Jesuscare

OK... I did not come up with that title on my own.

That's what my rector used as a term in his sermon on Mark's story of the hemorrhaging woman, and the 12 year-old girl of Jarius, who was dead but Jesus brought her back to life. It is the perfect term for these imperfect times as the arguments heat up over health care. In case you missed it or were totally unplugged from any news source whatsoever, the U.S. Supreme Court upheld the Affordable Healthcare Act (often called "Obamacare") with the conservatives darling Chief Justice John Roberts siding with the majority. It was not the outcome many had expected, given the right-leaning nature of the Court. And it was the outcome many of us had hoped for as we live day-to-day without health insurance. Far from the perfect plan, at least I stand a chance of being able to have access to health insurance. And as anyone in this country can tell you, possessing health insurance means that (in theory) you can afford to do those things that will keep you healthy. Like go to the doctor...

It was interesting to have the Mark gospel story of these two dramatic healing events on the weekend following the landmark U.S. Supreme Court decision and preceding Independence Day. The music at church was meant to recall our Americanism, including "America, the Beautiful" right before the Gospel lesson. Admittedly, I found myself struggling against some the lyrics in this well-worn American classic.

"O beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife,
who more than self their country loved,
and mercy more than life!
America! America! God mend thine every flaw,
confirm thy soul in self-control
thy liberating law."

My throat started closing and my eyes got watery on that verse as I contemplated the state of our nation.  The political dialogue in this country isn't a dialogue but a screaming match.  Attempts to make health insurance accessible to those like me are met with vows by one political party to do everything to block it.  Our Governor has announced that he will not expand Medicaid to make room for more enrollees... even though the federal government will pick up most of the tab.  He'd rather people get sick and go without care than to admit that he has lost this argument in the U.S. Supreme Court. 

Thank God for the Gospel lesson!!  The story of the unnamed hemorrhaging woman and the cure of Jarius' daughter were the pill I needed to swallow on this Sunday.  Because under the Jesuscare plan, everybody is made whole.  Everybody is made well.  Everybody gets included.  A woman sick for twelve years who, no doubt, had gone to countless number of healers in her day could not find a cure.  But under Jesuscare, she not a single-payer system... but a single-provider network... and--poof!--she's cured.   As an unnamed person it would seem she had no great social standing.  As a woman, we know of that period in history, she was a second-class member.  And then Jesus goes on to Jarius' house, the named man; hence a man of prominence in the society.  People are wailing because Jesus, having stopped to find the woman who touched his cloak, arrived after the girl was dead.  But under Jesuscare, even dead little 12-year-olds (a girl who was as old as the unnamed woman's mysterious illness) get to have their life restored.  I imagine Jarius had access to the best doctors and medical care of the day.  But it was the freely-given Jesuscare that helped his daughter.
Sadly, if this scenario were to play out in today's America the Beautiful, the hemorrhaging woman might be a convert to the cause for more Jesuscare while the Jarius family would likely say, "I got mine; screw you!"  Certainly, I would guess that most of the people in the pews hearing this lesson missed the idea that what Jesuscare represents is UNIVERSAL health care; a system where anyone who is willing to believe and puts their faith in this single-provider will be given a new lease on life.  Or perhaps they did hear and understand that, but because this doesn't jive with what their political ideology tells them, they simply choose to ignore the radical nature of Christ. 

The Episcopal Church is on record from the last convention as supporting Universal Health Care.   I do, too.   I think it's the only fair solution.  And if people want to pay extra for private insurance, they can elect to do so.  But there should be a level of care given to all people so we can have a healthier society.  And people should not be forced to stay in crappy jobs, or get married, in order to have access to care.

I am pleased that the U.S. Supreme Court came down on the side of "Obamacare" in its ruling.  I think that's a start.  But I hope one day Jesuscare becomes the reality in this industrialized country.  I hope that all those who say they love "country more than self" can also ascribe to the true meaning of loving "mercy more than life."  Then, America will be more beautiful.

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.       

Caught in the Storm

For those of you following the news of Tropical Storm Debby, we're doing OK here in our pocket of Tallahassee. The rain has been falling non-stop all day, at times heavy downpours and blowing wind. This is the South's version of a Nor'easter.
It sets an interesting backdrop for the things on my mind. Yesterday's gospel lesson was the story from Mark about the raging sea, and the frightened disciples, and the sleeping Jesus who wakes up to their cries of "Help!" and calms the storm. It seems that this metaphor was appropriate as the rain blew against the stained glass windows, and as we made our way from the safety of our sanctuary to the parish hall for an update on General Convention 2012 by our rector.
There are lots of issues that will be facing the bishops and deputies of the Episcopal Church next week in Indianapolis. From the description of the budget situation, it seems there is an intent to cut many program areas at the church headquarters (environmental justice, diversity, Christian formation). From what I understand, the idea is to shift these responsibilities down to the diocesan and even the parish level. What's not clear is what kind of funding will accompany that shift. And years of covering state politics showed me, when the state decided it wasn't going to be in the business of "xx" and it would be up to the counties or cities to provide "xx", it would be up to the County and City Commissioners to figure out how they were going to pay for "xx" to continue in their communities. My guess is that is going to be the upshot of this budget cutting and shifting down to the local level. It's going to be painful. And apparently has already had its own internal pain in the process of creating a budget for the Episcopal Church as reported by Katie Sherrod, who is a member of the Executive Council, the group normally charged with carrying out the duty of drafting a budget.
There is the matter of the Anglican Covenant. Thankfully, from the description I heard the rector giving, it would seem that our deputation going to Indianapolis is inclined to vote against the document. He gave the impression that there was a resolution that would be offered which would say, "We want to continue in dialogue, but we don't support the Anglican Communion Covenant." That would sound like D007, which is what me and my fellow bloggers in the No Anglican Covenant Coalition are supporting. But I know that is not the only idea out there, and my rector couldn't tell me which resolution he was referencing. To be clear, the only option that I find acceptable is the one that politely, but firmly, says, "No, thank you; non, merci; no gracias; nein, danke (have I covered all the languages of the Episcopal Church?)" This flawed proposal, the outgrowth of the Windsor Report which was the outgrowth of fear of gay people becoming bishops, just needs to die and go away. Period.
Speaking of fear, we get to one of the biggest hot button issues: blessing same-sex unions. There was much made of the term "union" vs. "marriage" at our forum. Mainly, it seemed there was a desire to make it clear that the rites to be considered by GC2012 would allow the blessing of "unions" not "marriages." I found this a bizarre distinction given that there are states and the District of Columbia where the civil government has said it is OK for us LGBT people to get married. But whatever! Our bishop, John Howard, has again written a letter to all of us on the topic of General Convention, with extra special attention given to this particular resolution. And, again, the bishop has gone on record opposing the idea of allowing LGBT people of faith to have our partnerships recognized by the diocese of Florida. Nevermind that if we cared to get the blessing of an Episcopal priest, all we'd have to do is travel to Miami where Bishop Frade has already given the green light to bless marriages that couples have entered into in those six states and DC where it is allowed. Suddenly, it just seemed so fitting that the sky was pouring down rain on our roof as this topic was being discussed. Unless you have lived in society's margins, you have no idea how painful it is to have an institution founded on the basis of Christ's love telling you, "We want your time, talent and treasure, but we don't really want you." The church ought to be the great equalizer where no one is greater or lesser than another. Ah, but then, they don't call it an "institution" for nothin'.
I have had enough meetings with our rector to know that he doesn't share +John's opinions about same-sex unions, marriages, blessings, etc. And rather than attempt to defend or explain the bishop's attitude (beyond saying +John is a "traditionalist"), Fr. Dave offered to people that they could take hard copies of his letter and read it for themselves. And the copies quickly went around the room.
I did not take one. I didn't need it. I had already read, marked, learned and inwardly rejected his reasoning on Friday when the letter showed up on the diocesan website. If there was any silver-lining in what I saw in his words, words, words on this issue: at least he owned the opinion as his own. In 2009, the bishop sent a letter back to all of us during the convention to denounce the adoption of D025 which lifted the moratorium on electing and consecrating LGBT people to the episcopate. It was an incredibly hurtful letter which framed the argument in the "fears" of Florida's deputation and grounding the argument against gays in what "We Florida Episcopalians" know about "Christian marriage" and so on.
In a change of approach, this letter makes it clear that the opinion expressed is that of Bishop John Howard and not necessarily our deputies. My hope is that when the voting occurs in Indianapolis, our deputies will find it in their hearts to consider the faces of the LGBT people they have encountered (and you know that they have), and that they will choose to see us as the face of Christ worthy of the compassion of our Savior as expressed in Matthew 25.
And, once again, our bishop will stand firm in the quick sand of "No" as the rest of the church says "Yes." Perhaps then, Bishop Howard will realize that the storm that is sending waves crashing over the bow of his boat is not one that will drown him, or me, or any of us. Because this, too, will pass.
Perhaps by then, Tropical Storm Debby will stop raining down buckets of water on our heads and we'll see the sun again. And maybe even a rainbow.

Shameless Plug...and Happy Pride Month

It's June. It's that sweaty hot season here in the southern United States where you have to shower in the morning and the evening. And that must mean it's time for Gay Pride Month!

Here in Tallahassee, the local LGBT community tends to go elsewhere for Pride celebrations. But a few of us in the Mickee Faust Club, that band of misfits making mirth and mischief on stage in Railroad Square, decided that it was an abomination to neglect the historical Pride month, or proclaim how proud we are to be queer...in someone else's backyard rather than our own. And so, despite the heat, we have been staging what we call our "Queer As Faust" festival at the Mickee Faust Clubhouse, which has no pleasantries of climate control, but plenty of water and fans to keep the audience comfortable. This is our fifth year doing QAF, which nicely coincides with the 25th anniversary of the Mickee Faust Club. And because it is our silver celebration, all the material we are performing is from the 600+ skits, songs, bad jokes, monologues the troupe has written over the past 25 years. Hence, we are calling this cabaret, "The Queerest of Faust."

I was surprised and flattered that one of the pieces selected for this show was the video I did three years ago called, "Queer vs. Christian Relationship". It is the foundation of a yet-to-be-written solo performance piece in which I struggle with the identity of being both a lesbian and a Christian. Most folks reading this blog may think those two things are perfectly compatible. And they are. And they are not. At least not when you start to talk to the gay community or the Christian community. If these two identities were the natural extensions of each other, we wouldn't be wasting so many years locked in fights over same-sex blessings and Anglican Covenants, and a crucifix worn around the neck wouldn't be a conversation killer amongst queers.

I think the problem is s-e-x. Gay people...oh, my...are sexual beings who do make love to one another. Straight people are and do as well. But some straight women have actually told me that I'm not really having sex because I'm not experiencing penetration by a penis, and that just tells me that straight women have either been fed a whole bunch of crap about what "sex" should be, or they just don't know how to have any fun, or both! The church is scared to death to talk about sex in an honest and open way because it is such an "earthy" activity. But some of the early formers of our Christian beliefs were also some of the randiess guys in tunics and sandals. So rather than talk about it, they just classify it as something that is not to be mentioned.

Ah, but then God has this funny way of getting into the mix. And a strange thing happened along the way to blissfully ignoring a part of our humanity: gay people started appearing in churches and synagogues, and being honest about who they are in God. There was an initial response to this of treating the LGBT faithful like the modern day lepers, or tax collectors, or demoniacs (take your pick). The unchecked vitriol spouted from the pulpit proved an effective way to alienate LGBT people from their communities, and from God.

Oh, but then God isn't so easily foiled. Because when God wants a person to taste and see that God is good, that will happen... whether the institution is ready for it or not. And that's what's been happening over the past 40 years. Gay people of faith have been knocking at the gate and demanding to be allowed in with no strings attached. In some cases, those gates have opened only to find there are even more gates to get through before we are embraced fully. One of the ways the institution tries to reconcile its dis-ease with sex is to tell the LGBT people of faith that they must be celibate (this would be a string attached). I'm often curious why we must take on an additional vocation like celibacy. I mean, there is the expectation, as foolish as it is, that straight people who are UNmarried will not be having sex. But if straight people do have sex...well, does anyone really care? But when gay people have sex--EEK! I imagine this is why it's so much easier to deal with single LGBT people because then there is no temptation to think about how that person might be having sex. And if they are partnered? Well, we just don't talk about that...

These failures in communication have contributed to the difficulties of having gay people feel at home in a faith community. And because the gay community at-large have felt unwelcomed by the faith communities, many have chucked the church entirely. And sadly, they've tossed out God with it because (as I mentioned in previous entries) there is the mistaken idea that "God" and "church" are the same thing. Again, I don't worship the institution; I worship God. And my presence, and that of other LGBT people, is part of God's intention to make the institution look more like the image of God: one massive face of diversity and beauty.

I'm pleased with the audience response to my "Queer vs. Christian" video. One person last night told me he thought it added a nice balance to the otherwise broad and bawdy humor in our Faust show. I notice how quiet the audience gets. Until the punchline when they laugh and applaud with delight.

Three more performances to go! Buy your tickets now at www.mickeefaust.com! And Happy Pride month, my queer brothers and sisters around the globe!

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime (or more)?

The General Convention is less than two weeks away, and amidst the battles expected over the budget of the Episcopal Church and the debate about allowing the blessing of same-sex marriages, there is that nagging matter of the Anglican Covenant going before the church.

Our No Anglican Covenant Coalition is sending our moderator, Revd. Malcolm French, and our Episcopal Church convenor, Lionel Deimel, to GC 2012 in Indianapolis. And that is no small expense. Our group is making this appeal:

For the first time, the No Anglican Covenant Coalition needs to solicit financial help in support of our efforts. To date, coalition members have run our operations on a shoestring, and some members have made significant personal sacrifices to enable us to oppose what we believe is a disastrous change in direction for the Anglican Communion. Our presence at General Convention, however, will be our most expensive undertaking, requiring funds for travel, lodging, meals, buttons, brochures, and other expenses. Your help is urgently needed. Please consider a making a generous donation to this important effort. The No Anglican Covenant Coalition is an unincorporated organization, and contributions are not tax-deductible.

As a bonus to those who make contributions to our cause of $25 or more, you will get one of our eye-catching buttons with the message, "Yes to Communion; No to the Covenant."

Below is a link that will allow you to donate via PayPal. Please help us have a presence in Indianapolis, so that our church may follow in the footsteps of the Church of Scotland, and the majority of English dioceses and defeat the Anglican Covenant.

Driving a Wedge Between God and God's People

It's a mystery.

That's apparently what Pope Benedict XVI had to say about the 50+ years of documented sex abuse scandals in a videotaped message played to an assembled multitude of 75,000 Irish Catholics over the weekend.

Meanwhile, the Guardian newspaper ran a scathing, and sadly accurate, commentary by Nick Cohen titled, "A Church Fit Only for Bigots and Hypocrites."   Cohen was speaking of the Church of England, "the Mother Church" of Anglicanism, which has been bound and determined to dig its heels into the quick sand of prejudice against gays and women.   The result:  a church that is teetering on the edge of going over the waterfall of total irrelevancy.

For me, the worst part about all of these articles (which are getting posted multiple times on social networking sites) is that it further undermines the efforts of those of us who know that the institution, and the hierarchies of these institutions, are not--repeat, not--God.   Too often, people associate what they see and hear coming from these supposed spiritual leaders for being the word of the Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer.  Rather than take the time to establish their own relationship with God, and taste and see how good that really is, they look at the Pope, or the Archbishop of Canterbury, and think that's what God is.

Really, no, they are not God.

At the same time, the continued crucifixion of Christ by both the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury is appalling.  Who is Christ, gentlemen, but the very people that you refuse to see!  Christ is the child who suffered abuse.  Christ is the woman seeking to follow her calling.  Christ is the gay man wanting to marry his beloved, not simply be "civilly partnered."  Have you forgotten your lesson from Matthew 25:

Then he will say to those at his left hand, “You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?” Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.’ 

Don't speak: I already know the answer to my own question.


I really do wonder if Hollywood shouldn't put in a call to the Vatican and Lambeth Palace and ask if the two would like to participate in a new reality TV show in which the two contestants compete for who can drive a further wedge between God and God's People.

Perhaps that reality is a little too real.

One Life in Sunset; Another in Sun Rise

I've been procrastinating at starting on a writing project.   It's not that I don't want to craft another solo performance piece.  It's that I can't seem to make the time to do it.  Or maybe it's that I know how much work that is and I can think of a half-dozen other "things" that need doing.  Hence, I am slow to getting started. 

But this weekend my foot-dragging has been pricking at my conscience more.  And I am pretty sure it's because of Father's Day.   Father's Day holds no special meaning for me any more.  My dad passed away in 2007, and yet all week I have been deleting message after message from chain stores that want me to know what I can buy for my late father.

I thought about that for a moment.  There is nothing for dad in this world.  He's not part of this world.  And the last few years of his life, he didn't enjoy comfort in the body which held his soul here.  One of the few things I could do for my dad was to rub his neck, sometimes his shoulders and his arms as well.  The disease that was progressively taking away his ability to move made his muscles stiff and achy.  And although he wasn't thrilled when I told him that I was leaving a career in radio journalism to become a massage therapist, I know he was thankful for my newly-acquired skills when he felt my fingers making gentle, yet firm, circular motions along his neck.

Both my parents factor into my spiritual autobiography, but it was my dad's death that brought me back into the church.   Not just for the funerals although that was the start of it.  But something bizarre happened when my dad died.  I heard hymns.

I know.  That sounds like, "I see dead people."  And it is a little like that sort of "The Sixth Sense" weirdness.

But really,  my head became a virtual jukebox of the 1982 Hymnal:  "I Bind Unto Myself Today"; "God is Working His Purpose Out"; "Crown Him With Many Crowns"; "The Strife is O'er"; and even fraction anthems from my youth when we did Morning Prayer every other Sunday and some of the tunes at the Eucharist like Agnus Dei.  It was unsettling, almost maddening, at times. And the intention seemed to be geared toward shoving me out of my comfort zone of spending Sunday mornings drinking coffee and doing crossword puzzles into this church that I had decided was dead to me years ago.  I was being called to be present in a Christian community and not in a fake way.  And I was to arrive as myself with no defenses, no chips on the shoulder, and my fists loosened and at my side.  It was only in this state of  being totally receptive and unbounded that I could feel myself showered in a steady rain of words from Scripture to hymns to the prayers which all spoke a single phrase:

"You are loved, totally and completely, unconditionally, forever and ever."

These words watered the soil of my being and the tiny mustard seed I wore around my neck since I turned 16 was finally coming into its full growth and pushing itself above the weeds that had been choking it down.  My dad's life had reached sunset, in fact the sun had gone down below the horizon.  And out of that death came a sunrise in my heart.  Or is that S-o-n?

This morning, as I idly flipped pages in the hymnal, I landed on "Eternal Father, Strong to Save,"  also known as the U.S. Navy hymn, and one of the pieces we sang at my dad's funerals.  Somehow it seemed fitting to see this one on Father's Day.

Eternal Father strong to save

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave

Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep

O hear us when we cry to thee

For those in peril on the sea.

Interesting since so much of this spiritual journey has felt like a boat ride, one in which I am always looking for a way either to steer the boat or find a way out of the boat.  Or leap into the belly of a whale and hope that any further pestering from God will pass me by.  None of which has seemed to work.  Perhaps it's time for me to listen to the words of this hymn, too.

Eternal Father, strong to save....