Such a joyous time....

A week ago, on Shrove Tuesday no less, Nathan Ives was ordained a priest in God's church by Bishop Laura Aherns at Emmanuel Church in Killingworth.

Nathan has been working as a deacon in the three church cluster I serve and now will take over one of the other two presbyter roles, rotating around with Bryan Spinks and me.

I don't know how many ordinations I've attended (not as many as some priests who see attendance as 'showing the colors'...I just go to the ordinations of people I really care about) but Nathan's was one of the best!

Laura was great--relaxed and humorous--which set the tone for the whole thing.

John Burton was the preacher. I normally drift off during ordination sermons (unless I'm preaching!) but John's was really good. Years ago, when John was new, he came to Waterbury and helped a group of volunteers build a huge labyrinth in St. John's Close. He was a good leader and shunned using any measuring instrument besides string he had cut to map the contours. I was amazed at that, at first thinking a tape measure wouldn't be a bad idea! But in the end, John's way was the best way.

Anyway, John and Nathan may be the only two priests in CT that own sheep. So the 'good shepherd' gospel from John's gospel was the reading. John did a funny but accurate comparison between being a shepherd (warts and all) and a priest (warts and all). It was totally unsentimental, which is what makes me drift away during ordination sermons--the sentimentality of it all.

Priesthood is, it seems to me, one of the last callings that requires 'being' more than 'doing'. And 'being' is simply that--just being who you are in whatever comes up. John's sermon illustrated that.

A good crowd on a snow covered evening. And a good party afterwards.

Folks in the Cluster know how to celebrate--whether liturgically or gastronomically!

(I once told Michael Spencer, in my ordination sermon for him, to never forget that he was 'an almost irrelevant functionary of a nearly irrelevant institution'. And I meant it though it made the bishop who ordained him furious with me. Christendom is over--the Church isn't the norm for society and hasn't been for decades (we're always the last to know!)--it is time to truly lean into and 'be' on the edges of things...like people's hearts and longings and love and doubts. I think Nathan will fit in well with that job description....)

Last of the cold?

It's 10:43 p.m. I just took the dog out to pee. It's 10 below zero on our back porch.

Tomorrow afternoon, it's suppose to rise to freezing (32 degrees). It will feel like spring!

Today, coming home from church, I was driving through Hamden and saw two Quinnipiac University students walking through calf deep snow with short sleeve tee shirts on. It was, then, about 8 degrees above zero. 

I can only hope they had been drinking heavily to protect them from the cold. But it was just past noon, so I hope they started early!

The cold makes the social contract break down. People don't pick up after their dogs when its this cold. Covered from head to toe, people don't give greetings. Drivers seem a little crazier than they already are. College students go out in tee shirts.

I understand why alcoholism is prevalent in places like North and South Dakota and Maine and Minnesota.

The cold can drive even the most sober to drink.

Hopefully, those two young men in the snow with tee-shirts on had been driven to that.

Tomorrow will give a taste of sane temperatures. Then it starts getting better and better. In the 40's during the next week.

Heaven! Anything above 10 below seems sublime tonight.

Lent I sermon

Let me be clear--parts of this sermon are more than a decade old. The wonderful poem by Anne Sexton that is quoted (finally, if you put the pieces together, in its entirety) was the impetus for the sermon as far back as 2001. I fiddled with it to preach it again today. I like it a lot. It teaches me the wisdom of Lent.

LENT I 2/14/16

          I walked for many days,

          Past witches that eat grandmothers knitting booties

          As if they were collecting a debt.

          Then, in the middle of the desert, I found the well….

          In the first Century, the Judean Wilderness was called Je-SHIM-mon, which means, literally, ‘The Devastation.’  The wilderness of Judea is an area 35 miles by  25 miles—almost 1000 square miles of devastation. From Jerusalem to the Dead Sea, the desert drops down 1200 feet to the lowest point on the face of the earth.

          The Judean desert is one of the most rocky, empty, inhospitable places you could imagine. It looks more like the Moon than it looks like Connecticut. There is an otherworldliness to that place. The heat of the arid afternoon is brutal, but not surprising—what is surprising is how cold it gets when the sun falls out of the sky like a ball rolling off a table.

          And though rain seldom falls in that place, when rain comes it comes in cloudbursts that flood the wadii’s with such force that human beings can be knocked to the ground and drowned in the desert.   

          I walked for many days,

          Past witches that eat grandmothers knitting booties

          As if they were collecting a debt.

          Then, in the middle of the desert, I found the well….

          According to Matthew’s gospel, after Jesus’ baptism, the Spirit led him into the Devastation—into the Judean wilderness—to be tempted by the devil.

          Matthew does not refer to Satan as “the Evil One” or “the Enemy”: instead, he calls him ‘o di-ab-oy-os, which means the slanderer…the one who tells lies.  Jesus’ “temptation” is the challenge of slander, of lies, of the “un-true.”

          In English, we tend to think of temptation as something “drawing us into sin or evil.”  But the Greek word is peir-a-zein, which is more akin to “testing” or “trying.”  Peir-a-zein does not refer to a purely negative action. “To be tested” contains the possibility of learning and growing…the chance of finding unknown strength.

          Then, in the middle of the desert, I found the well.

          It bubbled up and down like a litter of cats

          And there was water, and I drank,

          And there was water, and I drank.

          In the midst of the devastation of the desert, The Slanderer tempted Jesus with three lies.

          The first lie was this: personal longings and needs are more important than patience and endurance.

          Jesus was hungry and the devil dared him to turn stones into bread. But Jesus knew it was a lie and grew stronger.

          The second lie was this: quick results and instant success are better than wrestling with reality.

          To leap from the Temple and be unharmed would cause the Jews to acknowledge Jesus as their Messiah. Jesus knew it was a lie and learned wisdom.

          The third lie was the most seductive of all: Power and Control will win hearts.

          To worship Satan and rule the world would have let Jesus “control” the people of the world. Jesus knew it was a lie and learned faithfulness and powerlessness.

          Then, in the middle of the desert, I found the well.

          It bubbled up and down like a litter of cats

          And there was water, and I drank.

          And there was water, and I drank.

          Then the well spoke to me…..

          Jesus’ time in the Wilderness is a metaphor for our own journey, our own “testing” and trial and temptation.

          The desert, the Wilderness, the Devastation—it is not ‘OUT THERE” anywhere.  We are not called by Lent into a place “out there….”

          The desert of Lent is a metaphor for the inner journey we are called to make—the wilderness places of our soul we are called to visit and be tested by and drink from.  And the Wilderness is where the Well of God can be found.

          The Light dwells beyond our inner darkness. Life and Hope can only be discovered if we will walk in the Shadow of Death and Hopelessness. There are no short-cuts, no easy ways, no simple answers.

          The Slanderer within us whispers lies. And the way to Truth is through un-Truth.  The Well of God, the Water of Life is in the desert places of our hearts.

          Lent calls us—as individuals and as a community—to self-reflection and prayer. That way is the Wilderness Way. And it is the only Way to Freedom and Life.

          There is no Holy Week without Lent. There is not Easter without Good Friday.

          We live too much on the surface of things. Lent calls us down deep—down into the unconscious life, into the bone and the marrow of life, into the deepest Darkness where the light will truly Shine, into the driest desert where the Well of God bubbles “up and down like a litter of cats….” Where there is water and where the Well speaks to us.

          Then the well spoke to me.

          It said: Abundance is scooped from abundance,

          Yet abundance remains.

          Then I knew.

          Abundance is scooped from abundance, yet abundance remains.

         

          In the desert of Lent, we will know….we will know…..

         

Luke is home

I picked up Lukie's ashes today. They are in a little half-pint box. I'm used to human cremains--that weigh several pounds and are at least a quart of ashes.

Luke was such a big cat--it's humbling to see how little is left of him.

For now we have his ashes in a basket on the piano, where he spent a lot of time in his last weeks, until he couldn't jump up on the piano.

I know some of you think I'm a real wuzz given how emotional I've been about the death of 'just a cat'.

That's what non-animal people say about cats and dogs and birds--"they're just a (fill in the blank)."

That's where non-animal people don't get it.

Yes, Luke was a cat, but for nearly 16 years he was a member of our little tribe, our family.

He's back on the piano for now. When it gets warm we'll figure out what to do with his ashes.

I like him on the piano. I do.

Home again?

I was at St. John's in Waterbury today to officiate at the funeral of Al King. Al had planned his funeral with me in 2007 but I had forgotten the details. As soon as I saw the sheet he'd filled out, I remembered what a conversation that had been!

Al was a humorous, smart guy with an ironic twist to his personality. He was, as I am, a tad contrarian, so his choices for the service were quirky. He ignored all the suggested readings and picked a passage from Ecclesiastes (The 'a time to...' passage made famous by the Birds' "Turn, turn, turn" record) and an obscure piece of Revelation 21 and 22. Psalm 138. 1-13 completed his choices. He didn't pick a gospel reading so I read the passage from John where Jesus tells the disciples that they will come to him and they know the way. Thomas, a character not unlike Al, says, "We don't know where you're going, how can we know the way?" Us contrary people have to stick together....Al, Thomas and me....

I hadn't been on the altar of St. John's for 4 or more years. I expected it to be nostalgic and a 'home-coming' of sorts.

But it wasn't. I saw some folks I love and the building is still as beautiful as always, but things had been moved around--pictures in the library, things in the office--and the vesting room was much neater than it ever managed to be when I was there for 21 years.

I retired in April 2010--soon six years--and, as much as I loved it, St. John's isn't 'home' anymore. It was like being somewhere in West Virginia: it was a place that helped make me who I am, but it isn't part of whom I am now.

It was odd to be in a place that meant so much to me and not feel sentimental. But I didn't.

It all goes to prove that folks do 'move on', even from absolutely favorite places with wondrous memories attached.

I retired the month I had 30 years in the Church Pension Fund because I knew if I didn't set a time certain to leave I might just hang on and hang on until I'd worn out my over two decade welcome at St. John's.

It was good to see Jay and Steve and Donna and a couple of other familiar folk. But my church 'home' isn't there--it's at St. James and St. Andrew's and Emmanuel. That's where I'm 'at home' now--those places.

All and all, it was a good thing to learn. It's always good to know where  home truly is.

If we can live through the weekend...

It's February in New England, what did we expect?

The news is calling it 'life threatening cold'. And it is cold. Really cold. Below zero cold. February in New England cold.

But, looking ahead, it seems if we can live through the next couple of days, it will be back in the 40's. Gulf Coast weather in February in New England!

So, live for the weekend and life will be better, the Weather Channel promises...so it must be true.

Until then, bundle up, or better yet, stay inside.

One thing about cold weather, though, I really can sleep when it's cold.

I slept until 9:45 this morning! Under about 6 inches of bedding. My dog would stay in bed most of the day, I think, if he could hold it. He was ready to go out at 10, let me tell you....

Sleep tight.

Dark and quiet and cold...

I took Bela for his evening walk about 10:30 p.m. tonight. It was so dark and cold and quiet.

The street lights on Cornwall Avenue aren't all on at once, they alternate on and off to save electricity, so there are canopies of deep darkness along the way. The darkness embraced us as we walked and he sniffed.

This is also one of the coldest nights of the winter--and the next three days will be as bad or worse. I could have been heard begging Bela to pee! He seems to be oblivious to the cold, at least until his foot pads start to hurt. He sniffed a lot more than he peed! It was so cold my back ached.

And quiet....Lord, was it quiet!

When snow is on the ground, the silence falls. When it is dark, the silence deepens.

Occasionally a car would pass on Route 10--a block or so away. But it seems more distant than usual and the cold and darkness swallowed up the sound, muffled it, made it seem far away, like a sound in a dream.

I hate winter, I do.

But, I must admit, there is something strangely comforting and redemptive about the chill and the darkness and the quiet of winter nights. Something soothing and comforting and whole. Bela gave me a gift by taking so long to pee.

Take a walk (a short one!) late at night some of the next few days. Feel the chill. Lean into the dark. Be present to the silence.

Feel, lean, be present. Not just on your chill, dark, quiet walk--but always....