The Seed that Fell on Clay

May we all flourish under your care, O God, that we may grow like the palms and cedars, producing fruits of righteousness and proclaiming your goodness like healthy, green leaves, in our lives. Amen.

            This is yet another service where I hear the famed (or infamous) Parable of the Sower. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard this parable, especially being read in the (usually) boring ways that people of the collar are wont to do. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the exact same sermon being read, probably because Jesus provides preachers with enough clues about what to say. As a music director, when planning for the next few Sundays, I was upset to see that this exhausted reading was coming up. When reading through the Gospels, I oftentimes read the first few phrases and skip it to get to something that hasn’t been beaten to death in pulpits, auditoriums, or even blog posts. In fact, for me, this parable falls on me like a seed that falls upon a bed of clay.

“We are the soil…” These are words that I have heard in pretty much every single one of these ruminations on this parable, probably because that is what one can draw from reading Jesus’ explanation of this parable. But, as far as I know, soil does not fix itself. As Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 3:7, “God…gives the growth.” And at the time, people probably didn’t understand the specific details about mycorrhizal structures and the nutrients, but they knew that God provided what was needed in the soil in order for crops to thrive. In fact, in the Pentateuch, or the Torah, God commands the Israelites to be careful with exhausting the soil, commanding something along the lines of crop rotations. But this is all to say that we are responsible for the soil. If we say and understand that we are the soil, it might seem impossible for us to conceive being able to prepare our minds and hearts to receive the word of God.

I have been gardening for over a year and a half now, and I still consider myself a beginner. However, just by starting on this journey, the different metaphors in the Bible speak to me in different ways. Now, this parable focuses on the soil, a substance that has been on my mind this whole time. When I read and watch videos about how to start gardening, it is often described as something very plain and simple: dig a hole, plant a seed or starter, and water when it needs it. However, the soil all around my house is dense, compacted, exhausted, clay. Shoving a shovel into the ground is a chore all on its own, and when it rains (a very frequent occasion here in Houston), the shovel sticks to the clay, and the clay piles on. Oftentimes, in order to dig anything, I need yet another tool, a trowel, to dig and scrape off the clay from the shovel! After trying to get some gardening started around my house, I started to wonder, “why is all this soil clay‽” I just couldn’t stand the fact that I had to do so much extra work in order to get this garden started.

Much of my gardening has required me to do one of three things: dig out the clay and replace it with new soil, add new soil above the clay, or plant in pots. The former two add up quite a bit (I can’t believe how expensive soil is!), and the latter is pretty good, unless I want a shrub or tree to grow quickly, and it still requires me to buy new soil. This past week, my dad was asking me what I wanted for my birthday, and he jokingly suggested he’d get a truckload of dirt delivered to my house, and I responded, “actually, that would be a great gift!”

This past winter, I tried planting some bulbs, and after being fed up with having to deal with the clay soil, I decided to dig up the clay, toss it around a little to break up the clumps, and just place the bulbs wherever and hope for the best. I probably planted 50 bulbs, but I ended up with 3 flowers.

Again, I ask, “why is all this soil clay‽” But then, I have learned that in order to build houses, in order to give them a good foundation, there has to be clay. Otherwise, the house would become unsettled, and the walls would probably start cracking, among many other problems. And, I thank God that our house has been fine for the most part. So, having to deal with the clay doesn’t feel as mindless. But, it is still work that I have to do in order to tend to a garden.

As I said before, this Parable of the Sower has begun to feel like a seed sown in clay. The nutrients have been taken out, the soil has been abandoned, and now there is a resistance to this seed, to the point that it can suffocate if it even tried to germinate and grow. But what do we need to do in order for this clay to be hospitable to the word?

For one, I would really appreciate if people would give a better effort to reading the Word of God out loud. From my understanding of the history of the Scriptures, all of these were spoken words first before being written down, and they have always been meant to be read out loud. Unfortunately, what I have found in most Episcopal churches is that people will read the Bible in a monotone, oftentimes glossing over punctuation, phrasing, and emotions. When I read through the Bible, it usually seems that people were excited whenever they proclaimed their words, and oftentimes the writers of the Bible describe those emotions. Prophets often made fools of themselves just to make a point to anybody who would listen. Royalty would yell at subjects to keep them down. Jesus would proclaim in different places a radical message that was meant to challenge those in power, oftentimes calling out everything that was comfortable. Paul’s language and word choice in his writings are very pointed, and yet I have heard readers just act as if they were reading off some sort of shopping list to a congregation. We need that same energy to come from our readers.

I’ve been an Episcopalian my whole life, and I have heard many Bible stories, especially during Sunday school. I remember one day I was in a retreat on racial reconciliation, and Kathy Culmer was retelling the story of creation, something I had grown up hearing time and again. Yet, when she recited it, she spoke with so much emotion, so much urgency, that I was driven to tears. The words that I had heard so many times and had grown annoyed with, all of a sudden, became something that struck me to my core. She had the way to plant the word of God deep into my being.

Now to talk about this particular parable. What does it mean to tend to the soil in order to nurture the seed, the Word of God? Well, for one thing, we need to look deeply and honestly at what our soil even is. When the construction workers of Sugar Land were trying to build a bunch of houses in the middle of what used to be farmland, they made sure that there was a foundational level of clay soil in order to support the new buildings. But, when I wanted to plant some of my mom’s favorite flowers in that same soil, the clay no longer cut it. I still have to amend the soil with fresh nutrients, the waste of animals that forage on dead leaves, with mulch for the moisture, with so many other things. What are the things that have become compacted and exhausted of nutrients in our churches? How about the music? How about the prayers?

Around 500 years ago, when electricity was just the anger and whim of God, the organ rose as a marvel of technology and architecture. As churches wanted to show off their wealth, they built organs. Both outside and inside the churches, short, repetitive tunes, became popular ways of singing poetry—hymns, if I may. As the tastes in classical music began to embrace different timbres and different instruments, people added onto the organs to make them appeal to this variety of sounds. Choirs grew, and the style of music began to become more measured, just like how much of the music outside the churches did. I wish I could point out what happened in the 20^th century, but I do not understand why church music began to depart from the other tastes in music that were popular outside the church walls. However, when Negro Spirituals and jazz roots began to influence Gospel music, many Episcopal churches said “No!”. When African rhythms, Indigenous instruments, and other languages, especially Spanish, began to give rise to new sacred music, many Episcopal churches said, “No!”. When Asian Christians went into the Christian communities all across East and Southeast Asia and brought back the music that had become integral to their worship, informing the communities here in the US, many Episcopal churches said “No!”. When Christian musicians, born and raised in the US, learned to sing music, to dance, to play it on guitars, banjos, different percussion instruments, and who knows what else, many Episcopal churches said “No!”. We have a nearly 40 year old Hymnal that is filled with “No!” to other cultures, but “Yes!” to Anglocentrism—yes to British folk tunes, yes to Lutheran dance melodies, yes to American pseudo-chants. Our voices, the voices of the oppressed, have been canceled throughout this Church’s history! That is a clay soil we need to fix.

Also, about 500 years ago, a number of theologians started wondering, “what would happen if we started to worship in our vernacular languages? What would happen if we started to worship with our own culture represented?” Some of those theologians began a project that became the Book of Common Prayer. Yet, nowadays, after having a tradition of revisions for nearly 400 years, and after relying on the same one for over 40 years, we are so resistant to incorporating prayers from other cultures. I hear time and again, “If we allow for this prayer/feast/language to happen, it will open up the floodgates.” Let me tell you, the floodgates only burst open like that when they have been shut for much too long. If we have been building this Church on a floodplain that has been devoid of water that comes from just on the other side of the floodgates, the water that becomes toxic to those upriver because it has nowhere else to go. If we rely on shutting all of that out, then definitely, it’s time to flood the Church with all that has been missing this whole time. Racism holds up the floods of people who need Jesus. Homophobia holds up the floods of people feeling that they are born just to be condemned to Hell. Transphobia holds up the floods of people who seek communion with God. The plutocracy within this Church has been holding up the floods of people who cannot have a voice just because they are poor.

In fact, of all the things that Jesus points to in this parable, the most concrete image is that of wealth. It is the lure of wealth that chokes out the word of God, and I know that the lure of wealth has been choking this Church for years. Now is the time to give to those who need it. Now is the time to open up the floodgates. Now is the time to break the soil that has been compacted by hording up wealth, privileging people with certain theologies or influences, and really tend to the soil. Now is the time to scrape our hands against the thorns that cover the soil, now is the time for us to bleed as we clear the way for the rich nutrients, and, even more so, for the good seeds of God’s Word.

We have become too comfortable as a Church to the point that there is very little that can grow in the soil that we have control over. When we have programs for evangelism led by white people, made in an institution headed by white people, in order for mostly white people to learn how to minister to white people, only the same white plant will grow. It will take root at the surface, flower for a moment, and then die away; a yield of just onefold.

When we have theology that involves just talking to white people about issues of racism, sexism, homophobia, and a host of other issues, we will just get the same white answer. Even now, we have people of color who are trying to blend in with this theology by accepting the white model. Rather than inculturate and bring our experiences to the meeting tables, the ones in those fancy hotels or neo-gothic buildings, where money just seems to be in the air we breathe, some of us are just accepting this white, exclusive model in order to make it in this institution. It’s so difficult to survive in an institution where racism and classism are key. However, when we take a moment to start tearing this down, when we take time to tend to the soil, cut off the weeds and thorns, when we take time to dig deep and really fix the underlying problems that restrict all sorts of growth, then we will be able to witness the growth.

You see, there are already people doing the work, the arduous work of cracking the clay, of mixing in the nutrients, of adding that good soil that others have created, of renewing all that we need for this garden to thrive. There are people calling out racism, calling for change, and there are people who are actually explaining what exactly to do! There are books out there, podcasts, videos, sermons, workshops, that are already out there to help make this all happen. However, when we receive these seeds, we need to tend to our own soil, to all that we have allowed to happen. Do we know if the soil in our lives is exhausted? We have to look at what we do. Are we doing the same thing, reading the same passages, reciting the same prayers, preaching the same sermons? Even in Jesus’ lifetime, in the three year period of the Gospels, we read that Jesus had to teach those who were already “in the know” in so many different ways. There are parables, like the one we read today, and there are exhortations, condemnations, calls to action, healings, miracles, and so many other things: all in three years. Now let’s look at our own lives. Are we doing the same thing over and over again? Perhaps we need to refresh our soil. Perhaps we need to find the shovels and trowels to dig deep. This will never be a one time thing. Let us remember that our faith is living, and the Sower continues to sow. It is time for us to prepare our soil for the Word.

Why do we stand looking up toward heaven?

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

Acts 1:8

“And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

John 17:11

The disciples were staring up into the sky as Jesus was probably becoming more and more distant. Either that, or perhaps they were staring at some spectacular show. Today, I think that a cloud coming down from heaven to take up a person would look like a tornado, if not a full-on wall of a cloud like a hurricane. Whatever it was, it was certainly spectacular. And yet, the disciples hear someone telling them not to just look up. The gospel account doesn’t say whether the men in white robes said anything else, and I am driven to believe just that. They didn’t need to say anything else. They already knew what needed to happen.

While Jesus was preaching to his disciples, he spoke about different ideas, pertaining especially towards people’s behavior towards one another. Jesus explained one of the most difficult concepts to define: how to love. However, Jesus did not just stand at the front talking and yelling and pointing fingers, gesturing, or jesting. Jesus acted. In fact, he called all of his students, all of those people who were giving him anything of an ear, to action.

As Jesus was being taken up into heaven, he continued to preach, reminding his students, “You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” And so, just as students today might be distracted by the barrage of lights before them—Chromebooks, ebooks, educational games—the disciples stood, staring into the sky. And, two men in white robes reminded them not to keep staring.

Today, it can be tempting to look back on the good ol’ days. We might even be reminiscing on the times we could just walk around and go to any restaurant without any concern. We might remember being able to travel to any destination around the world. We might remember just being able to get together with a group of friends for a chat throughout the night. I do this quite often, especially when I wonder what I can even do to pass some of the time that isn’t just occupied by my anxiety to continue producing content (“stop wasting your potential for unfettered creativity” my brain tells me).

As the disciples saw their teacher, their mentor, their friend departing yet again, what did they do right after? I would imagine after being told not to stare into heaven, they thought about all the other things they were called to do: bring people from all over the world together under the Good News of Love. After that, all the teachings must have come back to them. All of the practice, the examples, the lessons, the sermons, the poetry, the discussions, the debates, the overturning of all that they thought they knew must have come back to them. And then, we get the beginnings of the Church.

As we continue in different states of quarantine/staying at home, we have to remind ourselves to look at what tasks lie before us. We have communities to maintain. We might be involved in different businesses that need to figure out how to continue onwards. We have our own debts to think about. We even have our own health to take care of—our physical health, our mental health, our spiritual health.

And yet, it is so easy to think back to the times before this pandemic, the time before this ongoing Lent. It’s easy to remember the “large stones and large buildings,” or the “great buildings,” we had in the past. I love my church, with the newly constructed hardwood floors, which added a wonderful boost to the nave’s acoustics. I love the piano which projects without me having to press hard on the keys. I love the cozy community we have, especially with how it feels when we are all together, singing, praying, talking, being. I remember going out to eat at any restaurant of my choosing, with nearly every cuisine represented (except Russian, for some reason). I remember the ease of just ordering food rather than having to struggle through another recipe, waiting for our grocery order to happen to have the right ‘essential’ for the day.

But what do we get from staring back at those glittering times? When we just sit and stare at the calendar, looking at how many days have gone by, how many birthdays, funerals, anniversaries, memorials, graduations, fasts, or ceremonies we have missed, what do we gain? As I think about all of this, it just makes me upset at the current situation and wish that everything were over. I dwell on all the negative rather than try to work with what I have.

One of my all-time favorite games to play is bridge, especially duplicate bridge. The reason why I especially enjoy duplicate bridge is because the rules of the game eliminate the amount of chance. In duplicate bridge, rounds are played in different tables, and each table eventually receives the exact same cards dealt as the other tables around. Therefore, each time I play, I am working on making the best of the cards I am dealt. Sometimes, the round requires me to win, and other times to lose. However, the final score is calculated by how well I won or how badly I lost.

Nobody that I know has asked for this pandemic to come through. Nobody that I know has asked to make many everyday physical interactions to be potentially life-threatening. But, we are living through this situation, and we need to deal with the cards that we have been dealt. The good thing is that we are not being judged by how well or how badly we win or lose. We just need to get through this thing. In order to live out this Good News of Love, we need to remember what we have learned. Jesus calls us to love God, love our neighbors, and love ourselves.

In this pandemic, much of this love for neighbors and self are intertwined. By practicing social distancing and proper sanitation procedures, we protect both ourselves and others from the risks of this disease. Of course, this means that we are spending much more time at home, and perhaps we are staying at home with other people. Our love for neighbors needs to be sincere. We need to give people the distance they need (think of the introverts), and we need to explain our own needs as well. We cannot just destroy our physical, mental, or spiritual health just for someone else to thrive. We need to balance things out.

Another thing we need to watch is our behavior online. As a kindergartener, I learned about how to act around others: no pushing or shoving, no yelling, use manners, among other things. And now, we need that same sort of attention online. As more and more people seek community through social media, especially those newer to the internet, we need to show love. We need to be true to others and (importantly) to ourselves. Perhaps we hear about the problems that a friend or acquaintance is going through. There, we need to listen (or read, probably). Just as we give our friends and acquaintances space to speak their truths, we need to offer that space. One of the difficult things might be on Facebook, where, especially in groups, people who write out more comments will be brought up to the top of the page, whereas a more reserved person might be drowned out. One way to overcome this algorithm is by limiting one’s commenting, or encouraging others to continue writing their comments. On the other side of this, we have to let people know when they are speaking in ways that are against our own being. We have to call out racism, homophobia, transphobia, and so many other forms of discrimination, for, unfortunately, the structures of discrimination are still alive and well on the internet.

When all of this is over (God willing), or at least when this is contained, we have to remember what Jesus calls us to do. We are called “to be witnesses…to the ends of the earth”. To be witnesses to this Gospel is also to “be one”. Jesus calls us time and again to love one another, to show compassion and mercy, to bring peace to the world, to pray for each other, to worship and break bread together.

One of the harshest things I have learned from being in this pandemic is that our world’s economies (or at least the ones connected in any way to that of the United States) are dependent upon something other than the well-being of human lives. In order for some food businesses to stay afloat, they have dumped tons of healthy crops. In order for other businesses to remain, they have laid off workers after workers, and they continue to demand more kickbacks from their governments. We still have the poor and the hungry with us.

Another issue is that we still have the evils of racism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, and so many other prejudices playing out in our communities. People are slaughtered day-in and day-out in the names of these ideologies, and we still have elected officials supporting them or playing things off as one-offs or flukes. Even in the middle of a pandemic, there are countless people without access to healthcare.

When we come out of this situation, we will still be tempted to look up into the sky at the romanticized image of our world we have created for ourselves. We will even have times when we will be staring rather than working on the problems that are all around us. But, our consistent devotion to God will be our wake-up call. That will be the tap on our shoulder.

Jesus gave us so many different resources to draw upon when he was on earth. He gave us ways to talk to strangers, to talk to loved ones, to debate with those who have different opinions, to resolve conflict, and to spurn change. Nothing was just left where it was. Jesus reminded his disciples to put everything they learned into practice. In our Gospels, we find that Jesus has sent out two large groups of people to preach. We find that Jesus fed more than one large crowd of people. We find that Jesus forgave sin after sin. We find that Jesus went deeper and deeper into the ‘over there,’ the ‘we don’t associate with them,’ the ‘I just don’t care.’

And so, we need to remember our calling that rings louder and louder each time we hear it. Slavery was abolished, but there was still indentured servitude and a nationwide institution founded on racism. The Civil Rights Act was passed, but we still have people murdered every day just for the color of their skin. The Supreme Court ordered same-sex marriage to be recognized across the country, but there is still rampant homophobia. Today, more and more rights are being taken away from trans people. Today, undocumented immigrants still struggle to make it in a world that seems to just want to push them out. Today, the poor are shoved aside during this pandemic, denied shelter and food when those two things are mounding up in an unforeseen surplus. Today, people are dying while politicians are playing everything off as some sort of hoax or plan to control those already in power and exercising control over the vulnerable. These are the reminders! These are our “men in white robes”!

As we remember the Ascension, let’s remember our calling, just as Jesus reminded all of us in the midst of ascending into heaven. We have communities to build, people to care for, a world to love. Let’s stop looking up and thinking back, and let’s look and think forward.

A Year of Integrity

As this calendar year draws to a close, I have been reflecting on what Integrity has been doing for the LGBTQ+ community, particularly in Houston. Every month, there is a Eucharist where different priests from around town come and celebrate. It's always refreshing to see the number of allies we have, especially in a diocese with a difficult past with respect to our community.

During Houston's Pride Parade, Integrity held a Eucharist for all who wanted to attend. There were people competing for the experience of celebrating and distributing communion to everybody. Then we all marched in the parade, reminding people that they are all children of God.

At the Trans Unity Banquet in Houston, Integrity helped to support and encourage the purchase of a significant number of tables for The Episcopal Church to be present. In fact, over the past several years of this involvement, the number of Episcopal churches attending has been growing substantially. This continues to amaze me, that our community of LGBTQ+ folks and allies continues to grow in The Episcopal Church.

For National Coming Out Day, Integrity partnered up with Houston Canterbury, which has also been a major support for LGBTQ+ causes, especially by giving college students a space to ask questions, pray, and talk in community, to celebrate a mass. We were full of the Spirit as we sang, prayed, and had communion with one another. We listened to the testimonies of three different people who came from very different walks of life.

All throughout these moments, I have seen more and more people of color becoming involved in Integrity. We are seeing so many people coming from communities where LGBTQ+ people are marginalized against the trend of acceptance. There is still a struggle going along, and we are seeing people setting more spaces at the table for new people to sit at. I love my community, and I pray that we will continue to walk in the light of God.

Materialism: An Accuser

“If thou take away from the midst of thee the yoke, the putting forth of the finger, and speaking vanity; and if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noonday.” Isaiah 58:9b-10

            Materialism has been at the forefront of my mind recently, and it seemed only appropriate for me to reflect on it when the reading in the Lectionary was the one above. Materialism has been showing its face to me in so many different ways lately, and I noticed that when I look into it, I see both the face of a menacing, demonic gargoyle and an attractive, well-crafted idol.

            For pretty much as long as there has been a Judeo-Christian culture, there has been materialism. It’s been something that comes up in so many writings, from Exodus and the Ten Commandments, all the way through Jesus’ teachings. In fact, it is such a common issue, yet, judging from the number of treatments of the issue, it has not gone away.

            In secular society, materialism is brought to the fore, with advertisements, product placements, jobs, and so many other aspects of our lives being governed by it. Even our relationships with one another are dominated by materialism: what’s the shiniest gift to give to my crush; what’s the best restaurant to take my family to; how can I impress my friends this time? However, even when we walk into our churches, we find the same problem. We have churches closing their doors to the communities of the poor, the sick, and the needy surrounding them. We have committees voting to buy the “newest trends in evangelism” while refusing to serve the person begging at their door. We have church staff members who have paychecks so much larger than the incomes of congregations combined, making me wonder if there is even enough there to support a community in need.

            In addition to the tangible manifestations of materialism, we also have an ideological issue in our churches as well. At the surface, we have people preaching a “prosperity gospel,” where all of God’s blessings are material blessings. Going deeper, we will even ignore what the Bible tells us about materialism. We shy away when Jesus says to get rid of all of our belongings to follow him. We try to reinterpret what Isaiah means when he says if we draw out our souls to the hungry and the afflicted then we will become light. We downright ignore the laws of Moses regarding the harvest, where leaving a bit of our crops for the less fortunate and travelers was mandatory, not just a thing to do if we happen to have a large enough plot of land to sustain a miniscule community garden next to our towering, gothic building. We have tolerated greed and materialism so long that we grow uncomfortable looking at what life would be without it. Going further into this notion of institutionalized materialism in the Church, we have people who start to look at congregations as small businesses. Rather than consider what it means to reach people who need to hear the Gospel, we look at the specific number of people in pews as figures in graphs. We turn down programs that are for spiritual enrichment in favor of events that serve solely to bring income into the church.

            Now, what happens when we look at the world through the lens of materialism? Our place in society becomes a competition. One day we are at the bottom; the next day we are above a few other people; and then a few days later, we are back down again. When we are at the top, we start looking at those who don’t have the same car, the same house, the same job, the same skill, the same talent with contempt and/or shame. We point fingers at them. We fabricate stories about them. They no longer are human. Instead, they are creatures who have failed their duties to God. The artist working for non-profits is blind and silly, unlike our careers in the sciences, which is filled with the culmination of intellectualism and wisdom. They are reaping the wrath of an angry God, and we, at the top, with our precious belongings, are near angelic in our existence. This most certainly is not the life that we are called to as Christians. For, when we propagate this sort of society, we end up hurting ourselves as well. Rather than giving ourselves a community of compassion and love, we turn into a society of ridicule and competition, one where, once we fail, we can no longer exist as functional beings in the world. When we bow down to this idol, when we bring our souls, our talents, our time to its altar, we descend into the darkness. Our vision vanishes, and we are left with a devotion filled with greed and selfishness until we too are consumed by all the negativity, unable to fulfil the necessary offerings needed to continue this cycle.

            Instead, we are called to follow Jesus, to show love to all of those around us. We are called to use our talents to glorify God, to show the world what the unconditional love of God is. We are called to bring the light into the world as it continues its flirts with darkness. We have to look around us and listen to the cries and groans from all of those around us, including our own souls. We have to realize our talents and how they fit into the Kingdom of God. We have to take our treasure and use it to bring others closer to God rather than distance ourselves from God. We have to heal the world around us from all of its wounds.

This Lent calls us to action. Let us follow Jesus; no turning back.

I am the BCP

I am prayer.

            I am community.

            I am God’s anointed.

I am the standing, sitting, processing,

            kneeling, genuflecting, all as able.

I am the gestures across the heart,

            the twiddling fingers tracing the Gospel cross

                        thrice.

            I am the stillness,

                        the stiffness,

                        the reverent,

                        the irreverent.

I am he/him/his,

            ally of her, zir, and singular them.

I am the erring and straying lost sheep,

            lost, because the resolutions rain down on me,

            the arrows of the hordes standing behind their high walls

                        their altar gates,

                                    their chasubles.

I am that oil running down Aaron’s beard,

            caressing his pomegranate skin,

                        knowing the ephod’s secrets,

                                    his cast of stones.

I am looking,

            searching for that love that endureth forever,

            searching for my “in sickness and in health,”

                        my “til death do us part,”

            searching for my dearly beloved.

Of those 1,000+ pages, where is my name mentioned?

Of the Rites, where am I a worthy partaker?

            Does not my history, 26 years and counting, give me authority?

            Does not my family of clergy and laity give me weight?

            Do not my education, my “thy before thee except after thou,”

                        my ἐκέκρικα, my experience,

                        my visions and prayers count?                      

μὴ γένοιτο!

            I am the μὴ γένοιτο.

            I am not Paul’s model:

                        the celibate man,

                        the polemical,

                        the God-damning

                        the eraser of false teachings.

I am not the good will on both sides—

            bearing torches and flaming crosses

            stabbing with my piercing tongue

            throwing brothers, sisters, siblings

                        from the rooftops,

            beating with chastening rods

                        leaving them to hang on fenceposts

                                    to give up their ghost.

I am the meek heart and due diligence,

            the people walking to the new creation,

                        el desamparado, el necesitado.

Wait, I thought I was a very well organized,

            very strategic,

            very well financed,

            very powerful hijacker—

                        then why do I get death stares?

                        Why do people want me behind electric fences?

                        Why do I have to work against the grain

                                    flailing my arms at policies smothering me,

                                                as I shout out to a panel

                                                            of men staring at each other

                                                                        while I throw the Bible right back at them?

If you know where that money is,

            show me, sugar daddy.

Nah,

I am the Texan, rising in support

            of my own voice.

I am treading the path through the blood of the slaughtered,

            facing the rising sun of my new day begun.

I am the weak theology,

            I am Te Deum, Hildegard, Bach,

                        Wesley, Willan, Price, Pulkingham;

            I am Montes, S and A’s.

I am solace, strength, pardon, renewal.

I am 高興歡喜

I am in print, featured in Church Publishing,

            not that other idea from long ago,

            left to collect dust,

            or suffer, scaffolded in irate and greedy beaurocracy.

I am página 284,

            las campanas,

            el órgano.

You can decide what you want

            in this ecclesia viae mediae,

But just know,

            I know how best to show God’s love in my life,

for I am the Book of Common Prayer.           

I Am the Reformation

501 years ago, Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses on the doors of All Saints’ Church in the German speaking region of Europe. I had heard of this and heard it mentioned again and again in different classrooms to explain how the Reformation began. However, it was not until recently that I actually read that famous text: 95 sentences, each one more polemical than the last, to condemn the practice of selling indulgences (basically, using money to be guaranteed a spot in heaven). Now, this document was not one that I was hoping would explain all of what came out of the Reformation. There is no mention of congregational singing. There is no mention of translating the Bible into
languages people actually spoke. But, I realized it was just the first step in that direction.

Christianity suffers from seizures of power throughout history, with the victors putting in their own twists in order to promote their own agenda. However, alongside those power struggles, we see people standing up for what is just and fair. Our whole faith started with Jesus, who stood up for
the oppressed against all those in power. At the start of the Reformation, Luther stood up to an institution of preachers and even the papacy to fight for the poor. Today, we have countless theologians, laypeople, clergy, musicians, and many other kinds of people fighting to open up the doors in our churches to all of those who have been oppressed for ages. We are all still doing the
work that Jesus commanded us to do from day one.

Today, we take for granted that we have a Book of Common Prayer in a language we can understand. We take for granted that we have so many songbooks with hymns and songs from our different traditions. We take for granted that we can actually play maracas and sing to our heart’s content when we are in church. It was because of the movement that Luther began, one of standing up to oppressors, that we could have all these things. But we can’t just stop there. We now have a responsibility to stand up for those who are still being marginalized in our society. We still have
congregations that say that trans people are sinning against God. We still have clergy and powerful laypeople deciding whether same-sex couples are sacred or not. We still have music directors and influential musicians who think that non-white-European voices are not worth listening to in our liturgies. There is a lot of work to be done, but by living our lives with Christ at the center, we can continue to lift up the voices of all of those around us. Jesus called us to reform our Church so that all can be welcomed. Let’s live in that teaching. Let’s be the Reformation.

Lent, Day 4: The Journey

"If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday."  Isaiah 58:9b-10

We've got a journey ahead of us, the journey of Lent.  It has been going on for a few days, but the first few days are often the hardest for those observing some sort of fast.  But, if you are one who eases your fast on Sunday, then the first break is near!  If not, then keep on truckin'.

Many times, when we look at the Lenten fast, we think about ways that we can improve ourselves.  We look inwards.  We add prayer, we read the Bible, we talk to God, we take on a special diet, among other things.  However, Lent is not only about our own personalities.  It's about how we live with those around us.  None of us are so far removed from the world that we do not interact with someone else (especially if you are reading this blog).  Today's reading brings that point home.  When we start to accuse others of anything, when we judge people of doing something wrong (especially in our eyes), then we start to bring a darkness around our lives.  Rather than spending time with God, we distance ourselves.  Rather than walking in the light, we fall behind, running towards the darkness.  That's not what we want.

Now, the verses above are talking about literal things, but we can read deeper into them.  It's not just the pointing of the finger or the speaking of evil that keeps us in the darkness.  It's the negative thoughts.  It's the jealousy.  It's the anger that boils up inside of you.  Instead, we should be trying to resolve these issues.  One of the easiest ways of dealing with this is by leaving everything to God.  We need to practice loving each other rather than dividing ourselves.  When we listen, when we talk, we can learn more about each other and learn to live in harmony.  It's a way for us not to get too stressed or concerned with those around us.  God will deal with that.

The latter words about giving to the hungry and the needy are also things that we can take more deeply.  Of course, it is always good to volunteer at the food banks and donate to charities.  There are countless ways for us to donate our times.  However, sometimes we will go out of our way to mend relations with people we don't know rather than resolving issues that are around us.  Maybe we don't get along with that one person who used to be our friend.  Maybe a political argument went astray.  Maybe we haven't spoken to someone for a very long time.  These can be the people that are needy as well.  We should take the time during Lent to mend our relationships with those around us.  Lent is not supposed to be easy, but hopefully we will be purified throughout the journey.  Let's pray that we will be ready for our ministry after our fast.