O Come, O Come Emmanuel

"O come, O come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear."

On Sunday, we celebrated the Feast of Christ the King, drawing the Church's year to a close, and now we prepare to enter Advent, a season of pregnant expectation. Yet for many in our world, the images of a victorious Jesus reigning in glory may be hard to embrace or to believe in the midst of brutal violence and suffering.

The horrific photos from Aleppo this weekend remind us that faith is often an easy luxury of those who enjoy safety, stability, and the satisfaction of basic needs. One photo showed a father weeping over his child, who had been killed in an airstrike, "I've lost everything," he cries. Reports are coming in of civilian casualties not only from the heaviest aerial bombardment in the last five years, but also from exposure to chlorine gas. One frightened boy, exposed to this chemical weapon, asks a medical worker, "Am I going to die?" Food and basic supplies are running out; hospitals and schools have become targets for violence. Many are urging the international community to take action in response to crimes against humanity. It must be hard for any person of faith--whatever faith he or she professes--to see God in the midst of all this. How can the captives believe in Emmanuel, "God with us," when the exile IS so lonely, when God feels so absent?

It is in the context of this world that we await--anxiously and impatiently--the arrival of the Christ-child. We hope for God's ransom of humanity from its endless captivity. And yet, when the child comes, he grows up to preach a message of peace and love that will get him killed. Jesus ends his life on earth not as a king enthroned in splendor, but as a defeated criminal condemned to a shameful form of death. This is the most unlikely scenario for a savior. The criminals flanking our crucified King of kings and Lord of lords plead with him to save himself and them from their impending deaths, which of course, he does not do. The true victory only comes when Jesus takes death as far as it can go, and then comes back from the supposed point-of-no-return. The crucified human does not do it on his own, but through the strength and power of God, which makes even the unimaginable, even the impossible, possible. That same hope is offered to us: "may you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience" (Col.1:11).

The Feast of Christ the King affirms that it is through God's power that we are able to imagine a future beyond death, beyond the bombing and chlorine gas. It declares that we must not let the now define the future. Never allow anything to deny the possibility of hope. If we are God's hands and feet in the world, as St. Teresa of Avila claims, then we should take seriously the psalmist's assertion that "He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire" (Ps 46:9). This is not only a statement of divine power, but God's instruction for our lives. God's power fills us with the strength, power, and endurance to defy destruction and death. If we believe that a helpless child can become a savior that survives death on a Cross, then we too have a chance to overcome our own experiences of death. I believe that Christ the King mourns with us, and says, "I've been where you are; but I survived death, so that you may survive it, too." God IS with us in suffering. The Word became flesh and encountered human suffering in all its grotesque brutality; and yet, in defiance of all the odds, life triumphed over death. Advent is the season when we begin to imagine a different future for humanity that reaches its fulfillment in the reign of Christ the King. For now, we mourn the loss of life, the scope of death's sway; but we look ahead to the appearance of God's Son, and prepare to resist humanity's lonely exile.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why I Protested and Where We Go From Here

My dear sisters and brothers,

I could call this entry, "Winners and Losers, Part II," since I know that people across the country feel that they fall into one of these two camps in the wake of a nasty and polarizing election. As I noted in my last post, I rarely express political opinions on social media or in the pulpit. In general, I try to be non-partisan, so that I can more easily be a pastor to all people, irrespective of their political views. I don't want to be a source of division within whatever parish I serve. Yet over the last couple of days, extraordinary circumstances have forced me to revisit and revise that position for the time being.

The reason I joined thousands of other people last night in my clerical collar and rainbow stole to protest and march was not because the Democrats lost and the Republicans won. After all, I spent eight years doing public policy quite effectively with the two Republican administrations of George W. Bush. I am quite used to and supportive of working--and often disagreeing--across disparate viewpoints. This disagreement can be a healthy check on my own narcissism, hubris, and self-righteousness. Partisanship is not what this is about.

It is about the election of a man who has said abusive and denigrating things about women, people of color, Muslims, immigrants, people with disabilities, veterans, LGBTQ folk, and many others. This is a man who has consistently lied. This is a man who has bragged on camera about sexually assaulting women. This is a man who has called Mexicans rapists. This is a man who has branded all Muslims as terrorists. This is a man who has stereotyped African Americans as living in hell. This is a man who has openly committed to rolling back civil liberties for LGBTQ people. Our President-elect's rhetoric has inspired and given permission to other citizens to engage in anti-Semitic, homophobic, Islamophobic, misogynistic, and generally bigoted behavior. That is intolerable.

We have not seen this degree of demagogic discourse in the public square for decades, and I believe it is the Church's responsibility to serve as a moral voice to oppose and correct these profoundly dehumanizing words and actions. To those people, who caution that we need to give Mr. Trump some breathing room to demonstrate how he will govern now that he is elected, I say this: Mr. Trump already has much to answer for, and there is nothing in his past behavior that would incline me to give him the benefit of the doubt. Quite the opposite. A relationship between President and people is based on trust; and frankly, I don't trust him. He's given me no reason to trust him. Just because Mr. Trump was a candidate until now doesn't mean that he is not accountable for what he said and did during the campaign. It is because he is now a position to make good on his threats to build a wall, or deport refugees, or rescind marriage equality, that we must gird our loins to resist those boasts and let him know we are being vigilant. These threats may no longer be hot air. They may become real very soon.

As I walked off the El last night toward the protest with my sign in hand and my stole over my shoulders, I made eye contact with a white, middle-aged woman, who became quite tearful and emotional when she saw my sign, which said, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. - Matthew 5:6  PRAY FOR PEACE, JUSTICE, AND RESPECT." She nodded toward me and thanked me for being visible and present. I patted her arm and comforted her as best I could. I arrived at the protest in front of Trump International, where we shouted for about an hour, and then processed peacefully down State Street, gathering new marchers from curious onlookers as we passed. Of course, there was anger, mocking, and profanity; and I didn't agree with every message that was voiced. I'm not looking for revolution. I'm not seeking to dismantle the "system". I don't think shouting vulgarities helps the cause for peace and reconciliation. I hoped that my presence and that of Holy Scripture would offer an alternative to more extreme, vindictive messages. In any event, I did affirm the right of all of us to gather and participate in our democracy by peacefully protesting. That's why I was there. We continued all the way down the Magnificent Mile; and as the march turned from Michigan Avenue to Upper Wacker, I noticed a Muslim woman, her head wrapped in a scarf, quietly weeping, clearly moved by the show of solidarity. People were sticking up for her, and it mattered. Later, as I stood on the sidewalk on Wabash Street, a young millennial ran by, and then when he saw my sign, he stopped suddenly, and shouted out, "God bless you, Father, for being here and supporting us. Really, God bless you."

As a priest, there were some opportunities for me to offer pastoral care; and there was actually some healing in all of this. Many young people cautiously asked what church and denomination I represented. We talked about religion and Christianity. I was offered hugs. I was asked to take selfies. A student reporter interviewed me for the school paper. A young woman said cheerfully that she liked my stole. Countless people stopped to read my sign--some obviously, but many surreptitiously out of the corner of their eyes as they passed me. I saw the message register on their faces. Many even read the words from Matthew's Gospel, smiled, and nodded. Finally, after three hours, my back was killing me, so I called it an evening and made my way to the El station at Lake and State, still carrying my sign. Several homeless men stopped me to talk and asked me to pray, and I asked them to do the same. When I boarded the El train, three millennials who had been at the protest--an Asian man, a black man, and a white woman--drew me into their conversation. We debated and shared our experiences. I commended them for their commitment and encouraged them to continue to take their civil responsibilities and our democracy seriously.

That leads me to what I believe the Church and all concerned people need to do next. Be a moral force. Speak out against hate and violence. Seek reconciliation and unity, while respecting diversity. Write letters to your legislators. Vote on election day. March and protest if you have to. I have never really identified as a radical or an activist; but I do identify as a committed Christian. I believe in the words of the prophet, Micah (the message on the other side of my sign): "He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God." There is so much fear and distress that the Church needs to offer protection and solidarity to those who stand to lose much, including their liberty, maybe even their lives. Those like me who respect the democratic process, including the peaceful transition of power and the will of the electorate, are still bidden to admonish our government when it threatens to violate the principles on which we are built. Donald Trump will be our next President, and the best way to help him and our nation to succeed is to assume some moral responsibility for shaping the next four years.

May God bless you all.

Fr. Ethan+

On Winners and Losers

Yesterday, my husband and I lined up early to get a good spot to watch the parade to celebrate the Cubs World Series' victory after Chicago's 108-year "curse". I should own up right away that I am not a baseball fan, not even a fair-weather fan. Even though I live less than a mile away, I have only been to one Cubs game at Wrigley Field. I can't quote statistics or tell you the names of the players or what position they play. And yet, I shared the fans' anxiety when our 6-3 lead was nullified in the eighth inning, followed by an infuriating 17-minute rain delay. And then, when it was all over in the tenth inning, and the city erupted in a wave of euphoria that I could hear from 52 floors above through my bedroom window, I was overjoyed, too. That may seem hypocritical, but as a Chicagoan, I was deeply moved by a warm glow of civic pride that took me quite by surprise. At the parade yesterday, the crowds parted generously to let a 98-year-old great-grandmother in a wheelchair get a front-row seat at the parade. After all, she had waited longer to see this day than probably anyone else there. Despite our reputation for a corrupt political machine and gun violence, on this day, we displayed and reveled in our best nature. I felt proud to call Chicago my city.

This moment has served as a stark contrast to the other great winner-take-all contest: the US presidential election. You will not see me post political comments on social media, even though I do hold very strong personal opinions about candidates and issues. As a priest, I have decided that to do so would be to foster polarization within the congregation I am called to serve. But I will admit as we enter the final days of the campaign season that I have found the polemics and rhetoric wearying and distressing. Instead of bringing out our best behavior, the various political campaigns (and media outlets) have veered alarmingly from traditional standards for civil and respectful discourse. Abusive, ad hominem attacks have taken the place of thoughtful debates of ideas and policy proposals. I am eager for it all to be over. Whichever candidate breaks through the 270 threshold, I think we need to acknowledge that this polarizing, divisive campaign season has revealed fractures in our electorate, in our civil society, that we need to address. What we all need now is a remedial course in civics (remember that class from high school) to remind us about our values and the obligations of being a good citizen.

Last Sunday, we heard the Gospel story of Zacchaeus, the tree-climbing tax collector from whom Jesus seeks hospitality. Zacchaeus too was the subject of nasty public discourse: "All who saw it began to grumble and said, ‘He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.’" Jesus defies public opinion and engages the tax collector as a friend, knowing that what matters is not the person's status and role in this world, but the cleanness of his heart and actions. Jesus responds to Zacchaeus' promise to return four-fold any unjust financial gains by proclaiming, "‘Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost.’" The story's focus on undermining the conventional paradigms of the lost and the saved, of winners and losers, is a sobering call to re-examine our own consciences in a world that seeks to turn human beings against each other. What would it look like if we could learn to be not only better Christians, but better citizens, galvanizing around shared values and achievements, grasping at hope in the face of overwhelming odds, even a 108-year curse? In a tight race for victory, let us never forget that winning is as much a matter of character, as it is about numbers, power, or metrics. It is in the way we play the game that we state the kind of people we really are.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Holy Habits

For most of the last month I have been traveling, visiting family and attending a variety of church functions. It feels like I've spent more days in airports and hotels than I have at home. It has predictably been challenging during that time to maintain a regular schedule of disciplined sleep, eating, exercise, and prayer. I relaxed my usual routine, but instead of being freeing, it has actually felt very unsettling. It has been a huge relief to return home to a stable pattern of living, to the grounding of holy habits.

Maybe that sounds pretentious, dull, or overly pious. And that wouldn't surprise me. After all, in 2016, discipline is counter-cultural, especially when it pertains to religious belief and practice. Athletes embrace discipline as a an indispensable pathway to excellence; and yet it is strongly resisted, even among many clergy. But I believe discipline is a indispensable pathway to--well, not excellence, in a competitive sense--but to greater faithfulness and spiritual maturity. There's no doubt about it; discipline can be hard, unpleasant. So many days I'd rather just lounge on the sofa in front of the TV, and sometimes I do. Sometimes, I'm just lazy. I still believe, though, that discipline has value, and we need to work on it. Our cultural valuation of immediate gratification lets us off the hook way too easily way too often. In addition, our preoccupation with novelty and devaluation of discipline can feed into our impatient expectation to see instantaneous results. But excellence in any human endeavor requires patience and an unwavering commitment. As one of my mentors once said from the pulpit, "don't you want a religion that requires something of you?"

One of my trips this month was to Atlanta for the 2016 Society of Catholic Priests Annual Conference. This year the conference theme was priestly formation, which not only includes the structure and content of academic preparation, such as seminary, but also the spiritual shaping of priests, both new and seasoned. Over three days, we prayed, sang, and worshiped together. We heard scholarly presentations and engaged in deep theological reflection. We formed and nourished friendships and offered each other emotional support. Though the discipline of prayer and study can be exhausting, I always find those few days exhilarating, as well. I come back home feeling recharged and renewed in my commitment to do better, resolved to pray more regularly, to go to spiritual direction and sacramental reconciliation, to eat more healthily and exercise more. As Dr. Luke Timothy Johnson declared at the conference, the job of the priest is to work to become holy. Pretentious, dull, or pious as that assertion may sound (I can see people's eyes rolling), it's still true, and that is humbling ... and daunting.

This message was reinforced this past week, when I attended our diocesan clergy conference. Over two-and-a-half days, we explored the development of a personal rule of life. As a member of the Society of Catholic Priests, I have already vowed to keep the Society's rule of life, but the clergy conference raised a number of personal dimensions that would enhance my health and well-being, and as a Christian, my faith. These commitments, whatever we discern them to be, will take discipline, too. One of the confessions I made is that I often rely on the accountability of other people who love and care about me to endure in my spiritual disciplines when I don't have the willpower to keep myself on track. My husband has said to me more than once, "Ethan, aren't you supposed to be saying Evening Prayer right now?" "Hrmph," I reply, and then shuffle sulkily toward my study to pray. I'm very grateful to him for holding my feet to the fire, for all my adolescent sulking.

At least once a year, I listen to the sermon the Rt. Rev. Rodney Michel preached at my ordination to the priesthood, which reminds me of the vow I made to practice holy habits. It is a sobering experience. Holy habits do take practice, a lifetime of practice, as it turns out. I always pull the earbuds out with a sheepish determination to do better. Nobody said it would be easy, but then most things worth having don't come without a huge amount of commitment, even when that commitment is uneven and halting at times. Yet this reminder of my imperfect discipline never feels shaming, because I know the bishop's advice came out of love. As our clergy conference speaker, the Rev. Charles LaFond, expressed it, "I love you too much to let you mess up like this." The tough love is encouraging, even though it is also intimidating. I will end by sharing with you the words that the good bishop offered me:

"As a priest, Ethan, you will be a servant of the servants of God, a friend, a companion, a marker on the road to the life of holiness that every believer is called to. You will model for others how to hold one another up in prayer, and by your presence you will help God's people remember that each relationship we experience is precious." 

"Remember the awesomeness of priesthood: you will now bless and consecrate, forgive sins, dispense the Word of God and his holy sacraments, and stand at the altar to make Jesus present in the Sacrament and in the moment, and that is awesome. Ethan Alexander Bingham Jewett, please stand. Remember that God does not expect you to be successful. God asks only that you be faithful: faithful to the Lord and to the Word of God as you will promise to do here today; faithful to God's people; faithful to your family; and faithful to your own self. Be diligent in your prayers and study of the Holy Scriptures. Administer the Sacraments and preach the Gospel and model quietness, peace, and love among all people. Remember to keep balance in your life and make time for your beloved and your personal relationships. [...] Say your prayers everyday. Our Blessed Mother intercedes for the ordained--continually ask for her prayers and her love. And finally, keep your eyes on Jesus."

Thank you, Bishop Michel, for this advice about holy habits. And I now pass this advice on to you, my sisters and brothers, as I resolve to do better.

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+

Of Giant Crosses and Ketchup Bottles

One of the great joys of being between parishes is that I now have time to read, write, and travel. As my husband and I drove through the endless corn and soybean fields of southern Illinois a couple of weeks ago, we stopped at a few curiosities along the way: North America's largest freestanding cross in Effingham, the world's largest ketchup bottle in Collinsville, and a vintage Route 66 service station in Mt. Olive. Fun and kitchy, to be sure, but also reminders that people find identity and meaning in all kinds of unexpected things. They are markers of a people's history that have become cherished across generations, and so, are worthy of study. These three detours provided a thought-provoking contrast to the much grander stops on our itinerary, such as the St. Louis Arch and the Lincoln Presidential Museum. The first, where I became reacquainted with my fear of heights, serves as an awe-inspiring monument to engineering ingenuity and prowess. The second chronicles the life of one of our most revered leaders during an agonizing period in the nation's history. As signs of human achievement, and national crisis, and local pride, all of these markers of our lived experience have the potential to teach us something important about our faith.

"Fall Plowing" by Grant Wood (1931)

One of these insights is that we need to study subjects that we don't tend to examine through theological lenses. This became abundantly clear last week when viewing the special exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago, "America After the Fall: Painting in the 1930s." The exhibit was a commentary on the multiplicity of American artistic perspectives in response to the Great Depression, including the agrarian Regionalism of Grant Wood and Thomas Hart Benton, the Realism of Edward Hopper, the Modernism of Arthur Dove and Georgia O'Keeffe, and many others. What it conveyed to me was the variety and uniqueness of these lenses through which artists attempted to process America's economic time of trial. Images of agrarian abundance and industrial might, for instance, were expressions of an American ideal of prosperity, which served as both aspiration and nostalgic escapism. But in periods of adversity, those symbols of life on the other side of want and barrenness are important for survival. Americans in the 1930s must have felt defeated and hopeless, and yet some found ways to cope.

"Crucifixion" by Jan Provoost, 1500

The same was undoubtedly true for those who witnessed the Crucifixion. The Cross on which our Lord Jesus hung must have seemed so overbearing and oppressive that artists throughout the centuries have been deliberate in depicting it as insurmountable. And yet, there was life on the other side of death. What was an instrument of defeat, the Cross, was transformed into a sign of God's victory. The planks of wood nailed together in Provoost's painting at right represent a criminal's shameful death, and yet the meaning doesn't stick. And even the tomb is not able to contain the new life of the Resurrection; it becomes a sign of the destruction of death itself. Later, in the midst of Roman persecution, the early Christians must have found signs of new life in both the trivial and the important to bear their sufferings.

Things are not always what they seem. A giant ketchup bottle or vintage service station may be a community statement of civic pride. A series of abstract strokes of color on a canvas may express the anxiety of a lost generation or a tortured conscience. When we examine the world, we should be careful of accepting what we see at face value. And we all may see those same things differently. Signs of decay may hint at signs of life. The trivial may point to the important. The crucified criminal may point to God.

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+