The Holy Trinity in the Wake of George Floyd's Death

"Act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God." These were the words printed on a homemade sign at last Saturday's Black Lives Matter demonstration that began in Federal Plaza in Chicago to protest the police killing of George Floyd. The sign was carried by a mom, dad, and their young son as we all milled about in the plaza before the marching and chanting began; and I wondered whether these parents had brought their child to the event in order to show him what democracy-in-action looked like. Perhaps that's just what they had done, I thought to myself, and I smiled broadly underneath my mask. But to invoke the prophet Micah's words as a fitting commentary on the values that we are supposed to embody, not only as people of faith, by as members of a civil society, that was truly extraordinary. Great work, Mom and Dad.

These three commands from Micah--act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God--are all about how human beings are meant to be in relationship with each other and with God. Trinity Sunday, which we will celebrate this week, explores the deep mystery of the Holy Trinity. That God should exist as three persons, and yet still be one God, boggles the mind when we try to think about it in our limited, compartmentalizing, human way. The Trinity expresses the dynamic of God's action in creation. God's loving, life-giving force is the product of the cooperation of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, which in theological terms we call, perichoresis, a Greek word that means "mutual indwelling." 

One of the reasons that I have been averse to referring to the persons of the Trinity with the non-gendered language of "Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier" is that to do so leads us into the heresy of either tritheism (three Gods) or modalism (describing God according to different aspects or modes). To reduce God to three of God's functions is to deprive God of God's fullness. To assign a specific function--say, redemption--to one of the three persons of the Trinity is to suggest that only the Son had any hand in redeeming humanity, because the Father only created and the Holy Spirit only sanctified. It's as if we distilled a human being's identity down to one salient characteristic, instead of acknowledging the richness of their personhood, with its infinite variety, complexity, and nuance. It's dehumanizing.

And yet, that is exactly how we act in our society, when we stop treating people like the full human beings they are and only as Black people, or trans people, or women, or immigrants. We sterotype and essentialize them according to one or a few characteristics, rather than honoring the vow we make in our Prayer Book's Baptismal Covenant to respect the dignity of every human being. To respect a person's dignity is to avoid lumping individuals into a convenient and yet sloppy category like Hispanic, or gay, or even Sanctifier. The society we create is not the product of one person, but the cumulative contributions we complex human beings make (or fail to make) to act justly, to love mercy, or to walk humbly with our God and each other. If we are made in God's image, then we cannot relegate responsibility to create, to redeem, or to sanctify to just one person. It must be the result of our mutual indwelling. The Holy Trinity is not just a theological brain-teaser, it is an image that we are expected to embody in our society's systems and in our daily lives.

Abundant blessings,

Fr. Ethan+

One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic

This Sunday, Christians all over the world will observe the Feast of Pentecost, which people often call the Church's birthday. Our reading from the Acts of the Apostles recounts the day that the Holy Spirit alighted on Jesus's followers, equipping them for ministry. The story illustrates what we call the four Notes or Marks of the Church : that the Church is (1) ONE, (2) HOLY, (3) CATHOLIC, and (4) APOSTOLIC. We affirm these qualities every Sunday when we recite the Nicene Creed; but many of us say the words without really reflecting on what they mean.

The statement that the Church is ONE, emphasizes its fundamental unity, such as when St. Paul refers to us as "the Body of Christ." It is often hard to appreciate or even believe that the Church is one, when there are so many divisions among Christians into different denominations, theological views, and worship styles. Nonetheless, we affirm that, however much we human beings may have fragmented the Church over the centuries, God is working through us to restore it to wholeness, which is why ecumenical work, for instance, is so important. Remembering that the Church's essence is to be ONE should impel us to seek out unity where we can.

The Church is also HOLY, in that it calls us into a particular kind of living. This lifestyle is modeled on the example of Jesus, who showed us how to spread peace, justice, and harmony by fashioning mutual, moral relationships with God and among all human beings. The Church's teachings, its sacramental life, and its mission in the world are tools for us to live as Jesus did, so that we can inhabit that holiness.

The Church is CATHOLIC, according to the original definition of the word, which is "universal." The Church is not limited to one locale, one denominational tradition, or one worship style; but rather embraces all Christians everywhere. The Pentecost story in Acts is a testament to the fact that Jesus's disciples were commanded to spread the Gospel to every family, tribe, language, people, and nation, baptising them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Finally, the Church is APOSTOLIC, meaning that the Christian faith we practice is a legacy from the first apostles that has been handed down from generation to generation. Known as the "Vincentian Canon," St. Vincent of Lérins in the 5th century affirmed the universality of this apostolic faith by claiming that it is "what has been believed everywhere, always, by all." Now, that may seem like a pretty bold and sweeping statement that may not hold up under scrutiny; and yet it is easy to perceive even in our own Sunday services the enduring legacy of the apostles: the reading of Scripture; the blessing and sharing of bread and wine; prayers for the Church and the world. There are still many common features between our faith and that of the apostles, as the Baptismal Covenant in the Book of Common Prayer makes clear.

Although the Church is one, holy, catholic, and apostolic, it is only so in an imperfect way. The Church is often prone to schism and disunity, corruption and vice, denominational prejudice, and theological error. When we recite the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds, there's always a hint that we are making an aspirational statement, that we will work to make the Church a better and fuller embodiment of those four essential qualities that we claim for it. The Acts story is clear that the gift of the Holy Spirit was given to all who were present, without distinction--men and women, slaves and free, old and young, worthy and unworthy. The apostolic ministry has been given to each one of us, and each of us is called to serve. Each one of us is called to embody the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church as we go about the ordinary activities of our daily lives. That should give us something deep to reflect on this Sunday, as we recount the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Jesus's followers in the gust of wind that brings God's holy fire.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Open Hearts

Have you ever had a week where you feel good energy emanating from everyone, and everything seems in harmony? That's how I felt this past week. I'm not exaggerating. So much good is happening at St. Helena's that I am convinced the Holy Spirit is leading us toward an abundant new life. I am absolutely glowing with pride.

First of all, the very fact that we were able to celebrate LGBTQ Pride on Sunday is a huge achievement. Many parishes would be afraid even to mention the word "gay" or "lesbian," but I was proud of those who set aside any personal discomfort and showing up for Mass with open and generous hearts. I have been delighted, moreover, by the visitors we have had over the last few weeks, which testifies to the good energy we are generating. I was also proud on Sunday when one of our youth was unexpectedly injured while the adults were in the vestry meeting, and everybody--Anglos and Latinos--pulled together to care for her. Coming together in a moment of crisis is one of the things we do best. And I was incredibly proud that we were able to be honest at the vestry meeting about the "pinches" we are all feeling as a result of the changes we are implementing. Nobody said it would be easy.

Then, on Wednesday night our longstanding book/discussion group engaged once again in a completely improvised discussion that began with "why do bad things happen to good people?" and concluded with a discussion of the sacrament of reconciliation, after having covered sin, gluttony, biblical anthropology, and the skeptical approach to Biblical interpretation called "the hermeneutic of suspicion!" It was a vibrant and energizing discussion, and my conversation partners shared with me that, after years of trying a variety of formats, what we had just done was exactly what they needed to feel spiritually fed during the week. A slam dunk.

I also continued my ministry of presence this week at the Starbucks on Lagrange Road in Countryside, where I've been keeping office hours three afternoons a week. The number of people who have stopped for the "free prayer" on my table sign, and have shared with me their deepest concerns--for refugee children divided from their parents at the border, for their own children unable to find jobs after college, for their personal desire to follow Jesus faithfully--has been awe-inspiring. The good energy is building and I am so amped for what the future holds for us. Again, nobody said change was easy, and there will continue to be challenges and disagreements, anxieties and uncertainties. But I ask you to keep your hearts open and TRUST that God is leading us somewhere very, very good.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

The Ladder

"I am going to send an angel in front of you, to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place that I have prepared." Exodus 23:20

Earlier this week, my mother and I teetered precariously on ladders, stretching and stapling wire mesh to screen in the large front porch of her house. The siding had just been replaced and painted, a new metal roof installed, the windows re-glazed, and now we were tackling the porch. We spent all day in the heat and humidity of central Florida, swatting mosquitoes, with our staple-guns, hammers, and X-ACTO knives in hand, trying not to get our feet tangled in electrical cords and the front yard's tortuous vines. It had been a long time since my mother and I had done a project together, and we discovered to our surprise that we actually worked quite well as a team. We had a delightful time despite the sweat and fatigue of the project, which didn't always go to plan. Getting the screen up perfectly taut without any ripples or gaps is challenging; it takes great patience and persistence. Sometimes we had to take a few steps back, unstaple the screen, and start over. After seven hours in the heat, it was a minor miracle that we were still speaking to each other. 

I came to Florida this week, not to staple and hammer, but to celebrate my sister's fortieth birthday and my niece's eleventh. When I think about the good relationships I have with my family now, I also remember those days growing up when they weren't so good: the misunderstandings, the quick tempers and tongues, the regret of things said or left unsaid. It took us a long and tumultuous journey to get to the good place we are now. It is not perfect, of course, but there are unexpected moments of grace that make me grateful and hopeful. That day on the ladder was one of them. Many families have similar stories. The good (or bad) relationships we have are fashioned by our choices and experiences, and yet I'd like to think that God has some hand in them. The Bible is full of stories of divine messengers (from the Greek, angeloi = "messengers") or angels communicating God's word and will to humans. I'm sure there were hasty moments when I did not heed God's advice to hold my tongue or to bear with patience a difficult conversation. There were undoubtedly urgings from God that I ignored in order to follow my own flawed judgment. I bear full responsibility for those failings, but I am grateful that God did not give up on me and continued to whisper in my ear and inhabit my dreams. And so does God with us all.

"Jacob's Dream" by William Blake, 1805.

The Church celebrates the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels this week, which emphasizes God's desire to speak and be present with us in our daily lives. In joy, pain, confusion. All of it. Whether the traditional image of gossamer-winged messengers resonates with you or not, the idea that God seeks to encourage us to walk in paths that lead to abundant life can serve as a source of comfort and strength. The decisions are ours to make, but God offers us a vision of what could be and guidance to get there. In the famous passage from Genesis 28, God speaks to Jacob in a dream and presents a vision of a ladder to heaven on which angels are ascending and descending. Jacob's ladder was probably grander than the aluminum one on which I worked and sweated this week, but both have been symbols to me of deep relationship. I have always imagined it as a metaphor for the back-and-forth communication between God and creation. It is an analogy of our ongoing relationship with a Trinitarian God that seeks us out in the unfolding of creation, the bread and wine and sacramental life of the Son, and the sanctifying guidance of the Holy Spirit. And as a people that participates in God's activity, we are often messengers of God to each other, as well. When we offer words of comfort, assistance in time of need, or nourishment when we are running on empty, we bear God's message of new life. Sometimes, God leads us forward through each other to the place God has prepared for us. Sometimes, it takes a person or a family quite a while to get there. When we sing the classic hymn for St. Michael and All Angels, "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones," we should not only command the ranks of angels to sing God's praise, but challenge each other to be God's messengers in the world.

The Lord is glorified in his holy ones; O, come, let us adore him.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

*Pause at the Asterisk

Open thou, O Lord, my mouth to bless thy holy Name; cleanse also my heart from all vain, evil, and wandering thoughts; enlighten my understanding; enkindle my affections; that I may say this Office worthily, with attention and devotion, and so be meet to to be heard in the presence of thy divine Majesty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I always begin my recitation of the Daily Office with this prayer taken from the Anglican Breviary, because it reminds me of the posture of attentiveness with which we are called to pray. Prayer is not supposed to be perfunctory or distracted or incidental. And yet, I have been known to rush through reading the psalms (and everything else) during the Daily Office, especially if I'm standing in a crowded train or bus struggling to turn pages and flip ribbons in that fumbling, one-handed manner without dropping the book or falling over a nearby commuter. As the bus jerks and jostles me, I am grateful for those days when I can take my time to savor the Word of God over a leisurely sipped cup of coffee. On busy days, there is probably little attention and devotion, and an abundance of wandering thoughts. Sometimes, all I can manage is to just get it done, so I can move on to the next thing.

The Book of Common Prayer notes on page 583 that "an asterisk divides each verse into two parts for reading or chanting. In reading, a distinct pause should be made at the asterisk." I have been in congregations where the asterisk is completely ignored, and in others where the pause is so long and plodding that it makes me want to jump impatiently out of my seat. I think there is wisdom in that tiny asterisk, whether the pause is long or short, because it forces us to take a breath and stop. We should do a lot more of that. The pace of the world is so furiously fast that we often fail to pause and think before we speak and act. Our attention seems to be dominated these days by the relentless threat of terrorist attacks, the never-ending ping-pong of presidential campaign rhetoric, and the instantaneous reactivity of social media. I often feel weary, and wish I could take a break from this assault on my senses. I need to recharge my batteries, but there doesn't seem to be any relief in sight. It just never stops. I need an asterisk for my life. Who's with me?

Earlier this week, I was beginning my morning commute standing impatiently on the platform waiting for the train to come. Seated next to me was a transit employee in her fluorescent vest, who eyed my clerical collar and struck up a conversation. She asked if I was a priest and where my church was, and after I explained what the Episcopal Church was, she introduced herself as Leticia and requested that I keep her in my prayers. I offered to lay hands on her and pray with her right there, if she wished. She readily agreed and told me what she would like to pray for. So, we prayed amidst the morning hurly-burly in the background, and she thanked me profusely. And I thanked her. Leticia offered me an opportunity to pause. We had forced an asterisk into the day's script. We had created a moment for attention and devotion and to thrust our wandering thoughts aside. It was wonderful. I wonder if our inability to pause is a function of habit, and whether more moments for intentional reflection and retreat from the maelstrom might be available to us if we simply learned to pay closer attention to the opportunities already available to us in regular unfolding of our days. Maybe that little asterisk is an open space to let the Holy Spirit in and speak to us.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

This is the Lord's Doing

"This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes." Psalm 118:23

As many of you know, I say the 12:10 Mass every Monday in St. Andrew's Chapel at St. James Cathedral in downtown Chicago. I always begin by welcoming everyone grandly to the Cathedral Church of St. James in the City and Diocese of Chicago. The space is small, but that doesn't mean the welcome should be! The cathedral is just a couple blocks away from Michigan Avenue, the major tourist destination known as the Magnificent Mile. We often get visitors who are in town for sightseeing and business meetings, as well as folks from the neighborhood. It is a mixture of tourists wandering in from the street to see the building's architecture, homeless people looking for a refuge from the danger of the streets, and people searching for a quick lunchtime Mass. Attendance at Mass is never high, and usually ranges from 3 to 6, including me. But I'm glad the cathedral is there to offer sanctuary--in whatever form people are seeking it. For many, it may be their only experience of the Episcopal Church, so despite the modest attendance, the stakes are still high.

Most are not Episcopalians, which has taught me to be more mindful of leading worshipers through the service. The team that revised the Book of Common Prayer did not assume a largely uninitiated crowd when the rubrics and stage directions were crafted, and so I've had to make up my own, lest a deafening silence greet me at the places specified for the people to respond. At the Dean's encouragement, I always preach a short homily on the feast or readings of the day. For the most part, I preach extemporaneously, because I think it's good practice for a priest to offer a word of life without rehearsing.  After all, many of the pastoral situations in which we find ourselves require us to offer something useful on the spot--theology, a prayer, a verse of Scripture, an anecdote. Preaching off the cuff is not a skill that comes naturally to me, so I value the opportunity to practice. I am getting better. There are some days when I think, "now, what the heck was that about, Ethan?" This week's homily was pretty darn good, last week's less good.

AND YET ... we must never discount the role of the Holy Spirit in liturgy. This week, I was approached by a woman who had been at Mass the previous Monday, the day after the Feast of Pentecost. She told me how much my sermon that week had helped her. I had preached on the verse from Psalm 118, "This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes," and my words had resonated in light of her experience as a person living with a chronic disease. I don't know exactly what I had said, but I do remember preaching that it is hard for us to trust that God is acting and shaping us in moments of adversity. I also recall being underwhelmed by my performance at the time. So, I was grateful that the Holy Spirit had been present with us that day, compensating for any of my self-perceived deficiencies and making the Word something living and nourishing for her. After she had shared this with me, we prayed together for her healing, and I was reminded that none of us ever knows how the Holy Spirit will use us.

Alleluia, the Spirit of the Lord filleth the world: O come, let us adore him. Alleluia.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why Episcopal Identity Still Matters: Part I

This Sunday, I will conduct the first in a series of four classes on the Episcopal Church, what are often known as "inquirers classes." Although this is standard practice in Episcopal congregations, many might ask if this is still relevant. In a pluralistic, post-denominational society, does it matter whether we are Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, or Presbyterian? Haven't we evolved past these distinctions?

The answer is both yes and no. I firmly believe that ecumenical and interfaith collaboration is vital to the future of the Church, but I also feel very strongly that denominational identity is still worth building and nurturing. This belief is not the result of some abstract, intellectual exercise, but rather, the experience of my own formation as an Episcopalian. Below are five reasons why I think Episcopal identity still matters.

In Washington National Cathedral.

1. Common prayer. At the heart of the Episcopal identity is the notion of common prayer. As the old Anglican maxim goes, lex orandi, lex credendi, the way we pray shapes what we believe. Although many congregations now pray from Sunday bulletins, rather than pew copies of the Book of Common Prayer, worship is still based largely on the forms and rubrics of the Prayer Book. I can't count the number of times I have been in an unfamiliar city for work or vacation and have wandered into the local Episcopal parish for a Sunday Eucharist or weekday Evening Prayer. Whether it is in a country church, like the one my great-great-great-grandmother founded, or Washington National Cathedral, the patterns of worship remain familiar and consistent. In a strange environment, Episcopal worship has offered a locus of stability and belonging that I have greatly valued in a very fluid and tumultuous world.

2. An appeal to intellect, emotion, and the senses. As one elderly parishioner once said to me, "the Episcopal Church is the thinking man's church." The Anglican tradition has relied heavily on deep theological thinking, informed by Scripture, tradition, and human reason. However, the Episcopal Church has also encouraged people to peer beyond theological inquiry and debate to embrace experiential ways of knowing that engage the emotions and the senses. There is something deeply transformative about sitting in deep silence with others, walking the labyrinth, offering up prayers in great clouds of incense, or joining an entire congregation as they chant the Nicene Creed. Episcopal identity and worship engage the whole person.

Let my prayer be set forth in thy sight as incense.

3. Both ancient and modern. The Episcopal Church has been described as a creedal, rather than a confessional, church. This means that the Episcopal Church does not have a checklist of denominationally specific articles of faith to which members are expected to assent. Episcopalians ground themselves rather in the the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds, which articulate a heritage of faith and belief that goes back to the earliest days of the undivided Church. We may struggle to accept some of the content of these ancient creeds, but we recite them as a sign of our relationship with the generations of Christians that have come before us. But that is not all we are. We are also open to the new things the Holy Spirit has to teach us about what it means to be children of God and followers of Jesus in our own unique contexts. In the Episcopal Church, we value the tension between continuity and discontinuity, between tradition and new discoveries about God.

4. A democratic polity. The governance of the Episcopal Church was deeply influenced by the democratic, representative ethos of the United States, which was born in the same era. The Episcopal Church may be organized around the leadership of bishops, but these bishops are elected democratically by the clergy and lay leadership of each diocese.  At the national level, moreover, the Episcopal Church establishes official policy on a wide range of issues through discussion and shared decision-making that includes bishops and elected representatives of both the clergy and laity of each diocese.

Neighborhood peace vigil.

5. A social conscience. One of the reasons that I came to the Episcopal Church was its progressive stances on social justice issues, such as immigration policy, the ordination of women, and the inclusion of LGBTQ people. However, I have also respected that fact that the Episcopal Church is a very big tent, incorporating people who may not agree with me and supporting a diversity of convictions and outlooks: liberal and conservative, traditional and experimental, mystical and intellectual.

The attributes I have just described are not all unique to the Episcopal Church, but in the aggregate, they shape and define our shared identity as Episcopalians. In order for an individual or a congregation to understand who it is, it needs to be steeped in the larger tradition to which it belongs, to identify where there are shared connections, and whether there is divergence.  Next week: Part II.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Baptism and a Broken Clutch

This past weekend, I had the privilege of participating with family in two major milestones, the baptism of my partner's two nephews on Saturday and my first Sunday as Interim Rector of Grace Episcopal Church in Chicago. Both were events of deep joy for me as a priest. And they both illustrated the truth that as much as we may try to plan, organize, and perfect our lives, circumstances can overtake us and thwart our best efforts. Then, we have to improvise. Fortunately, the Holy Spirit does some of her best work on the fly, and often shows up when we feel things are coming apart.

Welcoming the newly baptized.

We had been talking about Jordan's and Jose's baptism for a while, but the timing and logistics had been difficult, particularly because two of the godparents had been living in Alaska. The planets, however, had finally aligned to get the two boys, their parents, and their grandmother to Chicago for a long visit, during which we would do the baptism. The day before, however, the parish's liturgical coordinator--who is a master of executing complex liturgies despite the hindrances of befuddled, but well-meaning, clergy like me--was unexpectedly admitted to the hospital. I walked into church not knowing if I would find everything I needed, who would assist me, or exactly how the liturgy would unfold. But the rector and parish staff pulled together and stepped into the breach to help me. It didn't go as planned, and yet the Holy Spirit showed up, and the experience was beautiful.

Selfie with nearly stranded parents.

Later that day, I received a phone call. Ever since the start date for my new cure had been set, my mother and stepfather, Randy, had been planning to drive from Florida to surprise me on my first Sunday in my new congregation. I answered the phone, and Randy informed me that they were in Chicago. I was stunned and delighted. He explained that they had hoped to amble in on Sunday morning as I was greeting parishioners before the main service at 10 o'clock. But . . . it turned out that, even after a thorough maintenance check prior to leaving, the clutch started to give out somewhere in Indiana; and by the time, they were within ten miles of their hotel in Chicago, the car just gave up. Fortunately, they managed to get it off of the highway and onto a quiet side street. My parents were understandably disappointed that the surprise hadn't gone according to plan. From my perspective, though, I was grateful that the car hadn't died in the middle of a cornfield or 100 miles from the nearest gas station. They were safe, and I was close enough that I could jump in the car and pick them up in a matter of minutes. And I was granted the pleasure of an unexpected dinner with my family.

The next day, I was, of course, excited to worship with my new parish, with my family sitting in the congregation. Although I had read the service bulletin carefully, I found myself at several points in the service falling into old liturgical patterns. For example, I got confused during the Gloria, defaulted to the traditional Lord's Prayer, and neglected to use the special final blessing printed in the bulletin. But God showed up all the same, and it was beautiful. In a touching gesture, members of the vestry presented me with the former rector's white stole, which I kissed and placed over the green chasuble I was wearing, before gathering the community for the Liturgy of the Table. It is in moments like this that I am reminded that improvisation can be a blessing, allowing us to let go and grant the Holy Spirit space to move among us. The fruits of that movement are often unexpected, but beautiful. They remind us that it is sometimes OK for us to relinquish control. It is fine for things not to go as planned, because the Holy Spirit shows up and compensates for our uncertainty and stumbling. In those moments, we can relax, because God is in charge.