What happens when money earns more than working does...

I'd be surprised if this is the first time you've heard the name Thomas Piketty. He is the rage because of his book Capital in the 21st Century, already #1 on Amazon. 700 pages of super-logical argument about economics.

Mike Carroll was talking about him today at our Clericus Group and when David and I got in the car, he was being interviewed on NPR.

The essence of his thesis is this: capitalism is, by default, weighted toward the upper, upper people of wealth and unfair to the working class. What he shows, in great detail, is that 'capital' makes more money than working folks do and so the wealthy will be wealthier and wealthier and those of us who 'work' for a living will have less and less access to economic mobility. Money earns more money than working does, in understandable language.

What is needed, according to Piketty, for democracy to remain viable is to redistribute the wealth through taxes/

Not surprisingly, the folks on the Right have started calling him a Marxist. But the interesting thing is, he has a harsh critique of liberals and progressives because he sees that they have no answers to the inevitable path of democratic capitalism either.

I consider myself an ultra-liberal Democrat. Truth is, after hearing and reading about Piketty, a French economist, (I've not read his book and may not!) I know that deep down, I am a socialist.

My entire life has been spent in economic comfort. My father was a manual laborer most of his life who veered off into being an insurance salesman later in his life. My mother was a school teacher before there were teaching unions. Both of them grew up on the economic edge but became a part of the 'American Dream' and lived comfortably without extravagance for most of their lives.

Bern and I were on food stamps for a short time back in the 70's, but, for the most part, even as students together, we have live a comfortable, but not extravagant life. Now, in retirement, we're really better off than we've ever been: my Church Pension Fund check, our two early social security payments and my little part time job support us better than we've ever lived--without extravagance....

And I don't see why, in the richest country ever on this earth, everyone can't live in comfort without extravagance. There is nothing special about Bern and me. Everyone should live as we do.

The problem is this:the ultra-rich have crippled the unions, taken most of the wealth and left most of us unable to 'move up' the way the American Dream meant us to be.

Work should make money--not money. It isn't right that more and more wealth is being absorbed by fewer and fewer people in our society while tax levels on the rich are the lowest they've ever been. Something is simply wrong and unfair about that.

Under FDR, not surprisingly, and Ike as well, the tax levels on the rich were at least 5 times what they are now. And the working class is making less, given inflation, than they did in 1950.

There's something wrong when money earns more than working does. Just wrong. Dead wrong.

Hopefully, Piketty will bring income inequality into even more light than President Obama has sought to do.

People should 'make money'--'money' shouldn't make more money than working does....

The Voice

OK, I love "The Voice" on TV. Blake and Usher and Shikeria and Adam are some of my favorite people. And the talent is so superior to what's on other talent shows--especially "American Idol".

Last Tuesday I was away after watching the talent on Monday. I had Bern call me to tell me which two had been voted out of the competition.

My popularity and respect will probably fall. I know all that. But, the truth is, I love the Voice....

Something I found that I didn't know I had...

Looking through a file of old stuff, I found the sermon I preached on the first anniversary of my priesthood. I didn't know I had it. I preached it at St. James Church in Charleston. West Virginia on May 15, 1977,exactly a year after my ordination to the priesthood. Frankly, I don't remember it at all. It is typed (yes, typed!) on the back of bulletin covers that say, "you are my disciples if you have love for one another". I tore the 8 1/2 x 11 covers in two and the pages of the sermon are 8 1/2 inches by 5 1/2 inches, double spaced.

I've been a priest for 38 years since then, come May 15. And though I'd edit a few things about this sermon, by in large, I'd stand by it all these years later.

I thought I'd share it with you tonight.


May 15, 1977

What is a Priest?

     Woe is me! I am lost.
     For I am a man of unclean lips.
     And I dwell among a people of unclean lips.
     Yet, with these eyes, I have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.

With those words, the prophet Isaiah proclaimed the irony of his call from God. He is not worthy to serve the Lord. He is a man on unclean lips. And yet with his eyes, he has seen God--he has been called.

Today is the anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood. I have been a priest one year.

A year ago today I stood before the bishop as he asked the question of you, the congregation: "IS HE WORTHY?"

You responded, loudly as I remember, it pleases me to say, "HE IS WORTHY! HE IS WORTHY!"

Today I remember your words and I must echo Isaiah's lament: "Woe is me! I am lost. For I am a man of unclean lips."

I want to share my thoughts and feelings with you about priesthood. I want to share what and who I think a priest must be. I want to say something about miy role in your midst.

There is no better place to begin than with Isaiah: I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell among a people of unclean lips.

As your priest, I am no better and no worse than the best and the worst in you. A priest is one of the people--a member of the community. There's nothing 'special' about a priest--nothing 'special' at all.

Although we are all to be priests and servants of God. Although, as priest, I am merely one of t he people, my ordination does 'set me apart'.

A priest is 'set apart'--not by virtue of goodness, not to be an example, not as someone admired--a priest is set apart to serve--to fill needs and fulfill roles for the community, the people of God.

In that sense, I am set apart in your midst--I must be a story teller, an enchanter, a dreamer and a lover.

A priest must be a story-teller, a teller of tales.

I must tell you tales as we sit by the fire, our eyes glowing. I must weave for you the fabric of a story.

I must tell my tale, to those who care to hear.

I am a madman in the market place, telling stories.

And always the story is the same. Always.

The words are different each time. I change the details, the embellishments, the subtleties...but never mind, the story is the same.

I tell it over and over and over again.

This is my story, simply put: Once upon a time, we dwelled with God --and now, though we are far from God, God comes to us--God dwells with us, we are God's own.

Over and over I must tell that story to those who care to hear.


A priest must also be an enchanter, a magician of sorts, an illusionist.

I must grab reality and turn it over in my hand and show it to you all new, changed, altered, transformed--somehow enchanted.

I must tale the craziness and sickness and pain of your life and hold them mean...so near that they become a part of me, so when I let them go, they are transformed. Oh, craziness is still crazy and sick is still sick and pain still hurts, be they are different--enchanted, bearable.

I must pick up dead things along our road and carry them in my pocket and pull them out, alive again.

You say that's madness?

It may well be.

It may be mad to take bread and wine--such common things--and hold them out as Christ's Body and his Blood.

I must take a life--a life like yours or mine--a life of unclean lips and unclean hearts and show how that life belongs to God. How you and I are children of the Lord.

You and I--flesh and blood and bone--you and I are priceless, eternal, loved by God.

It is all true--but our eyes must be enchanted if we would see the King.

A priest must be a dreamer.

I must dream dreams for you. I must dream dreams you dare not dream. Dreams bigger than you believe in.'

I must dream for you...not because I know more about dreaming than you do,but because I know more about you than you know.

As your priest I know you belong to God. I know you are truly beautiful. I know you are priceless and eternal. I know no dream, no matter how large, can be too large for you.

So I dream your dreams...drams of growth and hope and wonder, dreams worthy of you. Dreams fit for the Children of the King.

I dream dreams you may not want dreamed--dreams that may frighten you, or threaten you, or bring you pain. I dream dreams that may never come true--because I've learned something saddens and liberates me--I can only dream for you. You must chose to make them true or let them die.

I must dream them. As your priest, I must dream for you because I know who you are.

Finally, and most importantly: a priest must be a Lover.

I must love you. I must love you, no matter what. No matter how petty or mean or unlovable I think you are, I must love you.

And that doesn't mean I will protect and shield you. That doesn't mean I won't let you fail and fall. Some would have me be more directive, more controlling, sterner--some would have me make demands I won't make.

And I won't do that. My love isn't like that. The love of a priest, when it is at it's best--let's go...my love let's you go and lets you be yourself--free to fail and free to soar.

But then, I know who you are: Children of the King. I know you are eagles, you can soar. You are beautiful, priceless, eternal, God's own.

Woe is me! I am lost.

It sounds so much--too much to ask of anyone. Too much, certainly, for a man of unclean lips in the midst of a people of unclean lips. It is too much. To be a priest is too much to ask.

And yet, it is asked. It is required by God.

These eyes have seen the King.

Today is the anniversary of my ordination. I have made it one year--not because of my skills or my gifts (thought I am aware that I am blessed with skill and talent). I have made it this far because God has brought me to this place and you have given me your trust, your prayers, your kindness, your understanding and your love.

You have been patient with me. And kind. And gentle.

I do not live up to my own expectations. It is too much to ask.

And yet, with your help--together , we people of unclean lips can lift our eyes...and our hopes...and our hearts...and our priceless, eternal souls higher...for we have seen the King, you and I.

We are children of God.

Knowing that, nothing is too much to ask.

God can use us, unclean lips and all.

"See, this has touched your lips; your iniquity is removed and your sin is wiped away."

"Then I heard the Lord saying: who shall I send, who will go for me?"

God calls us all. God needs us as God's people, a nation of priests.

God calls us all. My prayer, my hope, my dream, is that with Isaiah we can answer:

"Here am I, send me.

Here am I, send ME." 

 
 

 

Making a Difference

The workshop I helped lead Tues-Fri is called Making A Difference. It is based on the reality that people in ministry (lay and ordained) truly want to 'Make a Difference' and yet find it impossible to do so on a consistent or reliable basis. Making a Difference is often like bumping into the furniture in a dark room. The workshop is designed to turn on the light.

Here's an example of how I bumped into 'making a difference' once. About 7 months after I left the first parish I served and became Rector of St. Paul's in New Haven, I got a letter from Howell Browder, one of the parishioners of St. James, Charleston. In the letter, she told me (and I quote) 'how much a difference I had made' in her life and the life of her son.

Here's the problem: though I remembered Howell well, I had no idea what she was referring to and barely remembered that she had a son!

I had 'made a difference' but had no idea how or how to replicate it....

The workshop uses two tracks: a conversation about a series of 'distinctions' and Centering Prayer to give the participants a handle on what 'makes a difference' in ministry. It boils down to this: making a difference is ontological rather than functional, 'being' rather than 'doing', 'coming from' a stance or declaration rather trying to 'get to' a result.

My declaration in the workshop when I took it in the late 1980's was: "I am Priest". The amazing thing was that I went to the workshop to 'figure out' how to renounce my vows and do something else with my life. What the workshop gave me was my priesthood transformed, made new.

The workshop is about 'transformation', not 'change'. Changing things is arduous, frustrating and damn near impossible and ends up, most of the time, resembling rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. The ship goes down anyway.

Transformation is effortless, astonishing and created out of nothing just by 'saying so'. My declaration, so long ago, freed me from trying to 'do' the work of priesthood and gave my a place to come from out of 'being a priest'.

(That all may seem simplistic and a tad mysterious, but I swear it is ontologically accurate.)

Here are two things that happen in the workshop: near the beginning the participants introduce themselves by telling everyone their name, where and with whom they live, what their ministry is, whether they have special relationships with anyone else in the room and an optional statement.

That part gives me goosebumps as a leader since it reveals how powerful the people in the room truly are and how remarkable their ministries are. And those powerful, remarkable people have come to a workshop that is not cheap to learn how to 'make a difference' more truly.

Then at the end--when they have done a lot of hard work and wrestled with their angels--they introduce themselves again as their declarations as 'who the BE in the matter of their ministries. Those introductions go beyond goose bumps to being near tears of joy because 'being' is so much more powerful than 'doing' or 'having'. Those introductions complete the following open ended statements: "Who I am I;....". "The actions you can count on my for are...." "I will enroll ________ in my possibility...." And, "The difference I now see I can make is...."

I swear to you that each person's visage is transformed by the end of the workshop! They look transformed and transfigured. And each introduction is met by cheers and applause from the people in the room. Truly. I kid you not.

I have two more workshops to help lead this year--one in Chicago and one in Ireland. And as much as I hate to leave home, being the homebody I am, I am convinced I will come back from each of them transformed and enlivened anew.

I just will.

(Want to know more? Google "The Mastery Foundation" and read about the programs the foundation presents. And if you'd like to do the workshop and  have September 12-14 available, I'll be with you in Chicago....)

Home again, home again, jiggidy jig....

God, I love doing the Making a Difference Workshops!

I got home today after helping Ann and Bill lead one at the Bishop Malloy Center in Jamaica, New York. The workshops enliven me as much as they do the participants--which is like a 'transformation' of life.

This one was a Top Five or Ten of all I've helped lead--must be up near 45 or 50 by now (though I have no idea, having no working relationship with linear time.) Remarkable people, lovely people, people who 'make a difference' and, I believe, will know how to "make a difference" even more now, after their workshop.

And I work with Ann and Bill, who I've known for three decades at least and who I love. Truly. They make my life more wondrous and full.

And, in spite of all that, I am so glad to be home!

I have become a consummate 'home-body', no kidding.

A day away from my house, my wife, my pets, my life is like a month. I long, every moment I'm away, to be back with Bern and Bela and Lukie and Maggie and just be here in this house that was built 193 years before I was born, nestled in the rooms I love, with the furniture and pictures and art work I love...just like that..."home".

I'll be away for two more workshops: the end of September in Ireland and mid-September in Chicago. And both will be wondrous and full of new life. And The end of August and early September we'll be on vacation on Oak Island with Mimi and Tim and our friends John and Sherrie and, most important of all, on Columbus Day weekend we'll be at Tim and Mimi's wedding in Brooklyn. And somewhere in all of that, we'll go to Baltimore to see the 'girls' and Josh and Cathy a time or two.

And here's the truth, the next to best thing of all those wonderful trips will be this: coming home, jiggidy, jig....

I've come to grips with it. I am happiest and most complete when I am here, at 95 Cornwall Avenue in 'the Shire', Cheshire, CT.

I am a home-body. Maybe I've always been. Now I know and embrace and  celebrate that I am.

Really.

Three days away

I'm leaving in a couple of hours for a Making a Difference Workshop in Jamaica, NY.  I'll be away until Friday and am not taking my laptop. The workshop is really intense and there's not much time to write. Besides, I really dislike lugging a laptop around....

So, I'll be back and posting on Friday evening.

Be well and stay well.

Holy Oil Laundry

So, Easter was great, surrounded (literally!) by granddaughters and Josh and Mimi and Cathy and Tim and our friends who go on vacation with us (John and Jack and Sherrie) it was great.

By this morning everyone was gone and I decided to do laundry.

I washed my alb with a bunch of other stuff, neglecting to check the pocket and the vial of healing oil came undone at some point so one whole load was washed in holy oil.

Now, what to do?

Should I take the shirts and pair of khakis and other things I washed with my alb to some hospital, hoping the patients could wear them and get some benefit?

Should I wear them myself and hope I would get the benefit?

Should I frame them as relic-like things and hang them around my home?

Should I just quit worrying about the theological significance of holy oil blessed clothing?

I'm not sure which would be best. But I know this, when I wear those pieces of clothing (as surely I will) I'll feel differently about them.

That I know.