Monthly Archives: September 2009

An Evening with Will Allen

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Corrie and I went to the presentation  by Will Allen of Growing Power. Allen, a former pro basketball player is a leader in the urban agriculture movement. He talked about the history of his organization, and went into considerable detail about their techniques and projects around the world. The evening’s mantra “it’s all about the soil.”

He bought the  last farm in the city of Milwaukee in the early 90s and has created an intensive agriculture program on it. It’s an inspiring, and challenging vision. For more information, visit the organization’s website: http://www.growingpower.org

He’s just the first of several food activists and writers to visit Madison in the coming weeks. Michael Pollan and Wendell Berry will be here as well.

Still lovin’ it!

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I hope I always continue to enjoy the rapid changes I encounter each day. Today, for example, I had a lovely time in a parishioner’s home, drinking coffee, eating delicious home-made scones, and chatting. When I returned to the office, I met with a street person who was clearly mentally ill and wanted to recite his personal history since approximately 1973. From there, I went to lunch with the Bishop.  We got to know each other a little and talk about some of the issues that I’m dealing with at Grace.  We even talked theology for a few minutes. That was refreshing. The afternoon was more quiet, giving me time to work on a couple of writing projects and do some planning.

Losing One’s Life: Proper 19 Year B

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I remember very well the first assignment I was given when I began my M.Div program many years ago. I remember it so well because it was such an eye-opener. We were told to do a “parish study,” to pick a local congregation, do a little research, interview the pastor and a few parishioners, and, most importantly for me, to look at its environment, its neighborhood, and the congregation’s relationship to its neighborhood.

That was the eye-opener for me. I had never thought of a congregation in connection with its geographical surroundings. Why should I have? I grew up in a church that, quite literally, was surrounded by cornfields. Not much ministry to be done in that context, is there? But in that assignment those many years ago, I learned something very important, that congregations, like it or not, or linked to their communities, even if, as is often the case these days, most of a congregation’s members do not come from the immediate vicinity.

That assignment has come back to me since I’ve arrived in Madison. Living downtown, walking to work everyday, being the rector of Grace Church is very much being a part of the community. I can’t think of my ministry in this place only as ministry among you, the members of Grace. I have other responsibilities, other tasks, among them being present as a priest and pastor in the heart of the Capitol Square. That I am here, that Grace is here on Capitol Square, has an enormous impact on what it means for us to be the people of God, the body of Christ in this place.

Geography is important. Last week, I pointed out the significance for Mark of the two miracles Jesus worked. Both were in Gentile territory; both were done for Gentiles. In today’s Gospel, Jesus and his disciples are near Caesarea Philippi. They are “on the way,” Caesarea Philippi was a place of great symbolic and political importance. It had been given to Herod by the Emperor in 20 bc, and built as a city to represent the connection between the two rulers. Herod built a temple dedicated to Caesar Augustus, his patron. In Jesus’ day, it was the capital of Herod’s successor, Philip’s kingdom. So it was a center of the political power of Rome and its local henchmen, the power of Rome, and the willingness of local figures to suck up to it. It is in this geographical political context that Jesus asks his disciples a question of enormous significance.

What makes this particular story so important for the Gospel of Mark is that for one thing, this is the first time that any of Jesus’ disciples call him the Messiah. Jesus asks his friends what people think of him, and they give him all sorts of answers–Elijah, John the Baptist, a prophet. Clearly, Jesus is seen to be a remarkable individual, perhaps even super-human, a reincarnation of a great religious leader. But it is Peter who responds quickly and confidently to Jesus’ second question, “Who do you say that I am?” “You are the Messiah,” Peter replies.

We tend to stop there, with Peter’s great confession, and focus on the meaning of the question, and of Peter’s response. But Mark doesn’t stop there. He tells us more, and as the story continues, we learn precisely what it means, both for Jesus, and for his disciples, to confess that Jesus is the Messiah.

That’s crucial for Mark’s gospel. It’s the first time a human being has confessed Jesus to be the Messiah. But he doesn’t stop there. He makes two additional points that are of great significance. First, he follows Peter’s confession with Jesus’ prediction that he will go to Jerusalem, be arrested, and be crucified. Second, he begins to tell his disciples what they’ve signed up for: “If you would be my disciple, take up your cross and follow me.”

Both of those points are challenged by the disciples in the coming chapters. First, Peter contradicts Jesus. No, he says, that’s not going to happen. In the coming chapters, we will see the disciples not understanding what Jesus has to say about his death and about what it means to follow him.

What was it that so bothered Peter? That Jesus predicted the Messiah would undergo suffering and death.  For Peter and his contemporaries were waiting for a Messiah to deliver the Jewish people from the occupying Roman empire. Apparently, when Peter identified Jesus as the Messiah, he hoped Jesus would be that deliverer. But for Jesus, messiah-ship meant something quite different.

But it is not just the notion of the Messiah that Jesus radically reinterprets. He also turns upside-down the expectations of what it meant to follow him. For if the Messiah was going to be a revolutionary, a political deliverer, then his followers would also be revolutionaries, fighting against the Roman occupation. But Jesus understands discipleship in very different terms.

For Jesus, to be a disciple means to share in his suffering and death.  Jesus put it quite clearly, “If you want to follow me, take up your cross and follow me.” Following Jesus means following him to the bitter end, expecting the same fate that Jesus knew was awaiting him in Jerusalem.

To follow the Messiah, to follow Jesus, did not mean sharing in his glorious victory over the forces of Rome. It meant just the opposite, to share in his suffering and death.

Those are hard words for us to hear. They seem far distant from our religious experience and from our daily lives. But, just as Jesus challenged Peter and the disciples in today’s Gospel, so too does this gospel challenge the way we think about ourselves and about Jesus. Jesus confronts our assumptions about him, he confronts our complacency, our everyday world and tells us, “Friends, that’s not what it means to follow me.”

Jesus stands in front of us, asking us, like he asked Peter and the other disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” But confession is not enough, empty words, no matter how profound, don’t matter. In the South, it’s something of a marketing ploy to identify oneself as Christian. Small businesses will put the sign of the fish in their Yellow Pages ad, or will put their faith up on their marquee. One of my favorites appeared just after 9/11. A bar I used to pass on my way to work advertised. God Bless America! Draft beer $1.50. Indeed. I’m sure one sees much the same in rural Wisconsin as well.

Peter’s words were easy, because he hadn’t gotten Jesus’ point about what he was about. Okay, Jesus said, you think I’m the Messiah? Well, here’s what that means. And when Jesus made clear what messiah-ship was, Peter turned around and said that he didn’t sign up for suffering and death.

Like Jesus and his disciples, we are “on the way. We come from all over the area, to this place to worship. Most of us do it for very personal reasons—because we have family or friends here, because we like the worship, or the preaching, the atmosphere, the programs. We may travel a few blocks, a few miles or many more. And I wager few of us really think about the connection between our lives of discipleship and this particular place. But we have followed Jesus here, and that matters.

Last week, I preached about the baptismal covenant, that it served as something of a job description for Jesus’ disciples. It’s easy for us to think of our selves as Episcopalians—for many of us, to call ourselves Christians is more of a stretch. We don’t want to identify ourselves, or be identified with the religious right. Even difficult is to think of ourselves as disciples. You will hear that term a great deal in the coming weeks, because for the next two or three chapters of Mark, we will be hearing again and again about what it means to be a disciple, to follow Jesus.

I can’t tell you how precisely to respond to Jesus’ demand to follow him. That is up to you. I can give you some suggestions, some guidelines perhaps. Discipleship is about responding to that call with concrete actions and with a desire to deepen your relationship with Jesus Christ.

There are many ways in which you might become more involved in Grace Church and in our outreach into the community. I encourage you to take advantage of those opportunities—serving in some capacity on Sunday morning, or volunteering in the Food Pantry. It is also important to continue learning about our faith and asking the hard questions. I hope many of you will participate in the Gift program with its in-depth examination of our relationship with food—questions of sustainability, hunger, and the like. We are also beginning our fall stewardship campaign and as you think about your commitment to Jesus Christ, your commitment to Grace Church, it is also appropriate to consider how that commitment might be reflected financially.

Yes, it is a hard road that Jesus walked, the road from Caesarea Philippi to Jerusalem. His disciples didn’t know what they were getting into. We know what lay at the end of that journey, and for most of us, such a fate is incomprehensible. Yet, for all that difficulty, we should think of ourselves as disciples, sharing the journey Jesus walked. It won’t look the same. The circumstances are radically different. But for the most part, the questions, the challenges are the same.

What does it mean to follow Jesus, to have followed Jesus to this place this morning? To confess Jesus is Lord, to confess with Peter that Jesus is the Messiah, is quite easy. To do what Jesus asks of his disciples, to take up a cross, and follow him to Jerusalem, is something quite different.

We have followed Jesus to this place, to Grace Church, this morning. It is our responsibility as his disciples, to reach out, as he did “on the way to Jerusalem.” To reach out to others, to those in the pews around us, to those in this community, to offer them healing, and hope, and bread for the journey.

Can you fight City Hall (or the Statehouse)?

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OK. For the third consecutive week, Capitol Square was closed to parking for an event. What made today fun was that they towed vehicles without warning and the information we received in advance was that Pinckney St would be affected, not our side of the square.

Presence on the square is a blessing, but today, for at least one family, belonging to Grace was a curse. I too wanted to roundly curse the cops.

I’m hoping that we can do two things in very short order. 1) offer handicapped parking in front of Grace Church on W. Washington, and 2) provide vouchers for a near-by parking garage (they call them “ramps” here).

Notes on the lectionary

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Early in the summer, our lessons from the Hebrew Bible focused on the early history of the Israelite monarchy. We heard of the selection of Saul as King, then of his fall and replacement by David. We also heard snippets of the story of Solomon, his ascent to the throne and the building of the temple.

In recent weeks, we had the only reading from the Song of Solomon that appears in the three-year lectionary cycle. And now we have several selections from the book of Proverbs. Both of these books were traditionally attributed to Solomon, because of his reputation as the wisest of kings. Contemporary research has tended to discount his authorship, on linguistic and historical grounds. Proverbs belongs to Wisdom literature, which appears throughout the Ancient Near East. In fact, a large section of Proverbs (22:17-24:22) is very closely related to the Egyptian Instruction of Amenenope. Wisdom literature is characterized by its approach to the world. It seeks to provide the reader with a way of approaching life. Most striking is the almost complete absence of any reference to sacred traditions and history–the Exodus, covenant, etc.

Our Epistle readings come from the Letter of James. We will continue hearing throughout the month of September. Although it probably achieved its final form late in the first century, its core may indeed derive from James, who was a leader of the church in Jerusalem in the first decades after Jesus’ death and resurrection. Its emphasis is that of Jewish Christianity, a high value on ethical action and much moral advice. Perhaps the most notorious comment on the letter in the History of Christianity was Martin Luther’s judgment that it is a “straw gospel.”

Throwing food to the dogs–Proper 18B

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Today we are welcoming into the community of Grace Church Alexander Wesley Taylor who is being baptized. Traditionally, baptism was a private, a family event, but it has become in recent decades a celebration for the whole congregation to enjoy, and to participate in. And in fact we, all are all more than observers here. We all have a role to play. During the baptism itself, we will all reaffirm our baptismal vows and equally important, we will all make a promise to do all that we can to participate in Alexander’s growth in the Christian faith.

These vows we make today may seem somewhat strange, even inappropriate if you have never participated in an Episcopal baptismal service. But they are important. They remind us of what we are about as individual Christians, as a parish, and as a Church. If taken seriously, and what vow should be treated lightly, these vows we make each time we witness a baptism, serve as a reminder of what we should be about as Christians. In short, they are our job description.

  • Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread and in the prayers?
  • Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
  • Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
  • Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
  • Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?

That’s what you will agree to do in a few minutes, that’s what you’ve agreed to do, every time you have attended a baptismal service in the thirty odd years since this Book of Common Prayer has been in use. Perhaps some of you, thinking this is not what you expected when you came to church this morning, will sneak out the back. Perhaps some of you, will try to weasel out of it by not responding when I ask these questions. Fortunately, I’m new enough that I might not recognize who is walking out, in fact I would rather you left, than have you stay here and agree to things you have no intention of doing.

We have all, in our own ways, and to our own abilities, agreed to follow Jesus Christ. We are all, in our different ways, and to the limits of our own abilities, Jesus’ disciples. It’s not that some of us have what it takes and others don’t. Rather when we confess our faith in Jesus Christ, we are making a commitment to follow him, to try to see the world with his eyes, to do what he would have us do, to love our neighbor as ourself, to seek justice, and respect the dignity of every human being.

Part of our struggle with how to follow Jesus comes from the sense we have that the demands Jesus makes of us are far beyond our ability to achieve. Jesus was God after all, and his disciples were chosen by him, so when Jesus made some high moral or ethical demand of himself or his followers, it was easy for them. It’s not for us. But such a view is a far cry from the Jesus and the disciples depicted in the gospels. Paying attention to the text reveals a rather different dynamic—a Jesus who was human, just like us in every respect, and disciples who struggled, just like we do. There’s no better example of this than in today’s gospel.

One of the things I most like about the Gospel of Mark is the mystery in it. While Mark’s gospel is enigmatic throughout, it may be that there is no part of it that is as deliciously ambiguous as the story we have in front of us today. Let’s begin with the geographical setting. None of us had a map of Palestine in front of us while we were listening to Deacon Carol in the gospel, so we probably assumed that if you wanted to go from Tyre to the Decalopis, the town of Sidon was on the way. Far from it. Sidon is twenty miles north of Tyre; and the decapolis, the ten cities were to the southwest of Tyre—perhaps fifty miles. Given that Jesus and his disciples were walking, to go from Tyre to the Decapolis via Sidon is, oh I don’t know something like driving from Madison to New York City via Denver.

Then there’s the story of the encounter between Jesus and the Syro-Phoenician woman. What I love about this is the interchange between the two. Jesus seems to be trying to conceal his identity; in fact, he doesn’t want to do ministry in this place, but this woman comes to him asking for his help. She is a Gentile, a Syro-phoenician, whose daughter is possessed by a demon. She behaves as she should, bowing down before him submissively. Jesus’ rejects herm comparing her to a dog, an unclean animal, by the way. His statement, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs” implies that he shouldn’t be bothered by such requests, that her needs, and those of her daughters, were no concern of hers.

But the surprising thing is that she doesn’t settle for this response. She turns his “dis” of her, back onto him. “But even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” With that, she conquers Jesus in a little contest of wordplay.

This brief interchange sounds remarkably offensive. In a nutshell, Jesus responds to someone who has come to him asking for help with an offensive putdown. She, in turn, accepts the term for herself and turns it back on him. OK, call me a dog, but dogs eat the food that falls from the table. Jesus turns around with an equally surprising response. You’re right, and because you’re right, because you’ve won this contest, your child is well.

The story seems to depict Jesus in a very bad light; that he seems not to know he should reach out to Gentiles as well as to Jews. He seems to respond to human need as callously as we might brush off a panhandler on State Street.

In fact, this story is a turning point in Mark’s gospel. Up to this point, Jesus had ministered only to, and among his own Jewish people. Mark emphasizes the rather bizarre geography to make the point that Jesus has left the traditional homeland of Jesus and is traveling in Gentile territory. In the course of that journey, he begins to minister to Gentiles as well as to Jews, and this encounter with the Syro-Phoenician woman seems to be the impetus for that ministry. After that, he heals a deaf man, also in Gentile territory, and the people acclaim him as the one who can make the deaf hear, and the mute to speak.

For Mark, it was this woman, a Gentile, pleading with Jesus to heal her daughter, who brought Jesus to understand that his ministry extended to Gentile as well as Jew. Whether it happened just that way is not the point. What matters is that Jesus reached out to Gentile as well as to Jew, and that Mark wanted to tell the story in just the way he did. For Mark, the encounter with this woman changed Jesus. It changed the way he thought about himself. This is not the only such point in the gospel. There are other times when Jesus seems to learn something new about himself—his baptism and Gethsemane, for example.
I don’t want to address the theological implications of this; they are profound, and one of the reasons the early church struggled with the question of just who Jesus was. For us, there is a different struggle and a different set of implications. The baptismal covenant, as I said, is a job description for Christians, but it does not describe what we are or what we do. Rather it provides us a vision of who we ought to be, what we ought to do. It is hard, and lies beyond our capabilities. The gospel reminds us that occasionally even Jesus had difficulty adhering to it. That should give us comfort, but it should also challenge us. Thanks be to God.

On wearing a collar in public

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A parishioner asked me today why I always wear a collar. Well, I don’t but when I am working, you will probably see me in clericals.

The answer is quite simple. It creates opportunities. I’ve heard stories from other priests about difficult situations created by their dress, but I’ve never experienced such. Sure, there are awkward moments, particularly when someone asks me for financial help while I’m having a beer. But there are other, more important and meaningful moments–when a parishioner recognizes me only because of what I’m wearing, or someone stops and chats.

I’ve had people catch my attention at stoplights, and ask me to pray for them across three lanes of traffic. I’ve had workers of Home Depot ask for a prayer in the parking lot.

Being a priest means, among other things, reminding people of Christ’s presence in the midst of their daily lives, and if a collar helps them encounter Christ, so be it, even if, or especially if, I’ve got a glass of beer in my hand.

The Discipline of a Weekly Day off

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I’m not sure how long it’s been since I’ve taken regular days off. Certainly, the last years of juggling church and teaching have meant that the chance of a day off every week–a day with nothing hanging over my head, no papers to grade, nothing for which to prepare–was a rare occurrence.

With only one job, carving out that regular day off is somewhat easier, but actually taking it seems like something of a guilty luxury. Still, I’ve been doing it.

On Friday we had a great day exploring Wisconsin and Madison. We visited the Aldo Leopold Center up near Baraboo, then drove to Spring Green for a quick pick at Taliesin and a stroll through the streets of downtown.

Back home in Madison, we went to jazz on the roof of the Madison Museum of Modern Art and heard some great Gypsy Swing. The day was capped off with some of the best Chinese food I’ve ever had–at Fugu. Corrie and I and another couple were the only Anglos in the restaurant. The tables were full of Chinese grad students. The food was exquisite. I had Cumin Lamb in chili sauce, to die for. Next up: tripe or pork intestine.

Days off like that are wonderful. I hope to enjoy many more in the months and years to come. The trade-off was a busy Saturday, meetings in the morning and then a sermon to write. But it was worth it.