Tomorrow is the first rehearsal for our annual Christmas pageant. Held during the 4pm Christmas Eve service, our pageant has traditionally been the classic Christmas card vignette. The adorable lambs, the sweet angels--and I promise that we will have both this year--mother Mary so meek and mild; the somewhat embarrassed to be up there Joseph, shepherds keeping their watches....and the silent stars at night.
The pageant, sweet as a Christmas card with the added ahhhh factor of lambs crawling off and baaing mama; angels with halo’s askew and beautiful music. But, this year, this year we’ve decided to really take a look at what was so frightening to the shepherds in the field. Yes, this year the pageant will offer both the innocent sweetness of our littles gowned and halo’d and the edgy tension of our rock star styled heavenly beings...the kinds of angels that inspire fear and awe. Not so little, not so sweet--these are angels out of scripture. These are angels that would make you want to hide under the covers and as one of our rock star angels put it, they would make the shepherds “whimper”.
Be not afraid, they had to say that, because they WERE scary, they were wild creatures, not tame ones and that is the tension I want to draw our attention to today...when we “tame” and subdue scripture it becomes a bit too easy to turn our faith into the stuff of Hallmark cards and neglect the awful and awesome realities in which these stories took place and in which we live.
Our scripture on this second Sunday in Advent offers very striking and different visions of the reign of God--and only one of those visions has made it onto a Christmas card. And, that glittered landscape with the lion and lamb nuzzled up in a heap and the text “Peace on Earth” leaves out most of the story...this is not an easily won peace, this is not cheap grace. It is a peace and grace that have come at great cost and followed fearful times.
The book of the prophet Isaiah arose out of the 8th century and a very specific crisis--Judah’s war with Syria and Israel. Weak governance and a lack of trust in God in public life was deemed by the prophet to be the source of the struggles for the people of Israel. Throughout the book those in power, those who would exploit the poor and oppress the needy are castigated and called to remember that the justice of God will ultimately prevail. Then, once human abuses are rectified, the earth will return to the state that God intends--a place of peaceful coexistance. This is the hope that carries the people, the hope that ills be set aright and that God WILL intervene. Now, this intervention is both a hope AND a threat in Isaiah--for those who are suffering at the hands of oppressors it is a hope, for those who oppress, well, for them it is a threat.
Now, that would be quite the Christmas card--”he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked”. That’s a far cry from the romantic notion we have of the halo’d boy child lying in slumber. And, it is far more akin to the message that John the Baptist carried for his listeners. And, once again, that is NOT a Christmas card I’ve ever seen--John, hair matted, with camel skins gird about him warning those who have come for his baptism that “one is coming who will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire”. Merry Christmas, indeed! Sleep in Heavenly Peace?
Our faith is FAR more complicated than a Christmas card--and Advent is a time when we live in the midst of those complications. The tension between our hopes and dreams for peace and the often painful realities in which we live. The tension between our joy at the fulfillment of God’s promise in Jesus and our fear of having to change and work in order to bring that promise into the world. It becomes clear in Advent that transformation, that birth itself, will be a harrowing thing. Yes, the baby is sweet and the scene bucolic--but there are soldiers in the hillsides hunting and Herod willing to kill the innocent in order to preserve his throne.
We don’t often think of the political backdrop of the nativity story. Of the Roman rulers and imperial powers that were abusing, enslaving and indeed, slaughtering those who dared to rise up against them. We don’t often think about the terror that caused Jesus’ family to flee with him into Egypt. But, that’s the world in which these texts emerged...that was the reality.
And, yet, and yet...the other reality was that these authors, these people VERY much believed in the power of God to transform the world--the God Paul describes as being “of steadfastness and encouragement” the God “of hope who may fill you with all joy and peace in believing”.
And, there’s the rub, the point in which I find myself challenged to see God in the mist of hard realities--of the war, violence and oppression that seem rife. Because, war and oppression are real, intrigue and political abuses are real...yet I also hold that something else is real. And, that something is witnessed to in the Christmas cards that I seem to have so strongly maligned.
It does not escape me that when we send Christmas greetings to Ryan we are sending them into a war zone. Merry Christmas and God bless...small print against a harsh landscape. But, with those words comes a reminder of God’s persistent promise that there is something more...that God’s hope and love will ring clear and that indeed, a little child will lead us all into a new way of being. That there is a greater power than war, that there is a greater peace and promise than any newscast can contain.
And THIS is the true reality of the Gospel, THIS is the true hope of the prophet, THIS is the power of the Holy Spirit--to bring us hope in true believing.
We are called as Christians, in this Advent season, to live like John the Baptist. And, by this I do not mean that we should take up camel skins and feast on locusts and wild honey. I mean that we are called to live like our hopes and dreams are real, obtainable and most of all TRUE. We are called to embrace the image of the lion lying down with the lamb, we are called to follow a helpless infant who held no power by the rules of the world but all power by the rules of the creator, we are called to listen up and be transformed by the purifying Spirit and we are called to do so even when it seems hopeless and naive.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010
2010 Proper 26C: Aesthetic Essential
The propers:
Isaiah 1:10-18
2nd Thessalonians 1:1-4; 11-12
Luke 19:1-10
The Sermon:
The Episcopal church is known for the beauty of its liturgy…some of the most wonderful occasions of worship I have experienced have been rife with pomp and circumstance. Incense wafting through literal catacombs; fire in the darkness; the choir’s anthem ascending and filling the space; communion served while gazing in reverence at glorious carvings of saints. And, I’m going to generalize wildly here…we tend to be people who love language, who love poetry and the art of worship. Our liturgy is a means of “seeing” God in beauty—and offering up the best of what we have as human beings to God. The compilation of the Book of Common Prayer was an attempt to offer a form for worship that would glorify God in truth, in beauty and most importantly in a gathered community of individuals gathered for a shared purpose—the journey towards God.
Indeed, people have left churches when liturgical changes have occurred…the “new” prayer book (and since when is something first published in 1979 “new”?); the “new” hymnal; offering communion every Sunday as opposed to morning prayer; and sometimes it seems like nothing inspires more debate amongst clergy and lay people than the question of where to put the announcements—you’ll find that the prayer book is surprisingly quiet about that subject! Why is there so much passion in regards to the matter of “how” we worship God? Especially given the passage we read today from Isaiah… “I cannot endure solemn assemblies…” I mean, it seems fairly clear here, forget the worship and do the deeds! The prophet Isaiah has some strong words to say about folks who make a show of worship, who think that the pageantry and performance of the thing are adequate alone. And, he even uses the conversation stoppers…Sodom and Gomorrah to do so (it would be like mentioning hurricane Katrina in a planning session at a planning meeting of the army corp of engineers). Everyone knows how bad it was…and no one wants to experience such hardship again and would do anything they could to prevent it.
That said, why then do we persist in showing up Sunday after Sunday? Why is it that Christian worship has continued with the combination of book, washing, meal, song and speech? Why is any of this important to us…as we ponder the mandate “cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow”. There are many in this world and in this community that do all of these things…without ever setting foot in ANY place of worship. So is what we do here, is it merely some relic of times past? Are this worship and gathering relevant to the world AT ALL? Are we wasting our time and God’s by gathering here at Church of Our Saviour?
My calling would argue that this is not wasted time…but time that is essential to our survival as Christians and as human beings; it is time that is essential for helping us to become the people that “God intends us to be”. We are the better for this gathering…it reminds us. It reminds us who we are and to whom we belong. For, in reading scripture we are able to hear the story of our people—it connects us to our history and we are challenged to take this history, learn from it and discover its relevance to contemporary times. In sharing song we are expressing our faith and our collective ability to participate in creating something beautiful. In the water of baptism we express our connection to each other and God—acknowledging the presence of God in the here and the now. In the bread and wine we are given the opportunity each week to gather at God’s table and participate in a meal of reconciliation, remembrance and expansiveness. Book, washing, meal, song and speech—these are simple things, holy things, things that may seem irrelevant when juxtaposed with the demanding needs of our lives and our times. But, they are important to us…and at the center of it all is the act of reconciliation.
From the perspective of our faith the Sunday liturgy, the “things” we do are the primary means by which we engage in the ministry of reconciliation. It brings us together, it reminds us of God’s mercy and it becomes a means by which we can step outside of ourselves and the small worlds in which we spend so much of our time. I know that if I didn’t go to church I wouldn’t have to deal with people I would normally have never met in my day to day life. Our friends would be other youngish professionals…we would probably spend more time attending doctor parties and only hang out with other folks with small children. And, in having only friends who are “like us” life may seem less complicated—with less potential for disagreement and come with the comfort of shared assumptions about life. But this sort of social isolationism is not the kingdom of God that is intended—a kingdom where everyone is invited to the banquet. In Lathrop’s work “Holy Things” he asserts that the Sunday liturgy is the principal reminder we have the “God welcomes sinners”.
In gathering together a disparate group of people, in welcoming everyone and coming together with no barriers to admittance we are reminding ourselves and each other of the realities of the wider world and the love of God for everyone. Sunday makes the poor relevant to those of us who are not poor; Sunday makes the widows real for those of us whose friends are mostly young; Sunday brings children into the midst of those whose only encounter with children during the week is getting stuck behind a school bus. Sunday brings tax collectors into our midst and makes us the richer for it!
Perhaps worship for us becomes like Zacchaeus’ climbing into the tree. Our worship and indeed the story of Zacchaeus may seem quaint, cute and perhaps even ridiculous by the world’s standards—but it is actually a radical act of seeking out God. In coming here, we demonstrate our desire to be in relationship with God and each other. We demonstrate that who God is matters and that we are longing to be in relationship with each other and are willing to sacrifice our dignity and even our worldly concerns to do so.
“Lord, may our fellowship be the revelation of your presence and turn our daily bread into the bread of life.” {Alternative Service Book; Anglican Church of Canada]
Isaiah 1:10-18
2nd Thessalonians 1:1-4; 11-12
Luke 19:1-10
The Sermon:
The Episcopal church is known for the beauty of its liturgy…some of the most wonderful occasions of worship I have experienced have been rife with pomp and circumstance. Incense wafting through literal catacombs; fire in the darkness; the choir’s anthem ascending and filling the space; communion served while gazing in reverence at glorious carvings of saints. And, I’m going to generalize wildly here…we tend to be people who love language, who love poetry and the art of worship. Our liturgy is a means of “seeing” God in beauty—and offering up the best of what we have as human beings to God. The compilation of the Book of Common Prayer was an attempt to offer a form for worship that would glorify God in truth, in beauty and most importantly in a gathered community of individuals gathered for a shared purpose—the journey towards God.
Indeed, people have left churches when liturgical changes have occurred…the “new” prayer book (and since when is something first published in 1979 “new”?); the “new” hymnal; offering communion every Sunday as opposed to morning prayer; and sometimes it seems like nothing inspires more debate amongst clergy and lay people than the question of where to put the announcements—you’ll find that the prayer book is surprisingly quiet about that subject! Why is there so much passion in regards to the matter of “how” we worship God? Especially given the passage we read today from Isaiah… “I cannot endure solemn assemblies…” I mean, it seems fairly clear here, forget the worship and do the deeds! The prophet Isaiah has some strong words to say about folks who make a show of worship, who think that the pageantry and performance of the thing are adequate alone. And, he even uses the conversation stoppers…Sodom and Gomorrah to do so (it would be like mentioning hurricane Katrina in a planning session at a planning meeting of the army corp of engineers). Everyone knows how bad it was…and no one wants to experience such hardship again and would do anything they could to prevent it.
That said, why then do we persist in showing up Sunday after Sunday? Why is it that Christian worship has continued with the combination of book, washing, meal, song and speech? Why is any of this important to us…as we ponder the mandate “cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow”. There are many in this world and in this community that do all of these things…without ever setting foot in ANY place of worship. So is what we do here, is it merely some relic of times past? Are this worship and gathering relevant to the world AT ALL? Are we wasting our time and God’s by gathering here at Church of Our Saviour?
My calling would argue that this is not wasted time…but time that is essential to our survival as Christians and as human beings; it is time that is essential for helping us to become the people that “God intends us to be”. We are the better for this gathering…it reminds us. It reminds us who we are and to whom we belong. For, in reading scripture we are able to hear the story of our people—it connects us to our history and we are challenged to take this history, learn from it and discover its relevance to contemporary times. In sharing song we are expressing our faith and our collective ability to participate in creating something beautiful. In the water of baptism we express our connection to each other and God—acknowledging the presence of God in the here and the now. In the bread and wine we are given the opportunity each week to gather at God’s table and participate in a meal of reconciliation, remembrance and expansiveness. Book, washing, meal, song and speech—these are simple things, holy things, things that may seem irrelevant when juxtaposed with the demanding needs of our lives and our times. But, they are important to us…and at the center of it all is the act of reconciliation.
From the perspective of our faith the Sunday liturgy, the “things” we do are the primary means by which we engage in the ministry of reconciliation. It brings us together, it reminds us of God’s mercy and it becomes a means by which we can step outside of ourselves and the small worlds in which we spend so much of our time. I know that if I didn’t go to church I wouldn’t have to deal with people I would normally have never met in my day to day life. Our friends would be other youngish professionals…we would probably spend more time attending doctor parties and only hang out with other folks with small children. And, in having only friends who are “like us” life may seem less complicated—with less potential for disagreement and come with the comfort of shared assumptions about life. But this sort of social isolationism is not the kingdom of God that is intended—a kingdom where everyone is invited to the banquet. In Lathrop’s work “Holy Things” he asserts that the Sunday liturgy is the principal reminder we have the “God welcomes sinners”.
In gathering together a disparate group of people, in welcoming everyone and coming together with no barriers to admittance we are reminding ourselves and each other of the realities of the wider world and the love of God for everyone. Sunday makes the poor relevant to those of us who are not poor; Sunday makes the widows real for those of us whose friends are mostly young; Sunday brings children into the midst of those whose only encounter with children during the week is getting stuck behind a school bus. Sunday brings tax collectors into our midst and makes us the richer for it!
Perhaps worship for us becomes like Zacchaeus’ climbing into the tree. Our worship and indeed the story of Zacchaeus may seem quaint, cute and perhaps even ridiculous by the world’s standards—but it is actually a radical act of seeking out God. In coming here, we demonstrate our desire to be in relationship with God and each other. We demonstrate that who God is matters and that we are longing to be in relationship with each other and are willing to sacrifice our dignity and even our worldly concerns to do so.
“Lord, may our fellowship be the revelation of your presence and turn our daily bread into the bread of life.” {Alternative Service Book; Anglican Church of Canada]
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Light
One of the stranger aspects of this "clerical" life is that I live a church season or two ahead. So, I am currently deep in the depths of Advent preparation (altho' I'm not entirely sure that's why the Christmas displays are encroaching on the Halloween displays at most of the department stores). This Advent, my colleague and I will be compiling a blog of reflections (both visual and written). In the process of preparing a portion of the written reflections, and in the midst of the ever shorter days this time of year, I find myself pondering light.
The light of Christ most obviously...but what happens when this metaphor is sought out in the day to day? Where is it that we find that light of life and love--
Is it the light flickering through autumn leaves?
Is it the glow of the nightlight in the darkest of the wee small hours?
Is it the stars in their courses?
Is it the smell of beeswax?
Is it reflected in the sanguine pools of your love's eyes?
Is it the porch light beaming as you pull in late from work?
Is it the satellite blinking overhead?
Is it the moment when you turn off the bedside lamp and sink into the pillow?
Sometimes we need the metaphorical and abstract to be made concrete. Where do you find light in your life?
The light of Christ most obviously...but what happens when this metaphor is sought out in the day to day? Where is it that we find that light of life and love--
Is it the light flickering through autumn leaves?
Is it the glow of the nightlight in the darkest of the wee small hours?
Is it the stars in their courses?
Is it the smell of beeswax?
Is it reflected in the sanguine pools of your love's eyes?
Is it the porch light beaming as you pull in late from work?
Is it the satellite blinking overhead?
Is it the moment when you turn off the bedside lamp and sink into the pillow?
Sometimes we need the metaphorical and abstract to be made concrete. Where do you find light in your life?
Friday, October 8, 2010
Like A Leper
Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved by him, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly explaining the word of truth. 2 Timothy 2:15
He was a beautiful child. Dark flashing eyes would light up with mirth at the approach of his mother and he would eagerly reach for anyone who approached, anticipating love, for that is all he knew. As he grew he was taught the prayers and customs of his people and he was an obedient son to his father.
The teachers singled him out for special instruction and care—silently thinking that this child, this smart and beautiful boy, may be called to serve as one of them. The other boys were envious of the special attention he received. They began to wait for him on the road home, they harassed and tormented him in secret. His parents noticed the bruises and dismissed it. Boys will be boys they said with a smile, altho’ it saddened them to see their child walking alone each day.
Then, one day he noticed a spot on his arm. He pulled his sleeves down firmly and hoped it would go away. The spot grew and multiplied and soon he was tugging down his sleeves constantly. He knew, he knew what had happened to others whose skin had suddenly turned on them. They lived outside of town far away from those they loved. On occasion the boys would dare each other to edge closer and closer to where they were camped, throwing stones and epithets that hurt worse than any hard flung pebble. They weren’t talked about much, but he had seen them run off…chased like harried sheep. He did not want to be like them…so he pulled his cloak ever tighter as his stomach knotted in fear.
Time passed and the other children noticed that as the weather warmed he did not shed his cloak. It became a game to taunt him, trying to pull away his cloak…laughing at his protestations. Finally, one day a group of boys cornered him. And, as tears poured from his eyes they took his cloak and pulled up his sleeves, they saw. "Leper!" they cried, as they turned from him, afraid that his shame would be theirs.
The parents of the other children came to his home--the one place he had always been safe from harm, safe from others. And in anxious, muttered tones he saw the adults discuss him and glance again and again towards the corner in which he sat huddled—studying words of scripture which he had already committed to heart, “He makes his marvelous works to be remembered; the LORD is gracious and full of compassion…” The boy grew red with anger--where was the grace and compassion, where was God?
His mother, with tears in her eyes began to pack a bag—his warmest cloak, food and water. And, then, despite his protestations she explained what he already knew. Leprosy. It would not be safe for him to stay in their village or even their home. His parents could not and would not shelter him. To allow him to stay would bring shame upon his entire family and the risk, the risk of contamination was too great.
His protestations turned to angry tears. His parents had always loved him and protected him. Yet, here were his father and mother escorting him to the edge of town and turning away…not even a kiss of peace upon his brow.
Lost: his home, his family, his faith. He was as one dead…no fellowship but his own.
***
The recent suicides by LGBT young people who feel that death is preferable to the loss of friends, family, homes and their faith is the lens through which I read the propers this week. And, as I reflect upon the ways in which people bully, terrorize, shame and torture those who are different, I am left with the responsibility to connect the propers to a world in which children die because they have been treated as lepers.
What does it mean to be treated as a leper? As a pariah in our own home's and community's? In biblical times, leprosy was not the disease we refer to as Hansen's disease. It was a blanket term for a wide range of skin conditions (such as psoriasis, eczema, or particularly bad teen acne). And, not only was no differentiation made between these skin problems, the skin condition was seen as a punishment by God for sins that the "leper" had committed. Blaming the victim, anyone?
That said, the "boy" I describe above (in a fictional take on the events leading up to the isolation of one of the ten lepers) would have forever carried a social stigma that would have led to continuing isolation and suffering. And, this suffering and isolation would have been understood by EVERYONE as his own fault.
This same blaming/shaming happens in the aftermath of violence inflicted upon LGBT individuals. The litany begins: if she'd prayed harder; he obviously did something wrong; he should have known what would have happened if he walked down the street dressed that way; if only he hadn't been so "flaming"; if only he'd stayed in the closet; if only she'd stayed celibate; you can't come out to grandma it would kill her; just don't flaunt it; that's so gay; your so gay.
Has the church ever taken a stand against this kind of bullying? Have we as a church ever publicly said that this kind of treatment of others is WRONG? Have we repented of those times in our own lives, our own history in which we have excluded, isolated, shamed and punished?
There is an architectural oddity in many medieval churches--the lepers squint. A window cut so that the lepers, who were not allowed to enter the church, could observe the worship. I can only begin to imagine the pain of watching others gather in a community of love and praise while being left to huddle outside, alone. The good news is that churches don't have squints anymore as a standard feature of their architecture. We can look back on them as a quaint, if cruel, oddity--seemingly irrelevant to the life of the church today. Our former cruelties and bigotries rendered harmless.
We have made progress both as a church and as individuals. We have learned and grown and been transformed (remember when women could not serve as priests...much less partnered lesbian mama priests?). This not only gives me hope, but it causes me to wonder, what steps we will need to take to assist in the incoming of the kingdom of God and ensure the dignity of EVERY human being?
What can we do to make it better? Because that is indeed God's promise...it will get better (nods to Dan Savage and the youtube it will get better campaign!). The kingdom of God is at hand and it is a place where bullies and bullying do not exist. It is a place where love triumphs and hatreds cease. It is a place where no one is marginalized and all are treated with equal measure of grace and compassion. It will get better.
He was a beautiful child. Dark flashing eyes would light up with mirth at the approach of his mother and he would eagerly reach for anyone who approached, anticipating love, for that is all he knew. As he grew he was taught the prayers and customs of his people and he was an obedient son to his father.
The teachers singled him out for special instruction and care—silently thinking that this child, this smart and beautiful boy, may be called to serve as one of them. The other boys were envious of the special attention he received. They began to wait for him on the road home, they harassed and tormented him in secret. His parents noticed the bruises and dismissed it. Boys will be boys they said with a smile, altho’ it saddened them to see their child walking alone each day.
Then, one day he noticed a spot on his arm. He pulled his sleeves down firmly and hoped it would go away. The spot grew and multiplied and soon he was tugging down his sleeves constantly. He knew, he knew what had happened to others whose skin had suddenly turned on them. They lived outside of town far away from those they loved. On occasion the boys would dare each other to edge closer and closer to where they were camped, throwing stones and epithets that hurt worse than any hard flung pebble. They weren’t talked about much, but he had seen them run off…chased like harried sheep. He did not want to be like them…so he pulled his cloak ever tighter as his stomach knotted in fear.
Time passed and the other children noticed that as the weather warmed he did not shed his cloak. It became a game to taunt him, trying to pull away his cloak…laughing at his protestations. Finally, one day a group of boys cornered him. And, as tears poured from his eyes they took his cloak and pulled up his sleeves, they saw. "Leper!" they cried, as they turned from him, afraid that his shame would be theirs.
The parents of the other children came to his home--the one place he had always been safe from harm, safe from others. And in anxious, muttered tones he saw the adults discuss him and glance again and again towards the corner in which he sat huddled—studying words of scripture which he had already committed to heart, “He makes his marvelous works to be remembered; the LORD is gracious and full of compassion…” The boy grew red with anger--where was the grace and compassion, where was God?
His mother, with tears in her eyes began to pack a bag—his warmest cloak, food and water. And, then, despite his protestations she explained what he already knew. Leprosy. It would not be safe for him to stay in their village or even their home. His parents could not and would not shelter him. To allow him to stay would bring shame upon his entire family and the risk, the risk of contamination was too great.
His protestations turned to angry tears. His parents had always loved him and protected him. Yet, here were his father and mother escorting him to the edge of town and turning away…not even a kiss of peace upon his brow.
Lost: his home, his family, his faith. He was as one dead…no fellowship but his own.
***
The recent suicides by LGBT young people who feel that death is preferable to the loss of friends, family, homes and their faith is the lens through which I read the propers this week. And, as I reflect upon the ways in which people bully, terrorize, shame and torture those who are different, I am left with the responsibility to connect the propers to a world in which children die because they have been treated as lepers.
What does it mean to be treated as a leper? As a pariah in our own home's and community's? In biblical times, leprosy was not the disease we refer to as Hansen's disease. It was a blanket term for a wide range of skin conditions (such as psoriasis, eczema, or particularly bad teen acne). And, not only was no differentiation made between these skin problems, the skin condition was seen as a punishment by God for sins that the "leper" had committed. Blaming the victim, anyone?
That said, the "boy" I describe above (in a fictional take on the events leading up to the isolation of one of the ten lepers) would have forever carried a social stigma that would have led to continuing isolation and suffering. And, this suffering and isolation would have been understood by EVERYONE as his own fault.
This same blaming/shaming happens in the aftermath of violence inflicted upon LGBT individuals. The litany begins: if she'd prayed harder; he obviously did something wrong; he should have known what would have happened if he walked down the street dressed that way; if only he hadn't been so "flaming"; if only he'd stayed in the closet; if only she'd stayed celibate; you can't come out to grandma it would kill her; just don't flaunt it; that's so gay; your so gay.
Has the church ever taken a stand against this kind of bullying? Have we as a church ever publicly said that this kind of treatment of others is WRONG? Have we repented of those times in our own lives, our own history in which we have excluded, isolated, shamed and punished?
There is an architectural oddity in many medieval churches--the lepers squint. A window cut so that the lepers, who were not allowed to enter the church, could observe the worship. I can only begin to imagine the pain of watching others gather in a community of love and praise while being left to huddle outside, alone. The good news is that churches don't have squints anymore as a standard feature of their architecture. We can look back on them as a quaint, if cruel, oddity--seemingly irrelevant to the life of the church today. Our former cruelties and bigotries rendered harmless.
We have made progress both as a church and as individuals. We have learned and grown and been transformed (remember when women could not serve as priests...much less partnered lesbian mama priests?). This not only gives me hope, but it causes me to wonder, what steps we will need to take to assist in the incoming of the kingdom of God and ensure the dignity of EVERY human being?
What can we do to make it better? Because that is indeed God's promise...it will get better (nods to Dan Savage and the youtube it will get better campaign!). The kingdom of God is at hand and it is a place where bullies and bullying do not exist. It is a place where love triumphs and hatreds cease. It is a place where no one is marginalized and all are treated with equal measure of grace and compassion. It will get better.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Guest Blogger, Lisa Brown, Dons an Abaya and Hijab for Eid
My friend and parishioner (Lisa we still claim you even though you moved!), Lisa Brown wrote this amazing Facebook note about her experience of wearing a hijab and abaya in honor of Eid. Not only is Lisa an amazing person, she is a fabulous writer and I hope she'll write more and often!
On wearing a hijab in rural Illinois
by Lisa Brown on Tuesday, September 14, 2010 at 11:19pm
I wore a hijab in rural Illinois. It was fascinating. There is a backstory to this.
Last Thursday, I asked Farhan (my counterpart here at EIU) if he had any plans for the weekend, and he answered, "Yeah, I'm excited for Eid [the end of Ramadan] tomorrow." He then added that he was considering wearing traditional Pakistani dress to work.
When I got home, I had a little epiphany. I have two Saudi abayas (the long, shapeless gown) and a hijab (the headscarf) which were given to me by a couple of generous students back in my ESL teaching days. I had never worn them before because I'd never had an occasion. They're so beautiful it seems like a crime to hang them in my closet, so instead I have them pinned to the wall over my sofa in lieu of a painting. Yon jokes that it makes our house look like a museum, but that's fine with me. I like museums.
I gave Farhan a call. "Since you're dressing up tomorrow, I'm going to dress up, too!"
Women, you need to know: wearing the abaya is absolutely amazing and I recommend it to everyone. I'm quite convinced that it's the perfect garment. For one, it's comfortable. I felt like I was wearing a nightgown to work. The range of motion in an abaya is incredible. It has the added bonus of covering up all of your flabbier bits. That kangaroo pouch that exists where my abs are supposed to be? Gone, thanks to the abaya. God bless the person that invented the abaya. If only I could wear it every day.
The hijab and I, on the other hand... well, we had our issues. First, I couldn't figure out how to wrap the thing. Then I was confused because the hijab I owned was totally see-through, which seemed to defeat the point. I was a little stymied, so I turned to the internetz and learned that if the hijab is see-through, you're supposed to wear something called an "underscarf" underneath.
Believe it or not, I actually had a scarf that would serve perfectly as an underscarf. When Ethiopian Orthodox women go to church, they wear a white cotton scarf on their heads. Luckily, I happen to be deeply in love with an Ethiopian Orthodox man whom I went to church with once, so I did own one of these cotton scarves. (Actually, I'm wearing it in my profile picture right now.) Therefore, the Ethiopian Orthodox scarf served as the underscarf for my hijab. I loved the metaphor of this as well. Islam and Christianity living in harmony--on my head.
So, from the internetz, I figured out (sort of) how to wrap my hijab. In case you're curious, there's really not one single accepted way of doing it. The net is full of tips for Muslim women on how to wrap their hijabs in fashionable and creative ways. So, I figured that as long as I got the scarf to cover all my hair and my neckline, I was good to go.
Honestly, though, that hijab drove me crazy all day for two reason: 1) it made my head sweat, and 2) it kept coming unwrapped and I kept having to fix it. Admittedly, number 2 is probably due to my inexperience as a hijab wrapper. But it gave me some empathy for the female Saudi students I used to teach, whom I often saw inbetween classes in the restroom adjusting their headscarves. It's amazing they usually made it to class on time.
I would imagine that Muslim women who wear the hijab every day simply see it as a practical part of being a woman, kind of like wearing a bra. I also imagine, though, that women who convert to Islam need some time to get used to it!
So, anyway, when I arrived at school, my boss and my dean were thrilled to see Farhan's and my new getups. I wished Farhan a happy Eid, but I'm never one to do things halfway, so I decided to provide a giant Eid feast for Farhan and the whole floor as a surprise.
Some South Asian cuisine would have been ideal, but we don't have an Indian restaurant in Charleston, so I went with Mexican because Farhan likes Mexican. I decided to order a bunch of different types of appetizers to make the experience more communal. I sneaked into the office across the hall to phone the order. I fibbed to Farhan that I had a meeting with Chris Hanlon in English, then went to pick up the food.
On my way, I realized that I needed a cake, too becauase Farhan has a sweet tooth and it just wouldn't be a proper holiday meal without dessert. So, I decided to go to WalMart to pick up a cake.
I wasn't sure how people in rural Illinois would act toward a woman in a hijab, but I soon learned.
A lot of people stared, but it did not come across as malevolent at all. Rather, it seemed like they were curious. As a white girl who lived in a very rural part of Japan a year, I have become quite a connoisseur of stares. I know mean stares (which of course were rare in Japan but occasionally happened), and I know curious stares. These were curious stares.
No one was openly rude to me. On the contrary, I felt like people were almost going out of their way to be nice, as if to communicate, "I am not racist and I have no problem with you shopping here." It was a bit awkward, but much preferred over hostility. When I went to the check-out counter, the woman asked brightly, "So, how are YOU doing today?"
"Oh, I'm just FABULOUS!" I answered just as enthusiastically.
"Oh, that's just GREAT to HEAR! Most people just say they're GOOD, but you are FABULOUS! Well, I'm leaving work soon, so I'll be FABULOUS, too!"
"Oh, that sounds GREAT!" I bubbled.
At Los Potrillos, the Mexican place, I literally had to tell the staff four times that it was fine, I could carry my bags to my car by myself. I had to demonstrate, "See? I can do it. Three bags on this arm, four on this one!" Now, granted, I've never picked up seven bags of food from Los Potrillos before, so I don't know how they usually act (though it would be a neat experiment), but it seemed a little excessive.
In general, though, rural Illinoisans lived up to my thesis that Midwesterners really are the nicest people on earth, and I was proud to be one.
What surprised me, though, was how wearing the hijab changed MY behavior.
On one trip home from Japan, I surprised my parents by meeting them in the airport wearing a kimono. However, I wasn't concerned about my behavior because I still felt like I was representing myself. No one would ever mistake me for a Japanese. Everyone would guess correctly that I was someone who just visited Japan.
However, the abaya and hijab, for better or worse, have become not just cultural clothing but also religious clothing. When I walked into WalMart wearing them, most people probably assumed that I was a Muslim--not a study abroad coordinator playing dress-up. I understood the implications of this. Unintentionally, I had become a representative for a religion that's not my religion! Since there are few Muslims in rural Illinois, I had no doubt that many of the people who saw me would form their opinions of Muslims based on the behavior they witnessed from an Episcopalian girl from Ohio. This means that I had a great responsibility to be on my very, very best behavior.
Therefore, not only was everyone very nice to me, but I was also extremely nice to them. No fist was shaken at the guy who cut me off in the parking lot. A big smile remained plastered to my face.
This made me reflect--if everyone I met judged my religion, my workplace, and family by my actions, how would they feel about those things? I think this was the best effect that wearing the hijab had on me. It made me seriously consider my actions before taking them and act with more love and compassion toward others.
Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to make the hijab stay on my head. At about noon, I decided that four hours of head sweat was enough, and I retired the hijab for the rest of the day. I'm so sorry to my Saudi students--I tried, but I just couldn't do it!
The abaya, however, remained on long after I arrived home. You know, I really think that's a tradition that the Episcopal Church needs to pick up on...
Saturday, September 4, 2010
No One Cries Alone...
Our firm belief in the love of God--compounded with something I once read that stated that a child's understanding of God is fully formed by the time they are five--has caused me to consider the importance of how we respond to our little guy's needs. And, we try to respond with love because his understanding of God is going to be grounded in the understanding of love which he has learned from us.
Therefore, when he cries we tend to him. We do not leave him to cry alone and we respect that his only way of telling us that something is amiss in his world are his cries. This does not mean that we never allow him to cry or give him everything he might want in the moment...it means that he knows that his cries were heard, and that when he needs us we will come to him. We may not be able to "heal what ails him" (for who can stop teething pain?) but we will be with him. Because, if we want our son to understand that God is the unfailing presence, the abiding love, the lover of souls and the one who answers our cries, then we must respond to him with love at all times.
When I worked in the children's hospital I witnessed this response of love in the midst of some of the most horrific situations parents could find themselves in. Parents who could not stop the pain of mucositis or the shivering and shaking of seizures--these are the parents who taught me the most about God's presence. For in the midst of the screaming (for often it was screaming--but even worse was silence) they would hold their child and wipe away their tears. "Mommy's right here..." again and again and again they would whisper. They could not take away the pain, but no one cried alone.
Now, thank God (and this is prayer not profane) that I am not that parent in the hospital. And, I pray that I will never be. But, my lesson has been learned...our child will not cry alone. He will not face the darkness without the knowledge that his mommas will be there if he needs us.
Therefore, when he cries we tend to him. We do not leave him to cry alone and we respect that his only way of telling us that something is amiss in his world are his cries. This does not mean that we never allow him to cry or give him everything he might want in the moment...it means that he knows that his cries were heard, and that when he needs us we will come to him. We may not be able to "heal what ails him" (for who can stop teething pain?) but we will be with him. Because, if we want our son to understand that God is the unfailing presence, the abiding love, the lover of souls and the one who answers our cries, then we must respond to him with love at all times.
When I worked in the children's hospital I witnessed this response of love in the midst of some of the most horrific situations parents could find themselves in. Parents who could not stop the pain of mucositis or the shivering and shaking of seizures--these are the parents who taught me the most about God's presence. For in the midst of the screaming (for often it was screaming--but even worse was silence) they would hold their child and wipe away their tears. "Mommy's right here..." again and again and again they would whisper. They could not take away the pain, but no one cried alone.
Now, thank God (and this is prayer not profane) that I am not that parent in the hospital. And, I pray that I will never be. But, my lesson has been learned...our child will not cry alone. He will not face the darkness without the knowledge that his mommas will be there if he needs us.
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