Feed the Hungry by Doing a Neighborhood Food Collection

Human Limitations Commend the Inter-dependence of Community

The Youtube video above offers only a fraction of what I wanted to say about my experience of human limitations, so let me just add a few comments about theological anthropology, that is, what I believe about the nature of human beings in God's plan for Creation.

I am a very active and self-reliant person, but breaking my finger this week and temporarily losing the use of my right hand has been really sobering.  Having to slowly hunt and peck this blog entry instead of dancing effortlessly over the keys underscores how much I take for granted.  The good thing is that this impairment is heightening my awareness of and appreciation for the things I love to do:  censing during Solemn High Mass, lifting weights, cooking my favorite meals.  In a certain sense, I am entering a period of fasting from these activities, allowing me to abstain for a season from cherished components of my life and identity, so that I can freshly appreciate how fortunate I really am.

How fulfilling it will be for me, once my finger is healed, to tie my amice or my shoelaces all by myself, or benchpress on chest day at the gym, or cut a porkchop without it flying off my plate.  But I don't want you to think I'm feeling dismal about my injury.  I get a bit frustrated, it's true, struggling to shower without getting my cast wet, or to put on my collar, but I'm getting a lot of help from friends, and I'm focusing on all the things I can do.  I may not be able to pump my guns, but I can still run on the elliptical to stay in shape.  I may not be able to churn out the prose at the rate I'm used to, but I can still say something meaningful if I'm patient with myself at the keyboard.  I may not be able to preside at Solemn High Mass, but I can still do low masses with ease and dignity.  I can still do a lot of things, and I'm grateful to God for that.  It's a good lesson, after all, for a high-performer and perfectionist to have to rely on other people for a change, and acknowledge that his greatest strength is his dependence on community, rather than himself.  It has also been instructive to count my blessings when I see friends struggle with a cancer diagnosis, when I witness homeless people seek help in a world that pretends they're invisible, when I see differently abled people overcome much greater obstacles and achieve greater feats of human determination than I have. 

So, theologically, this recent injury has (1) reminded me to give thanks to God for the simple blessings I take for granted; (2) encouraged me to focus on abilities not disabilities; (3) pushed me to rely on the bonds of the Christian and human communities to which I belong; and (4) made me more sensitive to the suffering and challenges of others.  The limitations of my current situation serve as a good reality check for the human condition.  I am not self-sufficient, because it is part of God's plan for humanity that we should be a community, that we should be inter-dependent. 

People, Look East

The latest edition of the Anglican Theological Review landed on my doorstep a few weeks ago, and I was intrigued by an article by Stephen R. Shaver, entitled, "O Oriens: Reassessing Eastward Eucharistic Celebration for Renewed Liturgy."  At first blush, I was delighted, since as a freshly minted priest, I had just begun saying mass, which at St. Clement's, we do facing east.  The author reviewed many of the classic critiques of eastward facing masses, most of which addressed the separation of the clergy from the people.  It is true that there is a great deal of physical distance at St. Clement's between the chancel and the nave in the church, both horizontally and vertically.  When I am standing at the high altar, I am raised far above and far away from the faithful.  The distance is exacerbated, moreover, by the choir stalls, which partially obstruct our view of each other.  This is an unfortunate limitation of our building, and yet I would argue that laity and clergy nonetheless feel connected during the liturgy.  People who used to looking the celebrant in the eye might find it challenging, but one gets used to it.
 
Although Shaver encourages exploration of eastward facing masses within the (post)modern Church, his primary criticism is that the sort of liturgy we do at St. Clement's promotes clericalism.  I can certainly understand Shaver's argument, but I would like to share my impressions from the perspective of a new priest.  The image that comes to mind when I am the celebrant at the high altar is that of Moses going up on the mountain to encounter God and receive the law.  The Book of Symbols: Reflections on Archetypal Images notes that "mountains are associated with revelation and transition; the mountaintop is where Moses meets God, where Jesus is transfigured.  Mountains suggest arduous, painstaking ascent and sublimation, the widened perspective, the peak experience, the thin air of headiness and sublimity." To look God in the face, so-to-speak, as a priest does at the consecration, can be quite humbling, and even terrifying for a new priest, who feels his inadequacy before so great a mystery.  The effect is indeed dizzying, and so far from feeling superior to the people at the foot of the mountain in the valley, he can feel rather vulnerable and small.  I certainly do.  Maybe that will change with years and experience, I do not know.

But I can say that, for me, it has been a great comfort for priest and people to face the same direction.  To use one contemporary idiom, I know that my sisters- and brothers-in-Christ "have got my back," that I am supported psychologically, emotionally, and theologically by all the faithful ranged behind me.  It strengthens me to live out my vocation at the altar.  It is as if we are all pilgrims ascending the mountain together and looking into a common future beyond the altar: the Kingdom of God.  As Shaver explains, one limitation of masses versus populum is that it makes the priest too much the center of attention, as if he is performing on a stage for the entertainment of parishioners in the "audience," rather than sharing in a common journey.  In fact, a jocular priest at my previous parish used to call one awkward moment at the end of the high mass, "the Adoration of the Clergy," since parishioners ended up just staring blankly into the priests' faces, while they waited anxiously at the altar to leave.  We ended up solving that problem, but for a while, it was a bit like deer in headlights.  Even arranging worship in a circle can be problematic, since it can give the false impression that the gathered community is sufficient unto itself.  It is hard in such an arrangement to see who is missing, who is excluded.  It is hard for a stranger to join a circle, but easy to join a parade.

Now, don't get me wrong, I have no objection to facing the people.  In the other Episcopal parishes to which I have belonged, the priest always faced the people during mass, and I found great meaning in this.  But I also have come to appreciate the unique eschatological experience created by priest and people facing in the same direction.  This is especially true when  I say mass in St. John's Chapel (which oddly enough faces west since its renovation), where the vertical and horizontal distance between priest and people is greatly minimized.  And, as for the charge of clericalism, I would just suggest, as one of my friends--a layman--said recently, that it really depends on how the individual priest wears his vocation.  The style of liturgy doesn't necessarily make him humble or imperious, and to be fair, the congregation makes its own indispensable contributions to the spirit of the liturgy.  All of this, though, is just one new priest's experience, so I encourage you to add your own thoughts below to continue the conversation.

Community Spaces

Fr. Ethan's Conversion Story

Gym Etiquette and the Kingdom

I spend most of my time in two places--the church and the gym--and there's a lot of overlap between them in my life.  Both are integral components of my rule of life; both are sacred spaces that allow me to stay healthy and grounded; and both are places of great discipline and commitment.  I often work out pastoral problems or sermon ideas when I'm lifting or running, and there's more than just a passing resemblance between lunges and genuflections.  More importantly, each milieu has its code of conduct, its rules for proper behavior that have been formed by the consensus of the assembled community.  When these rules are transgressed, the community reacts negatively, and often chastises the naughty party for their misstep.  So, I want to kvetch on a subject that's rarely addressed these days: etiquette.

Growing up a scrawny, rather unathletic kid, I became attracted to the gym because of its focus on personal empowerment and commitment to a disciplined way of living.  No doubt I gravitated to the church in part for the same reasons.  Over the twenty-three years I've been working out, I have become initiated through trial-and-error into gym etiquette.  Unfortunately, gym neophytes aren't usually presented with a list of "dos" and "don'ts," and so they often inadvertently violate gym culture taboos.  Although I try to be patient, I have to admit that I too have my pet peeves. The following list may sound a bit harsh, fussy, or uppity, but please just bear with me.  There is a theological point to all this nagging.  So, here are my Ten Commandments-style "Thou shalt nots,":

1. Thou shalt not stand right in front of me in the mirror after I've already started lifting.  I'm short, so I can't see over you to check my form.  Besides I can't move huge pieces of equipment to accommodate where you want to stand.
2. Thou shalt not monopolize the same piece of equipment for a half hour or longer.  I agree that the Smith machine and the pec deck are awesome, but there are others who want to use them, too.
3. Thou shalt not monopolize several pieces of equipment at the same time.  I know you think you're doing a "circuit," but actually you're just preventing the rest of us from getting through our workouts.
4. Mainly for the guys:  Thou shalt not grunt or shout obscenities when lifting heavy.  You may be a man's man, but it's very distracting and unpleasant for other people.
5. Mainly for the ladies:  Thou shalt not do thy calisthenics and stretching in the free weight area.  I realize that the big mirror in the free weight area might seem like a great place to watch youself do calisthenics, but it's really exasperating when I'm doing 85 lb. dumbbell flies and you're dancing around me while I'm trying to lift the equivalent of a person over my face.
6. Thou shalt not leave the weights on the machine or lying about.  Put them back where you found them.  You're mother isn't here to clean up after you, and dude, wipe your sweat off the equipment.  Gross!
7. Thou shalt not sit on a piece of equipment doing light reading, talking on your cell phone, or having an extensive conversation with someone else, and then get angry with me, when I ask if you're still using the equipment.  This isn't a library or Starbucks.
8. Thou shalt not talk loudly on thy cell phone.  Not only is it distracting, but I'm not really interested in being included in your fight with your girlfriend, your conference call for work, or your plans for Friday night.
9. Thou shalt not invade my privacy while working out.  I know some people use the gym as a place to socialize, which is fine, but I'm actually here to work and to have some me-time, so trying to engage me in a full conversation when I'm gasping for breath on the elliptical is kind of annoying.  Let's talk afterwards or go out for coffee.
10. Thou shalt not invade my personal space.  Gyms can get really crowded, especially at peak times, so please don't hover over me, take up too much room, work out a mere inches from my bench, or throw weights down by my feet.

If this litany of offenses sounds like a gym rat's intolerant rant, I apologize.  My tone may be a bit snarky, but that's because these behaviors are considered rude by most seasoned gym-goers.  Many people who commit these heinous crimes, however, just aren't aware that they are breaches of gym etiquette.  One needs to be initiated into a culture in order to understand which behaviors are considered polite and which are considered discourteous.  I, too, made my own missteps and was corrected, sometimes gently and sometimes not.  In the postmodern world, so much emphasis is placed on individual choice and needs that there is often insufficient attention payed to courtesy, politeness, and consideration of others.  I am often shocked by the lack of common courtesy I witness in public places like gyms, restaurants, shops, and highways.  The truth is we've all gotten a bit boorish, and it would be no bad thing if we got a refresher from Miss Manners on how to be more respectful of each other.  We've all learned NOT TO USE ALL CAPS in our e-mails, since it signifies shouting in cyberspace, so we can certainly learn to be more civil to each other at the gym and other places, too.

This is where I think the Church can be of some help.  Wherever else people may slack off on courtesy, they still tend to be on their best behavior in church.  We don't usually have to worry about folks shoving each other out of the way to get to the coffee, shouting obscenities down the nave, texting or talking on their cell phones during the sermon, or discarding their garbage casually on the floor.  I suspect this good behavior is driven less by fear of eternal damnation than by a shared understanding that there is a code of conduct everyone is expected to observe when they walk through the doors.  Church is still a place where etiquette reigns.  As a space that is considered sacred, we are expected to observe a higher standard of behavior than we do out in the rest of the world.  Yet this is theologically misguided.  To distinguish between so-called "sacred" space and "secular" space is to claim that parts of God's creation are less holy than others, less worthy of good behavior.  So, my challenge to gym-goers is to practice everywhere the same degree of courtesy and politeness as we do in church.  And, of course, it is not restricted to gyms, but to workplaces, grocery stores, and rush-hour traffic.  The Kingdom of God with its harmony, love, and good will cannot appear if we only practice Christian charity in church.  It must extend to all the places where we live, and move, and have our being.  Etiquette still matters.  And if you're still unclear, my copies of Emily Post and Martha Stewart are sitting on the top shelf in my office next to the Bible.  Feel free to help yourself.

Priesthood Prep, Part 4 of 4: Humility

Medieval flagellants.

In the first three parts of this reflection, I've tried to emphasize some of the learning that I've experienced during my six months as a transitional deacon that will hopefully make me a good priest.  I don't know that my insights are all that original, but the lessons have been meaningful to me all the same.  This final installment addresses a priest's humility.  Now, I know what you all are thinking.  The word, humility, conjures up medieval notions of a self-effacing monk, eschewing earthly pleasures and glory and flagellating himself regularly for his many sins.  It's an outmoded stereotype more useful for film, such as the albino Silas of Opus Dei in the DaVinci Code, than for modern notions of priesthood.  Humility doesn't mean self-denigration, mortification of the flesh, or servile obedience, but putting oneself in proper proportion.

Reserving the Sacrament in the chapel on Maundy Thursday.

A few Sundays ago, as I was putting on my cassock, Fr. Reid called up the stairs and told me that he was quite ill and might need to go to the hospital. He asked if I would lead Morning Prayer and, if need be, do a deacon's mass afterward.  Seeing no signs of Fr. Reid after the Office as people were filing into the chapel for the 8 a.m. mass, I instructed the server that we were going to do a deacon's mass and sent him to the church for a dalmatic, stole, and the Blessed Sacrament.  Now, Fr. Reid had said when he first started instructing me in how to say mass that it was possible that I could be called upon in an emergency to say a deacon's mass.  This is essentially a low mass, with the consecration excised, and the administration of communion from the Reserved Sacrament.  Neither Fr. Reid nor I imagined that this scenario would ever arise, but since no other priest was available, here I was vesting to say the Tridentine mass--or at least all the front and back ends of it--for the first time.  Fortunately, the server was a seasoned pro and made an outstanding MC for me.  It was a wonderfully uplifting experience, and I was grateful to stand at the altar on my own for the first time.  By 10 a.m., Fr. Reid was out of danger but still not well enough to say mass, so again we improvised.  Since we couldn't have a solemn high mass, we moved everyone from the church into the chapel, and I did another deacon's mass, this time singing all the celebrant's parts, with the choir singing the service music acapella.  I also, of course, had to improvise a sermon on the spot.  Needless to say, I felt a great sense of accomplishment and relief as I finished the Last Gospel and returned to the sacristy.

As a self-professed Trekkie, I would quote (tongue-in-cheek) one of my favorite Klingons, Kor, The Dahar Master, who declares, "The way of the warrior is not a humble path.  Show some pride in your accomplishments.  You've earned it."  Kor's hubris notwithstanding, he makes a good point.  It was a fine personal achievement following so much training, and I am proud of it.  In truth, however, nothing could have been more humbling.  Humility means putting oneself in proportion, in perspective.  A priest does nothing alone, but relies upon the contributions of many people, all of whom have unique gifts and charisms that make his ministry possible.  In this particular situation, it was not just I that stepped in to enact the liturgy:  Fr. Reid's fine training, the experienced MC, the professional organist and choir, and the generous and supportive congregation all had critical parts to play in allowing the liturgy to happen.  And the Holy Spirit was also probably working some magic, too.  So, to put myself in proportion, I was not really up at the altar by myself, but was standing alongside a number of brothers and sisters, who were supporting me and each other.  After all, the word, litourgia, translates as "the work of the people."

This understanding leads me to a final "H" that should be part of a priest's life: hope.  In moments when people pull together and there is genuine love and support, a church ceases to be a place where random people gather and begins to be a community where hope is born and an unimagined future can begin to emerge.  It has been my great privilege to come to St. Clement's and to see it transform over the last six months into a more open, more welcoming, and happier place.  A year ago, so many of the positive developments we are seeing today at St. Clement's would have been unthinkable, and yet, the spirit of love from the rector, the vestry, and the congregation has turned the parish into a place where visitors consistently tell me how friendly and warm St. Clement's is.  The church historian, Diana Butler Bass once told me that "nostalgia is the enemy of hope."  Well, St. Clement's may have a deep fondness for tradition and for the patrimony of the Church, but nostalgic notions that "our best days are behind us" have given way to the excitement of the parish for the future that lies before us.  It will be a great honor and pleasure to be ordained a priest here and to say my first mass at the high altar, to continue the message of hope that has always been at the core of the Gospel and of our Mother, the Church.