Haze

We were having one of those hot and hazy summer days that the East Coast can so often swelter under. The humidity was up there. The air hung very heavy.

We got on the Staten Island Ferry in the morning (after dealing with a long story you're all not going to get about car problems and finding a mechanic here who could do the work and get the car back to us so that we don't worry about being able to leave here at the end of the week and continue our journey - - but if you're ever on Staten Island needing car repair - go to Tim's (AFTER finding him, I found out he was written up last week in the paper. See here).

Anyway . . . we got on the ferry to head to Manhattan. And realized that Manhattan was lost in the haze.

The day before it had sparkled in the morning light. Then coming back to Staten Island at sunset, as the lights twinkled in the twilight, the city was absolutely stunningly beautiful. Even this die-hard love-the-woods/don't-understand-the-city woman thought it was stunningly beautiful.

But on this day it was all different - - this hot and humid and hazy day. This day the city hid in the haze. The world looked ugly and shadowy and lost.

Haze - that awful deadening smoggy world blurring stuff, created when the natural heat and humidity that can challenge our world is combined with our own pollution - our over-consumption lack of concern for this world, pollution (yes, made by my car that I'm so happy to get back so that I can run some more miles on it! None of us are free from the challenges of our lives and our beliefs and our best instincts, all colliding.) Heat and humidity and pollution. Haze is an ugly thing.

Haze seems to have a lot in common with what I've been hearing about from outside the walls of our churches. There is natural heat and humidity - natural challenges that come from a life of faith. But there is also that pollution bit. That extra, human created piece that comes in to bring the haze. There are so many things that pollute, and create haze in our church life. And those outside try to see through it all, and find no sparkle. No beauty.

I KNOW that the faith that holds me can sparkle so magnificently. I've seen it. I've stood in awe before its wonder. God loves me beyond my wildest, my absolutely wildest, imaginings. What could be more stunning, more beautiful than that? And every now and then this world manages to get a glimpse of that beauty.

But then we just go on creating more pollution to mix with the heat and the haze. And they turn away, unable to see anything worth being in wonder over. Anything worthy of moving their hearts and their souls.

I know that in the physical world, often Global Warming seems so big, so overwhelming, that we think we can't do much about it. But I have become convinced that each one of us matters in the movement away from it. I cannot control others, but I can control what I do. How much I consume. I can make changes in my own life. And those changes will help change the world.

And that is where I need to move in my spiritual life as well - within the life of the community of faith. I cannot control what others do - the things that the world sees as pollution, as anger and hatred and having not much to do with Jesus. (And despite my strong desire to simply go weed all that 'badness' out, last Sunday's gospel stands in reminder to me that it is not my job to go weeding!) I'm not saying that there are not stands to be taken, and issues which need to be addressed. But I can do everything in my own corner of this life, in my own place in this world, in the ways I go about taking stands and addressing issues and proclaiming the gospel that create less Christian haze. Ways to live and preach and love and follow Jesus that create space for the wonder to sparkle through.

Ugly

It had been a hot day. Full of walking around town and 'seeing the sights'. A dip in the pool late in the evening sounded like a really good idea. So after getting back to our room, my sweetheart and I headed down.

It was a large pool - designed to swim laps (it is the "Y" after all). Over 6 feet deep at the one end, with a lane in front of me, I dove in to start swimming. Behind me I hear someone yelling. "No Diving!" Oops. I hadn't even looked for signs. Just made the assumption and took off. I pulled up and apologized to the lifeguard. Then continued swimming.

After a couple of laps he came over to the edge of the pool and told me how I could bend the rules - - just don't dive in when using the outside lanes as that overflowed water up onto the deck area. Stick to the middle lanes and I was welcome to dive in next time if I wanted to.

I did another lap as I thought. Hmm . . . . maybe he'd work with me to solve another problem that would involve bending a rule.

You see, as I had come in through the women's locker room, I was approached by a young woman. Dressed in hijab, her arms and legs fully covered too, this young muslim woman shyly looked up at me as she approached. "Excuse me?" she started. Hesitantly. "Excuse me. But could you tell me where the women's pool is?" I explained that there was only one pool. She had come into the Women's Pool Locker Room, but there was no Women's Pool. She looked so sad as she had thanked me, and turned away.

As I got into the pool, I had thought about her. My hubby and I were the only ones there. Other than the male lifeguard. My heart had sunk at that, since I had thought that if there was a female lifeguard I could ask my husband to leave for a while, and allow this young muslim woman the chance to swim.

But now, here was another possibility presenting itself. And maybe she was still hanging out in the locker room (she hadn't appeared to be leaving as I came on into the pool). So I swam across the lanes to where the lifeguard sat, hoping he'd allow me to be his eyes while he sat in the office and let this young woman swim. He seemed so willing to find a way to bend the rules to let me dive!

I began to describe the situation. And was stunned with what came out of his mouth! As soon as I mentioned that she was muslim, he became filled with anger and invective. "Those people" should go back where they came from. "Those people" should be made to leave the way they came. "Those people" have no right being here in our country. "So she wants to swim, does she? Let her go swim with Osama." I sputtered some. It took me so off guard. Then I tried to reason with him. With how I really view what it means to be an American. What it means to support religious freedom for everyone. What freedom is supposed to be about. As soon as I brought up religious freedom, the ugly american, right before my eyes, turned into the ugly Christian. The one I've been hearing about so much by all those people who have no problems with Jesus, but who can't stand Christians. He crossed himself as he spouted ugly stuff about those dirty muslims and the way they should all just be helped into hell quicker. He ended with "I make the rules here, and my rules go."

Then I got back to the room, and received that comment on my post from July 8 - "The Spirit of Love". I almost immediately deleted it. The ugly Christian strikes again. But I've left it up. Many people I know have never really experienced that kind of unloving, hate filled, ugly rhetoric. If you haven't, read the comment. (Just click on the "1 Comment" line under that particular blog entry.) Or just know that it goes on and on, and is all based on the basic premise that 'all the evil in the world is because of Woman.' I followed up a little, and discovered that the comment is actually a copying of a full post from this guy's own blog. It is ranting, wrapped up in biblical quoting. It is hatefilled and . . . pure and simple . . . non-Christ like. It is not the kind of thing that women get thrown at them so much these days (although it was more common in the past). But it is VERY much the kind of thing that our lgbt family and friends face way too often. (And for those readers who don't know that particular string of letters - it stands for lesbian-gay-bisexual-transgendered.)

The lifeguard. The blog commenter. These are the people who others think about when they hear "Christian." No wonder they don't want anything to do with Church. We have a lot of work to do!

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Today Faith 'Afoot' is taking to the road.

When I got home at the end of June and saw the doctor she pronounced herself officially "stumped" as to what was causing my breathing problems. It appears that the asthma issues were secondary to something else. So, she went after the 'something else' by attacking three different possibilities at once. At this point I don't know which of the three was the culprit, but one of the three treatments has obviously taken care of the problem, so I'm once again ready to head out. It has actually been quite nice to spend some time at home this summer. My original plans had me in and out a couple of times for a day or two at a time.

The other change of plans is where we (Rick and I both, for this segment of sabbatical travel) are headed. No Europe this summer! So, although July had planned on being 'planes, trains, and automobiles' it will actually end up being just the automobile. Today we head out for Boston, where we'll take part in the worship this week with The Crossing, an emergent expression of St. Paul's Cathedral. Then on to New York City, where my own parish has its roots (we were founded by Trinity Wall Street). And finally, I'm trying to add in a side trip to . . . .drum roll please . .. . Scranton, PA. I'll be trying to learn from each place about ministry in those settings, and how they're responding to a changing culture and changing world. Trinity Wall Street has a reputation of being in touch with the WHOLE world - not just their own neighborhood, and I look forward to finding out how they see things today, and how their mission has changed since the days it started Christ Church, North Conway (yep - all our first vestry meetings were held on Wall Street). And, of course, I plan on making a visit to "815" - the Episcopal Church Center - while in NYC.

Scranton has just happened on my radar screen, and although it's hard to connect with once a week worship in very many places over a couple of weeks, I'd really like to get to worship with them on the 26th. You'll find out more about them here.

Now . . . to go pack up the car and take the dog to 'doggie camp'! (He actually loves it there with the other dogs, so it's not a terrible thing.)

A Spirit of Love

I'm currently reading two different books (ah, the great luxury of time to read!). One is "They Like Jesus But Not The Church" by Dan Kimball. The other is "Finding Our Way Again: The Return of the Ancient Practices" by Brian McLaren. The first talks about what people perceive as being 'wrong' with the church (he tackles 6 perceptions that he has heard from people outside of the church, and I must admit that this past month I heard all 6 as well). The second takes on what is 'right' about the church - pulling the reader into an understanding of the beauty and gift and wonder found in the best of the 'traditional' practices of spirituality found in the church, as those practices help open us to the reality of God's presence and the joy of God's love.

They are wonderful to read, side by side. But I wonder about those that I met along the way last month, who had lost all interest in being a part of organized religion because of the wrongs and pains it had caused or they had perceived. What would it take to get them past that anger or indifference and welcome them into the joys of a life of ever deepening realization of God's love and presence.

As I was walking into Manchester, I found a sign lying in the grass by the side of the road. "REPENT" it proclaimed. I wondered about who it had been aimed at. What it had been used for. It's a very biblical message . . . but in my experience most often used in a spirit of self-righteousness rather than a spirit of love for the other. What pain had that sign caused?

In many ways, that sign represents all the negative views that we have all heard about the church. The self-righteous, judgmental, law focused, even arrogant attempt of a person or persons who believe themselves to have all the truth (and all the righteousness) to make a line in the sand between themselves and that evil awful world out there.

What if we picked that sign up, and carried it - turned around so that WE were the ones to read it? What if WE repented?

If we simply listened to people's pain, even when expressed in rantings about the church . . . and then acknowledged it. Said, "I know. Too often the church has acted that way." And even more so, what if we simply said, "I'm sorry" ? What if we repented of not loving the other enough so that our hearts break for the hurts of this world? And especially for the hurts that have been inflicted in the name of religion? (Yes, even when WE aren't the ones doing the inflicting!)

What if we practiced Truth and Reconciliation. By going out into the world, and loving it, rather than condemning it. (For God so loved the world SO MUCH that he sent his son into the world, not to condemn the world but to save it.)

In his book, Brian McLaren talks about practicing the faith like we practice learning a musical instrument. The practice is not the point, but the way of reaching the point where the music flows forth. And maybe, instead of telling others that they 'ought' to do these things . . . if I just practiced them myself enough, believing that God's grace and love will flow forth as my practice makes me open to such music . . . . maybe that will be the key to helping others hear the strains of God's love, rather than the cacophony of human pride.

I think I need to repent - to turn away from 'knowing' the answers, and turn to being an answer.

common ground

(Here begin more posts, based on my notes and experiences during June.)

I arrived in town in the early afternoon. It looked like it might rain later (which seems to be the weather report of every day, once I got past the extreme heat of the first few days). I decided to go to the park while it was still nice, and then find a place to get inside out of the rain later.

It was a lovely park. People were playing with their kids. Some were sitting and enjoying a little shade and a touch of a breeze. Others were busy setting up for an event that was to take place that evening.

I wandered into the park, only slightly self conscious anymore about the full pack on my back. (I had gotten used to the odd looks I often got, walking down busy sidewalks loaded as if I were in the woods somewhere.)

I headed across the park, looking for a likely place to put my pack down. I smiled at a couple as I passed them. She smiled back and commented, "Looks like you're out for a long walk."

They were sitting on the prime bench in the park - the place to see everything that was going on, and the one with the prettiest view as well. I stopped to chat. 45 minutes later, I was still standing there, chatting, with my pack still on my back. It was often thus - a good conversation starter, and then forgotten.

Ruth and Bill struck me as one of those easy, down-to-earth, couples. Maybe mid-60s. Ruth, with a twinkle in her eye. Bill with a quick smile, and a gentle laugh.

Although the conversation began with my pack and the fact of my walk, we easily moved into the 'why' of my walk.

I discovered that they are regular church-goers. They discovered that I was a pastor. For some reason, I kept the Episcopal church and the word "priest" out of the conversation. Instinct? I don't know. I just did, and instead listened and followed their lead in our conversation about our faith in God. Maybe there was something in the language cadences (especially from Ruth) that echoed my early church experiences. I discovered that they went to a Southern Baptist Church, and on that basis I continued to trust my instincts. I didn't want what issues might divide us to get in the way of a conversation about our shared faith.

So, instead of debating theological differences, we ended up talking about how hard it can be to let the world know that there is Good News. We talked about what that good news meant to each of us. We shared our experiences of how nice it is to gather with others in worship, and how dangerous it is to think that we have done our "God" thing when worship is over. I shared some stories from my journey. Some of the things I had heard and was thinking about. They wanted me to come and speak at their church. I pointed out to them that many Southern Baptist churches would have a real problem with a female pastor. They didn't seem to care. I declined, explaining that I wouldn't still be in town the next time their church gathered. We exchanged mailing addresses (they don't do email) because they wanted to try to get me back in town at another point. They really wanted me to come speak to their church.

I figured that after we had talked for quite a while, that maybe the time had come to connect the faith we shared with the denominations that so often seemed to keep us apart. They had already recognized the common ground we stood on in Jesus, to the point that they had wanted me to come to their church as evangelist. I wanted them to know that this was an Episcopalian who believed in Jesus. That Episcopalians aren't some crazy heretical bunch. That we had so much common ground.

But before I could get us there, Ruth suddenly changed the direction of our conversation - - to a woman who was approaching. "Oh, there's that woman! She came to our church a few times." And she calls out a greeting, "Hello! Hello! How are you doing?" As the woman tried to navigate all her stuff and her bicycle over towards us, Ruth explained to me, "She's homeless, and has been having some real health problems."

Ruth introduced me to Lisa, and then the two of them began to talk. We heard about Lisa's difficulties in accessing and navigating medical care when she had no address or phone to give. How excited she was that she finally had a date (the next week) for surgery for her cancer. How she had even gotten approval for a motel room for a week after she was discharged so she wouldn't have to go straight back to the shelter and the streets. How hard it has been since she got sick and had to quit working, and lost everything.

Ruth kept trying to interject that she just had to have faith in God. Ruth repeated that over and over. "But don't you agree, that it will all be alright if you only have faith in God? You've got to have faith in God. He'll take care of you."

Each time Ruth would say that, Lisa would pause, visibly clench her teeth, close her eyes, and then take a deep breath. She would let the irritation/anger pass, her jaw would relax again, her eyes would open, and then she'd pick up her story as if Ruth had said nothing. Another few sentences, and Ruth would interrupt again with the 'faith in God' line, and the whole scene would repeat itself.

I felt the common ground sliding out from under my feet. I wanted to let Lisa talk about what the clenched teeth meant. "Faith in God, and he'll take care of you" was obviously something of pain for her. Repeating it over and over didn't help. It seemed such a simplistic line, with lots of cultural prosperity baggage, and it didn't speak to this woman with no home, no prosperity. 'Faith in God, and he'll take care of you' has such gift in it, but not as she was hearing it at that time. She was more in the place of the cross, where a similar line was used as a jeer to Jesus - "If you believe in God, why doesn't he help you?" Rather than hearing hope in those words, she was much closer to feeling "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?"

After about 5 times of this happening, Ruth continued her 'faith in God' piece with, "But after all, that's why you came to our church isn't it?"

Lisa paused, and then pointed out to Ruth that she only came two times, and then never came back. It had been almost a year ago.

I expected this to be the end of this conversation. But it wasn't. Lisa talked about the arrangements for her surgery the next week. About the difficulties of finding a place to store her bicycle and her stuff while she was in there.

And then it happened. Ruth offered to visit her in the hospital.

Lisa jumped at this offer! "Oh, would you? Really??" She couldn't believe it. But I knew Ruth was serious. It was etched all over her face. "You've got to have someone at the hospital with you!"

And suddenly, we were back on common ground.

When I was sick, you visited me.

The bugs started getting bad, and Ruth and Bill got the details about when and where Lisa was going to be in the hospital, and then quickly departed to get away from the mosquitoes. Lisa and I talked some more (and yes, I asked about the clenched teeth, and we talked about how God understands, from the inside, that feeling of abandonment, even though the feeling is not the reality). I like to think that maybe I helped . . . but I know that the real help for Lisa came that day from a bumbling evangelist named Ruth who managed to get to Lisa's real hunger. "I'll come visit you."

Even if we really blow it when we try to be evangelists (like I stood there thinking Ruth was doing, and maybe she was doing it trying to impress me that she was an evangelist too?), God can still manage to step in and lead our hearts to a better place. Lisa will be visited this week. She will not be alone. That is truly good news to her at this time. And Ruth gets the opportunity to be the incarnation of good news.

Being the incarnation of good news is our common ground. Our common call. Our common gift.