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Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Religion. Show all posts

Friday, February 20, 2015

What I'm Doing for Lent this Year

They say that it's easier to stick to something if you tell someone else about it. And since I would feel funny telling most people I know in person about my Lenten plans, here goes. 

(I know that technically we're not supposed to brag about what we're doing. That's not what this is about. This is about hoping that making my plans public will help me keep at it). 

My goal for this Lent was to do something that would be beneficial for those around me, especially my husband. After deciding that forgoing sweets would help my waistline but little else - and might well increase my temper - I went with tackling my poor (as in, horrific) bedtime and morning habits. Aristotle said that the way to grow in virtue is by forming good habits. So if I want to develop the virtue of self-discipline, Lent is a great time to form new habits which, hopefully, I can carry with me after Lent is over. The way I picked these particular habits was that each of these are things that my husband has said time and again that he wishes I would do - and that I've said I wish could do if only it wasn't so inconvenient.


Habit Number One: Get up when the alarm clock goes off, as opposed to hitting snooze eight times.

Habit Number Two: Leave my phone off the bed, as opposed to playing Words with Friends when I'm supposedly "trying to sleep." 

Habit Number Three: Take a shower right after getting up, as opposed to moving my lurching body from bed to couch with little additional change.

Habit Number Four: Stop saying "sorry." 


The fourth one will actually be the hardest. I've gotten into the bad habit of saying "I'm sorry" reflexively, the minute I think someone might be the tiniest bit annoyed with me. The thought of fasting from it began in January with Laura's post about how saying you're sorry can be a sign of pride. (Guilty). This bad habit does damage in a lot of ways: to my marriage, to my self-perception, to my career, to my friendships. Best to nip it in the bud. 

What are your plans for Lent this year?

Seven Quick Takes: Should Protestants Do Lent?



1

The first time I ever heard of someone "giving something up" for Lent was in college. Before that, I didn't know any Catholics, and I also didn't know any Protestants who "did Lent." (If I sound sheltered, I was, at least religiously. Most of the time I was surrounded by Presbyterians and Southern Baptists and Pentecostals, none of whom are known for their Catholic devotions). In fact, the only times I heard of Lent were in Bible studies or classes in which we were meant to feel sorry for those poor, benighted Catholics who thought they could work their way to heaven because they didn't know any better. Until just a few years ago, I honestly thought that Lent was what Catholics did because they thought they could win enough good points towards heaven that way. 

2

That's why it's so surprising to me to see so many Protestants - and not just Episcopalians - doing Lent. It's like an explosion happened in the last ten years, and all of a sudden evangelicals started having Advent calendars and Ash Wednesday services. All of which is pretty cool, but I bet some of the older evangelicals feel a little... lost. Like, how on earth did my solid evangelical church start looking so Catholic? And while even my Presbyterian church back home has an Advent wreath, hell would freeze over before they started recommending Lenten practices. Somehow Lent still has a Catholic edge to it, even if all the cool kids are doing it. 


3

So what's a Protestant to do? Is Lent Biblical? Is it earning salvation? Is there any point to Lent now that we're not under the law?

I'll try to answer these questions with my old evangelical hat on, knowing what I know now. This isn't coming from the current me, the heretical "prays to Mary and the saints and thinks the Eucharist is Jesus so why listen to her" version. This is coming from the mindset of one who is still very solidly evangelical, if I could go back in time and give that Caroline the factual knowledge I have now....


4

For starters, you don't have to "give up" anything for Lent, or even "add something on." Lent is a time for facing tough realities. Realities like: everyone dies. Everyone sins. Everyone needs forgiveness. Everyone needs the Cross. Fasting, giving up sweets, working in soup kitchens - these are all ways of reminding oneself of that reality. In my experience God gives us plenty of non-chosen sacrifices to fill up our Lents. This year, I had two friends die within weeks of each other, and one of them died the day before Ash Wednesday. It's not healthy to fixate on death, but you can't ignore it either.


5

But shouldn't we be doing this all the time? No, not necessarily. "To everything there is a season, and time to every purpose under heaven." We're human. It's not in our nature to do All The Things All The Time. We can't always, every day, be thinking of our mortality for one hour, then meditating on the Incarnation, then remembering about the resurrection, then trying to think what other Big Ideas are most important.... It's not healthy or reasonable. It makes sense to set aside a certain time of the year to contemplate sin and death.


6

But why a specific date chosen by an institutional church? Doesn't Paul warn us against having special days and seasons? Isn't that following the law when we're now under the New Covenant? Well, it depends on how literally you take that. Should we never celebrate birthdays? Never commemorate the dead? Again, we are humans. It's not that you have to do XYZ during Lent or you'll go to hell. After all, God doesn't need us to keep Lent. WE need us to keep Lent. It serves a spiritual purpose that works with the New Covenant of grace, not against it. You don't have to do it exactly as the church does, but before you dismiss it, consider that the church might have good reasons for choosing this time.


7

Why chose some arbitrary 40 days? The number forty is hardly arbitrary; it's packed with spiritual and Biblical significance. Consider the 40 days of Noah in the ark, the 40 years the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, the 40 days that Nineveh fasted and repented, the 40 days of Jesus in the wilderness being tempted.... Consider this a time that you can wander in the wilderness, exploring the tough realities that we like to put aside. And remember: Easter is coming.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

Gifts from Protestants: Hymnody

One of my tropes on this blog has been to rag on my evangelical background, and there's a lot of good material there. However, I have neglected to mention the good things. One of the best things that Protestant churches have to offer is their music.

To be clear, I'm not talking about this:




I'm thinking more about this:








Or this:





Or this:






If Catholics are looking for music to add to their repoirtoire, they could do worse than composers such as Charles Wesley, Isaac Watts, and the many anonymous authors of Negro Spirituals. Of course some lyrics may have to be tweaked for doctrinal reasons, but there is a wealth of musical and lyrical talent buried in the typical Protestant hymnal.

On another day I'll tell you why Protestants have such a rich history of music.




Friday, October 10, 2014

7 Quick Takes: Weddings as Sacrament



1

Well, I hadn't done a 7QT in awhile, and since my blogging has been sporadic at best lately decided it's now or never! 


2



In my defense, I've been to two out-of-town weddings in the same number of weeks. In the first (which was also out of state), my husband was best man, and in the second I was a bridesmaid. Both weddings were lovely though very different, and both did an excellent job of highlighting the personalities of the couple while providing a gracious environment for guests. Naturally it got me thinking about weddings, and marriage. 

3


My father walking me down the aisle. It doesn't show faces so I'm OK with showing it.



I married an Episcopalian before I'd ever been to an Episcopal wedding (or a Catholic one for that matter). In my Protestant, Southern experience, the ceremonies were short and almost informal. There might be a little special music (heaven help us) or a congregational hymn, probably a reading of 1 Corinthians 13, the exchange of rings and vows, and sometimes a short talk (we don't say homily) given by the preacher/ celebrant. Weddings are a big deal, but they aren't sacraments. I'd certainly never heard of taking communion at a wedding. Why, that would seem sacrilegious! Weddings might be held in churches, but they don't hold the same reverential value that a regular church service does; it would seem profane to have the Lord's supper mingled with a wedding service. 

Like most converts though, I was determined to go full bore. We had the full shebang, communion and all, which caused much wailing and gnashing of teeth among my more Protestant family members. (In their defense, everyone was sweet the day of, although they all decided not to partake of communion. I guess they thought it was idolatry or something). It just made so much sense to start off my new married life with a miracle. The moment that my husband and I knelt and partook together was like nothing I have ever experienced. 



4

My husband is not the "strong and silent" type. In our wedding, I was dry-eyed and grinning from ear to ear, and he was the one tearing up. He's a very emotional soul, which I adore. During the wedding of his best friends, I caught his eye once or twice from the congregation, and we were both thinking the same thoughts. How has our marriage held up? It's been a very hard two and half years, what with my mental health issues, family problems, three moves across states, job changes, his time in seminary, preparing for ordination to the priesthood, etc. It's easy for us to be jealous of other couples who seem to have it easy, to groan when we hear yet another preacher talk about the trials of newly weds including toothpaste brands. Mental health problems are a heavy burden on a marriage, even with the support we've been blessed to have.

5

Thinking of marriage as sacrament helps. When you were baptized, you were promised grace, not freedom from sin and trouble. The sacraments never remove our trials, do they? (Sometimes it feels like they add to them!) The Christian life is not easy, and in fact can be an inconvenient faith as Chesterton said. Sacraments give grace upon grace because that grace is needed so desperately. 



6

My husband and I were blessed (in retrospect) to have weathered trials as an engaged couple. However, nothing can prepare you for the work of being married, no matter how much pre-marital counseling you receive - though it helps! The joy and hardship of being two people and yet one flesh is something that must be lived out to be believed. Before we got married, I trusted on faith that marriage is sacramental, but I didn't really get it. Like any sacrament, until you make that "leap of faith" it won't really click. 


7

In closing, pray for your spouse! One thing I've started practicing is offering a Rosary up for our marriage. Funny how spending time meditating on God's grace changes your perspective on marriage and love. 



Wednesday, October 1, 2014

Accepting Grace, in spite of Pride





I finally went to confession. It had been a few months, and I felt particularly nervous since this was a new priest, a new place. Therefore, I wanted to plan, to spend several hours examining my conscience.

One morning I got up and went to the Catholic cathedral in downtown Savannah. It's open all day to visitors, and there are always tourists taking pictures. I had been meaning to go, so I went, lit a candle, prayed a Rosary, admired the iconography and statues. Thinking that was that, I got in my car and started home. Halfway there, I felt a tug to call and see if any priests in the area were available to hear my confession that day.

Confused but feeling strangely urgent, I parked in a strange neighborhood and started searching for churches on my phone. In no time I saw a church with which my husband and I have no connections and called the office. To my surprise, the priest himself answered. Yes, he would be happy to hear my confession, no, he had nothing going on at the moment, why not come on over?

The church was in south Savannah, so I did have some time to consider my recent past as I drove. It's been a chaotic last few months: moving from D.C. to Savannah, my husband's graduation from seminary and ordination to the diaconnate, my sojourn in a mental hospital. There were many opportunities for sin, but as I drove the thing that reverberated in my heart was my intense self-hatred.



I met the priest, talked a bit about my situation, made my confession. To my consternation, he was more concerned with my suicidal tendencies than with anything else. He gave me his card and made me promise to call him, day or night, if I was in any way tempted to end my life or hurt myself.

One of my religious quirks is the desire to earn my own way. Maybe it's part of overcorrecting from my Calvinist past, in which man could do nothing and had no free will. Or maybe it's human nature that cringes from gifts and would rather give to charity than be charity. I would rather be given a harsh penance than be told that most of my confessed "sins" require being more merciful to myself.

Maybe that's why it took me so long to confess in the first place: I know from past experience that the grace found there is abundant and embarrassingly free.







Monday, August 11, 2014

When "The World" is better than "the Church"

I wish I didn't have to write this post. Truly. I wish that my experience was so singular that no one could relate, that everyone else felt truly at home in a Christian setting.

Say yes if the following fits your experience:

1. You ask for "silent" or "unspoken" prayer requests/ intentions because you worry that your prayer group will gossip about them

2. You have received more empathy and compassion about mental health issues from "secular heathens" than you have from Christians

3. You have endured or witnessed bullies in church environments who were either ignored or encouraged by leadership

4. Those bullies were the leadership

5. You have a "church smile"

6. You have been to revivals or discipleship events or camps or retreats which acknowledged these realities, but when the emotions died down nothing changed

7. You feel shame about your lack of Christian friends, afraid that you're not good enough for that ever-elusive fellowship, afraid that your spiritual life suffers as a result

8. You feel extra shame if you are perfectly able to find friends outside of church/ Christian settings


Here is the typical response to this problem: well, the church is full of sinful people. What do you expect? When people get in groups you naturally get gossip and infighting and favorites.

Friends, are you as tired of that excuse as I am?

Here's why that reason isn't good enough: because I've had better friends and support in non-Christian environments, almost without exception, than I have in Christian ones. Those groups were also filled with people, non-perfect people who make lots of mistakes. And yet, the fellowship was better. Those friendships were made without the fear, perfectionism, and one-upmanship that plagues most Christian groups. Not to say life was perfect, because of course not. However, most of my truly supportive friends are not "believers." They aren't crazy heathens - they are law-abiding citizens who make plenty of mistakes but try their darndest to live peacefully with others. But they also are not Christians, or they are burned Christians who keep their distance from religious organizations.

What's the answer? I don't know. I'm struggling with church locally, for reasons too private to put online, but I'm also struggling with church in general. There is only one thing that I can do, and it's one of the hardest things to do.

I can be honest. I can refuse to put on the church smile. I can tell anyone who asks how I'm doing that I'm battling depression. I can be honest about my recent sojourn in a mental hospital.

If we aren't honest about our real selves, the problem will persist. As someone whose husband is working for a church full-time, whose life is wrapped up in things related to "church," that's not a viable option for me. At bottom, I'm simply tired of hiding.

Friends, let's stop hiding. As long as we hide, nothing will ever get better. And if we reveal our true selves and are still disliked... Then we make friends with those on the outside, like we always did. At the end of the day, we are responsible for living authentic lives, not for how others talked about our truth.










Saturday, August 2, 2014

Random Collection of Cool Things

Links, articles, and a video.... Here we go!


Inspiring Blog Posts: 

Jesus Might Have Sung Out-of-Tune at It's OK to Fail. Sarah is quickly becoming one of my favorite bloggers, and it's because of posts like this. (Also because her picture is so delightfully happy and quirky). This post is a big kick in the ass to those of us (Episcopalians especially) who measure the worth of a church service by its level of musical professionalism. Sarah is talking mostly about contemporary worship services, but the same can be said for traditional services as well. Those of us who love music are very susceptible to judging others who can't "perform" to our standards. Remember the letter in which Screwtape explains how to ruin the patient's experience of church?

When he gets to his pew he sees just that selection of his neighbors whom he has hitherto avoided.... You may know one of them to be a great warrior on the Enemy's side. No matter. Your patient, thanks to Our Father below, is a fool. Provided that any of those neighbors sing of tune, or have boots that squeak, or double chins, or odd clothes, the patient will quite easily believe that their religion must therefore be somehow ridiculous. 

(By the way, if you haven't read The Screwtape Letters, what are you waiting for?)


All Because We Said Yes at These Walls. In addition to the gorgeous photos, Julie wrote a beautiful celebration of her marriage and children. Part of the beauty of being married is seeing the fruits of that initial "yes," whether that's children or hospitality or friendships or charity. Love begets more love.


Easter: In Search of Grace at A New Song to Sing. Easter has always been my favorite holiday, even as a child. And yet, I instantly related to Rebekah's pain as she looks at Easters past and wonders where the message of grace was hid.

But I dare say I've never heard a message in which the pastor dove head-first into the muddy waters of grace.... The kind of grace that doesn't simply argue "God's not dead," but looks me straight in the eye and says "Because He's alive, you can be too!" The kind of grace that simultaneously screams and whispers, "you are worthy."... I want to know that Jesus lives for and loves the worst of us. 


Five Things You Can Do Right Now as ISIS Threatens Christians and Shiites at The Anchoress. What I love about this piece is that Elizabeth doesn't just speak to Christians - she speaks to anyone with faith in something larger than ourselves, even if that "something" is the fact that we're all in this together. In the face of unbelievable persecution and violence, what can one individual do? This is the pain in our hearts as we read about the bombings in Gaza and the violent persecution in Iraq and the stream of traumatized children at the US border of Mexico. It can crush you, easily, and there's something to be said for shedding some tears on behalf of the innocent. It means we're human. What Lizzie offers is an action after we dry our tears.

NOTE: please do not read the comment section. Lizzie had to close it because trolls were bombarding her comments with vulgar, hateful, and dishonest bullshit. The actual piece is well worth the read, however.


And now, as a light-hearted palate cleanser, a message from Neil deGrasse Tyson concerning our failure to locate alien life:











Friday, August 1, 2014

The Other Side of Leaving Fundamentalism

Leanne at Provoking Beauty was writing about her reading plans for a retreat, and among them was a book by NT Wright. We talked a bit about how he was taboo for me growing up due to his controversial take on Paul's theology.

Later that day, I discovered a Rachel Held Evans post about Wright in which she ponders the meaning of "Calvinism." You see, NT Wright considers himself a disciple of Calvin and even some of his theology as "Calvinist," though his ecclesiastical home is Anglicanism. (I'm beginning to think that Anglicanism is more of a liturgical and ecclesiastical lens than a theological one, but maybe that's because I'm new to the thing). The famous German theologian Karl Barth, while more Lutheran than Calvinist, was also working within the Reformed framework, but his definition of election is vastly different from John MacArthur's. Rachel has the same issue with this that I do: how can you claim to  be Calvinist in any degree when you don't believe in individual predestination of souls to heaven or hell?

And that, in a nutshell, is the problem with growing up fundamentalist (whether you claimed the label or not - it's more a way of thinking than it is a belief system. Some have argued that Richard Dawkins is an atheist fundamentalist, which I'm sure gave him the vapors). In the fundamentalist framework, everything must fit neatly into categories. It's not really about rules; that's one of the misconceptions of fundamentalism. I inadvertently fed into that with my "Catholics Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Fundies" post, which was born out of irritation. As Samantha at Defeating the Dragons argues - from vast personal experience - it's not the rules that make fundamentalism toxic. It's the mindset. Ankle length denim jumpers are a symptom, not the disease.

Those of us who grew up in this mindset find it hard to shake. We retain the fundamentalism but change our loyalties. We become fundamentalist Episcopalians (oh yes honey they exist), fundamentalist Catholics, fundamentalist Muslims, fundamentalist secularists. We find a cult to join.

(To be clear, this fundamentalist mindset is distinct from passion or even passionate disagreement. Dawkins himself argues that other atheists object to his passion for science. Hardly. Neil Degrasse Tyson has plenty of scientific passion, but he readily acknowledges the rights of others to practice their own faith traditions, so long as he has the equal right to disagree.) Check it:




One of the hardest thing to shake about growing up fundy is the belief that Real Christians Think X. Catholics, the reason why many evangelicals find it hard to accept you as fellow believers is that Real Christians believe in once saved always saved, or justification by faith alone, or Sola Scriptura. These are not trivial matters: these are the core doctrines that we grew up believing as the foundation of our faith. When a Catholic says in one breath "I'm a Christian" and in the next breath espouses belief in Purgatory, the evangelical has a massive cognitive dissonance headache. (If you really want to have fun, tell them that CS Lewis also believed in purgatory. Mind Blown.)

Well, I thought I was past that. I had accepted that Catholics are Christians - that Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholics are our big brothers in fact, and it might behoove us Johnny-come-latelies to listen. But there was another side of the "Real Christians Think X" that I had not shed. There was a still a part of me that turned away the minute someone calls themselves Baptist or Presbyterian or Reformed or (God forbid) Calvinist. Why? Because Real Baptists think that my baptism was invalid. Because Real Presbyterians are most certainly not PCUSA (posers). Because Real Presbyterians are the ultimate insiders, always talking about their Shorter catechisms and Book of Church Order and General Assemblies and expecting the world to care. Because Real Calvinists listen to Mark Driscoll podcasts (if they're young and hip) or read Spurgeon. And at the minimum, a real Reformed Christian believes in the TULIP as applied to individual persons. Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God and all that.

Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit (Southern speak for being shocked). The world just isn't that simple, go figure. It's far easier to be a fundamentalist thinker than it is to actually think. If you're a fundamentalist, you know exactly where you stand and exactly where everyone else stands. You can pinpoint someone's beliefs and drop them in your mental filing cabinet behind the Creationist label or the Secular Humanist label or the Pentecostal label. Once the person is filed, everything he says gets placed under one of the subheadings in their main file. When you get really good at it, you can watch out for buzzwords and sayings. That way, you can file away the person without having to listen to an entire conversation. And now you get to talk, which is what you wanted all along.

This comes naturally to children. For the purposes of language acquisition, it's even crucial that children learn to match labels with objects. However, eventually we grow up, and the process is painful. Did you ever wonder why high school students work so hard to label each other as geek or freak or jock? It's just too damn hard otherwise, when you're dealing with pimples and periods and sexual tension, to suddenly unlearn the labeling process. That has to wait until college or adulthood in general, when we learn that people are complex individuals who can't be plopped into filing cabinets.

Fundamentalism is intentional arrested development. Parents, horrified that children go to college and learn that their liberal roommate is not the devil incarnate, seek to abort the process with Worldview Camps and books and conferences. It's crucial to fundamentalist parents that their children remain children, that they never listen to another person without their labeling pens. The well-trained fundamentalist college student knows that biology professors are anti-faith, that feminist professors hate men, and that everyone is out to get them. Best to plug up your ears and join a like-minded fellowship group on day one, for solidarity.

Some of us manage to escape. Unfortunately, those of us who are proudly "post fundamentalist" are not, perhaps, as grown up as we think. So you don't believe in 24 hour 6 day Creationism anymore? Hurrah, here's a cookie. The hard part is throwing out the filing cabinet and learning to listen.



Saturday, July 12, 2014

Catholics, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Fundies

I've noticed an unnerving trend. It seems that many of the cultural and theological positions from fundamentalist and evangelical Protestant cultures are seeping into the more conservative Catholic circles. Many of the "hot topics" on Catholic blogs (such as veiling, skirts vs. pants, homeschooling, wifely submission, purity rings, etc) are just borrowed from fundies. For as long as I can remember, certain Protestant women have been homeschooling their large families while wearing ankle-length denim skirts, never cutting their hair, frequenting health food stores, and having babies at home. (One movie says that "health food stores are where the lives of fundamentalists and liberal hippies intersect.") The extreme end of the spectrum are the folks who do "home church" (because they can't find a church that's pure enough for them) and who keep their daughters at home instead of letting them go to college.

Obviously, Catholics won't be having church at home; there's that pesky Mass obligation, and the entire idea of Catholicism centers around the altar, not the home. And yet, I see more and more Catholic bloggers talking like fundy Protestants. Ironically, the more "traditional" Catholics are more likely to look like Protestants.

I'm honestly baffled by this. For someone who breathes a sigh of relief every morning because I'm not in that subculture anymore, I can't imagine why someone would willingly put themselves there - especially a Catholic. When you've got the intellectual backdrop of Augustine, Aquinas, Francis de Sales, Theresa de Avila, John Henry Newman, et all, why would you need the advice of folks like the Pearls, Voddie Baucham, Eric and Leslie Ludy, and Joshua Harris?

Because let's be clear. That whole "emotional purity," parent-lead courtship, "you are your virginity," cups filled with spit image of sexuality? Not Catholic. Eschewing vaccines? Not Catholic. "Full time head-covering" and measuring one's virtue by the length of one's skirt? Not Catholic. Proudly proclaiming that you've never worked outside the home and wanting the same for your daughters? Not Catholic.

But nothing scares me more than the adoption of "wifely submission." Even the old-time Catholics don't come close to the paralysis that defines fundamentalist womanhood. The conservative Protestant image of a woman is much closer to Victorianism than Christianity, and it leads to toxic places. If you've never seen the video of John Piper's talk on women with abusive husbands, this should be eye-opening. Catholics, this is where "submission" leads: to silent acquiescence of abuse. Men, be on guard: this thought process leads to a weak version of "manhood" that can't tolerate a strong, healthy wife. In Piper's mind, the central issue of domestic violence is the woman's "crisis of submission," not her safety, and she might even need to endure being smacked around for a night as long as it's "not causing her to sin."

(Note: this man is well-regarded in certain circles. Growing up as a Calvinist, he was one of our hallowed authors along with R.C. Sproul, John MacArthur, Elizabeth Elliot, Francis Schaeffer and JI Packer. My respect for him evaporated after watching this video, but sadly he is still highly influential).












Saturday, July 5, 2014

Dreaming of church without sermons



What is the purpose of church?

Worship? Fellowship? Prayer?

Let's call it a communal experience of the Divine.

The Church has found that experience in the Eucharist, by eating and drinking the Son of God, by uniting our souls and bodies to every generation of Christians past, present, and future, and uniting us to the death and resurrection of Christ. It is the miracle supreme, the pinnacle of existence until we get to heaven.

Over time, the Eucharist was built up by augmentations: by certain prayers and songs and readings. Lectionaries were developed. We found ways to pray for those whom we forget about in our individual prayers. Brilliant means of worship through song were written, from chant to instrumental music to hymnody to Psalters. An exuberant, overflowing, overwhelming ecstasy of experience that transcends time and space.

OK, so most of the time it doesn't feel that way - the choir is off-key, you were up all night with the baby, you and your spouse fought on the way over and struggle to make it to the Peace. But when you take the bread and wine, no matter how you feel, the reality remains.

Can anyone tell me what the sermon adds to this?

I know that sermons were not a Reformation invention, but during the Reformation they were elevated to preeminence. As a Presbyterian, I was taught that the pulpit is the most important furniture in the church, because of the centrality of proclaiming the Word. And by proclaiming the Word, they didn't mean reading the Gospel; they meant having a 20-30 minute sermon on a text selected by the pastor, not by a lectionary. When you take out the altar and the sacrifice of Mass, a man's words (and it was always a man) become the focus. (Similarly, when you remove the offering of the bread and wine, the offertory is just a money-making opportunity, but that's another story).

Granted, the Anglican and Catholic and Eastern Orthodox and (some) Lutheran churches retained their altars and Eucharists. However, there are still sermons or homilies. The Episcopal Book of Common Prayer doesn't even allow for its removal at the priest's discretion: the rubrics call for a sermon, full stop. That said, most daily Eucharistic services ignore this, or they simply read a brief piece on a saint's day, but Sundays always have sermons.

(Do Catholics have the option of omitting the sermon/ homily?)

Now, most people probably like sermons. They see it as a time to learn something, to be reminded of God's love, to be convicted or enlightened. They may fidget if the time goes over, or the priest has a verbal tic, but even poor homilies are taken in stride, a given, as expected as the Amen after a prayer.

However, for some of us, sermons are minefields. When visiting new parishes or listening to a guest preacher, we tense and clench our fingers, waiting for trigger words. We try to disassociate, or we fixate on the words so intensely, hoping to remove the shock of surprise.

God is not tame. We have a wild God. 

We are at war, and every one of us is a soldier. 

You have no choice. 

Who are you to talk back to God? Who are you to say He is unfair to exercise His holy will? 

When you die, what will you say when God asks "Why should I let you into my heaven?" 

Do you know where you'll go when you die? 

If you were to stop breathing this second, would you know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you wouldn't be in hell? 

Love the sinner, hate the sin. 

Every non-Christian knows the verse "Judge not." Well, won't they get a surprise at the Great White Throne of Judgement! 

You are either with us or against us. 

Those people who abort babies are the same ones who don't believe in spankings. Guess a belt is worse than death. 

When you don't share the Gospel with your neighbor, you sentence them to Hell.

God is a God of love, but He is also holy. He cannot look upon sin, and His wrath must be satisfied. 

God doesn't see any difference in sin. Sin is sin, and the lustful thought you had is the same in God's eyes as the sins of a child molester. 

Etc.

It's not always this bad. In the Episcopal church, it rarely is. But after a lifetime of damaging sermons, it doesn't take much to trigger a panic attack. And guess what you miss then? Yep, the Eucharist, the whole reason you came.

Some of these damaging notions are heretical by most standards, but sometimes even technically correct notions are delivered in damaging ways. Humans aren't perfect, especially when they have to come up with "original" sermon ideas 52 weeks a year plus major feasts.

So, what's the trade-off? Those with religiously-influenced PTSD and traumatic experiences can stay for the Eucharist, but we may have to attend Sunday school or a formation group for Christian ed. In which case, isn't small group education better anyway? What, really, is the purpose of a sermon, since it's about a man talking to the congregation rather than the congregation and priest having conversation with God?













Saturday, May 31, 2014

Spitting Out the Bones: A C.S. Lewis Series





If you've been around a group of Christians for any period of time, you've heard or read a C.S. Lewis quote. Doesn't matter the denomination or tribe: Baptist, Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Orthodox, Anglican (of course), Methodist, Lutheran, non-denominational, conservative, liberal - everyone can find something in Lewis.

That is, until you actually read Lewis. Then you realize it's not so simple.

For one thing, Lewis had an odd twist on Christianity. His friend Tolkein converted him by way of myth: by teaching that Christianity was the true Myth, the end of Lewis' search for the elusive Joy. Lewis was not just classically trained in the usual British schoolboy way; he was obsessed with story, myth, and especially with "the North" of Nordic mythology. This mythological flavor is responsible for Narnia, but it's also responsible for a way of thinking about theology and God that permeates everything he wrote.

For another, Lewis was, as we all are, a particular person living in a particular time and place. During my husband's ordination to the diaconate this morning, the bishop preached on God's "particularity" of love, such as the particularity of a young girl in Palestine in the Roman empire who said "Be it unto me." When we say God is love we forget that God also loves, as a verb, all the quirky and wacky people in the world in their specific times and places. I'm aware of the wackiness that is the 21st century Deep South, and I love it because it's my family, my home, my own brand of crazy. Lewis belonged to a different brand, and it's important to remember that. For anglophiles like myself it's important to remember the deeply dysfunctional side of his culture, and to take certain cultural observations with a grain of salt. At the same time, it would behoove us to remember that we too have a brand of wacky, and there's no guarantee that ours is better.

These thought percolated as I reread The Four Loves. More than most of his books, this one sends me from one passion to the other, from underlining his words and wanting to share them with the world, to throwing down the book and pacing, wondering why this idiot was ever published. And yet, I know that there is enough meat in the book that is healthy and succulent, even if I have to do some serious bone-picking.

That's what this series will be about. What in Lewis, starting with The Four Loves, is helpful and what is not. Much of this is highly individual, but for what it's worth here's what I get out of it, and here's why some folks will want to take an aspirin before reading.


Tuesday, May 13, 2014

The tension of being in-between

As much as I make fun of Episcopalians who invoke via media in solemn tones, sometimes it's apt. However, I think that often times modern Episcopalians - with the exception of the very low church evangelicals - are often between Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholics, especially when it comes to spirituality and worship practices. I know I feel that way.

This was brought home to me this Sunday at the altar rail. I was kneeling beside a couple and their delightful toddler son who is the cutest, happiest baby in the universe. (He also loves church because his parents have been wonderful in that regard - I watched them lighting candles at the Virgin icon as he climbed onto the kneeler and gestured towards the icon and flowers. He especially loves the music). The priest asked if the child was receiving the Eucharist or a blessing, and in this case it was a blessing. I have also seen babies and toddlers receive a drop of wine from the priest's finger after baptism. The official stance is that all baptized Christians are welcome to partake, but that it's up to the parents as to whether their babies should partake. In some parishes, like the one my husband is called to, the children wait until they are about 7 to do a Western-style first communion in white dresses etc (though I rarely see this). In this case, it seems that some parents feel an Eastern tug towards the idea that babies in a family are seated at the table and eat with the family, and so should infants in Christ. Others feel the Western tug towards having at least a cursory intellectual understanding of the Eucharist before partaking. There's no animosity on this issue, but there's no standard approach either.

Our liturgical calendar matches the West, as do most of our Lenten practices (I get woozy just looking at the Orthodox fasting schedule. They're made of sterner stuff for sure). This makes sense - we split off the Western church, not the Eastern one. However, more and more I see theological and spiritual practices that look more Eastern. Moreover, the Episcopal attitude towards sacraments is much more Eastern - they are "mysteries," and while one can say many things, perhaps the best response is simply participation and wonder. Most Episcopal theologians these days hearken to the pre-Augustinian theology of atonement: that is, they are discovering that not all Christians believe in the theology of satisfaction atonement that Protestants - and to some degree Western Catholics - believe. This enormous paradigm shift was one of the greatest turning points in my own faith journey, and if I had been forced to believe in Augustinian atonement theology I'm not sure I could even be a Christian.

This really came home to me when I was doing a fun and intellectually thrilling exercise of writing up a daily prayer liturgy based loosely on the Liturgy of Hours. What I say next may sound offensive, but I truly don't mean it to be: the Eastern Orthodox version captured the beauty of prayer in a way which the Catholic one simply did not. I also found more of a kinship, a similarity in language, style, even cadence with the Book of Common Prayer; it seemed like an old friend but in grander, deeper style. When reading the Roman Catholic Liturgy of the House I felt like an outsider looking in, saying another's words; when reading the Eastern liturgy, it felt like home.

At the same time, we do technically have more kinship with the Roman Catholic church simply because of our history (though perhaps more latent animosity as well, which I pray will get better in my life-time). Culturally, we share the same Christmas and Easter, the same Ash Wednesday, the same All Saints' Day. We both stop saying Alleluia and offer Stations of the Cross on Fridays during Lent; we both consider all Sundays a feast day and let our penances lapse. And yet, when I need to pray silently on the Metro I find myself thinking Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner....




Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Do or do not, there is no try

I love the start of Lent. Ash Wednesday is one of my favorite services; going up to have the priest put the sign of the Cross on my forehead gives me chill bumps every time. It's one of the few religious activities I can count on to be emotionally meaningful every time. And as many have noted, the beginning of Lent is great because you feel all spiritual and shit and get a thrill from your penances/ devotions/ whatever you decided to do. It's beautiful in a clean, pristine way, kind of like snow. Sometimes you even get that cool blue skies and sunshine over thick snow.








And then it gets grim. The snow starts melting, and in the city it's just gross. There's nothing pretty about that devotion anymore, and the penance starts to feel like penance. Instead of freshly fallen snow, you get that chilly, icy rain when it's 34 degrees that the weather channel calls a "wintry mix."






So it was cool when I got to see tulips on my way to the Easter Vigil, even though I'm struggling to feel the whole "Easter joy" thing. Usually I'm Easter's biggest fan, mostly because I love spring and am wimpy about cold. This time around, it feels anticlimactic. Maybe it's because we're moving the third, not the last, week in May, and I'm scrambling to get a new job. Maybe it's because we've discovered that those experiences I had working at a rape crisis center are still haunting me, that I'm not "over it." Maybe it's because the therapist says "it will be a long haul," and dear Jesus we've already had a long haul. We're ready for this 4-year Lent in our lives to be over.


I don't have a pithy statement to wrap it all, make it flowers and sunshine and beauty. At this juncture, spring is a choice, not just something that happens around April and May. I can choose life, choose to pursue healing and growth with a vengeance, or I can give up and throw myself into the fires of Mount Doom while clutching the ring, my precious despair and pride. I can smell the flowers or cough up the ashes, gorge myself on animal fodder or relish the feast. There's nothing I can do to pull myself up by some non-existent bootstraps, but I can turn in the right direction and stubbornly crawl.

"But even as hope died in Sam, or seemed to die, it was turned to new strength. Sam's plain hobbit-face grew stern, almost grim, as the will hardened in him, and he felt through all his limbs a thrill, as if he was turning into some creature of stone and steel that neither despair no weariness nor endless barren miles could subdue."




Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Thoughts on Ecumenism

There are holy, loving folk who throw themselves into Christian unity out of the goodness of their hearts. I've met them, and they are delightful people who see nothing extraordinary about their actions.

And then there are those of us who care about ecumenism because life forces us to.

When you grow up conservative Presbyterian, attend a Southern Baptist school, and marry an Episcopalian called to the priesthood, there's no choice. You have to deal with the fact that you and your parents now see the world differently. You have to deal with the fact that you will hear sermons at home that spur panic attacks - or rage. You have to deal with the fact that people you grew up and love would never take communion at your church. The pressure is great, even for people who move from one Protestant tradition to another. Heck, all I really had to do was get confirmed - imagine the pressure for those who have to be rebaptized. I can only imagine what it's like for Protestant converts to Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy, or vice versa. And at the very worst end of the spectrum are those whose parents disown them or their spouses divorce them, sometimes simply for changing denominations.

For those of us who speak multiple faith languages, there's a kind of dual citizenship or double consciousness. We end up being ambassadors for "the other" at every turn, or as interpreters in religious debates. (I can't tell you how many times I've said "Well, what he means by formation is sort of like discipleship -  we're not becoming pod people," etc.) We bilinguals are tempted to pride and arrogance too. Look at me, I can talk to everyone! Check out little miss peacemaker over here! Or more subtly - well, it's so nice that I straddle the fence, since now I can avoid the mistakes of both sides. I'm above all that. (Yes, I'm looking at you, Episcopalians who like to say "via media.")

Except you're not above anything - you're floundering in a sea of pride, hurt feelings, and confusion. And by you I mean me.

I'd love to write some insightful tips on becoming more ecumenical. Unfortunately, my own house stinks. I mock those I grew up with, eager to separate myself, to prove that I know better now. I pretend to be tolerant and then blow up over minor issues. I want to be part of the body of Christ as long as I can avoid the parts I don't like.

I have only one tip, and it's really a plea. There are many Christians who grieve for someone because they've fallen away - because their evangelical son became Eastern Orthodox and has an icon corner in his living room, or their daughter left the Baptists and joined the Catholic church at Easter, or their sedate, Episcopal husband had a religious experience and now attends the Pentecostal church where they speak in tongues, or their grandchildren are being raised as Methodists so the Calvinist grandparents sneak Lacrae CDs into their Christmas stockings. Did I miss anyone? OK, let me bring it home: my daughter decides that the Bible explicitly teaches Reformed theology, becomes OP because the PCA is too liberal, and has a classical homeschooling group with her church.

Now that we're all offended or worried, let me be clear: it's not our job to show them the light. They are adults. They are well aware of what you think, and they made a conscious decision to move elsewhere. You owe them respect - the respect of making their own decisions, teaching their children what they believe, and marrying someone who shares their thoughts.

And if you're the son/daughter/ husband/ wife, then take a good long look in the mirror before you get uppity.


Monday, April 21, 2014

The Problem with "Giving Your Testimony"

Do you remember applying to colleges? You probably had to send your high school transcript, your SAT or ACT scores, a list of references, an essay, maybe a resume or list of extracurricular and volunteer activities. 

If you were applying to a Christian college, you could add writing your testimony to the list. 

Many Christian colleges require a testimony of some sort. For instance, to apply to Covenant College, the liberal arts college of the Presbyterian Church in America, you need to write an essay describing "your conversion experience, your assurance of salvation, and your walk with the Lord." More liberal colleges such as Asbury in Kentucky may ask for a character reference, which allows for the possibility of ethical but not evangelical applicants. Patrick Henry, a fundamentalist college that actively recruits homeschoolers, asks prospective students to discern "how your Christian faith affects your thinking," which makes sense for a school that produces politicians and activists. It takes different forms, but the main point stands: you are asked to produce a written document proving that you have a valid relationship with God. 

As a senior in high school I applied to Covenant and was accepted, though by the grace of God I went somewhere else. I don't think they've changed the essay question since then, because I remember agonizing over those first two phrases: conversion experience and assurance of salvation. I also remember that what I wrote was a bald-faced lie.

In any classic evangelical testimony there is a conversion experience. It has historical roots in various Protestant renewal movements, particularly the Methodist movement in England and the Second Great Awakening in America. Many of the religious conventions evangelicals take for granted came from these movements, especially the notion of a lightning-strike "road to Damascus" conversion experience. For some folks it really fit: I've heard stories of alcoholics and drug-addicts who hit rock bottom, the gutter experience as they say in AA, and were rescued from their plight by Jesus. The other popular iteration was the backslider story: a young boy who was "raised right" but went astray in high school, started hanging with the wrong crowd, got tattoos and piercings, got a girl pregnant and forced her to have an abortion, started selling dope. Eventually they see the error of their ways like the prodigal son and return to God and church and clean living. 

Of course, if you were raised in the church, gradually came to know God, and kept out of trouble, your story was boring as hell. 

The Baptist kids I went to school with all had the same testimony. Susie gets baptized as a little kid after going down the aisle at a church service and praying the sinner's prayer during the altar call. Since Susie's family is hard-core Baptist, she grows up going to Sunday school, "adult church," Sunday night church, and Wednesday night church, as well as VBS in the summer. She attends AWANA, can do a mean sword drill, and knows how to wield a hand puppet. She's stumped around in over-sized robes as an angel in the Christian play, and she knows all the words and hand motions to He's My Rock My Sword My Shield. 

Then Susie hits puberty, and middle school, and starts having crushes and boys, and starts her period and has to try on bras with her mom and an elderly sales clerk. Naturally this creates great drama, and in all the emotional turmoil Susie begins to question her identity, wonder who she really is and what she really believes. Somewhere between 12 and 14, Susie decides that she really didn't know what she was doing when she got baptized at 5, so she talks to the pastor about it and gets re-baptized. This is considered every bit as valid as the first baptism - more so in fact, because this time Susie is older and her opinions are more developed. 

Unfortunately, baptism doesn't solve her problems. It's hard to know if you're really truly saved, if you really truly know that you'd go to heaven if you died this minute. Certain catalysts were sure to cause this crisis: watching The Passion of the Christ, hearing a "back from the brink of death" story, going to summer camp and hearing all the counselors tell their testimonies, revival services, even a particularly poignant sermon. At each catalyst, Susie "rededicates her life to Christ," probably by walking down the aisle during an altar call and filling out a piece of paper. She checks the box that says "I want to rededicate my life to Christ," and for awhile she feels safe. Then the doubts come niggling again. 

So when Susie reads a college application that says "tell your conversion experience" and "give your assurance of salvation," what is she supposed to write? She hasn't had a conversion experience - she's had an emotional roller coaster of faith littered with little conversions. Worst of all, in the dark when she's alone, her heart admits that she has no assurance of salvation. She has nightmares about hell; she worries that demons will infect her soul if she becomes friends with an atheist; she has questions about evolution but stifles them, terrified that her soul is in jeopardy from these questions. She has a purity ring but secretly longs to make out with the cute boy in math class. Unfortunately, these normal adolescent feelings have been spiritualized and blown out of proportion, so that even a normal crush is seen as a spiritual crisis. Susie believes, intellectually, in once-saved-always-saved, but that doesn't really answer the question. How does one know? What is this assurance of salvation, and how does one get it? 

Big questions Susie, but this is crunch time. You've got a stack of applications to fill out, all to colleges you long to attend. You could go to a state school, but you've had your eye on a couple of Christian colleges, wondering if you could get a scholarship. Your grades are good, you've gone on mission trips to Mexico and taught backyard Bible clubs and coached the church T-ball team, so your chances are good. This essay question is all that stands in your way. 

Sighing, Susie begins to construct an answer that will satisfy the college admissions board. It can't be outrageous, but it can't be exactly the truth either. Thankfully it doesn't matter, because no one knows her doubts and fears. Her pastor's reference won't reveal anything amiss. 

She starts her essay with "As a child brought up in the fear and admonition of the Lord, I was always aware of God's presence. However, as a teenager my conscience was pricked by a desire to go deeper...." 



Saturday, March 1, 2014

Lent, Prayer, and all that Jazz

So, this will be my last post until after Easter. I suspect that the earth will keep spinning.

My plan is to "unplug" as much as possible, to go from the virtual life to real life, from the spirit to the flesh. I talked about the need to become a fleshly person, to accept the bodies God gave us, to treat our bodies with care and health, to remember that we aren't just brains-in-a-jar.

I also wanted to get back into prayer. I'm really, really terrible at praying, like, worse than you think you are. I get bored - by talking to God. How fucked up is that? And I try to read the daily office (the Episcopal liturgical daily prayers), and it goes right into the confession of sin, and I just sigh. I'm sick of my sins. I'm sick of doing the same ones over and over. I should just record a list and play it for the priest at confession (kidding). Speaking of which, my last confession was terrible: I mean, I needed to go and it was good that I went, and the priest is always wonderful, but I didn't prepare really well. By really well I mean at all. I had a particular sin hanging over me plus a semi-pervasive problem so that's what I went with, but I knew there was more and just didn't take the time to remember and think it through. I was "busy" you know, something was more important than taking the time to really heal from the sins that burden me.

With everything that's been going on lately (depression, sickness for me and my husband, a pretty intense regiment of counselors and other doctors, and just the regular work and commute and keeping our bodies fed and clothed) let's just say that it's been hard to keep my priorities straight. I commit to things without thinking them through because a call for volunteers tugs at my heart, and then I realize what a foolish mistake it was way, way too late. I feel overwhelmed with trying to keep up with a slew of relationships back home (several states away) while keeping life going up here. And in the back of mind I wonder: where will we be in 3 months? Will the diocese come through and find a position? Will we have to look elsewhere? Nick thought they'd be in South Carolina and now they're in Arizona. I'd be OK with Arizona, but please oh please Jesus not Michigan or Minnesota or North Dakota, the cold would do me in. And God don't You dare get that shifty grin on Your face. I'm onto Your tricks.

Sorry y'all, got lost in my own dialogue in my crazy head. Where was I?

Right, so, prayer. Really just my relationship with God just sucks on my part. He's done everything of course - held me in my panic attacks and gave me a surge of spiritual comfort, gave me the energy to get to Mass and Bible study on Wednesday, sent social events to me that I desperately needed but would never have sought out. God is so good.

Whenever I say God is good, I think of some homeless folks I've met. If you ask them how their days are going, 9 out of 10 they'll say "God is good, He's keeping me safe. A day with the Lord is a good day." "As long as I'm breathing I can praise God." "God sends down the rain and the sunshine, and it's no good to complain about the rain. You got to have the rain to get the green grass and trees."

Maybe I need to spend more quality time chatting. I've been avoiding the chats lately because it's cold and I'm a wimp, and because it's cold more of them are in shelters. But that's me being a pansy. If I'm going to build a relationship with God, I need to talk to the best theologians in town.

I also need to work with my strengths. It's no good fighting to stay awake on the bus before my coffee, trying to read morning prayer on my phone or going through the Rosary app. It is the epitome of a lost battle. So what can I do? What has worked for me in the past?

That was the question that our bishop asked us in study. What do you need in order to have a closer relationship with God? And the answer that popped into my mind was "retreats."

Not retreats where you go to a conference center in the woods and eat in a cafeteria and go to prayers and workshops and sit on porches with the older women. No, I need a retreat of just me and God in nature, even if it's just one of DC's natural parks, but even better if it's out in the country. Certain things feed different souls. Country, grass, walking on crunchy trees [haha just editing this and realized how tired I was when I wrote it, I meant grass], watching squirrels chase each other, fighting my way through brambles up a hill - these things nourish me. I'm starving, distracting myself from this hunger by the internet, but it burns inside me. My eyes need to look at things without written words. My body needs to deal with outdoor weather for awhile even if it's not my preference (it won't be until May). My nose needs to smell trees after the rain. My hands need to get little cuts and callouses and dirty fingernails. My legs need to walk for so long that when I climb into bed I am bone and muscle tired but my mind is refreshed and at peace. These days it's the other way around. We weren't meant to live like this: sitting all day, leaving the office after dark, sitting up late staring at glowing screens, eating in front of a laptop instead of around a table with friends.

But all that's just talk. I won't get this done without hard and fast rules and the kick in the butt that is Lent. But the rules can't be too onerous or I'll throw in the towel. That's why I'm writing this here, publically. Not to show off (I've read enough Lenten plans to know that I'm a rank beginner and that this will impress absolutely nobody), but to know that someone else knows my plans. If anyone reads this, I expect you to ask me I kept to it after Easter week.

Here are the rules:

1. No updates to the blog, and comments will be turned off Tuesday night through Pascua Sunday.
2. No reading any blogs, responding to previous comments, etc. No social media whatsoever.
3.No You Tube. That place is an evil trap of doom.
4.The websites I can use are as follows: gmail, weather.com, pandora, netflix for things my husband and I watch together, dish anywhere for the same purpose, project gutenberg, bbc.com for news, my church website, and sites with prayers and devotions such as divine mercy chaplet, audio rosary, mission st clare, etc.
5. A retreat on Saturday or Sunday each weekend in which I drive to a natural park in the area, perhaps taking a sketch book, journal, Bible, and Book of Common Prayer, or maybe the devotional books I'm reading, The Imitation of Christ, Interior Castle, or No Man is an Island. And spend time doing whatever feels best - walking vigorously, drawing, praying, reading the Psalms, Lectio Divino, reading an office, doing some intercessory prayer for people, whatever.
6. Take 5 minutes (timed) every evening in silence, seated, doing nothing.
7. Commit myself to daily intercessory prayer in the evening. Please leave any intentions you have for me and I'll add them to the list.
8. Pray this short prayer from the daily devotions section of the BCP as a morning offering:

Lord God, almighty and everlasting Father, You have brought us in safety to this new day: preserve us with Your mighty power, that we may not fall into sin, or be overcome by adversity; and in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of Your purpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.


Hold me to it friends! Have a blessed and fruitful Lent. And I'm cheating and going ahead and posting this "Sunday" post on Saturday. I mean, it's technically Sabbath the night before, right?





Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Public prayer is like putting on a play...

But not in the bad connotation of "showing off." (Hopefully).

If you grow up in an evangelical Protestant tradition, you are familiar with extemporaneous public prayers. You participated in "prayer circles" in which the leader would "start us off with a word of prayer," and then there was silence for others once they "opened the floor to prayer", and then the designated closer would finish. Jon Acuff did a hilarious send-up of the different characters in a prayer group a few years back. There are all kinds of cues that you just know. You listen for that sharp intake of breath that means someone's about to jump in. You know that "in Jesus' name" without the Amen means that it's the next person's turn to go. And of course there are the token phrases: "Father God, we just want to lift up Your name tonight because You alone are worthy of all our praise, and we just ask You Father God to send down Your Spirit down upon us. We just want to lift up our sister Kim to You God, that You will be with her and let Your healing hand guide her in this difficult time. Put a hedge of protection around her Father God. And we ask for travel mercies for the Williams family as they go to Nebraska...". (I exaggerate, a little).

If you've ever done improv theater, you understand the concept of "yes, and." When your partner says "It's all your fault that we're in the dragon's belly," you can't just say "no we're not, we're sitting at a kitchen table." The idea is to keep the scene moving and add to what's already there. The same is true of extemporaneous, public group prayers in a Protestant setting. You can't contradict what someone else has said, but you can't just repeat it either. Keep it moving and think on your feet unless you want the whole room shifting in their seats and sighing.

Liturgical prayer is a different beast. You follow the directions (ha! printed directions? not always) and don't speak out of turn. There's a script for both words and actions, and who speaks when, and even for the cadence of the words. Everyone else knows that only the priest says "Our Father," and then we join in on "who art in heaven" - everyone but you, blurting it out in the silence. There are no surprises - unless you don't have a script.

When someone raised on liturgical prayers in the Catholic or Eastern Orthodox or Episcopal churches comes to a Baptist prayer group, it's as if an actor trained in written plays is thrown into an improv troupe. And when a Baptist is thrown into a liturgical worship setting, it's like an improv player expected to know his lines to a play he's never seen.

When I started going to Episcopal churches, I was fortunate - the first one I went to had all the "lines" printed in the bulletin. Unfortunately I assumed that this was de rigour and was, shall we say, dismayed to find that some churches will just list the page in the Book of Common Prayer. Y'all, I love the BPC, but why in the name of everything good and lovely is the Eucharistic service split up into different pages? You're following along like a good little church goer, convincing everyone else that you know what you're doing, and then the prayers of the people start, and it's form IV, and you're flipping frantically while everyone else has memorized the responses. And then it's back to the service, but oh wait we're doing Eucharistic Prayer C this time, and where the hell is it and why is the priest talking about planets and shit? And now we're onto the Lord's Prayer, but I grew up as a debtor and everyone here is a transgressor, and it's not at the end of Prayer C, it's somewhere else again.

And don't even get me started on the 1982 hymnal. There's those damn "S" pages in the front with prayer settings etc, so if you're singing "hymn #1" you automatically go to the front like a normal human being, only to be lost in a sea of S's that don't even look like hymns. And Lord help me if they don't print the music to "Glory to God" and just write "S so and so" in the bulletin, because some of the tunes I know but some I don't. Same thing with the Sanctus. Get it together, people.

And now I'm just screwed, because I used to go to churches that did Rite II, and my current church does Rite I with a few alterations, so now I don't even know what side is up. I can never remember if it's "Glory be to Thee, O Christ" or "Praise to you, Lord Christ." And now I have 3 versions of the Lord's prayer and 2 versions of the Nicene Creed floating in my head, without a hope of ever getting them untangled.

All that to say, be gentle with each other. Protestants, if someone grew up in a liturgical setting they will be terrified at the idea of unrehearsed prayers in public. Don't ask them to bless the food or lay hands on someone or "open the floor for prayer" without clearing it with them first (they will say no, FYI). Catholics and all you other liturgical folk, don't glare at the poor soul who dropped their prayer book in your pew or went to the wrong side of the altar for communion. They're trying to learn this play off the cuff in front of a bunch of strangers.

When it comes to prayer, some of us grew up in an improv troupe, and some grew up in community theater. Let's work with what we've got and help each other out. And if you're in charge of writing the bulletins, have a quiet chat with a newcomer who used to go to a praise and worship service. They might have some valuable input on clarity.



Saturday, January 25, 2014

Being a body

Part of the baggage I carry from fundamentalism/ fearful groups is the idea of spirit or soul over body. On the one hand, we believe that Jesus was a human and rose from the dead, but we didn't talk about the body in a positive light nevertheless. The emphasis was not on matter at all, for specific historical reasons.

* On another day I'll get all intellectual and shit and talk about those reasons, and the theology of spirit over matter. Today is not that day. Today is a day in which I will ramble, and hopefully some of it will make sense.*


As I went deeper into puberty, it became clear to me that women would not have created an anti-matter theology. We can't, because we can never forget our bodies. The Cartesian "I think therefore I am" (which has done so, so much damage) would never have crossed our minds. That's because women are constantly reminded of our bodies, whether we like it or not. The man can, perhaps, forget that he is first and foremost a body, and that his thoughts and body are intricately connected. The woman can't - not for long. If she tries, her body will force her to remember, and not always in pleasant ways.


Last year was/ is painful for me, mainly because that was the year my body said enough.


One day I hit my head. Two months earlier I started on new medication for mis-diagnosed bipolar 2 disorder. I don't know what caused what. All I know is that in April of last year my body took over. 

It is difficult to explain what it's like to loose your mind. We use it as a euphemism for many things, but what is it like when the mind is lost? Where does it go, and how can one get it back?


It came to a head one day in April when I had a psychotic breakdown. This is also a euphamism. Unfortunately, those of us who truly experience it can report little, by its very nature. I remember talking to a co-worker and noticing that his voice was coming through a tunnel, that the words were no longer making linguistic sense, and that my vision was blurry. I remember being in my manager's office, sitting on the floor knees to chest, sobbing. I remember my husband picking me up at work and hailing a taxi. I remember clinging to the rails outside the ER and screaming. And my next memory is being in a wheelchair at the triage desk, getting a bracelet around my wrist and the cacophony of voices. I remember that the nurse was exquisitely tender and compassionate. I remember being taken immediately back, that I was afraid of the big double doors that swung open, that every bump sent a jolt through my body. I don't remember taking off my clothes or receiving a hospital gown, but I remember wearing it. I remember my laughter, my high-pitched hysterical laughter interspersed with sobs. I remember that the man one partition over kept saying "nobody loves me" over and over again, and I wanted to help him. I told my husband we should go over there and tell him yes, I love you, it will be OK. I remember being interviewed by 2 ER docs, and the man asking me if I wanted to harm myself or others. I remember, clear as a bell, saying that I did not want to hurt myself, but that a few minutes ago I wanted to punch the female doctor. I remember being wheeled away for a CT-scan which came back negative. I remember a nurse telling me it was negative and said "isn't that good news?" And I thought "what about that is good news? That just means I have no fucking clue what just happened to me." The diagnosis was "anxiety." The patient education packet suggested that I try deep breathing and positive thinking. "Do you ever feel anxious? Maybe you're going through a hard time at school or work...."


A few weeks later I had an EEG. That was kind of fun actually, because they put all these electric nodes on your head. My husband took a picture that's hysterical. It showed "slight abnormalities conclusive with a mild to moderate concussion."


Most of last year is a blur to me. At the end of the week when talking to my mom, she would ask what days I made it to work. I was unable to remember. I had a list by the door that said "REMEMBER: did you brush teeth? Shower? Take meds? Do you have: keys, debit card, license, wallet, metro card, office building card, cell phone? Did you charge your cell phone or have a charger with you?" I wrote this list after despairing that I would be able to walk out the door without forgetting 2-3 of those things.

And for funsies, my ability to self-edit disappeared. I said things to people that I can never take back - not mean things necessarily, but completely inappropriate things. I had a bad reaction to Xanex which made me seem like a cross between a toddler and a drunk. Perhaps it's a blessing that I have forgotten a lot, because I don't particularly want to remember in detail all the panic attacks. I already remember things I wish I could forget. I remember staring at a stapler at work, wondering how it functioned. I remember saying words that rhymed with the word I wanted, and being unable to say what exactly I meant. I know that my worst personality traits were exacerbated and, because of my inability to censor, everyone suddenly knew about them.

The control freak couldn't control her own mind, and the fear exhibited itself in interesting ways.

It got better: I got off the terrible medication, and I got a better diagnosis. My memory has slowly been healing, and I can "use my words" again. My ability to function has improved.

But my body didn't forget.

Sometimes my body reminds me that there is so much from my past that has not been dealt with.

I don't know what happened last year. I don't know why my brain is still struggling to heal, or even what it's healing from. I don't know how to keep my mind from spinning into sudden panic attacks - all I have now is medication (wonderful meds, without which I couldn't go to work), and certain coping mechanisms. And this blog, writing down my thoughts, has been amazing.

And yet, it's not enough. My body will not be ignored.

One thing people don't talk about much is how much anxiety and panic - or any issue with the mind - affects the body. For one thing, we still don't know, and science is still uncovering the fascinating ways that the body and mind (if the mind is even a separate thing!) are connected. I know that when the medication chemistry is off, that I change in drastic ways, and that being off medication is not an option. And my background, my toxic beliefs about mental illness, the societal stigma attached, doesn't help. But thanks to my body I have to face it head-on. I have to recognize that even on a good day my muscles tense up in all areas of the body, so that at the end of the day I'm exhausted. I have to recognize that I can't play "mind over matter" anymore.

So my plan for Lent is different from the usual. Typically one hears about using Lent to "overcome" the body: to show the flesh who's boss. In some spiritualities the flesh is not always connected with the body per se, but with sins. But let's be real: we Christians have some serious baggage when it comes to being a body, living in the flesh, accepting that bodies are good, accepting that Jesus was an infant who breastfed and pooped and needed the comforting body of His mother.

I can't be Cartesian anymore, and neither can my theology. So this Lent will be learning how to be a body: how to give my body the activity and exercise it desperately needs, to learn how to listen to my body's needs instead of shutting them down, to avoid harming my body. To let the body tell my mind to listen for once. And maybe, to accept my body in its own proportions, with all its quirks.


Tuesday, December 31, 2013

My Patron Saint for 2014!

I tend to ridicule the whole "word for the year" scenario. After all, who knows what the year will bring? I think I know where we will be living in May, but that's just an educated guess. And that's assuming that nothing catastrophic happens between now and then.

Some people might get pleasure from looking back over the year and coming up with a word to sum it all up. I've got 2 words for this year:

Never Again.

So no, I won't assume that this year will be "Peace," because God's little joke would be to saddle me with an apartment upstairs full of partying college students. No jinxes for me, thank you. But having a saint is different.

It's different because it's a relationship with a person instead of a magic spell. I mean sure, I still try to guess what the year has in store based on the name, because that's human nature, but the point isn't that he's the patron saint of whatever. It's that centuries ago lived a man with all the flaws and joys of being human, and this year we get to become friends. 

I used Jennifer of Conversion Diary's Saint Generator to select my new acquaintance, and I was glad it was someone I've never heard of: Joseph Calasanz. He lived from September 11, 1557 – August 25, 1648 in Spain, and he founded an order devoted to teaching poor and homeless young boys. In fact, he was the organizer of the first free public school in Europe. Moreover, he was remarkably progressive in his views - believing in gentle discipline, training in vernacular languages, vocational training, and a devotion to math and science. He was also a friend of Galileo's! 

He wasn't perfect though, and his greatest flaw sounds awfully familiar. One of the teachers in the order, named Cherubini, had a long and documented history of sexual abuse of the children in his care. When confronted by Calasanz, Cherubini reminded him of the great power Cherubini held due to his family name and prestige, and threatened to dissolve the Order if his crimes were made public. So instead of publicly denouncing Cherubini, Calasanz simply moved him to another position to get him out of the way. Funny how some things never change. 

It was a cruel irony then that Cherubini was so favored that he was promoted by popular demand to Calasanz's place. Upon his appointment, Calasanz finally revealed his secret, but it made no difference in Cherubini's position. Instead, these facts, together with opposition from the Jesuits and Calasanz's connections to Galileo, contributed to the demise of the Order, and it was disbanded by Pope Innocent X. In spite of all, he remained faithful and was cannonized by Pope Alexander VII, who also cleared the name of the Order and its schools. He is the patron saint of students and schools, especially Christian schools. 

Cool story huh? I look forward to learning more about him as the year progresses. And, I hope that it will inspire me to serve the poor wherever we end up, and to be bold against injustice when needed. 

Saint Joseph Calasanz, pray for us!




Thursday, December 19, 2013

My Culture of Fear: TULIP

Growing up, I thought that we Calvinists were a persecuted minority among American Christians. The mythology went like this: all Protestants (except Methodists) were originally Calvinist. Baptists, Lutherans, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and the like, all believed in predestination, total depravity, and all the rest. However, the American churches in particular had been lead astray by false human doctrines called Armenianism, and now only a minority were faithful to the Word of God. (Catholics and early Christianity didn't really figure into the story; nobody ever talked about pre-Reformation Christianity except how corrupt the Popes were). We were part of that minority: those who were both conservative and Reformed, who hadn't given in to liberalism or Armenianism. If you've been part of a fearful group, you know the drill, except maybe you spoke in tongues amongst a bunch of Baptists or were the only group that knew the TRUTH about Jesus coming back for your congregation. It didn't help that a prominent Southern Baptist church in our town had our denomination listed as a cult. It also didn't help that I grew up in an area crawling with Baptists and Methodists and a bit slim on conservative Presbyterians.

That mythology has been burst. In a couple of decades, Calvinism has become cool again, as evidenced by the gradual take-over of the Southern Baptist Convention and the popularity of dominionist groups. Young people are especially attracted to this theology, perhaps because they've been disenchanted from the altar-call style evangelism of their youth. The image of a Calvinist is no longer Mark Twain's frozen chosen choir boy but a bald-headed hipster seminarian smoking a pipe with his ale. As one who was Calvinist before Calvinism was cool, I'm terrified by this turn of events.

Part of my worry is that young people are diving in head-first without thinking through the repercussions for their children. That may sound strong, but I have been severely wounded by Calvinist theology, and those wounds haven't healed yet. So nothing I say is meant to be against a particular Calvinist, unless he or she is obviously being manipulative or controlling of others. However, I'm not going to mince words when it comes to the theology, if only because many, many people have been wounded by it, some of them losing faith altogether. There are also many misconceptions about the theology, and it's good to know what people actually think outside of the stereotypes.

Here's what I grew up believing:

God is completely holy, pure, incorruptible. He is also unchanging - "immortal, invisible, God only wise." This means that God never changes His mind, or His "will," and that because He is God, His will is both unshakable and perfect.

Furthermore, because God is holy, He cannot look upon sin. This means that He cannot love a sinner whose sin is still visible to Him. Moreover, His perfect justice demands that all sins be punished. To be clear, this punishment is not meant to be a deterent for future sins, or a refining fire for penatants. This punishment is needed because God's holiness demands punishment for sins, full stop. Think of it as a mathematical equation, and in order to solve for X, sins must be punished by suffering.

Now, this holy God made everything, including Satan and mankind. In the beginning, Adam and Eve had free will, meaning that they could chose whether or not to obey God. They chose to disobey God. This act of rebellion spawned "The Fall," and this fall was total and complete. Because Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, every human being is born without free will. In other words, no one can chose to worship or serve God, and no one desires to. Not only that, but we are spiritually dead and completely incapable of doing any good. The only reason we haven't all killed each other is because of "common grace," which means that God allots a certain amount of grace to most humans in order for human civilization to continue. I was taught that people like Hitler were not given common grace in order to show us what we are really like, but I don't know that all Calvinists think that. Most Calvinists would compare the unregenerate human heart to Lazarus' dead body, simply incapable of waking himself up or walking without Jesus' miraculous healing. Also, most Calvinists would never say that God pre-ordained evil, so there's a very fine line that one must walk. This is what is known as "total depravity," the T in TULIP.

In response to the Fall, God's holy nature requires punishment of sins (see number 2 above). However, God is also love, and He loved His elect so much that He sacrificed His Son in their place. This is similar to garden-variety evangelicalism but with a distinction. An Armenian would agree that God's holy nature requires punishment of sins; however, they would argue that Christ's death on the Cross was meant for all humanity. The onus is then on individual humans to accept the gift of Christ's death and believe that their sins are therefore forgiven. Calvinism is different: in this paradigm, Christ only died for those already predestined by God "before the foundation of the world." What this means is that Christ's sufferings are mathematical, an exact calculation for an exact number of people. The Calvinist would never say that Christ died for everyone, but only that He died for His elect. I was told that this way none of Christ's sufferings were "wasted" on those who would decide to reject Him (again, I don't know if all Calvinists think this, but it's certainly a common belief). This belief is called "limited atonement" and, for obvious reasons, is the most controversial Calvinist belief. There are so-called "Four Point Calvinists" who believe all the tulip except the L because of a niggling sense of compassion.

The U, for unconditional election, follows from those beliefs. Because of The Fall, man is totally depraved and has no free will. Because God is holy, all sins must be punished. Because God is love, He sacrificed His Son in place of the elect. Because man is totally depraved, i.e. has no free will, he requires direct intervention; ergo, God predestined a certain number of human souls to be saved. His election of these souls is eternal, meaning that it is outside of time altogether. Some Armenians would interpret election to mean that God foreknew - i.e. saw into the future - and knew that Sally Sue would accept Jesus Christ, and therefore Sally Sue is part of the elect. This is not how the Calvinist sees it. In Calvinism, God predestined Sally Sue before the foundation of the world for no discernible reason other than simply because He willed it. It had nothing to do with any choice or good works on her part, and it only had to do with God's (admittedly capricious) choice. This is called "unconditional election" because it is not conditional based on our will or works.

The I, for "irresistible grace," follows logically from unconditional election. If the creator of the universe wills for Sally Sue to be saved, then nothing can stop Sally from being saved. God's saving grace cannot be resisted by her or anyone else, cannot be stopped, cannot be negated by human sins. Those alarm bells ringing in your head are correct - this does sound a lot like rape. When I was a Calvinist though, I was derisive of those who called it divine rape. It goes back to the Lazarus analogy: Christ brought Lazarus back to life, and Lazarus didn't have anything to do with it. Lazarus came forth from the tomb because he had no choice, but no one thought Jesus was guilty of rape!

The P is for "perseverance of the saints," which is kind of controversial. I've heard it called "once saved always saved," but I've also heard Calvinists take great pains to distinguish it from once saved always saved. What I believed growing up is that if Sally is elect, then she will persevere in God until she dies. She may fall away for a time, but she will never be totally separated from God. This is the part where fear and legalism really come into play, because if you're not showing "signs of the elect" then you must not be saved. Jonathan Edwards was mildly obsessed with this problem and wrote a book about it called "Religious Affections." This is why so many atheists get the "No True Scotsman" fallacy thrown at them. After all, the existence of fallen Christians is really frightening if you believe in TULIP. These people thought they were saved, sincerely believed, and now they don't.

John Calvin actually took it a step further and believed that God would trick people into thinking they were chosen when they weren't, a little godly cat and mouse game. Not all Calvinists espouse this though, for obvious reasons. There is also disagreement on whether God foreordains souls for destruction or simply foreordains those whom He saves. In my opinion this is a non-sequiter because if you're not elect, you're headed for Hell, whether God assigned you a seat there or not. There are philosophical reasons to believe or not believe in "double predestination" (or as some would call it double secret predestination), but I'm not going to go into that here.

The other key element is that of "imputation." On the cross, our sins were imputed onto Jesus, and His righteousness is imputed to the elect. This is different from the Catholic idea of infused grace for many reasons. Unlike infused grace, imputed grace doesn't require an act of human will (see: unconditional election); the transaction can't be resisted by human will (see: irresistible grace); it's only offered to those whom God has chosen (see: limited atonement), and it can't be lost through human sin (see: perseverance of the saints). This grace also doesn't mean that we stop sinning or "aren't living in Mortal sin." What it does mean is that we are, in Martin Luther's phrase, a "snow-covered dung heap." We need the covering of Christ's righteousness (i.e. His perfect obedience on earth) so that God can stand to look at us, because a holy God cannot look on sin. I didn't understand this concept as a child, which is interesting because without it the whole building collapses. You want to try something disheartening, try being a Calvinist without understanding imputed grace, with a little Armenian altar-call theology and Last Times obsession stirred in for good luck.

If you're confused, the now-disbanded Caedmon's Call (the band Derek Webb used to write for) explains this quite clearly, in a more positive light than I can manage:






Now, most people would say that the above beliefs make God a monster. However, there's a catch: "who are you, O man, to question God?" You're totally depraved, remember? Your spiritual intellect is decayed, rotten to the core, and your moral compass is shot unless God supernaturally corrects it. So who are you to say that God is being capricious? You're a tiny, sinful human, and God is the pure, holy, sovereign creator. Aren't you being a wee bit presumptuous to judge God?

I'll let you sit with that.