What Does it Take to Get Out of the Boat? A Sermon for an Instructed Eucharist

 

It seems perfect that the Sunday when I am preparing folks for our first bishop's visit since my ordination in January 2022, we have Matthew's tale of Jesus walking on water, and Peter trying to do the same only to find himself about to drown. 

I talk about leaving the boat as a sign of faith. And for me, leading an instructed Eucharist on a Sunday morning is a major leap of faith for me. I've done it with small gatherings but never on a Sunday. And it goes against my own preference not to do a lot of extra stuff like this in the service. But this is one of the key elements that I have included in my Inquiry 101 class, and I have at least one confirmand who did not attend the course, so now they'll get it along with everyone else. 

And since it's a Sunday where we are pulling back the veil and sharing all the secrets about the prayers, hymns, prayer book, etc..... why not also share what I go through to write a sermon. What do you think?

Text: Matt 14:22-33

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Good morning!

Since this is “Instructed Eucharist Sunday” I thought I’d first share a little bit about my sermon writing process.

Every weekday morning… I start with doing my own prayer…usually with the help of a service that’s online.

This has nothing directly to do with the sermon…and yet it does because it gets me into a dialogue with God.

On Monday… I take time to read through all the upcoming Sunday’s lectionary…the first reading from the Old Testament… the psalm… the Epistle or Second reading from the New Testament… and finally the Gospel.

I do this slowly.

I might even read them a second time to see if I am finding some things that might connect together.

Sometimes…I find myself drawn to a particular passage or some phrase.

Other times…it can be difficult to connect.

I let the readings kind of “cook” in my head for a couple of days… all while I go about life and seeing massage clients and listening to the radio.

It’s usually Thursday that I go back and re-read the scriptures…and start looking at commentaries and other resources.

And then Friday comes.

I know I should write my sermon.

I pray that I have something already brewing in my brain.

I get in several steps on my FitBit as I pace the floors of my house… or walk around outside.

I usually get a draft of my sermon finished at some point on Friday...hopefully before 6pm.

And if not… there’s always Saturday morning.

Isabelle kindly lets me practice my message with her.

We discuss it some.

If something doesn’t make sense…I’ll go back to work on it for another hour to fix it.

Even when she likes the sermon…I usually find something that doesn’t quite work for me and I’ll reword it.

All together… the sermon crafting process…from start to finish… takes me about six to seven hours.

I once heard about a priest who found out that his parishioners thought he spent about 45 minutes on his sermons.

Either his sermons were really lightweight…or more likely… his parishioners had a very skewed sense of time!

Even those of us who preach without a written sermon are not just winging it.

And unlike in some other Christian denominations…where preachers will pick a topic they want to talk about… the general practice in Episcopal churches is to work with the lectionary Scriptures that have been assigned for the service.

Our task is to hear the scripture… apply some reason to it… in light of our tradition.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Especially when presented with such a rich Gospel reading from Matthew.

There’s so much happening in these eleven lines!

I want to take a moment to employ a practice with you of reading and thinking about scripture.

We all heard Deacon Karyl’s reading of this Gospel.

Maybe it sparked a few thoughts in your head as you listened.

I’m going to read it to you again.

And as I read it… close your eyes…visualize the scene and pick up on what you hear….

(Read the Gospel)

What are some of the images that come to mind as you heard this?

(**Here give about a couple minutes for people to express themselves**)

So… thinking about the images… thinking about some of the words… is one way to enter the story.

Engaging in this way helps to draw connections between what’s on the printed page…and the threads of our own lived experiences.

Because the scriptures really are still speaking to us and touching on the human condition thousands of years later.

And as I said… there’s so much happening here.

Certainly  a LOT that I was looking at.

We hear that Jesus has gone off to pray and sent the disciples out on the water.

The winds begin to whip up a storm and the boat is rocking back and forth… and the disciples are rightly terrified.

Then Jesus approaches them… walking on the water.

Again… they’re terrified.

But Jesus… calmly without panic… tells them, “It’s me. Don’t be afraid.”

Peter says…”If it’s you, command me to come to you on the water.”

And Jesus responds…”Come on out here!”

Peter is fine at first.

He’s able to keep his eyes fixed on Jesus and walk.

But then the wind kicks up again.

Peter looks away…and that’s when he starts to drown.

Desperately, he cries out, “Save me!”

And Jesus… again… without fanfare and without panic… pulls Peter out of the water.

“You of little faith. Why did you doubt?”

And then when the two of them get back in the boat… the wind calms down.

Those who had watched this whole scene from inside the boat…  “worship” Jesus.

In so many ways… the “boat” could symbolize the church.

Think about it.

The deacon… or if there is no deacon, the priest… sends us out at the end of worship to “love and serve the Lord” into places with store clerks… peer groups…co-workers…teachers…and bosses.

Jesus sends the disciples out into the water… away from the certainty of the dry land… and into the turbulent sea.

That water often is an archetype of emotions… and the storms of life.

When waves are flooding the boat…when things are getting to be too much… Jesus comes to the rescue.

When matters in our lives get to be too tough for us…that’s the most common time that we cry out to God for help.

Jesus comes to us…and in this instance he comes to the disciples in the boat.

And then… almost on cue… Peter with his “if it’s really you” demonstrates to us what it means to be a person of faith.

Our tendency…when challenged to step out in faith… is often some hesitation.

We question… and then our faith pushes us out of our comfort zone…the boat… and onto the sea…this great watery representation of the unknown.

Such is what happens to Peter.

Out of the boat…he has nothing to orient himself but Jesus.

I was talking with a client recently about the time when I was driving on the Seven Mile Bridge from Miami heading to the Florida Keys at night.

It was spooky.

The water and the sky were dark.

The radio station I had been listening to… began to break up and I couldn’t tune in to another one.

All I could do was stay focused on the road and trust that I would make it to Key West in one piece.

I imagine that’s how it must’ve been for Peter.

He’s striding out of the boat and on top of the water.

With his eyes affixed on Jesus… he was fine.

But then… a gust of wind...blows against his body…and Peter takes his eyes off Jesus.

He gets distracted… realizes he’s out of the boat… out of his place of safety in numbers… sameness… protection.

Distracted and frazzled he begins slipping under the waves of chaos.

And just like before…he cries out…and Jesus lifts him up.

This is what it’s like for people of faith.

To have faith requires us to step out of the boat…into uncertainty… and sometimes stormy situations.

But as long as we center ourselves on God… keeping our eyes of our heart open to the source of love and light… we’ll be alright.

In the words of our psalmist:

“Search for the Lord and his strength

Continually seek his face.” (Ps. 105:4)

God will show up.

Finally… there are all the others who were watching this scene from the boat.

Having seen Peter take that chance of faith… having watched how even as he lost his way… Jesus came to him and pulled him up… now they know that God is not going to let them drown.

This is true for all of us.

When we take chances… when we venture out into the unknown in faith… we aren’t alone.

God is with us…ready to be there for us.

And by living into that faith and trust… we may be unwittingly helping others to have the courage to step out of the boat… and search for God’s strength as well.

Don't be afraid to get out of the boat.

In the name of God… F/S/HS.

 

Caesar and the Church

I have already written on the issue of opening the church prematurely during a pandemic. But today the president decided to announce that churches and other faith spaces are "essential services"; hence they need to open right now. And if any Governor attempts to stop a religious group from gathering, he would personally see to it to override the gubernatorial authority and order the buildings open.

Needless to say, I used a string of words that I promise I will ask God to forgive me for uttering before I go to sleep tonight.

This is an outrage and overreach by the president. He has no right to demand this of any Governor, and he has absolutely no authority to declare any religious entity open its doors for a worship service. The churches, the synagogues, the mosques, the temples....none of them have been "closed" during this pandemic. We have not been meeting in person. We are keeping socially-distant when we do, and usually no more than two or three. Most of us have learned to navigate our way into the world of online worship, and we're doing it warts and all every week, with services that are reaching people who otherwise might not walk through our doors. And, the last time I checked, God was not limited to a building anyway. For Christians, the "church" is the people, not the space. And God can be praised anywhere, any time. 

The reason we are not meeting, and why most religious leaders have been discouraging gathering in our buildings, is simply because there is no way to keep the most vulnerable members safe, or keep the communities we live in safe if we should meet and someone in our midst be a carrier of COVID-19. Remember, it is the asymptomatic carriers who put everyone within their radius unintentionally at risk. This is why wearing a mask in public is necessary. But never mind that: most of the people demanding that churches meet are also the ones walking around their local Publix without a mask. Following Christ requires us to "love God, love your neighbor as yourself." That means thinking about more than just our own needs and wants and considering others. 

This is why pushing to bring us all together into our buildings for an hour on a Sunday morning...or into a mosque or synagogue on a Friday or Saturday....is asking us to turn our worship spaces into a petri dish of highly-contagious viral infection. And this is, in my opinion, demonic. Only the powers of Satan would want to encourage people to gather during the height of a pandemic into a space dedicated to worshipping God and call it an "essential service." What a perfect scenario for the satanic work of driving people away from God: get them or their loved ones seriously ill, possibly kill them, for coming to worship together. Already, I am seeing posts on Facebook from atheist friends who are touting, "See: I told you!" For them, this confirms Christianity is a "death cult." 

Yesterday, we marked the ascension of Jesus into heaven to prepare the way for the incoming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Jesus left his disciples with a road map to follow to know how to live and take care of one another. We shouldn't let his ascension be a chance for us to lose our minds and retreat inward into selfishness. 

Frankly, the president can say whatever he wants about people heading back to their worship spaces. I will render to Caesar what is Caesar's. The church, in my context, is governed by the orders of the bishop. And we'll be doing services in my diocese online this Sunday. All are welcome...even in your pajamas.

Maybe We Need to Do Things Differently

"The Miraculous Draught of Fish"by Rubens

The days of Easter Week are kind of like the old Ginsu knife commercials where with each subsequent amazing feature of this kitchen cutting implement, the announcer would say, "But wait: there's more!" Since the most amazing and miraculous event of the Resurrection last Sunday, we've been treated daily to more wonderful testimonies of Jesus appearing to the disciples, being known to them in the breaking of the bread, etc. At the 12:10 service this Friday, the scene was the moment when Peter and some of the disciples take off in a boat to go fishing, since this is what they know how to do. They keep trying to catch fish, but they're not successful. Jesus in the meantime has been watching them from the shore, and when they come in, empty-handed, he tells them to cast the net off the right side of the boat. So, off they go, and they give the right-side a try. And--holy mackerel, salmon, and tuna--they haul in 153 huge fish!

Our celebrant was most interested in the charcoal fire on the beach...which he noted the only other time there was a charcoal fire mentioned was when Peter denied Jesus, something that would be undone in the verses to follow in the 21st chapter of  John's Gospel. But I was more interested by a couple of other parts of today's Gospel. First, it hadn't struck me until today that the breakfast Jesus serves up on the beach is bread and fish, which for me recalls the miraculous feeding of the five thousand and is one of the few stories of Jesus which exists in all four Gospels. This breakfast is only going to feed a dozen, not thousands, and yet it is significant that the same food which fed all and all were satisfied is brought out again to feed those who will be charged with "feed my sheep."

Even more interesting is the idea of the 153 fish. I've looked, and I can't find anything that would be a clue about this number, but I am taking it as a sign of the diversity of sea life that found its way into their net and even with all of them squirming and their collected weight, the net didn't break. Cool, right? "But wait: there's more!"

I have to wonder if the significance of this catch could hold a lesson for us, the Church, today? I am curious about the idea that the apostles weren't able to fulfill their mission to "fish for people" until they dropped their net off the other side of the boat. As I consider this, it makes me think that for the church to grow, we need to be willing to cast our net into the waters that are not the usual ones. There are a lot of "fish" out there...just as there are a lot of "sheep" who need feeding and tending. But if we keep going to the same places, and using the same methods of attracting people, then we are missing an opportunity to reach those who are still swimming about in the great big sea called "the world." And the people we may encounter may not be "the usual suspects," which, in the case of Episcopalians, would be upper middle-class white people. Our population could stand to look a little more diverse and come from more walks of life.

Naturally, this requires people to step outside of their usual patterns and gathering places in order to meet those who are not just like us. That's risky, and nobody really likes to do what is risky. Face-to-face, person-to-person contact is always the best. And I sometimes wonder if it doesn't help to share freely and fully some of the good things happening at a particular church through this medium called "social networking." It may not seem as effective as the incarnated encounter with a happy Episcopalian. And yet, more and more people are dependent on their FB and other social networks to know what's happening in the world. A well-organized and planned strategy for sharing posts will raise a church's visibility. And once people find the church, a congregation trained in showing hospitality to a stranger is the net to encourage that visitor to become a more frequent participant. And once someone feels included, their willingness to take part in the life of the church takes off. And now--you have a net teeming with fish!

Are we ready for that?

Getting Crazy With the Feeding

Sermon 9 Pentecost 7-26-2015

Year B, John 6:1-21 (Proper 12)

At the General Convention in 2012…the one before the meeting that just concluded earlier this month…our Presiding Bishop-elect, Michael Curry, preached a sermon in which he was calling on all of us to be “crazy Christians.” Not crazy in a bad way. Crazy in the Jesus way. The crazy “Jesus way” means doing the unexpected and the unprecedented, things that result in the building up of people and giving them that power that comes from the love of God.

The story of the feeding of the five thousand in today’s Gospel is definitely a crazy Jesus moment. In fact, this is crazy enough that it’s one of the few stories that is in all four Gospels in some form or fashion. Only Luke tells us of the Prodigal Son; Matthew and Mark have a Caananite or Syrophoenician woman depending on who is relating the story. But all four evangelists thought this feeding of the five thousand needed to be mentioned.

In John’s version…we know it’s close to Passover, which is the biggest Jewish holiday and remembers, with the unleavened bread and bitter herbs, how Moses helped to lead his people out of slavery in Egypt. Jesus and his disciples have crossed over to the Sea of Tiberius. And a large crowd has gathered to follow after him as he continues to minister and heal people. Jesus sees all these folks, turns to Philip and says:

“Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?”

And while John doesn’t give us this detail, you can almost get this visual of Philip looking back at Jesus, his head kind of cocked like that RCA Victor dog, staring at him and—in contemporary terms—saying, “Seriously?!?!”

“Six months wages’ would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.”

Even Andrew, who shows signs of some optimism when he notices the boy with the five loaves and two fish, is just as puzzled. “But what are they (these loaves and these fish) among so many people?” If you’ve seen the movie “Inside Out” you might see Andrew’s emotions at play here with the initial Joy at seeing the loaves and fish…only to become pessimistic when Sad gets ahold of the control panel as he surveys the large numbers before them.

Jesus, undaunted, has the crowd sit down on the grass. He takes the bread and the fish, raises it up to give thanks to God, breaks it, then he has his disciples distribute the food. And--lo and behold—everyone got as much as they wanted and they were satisfied. And when they collected the leftovers it filled twelve baskets, a reference to the twelve tribes of Israel. Even the gathered fragments get pulled together to feed the people.

That’s crazy!  At least by the standards applied in the world’s economy. In the world’s economy, somebody should have been hoarding and leaving others empty-handed. Or someone should have been complaining that by giving bread and fish to this group of one thousand would mean that these other four thousand were getting something less than their fill. There’s a finite number, and some will win and many will lose.

But this is the economy of God. And in the economy of God, five loaves of bread and two fish is more than enough and not only feeds those present on a mountainside but will feed all of those who come seeking. And nothing, and nobody, is lost.

This is the Eucharistic feast in John’s Gospel, the same Eucharist that we will remember and celebrate here in a short while. In the same way that the crowd was gathered, we will come to the table, shoulder to shoulder, people of all ages, all different backgrounds and all sorts of conditions, and we will each receive exactly what we need to sustain us and keep us in relationship with God and each other. No matter who you are or what you do or where you on your spiritual journey, you will be fed.

John will emphasize this point about the Eucharist later in this same Gospel chapter. If our lectionary diviners had wanted to go on (which would have meant poor Deacon Scott would have had to read an even longer passage), we’d hear Jesus say, “I am the bread of life,” which is even more satisfying than the loaves of barley bread this crowd had consumed. This is the same bread, that body of Christ, which we receive. And by bringing that body into ourselves, it nourishes the spirit within and empowers us to go share that power with others. Because there is plenty of God’s power and love to go around.

Jesus knows, and is telling everyone with ears to listen, that he too will be raised up, and broken in death, but he will overcome death in the resurrection and in this way…this crazy Jesus way…everyone will come to have eternal life because nothing, absolutely nothing, will defeat God and God’s love for all of creation. Not even death! This teaching, this type of discipleship that requires trusting that there’s enough Love for everyone and that Love is stronger than death, was a little too much for some to handle and they walked away. Some still do.

But there are many who don’t. There are still those of us who come to this table of God…a smaller scale version of what is the larger heavenly banquet...not for solace only, but for strength. We come not just for pardon only, but for renewal of our resources so that we can be the light of the world and the salt of the earth. As we look around in our communities, whether it’s in Thomasville, Cairo, Camilla, or even in Tallahassee, there are people who will be shocked and pleasantly surprised if they were to encounter Christians who exhibit the kind of generosity and willingness to help one another that makes five loaves and two fish into a feast. Too often, the people who we call “the unchurched” have felt, for whatever reason, that they weren’t invited in to discover they have a place at the table. Perhaps in their experience they were specifically told to stay away. Or maybe they’ve bought into that message that somehow you have to prove your worthiness, or wear the right clothes, or pass some other test of human design to gain acceptability in order to cross the threshold of the church door.

I once was providing massage therapy at a Wounded Warrior event organized by the diocese of Florida. This soldier was really talkative and had a little bit of that tough guy edge to him. He told me he wasn’t much into religion, but he appreciated being at this church camp. Then he looked at me in curiosity as I was working on his bicep:

“Are you part of the church?”

I smiled. “Yes, I am. I’m an Episcopalian.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ll be!”   

Even the massage therapist was a Christian. It gave this guy something to think about as he experienced receiving kindness and caring beyond his expectations. We were everywhere…pouring out that love of God that had been poured into us through the Eucharist, and offering it back to those suffering from the wounds of war.

As the modern day theologian Henri Nouwen says, the transformation that happens at the table makes us more than individuals but a community:

the living Christ, taken, blessed, broken, and given to the world.  As one body, we become a living witness of God's immense desire to bring all peoples and nations together as the one family of God.(Daily Meditation,“The Body of Community,” from “Bread for the Journey.”)

Having been fed, we end with praying that we have the strength and courage to love and serve God with gladness and singleness of heart through Christ our Lord. It’s not always easy, but it is our calling as members of this one Body into which we are baptized.

Don’t be afraid to be a little crazy with seeking to serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor…no matter who they are… as well as yourself. Show the world your craziness by striving for justice and peace, and respecting the dignity of every human being. Be crazy enough to live and love life in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

https://youtu.be/XnFBrFfHvZg

Days of Awe

Yesterday was a special Sunday in my journey.  It was Sunday, November 11, 2007, that I woke up and heard a booming voice in my head to "Show up!"  After a week of being haunted by hymns and a nagging sense that I needed to go back to "that church," the final words came to me in a command that allowed no room for debate or questions or doubt.  I got dressed in the best clothes I had in my closet and went with some trepidation and trembling back to "that church".  My experience that morning was amazing and powerful.  After a lifetime as an Episcopalian, that morning was the first time that I heard that I was a beloved child of God, that I have always been a beloved child of God, and nothing--absolutely nothing--can take that away from me.  It was in everything from the prayers to the Scripture to the music and all in that climactic moment when I received the Eucharist, the total acceptance and re-membering me into the Body of Christ.   It was awesome.

These memories were foremost in my mind as I now waited in the back of St. John's in my Eucharistic Minister vestments.  I looked around the sanctuary, privately giving thanks for the work that God had done to bring me this far along.  I never would have thought I would be back in church, let alone in the back of the church in vestments ready to process in and be an active participant in leading the liturgy.  I was assigned to read our first lesson yesterday.  In the case of St. John's, this was the alternate track from 1 Kings, the story of Elijah and the widow who only has a small amount of meal and a little jug of oil.  She is reluctant to give Elijah what little she has because it's all she has for her and her son.  She was collecting sticks, and was planning to make a meal for her and her son before they died.  As I read it, in my own ears I heard this part:

 Eli'jah said to her, "Do not be afraid; go and do as you have said; but first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterwards make something for yourself and your son.  For thus says the LORD the God of Israel The jar of meal will not be emptied and the jug of oil will not fail until the day that the LORD sends rain on the earth."--1 Kings 17:13-14

The phrase, "Do not be afraid" comes up so often and was an important directive in the beginnings of my spiritual journey.  As I read this aloud, I felt a wave go through my body and it felt like an affirmation and a recognition of what it means to take those meager bits and mix them up to make a small offering of self.  There will still be meal and still be oil to last through those periods of uncertainty and doubt, but first make an offering of a little cake, and all will be well.  

These words then combined themselves with another widow's story, the one of the widow's mite from Mark which was our gospel lesson for the morning.  Here, Jesus uses the example of the widow dropping her two coins into the Temple treasury, all that she had, as an example of one who gives from her place of having nothing versus those who have everything.

"Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on." --Mark 12: 43b-44

In my head, and in light of my own personal reflection on my journey, these two moments made for a wonderful commentary on what has become of me in these five years.  I came back to my tradition, much like St. Paul.  I had come to despise the church and seen it as my enemy and oppressor.  Then, my road of Damascus moment came in the death of my father.  It was his passing that led me, blind and staggering, into the sanctuary where God could drop the scales from my eyes... and unplug my ears to finally hear the message of unconditional Love that had been there the whole time. And, as one who doesn't enjoy having a stock portfolio to make me wealthy (and nervous), I came back as one with little to offer to the church financially.   But that wasn't God's interest.  Not for me, or for the meaning of the experience of these two widows.  

As I read them, these two lessons are about giving of our selves.  And no matter how small and insignificant we think we are or we think our gifts are, when we offer our true selves to God, we are giving a gift that is the greatest and wealthiest and the best gift ever. 

In these five years on this long, strange trip with God, I have known what it is to give more of myself to God.  I have experienced it within my participation with the congregation of St. John's, but especially in my life beyond the confines of a church building with the parents I have encountered it  in my work with PFLAG and seeing the hand of God in my massage practice.  I have noticed the change in how I approach the world which has come through both my discipline of reading the daily morning office, but also in my fledgling practice of contemplative prayer.

I stand in awe of these changes, knowing full well that my Days of Awe are not really over.  God is continuing to work God's purpose out.  And I continue to show up to keep marching in the light.

Be Not Afraid

I was thinking that I would write an entry about the conclusion (thanks be to God!) of the Republican Convention in Tampa. But given that I purposely avoided much of it, and there are many others out there doing the analysis of who exactly was sitting in that empty chair that Clint Eastwood was addressing, I thought I would stick to commenting on something more interesting, and hopeful, for the future dialogue in this country.

Straight for Equality, the LGBT ally project of PFLAG, has published a short booklet called, "Be Not Afraid...help is on the way." The publication is meant to help those who are friends and family members of LGBT people open a dialogue about gay people and equality issues within their faith communities. I received my package of 25 of these booklets yesterday, and read through the booklet today. It acknowledges that allies are on their own journeys which aren't always moving at the same speed, and assures everyone that--in the words of Buckaroo Banzai--no matter where you go, there you are. And with each step, an ally can become a powerful and important advocate for their LGBT family and friends...and it doesn't require marching in a parade or waving a rainbow flag.

There are also short testimonies from allies and gay people of faith about the struggles they've been through and witnessed within their congregations. As I read some of these stories, I was reminded of the media attention given to the Westboro Baptist Church every time they show up to protest with their "God Hates Fags" signs. Fred Phelps and his band of followers have for some become the face of Christianity, whether we want them to be that or not. That "God Hates Fags" sign, and the many variations on that theme, are what many LGBT people have internalized as what all Christians think and believe about them. End result: gay people make assumptions about anyone wearing a religious symbol around their necks, and will avoid such people like the plague. Time for an ally intervention! There are many stories in the book about an ally...sometimes the minister or rabbi...doing something as simple as being kind to the LGBT person during the service or inviting him or her to take part in the Holy Eucharist, probably the deepest bond that can occur in the context of a Christian service. Such simple acts of kindness presents a much more loving, supportive, and friendly face of God to the stranger. And each of those stories in the booklet is punctuated with the gay person saying, "That made such a difference for me."

This all goes back to the gospel lesson that is in Mark where the disciples are eating with their unwashed hands causing a stir. As Jesus noted for the crowds,"There is nothing outside a person that going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile." A gay person in the church, in the pew or pulpit, or a lesbian couple getting married, does not and should not cause a problem. Yet there are some who will insist that while they don't hate individual LGBT people, they don't approve of our relationships. It's the whole 'Love the sinner, but not the sin' mentality which doesn't spare that LGBT person the pain of a rebuke of their personhood. For most LGBT people of faith, one of the biggest personal hurdles they can face is people telling them that if they have a relationship, they are committing a sin. What a terrible thing to turn love into a sin. And what could be happening in the heart of a person who says to another that the other person is committing a sin by falling in love? No doubt, allies and gay people alike, will run into this kind of thinking as they engage others in their faith communities about LGBT rights.

The key, as I see it, to dealing with this mentality is not to get into an argument. That will only harden both your hearts. The real key is to hear what that person is saying, and remember this lesson of Jesus' from Mark. Their demand that gay people be celibate in order to be acceptable does not reflect God's expansive love. It is more a reflection of their own discomfort with love and sexual intimacy. What can be done about that? Well, besides acknowledging what they've said, and refusing to agree with that position, the only other response is to say your own prayer for that person. Pray that God will be present with you and them in this place. Have compassion for whatever their fears are about relationships and sexual intimacy. And remember it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles and betrays the fears they are harboring in their heart.

We, however, do not need to be afraid. LGBT people of faith, and their allies within religious institutions, know the love and liberation that comes to us from God's grace. Now more than ever is the time for allies of LGBT people and LGBT people of faith to speak up and engage the rest of their religious communities in this dialogue about our equal place in the kingdom, and the importance of outreach to those who have been injured by religion. True religion is Love. It's time for our voices sounding that message to be heard.

The Burning Desire for that Bread and Wine

It's week number three of the "I am the bread" lines from John's gospel.  And I can just hear the priests who are preaching this Sunday secretly wondering, "How long, God?  How many more sermons can I write on this topic?" 

Better still, this is the portion of the "I am the bread" speech which talks about actually eating Jesus' true flesh and drinking his true blood as the pathway to eternal life.  Sounds a bit like the Zombie Apocalypse, doesn't it?

In all seriousness, this may be the perfect opportunity in some quarters to touch on that issue of this past General Convention: open communion.   That would be the broad topic.  The narrower discussion might be, "Why ARE we so protective of this sacrament?  Why DO we value baptism as the prerequisite to receiving this true bread and blood of Christ?" 

In the Episcopal Church, or at least in my experience of being an Episcopalian low these 44 years, I find that we don't like to ask these types of questions.  For all that we say that we don't check our brains at the door (and that IS true), most of us don't consider why we do the things we do.  We do them because "that's the way we've always done it."  One must be baptized to receive the Eucharist.  This is how we know that someone is a baptized Christian.  By receiving the host and the wine, the individual receiving this is bringing Christ into them, and feeding the Christ seed that was planted in them from the beginning of their lives and sealed at their baptism with water and oil. 

But for me that raises another question.  If baptism is all that is required for someone to receive the Eucharist, then why do so many parents and churches forbid children... yes even babies... from receiving?  Could a baby not get the host possibly with an ever-so-slight touch of the wafer into the cup of Salvation?  Perhaps that might seem too far-fetched, but I really don't think it is.   I don't understand the practice of making baptized children prove themselves worthy of the Eucharist through doing special projects before they can have the taste of the body and blood of Christ.  If we value baptism as our adoption by God into the body of Christ, then there is nothing left for a child to prove.   They are worthy. 

I remember when I had to go through my own routine of proving worthiness to my rector.  I was willing to jump through all the hoops in the world, create the poster with pictures representing "community", meet with him to talk about what I thought "communion" meant, and so on and so on.  I did this because I was longing to receive Christ in the same way that everybody else was.  Did I have a fully-formed theological position as to what happens when I take Christ into my own body?  At seven years-old, no, I did not.  What I knew was that I wanted it and I didn't understand why I couldn't have it.  I sometimes see this same desire in children at the rail.  The priest has stopped and offered a blessing on the child's forehead.  And then comes me with that bright shiny chalice.  I ask quietly of the parents if their child can receive.  Almost always the answer is, "No." And so I look and smile at this young one, and can feel their eyes as they carefully observe me administering the cup to mom and dad.  Some of the really young ones might reach for the cup.  I had one baby do that last week, and I smiled at her and said, "Yes!" 

So, if there is a desire of children who are baptized to receive communion before they have done whatever they need to do to satisfy some human-imposed requirement that allows them this very important sacrament, what would it be for the adult person who also wants to receive, but perhaps is not baptized?   What might it be that urges them to want to go to the rail?

Perhaps it's the continuous message they hear that to eat and drink these elements is to become one with this amazing presence called Jesus Christ.  Perhaps in their own hearts and minds, God is doing work that we can not see.  They could be just wanting to receive because of that good ol' fashion peer pressure of "everybody else is doing it."  In that case, I suppose, it will go in and out of them without ever taking root.  But what if they are someone who is seeking after God in Christ?  Do we say, "No!"?  Do we really have the right to refuse God to someone who asks for it?

I have heard veterans of war talk about their experience in the midst of battle.  When your life is under constant threat from an enemy military, and there is a priest offering communion to the troops, it's amazing how nobody bothers to stop and say, "All baptized Christians are welcome to receive."  Such formalities go out the window, and everyone, baptized or not... and some who are non-Christian, take the sacrament.  And nobody died of that.

Tradition of the church gives us many examples of baptism as an important first step in the journey toward God.  Jesus was baptized before he spent his 40 days in struggle becoming readied for the task before him.  Philip baptized the Ethiopian eunuch in one of those dramatic moments in Acts where an apostle sees that one need not be a Jew or even look like a Jew or be of a particular orientation to be worthy of this entrance right into relationship with God.  So I do understand the desire for not watering down, as it were, the importance of baptism.  But is the table of God a place to draw a line in the sand?  And if it is, when will we really put into practice the idea that all baptized Christians, from babies to their great-grandparents, are eligible to receive?

Communion Conundrum

When I was about eight or nine years old, my family invited our neighbors to attend church with us one Sunday. My mom wanted to share the Episcopal liturgy with our not-particularly-religious,  New England Congregationalist friends. I was just happy to have my buddy with me at the service. I needed someone my own age to commiserate with me later about the experience of the sermon. I remember that when it came time for the Eucharist, I turned to my friend.

"You can't have communion."

She looked at me funny. "Why?"

"Because," I reasoned, "you haven't been baptized."

You see, I had been trained so well by the rector in the "rules" of the church. I knew I wanted to receive Holy Communion as a child, and this was yet-another one of those "things" that I pressed with my rector at the tender age of seven.   He had me do a special study, and cut out pictures from magazines and demonstrate that I knew what "communion" meant and what the bread and water and wine represented, and by doing this I had proven myself worthy to receive the Holy Eucharist. But my friend hadn't done any of that. So, I knew that meant she could not join us at the Eucharist.

My mother, a cradle Episcopalian, shot me a disapproving look.  "Yes, she can!"  And I was given one of my first lessons in the chapter of life called, "Don't Be a Jerk."  My friend joined us and, in fact, she and her brother were later baptized in the Episcopal Church.

I share this story as the Episcopal Church prepares for its General Convention in Indianapolis.  Among the issues that are on the front burner for church wonks, but not as important to the secular media, is the resolution which would open up the Eucharist to the unbaptized.  I know reporters will be waiting to file their stories on the Church's vote on the blessing of same-sex unions; we LGBT people are very fascinating critters that need to be examined, re-examined, and talked "about" a lot.  Helps to divert attention away from the more difficult and--well--less sexy topics that happen at a Church governing convention.   But I imagine the debate about the unbaptized receiving Holy Communion will generate some sparks as people weigh the meaning of these two all-important sacraments of the Episcopal Church: Baptism and Holy Eucharist.

They are important each in their own separate and together way.   Talk to most lay people who are engaged in the Episcopal church, and the majority will tell you that they love the Baptismal service.  It is not only a moment of welcoming a new child (or adult) into their own relationship with God, but it is the community event of pledging our support and love for this person and a commitment to help nourish and encourage them as they grow up in Christ, and reaffirming our own commitment to keep walking with God.

Similarly, the Eucharist is the moment of reconnection with God in Christ and with God in us as we take the body and blood into our being.  The Eucharistic feast is the celebration of the life-affirming event of Jesus' sacrifice on our behalf.  In confirmation class, we were schooled in the phrase that the Eucharist is "an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace."   To bring that into my body on a weekly basis is a way to remember, and re-member, myself to God and to allow Love to flow through me and out to the world.

How important is it to have the former before the latter?

I have known of many people who have received the Eucharist, but were of other faith traditions.  Nothing bad happened to them.  Nothing bad happened to the church.   And, in some cases, it can lead to a desire to be baptized. 

I also think about how "the Way" spread following the resurrection and ascension of Jesus.  In the Book of Acts, people who were considered the outsiders hungered for a chance to be included.  And despite the misgivings of his Jewish disciples, Jesus' followers came to realize that these people have the Spirit within them; and then they baptize them.  So, that makes me wonder if this is a chicken or egg kind of question?  Again, how do we know that by allowing someone to receive Christ's body and blood, this won't whet their appetite further and lead them to become baptized?

And then there is the basic feeling that I have about what we are doing in the ritual of the Eucharist.  We invite people to "The Lord's Table."   We call this meal "The Lord's Supper."  Operative in both of those phrases is "Lord"; not "the Church".   The meal is provided by God, both in the figurative sense of it being the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, and the literal sense that the bread and the wine are products of the earth's bounty which are also part of the creation of God.   The functions of the people at the altar, be it a bishop, priest, deacon, Eucharistic minister, or acolyte, are to be the wait staff for what is really supposed to be God's meal.  It's God's banquet, God's party, and God only knows who will get called to taste and see how good this food and drink is.

Finally, let's steal a phrase from the culture wars: "Think of the children!"   I think of me as a child.  I really, really, really wanted to partake in this ritual.  By my understanding (and that of many others I have found who are in the ordained priesthood) I didn't need to prove my knowledge of what all the symbols meant.  I had been baptized; hence I was already considered ready in the eyes of God to receive.  But there continues to be a practice in many places that children must be "of age" to receive the host and the cup.   When I talked with the former rector of St. John's, he said the one consistent battle he fought at each church he went to was over the Eucharist and when it was appropriate to give it to a child.  I know I was not the first child with a deep desire to join in this uniting to Christ at the Table.  And if children long to be included in this moment of symbolic solidification of faith, how much more so would an adult want that?

No matter what happens at General Convention, a change such as this would not happen overnight.  In the meantime, I commend to those with interest to go visit Elizabeth Kaeton's blog, Telling Secrets, to read more analysis and consider ordering "Water, Bread and Wine" which contains essays examining the question from many perspectives.  If nothing else, I hope this issue will encourage more dialogue about why we believe what we believe about baptism and the Eucharist.