Disconnections

This Sunday’s text from Matthew provides us another look at the parable of the man with two sons, both of whom are asked to work in the vineyard, but only one complies with his Fathe’s wishes…  and not the one who responded ‘yes’

It’s been an eventful week, but far from atypical.

In addition to the usual panic about the economy and immigration, executions in Texas and Georgia again drew our attention to the question of the Death Penalty.  As in too many cases, this was less an opportunity to have serious discussion concerning an inhuman act as it was another chance for media coverage – depending on which outlet you live  and die by – and politicians, to further galvanize public opinion and in a pre-election year, check credentials of voters and office seekers alike.

Was Troy Davis present when Officer MacPhail was murdered?  Yes. Did he pull the trigger on the murder weapon?  We will never know the answer, but evidence is inconclusive at best. Did he deserve to die for his crime?

What did Jesus teach us? What did he say about ‘an eye for an eye’? And therein lies the problem for those who struggle in their formation as disciples, which is all of us. At least, I hope we are struggling with this. I hope we struggle with many things.

Too often, we are the brother who says ‘yes’ to God, but we forget that as soon as we stop mumbling the Creed, or as we leave the altar and start think about what we have to do after the service.  Though we say ‘yes’ to the call to a new life, we go right back to our real lives, the one dictated by our numerous tribes of economic and social status, party and race.

More than ever we need to be is the other brother, and let that initial ‘NO’ leap from us as the knee-jerk reaction it is, and then, think better of it and go into the vineyard, and see what’s happening in there. And not see immigrant, or homeless person or death row inmate, but instead children of God, our brothers and sisters, and not ask, ‘What am I doing here?’ but instead, ‘How can I be Christ’s presence? What can I do to help?’

 

 

 

 

Migration Patterns

A milestone today, of sorts…

 

It has been over two weeks since I last saw my wife, making this the longest time of separation in our twenty-three years of marriage. And, it will be another four weeks from this Friday until we rendezvous at my daughter’s college for Family Weekend. (I wonder if I should tell her about the tattoo and the earring…)  I miss her, but this is an acceptable hardship, one that is both limited in duration, and certainly not devoid of any contact – we speak every day, and sometimes more often, depending on the cats behavior.

Other couples are not as fortunate, separated by any number of circumstances – military service, prison, economic hardship, to name but a few -where outcome and reunion are sometimes far from guaranteed.

Another of my classes deals with Immigration – serendipitous timing is everything, I find – and though it will attempt to provide this somewhat
naïve priest a much-needed broader view of this complex issue, one of the first lessons learned has been about the pain of separation.

Whatever the circumstance and whatever factored into the decision to migrate, there are always those left behind. And though only 3% of the world’s population has migrated – refugees, asylum seekers, students, laborers – the underlying factor in the equation is always human, and there is no adequate number value that can capture the essence of emotion.

I have been a spectator to this drama which has been playing out since the first humans decided to leave the African continent and see what was shaking up north.  I am guilty of taking ‘easy sides’ when battle lines are drawn about DREAM Acts or providing health care, without really thinking about both the hopes and fears and pain present on all sides.

I don’t know where this part of my journey will end in December.  As with my other paths, I trust that this will lead to a deeper understanding of the issues, yes, but more so, I hope I am changed, opened, to new possibilities.

P.S. – An interesting link if you have the time…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l7AWnfFRc7g

A Walk in the Square

My daughter arrived on campus this evening to spend some time with her old man in Boston – but, more importantly, to remove his car to her campus in Western Massachusetts where public transit is not so readily available or efficient.

‘Showing off’ the new surroundings to my youngest was an eye-opening experience.

There were those places that I found interesting for one reason or another – the architecture of this dorm or that church; the ambiance of this restaurant; the incredible list of hot, caffeinated beverages available at this café.  She commented on some, loved a few, and seemed downright unimpressed with others.  On the other hand, her eye was drawn to details in the scenery that I had missed – some of which I really appreciated.  And, of course, there were moments when we shared the joy of mutual discovery as we turned down narrow streets hitherto unknown to either of us.

This, to me, is how God renews the earth, restores our hope as the human enterprise, and moves us forward into what is possible.  The eyes of the next generation can appreciate those things which we hold dear, but they also look further, deeper.  They see – with a differently trained eye – those things which we have missed; some astoundingly obvious.

I mentioned in my last entry the class that I shared with young people from thirty-one countries. On Thursday we shared with each other one story of personal struggle and challenge from which we learned a great lesson or discovered one of our fundamental values. In their stories of injustice, or flight, or sacrifice – one young graduate student, a teacher from Cairo, is here with her two young children while her husband remains in Egypt, because for the sake of education and global relationships, they agreed Harvard was where she needed to be – I saw something much more than pain, or fear or loneliness: I glimpsed the future.

Not the one shown to me by our pundits or politicians, but the one that they see.  The one whose beginnings are visible to them amidst the wreckage of the world we have created by our will or by our indifference.  An unexpected gift as I walk the maze of streets off Harvard Square.

I do believe that I might sleep a little more peacefully this night.

Talk to you soon…

 

The Audacity of Audacity

How do students do this?

I have been sitting here on a surprisingly hot and humid September evening in Cambridge, sweating bullets preparing a two minute presentation entitled: A Narrative of Self.  Good Lord, I write sermons – some would debate that – and, I love talking about myself – few would debate that – so why is this so difficult?

It’s true, part of it stems from the fact that I cannot do anything involving narrative that takes only two minutes. That’s a given. I’m a recovering engineer.  Lord, have mercy.

I also know that part of it stems from the fact that the Teaching Fellow in charge of my section looks to me to be younger than my daughter – and, I wager, both are brighter than I. And now, thanks to statistics thrown on the smart board by my famous instructor on Tuesday, I know that the one hundred twenty or so students that comprise this class come from thirty-one countries. Only a fourth of my audience is American, and a third of them are first generation Americans. I have to speak for two minutes before the UN.   And then, I must listen to their critiques.

I do not fear their comments.  In truth, I am anxious to hear what they have to say about my words. What I fear is my content.  For what I have to do in this narrative is tell the story of a difficult challenge that I faced, what I did in the face of that challenge, and without naming it directly, point to the moral value or lesson that was learned. I need to get them to connect with my story, human to human.

There is a great deal of risk in that equation.  We are each being asked to share from our storehouse of vulnerability; to stand exposed for one hundred and twenty long seconds.  I can name the fear – among others – of appearing as the aging, useless lion in the midst of so many energetic cubs, eager to make off with my pride.

But, pride will not afford me the lessons that I need to learn, or allow me to hear and believe the words of criticism honestly and constructively spoken, or the words of encouragement and empathy that will also be offered.

We long so much for a deeper connection with our sisters and brothers, but agonize over the hard work that it takes to create those moments of understanding. How do we nurture those skills? How do we summon the courage to be unashamedly human in each other’s presence? How do we let each other in? How would we be different?

I’ll see you on the other side of the General Assembly…

First Contact

A fruitful weekend as I establish contact with three Episcopal clergy serving two of our parishes in Cambridge.

A tandem – Rector Joseph Robinson and assistant Jonathan Eden – serve Christ Church, which sits on Garden Street, a short walk from this campus.  This past Sunday Christ Church kicked off the celebration of their 250^thanniversary.  As members of All Saints – my parish – might agree, it is always a delight to visit the younger parishes in the Episcopal universe every now and again, though I must admit, we cannot claim to have Henry Cabot Lodge buried beneath our feet in Sunderland.

The other priest is Rev. Edwin Johnson, who spoke at this evening’s matriculation service at the Divinity School. (I have learned that matriculation is just something that Anglicans do…) He is the Assistant Rector of St. James’ Episcopal Church, on Massachusetts Avenue, a longer walk from this campus, but a walk just the same. (I should note that since my arrival here on August 30, I have used my car four times. That is another essay…) But, I mention both congregations and their leadership, because they are involved with 40 other faith communities and organization in the GBIO, the Greater Boston Interfaith Organization.

This is social ministry on steroids, and akin to what we hope to accomplish in Calvert County through the evolution of the Southern Maryland Action Coalition. In the last ten years, GBIO’s efforts have led to the creation of the Affordable Housing Trust Fund, in which 158.3 million dollars has been invested, leading to the creation of 9,962 units of affordable housing across the state; it has helped to enact the “Equal Choice” law which allows low income elders and those with disabilities the choice of remaining – and receiving –  appropriate care in their homes rather than being forced into a nursing home facility; and, they successfully worked to free up $700,000 in state funds from former Governor Mitt Romney for critical resources for at-risk youth, funds used in positive gang prevention and diversion activities during the summer and fall of 2006; just to name a few.  I am suddenly thinking of a mustard seed….

But it isn’t what they accomplished or their current projects that interest me.

As with so many things, it is the journey; the process that is the critical element.  What I want to learn from these leaders – and others I have yet to meet – is how their communities were able to develop such a sense of their calling.  How and when did they learn or allow themselves to dream this large?  I want to know how this work has changed them, as individuals and as historic faith communities. I want to hear the stories from members who are engaged in their neighborhoods, and from those neighbors. And, I want to know the costs. (Crosses are always lurking.)  I have so many questions.  And, I wonder what questions you might have.

I will continue to report from the field from time to time as part of this journal.  Please feel free to share those questions, or to comment, or to reflect with me.

We’ll talk again, soon.

Forgiveness

This week’s text from Matthew’s gospel offers a lesson in forgiveness. Well, more to the point, in the story of the unforgiving slave it offers a grand contrast between our own petty behaviors and lack of empathy, and the radical depth of divine compassion.

The lesson comes at a good time. This is a week-end for radical depths.

In the space provided for these essays there is hardly room to navigate the complex range of emotions, opinions and reflections about the events of 9/11; or those decisions and events that preceded it, perhaps assuring that New York and Washington would be added to the list of communities victimized by this epoch’s struggle between dominance and self-determination; or those decisions and actions that the attacks precipitated.

But there is space enough to ask you to contemplate that radical depth of divine compassion; to meditate on the simple notion of forgiveness, and I believe that I will. Because this is not a day for blame, or debate, or hubris, or to call for vigilance. It is a day for introspection. It is a day for some quiet time with God.

I would ask, then, that after all of the speeches have been made, after the electronic media outlets have done what I fear they will do in the name of journalistic integrity – and all amid the crescendo of the opening weekend for the NFL – that you please seek out a quiet place.

Once you arrive, take a deep centering breath. Be aware of how you feel.

Think of all that has happened since that day in 2001, and do not be afraid to look for God in those events and feelings. It is okay to ask question. It is okay to just listen, just to be still. Think of all those who have died, all who have suffered; be present in New York, in Washington, but also in Baghdad, in Kabul, in Jerusalem, in Gaza and a thousand other towns and villages, here and over there; and, visit every home that is filled with those left behind.

And in the midst of those images, image God. Meditate on compassion. Embrace it. Savor it. Let it wash over you. Contemplate forgiveness. Again, be mindful of your feelings. And, take your time.

Finally, imagine a world where an open hand can be extended to an enemy. A world where forgiveness is offered, not because either deserves it or has earned it, but because you want it – to give and receive – and perhaps for no other reason than you realize that this day, this anniversary, all that has happened, means nothing if it cannot be redeemed by this love.

Commentators, analysts, pundits and politicians will be everywhere on Sunday and on every network.  I have relatives that will take time our of their remembrances to buy more ammunition.

But, on this anniversary, I wish you a quiet weekend, and peace at the last.

Speechless

Things have changes since I last lived on a Seminary campus.

And, if I had any remaining doubts that this would be a ‘working’ sabbatical, those have been removed in the last twenty-four hours.  My first class yesterday afternoon at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government was stimulating, inspiring, and a bit intimidating.  That I was about five minutes late for the start of class – some habits are difficult to break, though I did have to navigate unfamiliar terrain – did not help.

Some of you may wonder, what’s a nice priest like you doing at HKS and what could that possibly have to do with theology or mission?  The answer is in the title – Public Narrative: Self & Us & Now – lead by Dr. Marshall Ganz  – I’ll wait while you Google that name… – and, while I expect that this particular course will be a source for much reflection, it cuts to the heart of one of my core beliefs about faith and mission. Namely, that we are defined by our stories, the narratives of our lives – be they our personal stories or those of our various communities.

Our faith values are derived from stories, and our bonds deepen and our sense of mission increases as we learn each other’s stories and discover our common purpose. That is how the kingdom is built, through relationships, through the gift of trust and recognition as it is given and taken in story.

I am moved by some of the stories I have already heard here from students and staff alike, people trying to figure out their calling, their place in the world. I have shared some of mine. In the exchange, we discover that God is lurking, weaving us together, inviting us deeper.

We’ll talk again, soon.

I have been told that over the past week-end, a half a million college and graduate students descended upon the Boston area.  Judging by the traffic I have encountered during my brief sojourns into my new surroundings, I do not doubt the accuracy of that report. Nor do I doubt that the majority of those students have arrived here in Cambridge.  I have witnessed a steady stream of them carting books and bedding and other materials designed to afford them at least some of the comforts of home, even if that comfort is of the psychological and emotional type found in any familiar item placed in the alien landscape of college dorm or apartment…

I see a vast mission field here, but not the one that may have just come to mind. The young people I see, those I am eager to encounter in my classes, are filled with what I deem the two most important qualities for mission: they believe that the world can be, must be, something better,
something more than it has become; and, they have enough hope, enough enthusiasm to believe that they can do something about it. All they need is the courage and confidence to begin.

And something in that mix speaks to me of our baptismal promise. Not our own – as important as that is to our own journey – but the one
we made and the one we renew every time a new initiate is brought into the community, namely that we will do all in power to point them to a loving God and model for them a brand of servanthood that unites all humankind.

Sadly, what they get from us is what they need least.  Doctrine and tradition – and the need to be right about them – are too often the only cards played by those who have forgotten what it is like to dream and have lost all hope for this world, and for their role in healing it.  In that
regard, there is much this generation has to teach us – one of God’s delightful ironies – and one that I hope to savor with eyes and ears opened wide…

Playful Meanderings:  I plan to update the blog on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, barring the unforeseen.  Please invite friends to join and please feel free to offer your thoughts and comments. We’re all in this together…  See you soon.

It Begins

My newly appointed advisor, Larry Wills, made the comment during today’s orientation meeting that EDS – the Episcopal Divinity School – is a ‘small school that attempts to do great things.’

I have been on campus for barely two days and I already know the truth of that statement.  The faculty – like the staff, student body and Cambridge itself – is incredibly diverse; the caring and sense of community here is genuine and runs deep. Opportunities abound.  My cup runneth over.

But, to properly launch this e-journal – and I heartily invite your particpation in this journey – I must first offer thanks to another community, that – though small – also attempts to do great things.

All Saints Parish has served Southern Maryland – and the world – for well over three centuries.  One of its first rectors – Thomas Claggett – the first Bishop of Maryland, was also the first Bishop to be consecrated on American soil. Its members have afforded me the privilege of working with them and for them as they feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, and work for the creation of a sustainable, inclusive community through advocacy and empowerment ministries. They also take good care of each other and for the first time in anyone’s memory, have made it possible for their rector to experience a sabbatical leave.

Much like my temporary home in Cambridge, that parish is blessed with leaders of vision, who sense the movement of the Spirit into new directions, new models for ministry, new identities for the Church, and – though the way is not clear – welcome the journey with courage, commitment and a healthy dose of faith. And, I thank them for this – their confidence, their investment in me, which I pray will be of benefit to us all in our journey together into the Church that awaits us.

 

See you again, soon.

 

What Am I Doing Here?

Good question, and one I hope to answer in a place as strange as Cambridge, MA. Stay tuned…