Sunday, July 26, 2015

Standing in the Need of Prayer

David again. How can we be hearing the story of David and Bathsheba this week and next? To begin with, ancient texts did not typically criticize successful and powerful kings, and they did not boldly show the kings’ behaving so badly as today’s reading from the Hebrew Bible does. More to the point, how is it that God’s anointed one, the one specifically chosen out of all of Jesse’s sons, sins as deeply as David does in this story? After all, this is the David who was so successful in subduing Israel’s enemies that God allowed him to bring the sacred ark into Jerusalem. God allowed him to dance and sing in front of the ark as it came up to the city, and David had even briefly entertained the possibility that he might build a permanent house for God. How could this David sin so egregiously? How could this powerful man make such bad choices, totally disregard the rights of those loyal to him, and use his power for such inhumane and evil ends?

And yet here we have the wrenching story of David and Bathsheba, a story so wrenching that some of us feel deep grief as we read it or hear it read. Idling in Jerusalem when he should have been commanding his troops in battle, David spied the lovely Bathsheba purifying herself after her period. His first wrong choice: even after he found out that Bathsheba was married – married to a Hittite, a foreigner from eastern Anatolia who was serving in David’s army – David commanded Bathsheba to have sexual relations with him, raped her really. When she revealed that she was pregnant as a result, David made another poor choice: he tried to cover up what he had done by recalling Bathsheba’s husband Uriah from the front and telling Uriah to have sex with his wife. When they were on duty, soldiers did not generally sleep with their wives, so, instead of going home, the loyal and dutiful Uriah stayed at the palace with his men. Even when David got Uriah drunk, Uriah refused to desert his men. And so David did something truly heinous. Trusting that Uriah would not open the message to Joab, David commanded Joab to send Uriah onto the front line of battle, where he was sure to be killed. And as we learn two verses beyond today’s reading, Uriah and several other officers indeed met their deaths.

In the story of David and Bathsheba do we confront a rare and isolated incident in human history? Would that it were so! I have been reading a lot lately about both the English Reformation, in which the mother of our church was born, and the twentieth-century Holocaust in Europe. In fact, if you would like an up-close view of the Reformation in England, I recommend a series of mysteries set between the years 1536 and 1547, i.e., between the dissolution of the monasteries in England and the death of Henry VIII, by the English writer C.J. Sansom. If you want to go a few years back, check outr the trilogy by Hilary Mantel, the first book of which is Wolf Hall, which portrays the role of Thomas Cromwell in the break with Rome, beginning in 1533.

Both the English Reformation and the Holocaust period provide excellent examples of sinful political leaders, much like David in their manipulative use of power for destructive ends. As some of you may know, Henry VIII, who lived from 1509 to 1547, was at first so strongly Catholic that, in the earlier years of his reign, he sanctioned the burning at the stake of many “heretics,” i.e., people whose crime was endorsing the writings of Martin Luther, or reading the English Bible produced by the exile Englishman William Tyndale, or questioning the doctrine of transubstantiation in the mass. After Henry’s break with Rome, his marriage to Anne Boleyn, and the establishment of an English church under the control of the crown, Henry then systematically persecuted those who disapproved of these developments. Most notable of those who felt Henry’s wrath was Thomas More, who remained staunchly Catholic and was beheaded in 1535. In the wake of his death, the Roman Catholic Church proclaimed More to be a saint. For somewhat different reasons, Thomas Cromwell met the same fate in 1540.

Closer to our time, it is hard to overlook the methodical and intentional destruction of the vibrant Jewish community in Eastern Europe that was undertaken by the Nazis. Personal accounts and photographs of the Holocaust portray unimaginable cruelty and destruction. Indeed one might even argue that Europe is the poorer today for the lost talent and devotion that perished with the six million. Needless to say, methodical and intentional genocide continues into our own day. Cambodia? Rwanda? South Sudan? And even closer, the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, 9/11, Tucson, Arizona, Aurora, Colorado, Newtown, Connecticut, Charleston, South Carolina, Lafayette, Louisiana. Dear God, when does it stop?

And ourselves? We are not plotting murder, we are not rapists, but are we too capable of sin? Does the story of David, heinous as his behavior is, call us to look at our own bad choices and sinful behavior? As we look closely at ourselves, would we confess to neglect of our responsibilities, hostility towards coworkers or relatives, malicious gossip, angry and hurtful outbursts? Would we confess to addiction, to alcohol, drugs, gambling, or something else? Are we judgmental? Have we taken advantage of others? Are we stingy, envious, or wasteful? When we look honestly at the face in the mirror, we know that at least some of those words describe us.

Let’s turn back to David’s story. Actually it gets worse, as we’ll hear next week. God was, as you might imagine, extremely displeased with David. So God sent the prophet Nathan to David. Through a clever parable, Nathan made David see the truth of what he had done. Nathan warned David that the sword would never depart from his house. Then, David did what all of us must eventually do. He said, “I stand guilty before the Lord.” Nathan pronounced God’s forgiveness, but warned him that Bathsheba’s child would die. But there was also good news: God did not abandon David, as he had abandoned David’s predecessor Saul. More important, Bathsheba had another son, Solomon. A wise and good king, Solomon built the first temple. Most important for us, he was an ancestor of Jesus – as Matthew tells us in the beginning of his gospel – through whom God transformed the greatest evil anyone could face into something greater than anyone could imagine.

It is no different for us. Certainly, we would prefer good to come from good. But the truth is that from our sin and brokenness God can – and does – bring redemption and good. From the atrocities of the English Reformation has come a strong, vibrant, distinctively English church. By God’s grace, our church continues to walk the via media, the middle road between the orthodoxy of Rome and the freedom and independence of the Protestant churches. Today, we are rediscovering the gifts and graces of contemplative spirituality, even as God leads us to greater concern for our neighbors. I have yet to see good come from the Holocaust – indeed the second and even third generations are still struggling to understand how their grandparents could have committed or consented to such evil – but I trust that the God of David can, in God’s good time, redeem even those events.

And then I look at myself. I look at my own sins and shadows. Slowly, I begin to face them, to confess them, to acknowledge them, to say, “I stand guilty before the Lord.” We must all do the same. If it is helpful to you, you may do that self-examination and confession in the presence of a priest and receive a priestly absolution; confession is still available in the Episcopal Church. As people lie dying, often a chaplain will ask, “Are you at peace with God.” The confession that may follow in answer, and the assurance of God’s forgiveness, is often a great gift to the dying person. Are you at peace with God? It’s a good question to ask yourself at any time, and then seek to answer it as honestly as you can.

And when we do answer that question honestly, we know that while we don’t condone David’s actions – or anyone’s sinful actions – neither can we stand on the sidelines in judgment. We are all, as Luther said, simul justus et peccator, simultaneously righteous and sinful. I’m reminded of the old spiritual, “It's me, it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer; it's me, it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.” We are all standing in the need of prayer and grace. And here’s the good news: we can rejoice that God did not reject David but continually offered him forgiveness when he repented. That offer continues to this day. That grace comes to us, freely, whenever we seek it. Thanks be to God!

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Lord of the Dance

It was at an Easter Vigil in an old Episcopal church. The liturgy began in the darkness of Saturday evening with the lighting of the new fire. The Paschal candle was then lit, from which the worshippers lighted their own candles. The deacon processed into the church singing, “The Light of Christ.” Then the deacon sang the joyful Exsultet, “Rejoice now heavenly host and choirs of angels….” With only candlelight to see by, the lectors read the traditional nine lessons from the Hebrew Bible. The priest said a short prayer and then joyfully shouted, “Alleluia, Christ is risen!” The people joyfully responded, “The Lord is risen, indeed, alleluia!” As the lights blazed on, organ and people broke into a joyful “Gloria,” the people accompanying the organ with bells and tambourines. There followed the reading of the Epistle and Gospel for the Eucharist, the Prayers of the People, and the Peace. The offertory hymn was a kind of dancy number, with a strong rhythm. The choir began to sway as they sang. The rhythm was contagious. The priest began to sway and move his hands to the music. By the last verse, the rest of the altar party members were dancing in place, while the congregation had begun to clap.

Could this really have happened in an Episcopal church? We have such a strong tradition of dignified – almost staid – worship. “All things decently and in order,” we like to say. Part of the reason why we insist on order is that our liturgy follows the Latin mass. This is a form of worship, in medieval times at least, in which most folks were mere spectators. Another reason is that our liturgy came of age in the 16th and 17th centuries, a time that emphasized a penitential spirituality, somber sorrow for one’s sins rather than joyful praise of God. Add to that the emphasis on propriety in the Victorian era, and in most places we have a very sober style of worship indeed.

Of course, we do now have a robust musical tradition. If you look through our current hymnal, you’ll see that some of the hymns are translations of Latin hymns. Lutherans were ahead of us in adopting congregational singing, but we quickly caught up and translated the best of the German hymns. Eighteenth-century hymnodists such as Charles Wesley and Isaac Watts, Victorian hymn writers, and twentieth century writers and composers added to our store of English hymns, and collections such as LEVAS have given us back African American hymnody. So, some of us are perfectly comfortable with music in worship. But dance?

And yet, why not? Dancing was a regular part of religious life in ancient Israel. In fact, Scripture gives us many different examples of people dancing in praise of God. The book of Exodus tells us that, after the Israelites walked through the Sea of Reeds, Miriam, Aaron’s sister, “took a tambourine in her hand; and all the women went out with her with tambourines and with dancing” (15:20). After Judith assured the victory of the Israelites over the Assyrians by killing Holofernes, “All the women of Israel gathered to see her, and blessed her, and some of them performed a dance in her honor” (Judith 15:12). And, of course, we hear the explicit command in Psalm 150 to praise God with “trumpet sound; praise him with lute and harp! Praise him with tambourine and dance; praise him with strings and pipe! Praise him with clanging cymbals; praise him with loud clashing cymbals!”

Today’s reading from 2 Samuel shows David doing just that. The shepherd boy, the youngest of all of Jesse’s sons, was unexpectedly chosen by God to be Israel’s next king. Now grown up, he has defeated his enemies, the Philistines, and Israel’s first king, Saul, whom God had rejected. Two weeks ago, we heard David’s lament over the deaths of his beloved friend Jonathan and of Saul. Now he is going up to Jerusalem in triumph. Showing that Jerusalem is both the political and religious capital of Israel, David leads those bearing the Ark, the sacred chest that is a sign of God’s presence with Israel. David is wearing a priestly garment, the ephod, as he exuberantly praises God in dance. The Tanakh, the Jewish translation of the Hebrew Bible, tells us that David was leaping and “whirling.” Can you picture it? Certainly, you can almost hear the shouting and the sounds of harps, tambourines, castanets, and cymbals that accompanied David’s leaping and whirling. Talk about “making a joyful noise to the Lord,” as six of the psalms tell us to do!

The text does allude to Michal’s reaction to David’s dancing. Here, we might infer that Michal thought David’s dancing was unseemly for a king. Yet there’s much more to the story than that. Michal was Saul’s daughter, and she was married off to David without her consent. We might imagine that her reaction to David’s dancing reflects not only her grief at her father’s death but also her resentment at having been a political pawn between Saul and David and having been mistreated by both of them. Clearly, everyone else in the story views David’s exuberant worship positively, not only because the Ark is installed in its rightful place, but also because, after the worship is concluded, David blesses the people and generously feeds them.

So, what can we learn from this story? Do we ever get as excited about worship as David? I’m not suggested that we dance with only an ephod on, but shouldn’t we dance in some way? Does worship ever fill us with joy and amazement, when we realize that God is with us and in us? Or are we just bored and disengaged from worship? Or worse, does the very thought of God depress and frighten us, as we wait for God to condemn us for our sins and brokenness? Perhaps we’re afraid of the Michals among us, of those who would frown at any sign of joyful celebration in our worship.

Yet, why shouldn’t be exuberantly joyful in worship? Why shouldn’t we dance and shout? We just heard, in the opening verses of the letter to the Christians at Ephesus, that, through Christ, God has adopted us as God’s children, and that we have been blessed “with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places.” Do we forget that we are truly and irrevocably God’s children, and do we listen instead to the voices that harp on our sinfulness and brokenness?

My friends, am I being sacrilegious in suggesting that we should praise God in joyful song and dance? Theologians remind us that the Trinity is a relationship among the three persons of God, a relationship of never-ending, ever-circling praise, joy, and love. There is even a name for this relationship: perichoresis, which can be translated as “rotation” or “dance.” In fact, our Lutheran brothers and sisters even have a hymn that expresses this relationship: “Come, Join the Dance of Trinity.” They even set it to an English folk tune! Here’s just the first verse: “Come, join the dance of Trinity, before all worlds begun – the interweaving of the Three, the Father, Spirit, Son. The universe of space and time did not arise by chance, but as the Three, in love and hope, made room within their dance.”

And consider this: when Katherine Jefferts Schori was invested as Presiding Bishop at the Washington National Cathedral in November, 2006, the liturgy included lovely, expressive liturgical dance. I have no idea what Bp. Michael Curry is planning for his investiture, but I have no doubt that it will include loud, exuberant, joyful praise of God in music and dance.

And what of us? We no longer localize God in an Ark, but can we acknowledge that it is important to experience delight and passion in worship? Can we find a way of dancing our praise of God?

In 1963 English song writer Sidney Carter wrote a hymn entitled “Lord of the Dance.” It was sung to a Shaker tune, “Simple gifts,” and tells the gospel story in Jesus’ own voice. Carter was inspired to write it by a statue of Shiva Nataraj, Lord of the Dance in Hinduism, and by the Shakers, who incorporated dance into their worship. Carter later said of the hymn, "I did not think the churches would like it at all. I thought many people would find it pretty far flown, probably heretical and anyway dubiously Christian. But in fact people did sing it and, unknown to me, it touched a chord.... I see Christ as the incarnation of the piper who is calling us. He dances that shape and pattern which is at the heart of our reality. I sing of the dancing pattern in the life and words of Jesus.”

I invite you to share the dance. Listen as “The Lord of the Dance” is sung by the Resurrection Singers, a group of former orphan boys now a part of the St. Joseph’s Family in Port au Prince, Haiti. Stand if you can or want to and join the dance. If the Spirit can catch a congregation at an Easter Vigil, why can’t the Spirit catch us?

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Whenever I am Weak, then I am Strong

“For whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” You have just heard the gospel in a nutshell! Yet, isn’t it a truly paradoxical statement? Certainly it is for most Americans. We live in a culture that emphasizes rugged individualism, competitiveness, and aggressive strength. And now, God help us, in the wake of the tragedy in Charleston, SC, die-hard gun advocates are suggesting that churches should have armed guards, and that pastors should be armed. Can you see it here at St. Peter’s?

No? Then hear the truly counter-cultural message in Paul’s second letter to the Christian community in Corinth. We’ve been hearing excerpts from this letter since the beginning of June. Actually, most commentators think that this is probably not a single letter – it’s too fragmentary. Rather, the letter seems to be a composite of several letters that Paul wrote to the Corinthians. The passage that we heard today is the last part of what some have called Paul’s “fool’s speech.” In it, Paul addresses criticism of his ministry by some “super apostles,” as he calls them, who have boasted that they are the true spokesmen for Christ. They have also claimed that Paul is not a true apostle, and that he is neither sufficiently Jewish nor sufficiently charismatic. Should Paul respond in kind?

While you wait for the answer to that question, fast-forward to December 27th of last year. In the evening of that wintry day, Heather Cook, the then suffragan bishop of Maryland, struck forty-one year old cyclist Thomas Palermo, killing him almost instantly. Cook was texting at the time of the accident and initially fled the scene. When she surrendered and was tested, she had a blood alcohol level of .22. (Remember that .08 is the level for driving under the influence of alcohol.) Three years prior to this accident, Cook had had another DUI conviction. However, she had spent only a short time in rehab and apparently had been receiving no follow-up care. The diocesan search committee that presented her for election as suffragan bishop knew of Cook’s prior conviction. After her election, diocesan officials even suspected that Cook was drunk at a dinner party the night before her September consecration, but it is unclear whether they took any action. Cook was arraigned in February on charges of driving under the influence resulting in a homicide, vehicular manslaughter, criminal negligent manslaughter, texting while driving, and fleeing the scene of an accident. Her trial will take place September. Cook was deposed from holy orders on May 1 of this year, one day after the twenty-seventh anniversary of her ordination as priest.

As we grieve the death of Thomas Palermo and ponder how Heather Cook might have avoided wrecking her life, does Paul’s response to his critics offer us any wisdom or hope? Paul begins his response by trotting out what we might call his “apostolic resume,” his list of qualifications and accomplishments. First he asserts his Jewish credentials: “Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they descendants of Abraham? So am I.” Then he goes on to list the hardships he has endured in his work as an evangelist: “Are they ministers of Christ? I am talking like a madman – I am a better one: with far greater labors, far more imprisonments, with countless floggings, and often near death.”

Then, as we heard, Paul alludes to his own experiences of visions and revelations: “I know a person in Christ….” Although Paul is speaking here in the third person, scholars generally agree that he is speaking of his own experiences. We are not sure to what exactly he is referring, whether his experiences on the Damascus road or some other visions. Is Paul boasting here in the same way that he has accused his rivals of boasting?

Actually, Paul is doing just the opposite. After soaring into the “third heaven,” Paul crashes to earth. In the frankest, most personal passage in all of his letters, Paul alludes to a weakness or limitation, the famous “thorn in the flesh.” No one knows what this “thorn” was, although guesses have ranged from the psychological, to external opposition, to physical maladies such as migraines, epilepsy, and eye infections. Although Paul asked for deliverance from the thorn, he did not receive it. Instead, he received another revelation: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” And so the thorn has become for Paul a perpetual reminder of his need for God’s grace, not only in enduring this limitation, but in his entire ministry. The thorn also reminds Paul – and by extension us – that although God does not inflict suffering on us, God can bring life out of suffering. Most important, the thorn reminds Paul and us that when we acknowledge our weakness, when we let go of the desire to be in control, when we give up the belief that we can fix the difficulties and tragedies of our lives by ourselves, when we acknowledge our dependence on God and on a supportive community, then – and only then – can we draw on the power of Christ, and – finally – allow God’s grace to work in us.

God willing, Heather Cook has reached or will reach that place of putting aside her own ego and drawing on God’s strength. Needless to say, Cook’s accident and Palermo’s death drew much commentary in both secular and Episcopal media. Some appropriately criticized the search committee for downplaying the seriousness of her previous DUI conviction and presenting her for election. However, what was much more important, for the first time in a long time Episcopal media began to question the role of alcohol in the Episcopal Church, both for individuals and for many parishes. We learned that a disproportionate number of Episcopal clergy are alcoholics. Many of us acknowledged the truth of the unfortunate epithet “Whiskypalians,” or in the saying – which I heard when I first came into the church almost fifty years ago – “Wherever there are four Episcopalians, there’s a fifth.” We also discovered that, after General Convention of 1979 approved a resolution addressing alcohol abuse, Recovery Ministries of the Episcopal Church was formed to provide a network of clergy and laity concerned with addiction and treatment.

On July 1, at this year’s General Convention in Salt Lake City, Bishop Mark Hollingsworth, of the Diocese of Ohio, rose in front of the House of Bishops and said, “I’m Mark and I’m an alcoholic.” Bp. Hollingsworth was speaking as chair of the Legislative Committee on Alcohol and Drug Abuse, a committee that had been created in response to numerous requests by delegates and others for the church to examine the role of alcohol in our life. Bp. Hollingsworth acknowledged his own journey of addiction and recovery and then introduced three resolutions which were subsequently passed by the bishops and affirmed by the deputies.

The first resolution recommends that ordinands be questioned at the very beginning of the discernment process about addiction and substance use in their lives and family systems. The second resolution acknowledges the role of the church in a culture of alcohol and drug abuse and “directs dioceses to work in partnership with The Episcopal Church Medical Trust, Recovery Ministries of The Episcopal Church, and community-based organizations in order to address most effectively prevention, intervention/diversion, education, advocacy, treatment, and recovery, including developing a list of trained therapists and consultants who are available to assist clergy and laity in this education process.” The third resolution creates a task force to review and revise policy on substance abuse, addiction, and recovery and recommends that, where possible, non-alcoholic wine be provided as an alternative to communion wine.

The Rev. Steve Lane, treasurer of Recovery Ministries of The Episcopal Church, was excited to see the church finally beginning to face the challenges of addiction. “The best known solution for [addiction] is a spiritual one,” he said, “but our church needs to be aware of it and see our own shortcomings and be aware of our own failures first before we can reach out and help others.” Retired Bishop Chilton Knudsen of Maine, who will begin assisting in the Maryland diocese in October, is a recovering alcoholic, an experience that is central to her ministry. “When the case in Maryland happened, my heart broke, as everybody’s did,” she said. Rather than advocating abstinence, Knudsen embraces the call for intentional awareness about alcohol abuse. Most important, Knudsen said, becoming healthy requires telling the truth about who we are and telling our stories. Deputy Doris Westfall of Missouri agreed. “The church holds out the hope of living into recovery, which is no less than resurrection,” she said.

Perhaps we have as a church begun to understand that, with alcoholism, drug abuse, and many other human weaknesses, denying reality or thinking we can find healing through our own efforts alone will not help us. Rather, perhaps we finally understand that, when we, like Paul, acknowledge our weaknesses and limitations, when we, like Bill W., the founder of AA, “made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him,” then we can open ourselves to the possibility of God’s grace working within us. Certainly, addictions are serious diseases, with both physical and spiritual aspects. But here is the good news: when we honestly examine our lives, acknowledge our need for God’s grace, and conscientiously avail ourselves of helpful organizations, Christ’s power and grace will support, uphold, and transform us. And then, by God’s grace, like Paul, like Bill W., and like Bps. Hollingsworth and Knudsen, we too might become instruments of grace for others.