Sometimes squeamish, sometimes not,,,

Sometimes I wonder what was going on in the minds of the scholars and divines who put together The Revised Common Lectionary--the Sunday and Holy Day readings used by the Episcopal Church and most Main Line denominations.

Today for example.

In the Gospel from Mark, we hear Jesus telling the crowds to 'cut off your hand', 'cut off your foot' and 'pluck out you eye' if your hard or foot or eye causes you to sin. (This is from Mark 9.) "It is better," Jesus tells them, to enter God's kingdom short a hand or foot or eye than to be whole and go to hell. Some rather detailed descriptions of the horrors of hell are added just for good measure.

I remember preaching at a church as a supply priest when this gospel was read. (It shows up every three years on the Sunday nearest September 28th, in case you care--and why should you?) When I finished reading it, all the kids left for Sunday School. "Boy," I said after they were gone, "I'm glad I'm not to one to have to explain that to them!" The congregation laughed nervously. They were glad they weren't too....

But on this same Sunday, the lectionary gives us a reading from the Hebrew scriptures, from the Book of Numbers.

In it, the children of Israel are complaining that they have no meat to eat--or fish or onions or garlic or anything good--just the sticky manna that shows up in the dew every morning. Manna, as it is explained in Numbers, is sort of like communion wafers--hardly something to stick to your stomach. So Moses complains to Yahweh about making him in charge of this whiny people out in the Wilderness, wandering for 40 years. So God promises 'meat' to them and makes 70 other Israelites share the leadership responsibilities with Moses.

Thing is, the Numbers reading is chapter 11, verses 4-6, 10-16, 24-29. So 7-10 and 17-23 are left out. Now it is a long lesson, so I guess the lectionary folks didn't want to make it longer.

However, what is left out is what Yahweh/God says to Moses about the pigeons that will fly in every evening and die so the Children of Israel can have 'meat' to eat. God is angry with the whiny band as much as Moses is, so he says: "They will eat meat....until it comes out their nostrils...."

That seems to be, to me, a real insight into how God can get really pissed off!

So maybe the lectionary icons wanted to spare us a view of God that unfavorable.

If so, why do they let us hear Jesus tell us to maim and lame and blind ourselves to avoid hell?

Sometimes squeamish, sometimes not, it seems to me....

Surprise, Surprise!

Thanks to Jeff Flake and others, there will be an FBI inquiry into Judge Kavenough.

Surprise,  surprise.

There is some small reason to continue to believe in the system of government--but not a big one, by any means.

At least, for the first time in recent history, some Democrats and some Republicans actually sat together and talked about 'what's best for the nation' instead of what's best for one side or the other.

Lord, I never thought I'd say this but I miss when Ted Kennedy and Republican senators would get drunk together.

Now the country is so polarized that Democrats and Republicans don't even talk with each other, much less get drunk.

When people who disagreed felt comfortable drinking together was a much better time.

Have some scotch, talk about families, baseball, food you love--get to know each other. Get to even like each other.

Then it will be much harder to be so bitter and mean to each other.

The Senate and House need to hoist a few glasses and narrow the Divide we're now in.

Really. Alcohol is the great equalizer.

Have a drink Judiciary Committee.

We need you to. We really do. This whole country you all claim to love.

Bottoms up!!!

Are you suprised?

Are you surprised that a man with a whole baseball sized team of accusers of his sexual misconduct--two of which he paid hush money about--is suggesting the three women from Judge Kavenaugh's past are making it all up?

And I think the Democrats are using these women's pain, humiliation (and actual danger!) in too political a way.

These women must be listened to. It is an act of great bravery for them to go public with their accusations. (One of them, who gave a sworn declaration, is a federal employee risking her career.)

The Republicans, by scheduling the  committee vote before even hearing out the three women, are burying their heads in the sand and pretending it's just going away. That's an insult to any woman who has been sexually assaulted.

And the explanation some of the Judge's supporters are using: essentially 'boys will be boys'--is an insult to the vast majority of men who have never made unwanted sexual advances.

And to imagine that Kavanaugh won't have the same "*" hanging over him that Clarence Thomas has for all these years. They can start a 'sexual abuser' club on the highest court in the land, that, by the way, should be made up of men and women beyond reproach.

It's a mess. Those on both sides should drop the politics and deal with this situation calmly, decently and with deep respect.

And if they don't....?

Will you be surprised???

Luddite that I am

For weeks, months, I have sent unwanted email (Bulgarian women, Latin women, all kinds of women, fixes for ailments I do not have, job offers I never asked for, missives from people in Africa wanting to give me money, 'great deals' from places I've never heard of, loan opportunities, on and on, Asian women, women in my zip code looking to hook up, investment deals, on and on and on) to Spam.

Next day they'd all be back. And I'd send them to Spam.

Then one day this week I get a notice from my computer that I'd never turned on my Spam and offering to do it.

I took the offer and now instead of 70 unwanted emails a day for 4 days I've had none.

How did I know I needed to turn Spam on?

Would I have known how to do it?

I'm hopeless but my computer noticed I was sending 70 emails a day to Spam with no relief and is surely smarter than me.

Thank goodness....

Day three

Her name is now Brigit.

She didn't respond to 'annie' so Bern decided she was Brigit, Brigit hasn't complained.

This is a dog unused to human interaction. She is suspicious and fearful, but so very sweet and has still not made a sound.

She walks well but, unlike other dogs, doesn't stay near us. Left on her own she goes up the the sofa in the TV room. We're there with her a lot--I've started reading up there with the TV on mute and Bern watches more TV than I do. So we're with her. When one of us is out of the room and Brigit hears steps on the stairs her tail starts to wag.

She's not overly affectionate yet, but loves affection.

She's a dog who has lived a lot of her life alone. She comes downstairs if neither of us is there for a while and makes sure we're there and then goes back to her nest on the sofa.

A friend told me she had a rescue dog that hid for the first two weeks.

So, we'll be patient.

But she is so sweet and quiet.

Her name is Annie

She's a pointer mix, weighs 46 pounds and is between 3 and 5 years old. Georgia, where she comes from, says 3. Connecticut says 3.

She is totally freaked out being with us. She spends most of the time today either on the couch in the living room or in the dog bed Bern got her in the kitchen. We did take a long walk today but she hasn't pooped yet and only peed once.

Lord knows what she's going through?

She has a black head and a white and brown body. The brown spots on her body, in two cases, look like hearts.

I fell hard for her. We almost got another dog as well--but Bella was named like Bela and only 6 months old and in need of more training than we're up to.

But Annie is home--though she doesn't know it yet--and we will love her greatly. She is very shy and quiet and sweet, rolling over to let you rub her belly. And, 10 hours into our new family, we've yet to hear her make a noise.

There's no way to know what she's been through in life, but I''m betting it wasn't good.

And she's home now.

A dog, a dog....

This weekend we will most likely adopt a dog.

There are two events to go to so we can meet dogs.

All that matters is if she is good with kids (because of our granddaughters) and if we love her.

We've almost always had a dog. Finney, a Puli born in Budapest was our first. He was hit by a car when we were away on our pre-separation trip to the beach.

Then there was little Annie, Bern rescued from the streets of New Haven.

Then Sadie, another rescue who was half-lab and half-cockier spaniel. A wondrous dog who lived with us as our kids grew up,

Then, of course, Bela, another Puli who was our empty nest dog for 13 years.

He was put down in March and we think--at least we think--our mourning for him will let us have another dog in our family.

We shall see, this weekend, The dog has to be a girl and can't be a puppy. And must love kids.

We shall see.

I'll let you know.

The Dark

I was grilling dinner near 7 p.m. and noted it was dark. Had the porch light not been on I couldn't have seen the grill.

It seems to have returned overnight--though I know it has been weeks and weeks in coming: but the Dark is back.

I'll have to notice if I have to get up tonight to go to the bathroom (which at my age I often do) if any light is coming or if the Dark is settled in. I happen to sleep so late that I always wake up to daylight, but I'll try to notice or ask Bern (an early riser) when the light returns.

I guess Daylight Savings Time must be coming though I never seem to know when. But that only changes things a little--an hour. The darkness is coming and there are almost 3 months left for it's falling.

I used to think I'd like to live near the equator where the light is rather constant, nothing like New England. But I've changed my mind about that--I actually now adore the darkness of autumn and winter. It is a reminder that we must endure the darkness to live in the light.

It's a metaphor this year for living with the President Who Will Not Be Named.

Dark times. Fearful times. Uncertain times that must be endured to lean toward the Light.

And the Light will come. I truly believe that. Looking at the country these days convinces me of that.

Endure the Darkness, beloved, and lean toward the Light....

It will come. Just as the earth tilts, it will come.

Today's sermon

Who do you say that I am?

        Today we find ourselves in the city of Caesarea Philippi.

          Just a short aside about Caesarea Philippi because it is a fascinating place—it is north of the Sea of Galilee, near what is now the border between Israel and Lebanon. Prior to being named “Caesarea Philippi” by the Tetrarch of Galilee, Herod Philip (to honor Caesar Augustus and…oh, himself…) the city was known as Banias in Hebrew and “Paneas” in Greek. It was the site of a shrine to Pan, the god of mirth and drink and debauchery (God bless him!). But it didn’t stop there: there were shrines to Persian gods and Roman gods and to Caesar, who was worshipped as a god, and even shrines to the Pre-Greek gods of that region. Caesarea Philippi was a veritable panoply of worship and sacrifice. And besides all that, the water that flows through Banius from Mount Hermon is the headwaters of the River Jordan. So it was a terribly holy place for Jews as well.

          So, in this remarkably holy, sacred place, Jesus asked his disciples: “Who do you say that I am?”

          I want to go on record as saying that is one of the most audacious, outrageous, daring and vulnerable questions anyone can ask. Who in their right mind would ask it? What rational person would want to know the answer when it came?

          Think about it for a moment—WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM?

          Is that something you really, truly, honestly want to know? From an acquaintance? From a close friend? Even from someone who loves you? Do you really, truly, honestly want to know “who they say you are?”

          Let me talk about me for a moment….I’m not sure I want to risk the pain and disappointment and confusion that hearing “who someone else says I am” would cause me.

          Two examples, if I might.

          First of all, I’ve had any number of people who have come to know me and love me tell me that when they first met me they thought I was “arrogant”. That’s the word they’ve all used—arrogant.

          WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM? I could have asked them when they didn’t know me well.

          YOU ARE VERY ARROGANT, they would have answered.

          Of all the things I think about myself—about WHO I AM—about the last thing would be “arrogant”. I’m always using so much energy trying to please people and make them like me and show them how honorable I am, that I would never imagine they’d think I was arrogant. I’ve spent hours and hours trying to understand why people would think that’s “who I am….”

          And I would have been bereft, deeply pained, stung to the core.

          It is a very risky question to ask: WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM?

          Who would want to know? Who would be confident enough to hear the response?

          Secondly, I know myself better than anyone knows me. I know all my dark and secret places, all my aching places, all my shame and fear and brokenness. Why would I ask someone WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM? For fear of hearing the “truth” about what I know about me…..

          My greatest fear is that someone will “figure me out” and know what a phony, what a fake, what a hypocrite, what a sham I am.

          So why would I ever ask someone: WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM?

          Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a Christian murdered by the Nazi’s at the end of WW II. One of his books was Letters and Papers from Prison and contained this poem. Listen. Listen carefully…. 

            

WHO AM I?

Who am I? They often tell me

I stepped from my cell’s confinement

Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,

Like a Squire from his country home.

Who am I? They often tell me

I used to speak to my wardens

Freely and friendly and clearly,

As though they were mine to command.

Who am I? they also tell me

I bore the days of misfortune

Equally, smilingly, proudly,

Like one accustomed to win.

Am I really all that which other men tell of?

Or am I only what I myself know of myself?

Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,

Struggling for breath, as though hands were

Compressing my throat,

Yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,

Thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,

Tossing in expectation of great events,

Powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,

Weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,

Faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?

Am I one person today and tomorrow another?

Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others

And before myself a contemptable, woebegone weaking?

Or is something within me still like a beaten army,

Fleeing in distain from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.

Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine.

We went to our daughter-in-law’s swearing in as a judge on Friday in Baltimore. Hearing what the speakers said about her, I told her, “don’t ever run yourself down to me again. I heard who they say you are.

There were many opinions about ‘who Jesus was’, but Peter nailed it—“you are the Messiah!”

Peter wasn’t happy with what Jesus then told them he had to do. But he had to. He just had to.

There are many voices, both inside our heads and from those around us that have an opinion about who you and I are.

But Bonhoeffer nailed it—whoever we are, we belong to God.

We are God’s beloved children. And what we need to do with that is to live in the world as the hands and hearts and voices and actions of Jesus. We are to be Christ’s Body to this darkling world.

We have to. We just have to.

We must…. We must….We must.   Amen.

Emmanuel Church, Killingworth (9/16/18)

Gospel Lesson for the day: Mark 8.27-38

       

The ceremony

Cathy Chen was sworn in as a judge of the Maryland District Court--District One--Baltimore City--on Friday.

It was amazing. At least 15 judges in robes and the chief judge of the Maryland Court and the lawyer of the Governor (who used to be in Josh's law firm) and people from as far away as Taiwan in attendance.

It was great. The Episcopal Church is good at ceremonies but I've never seen anything like this.

The president of the Maryland Bar Association gave her a crystal gavel to remind her how precious the law is and how if you hammer too hard, justice breaks.

She is my daughter in law, mother of 3 of my 4 granddaughters. I love her greatly and admire her immensely.

At the two receptions I talked to more judges than I've ever imagined talking to. They all love Cathy and admire Josh, my son.

I had long conversations with 5 lawyers in Josh's firm--including one of the guys whose name is in the name of the firm. And I was wondrously reassured of what a great lawyer--and wondrous man--my son is.

Our daughter, Mimi, and 4th grand-daughter, Eleanor, were there with us.

Bern and I talked, on the ride back from Baltimore today, about how we should pinch ourselves and be lost in wonder about how our two children turned out.

We can't take the credit. Much of the time we had no idea what we were doing as they grew up and I'm sure made numerous mistakes in raising them.

But there they are.

A partner in a law firm married to a judge with three remarkable daughters.

Second in command at a magazine for a national group of architects, married to a high ranking member of Linked-In whose office is in the Empire State Building with the most lovely, sweet, smart and wondrous 2 year old daughter.

How did this happen?

How blessed are we?

It's almost enough to make me believe in God. (Which I should, since I'm an Episcopal priest. But some of the things in the world make that hard to do..)

But when I ponder my two children, Lordy, Lordy, I believe in God and mercy and love so, so much.

moths

I've been noticing moths these days.

These mostly tiny creatures who don't live long are, for the most part, beautiful and exquisite.

The designs on their wings are so detailed and delicate. Their little furry feet are so sweet. I used to be afraid of moths--I don't remember why--but now they fascinate me.

You have to admire Mother Nature for coming up with moths.

I think it was something about how erratic their flight is that used to freak me out.

But now I think that is probably a result of evolution. Moths that flit and dart around are harder for a predator to catch, so they survive and multiply and slow, even flying moths got knocked out of the evolutionary chain. That simple, I think.

We're leaving tomorrow to go see Cathy Chen,  our daughter-in-law and mother of Emma, Morgan and Tegan, get sworn in as a judge in Baltimore.

I'll resist as much as I can saying 'Here come the judge" when she enters a room. I can't guarantee I'll be successful in that.

Mimi and Eleanor will be there along with two of Bern's first cousins. We're all in the same hotel and that should be a hoot.

Be back Saturday to tell you all about it.

Meanwhile, ponder moths for me.

Timing is everything

My friend, Mike M., told me in a response to an earlier post that he's glad we're not on Oak Island now.

So am I, Mike.

Florence is coming to land right where Oak Island is, that place I love. I fear for the island we've visited for over 40 years.

I actually thought, earlier, that we would be there this week and was shocked when Bern told me when we'd be leaving. I thought it was the week after Labor Day, not the week of Labor Day.

It sounds like a monster of a storm.

My heart is with Wilmington and Oak Island and Southport--all in grave danger just now.

"by our love, by our love...."

I've now twice done the Liturgy from General Convention this summer that was the Integrity mass.

Integrity is GLBTQ Episcopalians and their friends. I was the chaplain to Integrity Connecticut for 5 or 6 years and they met for 10 years or more at St. John's, Waterbury while I was the Rector there. Integrity is close to my heart.

Howie from St. James found the liturgy on line and printed it out. It is wonderful!

And one of the wonderful things is the music they used. One of the hymns is "They will know we are Christians by our Love'.

It's been rattling around in my head for days now and causes me to ponder how the hell anyone would know we were Christians by our love?

Many of us Christians are not very 'loving'.

Many of us are in favor of the atrocity that is our immigration practises. Many of us do not trust 'the other' in our midst. Welcoming strangers is not our strong suit--many of us Christians.

Last Sunday's gospel was Jesus meeting the Syrophonecian woman who asks him to heal her daughter.

To the Jesus in Mark's gospel, that woman is the absolute 'other'.

In the first century even Jewish women did not talk to Jewish men in public. And she was a Gentile. She was 'the other'. For the 'other' to instigate conversation with a Jewish teacher/prophet was unheard of--abomination.

Jesus is cruel to her. He tells her the dogs should not eat the children's bread.

Calling someone a dog is a remarkable insult in any culture. But in first century Israel, it was even more so. Dogs were not 'pets' then--they were either workers or nearly wild. And calling a woman a 'dog'--especially a female dog--is even today a case for the 'Me Too' movement.

But the woman confounds him. She says, 'but even the dogs can eat the crumbs from the children's table'.

For the only time I can think of in the gospels, Jesus changes his mind.

The woman shows him she is not 'the other', she is one of God's beloved too. So he heals her daughter at a distance and she finds the girl well when she returns home.

"The Other" has much to teach us. We are a nation that has embraced wave after wave of 'others'--not always gracefully, but eventually.

"The Other" has much to teach us--most of all, how to love them. Then and only then will 'they know we are Christians by our love, by our love...."

When did I write this?

I was going through the full file box I have looking at stuff I wrote long ago when I happened across a poem called, either "Kasmir on Christianity" or "Kasmir's theology". I have both titles at the top of a hand written piece of yellow, lined 8 1/2 by 11 paper, much worn,

I think I probably wrote it in college, after becoming an Episcopalian and worrying about the Nicene Creed (which I still ponder and worry about, all these years later!)

At any rate, here it is in iambic octameter rhymed verses. (I was an English major after all!)



KASMIR'S THEOLOGY

"Now let me get this right," he said,
while sitting upright on his bed.
"Now what you tell me may be true,
I have this question to ask you."

Wise Kasmir smiled when 'ere I winced,
and with his argument commenced.

"This Jesus man you preach to me,
a god or man--which will he be?
For now you say he's son of Jove,
who once the devil's foot did clove.
Who did the earth create quite eased,
inventing creatures as he pleased.
To twice destroy them with his ire,
with water once, one day with fire.

And saved a remnant of the few
to give to them the name of Jew.
And this great god did trod the earth,
surcease of sorrow, not of mirth.
(Though Zeus, I hear, did oft dare fate
with fairest nymphs to copulate.) 

But I forget, he's not your ONE.
Your god is whole devoid of fun.

At any rate, he walked around
and legend holds passed farm and town.
And yet no footprints I can find
prove him to be of gait divine.

But at that point you change your thought
and say he's 'human' with no fault.
Such contradiction I once saw
and that was in your 'Golden Law'.

Born in a stable, old and rude,
carpenter's son and doubtless crude.
And still you praise his works of love
and hold him in your mind above
the sons of tailors and of priests
(sons of divines are not the least
in number of the sons of man...
deny that Christian, if you can.)

And don't you claim your Jesus boy
thought of his god and not his toy?
And shunned all play in search of truth?
Is this your common human youth?"

Kasmir was warming to his task
and said, "come on, remove the mask,
make up your mind, don't trouble me,
of which one type can Jesus be?
Is he a mortal--call him such.
Could I be roasted by his touch?
Then he's a god and name him so.
And don't hang down your head so low--
 look in my eye, I want the facts!"

Reclining on his bed of tacks,
he boldly told me with a frown,
"your whole religion's upside down.
Now wait until I charm this snake,
I have another point to make."

Alas, his point he'll 'ner impart.
One of his nails slipped though his heart.
The cobra bit him on the toe
and I decided I should go.

Instead of watching Kasmir bleed,
I left his to his perfect creed.


 

Trumplessness

A whole week with 7 adults who hate the not named president as much as I do--and a 2 year old we'll surely teach to hate him--what could be better than that?

This--a Trump-less week. No TV news, no radio, no newspapers.

For a whole week I experienced "trumplessness".

And it was heavenly.

In two more years, I pray and pray, 'trumplessness' can be all day every day.

I pray.

What joy that will be.

You Couldn't Make It Up

Our trip to Oak Island was so great you couldn't have made it up.

Close friends.

Perfect weather.

An ocean only a little more wavy than a lake.

Great food. "The Big Fish"--a stuffed Red Snapper as the highlight.

Wine and beer and bourbon for those interested.

Lots of books to read.

Mimi and Tim and most of all, 2 year old Eleanor.

Silence and laughter.

No watching TV news!!!

A kite that went so high it ran out all it's string--300 feet at most.

Pelicans every morning and evening.

Gulls and sand-pipers a plenty.

No bugs except sweet singing ones.

The sound of ocean all the time.

A wondrous house with fine A/C.

Nobody on the beach after Labor Day.

How good could it be?

So good you couldn't make it up....

Glad to be home but full of memories and these memories last....

Sweet Peas may take over the world

We got back from Oak Island last night. This morning, Bern told me, 'sweet-peas may take over the world'.

Before we left she had torn up a lot of the little blue plants because they had been taking over some other plants. She just tossed them on some dead brush in the area beside our deck which is, in essence, a pet cemetery. There are three dogs, four cats, a dozen or so guiena pigs, two birds and a rat buried in a ten foot by 16 foot area. She puts weeds she pulls there too, and cut grass. I toss corn husks down there and dead house flowers. I'd call it a compost area except the squirrels and chipmunks use it for Lord knows what.

When we got back, all the sweet-peas had found root again and are flourishing.

A hearty and spreading kind of plant.

The world could be taken over by worse things that those blue flowers.

Lots worse....