Which way to fall?

I posed a question to my congregation this past week: Are you ready to fall into God's grace? This challenge was prompted by two things I have been reading lately.


First, the Revised Common Lectionary's continuous readings for this part of the season after Pentecost have us following Abraham. In reviewing the Patriarch's life it turns out that he made a lot of bad decisions with serious consequences. He decided to take Sarah up on the offer to father God's great nation through Hagar, her handmaid, and conceived Ishmael. The consequences of that decision followed Abraham and his ancestors throughout their lives, and is still with us in the Middle East conflict today. He twice traded his wife Sarah for his own safety, risking his promise for a nation and his love for Sarah on the virtue of a Pharaoh and a nomadic tribal leader, questionable decisions at the best of times. He allowed his nephew Lot, not a giant on character issues, to decide which path to take when foraging shortages were threatening their combined flocks, a decision that placed Lot in Sodom just before its judgement, threatening Lot, Abraham, and their families. These are some, though not all of Abraham's decisions.


Who bailed him out and turned the bad into good? God. About the only good decision Abraham made was to pick-up his tents, call his family to him, gather his flocks, and lead them all to where God was showing him.


Second, in conjunction with these RCL readings, I picked-up a book by the Franciscan Priest, Religious, and Scholar, Richard Rohr, Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. The premise of this book: that we need to build structures during the first half of our lives, so that we might be prepared to be what God has created us to be in the second half of our lives. The paradox of the faith journey is that it is not the successes of our building time that help us grow, but the failures. Just as God was there to bail out Abraham, God is there to bail us out too. However, we have to learn and accept this grace. So, Abraham was most successful when he was most wrong. Hence, Rohr's title, Falling Upward.


I think this way of approaching our faith lives, both individually and corporately, makes us uncomfortable here in the the good ole USA. This culture values success, and it values people and congregations who are "self-made" in their success. The problem with this way of being is that it leaves little, if any, room for God and God's grace. My church is trying is trying to rebuild. I think we need to be bold in trying new things, risking the possibility of being as incredibly wrong as Abraham, and letting God work on us through these failures. Given my choice, as anxiety laden as it may be, I choose falling, and falling upward would be fine.

Generational Narcism

Serving historic churches is a mixed blessing. The long history, the structures-physical and organizational, and the reservoir of ministries accomplished are all things that provide for the kind of inertia that save many of us from immediate irrelevance. If it were not for this institutional and spiritual inertia, inertia of a good sort in that it connects us to the historic witness and its trajectory, my 293 year old congregation might have ceased to exist independently about a decade ago. Generational Narcissism, the sense that my generation is the only one that matters, interferes with the positive aspects of standing among the great cloud of witnesses.









It was in an invitation from a local synagogue, one celebrating its 110th anniversary, that I was reminded of this obligation that may constrain but may also be a factor in giving life. At the turn of the 20th century a Jewish community of Eastern Europeans was established in my town. Coming from varied backgrounds from within their own faith, they put aside their differences in order to form a synagogue. Then, interestingly, they were aided in their effort by two local churches, one Roman Catholic and mine. The aid was structural, contributions to a building to house the congregation, and relational, a teacher to instruct these young Eastern European Jews in the Hebrew they needed for their Bar Mitzvah. To imagine a group of early teenage boys trooping to the Episcopal Church for Hebrew instruction is quite intriguing, especially in the late nineteenth century. Hearing the story bound me to its narrative. I stood no longer on my own, I stood in that line of rectors, good and bad, that led the spiritual life of this community.









I have been known for both creating change and reinforcing tradition, hard things to do. Hard poles to manage. The change that I am aiming for is not to totally redo things in this place, but to give it form in a new context which both honors the traditions and takes us into the future. My parish is on less solid ground financially than the one now tended to by Chris. So it needs updating, not upbraiding, and it needs a congregation, which when asked which traditions are really important, can tell me clearly, distinctly, and with a sense of spiritual understanding that shows not only local but universal connections as well. None of us stand alone in the Church.









The mixed part of this blessing, and one in which generational narcissism plays a major role is in the unfortunate history that is part of my parish's past. I am not talking about wrestling between Rectors and congregants. That is tough stuff but not the worst. Rather it is this institution's history with slavery as a commercial enterprise and the source of wealth for prominent members and leaders of this church as well as the source for many of its buildings. Focusing on recent history, and not connecting to our past, allows us to forget the degrading impact of this legacy, one which should firmly ground all the generations of this parish in the notion that they are not perfected but redeemed, and that with our holy deeds have come unholy ones as well. Humility, it seems, is the response that is appropriate to the views of the heights, depths, and faithfulness of the Church and its congregations.

One's Place

I have only just started a new ministry in a new parish.  The move has contained all the elements one would expect, the pain of physically uprooting with possessions and setting up house, the emotionally draining task of bidding, those you have grown to love, farewell and the process of opening to new people and a new community.  It has been a wonderful process.

The parish, I now serve is very historic.  I took a picture that I posted on facebook of the list of rectors that have served this jewel.  My name is the 35th name at the bottom of the list.  The start date of the first name is 1674.  Some of the names on the list are recognizable and known.  Others jingle no bells and stir no recognition.  There I am in their midst.  I have become part of the unfolding life of this place.

In a conversation with a colleague, one of us used the phrase "generational narcism"  the idea is that many of us function out of our own limited, time-bound and experiential identity.  It is difficult to do anything else.  This is not an attempt to stereotype, but to recognize that members of particular generations often share particular nuances and perspectives, peculiar to the particular group.  I know there are a thousand exceptions to this, but there is ring of truth in it.  Certain generations are dominated by particular, governing, philosophical assumptions.  Other generations might have new and different ways of thinking, different assumptions and new questions.

Here is the rub.  The Church is home to individuals across generational designations, and with the designations come ways of thinking, being and doing.  How does the Church stay on-course as the upside-down vessel,  granting passage to all of us?

Today is the Visitation.  Mary arrived to see her cousin Elizabeth and breaks into Magnificat.  "His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation."  Mary's vocation was not intended for a particular time.  Jesus ministry was not meant for a particular people, but all people.

As people of faith, how do we accept what has been given us,  seek to understand the profundity thereof and do an interpretive piece?  We are under some obligation to proclaim what is at the heart of the Christian religion.  To do that, I think we have to know it.  Knowing it means grappling with it, not merely jettisoning the pieces we don't really understand or worse,  don't like.  I think we have to mine the tradition for what is at the core, and communicate the core in ways that have resonance for the present.

At our 7:30 am eucharist, I told the small congregation that any innovation in the liturgy would be a result of ignorance, not intent.  I want to get to know this congregation, and I want them to get to know me.  I am not worried about making my mark, but developing a relationship.  That takes time.  The work we do in the Church isn't exactly our own.  We are beholden to those who have come before us and our time.  We know there will be those who come after us and our time.

I am but one member of a generation and the generations run...