My Continuing Education dilemma

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I started an interesting conversation on Twitter this evening when I asked several people for advice on how to spend my continuing education funds in the coming year. The early registration deadline for the conference I’ve attended the past two years is imminent, so I spent some time looking at the schedule and learning about the presenters and workshops. While there are a great many things on offer, it seemed to me that the topics were heavily weighted toward institutional maintenance (endowments, clergy transition and the like) and relatively little on topics that would challenge me to think beyond the walls of the building or challenge the way I do and think about ministry.

 

So, what am I looking for in a conference? That’s hard to say because I have very little to go on. My experience with conferences has primarily been with academic conferences which fell into two very broad categories. The one sort of conference was the giant, international gathering like the American Academy of Religion that brings together thousands of scholars from all over the world. For me, the AAR was primarily an opportunity to visit the publishers’ displays and to reconnect with friends and colleagues from graduate school. The other conferences I attended were either regional meetings of the larger AAR or smaller conferences that focused on particular issues or fields of study (the Sixteenth Century Studies Conference). These latter conferences offered opportunities to engage deeply with other scholars both on common interests and in interdisciplinary conversation. There also tended to be, especially at the regional meeting, more conversation about pedagogy in our particular contexts. As a teacher and as a scholar, I tended to learn more and think more creatively about my work. One of the most exciting things about those smaller conferences was when the big-name scholars attended the entire event and engaged with graduate students, young faculty, and other established scholars in a variety of settings.

 

As a priest, I have attended exactly two conferences. I have not participated in any continuing education workshops that lasted longer than 2 days; I have not attended seminars of any sort. The one continuing ed event that I attended was quite valuable (staffed by the Alban Institute). Here’s what I don’t need:

 

  • I don’t need to attend plenaries to listen to canned lectures by theological or ministerial “rock stars.”
  • I don’t need workshops in which presenters enthuse about the wonderful and successful programs they’ve created
  • I don’t need to hear the word “missional”
  • I don’t need to attend a Eucharist with a powerful sermon preached by a wonderful bishop that is completely unrelated to the rest of the meeting (and the bishop having flown off to his/her next gig immediately after the Dismissal)
  • I don’t need workshops that are really presentations by organizations trying to sell me their products or services
  • I don’t need opportunities to schmooze and network
  • I don’t need to hear presentations by church agencies or functionaries or seminaries

 

Here’s what I need:

 

  • I need to be fed spiritually. This may be one of the few times throughout the year that I am not presiding at worship. To participate with others in the Daily Office is a great joy; to have opportunities to nourish my prayer life and my relationship with Jesus Christ even as I am being challenged vocationally and intellectually would deepen the overall experience
  • I need help thinking about my particular ministry context. Workshops that are led by people doing creative ministry in particular contexts, sharing failures as well as successes; but followed by conversations with those leaders about one’s own particular context (in other words, less presentation and more conversation; what can we learn from each other, how can we help each other)
  • I would welcome the opportunity to learn about and strategize about specific ministries in specific contexts—so an in-depth exploration of a parish by a group of people from similar contexts working together to learn about a congregation’s successes and failures and imagining new ministry opportunities

 

Let me know if you are aware of any opportunities such as those I’ve listed. I’m desperate enough to think that maybe the AAR would be the best use of the funds I have available.

Badgers, Gamecocks, and Episcopalians

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The University of Wisconsin and the University of South Carolina will meet for the first time on the gridiron in the Capital One Bowl on New Year’s Day. No doubt there are many connections between the two universities but their football teams share at least one connection, the Rev. Hope Henry Lumpkin, who played for the Gamecocks (he graduated in 1904). Lumpkin was an assistant coach for the Badgers in the 1920s while also serving as Rector of Grace Episcopal Church in Madison.

A graduate of the School of Theology at Sewanee, Rev. Lumpkin served parishes in SC and then went as a missionary to Alaska in 1914. He became rector of Grace in 1920. He took ill in 1931, apparently caused in part by exhaustion. In the summer of 1932, he returned to Columbia, SC, where he died on October 11.

Coincidentally, I came to Grace Church, Madison from Greenville South Carolina in 2009 where I was neither a South Carolina or a Clemson fan and the only college football game I’ve ever attended was between UW and Wofford College which is located in Spartanburg, SC, where I lived for several years.

I’m quite confident that many more Episcopalians will be rooting for the Gamecocks than for the Badgers on New Year’s Day but perhaps we can join in a toast to the memory of Hope Henry Lumpkin, who is described in a history of Grace as:

a man of rare and varied talents; an orator of exceptional gifts, the possessor of a beautiful tenor voice and a speaking voice of great sweetness; he could play the piano, draw, paint, write poetry, and preach a wonderfully uplifting sermon

All that, and a football coach, too!

Holidays and Homelessness: The system’s complete collapse

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In the absence of a day center this winter, Dane County and the City of Madison cobbled together services that were intended to bridge the gap until a permanent facility could open. A confluence of circumstances this week demonstrate the shortcomings of that approach and put homeless people at serious risk.

New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day will see some of the coldest temperatures of the year so far with several inches of snow predicted for Wednesday. According to homeless advocate Brenda Konkel, none of the sites that currently serve homeless people during the day will be open on New Year’s. These include the Central Library, Bethel Lutheran Church, and the City-County Building. The library will also be closed on New Year’s Eve. Will the State Capitol be open on New Year’s?

While the shelters are currently not turning away anyone at night, in ordinary circumstances they close after breakfast, sending guests out on their own to look for shelter from extreme temperatures. A story about that here (quite misleading because Grace does not accommodate 170 men at night; overflow shelters at St. John’s Lutheran and First Methodist offer space and mats on the floor).

In the summer of 2012, the city opened Monona Terrace and other facilities during a heatwave. I wonder if there are contingency plans in place for the next few days. The cold wave is predicted to continue–the low on Thursday night will be -13 and on the weekend many of the facilities that are closed for New Year’s will be closed again.

 

 

 

Power to become children of God: A Sermon for the First Sunday of Christmas

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Christmas may be over in our culture, but for us it continues for twelve days, through January 5. I don’t know whether any of you actually observe the twelve days of Christmas in any way, about the only nod Corrie and I make to the traditional season of Christmastide is to leave our Christmas tree up through the duration. In the stores, I assume the Christmas decorations are down and the Valentine’s Day displays are up. While many people’s outdoor decorations remain, the number of discarded Christmas trees curbside is growing by the day. We’ve moved on to other things—last minute plans for New Year’s, thinking about what January will bring, bowl games, NFL playoffs, all of that. Christmas is receding into the past, now  memories, hopefully joyful memories, but memories nonetheless. Continue reading →

St. Stephen, the First Martyr and the persecution of Christians

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On this second day of Christmas, we remember St. Stephen, deacon and martyr, who in the account of Acts was the first Christian killed because he confessed Jesus Christ to be the Messiah. It’s worth pausing on this day, as most of us recover in some way from the excesses of Christmas Day, to consider the plight of Christians across the world who suffer for their faith. Yesterday in Baghdad, more than 30 Christians were killed by bombs as they worshiped on the Feast of the Nativity. The number of Christians in Iraq has fallen by half (from 900,000) since the beginning of the US invasion in 2003, and now even Christian leaders in Iraq are urging flight.

In South Sudan, Christians are in the middle of renewed fighting. Jesse Zink is providing regular updates from his close contacts in the country. He also provides some background information here. Of the current Bishop of Bor, he writes:

Bishop Nathaniel’s successor, Ruben Akurdit Ngong, is reported to be in the UN compound just outside Bor. He, along with an unknown—but large—number of other people are seeking refuge there. Again, this is what bishops in this part of the country do. They go to where the people are and stay with them. During the civil war, some bishops were forced to seek refuge in Juba, Khartoum, or abroad. I once asked Nathaniel Garang why he went into the bush with his people, rather than to a city. He looked at me like the answer was the most obvious thing in the world: “Because I was there with the people. If I leave them, the church would not happen. My staying with the people, that’s how they received the gospel.”

Pope Francis spoke publicly today about the persecution of Christians:

“We are close to those brothers and sisters who, like Saint Stephen, are unjustly accused and subjected to violence of various kinds. This happens especially where religious freedom is still not guaranteed or not fully realised.

The Collect for the Feast of St. Stephen:

We give you thanks, O Lord of glory, for the example of the first martyr Stephen, who looked up to heaven and prayed for his persecutors to your Son Jesus Christ, who stands at your right hand; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.

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In this way, God chose to come: A sermon for Christmas Eve, 2013

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In this way, God chose to come

I had great joy in a three-week period this past summer to offer blessings soon after the births of three babies. It’s one of the highlights of my priestly ministry, to be invited to come into a hospital room and be with a new family, new parents, as they rejoice over the gift of a baby they’ve received, to pray with them, to share their joy, their hopes, their exhaustion, and yes, some of their apprehension. For all three families, it was their first child. I could see in the parents’ eyes their wonder, amazement, and love. Although extended families gathered around and they were all in the care of excellent hospitals and medical professionals, I could also sense the awesome responsibility that the parents felt.

As I’ve been talking, many of you will recall your own experience in hospital rooms like that, a few years ago, or perhaps decades ago. Some of you will be hoping for similar experiences in the near or not-so-distant future; and some of you may feel sadness that this is something you will never know personally. Whatever our individual experience may be, we know about the happiness and responsibilities, the joy and the heartaches, that come with newborn babies.

I encountered other babies over the last few months; babies that whatever the circumstances of their birth, were now living with their mothers on the street, or nearly so. Three or four months old; their mothers had come to me for help, for housing, or gas, or food. I could see in the faces of those mothers the same love I saw in the faces of the parents in those hospital rooms; the same hopes for the future. But what I saw most was worry and fear. Like most of you, when I encounter mothers and babies in these circumstances, I feel great compassion and sorrow, but that’s also often tinged with a little judgment, as I wonder what brought them to this place in life. I give them what financial help I can thanks to the generosity of members and friends of Grace, and I also try to point them in the direction of agencies that might help them with some more permanent solutions.

Tonight, at Christmas, we encounter another mother and baby, one whose situation is much more similar to those babies in need that I just described than the newborns I met in the hospital last summer. Mary and her husband may not have been homeless in our contemporary sense, but that night they had to find shelter in a stable, or more likely, a cave.

Mary was pregnant under suspicious circumstances—although she and Joseph were legally married according to Jewish law, the contract or marriage license had been signed, their relationship had not been consummated. According to that same Jewish law, Mary’s pregnancy meant she had committed adultery, and Joseph was legally obligated to divorce her. Mary’s pregnancy brought public shame on her and on her husband.

These are things we tend not to think about when we hear the familiar story of Jesus’ birth. Most of us know it so well, and if we haven’t heard it many times before, we probably still know its basic outline—a manger, a stable, no room in the inn; Mary, Joseph, the baby, shepherds, angels, all of that. We know it but we tend to overlook its messiness, the embarrassment of it all. It is a messy and embarrassing story in spite of everything we do to sanitize it and sentimentalize it.

Our images of Christmas are dominated by paintings like the reproduction on tonight’s service bulletin, crèches like the one that stands before our altar. Mary is young, beautiful, well-dressed; Joseph looks distinguished, mature, an upstanding member of the community. Except for the crude surroundings, things are serene, respectable, beautiful.

The reality was rather different. Mary was young, uncomfortably young by twenty-first century standards, her reputation in danger because of her pregnancy. Joseph too was disreputable, if not already, then he would be by deciding to stay with her. They were not from Bethlehem. They had come here because of imperial fiat, a distant and ruthless ruler imposing its whim on subject peoples. The shepherds who came to worship were even less respected than Mary and Joseph may have been; virtual outcasts living on the edge of society obeying none of society’s norms.

Here, to this place, God chose to come. To a tiny village, a manger, a feed trough in a troublesome backwater province of the greatest empire the world had ever seen.

Here, to this couple, God chose to come. To a young girl and her husband. We wonder about them. Christians have pondered the mystery of God becoming flesh through Mary. We have argued and debated; we have painted, and played music, and sung and prayed to her. We have imagined all manner of things about her. But what we can know is that when word came to her that she would have a son; when God chose her, she said yes. We don’t know much about Joseph other than his name and occupation. We don’t know how old he was; we know he was righteous—the Gospel of Matthew tells us that—and we know that when word came to him that Mary would give birth to God, Joseph said yes. To this couple, God chose to come.

Here, to this newborn infant, God chose to become flesh. If you’ve ever seen a newborn, if you’ve ever seen your own newborn child, you know about the beauty, love, excitement of a new baby. You also know about their weakness, vulnerability, their complete and absolute dependence on others for everything. Without the help of other humans, a baby will die in a few minutes or hours. They are utterly helpless. They are weak and needy and messy. In such a form, in such a body, God chose to become flesh.

The miracle of Christmas is not just the lovely story. In fact, the miracle of Christmas has nothing to do with virgin birth, or shepherds or wise men or angels. The miracle of Christmas is that in that newborn baby, we see God become human, God become one of us. In the vulnerability, weakness, utter dependence of that infant, we see the face of God. The miracle of Christmas is also that in two quite ordinary people, in Mary and Joseph, in two ordinary people who chose to say yes to God, we learn something important about the nature of faith.

That’s the miracle of Christmas, the miracle of Christianity. The God we worship is not a god of thunder resident on a high mountain. Nor is the God we worship a god who demands we bow to him because of his vast superiority. Our God is a God who created us, knows us, became one of us. The God who created us, knows us, became one of us, that very God chooses us.

We may encounter God or the presence of the divine in all manner of things—the beauty of nature, or of music or art, in a place that is sacred to us or sacred to a memory. None of that is beyond the possible. But our faith proclaims that we encounter God most certainly, most completely in the one who was born in Bethlehem, walked the dusty roads of Palestine, was crucified by Romans and was raised from the dead.

Our faith proclaims that we encounter God most certainly and most completely in a human who was born like us, lived like us, suffered like us and died like us. That’s the mystery of Christmas, the mystery of our faith.

We see the burden and the joy of that faith, the mystery of our faith in that couple as they wrap the newborn in swaddling clothes and lay him in a manger. We sense the burden and joy of our faith, the mystery of our faith as the gospel tells us, “and Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.”

We cannot hope to comprehend or make sense of God becoming flesh in a newborn babe. We cannot hope to understand why or how or to what end. What we can do is treasure and ponder. We can respond to the needs of those in whose faces we see the face of Jesus Christ; we can wrap them in swaddling clothes and embrace them with the love of Christ. And above all, we can open our hearts and say yes when God asks us to bid God welcome.

May your hearts be filled with the joy and love of Christ, and may you share that joy and love with all those you encounter today and in the days to come.

Merry Christmas!

 

Mary, homeless mothers, and the innkeeper

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Tonight we remember a young mother two thousand years ago who had no bed nor shelter and gave birth to her son and laid him in a manger.

Tonight, I remember all of the homeless mothers who came to me seeking help this year–mothers who lived with their babies on the street, or in a car; mothers who were seeking help with rent so they could stay in their apartment; mothers who needed formula or diapers or food for themselves; mothers who needed help and hope.

And I remember all the times I said no–sometimes because I couldn’t help, sometimes because I was too busy to help, sometimes because I was too overwhelmed and couldn’t bear to hear another story or suffer heartbreak once again.

And I remember those times when I listened compassionately but inwardly condemned her for choices I assumed she’d made that brought her to our door.

I remember and inwardly today I cry because like the innkeeper, I said, “No room. No room.”

O, Come, O Come, Emmanuel: A Sermon for Advent 4, Year C

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I’m sick of Christmas already. I’m tired of the Christmas decorations and holiday sales that have been up since early November. I’m sick of the War on Christmas and the debate over whether to say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” and promised boycotts of stores that use “Happy Holidays” in their publicity. I’m sick of the consumerism, the conspicuous consumption, the culture wars. I’m sick and tired of all of it. There’s a debate whether the abbreviation Xmas is taking the “Christ” out of Christmas. There’s apparently a debate whether “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer is pro or anti bullying! I thought it couldn’t get any worse but then FoxNews’ Megyn Kelly announced to the world that Santa Claus and Jesus Christ were both white. My twitter feed exploded with the righteous indignation of progressives everywhere; and my head exploded. The cacophony and shrillness is deafening; outrage has overwhelmed our yearly remembrance of Christ’s birth. At least Phil Robertson of the Duck Dynasty didn’t weigh in on the War on Christmas, but what he did say was enough to spark more indignation and outrage. Continue reading →

Rituals of Outrage: White Santas, Duck Dynasty, and sharing the good news

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There are occasions when my past as a professor of Religious Studies comes back to haunt me. I left academics just as social media began to overwhelm our culture. In fact, one of the seminal moments for me as a teacher came one day when I noticed that all of the students immediately began to engage with technology as soon as class ended. Cell phones popped out; laptops opened; Ipod earbuds were inserted (this was 2007 or 2008, I think). Not a single student engaged another student or me in conversation. I realized then that not only was an enormous cultural shift occurring, but that we were seeing a transformation in the very nature of community (and this was at a liberal arts college that claimed to value community).

Many people much smarter and insightful than me have had a great deal to say about the effects of social media on culture, community, discourse, and religious life. I agree with much of that analysis. Clearly, tectonic shifts are taking place. What I want to focus on here is what I want call “rituals of outrage.” That’s not quite an accurate descriptor, for what I’m pondering are not precisely rituals, but rather internet memes; and not necessarily memes, but the way in which certain images or stories become identity markers.

Others have pointed this out in different ways. For example, Elizabeth Drescher has written insightfully about the way “prayer” is used on the internet during times of national crisis (Newtown, the Boston Marathon bombings, as examples). There was discussion of how many people turned their twitter avatars or facebook profile photos into the equality symbol after the Supreme Court struck down DOMA. But what I’m interested in is something just a little bit different.

Last week, my twitter and facebook feeds were lit up by outrage after Fox News host Megyn Kelly declared that both Santa Claus and Jesus were white. Now, none of the people voicing their outrage on either feeds were regular consumers of Fox News. My guess is that the only time they accessed Fox was on occasions just like this one—when someone said something outrageous enough to rile them up. The same is true of this week’s controversy over Duck Dynasty. Perhaps of my around 2000 facebook friends and twitter followers a half-dozen or so have actually watched Duck Dynasty; but that didn’t prevent them from posting their displeasure in what whoever said in an interview with GQ.

Why is outrage of this sort posted on the internet? To take the example of the equality symbol that became ubiquitous after the Supreme Court’s ruling. It seems to have been an identity marker, a way of associating oneself with a historical event and marking oneself on the side of change. In the case of Megyn Kelly or Duck Dynasty, something similar seems to be in play. By sharing the post, one easily identifies oneself for everyone else (even though it’s likely that everyone who follows you on twitter or has friended you on Facebook pretty much knows where you stand on such matters). To fail to like or share or retweet such things calls into question one’s integrity as a progressive. Such things—memes, if you must—have become identity markers, necessities to maintain one’s membership and purity in the group.

But as identity markers, they also help to separate. They become identifiers of the division between right and wrong, sacred and profane. They are boundary markers for those who belong and those who don’t. And because they are overwhelmingly visual in nature, they emphasize outward conformity and non-conformity. They simplify and gloss over nuance. And they also arouse emotion, indignation, and outrage. Whether or not what Megyn Kelly and the dude from Duck Dynasty said were incorrect or inappropriate, my question is why do those of us who don’t watch or listen or pay attention to them in normal circumstances, why do we feel a need to take a public stand on them? And more importantly, if we do express our outrage about such statements publicly, are we alienating those who might feel uncomfortable when hearing such statements like those of Kelly’s, but aren’t able to articulate or even imagine what a different approach might be? If we are so concerned to establish our progressive bona fides, do we shut the door to people are struggling to find a way out of fundamentalism and bigotry?

I suppose that what I’m trying to get at is the implications for evangelism of participating in these sorts of memes. Where’s the good news in jumping on the bandwagon of the latest Fox News outrage? The easy thing is to distinguish oneself or one’s church from bigotry and homophobia. The more difficult task is to reach out to those who are struggling to break free from the confines of their closed systems, that they may experience a broader and deeper love of Christ encompassing all of humanity and all of creation. The boundaries and markers we establish and maintain do not make such transitions easy.

A powerful essay about racism in Madison

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It’s written by Rev. Alex Gee, Pastor of Fountain of Life Church. He reminds us of often-ignored facts: that Wisconsin leads the nation in the incarceration of African-American men; that there are immense racial disparities in Madison Schools, vast racial disparities in employment and income in Madison and Dane County. He calls on all of us to make these issues priorities:

I challenge the entire community to become concerned and involved. I challenge African-American pastors to make their voices and concerns known and hold community forums with politicians to demand action.

I challenge white clergy to address racial disparity and discrimination from their pulpits, challenge parishioners to think and act differently and help sound the alarm of the injustice and inequity in our community. I need those pastors to explain how these systems are perpetuated by the silence of “nice” people.