Here’s what I hate about Pentecost:
It’s only one day long. We name the season after Pentecost “the Season After Pentecost,” but that’s all the play it gets. The vestments and paraments are red for one day, then we have Trinity Sunday’s white, then everything goes green. If red is the color of the Holy Spirit, we can conclude that She gets one day of the year. This is how you treat a member of the Trinity?
I know, I know, apostles and martyrs get red on their feast days, but most of us aren’t celebrating those days, so the Spirit gets shortchanged.
Last week a parishioner remarked on my use of the feminine pronoun for the Holy Spirit. In the Western tradition, indeed, the Holy Spirit has been masculine. We say “He” in the creeds. But in the Eastern tradition, the Spirit is identified with Wisdom, the feminine face of God. In the Hebrew Scriptures, Wisdom is clearly feminine. In Greek, “spirit” is neuter, and so the grammatical default is masculine, but that doesn’t make the Spirit male. The Spirit transcends our attempts to categorize and contain Her. Really, the Spirit prepares us for approaching the Trinity, because the mystery of the Spirit is the mystery of the Trinity. What do we make of a God that is three, and yet one?
The central insight of the doctrine of the Trinity is God’s relational heart. God is not an individual who occasionally enters into relationship. God is relational all the way down. Inside God a multiplicity of qualities and activities find their place. Masculine and feminine are just two of those seeming polarities. Active and passive, sending and sent, lover and beloved, source and result – these and other poles are transformed in God into stations in a never-ending circuit of love.
The Eastern theologians have a great word for the way the Persons of the Trinity interact. They talk about “perichoresis” – literally,dancing around. The Three dance toward and with one another, always in motion, in a divine pattern of grace and truth.
Maybe the way we acknowledge the Spirit – a day here, a day there, blowing across saints past and yet to come – is more faithful than a season. After all, the Spirit can’t be contained into one season or part of the Church.
I wish we wore red longer. I wish this season was “of Pentecost” rather than “after” it. But for now, I’ll wear green. Mostly. In public.
Dance on, Spirit!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Radical Welcome - Come, Holy Spirit!
This week is the run-up to Pentecost, the week when we “prepare” for the coming of the Holy Spirit. I put “prepare” in quotation marks because of course the Holy Spirit just comes when She will, She is not something to be controlled by us. And yet, we do – we must – prepare for Her. We open ourselves to Her transforming power, as best we can, and we pray that She takes root within and among us.
So it was appropriate that this weekend seven of us from St. Luke’s went to a workshop on radical welcome and the emerging church. This was a challenging workshop for many, if not all, of us there. We were asked to look at our congregations and analyze the centers of power and exclusion. We were asked to name what we never name. We were asked to look at how our congregational practices exclude or disinvite certain people. We tried to talk honestly, one-on-one, about our fears of exclusion and about times we’ve been welcomed. And the next day we worshipped together, using the Cathedral space in a way it likely had never been used before.
Then we went home. Back to the way it’s always been, the way it must be. The scales did not suddenly fall from our eyes. We did not shout “hallelujah, I see the light!” I think we mostly went home exhausted. But we got a taste of another way. We got a first peek out from under the curtain that shrouds our vision. We got something to think about and to share over time.
We all want to be inviting. We want other people to come and share what we love. But radical welcome is about loving others enough to want them to come and bring something new, even at the risk of challenging or losing what we love. Radical welcome is about loving Jesus more than we love our ways of doing church. It’s about being willing to bear the burden of insecurity for the sake of community. It’s about seeking the kindom of God rather than the comfort of familiarity.
Jesus prays that we all may be one. It sounds good. But it’s hard. How much do you want it? Do you want to be one if it means you have to change? I do want it, but it scares me too. I don’t know what I’m not willing to give up until I’m actually at the point of loss. Then I have two choices: I can kick you in the shins, or I can pray. Help me, Jesus. Help me to love past the fear. I want to love that much, Jesus. Help. Send your Spirit to enlighten, encourage, and in-spire us. Amen.
Want to pray to the Holy Spirit this week? Here are some ways:
Chant “Veni, Sancte Spiritus” (Come, Holy Spirit) over and over.
Read Hymns 500-516 in the 1982 Hymnal, or 472, 473, 475, 478 in the LBW
Write your own poem prayer. What would you ask of the Holy Spirit?
So it was appropriate that this weekend seven of us from St. Luke’s went to a workshop on radical welcome and the emerging church. This was a challenging workshop for many, if not all, of us there. We were asked to look at our congregations and analyze the centers of power and exclusion. We were asked to name what we never name. We were asked to look at how our congregational practices exclude or disinvite certain people. We tried to talk honestly, one-on-one, about our fears of exclusion and about times we’ve been welcomed. And the next day we worshipped together, using the Cathedral space in a way it likely had never been used before.
Then we went home. Back to the way it’s always been, the way it must be. The scales did not suddenly fall from our eyes. We did not shout “hallelujah, I see the light!” I think we mostly went home exhausted. But we got a taste of another way. We got a first peek out from under the curtain that shrouds our vision. We got something to think about and to share over time.
We all want to be inviting. We want other people to come and share what we love. But radical welcome is about loving others enough to want them to come and bring something new, even at the risk of challenging or losing what we love. Radical welcome is about loving Jesus more than we love our ways of doing church. It’s about being willing to bear the burden of insecurity for the sake of community. It’s about seeking the kindom of God rather than the comfort of familiarity.
Jesus prays that we all may be one. It sounds good. But it’s hard. How much do you want it? Do you want to be one if it means you have to change? I do want it, but it scares me too. I don’t know what I’m not willing to give up until I’m actually at the point of loss. Then I have two choices: I can kick you in the shins, or I can pray. Help me, Jesus. Help me to love past the fear. I want to love that much, Jesus. Help. Send your Spirit to enlighten, encourage, and in-spire us. Amen.
Want to pray to the Holy Spirit this week? Here are some ways:
Chant “Veni, Sancte Spiritus” (Come, Holy Spirit) over and over.
Read Hymns 500-516 in the 1982 Hymnal, or 472, 473, 475, 478 in the LBW
Write your own poem prayer. What would you ask of the Holy Spirit?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
separation anxiety
Tomorrow is Ascension Day, so tonight at Evening Prayer we begin to celebrate. But what exactly do we celebrate on Ascension Day? I think of this as Separation Anxiety Day.
In Luke’s Gospel and in the Book of Acts (also written by Luke), we hear the account of the Ascension. After the Resurrection, Jesus tells the disciples a few things. They ask, now? Are you going to do what we thought you would, now? Jesus says, “Who knows? Wait for the Holy Spirit. The Spirit will give you power to witness to me.” Then he was carried up to heaven.
Here the two accounts diverge a little. In the Gospel, the disciples seem to have no anxiety. It says “they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God” (Lk 24:53). Acts is a little less enthusiastic. The disciples are staring up at heaven when two men in white appear and say, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? “ (Acts 1:11). They seem a little more subdued and confused here.
I don’t know why Luke changed his account from one place to the next, but I know that it probably is important. The two stories are like two sides of a coin, and we live on both sides. The first side is joy and surprise. Look what Jesus does! Jesus is awesome! We want to give thanks and praise. But the other side is real too. Where did Jesus go? I’ve never seen anything like that. Should I believe my eyes? And, where is Jesus now? Suddenly I feel alone and weak.
Some days are like the Gospel version, and some days are like Acts. Some days I can see God’s glory and believe in miracles. Other days it seems the most vivid thing about God is absence.
Soon the disciples will have the Holy Spirit come on them, and they will go out and preach and heal and feed and baptize. Soon the Holy Spirit will come to us, and we will celebrate its renewed presence among and within us. But for these ten days, we can honor the very human anxiety and confusion of the disciples when Jesus left. That doesn’t mean doing nothing. The disciples are told to stop “gazing up toward heaven,” and so are we. Jesus will come again, but in the meantime we have work to do. We are the witnesses who are to proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins. We do so as human beings, sometimes scared and confused and doubtful, but also as beloved children of God. We, like they, have been blessed by Jesus. And soon, soon, the Holy Spirit will come. Get ready .
In Luke’s Gospel and in the Book of Acts (also written by Luke), we hear the account of the Ascension. After the Resurrection, Jesus tells the disciples a few things. They ask, now? Are you going to do what we thought you would, now? Jesus says, “Who knows? Wait for the Holy Spirit. The Spirit will give you power to witness to me.” Then he was carried up to heaven.
Here the two accounts diverge a little. In the Gospel, the disciples seem to have no anxiety. It says “they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God” (Lk 24:53). Acts is a little less enthusiastic. The disciples are staring up at heaven when two men in white appear and say, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? “ (Acts 1:11). They seem a little more subdued and confused here.
I don’t know why Luke changed his account from one place to the next, but I know that it probably is important. The two stories are like two sides of a coin, and we live on both sides. The first side is joy and surprise. Look what Jesus does! Jesus is awesome! We want to give thanks and praise. But the other side is real too. Where did Jesus go? I’ve never seen anything like that. Should I believe my eyes? And, where is Jesus now? Suddenly I feel alone and weak.
Some days are like the Gospel version, and some days are like Acts. Some days I can see God’s glory and believe in miracles. Other days it seems the most vivid thing about God is absence.
Soon the disciples will have the Holy Spirit come on them, and they will go out and preach and heal and feed and baptize. Soon the Holy Spirit will come to us, and we will celebrate its renewed presence among and within us. But for these ten days, we can honor the very human anxiety and confusion of the disciples when Jesus left. That doesn’t mean doing nothing. The disciples are told to stop “gazing up toward heaven,” and so are we. Jesus will come again, but in the meantime we have work to do. We are the witnesses who are to proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins. We do so as human beings, sometimes scared and confused and doubtful, but also as beloved children of God. We, like they, have been blessed by Jesus. And soon, soon, the Holy Spirit will come. Get ready .
Monday, May 3, 2010
Go forth . . .
In my sermon yesterday I spoke about Sara Miles, who came to St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco, ate bread, drank wine, and fell in love. She then turned around and began feeding thousands of other people through a food pantry she began at St. Gregory’s. It’s full of the “wrong” people, who are doing “bad” things like putting potatoes on the altar and yelling in the sanctuary. It sounds like the kingdom to me. Now, Miles has written a second book. It’s called Jesus Freak, and it’s about her continuing life and growth and ministry at St. Gregory’s. Frankly, if you read the first book, Take This Bread, you know the story. But it’s a fun and moving read nonetheless.
What I really love about Miles is that she’s not ordained. She feels a call to ministry, she lives it out wholeheartedly, but that doesn’t mean she needs to wear a collar and get herself certified. She is a powerful example of the potential of lay ministry. She runs around feeding people, blessing them, anointing them, chanting prayers, preaching, all without a license. Who does she think she is?
She’s a beloved child of God.
The Episcopal Church has an interesting dilemma. Our total population is declining, but the number of priests continues to grow. In the face of the reality that many if not most priests will not be employed in parishes, candidates still come forward. Why is that? Call isn’t about prudence or job markets – it’s about something in us that needs to express itself. But that doesn’t explain why so many Episcopalians feel this call.
The reality is that we remain a very clergy-centered church. Because we are liturgical and sacramental, we maintain a (more-or-less) clear line between clergy and laity. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that we set up so many lines and funnels and gates for ministry. Want to read the lessons in church? Sorry, you need a license. Want to feed people? Wait for a training session. Do you think you have something to say? Submit three sample sermons to the bishop. If your parish priest doesn’t happen to ask or invite you for these ministries, would you push your case? I doubt it.
I think we have so many priests because we have a shrunken view of the laity as assistants to the clergy, or as the business managers of the church rather than partners in ministry.
Sara Miles has broken through that line. She had sympathetic priests, but she also had her own enthusiasm. Enthusiasm – literally, having God within, being filled with God. Sara Miles is an enthusiastic Christian.
Sara Miles will be in Newark in October. Come hear her. Go read her books. But most importantly, let the Spirit of God fill you as she let it fill her. Go into the world, healing, feeding, reconciling. Don’t worry about whether your papers are in order.
Go. Now.
What I really love about Miles is that she’s not ordained. She feels a call to ministry, she lives it out wholeheartedly, but that doesn’t mean she needs to wear a collar and get herself certified. She is a powerful example of the potential of lay ministry. She runs around feeding people, blessing them, anointing them, chanting prayers, preaching, all without a license. Who does she think she is?
She’s a beloved child of God.
The Episcopal Church has an interesting dilemma. Our total population is declining, but the number of priests continues to grow. In the face of the reality that many if not most priests will not be employed in parishes, candidates still come forward. Why is that? Call isn’t about prudence or job markets – it’s about something in us that needs to express itself. But that doesn’t explain why so many Episcopalians feel this call.
The reality is that we remain a very clergy-centered church. Because we are liturgical and sacramental, we maintain a (more-or-less) clear line between clergy and laity. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that we set up so many lines and funnels and gates for ministry. Want to read the lessons in church? Sorry, you need a license. Want to feed people? Wait for a training session. Do you think you have something to say? Submit three sample sermons to the bishop. If your parish priest doesn’t happen to ask or invite you for these ministries, would you push your case? I doubt it.
I think we have so many priests because we have a shrunken view of the laity as assistants to the clergy, or as the business managers of the church rather than partners in ministry.
Sara Miles has broken through that line. She had sympathetic priests, but she also had her own enthusiasm. Enthusiasm – literally, having God within, being filled with God. Sara Miles is an enthusiastic Christian.
Sara Miles will be in Newark in October. Come hear her. Go read her books. But most importantly, let the Spirit of God fill you as she let it fill her. Go into the world, healing, feeding, reconciling. Don’t worry about whether your papers are in order.
Go. Now.
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