Efficacy of "Thoughts and Prayers"

 

PROPERS:          7 EASTER, YEAR C    

TEXT:                JOHN 17:20-26

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MAY 29, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The potential efficacy of prayer is to change hearts, thereby changing circumstances.

 

            I must admit that I could have a crisis of faith.

 

            Prayer is a central part of my faith. For many years I was cynical about it – that’s just being honest. A priest cynical about prayer?  Yes, it happens.

 

            Then, many years ago, I came under the sway of the Reverend Tom Ward.  He was rector of a large downtown church in Nashville, and I was a young priest at a huge, wealthy congregation in the Bell Meade area of the Music City.

 

            Tom and I had grown up only a few blocks from each other in Meridian, Mississippi.  He was six years older than I, so we really didn’t know each other then.

 

            But during my brief time in Nashville (I have said that I “stopped for a cup of coffee”), Tom became my spiritual director. And he gave me a great gift that yields benefits to this day:  He taught me about the contemplative process known as Centering Prayer.

 

            I have been grateful ever since.

 

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            This past week, I have been thinking a lot about what prayer means.

 

            You can guess where I am going with this.

 

            Time-after-time, we hear professions of thoughts and prayers after events such as the massacre of 19 children and two adults at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas.  We heard those same professions after Newtown, Parkland, Buffalo, El Paso, and countless other mass murders.

 

            I wonder if prayers are getting above the ceiling.

 

            To be sure, there is a sickness… an evil… loose in the land.  There is no other way to describe it.  A process known as root cause analysis would certainly identify many reasons behind the carnage. 

 

I do not know what the answer is, but it has got to be more than thoughts and prayers – at least in the form in which they are normally understood.  An effective response needs to be from multiple directions, addressing the sickness that grips this culture.

 

            But wait.  The issue of the efficacy of prayer is not just about mass shootings. I faced that same question as Nora and I stood at the bedside of a dear, dear friend as she died unexpectedly and prematurely.

 

            I face that same question every Wednesday when I lay hands on those seeking healing through Holy Unction here at St. Paul’s.

 

            I face that question, too, as I watch the news on a daily basis and see the destruction that is unfolding in Ukraine.

 

            You fill in the slot.  I suspect you’ve got your own questions. But they all boil down to the same question.

 

            What good does it do?

 

            Seldom do things change.

 

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            The gospel lesson today is from the portion of the High Priestly Prayer by Jesus at the close of his earthly life.  A central petition by our Lord is that the church he leaves will be one as he and the Father are one.  The church may be one as Jesus and the Father are one.  Think about that.

 

            As I was preparing to enter seminary, I was invited to have lunch with Dr. Sam Hill, a professor of religion at the University of Florida.  He had authored a book, A Handbook of Denominations, which described the various denominations in the United States.  A book!  Literally hundreds upon hundreds of denominations.  Just in the United States!

 

            That we may be one as Jesus and the Father are one.

 

            Clearly, my question about prayer is not a new one.

 

            But in all these years… and through thousands of prayers… I have learned something to which I cling this day… even in moments of utter darkness.

 

            If prayer does not change circumstances, perhaps it changes the one who is praying.

 

            That is my hope:  As I pray, and if circumstances do not change, I hope that at least I will change.  I hope that I will change in the way I act, in the way I respond, in the way I hope, and the way I approach a problem that recurs, again and again.

 

            I pray that the church may be one – in spite of what I see.  I pray for peace – and that it may begin with me.  I pray for reconciliation – that I may be the reconciler.  I pray for healing – that I may see the presence of God even in illness.  I pray for action to heal brokenness – and that I may be one who binds the wounds. Thoughts and prayers.

One Voice

 

PROPERS:          6 EASTER, YEAR C    

TEXT:                JOHN 14:23-29

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MAY 22, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Spirit largely speaks through the measured wisdom of those groups open to its guidance.     

 

            Just over a week ago, Nora and I oversaw the election of the XII Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana.  We were there to total the votes and to report the decisions of the diocese’s electing convention.

 

            It was the seventh such convention of which I have been a part, and it is always moving.

 

            The discernment process of a bishop’s election goes on for months – bathed in prayer, study, conversation, and consultation, leading to nominees and an election.

 

In order for an election to take place, a nominated priest must receive a majority of votes from both the gathered clergy and gathered lay delegates on the same ballot.  In the case of the Louisiana election, the majorities were reached on the first ballot.  Our work, and the work of the convention, was quick. But much had gone into it.

 

            One of the hallmarks of the church over the centuries has been the practice of speaking with one voice – through a process involving a group. The church resists sudden, impulsive actions. Solitary voices have little role. The roots can be traced back to the First Council of Jerusalem in A. D. 50, when the leaders of the church decided on ethical and moral standards for members of the young church. They did so as a body.

 

            It was etched more fully into the fabric of the church with the Council of Nicaea in A. D. 325.  It is largely from that council – a gathering of bishops from across the known world – that we trace the orthodox statement of belief known as the Nicene Creed.

 

            Many of you likely recall the Second Vatican Council, organized under Pope John XXIII, which met from 1962 to 1965.  It was an effort by the Roman Catholics to modernize the church and embrace a broader view of Christianity. It built significant bridges.

 

            To this day, it is characteristic of the church to discern God’s will as a group.  As Episcopalians, it is in our DNA.  The Episcopal Church in the United States meets in convention – with over 800 delegates and 150 bishops in two different houses – every three years.  

 

On a diocesan level, decisions are made through canonical structures of laws, committees, and conventions. The decision power on a parish level is entrusted to a Vestry.

 

            The call to ordained ministry is guided by discernment committees and commissions on ministry.  Search processes for new rectors are vested in search committees and vestries.

 

            The Holy Spirit’s movement through groups is a key part of our polity – who we are.  The sole voice of one person is tested through the church’s structures. Prayer, planning, and discernment are the guideposts.

 

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            In the gospel lesson today, Jesus gives his disciples a sneak preview of what is to come: "I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.”

 

            In two weeks, we will celebrate the gift of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost.  It is that Spirit, animating the church, which guides the faithful today.  It is the church’s understanding that the Spirit moves through the discernment of those bodies formed in Christ’s name.

 

            To be sure, the church is both a human body and a divinely-called body.  As such, it has and will make mistakes.  That is as true as the fact that you and I – though we seek to do otherwise – will sin and fall short of the glory of God.

 

            But the church is involved in the long game, not a sprint.  When we are in error, the Spirit will move us toward the right direction. The trajectory is long – beyond our ability to see fully.

 

            As co-workers with the Spirit, we are called to truly discern the directions in which we are called to travel.  That means that base and human motivations should not infect our decisions.  We should always listen to our better voices and seek to be guided not by our own limited understandings but by the spark of the divine within us.

 

Descendants of Ellis Island

PROPERS:          5 EASTER, YEAR C    

TEXT:                ACTS 11:1-18

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MAY 15, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The magnanimity of God expands the reach of his grace; we are beneficiaries of that expansion.

 

                  Nora and I like going to New York City occasionally. We enjoy the plays, the operas, and the general sights and sounds of the city. One of our joys was taking our grandsons there.  It was good for all of us.       

 

         One time, when it was just the two of us, we took the Circle Line Tour to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. The Statue of Liberty, of course, was a gift from France, arriving in New York Harbor in 1885.  Ellis Island, only a short distance away, served as the entry point for 12 million immigrants between 1892 and 1954.

 

         A descendent of those immigrants can now search the island’s records and find the precise arrival date of ancestors. Many people do that.

 

         Our visit was a moving experience.  After our excursion boat returned to the southern tip of Manhattan, Nora and I continued to wander.  One of our favorite areas is Mulberry Street in the heart of Little Italy. It is a multi-blocked street which features a virtually endless array of Italian restaurants. And great food.

 

         Immediately adjacent to Little Italy is Chinatown, laced with many shops and restaurants.  Like Little Italy, a visitor encounters many descendants of those immigrants who came through Ellis Island.

 

         The same is true for the nearby neighborhood of Koreatown.

 

         One of my favorite places to stop and have a meal is Katz’s Deli.  It is the quintessential New York Jewish deli.  It was featured in the movie When Harry Met Sally. The corned beef sandwich there is beyond compare.

 

         The lower part of Manhattan, these neighborhoods tell us, is a melting pot. From all over the world, people came as Italians, Chinese, Koreans, Jews, and countless other nationalities.  They are now Americans, and part of the fabric of our culture.

 

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         Today’s lesson from Acts tells the story of Christianity moving beyond the narrow confines of a small Jewish sect. The apostle Peter recounts, to Jerusalem church leaders, his encounter with the family of Cornelius, the Roman Centurion.

 

         The story had been told during the previous chapter.  It involved an ecstatic vision by Peter, who was then led to Cornelius’ house. There he baptized Cornelius’ family after having been told in his vision that whatever God has made clean, you must not consider profane.

 

         The first Gentiles – the first non-Jews – had been brought into the household of faith.

 

         From that point on… from those humble beginnings on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea… the expansion of the church began.

 

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         When I was in seminary, we were taught the story of scripture – the overarching narrative of those 66 books in the Bible.

 

         Yes, scripture teaches us moral and ethical lessons.  One cannot read the prophets without seeing those.

 

         But more importantly, the story of scripture is about God’s movement among people – of expanding the covenant first from Adam and his family; later to Abraham and his descendants; to the 12 tribes of Israel; to the followers of Jesus; to the Gentiles; and then to all the world, as told in Paul’s missionary journeys.

 

         My point is this:  It is only because God expanded his reach into those who were not of the original community of faith that we are participants in the kingdom which Jesus proclaimed.  We are the immigrants which have been incorporated into the People of God – not the original residents.  In a sense, we are the people who came through Ellis Island.

 

         The expansion of God’s kingdom continues, just as the universe continues to expand.  We are called to humble gratitude and to not proclaim as profane what God has made clean. 

Shepherding is Not for the Faint at Heart

 

PROPERS:          4 EASTER, YEAR C    

TEXT:                JOHN 10:22-30    

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MAY 8, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        The Shepherd’s life is solitary; the pastoral nature is sometimes dangerous.

 

            Today is traditionally known as Good Shepherd Sunday. That is because our scriptures – when read in-full – emphasize the image of the Good Shepherd.

 

            The highlighting even began last week, when the resurrected Jesus told Peter to “tend my lambs” and “feed my sheep.”

 

            Jesus, as you know, preached and taught in metaphors and with images that were familiar to his listeners. Parables about Samaritans, mustard seeds, weeds and wheat, rebellious children, and so on. These were familiar. Much of the Jewish population earned modest livings from agriculture.

 

            They were also Bedouins – people who tended sheep, wandering from one grassy area to another, from one oasis to another. Jesus knew that aspect of life.  That is why he said in Matthew’s gospel, “I was sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Three chapters later, he tells the story known as the Parable of the Lost Sheep.

 

            So, the shepherd is a recurring theme in Jesus’ ministry.  He knows the centrality of the image of the shepherd in Jewish culture.  It was familiar to his listeners. They knew what he meant.  

 

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            It was not a simple, one-dimensional image which has become so popular.

 

            The life and work of the shepherd were solitary and dangerous.  They were mostly male. Those men stayed with the sheep and tended them.  He usually worked alone.  Threats to the sheep from wild animals were frequent and required vigilance night and day.

 

            The work of a shepherd was pastoral, but not in the sense you might imagine.  The sheep were led to pastures of green grass. But it also meant placing oneself between the sheep and danger.  It meant doing things that perhaps the sheep did not understand but were nonetheless for the sheep’s own good.

 

            The work encompassed cold nights and scorchingly hot days.  It meant being away from other people and seeking the safety and nurture for the flock.

 

            The job may require that the shepherd venture into rugged wilderness hills to seek a lost lamb of the flock.  Maybe it involved confronting a ravenous wolf or other carnivores seeking the lambs’ flesh.

 

            Being a shepherd in Jesus’ time was much than caring gently for a flock.  Mothers gathered here today know the complicated nature of providing care 24 hours a day.  It is not for the faint of heart.

 

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            I read an article in Atlantic Magazine a week or so ago that featured a developing crisis within evangelical Christianity.  I know this will shock… utterly shock… you, but politics is encroaching on the church.

 

            Nowhere does it seem to be more dramatic and pronounced than in evangelical churches.  We might think they would be safe harbors these days.  Hardly so.

 

The article, written by an evangelical Christian, cited a statistic that stunned me; in the last few years, 42% of all evangelical pastors have contemplated leaving their congregations or the ministry entirely.

 

            Their reason?  Being a shepherd, a teacher, a pastor is no longer what it once was.  Like the task of motherhood, it is not for the faint of heart. The bitter divisions in our country are driving even conservative pastors to leave their pulpits – hounded by those they seek to serve.  It is not just the more liberal, protestant denominations; the virus of rancor is epidemic.

 

            Why do I tell you this?  It has to do with your next rector.  He or she will be your shepherd and you should respect the job he or she is called to do.

 

            Like biblical-era shepherds, much of the work will not be glamorous. Much will be behind-the scenes. Whether there is a family involved, there will be loneliness and solitude.  The new rector will be subject to the same demands you face on a daily basis – and then some. 

 

There will be times when the rector has to weigh choices that are not simple or one-dimensional.  Some actions may not be popular.  That’s the life of a shepherd.

 

            So, why does a person choose to be a shepherd?  Maybe a question of that sort would have been appropriate for Jesus.  It was not and is not a simple, easy path.

 

Once, the iconoclastic Baptist pastor, Will Campbell, asked another pastor  -- an ornery curmudgeon -- why he had had entered the ordained ministry, the answer was straightforward: “Because I was called, you fool.”

Untying the Cords of Anger

 

PROPERS:          3 EASTER, YEAR C    

TEXT:                ACTS 9:1-20        

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S CHAPEL, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, MAY 1, 2022.

 

ONE SENTENCE:        Paul’s anger was released; such release can bring about a healthier, more holy life.        

 

            Paul is one of the most widely-known characters of the New Testament era.  We learn a lot about him in the Book of Acts and in the thirteen letters of the Christian scripture tradition attributes to him.  He is, in a very real sense, the theological foundation for much Christian belief today.

 

            But it could have been otherwise – except for the story we have in the first lesson today. The well-known and well-trod Road to Damascus. It was during that horseback jaunt that a blinding light struck the person then known as Saul from his horse.  A voice from the light called out to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

 

            The result of that epiphany – and Saul’s subsequent actions – was a pivotal point in church history.  The world was about to change.

 

            Saul, the militant, Pharisaical religious authority, was not in good space as he embarked on the journey.  He had stood by and held coats as others stoned to death the first Christian deacon, Stephen.  He was obsessed with a desire to rid the people of Israel of this subversive cult begun by an executed criminal.

 

The first words of the lesson from Acts tells us what we need to know about his state of mind: “Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord…”

 

The author of Acts seeks to convey Saul’s obsession to remove the vermin of The Way (an early name for the church) from the body of the community of faith.  He was relentless in his quest for that end. It overwhelmed him and brought out his dark side.

 

My use of the word obsession is descriptive, but also clinical.  Saul, it appears, was consumed with a desire to root out these heretics – these canker sores on the body politic.

 

Something had to give…

 

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            I have had recent cause to think about anger. Like the famed cellist, Pablo Casals, said in his later life when he was asked about his continuing practice even at 90 years of age, “I’m beginning to notice some improvement.”Perhaps I am, too.

 

            It is a lesson which I have sought to learn over the years.  I recall one vivid moment in my early vocation of saying exactly what I thought to a parishioner.  Bad idea. 

 

I was given a gift of insight. I went back, apologized, and claimed responsibility for my feelings and inappropriate reaction. I learned the truth of the saying, “Speak when you are angry.  You will make the best speech you will ever regret.”

 

            Anger typically has roots of reactiveness.  We perceive a slight. We suspect a wrong. We assume ill motivations. We fail to see other factors.  The foundations of our obsessive anger have rotten roots.

 

            And when we hold onto that anger long enough, it becomes resentment, which I call anger with dust on it.  When we embrace and hold that resentment, there is a tendency to hold people at-bay, to become isolated, or to develop a hole in our psyche. In the worst case, there is a compulsion to medicate that anger. In those cases, the old Alcoholics Anonymous saying is true: “It’s not the drinking, it’s the stinking thinking.”

 

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            As Saul later found out, releasing that obsession… that anger… can be enormously freeing.  Sometimes that ability to release the anger is beyond our own ability – it comes as a divine gift.   We find that we are able to say, “Free at last! Free at at last!” But it is essential that we are ready to receive it.

 

            As the Apostle Paul later wrote, “Wretched man that I am, who will save me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” He found that release on the road to Damascus.

 

            The truth is that we do not stop being who we are.  We become more of what God created us to be.  We are more focused.  We are free to move forward, not constrained by the cords of anger or resentment. New life abounds.

 

            Paul showed us much during his subsequent life.  His keen theological mind was not dulled.  His passion was not lost. But his writings… his ministry… his theology… overcame the bitterness of his prior life.