Power in Poetry

"If there be indecorum in my songs,

fasten the blame where rightly it belongs:

on Him who offered me too many cups

of His most potent goodness--not on me,

a peasant who, because a king was host,

drank out of courtesy."

                                                ~ from "But Not With Wine" by Jessica Powers (1984)

Poetry unlocks possibilities in language and experience left bound up by prose. Jesus-followers have a rich repository of poetry in the scriptures, especially in the psalms and the prophets. Jessica Powers, who became Sister Miriam of the Carmelite order, was a modern master craftswoman of the poetic word.

Read poetry. Buy it in the form of a book bound in paper, and then loose it out loud on your summer porch. In particular get your hands on The Selected Poetry of Jessica Powers (ICS Publications, 1999). (It can be found here at one of my favorite online booksellers.)

Often with rhythm, often with rhyme, often with meter, Powers' work wanders all the tracts of creation and opens all the windows of the human heart. She helps us glance into heaven:

"The spirit, newly freed from earth,

is all amazed at the surprise

of her belonging: suddenly

as native to eternity

to see herself, to realize

the heritage that lets her be

at home where all this glory lies . . ."  (from "Heaven")

 and into the meaning of gifts:

". . . If you have nothing, gather back your sigh,

and with your hands held high, your heart held high,

lift up your emptiness!"  (from "If You Have Nothing")

She walks us, unafraid, to the conversation with death:

". . . Come death, my friend, my friend.

I know the good your coming works in me.

Shape me to Christ before my journey's end;

Hack me and hew me till Christ comes to be

my dear identity. . . ."   (from "The Monk at Quadragesima")

By Powers' words we bask in the beauty of the young world:

". . . That free is a child's word none deny--

this, heaven and earth both testify,

that God is a meadow in some high way,

a meadow moreover revealed in ours

where only the children find the flowers."    (from "A Meadow Moreover")

She sees the spirit in tectonic plates:

". . . Anyway, he turned over and his weight

of bedding moved with him, and houses fell . . ."    (from "Los Angeles Earthquake")

We must not shy away from the deep difficult parts of our story, including such fractured paradoxes as the sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham; so Powers invites us to look in that mirror with her:

" . . . O love far deeper than a lone begotten,

how grievingly I let your words be lost

when a shy question guessed I had forgotten

a thing so vital as the holocaust. . . ."   (from "Take Your Only Son")

Powers' poems are mostly one-page pieces, easily read in small doses, like a heavenly flavor for your morning coffee. Or you could read entire sections of the book in a single sitting, divisions with names like "The Mercy of God," "Angels," "Decisions," and "Birds and Lessons for Life." Like all poetry, in reading the first line we surrender control over the end of the journey. The capable talents of Jessica Powers take the reins and carry us to mountains and vales poignant, surprising, filled with beauty, and up to the edge of everyday vistas of love:

". . . Love has its proper soil, its native land;

its first roots fasten on the near-at-hand.

Back toward the house from which I deftly fled,

down neighbors' lanes, across my father's barley

my heart brought home its charity. It said,

love is a simple plant like a Creeping Charlie;

once it takes root its talent is to spread. "  (from "My Heart Ran Forth")

In all her work this Carmelite psalmist equips us to live out her own final prayer from the book (entitled "Doxology"), to which end we hear all of faith and life calling us:

"Praise to the Father and the Son

and to the Spirit! May I be,

O Water, Wave and Tide in One,

Thine animate doxology."

love,

emrys

p.s. Thanks to Martha for introducing me to Jessica Powers' work. What a gift!

Argument From Silence, or the Ghost of Marcion

I have been enjoying the daily reflections emanating from the Center for Action and Contemplation (CAC), an institute started by the Franciscan Richard Rohr (thanks, Loretta, for passing along that link). They often provide a compass pointing us toward the peace and love displayed by Jesus Christ.

This one gave me pause. It lifts up the places in the gospels in which Jesus cites the Hebrew scriptures and interprets them. What gave me pause was not the citations from the gospels. I stumbled on, as an example, the assertion that Jesus "omits troublesome verses with which he does not agree." In this particular case Rohr refers to the episode in Luke in which Jesus does not read a verse about God's vengeance in the scroll of Isaiah.

Why Jesus omitted that verse is a fascinating question for preachers and teachers. But to say, as Rohr does, that Jesus kicked some words of Isaiah to the curb--as opposed to, for instance, saving them for later--makes a drastic assumption about the gospels.

Between the lines of this CAC post is the assertion that if the gospel writers didn't mention a Hebrew text, that text can be considered invalid. Beneath this assertion sit two dubious assumptions. First, we would have to assume that there were no steps of interpretation between what Jesus said and did and the gospel writers. We would assume that what the authors of the gospel recorded was Jesus' intention, perfect and complete. Given the various (and sometimes conflicting) reports of the four gospels, I think this is a problematic assumption. Second, we would have to assume that the gospel writers recorded all of Jesus' references to the Hebrew scriptures. Given the brevity of the gospel texts covering three or more years of public ministry, this assumption stretches credulity.

To assert that whatever Hebrew texts don't show up in the gospels can be set aside by Christians puts us on the fringes, if not well within, something called Marcionism. Marcion of Sinope, leader of an early Church movement, declared that the Hebrew Scriptures reflected the work of a different god than that of Jesus Christ. Though we may not want to ascribe authorship to another divine being, we're not far away if we say that the God of Jesus Christ does not want us to read uncomfortable texts from the Hebrew Scriptures.

I think we can embrace a new mission in Jesus Christ without claiming that he "ignor[ed] most of his own Bible," as Rohr does. Perhaps Rohr is overstating the matter to make a point, which puts him in good company with Jesus. But, like many of us Jesus-followers do, taking overstatements at face value can lead to problematic conclusions. It is a lifetime task of Christians to seek to understand how God, in Jesus Christ, is weaving all the threads of Torah, the Prophets, the Writings, the Gospels, and the Epistles into a tapestry that embraces the entirety of human history. To set aside some of the story because it makes us uncomfortable or we disagree with it deprives us of opportunities to be a part of that glorious, all-encompassing work.

love,

emrys

The Power of the Law

One of the most fascinating American Constitutional scholars speaking today is Yuval Levin. I'm sure that presently you could find his work through many varied outlets. The one that brought him to my attention this past week as the podcast Conversing with Mark Labberton (https://comment.org/shows/conversing/ ) I recommend it to you.

In that conversation Mark and Yuval plumb the depths of the relationship between law (as expressed in the American judicial branch) and morality. While they probe many topics worthy of meditation for us as US citizens, I found myself wanting them to consider whether law can effect morality.

It is a longstanding Christian conviction that having rules--even the best rules--cannot make people good. In fact, in some ways having rules seems to invite us to consider how we can get around them. (Paul of Tarsus makes a powerful argument about this in his letter to the church at Rome.)

Only a renovation of the heart makes us good. Only something moving within us can untwist the dark DNA we inherit from our parents, our families, and our culture. Law--even the best laws--cannot make us our our society better. Goodness and betterment come from the Spirit of God moving us to do what no law can require, for the right motivations and with humility.

One place in which I notice this dichotomy rising for me is in the recent Supreme Court decisions about gerrymandering. A recent case involving the Voting Rights Act (a great mid-20th century boon for Americans of color) highlighted the tough work of deciding how congressional districts are drawn. At the core of the decision, for many of us, was the spectre of racism in drawing district maps. Shouldn't it be illegal to use race to decide district boundaries?

Digging into the complexities of that case brings me to a bedrock conviction that I don't think people should be racist. But racism is a matter of the heart. No matter how good the law is, if I am racist I will find a way to oppress those of other ethnicities. Eliminating racism requires God's work to open eyes and expand love beyond the narrow selfish boundaries of my identity.

So I place this hope and offer myself at the feet of Jesus Christ, who promises now and eternally to bring all peoples and races into a single kingdom of heaven. And I pray and work for the realization of that promise, that more hearts may turn and make the law superfluous.

love,

emrys

In Praise of Meal Trains

Our congregation, in common with many I have worked with, puts together meal trains. Even if perhaps you call it by some other name, I guess that you know what a meal train is: a schedule of people bringing meals daily to someone (or a whole family) who is suffering something that makes it hard to keep their normal routine.

One parent in a household recovering from surgery or going through chemo treatments. One spouse enduring the loss of the other and navigating the season of a funeral, family visitations, paperwork, and reorientation. Someone losing their home to fire and living in temporary quarters.

Many different life events could trigger a meal train. And there are people who have a particular gift for keeping their ear to the ground and standing ready to organize a blessed cavalcade of provision for others in a time of suffering.

I think meal trains serve as a beautiful reminder of the kingdom of God.

They involve provision of basic need: daily bread. I have been joyfully surprised, however, to find an over-the-top gourmet meal delivered by meal train: cooking is some folks' spiritual gift! They are embodied love: We need to show up on someone's doorstep, and often come into their home, to deliver the goods. They foster relationship: It's hard not to have some kind of conversation when you're giving and receiving a meal-gift. They serve as an opportunity to pray: Making a meal for someone keeps them front of mind, and receiving someone's labor of love brings gratitude to the surface.

When you get an email, a text, a notification, or maybe even an old-school phone call from someone inviting you to participate in a meal train, do it. It realizes so many facets of God's love for us and our Christian call to be in meaningful community.

Thank God for the meal train!

love,

emrys

Ironies of Freedom

Yesterday we enjoyed the festivities of America's 250th in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Downtown Cheyenne hosted an expansive series of events yesterday, one of which was the performance of the Wind River Dancers. This troupe featured dancers from the Arapahoe, Ojibwe, Lakota, and Shoshone tribes. The leader, Lone Bear, of the Northern Arapahoe, did a good job of introducing the background of each dance and some of its significance for tribal culture.

Lone Bear took a moment at the beginning of the program to call for recognition of military veterans in the crowd, of which he himself is one. He expressed appreciation for the service of veterans which has "given us the liberty to come and go as we please." I heard those words, uttered immediately before Lone Bear's introduction of dancers who live on a reservation, and heard a cacophonous irony. It was the US military, during the 19th century especially, which crushed the freedom and bounded the territories of indigenous peoples. It was the federal government whose will is enforced by the US military that established treaties with native tribes only to disregard those treaties to gain more land.

Yes, American military might successfully defends liberty of a certain kind; but it seems to me that so much of what I saw in the Wind River Dancers is a culture choked off by the consumption of expansionist culture inherited from Europe. What to do about that restriction--that clear affront to freedom--is a matter of broader consideration and debate.

But I thought it important to point out that irony, whose presence might cause us to strive at greater length to realize the fact that all people are created with rights to life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness.

love,

emrys

A Young, Hot Mess (Book Review)

The works of Gordon Wood are not light reading. Empire of Liberty: A History of the Early Republic, 1789-1815 (Oxford, 2009) measures 2 1/2" thick and if thrown could put a clean hole in your drywall. Wood's research, which has won a Pulitzer Prize for a different book, looks into every nook and cranny of the early American experiment: military, cultural, religious, political, and economic. His writing moves easily across sweeping landscapes of history without forgetting to zoom in on illustrative individual stories. For the reader with endurance, I recommend Wood's work.

There is no way to wrap up the contents of this book in a little package, so I will share a few insights that struck me enough in the moment to dog-ear a page for later.

--The early decades of the American republic were persistently and oddly rural and agricultural. Much of the political leadership "assumed that American society would eventually become more like that of Europe and that what Franklin had once called the 'general happy Mediocrity' of America would generally disappear" (p318). Instead, America became a country in which most of us are part of a "happy mediocrity." And as a republic, Wood argues, this continues to be one of America's defining features. "Happy mediocrity." I'm sitting with that phrase for a while.

--American constitutional law was unique in the world. (It may still be, but I'm not qualified to make that assertion.) In other countries, constitutions were documents of theory, but after 1787 "American judges could now construe the all-too-brief words of the Constitution in relation to subject matter, intention, context, and reasonableness, as if they were the words of an ordinary statute" (p448). I have had front-row seats to this phenomenon through one of my favorite podcasts, Advisory Opinions (which I recommend to you), and Wood puts it in historical perspective.

(Aside: another favorite podcast of mine, The Rest Is History, has asserted that having a constitution that we try to take literally is bonkers. Tom and Dominic are incorrigible Anglophiles, making their opinion even more interesting with respect to early American history.)

(Another Aside: I find it fascinating that just as what we might call "statutory constitutionalism" was making its start in early American law, American evangelicalism also starting putting down roots. I see a parallel, perhaps related, between constitutional textualism and biblical literalism in Christianity.)

--The shift across the Atlantic from a monarchical to a republican world-view changed how social betters viewed social inferiors. In European culture, Wood writes, one has a station, a class, which is granted and from which one cannot hope to move. Thus royalty and nobility are called to take care of the lower classes regardless of how those lower classes are conducting themselves. They would never change. Early America, however, developed the view that since social standing was fluid, to help ones inferiors meant expecting them to better themselves and rise with the assistance. "The new reformers waned to imbue people not with deference or dependency but with 'correct moral principles'; they aimed to change the actual behavior of people. These middling reformers had transformed themselves, often by strenuous efforts at self-improvement and hard work. Why couldn't others do the same?" (p489). To embrace republicanism meant rejecting both the stuckness of social classes and charity for charity's sake.

-- The War of 1812 was conducted in strange, sloppy, and disastrous fashion, in large part because President Madison stuck to his republican guns. "Better to allow the country to be invaded and the capital burned than to build up state power in a European monarchical manner. It was a Republican war that Madison sought to wage in a republican fashion" (p698). He would not take action in lieu of Congress, usurping its prerogatives. He would not siphon money toward the war effort without Congress' approval. So concerned was Madison about concentrating executive power (the Republican party's great concern at the time) that the war was inefficient, unnecessarily lethal to American soldiers, and perhaps unnecessary in the first place. And it went on longer than it had to. It is worth comparing and contrasting this history with how the United States has conducted its wars in the past 70 years.

-- The feelings of opposition between Federalists (who saw top-down government authority as useful) and Republicans (who saw only bottom-up governance as virtuous) were so strong in this period that violence resulted--including one of the very few instances of assault inside the chambers of Congress. In our present time when folks assert that "we've never been as politically polarized as we are now" Wood's writing is a useful corrective. We may say that American culture goes through cycles of political amiability and violence, and perhaps we're at the bottom of the cycle in 2026. But we've got a solid history of believing that our fellow Americans hold viewpoints that need to be silenced with physical force. We may be good at unity, but we're also good at making each other into enemies.

-- In spite of the radical and inspiring emergence of the Declaration of Independence and Constitution, the early republic was a hot mess. On every axis there existed great hopes, profound uncertainty, bitter disagreement, and stunning failures. No one knew what he was doing, really. One of Wood's closing reflections is on Thomas Jefferson's disbelief that the next generation of Americans could consider the question of slavery to be a moral question (p737). Yet it would become the defining moral question of the next violent convulsion of American history.

I recently went with a passel of middle-schoolers on a camping trip. It was amazing to me how much time (and sometimes material) was spent on discovering just how flammable spray sunscreen is, how fast a punctured soda can will spray out its contents, and what qualifies as a "pocket" in spike ball. As an adult, I could have told them the rules, of course (and there had to be some of that, for safety's sake), but they were determined to discover the rules by experimentation rather than fiat.

Is the American republic still an experiment? It certainly was in the first 40 years, with all the slop, damage, and discovery of experimentation. Thanks to Gordon Wood for opening up new vistas of understanding. About a week ago, as I was getting into the last fifth of this book, I heard on the radio that Gordon Wood died at 92 years of age. I hope he has gone to glory.

love,

emrys

Matthew 25:31-46

A couple of weeks ago during our Theology on Tap session we touched on interpretation of Jesus' teaching in Matthew 25:31-46 (the sheep and the goats sorted out at the end of time). I intimated that I have a different interpretation of that text than what usually makes the rounds in Christian preaching and writing. Some wondered or disagreed with me.

So I decided to lay out my work with the text for others to see, and discover whether it generates more fruitful discussion.

I handed out a physical copy of what follows at Theology on Tap, with the invitation to bring follow-up questions to our next gathering. (And if there are only crickets chirping in the silence, then we'll move on to our next topic.)

Who Are The Sheep (and Goats)?

Matthew 25: 31-46

**TLDR**: When non-Christians love you through crises, bless them in Jesus’ name. God will honor that blessing.

A few weeks ago, I (Emrys) offered an interpretation of Matthew 25:31-46 that differs from most contemporary American interpretations. There was enough disagreement and curiosity expressed about it that I decided to lead you through my process of exploration of the text and interpretation of it. That follows is the detailed result.

Verse in question: Matthew 25:40 “And the king [Son of Man] will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers you did it to me.’”

What does “brother” mean?

“Brother” in Matthew:

4.18, 21; 10.2, 21; 14.3; 17.1; 22.24, 25 seem to refer only to biological relationship.

5.22-24; 7.3-4; 18.15-35;  probably metaphor, but does not define “brother”

12.50: Jesus clearly changes the definition of “brother” from biological relation to “the one doing the will of my father in heaven”--i.e. disciples/apostles. (This fits into the list of other metaphorical passages given above, having to do with reconciliation, etc.)

Thus, in Matthew’s gospel, when the meaning of “brother” is not clearly biological family, the metaphorical meaning of “brother” is a disciple or apostle of Jesus.

Plug this into Mat25.40:

““And the king [Son of Man] will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these my disciples you did it to me.’”

But wait . . .

Isn’t humanity a “universal brotherhood”? Therefore, aren’t “the least of these, my brothers” really the least (or most disadvantaged) of all humanity?

Amos 1.9: Jer27.1-8? Meaning of brotherhood here is obscure

Zech11.14: brotherhood is in-house between Judah&Israel

1Pet2:17: “love the brotherhood”--over against “honoring everyone”

There is no scriptural reference to all of humanity being a “brotherhood” apart from Christ. One only becomes a “brother to Christ” by faith in him. This would direct us against interpreting “the least of these my brothers” to mean anyone who is not Christian.

(If we want to say that “the least of these my brothers” refers to all humanity, we can do that, but we must admit that we are getting the definition of “brother” from somewhere besides the bible.)

Now, what about the “nations” (Greek: ethne)?

From Matthew:

24.7: “nation will rise against nation”

24.9: “You will be hated by all nations because of my name”

24.14: good news preached “as a testimony to all nations”

25.32: our text in question

28.19: “go and make disciples of all the nations”

Nations are groups of people occupying the world outside of the Church. They make war with each other; they oppose the good news of Christ; they hear the good news; and the Church recruits folks from them. There seems to be a boundary between “nations” and the people of God. This resonates with the Old Testament view of Israel and the nations, with which we expect Matthew to be familiar.

What objections might we raise to this conclusion? From where do those objections come (scriptural, theological, ethical)?

There are a host of scriptural passages that indicate one can only be saved (that is, live with God forever) if one believes in Jesus Christ. These would seem to say that there is no action delivered by one person to another that guarantees salvation; faith alone is the determining factor.

However, the exploration of this passage (above) must give us pause. So, too, must two additional passages from the gospels which are admittedly weird, but link up with our text.

Matthew 10.40-42 and Mark 9.38-41 both reference a “reward” for those who offer simple hospitality to the apostles. The context in Matthew seems to be the sending out of the apostles into a world where their reception is uncertain–it is also a sending into a culture in which hospitality is one of the chief social virtues.

These (Matthew 10, Matthew 25) are not preaching instructions: “Go, tell the world that they just have to visit people in prison in order to be saved!” These appear to be in-house instructions for apostles navigating in the world.

What’s the purpose of this passage?

Why tell the Church that a whole bunch of those outside the Church will be brought into the kingdom in the end because of acts of mercy delivered to members of the Church?

I think this passage presents a complicating message for American Christians. Most American students of the New Testament want simplicity regarding entry into the next life: If you believe in Jesus, you’re in; if you don’t, you’re out.

The New Testament addresses a Church which is a minority culture in a world in which hospitality was a life-or-death factor, and therefore had its own economics. And Jesus’ disciples want to take Jesus’ lordship and direction seriously. So the following quandary would naturally arise for them. “We were placed in positions of suffering because of our faith: homelessness, prison, poverty, etc. These people offered us hospitality in our time of need. They didn’t profess loyalty to you, but they honored us. How could you condemn them, Lord? Isn’t that a violation of hospitality?”

The Matthew 25 text (and Matthew 10 and Mark 9 verses) address the apostles’ quandary with an answer: They will not be condemned.

[For an interesting intersection of these worlds in a contemporary context, look up the story of Matt Zeller and Janis Shinwari: https://www.npr.org/2013/09/25/225858836/u-s-soldier-crusading-for-afghan-interpreter-who-saved-his-life ]

love,

emrys

Our Loss to Glory

I am saddened to receive the news that one of my professors from seminary has gone to glory. As with the passing of all saints, it is a joy to meditate on the reception that awaits us when we cross over the threshold of death. Yet, as one still left behind in this world where all things are seen as in a mirror, darkly, I still experience the loss.

Rev. Dr. Marguerite Shuster, whose obituary you can find here, was my homiletics professor. I took my general homiletics (preaching) course from her, as well as my first preaching practicum. It was from Dr. Shuster that I learned the art of allowing a sermon to flow out of precise and thoroughgoing exegesis. It was through the patience in her gentle voice and incisive intellect that I learned how to receive criticism of my work that both convicted me and encouraged me to go and do better. It was through her engagement with difficult questions, homiletical, theological, and ethical that I saw how it was fully possible to be both firmly convinced and humbly open to conversation.

It was because of Dr. Shuster that I was given the blessing of the Parish Pulpit Fellowship, that allowed Sara and I to travel 12 countries over 7 months, soaking up experience for my 20 years as a small-church solo pastor.

It was because of Dr. Shuster that I have relished every opportunity to teach the skills of preaching, whether to second-career lay pastors, curious Ruling Elders, or high school students. I am certain Dr. Shuster's voice in my heart affects my work with speech and debate students.

I still tell people stories about how much Dr. Shuster influenced my thinking, my preaching, and my pastoral work. She and her ministry are still very much a part of God's work in my life.

I thank God for Marguerite Shuster. I am sad that she has left this world. But I hope that because of her influence I may continue to be a better proclaimer of Jesus Christ.

love,

emrys

Retraction and Rethinking: For All the Saints

After the initial version of this post, I was kindly asked by a fellow saint to reconsider my words about other traditions' approach to the saints. Taking that request as guidance from the Spirit (and helped along by suggested further reading into our various traditions), I retract my early post and re-work it to present the following. Thanks for reading, for listening, and for pushing back.

If you read my earlier post and were offended or injured by it, then I would gladly hear from you so that I can apologize and seek reconciliation. That is, after all, what this whole project is about.

---

Last Friday we had a thorough, wide-ranging, and challenging discussion about saints. In spite of the many anecdotes I hear from members of our congregation, we didn't have any dyed-in-the-wool Catholics at the table. We had a couple few who had childhood memories of Catholicism (Catholic school, Catholic catechism classes), but not many people who were life-long Catholics now centering their Jesus-walk in the Episcopal Church.

The conversation and research was interesting enough, though, that I thought I would process some here for broader consumption.

"Saint" in the Catholic Church (and, to a different extent, in the Orthodox Churches) is a special category of person. The special category of "saint" as a "hero of the faith" is a departure point between Catholic and Protestant (Moravian, Presbyterian, Baptist, etc) Churches. Most if not all of the Protestant streams of faith interpret "saint" only according to the basic definition of the Greek word (hagios) in the New Testament applied to all believers in Jesus Christ. To believe in Jesus as Lord sets one apart, makes one holy. "Hagios" means "holy," so all Christians are "saints." They are saints not because they are miraculously or conspicuously good, as our common definition of the word indicates, but because their discipleship to Jesus Christ makes them holy, or different from the rest of the world.

A word about titles before I go on. Christians who participate in the Church under the authority of the Bishop of Rome (the pope) call themselves "Catholic." Most other denominations call that segment of the Church the "Roman Catholic" Church, because the word "catholic" means universal and they consider themselves part of the universal Church. But the (Roman) Catholics I have known do not use the term "Roman" in their name because, well, they are the universal Church. So I suppose from here on (at least in this post) I should use "catholic" to refer to the universal Church (all Christians) and "Roman Catholic" to refer to those under the authority of the pope.

In the Roman Catholic Church, a "saint" is someone who has led an exceptionally good life, usually accompanied by verified miracles, often accompanied by martyrdom (choosing death instead of renouncing the faith.) Being officially recognized as a hero of the faith, or "canonization," means that Roman Catholics may both look at them as exemplars and "invoke" them, or ask for them to pray in heaven for believers' concerns.

One can go down quite the rabbit hole of Roman Catholic theology in understanding the saints, including journeys through canonization, the differences between honoring, serving, venerating, and worshipping, beatification versus sainthood, and so on. If you'd like to do so, I recommend starting with the Catholic Encyclopedia at NewAdvent.org. (Start with the entry for "Canonization.") The Bellarmine Forum (https://bellarmineforum.org/) also has well-explained information about Catholic theology.

The Anglican Church (and, generally by extension, the Episcopal Church) has considered itself to be the "middle way" between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism. It has a governing structure and liturgy very much like the Roman Catholic Church, but sits under the Archbishop of Canterbury (within the Anglican Communion) rather than the Bishop of Rome. It has formally rejected invocation of the saints, but still regards saints as exemplars of the faith whom the living should emulate. (For a deeper Episcopal dive, see here.)

[The family tree has even more branches of course: In the 19th century a group of Anglicans believed that the Anglican Church had gone too far away from Roman Catholic spirituality, and started a movement a little to the RC side of Anglicanism called Anglo-Catholicism. For more on that, see this congregation's website. It's fascinating.]

In the present Church's American mash-up of traditions, members of any given congregation may come from, or still embrace, elements of faith characteristic of very different branches of the family tree. (Witness this Reformed author serving an Episcopal congregation.) I suppose this makes for a fascinating opportunity to crawl out of our fish bowls and see what it's like outside the water we've been breathing so long.

---

It is interesting that Paul, writing to the Church at Corinth, says, "be imitators of me" (1Cor4.16). He says it again at 11.1: "be imitators of me, as I am of Christ." It is accurate to describe the goal of the Christian life to be imitating Christ. And if the life of another believer helps us to take another step toward Christ, then we give glory to God for it.

May our lives, as well, so reflect the light of Christ that others are drawn to that source and seek to live in its rays.

love,

emrys

For Christ's Sake: Just Talk to Them!

For those who read the pre-colon portion of this post's title and can only hear it as an expletive, let me explain. Yes, "for Christ's sake" is something that folks with no intention of invoking the Spirit of Jesus say in order to express exasperation or anger; and I don't want to encourage that use of the phrase. However, it is possible to do things for the sake of Christ--and what better way to call your attention to that motivation here?

One of the most abundant and subtle streams of evidence for thoroughgoing human depravity appears in casual conversation and begins with a phrase similar to, "How is So-And-So doing?"

Here we are--in a coffee shop, standing in the hardware store aisle, or on your front porch--with all the multiple universes of cares, joys, achievements, hopes, and sufferings that exist within and between us. So many things to ask about, talk about, and give thanks for. Yet, I ask you about . . . . Someone Else.

The manifestly darker version of this behaviour is what most of us would call gossip. I ask about Someone Else because I want the twisted power to pigeon-hole or silently denigrate Someone Else. Or, not so silently, I want to be able to ask other people if they have heard about Someone Else. When they haven't, I want to describe my second-hand juicy tidbit that, when consumed, allows us all to feel better about ourselves (except Someone Else, who is left out in the cold). I am excited to talk about Someone Else for the opportunity to pass judgment; I am also relieved to talk about Someone Else because, hidden behind a veil of silence, I am saved from your judgment. Herein lies the addictive power of gossip.

There is a different version of asking about Someone Else that appears, at first blush, innocent or even virtuous. Having served as a pastor for a good long time, I have been on the receiving end of this latter version a good many times. "How is So-And-So doing?" gets asked about someone who most folks know has been struggling. Asking me (whether I be a pastor, a friend, a closer neighbor) about this Someone Else serves as a veiled way to discover whether that person is being cared for. Will they be all right? Are they getting what they need? Are they getting better than I heard they were (via gossip) before?

This version feigns love by expressing interest in the facts of Someone Else's situation. And it avoids the ethical and relational burden that might befall me if I had a conversation directly with them. But Christians are called explicitly to share one another's burdens, not just to know about those burdens through the grapevine.

An essential element of the Body of Christ is people knowing one another well and caring for one another self-sacrificially. So avoiding the responsibility of care by asking second- or third-hand about Someone Else tears at the sinews of Christ. When we evaluate our words for gossip or false concern we are examining ourselves for Christ's sake. Christ's life in the world is at stake in how we talk about Other People.

How is So-And-So doing? For Christ's sake: Just talk to them! If we are in the same community together--the same church, mosque, or pickleball club--then you have means to text them, call them, and go visit them. Do it! And if you don't have the time or energy to communicate with them, I respect that. All of us have limited resources, and we cannot be expected to keep in touch with everyone even if we wanted to do so. 

But if you don't have that time, energy, or inclination then don't ask me about them. My response will be meaningless. And it steals precious time from our conversation, which could be plumbing the vast depths of you, me, or what God is doing between us. Or at very least helping me find the right size bolt for this thing I'm trying to fix--which is why I came into the hardware store in the first place.

The overarching claim of the Christian faith is that God comes into the three-dimensional life of humanity, wrestling with its suffering and death, to bring impossible new life. And that God, having accomplished this fully in Jesus Christ, sends us to do the same. It is the specific privilege of Christians to go where there is suffering, where there is evil, where there is grief and be agents of hope. We short-circuit our own calling and privilege when we practice the veneer of concern without going to be with others. When we do spend the time and energy to be with Someone Else, we become conduits of love.

~ emrys