Just minutes before the start of the 9 o’clock service this past Sunday I heard that someone had fallen on the steps in the front of the church. I rushed from my office, where I had been meeting with our new bishop, Andy Doyle, to see who it was and it quickly became apparent that the person who had fallen was Joanne’s (Andy’s wife) mother, Mary. Almost instantly it became clear that Andy needed to be with his family at that moment and not leading us in services.
As I have reflected upon all that transpired so quickly on that morning I want to say how profoundly grateful I am to the people of Palmer who acted with such care and poise and competence and calm. On one level we missed seeing and hearing from our new bishop—he will have many more visits in the years to come—but on another level I hope that he and his family will not forget the love and support that they all received from us. That is good. And that is as it should be.
I have been privileged to know quite well all the bishops that I have served. They have all been pastors and friends. I know from every one of them that their work and ministry can sometimes be lonely and hard—just like with any other person in a leadership position. It is important that all leaders have safe places, welcoming places, refueling places, places where they do not have to prove or defend themselves. As Andy starts this new ministry and as he continues in it, I pray that Palmer will be that kind of place for him and Joanne and their daughters, Caisa and Zoe. (What a blessing it was to see their two daughters with “Uncle” Ed Razim about halfway through the 9 o’clock service all huddled up with the Razim boys, Thomas and Alex. It was a snapshot of the Kingdom and the Church at its best.)
And so, as much as we may have missed hearing from Bp. Doyle about his hopes and visions for our common life together, we did—under difficult circumstances—greet and care for him and his family, which is indeed part of the Apostolic Ministry that we share together in Christ’s name and to His glory.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Schisms in the Episcopal Church
This past weekend the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth became the fourth diocese to break with the national church. Many of you asked me on Sunday how I felt about this break. Mostly what I feel, at least initially, is sadness.
I was once connected to a church that eventually broke from the Episcopal Church over the revision of the Book of Common Prayer and the ordination of women. Both of these changes took place in the mid to late 1970s, and my parish priest was adamantly opposed to both of them. When he dropped me off at seminary in September 1980, he said, “I am leaving you here in order to learn how to protect the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic faith that was once delivered to the apostles.” It felt like a heady, heroic charge and I was ready to embrace it with zeal and conviction. Until. Until I began to read the bible. Until I began to reflect upon what it meant to be the church. Until I tried to make sense of how Jesus lived, how he acted, how he dealt with and treated people, how and why he died. I had once believed—and I had certainly been taught this—that God could be captured, or least better and more completely captured, by some particular words in a bible or a prayer book. But then I began to see and understand that all of our language about God is provisional, that all of our concepts about God can at best only point to God, suggest God, give us hints and guesses and whispers about God. I had once believed that only men could stand at the altar because Jesus had only chosen men to be among his apostles. But this understanding began to break down when I read in Genesis that we are all made in God’s image (1:26f), when I read in Romans that all of us fall short of the glory of God (3:9 f), when I read in John that Jesus died to bring all of us to himself (12:32), and when I read in Galatians that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus.” (3:28)
Many of the people that I trained with came from and then returned to these dioceses that have left the church. One of the dangers of being a church in schism is that schism leads to schism, which leads to yet more schism. Another danger for churches who are inclined to leave in order to find or make another church, a purer church, is that they tend to define themselves by what they are against rather than what they are for, and that they often move towards a fortress-mentality and embattled-spirituality, rather than a vision-oriented, mission-minded, ministry-shared, and hope-inspired life.
While I do understand how and why some churches, some dioceses, could be upset or even angry about how the Episcopal Church has made some decisions in recent years, I am, finally, distressed about all such schismatic activity. I am distressed for those who leave and I am distressed for those who stay. I am distressed for all of us because I believe that we all need each other. At our best, Anglicanism has had room to disagree, room to see things differently, room to be both Protestant and Catholic, room to believe different things about how Jesus is present in the Eucharist, room to be more pastorally-oriented or more prophetically-edgy, room to stress contemplative spiritually or muscular social action, room to wrestle with different readings of scripture. Now there is less room, it seems, and that make me sad and distressed. I don’t want to be in a church of ghetto like-mindedness or conformity. I like a messy church, a church full of people who are passionate about their ideas, their theologies, their instincts about faith and discipleship, but then a church that can get on its knees together, that can admit our sins and foolishness together, that can receive mercy and grace and love together. I don’t want to be kneeling next to someone who agrees with me—I often don’t even agree with myself—but next to someone who is going to love me, just like I am going to pray to love them, despite our differences and through our disagreements.
I wrote that I am initially sad about Forth Worth and others dioceses leaving the Episcopal Church, but sad is not where I end up. Where I end up is galvanized. I feel galvanized because I am ever clearer about how important our work is and how much we are daily in the business of being used by God to save lives. We have work to do at Palmer and from Palmer, so let us not be distracted by what happens in Forth Worth or wherever else. We need to stay informed, we need to pray about all these matters, but then we need to pray for God’s mission in and with and through us to have energy and faith and enthusiasm and life. Our work, our joy, is to give comfort to the dying, forgiveness to sinners, community to the lonely, hope to the despondent, purpose to the apathetic, strength to the forlorn, and love to all.
I was once connected to a church that eventually broke from the Episcopal Church over the revision of the Book of Common Prayer and the ordination of women. Both of these changes took place in the mid to late 1970s, and my parish priest was adamantly opposed to both of them. When he dropped me off at seminary in September 1980, he said, “I am leaving you here in order to learn how to protect the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic faith that was once delivered to the apostles.” It felt like a heady, heroic charge and I was ready to embrace it with zeal and conviction. Until. Until I began to read the bible. Until I began to reflect upon what it meant to be the church. Until I tried to make sense of how Jesus lived, how he acted, how he dealt with and treated people, how and why he died. I had once believed—and I had certainly been taught this—that God could be captured, or least better and more completely captured, by some particular words in a bible or a prayer book. But then I began to see and understand that all of our language about God is provisional, that all of our concepts about God can at best only point to God, suggest God, give us hints and guesses and whispers about God. I had once believed that only men could stand at the altar because Jesus had only chosen men to be among his apostles. But this understanding began to break down when I read in Genesis that we are all made in God’s image (1:26f), when I read in Romans that all of us fall short of the glory of God (3:9 f), when I read in John that Jesus died to bring all of us to himself (12:32), and when I read in Galatians that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus.” (3:28)
Many of the people that I trained with came from and then returned to these dioceses that have left the church. One of the dangers of being a church in schism is that schism leads to schism, which leads to yet more schism. Another danger for churches who are inclined to leave in order to find or make another church, a purer church, is that they tend to define themselves by what they are against rather than what they are for, and that they often move towards a fortress-mentality and embattled-spirituality, rather than a vision-oriented, mission-minded, ministry-shared, and hope-inspired life.
While I do understand how and why some churches, some dioceses, could be upset or even angry about how the Episcopal Church has made some decisions in recent years, I am, finally, distressed about all such schismatic activity. I am distressed for those who leave and I am distressed for those who stay. I am distressed for all of us because I believe that we all need each other. At our best, Anglicanism has had room to disagree, room to see things differently, room to be both Protestant and Catholic, room to believe different things about how Jesus is present in the Eucharist, room to be more pastorally-oriented or more prophetically-edgy, room to stress contemplative spiritually or muscular social action, room to wrestle with different readings of scripture. Now there is less room, it seems, and that make me sad and distressed. I don’t want to be in a church of ghetto like-mindedness or conformity. I like a messy church, a church full of people who are passionate about their ideas, their theologies, their instincts about faith and discipleship, but then a church that can get on its knees together, that can admit our sins and foolishness together, that can receive mercy and grace and love together. I don’t want to be kneeling next to someone who agrees with me—I often don’t even agree with myself—but next to someone who is going to love me, just like I am going to pray to love them, despite our differences and through our disagreements.
I wrote that I am initially sad about Forth Worth and others dioceses leaving the Episcopal Church, but sad is not where I end up. Where I end up is galvanized. I feel galvanized because I am ever clearer about how important our work is and how much we are daily in the business of being used by God to save lives. We have work to do at Palmer and from Palmer, so let us not be distracted by what happens in Forth Worth or wherever else. We need to stay informed, we need to pray about all these matters, but then we need to pray for God’s mission in and with and through us to have energy and faith and enthusiasm and life. Our work, our joy, is to give comfort to the dying, forgiveness to sinners, community to the lonely, hope to the despondent, purpose to the apathetic, strength to the forlorn, and love to all.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Post-Election Hope
I remember the summer of 1968. I remember watching the Democratic Convention come unraveled. It felt to me, at 12, like the whole country was coming apart. That spring Martin Luther King had been killed, which touched off rioting in Detroit, an hour from our home in Ann Arbor. Later, Robert Kennedy was shot. I can remember the exact moment when news of their deaths came onto the television. And then that summer in Chicago—more chaos and fragmentation.
I remember all these moments from 1968 as I watched thousands of people gather in Chicago last Tuesday night at the very place where the Democratic Convention had been held. Maybe now the forces that were unleashed 40 years ago can come to rest. Maybe now the hopefulness that so many people had then, a hopefulness that has been lost to so many leadership messes and betrayals and cynicism and partisan bickering—yes, maybe now we can find, we can be given, some hope again.
I know that Senator Obama’s election is not good news to all of you, and I know that there is still great unease or anxiety with many folks in our country (I was troubled to see how gun sales spiked last Wednesday). At the same time, there does seem to be, at least to me, more hope both here and abroad over this election than I have felt for a long time.
Some of this hope comes from our President-Elect being of mixed race. For those of us, like me, who can remember how the races had once been so segregated (I can still remember “colored” signs), this election seems just incredible. We have, obviously, come a very long way in less than 50 years. This does not imply that we still do not have a long way to go as we live into the Biblical vision that we are all made in God’s image and that we must seek and work for justice among all of God’s children.
I am also sensing hope because it seems that President-Elect Obama really does want to reach across the aisle, that he understands that he needs to be president for all of the people in this land, regardless of whether they voted for him or not. There is a crisis here at home—crises, really—that will need cooperation and reconciliation in Washington. I have been disturbed my some columnists talking about this election as a “mandate,” and encouraging Senator Obama to move ahead even more boldly that he had talked about on the campaign trail. (See Paul Klugman’s editorials from this past week.) I think such advice is shortsighted, if not self-defeating and even duplicitous.
I once read (I think these words come from Abraham Lincoln) that leaders must be “dealers in hope.” The problems and challenges for President Bush and for President-Elect Obama are enormous right now. We must pray for both of them during this time of transition.
Regardless of how any one of us voted, it is time to move on and rally behind and pray for our land and its leaders. Christians are called to be hopeful people because we believe that “…[we] can do all things through him who strengthens [us].” (Phil. 4:13)
As I write these words on this day, November 11th, I am cognizant of and thankful for all those who have served this country, all those who have given their lives, all those families who have lost a loved one in conflict. Please join me in praying for all of them, and please join me in praying for all those who are now serving our country and putting themselves in harms way.
In God’s peace, Jim
I remember all these moments from 1968 as I watched thousands of people gather in Chicago last Tuesday night at the very place where the Democratic Convention had been held. Maybe now the forces that were unleashed 40 years ago can come to rest. Maybe now the hopefulness that so many people had then, a hopefulness that has been lost to so many leadership messes and betrayals and cynicism and partisan bickering—yes, maybe now we can find, we can be given, some hope again.
I know that Senator Obama’s election is not good news to all of you, and I know that there is still great unease or anxiety with many folks in our country (I was troubled to see how gun sales spiked last Wednesday). At the same time, there does seem to be, at least to me, more hope both here and abroad over this election than I have felt for a long time.
Some of this hope comes from our President-Elect being of mixed race. For those of us, like me, who can remember how the races had once been so segregated (I can still remember “colored” signs), this election seems just incredible. We have, obviously, come a very long way in less than 50 years. This does not imply that we still do not have a long way to go as we live into the Biblical vision that we are all made in God’s image and that we must seek and work for justice among all of God’s children.
I am also sensing hope because it seems that President-Elect Obama really does want to reach across the aisle, that he understands that he needs to be president for all of the people in this land, regardless of whether they voted for him or not. There is a crisis here at home—crises, really—that will need cooperation and reconciliation in Washington. I have been disturbed my some columnists talking about this election as a “mandate,” and encouraging Senator Obama to move ahead even more boldly that he had talked about on the campaign trail. (See Paul Klugman’s editorials from this past week.) I think such advice is shortsighted, if not self-defeating and even duplicitous.
I once read (I think these words come from Abraham Lincoln) that leaders must be “dealers in hope.” The problems and challenges for President Bush and for President-Elect Obama are enormous right now. We must pray for both of them during this time of transition.
Regardless of how any one of us voted, it is time to move on and rally behind and pray for our land and its leaders. Christians are called to be hopeful people because we believe that “…[we] can do all things through him who strengthens [us].” (Phil. 4:13)
As I write these words on this day, November 11th, I am cognizant of and thankful for all those who have served this country, all those who have given their lives, all those families who have lost a loved one in conflict. Please join me in praying for all of them, and please join me in praying for all those who are now serving our country and putting themselves in harms way.
In God’s peace, Jim
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Election Day: Plus One
Today is a big day. I know that we make that statement every election day, and, of course, every election day is a big day. But this year, it feels bigger, more important, more critical. Maybe it feels that way, at least to me, because we are fighting wars on at least two fronts abroad. Maybe it feels that way because of the global financial meltdown. Maybe it is because of heightened tensions and even a little “saber-rattling” with Russia. Maybe it is because we don’t seem to have a clear plan, much less the resolve, to lead more environmentally-sensitive and responsible lives. Maybe it is because our political process seems ever more acrimonious and divided. Maybe it is because we seem to have lost some momentum and hope as a country since 9/11.
It is a big day, no doubt about it. But tomorrow may be—Election Day: Plus One—an even bigger day. Let me explain, or rather, let me share a prayer. Tomorrow I am hoping and praying that if Senator McCain wins that he will call Senator Obama, or that if Senator Obama wins that he will call Senator McCain. I know that both of them will have a great deal to do tomorrow and many phone calls to make, but, again, I hope and pray that one of their first calls, and perhaps the most important call, will be to each other. And I hope and pray that that call isn’t just a courtesy call, done out of formality. No, I hope it is a substantive call, a call for help, a call to mend the fences and come together and cooperate and find common ground and a pledge to do all each one of them can do - individually and as partners - to move this country forward, to move away from fear and anxiety, to join forces as they provide leadership and vision. The election will be over, so let the fighting stop. The votes will have been counted, so let us count on both of them to help this nation, and it will take a bi-partisan approach. The winner will have been declared, but tomorrow will be the time to move beyond winners and losers to seek the ways and means for all of us to win and fix and expand and cooperate together. In fact, if we stay with the winners and losers format, we will all be losers. We will lose as a nation, and the world will also be worse off in the absence of our leadership.
Beyond your hope for whoever you are voting for today, I hope that you will join me in praying for whoever is elected. Across this land tomorrow will be a day to take down our signs supporting one particular candidate or party. Instead of having someone’s name emblazoned in our front yards imagine if we had signs with a dream or desire that we might have for the people of this land: Hope, Courage, Vision, Sanity, Peace, Abundance, Faith, Trust, Integrity, Justice, Progress. Now, that would be something to behold. Not names, but dreams.
I have cast my vote—I did it at Fiesta last week and I had many good and interesting conversations as I stood in line. Across party lines and waiting lines we spoke and shared and joked and hoped. It was a great moment that made me proud and thankful to be an American.
I hope that you would join me in praying on Election Day: Plus One. That you would commit to praying that whoever wins this election will reach out to the one who received fewer votes so that both parties can find some reconciliation, some common cause for the good of all, and some common vision that together they can once more lead this land, this country, this people to a better and brighter and stronger future, not only for our own sake but the sake of all the world.
It is a big day, no doubt about it. But tomorrow may be—Election Day: Plus One—an even bigger day. Let me explain, or rather, let me share a prayer. Tomorrow I am hoping and praying that if Senator McCain wins that he will call Senator Obama, or that if Senator Obama wins that he will call Senator McCain. I know that both of them will have a great deal to do tomorrow and many phone calls to make, but, again, I hope and pray that one of their first calls, and perhaps the most important call, will be to each other. And I hope and pray that that call isn’t just a courtesy call, done out of formality. No, I hope it is a substantive call, a call for help, a call to mend the fences and come together and cooperate and find common ground and a pledge to do all each one of them can do - individually and as partners - to move this country forward, to move away from fear and anxiety, to join forces as they provide leadership and vision. The election will be over, so let the fighting stop. The votes will have been counted, so let us count on both of them to help this nation, and it will take a bi-partisan approach. The winner will have been declared, but tomorrow will be the time to move beyond winners and losers to seek the ways and means for all of us to win and fix and expand and cooperate together. In fact, if we stay with the winners and losers format, we will all be losers. We will lose as a nation, and the world will also be worse off in the absence of our leadership.
Beyond your hope for whoever you are voting for today, I hope that you will join me in praying for whoever is elected. Across this land tomorrow will be a day to take down our signs supporting one particular candidate or party. Instead of having someone’s name emblazoned in our front yards imagine if we had signs with a dream or desire that we might have for the people of this land: Hope, Courage, Vision, Sanity, Peace, Abundance, Faith, Trust, Integrity, Justice, Progress. Now, that would be something to behold. Not names, but dreams.
I have cast my vote—I did it at Fiesta last week and I had many good and interesting conversations as I stood in line. Across party lines and waiting lines we spoke and shared and joked and hoped. It was a great moment that made me proud and thankful to be an American.
I hope that you would join me in praying on Election Day: Plus One. That you would commit to praying that whoever wins this election will reach out to the one who received fewer votes so that both parties can find some reconciliation, some common cause for the good of all, and some common vision that together they can once more lead this land, this country, this people to a better and brighter and stronger future, not only for our own sake but the sake of all the world.
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