Proud to be an Episcopalian

Our yard and all of Cheshire is blooming like nothing I remember. Nature is thriving as we humans are struggling with pandemic and much needed protests.

I'm going to try to copy a letter from the bishops of New England to show what gives me pride about my church.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

 

New England Episcopal bishops respond with one voice to President’s “cynical” photo-op by calling out “the abomination of continued oppression of and violence against people of color in this nation”

 

What President Trump did in front of St. John’s Episcopal Church, Lafayette Square on the evening of June 1 was disgraceful and morally repugnant.  Displaying a Bible from which he did not quote, using as a mere backdrop an Episcopal church where he did not pray, and – more callously – ordering law enforcement to clear, with force and tear gas, a path through demonstrators who had gathered in peace, President Trump distorted for his own purposes the cherished symbols of our faith to condone and stoke yet more violence.

 

His tactic was obvious.  Simply by holding aloft an unopened Bible he presumed to claim Christian endorsement and imply that of The Episcopal Church.  Far more disturbingly, he seemed to be affecting the authority of the God and Savior we worship and serve, in order to support his own authority and to wield enhanced use of military force in a perverted attempt to restore peace to our nation.

 

His actions did nothing to mend the torn social fabric of our nation. Instead, they were a blatant attempt to drive a wedge between the people of this nation, and even between people of faith.  No matter where we may stand on the partisan spectrum, we, as Christian leaders called to proclaim a God of love, find his actions repugnant.  Jesus taught us to love our enemies, to seek healing over division, and make peace in the midst of violence.

 

Our church may rightly feel outraged and insulted by having the symbols of our faith used as a set prop in a cynical political drama.  The real abomination before us, however, is the continued oppression of and violence against people of color in this nation.  Let us reserve and focus the energies of our indignation to serve our Lord Jesus Christ’s higher purpose: to extend love and mercy and justice for all, and especially for those whose life, liberty, and very humanity is threatened by the persistent sin of systemic racism and the contagion of white supremacy.

 

The Rt. Rev. Laura J. Ahrens, Bishop Suffragan, Connecticut

The Rt. Rev. Ian T. Douglas, Bishop Diocesan, Connecticut

The Rt. Rev. Thomas James Brown, Bishop Diocesan, Maine

The Rt. Rev. Alan M. Gates, Bishop Diocesan, Massachusetts

The Rt. Rev. Gayle E. Harris, Bishop Suffragan, Massachusetts

The Rt. Rev. A. Robert Hirschfeld, Bishop Diocesan, New Hampshire

The Rt. Rev. W. Nicholas Knisely, Bishop Diocesan, Rhode Island

The Rt. Rev. Shannon MacVean-Brown, Bishop Diocesan, Vermont

The Rt. Rev. Douglas J. Fisher, Bishop Diocesan, Western Massachusetts

 

 

Be well and stay well my blog readers.

Pain on top of pain

On top of this virus that has so damaged our nation came the murder of George Floyd on video by a policeman in Minneapolis. This pain on top of pain.

And our 'president' (I won't capitalize it any more, or name him) called the governors who handled the virus when he didn't and called them 'weak' for not arresting and punishing more people who were protesting Floyd's murder.

Most protests have been peaceful. If you've seen them on TV and on line, you will see that the protestors are inter-racial, in some cases as many whites as blacks. And in many you see police taking a knee to communicate that they support the protests!

The thing that troubles me is that these massive demonstrations may, in fact, help the virus spread.

Pain on top of pain on top of pain.

Racism and inequality must come to an end, at long last. If there can be a blessing for our nation and our people to come out of this time of pandemic--that would be a huge one.

I grew up in a county that was 50/50 black and white. But I never went to school with a black student until my Senior year of high school when the black high school sent over 3 male athletes and 2 female A students to begin the consolidation that took place the year I went to college.

I knew very few black people growing up. McDowell County, WV was as segregated as the deep south. But a woman who was my uncle's cook and housekeeper and her husband who worked in my uncle's store, were dear to me. I worked in my uncle's grocery after school and during the summers with Gene and he was a gentle, funny and a tad outrageous. His wife--we lived next door to my uncle--treated me with kindness and good humor.

But they were the only two I knew well though half the people around me were black.

In college, I became friends with a student who had gone to the black high school in the town where I went to the white high school. He would introduce me to his friends as 'Jim, we went to different high schools together'.

I should have grown up surrounded by black friends. But I didn't.

That kind of separation should have ended decades ago.

It didn't and it hasn't yet.

It must end as this virus ends.

It is the only way forward for 'all of us' in the future.

No more George Floyd's should be our battle cry.

But for that to have a chance, this president must be defeated in November. Only that will enable, at long last, some moves toward racial unity.

I believe that with all my heart. And pray for it with all my soul.

Join me in that belief and that prayer.

Please.

Pentecost 2020

This is the sermon I gave today on Zoom and Face Book. At least it's the sermon I reconstructed to write it down--the original was from a page of notes. I wrote it down tonight because I won't remember it for long. Often people tell me they liked my sermon 'last week' and because I try to be polite, I say 'thank you', when I really want to ask, 'what did I say?'

PENTECOST 2020 (Zoom and Face Book)

Welcome to Pentecost! This is the day the fire fell and the wind blew and the Spirit began the church.

Pentecost was a Jewish holiday commemorating the Spring Harvest. It was one of the most important holy days and people came from around the known world to celebrate in Jerusalem. For Jews, Pentecost was 50 days after Passover (‘pente’ is 50 in Latin). For Christians today, it is 50 days after Easter.

My early years were spent in the Conklintown, West Virginia, Pilgrim Holiness Church. They did not speak in tongues. Pilgrim Holiness was a break with the Wesleyan Church which had broken from the Methodist Church—each break declared that ‘we are holier than those we left behind’.

No tongues, but they were ‘holy rollers’! During prayers people would be ‘slain in the Spirit’ and fall to the floor quaking. That was very unsettling to the children, as you can imagine, seeing people lying on the floor, twitching.

But the Pilgrim Holiness people had a hymn that went—“Come on Holy Spirit, but don’t stay long!” These were people who appreciated the power of the Spirit.

Another thing they did was ‘testify’. They would stand up and tell how God had touched their lives—give ‘testimony’ to the power of the Spirit.

I want to ‘testify’ today about my spiritual journey.

When I was 14, my cousin, Mejol, locked me in her room with a Bob Dylan album and a copy of Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. My Spiritual journey began that day.

When I was a sophomore in college, I had an hour between classes on Tuesday and Thursday. I didn’t want to go to the library but I found a church a block from campus that was open all the time. So, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I would go there and sit in the silence to read. But one day, before I could get out, a funeral began. They used the Episcopal Burial Office and I had never known a church could be so solemn and formal, yet joyous in a way. There was lots of standing and sitting and kneeling and I couldn’t get it right at a funeral for a stranger. When it ended an older woman behind me touched my shoulder. She said, ‘don’t worry, young man, we never know when to knell or stand either.”

Only a few weeks later, I was in the student union with a friend and a big, red-headed man came over to talk. He invited us to a party at his house that night, so we went. He was the Episcopal chaplain to the university and the ‘party’ was the Eucharist around a huge table. After the service, we all finished the wine. I knew I had found my ‘church’!

I went to Harvard Divinity School on a Rockefeller Fellowship two of my professors nominated me for. It wasn’t in my plans. I was going to get a Ph.D. in American Literature, but it kept me out of Viet Nam because Divinity Students were the only ones eligible for a deferment in 1970.

After two years we moved back to Morgantown so Bern could finish college. The next Episcopal Chaplain had ‘house church’ in the attic of Bern’s and my third-floor apartment. Every one who came was under 30 except the chaplain and a woman in her 70’s named Mariah Cartledge. Once at what we called ‘coffee hour’ but was really ‘wine hour’ and even ‘pot hour’ for some since the service as on Wednesday night, Mariah came to me and said, “Jim, when are you going back to seminary and getting ordained?”

Being even more of a smart aleck then than I am now, I answered: “Mariah, when God tells me to.”

Not missing a beat, she replied, “Jim, who do you think sent ME?”

My blood went cold. I called the bishop the next week and he said, “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

God speaks in mysterious ways. Through Dylan and Salinger and my cousin. Through being in a church for a funeral for a stranger. Through two different college chaplains. Through Mariah.

God speaks in many tongues—different ways to different people. BUT GOD SPEAKS.

(Together in a room, the twelve gathered, missing their Lord, and the Fire fell and the Wind blew and the church was born!)

I want to invite you to get in touch with ‘WHY YOU’RE HERE’. I don’t mean on the zoom call, but why are you in the place where you are in your life.

How has the Spirit moved you? How has God spoken to you?

When and where did the fire fall in your life? When did the wind roar? How did God’s still, small voice sound in your ear.

It can be something small, almost incidental.

It can be that someone…or something…touched your soul.

Maybe the breath of God breathed into your fear and confusion.

Maybe, as if by accident, something moved you and warmed your heart.

Maybe it was a gradual thing, over years…a longing in you, some itch you couldn’t scratch.

St. Augustine said we all have a ‘God-shaped empty place’ within us that only God can fill it up.

“My soul is restless, Lord, until it rests in thee…”

Reinhold Niebuhr wrote, “faith seeking understanding….”

That’s what I’m asking of you. Let your faith ponder where it came from and seek to understand how the fire fell in your life. How the wind blew. How God spoke to your ‘God-shaped empty place’.

What GOT YOU HERE? Not just today, but ultimately.

Fire and Wind a still small voice…

Happy Pentecost.

Pentecost

(This is the sermon I gave last year, not tomorrow.)

PENTECOST 2019 St. Andrew’s Northford

          Fear always says “no”.

          If you’re going to remember anything I say this morning—remember this: FEAR ALWAYS SAYS “NO.”

          And remember this as well: GOD SAYS “YES” TO US….

                                      ****

          Jesus’ friends were gathered in the same room they’d been using to hide. How many were there isn’t clear. The book of Acts says 120—though that number may be high. They huddled together, still frightened that the Temple authorities might be after them, still grieving in some way—though they had seen the Risen Lord time and again, felt his breath upon their faces—and, most…most of all,  they were terribly, wrenchingly lonely.

          Jesus had promised them they would be clothed in power. Jesus had promised them he would send an Advocate to be with them. Jesus had promised them they would be baptized in Fire. Jesus had promised them he was already preparing a place for them.

          But the promises seemed like so much pie crust to the disciples. They were still waiting for the promises to be fulfilled. They were frightened. And they were so lonely—so profoundly lonely.

                                                ****

          That image…that metaphor…that paradigm of being crowded into a lonely, frightening room rings true for us today.

           Fear haunts us these days. And though we huddle together in our fear, we are still so profoundly lonely. Fear speaks but one word and that word is “NO”.

          Our faith teaches us to be hospitable to strangers—but our Fear says “no” and we distrust those who are different from us.

          Our faith teaches us to be compassionate—but our Fear says “no” and we ignor the 'least of these' in our midst.

          Our faith teaches us to share our gifts with those in need—but our Fear says “no” and we live in the richest nation in the history of human kind where the gap between the rich and the poor gets wider every day.

          Our faith teaches us that “a little child shall lead us” and that we must become like children to enter the Kingdom of God—but our Fear says “no” as millions of children go underfed, undereducated and neglected  around the world and in our country.

          Remember this: Fear always says “NO”.

                                      **** 

There is no easy or simple way to explain it, what happened in that closed and fearful room on the first Pentecost—it happened like this: one moment the room was full of fear and the next moment the room was full of fire and a mighty wind fanned the flames until the fear was burned away and all that was left was hope and joy and those formerly frightened people “found their voices” and left their hiding place and spoke words that transformed the world.

We need the Fires of Pentecost to burn away our fears and the Winds of Pentecost to blow away our loneliness. We need the Spirit to give us our voices so we may proclaim the “Yes” of God to this world.

Fear always says “NO”—but God always says “Yes”….

We need a Pentecost. We need to know that God says “Yes” to us. That God calls us to wonder and joy and love and compassion and hospitality. And not just in the “big things”—God’s “Yes” to us is about “little things” too. God’s “Yes” to us is global, universal, total.

This is a poem by Kaylin Haught titled God Says Yes to Me. It is a Pentecost poem, whether she knew it or not.

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic

          and she said yes

          I asked her if it was okay to be short

          and she said it sure is

          I asked her if I could wear nail polish

          or not wear nail polish

          and she said honey

          she calls me that sometimes

          she said you can do just exactly what you want to

          Thanks God I said

          And is it even okay if I don’t paragraph

          my letters

          Sweetcakes God said

          Who knows where she picked that up

          What I’m telling you is

          Yes Yes Yes

          What Pentecost is about is God saying “Yes” to you and you and you and you and you and all of us.       What Pentecost is about is the Spirit coming so we are never, ever, not ever lonely again.

          What Pentecost is about is Fire burning away Fear.

          What Pentecost is about—and listen carefully, this is important—Pentecost is about God saying to you and you and you and you and you and all of us:

          Sweetcakes, what I’m telling you is Yes Yes Yes.

I can't write tonight

I can't write tonight because it would be so hyper-political and hyper-partisan that it might offend some of my readers.

I an heart sick about Minneapolis and George Floyd and the reaction of the President, who quoted racist rhetoric for decades ago.

I just can't write.

I'll pray for those demonstrating for justice for George around the nation--may they do no harm and not be harmed.

My heart is sick.

I cannot write.