Independence Day Reflections

PROPERS:          INDEPENDENCE DAY                          

PREACHED AT ST. PAUL’S, MAGNOLIA SPRINGS, ON SUNDAY, JULY 2, 2017.

ONE SENTENCE:        The response to being a blessed nation is to exhibit the characteristics of a blessed people – humility, hospitality, and concern for the vulnerable.               

            On Tuesday, we will celebrate the 241^st birthday of this nation.  Celebrations of our independence will be enjoyed across this nation.  I am even told that a parade will roll down the streets of Magnolia Springs.

            It is right and appropriate for us to celebrate our freedoms – first won at places like Lexington and Concord, Boston, and Ticonderoga, and later defended in places like the Somme, the Marne, Normandy, and Iwo Jima.  Its greatest cataclysm was associated with names such as Gettysburg, Bull Run, Shiloh, and Vicksburg.

            Our freedom has not been free.  And debate rages, even today, has to how we live and share our blessings of independence and liberty.  We have had to grow “into a more perfect union.”  It has not been easy, and it is not complete.  The birth process of a perfect land is continuing.

            Each time I reflect on our nature as a nation and think about how God moves in our midst through the various convulsions, I am reminded of St. Paul’s words from the 13^th chapter of his Letter to the Romans.  Hear his words:

^13:1Let every person be subject to the governing authorities; for there is no authority except from God, and those authorities that exist have been instituted by God. ²Therefore whoever resists authority resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgement. ³For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Do you wish to have no fear of the authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive its approval; ⁴for it is God’s servant for your good. But if you do what is wrong, you should be afraid, for the authority^* does not bear the sword in vain! It is the servant of God to execute wrath on the wrongdoer.⁵Therefore one must be subject, not only because of wrath but also because of conscience. ⁶For the same reason you also pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, busy with this very thing. ⁷Pay to all what is due to them—taxes to whom taxes are due, revenue to whom revenue is due, respect to whom respect is due, honour to whom honour is due.

            For me, this raises more questions than it answers.  Does this mean that Paul was endorsing the Roman government, which was persecuting the church?  What would it mean to the governments of Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, Pol Pot, and Mao?

            I have to remember that Paul was seeking to bring peace to the church.  He was walking a fine line between being a Roman citizen, and seeing what the bootheel of Roman legions could do to a people.

            Paul was a Jew, of course.  And one of the primary corporate memories of the Jewish people was the utter destruction of Jerusalem by the armies of Babylon.  The Temple, built by Solomon, was laid waste, the city was burned, and the people were taken into exile.

            Paul knew the price of offending temporal power – whether it was Babylon or Rome.  But he must have wondered, too, what was the price of offending God?

            Paul almost certainly had to bite his tongue as he wrote the 13^th Chapter of Romans.  Being a Pharisee, he was well-aware of what his faith taught about the downfall of Jerusalem nearly 600 years earlier.  He certainly knew that his people saw that downfall not as a price of offending Babylon, but as a price of offending God.

            He certainly knew, too, that Rome was not a gentle, kind overseer of Israel.  That would be made graphically clear within 15 years of his letter.

            The prophets had made that clear – both before the fall and afterwards.  The nations of Israel and Judah – God’s chosen people – had ignored the poor, had failed to deliver justice, had embraced materialism, and had chosen to make pacts with surrounding nations rather than relying on the call of God. Social injustice was the target of Isaiah, Amos, Hosea, and Micah, among others.

            So, the clear view of the prophets was that the nations of Israel and Judah had turned away from the pathway God had called them to travel. 

Those two nations were blessed by God, but their understanding (in the rearview mirror) was that their downfall was due to their unwillingness to follow God’s ways. And those ways were related to social justice more than anything else.

We, too, are a blessed nation.  The trajectory of our history has been toward one of justice and equity, but not without tumult and pain.  The freedoms which we enjoy create a tension and an ebb and flow of progress which can be very difficult and disconcerting.

How do we maintain our move toward justice?  How do we continue our progress toward God’s vision of a righteous people, reflected so clearly in the biblical prophets?

I do not claim to have all the answers… but I have a few.

First, we should be a nation of humility.  Being a blessed nation means that we do not assume the attitude that all the progress which has been so tryingly earned is ours by right.  It is not ours to squander. We are its stewards – and we should be humble in light of our blessings.

Second, we should see the gifts brought to our nation by what the Bible calls the ger – the sojourner – in our midst.  It may be easy to see ourselves as independent and self-sustaining, but imagine our history without Marquis de Lafayette, Albert Einstein, Irving Berlin, Henry Kissinger, Madeline Albright, I. M. Pei, Felix Frankfurter, Joseph Pulitzer, Werner Von Braun, Edward Teller, and others.  Steve Jobs, the founder of Apple, was the son of a Syrian immigrant. The mother of Jonas Salk was a Russian.

God had instructed the Israelites that they were to welcome the sojourner into their midst, as one of their own.  It is a divine imperative.  We, as a great nation, should recognize their contribution… and their ability to contribute.

            Third, we need to be mindful of the most vulnerable in our culture. Jesus made that very clear in Matthew 25 – “As you have done it to the least of these, you have done it to me.”

            Likewise, Mahatma Gandhi and Pope John Paul II expressed similar thoughts: “A civilization is judged by how it treats its weakest members.”

            Those are three characteristics that we should embrace: humility, hospitality, and concern for the vulnerable.  Those are not my ideas – they spring from divine revelation over 3,000 years.

      And it would be helpful for us to remember the truth in the words of the great chronicler of American democracy, Alexis de Tocqueville: “America is great because she is good. If America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.”

      

Salt and Light

PROPERS:     5 EPIPHANY, YEAR A

TEXTS:           1 CORINTHIANS 2:1-12 (13-16); MATTHEW 5:13-20

PREACHED AT THE CLOSING EUCHARIST OF THE 190^TH COUNCIL OF THE DIOCESE OF MISSISSIPPI (AT MY RETIREMENT) ON SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 2017.

ONE SENTENCE:     Despite our flaws and frailties, we are called to be the Salt of the Earth.

I speak to you this morning in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. AMEN.

+ + +

First of all, I want to express my profound gratitude to Bishop Seage for inviting and allowing me to preach here at my last Council as an active priest and  Canon to the Ordinary.

            I want, also, to thank him for allowing me to serve on his staff. I want to express that same thanks to Bishop Marble and Bishop Gray, III.

            My most heartfelt thanks, though, goes to the person without whom the last 33 years  -- from Sewanee to this moment – would not have been possible: My wife, Nora.  She has always been herself and has been a healthy role model.

            And my children, Leigh and Chris:  You supported me, you loved me, and you blessed me as my children.  My heart goes out to you.

+ + +

            When I first entered the ordained ministry nearly 30 years ago, Nora and my then-senior warden, the late and dear Lynne Hough, would probably have agreed with St. Paul:

When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom.

            They endured my early sermons – except Lynne’s daughter, Kellie, who was never one to hide her opinions.  As I was preaching one of my first sermons at St. Patrick’s, Kellie looked at her mother and said, “Oh my God, Mama, he’s a redneck.”

+ + +

            I do not claim lofty words and wisdom today.  But I offer you something else.

            Many years ago, I read Walter Cronkite’s autobiography.  He told the story that when he first enlisted in the Army during World War II, he was asked what his religious preference was.

            Walter Cronkite was apparently not very organized when it came to organized religion, so his response was both succinct and memorable: “I guess you could say I’m a jackass Episcopalian.”

            My fellow clergy will recognize my invocation of that term, because I frequently refer to my own practice of jackass psychology.

            Today, I want to look at the gospel and share – not lofty words and wisdom – but a bit of jackass ministry experience.

+ + +

            Over the years of working with lots of congregations in this diocese, I have seen many things.  I have wondered what price we are willing to pay to see our congregations become the faith communities we are called to be? What is the price – for congregations and for clergy?

            Keep that question in mind, because I will come back to it.  What price are we willing to pay to see our congregations and ministries prosper and flourish?

That is sometimes a difficult question, because of difficult circumstances.  Being the ecclesial equivalent of a buzzard roosting on the roof, I sometimes see the underside of congregational dynamics.

            On occasion, it can be distasteful.

            Sometimes – though rarely, I must say – there have been issues which belonged squarely on the shoulders of the cleric. The priest had done those things which he or she ought not to have done, and not done those things he or she should have done. Graphically. Grossly. Repeatedly.

            It has been those magnifying adjectives which have posed the problem. Because we all make mistakes. They become real problems when we do not learn from them and  we repeat them.

A clergy colleague told me some years ago of reading a parish profile – of a congregation to which he ultimately accepted a call. The profile said, “We will overlook some mistakes by our rector.”

            That is a tough approach.

            That attitude betrays an expectation of perfection. Members of a congregation transfer or project onto the cleric some unresolved issue from their own lives or some unrealistic and – here’s a key word – unspoken expectation they have for the priest.

            The end result is either an unhappy departure for the lay person from the congregation, or weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth in the congregation.

            I was told that a recent episode prompted a comment from one person: “The Rector sure didn’t help himself with that sermon.”

            I was stunned by that comment. I didn’t know that the purpose of the Gospel… or that Jesus’ purpose in life… was to please us. In fact, I think he was crucified because he did not meet the crowd’s expectation of what a Messiah would be.

            Lynne Hough taught me something early-on. She did it as St. Patrick’s struggled to provide the financial support for their new transitional deacon.

            “Our purpose,” she told me, “is not to make sure all our needs are met, but to enable you to be a minister of the Gospel to the world around us.” Her wisdom and generosity of spirit both moved and educated me.

            Church is not about a consumer experience. Neither is faith. Nor is a priest someone to meet every need, whatever it may be.  Our congregations are outposts of spiritual riches. We share with others from that wealth. We do not enrich ourselves. We worship and we give because we have been blessed by our Creator and saved by our Redeemer.

            Our congregations would be so much more healthy and vibrant if we recognized these truths.

+ + +

            Now, to the clergy side…

            I may be the doddering old uncle that everyone wants to ignore, but here is my perspective.

            One development in recent years has been the professionalizing of our vocation.  There is an emphasis on boundaries – which can be appropriate, healthy and helpful. But those boundaries can go beyond being healthy and helpful, and become a problem when they are fixed and impermeable. The more rigid an object is, the more brittle it is.

            I speak especially of time. There is an emphasis on the work week and being certain that one does not overdo it.  The standard 40-hour work-week is seen as the norm.

            I have been told by a colleague in another diocese that a young priest was called by his clergy supervisor on his day off.  The elder priest, already engaged, was asking the young priest to go to a local hospital to pray with a parishioner about to undergo emergency heart surgery.

            “I cannot go,” the young priest said, “I have already worked my 40 hours this week.”

            A short conversation ensued.

            I think it is important that those of us who are blessed to wear these collars, recognize that our vocation is not a profession, it is a calling.

            We are called by the same one who called to Abram in Ur of the Chaldeans.  The same one who spoke to Moses from the Burning Bush.  We hear the call of the one who called to Peter and Andrew by the Sea of Galilee. We hear the same voice as the one who told Mary Magdalene that the tomb was empty and that Jesus had been raised from the dead. And our call is from the same one who knocked Saul off his horse with a blinding light on the Road to Damascus.

            Despite how we portray ourselves as clergy or laity, we are – every one of us – flawed, broken human beings.  We are the poster people for Martin Luther’s phrase: simul justus et peccator… simultaneously justified and sinners.  We may act as if we are pure and immune to sin, but in our heart of hearts, we know.

            But, we are not lost.  We know where to turn.  We are like Peter in the sixth chapter of John’s gospel: “Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life.”

            So, what are we to do?  What do we do as stewards of this remarkable gift – of this pearl of great value? What is the future of the church that is populated at least partially with parishioners that rebel and project against their clergy? And what do we do about clergy that seem to be invested in minimizing the time they spend on the job? Or all of us denying our brokenness?

            I am a person of hope.  I was formed partially by Jurgen Moltmann’s Theology of Hope.  So I turn back to the gospel.

            “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.”  Jesus was looking out on a mixed multitude of Galileans on a green hillside.  The common folks of that region.  The great unwashed masses.  People like those we see on the streets and in Wal-Marts. The Kemper County of Israel.

            And he was looking out and speaking to people like you and me – not people of perfection.  He was speaking to people – down through the ages and even today – who would not get the fullness of his message, who would resist unknowingly the furtherance of his reign, and would find all sorts of reasons for doing so.

            And – still – he looks at us and says, “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world..”

            It is folks like you and me – flawed, broken, imperfect people, marked profoundly by the human condition – who are the salt and light.  We will add flavor and texture to the bread of life.  We will bring structure and tenacity to the bread which feeds the world.  We will bring light to the dark corners of creation… to the hidden corners of human hearts.

            We can do so.  We can be the salt of the earth.  We can be the light of the world. We can build local outposts of the good news – local outposts which flourish, blossom, and grow.

            But the question recurs:  At what cost?  What is the price we will pay?  How will it impact our comfort, our preferences, our own limitations?

            Jesus answers that question in the 16^th Chapter of Matthew:

Then Jesus told his disciples, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

The price of following Jesus is the same.  It has not changed. 

My point is this:  If we wish to live into being the salt of the earth and the light of the world… if we wish to be communities of transformation… we must be willing to give and give and give again. If we want to be the people and communities which are vital, lively, and change the world, we must give our all.

Letting Go of Idols

           One observation I have had over my years of ordained ministry is that retired clergy are frequently very angry with the Church.  It seems that they have a sense of betrayal by an institution they have served, regardless of whether that sense is grounded in reality or not.

            I have chalked up that sense of feeling betrayed to numerous experiences.  One is a sense that, maybe, they have been forced out before they were ready.  Another might be grounded in the reality that the priest had become emotionally spent long before, and the last year or two were years of utter exhaustion in which resentment against the institution built.  Still one more possibility might be the eagerness and energy with which a successor arrives into the congregation – greeted by a welcoming congregation which had been lethargic in recent years.  The priest feels a sense of betrayal.

            I am quite certain that many cases are grounded in anger at the hierarchy (read the diocesan leadership) who appropriately require the priest to separate from the congregation he or she had served in recent years.  When such a group of people have been the focus of one’s life for so long, it is hard to set those emotions and connections aside.

             The most glaring reason, I suspect, is also the least acknowledged.  It is a dual sense of being discarded combined with the reality, I believe, that the church rewards bad behavior but does not recognize faithful service.  I have seen congregations pay large severance packages to clergy who have been less-than-fully-appropriate in their functioning (In some cases that is a monumental understatement), while other clergy who have been diligent and faithful are given a handshake and shown the door.  There is moral hazard in that approach, in the rewarding of inappropriate behavior over faithful functioning.  I have warned leadership about that tendency in the past, but I do not believe that it has changed.

            Of course, I would point out that all retired priests are granted a wonderful pension benefit.  That particular benefit increases as years of service build. Once one has become vested in the pension system, the benefit can never be removed.  It does not matter how a priest exits active service – through removal for moral reasons or retirement at the end of many years of service.  All of us who have been privileged to serve as priests should feel gratitude for that wonderful benefit.

            Having said all that, I have still noticed that many retired priests feel a sense of alienation from the Church they have served – and, in some cases, even anger.  I think that sense of anger or alienation has many causes and explanations but, regardless, it is there.

            For years I have vowed that I would not allow myself to sink into that pit of anger and despair.  I have loved functioning as a priest.  It has been a blessing beyond words.  I have been blessed to serve at each congregation and in each position.  There have been wonderful friends all along the way.

            So, even with all this awareness of the issues, imagine my surprise when I found myself with a rising sense of resentment.  It slapped me hard in the face as I prepared my sermon for this past Sunday.  It gets touchy when a priest is preaching to himself or herself! But, I was.

            The insight for me was this:  As pilot Chuck Yeager might say, I was holding too tightly to the stick.  Recognizing that my time in this position is coming to an end, I was investing a lot of energy into seeing that things were done right (which, coincidentally, was my way).  My way of doing things had become my idol.  And, surprise of surprises, others would not bow down and worship my idols.

            So the lesson for me is clear: Don’t hold so tightly to the stick.  Let go.  Again, again, and again.  Allow others to assume positions and responsibilities which will provide for a smoother transition.  I must begin to step back from the central role I have had in some areas.  My prayer needs to be an amended Serenity Prayer.

            There is one other element, however, of this gumbo of emotions I am feeling.  It is a dynamic that all priests face, regardless of whether or not there is an awareness of the name.  It is called emotional labor.  Emotional labor is that which is done with either emotions hidden or controlled or that which involves very difficult and stressful work.  All clergy do emotional labor and all pay a price for it.  Sometimes we are able to deal with it appropriately or constructively – such as through prayer, therapy, spiritual direction, or peer support groups.  Other times, when the emotional labor is ignored or not dealt with, it will come out sideways – in ways that will either hurt us or others.  Addiction can be one of those unhelpful offshoots.

            Emotional labor always takes a toll.  Over years, it can become a boulder in the heart instead of just a pebble.  It is much more difficult to bear.

            I am aware I have reached my limit with emotional labor.  I have seen enough sausage made.  It is time to step back, release my burdens, let go of the stick, and take the mule to the barn.

            Sigmund Freud wrote of the talking cure many years ago (a term he actually appropriated from an earlier writer).  This exercise of writing this blog has been a writing cure.  It has allowed me the opportunity to think through, process, and come to some sense of my current state of mind and spirit.

Gordon Gekko and the Gospel

PROPERS:    PROPER 13, YEAR C

TEXT:            COLOSSIANS 3:1-11; LUKE 12:13-21

PREACHED AT ST. PETER’S, OXFORD, ON SUNDAY, JULY 31, 2016.

 

ONE SENTENCE:   Greed, as Paul notes, is a form of idolatry, and that is a reason that wealth can serve as an impediment to the Kingdom.

 

            One of the more memorable movies of the 1980s was the 1987 classic, Wall Street, directed by Oliver Stone.  It starred Michael Douglas and Charlie Sheen in the lead roles – a master and an ambitious understudy.

            The original name of the screenplay was simply, Greed.  It was produced in a decade during which the Dow Jones Industrial Average increased by 250%.  It was a decade flush with prosperity. Morning in America.

            Ironically, the movie debuted some six weeks after the Black Monday crash of October 19, 1987.  That crash only highlighted the dark, ominous themes on which that movie focused.

            In perhaps the most memorable scene of that movie, Michael Douglas’ character, the market genius Gordon Gekko, is speaking to a group of brokers and investors.  They are hanging on his every word, hoping for some juicy insight or market tip.

            “Greed is good,” Gordon Gekko says.  And the gathered crowd does not flinch.

            The pathos of the movie comes when the Charlie Sheen character compromises all he believes in to acquire the material wealth he seeks.  He even betrays his relationship with his father.
            Greed is good, Gordon Gekko tells us.

+ + +

            Paul and Jesus would respectfully disagree.  Paul does so in the lesson from Colossians today.  Jesus does so in the Gospel lesson today, and in many ways in other teachings.
            Paul places the sin of covetousness within the context of a larger, more problematic sin, idolatry. “Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.”
            That theology is very much in sync with the parable that Jesus shares with us today.  He tells the story of a profitable farmer who, because of his bountiful crops, decides to tear down his barns and build larger storage facilities.  Then, he thinks, he will be able to rely on his ample stores of grain. He will have all he needs; he will be self-sufficient.
            Keep in mind that this is not an evil man.  There is no indication that he treads on the poor, that he mistreats his fellow farmers, or that he benefits from unjust gain.
            No, the issue is where he places his trust.  What gives him his sense of worth – literally, what he worships.   A few verses after this passage, Jesus makes this point very clear: “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Luke 12:34)
            And in Matthew’s gospel, the point is even clearer:  “I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”

+ + +

            The issue is not wealth, per se.  Nor is it a desire to see your retirement investments do better than the market average.  It has to do with worth – where do you find your value?  Where do you find your meaning? On what is your foundation built?

            The example I am about to share with you is lighthearted.  But it has a strong element of truth to it.

            Years ago, I was a rabid football fan – make that a rabid Ole Miss fan.  I have described the darkest day of my life as that fall afternoon in 1970 when Southern Mississippi beat the undefeated and second-ranked Rebels.  I recall clear as a bell that the running back then known as “little”Willie Heidelburg scored on two double-reverses, and the Rebels lost 30 to 14.  It was awful.

            In fact, fall Saturdays used to be awful for me.  If the Rebels lost – which they did a good bit during my college years and afterwards – I would be in a funk for days.  Nora will tell you.  I was unpleasant to be around during those times.  My palms would sweat during the games.  My heart would pound. My fight-or-flight instinct would be on hair-trigger.  I was a piece of work.

            It had to do with where I placed my value – how I measured my worth.  How I saw the world.  What I considered the ultimate value.

            I know that all sounds immature and irrational, but it was where I was.

            I have jokingly – but also truthfully – said that part of my spiritual maturity was being healed of football.  And I was.  I still enjoy a game, but it does not make or ruin my day.  And if I have something else to do that day, I do it.

+ + +

            Please understand:  I am not holding myself up as a paragon of virtue.  What I shared is merely an illustration.  If I wanted to name a paragon of virtue, it would be Duncan Gray, Jr. But that is another sermon.

            The essence of what Jesus is sharing with us is that we have worth beyond our belongings.  We do not need to find our foundations in wealth, belongings, status, position, influence, power, accomplishments, or anything else of – as Paul notes – an earthly nature.

            The fundamental issue with greed is that it confuses what one has with what one is.  Our essential value is not in our possessions or any other qualifier, our true value is elsewhere.

            Our value comes in our relationship to God.  It is in that transcendent connection – one that permeates every fiber of our being – that we are truly grounded.

            The old bumper sticker used to say, “The one with the most toys at the end wins.”  That may be true from a material, worldly perspective, but it is not true from a scriptural perspective.

            If you watch Jesus closely, as he meanders from Galilee through Samaria, the Decapolis and finally to Jerusalem, you can see very clearly that it is not ones possessions, station in life or in society that he values, with which he connects. 

            Instead, he points toward the value which is found in the transformed world of his reign – a world in which the poor in spirit, the grieving, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the persecuted, and those who hunger for righteousness are the blessed ones.

            We cannot add one ounce of value to who we are.  But we can subtract from our value – by racing after those larger barns of our idolatry – whatever form they may take.

            I am reminded of a sermon my curacy supervisor, the Reverend Bronson Bryant, preached years ago.  He told of someone who had died – someone who had great riches.  A friend asked the preacher if the person who had died had left a large estate.  The preacher responded: “Oh, yes!  He left it all.”

            Ultimately we leave it all. It is all dross to be consumed – possessions, status, prestige, power or wealth.  Anything we idolize; whatever we put on a throne.  It is our relationship to God and the legacy of good we do in his name which survive our transition.