A Full Week and a Full Life

This past Sunday, I had a very enjoyable conversation with a two of the teen girls in the parish and their mother. We were sitting around one of the tables in the Anderson Room after Mass, eating snacks, and one of girls suddenly perked up and said puzzled, "so, this is your only job? What do you do all week?" I used to be a bi-vocational priest, so I'm used to the notion of having to juggle more than one career, but the question took my by surprise. It was a good reminder that most people don't know that the bulk of a parish priest's work is invisible and unglamorous, and takes place on the other six days of the week. So, I explained to her that a usual week contains some fundamental tasks: preparing the Sunday bulletin, composing the weekly email newsletter, updating the parish website and social media, cleaning and organizing the building, taking care of administrative work in the office, preparing my homily, visiting parishioners in their homes and the hospital when they're sick, coordinating business with the musicians and vestry members, attending diocesan meetings and trainings, and much more. And then there are things that vary. Last week, I cleaned out filing cabinets and polished brass. This week, I created a new manual for the altar guild with a comprehensive task list and lots of cool pictures. Even though my desk is tidy on Sundays, during the week, it goes through various stages of messiness.

Every week is a full week, and a full life. A very satisfying life. So, I am incredibly grateful that donors in the Diocese of Chicago and our bishop, Jeff Lee, have provided funding that will allow me to move from 3/4 time to full time for the next two years. This will permit me to devote myself fully to the joy of growing this church, with its many weekly tasks, both glamorous and mundane. I feel blessed to be supported by you and by our diocese to fulfill the potential that God has instilled in us.

Abundant blessings,

Fr. Ethan+

Upon This Rock

Yesterday, I went to see the Martin Scorsese film, Silence. It chronicles the lives of two Jesuit missionaries in Japan and the underground Christian community that sheltered and followed them during a period of intense persecution in the seventeenth century. I will do my best not to spoil the film for those who are planning to see it, but I would like to reference a couple of scenes in light of today's commemoration of the Confession of St. Peter.

With the priests' arrival, the people can once again celebrate the Eucharist and receive absolution for their sins after many years of being on their own. Their yearning for the smallest sign of nourishment for this faith was palpable--the gift of one bead from the priest's rosary was considered an inestimable gift of holiness, a pearl of great price. Their joy over the appearance of the padres was infectious; and at times, I got lost in their emotion, making the sign of the cross or mouthing the responses in the darkened theater, forgetting that I was watching a film, rather than participating in a moment of grace. But then I'd catch myself, and sheepishly return to my limited role as spectator. I was moved by the sincerity and intensity of their piety; it summoned memories of my own swelling emotion and devotion as a new convert not too many years ago. Perhaps that's why I was so easily sucked into the story.

The film also paints the devastating effects of the authorities' coercion of these Christians, driving them to apostasize in order to avoid torture and martyrdom. As the terrified faithful weigh whether to step and spit on an image of Jesus to avoid drowning and burning at the stake, one easily recalls Peter's three-fold denial of Jesus. And of the Church's earliest martyrs. The film's graphic depiction of human suffering inspires profound humility, for how many of us, one wonders, could endure as much? Is there a point beyond which an apostate Christian is beyond God's forgiveness? As priests responsible for the well-being of a vulnerable flock, what is the right thing for Fr. Rodrigues and Fr. Garupe to do: apostasize to save the people from torture and death or continue to profess the faith and watch them suffer and perish?  It is a morally complex and untidy film that deliberately raises questions that foster uneasiness on many levels, both theological and pragmatic. Scenes of crippling guilt and sorrow, followed by confession and absolution punctuate the film. Relationships get repeatedly ruptured and repaired, with little resolution or clarity.

The Denial of St. Peter, G. van Honthorst, c. 1622

Silence engages the politics of imperialism and cultural domination, as well; and I was sympathetic to the Japanese authorities' contention that the missionary work was subversive and disruptive. I was aware of my postmodern discomfort around the missionaries' claims that the Christian faith was the only source of truth or divine revelation, while also holding fast to my conviction that Christianity is a faith with unique and valid truth claims that we are urged to spread. Evangelism is part of our call to follow Jesus. It continues to be a timely dilemma. At what point does evangelism become disrespectful and invasive? How are evangelism and proselytism different and similar? How does one remain respectful of a different cultural and religious tradition while still commending the value of one's own, especially if one is an outsider?

Finally, Silence stirred in me a renewed awareness of the current persecution of sister and brother Christians around the world: in Pakistan, in Nigeria, in China, in Palestine. Scorsese's film reminded me that the plight of St. Peter, the early martyrs, the seventeenth-century martyrs of Japan, and Christians living under persecution now is largely the same. Christians worshiping in secret and hiding any signs of their faith--a crude cross made out of straw, or the image of a saint, or a Bible--is not merely an artifact of our early history, but the daily reality of many Christians around the world, which we often forget about in our own privileged contexts. Freedom of religion or conscience is not a universal benefit enjoyed by everyone.

In fact, the Church was built (and continues to be built) upon the bodies of St. Peter and the martyrs, on those who make sacrifices of many kinds to profess Jesus as the Messiah.  On this day, when we remember Peter, the rock on whom Jesus built his Church--for all of his apostasy--may we pray for all of the martyrs and confessors who suffer for proclaiming Jesus as their Lord and Messiah. May the Angels receive them into Paradise, into the everlasting rest of God.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Ritual Notes

I have been thinking a lot about ritual lately, both as a priest in a new parish and in light of the upcoming annual conference of the Society of Catholic Priests, which begins this week in Denver. As usual, liturgy will be a primary component of the conference. We will come together from our diverse parishes, each with its unique ritual customs, and do our best not to throw each other off or step on each others' feet.

In seminary, I was taught that even congregations and denominations that do not consider themselves "liturgical churches" still have patterns and customs for worship that over time become normative. They are in their own way rituals, or performance. Worship is performance, not in the sense of entertainment, but rather as the way a worshiping community enacts the theological, relational, and cultural values that are foundational to its identity. From week to week, we see a congregation perform an established repertoire of acts, gestures, and statements that say, "this is who we are."

Growing up as a young Jewish kid at Congregation Kol Ami, I came to know and anticipate every core gesture and to blend in with the rhythm and pacing of every practiced word. But I also noticed the places in the service where there was untidiness, even dissonance. The fact that Judith Sobel sang theAlenu an octave higher than everyone else--and not always on key--and that some people bent their knees and bowed at the designated place in that prayer, and some didn't, were also part of the congregation's identity. Every congregation, no matter how uniform it may look from the outside, is diverse: diverse pieties, spiritualities, theologies, and ritual sensibilities. In Episcopal congregations, for example, at the invocation of the Holy Trinity, some people will make the sign of the cross, or bow, or do nothing at all. In some parishes, certain people will kneel during the Eucharistic Prayer, while others will stand. Some adore "bells and smells," while others would prefer it simple and unadorned. And you may find all of this diversity within one congregation.

From the priest's perspective--at least, this priest's perspective--the challenge is to acknowledge and respect this diversity. In every service, the priest hopes that each person will find something that will spirituality nourish him or her. Perhaps it will be the sermon, or the hymns, or the language we use to talk about God. The ritual actions likewise may resonate with one person, and not another, for theological, aesthetic or cultural reasons. And, perhaps unexpectedly, the congregation's diversity also includes the priest. Like the congregation, the priest is a worshiper who brings his or her theology, relationship with God, personality, and ritual sensibilities to the altar. Anglicanism has always striven for unity without uniformity, and I would add, communion without conformity. Ritual should, therefore, make a generous space for "a bit of me" and "a bit of you." At its best, worship will enable both priest and every member of the congregation to bring something of their authentic selves to their shared encounter with God. 

Abundant blessings,

Fr. Ethan+

Queen of Miscellany

When I was first discerning my call to the priesthood, the Diocese arranged for me to meet with three seasoned clergy to learn about the working life of a parish priest. One of these priests was the Rev. Suzi Holding, Rector of the Church of Our Savior in suburban Elmhurst, Illinois. We sat in her office, and she told me a lot about her journey to ordination, her hard-fought success in moving the flags out of the chancel, and the rhythm of her week, with its regular tasks and impromptu demands. The image from the conversation that has stuck with me, though, was that of a doll. If I remember the story correctly, Suzi had received the doll as an ordination gift from a clergy colleague, and was duly named the "Queen of Miscellany," for that is what the life of a priest is like, her friend said.  Suzi, if you're reading this, feel free to correct and elaborate the story.

Volunteers setting up for the community breakfast.

In the three years that I've been ordained, I've found that Suzi's doll is an excellent metaphor for priestly ministry, and no more so than this last week. I've heard many times the joke that it must be nice to have to work only one day a week. So, what does a priest do the rest of the week? Well, in the first eight days as Interim Rector of Grace Place Episcopal Church of Chicago, much of the work has fallen under the miscellany category: administrative and staffing issues; meeting with the parish administrator, music director, and accountant; pastoral care visits with homeless residents; and introducing myself to the building's tenants. In the evenings, meeting with the church wardens and with a young couple to help them plan their upcoming wedding. On Saturday morning, unexpectedly staffing the dessert table at the weekly community breakfast hosted by a Methodist church. And just today, I had a delightful lunch with the head or our liturgy committee, proofed this week's Sunday bulletin, made an appointment to administer last rites, and of course, wrote my weekly blog. It is wonderful to see the building almost always full and busy; and I am grateful for every one of these interruptions or surprises, as well as for the things I had planned to do.

Sunday forum at Grace on Caravaggio's "Supper at Emmaus."

This will come as no surprise to many of my clergy colleagues, for whom this miscellany is the bread and butter of their week. Sermon preparation and presiding at worship are, of course, key responsibilities of the priest, but they often comprise a small part of the job. The nuts-and-bolts of keeping a building running when the boiler breaks (which happened before the first service on Sunday) or printing worship bulletins is just as important to me as being out in front breaking the bread. Sharing lunch or a cup of coffee on a Tuesday is just as important to me as sharing the chalice on Sunday. In fact, I have lunch and coffee appointments every day this week, just to get to know people in a way that I can't on Sunday morning. So, to everyone who's asked what I do all day in this new job, it's a very mixed bag of prayer and process, administration and conversation.  And to the people of Grace, thank you for making time for me to learn about your hopes for the future of the parish and for sharing what's important to you. I hope more of you will do the same.  At the heart of all of this work is a love for God's people and gratitude for all the miscellany and interruptions that come my way. So, keep them coming.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+