Paradox of Morality

Figuring out morality from a Christian perspective sometimes feels like an exercise in paradox. Not so much how to be good; that's fairly straightforward in theory, if not always in practice – love God and your neighbor; do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God; etc. Of course it can be a challenge to figure out what it means to love your neighbor in particular circumstances, let alone when you have more than one neighbor and their needs seem to be in conflict. But that's not what I'm concerned with here. Instead I'm concerned with why we try.

I do think we should try, but I find that I can run myself in circles trying to explain why. I don't think it's about avoiding punishment, trying not to go to hell, that sort of thing. That's commonly given as an explanation for Christian morality, and often levied as criticism of the Church – that it tries to manipulate people's behavior by threatening them with eternal punishment. But I don't think that's the case. I think that salvation, defined as reconciliation with God and promise of being part of the new creation, has already been accomplished for everyone through Jesus, and the only way to lose it is to refuse it constantly forever and ever.

So I don't think moral behavior is about trying to avoid divine punishment at all. Some of it might be about avoiding punishment in the here and now, by legal enforcement or social sanctions, but that only scratches the surface of the full depth of a well-lived life. I've been reading a good bit of N.T. Wright's work lately, and I find meaning in his presentation of the idea that we're called to build for God's kingdom, even as we live in the old creation. I especially like the idea that no good work will be wasted, all goodness begun here will be affirmed and find its full meaning in the new creation. And I also like his explanation that yes, we'll be rewarded for our good works, but that the reward will consist of something more like satisfaction and increased ability to perform and enjoy the work of the new creation – more like the reward of practicing a skill than of earning a wage.

The difficulty I have with that description is that it doesn't seem to do a lot for discipline, at least to me. It's wonderful to think that doing good is making a permanent contribution to God's kingdom, as well as helping out in the here and now. But that alone doesn't make it particularly clear why I should try to be more good than I feel like being at any given time. Why I should be attentive to others even when I'm tired, why I should work to keep and open mind and heart about whether the way I live is in accordance with God's will, why I should fight the temptation to brag or gossip or manipulate – especially if I can get away with it.

Yet I do think that I should do all of the above, and that when I don't, that's a failing I should repent of and ask God for strength to overcome. And even though I fail quite often, I think it's really important that I keep trying. But not because I think I'll go to hell if I don't, or that I'll be punished in any other way (natural consequences aside). I sometimes laugh at my struggles of trying to figure out if this or that behavior is okay or not, given these or those circumstances – and I laugh because part of my mind asks “according to who?” I find myself really truly not thinking of it in terms of avoiding punishment but still really truly being very concerned with what God wants – even though there's a large sense in which I don't think it'll affect my happiness at all.

And of course that's not quite true – if I didn't think it would affect my happiness somehow, I imagine I wouldn't care. Some sense of what we call happiness I think is just an internal motivation scale. I guess what I mean is that I don't think that happiness will be externally given to or taken from me based on my actions (again, natural consequences aside). The reason it still matters very much what I do and how I behave, even though I won't be punished for my failings, is that it's not about me. It's about God and God's kingdom and living out God's goodness. Serving God is in fact an end in itself – not serving God in order to be saved, to avoid going to hell, to have high standing in the new creation – but because God is God and is our very reason for existing and our only true life and fulfillment.   

Liturgy

This past Sunday I went to church with a friend. It was a mainline Protestant church, and I learned two things from the experience: that liturgy is very important to me, and that I have to be careful not to mistake the way I like to do things for the way things must be done.

The church was overall very nice. People were friendly and welcoming, the music was lovely, we sang all the verses of the hymns, and the pastor seemed to be a genuinely caring person. We had a call to worship, sang a hymn, had an Old Testament and a Gospel reading, listened to a sermon, shared prayers, said the Lord's Prayer; heard an anthem during the offertory, sang the Doxology and another hymn, and had a benediction. It reminded me a lot of the church services I had as a kid growing up in the Presbyterian church. It was a very nice service undoubtedly focused on worshiping God.

And yet there was so much that I missed: crossing myself at various points in worship; sitting, standing, and kneeling at different times; blessing God's kingdom now and forever; praying the various collects; responding “Thanks be to God” at the readings; singing a Psalm; hearing an Epistle reading; singing a gradual hymn; standing for the Gospel reading; crossing my mind, lips, and heart for the Gospel reading; following the structure of the Prayers of the People; being blessed in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. And, of course, the Eucharist (which the church I visited does have, just not every week). I missed the prayer of confession and the peace, the Great Thanksgiving, the Sanctus, proclaiming the mystery of faith, and of course actually receiving Communion and sharing the common cup.

I think there are three parts to my feeling of unrest from that worship service and my sense that things were missing. The first is the sense of doing something. All the “Episcopal aerobics” and responses and motions help me to focus on what's going on and feel like an active participant. There's a reason why liturgy is “the work of the people.” For me, that active role is what makes me feel like I'm worshiping.

The second reason has to do with a combination of tradition and theology. Not that the theology is actually hugely different. I've talked theology a lot with the friend whose church I visited, and we're largely on the same page. It was more a matter of emphasis during the worship. Starting the service by blessing the Triune God and proclaiming His kingdom seems to me to orient worship on the very essence of Christianity. Having the blessing in the name of the Trinity again affirms that central faith in who God is. Hearing an Old Testament, Psalm, Epistle, and Gospel reading according to a lectionary assures that you'll hear just about all the Bible over several years (and I think the church I visited does use a lectionary, though maybe not as strictly as mine does, and with only two readings, at least this past Sunday). And the language of the prayer book both ties in to all that theology and also in its beauty points to the wonder and mystery and majesty of God. Of course there's also something to be said for the language of worship to be understandable, not so far removed from the everyday language of the people as to lose meaning. Services in Latin are not for me. And I even prefer Rite II to Rite I. But for me the structure of the prayer book liturgy provides a richness of meaning, that these same words are used over and over and sort of gather the meaning of common worship spanning time and place.

Finally, I find that liturgical worship, and the Eucharist in particular, gives me a sense of community with the people I'm worshiping with. The peace allows me a chance to greet everyone around me, and I find it especially meaningful to do so by sharing Christ's peace. Getting up for Communion and participating in all the little bits of cooperation that make it happen smoothly binds us together, not all at once, but by doing so Sunday after Sunday, year in and year out. And of course the actual sharing of Christ's Body and Blood, in whatever mysterious way that happens – being “made one with God's people in heaven and on earth.” And of course this is true for the church I visited as well; we are all one Body in Christ, my church and that church and all other churches. The difference, I think, is one of emphasis. Even the sitting and standing and kneeling and crossing and responding is part of the sense of community for me, in that we're all doing this liturgical work together.

So I have good reasons to love liturgy and to love my church, but it's important that I don't let those get in the way of loving God and loving my neighbor. And I have the sense that if I'm not careful and intentional in my thinking, I could slide down that path. It's easy for me to forget that some of the things I consider to be important traditions of the Episcopal church, like celebrating the Eucharist every Sunday, are actually only slightly older than I am. I know I'm at risk for being one of the grumblers whenever the prayer book next gets revised.

But I need to keep in mind that the way I like to worship isn't the only way to worship. Liturgy works very well for me, and there's certainly nothing wrong with it, but God wants justice and mercy more than particular kinds of prayers, and worship without love is just noise, no matter how traditional it may be. It's an odd sort of tension, because I really do believe that liturgical worship helps me connect to God like nothing else does, and that it really is important and worthwhile for that reason, and the conversations and discernments we have within the church about how to worship aren't just idle chatter about ornamentation. And yet, I'm also sure that God is also well-pleased with my friend's church and with churches that use worship styles that I find almost painful (TV screens and praise bands come to mind). Even if it's not the way I worship, it still has value if it brings people closer to God and to one another, so it's important for me to keep an open heart and resist my urge to judge.

And some of that comes easily. I can say wholeheartedly that a powerpoint-and-praise-band church with true community and commitment is better than a liturgical church where no one is challenged or changed. The trouble is that I want to continue by saying that a liturgical church with love and justice and mercy is best of all, when really what it is is that's best for me. I won't say that I don't think God cares about our worship – I think He cares very much. But I think there are many different varieties of faithful expression depending on a community's history and circumstances, so that my natural sense of liturgy as being “the right way” is unfounded.

God of faithfulness and abundance, help me to balance my love of a particular community and tradition with a radical welcome for all Your people in their diversity of experiences and expressions, that together we may reflect your unending goodness in all its variety. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

Excitement and Calm

A few weeks ago I read N.T. Wright's book “Surprised by Hope.” It was a really wonderful book about the Christian view on life after death and what that means to us in the here and now. The book was full of new insights for me even though the basic premise was exactly what I'd been taught at my church from the beginning. While I was reading it, and for several days after, I felt really excited about the kingdom of God. I prayed more often, and I had a really strong desire to do something to build up God's kingdom right now. But as is usual for me, this excitement was in some ways short-lived. I still had a thesis to finish revising, I still had my job hunt, my Christmas baking, my connections to family and friends (yes, and church) to maintain, plans to carry out, etc. I simply didn't, and maybe couldn't, maintain the level of excitement I'd felt before. But I think I learned a few things from it.

One is that good theological reading is very helpful to my spirituality. I read during most meals, and reading about God means I'm thinking about God and more likely to pray and to be more conscious about loving my neighbor and working for God's kingdom and giving thanks and caring for creation. Sunday worship and adult formation and youth leadership have this effect also, but books have the advantage of being right there and requiring no additional planning once they're present. There is, of course, the risk of getting too much into reading and thinking to the exclusion of serving and doing, but I found that the reading tended to support a sense of mission for me.

The second thing is that prayer is important, and I ought to try to be better at it. There's so much in the world that I can't directly change, where prayer is about the only thing I can do, so it seems like I ought to at least do that. But even more important is simply being in relationship with God – I think that's what Paul really meant by “pray without ceasing.” I'm still working out how to do that when I'm involved in a task that requires my full concentration, but I did have a few moments where it seemed like I was both working on my thesis and communing with God. I think a lot of it is to keep turning my attention back to God whenever I remember / He reminds me.

The last, and maybe biggest, thing is that having my level of excitement drop isn't the end of the world. It's great to be inspired and to learn new things and to have hope renewed, but just like in a romantic relationship, one can't be super-excited all the time. Eventually you need some of that energy for sticking with the day-to-day of working and playing and learning and loving. God isn't less present just because my neurons are firing at a slower rate or I'm not as flooded with dopamine. And good work still gets done and life still has joy within its routines. There seems to be an oscillation between intense excitement and calm work. Much like the liturgical calendar – the white seasons of Easter and Christmas compared to the green seasons after Pentecost and Epiphany. Add in the purple seasons of Lent and Advent for humble discernment...maybe the church knows a thing or two ;-) It's true that the excitement of new ideas (or joyful music, or enthusiastic youth) gives me a boost in my practice of being aware of God's presence, but it's also true that the effort of trying to practice my faith when the excitement has faded has value of its own.

Dealing With Disagreement

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but a lot of my friends have a really negative impression of Christianity. And in some ways, I can't blame them. A lot of people have their main exposure to the church as an institution that insists on unthinking obedience, subjugates women, advocates destroying the environment, tries to dictate which consenting adults can have sex, manipulates people into giving them money, supports unrestrained capitalism, and expresses glee at the thought of everyone who's not in their group being tortured forever. I would want nothing to do with such an organization either. And of course I don't think the church is really mostly like that, though I am aware that those voices are loud. And I think the thing to do in response is be loud and not obnoxious – to do our best to live the Gospel and be open about our faith and to take opportunities to show what we think the church is about without getting in people's face about it and just annoying them. That's not what I want to talk about right now.

Instead, I'm trying to figure out what I as a Christian am supposed to do with other Christians who seem to be opposed to everything I think the Gospel is about. My immediate impulses are pretty straightforward: I want to disown them, to deny that they are Christians at all, and to try to take back the name for what I believe in. But I'm pretty sure I can't do that. The whole Body of Christ idea seems to eliminate that option. The hand can't say to the ear “I have no need of you!” (Or whatever body parts are in the actual verse; I didn't feel like looking it up). This is particularly infuriating when it seems like others are doing exactly that to marginalized groups. It drives me up the wall that there are members of the church who want to limit the participation of LGBT people or who think it's okay to refuse to minister to illegal immigrants, but I'm not allowed to respond by pushing back in the same way.

Which makes it sometimes unclear how one should respond, because even though it's not okay to divide the Body of Christ, it's also not okay to go along with injustice in order to avoid making waves. So speaking out is necessary. And sometimes there is mutual respect along with the disagreement. There are people who are pro-life who don't advocate bombing abortion facilities or lying to pregnant women and instead put their energy and resources into truly helping parents whose lives are complicated by an unplanned pregnancy. There are people who truly struggle with what God's will is for LGBT people, who have gay friends and who just can't claim that homosexual behavior is okay while remaining true to their conscience but are deeply pained by this. I don't agree with these people, but I respect them and I trust them to be people of goodwill. They're not the ones I'm worried about.

I'm worried about the ones who do bomb abortion clinics, risking the killing of doctors and staff (and mothers and fetuses). I'm worried about the ones who celebrate when gay youth are bullied or commit suicide in despair. I'm worried about the ones who claim that “a free thinker is Satan's slave” and help to drive my friends further away from what I still see as the deepest connection to the source of all life and joy. So I don't think it works to just say that some people think differently and that's fine, not when that leads to real harm to real people.

So somehow, I've got to stand up for what I believe the Gospel is about, without denying the humanity of those I believe to be seriously misguided. I don't think that means I can't oppose them in the temporal sphere. I think it's justifiable to say, (even if only in my head), “I recognize you as a precious child of God. I will take Communion with you. I will pray for you. If you are in need, I will try to help you. But I also believe that your attitude towards (LGBT people/illegal immigrants/the environment/etc) is wrong, and my conscience requires me to oppose you in that area. I'm willing to share my beliefs and listen to yours, and I hope that we can eventually be reconciled.”

Sounds all nice and rational, but hard as heck to do, even just inside my own head! Part of the trouble is that I often don't want to be calm – I want to be angry, and I feel like I should be angry because of what I see happening. And I don't think that anger is always wrong. Jesus certainly seemed angry when he cleansed the Temple and overturned the tables of the moneychangers. Maybe sometimes anger is useful to shake up people who need to be shaken up in order to see the truth of a situation. On the other hand, acting in anger also seems to run more risk of hurting people, and Jesus had a whole lot more wisdom that I have – I don't know that I can trust myself to choose appropriately when to use anger as a tool.

So instead it's a matter of walking the tightrope – trying to align myself with justice and with what I understand the Gospel to be, including opposing other people if necessary, but resisting the tempatation to dehumanize (or dechristianize?) them – in the words of C.S. Lewis trying “not to hate, not to despise, above all not to enjoy hating and despising.” Lord, have mercy.

Blessings

This past Sunday was St. Francis Day, and my church, like many others, celebrating by holding a blessing of the animals. My cats were blessed when they were kittens, and they don't like being among the crowd of people and (especially!) dogs, so I don't take them anymore. Instead, I followed the lead of a former deacon of the church by bringing in an animal from nature: they brought an almond bug; I brought a tree frog.

I like to think of bringing those wild animals in to be blessed, and then releasing them into the wild to carry their blessings to the rest of nature. A friend of mine liked the idea, but also commented that they'd always thought of nature as having its own connection to God, so that such blessings wouldn't be necessary. I don't disagree with the idea that the plants and animals have their own connections to God, but the comment got me wondering about what it is we're really doing when we bless something or someone.

The first thing I think needs to be clear is that blessing isn't the same as consecrating. To consecrate something is to set it aside for sacred use, like the bread and wine at communion, or the water for baptism, or the sanctuary of a church. Anything that's consecrated has to be used for sacred purposes or disposed of reverently (i.e. by eating the bread, drinking the wine/water or pouring it onto the ground, or de-consecrating it if it's a church building that will no longer be used for worship). But we bless stuff all the time that isn't for sacred use. Like many members of my church, I had my house blessed shortly after my husband and I moved in. My cats have been blessed, we bless the food when we say grace, and the priest pronounces a blessing on the congregation at the end of the worship service. None of these make the people, places, or things sacred in the way that consecration does. (So what about consecrating a bishop then? Surely they're only being consecrated in their role as a member of the clergy, not in their entire life – everyone has to deal with the practical as well as the sacred.)

The other thing is that blessing isn't magical. I don't think whether or not your dinner has been blessed is going to affect its nutritional properties. The fact that my house has been blessed doesn't mean it can't burn down, and the blessing at the end of Sunday worship doesn't keep bad stuff from happening to everyone all week. But it is meaningful. Any future homes and pets will also be blessed, and I would miss the blessing on Sunday if we didn't have it as part of the liturgy. (I do, however, tend to be sadly remiss about blessing food. Maybe something to take on during Lent...)

So why is it meaningful? I find myself drawn to the language used to describe the sacraments – the “outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.” Blessing something isn't a sacrament, but it still has a sort of special significance. In general, it wouldn't be as meaningful for someone to just say, “I hope your cat has a long and happy life,” or even “I hope God gives your cat a long and happy life,” though I can imagine a kind of person who could use just those words and still be pronouncing a blessing. And maybe that can give some hint about where the meaning comes from. This person I'm imagining is someone who would be so connected to God that it would be evident even when they're just doing normal stuff, so that if they're wishing your cat well, of course God is brought into it, because God is brought into everything they do. And different people I've met or known have been like that at different times. But most of us need more intentionality to connect to God in that way, and the specific words and gestures help form that intention. I guess the hope is that we'll all eventually reach a point where that's not needed, where being deeply connected to God is the norm - “the earth as full of the knowledge of the Lord as the seas are full of water” - but I'm a long way from that point, so I need my rites and liturgy and beautiful language.

So blessing seems to have something to do with intentionally recognizing a connection between God and that which is being blessed. Of course the connection exists no matter what, because God is God and is present in all His creation. So that means it doesn't create anything that isn't already there, except within our minds. (Which does not make it real or unimportant – so much of what we do is in our minds!) But it does make me think that if someone was interacting with something that had been blessed, but didn't know it had been blessed, that the blessing wouldn't matter to that person's experience. (Though I will accept that praying for someone can be beneficial to them even if they don't know they're being prayed for, so I'm not sure about this). My thought is that blessing something or being present when it is blessed reminds us that it's part of God's creation, that it's meant to be used/treated in accordance with God's will, and that it's a good gift from God for which joy and gratitude are appropriate responses. And we use the language and gestures of blessing instead of just saying “Hey, remember that this is God's” because in many cases the beauty and specialness speak to us in a way beyond just the words and seem to allow the reality of God's care to penetrate more deeply into our hearts. (That said, there are times, I think, when informal language is appropriate: the informal and occasionally somewhat humorous mealtime prayers among friends and family cement our bonds in other ways that are equally part of our life with God). After the blessing itself is over to remember it or to be told that something is blessed allows us to reconnect with that reality that both this particular thing and all the world belong to God, to His glory and our joy.

Painting

Yesterday I worked with some of the youth of my church to paint their classroom. Our youth program is really great, and one of the great things is that we let each cohort of youth decide how they want to paint their room. The idea is that this allows them to make the space theirs, to have a place that they want to come to because they see themselves in it. This also means that the room now has two black walls with multicolored splatter paint and two lime green walls with handprints and names. It's pretty awesome. I was thrilled at the amount of enthusiasm and participation we had and at the way the kids are already bonding through “war paint” on faces, paint in hair, and paint coating arms up to the elbow.

But the truth was, I was pretty nervous when I left the house yesterday morning. Nervous about not having ladders, nervous about whether the kids would get along, nervous about whether the parents would be satisfied with our supervision and scheduling and everything, nervous about a nagging anxiety in the back of my mind that turned out to be the fact that oh yeah, I don't have a key and the church is locked on Saturday morning.

I've written about this before, but what I've finally learned to do, though I still have to re-derive it every time, is turn my nervousness over to God – tell God flat-out that I want to do a good job but I think I might be in over my head, and I'm going to need Him to take what I have and make it enough. It doesn't make the nervousness completely go away, but it helps. The last time I wrote about this, I then spent most of the day sort of checking in with God every now and then. This time I talked to God and then dove in and was busy all day. I didn't think about God again until we said grace at lunchtime. But He was there: in the graciousness of the parishioner who unlocked the church for us, in the amazing leadership skill of my co-leader, in the joy and enthusiasm and efficiency of the kids, in the effectiveness of the paint remover fluid on the floors and walls, and in the excitement of the youth and appreciation of the parents as they showed off their work. It was a good day.

Love Wins

 I recently read “Love Wins” by Rob Bell. I thought it was pretty good and not really all that heretical. (Though I still don't know if the person who said it was heretical was being serious or not.) The basic idea of the book is the question of heaven and hell and of how they inform and are informed by our ideas about God. I'm going to explore some of the points he brought up, in whatever order I feel like.

The biggest idea is that ultimately, we get what we want. God's forgiveness is such that nothing we've done in our past needs to keep us from entering into joy. If we want to live into God's kingdom, He's not going to stop us (and I would argue quite the opposite). Likewise, if we want to be cruel and prideful and separate from God, He will allow us to make that choice. At least sort of, and this is one of the places where it gets complicated, because the claims are made both that God will let you go off your own way if you want to and that God will try every trick, so to speak, to get you to repent and return to Him. And I believe that both of these are true, and I also see them as possibly in conflict. How is God supposed to keep trying to get you to come back if He's also leaving you alone when you want left alone? The best I can figure is that God is aware of and responds to all our mixed desires, so maybe at the same time, a person's conscious thoughts can be saying “leave me alone” while the silent cry of their heart is “please rescue me,” and surely God is able to know about both of those and to act o that information. This is why I lean very strongly towards universalism. I have trouble imagining that anyone really truly wants to be alone in the dark.

At the same time, I do think that saying we get what we want might be an oversimplification. If what I want is specifically to dominate and exploit other people, I'm not ultimately going to be allowed to do that. I'm perfectly free to be the kind of person that would dominate and exploit other people, given the chance, but in the end, I think the chance to do that kind of thing won't be available. Bell sort of got at that idea too, with a description of how someone like that might be allowed into heaven but not allowed to do any of the cruel things they might want to do, so for them it would be a place of frustration and anger, even though it would be only their own twisted desires making it so (and presumably, help in overcoming those desires would be available through God's grace). That goes along with a sort of “natural consequences” idea I've heard from a friend. We've talked several times about the parable of the sheep and the goats, and they see it as maybe not so much Jesus saying “You go here; you go there,” but more of people sorting themselves out by the kind of people they've become through the way they've chosen to live; that the sheep-y place would seem best to the sheep-y people and the goat-y place would seem best to the goat-y people. And that makes some amount of sense to me, though it still seems to carry a sense of finality I'm not sure about; can a goat notice that this isn't such a great place and try to change things? Does God still hang out in goat-town to show the way home?

Part of my concern is that if it's up to me to make sure I'm not damned, I figure I'm pretty screwed. I don't think I'm a horrible person, but I don't trust myself to make the right choices even when I try to, let alone the times when I just don't try. If my ultimate fate depends on my being good enough, clever enough, compassionate enough, honest enough, or selfless enough, I'm in trouble. Any hope I have comes from believing that God will be there to catch me. This puts me in a strange position of believing both that our decisions don't determine our ultimate fate and that our decisions matter enormously, both to us and to the world. The sense I have is that, even though I think I'll ultimately be saved, I also expect that I'll be called to account for my choices, and I am definitely apprehensive about that. I've made enough mistakes that I don't think it'll be pleasant, but it's more like a dread of having a long walk in freezing rain to get home than of being thrown into a lake of fire. You don't enjoy it while it's going on, and when the wind chills you to the bone you might regret not wearing a warmer jacket, but you know it will end and you just have to endure.

Ownership

Given the political fights going on right now, it's probably not too surprising that I've been thinking a lot about economics lately. There are debates about whether socialism is more Christian than capitalism, over who should pay how much in taxes and who should get how much in government services, over whether people should have to give up money they've earned to support the common good. I have opinions on all of that, but in trying to articulate where I stand, I've wound up going back to a much more basic problem: our entire concept of ownership is on shaky ground.

For concrete marketplace transactions, the idea of ownership seems pretty simple. You own the clothes you're wearing because you exchanged money for them, or because someone else did so on your behalf, or else someone who had what society understands to be a legitimate claim on them transferred that claim to you, freely or in exchange for a different claim. (This is already more complicated than I anticipated). The difficulty as I see it, comes when we look a bit deeper than that. Anything tangible that you own comes from the earth, whether as nonliving materials, living organisms, or land itself. Obviously, none of us made the earth or have the capacity to do so. So where do the grounds for claiming ownership of anything come from? Of course this thinking isn't new to me – there have been societies where the concept of land ownership didn't exist, but I still want to explore it in more detail. Even leaving land aside, what grounds can someone have for saying that they own natural resources? All I can see is the claim of having gotten there first, and that doesn't seem like much of a claim, especially when we're talking about claiming more than a person can use at one moment.

For example, let's imagine that there are only two people plopped down into a newly created world. Their territory is what they can explore on foot. Suppose one of them comes across some berry bushes in his wanderings, bushes that neither of the people knew about before. Would it be fair for him to claim that all the berries belong to him since he found them first? It seems to me that the other person could argue that he has just as much right to the berries and that they belong equally to both of them because neither of them made anything here – they're both just finding stuff and making use of it.

Adding more people doesn't seem to change the situation. If there are eight people instead of just two, it still seems like the berries belong equally to everyone. And there's no reason it seems that it would be different with a nonliving resource like oil. Actually, I take that back – it is different because then you have the question of mining and its effects. Maybe half the people in our society of eight want the oil – and are prepared to share it eight ways – and are interested in drilling a well to get it. But the other half find more value in the landscape as it is and don't want the changes that drilling for oil would bring to it, and are prepared to forgo the oil – but they only get the benefit of forgoing it – that is, the unchanged environment – if everyone does so. Is it right for some people to prevent others from gaining access to a resource because they don't want to change the landscape? On the other hand, is it right for some people to force change in the landscape to get a resource that not everyone wants a share in? I have my own leanings, but it seems to me that there's no clear logical answer here. In either case, some people get what they want from a system they didn't make, and some don't, and there's no way to do both.

So where does God come into this? Not to steal is one of the Ten Commandments, so that indicates some sense of ownership as reasonable – or at least just as necessary to the ancient Hebrews as it is to us. But at the same time, the Old Testament also talks about forgiving debts every 50 years and returning land to its original owners. This seems to indicate a desire not to let inequality grow too much; wealth can't be amassed indefinitely, and there's a limit to how much later generations will suffer for their ancestor's bad luck or poor decisions. There's also talk of being compassionate with those who are in your debt – not keeping their only cloak as collateral during the night when they need it. It seems to indicate that ownership is fine as a practical construct, a way of deciding who gets to make the final decision in case of conflict, but also seems to show that it's not to be taken too far.

In the Gospels, of course, but also in the prophets and elsewhere in the Old Testament, there's talk about caring for the poor and making sure everyone's needs are met, doing justice for the widow and the orphan. If widows and orphans at that time were people with no legal standing, who had to rely on common decency to get by, I wonder who are today's “widows and orphans.” People who come, perhaps illegally, to do hard seasonal work in the fields? People whose family structures don't fit into our system of social convention, so they have no help or sympathy if those they've joined their lives with fall on hard times? People who earn too much to qualify for food stamps but not enough to afford more education to change their position?

Ownership in some sense means power – power to control the fate of that which you own, and power to exchange that control for other forms of control. But try as I might, I can't find grounds for one person having more control that another, nor can I imagine how to create a system that can't be abused to one's own advantage. The only thing for it is to love our neighbors.

Grand Adventure?

My natural inclination is to see life as a grand adventure. This doesn't mean I don't have responsibilities. Of course I do. If I had kids, I'd have even more responsibilities, but as it is, I still think I have a responsibility to seek God's will for me, to love my neighbor, and to care for God's creation. So it's not an adventure in the sense that it doesn't matter what I do. It's an adventure in that life is filled with uncertainty and that's okay.

When I was a kid, I thought that soon after adulthood I'd have it all figured out, that I'd get a job and stay in the same career forever, that I'd settle down somewhere and have the same group of friends and acquaintances forever more, and that I would know how to handle everything that came my way. My imaginings were fairly devoid of emotion, and in fact I wondered how adulthood would manage to avoid being boring. Since then, I've changed careers twice and have yet to really get established in one (though I'm hoping third career is the charm!) and my life has been full of fascinating people drifting in and out depending on where their own paths take them. I certainly don't know how to handle everything, and I've found myself in situations I never imagined as a child – but I'm starting to feel that with God's help, I can handle things.

I sometimes find myself wondering if there's a fine line between faith and fatalism and which side of that line I might be on. I've been on anti-anxiety meds for a while, and I'm a really different (and dysfunctional) person when I'm off of them, but in the seven or so years I've been on them, and especially in the past three or so, and most strongly in the past year, I've developed an odd sense of detachment. It doesn't necessarily kick in when I'm in the thick of a situation, but when I'm thinking about my future, I feel what might seem like an alarming lack of anxiety. I'm still job-hunting, I don't know what my prospects are like, and I don't know what I'll wind up doing. I don't know which people will stay in my life over the years, I don't know if I'll remain healthy, I don't know what climate change is going to do to the planet.

I'm not indifferent to those things. I hope that we won't see the worst global warming scenarios come true. I certainly would rather be healthy than not, and I hope to keep my close friends. I would prefer to end up in work that's interesting and contributes to society and allows for a comfortable work-life balance. But there are two factors that keep me from worrying a lot: one is that I can't control most of these things. I can do my part, but life is going to do what it's going to do. For any situation, I think it's a personal choice how much to seek to control and mitigate and how much to just let things happen and hope for the best. Somewhat oddly, the second factor is that there's a lot I can control. I can't control exactly what happens to me, but if I'm not happy, I can change something. I don't have to stay in a job I hate; I can look for another job or move into a smaller place and scale back financially. If I experience a major setback, I can still stay connected to my friends and the church and find much that's fulfilling in life.

It's at this point where I start to worry about being callous or unsympathetic or insensitive. One reason is that I'm very fortunate. I have enough material and psychological and social resources to cushion the blows of anything really hard that happens to me. Not everyone has that, and it's a heck of a lot easier to say you're confident that things will turn out okay when you're not living on the edge. As a society, I think we need to be working on pulling people back from that edge. It's not right that there are people stuck in jobs that make them miserable because they're desperate to feed their kids or keep their health insurance. And I think it's a fallacy to say that someone just has to do the miserable jobs. We can develop technology to improve them, we can adjust working conditions and benefits so that they're not miserable but are actually decent jobs, we can insist that all workers be treated as human beings and not just as economic resources. God didn't intend for anyone to be exploited for the benefit of those with more power.

I can also come across as generally out of touch here because it still might sound like I don't care what happens in my life. I care very much. I have a lot of emotions. And it's more likely than not that I'll face some very painful things over the course of my life just because that seems to be the nature of life. I've been lucky so far. But I do maintain that being joyful and confident now isn't going to make bad things happen. There's a part of my mind that seems to think I owe it to the seriousness of life's problems to not be too relaxed, to be waiting for the other shoe to drop, and that not doing so means being in denial or being insensitive or tempting fate. But I don't think God actually looks around and says “Oh, that person doesn't have enough anxiety; better do something to them!” And I do kind of feel that whatever happens in my life, God will be present and that His presence will make enough difference, not to keep painful things from happening, but to keep them from destroying me.

But then what to do with the fact that people are destroyed? Hunger and war and sickness and loss and abuse do in fact grind people into despair. I can only hold on to the hope that God carries them through those terrible things to the other side, to a state of peace and joy. And in my own case as well, by not being destroyed, I don't mean avoiding death – of course I'm going to die someday. And I don't mean avoiding loss of home or health or loved ones or freedom or sanity. Rather I mean a belief that God will see me through, either to His good will for me in this life, or to healing and love in the next.

God and Nature

The major idea in the sermon yesterday was that of finding God in the beauty of the world – that beauty is of God and that we should take time to notice it. I find this idea both very appealing and kind of dangerous.

The dangerous comes in mostly in how we then perceive other people. And it was mentioned that we're not talking here about what I think of as the cosmetic industry's idea of beauty. But we still have to be careful with that beauty-is-of-God idea when it comes to our fellow human beings. Just by chance, some people will be born with more symmetrical features than others. Some will be healthier or go through life with fewer scarring injuries. Some will more closely match the prevailing standards of beauty for body shape and size. And we all know it's ridiculous to say that if someone is more beautiful, that means they're closer to God. There have been some very homely saints, and there are people who are gorgeous but also self-centered or cruel. With humans, I think all we can say is that beauty is one kind of gift from God. Like musical talent or health or intelligence, it's good as part of God's creation, and it's nice to have or to appreciate in others, but it can be used for good or evil purposes and its presence or absence is not evidence of one's degree of righteousness.

That said, I still do think there's something in this idea that beauty is of God. I definitely see God in the beauty of the natural world. In flowers and trees, of course, and in mountains and seas and butterflies and songbirds. But also in bracket fungi and slime molds, in mice and snakes, in spiderwebs and weeds. I find nature to be incredibly beautiful both in its visual patterns of color and shape and in its complexity and interconnectedness, and I'm filled with wonder at the fullness of God's world.

Even so, I struggle with what that means when the natural world is also often so violent. The webs that shimmer so beautifully with tiny droplets after a storm are death traps for insects, built so that the spider can paralyze its prey and later liquefy it from the inside out. The smooth curves of a hawk's beak and talons have that shape in order to grab and tear apart unsuspecting rodents. And again, I feel wonder at how well these creatures are adapted for their environments and for their roles as predators, but I also question where God is in the harshness of nature, in the way so many life-forms have to get their energy and structural materials by taking them from other living things, in the way even those that aren't predators or parasites are still competitors both with other species and with members of their own. In general, you're not going to learn compassion for the weak or love for your enemy by looking at nature.

I don't know what this means. At least one of the stories in Genesis seems to indicate a fully harmonious world before the fall, in which even the tigers were vegetarians. It's not stated outright that predation was a result of the fall, but I've seen interpretations in that direction – that the fall was when death entered the world for all living things, not just for humans. If you accept evolution, however, that's impossible to take literally – dinosaurs were killing and dying long before humans showed up.

One way to deal with this is to take almost a science fiction parallel universe idea of the fall. It's an idea that sounds kind of nuts, but one way that helps me make sense of both the truth I feel in the stories and the reality I see around me. So maybe sometime in a two-dimensional, sort of loop-like sense of time, there was something like a garden of Eden, and there was something much more like the fall as a single choice with echoing consequences. And maybe those echoes rippled backwards in time in addition to forwards, so that that harmonious creation was disrupted to the point of never having existed, and so we get evolution instead, and all the trouble of having brains in beta as our mark of original sin. The advantage of this interpretation is that it speaks to that idea of the whole creation as being redeemed in Christ, and that it gives some explanation to the harshness of the natural world. The disadvantage is that it really does sound like something out of a sci-fi story, and that I completely made it up.

Another possibility is that for most things, death isn't as bad as it is for humans because of the lack of self-awareness. I'm pretty confident that my life has more value to me than the life of a deer has to it. I probably care more about the survival of longleaf pine as a species than the longleaf pine does. And so the fact that there are wasps that lay their eggs in living caterpillars so the wasp larvae can eat the caterpillar from the inside out isn't as horrible as it sounds. (Though the fact that there are parasites that do awful things to humans who do suffer and who do mind dying is still an issue).

But even then, some animals do seem to have some capacity for suffering – certainly enough that most of us find it morally wrong to inflict that suffering on them unnecessarily. And I'm not sure how far chimps are from us in terms of self-awareness, though I don't think they have the nearly lifelong awareness of their mortality that we have to deal with. So it seems like self-awareness exists on some sort of a continuum rather than being a black-and-white issue. And maybe that continues past humans. After all, for us humans, much of our mind is unconscious and inaccessible. It's part of us, but we can't fully know it. I have trouble imagining that God doesn't fully know God's self. How else could He be entirely trustworthy, as Scripture and Tradition tell us over and over that He is?

I'm afraid I've ended with more questions than answers again. I find wonder and beauty in nature that speak of me of God, but I also find that much of life has to destroy or outcompete other life in order to survive, and I don't know why a God that's full of love for everything He's made would create a world that way. Maybe someday we'll know.

Being the church?

I wasn't at church last week – I was in mountains and bogs instead. While I don't think it's a sin for me to miss church occasionally to do something else that has value, I definitely do notice the difference when I come back. Worshiping in community definitely helps me to feel more on track in my connection with God. I guess that's why Christians have been doing it for 2000 year (following in the tradition of the Jews, who also had communal worship).

Today was especially wonderful because it was my first day meeting some of the kids and parents I'll be working with as a youth leader. I won't be able to say very much about that ministry because I think it's important to respect the kids' privacy. Not just to keep them anonymous for safety's sake, but also to honor the sacredness of their individual and very personal self-expressions and explorations. So I won't be telling stories here about what this or that kid did, even without names. What I will say right now is that it's a really good-natured group of kids and that I feel privileged to get to work with them. I hope to be worthy of helping nurture the unique wonder that God has created in each of them.

It was after the youth group orientation as I entered the sanctuary for worship that I got a strong sense of how blessed I am to have such a wonderful community in the the church. That was part of what I had missed by being away the previous Sunday. I've been told that it's impossible to be a Christian in isolation. I don't know that that's completely true – I think if you get stranded on a desert island, you do what you have to do, and it's probably better not to abandon your faith in such a situation if you have the option. And besides that, people are different, and I don't think it's my place to determine how someone else should practice their faith. Maybe some people are called to be mostly alone.

For myself, though, I definitely think that Christianity is a communal activity. I do pray and read the Bible alone sometimes, but I find it more meaningful with others. I guess I buy into the idea that the church really and truly is the mystical body of Christ, and my connection to Jesus is primarily through the church. This doesn't necessarily mean just in formal or “official” settings, or just within my own congregation. The church is one, and so interacting with any other Christians could be being the church. I say could be because I think there might also be some intentionality involved. If I got together with some friends, even just from my own church, and we went out for lunch or something, we wouldn't necessarily be being the church. If our faith isn't informing our conversation or actions or attitudes, then we're just another group of friends out for lunch – which is not a bad thing and can be a very good thing.

And yet, that claim doesn't quite ring true either; I don't feel like you have to be very self-consciously churchy in order to be practicing your faith. And even if a group of friends goes out with no goal except to have a good time, the Holy Spirit can act there however she wants. You could find up being the church even if that's not at all what you planned to do with the evening. And I don't mean just that you could come across someone in need and help them out, though that would certainly be a good thing to do. I mean also that you could have an evening in which the love of God shone through your conversations with one another and your attitudes toward the world. Or you could not – and if not, I don't think that means we're bad people or even necessarily doing something wrong at that time. I think it just means that we haven't yet fully lived into the kingdom of God to the point where it's constantly manifested in and around us. I think a lot of what we do at church is practice making space for the kingdom of God to be manifested, and that making space is a big part of what I think of as being the church. I think it's often easier to do our part when we're intentional about it, but I also think we're human and not necessarily up for being intentional all the time – sometimes we just need to relax. And that's fine because God can still break in wherever God wants to.

So I find myself at a point of confusion. I think that intentionality matters and that it's good to be consciously willing to bring about God's kingdom. But I also agree with C.S. Lewis that there's a kind of importance in self-forgetfulness, of being with God in the present so strongly that that's what fills your awareness and that for a while you're separated from the constant questioning of “Am I doing okay? What am I about here? Is this who I really want to be?”, and that focusing on God is better than focusing on ourselves. I'm not sure how to reconcile those viewpoints; I'll have to think about that for a while.

Life Is Big

Life is big. In fact, life is so big that I'm having trouble putting all the pieces together. This is a blessing in most ways – there's very little reason for me ever to be bored. The difficulty is in prioritizing, and in discerning where God's will is in that. So, being a compulsive list maker, I'm trying to break down the pieces of my life.

First there are the family responsibilities: school now, a job once I graduate. I hope for the job to tie in directly with doing God's work in the world somehow. Not in the sense of church ministry, but hopefully in some way of caring for creation and doing conservation work. But direct conservation work might also be a ways off, so I'm searching for discernment on what to do with the skills that I have and the job market I'm in. And also with how much of myself I have to adapt as far as dress codes and communication style – to what degree should I be myself and trust that there's a place out there for me, and to what degree should I try to play the game? Then there are household chores that need done. And visits with family, all of whom are out of state. Of course that ties in to relationships too, since my family and Steve's are made of wonderful people who are important to me.

Then there are the parts of my life that are about relationships. These are a source of joy to me also, but I think of them as separate because there's a sense that, even if a lot of what we do is have fun together, there's a connection being strengthened, a sense of fellowship and living in community. This has become a big chunk of my life, but that seems to make sense as I've gotten to know more people and found more kindred spirits. There's the time I spend with my husband, of course. And the time I spend with other people who are close to me. There's the D&D group, the game nights, the parties, meals and stuff with friends, church book club, and phone calls/emails/Facebook to help keep in touch with people I see less often. And a lot of the content looks frivolous, and perhaps is – board games aren't very important to the world (though I think they are good practice with thinking and learning and problem-solving), a nice meal is much more about pleasure than it is about keeping me alive – but in some ways the content is simply a background for forming and maintaining those bonds that make life meaningful in and of themselves.

Then there's the stuff I think of directly as doing God's work. There's conservation work – some of this I can do on a volunteer basis, like helping with prescribed burns and pulling invasive plants. But I still hope to do it in my career as well. And then there's the political engagement, trying to convince elected officials to make decisions that encompass the common good – my involvement has been emails and phone calls, but maybe there's more to do. On another note, I've agree to be a leader for part of my church's youth group, and I definitely see that as serving God. And then there are other, sort of one-time things that come up, often in church, that are worth helping out with. And all this church stuff ties in to relationships too, since the church is also a community. But then there's the question of making responsible consumer choices – trying to choose things that are made without harming the environment or exploiting workers, and trying to reuse and recycle and consider what I really need and not overconsume. But also not go crazy in the process, and have time left for the other parts of life. And then there are projects I could do to further that process – get rain barrels, get better at reclaiming graywater in the house in general, figure out how to make old shirts into grocery bags and find someone who can let me use their sewing machine to do it, plant a native garden, etc. I haven't done any of these things because getting enough time in one chunk is a challenge.

And I also need to keep myself alive and healthy if I'm going to be any good to anyone, so that means cooking (which gets into a lot of those attempts at responsible consumer choices), exercise – which can have a social aspect with racquetball or can be solitary, or can give me time to read on the elliptical, rest and sleep, and cleanliness and hygiene. And even then there are questions – yes, exercise is valuable, but is it more important to me to get the recommended amount of exercise or to do more to help others directly or spend time with people I care about? Sometimes I can do both at once, but not always. And sleep is clear enough, but rest sometimes means “wasting time” on the internet or whatever, which I think has some restorative value but can also turn into a distraction. Sometimes I feel able to focus and be really active and save the world, and sometimes it's a struggle just to be civil to the people I happen to encounter – there seems to be mental and social fatigue as well as physical, and how to handle those appropriately isn't as clear – is it self-indulgent to back off and take a break or is it wise stewardship of your own limited abilities? Undoubtedly it's sometimes one and sometimes the other, but how do you know?

And then there's spirituality – the worship and connection part of life with God, as opposed to the service part. (Not that they're truly in opposition, but there's a difference of focus). For me, Sunday worship is the most important part. But then I often struggle to stay connected during the week because of the ease of getting caught up in the week's activities, because I feel like I don't deserve closeness to God, because I'm confused about all the different ways I'm feeling pulled and don't know what God wants of me, because I get caught up in my own desires and cut myself off from God. I try to hang on, sometimes using the Daily Office, sometimes saying my prayers at bedtime, and sometimes exploring my questions with this blog (which then gets a relational aspect as people comment and share their ideas). I feel a powerful sense of wanting closeness with God and wanting the joy of God's presence, but I also know there can be a temptation to become what one of the previous clergy called a “sacristy rat,” involved in the trappings and beauty of worship but not going out into the world to do the work of serving God. So it's really important to have both, and again, the trick (which I don't have) is to find the right balance.

Finally, there are things in my life that are purely for my own joy. Is it okay that these are part of my life? Is taking time for them a reverent enjoyment of the good gifts of God, or is it a selfish distraction from the needs of a suffering world? I'm talking about things like reading (also ties into the relational with book club), my recent discovery of music, spending time outdoors (which can connect to exercise, and to conservation work, and to relationships with friends who also love the woods), baking (which again has a relational aspect since I like to share the products), movies and travel (relational because often shared with my husband), and knitting, which I haven't taken up in a long time, but which also has a relational aspect because I prefer to knit for other people. How do I balance these individual joys with all the work that needs to be done? How do I balance these often solitary pleasures with the time needed for maintaining relationships?

There's so much to do, and such limits on time, and also on physical, mental, and social energy, that I don't think it's possible to do everything I value. I truly believe that the best path is whatever God wills for me, but I don't know how to figure that out. How do I tell God's voice from the voice of my own desire? How can I trust myself to hear if the direction God is calling me might not be what I would choose?

“Direct us, O Lord, in all our doings with your most gracious favor, and further us with your continual help; that in all our works begun, continued, and ended in you, we may glorify your holy Name, and finally, by your mercy, obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Adoration, Sin, and the Presence of God

When I was a kid, I was taught to pray using the acronym “ACTS,” and I still use that when I pray by myself before bed, though as I've mentioned before, I switch up the order of the letters, so some nights it's TSAC or CSTA instead. Anyway, the letters stand for adoration, confession, thanksgiving, and supplication. Confession, thanksgiving, and supplication were always straightforward enough for me, but for years, even into adulthood, I struggled with adoration. I sort of got the idea that it was about praising God, but I had trouble distinguishing that from thanksgiving in any meaningful way. I just couldn't see the point of sitting around trying to tell God “You're so great” thirty different ways.

I was finally able to get my mind somewhat around it when I read somewhere that adoration was less about complimenting God and more about just being with God. Something about “asking only to enjoy God's presence.” Which is both wonderful and problematic. The problematic part is that it seems so forward to ask to hang out with God. It's one thing approaching God about issues that God is far better equipped to deal with than I am: I screwed up here, this is beyond my capability to deal with, etc. And thanksgiving feels like an appropriate recognition of my dependence on God's goodness. But asking God to share God's self and God's time (and yes, I know time isn't an issue for God in the same way, but still) is claiming a very different sort of relationship. Not the boss whose office you enter only when you have a good reason, state your business, and leave before you're told to get back to work already. More like a grandmother who has all the time in the world for the little kid who thinks she's just the greatest thing in the world.

The wonderful part is that, based on my own experience, this does actually seem to be the case. I find that if I'm really looking for God, He's right there. The times when I've been unable to sense the presence of God have been times when I didn't really want to, because I didn't want to let go of my anger or self-pity yet, or because I knew that doing so would mean I'd have to change my immediate behavior. And it's not that I felt that God wouldn't let me approach until I put those emotions aside; it's that the narrow, bitterly self-centered worldview simply couldn't coexist with the glory of God. It's an old metaphor, but it really is just like a bright floodlight chases all the shadows away. And there have been times when I wanted those shadows more than I wanted God, which yes, means that there have been times when I wanted misery more than I wanted joy, or more precisely that I wanted my misery rather than God's joy. And there probably will be again.

Technically, this is a pretty classic definition of sin. Maybe not quite as classic as the child's definition of doing things you're not supposed to do, but pretty squarely within the definition of separation from God, and even chosen separation from God. Of course, I've always come out of it eventually, and undoubtedly that's because God was working at me on an unconscious level (and my anti-anxiety mess helped too, but that's a whole bother topic. Short version is that no, I don't think mental illness is sin on the part of the sufferer, but yes, I think it can affect one's spiritual life, and the more so since I think there is a physiological component to our experience of the divine.) But the thing is, even though it may have been sin in the sense of being separated from God and being very unhappy and having to repent and turn back to God for things to be made right, there was never a sense of reprimand. And much more of a sense of being healed than being forgiven, though of course both were necessary in some sense.

Anyway, that's not where I thought I was going when I started to write, so back to my original train of thought...if I look for God, I find Him, and if I ask to enjoy the presence of God (and then actually pay attention and don't run off to do something else) that's usually there too. And I have to nod to C.S. Lewis and say yes, I know that depending on emotions is a bad idea, and that God is there regardless of what I feel about Him at any particular time, but at the same time, my sense of the presence of God is more or less a feeling, and it's pretty consistent. And frustratingly hard to describe. I've been halfway thinking about it this whole time I've been writing, and the closest I can get is that it feels something like being about to laugh, though without any sense of ridicule – joyous laughter rather than flippant laughter (again, thanks to C.S. Lewis for that distinction). And there's kind of a non-visual sense of brightness. And sometimes a feeling of lightness and space. (And now some of you might think it sounds like I'm talking about getting high. Maybe it does, I wouldn't know. It's definitely not at all like getting tipsy.) And so on one hand, there's this amazing sense that God is always near. On the other hand, there's a sense that it's important not to take that for granted. Which is odd phrasing, because it almost sounds like we shouldn't assume God will always be there, but it seems like trusting in God means assuming just that. What I think it means, and maybe what C.S. Lewis was getting at too, is that it's important to recognize that my individual feeling of the presence of God is not God itself, and that if my intentions veer towards wanting to feel those things instead of actually wanting to be with God, that's a problem. To approach God as a means to an end rather than as an end in Himself is surely blasphemy.   

Faith, Actions, and Words

I've been thinking more about not worrying and approaching things from a perspective of faith, particularly in the context of my job search. My heart wants to believe that God knows I need a job, and that He knows how to use me, and that I'll be employed when and where God wants me to be. It may not be what I expect, or what I would choose on my own, but in the core of my being I believe that God has it in hand and that even if it's a bumpy road, it'll be okay. (Of course this doesn't mean I don't need to do things like search and apply and interview. We're called to act in partnership with God, not to be inert puppets.)

I think the mental struggle I'm having is that even if one believes that God has everything in hand, in many cases that's a horrible thing to say to someone else. It carries a sense of blaming the victim, either for their situation or for their distress. Telling someone who's lost a loved one that God has a plan doesn't usually ease their pain or make them feel okay about the loss – especially if it's a death due to violence or an accident, or one that seems untimely – basically if it's not someone quietly dying in their sleep at the end of a long and happy life. It makes perfect sense to wonder how having your friend shot in a mugging could be within God's providence when shooting and mugging people obviously is not what God want us to do. Telling someone who's facing unemployment that they need to have faith sounds insulting, as if you're able to judge their faith. It also sounds unsympathetic – sort of a sense of “take it to God, don't bother me.” If someone isn't having their basic needs me, telling them God will provide isn't nearly as helpful as getting them a sandwich. (I think one of the Gospels actually says something along those lines.) Telling someone that God has it under control seems to be useless or worse both for providing emotional support and for practical help.

And yet in my own life, I find it tremendously comforting to believe that God knows where I'm going, even if I don't. And it's reasonable to want to share that source of comfort. But I think this one of the cases where preaching the Gospel through actions is much more useful that preaching it through words. Basically, I think I can take any time where I'm inclined to say that God will make things okay as an opportunity to prove it by participating in the making okay. Instead of telling someone that their loved one is with God and that their emotional pain will heal, what I ought to do is listen and hold them and help in the healing process. Instead of telling someone that God will put them in the right job at the right time, I should keep an ear out for leads and help them polish their resume so that they'll be ready when the right job shows up. Instead of telling someone that God will provide for their needs, I should make or buy them a meal so that their needs are provided for, at least in that moment.

I think that has more to do with what sharing the Gospel is about. It's not just one more thing to think we're right about and try to convince other people to agree with us about. Sharing the Gospel is meant to be for the benefit of others, not for ourselves, not to make us feel better or feel like we're on the winning side or make us look good in front of others. Of course, there might well be joy in it – I think that true joy may be indistinguishable from having our hearts aligned with God's – and that true joy and true pain can probably coexist. But the kingdom of God is far too important to be wedded to our pride (which doesn't mean we won't make those kind of mistakes – we will, but we need to recognize that they are mistakes).

So when do we preach the Gospel with words? I suppose that's what I'm doing now, though I hadn't thought of it that way until just this minute. And I find it a bit scary to think of it that way, since I'm sure I'm a heretic in one way or another. But besides that, and whatever forums any of the rest of us use to be able to talk about things that are close to our hearts, I guess one answer is when we're asked. If someone wants to know why I care about social justice, then it's time to use words. That can be hard to do, because it can seem like if my beliefs about justice are based in my faith then that might imply that I don't think they apply to those who don't share my faith – but they do. A lot of my sense of the importance of social justice comes from the example of Jesus, but I also think it's about what's right, regardless of faith. It's okay to follow another belief system if that's where your experience and your heart lead you. It's not okay to exploit people, period. Anyway. I guess I can also use words when the subject at hand is my own experience and sense that God can be trusted. I can “be prepared to give an accounting of the hope that is in me” and along those lines, I can have faith that if God wants that particular kind of witness from me, He'll put me in the right situation for it.

A Green Liturgy

I went to an interfaith Earth Sabbath service the other day at a local church. It was a nice service, and the people were lovely, but it didn't really feel quite like worship to me because I'm Episcopalian and I like liturgy. So I decided to try piecing together a liturgy for a similar sort of service using the prayer book and Bible and hymnal, and here it is. I didn't write any of it – I just pulled together things that seemed to fit and put them in the wonderful modular spaces built in to the basic liturgy. But it was fun :-)

Processional Hymn: All Creatures of Our God and King

All creatures of our God and King, lift up your voices, let us sing: Alleluia, alleluia!

Bright burning sun with golden beams, pale silver moon that gently gleams,

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Great rushing winds and breezes soft, you clouds that ride the heaves a loft, O praise

     him, Alleluia!

Fair rising morn, with praise rejoice, stars nightly shining, find a voice

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Swift flowing water pure and clear, make music for your Lord to hear, Alleluia, alleluia!

Fire so intense and fiercely bright, you give to us both warmth and light,

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Dear mother earth, you day by day unfold your blessings on our way, O praise him, 

     Alleluia!

All flowers and fruits that in you grow, let them his glory also show:

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

All you with mercy in your heart, forgiving others, take your part, O sing now: Alleluia!

All you that pain and sorrow bear, praise God and cast on him your care:

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

And even you, most gentle death, waiting to hush our final breath, O praise him, Alleluia!

You lead back home the child of God, for Christ our Lord that way has trod:

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Let all things their creator bless, and worship him in humbleness, O praise him, Alleluia!

Praise God the Father, praise the Son, and praise the Spirit, Three in One:

O praise him, O praise him, Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Celebrant: Blessed be God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

People: And blessed be God's kingdom, now and forever. Amen

Collect for Purity

Gloria

Collect:

O merciful Creator, your hand is open wide to satisfy the needs of every living creature: Make us always thankful for your loving providence; and grant that we, remembering the account that we must one day give, may be faithful stewards of your good gifts; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Old Testament Reading: Ezekiel 34:17-31

As for you, my flock, thus says the Lord God: I shall judge between sheep and sheep, between rams and goats: Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, but you must tread down with your feet the rest of your pasture? When you drink of clear water, must you foul the rest with your feet? And must my sheet eat what you have trodden with your feet, and drink what you have fouled with your feet? Therefore, thus says the Lord God to them: I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean sheep. Because you pushed with flank and shoulder, and butted at all the weak animals with your horns until you scattered them far and wide, I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged; and I will judge between sheep and sheep. I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them: he shall feed them and be their shepherd. And I, the Lord, will be their God, and my servant David shall be prince among them; I, the Lord, have spoken. I will make with them a covenant of peace and banish wild animals from the land, so that they may live in the wild and sleep in the woods securely. I will make them and the region around my hill a blessing; and I will send down the showers in their season; they shall be showers of blessing. The trees of the field shall yield their fruit, and the earth shall yield its increase. They shall be secure on their soil; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I break the bars of their yoke, and save them from the hands of those who enslaved them. They shall no more be plunder for the nations, nor shall the animals of the land devour them; they shall live in safety, and no one shall make them afraid. I will provide for them a splendid vegetation so that they shall no more be consumed with hunger in the land, and no longer suffer the insults of the nations. They shall know that I, the Lord their God, am with them, and that they, the house of Israel, are my people, says the Lord God. You are my sheep, the sheep of my pasture and I am your God, says the Lord God.

Psalm 104:1-30

Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, you are very great. You are clothed with 

     honor and majesty,

wrapped in light as with a garment. You stretch our the heavens like a tent,

you set the beams of your chambers on the waters, you make the clouds your chariot, 

     you ride on the wings of the wind,

you make the winds your messengers, fire and flame your ministers.

You set the earth on it foundations, so that it shall never be shaken.

You cover it with the deep as with a garment; the waters stood above the mountains.

At your rebuke they flee; at the sound of your thunder they take to flight.

They rose up to the mountains, ran down to the valleys, to the place that you appointed 

     for them.

You set a boundary that they may not pass, so that they might not again cover the earth.

You make springs gush forth in the valleys; they flow between the hills,

giving drink to every wild animal; the wild asses quench their thirst.

By the streams the birds of the air have their habitation; they sing among the branches.

From your lofty abode you water the mountains; the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your 

     work.

You cause the grass to grow for the cattle, and plants for people to use, to bring forth 

     food from the earth,

and wine to gladden the human heart, oil to make the face shine, and bread to strengthen 

     the human heart.

The trees of the Lord are watered abundantly, the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.

In them the birds build their nests; the stork has its home in the fir trees.

The high mountains are for the wild goats; the rocks are a refuge for the coneys.

You have made the moon to mark the seasons; the sun knows its time for setting.

You make darkness, and it is night, when all the animals of the forest come creeping out.

The young lions roar for their prey, seeking their food from God.

When the sun rises, they withdraw and lie down in their dens.

People go out to their work and to their labor until the evening.

O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full 

     of your creatures.

Yonder is the sea, great and wide, creeping things innumerable are there, living things 

     both small and great.

There go the ships, and Leviathan that you formed to sport in it.

These all look to you to give them their food in due season;

when you give to them, they gather it up; when you open your hand, they are filled with 

     good things.

When you hide your face, they are dismayed; when you take away their breath, they die 

     and return to the dust.

When you send forth your spirit, they are created; and you renew the face of the ground.

New Testament Reading: Romans 8:12-27

So then, brothers and sisters, we are debtors, not the the flesh, to live according to the flesh – for if you live according to the flesh you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God. For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received a spirit of adoption. When we cry, “Abba! Father!” it is that very Spirit bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ – if, in fact, we suffer with him so that we may also be glorified with him. I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he has seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.

Gradual Hymn:For the Fruit of All Creation (v. 1 and 2)

For the fruit of all creation, thanks be to God. For his gifts to every nation, thanks be to 

     God.

For the plowing, sowing, reaping, silent growth while we are sleeping, future needs in 

     earth's safekeeping, thanks be to God.

In the just reward of labor, God's will be done. In the help we give our neighbor, God's will 

     be done.

In our worldwide task of caring for the hungry and despairing, in the harvests we are 

     sharing, God's will be done

Gospel Reading: Luke 12:22-31

He said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is worth more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? Consider the lillies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you – you of little faith! And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom,and these things will be given to you as well.

Gradual Hymn: For the Fruit of All Creation (v. 3)

For the harvests of the Spirit, thanks be to God. For the good we all inherit, thanks be to 

     God.

For the wonders that astound us, for the truths that still confound us, most of all that love 

     has found us, thanks be to God.

Sermon

Nicene Creed

Prayers:

We give you thanks, most gracious God, for the beauty of earth and sky and sea; for the richness of mountains, plains, and rivers; for the songs of birds and the loveliness of flowers. We praise you for these good gifts, and pray that we may safeguard them for our posterity. Grant that we may continue to grow in our grateful enjoyment of your abundant creation, to the honor and glory of your name, now and for ever. Amen

Almighty God, in giving us dominion over things on earth, you made us fellow workers in your creation: Give us wisdom and reverence so to use the resources of nature, that no one may suffer from our abuse of them, and that generations yet to come may continue to praise you for your bounty; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Almighty and everlasting God, you made the universe with all its marvelous order, its atoms, worlds, and galaxies, and the infinite complexity of living creatures: Grant that, as we probe the mysteries of your creation, we may come to know you more truly, and more surely fulfill our role in your eternal purpose; in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

Confession of Sin

The Peace

Offertory: All Things Bright and Beautiful

Refrain – All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small

all things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all

Each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings,

he made their glowing colors, he made their tiny wings.

Refrain

The purple-headed mountain, the river running by,

the sunset, and the morning that brightens up the sky.

Refrain

The cold wind in the winter, the pleasant summer sun,

the ripe fruits in the garden, he made them every one.

Refrain

He gave us eyes to see them, and lips that we might tell

how great is God Almighty, who has made all things well.

Refrain

The Great Thanksgiving

Eucharistic Prayer D with Sanctus and Mystery of Faith

The Lord's Prayer

Breaking of the Bread

Fractional Anthem

Communion Hymn: Nature With Open Volume Stands

Nature with open volume stands to spread her Maker's praise abroad

and every labor of his hands shows something worthy of a God.

But in the grace that rescued man his brightest form of glory shines;

here, on the cross, 'tis fairest drawn in precious blood and crimson lines.

Here his whole name appears complete; nor wit can guess, nor reason prove

which of the letters best is writ, the power, the wisdom, or the love.

Oh, the sweet wonders of that cross where Christ my Savior loved and died!

Her noblest life my spirit draws from his dear wounds and bleeding side.

I would forever speak his Name in sounds to mortal ears unknown,

with angels join to praise the Lamb and worship at his Father's throne!

Communion Hymn: Morning Glory, Starlit Sky

Morning glory, starlit sky, soaring music, scholar's truth,

flight of swallows, autumn leaves, memory's treasure, grace of youth:

Open are the gifts of God, gifts of love to mind and sense;

hidden is love's agony, love's endeavor, love's expense.

Love that gives, gives evermore, gives with zeal, with eager hands,

spares not, keeps not, all outpours, ventures all, its all expends.

Drained is love in making full, bound in setting others free,

poor in making many rich, weak in giving power to be.

Therefore he who shows us God helpless hangs upon the tree;

and the nails and crown of thorns tell of what God's love must be.

Here is God: no monarch he, throned in easy state to reign;

here is God, whose arms of love aching, spent, the world sustain.

Post-Communion Prayer

Blessing

Recessional Hymn: For the Beauty of the Earth

For the beauty of the earth, for the beauty of the skies,

for the love which from our birth over and around us lies,

Christ our God, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the beauty of each hour of the day and of the night,

hill and vale, and tree and flower, sun and moon, and stars of light,

Christ our God, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind's delight,

for the mystic harmony linking sense to sound and sight,

Christ our God, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love, brother, sister, parent, child,

friends on earth, and friends above, for all gentle thoughts and mild,

Christ our God, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

For the Church which evermore lifteth holy hands above,

offering up on every shore thy pure sacrifice of love,

Christ our God, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

For each perfect gift of thine to the world so freely given,

faith and hope and love divine, peace on earth and joy in heaven

Christ our God, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise.

Dismissal:

Deacon: Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit. (Alleluia, alleluia)

People: Thanks be to God. (Alleluia, alleluia)