Tag: learning

Commencing

In 2013 I got the strong feeling I was supposed to go to seminary. It didn’t make sense–I couldn’t put it anywhere, church wasn’t even a part of my daily life. But life was at a crossroads, and the nudge was there. In 2017, when I started working for Christ Church Easton, I was pulled in that direction, but it still didn’t feel like a real possibility; I couldn’t stop working and go off to seminary for three years.

The Iona Eastern Shore seminary program came to the Episcopal Diocese of Easton (the Eastern Shore of Maryland) in 2021. The program was created specifically for those who couldn’t attend a traditional residential seminary, but who discerned a calling to ordination. Seven of us from around the Shore signed on with the intent to become priests, and another would later join to become a vocational deacon.

On June 15, the inaugural class of Iona Eastern Shore graduated in a ceremony at Christ Church Easton. A couple quick takeaways: 1) there was no other way I could have done something like this–I am grateful beyond words; and 2) I am ruined for any potential future graduations.

Background/Context

Iona Eastern Shore is a part of an international partnership between the Iona Collaborative and the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin, Texas. Bishop Santosh Marray brought the program to the Diocese of Easton in 2021 and Fr. Dan Dunlap, Rector of Old Trinity Church in Church Creek, and St. John’s Cornersville, who was a seminary professor at Seminary of the Southwest became the lead instructor/professor/dean for Iona Eastern Shore.

Students in the Iona Eastern Shore program on the priesthood track went through three years of academic study with a combination of weekly Zoom classes to review and discuss the weekly reading assignments, and monthly day retreats, where in addition to academic discussion, homiletics and liturgy were practiced and discussed. Classes were focused on Bible study, history of the church, theology and ethics. We had guest lecturers in the form of clergy from throughout the Eastern Shore, including Dr. Tom Long, renowned author, preacher, and teacher of preachers. We took the General Ordination Exams this past winter and are working through our Clinical Pastoral Education requirements on our way to ordination as priests.

Graduation Day

I’m giving you my lens on the day. We had a full church of family and friends of the seven of us who were at the ceremony, clergy from all over the Shore, and a big turn out from our Christ Church Easton congregation.

Welcoming everyone at the beginning of the service, Bishop San touched on the “why” for the program:

“The church is called to be adaptive and creative in the time it lives in,” the Bishop said. “This is one of those initiatives that speaks to the adaptability and the creativity of the church so that God’s kingdom is proclaimed among God’s people.”

Rev. Greg Harbaugh, a long-time Lutheran minister, who now serves at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Salisbury, was the preacher for the day.

Here are some highlights/takeaways from his sermon, writing out a few of them because they are full of such great concern and advice for us moving forward :

  • “Ministry, like life, is difficult. I suspect you already know this. Nevertheless, as clergy we are adept at thinking it should be otherwise. Truth be told, ministry has always been difficult: remember (what happened to) Jesus… Paul, Peter, and all the rest.”
  • “When you enter your call, do so with repentance and humility. Turn first to the Lord in prayer.  Consult with the Bishop and colleagues. Talk and mostly listen to your lay leadership. Visit your people to get to know them. And let them know you.”
  • “Ministry can be difficult. Humility and patience matter, lead by example of your piety and your own faithfulness. There will be joys along the way; there will be fecundity and peace; there will be shortfalls and successes.”
  • “My final injunction, prayer really, is to continually experience Jesus both more broadly and more deeply. His cruciforming love and grace will continue to open you… experience his breath as spirit of life, his Word as truth, his Gospel as the Way.
  • “Through prayer and study of Scripture and holy writings, the deep breath of Holy Spirit will turn you inside out—to recognize yourself in Jesus as a child of the Heavenly Father.”
  • “In your ministry, continue the lifeway that allows you to know and experience Jesus through prayer and service; know him through study and the listening to his Word; receiving his grace; this is your deepest service and will hold you fast during the buffeting winds of ministry. Then, too, he will surprise you in your own preaching, as you will surprise your people with Jesus’s good news—in such moments you and they will know who and whose you are in beloved community.”
Adding my part to the prayers of the people during the service, Concerns for the Local Community: “Lord, you minister to the whole world and you have called us to serve here on the Eastern Shore. Help us to discern the changing needs of our communities, to go where people are hurting, feel lost, and feel far from you. Give us compassion, empathy, and wisdom as we go out into the towns, into the counties, and working together as your hands and feet on the grassroots level, help us to be your love here where we serve you and your people.”

Supported and Seen

In the weeks leading up to graduation, people asked if I was excited for the day. I’d answer, “Of course, looking forward to it,” or something along those lines. But it wasn’t registering. Until the first note of the first song, once we were seated and the service was beginning. That’s when the tears of gratitude began and didn’t stop.

Fr. Dan Dunlap, our professor and dean, gave personal remarks about each of us before he gave us our certificates and the Bishop put our tippets on us. Fr. Dan’s comments were so specific and communicated so much about who we are. This is what he said about me:

“Michael, our contemplative. No matter how hectic life gets, no matter what’s going on out there in the world, we have people like Michael. Michael, who reminds us that there is always time to stop and smell the roses, or sit on the dock and take a picture. Or write a journal entry. And that’s the one thing, the best part about his contemplativeness is that he communicates it to others so that even if we don’t think we have time to be contemplatives, he’s made the time and shares it with us. Thank you, Michael, for that.”

Going to school around the edges of working, of being a Dad, of being a partner, of being a part of a church community, is out of the sight of others. And that’s okay, ministry is about serving, not being seen. But every now and then, through comments like Fr. Dan’s, or the turn out from the congregation, I feel some nods of affirmation in a way that inspires me , motivates me, and pushes me on.

Another of those moments came after our class had each been announced, the Bishop had us turn to face the congregation. Gratitude came out of my eyes and lungs, that’s the only way I can say it.

Commencing

“What’s past is prologue; what to come, in yours and my discharge.”

William Shakespeare, from “The Tempest”

“What’s past is prologue” is the part of that quote that Fr. Bill Ortt, our long-time rector and mentor liked to use. The idea is that what’s happened before is just a lead up to the present moment. It’s a foundation for what’s to come, but it doesn’t determine what’s to come, we do (with God’s help).

Our class of seminarians went back to school and finished our course of study in our 40s, 50s, and 60s. That speaks to our natures as lifelong learners. Our prescribed program for this particular time has come to an end. But it serves as a beginning for what’s next.

Studying to prepare for sermons, developing a deeper understanding of the liturgy, being with people going through difficult times, celebrating milestones, being shaped by grief, difficulties, and empathy for what others are going through, as well as sharing joy and small and large victories with others. Learning never stops.

For a number of us, we will next learn to be deacons. Ordination for classmates Joanne Fisher, Kelsey Spiker, Jessica Stehle, and I will be on Saturday, September 14 at Trinity Cathedral in Easton. Bishop San let Kelsey and I know that with our full-time staff positions at Christ Church Easton that our diaconal placement will also be Christ Church.

Graduation marked a moment in time. It was a coming together of our class for the last time in a culmination of our studies. I don’t take graduation ceremonies lightly: the last time I graduated was from Washington College when I was 26. Now at 52, that was half my life ago. I hope to continue my education, both formally and informally. But I don’t think any graduation ceremony will touch what happened on June 15. With seven of us there (we were missing one classmate), our home traditional choir and contemporary band, a service with and by friends and colleagues, it was personal, Holy Spirit-filled, and a perfect commencement, sending us out to do the work God has given us to do.

I am grateful to a Diocese and Bishop for thinking outside the box, embracing creative approaches to education, ministry, and ordination; to our professors, instructors, and lecturers; to our classmates; and to our congregation and families. It takes a village, and a diocese, to facilitate a calling.

Send Us Out

Lead in: I just finished my second year of seminary through the Iona Eastern Shore program, which allows our cohort to continue working while we are going to school. June 17 and 18 was a preaching weekend for me at Christ Church Easton. This is the text of the sermon I gave.

Churches/denominations that use the Revised Common Lectionary have prescribed readings for each day and Gospel readings for each Sunday. So we don’t get to pick what Gospel we preach on.

The Gospel reading for June 18 was Matthew 9:25-10:23, where Jesus calls his 12 apostles and sends them out to further the work that he has been doing: curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, and casting out demons, with warnings about what will happen to them.

“Send Us Out”

In January 2017, I had just started working at the church and I remember sitting down with Fr. Bill Ortt. It was time to start Bible studies and kick off The Alpha Course and he asked how I felt about everything. I said, “it’s daunting. And exciting.”

I was starting things I hadn’t done before. Anticipation and anxiety were in the water together. And all I could do was jump in.

Saying that, I can’t imagine what was going through the minds of the 12 disciples when Jesus calls them in today’s reading. So far in Matthew’s Gospel, they have seen Jesus teach, heal, and cure diseases; they have heard him give his Sermon on the Mount. They watched Jesus make a leper clean and were afraid for their lives on a boat as he commanded a storm to stop. When they got off the boat, he drove demons out of man everyone was afraid of; and we heard last week how he cured a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years and then he raised a leader from the synagogue’s daughter from the dead.

Now he calls the 12 together and says, okay, your turn. Now you do it. “Proclaim the good news, the kingdom of heaven has come near, cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.” Wow. No nerves or pressure there.

The disciples have been riding the bus that Jesus was driving, but he was making all the stops and doing all the work. They were just along for the ride. They probably didn’t realize what “Follow me” entailed.

Let’s look at today’s text just before Jesus sends them out to see what prompts him to do this. He’s going about to all the cities and all the villages teaching and proclaiming the good news and curing every disease.

And then Matthew tells us: “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore, ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.” And Jesus calls his 12.

The time is now. The harvest is ready. People are lost, hurting, sick. And Jesus needs those he has called to help him, to be the laborers.

This is the first time in Matthew’s Gospel that he refers to them as “apostles,” which means those who are sent out.

What are they sent out to do? Help people. Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, cast out demons. Do what Jesus has been doing. They are to share in and further his calling, his mission, under his authority. Go to where people are hurting. Care for them, give them hope. The things you do when you love someone.

As Matthew was making the point to get these things across to his readers then, they are still intended to speak to us now. Michael Green was an international evangelist, pastor, and author. In his book, “The Message of Matthew,” he gives us a way of thinking about Jesus’s mission charge to the apostles by summarizing it in five words: see, care, pray, receive, go.

SEE: “When Jesus SAW the crowds”—this is first and foremost, the apostles had to SEE the needs of those who were suffering or in trouble. We need to do the same.

CARE: “When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them.” Green points out that the word Matthew used for having compassion means “he was moved in his guts,” he was stirred deep inside. For the first apostles, or for us, when we see people suffering, we are called to care deeply.

PRAY: “Ask the Lord of the harvest to send workers into his harvest.” We are not the Lord of the harvest, that’s God, and we need to ask for his help and guidance. Stay connected to Him.

RECEIVE: And what Green says here is that the apostles, and we, need to receive training from Jesus, which they do both in watching him, in being with him, and in being sent out by him; and that they also need to receive authority. “It will not be you speaking but the Spirit of the Father speaking through you.” We need to allow ourselves to be open to, and filled with God’s Spirit. It’s not about us, it is about what God can do through us.

GO: Jesus commands, “Go,” and “As you go”… that’s the thing about being sent out. They and we actually have to go out. In preparing them for what’s to come, Jesus doesn’t lecture them about weekly church attendance. He sends them out and warns them that it is going to be dangerous.

Jesus and apostles. Fresco in Cappadocia

Jesus spends some time on this warning. He goes over the rough things that are on the horizon for the apostles. It’s going to be difficult, and it is going to be costly. “But the one who endures to the end will be saved.”

Debie Thomas in her book, “Into the Mess,” says when it comes to faith, “Discomfort is what success looks like.”

“If our overriding priority as Christians is to secure our own comfort, then we cannot follow Jesus. The discipleship Jesus describes will disorient and disrupt us. It will make us the neighborhood weirdos. It will shake things up in our families, our friendship circles, our churches, our communities.”

Caring is costly. As a society now, we are flooded with images and stories of worldwide suffering, violence, sickness—and what is the most common response? Change the channel. Close the laptop. Don’t think about it. Or better yet these days, find someone or a group of people who don’t agree with us and blame them. If we make it a point to care for the marginalized and cast out, we risk becoming marginalized or cast out ourselves. Jesus asks us to step out and take that risk.

When we care about those around us, we open ourselves to getting hurt. When we open our heart to love someone, sooner or later, pain is a part of that love. Love in this life also has loss lingering behind it.

The apostle Paul has a sense of that loss, of that cost, when he writes today’s reading from Romans. He finds something in this suffering:

“We boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” (Romans 5:2-5)

Jesus didn’t send the apostles out alone. He was with them. He cared about them. And he doesn’t send us out alone. He cares about us. And when we go through the pain and suffering that loving God and each other can bring, Jesus shows us that suffering can point ultimately to hope, and hope in God does not disappoint us.

If we are doing the work that God has given us to do, loving like Jesus, in a world that pushes back against it, we are going to struggle. I will tell you something that is amazing to me: we have so many people in our church community, who have used the struggles, the suffering, the loss they have experienced as a launching point either for ministries that they have helped start, or who are showing up for people in new and deeper ways because of what they have been through. They don’t want others to go through the same struggles alone.

That’s part of what being sent out looks like. Seeing, Caring, Praying, Receiving, Going.

A number of years go in Fr. Bill’s 30-week Kerygma Class, he drew two circles on a white board, one that had arrows pointing inward, and one with arrows pointing out. He talked about the circles as churches, inward facing and outward facing, and asked which one looked more like Jesus’s idea of love and caring? Barbara Coleman, now the Reverend Barbara, put her hands on top of her head with her fingers facing up to show the arrows facing out. And that has been her apostolic antler reminder ever since.  We don’t see Barbara as much here anymore because she discerned a call to become a Deacon. She was ordained here in this church in October 2020, and now serves multiple parishes in Dorchester County, and heads up the food pantry. She calls herself the “Deacon of Dorchester.” She’s been sent out.

“Apostolic Antlers” from Rev. Barbara, Fr. Bill, and our Kerygma Class

Another part of today’s reading that keeps stirring me up is how the apostles learned from Jesus. He didn’t ask them to do anything he wasn’t already doing. Beyond his teaching, I bet they learned as much from watching him, from being around him, and from trying to do what he did.

It’s Father’s Day weekend. Happy Father’s Day to all the dads here. I’m convinced that we learn more from watching our fathers, our parents, and who they are, than from anything they might tell us. At least I hope that is the case, as neither of my daughters seem to listen to anything I say… The story about watching who someone is that that comes to my heart happened leading up to Halloween many years ago. So you get a quick Halloween story in June. Sorry, I’ve got the microphone.

From the late 1970s to the mid-80s, Easton had an annual haunted house that was unparalleled and unrivaled. In terms of scariness, creativity, and ingenuity, Disney World fell short of the haunted houses that the Easton Kiwanis Club put on. My father was a part of the Kiwanis Club and our whole family jumped into helping, for a good chunk of September and all of October each year.

They moved from place to place—from an old house on Dutchman’s Lane, to the old Idlewild Elementary School, when it was left empty in Idlewild Park. There were spot-built hydraulic floors, an illusion where a man changed into a werewolf on stage; swinging rope bridges, chainsaws, and even a flamethrower. The last two years of the haunted house, it was on a property in the woods off Manadier Road, at the end of Dutchman’s Lane. People had to park in front of what is now Auto Zone on Dover Road, and ride buses to the haunted woods.

The last year they held it, my friends and I as teenagers were given our own area along the wooded trail, a rundown old farm building, to create our scene to scare people. It was right next to where the buses pulled in.

One night a crowd got off the buses, a big crowd, most were in their 20s, and after riding the buses out there to this dark, deserted woods, they were scared, freaked out, didn’t want to go in and started screaming and shoving, not listening to anyone—it was the beginning of a riot. No one could calm them down and things were elevating past a boiling point.

From where I was standing, I could see my Dad come out of the woods, walk right up to the guys in the front of the crowd, who no one wanted any part of dealing with, and he stepped right into the mess, right where someone was needed. He diffused the whole situation. The entire crowd calmed down, made peace, and the evening, and the show, went on.

My Dad, 1980s era

That night was more than 35 years ago and I have never forgotten it, watching my dad help restore order out of short-fused chaos. Talking about it later, he said, “I have no idea what I would have done if it turned violent.” He didn’t think, he acted—not just sent out, he seemed shot out, going to where the critical need was. There have been times when I have called on his example in chaotic situations and tried to live into that, diffusing things, and trying to bring peace.

God connects us to people we can learn from; we are always being shaped.

I have to imagine that as Peter, John, and Matthew the tax collector were sent out, and their ministries expanded, that they had their own experiences of watching and learning from Jesus as he healed, cared, loved, and brought peace. They could call on their experiences of watching him. And as we read and discuss the stories of Jesus in the Gospels, we learn how to model ourselves after him. What would Jesus see? What would he care about? How would he love? Who would he send?

How about us? Are we ready to see, care, pray, receive, and go?

The world we return to

Thankfully, life rarely comes down to desert island preferences. You know the scenarios: if you were stranded on a desert island and could only have five albums, or if you could only eat one kind of food, or if you had to watch one movie, and on and on. But they make for great conversation scenarios. You get to know someone by cutting through all the white noise and cocktail party chatter and learn something about what is important to that person. And those questions often circle back to things like music, food, books–things that open up something about what we love.

Here is one for me: if I could only read one genre of writing for the rest of my life, it would be poetry. I don’t have to think about it, I don’t need the Final Jeopardy music playing, I can say that instantly. Poetry fills my soul, speaks to my heart, and expands my mind in ways that no other kind of writing can.

This time last year, John Miller and I led a course through Chesapeake Forum: An Academy for Lifelong Learning, on how poetry connected us to and helped us understand what it is to be human. The class was held on Zoom, had close to 30 participants from multiple states including Georgia and Florida, and it was a fantastic experience, with insightful and searching questions and comments from those taking the class. I wrote about our time together in Tidewater Times Magazine.

When John and I thought about what poets to discuss for that class, we went with some of the well-known writers; it’s maybe a stretch to say that a poet other than Shakespeare can be a household name, but Milton, Blake, and Wordsworth are close. Talking about a class for this winter and what poets read and talk about, we had a different approach.

Poetry often seems to be the realm of old, dead white guys. What if for a follow up, we let people know that poetry is as meaningful, powerful, and relevant today, that poetry matters and has a much broader range of accomplished writers than those from the past. Let’s look at three living women of color who are carrying on the mantel.

Tracy K. Smith, Joy Harjo, and Rita Dove have won Pulitzer Prizes, National Book Awards, and just about any other recognition you can think of for their writing. And they have each served as Poet Laureates of the United States.

Smith’s book, “Life on Mars,” Harjo’s “Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings,” and Dove’s “Playlist for the Apocalypse,” have come out in 2011, 2015, and 2022: they are recent, relevant, and are evidence that these writers, these women, are wrestling with and trying to make sense out of life, experience, and so many of the alienating forces at work in the world. These are writers, and books, that belong on our bookshelves and in our hearts and minds as we try to walk through life doing the same.

Our class, “Poetry Matters!” will meet on Zoom, Thursdays January 26, February 2, and February 9, from 10:00 to 11:30am. If it sounds like something you are interested in, you can register by clicking on the link.

I go back to Robin Williams’ line from the movie Dead Poets Society frequently because I think it says it so powerfully:

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.”

Or maybe we give the floor to Tracy K. Smith, the first poet we will read and discuss in our class. “Life on Mars” is a book that took a hold of me from the first time I picked it up. Smith’s father was an engineer on the Hubble Telescope, which is something that comes out in her searching and brilliant poem, “My God, It’s Full of Stars.” You can read more about Smith and hear her read from that poem at the link.

Smith talks about why she loves poetry:


That’s a lofty but worthwhile goal. It’s part of the hope of a class like this: that the world we return to after reading and discussing Smith, Harjo, and Dove might seem fuller and more comprehensible as a result.

Burn it down: we are called to live differently

Lead in: I am about to begin my second year in seminary through the Iona Eastern Shore program, which allows our cohort to continue working while we are in seminary. August 13-14 was a preaching weekend for me at Christ Church Easton. This is the text of the sermon I gave.

Churches/denominations that use the Revised Common Lectionary have prescribed readings for each day and Gospel readings for each Sunday. So we don’t get to pick what Gospel we preach on.

The Gospel reading for August 14 was Luke 12:49-56, which begins with Jesus saying “I have come to cast fire upon the earth and how I wish it were already ablaze!” and then gets more confusing from there.

For my last two preaching weekends, I have had demoniacs and fire-casting Jesus, both of which ask us to get our thinking caps on. The upside to getting the more obscure or confusing Gospel passages is that I generally have a lot of room to work with. We’re all kind of left scratching our heads and wondering what Jesus, and Luke, are talking about.

I think it is safe to say that the disciples were doing the same thing. I can imagine them looking back and forth to each other going, “I have no idea what he is talking about…”

And that is a theme throughout the Gospels: Jesus delivering a message that people didn’t understand or weren’t ready for. Or in some cases, that people didn’t want to hear.

One of the things we find Jesus talking about repeatedly is the way the world is…and the way the Kingdom of Heaven or the Kingdom of God is. And he wants to help us bring about the Kingdom of Heaven. Which is not how things were, and not how they in the world now. But they could be.

Jesus was not one for the status quo. He didn’t want things to just keep going the way they were. He came to be different and to show us how to be different, and how to live differently.

Thinking about Jesus’s strange message in today’s Gospel, I thought it might be helpful to point out a few things that Jesus IS NOT KNOWN TO HAVE SAID.

Here we go:

Jesus never said, “It’s all good.”

Jesus never said, “You do you.”

Jesus never said, “As long as you don’t hurt anyone.”

And Jesus never said, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Jesus followed more in the sandals (not shoes) of John the Baptist, who said, “Repent.” Turn around. Stop doing what you are doing and live differently.

It’s important to put today’s message in context of Luke’s Gospel and the passages that are going on around it.

Over the last couple weeks, we’ve heard Father Charlie Barton distill the preceding Gospel messages to a few key phrases:

“Be rich toward God—don’t make your life about material things or treasures.”

And “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

I am a fan of a Franciscan Friar/Monk named Richard Rohr. In talking about Luke 12, he says:

“The simplest rule of thumb for each of us to ask, ‘Where do we spend our time and where do we spend our money?’ That’s where our treasure is, we can be sure. The focus of your time and money will tell you what your God is and what is important in your life. As others have wisely said, your checkbook and your calendar reveal your true belief system.”

Where we focus, what we value most, that will determine who we become and how we act in the world. So focus on God. Don’t focus on the things of this world, but on what Jesus has been telling us is more important. Things like caring for the poor and the sick, lifting each other up, loving God and our neighbor.

So when Jesus says, “I have come to cast fire upon the earth, and how I wish it were already ablaze”—he is talking about the way the world was, those who are storing up earthly treasures, those who are focused on power and not on love.

Burn down the old ways, Jesus is offering something new.

“Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.” And what happened to the people of Israel who decided to follow Jesus: division.

Even in and among households. If you are living in the old house and can’t picture what the new one looks like yet, you might not be ready to burn what you’ve got. Or maybe you think this guy is full of nonsense, you have no desire to do what he says or follow where he leads. Some followed, some didn’t. And households became divided.

Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have divided households now [raised eyebrow, pulls at collar] Glad they got that out of the way… or maybe what seemed like a strange, bombastic reading has some relevance.

How many people have family members or close friends who you aren’t speaking to or can’t talk to about religion or politics? How many have divided houses when it comes to big, important issues?

Maybe Jesus was on to something.

We all know the peace-and-love Jesus, and that’s the Jesus we hold dear. That’s the Jesus we want to study and to emulate. And that’s what we should do.

But we also need to remember that Jesus was not afraid to call people out.

Blessed are the peacemakers, absolutely. But the status quo then, AND NOW, isn’t peace. We have a lot of work to do.

Here at Christ Church, in our Bible studies we’ve used commentary by a bishop and theologian named N.T. Wright, and we have found him to be helpful for making sense of Scripture. In talking about this passage, Wright says that there may come a time when Christian teachers and leaders find people have become too cozy and comfortable.

He says that maybe churches might start to omit the Bible readings that talk about judgment, or warnings, or the demands of God’s holiness, because they ask something of us. And that maybe there are times when, like Jesus himself on this occasion, we need to wake people up with a crash. There are, after all, he says, plenty of warnings in the Bible about the dangers of going to sleep on the job.

Cruise control does not serve us well when we are heading in the wrong direction, or off a cliff.

 “It’s all good” doesn’t work when it’s not all good for a lot of people, or when power and security are held closer to the heart than love and compassion.

Jesus talks to the crowds about how when you see clouds, you know it’s going to rain and when you see the south wind blowing, you know it’s going to get scorching hot.

Granted, weather forecasters don’t get much credit in our world today, but there are so many things we can know, we can predict, we can figure out. Look at all the technology around us and what we can do. On the simplest scale, I was blown away recently with the thought that I can send my family pictures while I am in Alaska and they get them instantaneously back here.

If we can do so many things, how come we can’t step up for those who can’t stand for themselves? How come we still store up earthly treasures but aren’t rich toward God? Let’s look where our treasure is, where our priorities are, and try to see where our collective heart is?

Jesus came to change the direction humanity was heading.

He came to show us a different way to be—one that isn’t easy, one that not everyone will get… a way that will cause division, and will call for the burning of some of our current, misdirected ways.

And he gave his life for that cause, and in today’s reading, he knew that that’s where he was heading.

Maybe it was fair to call out the crowds. And guess what?

We’re the crowds. Maybe it’s still fair to call us out.

N.T. Wright says:

“If the kingdom of God is to come on earth as it is in heaven, part of the prophetic role of the church is to understand the events of the earth and to seek to address them with the message of heaven.”

Maybe we need to do a better job of addressing the world with the message of heaven.

Maybe we should help burn down some of what’s broken for a new way, for a more loving way, for a more caring way.

For Jesus’s Way.

Amen.

What does love look like?

It’s hard to know what to say, so I can only speak from my life and experiences. And my life is one of privilege. I haven’t earned the life I live based on my own sweat and effort–I was given a gift of an upbringing and a social and economic status that I had nothing to do with. I try to live up to and into that gift, and I am grateful for it daily. I try to dream and picture what my daughters’ lives might look like, and I know they are only limited by themselves.

When I run through town, I am the maybe overly friendly guy who says good morning or hello to everyone I pass. And I have never gotten weird looks–usually a wave or smile back. People aren’t generally intimidated by or suspect of me at first encounter. Again, none of this has much of anything to do with anything I have done. If my skin were a different color, I’m not sure reactions would be the same.

In my teens and early 20’s, we were troublemakers often enough and had run-ins with police, but I never feared for my life. We live in a small community and over the years, I have come to know more and more police officers as friends, and I know them all to be amazing human beings who help people at an instant. Theirs are friendships I am blessed to have–getting to know the people and not just their jobs. And they have seen me for who I am.

Over the years my heart has hurt and my mind has been jarred by so many events on the news, or listening to others’ experiences of the world. And these stories rise up, make their rounds, and then life goes on. For those not directly affected. But each time, it is only a glimpse; only a flicker. Too many people can change the channel and not have to face something directly.

When people speak up and speak out, they are quickly silenced. Yes, you can protest, but not like that. And no, not like that. Yes, we believe in your right to be heard, but we are watching football right now. How about some other time, some other place, where I can still watch what I want and think how I want and not have to pay attention?

Right now, there is attention. We are not promised tomorrow, so right now is what we have. I can’t know or understand what it is to be black, but I can listen and I can stand.

I am a part of a faith community where I know that people of any race, culture, or religion are welcome, and I consider that a blessing. I have watched our rector befriend a Hindu man who was working in Easton and loved coming to our 5:00pm service. He was happy in his faith, he just loved the music and energy of the service, and it was a beautiful thing.

After the murder of George Floyd and the ensuing protests and riots, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, Michael Curry, an African-American man, on Sunday published an op-ed in The Washington Post about choosing love over hate. He also talked about what the path of love might look like in these times:

“Love looks like all of us — people of every race and religion and national origin and political affiliation — standing up and saying “Enough! We can do better than this. We can be better than this.”

“What does love look like? I believe that is what Jesus of Nazareth taught us. It looks like the biblical Good Samaritan, an outsider who spends his time and money healing somebody he doesn’t know or even like.”

There is a way forward through this that looks like love. That looks like the self-sacrificial love that Jesus showed us, taught us, and modeled with his life. And it looks like coming together, in love.

In Bible studies over the past months, we have been studying Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, in which Paul is emphatic about the unity of the church. In his commentary on Chapter 2, scholar and former bishop N.T. Wright says:

“If our churches are still divided in any way along racial or cultural lines, (Paul) would say that our gospel, our very grasp of the meaning of Jesus’ death is called into question. How long will it be before those who claim to follow Jesus, not least those who claim also to love Paul’s thinking, come to terms with the demands he actually makes?”

The way forward in love right now is not about doctrine. If we look at Jesus, when he dealt with the hurting, the sick, the lonely, the disenfranchised–he saw them, he healed them, he loved them, he brought them into the fold. Where Jesus is love, Paul also calls that love into unity.

I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet. But I know I can’t really think or write about anything else with it so large on my heart and mind right now.

In talking about love and faith, Krista Tippett, author and the host of “On Being,” writes:

“Every time I let myself go deeper into the mess and mystery of human loving, I am hit over the head again by theology–an insistence that the love of God is so much fuller than we can usually imagine or take in… I keep pursuing faith, if for no other reason than because it is the place in our common life that keeps reminding me of the necessity of love–not the romantic love of poets, but the practical love of sacred texts–however fraught and imperfect our practice of it may ever and always be… love is not the starting point, but the goal. It is not something we are born knowing how to do, not something we fall into. It is something we spend our whole lives learning.”

That is a love I want to learn to do better. I want to spend my life learning and practicing it. Right now it feels like it starts with listening and with standing.

Spiritual Friendships

We build community by coming together to share meaningful experiences. It’s the same with friendships–it’s by spending time together, doing things we love, or helping each other, creating memories and shared stories together is how we grow closer.

Having church be a part of all those things is still fairly new to me, just a few years old. Over the years, I’ve formed friendships and stories through running and trail running, writing and reading, skateboarding, paddleboarding; through kids and mutual friends; through hiking, and sometimes through coffee houses, book stores, or bars. And of course through work, which is where we spend most of our time.

I’m fortunate and grateful that work and church get to be the same thing for me right now. And that has led to building some wonderful friendships through small groups, Bible studies, and worshiping together. Our stories overlap and intertwine in trying to deepen our connection to God and to each other; in trying to get a better understanding of Scripture; in trying to continue our spiritual journeys collectively and in community (we recently read N.T. Wright telling us, “there is no such thing a solitary Christian”). I especially dig that groups that meet at a church don’t look or act like you might have in your head. There is deep laughter and relevance in Bible studies, groups that have gone kayaking and paddleboarding, and hiking and bonfires at retreats. And there is frequently food.

An afternoon hike and high wire act during an Alpha Retreat in Buckeystown, Md.

Gathering intentionally each week is a great first step. For church, that time is for worship, which is a time to recharge our spiritual batteries; to get inspired; to pray with and for each other; to be lifted up by incredible music; to be united in body and spirit by sharing communion. And then we are sent out “to do the work (God) has given us to do.” Though for so many of us, that is wrapped up in running errands, getting or keeping things straight at home or with our families, doing our jobs.

It’s hard to make time to be intentional about our spiritual lives or formation. What would it look like if we did? And how would we do it. I am biased, but I’ve found small groups–whether at church, a running or hiking group, a workout group, a writing group, a book club, a group of friends–to be such a key way to make things happen. And Lent is a perfect time to start. Make Lent a time for renewal; a time for clearing out habits that aren’t serving us. And a time to begin some practices to enhance our sense of community, our spiritual friendships, and our relationship with God.

Christ Church Easton has a few ways to help get started.

A small group from an Alpha Retreat at Camp Arrowhead in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

The Alpha Course has been a community-changing and relationship-building program at the church. It is a program designed for people who aren’t sure what they think of church or Christianity, but it can also enliven those who are farther along in their faith walk. Alpha asks questions, including, “Is there more to life than this?” and provides groups to have discussion without judgment or preaching to get a sense of what people think. And Alpha is known for feeding people, so dinner is included as well. We will be starting Alpha on Saturday, February 29 (that’s not a typo, it’s leap year!) after our Alive @ 5 service. Alpha is a free program. There will be a weekend retreat in the spring, which has a cost, which the church can help with if need be. There are a number of people at Christ Church and around the world who will tell you to “Try Alpha” if you can. You can sign up here.

For anyone who is curious about Bible study, or who would like a daily devotional practice during Lent, Christ Church will be offering “Lent for Everyone, Matthew Year A,” where scholar and former bishop N.T. Wright leads us through Matthew’s Gospel from Ash Wednesday to the week after Easter. The group will meet once a week on Wednesday evenings at 6:30 pm (beginning March 4) to discuss the week’s readings. This is a great way to get a feel for the Gospel of Matthew. It is uncanny how relevant it is to our daily lives. Two years ago, we offered the Mark year version of this study, and almost everyone in those classes has gone on to further and deeper Bible study and become a part of groups that meet almost year-long.

“Walk in Love” is a series of talks that focus on listening, compassion and empathy, and walking with someone who is grieving.

The “Walk in Love” Series has been in the works for some time now at the church and folks are excited for how it might help us each to walk in love with each other, through listening, empathy, and being with those who are grieving. It’s a three evening event that will take place on Thursdays of March 19th, 26th, and April 2nd at 6:00pm in the church’s Parish Hall. All three presentations speak to our call to give humbly of ourselves to those we love and those who need our loving compassion, by bringing greater awareness to how we listen, love, and walk with courage with our family, friends, and neighbors. You can come to all three sessions, or whichever ones you can make. The series is free.

Life is tough to do alone. Faith might be even harder, with how easy it is to get distracted or knocked off our paths. Thankfully, there are ways for us to connect, to each other, and to God. Spiritual friendships, small groups, and community, created by time together, by shared meaningful experiences and practices can help us form bonds, memories, and stories to keep us going.

Because We Can

He wasn’t the real Mark Twain. But he was to us, sitting in an elementary school gym, white suit and mustache, telling stories. And we sat spellbound listening to a man who looked and sounded like Twain. We laughed til our sides hurt, leaned forward to hear what happened next, and teared up as he talked about the power, terror, and finality of the atomic bomb.

Almost 40 years later, I feel like I am sitting in that gym again, reading Neruda’s, “Ode to the Atom:”

Infinitesimal
star,
you seemed
forever
buried
in metal, hidden,
your diabolic
fire.
One day
someone knocked
at your tiny
door:
it was man.
With one
explosion
he unchained you,
you saw the world,
you came out
into the daylight,
you traveled through
cities,
your great brilliance
illuminated lives,
you were a
terrible fruit
of electric beauty

Neruda goes on to describe the horror at Hiroshima, the ordinary day and ordinary lives that were no more.

He uses the phrase, “terrible fruit,” which is meant to send us back to the garden and another fruit with consequences.

“That’s why we can’t have nice things,” is a phrase I like to use; it makes me smile while at the same time shaking my head. It applies to so aptly to so much of the world right now. We do things because we can. If we are able to do something, we must be meant to do it, right? We can take remarkable scientific discoveries and twist and turn them in ways that can destroy the planet; we can take absolutely stunning sweeps of land and landscape, and see it as a resource to be used, rather than creation to be enjoyed and appreciated. We can look at one another as competition, or as enemies not be trusted, rather than with kindness and cooperation. We can, we have the ability, to do all those things.

But what we end up with–war, pollution, a culture of outrage and hate–is a result of that view and those actions. How we see things and how we act, give us what we get.

At different points in our lives, I think each of us has seen, felt, or understood that things could be different than that. That life could be different. That the world could be different. We get to choose.

Whether you read the Bible, history books, or study psychology, we have read about and can understand other ways of living. At some point in our lives, maybe we can point to times, moments, people, when life felt incredible, our thoughts and hearts were elevated, and we got this feeling that we were on the verge of understanding  or being something more. Maybe it’s the feeling of being on vacation, or for a child, the feeling of Christmas morning. But then it fades and we are back to real life, our world of bills, deadlines, heartbreak, and sickness.

What if life, what if God was continually giving us clues how to bridge the gap–to make both lives the same? What if God knows we can do whatever we want, “because we can,” but is pulling for us to see things differently, and to make a life, and help make a world, where there is order, peace, and love, rather than everything running unchecked because it can?

What if by paying attention, by looking inside ourselves, and looking to God, we can rewrite our lives in ways we’ve only dreamed about?

Those are questions worth asking, conversations worth having, and a life and love to explore.