll be processing the fruits of that retreat for a long time and hope this blog will once again become a place for some of that processing.

       Just now I'm getting ready to teach a week-long intensive course that I'm calling "Leadership as Discipleship" and I will try to use this blog a little more frequently to offer some food for meditation.  Today I have been reading and reflecting once again on something that the Anglican writer Evelyn Underhill has written about what fullness of life looks like for human beings, and how that relates to the call of God in Christ and the work of the Church. Here's the Underhill quote, which has been the subject of my meditation today.  More later, perhaps.  It's from a book she wrote in 1932 called The Golden Sequence  -- her own favorite among her published works.   Quoting the French poet Charles Peguy, she writes:

Every human being, said Peguy, represents a 'hope of God.'  In less poetic terms, every human being is a potential spiritual personality, who can by faithful correspondence with God become an actual spiritual personality.  The Church is a society of souls at every stage of growth, and adapted to a myriad of different ends, yet all surrendered to the one indwelling Presence, and in all of whom this transformation is going forward 'as He wills.'  Thus they form together in a special sense a tabernacle, an organic embodiment for the Holy Eternal Spirit in space and time -- one Body of many members -- Corpus Christi.  [the Body of Christ]  (Underhill, The Golden Sequence (1932), p 77.

Obviously the visible church is a long way from living up to this and it is easy to point to all the horrific ways in which it has fallen short of this vision throughout history, and into our time.  Nonetheless t it is helpful to hold the vision before us, and to pray humbly for the grace to live into this vision.  I believe this remains a beautiful and real invitation.