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.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Confirmation and Community
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.
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.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Welcome to the Gates of Hope
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
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
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