Burn up the Fears!

This week, I've been in conversation with many clergy people, both in person and via the internet. There seems to have been a theme running through many of these conversations:

"Where were the people last Sunday?"

This is often quickly followed by the next hand-wringing question:

"What can we do to get people to come to church?"

Now, never mind that last Sunday was Mother's Day, and, in Tallahassee, at least, it was a beautiful sunny day, and most moms in this day and age want to get an extra hour of sleep rather than schlep children to church. But the fact that women who are married with children didn't come out in droves to church is cause to bring back the tired topic of, "Why are people not going to church?"

There are lots of books out there to help priests and pastors figure out how to fill their pews. I see articles posted on listserves with ideas and helpful hints, or what one chuch has done in its local context to draw all kinds of people into the sanctuary. But, usually, the articles are just more hand-wringing. For those who draw a paycheck from the church, I imagine this all-consuming topic is based upon the fear that if people stop coming to church on Sunday, then, perhaps, it's a sign that their job is becoming obsolete. And nobody wants to face the prosepect of losing a job in this economy.

Again, I'm reminded of how amazing it is that I have encountered this conversation in so many places during this week where we are, in the church calendar, suspended between the jaw-dropping moment of Christ's ascension to be seated at the right-hand of God, and the mighty fiery wind of the grand entry of the Holy Spirit blowing into our lives to keep us on our toes for next half of the year. They call these next several weeks "Ordinary Season." (I'm still wondering what's so "ordinary" if you are tuned in and paying attention to what's going on around you.) Anyway, here we are in this in-between time, and everyone seems to be spinning in circles about "the numbers." Did the collect not talk about "Do not leave us comfortless..."? How quickly we are thrown into a tizzy because a bunch of women of child-bearing age didn't show up to church!

So many of these discussions I see as totally fruitless and pointless and ignoring the fact that there were people in church who may, or may not, be mothers. And my attitude, as one not dependent on the church giving me an income, is, "Was God blessed and praised? Did the people who were there hear the Good News and did they taste and see that God is good?" If the answer to those two questions is, "Yes," then there is no reason to keep chasing the imaginary tail of where were all the missing moms. Furthermore, if we're so concerned with knowing why people don't come to church on any particular Sunday, shouldn't we be looking to see what their needs are rather than assuming that we, the Church, know what's good for them and it's us? Not only is that an arrogant attitude; it's the product of an ego-driven approach to spirituality. The ego will want the individual to believe that somehow, he or she has "the answer" for other people instead of listening to the other people and meeting them where they are, not where we think they ought to be.

All of this comes to the point of what I see as the big deal this Pentecost. We need the Holy Spirit to blow its fire into our world and consume our egos and our fears. Quit looking for gimmicks to get people to come through the door as if some human-based endeavor is going to make someone want to come listen to platitudes that have nothing to do with their every day lives. All the re-imagining and re-engineering and cure-all books out there mean nothing if those who are preaching and receiving the Word still believe that they somehow are responsible for God's working God's purpose out. The one and only job, as I see it, for a priest at the Sunday service is to do the work of being the maitre d'; the chef, who is the host of the meal, will provide the food for thought, and the inner change in the heart of the individual.

I know for me, I feel myself preparing to enter into the furnace as the Spirit continues its work of forging and forming and shaping me for the next steps in this journey. The Alchemist has been pounding out the rough edges, and is in the process of adding some new contours to this work-in-progress that is me. Just as the leadership of the churches needs to let go of the ego and allow the flames of Pentecost to burn up their fears, so, too, must I surrender to trusting that the fire will refine me, but not destroy me. Burn, baby, burn.

This Liminal Time

The ten-day period between Ascension and Pentecost is one of the odder times of the year for me. But this time around, it is particularly strange and unsettled.

This really is feeling like liminal time. I don't have a sense of where I am in my journey. Or, probably more accurately, I realize that if I keep moving along a path toward God, my ego is going to get burnt to a crisp in the fire that is forging me into a more complete relationship with the One. I'm also realizing, perhaps because of my mom's stroke, that all that we think is certain or "secure" in life really isn't. That whole notion of "security" is an illusion. Does that mean that I should live my life recklessly. No, I don't think that's it. But I need to abandon the idea that I have any control, and any sense that I have control is, again, an illusion. My part in this life is to show up, stay awake, and follow.

The collect for this time when we're between Christ's Ascension and the "tongues on fire" arrival of the Holy Spirit includes this phrase:

"Do not leave us comfortless..."

Perhaps it should say, "Do not let us fret in our uncomfortable place."

Update On Anonymous Peggins

Happy Mother's Day!

I have returned from New Hampshire where I visited my mom on a pre-Mother's Day trip with my partner. When I last left our "Anonymous Peggins," she was in a bed at Exeter Hospital, barely able to move anything on her right-side. Her only word was "so" and her prognosis was, to be blunt, fair at best. The stroke, which knocked her down, happened the Wednesday of Holy Week. I left for New Hampshire right after the 11:15 Easter service, and spent many hours by her side, promising that I would return when she was in a facility with therapists who would help her get better. Between that time and now, my mom was transferred to New England Rehabilitation Hospital in Portsmouth. But that proved to be a facility that wasn't the right fit: they are a short-term, quick recovery place. Mom is 85, and had a stroke that created a black hole in 40-percent of her brain. Not good odds for a "quick" recovery.

And so mom was transferred, again, this time to Colonial Poplin, a "skilled facility" aka assisted living with nursing home. This seems to have made a difference.

When my partner and I arrived in her room, my mom let out an "Oh! Oh! Oh!" and immediately started to cry. She grabbed our hands, and kissed them. She fondled my necklace, holding the mustard seed she had given me when I was 16.

"Yes," I said. "That's the message for you, too. Have faith! You'll get through this."

She is not only showing signs of getting through this; she is showing great tenacity and a willingness to keep at it despite her biggest disability at the moment: her inability to express her thoughts in words, either spoken or written. The speech therapist, at a meeting with me and my brothers, indicated that both verbal and written language were affected by the stroke. As part of her therapy, she's been having Peggy practice writing by making my mom copy what the therapist has written on a page. I shared with her that, earlier that day, mom took the whiteboard that we had bought for her, and wrote T-E-D. At first, everyone thought she'd made a mistake and meant to write, "Tom," as in my brother who was in the room with us at the time. She kept pointing at the magnolia on her dresser. It had come from her half-brother, Ted, as a pick-me-up to his sister.

"Oh, wait: you meant, 'Ted' as in your brother and his flower!" I said, almost 15 minutes after this exchange.

She nodded emphatically, "Yes." And the purpose was to let us know that the flower was kaput, and she wanted it gone now. Thank you. The flower was gone, and order restored to her dresser. It also left room for the additional flowers that would arrive via my brother, Edward, who has been receiving her "loot" at our family house in Exeter.

All the therapists are really pleased with the progress my mom is making. She's kicking a soccer ball, batting a balloon, and walking (with assistance) along the bar in the hallway. She also practiced wheeling herself in a wheelchair. Some the activities are more difficult because she still only has use of her left hand. The right hand and wrist are not moving, and they hurt as the nerve endings are starting to "wake up." This, like her speech, may be one of the last things to come together.

Speech is a challenge. She is now consistently adding, "I" to her "So." As a result, most conversations with the Anonymous Peggins involve a declaration that, "I, so, so, so, so, so, SO!" Sometimes "so" will be a drawn out, low drone of "Soooo." Sometimes, it's a higher-pitched, almost smiling, "Sosososososo!" Sometimes it's more of a, "So-so" with a shrug. Satisfaction gets expressed with an, "Ahhhh!" And, again, there are the tears, "Oh, so, so! So, so!" Just witnessing her working with the therapists can wear out the observer. Imagine being the one in the body, and the brain, that has suffered this damage? Her work ethic is admirable and amazing! The speech therapist, named Leslie, explained that she is having difficulty moving the facial muscles to make different sounds, and what's more likely to happen (and has) is that if we don't make her think about making a sound, she may spontaneously come out with a different one. For instance, she managed an "F" one day. She pronounced the name of Tom's dog (Toby), and she got out a nearly perfect, "perfect" (it came out more "paafect.")

One of the things this trip has made me think about it is the value of spending time with my mom. I have lived away from my family pretty much from the time I went off to college at age 18. In the past decade, I haven't been able to go home much at all. But this crisis with my mom has given me cause to make the time to get back to New Hampshire. Perhaps the take away for this Mother's Day. I shouldn't waste an opportunity to spend time with my mom.

If You Show It, They Will Come

I read a blog entry tonight that I really enjoyed.  The author, a pastor at a Lutheran Church in the midwest, announced that his would no longer be a "Welcoming Church."  Instead, he argued, they were going to become an "Inviting Church."  What?  Huh?

"Welcoming" means that you presume that people have already come in through your doors.  And you have had the opportunity to shower them with lots of love, coffee, and breakfast sweets.  They've heard how wonderful you are.  But what do you really know about them and where they came from?

"Inviting" is the real work of the people (and the clergy, too!) of being the church outside the safety and security of the four walls of your worship space.  It's about meeting people where they are, not where you think they ought to be.  It's the outreach effort of letting others see you being a child of God, and inviting them to a meeting or a group affiliated with the church.  This is not done with the intention of making the person a "member" or a "pledge unit" (please see my previous entry about the day of the Domestic Partnership Registry starting in Leon County).  Being an "Inviting Church" isn't about parochial reports to the bishop; it's about removing the obstacles that block people from seeing the Kingdom "on earth as it is in Heaven."

Truthfully, this is what it means to live and love as Jesus did.  I'm struck, again, by the words we'll be hearing from John's gospel, as Jesus is doing his lengthy last will and testament to his disciples.  He tells them, "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world does." And then he tells them not to be troubled or afraid.  After all, "Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will come to them and make our home with them."  Better yet, the Holy Spirit is coming to make all of what Jesus is imparting in this moment much clearer after he's gone.   Huh?  What?

Jesus has had this group of men... and women if we count Martha and Mary... hanging around, going from here to there, witnessing his healing power, and never making any of his ministry a glorification of himself and what superstar he is.  He has been on a mission to be the most transparent representation of God for the masses that they've encountered since Moses' face lit up talking to a burning bush. All that he wants anybody to see is God, and how God's power working in him can do more than he could do if he were just doing this for his own selfish pride. So, what is the "peace" that he leaves?  His love.  What is the "peace" he gives? How to love.  These are not the tangible and consumable gifts that the world traditionally gives to people.  No Hershey's Kisses here, folks; his kiss is one that is meant to transform all of us to be more like him: transparent Sons and Daughters of Man whose bodies are a home for the Spirit of God to dwell, grow and shine within us.  The brighter we become, the more people who are seeking some light in their lives will come to us and want to know, "What is this light?"

Paul got that in the Book of Acts when he, and Luke, we presume, go down to the gate and find the women there.  As Paul is sharing his illumined self, another of the enlightened ones, Lydia, "listened eagerly" to what Paul was saying, and opened her home to him, and Barnabas and Luke.  She was clearly a woman of means (dealing in purple cloth), and thus this was an important connection for the beginnings of Paul's building of churches.  Important to note, this connection was NOT made in the Temple.  It was made in the space by the gate.  Just the way Jesus would have wanted it.  Paul didn't wait for the women of Lydia's household to come to him so he could welcome them; he went to where they were, and, in turn, Lydia, a believer, invited him to her home.  And the church is on its way to kindling more Love within people; love and "peace" that they could share with others.

Showing love, being love, living in love or showing peace, being peace, living in peace.  This is the way, the truth, the life.  And it is far more inviting than just a welcome.

More Steps On the Way to Equality

In Leon County, Florida, we have inched along the road to equality with the start of a Domestic Partnership Registry today.  It was a happy and even relaxed occasion as couples waited under cloudy skies and threat of rain to walk through the door of the Clerk of Courts office and initial here, here, here, and here on the papers to gain seven of the 1,198 rights afforded married couples.

That's right: seven civil rights.  Couples who register, be they straight or LGBT, will be granted the ability to make emergency health care decisions for their loved one, be the point of contact when there is an emergency or serve as the guardian if their domestic partner is incapacitated; visit in the hospital (or jail); participate in the educational lives of the couple's children, and can be responsible for making funeral arrangements in case of death.  These are all important and very helpful.  I have been with friends who, in mourning and grief over the death of their partner, were not allowed to have any say about the disposition of the body or the funeral arrangements until the deceased partner's family had been contacted.  And when there is discord between the surviving partner and the family who wasn't too keen on this whole "gay thing," you can imagine the agony in that situation.

I'm grateful to the county government for doing what they could do given our state constitution, Florida statutes, not to mention the federal Defense of Marriage Act.  The laws, specifically and pointedly targeting the LGBT community, have hemmed us in to such an extent that we're lucky to get anything at all.  The commissioners who were on hand for this morning's inaugural registering of the couples are aware that what they've done with this DPR is given us a slice of bread, and not the loaf we would like to have.  Or, as I noted after Morning Prayer today, I feel a bit like the Syrophoenican woman looking at Jesus and saying, "Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from Israel's table."

Morning Prayer, on the saint day of Philip and James, was a perfect prelude to today's festivities.  The collect for these two disciples reminds us that they were given strength through God "to bear witness to the truth." And that is exactly what I, and others with me, before me, and even in the years to come after me, have been doing: bearing witness to the truth of who we are, whom we love, and how we are part of the creation that keeps unfolding before us.  And we keep bearing this witness, over and over, in our work places, in front of governmental bodies, both secular and religious, and our families. 

Being that witness is a long slog through unbelievable muck at times.   In fact, I had hoped to be able to use the prayers that are part of the newly-approved same-sex blessing rite in the Episcopal Church as a way of celebrating those couples who planned to register their relationships.  However, I received word back that, because the Bishop of Florida has not authorized usage of that rite, I was to refrain from using any part of it. Instead, I could let people have intercessory time in the service to offer up their own prayers and thanksgiving... a practice we already do in Morning Prayer. I wanted something more special.  The words from the reading from the Book of Job felt very real to me:

Today also my complaint is bitter...I would lay my case before him, and fill my mouth with arguments.

I feel a bit like a broken record when I say the church in general, and the Episcopal Church in specific (especially in Tallahassee), could do a lot to atone for the sins of the church in the way it has treated the LGBT community.  One of the things it should be doing is outreach and making concerted efforts to show the gay community that they are really welcome in our houses of worship.  We shouldn't be concerned with whether or not they'll become "members" or "pledge units." The first step is to let them know that they can come as they are, and find rest from the chaos and demands of the world.  And that no one is going to condemn them to hell for being gay, something too many of us have had to endure.  Doing something simple, like a service in which we honor the events that have meaning to our lives and relationships, like registering our partnerships with the county, is part of that outreach.  That really was my intent in wanting to use the prayers this morning.

But he knows the way that I take;
when he has tested me, I shall come out like gold.
 My foot has held fast to his steps;
I have kept his way and have not turned aside.
 I have not departed from the commandment of his lips;
I have treasured in my bosom the words of his mouth.

I sought advice from my spiritual director on how I could honor this occasion at our weekly service. She pointed me to the "Prayer for Families," #45 and suggested I make some revisions.  And so, in addition to the other collect read at this service, I included the following words:

Almighty God, our creator, redeemer and sustainer of life, who grants us the gift of human love and intimacy.  We commend to your continual care the homes in which your people dwell.  Put far from them, we ask, every root of bitterness, selfish desires and arrogant pride. Fill them with faith, virtue, knowledge, temperance, patience, godliness.  Knit together in constant affection those who, in commitment to one another, have made a covenant known to you. Turn the hearts of parents to the children, and the hearts of children to their parents; pour out your Holy Spirit upon their relationships, and so enkindle fervent charity among us all, that we may evermore be kindly affectioned one to another; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

I then offered a prayer for those who suffer for the sake of conscience because many are still in that boat. And there are those of us who are not in prison for our beliefs, but we suffer for the sake of conscience nonetheless.

Sadly, there were none of the LGBT couples of St. John's, or anywhere else, present for this service.  But there were some new people who showed up because they are allies and survivors of the horrible years of homophobia that gripped St. John's in the late 1990s up to 2005.  For them, this was an opportunity to offer up their prayers for the community on this joyous day, and support the LGBT people they've come to know through the church and elsewhere.  I know I carried their energy with me as I walked down the street to the ribbon-cutting ceremony. 

As my partner and I stood listening to the speakers, I thought about the distance we've traveled in  Leon County to get to a day like this. We've had outrageous battles over movies and video stores.  Pipe bombs at night clubs.  And countless laws adopted by the state legislature across the street that feel like a thousand paper cuts.  But now, in our county, we have a human rights ordinance that includes sexual orientation and gender identity and a domestic partnership registry.   The overcast skies felt about right.  It wasn't storming, but it was still gray.

"Dark clouds will break up if you will wake up and live," are the lyrics of the Ella Fitzgerald song where I got the name for this blog.  They'll break up eventually.  With God's help, and our willingness to remain true to being instruments for Love in the world... and in the church.

Yes, His Coming Out IS a Big Deal: Homophobia in Sports

Jason Collins, NY Times photo.

Let me be blunt: Jason Collins coming out as a gay man is HUGE.

Collins, who started this season as a center with my beloved Boston Celtics, but now wears the Washington Wizards jersey, is the first male athlete, still active in professional team sports, to announce that he is a gay man.  Up to now, men in competitive pro sports in this country did not reveal their sexual orientation... because they must be straight.  They're athletes.  Athletes are macho.  Macho men are only gay if they're singing with The Village People.

In contrast, several prominent women professional athletes have announced they're lesbians:  Billie Jean King, Martina Navratilova, Sheryl Swoopes, Megan Rapinoe, Brittney Griner are just some of the list of names.  But unlike men, women in sports often face the opposite issue: they must convince the fans they are NOT lesbians.

I was recently told that there is a softball team at one of the major universities where the women all put their hair up with a certain elastic tie.  The significance of the color and the style of putting up their long hair is to indicate that they are straight.  I have been told of other instances where the coaches of a women's sport have kept lesbians off the team.  Many times, the reason for denying these talented... and lesbian... athletes a chance to excel in their sport is that there is a conflict with the religious values of the coach.

Some have used their theology to back up bigoted reaction to Jason Collins' coming out.  Collins cited his belief in Christ as his reason for telling the world who he is in the Body of Christ.  But ESPN Sportscaster Chris Broussard called Collins' revelation, "openly living in unrepentant sin."  He went on to say, "I would not characterize that person as a Christian because I don't think the Bible characterizes them as a Christian."   ESPN has stood by Broussard as having had a "respectful discussion of personal viewpoints."  But, in fact, there is nothing respectful about saying that someone who has professed a belief in Jesus Christ is NOT a Christian just because they are gay. I will say this again and again... and probably again: a person's sexual orientation is NOT a sin, unrepentant or otherwise.  Our sexual orientations, whatever they are, are a beautiful gift from God. It is how God has allowed us to experience intimacy and deeper relationship with another person which is, by extension, a tapping into a deeper relationship with Divine Love.   How can anyone ask another person to repent a gift from God?  That's lunacy.

So is the commentary of Miami Dolphins wide receiver Mike Wallace.  Wallace doesn't understand homosexuality.  As he put it, "All these beautiful women in the world and guys wanna mess with other guys..."  Someone get this man to a PFLAG meeting, quickly!!  I have had this same discussion with dads who are reeling at the news that their handsome, athletic son has said he's gay.  "How can that be?  He could have any girl he wants: how does he know he's gay?"

I gave a very simple answer to that one. 

"Mister Dad: when you were 15, did you think girls were hot?"

"Oh, yeah.  I was all into girls when I was 15."

"And so you knew you were straight, then, because you thought girls were hot."

"Yeah."

"Well..... your 15 year-old son thinks guys are hot.  And that's how he knows he's gay."

And a light is turned on where there had been darkness.

As much as some have been offering up the same tired bigoted statements about gay men during this news cycle of Collins' coming out, there are many more who have risen above the usual locker room nonsense.  Within hours of his announcement, the Boston Red Sox contacted Collins via Twitter to congratulate him and offer that any time he'd like to come back to Boston and throw out the first pitch, they'd be happy to put him on the mound. 

It made me proud of my "home town" team.  Their response, and the efforts of pro football players Brendon Ayanbadejo and Chris Klewe as straight allies, not to mention the moves by the National Hockey League to institute anti-discrimination policies are signs that there is progress and acceptance happening in pro sports.  Collins will still likely endure nastiness in some quarters.  But his courage is a slam dunk for equality, and will serve as the starting point to more openness both on and off the court.

 

New Things

When I was with my spiritual director on Thursday, I confessed to her that I had been having something stirring inside me for the past several days.  And, trusting that I can say just about anything to this woman, I told her that I thought I might be able to preach.

She, thankfully, did not pick up a 2x4 to smack me about the head.  At least not literally.  However, she did look at me as if I was the biggest idiot in the village to cross her threshold that day.  Had she not told me already that she thought I would make an excellent preacher?  Had she not mentioned that my writing, my intelligence, my insights, and my ability to be articulate were not all gifts that I have that are in line with the ability to preach?  Had she not made it abundantly clear that my one and only problem at the moment was an issue of geography?  And, in a show of great impatience, she said what was really on her mind:

"What are you waiting for?"

And I had an answer for that one.

"Sunday.  I'm going this Sunday to Thomasville to attend a service at St. Thomas."

She dislodged the figurative boot that was firmly planted in my behind.  This answer was welcomed news after 14 months of meeting with me.

I am clear that this is a visit.  And that I hold no great expectations of what will come from this visit which is, weirdly, a return to a somewhat old stomping ground.  When I first entered spiritual direction with Rev. Nancy Mills, we met in the Guild Room at St. Thomas.  I had pondered, on occasion, whether I would one day come up to Thomasville to attend church and just see something different than St. John's.  Now, that pondering is becoming a reality.  And this Sunday seems as good a time as any for a visit.  I am not serving in any capacity at St. John's; I am not going to upload the sermon; and the services are designated as "Youth Sunday" meaning that our lessons, sermon, and the music will be led by the youth.  I have nothing against the teenagers, but these "Youth Sundays" are not my favorite, so I'm happy to have an incentive to head north in the morning.

It will be interesting to hear what gets said at St. Thomas, another Episcopal Church that has had to weather the storm of ugly nasty splits blamed on the likes of me.  The lectionary for Eastertide continues to present the theme of "Expand your horizons; this New Thing is for a whole new crop of people!"  We will get to hear the marvelous story of Peter's dream in which he sees the supposedly unclean animals on a sheet.  The man has this vision and is told to kill and eat these animals that he, as a good Jew, won't let touch his lips.  But then he hears a voice, ""What God has made clean, you must not call profane.'"  This is the set up for what happens next to Peter.  As he's absorbing the meaning of this vision, three men show up to take him to a home in Caesarea.  There, he finds a Gentile man and his family who said that an angel had told him to send for Peter in Joppa.  At that moment, the Spirit swept over this family, and Peter, standing as a witness, had a V-8 experience when he realized what had been said was coming true: John the Baptizer had baptized with water, but the one who came after (aka Jesus) was baptizing with fire (aka the Holy Spirit).  And Peter came to the inevitable conclusion: who am I to get in the way of a new thing happening with the Gentiles?

Indeed, this could be said of any one of us today: who are we to tell God's Holy Spirit what to do?  Who are any of us to say that this person or that person is not eligible to receive the grace of God which flows forth freely to one and all?  This has been the dividing line between those who have remained Episcopalian in this part of the country and those who have gone off to form their heterosexuals-only churches.  The idea that God isn't on a mission to win the hearts and minds of all people, regardless of their labels, is just ludicrous.  As Jesus says in the Gospel reading from John, "I give you a new commandment, that you love oneanother. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another."  There isn't a caveat on that statement.  And if we, growing more mature in the stature of Christ, can't strive to achieve that goal of loving each other instead of slamming the door in each others face, then can we really sing that line about how "they will know we are Christians by our love?"

We say that Jesus Christ is "the way, the truth, and the life."  If we believe that, we might allow our hearts of stone to be broken into a billion pieces, so that we might have a heart of flesh in the same way Christ did, and recognize that to achieve the goal of walking in Christ's footsteps, we have to be willing to stretch further in love, and, maybe even attempt new things our selves by seeing who we have neglected or believed to be unfit, unorthodox, or just not one of "us". 

Or maybe we visit a church in Thomasville.