what do you want to be?

one way that adults used to torture me when i was a boy was to ask, “so, young man, what do you want to be when you grow up?” . if i answered “i want to be a fireman or a cowboy or a pirate,” they’d grin and say i was cute.

but what i really wanted to say was something like this: “are you kidding me? how could i possibly know what i will want to do? i’m just a kid! i possess inadequate information, insight, and experience to have any idea about what i will want to do when i grow up!”

that came back to me as i thought about what happened last night. the vestry sent our senior warden to my home with a question. in effect, they were asking, “so, young man, what do you want to be when you grow up? a fireman? a pirate? the rector of St Marks?”

i have prayed much and thought much about this for some time now. what would be sufficient information, insight, and experience to discern God’s call in this matter?

first i thought about the friends at St Marks – people who are stretching their faith, deepening their spiritual experience, thinking theologically, testing the waters of ministry, becoming conscious and intentional disciples of Jesus Christ. so i said to myself, “i really love these people… i’d like to be around them for a long time.”
then i thought about the work – primarily what it is like to lead worship with these people, to talk about God and life with them, to think and plan for ministry with them, to work side by side with them, and whether this work truly answers that deep and relentless call to love and serve God and the world. so i said to myself, “i really love this work… it is interesting, challenging, and satisfying work – i’d like to do this work for a long time.”

next i thought about the past and the future of these people, what they have experienced and what God may be calling them to. so i said to myself, “i think we’ve acknowledged our past soberly, and have turned to the future. i’d like to go with these people on their journey.”

finally i thought about the place – the physical assets, the building and the land. but only for a moment, and then i dismissed that thought. it’s not about the physical assets, after all. true, the land is limited, and the buildings do offer serious challenges we must address sooner or later. but these are not central to who St Marks really is. what is central, the only important questions concern the friends, the work, and our orientation toward the past and future.
so last night, the vestry asked, in effect, “so really, what do you want to be when you grow up? a fireman? a cowboy? a pirate?”

it was with great pleasure that i signed our new letter of agreement last night. because of our friendship, because this work both calls to me and answers God, and because we are engaged together on a journey into the future, i’d like very much to serve as your rector.

the Lord be with you

shocker

so there i was, innocently seeking some resources about stewardship, when i came across this website in the uk that asked this question:

how rich are you?

i'm not going to comment on this... just invite you to take a look yourself.

HOW RICH ARE YOU?
where do you fall on the scale of the world's richest people? click here to find out:


the lord be with you

uh oh... they're actually LISTENING

so there's a few dozen people at st mark's using warren's the purpose driven life as a structure for our lenten journey. i have to say that, so far, the book is much better than i expected. i thought chapter 3 was terrific.

on the other hand, i hated the way he handled chapter 2. i thought his intention, his main idea, was both good and helpful, but i thought his argument and illustrations were neither helpful, healthy, theologically sound nor reflective of scripture.

but on the other other hand, there doesn't seem to be anything of mine on the ny time's bestseller list, nor is anyone using anything of mine as a source for their lenten reflections! so what do i know?

however, one of our bright parishioners, it turns out, seems to be listening to my sermons. she noticed right away, when reading chapter 2 of warren's book, that it seemed in direct contradiction to the content of one of my recent sermons.

it's probably a lot easier to be a priest if nobody's listening.

so she sent me an email in which she asked, in essence, "how would we reconcile the statement in your sermon (that we can't justify our attitudes and behaviors on the grounds that God made us that way) with warren's claim that God has made us exactly the way God intended, and that every detail and event in our lives was intended by God?"

which i think is a very good question.
so here was my reply, taking a stab at it:

------------------------

q. how do i reconcile the concept in the second chapter with your sermon from sunday (red flag phrases: "that's the way God made me")?

a. i think his big idea, "you are not an accident" is true. you're not a fluke. but i don't believe his argumentation for that idea is biblically sound. he tries to prove that idea from the point of view of determinism: that is, that every imaginable detail in time/space history is determined in advance by God.

admittedly, determinism is very popular among some christians, especially the modern decendents of calvinism. as a southern baptist, warren is right at home with determinism. however, i don't ever remember meeting a sane calvinist who is thoroughly consistent in their determinism. they themselves cannot live with their own views, consistently. they generally produce their deterministic worldview when it's convenient, but wiggle out when it's inconvenient. like me, they will not accept sinful attitudes or behavior as justifiable on the grounds that God planned it. but they will turn around and argue that God intended everything that happens to us... even if it is a direct result of our sinful attitude or behavior! they will argue that God plans intended everything that happens to us... unless it's something horrible like sudden infant death syndrome. the insane calvinist will say "that's God's will." the sane calvinist, like warren, will say, "of course God doesn't kill babies." but obviously, that's inconsistent with the argument he makes in chapter 2.

i would argue that there are places in scripture that show that God is behind some things, people are behind some things, and apparently some things "just happen." and that this reality is completely consistent with warren's main point in chapter 2, which is this: "you are not an accident. you're not a fluke. you were meant to be. you are wanted." but that doesn't imply that every single detail is intended.

here is a limited analogy that ultimately breaks down, but which might be helpful: my parents can't say "you are not an accident" to me, as far as they were concerned. (i happen to know specifically which technology failed that resulted in my birth!) on the other hand, it was a lot of fun, when one of my daughters asked about her origin, to be able to say this: "you were intended. as soon as your mother and i wanted another child -- poof -- you started your journey toward birth, almost immediately. you were intended, desired, wanted... we wanted you in our family."

none of that implies that we intended the specific details about our daughter's physiology, or engineered the specific events in her life, even though there is abundant evidence that we have been intimately, intentionally, and even interventionally involved in her life, and present with her through many of her adventures. and all our daughters know full well that wasting their lives, frittering them away on nothing of importance, is just not acceptable for children of ours.

i believe that God is far more, infinitely more, involved in our lives, intimately, intentionally, and even interventionally that we are in our daughters' lives. we are not accidents; we are intended. but that does not imply, in the least, that I can ever blame destructive, self-destructive, or merely stupid behavior on God.

if i were to act out my rage by getting drunk, driving aggressively, and killing a pedestrian -- there is no way that God would that God had planned or intended that. there are no excuses.

does that help?

grace and peace,

morning prayer

some years ago i made a choice about which i felt slightly guilty. i decided to not vest for our weekday services of daily morning prayer.

as cool as the tippet looks over the surplice over the cassock, as festive as my draped doctoral hood looks, i decided that for me to vest for morning prayer unintentionally would discourage something that i deeply wanted to encourage.

i hoped to convince parishioners that leadership in worship was not privately-owned property, held and jealously guarded by the ordained. i hoped that parishioners would find that discover their freedom to lead... and would take advantage of their discovery.

but i felt slightly guilty. i was sure that visiting clergy, joining us for morning prayer, stole disapproving glances as i led the service sans vestmests. i was sure they thought i was not affording our God or our liturgy the reasonable modicum of respect they both deserved. or perhaps they thought i was merely lazy or sloppy. since i do tend toward irreverance and sloppiness anyway, it was very easy for me to project such judgments of the visiting clergy, whether or not such thoughts were entertained.

nor was it only from other clergy that i expected such judgments. however, fortunately, those parishioners who are more emotionally invested in liturgical correctness than i never attend daily morning prayer with us, for scheduling or other reasons. so i managed to make a habit of not wearing a habit, my slight guilt remained, and i persisted in my hope.


this morning when i walked into the nave to prepare for worship, a parishioner stepped before me and said, "why don't i lead morning prayer this morning?"

this is a man who, just last year, added participation in daily morning prayer to his growing list of spiritual disciplines, and has found the practice satisfying and nourishing. yet a quiet man. a reserved man. not one who ever seeks the stage. and i was so delighted.

as we moved leisurely through the prayers, i felt carried along by the current. it was very luxurious. there was also a personal pleasure in being part of the group, just one of the pack, which is less easy for me to feel when i'm responsible for leading the pack. but the deepest pleasure was that of sharing this man's experience of stretching forward, stepping out into new territory, trying on a new hat. not exactly the same feeling as when witnessing one of your daughters sing a solo or read her own work at a poetry recital, but a cousin to such a feeling.

as i walked away from the nave toward my study, i thought about whether he would have stepped forward this morning if he thought that officiating at morning prayer was a formal thing, requiring cassock, surplice, tippet and hood, the privately-owned property, held and jealously guarded by the ordained.

and i realized that there was another piece to the pleasure i had felt in morning prayer this morning: the total absense of my habitual guilt.

the lord be with you

Valentine's Day

i wonder why it lifts my spirit so to hear jeanne laughing as she talks to mollie. would it lift my spirits in the same way to hear any other woman laughing as she talked to her puppy? or it uniquely jeanne? would anybody else have the same reaction listening to her? or is this uniquely my response?

who could tell? or does it even matter?

what does matter is that i've heard that voice for nearly 31 years of marriage and 2 more years of courting and engagement. ("courting"???? does anybody do that anymore? ) what does matter is that it's that voice, that laughter, that person -- and it's my heart that is responding.

i'm glad that it's valentine's day. i'm glad that we're going out on a date tonight. i'm glad that i'll hear her voice and see her face and laugh at her jokes. i'm glad that she'll make me think with stories and observations and questions. but most of all, i'm really glad that i'm glad about all this.

it could all have turned out so differently.

but it didn't.

and that's really lucky!

ash wednesday surprise

i remember my first ash wednesday service, about 5 months after i had become an episcopalian. it was so early in the morning, and over utica, ny, the cold, grey sky seemed to fit will the stark reality: "you are but dust, and to dust you shall return."

the evangelical-protestant congregations in which i had learned the faith, and in which i had served, had never offered anything like this. jeanne and i were so deeply moved.

although not a morning person myself, and greatly prefering evening worship to morning worship, that first early morning ash wednesday service had felt so right. somehow it seemed to have been meant for early morning. i don't have a compelling reason or argument for thinking this... it may be nothing more than the fact that my first encounter with ash wednesday just happened to be in the early morning. but it had felt so right to me. moreover, to catch a surprised glimpse of my smudged forehead in the reflection in a window, mirror, or shiny object as i wandered through the day, kept driving home the reality of that liturgical and prophetical call: "you are but dust, and to dust you shall return."

by the time i prepared for bed that evening, I had been reminded so many times, that one could say I had been haunted by the service all day long.

fast forward to my first ash wednesday as a parish priest.

until now i had paid no attention to the other ash wednesday services offered to the congregations with whom i'd worshipped. but now, assisting the rector in my first post following my episcopal ordination, i was surprised at how most of the parish came to the evening service rather than the early morning service. honestly, for some reason, that reality had never occurred to me. but i had an almost visceral reaction in my disappointment that most of the parish had missed so much of ash wednesday by coming so late in the day. so the idealistic/romantic part of me longed for the congregation to gather with me early in the morning, and experience the day-long reminder of our dustness.

on the other hand, i acknowledge the practical difficulty, in our commuting, retail-centered world, for people to gather in the early morning. it just wasn't realistic to expect anything else.

yet on still another "other hand," the abstract/theological/liturgical part of me longed for all the symbols to connect: "the liturgical fact is this," pontificated that part of me to the rest of me, "in liturgical time, from sunset to sunset, the day was lost. we passed at sunset into the eve of the NEXT time, thursday, before they had gathered." (never wish to be an INTP... it's a terrible thing!)

fast forward again, to this year.

the customary shrove tuesday pancake supper had hit the wall. although many looked forward to attending, those who had taken responsibility for making it happen were few and far between. some had died, some had moved away, those who had continued taking responsibility for the custom were longing to escape responsibility, and none had arisen to say, like caleb, "let me take that mountain." my response was, "so? who said we needed a pancake supper? why not do something more fun? let's have a pot-luck mardi gras party." and so we did.

and it was so much fun.

way more fun than turning ourselves into a high-maintenance restaurant for one evening and shuffling pancakes for hundreds of people who came to the parish hall once a year for pancakes and sausage, but never came for worship.

it's not like we were actually ministering to the community in any discernible way. the poor weren't fed, nor the homeless sheltered, nor was any good news proclaimed, nor was the mysterious, powerful, ineffable, saving God made known. people weren't so won over by our winsome pancake supper that they felt compelled to visit us for worship on sundays following. and as a fund raiser? well, it did turn a profit, for sure. but frankly, it is far easier to tithe than to support the ministry by pancake suppers.

but the mardi gras party was so much fun. the parish gathered and talked and laughed and wore silly masks and brought incredible food. king cakes and red beans and rice and jambalaya and honey baked ham and decadent desserts and...

and then...

and then after we had gathered and partied and become community, we gathered in the nave for the ash wednesday service.

since it was our parish custom to offer the ash wednesday service at 7:30 am and noon and (after ash wednesday was technically over) at 7:30 pm, i didn't know whether anybody would show up for the post-party service on tuesday evening, ash wednesday eve. and if they did show up, i wasn't entirely sure that it would work. after all, that's quite a shift in one evening, from mardis gras silliness to the beginning of the lenten fast.

wednesday's ash wednesday services went on as usual: a few at 7:30 am, a few at noon, and a crowd at 7:30 pm. the choir was wonderful, as usual. no surprises. we gathered largely as individuals, reflecting on our individual guilt, our individual mortality, our individual need for salvation.

but the ash wednesday eve service (tuesday night) was completely surprising. the first surprise was this: we had the same number on tuesday night as on wednesday night. different people, but the same number. the second surprise was this: children. our ash wednesday services have been adult affairs with hardly any children at all. but the post-party ash wednesday eve service (tuesday night)had lots of children and some teens. completely unexpected. the third surprise was this: after having become community through the pot-luck party/dinner, through the sharing of food and laughter, face to face over table, it was a community that moved, as a community, from the parish hall into the nave, and as a community worshipped together. i noticed the difference immediately, as did others who mentioned it to me the next day. that we felt like a community on ash wednesday eve, that we were experiencing the truth that we are all in this together, was an unexpected blessing, a gracious surprise.

the evening experience was very powerful... so powerful that the normal early morning ash wednesday service seemed rather barren to me, by comparison. not that it was less than it had always been. it wasn't. it was a meaningful as it always is. but by comparison to the preceding evening, i was enormously struck at how much more powerful the evening had been by comparison.

remembering back, i realize that this has been the case on other occasions. it is one thing to have a dinner of some sort following sunday worship. but it is quite another thing to have worship following a dinner. both involved worship and both involve community. but making community before coming together for worship gives a whole new dimension to worship. it is truly corporate worship when the body of Christ gathers as the body of Christ rather than as so many individuals. and i now realize that the early church experienced something that we seldom do, as they gathered on saturday evening (remember: in "liturgical time," as in jewish time, sunday begins at sundown saturday night, not at sunrise). the early church gathered together saturday evening, had a meal together, and as a community then entered into corporate worship. we don't do that. and we're missing something very powerful.

i have always appreciated some asian congregations i've encountered that can't imagine holding sunday morning worship without following with a community meal. now i have begun to wonder who's idea it was that our congregations would gather on sunday mornings without a community meal at all. i have a suspicion it wasn't God's idea.

i don't know how whether i can ever pull it off... but someday i hope i can experience a weekly saturday evening community meal, followed by our eucharistic worship service, as my principle experience of weekly, corporate worship.

the lord be with you.

Men's Retreat

among the many events offered in the diocese of maryland every year, one that i always attend is the diocesan men's retreat.

the diocesan men's retreat is to be confused neither with an ignatian retreat, a silent retreat, nor a contemplative, reflective, quiet time. this is a tim allen's tool-time, power-yools kind of retreat. this is FUN.

where else can a bunch of guys play serious poker... where the winnings will be sent to feed hungry children in gaza? where else can you listen to an irish folk band sing, "Lord i lift Your Name on high" one minute, and homer simpson's version of Do-Re-Mi the next:

Note: do not read this: It must be sung to the tune of Do-Re-Mi from "the sound of music"

DO - The stuff that buys me beer.
RE - The guy that sells me beer.
MI - The guy who needs a beer.
FA - A long, long way from beer.
SO - I'll have another beer.
LA - I'll have another beer.
TEA - No thanks. I'm drinking beer!
That will bring us back to ... (looks into an empty glass)
DOH!

where else can you put a dozen guys in a center of room, cheered on by 3 dozen more, as they attempt to construct a perfect cube from swimming pool toys -- in less than a second (yes, it turns out, it IS possible) -- or a different dozen attempt to lower a hula hoop to the floor, horizontally, while each support the hoop by a single outstretched finger (a task which turns out to be IMpossible, apparently!!)

but finally, the payoff: the same group, after a weekend of prayer, fun, conversation, silliness, bible study, laughter and reflection, gathers as one to worship the living God through scripture reading, prayer, singing and communion. men standing and sharing their commitment to the future, their commitment to one another, their joy to remember they are not toads, but princes of the Kingdom of God.

it was a great weekend. inspiring and encouraging and challenging to me. i can't wait 'til next year.

the Lord be with you!

Sunday's Sermon - Feb 6

Last Sunday after Epiphany

Matthew 17:1-9

Six days after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Get up and do not be afraid." And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.


As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, "Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead."

So what is this story about? What is the significance of Jesus being transformed, glowing, shining, so glorified that even his clothes radiated light? What difference does this make to us? How is this good news?

John Henry Newman said, "Life is short; Death is certain; And the life to come is everlasting." Every year that I live, it becomes clearer to me that this is true. Every year it becomes clearer that life in short. Every year it becomes clearer that death is certain. So every year I ask myself more pointedly, in light of the shortness of life and the certainty of death, how should I live my life-- especially since the life to come is everlasting.

Thinking about this always reminds me of another idea, perhaps you've heard: “Everybody wants to go to heaven; nobody wants to die.” And yet it is quite clear that apart from death, there is no way for us to get to heaven. But what if you could? What if you could get to the end of your journey right now, without having to go through death? I wonder if that would be appealing. "I don't mind the idea of death -- I just don't want a be there when it happens!”

Or to put it another way, suppose you found yourself in heaven –having completely bypassed death, would you want to come back to face death, especially if your death were not only certain, with certain to be horrible, ugly, and painful beyond imagination?

These are questions raised by the Transfiguration. What happens to Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration shows us two things about our lives. First it shows us the future -- it shows us where we are going and what is going to happen to us. Second, it shows us how to live while we are on the journey to the future.

First it shows me the future. What happened to Jesus? Jesus told his disciples that some of them would not see death before they had seen the kingdom of heaven, and some days later, he took Peter, James, and John up the mountain. And who do they see? Moses and Elijah. Two dead people! Dead for centuries! And yet here they are, as plain is than those in your face, fully alive. Not spirits, not ghosts, not memories living on in our hearts. Two living dead people. And Jesus, no longer as he was, but transformed, glowing, shining, radiating light. Do you understand what has happened to Jesus? He has gone to heaven! He told his disciples they would see the kingdom of heaven, and there they are -- Jesus in glory with living dead people. This is what we long for when we pray, "thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." We long for the transformation of our world, when living people will glow and the dead will live at last.

And that is the future. My future and yours. Peter, James, and John up the mountain saw that "Life is short; Death is certain; And the life to come is everlasting." In Christ our destiny is to be transformed, glorified, glowing, shining, radiating light and we live in the presence of the living God – with all the saints, who from their labors rest, who thee by faith before the world confessed. The future is not the end of the life, but the incredible transformation of humanity.

But the story goes beyond showing the future. Way beyond. It shows us the present, the here and now. It shows us how to live while we are on the journey to the future.

To see this, you have to remember where the Transfiguration comes in the Gospels. The Gospels structure the story of Jesus like this: the first half is an upward movement, culminating in the Transfiguration, and the second half is a downward movement, culminating in the cross. Jesus appears, and begins preaching the good news that the kingdom is very near. He heals the sick, feeds the hungry, casts outs the demonic, raises the dead. His fame, popularity and influence increases -- until he reaches the pinnacle -- the top -- the Mount of Transfiguration. From then on it is all downhill. Increasing resistance, hostility and opposition from the scribes, the religious establishment, and even his own friends. It will all end ugly and horrible. There is nothing ahead except betrayal, rejection, abandonment, treason, loneliness, and murder at the hands of the government that is supposed to protect the innocent. The Transfiguration is the pivotal moment in this story. Once Jesus gets there, the Gospel writers tell us he turns his face toward Jerusalem, his face like a flint -- hard, utterly determined, unable to be dissuaded.

This raises the really interesting question: Why in the world did Jesus come down from the Mount of Transfiguration?

He had arrived! He had reached the goal – the Kingdom of Heaven. He had attained glory. He was in heaven already, transformed, glowing, shining, radiating light, in communion with people like Moses and Elijah. So why in the world would he give that up? What could he possibly gain by walking away from heaven, and descending down into the valley of the shadow of death, only to ascend that other mountain, Mount Calvary? What was in it for him?

There was nothing to be gained by coming down from the Mount of Transfiguration. there was nothing in it for him. Nothing but pain. Nothing but agony. Nothing but betrayal, rejection, abandonment, treason, loneliness, and horrible death. There was nothing in it for him… nothing at all… except… us.

And that is what he gained: us. That is what was in it for him: others. He made himself poor that he would enrich others.

That is why the story of the Transfiguration goes beyond showing us our future. It shows us how to live in the present, the here and now. Once we have seen the future, once we know that heaven is ours, that our destiny is transformation, we then, like Jesus, set it aside for now, in order to give our lives in service for others. That is what it means to be a Christian… to be like Christ. Rather than clinging to the joy of the mountaintop, we let it go… we willingly and intentionally descend into the valley the shadow of death, with Jesus, for the good of others. I appeal to brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present yourselves, sacrifices: living, holy, acceptable to God – for this is your reasonable service.

Some would have you believe that the choice that faces us is the barren life of materialism or a higher life of the spirit. The truth is, it’s not that I’m noble that I pursue the spiritual life rather than a material life. I pursue the spiritual life because it’s more fulfilling – more fun. It turns out that I’m nothing more than a spiritual hedonist. If it had been me on the Mount of Transfiguration, there is NO WAY you would have gotten me off. I had arrived! No way you would have gotten me to come back down, even if were not to face the horrors that Jesus willingly faced and accepted. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there is no nobility in my self-centered, self-absorbed hedonism, even if it is a hedonism of the spirit rather than of the flesh.

"Life is short; Death is certain; And the life to come is everlasting." In light of the shortness of life and the certainty of death, how should I live my life-- especially since the life to come is everlasting? The Transfiguration shows the future… where the living will glow and the dead will live. I don’t have to worry about it. Our destiny is secured in Jesus. Christ has died… Christ is risen… Christ will come again. Knowing our destiny is secured in Jesus, we can afford to be generous with our lives here and now. The Transfiguration shows the future… but when Jesus comes down the mountain, he shows us the present. He turns, looks us straight in the eye and says softly, “There’s more to life than seeking your own good… even if it is a spiritual good. Would you like to save your life? Then lose it in service for others. Would you like to live? Then let yourself die. Take up your cross… and come… follow me.”