I Am a Recovering News Junkie!

     I must admit, I am a news junkie.  I didn't realize how much of a junkie I was until I left my full-time
job at Trinity Cathedral in April 2020.  It used to be I'd take a quick glance at the headlines and then rush off to work.  Maybe I'd catch up with the news at lunchtime for about fifteen minutes, but then I didn't think much about it until evening when I would watch local and national news.  Now, however, what I have discovered is I can literally devour the news for hours in the morning (or until my pot of coffee runs out.)  I'll start with the New York Times, move on to the Washington Post, read my local paper, amuse myself for a little bit with Facebook, and then see what the absolute latest is by checking Twitter.  By the time you've gone through the cycle, you can go back to the beginning and start over because there are new articles!  You see my problem.

     Maybe all this would be a harmless diversion if times were better, but given the dire state of the news — everything from the coronavirus, to politics, to global warming, to violence — it is absolutely soul-crushing.  It slowly began to dawn on me how much this was affecting my outlook on life, and I remembered the admonition from St. Paul, 

"Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."  (Philippians 4:8)

     It is an old saying that whatever you turn your attention to is what will grow.  It took me too long to realize my feelings of anxiety and depression were directly related to how much news I was consuming.  So, I put myself on a diet.  I cut the amount of news I consumed down to a manageable level, and I can tell you I feel a lot better.  I don't feel anything less informed about what is going on, but I don't feel like I'm drowning in it anymore.  Like every diet, that one sliver of pie is not the problem… it's when you decide to eat the entire pie in one sitting.  Sometimes I still blow it, and a couple hours into reading the news in the morning, my neck and shoulders are tense and aching — that tends to get my attention.  Where we focus our attention is one of the great issues in life.  The psalmist says, 

"Turn my eyes from watching what is worthless; give me life in your ways.  (119:37)  

     If like me, you found yourself overly anxious and depressed, there can be many causes (some of the physical… be sure to have that checked also), but one of them may be where you are focusing your attention.  I don't recommend being uninformed, sticking our heads in the sand when there are real problems, or being a Pollyanna, but we have to limit the amount of toxicity we consume.

     I suppose you could claim that technically you are a vegetarian if all you eat is potato chips, but I suspect most vegetarians would tell you just avoiding meat is not the point.  The point is adding fruit and vegetables to your diet will improve your health.  Just so, avoiding negative stuff is not enough.  St. Paul says we also have to focus our attention on things that are honorable, worthy of praise, pleasing, commendable, and excellent.  We need to dial down the negative stuff we take in, but dial-up the sunsets, and the art, and the poetry, and people we love, and stories about folks who are brave and kind.  I promise, you won't miss much, and you may find you gain a bit more faith in the goodness that is within you and within others.  And when you do that, this old world will seem just a bit brighter.

Being a Christian Before and After the Election

     In the first century, you read about St. Paul having a lot of choices: He had the choice of how to travel — pretty much limited to ship, donkey, or on foot; He had the choice of what he ate —He only criticized folks who saw themselves as holier than others because of what they would or would not eat.  But one thing you never read about St. Paul having to choose was the person for whom he would vote for Emperor.  There's a good reason for that.  He didn't have the freedom to vote in the first century.

     But just because he couldn't vote, didn't mean he didn't have some strong opinions about the politics of his day.  He spoke against the strong oppressing the weak. Like Jesus, he stood with the poor against the rich. He also dealt with people who said pretty much the only way to be a good Christian was either to take up arms against the Empire or surrender and go out of your way to become a martyr.  He basically told them not to be so dramatic; they just needed to obey authorities as far as possible, even the Emperor, and live their lives as quietly as they could (Romans 13.)  

     Many modern partisan religious salespersons have used this passage of Paul's to justify everything from slavery to serving in the army of the Third Reich.  Most often, they just exploit this passage to try and force others to obey unjust laws or follow a leader blindly without criticism in the United States, a democracy where we can vote and have the right to protest.  It is further noted they only bring up St. Paul in this context when whoever happens to be in political power agrees with them, and ignore it when the other party takes power.

     Jesus was involved in politics.  No, he did not have election bumper stickers on the back of his donkey, or a yard sign for his preferred Sanhedrin candidate, and he didn’t lick envelopes for a candidate's mailing while teaching the Beatitudes.  The way Jesus was involved in politics was simply to teach truth.  When you are in the presence of an unjust power structure and preach truth, it is always inherently political.

     When you criticize the rich and instruct them to share what they have with the poor, Jesus was addressing values, but the same time challenging the current unjust economic and political structure.

     When you show mercy to a woman caught in adultery, while an angry mob stands by wanting her stoned according to the law, he was teaching values, but he was also criticizing an unjust legal system steeped in sexism and racism.

     When he overturned the tables of the money changers in the Temple and said, "My father's house will be called a house of prayer for all the nations," he was criticizing an unjust business and economic system that robbed the poor to enrich the already rich, and also indicted a corrupt religious establishment based on violence, profit, and hypocrisy.  You might think the church should not be meddling in certain areas, but I’m afraid I have to tell you Jesus involved himself in every area of human existence… no area was exempt.

     While I do not believe the Church should endorse candidates, I do believe the Church must be involved in politics.  When I say that, I mean the church should be involved in politics in the way that Jesus was: by teaching truth and values.  You might not think those are political, but when you are in the presence of an unjust power structure and you teach the Gospel… the Truth… the Church is going to be seen as political.

     If you don't believe me, just try to talk about how Jesus, and indeed the entire Abrahamic tradition, including Islam, speaks of the core value of welcoming the stranger and the wanderer. See if you are not accused of being political about the subject of immigration.  

     Try to talk about the Christian value of honesty and truthfulness, and see if you are not accused of calling a politician a liar. 

     Post something on Facebook about Jesus’ teachings on peace and nonviolence.  Trust me, one of your commenters will see that as a political statement against the Second Amendment

     Oscar Romero summed it up well when he said, “When I feed the poor, they call me a saint.  When I ask why they are poor, they call me a communist.” If you don’t think teaching basic Christian values is not political, believe Oscar Romero, a Roman Catholic bishop who was assassinated for standing up to his government in defending the poor of his nation.

     The only reason such values are seen as political is because human beings have made them political.  That doesn't make them any the less the values of the Church.

     As for individual Christians, we are supposed to do good in the world… to make this world a little better. In our own time, it is our role to bring the kingdom of God into this present reality (I think there’s a famous part of a prayer that’s about that.)  One way we can do that is to vote.  It is not enough we observe personal piety; we, as Christians, must do what we can to dismantle oppressive power structures in our societies and create ones that support justice — when Jesus talked about sin, it was not just personal; he talked a lot about institutional… systemic societal sin.  That means we as individuals have to make political choices that can change society.  

     I personally have been involved in politics for many years, and I learned a long time ago I don't have to necessarily agree with a candidate on everything, or even like her or him, to vote for them.  I just have to look at a candidate and compare his or her stands with my values.  Some of those values are broad Christian values the church teaches: Will they care for the poor?  Will they be welcome the stranger?  Are they truthful?  But then I also will judge them on some values I believe are derived from my faith, but that I admit other people may see differently when it comes down to how you apply those values.  I will ask if they support education.  I will ask if they protect individual freedoms.  Naturally, no candidate ever ticks off all the boxes.  Ultimately, I have to make up my mind and vote.

     I cast my ballot this week.  I made my choices.  But now I have begun to think about the morning after the election.  Just as I was a Christian before the election, I am a Christian afterward.  And quite honestly, don't we spend most of our lives in the afterward?  So I have been thinking hard about how it is my responsibility to love my neighbors before and after the election, even if they vote differently.  And it will be the role of Christians and God's church throughout time to stand against injustice such as economic disparity, sexism, and racism, especially as it is embedded in the power structures of our day.  Yes, I voted for one person for president, but that just means I made my best judgment grounded in my faith and values at the time.  And once that person takes office, they become responsible for both the inherent injustices in the systems that dominate our country and any they might create by their policies.  It will not be my role as a Christian to follow them blindly.  In that afterward time, it will be my part, and yours, and the Church's to speak truth to power.

The Wolf of Gubbio

     This is the story of the Wolf of Gubbio as recorded in the  Fioretti di San Francesco.  While you read it, I would invite you to reflect on what it says about violence in our world.

     During the period around 1220 when St. Francis was living in Gubbio, a fierce wolf appeared in the country and began attacking livestock.  Soon the wolf graduated to direct assaults on humans, and not long after began to dine upon them exclusively.  It was known for lingering outside of the city gates in wait for anyone foolish enough to venture beyond them alone.  No weapon was capable of inflicting injury upon the wolf, and all who attempted to destroy it were devoured.  Eventually mere sight of the animal caused the entire city to raise alarm and the public refused to go outside the walls for any reason.  It was at this point, when Gubbio was under siege, that Francis announced he was going to take leave and meet the wolf.  He was advised against this more than once but, irrespective of the warnings, made the sign of the Cross and went beyond the gates with a small group of followers in tow.  When he neared the lair of the wolf, the crowd held back at a safe distance, but remained close enough to witness what transpired.  The wolf, having seen the group approach, rushed at Francis with its jaws open.  Again Francis made the sign of the Cross and commanded the wolf to cease its attacks in the name of God, at which point the wolf trotted up to him docilely and lay at his feet, putting its head in his hands.  The Fioretti then describes word-for-word his dealings with the wolf:

     "Brother wolf, thou hast done much evil in this land, destroying and killing the creatures of God without his permission; yea, not animals only hast thou destroyed, but thou hast even dared to devour men, made after the image of God; for which thing thou art worthy of being hanged like a robber and a murderer.  All men cry out against thee, the dogs pursue thee, and all the inhabitants of this city are thy enemies; but I will make peace between them and thee, O brother wolf, if so be thou no more offend them, and they shall forgive thee all thy past offences, and neither men nor dogs shall pursue thee any more."  The wolf bowed its head and submitted to Francis, completely at his mercy.

     "As thou art willing to make this peace, I promise thee that thou shalt be fed every day by the inhabitants of this land so long as thou shalt live among them; thou shalt no longer suffer hunger, as it is hunger which has made thee do so much evil; but if I obtain all this for thee, thou must promise, on thy side, never again to attack any animal or any human being; dost thou make this promise?"

     In agreement, the wolf placed one of its forepaws in Francis' outstretched hand, and the oath was made.  Francis then commanded the wolf to return with him to Gubbio.  At this sight, the men who had followed him through the walls were utterly astonished and they spread the news; soon the whole city knew of the miracle. The townsfolk gathered in the city marketplace to await Francis and his companion, and were shocked to see the ferocious wolf behaving as though his pet.  When Francis reached the marketplace, he offered the assembled crowd an impromptu sermon... With the sermon ended, Francis renewed his pact with the wolf publicly, assuring it that the people of Gubbio would feed it from their very doors if it ceased its depredations.  Once more the wolf placed its paw in Francis' hand.

     Thereafter, Gubbio venerated Francis and he received great praise from its citizens.  Many of them were convinced by the miracle and offered their thanks to God, going on to be converted.  This episode in the Fioretti is concluded with a note that the wolf lived for a further two years at Gubbio, going from home to home for sustenance and honoring the provisions of its agreement with Francis.  At its death the city was saddened, for even though it had slain so many it was a symbol of the sanctity of Francis and the power of God.  According to tradition, Gubbio gave the wolf an honorable burial and later built the Church of Saint Francis of the Peace at the site.  During renovations in 1872, the skeleton of a large wolf, apparently several centuries old, was found under a slab near the church wall and then reburied inside.

     Before St. Francis arrived, the villagers had bought into the Myth of Redemptive Violence, namely, that the way to deal with violence is to bring more violence against it.  It didn't work.

     We buy into this same Myth of Redemptive Violence when we say things like, "The only way to stop a bad man with a gun, is is a good man with a gun."  We buy into this same Myth of Redemptive Violence when peaceful protests seem to have no effect, and we turn in desperation to looting and throwing bricks.  Although we may not realize it, even when we despair and say, "What difference does it make if we vote?"  What we are, in effect, saying is that peaceful methods don't work.

     We lost a great and good man recently, Congressman John Lewis.  His example which has inspired so many was that he chose peace instead of violence.  He chose not to fight back against oppression, but also refused to bow to it.  His blood and witness were part of what made the Civil Rights Act possible.  It was the same choice Gandhi made.  It was the same choice Martin Luther King Jr. made.  It was the same choice Jesus made.

     The easy choice this world seems to default to is always fighting back.  Violence is the first response we try.  Yell angry words at your opponent!  Call him names!  Flip him off!  Honk your horn!  Throw a brick through a window!  Send in unmarked federal troops!  If you have been paying attention to the news recently, you have seen the Myth of Redemptive Violence unravel in real time.  Violence only begets more violence.  This is why the first step in making peace during any war is getting both sides to declare a cease-fire.  Only then can the work of peace begin.

     Being a peacemaker is often a lot more difficult and a lot more work than throwing a brick.  But if we can make peace and nonviolence our default reaction, it is so much more effective, and maybe in the words of Jesus, we will be called blessed for doing so.

Maybe It's God's Fault?

     If you haven't been wondering over the past few months what God has against us, you're probably one of the few.  With so much devastation and death wreaked on our world and this country by the virus and sheer self-serving political incompetency, only the most calloused could claim it is all part of God's good and loving plan for us.

     You may have never thought of yourself as a theologian, but you actually are.  Any time you sit and wonder about the nature of God (or what in the world God is up to), you are doing theology.  If you're having trouble reconciling what you see going on in the world around you now — the death, the hateful behavior toward others, the corruption — with a good and loving God, you're not alone.  It's nice to let ourselves off the hook by blaming everything on God, unfortunately, that's bad theology, a rookie mistake. 

     No one, when tempted, should say, ‘I am being tempted by God’; for God cannot be tempted by evil and he himself tempts no one… Do not be deceived, my beloved.   Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.   — James 1:13, 16, 17

     It's understandable we bring God into the picture when faced with a reality that seems beyond comprehension right now.  God is, after all, pretty much incomprehensible no matter how many words we try to put around God.  Human beings, being what they are, try to make sense out of things.  We look for patterns.  This is why we see shapes and faces in cloud formations.  Unfortunately, this is also why without sufficient information, people tend to default to conspiracy theories.  We're just trying to make sense of everything, and to be fair, it's pretty tough right now making sense of what is going on in our world.

     There is an old Episcopal preacher story that goes like this: A terrible hurricane hit an island in the Caribbean.  A newspaper reporter was interviewing religious leaders for their take on why this happened.  She interviewed the evangelical preacher who said, "This is God's wrath being visited upon us for our sins!"  Next, she interviewed the Roman Catholic Bishop of the island who said, "It is God testing the faith of his people."  Finally, she went to the Episcopal Bishop.  When asked why this terrible event occurred to the island, the Bishop thought for a moment, but then shrugged and said, "It's hurricane season."

     Episcopalians tend to be pretty practical about this stuff.  Humans have evolved alongside viruses for millennia.  Right now, there's a bad one out there we are fighting.  That doesn't mean God is responsible for the hurricane.  But what we are responsible for is our reaction.  We are responsible for how we love and care for one another during this difficult time.

     While God does not cause evil, God seems to have a knack for bringing good out of the worst situations.  Think of the passion for racial equality and reform that has risen from the death of George Floyd.  Think of the humanity and witness of the diary that a young girl, Anne Frank, kept during the Nazi occupation.  Think of the thousands of nurses and doctors serving selflessly and at much personal risk every day during this pandemic.

     No, the hand of God is not in the hurricane, but we can have courage. The hand of God is in us...  how you and I care for one another, our kindness even toward strangers, and how we step forward to help heal this broken world.

Points at which new recipes lost me…

     I like to fancy myself a pretty good cook.  But, it wasn’t always this way.  When I was freshly divorced in my early 30s, I struggled to put dinner on the table three times a week when my daughters came over.  But then, I discovered the delightful, frozen children’s meals, Kid Cuisine!  There are currently seven varieties of these meals: everything from “Pizza Painter Cheese Pizza,” to “Twist and Twirl Spaghetti with Mini Meat Balls,” to three different species of “SpongeBob SquarePants” meals that seem to involve two incarnations of chicken and one of macaroni.  The alarming thing I discovered while writing this is there are also twelve discontinued varieties, including the unappealingly named “Bug Safari Chicken Breast Nuggets.”  Wikipedia doesn’t say why these twelve were discontinued, but I’m concerned that many of them sound familiar.

     Living in the Kid Cuisine fool’s paradise for about a month, it finally dawned on me these probably weren’t the healthiest meals I could provide… in fact, I became concerned I was possibly poisoning my own children.  I understood at the time there were laws about that kind of thing.  So, I went out and bought a used paperback Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook, tenth edition.  Learning to cook terrified me.  To avoid hyperventilating, I kept repeating, “You have a Master’s Degree in education!  You teach reading!  You can do this!  All you have to do is read and follow directions.”  So, I started with one new recipe a week, and over time, have developed quite a repertoire.

     Nowadays, I usually read the recipe section in the newspaper, but sometimes I find their offerings ridiculous.  I am not the kind of cook who delights in the exotic or the hard-to-find ingredient.  So I thought it might be fun to share some actual quotes from recipes where they lost me:

• “Use a Spoonful of Shrimp Paste When You Can’t Find Anchovies.” — Oh yes, let me find that jar of lovely shrimp paste I keep in the refrigerator door.  Do people really keep shrimp paste on hand?!

• “Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to 4 days to let the mixture marinate.”  — You know, you might get an hour of marinating out of me, but you can forget even one day, much less four.  If I tried to marinate something for four days, what would really happen is I would forget about it until the odor of the rot from the refrigerator reminded me.

• “These shrimp burgers are bursting with flavor thanks to kimchi.”  — Even the thought of shrimp burgers, much less shrimp burgers combined with Korean kimchi is certainly enough to make me burst, but not quite how they meant.

• “If you don’t have an extractor, puree the fruits together in a blender, then strain through a fine-mesh strainer lined with cheesecloth” — As you may have guessed, I do not have an extractor… and on my blender, only the first few buttons work… the purée button is clear to the right… and I don’t have a fine-mesh strainer… and there’s no way I’m going out to look for cheesecloth.  I think we’re done here. 

• “Fresh cilantro leaves with tender stems” — At my Walmart, I’m lucky to get cilantro and not get it mixed up with parsley.  I’m not about to start cultivating a new “tender stem” requirement.

• “You’ll need a 3-inch doughnut cutter and a small cutter for the center holes; we found in testing that you’ll have fewer scraps to reroll when you use a square cutter or a sharp knife and a ruler to measure 3-inch squares.”  — This all started out as fun and games; I mean who doesn’t like doughnuts?  First, are there really outer and inner doughnut cutters?  Where would I buy something like that?  And second, doesn’t it kind of take the fun out of it, not to mention it’s kind of OCD, if you feel you have to use a ruler to measure your doughnuts?

• “1 tablespoon fresh ginger grated on a microplane grater” — Okay, I might be able to find fresh ginger, but I’m not sure I even know what a microplane grater is.  You’ll be lucky to get the standard ground ginger you find in the grocery store cooking section, and yeah, it’ll probably be generic.

• “Beat in egg yolk, salt, vanilla seeds and orange blossom water 1 cup/225 grams unsalted butter (2 sticks), preferably cultured (European-style)” — All right, wait just one dang crockpot minute!  I’m supposed to find vanilla seeds and have orange blossom water on hand?  And what exactly is cultured, European-style butter?  Is it just American butter with an accent or does it also have to have an advanced degree and be well-traveled?!

• “Kimchi Pancake” — You know, I couldn’t even get past the title of this recipe.  It’s really bad when just the title kicks in your gag reflex.

     By now, I’m sure you can see why my favorite cookbook on the shelf in the kitchen is entitled 5 ingredients/15 minutes.  Besides, I used to think I liked to cook, but I've learned over the years what I really like is cooking while a bunch of friends are in the kitchen with me drinking wine and talking.  Bon appétit!

The Mystery of the Disappearing Keys

     I did not realize until I retired how many keys I had.

     As a priest, I had one key for the outer door of the offices, one for the inner door, one for my office, two or three keys for the church, plus a credit-card-sized electronic key that worked on some doors but not all.  I had the same heavy bundle of keys when I taught 6th Grade for thirty years.  Even before I began my teaching career, I always had a big bundle of keys in all of the minimum-wage jobs — jobs I appreciated because they paid the bills.  I remember even in high school I had a key for my car and another one for the trunk (Remember when those were two separate keys?) plus keys for my parent's house.

     It seems, however, I have arrived at a time in my life where I have only two keys on my ring:  My house key, and my mom's house key.  Even my mom's house key is going away soon since she is selling her house to stay in assisted living.  I no longer even have a car key because that is just a fob now on newer cars.  I do have a few more keys such as the one hanging in the hall for the back gate, but I rarely use it.  It is not worth carrying it on my key ring.

     I have begun to wonder if this mystery of the disappearing keys is a metaphor for what happens as you get older.

     There was a time when John the Baptist was all the rage in Jerusalem and its suburbs.  He was on Instagram, he was on Twitter, he was an influencer.  People were coming from everywhere to listen to that young firebrand preach and get baptized by him.

     But then there came a time when his cousin Jesus got a lot more popular.  And that really bugged John's disciples.  In the Gospel of John, chapter 3, they come to him complaining about this.  They say, "Hey, you baptized this guy, and now he's stealing all your thunder!  He's trending on everything!"

John heard them out, but then he replied with one of the most humble things recorded in Scripture.  He softly said, "He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30)

     His gentle response has always fascinated me.  It has always felt like the entire Christian life could be captured in these seven short words: "He must increase, but I must decrease."

     In one way, it felt kind of sad after I turned in all my Church keys.  Here I was, shrinking before my very eyes. There was a feeling of quiet panic at first.  Who was I if I didn't have all those keys and what they represent?  But in another way I have to admit, it was a kind of a relief.  I'm glad not to have to pack around so many keys.  I don't need that huge bundle in my right-hand pocket anymore that jabs me if I bump into a door jamb.  With so many keys, pens, ChapStick, contact lens drops, and a black leather billfold in my right-hand pocket, when I sat down, it would often trigger the alarm on my car or the trunk opener.  It got really irritating to have someone stop into my office a few times a day to say, "Did you know your trunk is open?"  I don't want to be the one who is responsible for opening doors for everyone else anymore.  If you are the guy with all the keys, you have to do things like show up on time and be responsible.  Everyone has expectations of you.  It feels kind of good to let those expectations go and just be myself.  I have had a huge key ring probably since I was around sixteen, but somehow, I just do not feel the need to carry such a burden anymore after forty-six years.

     In The Lord of the Rings, when Galadriel is offered the keys… I mean the ring of great power that she knew would eventually destroy who she was, she finds the inner strength to refuse it and says, "I pass the test. I will diminish and go into the West and remain Galadriel."

     Now, I am certainly not comparing a lifetime of gainful employment to the "One Ring to Rule Them All," but there is something to be said for knowing when it is time to bow out.  There is a grace in letting go.  There is a grace in diminishing.  There are always relationships and jobs from which you have to move on.  On my journey, I think I have learned that an important part of wisdom in life is the grace with which we let go of things.  It has also been my experience that whenever it is time to step away from one thing, it makes room for someone else to step up.

     Although I was a very good teacher and loved it more than I can say, I learned long ago there were many, many good teachers who were nothing like me.  In fact, at my school, if I had not chosen to take early retirement, a new teacher who had great promise would have been laid off.

     I will always be an Episcopal priest, but stepping away from my position at the Cathedral will give others a chance to minister, and I believe she or he will do as well or better than I.  Trinity Cathedral is set on the banks of the Truckee River.  I have always said, "There were good people worshiping beside this river long before I came, and there will be good people worshiping beside this river long after I am gone."  It may sound a little morbid, but it has always given me great comfort that I am not responsible for the whole world or the future, but only my small portion of it.  I'm just not that important in the grand sweep of things.

     Stepping away also has opened new doors for me.  I'm a cellist.  Two years ago, I began working on the Prelude of the Bach Cello Suite in D minor, a piece that is so exquisite I am convinced when it is played by a true master, like Jacqueline du Pré, the angels weep.  Although I had certainly learned all of the basics of the piece more than a year ago, I just could not get the piece to flow.  The reality was, I did not have enough time to practice.  Within just a few weeks of retirement, however, I am satisfied enough with my proficiency that I can set it aside for now and move on to another piece.  (You never finish learning Bach.  I will be working on it at least for the next ten years to bring it to performance level.)

     I have gotten to work on writing that is not under a deadline.  My reading has expanded.  I am able to read books that have nothing to do with a class I must prepare to teach or a retreat I will run.

     And so, I have decided it is okay to diminish.  It is okay for me to decrease.  In fact, it seems to be the natural culmination of the Christian life.  Although it may seem counterintuitive, more and more, it seems the disappearing keys have actually opened new doors for me.

What We Can Learn from Funfetti Cake

     I was never able to break my mom of the habit of buying food at discount dollar markets.  When you had to raise three kids on a small income, it taught her the thrill of the hunt — finding that one bargain others missed.  Now in her eighties, I mainly worried she would get expired food that would make her sick.

     Well, I was wrong; she never did. 

She has recently decided to stay in assisted living, so one chore we have started is going through her late-seventies olive green upright freezer out in the garage.  The door does not seal completely, so it is held closed by a worn red bungee cord looped around the handle and attached to metal shelving next to the freezer.  Sure enough, it was stuffed with bargain treasures like peppermint chocolate from some long-ago Christmas and meat frozen so long I was unsure of its cut.  But the shelf that captured my attention the most was filled with boxes of cake mix — white cake, Funfetti, chocolate, carrot.  She had mentioned these to me.

     “I’m sorry I have to leave my cake mixes behind,” she said on the phone as we talked about things that needed to be done.  There are not any ovens in her new digs.  “Be sure you take them if you want them.” She could not see me because we were on the phone, but I narrowed my eyes at this comment; I suspected she had hit the discount store.

     But, like the good son I am, I pulled them out one at a time to check them: Expiration date February 20, 2017; June 12, 2017, and a very faded expiration date of 04/06/16.  Not one of the many boxed cakes had expired less than three years ago.  Sigh… to be honest, given my weight, I was not so sure I needed a Funfetti cake anyway.

     The reality is life catches up to all of us at some point, and we have to leave things behind.  Sometimes it is because we age out of our homes and are forced to downsize; sometimes it is for more sudden reasons like a fire or a death.  In my case, if I had to suddenly leave things behind, my kids will probably find shocking amount of duplicate toiletries.  I always have an extra shaving cream waiting, and the minute I need it, I pick up the next one.  Sometimes it gets out of hand.  I get confused and end up buying stacks of extras.  I mean, does anyone really need four extra sticks of Gillette Arctic Ice Men's Deodorant or three spare 1.5-liter bottles of mouthwash?  (Yes, I just went into the bathroom and counted.)

     Part of this has made me want to do a little clearing out of my own house.  I have not cracked those German books from my college days in four decades, so it is a safe bet I could live without them.  I do not want my own kids to have to rummage through things and exclaim, “Why in the world did he keep this all those years?!”  Could I live with just one extra deodorant instead of four?  In my autumn years, I would like to walk a little more lightly on the earth.

     But there is another part of me that thinks about how my years have gone by quicker than I could ever have imagined.  Maybe the lesson is we should not wait so long to make that Funfetti cake.

It’s the End of the World (of course)

“… the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. “  — Mark 13

     So, with the very justified fear of the Covid-19 virus, the disruption in our lives, the loss of jobs, and the over 200,000 deaths worldwide, it is beginning to feel a little bit like the end of the world.  And of course, it is… just not quite in the way modern doomsday prophets tend to think of it.  

     Did you know there have been 173 formal public predictions of the end of the world since Jesus left?  On average, the end has been predicted every eleven or twelve years since the first century.  More religious leaders than you can count have predicted the date of the end, including Martin Luther, the Shakers, Wesley (the founder of the Methodist Church), the Millerites (they predicted it four different times), the Jehovah's Witnesses (twice), Pat Robertson (twice), and Jerry Falwell (twice.)

     One of my personal favorites has to be Mary Bateman who lived in Leeds, England.  In 1806, a hen of hers began laying eggs on which the phrase "Christ is coming" was written.  Eventually, it was discovered Mary had written on the eggs in a corrosive ink so as to etch the eggs, and then reinserted the eggs back into the hen's oviduct.  Yikes!

     Of course, the all-time winner of this bizarre competition has to be the late Harold Camping.  He predicted the end of the world on six different dates: Three times in 1984, once in 1985, and in both May and October of 2011.

     Despite all these predictions, this old world, and the little spiral galaxy we call home, and the universe itself continues on its course.  Spring follows winter; the autumn harvest is brought in.

     The Jews knew what it was like to have their entire world changed overnight, destroyed.  Their nation was destroyed and they were taken captive into Babylon around 423 BCE.  That is why the apocalyptic language Jesus used in Mark 13 was so well known.  It had been used by their greatest prophet Isaiah and by those prophets they knew well: Ezekiel, Daniel, and Joel.  When you lose everything; when your entire world is destroyed, it can feel like the sun and moon have been darkened, stars are falling from the sky, and earthquakes are shaking the whole world.  That is how it feels for so many right now.

     But if we stop and think for a moment, this is not the first time the world has ended for many of us.  Most of us have lived through the end of the world as we knew it at least once; some of us have lived through it a number of times.  Maybe it was because you lost a job or lost a relationship.  Maybe the end of the world came when you lost your home in a fire.  Maybe your world ended when you lost the dearest person on earth to you.  Suddenly, the world you had to go into was nothing like anything you knew, and you found yourself wandering as a stranger in a strange land with no familiar landmarks.  You were lost.  In my case, it has happened three times: The first time was at age eighteen; The second when I was thirty-two; and the latest time was when I was forty-nine.

So, how do you keep walking?  How do you keep hoping when it feels like the world is coming down around your ears?

     Oscar Romero, the Roman Catholic archbishop in El Salvador who was martyred for his stand for the poor and for peace in that violent and corrupt country once said,

"It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view. The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is beyond our vision…  We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.  Nothing we do is complete...  No statement says all that could be said.  No prayer fully expresses our faith.  No confession brings perfection.  No pastoral visit brings wholeness.  No program accomplishes the Church’s mission… This is what we are about: we plant seeds that one day will grow.  We water seeds already planted, knowing they hold future promise.  We lay foundations that will need further development… We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.  This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.  It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for God’s grace to enter and do the rest.  We may never see the end results...  We are prophets of a future not our own."

     How do you keep going?  How do you keep hoping when it feels like the world is ending?  For people of faith, and for people of no faith, I think the answer is the same:  We accept not everything is about us.  Like Oscar Romero, we accept that we are limited… our time on this earth is limited.  So, we do what we can today, and recognize much of the meaning and joy in life is found in serving others in our own day, and those in the distant future we will never meet. 

     If right now, it is feeling to you like the stars are falling from the sky and the earth underneath you is shifting, that is ok.  You are just human.  So as a limited human being, we do what we can in our time.  We can do our dishes; we can take care of ourselves and others; and maybe, just maybe, we can plant seeds of hope and kindness and justice.  Some of those seeds may grow quickly, but many will lie dormant, ready to bloom in some far-off better world.

Whose Story am I Telling?

No matter how bad a day I have had, I make time to set up my coffee for the morning.  I tell myself, “I can face anything as long as I have coffee, first thing.”  I get up at 5:00 a.m., get my coffee, and say morning prayers, but then comes the next step in my ritual that derails my day: I read the news.  There is usually not much news in the morning.  Not much new happens while most of America sleeps.  But I am a news junkie.  As I progress through my local newspaper, the New York Times, the Washington Post, and 

Facebook (in that exact order) I get absorbed in the story of the latest political crisis I already knew about yesterday, but it is always nice to have a fresh take.  I read the stories of the tragedies of others — they can make me cry.  I become completely fascinated by a recipe for a simple five-ingredient Asian dinner I can make in just fifteen minutes in my wok.  And before I know it, I have burned through the entire morning.

It used to be easier when I had to rush off to work.  I did not have time for this.  Now, with the physical distancing required because of the danger of the Covid-19 virus, most of us are finding we have a lot of time on our hands.  To be honest, I have never done well with unstructured time.  I have always liked going to work.  It gives organization and purpose to my day.  Yeah, I admit I am not very spontaneous... well, I can be, but I have to plan for it.  I do that by sometimes leaving empty spaces in my calendar... but I admit those blank spaces make me nervous.  I used to think I was lazy, but the truth is I am very motivated when I am truly committed or interested.  It is just when I do not have a plan for work or a schedule of what I want to do, I have these default time-sucking behaviors I go to: read the news, read a book, nap.

What I have begun to realize is much of my life has been spent telling stories, but not my own.  I am telling the stories of others when I become engrossed in a political story.  I am telling the stories of others when I am moved to tears over the report of a family’s tragedy.  I am telling the stories of others when I do not take time to critically think through some clever meme on Facebook.  And while I am busy telling the stories of others, I am not telling my own.

Now, in general, there is nothing wrong with telling the stories of others.  For thirty years as a teacher, I told the story of an institution, public schools.  My story was the importance of an elementary education.  For eight years as a representative of the teachers’ association in my state, I told the story of the importance of teachers and students in our society.  For fourteen years now as an Episcopal priest, I have told the story of another institution, focused on the meaning of the church and faith and community.  To be fair, the stories of institutions like the school system, the teachers’ association, and the Church became part of my life, and I still believe in them.  You too have institutions you believe in whose stories have become entwined with the story of your life.

Unless you allow yourself to become a complete narcissist, it is also important to tell the story of the sufferings of others and the need for justice as we stand for what is right.  You have to be able to tell people’s stories and have empathy for their lives.  The problem comes when you begin to spend your whole life telling stories of others, but your own gets lost.  Sadly, I have often treated my story — my personal life and goals and values — as less worthy of being told.  Sometimes it comes out in simple ways: My desk at work is spotless, but my desk at home is a disorganized pile.  Sometimes it comes out in deeper, more complex ways: I have not pursued dreams I have had since I was a young man because those other stories — usually about work — were more worthy of being told than my own.  I am afraid I have been so busy telling the stories of others, I hardly recognize my own some days.

The last thing I want to do is give another person a step-by-step list of how to begin to tell your own story; I am just beginning to learn to tell mine.  But I know the place to start is by realizing every morning the most important story you can tell is your own — not the newspaper's, not an institution's, not your boss's, not a politician's.  What you value and how that shapes your time and attention is a critical story the world needs to hear. 

There are a lot of important stories to be told in this world, stories of bravery and suffering, of triumph and defeat, of courage in the face of despotic power, and so many stories of love and compassion that feed our souls and make us better people.  Still, your story is just as worthy of being told and is as important to our world as any other, but only you can tell it.

$17.00 in an Envelope

     I snuck into the Church office at 5:30 a.m. on a Thursday to complete the last grim ritual of retirement… cleaning out my office. What with the Covid-19 virus and the importance of physical distancing at this time, I was not going to take a chance on meeting someone.

     Going through my drawers putting things into boxes, I discovered a couple things: First, I am apparently a pen hoarder (or worse, maybe I stole them from others.) No single human being needs that many pens in that wide a color selection — blue, black, green, red, even orange and purple. Second, in the lower side drawer, I found a nondescript, white envelope with $17.00 inside.


     It took me a moment, but then I remembered. This used to be Barbara’s envelope. She was an

elderly woman who lived month-to-month on a meager Social Security check. Like many folks who make a marginal living, things often got tight toward the end of the month before her check would arrive. As her priest, she would approach me for help, always embarrassed, always grateful. She never asked for much… one week it would be $5.00, maybe the next, $10.00. I told her she didn’t need to pay me back, but she would not accept it unless I agreed that she could. She had her pride, and I was careful to honor it.

     But the bookkeeping! There is not a church of any stripe I know that has not had an issue with money going missing somewhere in its past. For that reason, churches tend to have pretty strict policies about dealing in cash. I would give Barbara whatever she needed, but I had to put in a form to be reimbursed from my discretionary account. When she dutifully paid me back, I had to fill out another form and make a deposit. It got to be an awful lot of paperwork. Finally, I decided just to keep a Barbara envelope with $20.00 in my desk. When Barbara needed a little help, I had the cash; when she paid me back, it went back into the Barbara envelope.

     I had not thought of Barbara in years. She traveled on to her greater reward long ago. But just for a few moments, I sat there alone in my empty office at the end of my career and thought fondly of her. And I know when I see her again, and we are surrounded by the angels in glory in that place outside of all places and in that time outside of all time, her first words to me will be, “I owe you $3.00.”

The north wind is blowing...

“But still the clever north wind was not satisfied. It spoke of towns yet to be visited, friends in need yet to be discovered, battles yet to be fought…”   — The movie Chocolat, 2000

    Most often in life, the Holy Spirit does not appear as a blinding flash of light.  Rarely does it work

like it did when Jesus barreled over the future Apostle Paul on the highway into Damascus with a flash-bang, knocked him off his donkey, struck him blind, and then gave him a new purpose in life.  No, for most of us it is just that quiet sense of a new wind blowing through our lives.  That is how the Holy Spirit is often described in Scripture... as wind.  Sometimes it is the hurricane-force winds of Pentecost, but most times, it is just the soft, gentle blowing breeze outside of Elijah’s cave.  It is a feeling hard to pin down, a yearning, a gentle nudging.

     Now, after twenty-four years journeying with you, the wind is blowing again in my life.  Decisions such as retirement are difficult, especially when you are a person like me who is even intimidated by the towering shelves of butter at my grocery store — there are just too many options.  But I do think sometimes we hesitate to make a choice because we worry too much about making the exact right one.  While there are always obviously bad choices in life, and we have been given brains and wisdom to think about the pros and cons, still, it seems more likely we have ten or more perfectly good choices branching out from any given moment.  Some choices may be better, some worse, but all are equally blessed by God.  It is my impression God may nudge us with the Spirit, but then is curious… which way will we choose?

     With my retirement this Easter, the wind is nudging me into a new phase of my life where I plan to focus on two things I love:  Playing cello and writing.  I have kept this blog since 2009, but have been terrible about updating it in the past few years.  I hope to change that now that I will have more time.  You can follow my latest scribblings here, which will certainly not all be about church stuff.

     There are no words to express my love and admiration for all of you.  You gave me a spiritual home here at Trinity over two decades ago, and we have walked together beside still waters and, at times, through troubled ones.  After a long pastorate, the Church asks priests to step away from their churches for at least a year both to give the new person a chance and to help us let go.  But I’m not leaving Reno.  As Jonathan Livingston Seagull once said, the whole point of our faith is we are overcoming time and space.  And when you do that, all that is left is here and now.  And in the middle of here and now, don’t you think we will probably run into each other once or twice?  Love each other.  Be kind.  Keep the faith.  And what blessing is mine to give, I leave with you.