Been A Little While...

It probably seems like I've given up on this whole blogging thing. Correction: I had given up on the whole blogging thing. I'm up for it, but rethinking how much/when I'll update.

Suffice to say, some things have changed in the last... 4 months?

1. I will be going before the Commission on Ministry sometime in the next year for the next step in the discernment process, and the granting of postulancy status.

2. I will be spending a 4th year here at George Mason, as I want to finish up my Islamic Studies and Judaic Studies minors while on the University's tab.

3. I, like everyone, have changed. Small ways, big ways. Some good, some bad. All of which will eventually come out in due time.

God Bless, and know that, if anyone still reads this, there'll be something reasonably worth your attention in the coming days. Promise.

Josh

Final Sermon of the Summer

This last Sunday happened to be my last one spent at Christ Church, the wonderful little parish in Spotsylvania, VA that I've interned at for the past summer. It was a roller coaster time, with 2 weddings, 2 funerals, a burial 1 hour and 45 minutes away, a week of VBS... along with the day-to-day operating that is parish ministry. And I loved every minute of it. Never before have I been more confident in my calling.

I wanted to share with you the sermon that I preached (10 Pentecost) this last Sunday. In case you were wondering what the readings were (RCL) they happened to be: Hosea 11:1-11, Colossians 3:1-11, and Luke 12:13-21.


"Rich Toward Life"

Have you ever been oblivious to life around you while you anticipate something that is about to come? Odds are, you have. We’re especially prone to do this as children, in the days preceding Christmas or our birthday. You might remember the gifts you received, the excitement of presents and cake and parties, but you probably don’t reminisce too often about what you did 2 or 3 days before then. The lead-up is exciting, yes, but it’s not very memorable. You were so caught up in anticipation that all the excitement of day-to-day life melted away in the face of this great event that was coming.

That’s a part of life, a healthy part, and something to be enjoyed. In moderation, that is. Sometimes, in that glorious anticipation, that yearning, we become numb to the here and now, the everyday. We lose sight of the greatness of the present, of the gift that each blessed breath and heartbeat really is, because a looming goal of ours has filled our sight. It’s pushed the seemingly smaller, mundane blessings aside in its preeminence, and in doing so, it has made us a sort of slave to this future event. Today, in our Gospel reading from Luke, we see Jesus interact with a man much like ourselves in that regard.

“Teacher,” he says, “tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” Now, this is a fair thing to ask, right? Doesn’t God love justice; doesn’t He value good and security in this world? Of course He does. And the man was probably in the legal right to hope for his portion of the inheritance. Jesus, however, never looks merely to the surface of our lives, but stares deeply within. This man in the crowd, Jesus realized, was not just asking for legal assistance, but was in danger of making mammon, or wealth, an idol to be held above God. He was beginning to value life as “the abundance of possessions,” as Jesus himself puts it. And then, in the parable of the rich fool, the Great Teacher begins to illuminate just how dangerous that fixation can be.

I remember hearing this story as a child and concluding that God was being unfair with the rich fool. He had received a great blessing, a bumper crop that he could scarcely take in. How exciting for the man! If he were a friend of mine, I’d congratulate him and celebrate. In his genuine mirth the man tears down the barns that have served him so well in the past, making room for the vast stores of grain. God isn’t saddened by this abundance, however. It’s the man’s reaction to his great blessing that we are to mourn. “Soul,” he says, “you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” Not ‘Soul, give some of this to those nearby who have none.’ Not ‘Soul, thank God for this great abundance you have to share.’ Not even ‘Soul, what do I do with such splendor?’ Instead, the man’s concern turns only inward, and he is in danger of a deadening of his soul, of suffering a spiritual death.

God intervenes, and the man’s joy is turned to mourning. He is to depart the mortal coil that very night. Days spent pining away at and preparing for his future years of decadence and luxury are shown to be worthless, chaff burned up in the encroaching flames. The futility of his hoarding becomes obvious. “And those things you have prepared,” God asks, “whose will they be?” This rich man was truly poor when his numbered days reached their close. And Jesus, knowing the heart of this man who questions him from the crowd, does not desire to see another of His children led astray.

God is not being vindictive: Instead, Christ is trying desperately to show the folly of idolatrous wealth before others fall to its seductive power. The rich man of the parable is not to be mourned for his wealth alone, but for his inability to be “rich toward God.” He offered no cup of cold water out of his abundance; he not once turned his gaze to the plight of the widow or the orphan. When he fully invested his time and possessions in himself and his own future, he was already turning his back on his fellow mankind and on God. He had killed his own humanity. God, in taking his life, only made the outward match the inward.

Do you see that the rich fool made the same mistake that we do when we focus so intently on the future that the present falls away from our notice? We go on autopilot. Great blessings, even people, all around us become means to an end, instead of ends themselves. We begin to appreciate only that which is moving us towards a goal, instead of relishing what has been given to us in the moment. In our goal-oriented society, when climbing the next rung of the corporate or social ladder can seem so overwhelming, we are especially at risk of exchanging the real for the potential.

Internships are more often than not viewed in this way. You take an internship to get experience, which enables you to find a permanent career in that field. A business meeting isn’t just a business meeting, but it’s valuable time to network with future colleagues and lay the groundwork for future plans. Now, to be mindful of the future is a sign of wisdom, because it takes the careful balancing of living in the present and looking towards the future. But your average intern doesn’t happen to be the wisest individual you’ll ever meet, and is prone to overlook the blessing that each day brings in that internship while he or she longingly wishes for that job many years down the road. I, and many of you, have fallen into this thinking before.

And that’s such a waste. You can’t appreciate the people around you, the opportunities that each moment of the day brings if you live only looking to the future. Life becomes less rich, less wondrous. Dreams you once had will begin to melt away, and monotony will creep into your life. I think most days are far from monotonous when we look to them in scrutiny and true appreciation. Each word spoken, each breath breathed is something to marvel over. But, in our frenzied preparations, our stock options and car payments, our college tuitions and vacation plans, we rob ourselves of the beauty that life inherently has been endowed by God. And we rob God of effective followers, of true Christians who live in and yet not of the world. We think ourselves the lords of our own lives, ignoring the Word of the Lord as it came to Hosea, saying “I took them up in my arms; but they did not know that I healed them.” We fool ourselves into thinking that we hold some power over the course of years to come.

The future holds hope of many things, the Second Coming of our Lord being chief of these. Paul tells us that we too will be revealed in glory with Him. The promise of resurrection and redemption hangs on the edge of every word and motion within the liturgy. And yet, the here and now is all we really have. For example, I may look to the future and promise great sums of money to the church in my appreciation for its service to God, but it is how I use the meek sum in my wallet at this very moment that God most cares about. It is how we act tomorrow at work that defines us more than what our pension will be when we retire. It is the steps we take on the journey, and the pilgrims that we share the journey with, that matter far beyond where our Holy Pilgrimage may finish. To look to the finish is to find hope, but only insomuch as we bring that hope back to the here and now and hold the present moment as dear as it really is.

All we have to offer God and each other is our present selves. Not who we will become, not what will occur in the distant future. Just now. Those things we think so important, that looming family inheritance that fills our vision, is truly small in comparison to this life we have been given. Inheritance, in our minds, lends security. It is safe. Insurance is safe. Bank accounts and savings bonds are safe. And all are blessings in their own right. But security was never the goal of this journey, was never the promise of our Baptism. I’m reminded of Lucy, in C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, who, nervously awaiting her first encounter with Aslan, the great lion and Christ figure, hopes that he is safe, non-threatening. “Isn’t he safe?” she asks Mrs. Beaver. But the reply is startling. “Who said anything about ‘safe’? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the king, I tell you.” I would concur with Mrs. Beaver, and say that the Creator and Sustainer of the world is indeed good, but not safe. He requires transformation; he requires sacrifice, and yet, out of love, cannot be called safe. Our own lives should mirror that.

Our own Lord said later in Luke that, “Those who try to make their life secure will lose it, but those who lose their life will keep it.” It is very safe to live only in the possibilities of the future, but it is risky and painful to live the day to day. And yet it is only in that risk that we find true life. Only in that risk, in that outpouring of ourselves can we focus the abundance of our time, our possessions, and our passions for the glory of God. That is truly fulfilling the commandment to love God and love others. That is the life turned outward, overflowing with steams of living water to a broken world, not stockpiling possessions in the hopes of avoiding all toil and pain in this life. That is the power of a life lived in the moment while evermore gazing towards the blessed future. Gazing, not clinging to it. Let go of it. Let go of the future with reckless abandonment, live in the blessing that is this borrowed moment on earth, and embrace the freedom that is rich toward others and, most of all, rich toward God.

Amen.

It's Not Just A Female Thing, Apparently

It's wedding season, as you all know, and I've seen at least 5 couples I know of (so far) get married this summer. And, to add to that, I'm helped with the preparation for two weddings here at Christ Church, where I'm interning for the summer, one of which I did a reading in and said the prayers. One rehearsal, one rehearsal dinner, and reception. So, it's been a summer of weddings, of cakes and grooms and brides and smiles and nervousness and flowers and rings.

And a little anxiety.

I always thought it was only ladies that felt anxious during wedding times, but apparently not. Either that's a stereotype, or I make for a strange male. Regardless, I can't help but feel that tinge of anxiety whenever another couple ties the knot, and I am a single observer (or participant, as the case may be). And to be finishing up my last year at Mason, to be graduating a year earlier than most, I guess I question myself a little.

It doesn't help that the first question all the older ladies at the church ask me is something to the effect of "Are you/You're seeing someone right now?" And that people keep opening invitations for me to come to this dinner or that party with "your girlfriend," (yes, assumed).

It never used to really bother me, singleness. Sure, you have those moments of wonder, of even a little regret at not having a significant other, but by and large I'd gotten used to it. That's not to say I hadn't dated anyone in the past years, but nothing long and steady. Dinner here, a movie there. Nothing too serious, nothing too promising.

And that's starting to get to me.

I spent my entire freshman year at Mason wrestling with dating being a good, bad, or just a necessary evil (thank you Joshua Harris for that wonderful ambiguity). Then, through a wonderful men's Bible Study I came to see it as a good again. It's something I've had to work on quite a bit, as much of what I learned early in my Christian walk was just plain wrong on the subject of relationships (read: legalism, without true morality). It used to come much more naturally, and now I'm painfully trying to reclaim a part of me that I neglected for quite some time.

Usually, I wouldn't write these types of things on a Blog, open for all. But it's a true part of me, and I like transparency in some places. The Christian life isn't truly a walk with God if it comes without struggles and doubt, and this would be one area in which both are prominent.

I want to be content, but not so content that I let opportunity slip by in the name of obliviousness. Sigh.

Beauty in All Things

Looking at my recent reading habits, minus a brief fling with Tolkien's newly-released Children of Hurin (good, but depressing towards the end) and Diana Butler Bass' Christianity for the Rest of Us (fantastic throughout), there seems to be a growing trend. You might even call it a bit of an indulgence. A certain genre that keeps rearing its head and engrossing me for hours on end.

I'm growing attached to spiritual memoirs.

Now, that's not to say I raided Borders anytime recently for the heartfelt biographies and reflections of all the greats. It's more that, out of all the books I have piled high around here, the spiritual memoirs have gotten the most dog-eared as of late. Yesterday I lounged outside for almost 3 hours savoring Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies. A week ago, I was rereading Girl Meets God. And in each of these books, these personal tidbits given for public consumption, I seem to find more meaning than I first realized.

They're definitely not literary trash, like a gossip magazine displayed at the end of a cash register. Something deeply profound rests within those pages. And that magic, that allure comes from a truth that Father Rick once told me, and that I will never forget. When asked what, at the heart of the matter, makes us Episcopalians, Father Rick remarked (in my paraphrase), that we notice and seek the sacramentality within all moments and all things. Each moment, person, and place is an opportunity to meet God's unmerited grace, to experience His life giving nature in its fullest. That is a facet that initially drew me to the Episcopal church, and is a tenet that I will always hold dear.

Memoirs, especially those tailored to spiritual reflection, celebrate that aspect of life. They force us to reflect on those mountaintop and valley moments of faith, of life, and to seek God in that memory. The author, by examining themselves, force an examination within the reader. It illuminates the world around us, brings God out of the proverbial woodwork to the splendid prominence that He was always in. Such an outlook on life places the most menial task into its eternal context and glorifies God through it. It's a gravely serious symptom of being truly born again.

Yesterday was one of those days. I spent much of it in my car, jumping from place to place to visit friends. Along with hours spent reading on GMU's campus. But each moment brought with it a hint of offered grace. My friend Brian got a new car to replace his '91 Tercel, and in that moment I, still driving a clunker of a '90 Civic, got to rejoice in the joy of a friend instead of wishing that I could have his sharp '05 model. Alright, so that wasn't my initial reaction, but it came pretty soon after. I got to watch new freshmen arrive for orientation at George Mason, hoping that God meets them somewhere in those wonderful new relationships that will flourish in the coming months. There's a beauty to people, to the wind, to bright sunlight making sweat trickle down the small of your back in your non-airconditioned car, that I miss without intentionally looking for it. Any reminder of these sacraments is a welcome break from myself and a welcome invitation to a more abundant life.

I hope you get that opportunity as well. In the least "Godly" moments, those of our greatest sorrow, pain, and embarrassment, there's much that God wishes to work through us. He is strong in our weakness. He must increase while we are to decrease. And, somehow, in those pages of joys and sorrows, of saintly and sordid moments, that bless the pages of good memoirs, it becomes all the easier to take a deep breath and notice His finger and footprints all around. In the words of Rich Mullins, each footprint leaves "a drop of grace," one we have to pause and stoop down to collect.

Wonderful News to Hear

As Father Jake and others have noted and commented upon, the recent speech by The Most Reverend Njongonkulu Ndungane at Cape Town is a wonderfully uplifiting and timely piece about the unity of the Anglican Communion. Finally, someone who speaks on and illuminates the history of Anglican polity in his understanding of our issues today!

When we look back on the history of the Church, it has always been
assailed with divisions to be overcome. The unity of Christ's people is
one of the prime targets of the devil, who does not want the world to
look at us and say 'See how these Christians love one another!' The
devil's purposes are far better served when people look at us and see us fighting and quarrelling, and doing so in ways that fail to reflect the spirit of charity, tolerance and gracious magnanimity that has always characterised the best of Anglicanism!.

Thank God for men and women who put such time and energy into their understanding of God, and deign to share it with us. I was hoping to write a more personal posting today, but there's too much hope in this speech for it to go unread- take 10 minutes out of your day to give it a once-over. You'll be glad you did.

Grace and peace.

Can't Even Ask Why

Nothing like being scared to death for friends at Virginia Tech, where 31 people are needlessly killed, all your own age, to make you realize that all the philosophical, theological, and political bickering I spend so much of my time on amounts to absolutely nothing.

Open-theism. Liberation theology. Consubstantiation. All things I have dealt with in classes in the past week, and they all don't mean one damn thing in the day to day.

Human lives do. Every one of them.

I was numb when I heard this morning, and I'll probably be all through tonight. I don't understand such things, and I don't think I was meant to. Maybe it's better that way.

Time for an exercise in praying without ceasing.

Reflection

Sometimes that one song, chant, or anthem just hits you deep. Tonight had one of those.

Jesus, so lowly, Child of the earth
Christen me wholly, Bring me new birth
Jesus, so lonely, weary and sad;
Teach me that only Love maketh glad,
Jesus, so broken, Silent and pale;
Be this the token Love will not fail
Jesus, victorious, mighty and free
Teach me how glorious death is to be