Healthcare and healing

It is tempting, as many have observed, to link this Sunday’s readings to this Thursday’s Supreme Court decision upholding the Affordable Care Act, aka Obamacare.

Politics from the pulpit are tricky. The need to be prophetic and the need to be pastoral at the same time means that we are concerned to know how afflicted the comfortable will be, and how comforted those with a pre-existing affliction, if we do go there. I’m not preaching this Sunday, but still …

Both of the characters seeking healing in this gospel story are desperate. Jairus comes seeking help for his dying daughter; Jesus’ response is interrupted by the stealth healing of the woman with the flow of blood. One is close to the loss of a child; one is close to the loss of her last dollar, her last hope. It is not costless to Jesus to help them. He feels the healing energy that the woman draws from him (without permission, without prescription, without proper paperwork). Once again, yet again, I hear that word from Isaiah quoted by Matthew: “He took up our infirmities, and carried our diseases,” or, “he hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows,” – and envision the weight, the sickness that Jesus must fight in body and soul on behalf of everyone he heals. No, it is not effortless, or without cost or consequence.

How is his question – “Who touched me?” – voiced? Is he angry at this stealth helping of herself to healing? Frightened at the leak? Curious, or delighted by her audacity? At any rate, he lets her go with her free gift gotten by any means she could find.

By which time the girl is, at least as good as, dead. It will take so much more now (as so often when conditions are neglected, treatment postponed for lack of resource), and Jesus has already given so much. Will he draw the line? After all, how much can he hope to give before the well runs dry?

We never find out how much. Jesus never tells how much it costs him to heal. He comes close, in a few weeks’ time, when he snaps out of his exhaustion at another woman, another parent with another sick little girl. But for now, he will not sacrifice the child to the woman. He does not hold back. He does what it takes to extend his healing as far as he can.

Yes, it is tempting to link our prayers, our preaching to our politics. What will you preach or pray this Sunday?

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The seating plan

I can see today’s story being used in the early church to combat the subtle prejudices, favouritisms, and snubs that might otherwise have kept from full inclusion and assimilation new Christians, non-Jewish Christians, Christians from other countries, cultures and languages. After all, we see in Acts that the Hellenists already after a very short time felt that they were getting short shrift when it came to the food distribution and assistance plan for widows (Acts 6).

I still occasionally hear echoes of the resentment of the day labourers when people talk disparagingly of death-bed conversions or confessions; when people complain about the newcomers to the church who don’t understand everything it takes to keep the place going; when people say who should or should not be considered a “real” Christian.

Our understanding of who deserves a full place at the table, a full meal, a full day’s bread has developed over time. When I was growing up, those coming into the church waited for Confirmation before receiving Communion; for children, this meant years of waiting. Over time, the realization that the accident of separating Confirmation from Baptism had resulted in this two-tier membership of the church which had never really been intended or justified, and we remembered to include all the baptized in Communion, even the ones baptized ten minutes ago from their mothers’ arms. It looks very much as though that understanding has not finished its development yet.

When the change took place, there were some few who complained that they had needed to wait, to go through classes, “jump through hoops” (which I find a slightly disturbing way to refer to a commitment to one’s faith, but oh well), so why shouldn’t everyone else? I think that this parable applies to those complaints, too.

I recently heard a sermon from a friend and colleague about a youth event at which the children learned about prejudice and outcasts, and how God’s love will have none of that; that God loves all of us, no exceptions. God goes out at the end of the working day and gathers up the leftovers, the left-behind, the outcasts. God puts them to work, too, with the others, so that they not only get their living wage, but they end the day together with their co-labourers, side by side and equal.

I suppose that I was hired early in the day. I entered this religious life during childhood, with a reasonable understanding of what was required of me and what I expected from the relationship. So the question that this parable poses for me is who I am looking at with a tinge of resentment, jealousy, disapproval. Whom do I begrudge a place at the table? Who do I think should wait their turn before they are served, because of where they have come from, or what they have been doing all day?

Because it seems rather likely that whoever that person is, God has already invited them to the front of the buffet line ahead of me.

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Play

The commons lie empty:
the trees unclimbed,
the river unswum,
the rope unturned,
the rhyme unsung,
the swing unswung,
the air unbreathed;
stale breezes atrophy.

behind the blinds we play
on an LED stage,
escaping the day
we’ve forgotten to face;
safe in our humming hives,
we are actors portraying real lives.

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Alive! Festival 2012: a few (alternative) views …

This gallery contains 19 photos.

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Year B, Proper 7: “To thine own (God-given) self be true”

St Andrew’s, Elyria, OH; Saturday June 23rd 2012/Sunday June 24th 2012

David and Goliath. It’s one of the stories that we grew up with; one of the dramatic biblical episodes that makes it into all the children’s illustrated Bibles; the little shepherd boy who triumphs over the Philistine giant.

I’ll be honest, I am somewhat disturbed by the violence and death that are both present and implied in the story. The Bible is full of violence and death if you look for it, so the difficulty is recurring. Even the writers maybe felt uneasy; they describe Goliath in terms of a fairy-tale monster, with hands that hold a weaving loom beam for a spear shaft; and David likens him to the wild animals on the hillside, the more easily to dispose of him. This morning, I want to talk about David’s call to be the person God made him to be, and his living into that call, but I did want to let you know that if you are uncomfortable with the more bloodthirsty aspects of the story, you are not alone, and we can talk and pray more about that another time, if you like.

Last week, we saw David anointed, secretly and away from court, as Israel’s future king. This week, life for David seems to be back to normal. [This lectionary reading, as long as it is, leaves out a bit of background detail.] He, as the youngest, has the responsibility still to go home from time to time and tend his father’s sheep while his brothers remain with the other soldiers of the king. He arrives on the scene of battle, on the scene of Goliath’s challenge, only because his father has sent him to bring news of his brothers, the real soldiers. David, anointed of the Lord; shepherd and errand boy.

David describes to the king’s men how his life as a shepherd places him daily in danger from wild beasts; how he places himself in danger as a matter of course in order to take care of his charges, the lambs placed in his care. God protects him, and God will do the same for him now, he says. “Let no one’s heart fail. I’ve got this. God has got this.”

That’s why David wouldn’t, couldn’t take Saul’s armour. He did not go into this battle as a soldier – and I’m not saying here that that would have been wrong; I’m not trying to undermine anyone’s faithful service – but that was not who he was, at least not yet. He was a shepherd boy, an errand boy; and he went as himself, with God in his heart and the knowledge of his God-given talents and gifts at his fingertips. And it was to the shepherd, to the errand boy, that the victory was given.

We hear a lot about David’s relationship to Jesus in the gospel; and here is one point of contact in these stories. David defeats Goliath by being his own true self. Jesus, in the story of the storm on the lake, defeats the wind and the waves by being his own self.

The disciples were terrified, convinced they were about to die in the storm. But Jesus spoke the storm into silence. And then the disciples were terrified for a whole other reason; filled with awe, our gospel says; terrified, says another translation. Because Jesus just did what only God can do. Only God has the words to bring order to the chaos of the deep; only God can calm the primal forces of the sea; God’s Spirit moving over the waters of creation.

Jesus showed the disciples once and for all who he was by what he did for them, by saving them from the storm. He showed them the power of God that was within him, and he became for them their safe harbour, their refuge, their home. God with us.

David and Jesus both achieved what they did by being true to the call of God upon them; by being their own true selves, using their own gifts, to the glory of God and to the benefit, the safety, the saving of the people around them.

The question for us from these stories is what is the call of God upon our lives? What is the gift that God has given you to use to God’s glory and for the benefit of God’s people?

Perhaps you are one of those people who can always rustle up a meal to feed anyone who shows up for dinner. Use that gift to feed the hungry.

Perhaps you are a teacher, a singer, a storyteller. Use those gifts to raise up the people of God in faith, to embellish and embroider the lives of those around you.

There’s one detail which is repeated from last week’s David story to this: that he is “ruddy and handsome to look at.” Last week, it was a sign of his immaturity and the surprise that he was the one to be anointed king. This week, Goliath takes note of it and uses it as a mockery: “What can a pretty boy like you do to a man like me?” David uses his physical gifts to charm the king and to disarm the giant. So use what you have! Use your gifts – your charm, your good looks, your sense of humour. I can tell you that one of the gifts that I’ve discovered since moving to Ohio nine years ago is that I can get away with saying some things that would get other people into trouble because, apparently, an English accent covers up a multitude of offences. Use what you have. You can use the gifts that you have to reach out to those who need a word from the gospel, and to be heard.

Perhaps you are one of those people who notice the things that need doing up, cleaning up, fixing up, making better, changing around. You can use those gifts to the glory of God and the saving and helping of God’s people.

Perhaps your gift is to listen, to bring cheer to those who are sorrowful, or simply to hold their sorrow in your own heart. Perhaps your gift is to pray. Perhaps your gift is silence.

God has gifted you, and just like David, perhaps, even, just like Jesus, you in your own true self hold gifts that God intends for the world.

The same is true for us as a parish. We sometimes feel small, but we, like David, have gifts that outgrow our stature.

We feel small in the face of challenges that look large; challenges like unemployment, homelessness and foreclosures, child abuse scandals, conflict between countries and within families. Challenges that seem to try to drain the hope out of God’s people.

And we feel as though we’re maybe not as well-armoured, as well-equipped as some other agencies: the mega-churches, the big fundraisers, the machinery of the political system. That’s ok: their stuff wouldn’t fit us, anyway.

And this parish has its own gifts, and it is perfectly equipped and placed by God to do great things, to the glory of God and the benefit of its neighbours. This parish knows its neighbours, and it has great gifts of mission, of ministry to the community it lives within. It feeds people, it’s planning next month to fix up houses and ramps for people. It loves the people that it is neighbours with. It brings hope into the face of the giants that would take hope away. It has the heart of a shepherd, the heart of an errand boy. Remember Andrew, bringing Christ to the people and the people to Christ?

The challenge for this parish is how to continue to recognize and to live into the gifts that God has blessed us with: the gifts of mission, outreach, love and the tender care of a shepherd for its community – into and beyond this 175th year; to be itself, to the glory of God.

And here’s a further word of hope as we continue this work. The disciples were the ones in the boat who were supposed to know how to deal with boats in a storm. How many of them were fishermen? Yet they still were overwhelmed on at least this one occasion. But Jesus, God with them, God with us, came to their aid. They were not left alone, to rely on their own resources. Their talents were gifts from God, and they were invited to use them. But that didn’t mean that God gave them their gifts then went away. God remained with them, God continued to listen for their cries for help. God continued to save them.

So David, to whom the psalm is attributed, was able to write, many years after his Goliath experience:

“The Lord will be a refuge in time of trouble; … for you never forsake those who seek you, O Lord.”

God is with us, guiding us in the good use of our gifts to the glory of God and the help of our neighbours. As our Collect today prays,

“You never fail to help and govern those whom you have set upon the sure foundation of your loving-kindness.”

And you, your life, is set without doubt upon the sure foundation of God’s loving-kindness. Thanks be to God. Amen.

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Somewhere in Ohio

Vulture-hunched, pecking
black blood out of rusty ground;
feeding on dead earth.

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Bernard Mizeki and the ultimate blasphemy

It’s back – the unforgivable sin, the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, tucked into the readings for the commemoration of Bernard Mizeki, catechist and martyr.

This time, we read Luke’s contextualization of the epigram. It is interesting in its little details. The scene opens with people trampling one another to get close to Jesus. Jesus gathers his disciples in a huddle before turning to the crowd. He tells them not to be afraid – it must be a fearful sight, the thousands of people stampeding, trampling, crushing towards them. They are dangerous; but God knows the sparrows; God knows the hairs on each disciple’s head. God will be with them.

Then Jesus exhorts them to speak up for the Son of Man, for the message of the kingdom, for what they know to be true. They will face trials, he suggests, but the Holy Spirit will help them, with give them the true words, will teach them. All they need to do is trust.

In this context, the blasphemy might refer to the people who oppose the Holy Spirit speaking in and through Jesus and his disciples. It is a statement that God is on the side of the people gathered around Jesus; that God’s Holy Spirit is with them and will not abandon them.

I said previously that the idea that God will reserve one particular trespass for eternal condemnation flies in the face of everything else that the gospel tells us; and here, too, the effect of the epigrammatic statement is rhetorical. It is aimed not at condemning anyone to whom Jesus is speaking, but at strengthening the faithful. It is saying, “Those who oppose me, who oppose you because of me, can never prevail.” It is not an exhortation to fear the Holy Spirit, but to trust in her wisdom.

Bernard Mizeki trusted, and believed Jesus’ reassurance that those who would kill his body would not get the final word on his life. He believed that God watches over all of God’s children, and will send the Holy Spirit to comfort and uphold all those who are in trouble because they witness to Jesus’ words.

“Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten in God’s sight.”

God will not turn away from us. Jesus’ challenge is for us to continue to turn toward God.

 

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Year B Proper 6: Through God’s eyes

A Saturday night homily for St Andrew’s Episcopal Church, Elyria, OH. Come see us some time!

How would you describe Jesus to someone who had no idea who this man was or what he meant to the world? Where would you begin?

How would you explain the growth of a plant from seed to a child? What steps would you cover, and what would be shrouded in mystery? How would you help them to make the imaginative leap from a tiny seed, or a field of seeds, to a bush, a tree, a crop of wheat?

The notion of how we see things and how God sees them differently is inescapable in today’s readings. Samuel is fearful of Saul’s anger. The people are fearful of Samuel, trembling at the approach of the itinerant judge. Jesse and his sons are is bewildered and cautious;
(one of my colleagues asked this week whether Samuel spoke aloud when choosing between the boys – not this one, not that one – muttering under his breath but audible, the mad judge that no one dared challenge)
maybe that’s why Jesse kept David, his youngest, away from the Samuel until ordered to bring him out.

But God knew that David was the one who would be found. God was in no doubt that the youngest, the smallest, the protected one was in fact the bold leader that God’s people needed.

From the point of view of the first-century farmer, the seed grows mysteriously. He is dependent upon chance: the progression of the seasons, the weather and winds, blight and pestilence; but God knows just how the grain grows, and the spirit of God plays in the wind that moves the stalks and nods their heads.

Paul is even clearer. “From now on,” he says, “we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way.” Paul claims to have been invited into God’s confidence, into God’s point of view, no longer worried like Samuel or oblivious like Mark’s farmer, but enlightened and empowered to see clearly the new thing that God is doing in the world.

Do you remember that show –X-Factor or Someone’s Got Talent or some such – when Susan Boyle, the Scottish woman who sang the song from Les Miserables, blew the judges away, shattered their expectations and left their first impressions in tatters on the studio floor?

God knew she could do that.

A man admitted to the hospital with chest pains after playing tennis  insisted that there was nothing wrong with him except a pulled muscle, but the hospital wanted to make sure, because that’s not what 87-year-old men are supposed to be doing on 87-degree days in August, that’s not how things go, that’s not what hospitals usually see It turned out, he was right; and he was so angry because we placed his age as a filter between our understanding and his being, and our vision was affected by it.

God saw him differently.

Paul used to see a vagabond rabble-rouser, a clever one with the gift of the gab and the following to suit it, but a trouble-maker, a mark-my-words-this’ll-end-in-no-good-un, who was rightly executed for his wayward words and ways.

God saw Jesus differently, and on the road to Damascus, Jesus re-introduced himself to Paul and blotted out his sight; Jesus sent the Holy Spirit to replace Paul’s human view of this condemned criminal with a truer vision of Christ, the point of view that announced from the heavens, “This is my Son, my beloved.”

Actually, perhaps that’s not a bad place to start with our description of Jesus to the one who has never heard of him: God’s Son, the one who is Beloved. The one who opens our eyes to the love of God, for him, for each of us, for one another. The one who invited us to see one another from God’s point of view: the young, the old, the protected, the hardened, the joyful, despairing, soulful mess that is each of us.

This seeing one another from God’s point of view. We promise in our baptismal covenant to uphold the dignity of every human being, and we try, sometimes, although it’s hard, sometimes. We work and we set up committees to help guide us toward getting rid of the unhelpful indicators – the “isms” that cloud our vision and prejudice our views of one another, and we need to work so much harder if we are ever to get beyond them.

But this new vision that Paul describes – it’s more than a lack of prejudice. It goes further than even that good work envisions. For Paul, it’s more than allowing that a condemned criminal might have had something to say, might have been innocent, might have been a child of God. It’s about knowing Jesus to be the Son of God, the Beloved.

Seeing one another as a new creation; seeing one another and ourselves as God sees us means not only removing the negative filters, but adding that God-lens which frames each new creation with the word that falls from heaven: Beloved. We talk a lot about loving our neighbour and how we can do that: would it help to see him or her through God’s eyes, no longer from a human point of view, but as a new creation, already Beloved?

Which reframes the whole question: How would God describe you to someone who had never met you, who didn’t know your name?

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Youth ministry

“I believe the children are our future …”

Um, no. The children are here now. They are our present. If you have spent five minutes with a child, you know how present they are. They are all about the right now. My son, when he was younger, learned to make complex sentences by challenging my view of time with his own:

“Mummy please may I have a drink not in a minute but right now please?”

(Yes, I am still dealing with the mommy guilt. And no, he hadn’t learned punctuation yet, even orally.)

Please understand that this post is not a complaint, gripe or snipe. I love our youth ministries. I love in particular the diocesan events that my own young people attend, because they love them so very much. I love Episcoprom (best idea ever, I am told), Happening, lock-ins, Spring Gatherings, Youth Leadership (formerly Peer Ministry) Trainings and the whole chabang, without having attended any of them, because they cause my children to come home joyful, intentional, and knowing themselves to be part of a real and loving community.

I am looking at all of this, though – and it helps to have readings to consider this week about the call of the boy David to be king (and although he will be king in the future, he is anointed NOW, and if he trips up or gets it wrong with Goliath next week, there will be no future) – and wondering whether we sometimes forget that youth ministry is at least a two-way street.

We tend to think about it in church planning as “working with the youth,” as planning things for them to do, for us to teach them, for us to take them to or tell them about or train them for. We think about raising the children and youth as future church members, future leaders. But what if we took seriously the idea that youth ministry is also and at least as much about the ministry of the youth, right here right now, to us?

We often talk about what we can do to build up our common life, and I look with wonder upon the community that the youth of this diocese has built, and I wonder what the rest of our parish households could learn about loving one another, leaning on one another, being a household of God together from our children. Can we let them teach us how to be a no-holds-barred, full-on, built-together spiritual edifice with Christ as our cornerstone and love for God and neighbour as cement?

Communications. Some of us are wringing our hands trying to keep up in a responsible way with a world gone viral. Our children know this world as their own. They can teach us, if we let them, and if we let go of just a little of our anxiety about chaos and change. Growing is all about chaos and change, after all.

My friend Ken yesterday wrote a moving piece about forgetting to dance and shoes that are too small ( http://ecumenicallife.wordpress.com/2012/06/14/my-shoes-are-too-tight ); children grow out of their inhibition-less exhibitions in the aisles as their feet grow. What if we let them teach us now, while they are still young enough to do it, how to praise God freely, without embarrassment, without shame, kicking off our shoes if they are too tight?

What if instead of depending upon the children as our future, we looked at their present, their presence, their gifts, as our call to be in the here and now?

As I said, this isn’t a complaint, a criticism, a rant. I am grateful to so many people for great ministry with my young people, and for allowing them their ministry. When my daughter preached at the cathedral a couple of weeks ago, the Dean didn’t say, “She’s going to be a preacher!” She said, “She is a preacher.”

The Canons of the Episcopal Church say that sixteen is the threshold for adult membership of the church. That means that as well as promoting “Special” youth representatives and delegates to conventions and vestries and committees (and those can be great opportunities, as long as they do not obscure or dilute that coming of age), we are allowed to elect sixteen and seventeen-year-olds to sit and vote and shape our future and our present as equals alongside their sixty and seventy-year-old peers. Do we tell them that, when they turn sixteen? Should we consider having a “coming of age” celebration to let them know and to remind ourselves that they are not future or potential adult members, church leaders – they are now?

Should we let the children lead us in a merry dance as we do so?

 

 

 

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Does size matter?

Last week, the elders of Israel were quite rude and unmannerly to Samuel, declaring him “old,” and demanding a king. Samuel was justifiably offended, but God told him to go ahead and give them a king (1 Samuel 8). God even gave them a king who would look the part, Saul being a head taller than the people around him (1 Samuel 9:2).

An American Psychological Association report from 2004 tells us that tall people are more successful than their shorter counterparts, earn more money, and are “looked up to” in societal and figurative as well as literal ways:

When it comes to height, every inch counts–in fact, in the workplace, each inch above average may be worth $789 more per year, according to a study in the Journal of Applied Psychology (Vol. 89, No. 3).
The findings suggest that someone who is 6 feet tall earns, on average, nearly $166,000 more during a 30-year career than someone who is 5 feet 5 inches–even when controlling for gender, age and weight.
The height-salary link was found by psychologist Timothy A. Judge, PhD, of the University of Florida, and researcher Daniel M. Cable, PhD, of the University of North Carolina. They analyzed data from four American and British longitudinal studies that followed about 8,500 participants from adolescence to adulthood and recorded personal characteristics, salaries and occupations. Judge and Cable also performed a meta-analysis of 45 previous studies on the relationship between height and workplace success.
Judge offers a possible explanation for the height bias: Tall people may have greater self-esteem and social confidence than shorter people. In turn, others may view tall people as more leader-like and authoritative.
“The process of literally ‘looking down on others’ may cause one to be more confident,” Judge says. “Similarly, having others ‘looking up to us’ may instill in tall people more self-confidence.”*

Unfortunately, in the case of Saul, the height bias thing didn’t work out too well. This week’s reading begins with God regretting making Saul king, and deciding to replace him with David, the youngest child of the family chosen to bear the Lord’s anointed, and presumably the smallest (1 Samuel 15:34-16:13).

Before anointing David, Samuel sees the stature of his eldest brother and is about to make the same mistakes all over again, but God explains that divine sight is not the same as human judgment, and directs him to look again. (It is a little ironic, then, that the description of David is so aesthetically pleasing in a very human way.) As in a folk tale or even a fairy tale, every eligible son has to pass by until only the youngest, the smallest, the overlooked (by human sight) is left to be presented.

David’s diminutive size and its usefulness and ability to contain the will of God will be further emphasized next week, when he faces Goliath of the Philistines (1 Samuel 17) .

All of which might be simply a funny story, an amusing item for musing upon, were it not for the end of the second lesson, from Paul’s letter to the Corinthian church (2 Corinthians 5: 14-17).

“From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

The American Psychological Association suggests that we find it difficult to break out of a human regard. And what does it even mean to regard no one from a human point of view? More wrestling, it seems, needs to be done before we can give the little boy David his full due as the anointed one appointed by God to be the king of Israel, the ancestor of the Messiah, beloved of his people and his own King. And more wrestling needs to be done before these texts are ready to preach on Sunday …

* http://www.apa.org/monitor/julaug04/standing.aspx

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