Do the Hoaxy Pokey

At church this morning the priest centered part of her sermon on the Prayer of St. Francis. It is found in the book of common prayer and on cross-stitch and calligraphied framed art everywhere. The BCP rightly calls the prayer "A Prayer Attributed to Saint Francis." Why "attributed"? Because Frank didn't write it, and the prayer itself can be traced back to 1912, not the 13th century.

This brings up the issue of legend and reality, and how the border between the two is so easily blurred.

When I was growing up, I went to a missionary Baptist church and I was very involved in the youth group. One day, one of my teachers put a copy of the Arkho Volume in my hands. For those who don't know it, read a brief introduction to the Arckho Volume here. The Archko Volume is essentially a (fake) account of interviews with the members of the Sanhedrin who convicted Jesus and even an interview with a shepherd who saw Jesus' star! It is an utter fabrication, an amatuerish one at that, and I believed it without question as a young adolescent. The book was originally written, in my opinion, to convince skeptics to become Christians without the burden of having faith.

I could write for hours here about the importance of demythologizing our culture-religion and starting again with a trusting relationship with God, one with pitfalls and uncertainty. But for know I think I will simply say that the truth of the church is always stranger than fiction, and more importantly, God and the Holy Scriptures can and should stand up to our most rigorous examination. Thanks be to God!

High Church Musical

My 4.5 y.o. daughter has recently become interested in High School Musical. Saying "interested" is something of a understatement. For the longest time, about 30 years, I hated musicals of any kind,The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins (which has deep theological import, see here), if it had Rogers and Hart, or Hammerstein, or even Sondheim in it I wouldn't give it a chance. That was before the Buffy: the Vampire Slayer episode, "Once More With Feeling."

.

This episode showed me the importance of song for the expression of what can't be simply said. Now, I'm kind of a fan of musicals, I still don't care for the Sound of Music; but I'm open to the idea, I really liked Moulin Rouge, and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along blog.

Musicals communicate a depth of feeling that words sometimes can't, music itself, its rhythms and harmonies (not to mention the cumulative associations we all bring to how music makes us feel, which coincidently, there are real biological reasons why minor key songs are wrenching for us emotionally. It has to do with overtones that harmonize nicely, and minor keys clash with that, causing cognitive dissonance) amplify the message.

What strikes me as funny, but also poignant, about musicals is that the characters simply break into song, then go about their lives as if the song was just the thing to do.

We do this in the church too, especially when we chant. We break into song. "Come let us sing to the Lord; let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation." Singing that carries more meaning, and involves more of my physical body, than simply saying the words.

Singing, in chant, hymns, and South Pacific, all mean one thing: These words need more, these words say what I mean, but they need my complete abandon, my emotional nakedness!

Breaking into song, there is something very true in that phrase. We break from the standard politeness of regualr speech and communication, into something more vulerable and concentrated.

Feeding of the 450.

Here's a little movie about this past weekend's mobile food pantry. I was very excited to volunteer there, but was a little disappointed to see only three other seminarians there.

My feelings on the event ranged along the spectrum with my physical energy. We worked from 9-4, and were able to distribute food to 450 people (250 more than anticipated).

Jonathan Daniels

Here is my sermon from Friday, my first preached at Sewanee.

Invocation+

Context is everything.

In biblical studies, we learn of the importance of context. What is the historical setting of the text? What are its cultural assumptions? What is the inter- and intra-textual organization of the entire work? Why did the writer put pen to paper in the first place? How did the original audience hear the text?
As we learn about scripture, or any communication for that matter, we learn that some messages are high context: messages that need unpacking. For example, the Old Testament is high context. It needs careful study and comparison and it helps a great deal if you can read biblical Hebrew: High context.
A smiley-face, by contrast is low context. No real explanation or special language required.

Last year’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel “The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao,” by Junot Diaz is high context. If the reader is not highly conversant with the world of Tolkien’s Middle Earth, Doctor Who, Dungeons and Dragons, and Marvel Comics, much of the depth of that beautiful story is simply lost by the non-nerdy reader. High Context.

The Real House Wives of New Jersey is low context. Anyone watching that show quickly sees the meaning of it: That these people are horrible. Low Context.

Why was it written, what did it mean? What is the context?

But there is another context.Not just the context of the words spoken, but that of the words received. There is this context [book].There is our context [us]. And there is my context and yours, as individuals. Indeed, each individual is a veritable constellation of contexts, shaped by time, situation, genetics, and nutrition to name but a few. Did you ever wonder why it is that we are hear the same words and some are brought to tears, while others are brought to sleep? It’s our contexts.

One night, in 1965, many seminarians at the Episcopal Theological School, now the Episcopal Divinity School, went to evening prayer. Jonathan Daniels, one of many, followed the liturgy and chanted the Magnificat with everyone else. “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my savior.”

Jonathan Daniels likely could have used his newly acquired Greek to parse out each declension of each word of Mary’s song. Or perhaps he, or one of his classmates, while chanting the words “Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed,” may have speculated on the historicity of the Magnificat. Even more likely, Jonathan Daniels and his classmates simply went to evening prayer. Perhaps they went out of piety, or a sense of duty, or perhaps coercion by the faculty. Or maybe, some of them harbored that old George Herbert inspired pastoral fantasy. Whatever the case, most of the students there at evening prayer just went; they went and said the words. No care or concern for the context, either their own or for the words they sang.

Just saying the words. This is a great hazard of life in the church, and it can hardly be overstated, but of course when we overstated something, it is no longer heard, which is the problem. For us in the church, we say history’s most astounding things…everyday. For example, today’s Epistle:Galatians 3:27for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. 28There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

“No longer male or female”? One with Christ? Really? No victims no boarders?
Maybe the problem is not the context of the words, but the context of where the words land.

But that night in 1965 at evening prayer as Jonathan Daniels heard the Magnificat, he heard its words. And those words entered a context, the subversive, apocalyptic, loving context of Christ at work in Jonathan Daniels that had only one response: Yes.
The context of Jonathan Daniels that night was subversive in Christ; subversive because Mary’s words described God’s reign, God’s way of doing business, bringing down the powerful and lifting up the lowly. Mary was talking about Selma, Alabama. Right there in evening prayer, Jonathan Daniels stood at the nexus of apartheid in Selma, and, it must be noted, the segregated Episcopal Church there; and God’s subversive upending of all that seems to be. Daniels said, “Yes,” and was resisted by sheriffs, mobs, priests, bishops, and ultimately a shotgun blast. Daniels was an “outside agitator” because he believed and acted as the subversive God, heralded into this world, this context, by the song of a virgin. God made man, to make good on God’s own promises.

The context of Jonathan Daniels that night at evening prayer, in 1965 when he sang the Magnificat, was apocalyptic. Apocalyptic is not a word we use to describe the Christian life very often, but you had better believe that apocalyptic is an exact definition of what we do up there at that table [point to altar].

Eugene Peterson writes:
In its dictionary meaning, apocalypse is simply “revelation,” the uncovering of what was covered up so that we can see what is there. But the context in which the word arrives adds color to the black-and-white dictionary meaning, colors bright and dark—crimson urgency and purple crisis. Under the crisis of persecution and under the urgency of an imminent end, reality is revealed suddenly for what it is. We had supposed our lives to be so utterly ordinary. Sin-habits dull our free faith into stodgy moralism and respectable boredom; then the crisis rips the veneer of cliché off everyday routines and reveals the side-by-side splendors and terrors of heaven and hell. Apocalypse is arson—it secretly sets a fire in the imagination that boils the fat out of an obese culture-religion and renders a clear gospel love, a pure gospel hope, a purged gospel faith.” (The Contemplative Pastor, Eugene Peterson)

That night in 1965 at evening prayer the context of God met the context of a brash, self-absorbed, 26 year old man. I have no romantic illusions about Jonathan Daniels. I don’t think he went happily to his death. I think he would rather have lived; and I know his beleaguered mother would have had him live. But the context of God’s word met the Christ prepared context of Jonathan Daniels and the world responded in the only way it knows how, with a cross.

Go and the Sin No Mores

This is the name of a doo-wop band we should start here at the seminary.

So this week was a big milestone for me, my first confession. Confession is called the rite of Reconcilation in the Episcopal Church. Reconciliation is the key for me, to understanding sin in this day and age. For a long time, 32.5 years, I wasn't really sure what sin was/is. The prayer book isn't much help here:

Q. What is sin?
A. Sin is the seeking of our own will instead of the will of
God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other
people, and with all creation.



Here we are given a definition that presupposes knowledge of another thing, namely, the will of God. It's like answering a question with a question. What is sin? Well, what is God's will?

I think that most thoughts on sin come from a misreading of the Old Testament. A literal reading of the OT would have us see sin as obeying rules and the violation of said rules lead to repentence and ritual satisfaction, i.e. purity laws. The Hebrews actually saw these rules, this Law, as a gift from God. Following the law equaled walking with God, closeness with God. Breaking the Law was a seperation from God and the community. This is were my new understanding of sin comes in (from Paul Tillich), sin as seperation. Sin is seperation from ourselves, our human community (neighbors), and our seperation from God (experienced subjectively).

So with an understanding of sin as seperation, can we back-track and develop what God's will is? If sin is seperation, maybe God is connectedness, intimacy, LOVE. A quick aside: God is love and intimacy. But God is also personal. While it is good and fine to be in love with the universe (as New Agers might say), the universe doesn't love you back, or love you first!

But sin and God are not polar equals. God always wins, God's mercy perseveres. I am one of those wacky people who think God's love wins the day, the last day, no matter what. Demons, devils, Dick Cheney, and even that most hallowed god (free will) cannot resist God's love. Sorry.

The great satirist Terry Pratchett hit the nail on the head in his book Carpe Jugulum:(This is an converesation between a man and his grandmother and is best read in an English accent).

"There is a very interesting debate raging at the moment about the nature of sin, for example."

"And what do they think? Against it are they?" [said Granny]

"It's not as simple as that. It's not a black and white issue. There are so many shades of gray."

"There's no grays, only white that's got grubby. I'm surprised you don't know that. And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things. Including yourself. That's what sin is."

"It's alot more complicated than that--"

"No. It ain't. When people say things are alot more complicated than that, they means they're getting worried that they won't like the truth. People as things, that's where it starts."

"Oh, I'm sure there are worse crimes--"

"But they starts with thinking about people as things..."


Amen and 'nuff said.

D025 passed

Here's how history is made, quite boring. At 5:46 you can barely hear my bishop voting yes. D025

Theology Geek #2

For part one in my sure-to-be-way-too-long series on science fiction and spiritulity see here.

Part two involes the story Article of Faith by Mike Resnick. You can listen for free here, either on computer or Mp3 player. It is a pretty good story and I really like the host of Escape Pod, Steve Eley, he's a very thoughtful guy. The story itself reminded me of Robot Dreams from Isaac Asimov where a robot has a dream in which it is a Moses figure freeing the enslaved robots. For this dream, the robot is destroyed.


In Article of Faith, a robot and preacher learn about faith and the resulting disaster. I say disaster because I believe when faith is real, when we say, as Phylis Tickle does, that is Jesus is God not guru, there will be a shake-up in life. The preacher has to make a decision about what a soul is and what a member of his church can be. It reads a little like a story of racial prejudice, a few years delayed. In fact it sounds alot like an experience that happened in Americus GA back in the 60s with Clarence Jordan and some of his friends from Koinonia Farms.


At its worst sci-fi is humanistic paternalism with technology as the savior. At its best sci-fi can give us new images to think about age-old human problems. Which, in my opinion is the definition of good theology: new images of thinking about the fundamental issues of human existence.

Commentary

Here's a comment from an interesting post I left on theolphilics. Astute Sewanee folks will hear echoes of KN, from church history and Joe from ethics.

Well, it's been a month. A few thing have happened: Finals, two deaths, end of the first year of seminary, start of my summer-long chaplaincy.

Instead of a blow by blow, I'm just going to pick up where I am, "to begin in the middle of things" to quote the Archbishop of Canterbury.

I started my Clinical Pastoral Education last week, CPE for short. I am a chaplain at the local hospital and the nursing facility down the road. I was lead to believe that the nursing home was for old folks but it's actually a facility for people with dementia and other mental issues i.e schizophrenia, bipolar, etc.

I've had some amazing and frightening experiences already, just in the first week. But the real take home for me initially is the closeness of these pocket worlds of pain and suffering. I live on a mountain, The Mountain. This place is a paradise. Sometimes I feel like Samwise Gamgee waking up in verdent Middle Earth, all is well. But a three minute walk from my front door leads me to the hospital. In that hospital there is a woman who screams alot, nothing can be done for her. There is a lot of pain, frustration, and forgetting there. There are many of caring souls too, families gathering, and I think God is there too.

But simply saying God is there is such a bromide, so pat an answer that I feel sad saying it. I do believe God is there, but couldn't he make himself known? Platitudes help no one, especially the speaker. Actually, I think formulaic speaking is a defense mechanism that protects the speaker from engaging in real life.

Entering into pain with people is an honor and a challenge. When the people I speak with share their story with me and reveal themselves a sacred space is created; all the alarms and blaring t.v.s fade into a cloud of forgetting as a human connection is formed. The challenge comes with me when I enter the room. What will I witness? Are they friendly, hostile? Oh God give me words! Being a chaplain is a master class in mindfullness of speech. How easy it is to fall into the old patterns of talking. Just think how hard it is to start a conversation when you take out, "How are you?"

So, back to my original thought, the closeness of these places, hospitals, nursing homes, hospice, to "regular life" is strange. These places to me are like people, we go by them everyday never knowing what goes on inside, or if we do we avoid them. About 10 years ago I got my first hard lesson on not knowing what is going on inside a person when my friend Marcus died. Oddly enough, it was his funeral which led me to the Episcopal Church, it was an Easter Liturgy, these people had the right idea. Anyway, we can never know what another person is thinking or living through. It is the mystery of not knowing that is humbling and a sure cure for complacency.

I guess this is where Jesus comes in. Jesus says, "Trust me, the knowing is going to be complete someday, death and suffering are not the final words..." This is what I believe and it is a mystery too. The mystery is hard to live with, and as Flannery O'Connor says, "the mystery is an embarrassment to the modern mind."

God grow my capacity for your mystery, grant me ambiguouity, so that I may walk in your many ways.

Liturgy of the Word

Today, in New Testament, a group of seminarians performed a portion of John. There were 8 people perfoming, seven read and one drummer. They read, very dramatically and artistically, Here's the music they used, along with their reading of the death, and resurrection of Jesus, adn his appearance to the disciples and Thomas. The performance was most effective, and drove home the utter easterness of Christianity.
finally, here is a poem I wrote called liturgy of the word.

Liturgy of the Word


A hymn, psalm, or anthem may be sung.
The processed, but unwitting, griot; flanked by fire.
Holding forth with wind, reeds, and tongue.
The people sit, this brood, the words: their sire.

Puttin' some English on it. Throwing out
A proportion, ratio of chaos-God-life.
Scandalous breath-shapes to the lout,
Born and born again these words in strife.

Clanging in the new ears undopplered.
Thoughout space-time, atmosphere now sounding.
Translated, to this human-soul, the Word!
The fleshing starts in the ear's pounding.

Anamnetic consciousness in crisis,
Meets in slow delight of duty gnosis.