Well, leave it to Rowena to get herself ordained on the day of the first big snowfall of the year! And on the day of the burial of Nelson Mandela, the feast day of St. John of the Cross and the anniversary of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Ian, our bishop, talked to and prayed with the congregation about Sandy Hook just before the processional. What I could hear from halfway down the steps to the narthex was lovely. And the time of silence was haunting, in a profound way.
But, as I knew it would, things went swimmingly. There were so many people who have loved Row for years there that I felt like a newcomer to the club. Her father, mother and aunt from the Bahamas were there. Row's mother told me she'd never seen snow before yesterday! Well, there was a bit of it to see.
Dean was still plowing the lot an hour before the ceremony. Lots of Cluster folks parked across Rt. 17 in the open lot there to give the visitors a shot at the church parking lot.
My plan--I was the Master of Ceremonies...the Boss of Details...which takes me about as far out of my comfort zone as I can get. I am a 'forest' guy, not a 'tree' guy. But I have done it before and actually enjoyed getting people where they are supposed to be when they are supposed to be there. (One of Jung's theories is that as we age we move toward our less dominant functions. Extroverts become more introverted, feeling types become more thinking--like that. I certainly find that happening to me. I am a big old honking Intuitive type. I mean, I don't score on the S...Sensate--logical, step two after step one scale. So being MC forces me to be more organized. And to tell the truth, I kinda like it....)
My plan (as I was saying) was to take the processional from the parish house outside to the front door. But it was snowing to beat the band and low and behold I realized I had scoped out going through the under croft (Episcopal-speak for basement) and come up the stairs into the narthex (Episcopal-speak for front door hallway). I'd actually planned for the eventuality of inclement weather! I was startled that I had actually thought that through. (When, a half-million years ago, I was the Center Manager for RCEE in New Haven, which took women on welfare to good jobs in 16 weeks, I was also trying to get my father, in a nursing home in Hamden, on Title 9 because his money was running out. I couldn't get anywhere with the Welfare Department and asked RCEE's secretary, who was a graduate of the program, how she negotiated the madness of the Welfare Department when she was on welfare. She told me this: "When you're poor you function best in chaos....")
I actually told Rowena one of the first times we spoke that "I'm good in chaos...." With RCEE's secretary's help, I learned to go to the Welfare Department and start yelling as soon as I came in. I got my father on Title Nine the next time I went by creating chaos and dealing with it.
So the snow was a tad chaotic. Lots of people in the Cluster who would have wanted to be there were either snowed in or too unsure on bad roads. And lots of people from far away, I'm sure, checked the forecasts and stayed home.
In a perverse way, I was thankful for the weather. Had all those folks come there wouldn't have been room in the church for them, even standing room and our dream of closed-circuit TV for the parish house had been dashed. Those who came--150 or so--filled St. Andrew's to the lees and had a good show.
Ray, St. Andrew's musician, is, at heart, a jazz musician, used the piano for the processional--"There's a sweet, sweet Spirit in this place...." It was great even though I was half-way down the steps and dealing with 6 kids from the cluster with banners and a dove. They too were graceful though they were all, I believe 9 or under.
There were about 35 to 40 people in the processional. In a large urban church, that isn't much. But in a small, rural church it was impressive. I can't wait to see the video tape of it. It must have gone on a long time in that short center aisle.
Row had more presenters than anyone I've ever know. She said it was because her journey had been so 'long'--her process to ordination would have ore'whelmed a lesser person--and she wanted all the pieces to be represented. Three priests a RC nun and three or four lay folk presented her to the bishop. It was impressive to see the variety of people whose lives she had touched in some important way and who had touched her life as well.
There were over a dozen visiting priests. Considering that there were Advent Quite Days for priests at 4 or 5 locations that day and it was snowing like crazy, I found that impressive as well.
(Usually I believe Will Rodger's comment about Methodist ministers applies to Episcopal priests as well. Will said, "Methodist ministers are like manure. Spread out, they do a lot of good. But all in one place, they tend to stink a bit....") But the clergy who showed up for Rowena were not smelly at all. I knew most of them and one of them served as a seminarian when I was at St. John's in Waterbury. Another of them was a parishioner 3 decades ago and is a priest now. The Bishop, Ian Douglas, as well was a parishioner of the church I served almost 3 decades ago. Also, the priest whose place Rowena is taking was there. She works at Diocesan House. I love her and love Harlan and love Nancy and love Ian. They are part of my past as well as Rowena's. What a joy that our two river's through life have run through some of the same places and people.
Linda preached. I'm a deft critic of preaching since I think I do it very well. I used to introduce people to Malinda, who worked with me for years, as "the second best preacher in Connecticut". I think she is. And it leaves no doubt as to who 'the best' is. Linda's sermon was very good. And the blessing she shared with Row was amazing.
And Row...well, she was the prize of the day by design. She is a humble and sweet person (not 'sweet' like saccharin, but sweet like honey from the comb, like syrup from the maple tree--a 'sweet' that endures and brings joy) who is so full of integrity I'm a little threatened by her. And she has this smile that lights up, not just a room, but everyone's heart. And she smiled through the whole thing--the sermon, the songs, the interrigation by the bishop, the laying on of hands and everything before that and after. It was 'her day' and she shined. She even had ruby shoes. I kid you not--ruby shoes to die for. And she didn't click her heels once. She wasn't in Kansas anymore and she had no intention of ever going back there...
On a scale of 1-10, Row's ordination, for me, was an 11.8!
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Friday, December 13, 2013
Ordination--next to last
The ordination is tomorrow--Rowena will become a priest! I delivered the programs this afternoon--and the wine! Ordinations must have wine....
Lots of people have done lots of work getting ready for it. I won't even start listing names except to single out Bea, the Cluster Administrator for her work on the program, Howie for getting and setting up the video equipment, Toni for the beautiful flowers and Dean for all his hours getting the church ready.
Row said to someone last Sunday, "If getting married is this stressful, I'm glad I've never done it!"
The Time of Stress has ended. What will be will be. It will snow a lot or it won't. People will brave the weather or they won't. Any thing that goes wrong won't matter. Tomorrow will be a glorious day for Rowena, the Cluster and all her family and friends. I've never been to a bad ordination--a few long ones, granted, but even that is part of the wonder....When you finish an ordination, you know something has happened!
I wonder what an alien from out of space would make of the whole thing? The endless procession. The solemn words. The bishop's funny hat and his shepherd's crook. Rowena's cross examination. The chanting of the litany. All the priests gathering around her to lay on hands. The raucous applause.
The singing and the gifts. The eating and the drinking. What would E.T. think of the whole thing?
Maybe he'll land outside and we'll find out....That would make a wondrous, blessed day even more special....
I'll write tomorrow about the whole thing.
Say a prayer for Rowena--a traveling blessing, perhaps. She will be moving into unknown territory tomorrow....
Lots of people have done lots of work getting ready for it. I won't even start listing names except to single out Bea, the Cluster Administrator for her work on the program, Howie for getting and setting up the video equipment, Toni for the beautiful flowers and Dean for all his hours getting the church ready.
Row said to someone last Sunday, "If getting married is this stressful, I'm glad I've never done it!"
The Time of Stress has ended. What will be will be. It will snow a lot or it won't. People will brave the weather or they won't. Any thing that goes wrong won't matter. Tomorrow will be a glorious day for Rowena, the Cluster and all her family and friends. I've never been to a bad ordination--a few long ones, granted, but even that is part of the wonder....When you finish an ordination, you know something has happened!
I wonder what an alien from out of space would make of the whole thing? The endless procession. The solemn words. The bishop's funny hat and his shepherd's crook. Rowena's cross examination. The chanting of the litany. All the priests gathering around her to lay on hands. The raucous applause.
The singing and the gifts. The eating and the drinking. What would E.T. think of the whole thing?
Maybe he'll land outside and we'll find out....That would make a wondrous, blessed day even more special....
I'll write tomorrow about the whole thing.
Say a prayer for Rowena--a traveling blessing, perhaps. She will be moving into unknown territory tomorrow....
Thursday, December 12, 2013
The Churches I never served...
People were surprised around the Middlesex Cluster Ministry when Rowena Kemp, who'll be ordained this Saturday, chose to come be a part of our ministry and mission. She had other options and she chose us. People were overjoyed, having met her.
That got me thinking about the choices I made and the churches I never served because of those choices. Since I'm retired from full time ministry and plan to stay ever so part time at the Cluster until I really stop practicing my ministry, it's an interesting trip down through my life to consider where I didn't go.
Coming out of Seminary, I was offered a job at St. Chrysostom's in Chicago. I would have been the assistant to the Rector and been the missionary to the yuppies who lived in the high rises that lined the Lake. St. Chrysostom's was (and probably still is) a thriving urban church with great outreach. Meals on Wheels, the national program, was founded by the parish. It seemed a dream to me. But when the Rector called the Diocese of West Virginia to get me 'released'--you 'belong' to your diocese and to go to another you must be given permission by the bishop. The Rector, unfortunately (or 'fortunately' as I now think of it) got Bishop Campbell on the phone instead of Bishop Atkinson (who I told him to call) and Wilburn Camrock Campbell told him that under no circumstances was he 'releasing' me to the fleshpots of Chicago. When the Rector (I don't remember his name) told me this after he hung up with Bishop Campbell, I immediately called Bishop Atkinson and gave him holy hell. He finally agreed that if I would come to one interview in West Virginia and turned the job down, he would fight tooth and nail with the Diocesan (Atkinson was the Bishop Co-Adjutor, meaning he was the Diocesan Bishop in waiting, waiting for Wilburn to retire....)
So I went to be interviewed at St. James in Charleston, an African American congregation whose building was in North Charleston about a mile from where Charlie Manson grew up. This Black congregation had been moved to a redneck part of Charleston from down-town in the Black community where it started instead of Institute, a wondrous college town of a historically Black College 7 miles from Charleston. I think, when that move was made in the 60's, the thought was to kill the church off but don't get me started on that.
I fell in love with the people. And they loved me with more compassion and understanding than any white church would give a Black priest (but don't get me started on that either...) On the plane back to DC Bern, great with child (our son Josh) said to me, "we're moving to Charleston aren't we?" And I had to say, "If you will..." And she would.
No fancy Chicago parish for me. A humble little, misplaced African American mission was where I went and learned more about myself and race and grace and possibility than I ever would have dealing with Yuppies in Chicago.
The road not taken turned out to be the road that would have made me a different person than I am. And at this point in my life, I love 'who I am' and I love 'my life'. So as crazy as the decision seemed at the time, it made me who I am today and, in case you didn't get it, I am who I always hoped I would be.....
The second church I never served was in suburban Baltimore, when I was thinking about leaving St. James after five years of joy, I 'put my name in' (which is the Episcopal-speak for 'applying for the job' and at St. John's in New Haven. When St. John's expressed interest, though I was farther along with the church off the Beltway in Baltimore, I took my name out. (I've never been a suburban priest. I don't think I'm up to it. I love cities, and since I've been in the Cluster I've learned that I love 'rural', which is where I came from in the first place. Being in the Cluster is like 'going home' in lots of ways.) I have lived in Cheshire, a suburb of New Haven/Waterbury/Middletown/even Hartford--at one point when I was still working and Bern was working, we'd leave for Waterbury and New Haven and the couple next door would leave for Hartford and Middletown. Go figure. Cheshire is a poly-suburb. I love living here, but I wouldn't be much good as a priest here--too political and too left wing theological I guess...plus, I don't like wearing suits. Suburban churches expect 'suits'--inner city and rural churches don't....
The third church I never served was St. Mark's in Raleigh, North Carolina. I was actually 'called' to be their rector. I adored the building and the community and the liveliness of the Search Committee. I actually believed I was 'called' to be the Rector of that progressive, rapidly growing parish. Bern wasn't enamored of living in the south and our kids were still in grade school, so it would be a stretch. But we'd visited and they'd visited and low and behold I got the 'call' on the Friday before Labor Day! The Senior Warden was going to be on an island without a phone until Tuesday so I couldn't give her my answer (which is always 'yes!' since such time and energy goes into search processes) until the Tuesday after Labor Day. So our family did 'votes', everyone with 5 slips to either put into 'Yes' or 'no' and every vote was so close as to be moot. Finally, Bern and I decided to play Backgammon, a game we played every night to decide. This was on Labor Day itself, knowing I had to call the next day. Best of five was the deal. I won the first two games and said to Bern, "it's OK, we'll stay in New Haven". But she said, "let's play it out" and won the last three games! Then she said, "I know you want to go, so, let's go." We hugged and went upstairs to tell Josh and Mimi who had known their crazy parents were downstairs playing a board game for their futures. I walked in the room and opened my mouth to say, "We're going to North Carolina!" and what came out was, "We're staying in Connecticut!" Then I burst into tears.
I didn't sleep at all, wondering how to phrase my 'no' to the Senior Warden. And when I got her on the phone I told her "it's not time to leave Connecticut" and she said, "You're kidding, aren't you?"
I told her I kidded about most everything but not this. After a long, minute long silence, she said, "You son-of-a bitch!" I got worse after that and suddenly I realized I'd made the best decision of my life without knowing it. I hung up on her and the Search Committee sent me flowers and called several times, but the road less traveled (saying 'no' to a call to a wonderful parish) was taken. Really, as I felt sorry for myself, on Thursday the head of the Search Committee at St. John's in Waterbury called me. (The irony was I wasn't in full time ministry at the time and the folks from North Carolina came to hear me preach at St. John's where I was doing supply as they looked for an interim Rector.)
"Did you take that job in North Carolina?" Judy asked me.
"No," I told her, wondering why she called to ask.
I heard her take a big breath and then she said, "would you be willing to have your name put in for Rector of St. John's? Please say yes...."
I shook my head at how mischievous the Spirit can be. "I'm probably not eligible because I was with you for three months before Jeff came to be interim," I said, meaning it, wishing it weren't so.
"No," Judy said, breaking into laughter, "the bishop has already said you can...."
So, that's how things go in the strange and mysterious ways of the Spirit.
The last church I never served came when I was 51 or so and realized if I didn't move from St. John's then, I wouldn't until I retired. So I 'put my name in' at the Cathedral in Minneapolis. I didn't think much would come of it, being Dean of a Cathedral, but there were phone interviews and I flew to Minneapolis to talk to the Search Committee and Vestry and was told I was one of 7 they'd brought up to talk. Then a three member group of the Search Committee came to see me in Waterbury. The came for a weekend and came to church on a Sunday in Advent when there was a mess of snow (though they probably thought that was normal, being from Minnesota) and on the day before wanted to interview four members of the parish. So, I picked four folks I knew wouldn't gossip about it all and they came to be interviewed. What I realized on that day, I was there all day as the folks came in to talk to the Minneapolis folks, that the folks I chose to talk to the MN folks were much more interesting than the MN folks they were being interviewed by.
So, a week later when I was called to be told I was one of three being flow, with my family, to Minneapolis for a final interview, I, without forethought, turned it down. I probably wouldn't have ever been the Dean of the Cathedral in Minneapolis, but I wasn't willing to take that chance, knowing I was where that mischievous Holy Spirit meant me to be until I was either thrown out or retired.
It was the latter that made me leave. I retired at 63 and 13 days of age because I had 30 years in the pension fund and was eligible for early Social Security and knew if I didn't leave then I might never leave because of the three churches I DID serve in all those years, I loved them all to death and St. John's was the ice cream on the pie of my 30 years of ministry.
I need to thank Rowena, because she chose to come to the Cluster rather than any of her other offers, for the joy of pondering the 'roads not taken' in my ministry. And I will thank her and be full of humility and joy to work with her until she comes to another fork in the road and has to choose....
As for me, I am convinced I always took the path I was meant to take, as painful as the choices were, and that is a Gift to ponder as I grow older. Always being where you were meant to be--what a wondrous Gift...what a joyous life....
That got me thinking about the choices I made and the churches I never served because of those choices. Since I'm retired from full time ministry and plan to stay ever so part time at the Cluster until I really stop practicing my ministry, it's an interesting trip down through my life to consider where I didn't go.
Coming out of Seminary, I was offered a job at St. Chrysostom's in Chicago. I would have been the assistant to the Rector and been the missionary to the yuppies who lived in the high rises that lined the Lake. St. Chrysostom's was (and probably still is) a thriving urban church with great outreach. Meals on Wheels, the national program, was founded by the parish. It seemed a dream to me. But when the Rector called the Diocese of West Virginia to get me 'released'--you 'belong' to your diocese and to go to another you must be given permission by the bishop. The Rector, unfortunately (or 'fortunately' as I now think of it) got Bishop Campbell on the phone instead of Bishop Atkinson (who I told him to call) and Wilburn Camrock Campbell told him that under no circumstances was he 'releasing' me to the fleshpots of Chicago. When the Rector (I don't remember his name) told me this after he hung up with Bishop Campbell, I immediately called Bishop Atkinson and gave him holy hell. He finally agreed that if I would come to one interview in West Virginia and turned the job down, he would fight tooth and nail with the Diocesan (Atkinson was the Bishop Co-Adjutor, meaning he was the Diocesan Bishop in waiting, waiting for Wilburn to retire....)
So I went to be interviewed at St. James in Charleston, an African American congregation whose building was in North Charleston about a mile from where Charlie Manson grew up. This Black congregation had been moved to a redneck part of Charleston from down-town in the Black community where it started instead of Institute, a wondrous college town of a historically Black College 7 miles from Charleston. I think, when that move was made in the 60's, the thought was to kill the church off but don't get me started on that.
I fell in love with the people. And they loved me with more compassion and understanding than any white church would give a Black priest (but don't get me started on that either...) On the plane back to DC Bern, great with child (our son Josh) said to me, "we're moving to Charleston aren't we?" And I had to say, "If you will..." And she would.
No fancy Chicago parish for me. A humble little, misplaced African American mission was where I went and learned more about myself and race and grace and possibility than I ever would have dealing with Yuppies in Chicago.
The road not taken turned out to be the road that would have made me a different person than I am. And at this point in my life, I love 'who I am' and I love 'my life'. So as crazy as the decision seemed at the time, it made me who I am today and, in case you didn't get it, I am who I always hoped I would be.....
The second church I never served was in suburban Baltimore, when I was thinking about leaving St. James after five years of joy, I 'put my name in' (which is the Episcopal-speak for 'applying for the job' and at St. John's in New Haven. When St. John's expressed interest, though I was farther along with the church off the Beltway in Baltimore, I took my name out. (I've never been a suburban priest. I don't think I'm up to it. I love cities, and since I've been in the Cluster I've learned that I love 'rural', which is where I came from in the first place. Being in the Cluster is like 'going home' in lots of ways.) I have lived in Cheshire, a suburb of New Haven/Waterbury/Middletown/even Hartford--at one point when I was still working and Bern was working, we'd leave for Waterbury and New Haven and the couple next door would leave for Hartford and Middletown. Go figure. Cheshire is a poly-suburb. I love living here, but I wouldn't be much good as a priest here--too political and too left wing theological I guess...plus, I don't like wearing suits. Suburban churches expect 'suits'--inner city and rural churches don't....
The third church I never served was St. Mark's in Raleigh, North Carolina. I was actually 'called' to be their rector. I adored the building and the community and the liveliness of the Search Committee. I actually believed I was 'called' to be the Rector of that progressive, rapidly growing parish. Bern wasn't enamored of living in the south and our kids were still in grade school, so it would be a stretch. But we'd visited and they'd visited and low and behold I got the 'call' on the Friday before Labor Day! The Senior Warden was going to be on an island without a phone until Tuesday so I couldn't give her my answer (which is always 'yes!' since such time and energy goes into search processes) until the Tuesday after Labor Day. So our family did 'votes', everyone with 5 slips to either put into 'Yes' or 'no' and every vote was so close as to be moot. Finally, Bern and I decided to play Backgammon, a game we played every night to decide. This was on Labor Day itself, knowing I had to call the next day. Best of five was the deal. I won the first two games and said to Bern, "it's OK, we'll stay in New Haven". But she said, "let's play it out" and won the last three games! Then she said, "I know you want to go, so, let's go." We hugged and went upstairs to tell Josh and Mimi who had known their crazy parents were downstairs playing a board game for their futures. I walked in the room and opened my mouth to say, "We're going to North Carolina!" and what came out was, "We're staying in Connecticut!" Then I burst into tears.
I didn't sleep at all, wondering how to phrase my 'no' to the Senior Warden. And when I got her on the phone I told her "it's not time to leave Connecticut" and she said, "You're kidding, aren't you?"
I told her I kidded about most everything but not this. After a long, minute long silence, she said, "You son-of-a bitch!" I got worse after that and suddenly I realized I'd made the best decision of my life without knowing it. I hung up on her and the Search Committee sent me flowers and called several times, but the road less traveled (saying 'no' to a call to a wonderful parish) was taken. Really, as I felt sorry for myself, on Thursday the head of the Search Committee at St. John's in Waterbury called me. (The irony was I wasn't in full time ministry at the time and the folks from North Carolina came to hear me preach at St. John's where I was doing supply as they looked for an interim Rector.)
"Did you take that job in North Carolina?" Judy asked me.
"No," I told her, wondering why she called to ask.
I heard her take a big breath and then she said, "would you be willing to have your name put in for Rector of St. John's? Please say yes...."
I shook my head at how mischievous the Spirit can be. "I'm probably not eligible because I was with you for three months before Jeff came to be interim," I said, meaning it, wishing it weren't so.
"No," Judy said, breaking into laughter, "the bishop has already said you can...."
So, that's how things go in the strange and mysterious ways of the Spirit.
The last church I never served came when I was 51 or so and realized if I didn't move from St. John's then, I wouldn't until I retired. So I 'put my name in' at the Cathedral in Minneapolis. I didn't think much would come of it, being Dean of a Cathedral, but there were phone interviews and I flew to Minneapolis to talk to the Search Committee and Vestry and was told I was one of 7 they'd brought up to talk. Then a three member group of the Search Committee came to see me in Waterbury. The came for a weekend and came to church on a Sunday in Advent when there was a mess of snow (though they probably thought that was normal, being from Minnesota) and on the day before wanted to interview four members of the parish. So, I picked four folks I knew wouldn't gossip about it all and they came to be interviewed. What I realized on that day, I was there all day as the folks came in to talk to the Minneapolis folks, that the folks I chose to talk to the MN folks were much more interesting than the MN folks they were being interviewed by.
So, a week later when I was called to be told I was one of three being flow, with my family, to Minneapolis for a final interview, I, without forethought, turned it down. I probably wouldn't have ever been the Dean of the Cathedral in Minneapolis, but I wasn't willing to take that chance, knowing I was where that mischievous Holy Spirit meant me to be until I was either thrown out or retired.
It was the latter that made me leave. I retired at 63 and 13 days of age because I had 30 years in the pension fund and was eligible for early Social Security and knew if I didn't leave then I might never leave because of the three churches I DID serve in all those years, I loved them all to death and St. John's was the ice cream on the pie of my 30 years of ministry.
I need to thank Rowena, because she chose to come to the Cluster rather than any of her other offers, for the joy of pondering the 'roads not taken' in my ministry. And I will thank her and be full of humility and joy to work with her until she comes to another fork in the road and has to choose....
As for me, I am convinced I always took the path I was meant to take, as painful as the choices were, and that is a Gift to ponder as I grow older. Always being where you were meant to be--what a wondrous Gift...what a joyous life....
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Ordination (what is it? 3 or 4?)
The programs are at the printer, the close circuit is set, the lunch is catered, the music is set, we'll do seating Friday afternoon, what could go wrong?
Oh...did someone say snow on Saturday?
(Rowena, if you read this, ignore that last sentence. OK?)
I was ordained to the priesthood in May (you stayed a Deacon in West Virginia for almost a year) so there was no snow. I remember it clearly because I was calm as all get out, ready to remember it always.
I was ordained by the Right Reverend Robert Atkinson and the preacher was Bill Pregnell, a professor of mine from Virginia Seminary. I had prepared a tape of my favorite music that was 20 minutes long or so that served as the Prelude.
The last song on the tape was "Heavy Church" by Three Dog Night.
In case you're not listening to it regularly, here are the lyrics.
"Light my was with incensed candles ooh,
Rug so soft beneath my sandals, ooh.
I've never been in here before
Like to feel the glory.
Mercy, mercy on love defenders
Have pity on the pretenders
A little help from all life's losers
A little truth from the mind abusers
Ooh, I need them praying in the Heavy Church.
If you judge the way they're living ooh,
Try to see the truth they're giving you
They only want to touch your hand with understanding.
Mercy, mercy on the love defenders
Have pity on the pretenders
A little help from all life's losers
A little truth from the mind abusers
Ooh I need them praying in the Heavy Church.
Hear them, hear them, hear them, hear them
Run and see the truth they're giving you
Hear them, hear them
Run and see the truth they're giving you
Hear them, hear them
Run."
I crept down the hallway just before the processional to hear that song. Bob Dylan, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Simon and Garfunkel and others were on the tape that provided the soundtrack for who I was on that day so long ago. I wish I still had the tape--but could I find something that would play it now???
Anyway, that tape summed up my theology in popular music, none more than "Heavy Church" which was why it was last. It all seems a bit silly now, but then it mattered--like MATTERED to me.
I still would stand up for the theology of Three Dog Night. I've always said, my whole priesthood, that 'the church exists for those who aren't here yet'. I've always thought it was the outsiders, the marginal, the unclean, the lame and halt and blind that Jesus reached out to. The 'Establishment' already 'had theirs'. Jesus came to those who 'had not'. "A little help from all life's losers" isn't bad advice to a priest. We, inside the church, need to listen to the 'truth they're giving you' from those outside the church.
And the 'have pity on the pretenders' would apply, as far as I can see, to all of us. We all--especially those on the inside, those who 'have theirs' are living in a pretense that is as wide as it is broad--that our 'having ours' is okay when others don't 'have theirs'.
That's why it's a Heavy Church.
The questions the church and the ordained should be dealing with are Heavy Questions: about equality and fairness and inclusion and hearing the voices of the marginal and the dispossessed and the outcasts and the despised and the rejected.
Those who aren't here yet are the ones I mean.
Those are the ones we must "hear..run to see they truth they're giving you...."
Whenever I've done that in my ministry, I give God all the credit.
Whenever I haven't (and I can't even count the times) it is my fault, my own fault, my own most grievous fault....
God help me find the Heavy Church where I belong.
Oh...did someone say snow on Saturday?
(Rowena, if you read this, ignore that last sentence. OK?)
I was ordained to the priesthood in May (you stayed a Deacon in West Virginia for almost a year) so there was no snow. I remember it clearly because I was calm as all get out, ready to remember it always.
I was ordained by the Right Reverend Robert Atkinson and the preacher was Bill Pregnell, a professor of mine from Virginia Seminary. I had prepared a tape of my favorite music that was 20 minutes long or so that served as the Prelude.
The last song on the tape was "Heavy Church" by Three Dog Night.
In case you're not listening to it regularly, here are the lyrics.
"Light my was with incensed candles ooh,
Rug so soft beneath my sandals, ooh.
I've never been in here before
Like to feel the glory.
Mercy, mercy on love defenders
Have pity on the pretenders
A little help from all life's losers
A little truth from the mind abusers
Ooh, I need them praying in the Heavy Church.
If you judge the way they're living ooh,
Try to see the truth they're giving you
They only want to touch your hand with understanding.
Mercy, mercy on the love defenders
Have pity on the pretenders
A little help from all life's losers
A little truth from the mind abusers
Ooh I need them praying in the Heavy Church.
Hear them, hear them, hear them, hear them
Run and see the truth they're giving you
Hear them, hear them
Run and see the truth they're giving you
Hear them, hear them
Run."
I crept down the hallway just before the processional to hear that song. Bob Dylan, Crosby, Stills and Nash, Simon and Garfunkel and others were on the tape that provided the soundtrack for who I was on that day so long ago. I wish I still had the tape--but could I find something that would play it now???
Anyway, that tape summed up my theology in popular music, none more than "Heavy Church" which was why it was last. It all seems a bit silly now, but then it mattered--like MATTERED to me.
I still would stand up for the theology of Three Dog Night. I've always said, my whole priesthood, that 'the church exists for those who aren't here yet'. I've always thought it was the outsiders, the marginal, the unclean, the lame and halt and blind that Jesus reached out to. The 'Establishment' already 'had theirs'. Jesus came to those who 'had not'. "A little help from all life's losers" isn't bad advice to a priest. We, inside the church, need to listen to the 'truth they're giving you' from those outside the church.
And the 'have pity on the pretenders' would apply, as far as I can see, to all of us. We all--especially those on the inside, those who 'have theirs' are living in a pretense that is as wide as it is broad--that our 'having ours' is okay when others don't 'have theirs'.
That's why it's a Heavy Church.
The questions the church and the ordained should be dealing with are Heavy Questions: about equality and fairness and inclusion and hearing the voices of the marginal and the dispossessed and the outcasts and the despised and the rejected.
Those who aren't here yet are the ones I mean.
Those are the ones we must "hear..run to see they truth they're giving you...."
Whenever I've done that in my ministry, I give God all the credit.
Whenever I haven't (and I can't even count the times) it is my fault, my own fault, my own most grievous fault....
God help me find the Heavy Church where I belong.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
A shocking concept hard to engage meaningfully
Ali McGraw, for all those Baby-Boomers out there--the girl we idolized and mourned from one of the worst movies ever: Love Story based on one of the worst novels ever, of the same name--Ali McGraw is74 years old.
It wasn't just us growing old. For God's sake, Ali McGraw aged? Heaven fore fend.....
It is true, beloved. Take heart....
It wasn't just us growing old. For God's sake, Ali McGraw aged? Heaven fore fend.....
It is true, beloved. Take heart....
The Ordination--Part Two
Ordinations are weird stuff. A big dose of pomp and circumstance, not a little formality, an eye of newt, some magic stuff and mystery aplenty.
(A young boy, watching an ordination of a bishop, turned to his father when all the assembled bishops gathered round the kneeling ordinand to lay hands on him, and asked, "What are they doing to him, Daddy?" The father answered--with as much truth as irony--"They're taking out his back bone....")
I once told an ordinand in my sermon for his ordination, "Michael, always remember you are an almost irrelevant functionary of an irrelevant institution." And I meant it. The bishop who was there was not amused and yelled at me in the vesting room afterwards.
You see, I think the church takes itself entirely too seriously. The minutia and flotsam and jetsam of the church is of no interest to the vast majority of the human race. It is just 'sound and fury signifying nothing' much.
The new Pope is putting a little intrigue and pizazz back into organized religion, I'll give him that. But, for the most part, most Roman Catholics might feel proud to have Francis, but the doctrine and dogma of the church has next to nothing to do with their day to day lives.
But given how irrelevant it all is, ordinations are high fun!
Lots of marching. Lots of singing. Quite a bit of chanting. Clerics all gussied up in their liturgical finery. A bishop with an odd looking hat and what looks all the world like a cane for someone 9 feet tall.
One of the ugliest moments I've ever encountered was after one of my classmates was ordained and his wife wrote a letter to Bern saying, "his hands changed". Bern was bouncing off furniture for some time, tearing up the letter and saying things a priest's wife (though I was technically still a deacon then) has never been known to say.
"If your hands change" I remember her telling me, "don't ever touch me again!!!"
My hands didn't 'change' and neither will Rowena's on Saturday. Ordination doesn't deal with the 'essence' of the priest, only with the 'accidents'.
Which makes the whole thing an accident.
I'll deal with that tomorrow.
(A young boy, watching an ordination of a bishop, turned to his father when all the assembled bishops gathered round the kneeling ordinand to lay hands on him, and asked, "What are they doing to him, Daddy?" The father answered--with as much truth as irony--"They're taking out his back bone....")
I once told an ordinand in my sermon for his ordination, "Michael, always remember you are an almost irrelevant functionary of an irrelevant institution." And I meant it. The bishop who was there was not amused and yelled at me in the vesting room afterwards.
You see, I think the church takes itself entirely too seriously. The minutia and flotsam and jetsam of the church is of no interest to the vast majority of the human race. It is just 'sound and fury signifying nothing' much.
The new Pope is putting a little intrigue and pizazz back into organized religion, I'll give him that. But, for the most part, most Roman Catholics might feel proud to have Francis, but the doctrine and dogma of the church has next to nothing to do with their day to day lives.
But given how irrelevant it all is, ordinations are high fun!
Lots of marching. Lots of singing. Quite a bit of chanting. Clerics all gussied up in their liturgical finery. A bishop with an odd looking hat and what looks all the world like a cane for someone 9 feet tall.
One of the ugliest moments I've ever encountered was after one of my classmates was ordained and his wife wrote a letter to Bern saying, "his hands changed". Bern was bouncing off furniture for some time, tearing up the letter and saying things a priest's wife (though I was technically still a deacon then) has never been known to say.
"If your hands change" I remember her telling me, "don't ever touch me again!!!"
My hands didn't 'change' and neither will Rowena's on Saturday. Ordination doesn't deal with the 'essence' of the priest, only with the 'accidents'.
Which makes the whole thing an accident.
I'll deal with that tomorrow.
Monday, December 9, 2013
The Ordination--Part One
So, on Saturday Rowena Kemp will be ordained to the priesthood, God willing and the Creek don't rise--by Bishop Ian Douglas and become the third presbyter in the Middlesex Area Cluster Ministry along with me and Bryan Spinks. Rowena is wonderful! Just what we need--young, upbeat, charismatic and charming. Plus, she's really smart. I like smart.
Some of us in the Cluster have started referring to this event as The Ordination since it is such a wonderful opportunity for these three small, rural churches to host Rowena's Beginning as a priest. Lots of people are very excited about it. It's being held at St. Andrew's in Northford, the largest of the three churches--though not 'that large'. I figure by having standing room in the two side aisles we can get 130 people in the church. However, Rowena has served so many places in her journey to this coming Saturday, I know we'll have more, many more than that.
So, these three small churches have prepared for overflow. Howie, from St. James, has arranged to borrow closed circuit TV from Higganum-Killingworth High School where he works and we'll hook it into the parish hall. The folks at St. Andrew's, Leslie and Dean, have arranged for the catered lunch after the service. 6 kids from Emmanuel Killingworth and one from St. James will be part of the procession. The three readers are one from each church. The two Eucharistic Ministers are from Emmanuel and St. James. The crucifer and bishop's chaplain are from Northford. People bringing up the gifts are from St. James and St. Andrew's. There will be a joint choir. People from the churches are bringing water and soda for lunch. I, myself, will be bringing wine--a celebration deserves wine I think.
Bea, the Cluster Administrator has worked with Rowena on the program. Brian, one of the folks at St. Andrew's will be in the parking lot to direct folks to overflow--which will be most of the parking! The lot only holds 20 some cars.
On and on it goes--this is the picture, lots of folks from these churches are invested in Rowena's celebration being special and something she's remember always.
So, I'll be writing about the Ordination the rest of this week--memos from the front line, as it were.
It would have been a lot easier to borrow a larger church--but not nearly so much fun.
Some of us in the Cluster have started referring to this event as The Ordination since it is such a wonderful opportunity for these three small, rural churches to host Rowena's Beginning as a priest. Lots of people are very excited about it. It's being held at St. Andrew's in Northford, the largest of the three churches--though not 'that large'. I figure by having standing room in the two side aisles we can get 130 people in the church. However, Rowena has served so many places in her journey to this coming Saturday, I know we'll have more, many more than that.
So, these three small churches have prepared for overflow. Howie, from St. James, has arranged to borrow closed circuit TV from Higganum-Killingworth High School where he works and we'll hook it into the parish hall. The folks at St. Andrew's, Leslie and Dean, have arranged for the catered lunch after the service. 6 kids from Emmanuel Killingworth and one from St. James will be part of the procession. The three readers are one from each church. The two Eucharistic Ministers are from Emmanuel and St. James. The crucifer and bishop's chaplain are from Northford. People bringing up the gifts are from St. James and St. Andrew's. There will be a joint choir. People from the churches are bringing water and soda for lunch. I, myself, will be bringing wine--a celebration deserves wine I think.
Bea, the Cluster Administrator has worked with Rowena on the program. Brian, one of the folks at St. Andrew's will be in the parking lot to direct folks to overflow--which will be most of the parking! The lot only holds 20 some cars.
On and on it goes--this is the picture, lots of folks from these churches are invested in Rowena's celebration being special and something she's remember always.
So, I'll be writing about the Ordination the rest of this week--memos from the front line, as it were.
It would have been a lot easier to borrow a larger church--but not nearly so much fun.
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