Category: Faith

What every Seminarian is dying to know: who wore what at the Royal Wedding

Did you sleep through today’s royal wedding? I did. I somehow even slept through my phone’s constant ringing as K sent me live text messages about the event (she was watching it in another state). I was happy to get some sleep but as I stumbled to my computer and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I realized there were three things I missed. One: what was Kate wearing? Two: what was the Archbishop wearing? Three: what was the sermon like? Question one was, by far, the easiest to answer. But for us seminarianzillas, what the bride wore isn’t the be-all of the event. There are more important fish (and chips) to fry.

First, Kate Middleton wore an ivory and lace gown designed by Sarah Burton at Alexander McQueen. I liked it quite a bit but she’s a bit behind the times – my bride beat her to the punch by a year.

Second, Archbishop Rowan wore a Pugin Style Cope made by Watts and Co. of London. My birthday is coming up if anyone wants to get me anything (hint hint).

Finally, the Archbishop’s sermon is on youtube. For those of you who prefer your sermons in textual form, below is a transcript copied from the Diocese of London’s website.

“Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”

So said St Catherine of Siena whose festival day this is. Marriage is intended to be a way in which man and woman help each other to become what God meant each one to be, their deepest and truest selves.

Many people are fearful for the future of today’s world but the message of the celebrations in this country and far beyond its shores is the right one ‚Äì this is a joyful day! It is good that people in every continent are able to share in these celebrations because this is, as every wedding day should be, a day of hope.

In a sense every wedding is a royal wedding with the bride and groom as king and queen of creation, making a new life together so that life can flow through them into the future.

William and Catherine, you have chosen to be married in the sight of a generous God who so loved the world that he gave himself to us in the person of Jesus Christ.

In the Spirit of this generous God, husband and wife are to give themselves to each other.

The spiritual life grows as love finds its centre beyond ourselves. Faithful and committed relationships offer a door into the mystery of spiritual life in which we discover this: the more we give of self, the richer we become in soul; the more we go beyond ourselves in love, the more we become our true selves and our spiritual beauty is more fully revealed. In marriage we are seeking to bring one another into fuller life.

It is of course very hard to wean ourselves away from self-centredness. People can dream of such a thing but that hope should not be fulfilled without a solemn decision that, whatever the difficulties, we are committed to the way of generous love.

You have both made your decision today ‚Äì “I will” ‚Äì and by making this new relationship, you have aligned yourselves with what we believe is the way in which life is spiritually evolving, and which will lead to a creative future for the human race.

We stand looking forward to a century which is full of promise and full of peril. Human beings are confronting the question of how to use wisely the power that has been given to us through the discoveries of the last century. We shall not be converted to the promise of the future by more knowledge, but rather by an increase of loving wisdom and reverence, for life, for the earth and for one another.

Marriage should transform, as husband and wife make one another their work of art. It is possible to transform so long as we do not harbour ambitions to reform our partner. There must be no coercion if the Spirit is to flow; each must give the other space and freedom. Chaucer, the London poet, sums it up in a pithy phrase:

“Whan maistrie [mastery] comth, the God of Love anon, Beteth his wynges, and farewell, he is gon.”

As the reality of God has faded from so many lives in the West, there has been a corresponding inflation of expectations that personal relations alone will supply meaning and happiness in life. This is to load our partner with too great a burden. We are all incomplete: we all need the love which is secure, rather than oppressive. We need mutual forgiveness in order to thrive.

As we move towards our partner in love, following the example of Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit is quickened within us and can increasingly fill our lives with light. This leads on to a family life which offers the best conditions in which the next generation can receive and exchange those gifts which can overcome fear and division and incubate the coming world of the Spirit, whose fruits are love and joy and peace.

I pray that all of us present and the many millions watching this ceremony and sharing in your joy today will do everything in their power to support and uphold you in your new life. I pray that God will bless you in the way of life you have chosen. That way which is expressed in the prayer that you have composed together in preparation for this day:

God our Father, we thank you for our families; for the love that we share and for the joy of our marriage. In the busyness of each day keep our eyes fixed on what is real and important in life and help us to be generous with our time and love and energy. Strengthened by our union help us to serve and comfort those who suffer. We ask this in the Spirit of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Rowan Williams: a letter to a six-year-old

When a six year girl wrote a letter asking who invented God (it seems it was a class assignment), her father followed up by sending the letter to a variety of religious institutions in the United Kingdom. The Archbishop of Canterbury wrote the following response:

Dear Lulu,
Your dad has sent on your letter and asked if I have any answers. It’s a difficult one! But I think God might reply a bit like this ‚Äì
‚ÄòDear Lulu ‚Äì Nobody invented me ‚Äì but lots of people discovered me and were quite surprised. They discovered me when they looked round at the world and thought it was really beautiful or really mysterious and wondered where it came from. They discovered me when they were very very quiet on their own and felt a sort of peace and love they hadn’t expected.
Then they invented ideas about me ‚Äì some of them sensible and some of them not very sensible. From time to time I sent them some hints ‚Äì specially in the life of Jesus ‚Äì to help them get closer to what I’m really like.
But there was nothing and nobody around before me to invent me. Rather like somebody who writes a story in a book, I started making up the story of the world and eventually invented human beings like you who could ask me awkward questions!’
And then he’d send you lots of love and sign off.
I know he doesn’t usually write letters, so I have to do the best I can on his behalf. Lots of love from me too.
+Archbishop Rowan

I don’t think it’s half bad though I’m not sure if at six, I would have understood what he wrote. Or maybe the lack of dinosaur references would have bored me. Either way, I think it’s a good letter for the audience Archbishop Rowan was writing for – moms and dads.

Sometimes, Easter comes too early

I’m going to be honest, I sometimes think that Easter comes too early.

Well, I don’t mean too early as in too early in the calendar year (I could have used the break a few weeks ago!) but I sometimes feel that that the Easter Vigil comes too quickly. Good Friday is possibly my favorite liturgical service of the year (with the Easter Vigil a close second) and I sometimes wish to have the opportunity to savor Good Friday more. It’s a strange idea I guess but there always seems to be a rush to Easter. There’s a need to dress the church for the big reveal, not to re-enact what happened 2000 years ago, but rather to proclaim what the church should always proclaim: that Christ is Risen, here and now. Lilies need to be bought and placed around the altar. Candles need to be prepared. Baptism candidates need to buy new white clothes. The wooden cross that is brought into the hall is quickly replaced with the movement towards the resurrection. And I understand why that happens; I get it. But sometimes, it just feels too fast. And I think I feel that way because the Good Friday liturgy has always grounded Christ in Jesus for me. The Good Friday has always made Christ feel more real, more human, and seems to liturgically proclaim Christ’s dual-natures in a way that is only matched by the Christmas Eve Vigil (depending on the church of course).

Good Friday helps me to grab onto and lay witness to a human Christ in the midst of suffering; a Christ who is human not because he was only flesh and blood but because he lived as a human, breathed as a human, walked, talked, wept, ate, hungered, and suffered like a human. Jesus of Nazareth – the crucified one – is here a lived experience, a true human being. For me, abstract Christologies languish under the liturgy of Good Friday. And human life isn’t necessarily one where the suffering is restored only a moment later. Sometimes the suffering lingers. Sometimes the suffering appears as if it will have no end. So I worry that the rush to Easter will miss Christ in by pushing past Jesus’ humanity and head straight into the ascension.

If this sounds a tad confused, or if it sounds like I’m missing a few things, it’s because this has been running through my head for awhile and, the closer holy week became, the more overloaded with material I became. Now, right before the beginning of the three days, my head feels a tad full and I’m sure these thoughts are starting to come out my ears. But I just can’t seem to come to an entirely comfortable place with this quite yet.

For my introduction to liturgy class, we will be attending a paschal retreat in a few weeks where we will do the Three Days liturgy in one day. It will be held in an old lutheran church and I will cantor Psalm 22 during the Good Friday part of the day. This week, in my Old Testament course, we just so happened to talk about Psalm 22. My professor brought up the idea that, since the Psalms were Jesus’ prayer book, Jesus’ use of “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” is not just one line but a reference to the entire Psalm. The Psalm is one of abandonment, of suffering, and of a transition into a restoration that is not elaborated or explained. The restoration just happens. There is a tension inherent in the text at this point and this tension is engulfed by silence. The pleading turns to thanksgiving, the description of death turns into a boasting of life. To quote a professor, “It’s gorgeous.” But I worry about that silence. I worry that, if it is ignored, skipped, or pushed through, that the prior 2/3rds of the Psalm will be forgotten. I worry that getting to the resurrection before the cross is a problem. And that silence, that transition – a transition that comes in the middle of a verse in the NRSV – if it’s not paid attention to, part of the praxis of the church is lost.

I’m not really a fan of the idea of Jesus’ cry from the cross being read in light of the entire Psalm 22. I’ve heard it preached in such a way that abandonment of Jesus by God is ignored and we are pushed straight into the new dawn. And I get why that happens. I think it’s natural to want to get to that promised day as quickly as possible and to move past the suffering and into joy, health, and well being. Even though we live in that present day, our life in the world isn’t all roses and joy either. I think the suffering of Haiti, of Japan, of the countless marginalized people in the world, is a sign of our reality. I get that the realization of that hope is needed, wished for, desired, and wanted. In the midst of suffering, isn’t that what all want to be as quickly as possible? But what happens when it doesn’t come quick? What happens when that silence seems to last for much longer than a moment? What if we, our loved ones, our neighbors, our friends, our assembly are stuck in the middle of that verse? The hope for that transition is real and it’s part of our proclamation but I can easily see the restoration being spoken at the expense of the living with those in that silence. In this era of the Risen One, that hope is still there and it needs to be proclaimed and shouted from the roof tops. But it can’t become so loud that those in the silence, those who suffer, those who feel abandoned, those who are oppressed and persecuted, are left voiceless. I feel there’s a praxis in that moment of silence and in the liturgy of Good Friday that can easily be inadvertently overshadowed by the glitz and glam of Easter.

Learning, unlearning, relearning, and eating

Every year, I learn how to fold palms into crosses. Every year, I forget how to fold palms into crosses. Every year, I relearn how to fold palms into crosses. I hope, at some point, it sticks.

Imagine now, sitting in front of a dozen kids between the ages of 2 and 8, and trying to lead them in the folding of palm crosses. On my lap was the bible opened to Matthew 21 and two sheets of paper with descriptions on how to fold the crosses. Across from me sat our head pastor while the director of our CYF ministries was off to the left. By step 4, I was confused. By step 6, I was lost. By step 7, my engineering skills kicked in, I put the pages down, and the CYF director and I came up with our own way to finish the crosses. We then spent at least 10 minutes helping all the kids create their own crosses. I think they had a good time but we ended up missing the hymn of the day, the intercessions, and the peace (during our first service, the kids come to a children’s church after the gospel reading). Then, throughout the day, I helped adults between services to create their own palm crosses. For a moment, I almost had the idea of a sermon that consisted entirely of helping everyone fold their own crosses and encouraging them to keep them, to carry them, to hang them in their house, or in their car. Even though we’re Lutherans, we can learn much from the love of palm crosses that I see displayed in my Eastern Orthodox neighbors in Astoria. I like the idea of it.

The crosses weren’t the only thing that was fairly wacky at Palm Sunday yesterday. I was in charge of the altar guild for three services. As part of my own personal piety, after clearing the table, I finish off the left over white grape juice, wine, and host. But I am also a light weight when it comes to alcohol. Four chalices of wine (with lots of broken bits of bread in it) is a lot for me. I was in a fairly good mood by the time I had to carry the cross during the third service. And on top of all that wine, for the first time at my internship church, the bread was a real loaf of bread and not just pita. Actually, it was a giant loaf of bread. I swear it was almost as big as me. And we had a giant loaf for each service. I tried to eat as much as I could but it was too much. By the end of the day, I had a belly ache and I returned most of the bread to the earth for the birds. I hope it treated them better than it treated me. Oof.

Winning

So, I read “Love Wins.” I read it twice actually. I read it twice because, after reading the first draft of my review, I felt I might have been a little mean. I thought I might have missed a few things. I decided to give the book and Rob Bell a second chance. And, while reading the first few pages, I realized I had been a little mean and a little rough. But then, 20 pages into it, I came to the belief that my first review really hadn’t been mean enough. It’s the type of book that just annoys me the longer I read it.

I hate those kinds of books.

I know why Rob Bell gets his status as rock star. It’s obvious from this book that he relishes the image of being an outsider in his religious tradition. He enjoys it and I can’t fault him for it too much. He’s also pretty progressive. I bet my politics and his line up pretty well. He seems like a nice enough guy. I can see why Time Magazine constantly labels him as the BRAND NEW DAY of Christian culture. And, if I take a step back and take a look at Bell’s conclusions – his sociological and theological stances – we might bleed similar tones of colors. On the surface, it would be hard to sees how his views are different from mine. We’ve come up with similar conclusions. But, Good Lord, when you dig a little deeper, it amazing how far apart we truly are.

And I hope that my exegesis is better than his.

At the very start, I need to come out and admit that I came into this book believing that it wouldn’t speak to me. That’s no surprise as I’m firmly in the Lutheran/mainline camp and I never grew up in the culture that Rob Bell functions in. He’s a product of the last religious revival in the United States and he is speaking out against the traditions that exist in his realm of the world. Bell and I might speak the same language but we don’t necessarily say the same things. And I’m fine with that. Like Bell states (and he does this quite often), Christianity is a big tent with quite a few voices in it. The church isn’t my play thing and I don’t get to create the rules. And even though I’m a pretty hip almost 30 something, the culture that Bell works in, thrives in, jumps around in, isn’t appealing to me (I’m a fan of vestments for one thing). So it is no surprise that I didn’t like this book and I don’t mind saying that I biased. If you’d like to stop reading now, go ahead. I won’t blame you. I’ll just come out and say that if you’re like me, you’re most likely not going to like this book. Take it off your wish list, roll up your skinny jeans, lace up your All-Stars, and open up your Book of Concord. It’ll treat you better.

First off, whoever decided that the manuscript of a sermon should serve as the format for the pages in this book, should be fired. The unnecessary line breaks designed to highlight Bell’s main points are completely distracting and sometimes quite wrong. I found myself skipping those line breaks, feeling that it was an attempt by Bell to restrict my reading of the text. This works in a sermon – where line breaks can slow the speaker down and highlight what needs to be said, but – in a book – it doesn’t work. It feels silly and forced.

Besides bad formatting, it seems that Rob Bell’s main issue here is a pastoral. He is concerned with how to preach the concept of “God is love” within a framework of his tradition’s views on heaven and hell. He’s very against the concept of heaven and hell as frozen and specific places that are somewhere else. He loves talking about those places being here, now, and in the presence. I think he really enjoys the idea of the echastological future breaking into the present. I do too. Bell is well aware of how damaging to communities a static view of heaven and hell can be, how exclusive it can sound, and how these views can break apart our servicing of others. How can someone stand in the pulpit, declare that God is loving and good and, at the same time, condemn individuals to an eternal life where the heat is always on and the air conditioning is constantly broken? Bell’s concerns are real and his struggle is real too. It’s a theological struggle that many people, and the church, have been dealing with for a long time. Even though the church proclaims a heaven and a hell, how heaven and hell works, who is there, what does it mean, and what does heaven and hell mean in our everyday lives …

these are hard questions.
They are personal questions.
Real questions.
Fascinating questions.
(see how annoying that is?)

But Rob Bell makes a mistake of trying to be systematic and doing it poorly. It’s obvious he sees himself in the line of the outsiders and reformers of the church. He views Origen as a forefather and spends a few pages defending his theological views as being part of a larger conversation in a religious body that (he feels) can handle diverse views. He loves talking about how big the Christian church is. Those early church fathers – some who were declared heretics, others who were heretics but switched (I’m looking at you Eusebius) – Bell enjoys them. And I think he’d like to see himself as a pen-pal to Martin Luther. Bell likes trying to be hardcore because that’s who Jesus is to him. Christ is outside the traditions but in them as well. Christ is the unexpected. God’s love is shown on those we least expect. I’m a fan of that image too. So I’m not really quite sure why Rob Bell begins his discussion not firmly in the life of the historical Jesus. Instead, he begins first with heaven and takes a journey through the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures. He really should have started somewhere else because Bell is pretty terrible at biblical exegesis.

One of my personal rules for biblical work is to never, ever, unify the voices of the prophets. Isaiah isn’t the same as Amos who isn’t the same as Joel. Their voices are different and their contexts are different. What these prophets are trying to tell us about God, about life, and what it means to be God’s chosen people, is different. They aren’t the same and there is nuance there. And that nuance – that struggle – is pretty darn important. To ignore it, or cover it up like Rob Bell does, is to silence the voices of the scriptures and to do exactly what Rob Bell despises and seems to be writing against which is the tradition of exclusivity and silencing of all “dissenting” voices. Pot, meet kettle.

For starters, I would recommend that Rob Bell spends sometime looking at the remnant of Isaiah and the remnant of Ezekiel. Notice what is different and what God does differently. It might actually help his argument. Also, take a gander at the end of Joel and notice that the restoration in Joel isn’t as universal, or as nice, as other restorations. And double check your work on the Day of the Lord and pay attention how Amos uses it and what Amos was doing with it. And take a gander at what the Exodus means for the people of Israel and the promise of the land. Don’t merely just spend so much time in Genesis Chapter 1 – expand to the journey across the Jordan River. That helps to show what the vineyards and imagery in the restorations imply. It isn’t just about restoring the “now” – it’s tied to the promise of the land of milk and honey. I know – there’s a lot there and you’ll have to redo a lot of your text – but I think it’s worth it. I think you’ll enjoy the exercise. And I think it’ll expand your argument and make it, above all, more intellectually honest. It’ll be fun. Go hog wild with it. Above all, don’t reduce God to one unifying thing. Chapter 24 and 25 of Isaiah show that isn’t true.

I could lay into Rob Bell’s universalist views but I don’t think I will. I could also tear into the basis of his theology which is grounded in a believer baptism mentality which, yeah, I’m not into all. And I think that’s the final crux of the whole thing. His theology and Christology, at least from what I can tell, is grounded in not only an all loving God – an all loving God that causes Bell to reinvent a form of purgatory – but also in choice. It really comes down to choice and I’ve read Luther’s Bondage of the Will too recently to buy into Bell’s arguments. Bell’s views on love sounds just like that saying “if you really love something, set it free,” a saying I’ve always hated. Grace isn’t an invitation; it’s something more.

For me, in the end, the book wasn’t really about heaven and hell. Nor was it really about Bell attacking those exclusivistic traditions that plague his (and all) religious traditions. I can get behind those two things. But the book gradually moves into theories of atonement, of love, and of Christian freedom, that do nothing for me. My view of grace and his are different. Baptism is important to me. The church isn’t just an assembly of believers to keep reinforcing an invitation. It’s hard for me to look at Bell’s uses of faith and theology and not notice that, in the end, it’s a view that depends on me. Extending the timeframe for making that choice doesn’t do anything for me. It’s a dependence on me that just isn’t what the gospel is about. And I don’t think Bell realizes that. When he does, I’d like to read that book. I think it would be a more interesting read.

A baptism during Lent…I know, I know

I helped with a baptism during Lent on Sunday.

At my home congregation, a lovely couple recently had their second child – a lovely baby girl. I have known the couple for several years – ever since they started to attend my home congregation. For awhile, I babysat their first born while the mother was working on her advance degree. I adore the family – they’re fantastic. But, like many young families in NYC, they have outgrown their apartment and are heading out of the city and back into the wilds of somewhere else. I will miss them terribly.

The young family, however, did want to baptize their child at my home congregation before they left and they wanted me involved in some way. Since I am an intern at another church, very few Sundays worked for me but the 5th Sunday in Lent did. I know, I know – a baptism during Lent isn’t ideal but it’s what worked for us. I arrived at my home congregation in a collar (for the first time) and I was assistant minister that day. And to start off everything, my pastor interviewed me for the Children’s sermon.

After the sermon and the hymn of the day, we began the baptism. Sadly, we failed to position ourselves correctly (I should have put more thought in how to position everything) so the video isn’t perfect and I hope, next time, to spend more time focusing on making the baptism visible to all the assembly clearly – that’s the one thing I didn’t put though into before the day. Yet, it went very well.

And then, at the end, when I stood in the narthex and shouted “God in Peace, Serve the Lord!”, my voice cracked. You can’t win them all.