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.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
New Jersey Episcopal bishops respond to Tyler Clementi's suicide
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
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
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Cross at the Border: Reflections on the House of Bishops meeting
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Challenging the violence of scapegoating
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.
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.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Give us this day our daily bread
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.
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.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Pondering the Holy Spirit
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Poverty - and the need for relationship
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.
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.
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