Response to General Convention

The clergy deputies. I was feeling punchy.

In case you are wondering...this is not a sermon! This is my attempt to summarize a part of General Convention.

            The 2018 General Convention marked my 4^th convention.  While some people may perceive that as a punishment, it has been an honor for me.  That said, it can be overwhelming at times/most of the time.  There is a lot of information to digest.

            In some ways, this year was the first year we were not in the midst of something major (like a big conflict or the election of a Presiding Bishop.)  My first two conventions debated gay marriage a great deal.  We knew that the news that would come out from those conventions would be about gay marriage.  This year, it was the Book of Common Prayer revision.  Keeping up with the resolutions (even if you know which one you are following) can be onerous, which is why many Episcopalians tune into the news.

            If you looked at the headlines, you might see the following:

Episcopal Church considers making God gender neutral

Is God male? The Episcopal Church debates whether to change its prayer book

What’s in a name? Episcopalians move to change their words for God

From these headlines, some people might conclude that we are not using the name of God anymore.  This is not the case.  There are different perspectives on what it would look like to move to gender neutral language.  For most people, it is simply a matter of not using pronouns to refer to God.  This was the policy of Princeton Theological Seminary when I attended in 2001.  It’s not a new idea and it’s not an Episcopal idea.  Using gender neutral language for God does not mean that we no longer refer to the Trinity as: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.   It does not mean that we no longer assign a gender to Jesus.  It does not mean we change the Lord’s Prayer.  There are some people who would like to change some of those things, but that is not the majority.  The majority simply want to refer to God as God and not as he or him.  It’s that simple. 

        Why does this matter?  There are a couple of reasons.  First of all, the name of God is a confusing thing.  I am not a Hebrew scholar and, therefore, I do not feel equipped to explain it without a lot of time studying and even then, I am not sure it would be helpful.  So let me use one example.  When Moses receives his instructions from the burning bush in Exodus 3, he asks what to call the being that is sending him forth.  God answers , “I am who I am…Thus you shall say to the Israelites, ‘I am has sent me to you.’” That name is neither male nor female. It allows for a more expansive view of God.  Therefore ,if we are true to what God calls Godself, then perhaps we should not relegate God to one gender.

            The other compelling reason for dropping pronouns when referring to God is that it enables us all to see God in different ways.  It keeps our minds open.  Genesis tells us that we (male and female) are made in the image of God.  Every person is made in the image of God. Therefore, relegating God to one gender can make it difficult for all people to see themselves as the image of God.  There are several other reasons that people listed for revising the BCP, but the gender neutral language was the one that came up the most. 

            I know what you are thinking… “Just tell us what they decided!”  Well...it’s not super clear. I would encourage you to read the actual resolution which is here: https://www.vbinder.net/resolutions/A068?house=hd&lang=en

In essence, we will think about it some more and form a task force. That is usually the go to answer when we cannot find a good compromise.  Part of the issue was the cost in creating a new BCP.  The estimate was about $8 million over 9-12 years.  There wasn’t enough money in the budget for that.  Instead, they put aside $200,000 to create a good Spanish, French and Haitian Creole translation. I was absolutely shocked to learn that we don’t have good translations for our current BCP.  What have literal translations.  As you can imagine, a literal translation lacks the flow and cadence of our beloved BCP.  Another thing the resolution did was memorialize the 1979 BCP.  No one is exactly sure what that means.  Most have interpreted that it means that no one is taking away your 1979 Book of Common Prayer.  There might be a new BCP in the next 20 years, but we would still be able to use the liturgy of the 1979 BCP.  This was to allay the fear of another schism in reaction to a new BCP.  At this point, the soonest we could have a new BCP would be 2033 and that would only be if the process started at the next General Convention in 2021.  Long story short, there is no reason to panic.

            Obviously, there was a lot more that happened at General Convention and I will try to write one more post, as I am sure you all are dying to hear what I think.  To be honest, I am not ready for a new Book of Common Prayer.  The 1979 BCP has a lot of flexibility already in it and we don’t use the flexibility that is already there.  Personally, I would like to start using some of the liturgies that have already been authorized but continue to use the 1979 BCP as our primary text.

Walls of Hostility: July 22, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 9                                                                
Ephesians 2:11-22                                                                  

 

            When I was being considered for this position at St. John’s, I was reminded on a few occasions of the difference between Hampton and Norfolk (which is where I previously served in a church).  I dismissed these reminders for the most part. My house is 8 miles from here—which is fairly close.  There are plenty of people who go back and forth between Norfolk and Hampton. I will admit that doing it in the summer the HRBT is a form of torture, but other than that, it’s really not a major problem. 

Early on in my time here, it became clear to me that Hampton and Norfolk are different, a lot more different than Norfolk and Virginia Beach or Norfolk and Chesapeake.  There is a different culture. It’s quite fascinating.  We have this division despite modern transportation and communication that is light years ahead of what it was 25 years ago.  It’s odd because normally we associate walls with things that divide us, and bridges with things that connect us.  Yet in Hampton Roads, it is bridges that divide us. Sometimes, I feel like we are East and West Berlin in 1965.

            This reading from Ephesians can seem a little irrelevant at first glance.  Once the Bible starts talking about circumcision, most Christians tune out.  When Paul referred to those circumcised, he is talking about Jewish people. When he referred to the uncircumcised, that  was everyone else.  The circumcision was a physical sign of a very real commitment that the Jewish people made.  At this time (about 70AD), the division between the circumcised and uncircumcised was like North and South Korea today.  That’s not completely accurate, because people did interact with one another.  However it was that drastic.  If there were interactions between Jew and non-Jew, those interactions were superficial and limited.  There were no meals together, no inter-marriage, no friendships.

            In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul was saying that this barrier (as impermeable as it seemed) was no longer relevant or necessary because Jesus died on the cross for all.  They were no longer Jew and no longer Gentile.  They were Christians, followers of Christ and that is all that mattered.  Paul wrote, “For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is the hostility between us.”  A lot of people have tried to figure out what wall he was referring to.  Was it the wall that divided the temple from the outer courts?  Was it a wall between heaven and earth? 

I am not sure why we debate it as it seems to me that the text is clear.  It’s the hostility between us.  There is no real wall.  Humans manufactured the wall through fear, jealously, anger, and apathy.  The wall was created by humans for humans.  Unfortunately we build pretty good walls, even when they aren’t physical.  That is why Jesus had to live as one of us and then sacrifice himself on the cross. He had to show us what it was to love without walls.    

            “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.” Hearing about the blood of Christ has the same effect on some of us as hearing the word circumcision.  In many Christian communities, there has been an overemphasis on the blood of Jesus.  Some people and groups have attributed magic like qualities to the body and blood of Jesus.  It is the opposite of magical.  The blood of Jesus, and the broken body of Jesus are reminders of Jesus’ sacrifice for each one of us.  Jesus did not make the sacrifice only for one group or one country.  Jesus sacrificed for all of us.  If we can truly accept that, we can find ways to come together.  We always say that God loves everyone, but we rarely act like it.  Someone gave me a little coaster that says, “Jesus loves everyone, but I am his favorite.”  We might not say it out loud, but we act like that a lot. If we can try to believe that Jesus died on the cross for every one of us in every part of this world, we might be more inclined to make our own sacrifices. 

            In this text, Paul wrote, “He (Jesus) is our peace.” He doesn’t write that he brought peace. He does not refer to him as the Prince of Peace.  He says, “Jesus is our peace.”  It is one of the most achingly beautiful ironies of the Christian faith--that the way Jesus embodied peace was to be executed by the Roman Empire.  We cannot be sure exactly why the Romans executed Jesus.  However, it is most likely because they were afraid that he would inspire people to revolt.  They recognized Jesus as a leader and one who could inspire the masses. The Roman Empire maintained peace through oppression.  They killed the people who threatened their rule.  Jesus’ mere existence threatened their rule. The irony is that this violent sacrifice that Jesus made paved the way for real peace, not peace maintained through violence and fear, but real peace.

            I am not overly concerned about the divisiveness of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel (unless of course it’s taking more over an hour to drive 8 miles), but I am concerned about the walls of hostility that we are building all over the world.  Humanity has become adept at erecting walls and that terrifies me.  A couple of years ago, a giant rubber duck ended up in Norfolk.  This thing is 6 stories tall and  travels all around the world.  What astounded me was the number of people from Hampton who went to Norfolk to get a picture the duck.  (You know who you are.) These were people who would never go to Norfolk normally, but the rubber duck brought them there.  I thought, is this really all we need to bring us together---a 6 story rubber duck?  Alas, the duck had to move on to its next port and that ended our temporary connection.  But it made me wonder what it would take to start dismantling our walls.  What is it going to take motivate us?  So often what brings us together is tragedy.  I don’t want to wait for another tragedy.  Frankly, I am not even convinced that would bring us together anymore. 

            We celebrate Holy Communion every Sunday.  One of the things we do in communion is we remember the sacrifice that Jesus made for us 2000 years ago.  Jesus knows that humans are fickle and tend to forget things. That is why he asked his disciples to share the bread and wine in memory of him.  Because not only do we remember the sacrifice when we celebrate communion, we come to this table together. Just for a few minutes, we remember that Jesus died so we could dismantle the walls and live as the community of believers.

            Think of the history of St. John’s, all of the people who have gathered together at the altar.  People fought wars in this town.  People on opposing sides eventually came together at the altar.  Our altar stands as a reminder of what we are called to do as Christians.  We cannot let it end here at the altar.  Church isn’t a temporary cease fire.  It’s a window into God’s dream for us.  Let’s open the windows and show people what it is to be the household of God for the whole world.

Your Whole Truth: July 1, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 6                                                                
Mark 5:21-43                                                                         

 

          Have you ever felt like an outsider? Maybe it was a momentary feeling.  You walked into a room and you realized that didn’t know a soul, or at least you did not know anyone well enough with whom you could stand and chat until you could politely leave.  Or perhaps it was something a little more nuanced. You knew most of the people and even got along with them, but you always felt like you were different somehow.  I would imagine that most people have felt like an outsider at some point in their life. Even in church, where we try so hard to be welcoming and friendly, there are people who feel like outsiders.  Being an outsider isn’t bad in and of itself.  Some people embrace it as a choice, as something that distinguishes them.  However, there are times when being an outsider is not a choice and it can be incredibly painful when it is forced upon us.

In Biblical times, there were clear boundaries between people.  People were divided by religion, ethnicity and gender.  It’s still true today, but today it’s a lot more nuanced than it was in Jesus’ day.  In the time that the Gospels were written, divisions were the norm. There was no expectation of inclusivity or embracing people who were different.  In the Jewish faith there were holiness codes.  There were rules on what you needed to do to be clean and unclean.  For most people, if they followed the laws they could be ritually clean, which meant that they could be included in the community.  Women and men had certain times when they were unclean.  For instance, women were unclean after giving birth or during their monthly cycle. However, there were rituals they could take part in that would cleanse them and allow them to enter back into the community. 

However, there were some people who suffered from illnesses or diseases that caused them to be unclean for the duration of the illness.  In our story for today, we hear of two people who needed healing.  One was a young girl who was very sick. The other was a woman who had been hemorrhaging blood for 12 years.  That meant that she was physically and ritually unclean for 12 years.  She was not able to worship with her community (if she even had one).  She was not able to share a bed with someone.  She could not even touch someone without contaminating them—making them unclean.  It was worse than being an outsider. If you are an outsider, the assumption is that there is a crowd that you can at least approach.  But for this woman—she shouldn’t have even been on the outskirts of the crowd, and she definitely should not have been touching someone in the crowd. 

Imagine what that would be like, to be that isolated. You’re not just alone, you are dangerous to be around.  You’re not just a sinner, you are the sin.  That is what this woman had lived with for 12 years.  She was desperate for a cure, not just for her body, but her soul.  I doubt that any of us can blame her for that desperation. In fact, we might admire her for having the will to keep going as long as she did.

She did what she was forbidden to do.  She entered a crowd and she touched someone.  It wasn’t just anyone. He was a holy man.  He wasn’t just any holy man.  He was a holy man on the way to heal the daughter of another holy man.  That meant that she wasn’t just putting this holy man at risk of becoming unclean, but she was risking everyone he touched.  Maybe that was why she just touched his outer robe. Perhaps she was trying to limit the contamination. She knew that if she could just touch his robe, she would be made well. 

She had been to all the doctors.  She had said all the prayers she could possibly say.  She had followed all the rules until now.  None of that had worked.  Yet somehow, somehow she had known that all she had to do was get close enough to touch his robe.  She was right.  As soon as her fingers brushed against the fabric of his robe, the bleeding stopped.  Her 12 years of bleeding was over. Her illness was healed.

Of course Jesus knew what had happened.  He knew that someone had touched him and been healed.  He could have kept walking. He was in a hurry after all.  But he knew something else.  He knew this woman needed more than a clean bill of health.  He asked, “Who touched me?” not because he didn’t know who she was.  He was giving her an opportunity. She could have slinked into the crowd.  That would have been the smart thing to do. Instead, she fell at his feet and told him the whole truth.  The whole truth. I wonder how long that took her, to tell her whole truth.  After hearing her whole truth he said to her and to all who could hear him, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace and be healed of your disease.” 

Had she left the scene after the bleeding stopped and not approached Jesus, I am sure her life would have drastically improved. She would have had the opportunity to be ritually clean again.  She might have been able to re-enter her community.  Perhaps people would have even accepted her again.  Yet those 12 years of isolation would have left her wounded. The bleeding would have stopped but the emotional and spiritual wound would have remained opened. She would have still been an outsider. 

Yet that is not how the story ended.  She found the courage to drop down at his feet, the feet of her Savior, and tell her whole truth.  And while her whole truth might have been bloody and perhaps shameful in some way, she told it to Jesus.  Because of that Jesus was able to proclaim to her and the crowd that her faith---her faith—had made her well.  The Greek word that is translated to “made well” means to be saved.   Her faith saved her—her wiliness to drop down at the feet of Jesus and tell her whole truth saved her. 

Last week I said that we all have a question that we are yearning to ask God, but that we may be afraid to ask for some reason.  I encouraged you to ask the question, even if you are not yet ready for the answer. This week, I want to encourage you to share your truth, the whole truth with God.   That doesn’t necessarily mean a confession of your sins. It could, but with this woman, I don’t think that is what her whole truth was.  Her truth was her loneliness. Her desperation.   Her willingness to break the rules. 

We have a God who died for us.  He rose for us. He saved us.  Not only that. He wants to know our whole truth.  He wants to know those parts of us where we carry shame and fear. Then he wants to tell each one of us and anyone else who will listen, “That’s my child and their faith has saved them.”

If we are all children of God, then we are all God’s family.  There can be no insiders and outsiders.  Jesus was consistent in his message of loving the people who were unloved and who were not accepted.  When he referred to her as daughter, he wasn’t just offering her healing and salvation, he was reminding the crowd that the community needed healing and that could only be accomplished by welcoming the outcast.  It wasn’t just the unnamed woman who had to tell the whole truth, it was all the people in the crowd.  It is all of us today. 

We are called to tell our truth and the truth of our community. We are called to do that in a loving way—not intending to shame people.  So of much we see right now are attempts to shame people and that might provide a superficial and limited solution, but it never brings healing.  What brings healing and salvation is telling our truth (not someone else’s—ours) with love and compassion and remembering that each one of us is a beloved child of God.  There are no outsiders.