For Gates of Hope

New Blog Location

2011-09-17T15:00:00.002-04:00

This blog has been moved to dioceseofnewark.org/for-gates-of-hope, where you will find all of the posts here as well as new ones. Please update your bookmarks, and thank you for your interest!

After Hurricane Irene: support, solidarity and the gift of God's presence

2011-08-30T17:01:00.005-04:00

Hurricane Irene blew through the Northeast leaving a wake of destruction that individuals, families and officials are still trying to assess. In our diocese, from what we have learned so far, two churches have been significantly affected. St. Andrew’s in Newark had a tree limb pierce the roof of the sanctuary. The Church Insurance Company and Jim Caputo, our property manager, have been on the scene and have reported that no structural damage has occurred. On Sunday afternoon, St. Stephen’s, Millburn had a veritable river on the street in front of the church. At one point the parish hall was inundated with four feet of water; and the rectory -- which had been completely refurbished through the expert sweat equity of dozens of parishioners in anticipation of the arrival of their new rector, suffered thousands of dollars of water damage. Insurance-ordered remediation efforts are already underway.

There have been other reports of water in church basements, and in some rectories, but for the most part our church buildings have been spared lasting damage.

Not so with many people in the diocese -- and beyond, who are waiting for power to be restored, safe water to drink or damage to be repaired.

The storm has passed -- and we give thanks for that. Its ferocity was less than expected, but its legacy will long be remembered. The storms of life -- whether they carry the name of Irene or are anonymous cloudbursts that erupt in the soul, are not what we want but are what we can expect. Other storms will come. And through it all we can give thanks for the intangible but life-giving elements that help us weather the storms -- the support and solidarity of one another, and the abiding gift of God’s undying presence.

Scarcity, Abundance and Faith

2011-08-10T09:00:00.002-04:00

The stock market is in free fall. The economy is a mess. The only certainty that public officials are able to muster is the insistence that it all is someone else's fault -- which are hollow accusations at best, and display verbal violence at worst.

And what has been stirred up is a cauldron of fear -- with scarcity as its main ingredient. And the scarcity is real. Unemployment is up, a credit rating is down. Assets are shrinking, along with collective confidence. With the growing fear, there is a tendency to hoard -- or to hide.

The scarcity is real. But so is the abundance. You just have to dig down a bit harder to find it; and a bit further to trust it. Jesus was no stranger to scarcity. In the economic system of his day, Jesus and his fellow Jews were no more than sharecroppers to Roman overlords. They had few rights, and fewer freedoms. Talk about scarcity.

And yet Jesus preached abundance. Over and over again. About mustard seeds, pearls of great price and demonstrating how a few table scraps can feed 5,000 people. He was not a first century Pollyanna, nor was he offering some sort of economic panacea. He was pointing people to another, more abundant reality than the scarce circumstances that surrounded them. It required -- and requires, faith to see the abundance.

Faith requires our participation. Belief refers to something that we think. Faith takes us beyond belief; faith is something we live into. Faith leads us to hope -- and hope can trump fear. It is often said that we need to think our way into a new manner of living. From a faith perspective, we live into a new way of thinking.

I have a friend who tells me that whenever she feels the strains of scarcity she gives some money away. The more the fear, the more she gives. Hers is an act of faith. And she says it works. It may not move mountains, nor solve her economic problems. But it does point her back into the direction of God's freeing and life-giving abundance. And away from the culture's menacing mantra of scarcity.

Reflections on the diocesan mission trip

2011-07-19T12:53:00.004-04:00

Photos by mission trip participants can be seen online here.

We stayed at "Almost Heaven," a rather Spartan building located about ten miles outside of Franklin, in northeast West Virginia. It was adequate enough for the 32 of us who stayed there -- a large bunk room for the men and another one for the women. A dining area in between, adjacent to a well equipped kitchen. While the accommodations themselves didn’t call forth heavenly comparisons, the surrounding landscape certainly did. As soon as we walked outside we could fairly hear John Denver's voice extolling the glories of West Virginia. Mountains everywhere, intersected by rivers and streams. Wildflowers along every roadway. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

And rural. 7500 people in a county of 800 square miles. Not to mention poor -- Pendleton County has one of the lowest per capita incomes in the country. Habitat for Humanity has operated "Almost Heaven” as a construction base camp for twenty years; and over 100 houses have been put up by the various crews from all over the country that have come in for a week at a time. Mostly college kids and high school youth groups come. I think we were the first group of all adults.

We worked on five houses -- and started a sixth. We had a few ringers -- professional contractors and electricians; but most of us were like me – very eager yet requiring a fair amount of on-site supervision.

As we gathered each evening to reflect on what we saw and learned, it was clear that everyone felt stretched -- either by rural poverty, or by the distance from home (compounded by the fact that there was no cell phone service), or by the stories of the people who worked alongside of some of us on the houses that were destined to be their homes -- or by new skills learned or re-learned. We also felt connected -- by our commitment to mission, our desire to help -- and by our desire for God. Prayer came easily -- as did the building of community among us. The incredible food (provided by our own kitchen crew) helped, as did the bonfire and the closing Eucharist.

While many in our group had worked on Habitat projects in Newark and Paterson, this was my first experience of working directly with this world-wide ministry. When I arrived, I remarked on what I had long regarded as the inefficiency of Habitat for Humanity. That in the face of such urgency for low income housing, the Habitat model is to respond incrementally. One unit at a time. It is a model that won’t fill the overwhelming need. Add to that the work-site inefficiency many of us experienced when the materials needed for the next phase of the project never materialized.

The inefficiency was real. It is real. But then, creation has never been a straight line. It is filled with stops and starts, do-overs and unpredictable trajectories. In spite of all that, we made significant progress on all the work projects. But more than all that, our sojourn at Almost Heaven re-exposed the inequity of the world we live in; and deepened our commitment to do something about it -- which may be the best hedge against inefficiency there is.

Most everyone in the group expressed a desire to return to Almost Heaven. To continue the mission and deepen the commitment. Plans are already in the works to go back next summer -- from July 15 to 21. We welcome pilgrim oriented missioners.

Marriage Equality In New York

2011-06-29T13:40:00.001-04:00

I rejoice with our New York neighbors on the passage of a state law that will make it legal for gay and lesbian couples to marry. I ache for gay and lesbian couples in New Jersey, which came very close two years ago to passing similar legislation. By a close vote New Jersey chose to stick with civil unions -- which is a separate but unequal provision if there ever was one.

What the country is learning, slowly but inexorably, is that marriage for gay and lesbian couples and families strengthens marriage for all couples and families. Relationships marked by fidelity and life-long commitment, and which are protected by law -- as well as blessed by the church, weaves yet another important and necessary thread of support into the social fabric.

Same-gender marriage also exposes the inequity of so-called "traditional" marriage, in which a wedding ceremony was in large measure a contract between two men -- the groom and the father of the bride. When the father of the bride "gave away" his daughter, she surrendered her name, her property and her legal status -- to her husband. With the evolution of marriage -- and particularly with the advent of same-gender marriage, the only surrendering is that of two people giving their love and commitment to each other.

My hope and prayer is that the action in New York will serve as a catalyst for providing the same outcome in New Jersey. Many in the Garden State will redouble their efforts to promote marriage equality. I will join them.

I am reminded by an insight made some sixty years ago by Reinhold Niebuhr, a remarkable theologian who in many ways served as our culture's post-war conscience: the human capacity for justice makes democracy possible; and the human capacity for injustice makes democracy necessary.

I hope and pray for the continued unfolding of democracy, the evolution of marriage -- and the freedom and equality that are the hallmarks of each.

An Alleluia Season Message From Bishop Beckwith

2011-06-07T15:41:00.004-04:00

Easter is the liturgical season set aside for the purpose of celebrating new life in the risen Christ. For centuries, “Alleluia” has been the verbal response to this extraordinary gift. The Easter season ends on Pentecost Sunday, June 12; but the “Alleluias” continue, because new life continues to be offered. The challenge to us is to receive this new life – however it comes to us; as we receive it in the Eucharist, as we gather with the people we love – and in the transfiguring beauty of creation which takes our breath away at this time of the year.

As we are challenged to receive this new life, we are also expected to share it. When we give from what we have, we become co-creators with the Divine Creator.

The Alleluia Fund is an opportunity to express our alleluias in a tangible way. The Alleluia Fund is designed around the fundamentals of Christian stewardship: people’s need to give as opposed to an institution’s need to receive. The Alleluia Fund gives individuals and families across the diocese the opportunity to give into a large pool of funds – and therefore make a significant and collective impact and witness in areas of human need. Last year the diocese raised over $100,000. This year we hope to do the same. All of the monies go to outreach – and where it goes is determined by a diocesan committee that reviews grant applications from ministries in the diocese – or international ministries connected to the diocese or the wider church. The international portion of the Alleluia Fund will go to Nets for Life (www.netsforlifeafrica.org), a remarkable initiative sponsored by Episcopal Relief and Development (ERD) in which $12 buys not only a malaria-preventing net, but also a community education component that has made the ERD’s ministry in this area the international model for malaria prevention.

You can contribute online by going to www.dioceseofnewark.org/Alleluia and clicking the yellow “Donate” button on the right, or by mailing a check payable to the Diocese of Newark with “Alleluia Fund” in the memo line to: The Alleluia Fund, c/o Diocese of Newark, 31 Mulberry Street, Newark, NJ 07102. Say “Alleluia” in a tangible way.

In the spirit of alleluia,
+Mark M. Beckwith

The death of Osama bin Laden

2011-05-03T10:14:00.002-04:00

Most all of us have spent the better part of the past ten years trying to re-wire our psychic and spiritual GPS systems after they were blown apart on September 11, 2001. The mix of shock, fear, anger -- and grief, has had a hammerlock on our national psyche for nearly a decade.

That grip has eased somewhat and our emotional tracking devices are in better working order after hearing the news of Osama bin Laden's death. The feelings that have emerged from this news are very different from those of ten years ago. We feel safer. There is a sense of relief -- and the satisfaction that some justice has been served.

And there has been rejoicing. I haven't heard news reports of people singing, "Ding dong, the witch is dead," from the Wizard of Oz, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that people danced and sang it on the streets somewhere. For much of the world, bin Laden has been the embodiment of the wicked witch. And now he is gone.

The sense of safety and relief is understandable -- and human. So is the desire to rejoice -- given the vortex we have been through.

But the rejoicing expressed in the past two days has parallels in the same emotion we all felt as kids watching TV or a movie when the good guys came over the hill and wasted the bad guys. There was satisfaction, yes -- and it was real and raw. But it was not rejoicing. It was vengeance.

Justice is one thing. We need to exact justice. We need to hold people accountable -- which has been the driving concern in the operation that concluded on Sunday. Vengeance is something else. Justice may sometimes involve violence; vengeance is always directed by violence -- of one sort or another. And the desire for vengeance lies close to the surface in everyone.

Jesus understood vengeance. He saw it. He was the recipient of it. And he refused to engage in it -- because he knew that the desire for vengeance can eclipse the challenge of justice. Over and over again Jesus stood up to violence nonviolently. He repeatedly called for justice; and while he may have felt the need for vengeance, he never acted on it.

So -- in the swirl of all our emotions and reactions, and the ongoing national commitment to rooting out the scourge of terrorism, it is helpful -- if not necessary, to hearken to Jesus' commitment to justice. Especially in a world that increasingly tempts us to learn the dance steps of vengeance.

Witnessing to the level of the soul

2011-04-13T09:11:00.001-04:00

April 12 marked the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. On one level it was a conflict over sharp regional differences. On a deeper level it was a bitter four year battle for the national soul. Differences between the Northern and Southern culture and economies could be honored -- and even worked through; but differences would not be tolerated if it meant that an economic engine was powered by slavery.

Last week, the Congress and the President averted a government shutdown by reaching a compromise on the federal budget. On one level, it has been a battle between Republicans and Democrats about the economy: how much we can prudently spend; how much debt we can safely carry; how much we have mortgaged our economic future. But on a deeper level it feels to me like another battle for the national soul. Buried in the numbers are the livelihoods of millions of people -- many of them faceless and voiceless. No, they are not enslaved; but they are not entirely free either. More and more people are held hostage by an economic system that has cut them off or shut them out. And the result is a system that commits violence by withholding or withdrawing support. It may not be intentional, but it is still violence.

We can endlessly debate economic strategy. We can -- and will, take political sides on the federal budget issue. Fine. But as Christians, we are required to go beyond economics and politics to the level of the soul. And if a system is committing violence by cutting people off, or abandoning them to fend for themselves (which is another way of saying “get lost”), we had better say and do something about it.

The economics of it all are confounding and complicated. And I admit that the political dynamics are, in fact, hard to understand. There are those who say the short term budgetary violence is necessary to avoid the greater violence of a financial meltdown. There are tough choices to make. All the more reason to witness to the level of the soul. When we live our lives at the soul level, we cannot escape the honor -- and responsibility, of being brothers and sisters to one another.

Next week we will observe Holy Week, which I have always found to be a strange title for such a violent time. Between Palm Sunday and Good Friday, Jesus was the recipient of every form of violence that human beings can inflict on one person -- including betrayal and abandonment. It doesn’t feel all that holy to me. It sounds more like a living hell.

Jesus didn’t survive the violence -- at least not during that span of five days. He died. But through it all he stood up to the violence -- with nonviolence; and with the faith that new life would emerge. And it did.

And it does. In the mist of all the rhetoric, and the verbal violence that often accompanies it -- lobbed in from both sides, we are called to witness to the level of the soul. In the hope -- and trust, that new life will emerge.

The earthquake and the heart of God

2011-03-16T09:57:00.001-04:00

I was two days into my two-year sojourn in Japan when the country paused to honor the 50th anniversary of the Tokyo earthquake. The country mourned the 120,000 lives that were lost on September 1, 1923 -- and took the opportunity to showcase the importance of public safety (every Japanese school kid knew that they were to get under a desk whenever the ground shook); and the progress made in mandating stronger building codes. The entire country invested a lot of financial and social capital in being prepared for seismic activity.

That helped last week, but not enough. The perfect storm of earthquake, tsunami and potential nuclear meltdown has brought a level of devastation that reverberates with us, a half world away.

We don't know what the ultimate financial and human cost will be, but it is more than our psyches can absorb. But it will not be as much as the aggregate cost of the Haiti earthquake last year, or the South Asia tsunami several years ago.

The world can be a dangerous place, often through no fault of our own -- even though there are those who attempt to ascribe blame and responsibility for what otherwise would be called a natural disaster. And often couch it in theological language. Hurricane Katrina was divine punishment, some said. Still others maintained that the earthquake in Haiti was a direct consequence of forsaken destiny. On the 50th anniversary of the Tokyo earthquake, I remember reading stories of vengeance against Korean people who were thought -- by some, to have caused the disaster.

There is a deep human temptation to respond to violence with violence. Tit for tat. We may be able to mitigate some of the geological violence-- but we can't control it. But we can -- and should, stand up to the physical, verbal and theological violence that flares in reaction. Even --and especially, if it means standing up to yourself.

And then there is the temptation to just get away from the violence of the earth gone wild. There is just too much misery. It either hurts too much -- or we become steeled against it.

There is another way to respond to the world's pain. Take it to the heart of God. That's what Jesus learned to do in his sojourn in the wilderness, which we commemorate each Lent. Jesus brought himself to the heart of God -- and by doing so he was then able to better see the divine in everyone else.

Take it to the heart of God -- through prayer, through giving, through whatever means available that will keep your heart open in the face of overwhelming misery or the temptation to respond with some sort of violence. That can be a part of a Lenten discipline.

Henri Nouwen used to say that the shortest distance between two people is God. At a time when so many have literally been swept away, may we resist the temptation of being swept up in attempts to spiritually escape (which is its own form of violence) or come down with pernicious explanations -- and instead stay grounded in God. Take it to the heart of God -- which mysteriously keeps us in closer relationship with one another. And can contribute to the binding of the world's brokenness.

The public processing of pain

2011-03-01T10:19:00.002-05:00

It has been said that Twitter and Facebook are the electronic engines behind the waves of demonstrations that are sweeping across the Middle East. Social media have indeed kept people apprised of events, issued important information -- and have helped create a virus for change, but the real catalyst for these huge actions has been the courage to speak. And speak publicly.

In any and every totalitarian regime, the freedom to speak is the first thing that is taken away. Sharing hope or pain generates a power that is not easily controlled, and so any gatherings where people can converse become illegal. Offenders are hauled off and rendered silent -- for days, for years or forever. Fear becomes a cultural norm. With the exception of a few among the elite, the populace is marginalized -- unless and until the gatherings become so large and the voices become so loud that the power of it all cannot be stopped.

These are historic demonstrations, which will be remembered for generations, and which will reshape the future of each country. As we follow the unfolding of events in North Africa and the Arabian Peninsula, I keep being drawn to our less dramatic, but critically important weekly liturgical demonstrations, which have the capacity to transform lives as well as propose a reshaping of the future. I cannot escape the parallels between the two.

In ancient Egypt, Pharaoh kept the Jewish people silent by making them slaves. They groaned under their oppression. God heard their groaning (Exodus 2:3-4); and God responded by appointing Moses to lead them to freedom. In so doing, God announced that pain is not meant to be a normal social cost. The Exodus story is the foundation of the Passover liturgy. It is a liturgy that begins in pain -- and results in freedom.

Which is also the case in Christian worship. Worship is the public processing of pain. Eucharistic language is very clear about the pain of Jesus' death, and the celebration of his Resurrection. Our worship is designed so that people can freely offer up their individual or community pain in the prayers of the people, and bringing that pain up with us to the altar -- and then have it blessed and transformed through the receiving of bread and wine.

Our worship is a demonstration of hope rising out of hurt. It empowers people with that hope -- to a degree that they become committed to transform systems that render us silent, oppressed -- or exhausted (and sometimes all three). Liturgy practices a critique of our world. It proposes a love from God in Christ and from the Christ-centered community; which lives in some contrast to a culture that regards people anonymously at best -- and marginalized or oppressed at worst.

The demonstrations in Tunisia, Egypt, Bahrain, Libya and Yemen have released a huge groaning, and have exposed the limits of their local regime's despotic power. God invited Moses and his followers to hearken to an abiding power that defeated the armies of Pharaoh. Jesus beckons us to subscribe to a power beyond our knowing, and to a peace which surpasses all understanding.

The purpose of worship is to provide a framework for us to express our confusion and pain, and to receive God's blessing, freedom and love. All the elements of worship -- the choreography, the space, the music, the color -- are crafted in such a way that we are not just free to speak -- but free to have our imaginations unleashed so that we can -- with the living Christ, work together in order to create a world of abiding justice.

Martin Luther King, Tucson and non-violence

2011-01-17T11:47:00.006-05:00

Our country pauses this weekend to honor Martin Luther King on his birthday, January 15. Our prayer cycle remembers Dr. King on April 4, the day he died. I well remember that evening in 1968 -- the violence that cut him down, and the violence that erupted after his murder. I remember my sadness – and disorientation and fear. That settled down after awhile, only to spike again two months later when Robert Kennedy was killed.

The shootings in Tucson last week connect my psyche to the 1968 shootings in Memphis and Los Angeles – and the 1963 shooting in Dallas. And the scores of shootings in Newark last year – and several years ago at Columbine High School and Virginia Tech. Not to mention the recent bombings in Egypt and Baghdad and Afghanistan.

We know we live in a violent world. We cannot deny it, but most of us work very hard to keep ourselves removed from it.

And we can’t. Not just because the violence can emerge almost indiscriminately outside a Tucson Safeway (which could probably be described as Ground Zero for Anywhere, USA), but because of the violence that lurks just beneath the surface in most of us. And which surfaces more often than we care to admit. I am talking about verbal violence. The verbal violence that emerges when dialogue dissolves into diatribe; when civility dissolves into sniping, scoring points and assigning blame. The not so subtle violence of Schadenfreude, when our happiness is built on someone else’s misery – which we can easily create by putting someone down or shutting someone out.

Martin Luther King had a dream for America. Foundational to that dream was his commitment to nonviolence. And the challenge in his dream was that we embrace the biblical vision of nonviolence – and have the discipline to live it out. “No killer statements” was the mantra of every youth group I ever participated in. It took a lot of reminding to enable that mantra to take root.

Research has shown that violence spreads. Violence is a pernicious and toxic contagion. Martin Luther King’s death demonstrated that. My experience and faith has demonstrated that non-violence is also a contagion: a life-giving contagion of hope and peace. Martin Luther King’s witness engendered that. Non-violence won’t solve the problem of violence, but the commitment to non-violence can stymie its spread – in the world and in us.

Peace to the whole community

2010-12-24T20:13:00.005-05:00

"Peace to the whole community, and love with faith, from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ." (Ephesians 6:23)

Peace indeed. On earth -- especially some parts of the earth which needs a good dose of peace. Goodwill to all -- especially to those who are approaching Christmas with the taste of dry ashes in their mouth. or knots in their stomach

May hope be our gift. Hope being what writer Jim Wallis describes as "believing in spite of the evidence, and then watching the evidence change."

As you gather at the creche -- at church or in your mind's eye, may you drink from that divine well of peace and hope. And allow yourself to be changed. May that be your gift.

Merry Christmas.

Put on the armor of God

2010-12-23T12:57:00.005-05:00

One of our longest hymns is St. Patrick's breastplate, which begins "I bind unto myself today...."
It is often sung at ordinations. It is seven verses long. It is a variation of an ancient Celtic practice of getting dressed in Christ. As people put on whatever they were going to wear that day, they were intentional of adorning themselves with the presence of Christ. It is an ancient practice worth preserving

The hymn derives from the Celts -- and I suspect they got it from Paul: "Put on the whole armor of God." (Ephesians 6:11) This is not preparation for war, but is an admonition to be prepared for the struggle "against the rules, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places." (6:12)

It's a tough world out there, and we had better be ready. Fasten the belt of truth, put on the breastplate of righteousness, put on your feet whatever you need to proclaim the gospel of peace. Take the shield of faith, take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God (6: 14-17)

Get dressed. Be ready. The world needs our witness -- to grace, to hope, to peace -- to Christ's glory.

Truth telling

2010-12-22T07:18:00.003-05:00

Paul challenges us to challenge the principalities and powers. It requires truth telling -- which can be difficult at times -- and demands profound personal discipline: "Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them." (Ephesians 5:11)

In my lifetime, Martin Luther King stands out as the most eloquent and abiding truth teller -- exposer of darkness:

"We who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open where it can be seen and dealt with...Injustice must likewise be exposed...to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured." (Letter from a Birmingham Jail)

And then we get to the household code (Ephesians 5:21-6:9). It grates on the ears and seems to undermine everything else that Paul has said in his letter. At first reading, the household code seems to be proof text for wives to be subordinate to husbands, children to parents and slaves to masters. It seems to hold up social inequality as a cultural norm.

But -- and this is the key, "be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ." There is an emphasis on mutuality here. It undermines the hierarchy of the time, a hierarchy which engenders injustice. Paul addresses both parties in the three household relationships -- husbands/wives, children/parents, slaves/masters -- and admonishes them to be respectful of each other. Secular codes couldn't -- and wouldn't, do this. They were only addressed to the paterfamilias. Subordinates in the family system were deemed not worthy of ethical instruction.

Paul is leveling the family playing field. Some would say he could have done a better job. And he does -- at the end" ...for you know that both of you have the same Master in heaven, and with him there is no partiality."

Paul is exposing the injustice of wives, children and slaves having no voice -- and no value. There needs to be mutuality -- and relationships need to be gathered around -- and abide in, the living Christ.

Call to nonviolence

2010-12-21T06:41:00.003-05:00

"Be angry but do not sin." (Ephesians 4:26) This is Paul's clarion call for nonviolence.

There is a lot to be angry about. Exploitation, oppression; those of high degree taking advantage over those of low or no degree. Paul's 4th and 5th chapter represent a virtual cathechism for how to live nonviolently in a violent world.

"Do not let the sun go down on your anger" (4:26). Violence -- be it physical violence or verbal violence -- often springs from anger that won't go away. Let it go, Paul admonishes us.

Several years ago, Ernesto Cortez, a community organizer for the Industrial Areas Foundation, wrote a book called Cold Anger. A second generation Mexican-American, Ernesto received a MacArthur Genius Fellowship for his work. Keeping his anger cold, so he could have an ongoing impact. Maintaining discipline and direction in the face of discrimination -- which he received regularly as a Latino growing up in Texas.

"Take up the armor of God." (6:13) Not to go to war -- but to engage in the practice of nonviolence.

Speaking the truth in love

2010-12-19T06:33:00.004-05:00

Yesterday a small group in the diocese met with The Rt. Rev. Christopher Senyenjo, an exiled Bishop in Uganda. Christopher has been marginalized because his ministry in retirement has been to the marginalized. He has set up a counseling practice -- and a large part of his clientele is the LGBT community of the capital city of Kampala.

His motivation for this ministry comes -- in some measure from Paul: "I beg...you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patients, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace." (Ephesians 4:1-3)

Christopher is indeed gentle and humble -- and passionate about the calling to offer God's love.

And he is in trouble for it. Because the primary constituency to whom he is offering God's love is a constituency that is subject to arrest, punishment -- and even death. It is a crime to be a gay or lesbian person in Uganda. A law that was presented to the Uganda Parliament this fall that criminalized the LGBT community was shelved -- for the time being. We were told that a new version of it will probably appear after national elections -- in March, and it will be more subtle and more ruthless.

In Uganda, open hostility may become official policy. Open hostility is already the practice around the world -- be it racial, regional or religious -- but official hostility is something else.

Paul enjoins us to "speak the truth in love" (Ephesians 4:15). They have to go together. In a sermon I heard recently, truth without love can be tantamount to abuse -- and love without truth doesn't exist.

And Bishop Senyenjo offers his witness -- with extraordinary gentleness and humility. And fire -- for love. For the redeeming power of love. And it is making a difference.

Be all that you can be

2010-12-18T06:39:00.004-05:00

"Be all you can be" was a recruiting ploy of the US Army several years back. The phrase has stuck with me, partly because I thought it to be a shameless -- and inaccurate marketing tool, but because it was good theology that had been placed in the wrong context.

Be all you can be. It could regarded as a paraphrase of Paul's last verses in the third chapter of Ephesians: "Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine" (Ephesians 3:20).

It is an invitation to partner with a power that is available to us -- but which we will never fully understand. Be all that you can be -- BUT not on your own.

My favorite definition of vocation comes from Gail Godwin's novel Evensong. It is about two Episcopal priests who are married to each other. The husband says to his wife, "something is your vocation if it keeps making more of you."

To make more of us is God's desire. And the more that God wants to make of us is not the more of the culture -- more stuff, more recognition, more influence, more status. No, the more of vocation is to have a discipline that draws on the mysterious but abiding power of God -- which has an abundance that is more than we can ask or imagine. A power that reveals God's glory, and which can work for God's purpose in the world.

Knowing vs. believing

2010-12-17T06:43:00.004-05:00

Before he died, the great psychologist and author Carl Jung was interviewed about his view of the world -- and about God.

'Do you believe in God?', the interviewer asked. Jung hesitated for a moment. "I don't believe", Jung said. "I know".

Jung's answer is Paul's prayer: "I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God." (Ephesians 3:18-19)

This is knowing beyond knowing. God has given us this power to know at this very deep level, a level that Jung lived at -- and wrote from.

"Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain to it." (Psalm 139:5)

We cannot attain this knowledge. Rather, we are asked to submit to it -- which is a very different project; counterintuitive and intensely countercultural. And has a power all its own.

Prayer is Power

2010-12-16T06:39:00.004-05:00

When I was a priest in Massachusetts, Archibshop Tutu came to preach on the occasion of his granddaughter's baptism. Bishop Tutu began his sermon by thanking us -- for praying for the end of apartheid. Your prayers, he said, helped to end apartheid. He cited the case of a nun who lived as a hermit in the mountains of California. She wrote Bishop Tutu to tell him that she got up every morning at 3 am to pray -- for an hour, for an end to apartheid.

"They didn't stand a chance," Bishop Tutu said -- "They didn't stand a chance against a nun praying at 3 am -- in the mountains of California."

The "they" he was referring to were the principalities and powers, whose main purpose -- if not sole purpose, is to preserve the status quo. And to protect their hegemony, at whatever cost.

Prayer is power. Different from the power of the principalities and powers, but power nonetheless. Paul knew this. "I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit (Ephesians 3:16).

The power of prayer can take on the principalities and powers -- and, at least in the case of apartheid -- according to the profound witness of Desmond Tutu, can help to dismantle them.

May it be so.

Taking on principalities and powers

2010-12-15T06:43:00.004-05:00

One of St. Paul's intentions is to take on the "principalities and powers" (Ephesians 1:20 ff) They are the entities and institutions whose primary interest is preservation. Preservation of place, authority and identity.

Paul takes on the principalities and powers because he is primarily interested in transformation. The soul's transformation. It comes through peace -- which, for Paul, is not the absence of conflict but is the presence of justice. And so Paul seeks to deconstruct the divided house between Jew and Greek, slave and free -- and reconstruct it on the foundation of race, class and gender equality. He is interested in the reunification of all things.

Paul sees a battle -- between Christ's desire for the inauguration of peace and the Principalities and Powers' perpetuation of conflict, which is their misguided recipe for preservation.

We are preserved -- and transformed, by Christ's peace.

Mystery -- beyond space and time

2010-12-14T06:37:00.004-05:00

For most of us -- most of the time, our world is framed by space and time. Nearly everything that we think and do falls within the space and time boundary. Advances in science and technology enable us to push out the edge of space and time, but is not able to go beyond it.

Mystery does. Actually, mystery comes to us beyond space and time. Mystery (Ephesians 3:3, 3:4, 3:5) is truth that cannot be explained -- and cannot be roped in by space and time. Mystery is the word made flesh; mystery is the grace of God; mystery is the Resurrection.

One of the reasons I love the Episcopal Church is because we celebrate mystery. We celebrate mystery with intention and reverence. We actually call what is put on the altar the "holy mysteries". We then place ourselves in the midst of mystery, and I for one, am transformed by that mystery. I can't explain the mystery, but I have learned over the years that I can't live without its unexplainable and abiding power.

Prisoner of Christ

2010-12-12T07:20:00.003-05:00

Paul describes himself as a prisoner. (Ephesians 3:1) A prisoner for Christ Jesus. To me, that means he is captured. Captured by Christ.

Most of us know what it is to be a prisoner. To be a prisoner of anxiety or fear; to be captured by anger or disappointment. It is a web of worry -- and I have found that the more I wrestle with it, the tighter the web gets.

Paul is a prisoner of Christ. He is at the mercy of mercy -- and of love and grace.

It sounds like freedom to me.

The God Above God, the Peace Beneath Peace

2010-12-11T06:55:00.004-05:00

As Paul writes eloquently about peace in the second chapter of Ephesians, I am drawn back to Paul Tillich's great work, The Courage to Be, which was written in 1952 -- and which I read in college. And which had an enormous influence on me. Tillich writes just as eloquently about the "God above God," which is the God beyond the God of our projections, beyond the God of our creation -- the God that we think (wrongly) we can control. The 'God above God' is the God who exists beyond our knowing -- who is beyond our sentient world of space and time.

That is the God with whom we should be in relationship, Tillich writes.

In the same vein, St. Paul's invitation to peace is -- for me, a peace beneath peace. It is a peace beneath the peace of a brokered deal or the absence of hostilities; it goes further than moments when the shouting and insults stop. Paul's peace is a deeper peace. This deep peace doesn't make conflict go away -- but enables us to see conflict differently. And not be consumed by that conflict. And to imagine (which means to create an image) of disparate positions or groups coming together in unity: "...that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it." (2:15-16)

That is the peace with which we should be in relationship.

"For he is our peace."

2010-12-10T06:45:00.003-05:00

"For he is our peace." (Ephesians 2:14)

This is simple, but not easy. It is not easy because many of us often think -- myself included, that peace is about having my position prevail. Which makes it more about power than peace.

'Peace reigns' is a hope that many of us carry. Which usually means that the boss, parent or the partner -- or the bishop, gets their way. That isn't peace. That is just another version of political power.

"For he is our peace."

Paul's statement is an invitation to go beneath the need to prevail, and beyond the desire to win people over.

Paul's peace is the prayer book's peace -- that peace which passes all understanding. It is beneath anxiety and fear. It is hard to describe, but easier to see. I have seen it in the face of some people who are near death. Their bodies may be broken and filled with pain, but there is nevertheless present a peace which is beyond explanation.

In that Christ-centered peace place, divisions take on a different perspective, adrenaline scales back to normal -- and love is palpable. As it is a peace which passes all understanding, it is a power that is beyond our knowing.

"For he is our peace."

Grace is enough

2010-12-09T06:50:00.005-05:00

While pondering grace, which seems to be the theme of the second chapter of Paul's letter to the Ephesians, I keep being brought back to a prayer attributed to St. Ignatius of Loyola. The founder of the Jesuits, Ignatius wrote the Suscipe (to receive) prayer:

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and all my will -- all that I have and possess. You, Lord, have given all that to me. I now give it back to you. All of it is yours. Dispose of it according to your will. Give me your love and your grace, for that is enough for me.

Grace is enough. Something to remember during a season when the culture tries to entice us to want or buy more. Grace is enough.

The Ignatius prayer has resonance with an opening prayer at a retreat I attended over thirty years ago:
Help us to see, O Lord, that the only thing we truly possess is the capacity to be filled by you.

May it be so.

Breaking down the silo

2010-12-08T06:44:00.003-05:00

There is a temptation in all of us -- certainly in me, that when things are at their worst, the response is to seal oneself off in a silo. A silo of safety. Or a silo of certainty. In such a silo the world becomes only that which we choose to see.

Things are not always what they seem. While the silo promises security and certainty, and while it may seem safe -- it turns out that the silo is a dangerous place. Because as we think we have sealed ourselves off from that which threatens us -- we end up sealing ourselves off from God. Which is never a good thing. And which becomes the foundation of sin.

"By grace you have been saved" (Ephesians 2:5). Grace breaks open the silo -- and enables us to see the full reality of the world -- in all its misery AND in all its glory. And enables us to receive the unfiltered blessing of God.

"For by grace you have been saved through faith" (2:8). When I hear some Christians claim that they have been saved, I hear more hubris than humility. It is as if the "saved" have somehow figured out how to bring God into their silo. We can't direct God's movement. We can't take a piece of God that fits our job description of God, and put God to our own use.

For by grace we are saved. The silo crumbles. And we then see and live in the fullness of creation -- and are exposed to a dimension of God that is greater than anything we could otherwise imagine.

Receiving grace

2010-12-07T06:51:00.003-05:00

"For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God -- not the result of works, so that no one may boast." (Ephesians 2:8-9)

I remember the first moment I understood the concept of grace. I was a sophomore in college, and a group of us Religion majors were talking after our night class on the Bhagavad Gita (the sacred Hindu texts) and the writings of St. Paul. (I can't remember how the two went together, but apparently they did.) We were discussing grace. Actually, a couple of others were discussing grace and I was trying to "get" what they were talking about. As an athlete, I thought that grace was something that you had to work for. And work hard for. Achieve. Win. A classmate (not an athlete, and now an Episcopal priest) said, no, all you have to do is receive it.

"You're kidding", I said. "No, that's all you need to do", he replied.

At first I was a bit indignant, because I thought it should be harder than that. I thought that grace was something you went after -- not something you simply received.

That conversation was a turning moment for me. One of many conversions in the course of my adult life.

I would like to say that it was a 'turn on a dime' moment. It wasn't. While that conversation began an intention to simply receive God's gift of grace, over the years I have discovered that I regularly put up no end of barriers to thwart the receiving of this extraordinary divine gift.

Ego and soul

2010-12-05T06:46:00.003-05:00

Paul doesn't name Satan, but that is who he is talking about in the opening verses of the second chapter of Ephesians. "Following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient." (2:2)

The power of the air? It sounds ominous -- and it is. I am not sure what to call the power of the air -- although our tradition has many names: Satan, the devil, Beelzebub, the unclean spirit. And I am not sure what that power looks like -- be it the time-honored image of red creature with tail and horns, or some nefarious energy that floats about in the air. But I do know where that life-denying power lives.

It lives in my ego. That place in my psyche that wants advantage or affirmation (usually at the expense of someone else). That power that is averse to risk, and which will do almost anything to maintain order (usually at the expense of someone else).

That is the power of darkness. That power can lead us to trespass (2:1). But in this season we are asked -- as it is said from the Collect of the First Sunday of Advent, to put on the armor of light. To bathe in the Spirit. It is another power. The power of Christ -- given to us by grace. We don't have to buy it or prove ourselves worthy of it. All we need to do is accept it.

It is a power that lives in the soul, which is a place that lies beneath the ego. It is a deeper place -- of blessing and freedom and hope. It is Christ's gift -- and the rest of this chapter describes the gift and how we might go about the internal work of receiving it. And sharing it.

A VUCA world

2010-12-04T08:34:00.004-05:00

We live in a VUCA world. So writes author Robert Johansen in his 2007 book, Get There Early. It is a world marked by volatility, uncertainty, complexity and ambiguity. We would like to think that VUCA is a new phenomenon, and although it may be a new acronym we have had these dynamics around for a long time.

And most of us don't like it. The Tea Party movement seems to me a misguided attempt to deny or collapse VUCA. And the outrage industry is fueled by the fear and anxiety that emerges from VUCA -- and indeed is an artifact of the VUCA world.

Paul lived in a VUCA world. And he had many responses to it; the most most profound (for me) coming in the first chapter of Ephesians: " I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power." (1:17-19)

This is not a solution, but an invitation. An invitation to look beyond the very real (and troubling) issues raised by VUCA, and to see a vision of hope by using wisdom and revelation -- which the Lord will provide.

Jesus was always re-framing the perspective of how to read the dynamics of the world. So does Paul.

The fullness of time

2010-12-03T16:19:00.003-05:00

Time is a four letter word. While not a curse word, nevertheless time can feel like a curse given the relative lack of it. Especially at this time of the year.

We are often pressed for time; we try and find time for others -- or just for ourselves. We wonder where did the time go, almost as though it wasn't there in the first place.

As I read over the 10th verse of the first chapter in Paul's letter to the Ephesians, I am reintroduced to the "fullness of time." Which for me is kairos time. Time outside of time. Unbounded time -- when a moment can linger for what feels like an eternity. Moments when we literally lose track of time.

Most of us can recall moments of kairos time. The first few days after after our children were born was kairos time. More often than not for me, the breaking of the bread in the Eucharist is a kind of alarm clock for an encounter with kairos time.

No telling what might happen in the fullness of time. "In the fullness of time", Eucharistic Prayer B beseeches God to "put all things in subjection under your Christ" (page 369 of the Book of Common Prayer); which I think the Prayer Book authors took directly from Ephesians.

Children seem to be more open to kairos time than adults. Mainly because they are not bound -- as we adults are, to kronos time. Which is measured time. Most of us keep the measure of kronos time close at hand, if not literally wrapped around the hand. I think we have twelve clocks in our house, not counting computers or cell phones. I have three clocks in my office. If we are not slaves to time, we end up being indentured servants to it. Being on time -- and getting things done in time are important virtues, but our hyper-allegiance to kronos time runs the risk of erecting formidable barriers to the breaking in of the fullness of time. Where timeless kairos gifts await.

In the heavenly places

2010-12-02T06:53:00.004-05:00

"In the heavenly places." (Ephesians 1:3)

Where are those heavenly places? Most of us have been taught to think that the heavenly places are up there; someplace beyond reach. A place flowing with milk and honey, and filled with serenity and peace. Certainly not here.

I have a good friend who sports a bumper sticker on his car: 'I would rather be here now.' Not fishing. Not at the beach or shopping. Here.

Which is where heaven is. Which is where God is working. When we go to a favored place for the purpose of getting away from it all -- or go on retreat, we may have a sense that we are going to a unique heavenly place. The fact is, God is no more there than God is here. The difference is that in that 'away from it all' place, we position our souls differently, and are more ready to receive God's presence.

Next month, a group of bishops in New York and New Jersey are planning to go to Haiti. Haiti is part of our province. We will go to offer support to our brother bishop, Zache, who has invited us. We also go because -- in spite of squalor and cholera and unspeakable grief, Haiti is a heavenly place. We go to witness, and to find out -- in new ways, how God is working.

And the Band Played On

2010-12-01T06:31:00.003-05:00

And the Band Played On is the title of an important book written in the 1980's by Randy Shilts. A journalist, Shilts followed the developing AIDS epidemic -- and how the government and medical establishment intentionally ignored the spreading of a complicated virus and its inexorable and fatal outcome. "And the band played on."

Much has changed in the three decades since the outbreak of HIV disease. There is better treatment. AIDS is no longer a death sentence (provided people have access to the treatment). But more people are infected.

Today is World AIDS day. We remember those who have died from this disease, their families -and caregivers -- and the many self-organizing individuals and groups around the world who stepped in to help when the official entities wouldn't.

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul gives blessing to God, "who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love." (1:3-4)

What an extraordinary statement about the abundance of God's blessing. It covers everyone and everything. In all situations.

But there is a tendency in us to ration that blessing. To limit it -- or to carefully direct it to the "worthy" places. A limited blessing was unofficial policy at the beginning of the AIDS crisis. It is less the case today, but prejudicial blessings still abound. Which meant -- and which means, that whole categories of people are thought -- in some quarters, to be expendable. Paul doesn't see it that way.

Nor should we.

Grace and Peace

2010-11-29T18:05:00.004-05:00

Thanksgiving dinner has hardly been digested, and Advent announces itself. Advent is the season for waiting, for preparation and for getting ready. I don't feel ready to get ready; the preparation list seems daunting -- and the punishing pace of the season twists "wait" into a forbidden four-letter word.

Enter Paul's letter to the Ephesians. I have added this Epistle to my preparation list. And I have invited people across the diocese and beyond to add it to theirs. Part of the good news is that the letter is mercifully short. It is beautiful prose. The poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge called it "one of the divinest compositions of man (sic)." So we can take it slowly -- and allow the combination of prose, Spirit, beauty and brevity to speak to the soul. Let it not be a task, but a way to enter into the season.

"To the saints," Paul begins, and by saints he means us. Not just some of us. All of us. I don't think Paul is trying to flatter his audience. He says saints because he means saints. So ponder your sainthood. The goodness which has been given us -- and the giftedness that marks us. We are blessed. Through no fault of our own we are saints. Most of the time it seems that Christian theology asks us to sort through our sinfulness. Paul opens by identifying our saintliness. I invite you to deal with that.

"Grace to you and peace." I think he means that as well. I want to greet people with that same graciousness. And it doesn't always work. It certainly didn't this afternoon when I spent an hour trying to get across the George Washington Bridge. Let's just say that I didn't greet every other driver with a warm and open heart.

A couple of years ago I was remarking in a parish forum about the challenges of driving in New Jersey. Not just the driving part, but the etiquette part. One woman said that whenever she got cut off on the road, she responded with "go in peace to love and serve the Lord." I had a hard time believing her, and so I asked how long it took for her to say that. She indicated that she said it right away. Still not believing her, I asked her with what tone did she use when she said it. "As if I mean it", she replied. She was able to pass on the grace that had been given to her. Grace begets grace.

Now there is an Advent challenge.

An Advent Invitation: Lectio Divina Of Ephesians

2010-11-18T15:00:00.002-05:00

This Advent, I invite you to join me in the practice of Lectio Divina -- or divine reading. The text we will be using is Paul's letter to the Ephesians. It's short -- six chapters. It will take about a half hour to read. (You can read Paul's Letter To The Ephesians online (New Revised Standard Version) using the oremus Bible Browser.)

But Lectio Divina is a different kind of reading. It is a practice of reading as much with the heart as with the brain. It invites the reader to sit with images and metaphors of what is written -- and to ponder what they are saying to our soul.

Paul's letter to the Ephesians is probably misnamed. Many scholars think one of Paul's disciples wrote the letter, to an audience that was much wider than the community of Ephesus. No matter. It is filled with the powerful expressions of the Christian faith -- "now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine" (3:21); which raise some important questions: what is the power? How does it work? What are the limits of what we can imagine?

And there are some serious theological speed bumps: "Wives, be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord" (5:22). What is that all about?

Paul's' purpose in writing the letter was to pull the community together -- to create unity in diversity.

As we get ready to enter the season of Advent, which is preparation time for the coming of the Prince of Peace, the irony is that Advent is lined up with (or against) the time of the year that is perhaps the most chaotic, confusing -- and unpeaceful.

I trust that Lectio Divina and Paul's wisdom will provide a spiritual anchor for us. I will be sharing regular ponderings on my blog. I invite us to take this journey together.

How The Online Discussion Will Work

As a guide, during the four weeks of Advent I will focus on the reading as follows:

Nov. 28 - Dec. 4: Chapter 1
Dec. 5 - 11: Chapter 2
Dec. 12 - 18: Chapter 3
Dec. 19 - 24: Chapters 4-6

You are invited to post your own insights and reflections in the comments section at the end of each post. While I look forward to reading everyone's reflections, I regret that I won't be able to respond to individual comments.

Support And Protect Our Children

2010-11-09T10:15:00.004-05:00

Imagine a large empty room. Place a group of children in the center. The children may be the children of your church, the children of the local community, the children of the world -- or a combination of all three.

Then imagine the four corners of the room, each promoting its unique cultural influence. One corner is the mall. Another corner is the entertainment industry. The third is the sports industry, and the fourth is the violence industry (in both its legal and illegal forms). Each corner bombards the room with messages -- well-funded and market-tested messages that beg the children’s attention, and that boast of some immediate glory if the children head in their direction.

Surrounding the children is the body of Christ. That’s us. On one level, the body of Christ is no match for the relentless, if not ruthless, messages coming from the four corners. We can’t buy the air time. We can’t produce the technical wizardry which provides such astounding promises.

But we can provide relationship and guidance and hope that is real and abiding. And necessary.

Children are vulnerable -- to no end of unhealthy cultural influences, to each other (with the escalating incidence of bullying) -- and increasingly, to poverty. One in four children in the United States lives in poverty. In the last twenty years, 300 million people from around the world have died of poverty-related causes. Most of them were children.

Last spring, the interfaith group I work with in Newark -- the Newark Interfaith Coalition for Hope and Peace, came up with a message: support and protect our children. We are hoping to have the message on T-shirts, and next spring when the Dalai Lama comes to Newark to bring his unique message of peace, to have the message on billboards.

Support and protect our children. That is what the body of Christ does as it surrounds the children. It is not an easy job. On one level our kids often indicate that they don’t want us to surround them for protection and support. They often insist that they can do it on their own. Or we can’t gather the kids in order to surround them.

Support and protect our children. It is holy work. The newly created Justice Board of the Diocese (made up of deputies to General Convention along with some other folks in the diocese with a demonstrated commitment to justice) has identified children as the primary focus for our justice work in the diocese. The purpose of the Justice Board is to sort through the many issues that come our way -- by way of General Convention, international concerns or local community needs. When we think of hunger, I invite you to think of kids. When we engage in homeless ministry or environmental work -- or respond to any of the eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) endorsed by the United Nations in 2000, I invite you to imagine faces of children who are most affected if we don’t make more progress on those goals.

The Justice Board and I will be formulating opportunities and challenges to galvanize the ministries of congregations and individuals in the area of justice -- with a focus on children. I invite you to do the same. We know that our children are our future. How we surround them -- and protect and support them, is a benchmark for how well we live out the invitation -- and challenges -- of the Christian faith.

For more about the Justice Board, please see “A Witness To Justice” on page 10 of the September 2010 Voice.

Photo by M. Christyanne Ward.

Stewardship and our need to give

2010-10-12T09:43:00.001-04:00

Although Christian stewardship is a year-round enterprise, it peaks in intensity at this time of year. Letters are written, witnesses are given, visits are (sometimes) undertaken – and pledges are solicited. Stewardship is a spiritual discipline, but as the end of the year looms and next year’s budget is prepared, there is a tendency to shift the message from our need to give to the church’s need to receive. Which is understandable. At every level of life today, there is a lot of anxiety today about money.

But stewardship isn’t about money. It is about our need to give.

When I was newly ordained, I pledged to the church what I could afford. I knew the church needed money, but so did I. And since I didn’t think I had much, I didn’t give much. Then I learned about proportionate giving, which involved figuring out how much you give away in proportion to what you earn. It required setting aside some time to think this through, and engaging in the rudiments of calculation. And committing to the idea that this is holy work.

It was my wife Marilyn who recommended that we add up our combined incomes and then decide on a percentage that we would give away. It was somewhat embarrassing to see how little we had been giving. When we established a percentage and pledged that percentage, our giving tripled. When we reached a tithe a few years later, our giving tripled again.

While this process had the concrete effect of giving more money away, the spiritual dynamics of it all introduced me to a level of gratitude I had never known before. When my giving was based on what I thought I could afford, I gave with an undercurrent of resentment. When I gave from a percentage of what I had, I found that my giving was in fact a gift. I wanted to give. And I discovered that I needed to give in order to fully appreciate the corresponding gift of joy.

Stewardship is what we do with what we have – all of the time. At this peak stewardship time of the year, the practice of Christian stewardship presents us with an opportunity to experience deeper spiritual levels of gratitude and joy by living into our need to give.

New Jersey Episcopal bishops respond to Tyler Clementi's suicide

2010-10-08T17:12:00.002-04:00

A joint statement by Bishop Beckwith and the Rt. Rev. George E. Councell, Bishop of New Jersey.

We write as Christian pastors who are privileged to serve as bishops of The Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Newark and in the Diocese of New Jersey in order to express our grief, alarm, compassion and outrage over the suicide of Tyler Clementi. We join our voices with the voices of all those concerned in Ridgewood, where Tyler grew up, at Rutgers University, where he was a freshman and across our nation. Another gay young person has died by suicide. This tragic loss of a promising life would appear to be directly related to an invasion of Tyler’s privacy and a violation of his personal life. Much remains to be considered by law enforcement authorities and the courts in order to determine whether this is also a case of bullying, a felony or a hate crime – or a combination of the three. Whatever that legal determination may be, we join with other Christian and religious leaders, with the LGBT community and with all people of good will who take their stand against hatred, bigotry and bullying; against every expression of physical and verbal violence; and against any violation of the dignity of LGBT persons. When the rights of any – especially the members of vulnerable groups who have so often been scapegoated – are threatened, the rights of all are endangered.

We want to call attention to another, potentially deeper, issue here. It is the invasion of intimacy. Intimacy is a holy place within every human being; an innermost sanctuary where we develop our ultimate beliefs and values, nurture our closest relationships and maintain our deepest commitments. No one has the right to disclose that intimacy for someone else without consent. Such a violation is tantamount to the desecration of a sacred space. It is, in fact, a sacred space. It is the territory of the soul.

Technology, however, now provides tools to record, seize and disclose the most intimate matters of our lives without our consent. Identities can be stolen, hearts broken and lives shattered. Technology has placed powerful tools in human hands. Will they be used for building-up or for breaking down our neighbor? Tyler Clementi’s death certainly poses some important legal issues, but it also raises some critical moral concerns. Hubris has outstripped humility. And that is a serious problem. We can do better. We must do better, with God’s help.

In our Episcopal tradition, whenever we reaffirm our faith in worship, we are given a challenging question: “will you respect the dignity of every human being?” And we answer, “I will, with God’s help.” It is an important commitment. Whatever our religious tradition, we can agree on the need to respect one another’s dignity. With God’s help, we can stand together and stand up against bullies who would damage and destroy the lives of LGBT persons, their partners and families and friends. With God’s help, we can offer safety, support and sanctuary to all LGBT persons who are at risk. With God’s help, we can remind our society that every LGBT person is made in the image of God. The world needs our witness.

The Rt. Rev. Mark M. Beckwith, Bishop of Newark
The Rt. Rev. George E. Councell, Bishop of New Jersey

The Cross at the Border: Reflections on the House of Bishops meeting

2010-09-22T09:52:00.006-04:00

I am bringing a cross back with me from Arizona. It is made of wood, about 18” high and painted white. Written in Sharpie pen across the front is the name Jorge Cruz Becerril. His birth date is written on the top of the cross; and January 23, 2003 is written at the bottom, which is the day he died in the desert from a combination of heat and dehydration as he tried to make the crossing from Mexico to the United States. Jorge’s name was among 300 or so read aloud at a weekly prayer vigil held at the border between Douglas, Arizona and Agua Pierta, Mexico – each name represented with their own cross. We were told that nearly 2000 people have died in the last three years along the “Douglas section,” which is just 41 miles of border marked by an eight foot high fence. A cross has been made for each person who has died – and the vigil is a weekly witness to one of the horrendous costs of our broken immigration policy.

I am also bringing back copies of a bishops’ pastoral letter on immigration (with corresponding theological resources), and a resolution which commits the Episcopal Church to raise $10 million dollars by Easter to help begin the reconstruction of the Diocese of Haiti (which is the largest diocese in the Episcopal Church). I have a copy of a “Mind of the House” resolution, requesting the Bishop of Pennsylvania to resign his office immediately and unconditionally, because the relationship between Bishop Bennison and his diocese is “irretrievably damaged” – after an ecclesiastical trial which found the bishop guilty of overlooking sexual misconduct thirty years ago but was overturned by an ecclesiastical court of review because the statute of limitations had expired. Our request to Bishop Bennison was a painful step to take – but it was taken as a witness to our holding one another accountable as bishops; and our commitment to “unequivocal solidarity with anyone who has been sexually abused or mistreated by a member of our clergy or by any member of our church.”

So I am bringing back a lot of paper – which is the fruit of good and hard work, and – to borrow from our own mission statement, is a reflection of a deeper commitment to engage the world.

Which is what 29 bishops did at the Mexican/Arizona border. In addition to the vigil, we visited a migrant shelter, which has provided support, food and water to some 17,000 people (in the last two years) who have been sent back to Mexico by the Border Patrol. We went to the Border Patrol facility – and heard first-hand from agents who have the daunting task of going into the desert to sort out drug smugglers from those who are just trying to get into America to find a job. We heard from a rancher whose patience has been tested by people trespassing and trashing his land. We heard from a woman who had recently been sent back to Mexico after having lived in Los Angeles with her husband for 20 years; where she worked as a quality control technician for all that time; where she gave birth to three children (all American citizens), and paid thousands of dollars over several years to lawyers who turned out not to be lawyers – not to mention the thousands of dollars she paid in social security taxes for a benefit she cannot legally receive.

We went to a water station in the desert, on the Mexican side about fifty yards from the fence. The desert sand burned through the soles of my shoes. The driver of the water truck was a Mexican man who had been volunteering for this ministry for over seven years. He is well known in the community, which is a good thing because he got word out to the drug traffickers that he was bringing a group of bishops into the desert, and that they should leave us alone. Which, thank God, they did.

Many of us expressed the hope that our trip to the border would yield greater clarity on the issue of immigration. In some ways it did. Our experience exposed the complexity of the issue. Our conversations and reflections revealed that while it is tempting to cast blame, there are no easy answers. The new Arizona law is an attempt for a quick fix – but from what I saw and heard, it has only made things worse. It has produced greater polarization and has generated toxic levels of fear.

The Presbyterian minister who has organized the weekly vigils and who has carried out a border ministry for twelve years, told a story about a rather heated exchange he had with a local parent who was trying to decide whether or not to allow her daughter to go on a half-day mission trip to Mexico. “Do you support illegal immigration?” she asked the pastor. “I suppose I do”, the pastor replied. “Every time I buy lettuce, stay in a hotel or play golf, I am supporting illegal immigration.” He then asked the mother if she supported illegal immigration.

There are so many feelings, opinions, postures and positions that separate us from one another. Sometimes it seems that we are all scattered across a desert of acrimony. As I bring the cross of Jorge Cruz Becerril home with me, the whole experience has brought home to me the importance and power of the cross. The cross holds us together – the living and the dead, the isolationists and the accommodators. It is the paradoxical symbol of an incredible human cost as well as the gateway to freedom. As the cross holds us together, we need to hold on to the cross – and carry its power into a fragmented world that needs our witness. Our commitment to the cross can reframe the conversation.

Challenging the violence of scapegoating

2010-09-14T10:18:00.002-04:00

As our cultural temperature rises to higher thresholds, fed by the anxiety over money, safety and religion; there have been a number of reckless, if not dangerous, attempts to bring the fever down. It has been ever thus. Virtually every ancient culture has had some practice of ritual sacrifice. In the early Jewish tradition, a goat was selected on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. The sins of the community were written on the goat, and with all the insults people could muster, it was sent into the wilderness -- where it would die.

It was the scapegoat. The high priest would then go into the Holy of Holies, and since the sins of the community had symbolically been removed, he would pray for atonement -- that God's mercy would provide people with new life for the New Year.

Ritual sacrifice is no longer practiced much in the modern world, but scapegoating is alive and well. Because it works -- in an insidious way. When an individual or group is identified -- usually because of some perceived or projected difference -- and is cast down or thrown out of the community with accompanying insults and degradation, the fever of anxiety for the rest of the community goes down. For a time.

The Salem witch trials were an exercise in scapegoating. As was the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. As is the near epidemic levels of bullying in high schools across the country. Over the centuries the dominant white culture has demonstrated a devastating capacity to identify racial minorities as scapegoats. And while different religions have long been ruthlessly effective at scapegoating one another, a new and disturbing trend seems to be emerging: the scapegoating of Muslims.

Our rituals may no longer support scapegoating, but some theologies do. Violence is identified as a disease that needs curing, and violence (be it physical or verbal) is presented as the cure. This runs the risk of making violence sacred. The biblical prophets argued -- with great passion and considerable risk to themselves, that the practice of violence in order to bring peace is wrong.

There are some theologies which hold that Jesus' death was an atoning sacrifice; that by giving in to cultural violence Jesus was providing space for it. For many, this then gives sanction to a belief that ideologies and religions can continue to wreak violence as a means of keeping the community temperature down.

I don't see it that way. Jesus stepped in between violence given and scapegoating violence received -- and he has been a haunting presence ever since. His was a witness -- and an instruction. God chose his son to stand non-violently in the face of violence, in the hope -- indeed the expectation, that the fury for scapegoating would be exposed as cruel and inhuman -- and ultimately destructive to the development of community.

We are called to stand up, speak up and act up in the face of scapegoating violence. Even when we don't want to. Even -- and especially, when we may have a very human, but nevertheless insidious desire to build ourselves up by putting someone else down.

The world needs our witness.

Give us this day our daily bread

2010-07-22T14:08:00.003-04:00

I have been reciting the Lord’s Prayer since I was five years old. It was – for me, and perhaps for most of us in the Christian tradition, our first prayer. One of the reasons we keep saying it is because Jesus told us to. The Gospel for July 25 gives us the basic outline for the Lord’s Prayer, which was probably recited by Jesus in the now-dead language of Aramaic. It was then written down in Greek. It has since been translated into every language spoken around the globe. At the Lambeth Conference two summers ago, the daily Eucharist gave most of the gathered assembly – 700 bishops from around the world, spouses, staff and guests; an auditory taste of Pentecost, because we said the Lord’s Prayer in about seventy languages at once.

It is a powerful prayer, because when we pray as Jesus taught us, there is the sense that we are praying the words of Jesus. That we are even praying with Jesus.

But it is more than that. The Lord’s Prayer is a progressive prayer – not in a political sense but in a biblical one. It professes a faith and hope in progress – toward a freedom to which Jesus has paved the way. The Lord’s Prayer is deeply rooted in the trajectory of promise -- for everyone. I used to think that that “give us this day our daily bread” was my order from some holy menu – and that my family and I would have three meals on the table for the next day as long as I kept praying the prayer.

But it is not about me, or about you. It is about us. Not just some of us – but all of us. “Give us this day…” Which means that we need to participate in the promise in order for all of God’s people to have their daily bread.

“Forgive us our… as we forgive those…” If our participation in the promise of all being fed is going to have any chance of succeeding, we need to forgive. In the traditional version of the Lord’s Prayer, we ask God to forgive our trespasses; the contemporary version beseeches God to forgive us our sins. And God will. That is God’s promise. The real challenge is to us – that we forgive. Most translations of Luke’s Gospel have Jesus insisting that we forgive not just those who trespass or sin against us; but those who are indebted to us.

Forgive the debt. Let it go. That is the promise we make. It is not an economic protocol, but is rather a mandate that we see one another not in terms of what we owe – or are owed; but how we can work with Jesus’ promise to help set each other free. To help free all of us from the debts of oppression and resentment; and from the intransigence of systems that reward and punish on the basis of race, class, gender, sexual orientation or zip code. And to help provide “food enough” – be it the food of opportunity or education or shelter – or daily sustenance.

When we forgive, we live into a measure of freedom. When we are forgiven, we are unbridled from many of the dimensions of debt. The Lord’s Prayer is a clarion call to work with the living Christ to set people free. To help provide people with their basic human needs. How we deal with our ability to forgive, and participate in the discipline of giving, is an important measure of our integrity as a Christian community. That is the progress we are called to make. That is the promise we are invited to claim.

Pondering the Holy Spirit

2010-06-14T08:00:00.004-04:00

Pentecost is the feast day when the church celebrates the releasing of the Holy Spirit. This year, Pentecost was an occasion for the Archbishop of Canterbury to release a letter -- which prompted the releasing of a post-Pentecost letter from our Presiding Bishop.

The missives from these two Primates have prompted me to ponder about the Holy Spirit. We sing and pray about the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit holds down one side of a holy triangle called the Trinity. The Holy Spirit is foundational to who we are as Christians.

The Archbishop and the Presiding Bishop have written eloquently about what the Holy Spirit is and how it speaks. About ten years ago, in a guided mediation on the Holy Spirit, I had a quiet -- but powerful experience, as to what the Holy Spirit does.

It brings people together.

Out of difference and distraction, the Holy Spirit brings people together. The Spirit does not bring us into agreement -- or make us the same, or into a condition where we can even say we like each other. The Spirit brings us beyond our disagreements and beneath our differences -- to a place where we can have the experience of being brothers and sisters in a divinely created and nurtured humanity. I don't know how that happens, but I am very grateful that it does. I have seen it, and felt it -- and been transformed by it. And I trust it.

I trust that the Spirit can bring people together to be able see the presence of God in each other's faces -- no matter how different the face; no matter that prejudice or projection may have scrambled one's view. I trust that the Spirit has the divine capacity to bring hearts together -- no matter that hearts have turned to stone or have been broken -- or are just absent from the place we normally find them.

So when there is a recommendation that members of the Anglican community not participate in conversations and consultations of that same community, I understand the politics of that recommendation (even though I don't agree with them), but the recommendation seems to undercut the opportunity for the Spirit to bring people together. The recommendation doesn't defeat the Spirit -- because I don't believe the Holy Spirit can ever be defeated, but it certainly seems to give the Spirit an unnecessary challenge.

I have had times -- we all have had times, when being at the table with a certain person or a particular group has not been a good idea. Times when everyone involved needed a cooling off period so that souls might have a chance to have their equilibrium restored after an incident which has released toxic amounts of anger and fear. "Time out" times when the Holy Spirit is in strategy mode, preparing for a more opportune moment to bring people together.

That is not what is being asked for here. The Archbishop's recommendation is being presented as a consequence, if not a punishment, for actions taken, which -- our Presiding Bishop has graciously and clearly written, are the result of 50 years of discerning the work of the Spirit bringing us closer together on the issue of human sexuality. We are not in agreement as a Communion. Nor are we yet together as a church. But the genius of our Anglican tradition is that we have a nearly 500 year history of living in the midst of tension and disagreement -- trusting that that Spirit will at least hold us -- and at best, bring us together.

We need to give it that chance.

Poverty - and the need for relationship

2010-05-04T11:12:00.002-04:00

About 150 people came from all over the country to attend a Domestic Poverty Summit. It was held in Newark at the Robert Treat Hotel from April 27-30. The Presiding Bishop came and gave an eloquent and comprehensive overview of the various dimensions of economic poverty – and challenged us to respond to it. Two former priests of the diocese came – Jim Snodgrass from Puerto Rico; and Eric Duff from Northern California – who were the original founders of Apostles’ House (from 1983-85); which has grown into one of the largest service providers for low-income people in Essex County. Many current people from the diocese came – to listen and learn, to facilitate, to network – and to organize. It was an honor to see people from the diocese at the center of it all. We have done – and continue to do, a lot of work. We have quite a story to tell.

And yet.

There are spiritual and economic and political forces at work that have widened the gap between people who are economically poor – and those who are not. We heard the statistics. It was disheartening.

And yet.

The summit brought together different national networks – Jubilee Ministries, Episcopal Community Services and National Health Ministries. There was a growing consensus that these groups can be more effective in alleviating poverty if they work in partnership rather than independently. There was a commitment to develop the partnership, with an ongoing plan – which will provide more leverage in dealing with issues that are maddeningly complex.

I wasn’t able to attend the entire conference – but I was inspired by the parts I did. I was inspired by the witness to the Gospel, by the commitment to stay engaged – and by the willingness to engage differently. Which means taking on the systemic issues of injustice. As House of Deputies President Bonnie Anderson said: it is important to exercise compassion in pulling people out of the river of poverty; but it is just as important to prevent whatever or whoever is throwing them in.

And I think – at least I hope, there is a commitment to be careful about language. It was called a poverty summit. Poverty is a condition. There is a temptation to see it as a definition – especially when we refer to “the poor”. Jesus made many references to “the poor” – but he did so as a challenge to develop and deepen a relationship between those who were poor and those who were not. Jesus didn’t allow the “the poor” to be a category from which people could not otherwise be identified. We do. I cringe whenever I hear an appeal to help “disadvantaged kids” (which to me always means poor kids). While the term may be technically true – it almost sounds like the appeal to help comes with an underlying assumption that the distance will be maintained between those who are disadvantaged and those who are not.

A week ago a 91 year old man was murdered in his home in Essex Fells. He was a long-time member of St. Peter’s Church. The family and community were devastated – because of the tragic death of a wonderful man, and the fact that Essex Fells hadn’t had a homicide in over forty years. A vigil was held at St. Peter’s on the evening of the murder. The Essex Fells community came. The mayor spoke. Prayers were offered.

It was then discovered that the arrested suspects were from East Orange – a community five miles away but as different as any economic or demographic matrix can register.

There was the anxiety that the disparity between the two communities would generate more fear and resentment. But the people of St. Peter’s Church and Christ Church, East Orange have an ongoing relationship with each other; generated by the two Rectors – Stephanie Wethered and William Guthrie. Leaders from Christ Church came to the funeral at Essex Fells. It was an important witness. It made a difference – and shortened the distance. Relationship always does.

There are many things we as a church can and should do in seeking to alleviate poverty. Building relationships between people who are on different “sides’ as far as economic data is concerned, needs to be at the foundation of any strategy. Building relationships – with the commitment to a willingness to be changed – if not transformed, as the relationships deepen.

It can make a huge difference.

Stories from the House of Bishops

2010-03-28T08:03:00.004-04:00

For me, the story of our just concluded House of Bishops was, in fact, the stories. There was the chilling story of the assassination attempt on the life of Bishop Martin Barahona of El Salvador two days before our meeting began. Thankfully, Bishop Barahona was not hurt; his driver was injured, but will recover. We wrote a letter offering support to the Bishop, his family and the country – and decrying the escalating violence there.

There was the ongoing and heartbreaking story of Bishop Zaché Duracin of Haiti, who told us that it was the first time since January 12 that he had slept in a bed – and not on a cot in a tent. He said that 222,000 people are known to have died in the earthquake; but many estimate that the death toll will eventually approach a half million. And there are 1 to 2 million people who are homeless – in a country of less than 10 million. There is hope and there is commitment, he said; but there is also no end of pain. And a longer timeline than anyone can imagine for when lives return to normal and adequate housing can be rebuilt. A master plan of redevelopment is being put together; but it is revised weekly as the assessment of human and building destruction is updated. Bishop Duracin is a national figure in Haiti. He exhorts people to hold on to their faith – as he demonstrates his own.

We pledged our continued commitment to Haiti – and those of us in Province II (which includes the Diocese of Haiti) have – at this point, agreed to Bishop Duracin’s request that we take the lead in rebuilding the Cathedral.

There was the story of Mary Glasspool’s receiving enough consents from bishops and standing committees so that her consecration can take place on May 15. But that story happened two days before our meeting, and it really wasn’t a story during our time together. There were six bishops-elect at our meeting, and they each were welcomed with eagerness and hospitality into our fellowship. There may have been grumbling in some quarters about a partnered lesbian becoming a bishop, but I didn’t hear it. There was perhaps some anxiety about how the Los Angeles consecration will play beyond The Episcopal Church (TEC), but for the most part the bishops were non-anxious in the face of that anxiety.

Instead, there was a clear sense of celebration for some – and perhaps a feeling of grudging acceptance for others, that we are all in this together. And that now – in a new and different way, we can put more commitment into carrying out God’s witness and mission in a world often shaken by violence and tragedy.

Is America a Christian country? and other Lenten questions

2010-02-20T07:28:00.004-05:00

Last Sunday (February 14), the New York Times magazine had a feature article regarding a brewing curriculum controversy in Texas. It seems that there are some members of the state board of education who want Texas textbooks to reflect their conviction that America has been, and continues to be, a Christian country.

"So there" , I could imagine these ardent advocates of the Christian witness saying as I read the article. "We're Christian. Always have been. We are a God given and Christian driven country. It is our destiny."

"So what?", I found myself muttering rather irreverently under my breath as I finished the article. What does it mean to say America is a Christian country? The debate felt like some theological contest -- and if there were to be enough political muscle to pull this off, I had the sense that many will feel that the Christians have won. Against whom? If Christians are the winners, who are the losers? Will they need to be Christian to be American? What defines a Christian?

"So what?" I have continued to ask myself for the past several days and on into this first week of Lent. I have found guidance -- and challenge, from the Gospel of Mark. In the eighth chapter, Jesus asks his disciples, "who do people say that I am?" (8:27) And they tell him what they have been hearing: some think he is John the Baptist; others say Elijah, and still others say one of the prophets. Jesus is not so much interested in what others are saying; he wants to know what the disciples believe: "But who do you say that I am?" (8:29)

I love to avoid that question. Most of us do. We avoid it by thinking that Jesus is asking the question of Peter and James and John -- and not us. We avoid it by wondering how other people can say they are Christian if they act the way they do. We avoid it by worrying over whether or not America is a Christian country -- and not pondering who Jesus is for you or me.

"But who do you say that Jesus is?" is one of the fundamental questions of faith. It is not a question that is easily answered, and it is not a question that we answer just once.

It is a question for this season. A daily question. I would suggest that whatever you take on this Lent -- or whatever you give up; that it be done with the intention of bringing you to a greater appreciation of the challenge of Jesus' question; and a discovery of the deep desire that both you and the living Christ have to be in relationship with each other.

Message on the Earthquake in Haiti

2010-01-15T15:54:00.003-05:00

Marriage Equality in NJ: Justice Delayed is Justice Denied

2010-01-11T12:25:00.000-05:00

Like many, I am deeply disappointed that the State Senate voted down marriage equality last Thursday. Three months ago, those who profess to divine the political winds were confident that it would pass – and New Jersey would join the ranks of states that permit same-gender marriage.

It didn’t.

Two weeks ago I spent the better part of a morning with a legislator who said to our small group that while he was personally in favor of marriage equality, his constituency was not; and he was not willing to create a political problem for himself by voting for it. This summer at General Convention, a group of 25 bishops met informally late one evening and early the next morning to see if we could come up with a resolution that would honor the disparity of political opinions and theological perspectives that we held regarding human sexuality. We were honest and fair with each other. One bishop – who was opposed to same gender blessings and to electing a gay or lesbian priest to be bishop, said that he knew this was all coming eventually, but asked if we could please slow it down a little.

The state slowed it down; the General Convention of the Episcopal Church took a step in moving it forward. At least a little. I do believe that full equality for all people whose relationships are marked by fidelity and commitment is coming eventually – at least in the Episcopal Church and in the state of New Jersey; and many of us will continue to work in each arena to bring that about. That, I suppose, is some consolation, but – as the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. so eloquently stated years ago: “justice delayed is justice denied”.

The gift of practice -- December 24, 2009

2009-12-24T20:57:00.003-05:00

In her new book, An Altar in the World, priest and writer Barbara Brown Taylor suggests that wisdom is not gained by knowing what is right. Wisdom is gained by practicing what is right.

Practice is what this Advent blog has been about. Developing a practice -- or maintaining a practice, or revising a practice. Reflecting on the words of Joan Chittister -- as she reflects on her lifetime of Benedictine practice. And the rightness of it all is that through practice we are drawn closer to the center -- the center of our soul, the center of humanity -- to the place where Emmanuel (God with us) is so eager to be born anew.

Merry Christmas.

Peace: sign of the disarmed heart -- December 23, 2009

2009-12-23T06:38:00.004-05:00

One of the ironies of the Christmas season is that immediately after the birth of the Prince of peace, we get violence. The Feast of St. Stephen is on December 26; it commemorates an early witness to the faith who was stoned to death. December 28 is the Feast of the Holy Innocents -- who were the children that Herod ordered to be slaughtered upon hearing of the birth of a potential rival.

We live in a world of violence. There is physical violence -- which may or may not be on an increase; and verbal violence, which -- from my perspective, is most definitely on the rise.

Joan Chittister acknowledges the presence -- if not the reign, of violence in our world. And she talks of peace, which she identifies in chapter 14 as a sign of the disarmed heart. She acknowledges that peace is not something that is ever achieved, but is something "sincerely and consistently sought. It comes, in fact, from the seeking, not from the getting." (page 184)

Seeking peace, then is a commitment to spiritual discipline. It doesn't take away the violence -- or remove us from it. But the desire to seek peace, and to imagine peace -- enables us to live in the midst of violence -- without violence. And helps to generate peace.

I remember someone saying that the reason nuclear weapons have not been used against humanity since 1945 is because millions of people around the world have prayed that they not be used. That their intentional prayer for peace helps to create peace. I also remember Desmond Tutu thanking an American congregation for helping to end apartheid in South Africa. How did we do that, we silently asked. By praying that apartheid come to an end, he said quite clearly. He told a story of a nun in California who lived as a hermit. She wrote Archbishop Tutu a letter to tell him that she got up every morning at 2 am, and for an hour prayed in silence for an end to apartheid.

"They didn't stand a chance," Bishop Tutu said. "The powers of darkness didn't stand a chance against a nun praying in silence -- at 2 am, in California."

And we believed him.

customs and traditions -- December 22, 2009

2009-12-22T06:51:00.003-05:00

Customs and traditions help us see the connection between the human and the holy: "If there is no way to connect the normal with the wonderful, what can possibly give the little things in life spiritual meaning?" (page 173) These words have resonance with earlier passages in Chittister's book -- to live an ordinary life extraordinarily well.

Silence is important. "Silence is an antidote to the turmoil that is manufactured to distract us from the important things of life." (page 171) Silence centers us -- and brings us closer to the divine. Custom and ritual (which are elements of spiritual practice) provide us with a lens to see the Divine.

We are a couple of days away from Christmas. A time when the power of the birth story breaks into the night silence -- and we carry out customs and traditions that both honor that story and bring us closer to it. Take note of the silence. Pay attention to the ritual -- a ritual that you engage in individually, as a family -- and/or as a community. It will serve as a reaching out to a God who is so eager to reach out to us.

Vocation -- December 21, 2009

2009-12-21T07:00:00.005-05:00

In the novel Evensong by Gail Godwin, an Episcopal priest gives his wife, another Episcopal priest, his definition of vocation: "something is your vocation if it keeps making more of you."

As I read through Wisdom Distilled From the Daily, I keep thinking of vocation -- and what seems to be Joan Chittister's passion that each and every one of us claim the vocation that will keep making more of us. The Benedictine triangle of obedience, conversion of life and stability is designed so that the follower of the Rule will grow -- will be made more of. The second century theologian Iranaeus remarked that the glory of God is the human being fully alive. To be fully alive, it seems to me, is our vocation. As Joan Chittister puts it, "live life for something greater than your satisfactions and do not let anything or anyone cause you to lose hold on your free and unfettered self."

Instead of being constraining, the spiritual practice is liberating. Instead of shutting down our view of the world, it opens us up to the full complexity and the deep challenge of the world.

And takes us to the heart of God.

Mary's song -- December 20, 2009

2009-12-20T06:41:00.004-05:00

On this fourth Sunday of Advent, we hear Mary's song -- the Magnificat: "my soul magnifies the Lord". It is a song of openness -- to receive God's life-changing blessing; and a song of fierceness -- of what that blessing can and will do to the power centers of the world.

For years I paid little attention to Mary. She was the mother of Jesus, whose story was told and sang and depicted at this time of year. But in 1999, I went on an 8-day silent retreat at a Jesuit retreat house in Pennsylvania. Mary was everywhere -- in the liturgy, on paintings throughout the retreat center -- and on pedestals all over the grounds. In my silent time I began to ponder Mary -- and I came to appreciate her availability to God. She didn't have an oversized or undersized ego that needed stroking or inflating. She was totally available to receive God's spirit. In this sense, she was a virgin, because all that was in her soul was the desire to receive God.

That was her purity. That is her witness. And today I honor that gift.

More on stability -- December 19, 2009

2009-12-19T07:17:00.003-05:00

"Stability says that where I am is where God is for me". (page 151) That is being rooted in God; being stable with God. Often we want to be somewhere else, in the idea that God is there, and not here. The proliferation of bumper stickers over the past several years speak to this desire to be elsewhere: 'I would rather be sailing'; 'I would rather be fishing'; I would rather be doing something other than this.

I have a friend who has a bumper sticker on his car: "I would rather be here now". It reflects a commitment on his part to stability -- to a desire to seek God in the moment.

When I began a consistent spiritual practice, I thought -- indeed I hoped, that I would reap no end of immediate benefits. That didn't happen. What did happen is that it increased my desire for God -- and deepened my commitment to the practice.

To quote Joan Chittister as she drills down to manifest the importance of stability: "we don't pray in hope of becoming prayerful. We don't struggle in hope of triumph; we struggle in hope of growth." (page 153)

Stability is a pathway to a level of freedom that we cannot arrive at any other way.

stability: to stay and not run -- December 18, 2009

2009-12-18T06:48:00.003-05:00

It's known as the Benedictine triangle: stability, obedience and conversion of life. Stability, which is the title of Chittister's 12th chapter, is the ability to stay and not run. To stay with the situation, the problem, the confusion, the feeling -- to stay with it and learn the truth from it. The temptation is to move on or move away -- or seek a distraction, or give in to a temptation.

One notion of freedom suggests that we are free to move whenever and wherever we want to move. Often, that notion of freedom is more escape. A deeper notion of freedom suggests that if we stay in a situation, and are willing to learn the truth in it -- we become free from the forces that ensnare us psychically and spiritually.

Because those forces no longer have the same power over us.

Truth beneath the power -- December 17, 2009

2009-12-17T07:00:00.003-05:00

"Listen for the truth of a thing, not the power for a thing." (page 146) In my experience we may indeed listen for the truth of what is being said or done, but more often than not we react to the power of what is being said and done.

The challenge is to listen beneath the power. That takes work. And the work is to resist the temptation to respond with a verbal salvo after having received one. In conversation, we are more inclined to score points or win arguments than to search for the presence of the Spirit -- which does what the Holy Spirit always does -- bring people and ideas together.

"Listen with a critical ear for the sound of the gospel in everything you do. And don't do what isn't a gospel act, no matter who says so, no matter who orders it, no matter how sacred the institution that demands it....

...Or else power before truth."

Healthy authority -- December 16, 2009

2009-12-16T06:35:00.003-05:00

Joan Chittister talks about the dangers of of dependence, license and domination when considering authority: "dependence says that everybody counts but me. License says that nobody counts but me. And domination says that I have the right to tell everybody else what counts at all". (page 142)

Authority, she says, is more than the preservation of law or the maintenance of order. Authority is the call to grow. "Authority is meant to call. Authority is meant to enable. Authority is meant to raise questions. Authority is meant to convert. Authority is meant to shape us in the values of the Christian life." (page 143)

Our world, and our lives in that world (certainly my life) could use a more healthy dose of this notion of authority.

Obedience: holy responsibility -- December 15, 2009

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In the modern Western world, most of us hear an average of a thousand messages a day. Some from print, but most from electronics. And the messages suggest that our bodies need to be a different shape, that our hair should be a different color or texture, that we should know different people and/or different things -- and on and on and on. These messages have an impact, which, of course, is exactly their point.

Enter Benedictine obedience (which is chapter 11). Joan Chittister makes the case that obedience is neither about being dependent or dominated. Obedience is about listening: "obedience, in other words, lies in listening and laboring and in knowing what is required of us." (page 137)

The Benedictine rule of obedience calls for listening with the ear of the heart. To listen beneath and beyond the fabricated messages that are constant and endless. To seek to arrive at what Thomas Merton called the "point vierge"; our center, where God's presence is most deeply felt.

Hospitality -- the unboundaried heart December 14, 2009

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In my experience, the Benedictines have hospitality as part of their spiritual DNA. In the Benedictine tradition, to welcome the stranger is to welcome Christ. It is a key ingredient of their discipline. Joan Chittister laments that hospitality is the missing value of the twentieth century: "hospitality has been domesticated and is now seen more as one of the social graces than as a spiritual act and a holy event." (page 126)

This lament calls to mind the Celtic Rune of hospitality, which I look at from time to time (as it hangs in our kitchen):
We saw a stranger yesterday.
We put food in the eating place,
Drink in the drinking place,
Music in the listening place,
And with the sacred name of the triune God
He blessed us and our house,
Our cattle and our dear ones.
As the lark says in her song:
Often, often, often, goes the Chist
In the stranger's guise.

Stir up Sunday -- December 13, 2009

2009-12-13T07:15:00.004-05:00

We get stirred up today, the third Sunday of Advent. Gaudete Sunday, when we hear the clarion call (some would say the harrangue) from John the Baptist.

What stirs me up is John's indictment in Luke 3: "Do not begin to say to yourselves , 'we have Abraham as our ancestor'". I want to be able to say that -- that Abraham is part of my spiritual roots; that I am a Christian.

And John would say, 'so what?' What does that mean? How does that belief shape and challenge life? This faith business is not simply about being able to say that I am associated with Abraham through geneology or genetics; but through relationship -- relationship with the one who created us, a relationship that we have to work at -- and define and re-define -- not just once but all the time.

That stirs me up (and not always in a good way). John the Baptist preaches what Joan Chittister writes -- that we need to have a practice, a rhythm -- that reminds us all of who and whose we are.

The Spirit and ordination -- December 12, 2009

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I will perform two ordinations today, which may be the greatest privilege one has as a bishop. To convene the gathered community in the presence and power of the Holy Spirit, and then to witness that same Spirit eniven us all, but especially those to be ordained, is an extraordinary honor.

In the course of each service, at the prayer of consecration, I will invite the Holy Spirit to fill Shane, and later in the day, Jon. And it will happen. And it will take my breath away -- partly because of the power of it all, and partly because a portion of my Spirit (my release of breath) will be given to each ordinand. They will be in-spired -- in spirited, by everyone who has their breath taken away. And we will celebrate what we already know: that the Spirit does in fact fill each of us -- to be priests and prophets and teachers and parents and friends and companions on the way.

The art of contemplation -- December 11, 2009

2009-12-11T18:05:00.004-05:00

There is a thread that runs through Wisdom Distilled from the Daily that claims the spiritual life is not an escape from the world but a deeper engagement with it. In the 8th chapter, Chittister indicates that holy leisure is the foundation of contemplation; and further, that contemplation is not a vacation from life. Contemplation, she writes, is the ability to see the world around us as God sees it. (page 103-104).

I learned this the hard way. Years ago, when I first began making silent retreats to monastic communities, I had the sense that I was getting away from everything and devoting myself solely to God. What I discovered was that not only did nearly everything come along with me, but the combination of space apart and silence brought me closer to the center of the world's distress. And closer to the heart of God, who also sees and feels the world's distress.

The grace in this -- and the deepening desire to continue in contemplation, is that God is a companion on this inward journey. And that what we see is what God sees -- and hears. A TV reporter once asked Mother Theresa of Calcutta what she did when she prayed. 'I listen', she said. The reporter then asked, 'what does God say to you?' 'Oh, she replied, God is listening too.'

Holiness of work -- December 10, 2009

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Work, Joan Chittister writes, is what we do to continue what God wanted done. We were not put on earth to be be cared for. We were put on earth to care for it. (page 86,87)

That is our work. Which is not always easy, because work for me often ends up being what needs to get done, and God's intentions get lost in the process.

I carry my work a little more lightly when I think of it as holy rather than as duty. When I can see my work as integrally connected with God's ongoing act of creation, I live with a greater level of freedom.

I am working at that.

Re-balancing life -- December 9, 2009

2009-12-09T06:23:00.004-05:00

For six years I led 8 day CREDO conferences for clergy. The curriculum was designed to help clergy assess their financial, spiritual, vocational and physical life -- and then invite them to rebalance those dimensions of their life, and to devise a "CREDO plan" for living into the future. In almost every case, the clergy indicated that their lives had gotten out of balance. The week spent together in community, with guidance from the faculty and support from one another, enabled the 30 or so clergy who were present to claim what was important and then dare to live into it.

In her 6th chapter -- "A blend of harmony, wholeness and balance", Joan Chittister renders an indictment that almost everyone's life is out of of balance. I knew that. My guess is that we all know that. She claims that we lack awareness.

I would suggest that the need for a Copenhagen Conference on climate is, in part, the result of a global lack of awareness, and a desire to rebalance humanity with the earth. We have a lot to do.

At the end of the chapter, she has a paragraph that captures the problem -- as well as the opportunity: "All we lack, now that life has become so speeded up, is the will to slow it down so that we can live a little while life goes by. We need to want to be human as well as efficient; to be loving as well as informed; to be caring as well as knowledgeable; to be happy as well as respected." (page 78)

Do you seek God? Seek within yourself and ascend through yourself.

2009-12-08T06:48:00.005-05:00

Advent is a season of preparation -- for making space for God who will come among us. The intention of reading Joan Chittister's book, and the intention of reinforcing or creating a practice of faith, is to help us not just to make space, but to reflect on the space we make -- to ask the questions:
how am I in relationship with God now?
what is God up to now?
where am I being called to make a commitment or take an action?

When I don't make space, there is no end of distraction and detail in my life and psyche that will try and take over whatever space I think I have. So instead of living with purpose, I end up chasing after those distractions and details which badger me into submission or confusion.

I am much taken with the question of St. Augustine (page 56): " Do you seek God? Seek within yourself and ascend through yourself."

I take that as an invitation, if not a challenge, to make space in the soul for the one who dares to be Emmanuel, God with us.

The challenge of humility -- December 7, 2009

2009-12-07T07:10:00.004-05:00

Somewhere along the way in Advent (and every day for Morning Prayer), we hear Mary and her Magnificat: "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my Spirit rejoices in God my Savior." The 5th chapter of Joan Chittister's book is entitled "Humility: the lost virtue". In it Chittister describes the Mangificat as humility at its best. Being humble before God. She also describes humility as the center of the rule -- that it leavens the entire document and indeed the entire way of life.

The Magnificat --which is a song to humility, is the antidote to pride. We know of pride. Certainly I do. The bottom line with pride is to think, to believe -- to live, as though we don't need God. That we can get by totally on our own. Writer Parker Palmer refers to this as functional atheism, which is to say that we believe in God but live as though God doesn't exist.

The Rule of Benedict has twelve degrees of humility. Lots to think about. What stands out for me in this long list is that humility demands that we "hold only to give and that we gather only to share."

May it be so.

Candles in the darkness -- December 6, 2009

2009-12-06T07:08:00.003-05:00

Today, the church will light two candles on the Advent wreath. Not much light to shine in this deepening darkness of December. But it is enough. The two candles give us enough light to explore the darkness -- to see into the far reaches of our soul.

My instinct -- and our culture's training, is to turn on all the lights. Kill the darkness. But the Advent light helps us -- not to destroy the darkness, but to see in the darkness. To help us learn and discover where else God lives in us.

Ever since I was a child, we had an Advent wreath at home. And we dutifully lit the appropriate carol. And then we sang lots of carols. As an adult, we still light the candle -- but sing just the first verse of "O Come, O come Emmanuel". It has become part of the rhythm (the regula, the rule of my life).

An important part -- for it helps me to honor the darkness.

Community as one -- December 5, 2009

2009-12-05T13:33:00.004-05:00

A few years ago, the US Army issued a recruiting slogan: "the Army of One."

I was bothered by that, because it seemed to play into the hyper-individualistic attitude of our culture. An attitude which Joan Chittister challenges in her fourth chapter. Perhaps the Army wanted its recruits to think of the Army as one. But we are so geared to think of our personal needs first and foremost, the Army realized that it was not creating the concept of community -- and so the slogan was dropped.

Community is the antidote to individualism. When we are redeemed by the living Christ -- it is we who are redeemed. It is a community redemption. Salvation for self has little worth if it does not include the journey of others. It is one thing to have a personal relationship with Jesus; it is something else -- and more powerful, to have a communal relationship with Jesus.

Community can be wonderful. Community can also be very hard. While in seminary, I remember going to Henri Nouwen (who was on the faculty) with a community problem. The administration of the school wasn't treating a student very well. The student -- my friend, was having serious mental health issues -- and the dean and staff seemed (from my perspective) to be doing its best to distance itself from the student. I was ready to give up on community.

I relayed all the slights and injuries that this student received to Henri, expecting him to rise up in full dudgeon -- as I had done. Instead, he looked at me, smiled and asked -- "what do you expect?" He didn't know the particulars of this case, but he told me that communities try and act with kindness and justice toward one another, but they don't always succeed. Get used to it, but don't give up on it. Because when community does work, the glory of God is revealed in extraordinary ways -- because we are as one; and transformation happens in a way that are not possible when living as an army of one.

Competing forces and deep water -- December 4, 2009

2009-12-04T17:59:00.005-05:00

Years ago I did a fair amount of white water canoeing. One of the biggest dangers on river with heavy rapids is to get caught on a hydraulic, when the force of the flowing river is met with equal force by an opposite wave of water. If the canoe goes over (which it most often does when hitting a hyrdaulic) the instinct is to try and keep your head above water and then work your way out. That is when people get into more trouble, because the force of the water from opposite directions is too much to fight against. This is when people often drown.

The counterintuitive wisdom is to go down -- below the aquatic frenzy; to go down to deeper water where there are currents that can lead one to safety.

I am reminded of this wisdom when Joan Chittister remarks that Benedictine spirituality is not an escape; but is rather a spirituality that fills time with awareness of of the presence of God (page 30).

That sounds like going deeper to me.

For many years my goal in Advent was just to keep my head above water. I used up an awful lot of energy, and I inevitably ended up in the same place where I started. I now see the Advent season as an invitation to the depths-- beneath the frenzy and into the darkness; where there is a promise (and an experience) of a force and light that leads us to hope.

Living life extraordinarily well -- December 3, 2009

2009-12-03T06:18:00.005-05:00

Living the ordinary life extraordinarily well, Joan Chittister writes. That is the invitation -- indeed the challenge, from St. Benedict many centuries ago. Chittister goes on to say that Benedictine spirituality is more a commitment to principles than to practice.

I find that to be a help, because it challenges me to determine -- not just once, but again and again, what is most important in my life? And the practice flows from that ongoing discernment. I can't exactly say that I am then living my life extraordinarily well, but I can say that it is being lived with more intention -- and a deeper appreciation of God's creating mystery.

Afghanistan and Advent -- December 2, 2009

2009-12-02T06:29:00.006-05:00

I kept looking for light in President Obama's speech last night. I may have seen some, but in this early morning darkness, I am not sure. The pundits are proclaiming -- and I, and I suspect many of us, are pondering. Will the President's plan work? Is it just? I know the President wants us all to see light in the darkness that has enshrouded our military engagement in Afghanistan, and I deeply admire him for expressing that desire. It is complex, confusing -- and much as we might like to wish otherwise, it won't go away.

In the northern hemisphere, Advent comes at a time of deepening darkness, a darkness which culminates with the shortest day of the year on December 21. The ancients developed a practice to respond to the growing darkness of the season: light a candle. The tradition of the Advent wreath brings light (the candle) and life (an ever green bough) into the home when the deepening darkness and cold is telling the psyche that neither will survive.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1:5) Light destroys darkness. So we look for light. We look for it, claim it, celebrate it -- and build on it. Not an artificial light that we think we can turn on and off at will; not a light of false optimism -- but a true light, Christ's light, which shines in everyone.

The Advent promise is that the light is there.

December 1, 2009

2009-12-01T06:57:00.003-05:00

Life is worth practicing, a friend of mine recently wrote. Practice has its roots in a Greek word, praxis, which refers to an action that is taken in order to reach a goal.

For centuries, Christian practice has involved regula, which is Latin for "rule". I prefer to think of regula as a railing, something to hold onto as one ventures toward a goal. In recent years, I have found more and more need for a railing -- because of the steep slopes that fall away from it. On one side of the railing is the slope of distraction. And the distractions are increasing. It is estimated that a person living in the US receives an average of 1,000 electronic messages a day -- telling us that our hair needs to be a different color, that our bodies need to have a different shape, that we need to know and buy and do different things. These messages are constant and consistent -- and after awhile we wear down and are tempted to believe them.

On the other side of the railing is the slope of temptation -- the temptation to think that we don't need God. That we have enough energy and wisdom -- and electronic devices of our own, to get us through life.

Besides, God is busy. There is the economy and Afghanistan and tragedy for God to worry about. We are led to think that we can get by on our own.

I have found that the railing of practice is a much needed anchor to the distractions and temptations that we face. Life, as my friend has said, is worth practicing.

November 30, 2009

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Joan Chittister describes Benedictine spirituality as spirituality of the open heart. Simple, I suppose, but I have learned that it is not easy. I have often found my heart hidden or hardened -- hidden by everything that life throws at me; hardened from everything that life throws at me.

Open the heart, we are taught. Give from the heart. The heart, which is the wellspring of the Spirit, needs tending. Thomas Merton, perhaps the most influential Christian mystic of the 20th century, said that the challenge for Christians is to give from our heart. But he also said that this is an impossible task if our hearts are not in our possession.

Like most of us, I have a lifelong inventory of tasks, worries, disappointments and losses that have had the effect of taking my heart away from me for a time. But I also have learned that there are people -- who, with an abundance of heart, have helped to find and fill my own. And there are spiritual practices -- of community, worship, study, service, playfulness, physical activity -- that bring me back to my heart and open it up.

And there is prayer. In these first five chapters, Joan Chittister talks a lot about prayer as a practice that opens the heart and brings us into an awareness of the presence of God. The function of prayer, she says, is not the bribery of the infinite -- but is instead an activity that "provokes us to see the life around us in fresh new ways." (page 28)

November 29, 2009

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Most years, (and this is one of them) I experience a bit of psychic whiplash as we turn the corner from Thanksgiving and run right into Advent. But here it is – today is Advent I. A season of preparation for the Coming One. Lots to get done, we tell ourselves. Year end finances to figure out, shopping to do, SAD (seasonal affective disorder) to get through, greetings to give.

During these next four weeks -- on this blog, I invite you to join me in an exercise of soul preparation. Not to abandon the tasks of the season, but to approach Advent with a spiritual intention, which should (if the wisdom of our spiritual ancestors has any bearing) help to give the pre-Christmas tasks in a different perspective.

Joan Chittister’s book, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily, will be one guide. She writes with eloquence and passion on the challenge to live with spiritual focus in a culture that sends us in several directions at once. I will refer her book in my reflections (and part of my Advent intention is to post to this blog several times a week). I invite you to refer to the book as well. If you don’t have the book, I still invite you to reflect on your spiritual intention for this Advent – on the blog, with a friend or in a group.

I have a deep desire for God. That desire is deepened, and spiritual discipline is heightened, when I am in conversation – and in communion, with others who have a similar desire. Thank you for considering this opportunity.

An Advent Invitation to an Online Book Discussion

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I would like to invite you to join with me in a shared discipline this Advent season, as together we engage in the deep mysteries of our faith as we prepare for the coming one. I've selected a book, Wisdom Distilled from the Daily by Joan Chittister, a Benedictine nun who has written widely and with great wisdom about how to live the faith in a frantic world. What I will be doing is responding to her book on my blog on a regular basis and invite you to write your responses to Joan Chittister, to me, or to whatever God is writing on your soul. And that way we can deepen our community with one another, our relationship with God, and endeavor to create a community of practice with one another.

Wisdom Distilled from the Daily:
Living the Rule of St. Benedict Today
by Joan Chittister

Note: This book replaces the one originally announced at Clergy Conference, Joan Chittister's "The Rule of St. Benedict: Insights for the Ages," which is temporarily out of print.

The book will be divided among the four weeks of Advent as follows:

November 29 - December 5: Chapters 1 - 4
December 6 - 12: Chapters 5 - 8
December 13 - 19: Chapters 9 - 12
December 20 - 23: Chapter 13 to the end

I will post my responses to the book on this blog, and you are invited to post your own insights and reflections as well in the comments section at the end of each post.

While I am looking forward to reading everyone's reflections on the book, I regret that I won't be able to respond to individual comments.

A limited number of free copies of the book will be available from Episcopal House. For more information please contact Kitty Kawecki, Director of Resources & Training, at kkawecki@dioceseofnewark.org or 973-430-9902.

Marriage Equality and the Vatican’s Invitation

2009-11-06T14:32:00.003-05:00

I am in support of marriage equality. Many of us in our diocese have been hard at work to help bring marriage equality to New Jersey, which will be taken up by the Legislature in this lame-duck session in Trenton (between now and when the new Governor takes office in early January). I pray that it passes – so that all couples who have relationships marked by fidelity and commitment can have their unions recognized. It is one thing to have the relationship blessed; it is quite another thing to have that relationship honored in emergency rooms or on insurance policies or in a courtroom. The introduction of the 2007 Civil Union law was intended to support these rights. It hasn’t. Instead, it has exposed a separate but equal mentality in the state, which is indeed separate yet anything but equal.

There is formidable opposition to this opportunity, which also needs to be honored. There are religious convictions that are deeply held and long-standing. People who are opposed to marriage equality often cite the tradition that marriage should be between a man and a woman. But a closer look shows that the historical tradition of marriage is that of a contract between two men: the groom and the father of the bride. When a woman was given in marriage, she was given by her father to her husband, and in this exchange the woman surrendered her name, her rights and her property. At the end of the ceremony, the couple was pronounced to be “man and wife”, and in that pronouncement was a community announcement as to who was in charge. Only in the last thirty years or so has this inequity been scaled back so that marriage is more of a partnership than a relationship of dominance (couples are now introduced as “husband and wife”).

But there is continued resistance in many quarters to this emerging equality between partners in a marriage. And I can’t help but think that some (but certainly not all) of the opposition to same-gender marriage is in part a rejection of equal partners in a life-long relationship (because it is not immediately clear who calls the shots).

Which brings me to the recent overture by the Vatican to invite disaffected Anglicans into the Roman Catholic Church. A lot has been said and written about this development. I am not sure how it will be played out. Yet I can’t help but hear the beginnings of another contract between men – from men who have institutional power in one tradition offering a place to men in another tradition who have felt their institutional power undermined and don’t want to give it up. Women are no doubt included in the invitation from Rome, but I don’t think that disaffected women Anglican priests will be allowed to keep their clerical collars should they make the switch.

I take inspiration from Jesus who insisted on the equal value of every human being. I take great joy in the Episcopal Church and in the Diocese of Newark in its invitation to all people to be a part of the Christian community – and that whatever their gender or orientation, their gifts will be honored – and that their life-long relationships can be blessed.

My response to the Westboro Baptist Church protests

2009-10-23T14:05:00.001-04:00

There has been some attention in the local media this week over protests that have been planned by a group from the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, KS, targeting a high school and a number of Jewish organizations located within our diocese. This group, and their leader, Fred Phelps, thrive on the media attention they get as they travel around the country spreading their message of hate. While this group is most well known for their intolerance of gays and lesbians, no one seems beyond the reach of their hatred.

Confronting the members of this fringe group seems to avail little. They are not interested in rationally arguing a position; they only wish to use fear and intimidation to spread their message. The media attention that they get by starting fights only furthers their goal of spreading their message of hate to the broadest audience.

We can ignore many of the actions of this small group of extremists in the hope that the media too will deny them the publicity that they seek; we cannot, however, ignore the message of hate that they are spreading and the effect that message may have on our neighbors. Therefore I have written to the organizations being targeted, telling them that as Bishop of the Diocese of Newark I abhor the actions of this group and their message of hate; offering the support of the diocese; and letting them know that they, and all who are unfairly targeted by hatred, will be in my prayers.

I invite the people of the Diocese of Newark to join with me in these prayers, as we remain steadfast together in our mission of “…engaging the world with the hope and justice of Jesus.”

The Spirit of Ubuntu

2009-10-15T08:30:00.000-04:00

For several months, I have been making the case that we are all in this together. Put another way, we live together in ubuntu. Ubuntu is a Bantu word introduced to the church by Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It means “I am because you are”. Ubuntu was the theme of General Convention. Ubuntu is a Gospel challenge. Ubuntu is becoming a key element in the ether of the Episcopal Church.

Ubuntu stands in some tension with a defining philosophical concept in the Western world: cogito ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”). First coined by Rene Descartes in the 16th century, this concept has enabled people to claim their unique identity and their essential integrity. Which has been a good thing. Yet when left alone – without the balance of ubuntu, or the notion that we are all in this together, or a commitment to community – it creates rampant individualism; and leads people to take refuge in separate silos, holding on to what they have – sealing themselves off from the rest of the world.

Theologian John Mbiti has tied ubuntu and cogito ergo sum together: I am because you are – and because you are, therefore I am.

When I am under stress or confused or overly tired, my psyche’s default place is to retreat into my secure silo. To live with an illusion of safety, encircled with a cloak of certainty. It then becomes all about me. This is a common response. I am convinced that the current health care debate is less a political struggle than a psychic, if not a spiritual one: that the stress of the economy and the uncertainty of the future has caused people to aggressively protect the health coverage they have. There is only so much insurance or health care to go around, this argument goes; and so you better get what you can. If others lose out, well, that’s the pity.

The real pity is to think that we live in isolation and independence from one another.

I am grateful for the emergence of ubuntu in our church. I see it as a corrective to rampant individualism. I see it as an invitation to discipline and the strengthening of community.

And what is the discipline of ubuntu? At least three things. First, to live in gratitude, not just for one’s own blessings, but for the blessings and hopes of others. I have discovered that the discipline of gratitude is the best antidote to fear. Second, to pray. Every day. And to pray – with intention, for others; especially for those “others” whom you have kept (for whatever reason) in a different and distant silo: the people we don’t understand, the people who drive us to distraction. When we pray for others, we are creating ubuntu.

The third way is to have a discipline of giving. Giving from the inner recesses of the silo (which breaks open the silo). Giving regularly. Giving abundantly. Most of our churches have started – or will soon start, their annual stewardship campaign. My hope and prayer is that these programs will be more an exercise in people’s need to give than the churches’ need to receive. That the stewardship enterprise will reveal the spiritual truth that our wealth is measured by what we give rather than what we own. That our giving generates the gift of ubuntu.

Hope and Fear in the Halls of Congress

2009-09-18T09:15:00.004-04:00

Lynette Wilson photo

From left, Maryland Bishop Eugene Sutton, Connecticut Bishop James Curry, Newark Bishop Mark Beckwith and Maine Bishop Stephen Lane.

We call ourselves “Bishops Working for a Just World”. The group has been around awhile, since before my time as bishop. Our mission is to convey a moral imperative for justice – and to act together on behalf of that commitment. Six of us gathered in Washington DC earlier this week to discuss how we can incorporate community organizing into our mission – and to do some lobbying on Capitol Hill. The staff from the Office of Government Relations, which promotes the policy agenda of the Episcopal Church as it is established through General Convention resolutions, briefed us on policy, set up meetings with Senators and members of Congress, and accompanied us through the halls of government.

While there were several directives from General Convention around a variety of issues, the focus of discussion in the offices -- and demonstrations outside the offices, was about health care. The particulars of health care policy are complex and ever-changing, and are very difficult to follow; but the feelings of resistance to a reform of health care policy are raw and real – and are being released in increasing bursts of verbal violence. Those outbursts need to be challenged and curtailed; and norms of behavior need to be established or in some cases re-established – not just in town hall meetings or in joint sessions of Congress, but at the dinner table, in Vestry meetings, in the classroom, wherever people share communal life.

And it won’t be enough. We can – and should, try and manage the behavior, but the fear that underlies the verbal violence is harder to get at. And that fear is real and raw – quite powerful, and easily manipulated. The fear has been fueled by an economic recession – which brings loss to many – loss of jobs and savings and insurance coverage; and leaves many others at the edge of loss, in the uncomfortable place of being among the ‘worried well’.

“Fear not”, Jesus tells his disciples. Scholar and modern prophet Walter Brueggemann argues that “fear not” is the primary message of the Gospel. The challenge sounds like we all have some psychic switch that we can push that can make fear go away. Which is part of the problem. It seems that more and more people are pushing their fear switch, which releases even more fear and ratchets up the level of verbal violence. “Fear not” is not a management directive, but an invitation to go to the depth of fear and have it transformed by the holy one who has already been there – and who has promised to take the journey with us. And who has promised – mysteriously and sometimes miraculously, to transform the fear into hope.

As people of faith, we have the opportunity to reframe the conversation – by welcoming the hope. We welcome hope through the discipline of seeing Christ in the face of the stranger, acknowledging the presence of Christ in the heart of the person with whom we strongly disagree; by giving from a place of gratitude and abundance. It is hard work. It is holy work. This welcome is radical hospitality in its purest form – and it can move us down through the confining and confounding arena of fear to a deep and liberating place of hope.

Each of the six bishops on the Hill yesterday witnessed to the moral imperative that the health care issue begs in terms of universal access, and greater efficiency and affordability. When the final health care bill is presented (and everyone we talked with figures it will be ready by Thanksgiving), it will have political fingerprints all over it. That is to be expected, because that is how the system works. But beneath the details and political negotiations, there is another moral imperative to frame the process in terms of a hope that casts out fear.

My hope is not a wish, but a deep trust that God’s grace and our ongoing commitment can set us free.

The Strike Zone, Professor Gates and the Archbishop

2009-08-05T11:56:00.000-04:00

One of the important things baseball players need to learn early each game is the dimension of the home plate umpire’s strike zone. The rule book spells it out, but in reality the strike zone is whatever the umpire says it is. The players have to figure out if the umpire’s zone runs a bit high, or favors pitches that are low. Players adapt to the umpire’s perspective – and calibrate their split-second decisions to swing or not to swing accordingly. A relative harmony exists if the umpire is consistent. But if the umpire changes the strike zone in the course of a game, players get disoriented and squawk, managers kick up dust – and home plate umpires have the authority to toss offenders off the field, which they do with great flourish.

A couple of weeks ago, Professor Henry Louis Gates of Cambridge, Massachusetts and Harvard University, no doubt felt that the local strike zone had radically changed when, after having difficulty getting the key to open the door of his house, a Cambridge policeman appeared in his kitchen (having being alerted to a possible break-in) and demanded identification. Professor Gates squawked -- and the officer/umpire handcuffed him and carted him down to the station. Charges were soon dropped when details were sorted out, but conversation about the incident – in print, on the air, in the Rose Garden and around kitchen tables all over the country, has continued, often with great passion.

And well it should. Yet from where I sit – and squawk, the conversation should not be about the details of the incident – or whether or not Professor Gates or Officer Crowley is racist; but on the dimensions of the strike zone of civil rights. The Constitution has spelled those dimensions out, and decades of civil rights laws have reinforced them; but in reality one’s civil rights are whatever an umpire says they are. And for decades, no – for a couple of centuries, the umpire– be it the police department, the school system, the church, a corporation or a community association, has been taught to favor those who are white and punish those who are not.

Most of us have learned this cultural prejudice – and have adapted to it. We need to unlearn it. We need to create a strike zone for civil rights that is fair and consistent for everyone. Our diocesan mandate to anti-racism training speaks to this need for learning and change. It is hard work, because habits die hard. But it is necessary work; indeed it is Gospel work. In response to the number of conversations that have been generated as a result of the Cambridge incident, we are thinking of renaming our work anti-racism “dialogue” rather than “training”, to dispel any illusion that a training can provide some sort of certification that renders one an expert. We are all life-long learners on this one.

Around the same time that the Cambridge incident took place, Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, wrote a twenty-six paragraph response to two actions of General Convention, which offered pastoral generosity to same gender blessings and full inclusion of gay and lesbian people at all levels of ministry. Perhaps out of need, and certainly because of circumstance, the Archbishop has become the de facto umpire for the wonderfully diverse, deeply faithful yet fractious Anglican Communion. Clearly, he wants to hold the Communion together. To his credit, the Archbishop is deliberate in thought – and in expression. He is a gifted scholar. He draws on the insight from scripture and the clarity of prayer. Yet in two places, he refers to homosexuality as a lifestyle (“their chosen lifestyle is not one that the Church’s teaching sanctions [paragraph 8]; “it is that a certain choice of lifestyle has certain consequences” [paragraph 9]). His phrases cause me to squawk, because the Archbishop has tried to change the strike zone.

Homosexuality is not an issue of lifestyle; it is a matter of identity. We don’t choose our identity; we are challenged to claim our identity as God’s gift to us. The Church that I have chosen to serve is about the mission of helping all of God’s children claim and celebrate their identity as imago dei – as created in the image of God. The heartbreak for so many these past decades is that countless numbers of people have been taught to hide or deny their sexual identity – or have been pressured to choose a lifestyle that keeps anxious and angry umpires at bay, at the expense of their soul’s health and their true giftedness.

The Episcopal Church has made a rather courageous decision to reverse this trend, to be honest about who we are as a church -- and to affirm the giftedness of all among us. We are daring to create a strike zone that provides opportunity to all, and does linguistic violence to none.

Reflections from General Convention #3

2009-07-17T08:22:00.000-04:00

We are coming into the home stretch of this General Convention. We finish late Friday afternoon. Today a balanced budget for The Episcopal Church was passed in both the House of Deputies and the House of Bishops. There were no amendments to the budget, although some were proposed in the House of Deputies. There was virtually no discussion on the budget in the House of Bishops. It was a moment of legislative whiplash which, I suppose, reflected the feeling of futility that nothing could be changed. The lack of debate also honored the extraordinary work of the Program, Budget and Finance Committee that had the onerous task of balancing the budget that at one point was $24 million dollars in deficit. Many cuts were made, which means that lots of departments across the church have been reduced; and many staff jobs have been eliminated. There is a lot of hurt and loss to all of this -- and I don't think any of us really know the implication and impact of this yet.

"Mission" is our Presiding Bishop's echoing metaphor. She describes mission as the heartbeat of the church. She invited -- no, she challenged, us to hear the mission heartbeat in our bodies and souls. It will be more imperative than ever to respond to this challenge with deeper commitment -- given that there are fewer financial resources to carry it out. Thus the Episcopal Church mirrors the experience of the dioceses -- which is, to be sure, also the experience of congregations.

Yesterday, the House of Bishops passed a resolution that said a whole array of things -- but mainly was focused on same-gender blessings and offering generous pastoral sensitivity for dioceses that perform them. The original amendment was almost brought to a vote the day before, but several bishops who were in the minority of the two-to-one vote the day before that (on affirming GLBT people for all levels of ministry) stood up to say that they felt marginalized and vulnerable. The legislative process was abandoned for the rest of the day -- and a group of self organized bishops agreed to meet informally in order to try and move things forward.

This was the hardest moment of Convention for me. It turned out that it was the hardest moment of Convention for the 26 bishops who met that night and early the next morning -- and for 26 different reasons. I felt that there was a movement afoot to scrub the decision of full inclusion; others said that the church was moving too fast for them. We expressed our thoughts and feelings in an Indaba-like atmosphere (which we had learned at the Lambeth Conference a year before). As the discussion progressed, we decided to move beyond creating a process of winners and losers, and instead to intentionally come up with a statement that included the ideas and feelings of as many as possible. We wanted to build a tent that was high and wide enough for as many as possible to gather underneath.

The resulting resolution (which five of us wrote) reflected the diversity of perspectives. When presented on the floor of the House of Bishops, there were more amendments -- and amendments to the amendments; but they were, for the most part, attempts to better articulate what we were about rather than efforts to discredit or distort.

The final resolution passed by a three to one margin. It recognized our diversity. Instead of trying to restrict dioceses -- the intent of the resolution was to trust the integrity and practice of bishops in their respective jurisdictions.

I think it was an important step forward.

Your deputation will be coming home tomorrow -- and over the weekend. Many of us from General Convention will be present next Thursday, July 23 -- from 10am-12 noon,and 7pm to 9pm,at St. Agnes Church, 65 Union Avenue, Little Falls, to tell our stories of Convention and to entertain your questions and hear your concerns. Each session will essentially be the same -- and anyone who wishes to is invited to come.

Peace,
Mark Beckwith

Reflections from General Convention #2

2009-07-13T12:25:00.000-04:00

We are moving forward. Not as quickly as some of us would like, but it seems that more people are coming in the movement forward, and with less rancor. Yesterday afternoon the House of Deputies overwhelmingly passed a resolution that moved the church beyond B033 to allow full inclusion.

The several resolves that were presented affirm both the rights and privileges of gay and lesbian people, as well as expressing commitment to our participation in the Anglican Communion.
This resolution sends a strong message to the House of Bishops, which by all accounts seems to be more cautious than the House of Deputies. I have been working with the Chicago Consultation, which is a group of bishops, clergy and laypeople who are working to advance full inclusion at all levels of ministry. We are continually living in the tension between what we want and what we think we can get through legislation.

I am involved in many conversations about tactics and strategy. There is a level of organization and communication that is very helpful - and a level of mutual respect that seems to be sustaining us all. We seem to be moving forward - not quickly enough for my soul, but I am consoled somewhat by the fact that more people are coming along.

There are a number of bishops here from various parts of the Anglican Communion, including 13 primates. We are learning a lot from each other. At the Integrity Eucharist on Friday evening, the Primate of South Korea told me he was amazed to see so many gay and lesbian clergy join Gene Robinson at the altar for the final blessing. I would guess that at least 100 clergy came forward. It was an Incarnational moment, and clearly transforming for one bishop who had never had such an exposure before.

The pace is gruelling, the legislative work is hard - but the gifts are many. Interspersed between committee meetings and legislative sessions - and all the other claims on our time, are sessions on public narrative. Led by Marshall Ganz of Harvard's Kennedy School, we are learning to tell the essence of our our own story - and connect the story of self with the story of us and the story of now. We have been coaching each other in telling about our passion, and where that passion comes from. We are doing this in diocesan groups. The exercise has not only brought us together, but has - for me anyway, revealed yet again how our stories generate deeper understanding and community. We are discovering that public narrative is an important tool for organizing - and for evangelism.

Blessings on you all.

Peace,
Mark M. Beckwith

Reflections from General Convention #1

2009-07-10T09:48:00.001-04:00

There are lots of things that can be said of General Convention - that it is part county fair, part family reunion and part House of Representatives. That it is the largest bi-cameral legislative body in the world - with 120 or so bishops in one house and 800 deputies (half clergy and half lay) in the other. There are about 7,000 of us in all - with alternates, delegates to the Women's Triennial, visitors, exhibitors, spouses and partners, staff volunteers and international guests - filling up two hotels which flank the Convention Center located two blocks from Disneyland. Our youth delegation arrived this afternoon, which by my count adds up to nearly 50 people here from the Diocese of Newark.

I continue to be grateful, and humbled, to be among leaders in our diocese who -- through their commitment, wisdom, skill - and sheer doggedness, have shaped the mission and trajectory of the Episcopal Church. It is an amazing crew of people.

There is a lot going on. Keeping track of it all is more than one person can do. So we have been meeting during the few moments when the schedule allows; to share what we are seeing and hearing - and to help each other better understand the details and dynamics of legislation, information sessions and public narrative (more on that in a subsequent posting).

So far, the temperature seems to have cooled down on the hot-button issue of sexuality. At committee hearings - and at one very large open forum, most of those who have testified have been supportive of same-gender blessings and display an openness to gay and lesbian clergy serving in the episcopate. No votes have been taken yet in either house, but this all feels very different from 2000, my first convention, when resistance to full inclusion was angry, if not hostile.

So far, after two days of Convention, there seems to be more concern about money or, more accurately, the lack of it. There are wonderful proposals for various ministries, but fewer funds to support them. Yesterday, Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury, made a very compelling presentation on the crisis in the global economy. In fact, he argued that our crisis is not economic, but is rather a crisis of truthfulness. He made the rather bold assertion that we have been lying to each other in several destructive ways:

- that truth telling has broken down in our financial world to the degree that we have increasingly tolerated anti-relational practices;
- that we have lied to ourselves about limitless growth in a limited world;
- that we have lied to ourselves about our relation to each other as human beings.

He challenged us to engage in truth telling, which is a practice and a gift that the church can offer the world. And he challenged us to lead - not from a model of economics, but a model of trust.

There is a lot to ponder and pray about - which will be important as we prepare to make some significant decisions for what it means to be the church.

What to do in the Darkness

2009-05-26T15:27:00.000-04:00

I have several friends who are dealing with serious challenges in their lives. One of these friends sent me a poem by Marilyn Chandler McEntyre. I pass it on as a poem and a prayer.

What to do in the Darkness

Go slowly
Consent to it
But don't wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn.

Confirmation and Community

2009-05-06T08:46:00.001-04:00

One might think that eight District Confirmation services would be an ecclesiastical chore, but they have become an unfolding and profound spiritual gift. At each service a veritable parade of confirmands assembles in the side aisle, and before they come individually to kneel before me I remind them that the Book of Genesis tells us that we have been made in the image of God. That we are imago dei. I then invite (in truth I actually insist) that they look into my eyes as I look into theirs – with the expectation that we can see into the center of each other’s souls – and see God’s image in each other.

And it happens every time. The moment lasts for only as long as it takes me to say the Confirmation prayer – maybe fifteen seconds; but on another level, it is a moment beyond time – a kairos moment (as opposed to a chronological or kronos moment, which is measured by time – and gets us to fidgeting and wondering when it will all be over). Kairos moments are moments of deep intimacy – and the intimacy is not between two people, but between two or more people and God. Writer Henri Nouwen would often say that the shortest distance between two people is God. And so it is. The Confirmation services have brought that home to me.

Now the skeptic in me – in all of us, could easily say that this is all carefully crafted liturgical drama. And it is. That it plays on my overly pliable heart strings. And they are. God is indeed in the drama – and God is in the emotions – but what makes it different from a unique moment in time – or an exercise in entertainment, is the transforming mystery and power that it brings.

Henri Nouwen would also often say that the challenge is not for us to see how we are different, but how we are the same. When we are able to look at one another in trust and acceptance we are then able to embrace the fact that we all have known, or will know – joy and pain, blessing and loss. We then become brothers and sisters to each other, bound together by a divine love we can’t exactly explain, but that we can’t live without. The dynamics and the drama play out differently for each of us, but the root experiences are the same. There has been great pressure in our world to segment and segregate ourselves from one another; to look at one another differently, if not disdainfully. To give one another but a passing glance.

The invitation is to see the image of God in the face of one another. We need to look, really look – not as a disinterested observer, but as a brother or sister. It takes practice, and a bit of commitment. And we all are changed by the community of the living Christ that is created when we dare to really see one another.

2009-04-11T10:04:00.000-04:00

I was once asked a trick question in a Bible course I took years ago: what is the first event in the Hebrew scriptures? The creation story, I thought. Nope, said the instructor. It was the Exodus -- because the dramatic story of the journey from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the promised land was the first event that was remembered by the Jewish people. Were it not for God's deliverance, everything that happened beforehand would have been forgotten or lost.

The second trick question immediately followed the first: what was the first event in the New Testament? The birth narrative, we answered. No again, he said. It was the Easter story, because the event of the Resurrection framed everything else that was written or remembered.

The origins of the Christian movement began with Jesus' public ministry in Galilee and took greater shape with his challenge of the dominant political and religious authorities in Jerusalem. But the power of who he was and what he gave to the world was not fully realized until Jesus was brought back -- miraculously and mysteriously, to life from death. The Resurrection created the movement -- it transformed hearts and redirected lives. With the Resurrection, the twelve dolts who had been chosen to be the charter disciples for the movement, were changed -- almost as miraculously and mysteriously, into competent and committed witnesses. Their faith in the living Christ moved the movement forward -- often at great risk to themselves, by bringing others into the community of hope and joy; and training them to be witnesses as well.

We are inheritors of that movement -- a movement of new life; a movement that is committed to the belief that the power of love not only survives the power of violence, but triumphs over it. Jesus made sure of that.

We are also inheritors of the institution that has been set up to foster the movement -- and to preserve it. The institution is the Church -- that "wonderful and sacred mystery" as expressed in my favorite Prayer Book Collect that is said at the Easter Vigil. Yet if an institution is left to its own devices, its goal will be to preserve itself, even at the expense of the movement that built it. At least six times St. Paul issues a warning of the dangers of the "principalities and powers". Christian history is filled with tragic evidence of the Church engaging in violence for the ostensible purpose of fostering the movement, but closer inspection reveals that there was a stronger commitment to preserving the institution.

We need for the movement and the institution to live in creative tension with each other. The institution of the church is the vessel that fosters the movement by proclaiming the story of new life in the scriptures and enfleshing new life in the sacraments. The institution of the church is designed to rekindle the fire of the Christian movement -- so that the people in the institution will feel committed and competent to carry forth the movement into the world.

The Resurrection is our beginning -- as a movement and as an institution. The Resurrection comes first -- and it comes again and again, moving the movement and transforming the institution.

Let it be so. Happy Easter.

Welcome to the Gates of Hope

2009-03-24T15:57:00.000-04:00

Welcome to this new venture in communicating to the Episcopal Diocese of Newark -- and to the wider world.

In the Diocese of Newark, we have claimed four core values -- which correspond to four gates of hope. They are worship, spiritual formation, justice/nonviolence and radical hospitality.

In this new blog -- which I have entitled "For Gates of Hope", I will be writing regularly about life and faith, struggle and hope. I will be writing about what I am pondering and praying.

Mark Beckwith