james

I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.  He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit.  Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.  You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.  I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned.  If you abide in me and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.  John 15:1-8 (NRSV)

Holy and righteous God, you are the author of life, and you adopt us to be your children.  Fill us with your words of life, that we may live as witnesses to the resurrection of your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

My snappy introduction (Dr. Watson would be so proud) involved the old-time radio program Fibber Mcgee and Molly, and ended with the joke: “As the fly said when he got stuck in the strawberry preserves, I’ve been in much worse jams than this.”  Much pity laughter ensued.

In our Gospel reading this morning, Jesus makes another one of his I am statements that He is so famous for in the Gospel of John.  Earlier in the book he said, “I am the light” “I am the bread of life” “I am the door.”  “I am Good shepherd.”  In last week’s reading he said, “I am the way the truth and the life.” And, now, as he prepares his disciples for his imminent arrest, torture, death, and resurrection, He says, “I am the true vine, you are the branches…”  further on, he states, “Abide in me as I abide in you.”

Like the other I am statements, this one is a rich metaphor which gives us insight into Christ’s true character. We don’t have time to unpack all of the gems that this metaphor offers us, but I would like to focus on several aspects of one of the key words in the passage.  I want to dwell on the word “abide.”  In this passage Jesus uses the word “abide” over and over; 9 times in 8 verses.  Clearly, he wants to emphasize to his disciples the importance of abiding, of remaining, of showing up and sticking around.  But, it seems like a rather odd thing to say to them right after he finished telling them that where he is going they cannot follow, and right before leaving them in the hands of the people who wish to murder him.  So what did Jesus mean when He said, “Abide in me as I abide in you?”

To understand this a little better I want to look at another passage in John’s Gospel where Jesus uses a related metaphor, and in which our word abide plays a prominent roll.  In John chapter 6, starting in verse 51 Jesus says,

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven.  Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” The Jews then disputed among themselves saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.  Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day;  for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.  Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them.”

This bread of life passage together with the true vine passage sparks in us a powerful image of what it means to abide in Christ.  Because we believe that mystically, mysteriously Christ is present in the bread and the wine of the Eucharist, when we consume the bread and the wine we are in a way following Christ’s admonition in John 6 to eat his flesh and drink his blood.  But this Eucharistic meal is not like any other meal.  Yes, we consume it, we put it in our mouth, chew and swallow, but then it, or more exactly Christ which is present in it, consumes us.  Through consuming we are consumed by the love and peace and presence of Christ.  The Eucharist is a way that we are connected to Christ.  It is a way to abide in Him, as He abides in us.  In fact, when we use the word Communion in place of Eucharist, we can see the connection: To commune with someone means to abide with them. Through Communion we abide with Christ.  But of course, there is another dimension of Communion that we also see in our Gospel reading.  When we participate in Communion we are not only communing with God, but with each other.  The disciples at the last supper were not just eating with Christ, they were eating with each other as well.  We are not isolated from each, here on these altar rails when we receive the Eucharist.  We are participants in the mystical body of Christ which unites all believers, all Christians everywhere and in all times.

Father Terrence Lee, a beloved former canon here at St. John’s, tells the story of the first time his grandfather set foot in the Episcopal church.  It was in the South, during the height of segregation.  When Fr. Terrence’s grandfather entered the church, he was surprised to find that there were both black and white members of the congregation present.  When it was time to go down and take communion, he and his wife went down and knelt at the altar; on either side of them were two white men.  When the common cup of wine came their way, the man next to Terrence’s grandfather drank, and then Terrence’s grandfather drank from the cup, and then his grandmother, and then the white man next to them drank, without hesitation or pause, and then on down the line.  That was day Terrence’s grandfather became an Episcopalian.  He was shocked he had been allowed to drink from the same cup as these white men.  At the altar rail, he had not been treated differently because of his skin.  In the midst of a culture of separation, of distrust and of hate, he found at Communion, a different reality of unity, trust, and love. That is what communion is about.  That is what abiding is about. We cannot abide in Christ unless we also abide with each other.  This is sort of a radical concept; as branches we cannot be rugged individuals trying to go it alone.  Who ever heard of a vine with only one branch?  If such a thing exists it certainly isn’t healthy.

Coming back to our Gospel passage, when Jesus says that those who abide in him will bear fruit, we see from the context of the passage that one of the things he specifically has in mind is love for one another.  Just a couple verses later, in verse 12, he says, “this is my commandment: that you love one another”.  And throughout Jesus’ farewell address in John 13, 14, and 15, He says it over and over, “Love one another.”  This is echoed in our epistle reading from 1 Peter, “Finally, all of you, have unity of spirit, sympathy, love for one another, a tender heart, and a humble mind.”  When we abide in Christ, this will invariably be the fruit, that we will also abide in love with each other.

We must not forget in all of this, that today is the sixth Sunday of Easter.  The events described in our Gospel reading occur before the Resurrection, but they were written down afterward, and because we are a Resurrection people, we come to this reading with our Resurrection goggles on.  If you leave out the Resurrection, our text is a rather confusing and disappointing one: Christ tells his disciples to abide in him and that he will abide in them, and then he goes off and dies, and his disciples abandon and deny him in the process.  The end.  But, fortunately for the disciples and for us, the story does not end there.  Christ came back to life, and this One event changes everything, it marks the everything that we do and say and read and listen to.

Reading this passage through the lens of the Resurrection is not without precedent.  Listen to a meditation on the image of the Vine as it relates to the Resurrection written in the fourth century by St. Cyril of Jerusalem:

“A garden was the place of His Burial and that which was planted there said, I am the vine!  He was planted therefore in the earth in order that the curse which came because of Adam might be rooted out.  The earth was condemned to thorns and thistles, but the true Vine sprang up out of the earth, that the saying might be fulfilled, Truth sprang up out of the earth, and righteousness looked down from heaven.”

I love this image.  The true vine, chopped down by death and buried only to shoot forth out of the ground again with new life.  This is our hope.  This is reason we are here.  The reason we are Christians.  This is the reason we sign for this in the first place.  In little while there will be a baptism here, and the Resurrection is what Baptism is all about.  Baptism represents dying to the old life and being reborn anew in Christ.  It is the sign of a new creation, a new Resurrection reality.

We are called as branches abiding in Christ to be participants in this new reality.  When we abide in Him, we have no other choice; healthy branches make fruit; and that fruit is our witness of the new reality of Christ’s Resurrection, our witness to the all-powerful, death-defying, reconciling love of Christ for all the world.  The world is a dark place, full of death, and hopelessness.  The world needs our witness, our fruit born of Christ’s new reality.  War, natural disaster, oppression, and sickness: the world could use the joy, and hope that the True Vine offers through us, his branches.  As Barbara Johnson puts it, we as Christians are called to be Easter people in a Good Friday world.  This is why Peter admonishes us to love one another and to live in unity of spirit, why we must not repay evil for evil, why we must keep our tongues away from deceit, turn away from evil, and pursue peace.  These things, love, truth, unity and peace are the hallmarks of Christ’s new reality.  These things are the fruit we are called to bear, and they just so happen to be the fruit the world so desperately needs.  Not the grapes of wrath—we have the grapes of wrath—but the grapes of love and reconciliation.

But as Jesus says, we can do nothing, unless we abide in Him and He in us. The good news is that we don’t have to worry about Christ keeping His end of the bargain.  We may choose NOT to abide.  But Christ never chooses this.  He has promised never to leave or forsake us. In a way we are stuck with Him and He is stuck with us.  But, there are truly worse jams than this. [more pity laughter]  I am reminded of the wonderful Easter hymn (youtube/oremus hymnal) that we have been singing, particularly the fourth verse which is based on Romans chapter 8, verses 38 and 39:

Jesus lives! our hearts know well/

nought from us his love shall sever;/

life, nor death, nor powers of hell/

tear us from his keeping, ever./

Alleluia!

Through his resurrection Christ has conquered the disease of sin, and the drought of death, and has therefore enabled us, his branches, to abide in him, the True Vine, now and forever.  Amen.

Tony SigA friend of the blog and blogger himself, Rev. Josh Rowley, is in the process of starting a new ‘missional community’ for the Presbyterians, and he recently posted a quote by H. Stanley Wood in his Extraordinary Leaders in Extraordinary Times (p. 152-153)

“A way forward for new-church development in denominations that value the connecting tissue of their congregations and judicatory structures might be to aid existing churches to start new churches, including the sending of ‘home-grown’ leadership to be NCD pastors”

As it happens I was just about to post something on this very topic.  My diocese of Minnesota was started by one of our great missionary bishops, the Rt. Rev. Henry Benjamin Whipple.  In large part because of his efforts, Minnesota has a very strong Episcopal presence relative to most other states in between the coasts.  Besides saving hundreds of Sioux who were due to be unjustly executed by appeal to Pres. Abraham Lincoln, it is said that he once floated an entire church building down a river in order to plant it downstream.  If you are ever in Minnesota, do go venerate his tomb underneath the Cathedral of our Merciful Savior in Fairbault.  Which, as it happens, was the parish I was confirmed in.

We are all aware of the myriad of opinions there are as to why the Mainline is shrinking so rapidly, and we shall save such speculation for another day.  At the very least it must be admitted that we lack the same zeal for planting new churches that Pentecostal and evangelical churches do.  While the new multi-site campus style of growth is an anti-charismatic personality cult, and is therefore to be scorned in every way, what some evangelical churches often do is have thriving congregations put resources into starting new parishes, often sending clergy and lay people to aid.

To the extent that we even do plant new churches, the Mainline tends to do so in ways that are extraordinarily expensive, centralized, slow, and conservative.  And if we’re honest, we don’t naturally put effort into evangelizing immigrant populations. (Though we’ve had some great opportunities with Hmong and Karen immigrants here.  We’re slowly translating a prayer book into the language of the Hmong after a several hundred Hmong Roman Catholics sought to become Episcopalians, and the first parish I attended, Messiah in St. Paul, has successfully integrated a substantial Karen refugee group.)

Now I don’t want to suggest we go around our diocese’ at all, but there is no reason that a diocese could not encourage this kind of planting and even give aid to those congregations who would do so.  Does anyone know of any diocese’ or parishes in particular that are doing this sort of thing?  There are many avenues that could be explored for fundraising but this seems like one of the more successful and generally healthy kinds.

james

It’s been so long since I’ve last posted that I feel like an imposter here, but I’ve been told before that I harbor too much residual evangelical guilt.

After a time of further reflection on the part of myself and the leadership of my parish, and after a time of immersing myself in the ministry of said parish, I officially began meeting with a committee of parish lay persons and leaders last night.  Deos Gratias! I can now call myself an aspirant for holy orders in the Episcopal church.  I’m pretty excited, I must say; and a little freaked out.  Nothing like a Grand Inquis…er…discernment committee coupled with a wife nearing the end of her first pregnancy (Miserere mei, Deus) to deeply unsettle a guy on an existential and emotional level (By the way, I blame my recent writer’s block on this unsettling [unsettlement?]).

The discernment committee, as the first step on a long road toward ordination, is composed of a group of women and men from my parish family, who were called by Fr. Goodman (the priest of my parish) to put my call under rigorous scrutiny.  Last night, the Fr. Goodman emphasized that to allow me to proceed toward ordination as a priest if I was not truly called would not be doing me or my family any favors, and I couldn’t agree more.  At the same time, of course, I want to be a priest (a fact that is still–a year and half after acknowledging a call from God–unsettling for me, and even troubling for some of my family).  So, I suppose I will just have to see what happens.

O inscrutabilis Scrutator animarum, cui patet omne cor, si me vocaveras, olim a te fugeram. Si autem nunc velis vocare me indignum…

As a member of my generation stereotypically would, I got permission to blog about the whole process, so that is what I intend to do.  My first two posts (which should appear before my next committee meeting which is at the end of March), will be:

a) to present a sort of bibliography of priestly/call-to-ministry books both fiction and non-fiction, with a call for suggestions on further reading,

and

b) to publish a spiritual autobiography (in entirety or excerpts), which is my homework, due before the next meeting.

Meanwhile, ora pro me (and correct my Latin, if needed).

james

Today, as I sat contemplating the possibility of (more) war in the Middle East, I realized something: I don’t pray nearly enough for peace.  Sure the deacon recites this prayer every Sunday:

Guide the people of this land, and of all nations, in the ways of justice and peace; that we may honor one another and serve the common good…Lord, in your mercy”

To which I heartily reply: “Hear our prayer.”  But that is by and large the extent of my prayer life concerning peace.  What’s more, I’ve never fasted for peace. 

It occurred to me that there are thousands–maybe tens of thousands–of Christians out there who don’t believe that peace is possible or even beneficial, who believe that America’s wars are blessed by God, who believe that violence toward Muslims, gays and other perceived enemies is just fine, and who pray and fast on a regular basis.    There are National Days of Prayer when God has to listen to (among better things) idolatrous, nationalistic prayers about how He needs to bless America and Israel and destroy China, Iran, and North Korea, and how the Holy Spirit needs to touch Obama’s heart and make him repeal the healthcare bill, and resign, and get ”born again.” 

But, when do I (we) pray that God fulfills the prophesy given in Isaiah 2:1-5?  When do I (we) pray that God changes the hearts of human-beings–myself included–who harbor violence and hatred in their hearts toward fellow human-beings? 

I may be an E-whisk-i-palian, and I even voted for George W. Obama (in answer to the billboard: “How can I miss George W. Bush, when we have one of his clones running the country right now!”) but, I still believe that God intervenes in human history.  Don’t get me wrong, I also believe that we are God’s hands and feet, living Icons of Christ and representatives of His coming Kingdom.  Right action must accompany prayer, but it is all too often the prayer part that gets left out in my life.

So, I propose that those of us in our little blog community who a) believe in peace and non-violence, and b) believe that God answers prayer start to assign some action to our beliefs.  Maybe I’m the only one of you guys who isn’t, in which case, I need your guidance.

Shall we set aside one day a week to fast and pray for peace?

Shall we plan a week of fasting and prayer this summer? 

How do you guys pray and fast for peace?  I hope some of my peacenik friends will chime in here…

*PICTURE NOTE: I was looking for a cheesy prayer picture.  I think I did pretty well.  Gotta love lightning emanating from folded hands, accompanied by a dove and and open Bible.  All that’s missing is an American flag and a M-16.

Tony SigA long time ago I “started” one of the likely millions of neglected blog series in which I was hoping to address theological education:  It’s needs, it’s shortcomings, it’s potential and future(s).  Being inspired by several posts of late I wanted to take this series up again.  The possibility of re-configuring theological education is something that I take rather seriously and am passionate enough about to consider strongly participating in in my future.

A quick review:

  • In one post I said that so-called “ecumenical” seminaries are overrated.  If your priesthood is concerned with apostolic succession and sacramentology then it makes no sense to take the majority of your education in a Baptist school, though for “us” the “Anglican Year” is a brilliant stroke that lessens the ambiguity of ‘ecumenical’ schooling.  School for your denomination and theology is what I say.
  • In another, in answer to the musings (I and II) of Pastor Carol Merritt I replied that, No, we cannot afford educated clergy, but neither can we afford uneducated clergy; so we’ve got to find a way to do both.

Having laid a framework with these two statements I would like to build on it.  Having said what I think about “ecumenical” seminaries, from this point forward I speak as an Episcopalian to Episcopalians but I would hope that what I write would not be relegated relevant to Episcopalians only.  In fact I think that much of it could be highly relevant for most fellowships as most are facing financial setbacks and serious issues of a lack of Christian identity.

There is a place, a VERY important place, for “research” institutions in the Church, but I’m not convinced that every seminary should be such an institution, or at the very least, we should not be expecting all or even most of our seminary professors to be on the forefront of modern academic theology; writing articles for “Modern Theology” and composing exhaustive tomes of critical work.  It seems to me that there is a near anti-christian pace of academic-theological anxiety: “Publish, Publish, Publish!”

For most seminaries, the training of priests should be the single most important task to which everything else is secondary.

I would greatly appreciate any and all input especially for those who have been through seminary, are in it now, are teaching for one or who are soon to attend.

 

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A broader sense of Christian community, and even ecumenical hopefulness, has been a topic which drives my burgeoning love for the Anglican community.  I know that Tony has recently posted some very lucid concerns regarding the current, though less well known, theological debates roiling the Episcopal Church.  However much I may agree with his assessment of these issues (especially his statement that he feels like, “I walked into the middle of a Family Feud that I’m not much interested in taking to the grave, and while I hold on in trust, I’m still at a point where I’m apprehensive as to how it will turn out.”), I cannot help but feel like this is the place I want to struggle with and through my faith – especially given that my options are to join a communion that seems to be indefinitely charged by ethnocentric concerns (Orthodoxy) or a to join a communion that seems to be forever trapped in an authoritarian “top down” hierarchy (Roman Catholic), neither of which I have any hope of functioning within because I fail to satisfy the rites of passage that seem to entitle the leadership of these traditions beyond less tangible evidences of calling or anointing.  Consequently, the BCP and the common worship play a large role in my confidence.  This weekend I received a powerful reminder about why that is.

No amount of ink that I could spill on the topic of marriage as theologically analogous within Christianity would ever amount to more than a drop within the ocean of ink that has already been put to paper on the topic.  Nonetheless, I attended a wedding celebration this weekend and was reminded of the power of community, yet again.

I know that our blog contributors have spent a lot of energy struggling through what marriage in our world, in our country, and within Christianity should look like.  At the very least, I think we all have a renewed sense that we must allow the sacramental identity of Christian marriage to shine through as something much different than the secular civil unions that share the moniker.  It is with such an understanding that I attend Christian marriages.

I am generally a happy person at a wedding, though, and this was a happy wedding.  Both bride and groom were my students at one time, and I have a mentor relationship with the young man.  They love each other, they are mature individuals with a strong sense of identity, and they are ready to start a life serving each other sacrificially.  However, my happiness comes from more than just future prospects for the happy couple.  I am happy at wedding ceremonies, because I am happy in my marriage.

When I attend a wedding ceremony, I understand that, as a guest of the families, I am part of the covenant that is about to be made.  However, not only am I participating in the covenant between the bride and groom, but also I am renewing the covenant I have made with my wife.  I have never attended a wedding where I did not tearfully, joyfully look back to my own wedding day and determine in my heart to love my wife better, to serve my family more faithfully, to show Christ in my home more completely.  And, certainly, that is the point of ceremony for human beings.

This spiritual and communal reality is what I have come to love about the Anglican community, though.  I make no attempt to say that other Christian traditions (or even other cultural or religious traditions outside of Christianity) do not understand or practice this concept.  Nevertheless, I have seen time and again that the liturgy set down by the BCP continually emphasizes that living as a Christian means living within a community.  When we pray for a baptismal candidate, we renew our baptismal vows, when we pray for a confirmation candidate; we renew our commitment to the Church, and so on.  Time and again, the BCP hammers home the point that if we are to call ourselves Christian we will abide in Christ, but no person abides in Christ alone.  We do so as a family, as a community.  So, when I attend the marriage ceremonies of the people I love, I have an opportunity to remember the grace of God, to remember the union that my wife and I enjoy, to remember the heavy responsibility of raising my children, to remember that I belong to a broader community that helps me to be a better husband, father, and Christian.

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Here is (yet) another attempt at “conservative blogging.”  And I certainly don’t mean that as a political valuation, rather as a reference to the obnoxiously long and boring research that I typically post.

My reasons for enjoying the Episcopal Church, especially as they compare over and against the denominational experiences of my youth, have become clearer to date.  I have been involved in a wonderful dialogue with a Roman Catholic layman (one of those rare members of the laity that pursues their faith in all aspects, including the intellectual), and we have been swapping reading lists.  He directed me to this link as a matter of course in conversation.  However, the quote from G.K. Chesterton that it contains brought a flood of realization to the front of my mind.  Here’s the quote:

“Real development is not leaving things behind, as on a road, but drawing life from them, as from a root.”

- G.K.  Chesterton

This will come as no new information on this blog or even to most readers, but it finally dawned on me in that important way – the one where we differentiate between holding a fact in that grey matter between our ears and having enlightenment.  Part of the reason I love the Episcopal Church so much is because it is not trying to run away from the rest of history.  It is using the rest of its history, and what a history it is, to energize the ministry of the Church.  It embraces history as a way to refresh the present.  The common worship of saints that has transcended centuries of tradition moves behind the liturgy I participate in every Sunday. 

Moving from a denomination that could not see farther back than 1904 to a denomination that embraces all of Church history was like jumping out of a plastic “kiddy pool” on the beach and into the ocean.

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