Thanksgiving 2012 - a.k.a. the feast of St. Cecilia!

I am the proud mom of a ten year old child.
And from a very, very early age I have tried to teach her
what is good and what is right and what is true...
and even more importantly....decent manners.

As all parents will attest, one of the very first lessons we teach our children is to say please and thank you.
For days, months, years we remind our children –
and other people's children - of those two important words.
“What do you say?” we repeat and repeat and repeat
with that expectant intonation that means
“you know what to say, darn it, why can't you ever remember”????
But see, children not only are unaccustomed to the niceties of communal living  but are also mostly used to getting what they desire and tend to think that everything is due.
So we keep it up: “what do you say, honey?”
“what's the magic word?”, “don't forget to thank the lady”.
And so on.
And then one day something amazing happens.
The child moves from merely repeating words under duress
to the first spontaneous immensely parent-gratifying “thank you mom”. And we are undone.

The Greek noun eukharistia derives from eu- "well" + kharis "favor, grace". Eukharisteo is the usual verb for "to thank" in the Septuagint and New Testament.
Eucharestia is what we do when we come together as a community: we praise and give thanks to God. 
Which means that every Sunday is for us Christians Thanksgiving Day.

And as with the ever present “what do you say?”
the Eucharistic liturgy that we share is habit forming.
After the Nth “what do you say?” the child begins to understand the value of it. The meaning of it. The effect it has.
The child begins to recognize that nothing is due to her
and that everything is a gift.
The world around her changes: her relationships change.

The same happens with the Eucharist.
When we come together to celebrate the Eucharist
we enter a world of grace in which a particular sense of
gratitude toward God is formed.
In the liturgy we come to know God as creator, judge, redeemer,
sustainer, and consummate lover of all creation.
Christian liturgy – what we do together - is our response to the self-giving of God in, with, and through the One who leads us in prayer – Jesus Christ.

As we progressively understand ourselves and the whole human family as receiving the gifts of God's creation, sustaining mercy
and justice we change our attitude toward the world and other human beings.
We come to see the abundance we are surrounded with,
we come to see that there is no real need for fear,
we come to see that God's grace is everlasting
and that in spite of what the world tells us we are saved,
we are forgiven, we are loved.

In the liturgy, in the part of the liturgy we call the Eucharistic prayer, which is the one the priest prays from the altar on behalf of the community, we follow a clear pattern:
    we remember God' creation,
    we remember the covenant God made with the people,
    we remember the promises and exhortations of the prophets
    and we remember the greatest gift, the gift of God's self in Christ.
    We call upon the Holy Spirit grateful for her continued presence among us
    and finally we glorify God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit all together in a joyous “amen”.

Every Sunday we remember the past and share our hope for the future giving thanks for it all again and again.
And what we do doesn't deny pain and suffering,
rather in the midst of it all, the thanking is an act of hope and resistance to what is evil within and without the human heart.

And then the prayer becomes action.
As theologian Geoffrey Wainwright has observed,
in worship we receive the self-giving love of God
and the test of our thankfulness is whether
we reproduce that pattern of self-giving in our daily relationship with other people.

Which is why today many of us have chosen to do something
to show our gratitude in a practical tangible way.
Some have served breakfast to our less fortunate brothers and sisters; some will share a meal with each other right after this serviceand many have found other ways to show the gratitude they have in their hearts.
All of us, at the end of this time together will be charged to “go into the world” and serve – which is and will always be my favorite part of the liturgy.

Thanksgiving Day doesn't come only once a year.
For us Christians it happens at least once a week.
My hope for all of us, my heartfelt prayer,
is that slowly but surely the ‘Eucharestia’ we share
may become a habit for the soul.
That we may end up celebrating it at all times.
Remembering and giving thanks for Christ's ministry,
for his death and resurrection
and awaiting his coming in glory all days of our lives.

Amen.

Monday (to Saturday) Blues

 

My husband gets the Sunday Blues. Around 4 on Sunday afternoons he gets cranky and restless at the thought that the weekend is "beginning to end" and Monday will soon be back with its weekly share of work related stress. Sometimes he fights it by going to the gym for an hour, sometimes he and his favorite ten-year-old assistant bake a cake, and sometimes we all go out for a walk or some ice-cream.

Now and again, in our spiritual life, Christians get the Monday-to-Saturday Blues.

On Sunday we gather in God's presence, surrounded by a loving community of like-minded brothers and sisters and as we worship together the Creator, Reedemer, and Sanctifier of all life, we find ourselves lifted up, above the cares of the world and at peace with God and one another. Yet, when the weekdays come, we grow more and more distant from God, and loving our neighbor as ourselves becomes a chore.

How do we kick the Monday-to-Saturday Blues?

We get into a routine of soul-exercising a.k.a. prayer. Through prayer we keep our connection with God, we continue the conversation started on Sunday morning, we find the strength of pursuing God as God never tires of pursuing us.

We do something constructive a.k.a. service. Through service to others we model our life on Jesus life, we give of ourselves as He did and does for us in the Eucharistic bread and wine.

We meet our brothers and sisters in Christ a.k.a. fellowship and study. Through spending time with Scripture and other works of our Tradition we look at how others in the past (and in the present) have experienced and conquered the equivalent of "the Blues": those times in which God seemed distant and our neighbor unlovable.

And of course we look for our community, the other children of God who are our help and comfort at all times. The ones who may or may not be experiencing the same feelings, but who are open to listen and to share.

 

If all this doesn't work, of course, you can just give me a call. It doesn't happen EVERY Sunday, but if you are lucky, there may be cake...

Pentecost 17 - audio

http://wp.allsaints-phoenix.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/The-Rev-Licia-Affer-Pentecost-17-09-23-12.wma

Unlovable children

Pentecost XVII     Mark 9:30-37

Since the day she was born – no, since the moment her Dad and I knew she had been conceived – my child has been the center of my life.

Everything I do, everything I plan for, all of my hopes and dreams have her at their core: her health, her well being, her happiness.

Not simply because she is my heir and I hope she will take care of me as I grow old…

although I certainly DO hope so…but because I value her as a person 

and even though sometimes I may find it hard to like her…

I always love her with all my heart!

In contemporary Western society, we ascribe great value to our children

and we look at childhood as an extended time of sheltered nurturing,

in which we – the parents -  go to great lengths to provide for our children the protection, the benefits, the opportunities they need to grow into happy, healthy, and possibly wealthy individuals.

Yet, this view of childhood was practically invented by the Victorians and reserved to wealthy families. In first century Palestine, the mortality rate for young children was very high so it wouldn’t do to get too attached to them.

Added to this is the simple observation that children were viewed as “not adults.”

i.e. non-contributing members of society.

They had no rights, no voice. No one would ever ask for their preferences with regard to food, clothes, studies or play.

They might be valued for their future contribution to the family business, especially in an agricultural context, and as future caretakers of their aging parents, but otherwise they possessed little if any intrinsic value as human beings, being mainly just another mouth to feed.

We need to be aware of this as we look at Jesus placing a child in front of the disciples as an example. He could have just as easily placed a leper there, because his message is about welcoming the last, the least, and the lost.

Not the cute, the innocent, the hope for a better future.

The disciples are focused inward. They are interested in their reputations,

in how the amazing events that are happening around them will make them look.

They are wondering what the crowds and Jesus think of them.

Even when Jesus is sharing with them a preview of the radical role reversal that is to come. How the Messiah they are expecting will not in fact jump on his white horse and wage war against the Roman oppressor, but will instead be betrayed and killed (and by so doing bring about a new world).

Even then, the disciples are too busy comparing the number of tweets they are receiving, debating who among them deserves more honor and fame, who has the greatest authority.

These are the same guys that a handful of verses before the ones we read today, in Jesus’ absence had tried to cast a demon out of a boy but failed because they forgot to pray, they forgot to ask God to perform the deed, thinking,

I guess that they were great enough, to go about it on their own.

Arrogant idiots!

It turns out that to be great has nothing to do with impressing the crowds with displays of healing, and even less with trying to become teacher’s pet of a Teacher who refuses to play favorites. Jesus wants the 12 to start focusing outward: toward what is really important; hence the choice of the child.

Not intrinsically important in their eyes. Not a king, not a rabbi, not a Pharisee.

It turns out that greatness lies in welcoming one who is not viewed as great by the culture. One who is not deemed worthy of great love. One who is beyond the circle: cast out. The greatest is the one who shows greatest compassion, greatest understanding, greatest love for the unloved and the unlovable.

Thank God!

Because

we, the children of God, are often unlovable.

We are whiny, we throw plenty of temper tantrums. We are demanding, we don’t keep our promises, we make blunders, we talk back, we lie, and we cheat.

We argue with our brothers and sisters and we tend to think too much of ourselves,

boasting about our own greatness.

And nonetheless, God, father and mother of us all, constantly puts us at the center of creation. Forgiving us and taking us back. Kissing our booboos away. Ever present to us in a myriad of ways.

God loves all of us

Including the ones we place last in our human hierarchies.

Including the ones we leave behind.

Including the ones who get lost in the world.

 Can we do the same?

Can we model our lives on the one of our Lord?

Can we love everyone as we love our children?

I don’t know.

But

are we at least willing to try?

Observing the traditions of the elders..

Mark 7:1-8,14-15,21-23         
Observing the traditions of the elders...

Once a year, the Diversity Committee at All Saints’ Episcopal School
organizes a series of events called Cross-Worlds.
Students and their families share their cultural background with one another
bringing delicious ethnic food,
telling stories about their ancestral countries of origin,
and showcasing their extraordinary art projects.
My first year here, I was asked to share the legend
on which a popular Italian tradition is based.
Two years ago and last year, I made Tiramisú.
It is always a very successful program, with a good number of participants.
And not only because my Tiramisú is really delicious!
Human beings are always curious about each others' traditions.
We like to explore the way other communities approach life,
the way they make sense of the world and relate to it.
Traditions, especially the oldest, most deeply rooted ones, tell our story.
The simplest, most fun way to access different communities
is to savor ethnically diverse cuisine
– which is nothing else but the traditional way of preparing food –
and then of course there is the music, the popular songs,
there are the classical stories, the myths and legends,
the communal narrative of the people of a specific place,
from the bedtime stories we tell our children,
to the Gettysburg address,
to Martin Luther King Jr.'s sermons.

Our traditions define us.
Individually and as a community.
They differentiate us from those who don't share them
and therefore don't belong to our tribe, our clan, our family...our people.
Traditions are very often rooted in practical matters,
such as circumcision, ritual cleansing before meals or prayer,
the placing of a cover over the chalice (so that the flies won't get in)
or the keeping of both hands on the table at meals
(which is what we still do in Italy according to a medieval tradition...
so that your host may be assured that you are not hiding a weapon under your napkin).

To be sure, a lot of “human traditions” are rooted in a great deal of good,
and have a good and solid purpose.
The practices observed by the Pharisees
that we read about in today’s Gospel were very good practices.
Ask any mom:
nothing wrong with washing up before approaching the dinner table
(especially at a time when silverware had yet to be invented
and people ate with their hands).
And nothing wrong wrong with washing your fruit and veggies,
and your pots and pans before using them.
The point is that - as opposed to our moms -
the Pharisees are not worried about dirt or pesticides,
they are worried that the grower might have planted the crop on the “wrong day”, the Sabbath,
or in a field with other plants that are not supposed to be mixed in the same plot;
or that in the process they might have been handled in some unclean way,
by some unworthy person.
That would have made THEM unclean.
You can never be too careful,
you don’t want to expose your self to something that might defile you,
since in the Pharisaic worldview, God doesn’t consort with those who are not pure.

And here lays the problem.
The purity laws lent themselves to a spiritual stratification
between the ritually "clean" who were close to God,
and the "unclean" who were shunned as unworthy sinners who were far from God.
Instead of expressing the holiness of our relationship with God,
and the care with which we want to “handle it”,
as was the original purpose of the law,
ritual purity becomes a means of excluding people considered
polluted, contaminated, and contagious.

Jesus is not reacting to the traditional practice per se,
but to the use the Pharisees are making of such practices.
They are using them as barriers.
They are using them to define who is in and who is out,
who is close to God and who is excluded from having a relationship with God.

Throughout the gospels the Pharisees criticize Jesus
because of his flagrant disregard for ritual purity.
Jesus, who was a Jew and “should have known better”,
touched a leper,
he touched a woman with a flow of blood, and handled a corpse.
Throughout the gospels, Jesus consorts with all sorts of unclean people,
sharing meals with prostitutes, tax collectors and other Roman collaborationists.
And he ignored sabbath laws!
But let’s be clear.
Just as he doesn’t condemn the observance of the Sabbath,
Jesus doesn’t condemn the practice of ritual cleansing.
Both are good and salutary traditions.
In fact, both practices are part of a healthy life as well as ways to honor God.
Jesus is pointing the finger at what happens when religious practices and doctrines
that are intended to bring life and health to the community
become stumbling blocks to reaching out to others with the love, justice, and mercy of God
in other words, when "human traditions" are substituted for "the commandment of God."

Jesus is making it clear that it is not what we are exposed to
that defile us. It is what is in our heart.
And no tradition is to be used to exclude another person,
and no law is to override compassion, forgiveness,
and a welcoming inclusion into the community.

Jesus is asking the Pharisees
what is at the root of the tradition they are so busy following.
He is concerned about their lack of compassion and charity,
more than their lack of cleanliness.
It is what’s in our hearts
that is a measure of our spiritual status.
Do you keep things pure for you and the elite members of your sect,
or do you work to keep things safe for those with no options?
Do you use all the available water for personal ritual cleansing,
or do you make sure the widow next door has enough to make soup for her children?

What makes this Gospel interaction relevant for us today
is that we have the same questions to ponder.
"Why do we do what we do?"
What informs and guides our daily choices?”
"What matters and what doesn't?"

We love our traditions because they make us feel comfortable,
because they help us define ourselves,
because they remind us of those who came before us.
Others may find our traditions a bit odd and slightly uncomfortable.
All our traditions have special meaning
and it is important for us to know and understand what that meaning is.
Not to do something because “we’ve always done it this way”,
but because it is relevant to us now.
Moreover, it is important that our traditions do not make us feel too good about ourselves.
That we don’t fall into the trap of believing, for even one second,
that our way is the only sanctified way to approach God.
And that we are special in the eyes of our creator because of
our ancestry, our background, our worship style
instead of because we are God’s children.
Created, redeemed, and sanctified through God’s love.
Called to respond to that in charity, mercy, and love for our fellow human beings.

Seeing Jesus

Last Sunday we read John 12:20-33. Here are the thoughts I shared with my community.

In the past few weeks
I have come into the church more often than usual,
to practice the Exultet for Easter Vigil.

On one of my little excursions,
I was reminded of the fact that in many churches
the inside of the pulpit bears the inscription “We wish to see Jesus”.
This of course, is a reminder for the preacher that
people don't go to church to be dazzled by her rhetoric,
amused by his anecdotes or wowed by her erudition:
they go to church because they want to see Jesus.
Just as this little group of Greeks today came to Philip asking to see Jesus.

Why did they? I wonder.

These Greeks were probably those 'God-fearing Greeks' or 'God Fearers'
that we hear about in a number of historical documents.
Gentiles, who were near-proselytes and attended synagogue services.
They were fascinated with Judaism,
but not yet 100% sure they wanted to commit to it,
(possibly because full commitment meant circumcision...)
They had a lose affiliation with a synagogue
and attended the Passover rites in Jerusalem.
It is sad how we lose track of them as we are swept away by Jesus' words.
What happened to them once they had “seen Jesus”?
Did they stay? Did they join the disciples?
Were they still in the city as the terrible events of the next days unfolded?
Was that too much for them to bear? Who knows?

In my experience, there are many who say they want to see Jesus;
although most of the time not in so many words;
many feel a pull toward “something” and if we dig a little
and ask the right questions, they may even admit it: they wish to see Jesus.
But when they say they wish to see Jesus,
in reality what they want to see is the image of Jesus they are comfortable with.

They wish to see baby Jesus in the manger: so cute, so tiny.
They wish to see Jesus as the good shepherd, with the little lamb in his arms. So strong and reassuring.
They want to see the amazing picture of Jesus in his resurrection glory,
all golden rays of light, and rainbows of color, and fluffy clouds.

In other words they want to see “Hallmark Jesus” – the one on the Easter and Christmas greeting cards

Most people want to see a diluted image of Jesus that is not threatening
to all the other beliefs they hold dear.
An image that is not challenging, but soothing, consoling,

My hope is that all of us here today want more than the chance to get a “glimpse” of Jesus.
My hope is that what we really want is to see Jesus in the sense of seeing what Jesus might mean for our lives.
My hope is that we are not afraid to be challenged by the reality of Jesus.
The reality of Jesus that lies in the metaphor that Jesus himself presents to us today:
“unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit”.
To see Jesus is to see the cross, to perceive its meaning and importance
to imagine the possibilities.     AND TO EMBRACE IT.
“Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will be my servant also”, he said.
Therefore to see Jesus is to follow him, on his way to Jerusalem and to the cross.

Remember the rich young man who wanted to inherit eternal life?
He was a good bloke; he respected the law, 

knew his ten commandments and even believed that Jesus had an answer to his quest.
The thing he could not do was to follow Jesus.
And that was the problem because Jesus was not there to provide an answer: Jesus is the answer.

To see Jesus means to see everything filtered through the “Jesus lens”,
to put the attractions and distractions of this life aside
and maintain single-minded focus on the one who is the way, the truth, the life.
To see Jesus is to become Christ-like,
to not only listen to his words and sometimes to repeat them;
but to live the way he lived....and die, at least a little, every day, to our old self.
The cross is there for us to embrace and share and it is only through solidarity in the cross that we can obtain solidarity and communion with God in the new life.
“Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will be my servant also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor”.
To follow Jesus, to be a Christian,
is to be signed with the mark of the cross,
the baptismal mark of incorporation into Christ.
In other words, it is to lose one's life for the sake of the gospel,
the Good News, which is Jesus Christ.
It is to fall into the earth and die so that we can bear much fruit.

This is not a concept that can be easily understood from the outside.
To the onlooker the cross is folly.
It is foolishness to the Greeks and a stumbling block for the Jews,
who see the cross as a symbol of defilement and of defeat.

But not for us.
As we follow Christ and become like him,
we see and know the power of his resurrection.
The cross, freely chosen by Jesus, proclaims his true identity.
He is not just 'a good man, a wise philosopher, a healer,
a comfortable guy who preached peace and blessed the little children'.
He is the Son of God given to the world because
God so loved the world that wanted us not to perish but
- through Jesus - to have eternal life.
In the same way as through the cross we see Jesus in his true self,
the cross proclaims our true identity: that of beloved children of God.

Now, seeing the cross and following Jesus is not easy.
Our Lenten journey is not a smooth one and the liturgies of the Triduum, the last days of the holy week, are powerful reminders of how hard a task it is to be Christ-like.
To be Christ-like we have to willingly enter a dark night:
a night in which we do not know the way but in which God becomes luminously present.
The good news is that we don't have to count on our strength alone.
The cross that we embrace has been embraced before:
God has made our response possible through grace.

We can lift high the cross, the instrument of torture,
because it has become an instrument of salvation.

We can only understand that, if we travel with Jesus all the way.

So I invite you to journey with me, with all of us, through Holy Week,

to hear once again the story of our redemption

as it unfolds in our shared liturgies,

to become a part of the events of Jesus’ last days.

I don’t want you to be like those Greeks and disappear from the story.

I feel a bit sorry for those Greeks, really.

I am afraid the missed the best part; the real good news, the fifth act.

And it is a pity, because it has a very, very, very happy end.

of snakes and crosses...

I don't know what possessed me when I promised to start posting my sermons. First of all, I usually speak from notes, and second, I never have the time to edit the aforementioned notes to make them intelligible for reading... anyway, last Sunday, after I preached at the early morning service, Scott (our music director) complimented me on my sermon...so I must have done something right. Here goes...but remember, you are missing all of the add-lib!

Lent IV B

Numbers 21:4-9

John 3:14-21

Sometimes the lectionary is really tricky.

Today the Gospel reading begins in the middle of a conversation, which makes it hard to follow. So, let’s catch up with the most recent events.

Nicodemus, leader of the Jews, visits Jesus at night.

He doesn’t want his peers to know that he – Nicodemus – wants to spend time with this strange man who has authority and power. He doesn’t want them to suspect that he finds this man intriguing.

What follows is an interesting exchange that shows how Nicodemus’ preconceived ideas about God and the Messiah are a stumbling block for his understanding of what Jesus is about.

Nicodemus is a bit of a literalist and he is very well versed in Jewish tradition and Scripture. Jesus speaks in parables and is bringing a radically new, radically different message.

They are not on the same wavelength and communication is stalled.

So Jesus brings into the equation a very well known example from Hebrew tradition. It’s a familiar story for both of them and it establishes common ground and a platform for better communication. The story comes from the time when the people of Israel, led by Moses, escaped slavery in Egypt and were in the desert on their way to the Land of promise.

Persecuted by poisonous snakes, they ask Moses to intercede with YHWH and Moses is told to make a symbol, a poisonous serpent, put it on a pole and place it in the middle of the Jewish camp. Every time an Israelite is bitten he/she will simply have to look up to the serpent and will be restored to health.

In the same way – Jesus says to Nicodemus – the Son of Man (Jesus himself) will be lifted up on a pole (the cross). Whenever a child of God is attacked by what is evil, he/she will simply need to look up to him and be healed.

That is the way in which God loves the world: by bringing healing to the sick, or if you want, salvation to the sinners – in the form of the Incarnation.

Two things then come into play on our journey to salvation:

First of all, the cross is not a freaky accident. It is not God letting the worst happen to some scapegoat. The cross is the clearest expression of God’s love for humanity. The choice of becoming one of us – fully human – yet retaining God’s divinity and selecting to suffer and die to bring healing to a bunch of beloved creatures too sick to even realize what was happening.

Second, we can respond to the cross choosing to trust. Trust even when what God is ordering may seem counter-intuitive. Trust even when what God is doing may seem completely insane. Trust even when others call us crazy because we follow a fool who ended up really badly.

Note that God did not smite the snakes. God did not remove evil from the world – as God would be perfectly capable of doing. Instead God, the supreme healer, gives us a way to deal with the snakes, to deal with suffering, to deal with what is evil.

A very special gift awaits those who trust in spite of everything; those who keep their relationship with God. Not a perfect life without evil, not the end of suffering, not immortality, BUT a way to respond to all this through the love of God.

Salvation through Faith is very simply that: look up to Christ, God Incarnate, even when it is hard because your circumstances are unbearable or because the mystery of the cross is too much to intellectually digest.

And God’s grace will give you the strength, the courage, the peace you need.

Amen

A holy Lent?

This is my Ash Wednesday meditation for the church newsletter. As we approach the end of Lent, I wonder whether anyone has attempted to answer my questions...

Dear People of God…I invite you…in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. (BCP p.264)

We hear these words every year on Ash Wednesday, but what do they really mean for us today? What are we being invited to?

Self-examination. Let us take a good look at ourselves and our lives. What is important and what is not. What are my priorities? To whom and what do I give most of my time, energy, and money? Whom do I love and who loves me? How do I express my love for God and neighbor?

Repentance. When I look at myself, at my heart and soul, do I like what I see? Do I treat others the way I want to be treated? Do I love my God and my neighbor? Do I need to make changes? What changes can I make? Who can show me a better way?

Prayer. Do I pray? Why do I pray? How do I pray? And when and if I pray do I listen to what God is saying to me? Are there ways to be connected with God I may find more helpful that the ones I am accustomed to? Who can help me in my spiritual journey?

Fasting. Do I need to avoid meat until April 8? Or are we talking about something else? Do I need to get out of unhealthy habits? Where am I going to find the strength to do that?

Self-denial. Am I the only one I need to satisfy? Is my own happiness the one and only goal? Can I do without another pair of cute shoes? Another car? A new i-something? Can I use my resources in a way that gives life to someone else instead of me?

Reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. Shall I read a chapter of Scripture every day? Or maybe learn a psalm by heart? What if ‘Word’ meant Jesus, the incarnate Word? What if I chose to make a real effort of modeling my life on his?

We hear these words every year on Ash Wednesday, and every year many of us take them seriously enough to make a number of choices that will characterize the season that goes from now until Easter. Some of us will forgo chocolate or wine, some will choose to give some time to serve the needs of the community, some will purchase a collection of meditations and read one every day.

Whatever we chose to do, if we do it right, will operate a transformation in our life. We will find ourselves, 40 days from now, in a slightly different place from where we are at this time. We will see the world in a new light, through the lenses of our Lenten experience.

Transformation is what Lent is about. So that we may be ready to welcome the resurrected Christ and the restoration he brings. We prepare for joy. We prepare for new life. Therefore, I invite you to be changed and renewed. I invite you to the observance of a holy Lent….alleluia!

Look at what I've found! An old sermon preached at the Cathedral years ago...
I am speaking so very sloooowly....


http://www.hipcast.com/podcast/HqkCJb

Body theology

Today I spent some time at the gym, and now I am once again "painfully aware of every muscle in my body". It reminded me of something I wrote for the parish newsletter last summer and never shared here.

Like many of our parishioners I am a member of the Family Fitness Center across the street (a.k.a. the Jesus Gym) but during the school year, between my ministry and my family commitments, I can never keep up a regular exercise regimen.
In June, I discovered a new studio downtown where a fantastic instructor gives classes in Pilates and Yoga. Being a woman in my early 40s (there, I said it!) I need all the “core strength” I can get, so I happily bought 20 classes confident that through the summer I could find the time to take care of my “physical self”.
Well, I am proud to share that last Saturday I ended up going to the studio twice.
First at 9 am, for my regularly scheduled class; then at noon, for a private, very special class I shared with the other women of the office staff.
To begin with, let me tell you that nothing, nothing builds “esprit de corp” and “bonds of affection” like spending one hour together sweating and groaning on yoga mats.
Then, let me add that after two hours of work-out in the same day, I am painfully aware of every muscle in my body…especially the ones I didn’t really know I had!

We become mostly aware of our body when we are in pain or discomfort. Most of the time we take this amazing gift for granted. And of course we are also aware of all the things we don’t like about our body, the details we would like to change, the pounds we’d like to get rid of.

One of the reasons for Episcopal Pew Aerobics (the fact that we kneel, stand, sit in church, expressing our relationship with God not just in word and music, but also in action) is to keep us aware of our bodies. We are embodied creatures, wonderfully made, and God took on a body in Jesus to face the whole of human experience.

Sacraments, being the outward and visible (tangible, edible) signs of inward and spiritual grace, affect the body just as they affect the soul, demonstrating clearly the importance of the physical component. And why not? God created us in God’s image. God created bodies that are both doing redemptive work and being redeemed. God gave us our bodies to cherish, to nourish, to enjoy, and to love.

On Sunday it will be my privilege to baptize two babies, to pour water on their heads, to anoint them with oil. I will be expressing – on behalf of our community – the love that we share with God, for their minds, their souls and their bodies. This year I want to pay more attention - more theological attention - to my body and how I use it in my daily service of God. I will pay more attention to the taste of the bread and wine on the altar, to the feel of the hands I hold in prayer, to the ache in my heart when I face injustice and hatred.

God gave us these wonderfully made bodies. God talks to us also through them.

Last Summer

I haven't been posting here in a very long time, yet this doesn't mean that I haven't been writing... just as a reminder that I can actually find time now and then to "ponder the mysteries of the universe", here is a little reflection from last summer.

This week we celebrate the feast of St James the Apostle, the son of the famous mom who approached Jesus and asked for a major favor: “Declare that these two sons of mine will sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your kingdom.”
What a wonderfully ambitious parent! Sure, she didn’t really know what she was asking for, but still…
Parents have always considered their kids to be special and have always loved to brag about them. We want them to be seen as exceptional, to be given special recognition in school, in sports, in life. And what’s wrong with that? Nothing, if it’s done for the right causes.
In these times of helicopter dads and tiger moms who are ever present and push so hard, it is important that we ponder our ambitions for our children.
According to author Wendi Mogel, parents are becoming more and more anxious to be raising perfect children for two reasons that are not entirely “pure”: pride and fear of the future. Two feelings that, like almost everything, are good only in moderation.

Pride in our children’s achievements can make our hearts swell, but we need to avoid what psychologists describe as achievement by proxy syndrome. Do we want our children to be “the best Timmy or Holly they can be” or do we want them to make US look good? Is my child going to become a professional pianist because God has given her that talent or because I wanted to be one but could never make it happen?

And what about our fear? Fear of the future will make us cautious and lead us to instill in our children some healthy habits of discipline, respect, and perseverance. But we have to avoid inspiring them too much of a holy terror. First of all, who knows what kind of skills our kids will really need twenty years from now, and secondly…wait, haven’t I read somewhere that we can trust God to know even the number of the hairs on our heads?

As we get ready for the new school year, one week from Sunday we will be blessing our children’s backpacks asking God to protect and guide our children in their journey of education and growth.
What do we really want from them? What do we really want for them? And what do they really need from us?
Let us all remember that it is our mission as parents to encourage our children to explore the gifts that God has given them and to come to terms with their imperfections.

What are we going to put in those backpacks? Our human misdirected pride and fear? Or the joy of knowing that they are loved (even when they are not at their best, even when they fail, even when they miss the mark) both by their earthly and by their divine parents?