Thursday, December 20, 2007

Advice for All God's People

Recently, a friend was ordained in a distant diocese, and I was pleased to be a witness to that special moment. There were many years of hard, frustrating and expensive effort for my friend to finally stand there, to finally be accepted. I am deeply happy for him.

As one who had considered ordained ministry and decided many years ago that it was not my call, I wondered what it would be like. At that time I had confused having a call with the requirement that I be ordained, since that is how everyone talked about it. But over time I accepted that my call was different. Yet, the churches’ own lack of clarity about what is unique to the call to priesthood continues. The sermon at that recent service did not help.

The preacher offered advice to those about to be ordained about two critical things they must do. First, she stated that priests are called to the sacred ministry of listening. She described priests as needing to be in those places that need the reconciling hand of God and listening was essential. Second, she emphasized that priests must have a life of prayer. She emphasized that there is no exception, and stated that prayer must be part of every day.

Maybe I was foolish to expect the recognition of the ministry of all people during an ordination service. The service is an initiation ritual, conferring on those persons the Holy Spirit, and separating them from the rest of us. However, there is nothing unique to priests about either of these two pieces of advice. While both practices are necessary for the ministry of a priest, the same advice should have been preached to all of us in the room.

I may be reading too much into what she was saying that morning. But it would have been very simple for her to have changed her sermon to speak to the hundreds of us instead of just the six being ordained. She could have proclaimed the Good News that all members of the Church are called to those two kinds of activity. We all need to listen and be the reconciling hand of God in all aspects of our life. We all need the openness to God that regular prayer provides.

It is too easy for all of us to place the power as well as the burden of ministry upon the professional, mostly ordained, church staff. It is easier for the clergy because it is much simpler to do it all themselves. It is easier for the laity because we can just go, pay our dues, and not have to be responsible for our own call to minister to the world around us.

But God’s call is to all people, not just those selected to serve as priests.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Flames and Angels - Moses

When I graduated from seminary in the early 80’s, I bought a calligraphic print by Michael Podesta titled “Exodus.” The print illustrates the drama of Moses’ encounter with the burning bush. Framing the outside of the print is Moses’ plea to be left alone by God, his attempt to prove how unworthy he was of God’s attention. He argues “Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” In the center of the print are orange flames rising up from the desert scrub with God’s words of promise and commitment, “I will be with you.”

Moses had been getting along just fine, in spite needing to flee to Midian after killing a brutal Egyptian overseer. He had established a life in exile, with a wife, son, and a home. The flaming bush appeared many years later, and God was calling him to leave all of that security behind. There was every reason to argue against God’s expectations for him to confront the overwhelming powers of government and civic religion.

When I try to picture myself in the story, once I got past my first response of grabbing the hose to put the fire out, I know I would do what Moses did. I would make excuses to get out of whatever those burning leaves were telling me. Who in their right mind wants to be told to quit their job, leave their family, and go to another country? I have bills to pay, and pension to think about, and responsibilities to my loved ones

Yet, several years ago, when I was teaching a class in which people could explore their own sense of being called, most of us wanted some kind of burning bush experience. As one person jokingly said, “I keep waiting for the billboard on the side of the Beltway to show up saying “Jan, your call is . . . .”

The appeal of the story for many of us is the clarity of God’s call. Maybe it is the residue of watching Hollywood’s version of the dramatic encounter with Charleston Heston as Moses. But that movie leaves out a significant part of the story; it downplays God’s demand for a dramatic change. Unlike the movie, the Bible tells us that Moses argued back. He complained about his fear of public speaking. He did not want the job.

Few people have those kinds of encounters. Maybe most of us would rebel against such a difficult and frightening expectation? Maybe we haven’t gotten as far off course from God’s hopes for us as Moses had? Maybe few are ever called to actions that totally reshape the history of a people and of the world?

For whatever reasons, God seems to prefer a more subtle approach, one which urges us along, gently pointing, opening or closing doors, and filling us with ideas and hopes. We are invited to join in being with God, to act as co-creators in building the dream God has for the world. Throughout that dream building, God is faithful to the promise made to Moses, the promise that “I will be with you always."

That is why I keep that print close. It tries to remind me of God’s promise to me, to always be with me. I don’t always remember that promise. Much of the time when I get caught in the distractions of work, adult responsibility, and commitments, I forget to listen for God. When I have been gripped with fear or loneliness in the middle of the night God seems far away. Then I start yearning for the burning bush, again.

But what I really want is to believe it when God says “I will be with you. Always.”

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Flames and Angels - Mary

A few years ago I was able to visit the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy. The tour guide leading us through each room was talking, far longer than I cared, about Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus.” Looking around the room, in the far corner was another Botticelli painting, an Annunciation. I immediately walked over for a closer look.

It shows Mary and Gabriel in very different roles than most paintings of that event. Gabriel is kneeling, submissive, imploring Mary to consider his proposal. Mary is the powerful one, with her hands set to push away this intruder, the creature invading her private space. She is strong, yet clearly caught by the power of what was occurring. She is not rejecting Gabriel’s invitation out-of-hand. But she isn’t a push-over either.

I can identify with this Mary and her defensive pose, knowing that is how I would react. She must have had some spunk, and a lot of courage. She would have known that to become pregnant before marriage, she would face lifelong gossip about who the father of Jesus was. She would be flaunting the sexual morals of her community by agreeing to this call from God. So Mary had good reason to say “no” to Gabriel. She was taking a very big risk for God, and for her whole life could not know that anyone would really believe her story. Once she had said “yes,” once she became pregnant, there was no turning back.

Her famous song of the heart, the Magnificat, reflects her understanding of her society’s treatment of the lowly and powerless. Yet, she also proclaims a new social order. The mighty and powerful will lose their power and their riches. Those who were ignored and excluded by the religious community will be exalted, and brought forward to a new life and relationship with God filling their needs. It is not Mary meek and mild who is singing this song, but Mary of courage who says yes knowing it will change the world.

I have sung many versions of the Magnificat in various settings, including English cathedrals. It has always had mixed meanings for me. I enjoy many of the riches of the world and power in my job and as a male. Yet, as a gay male, I also experience people and a society that reject and demonize me for the same perceived sexual misbehavior that Mary encountered. The rich and powerful reject me in a similar way. So it both condemns me and it offers me hope.

For most of my life, Mary had always seemed distant, a plastic statue focused somewhere else. The candles surrounding her statues in churches were there to keep me away, to treat her as somehow different and no longer human. The Roman Catholic pronouncements of immaculate conception and bodily assumption seemed designed to further remove her from being human like me.

When I first saw that painting, for the first time I saw that a different way of relating to Mary is possible and the story could be read very differently. I began to sense that she is my sister, someone who shares with me a common bond of life experience. She is a feisty, strong and courageous woman who knows what it is like to make a decision to agree to God’s call to her.

So, how can any of us living now find any commonality with Mary? Can her story speak at all to our sense of relationship to God? Or is it easier to place her in such a high position that we can avoid dealing with what she has already shown us?

Thursday, December 6, 2007

Flames and Angels

They stand as the two great “M’s” of the scripture, one from Hebrew scripture and the other appearing in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Both are confronted by God in the ordinary business of their lives, both are told they have been selected for an extraordinary role in salvation history. They are given a choice about whether they will respond positively to God’s unexpected request and they both agree; otherwise they would have disappeared from the story. Once they have said yes, their lives become closely aligned to God in wonderful and frightening ways.

Who are these “M’s?” They are Moses and Mary, two people who have been so revered, so studied, and so speculated about that their hagiography overshadows whatever complicated humanity they lived on this planet. Each story is so fantastic that I have trouble believing them, and I have wondered what they really saw, or felt, or knew.

Yet, we still read their stories over and over again. We read to understand how God reaches out to each of us, requests each of us in our own significant way to carry God’s message into our world. We read them, and imagine how we might respond if we saw a burning bush while mowing the yard or a creature with wings tapped us on the shoulder.

We wonder or even worry that if God were to call us, we also would be expected to pay the same kind of price in physical pain and emotional suffering.

I will continue exploring God’s calls to Moses and Mary through this time of Advent, to see what I can learn about how they responded.

How do you look to Moses or Mary as you try to understand God’s call to you?

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

Beginning the Journey

I am on a journey, seeking God in the everyday experience of my life, in relationships with diverse people, in prayer that is spoken and silent, in music brought to life through breath and spirit, and in Christian community gathered together in worship.

This will be a place to explore how my faith continues to grow, even though there are still times of fear and despair. While God seems to be more easily glimpsed in the rear view mirror of recent experience, there are brief moments of a sense of presence. I believe that times of skepticism and doubt are to be respected, in that they allow for clarifying beliefs and cleaning out clutter.

These ramblings will reflect the world I encounter; from workplace to church communities, from next door neighbors to friends scattered around the globe, from books and articles to thoughts emerging from prayer.

As a spiritual director, I listen to others explore their own spiritual journeys. In those times, I listen to hear where and how God is present in the other person’s life. I listen for the questions about God that are being asked in the events and experiences of another. While those stories, as well as the identity of individuals, are kept confidential, they often lead me down unexpected roads and open doors that have been closed. I hope to look behind some of those doors here.

As a person of prayer, I explore the methods of prayer that engage and support me. Since it is often resistance that leads to a growth, I hope to dance with that resistance, to see how a playful interaction can energize my life and my faith.

As a musician, the chatter of words in my head becomes silent as my mind coordinates my breath, my eyes, and my muscles to bring into life something fresh and transitory. Music feeds the spirit that is within and sometimes expresses that spirit.

Worship strengthens me through the words and action of liturgy in the presence of a gathered church community. The community draws me out of my safety while pointing me toward new possibilities. The shy intravert is swept up in the passing of the peace, and fed by gathering with others around the Eucharistic table. I am made whole again.

I invite you to join me on this journey.