12 posts tagged “communion”
Sounds like the title of a child's book? The Canoe and the Church? Some of the photos on my Facebook page have been of canoes and me canoeing.
These pictures were posted to show my pleasure in participating in a canoe team - in spite of the moments while practicing that I think to myself "Argh.... why am I doing this!!!!".
Of course, my time in and around canoes - limited though it has been - is not without reflection on the beauty of the metaphor of the Church as a ship or boat, and of Jesus' time on or near the water and our life on board.
There is something beautiful, I think I've already called it Benedictine, about the spirituality of paddling on a team. But now that The Episcopal Church is having it's grand synod in Anneheim, the General Convention is making me wonder if the metaphor of six people rowing in complete unison is perfect or flawed.
Yes, in a sense our unity, our oneness, our being one voice is beauty, and symbolizes the prayer of Christ, 'that we all may be one'.
However, what of the times when we paddle out of sync? Then we fail to be 'productive' - something over valued in my estimation. Maybe the church, like canoe teams, needs times when we can all jump out of the boat and forget about making it move faster and farther - just taking time to play around and cool off in the peaceful ocean's undulations. That reminds me of Catherine of Siena, who talks about the pacific abyss, the peaceful depths of God's love. Is it that we are on a linear trajectory as a church, a boat moving to a particular distant harbor? Or is it really that the boat is always where it needs to be when it is in the middle of God's sea, whether paddling or swimming?
Musings that come with denominational angst.
Saturday, my friend BR took this photo of me just after we had finished the novice B race in the McFarlane - an annual 4th of July race down at Waikiki, a time of year when the surf is up, which makes operating a canoe a little more interesting.
Even as I was exuberant with my first race, coach reminded us that we really weren't acting like a team out on the water. Distractions, focusing on our own paddling, rather than getting in sync with the team.
Paddling very much reminds me of the Benedicting ways of praying the Psalms, and what a teacher once told me about brothers trying to pray the psalm in a way that was not only rhythmically connected with others praying, but was also in a way that allowed them to hear the voice of the person on either side of them, so that they were neither to little, nor too loud. This reminds me of the singing rules by John Wesley, in which he talks about neither lagging behind nor running ahead of other singers.
While we are individuals who do not lose our distinctiveness, the gifts unique to our personal creation, we are also called to live into more authentic communion with others; paddling reminds me of the importance of trying to become part of a group motion or a group way of life's fullness, over than an individual self - we cannot live alone. The boat only moves when we are reality paying attention to one another, timing to one another.
The empty hull of the canoe fills with six individuals, who either quickly learn to become one, or, who fight against one another and the waves for a muggy, thick trail of sweat lagging behind the tails of faster, more unified teams.
It's been some time since I forced myself to blog, so I figure now it is about time. I've had the idea of writing a brief explanation of photos I take and place on my facebook page as my "profile picture." I'll start with the current, and update you as I change. When possible, I'll try to go back through some of the photos I have taken.
They are, in many ways, a record of being "on pilgrimage", and a practice of "holy lingering" - moments of peeking in an empty tomb.
Well, I did not take this photo - someone took it at our regional Confirmation services at St. Peter's in Honolulu. I can't recall his name, but will try to add it here soon, because he took some wonderful photos.
This was an intimate moment - each moment between me and another person, when we are sharing Eucharist, is a moment of holy intimacy; a moment of tenderness. No borders, no distinctions or differences that animate a difference. Only a holy connection between two hands touching the same chalice, drinking from the same cup. "It has become for us the cup of salvation."
The walk of the Christian, a communal walk, leads us towards moments where we stand on the edge - the edge of what we don't always know, appreciate, like, or understand, and that sometimes we fear or even resent.
This path is not one that has never been walked. Jesus has walked the path before it, and those steps, worn down by the countless who have followed that way, are like rose petals strewn before us, encouraging us, guiding us, reminding us that we are gently held in the bosom of Christ even as we face the end of the road, where we will have no other choice than to dive in, or turn back.
And we are not alone there. Though that place and that moment may feel eternally empty, it is in fact eternally full of love, so that we can move to a deeper awareness of Christ.
Maybe it's a cul de sac - just a path we are led down to take a look, to hang out - a retreat, a place of turning and transforming - before turning back and walking the rose petal way.
I was struck, looking back at the rose petals, to see the two strong lines being mixed by the gentle breezes - as though they were being pushed towards one another to become one path; converging into one floral stream from many. As we face the election, I pray that we can work towards the ideal of peaceful unity among our diversity, while inviting us to all become people of a deeper faith.
As the saints soar in paradisium led by the angels, the names of confirmands and baptizands soar to the ceiling of the cathedral, like as our souls soar on the winds of the Holy Spirit. Spiraling higher and higher, we join the ever rolling stream of those who have gone before as we anticipate with joy the saints to come after us, trusting in God that we not only will be, but are among the communion of saints.
There is a paradox between fullness and emptiness in the Christian faith. Both are powerful metaphors for our spiritual life.
The empty tomb is the fullness of God's grace.
The emptiness of space is profound to me when I look out at the ocean and see to the horizon, especially when there are no ships or oil rigs punctuating the view. Yet, when I consider the depths and their fullness, the vast seas and the weight of the waters in them, I recall that fullness of God's love encompasses both the vastness and depth - neither height nor depth can separate us from the love of God.
I've blogged before on baptism and water. That we can "take" instead of "receive" communion and our abuse of the earth's resources, including water - I've linked these with increasingly negative view of baptism (or people's reticence to receive baptism) and the arguments for an open table. Today, as many of us are blogging about the Millennium Development Goals, I would like to bring up this conversation once again, because we as Christians can easily be caught in a trap of consumerism in our liturgy, even as we try to argue against that consumerism in our theology.
In the two sacraments, baptism and communion, two of the most fundamental, daily needs are presented: water and food. Jesus was smart, asking us to use these elements to remember him, to come to new life in him, because they are common/daily. They are something he knew we would use, in fact, need, every day. Water and bread.
Ensuring environmental sustainability is a concern for all of us, but Christians have a special interest in the sustainability of our earth's water: Jesus has given us a command to baptize in his name. We should want for every community, every person on the globe to have water in which we ourselves would be willing to be immersed - that we ourselves would be willing to drink. This is is about life, not luxury. This is about life. Isn't that what baptism is supposed to be about?
If we can work to re-emphasize the importance of water to our life and our health, I think we begin to help people understand the relationship of baptism to eucharist. That baptism is about our life and our health, in a joyful and joy-giving way. It is also about a total life commitment, not just a total commitment to life.
Thanks for listening to my ramblings....
In the Name of God the Father Almighty who created you;
In the Name of Jesus Christ who redeemed you;
In the Name of the Holy Spirit who sanctifies you.
May your rest be this day in peace,
and your dwelling place in the Paradise of God.
This is a difficult blog to write, but it is my way of celebrating the life of my uncle Ron+, who has entered eternal life on the feast of the resurrection! I believe in the communion of Saints, and so offer an Alleluia for him. But it is a staccato and determined alleluia, syncapated with all the emotions of parting from someone you love, and pray, "Lord I believe, help my unbelief!" It is an Alleluia that says to me, "Michael, you'll want to hear this."
We know our relationships are not our own, we are stewards of them. Yet, unlike the material goods of this world, they become part of us, and we are who we are because they are and were who God created them to be.
As a pastor, Ron+ was a role model for me. As an intellectual, someone with whom I enjoyed talking, and to whom I turned for counsel. As a preacher, true to the gospel with great oratory skill; a fine story-weaver. As an uncle, a support and friend. As an elder in the church, the person who held me as an infant and baptized me into my life in Christ. He was the first person who introduced me to chocolate covered Oreo's (C), and knew a foretaste of heaven when he tasted it. His gumbo contained unidentifiable parts, but like God's kingdom, everything went in. Sometimes it was best not to ask questions.
He always had a two dollar bill for us youngsters. Even when we were way beyond being called youngster, a sign of his generosity, and ways he was ready to support people in need.
When I travelled, he asked me to piddle (not his exact words, which were much more specific and monosyllabic), on a mountain and think about him. That's a great way to be remembered, ask someone to think of you every time you do something basic and fundamental for our human bodies. He knew that Christ did that in asking us to remember him every time we broke bread, and Uncle Ron helped me think about the fact that every time we broke bread, we were doing that: remembering Jesus.
His way of leading our family in prayer is one of my fondest memories. Giving thanks to God for crickets and lolipops and grandparents and our favorite pet critter was always included by him, and he never left out the things we mentioned when he would offer up a typically Ron prayer: the kind that God could laugh at and take seriously at the same time. In leading us in prayer, he paid attention to the children and took us seriously. Also like his Lord, Jesus Christ.
In the days ahead the family will gather and I will miss deeply the opportunity to be with them in body as I continue in my journey here in Spain, and then Kenya. If there were a way to get home, I most certainly would. But I'll carve out a sacred space or kneel where prayer has already been heard to dwell fondly on memories that have shaped me, memories of my Uncle and friend, St. Ron+, his transitus into paradise, and into the arms of the Lord to whom he devoted his life. Let light perpetual shine upon him+. Pray for my family and me as we mourn, celebrate, and commend to God our father, sibling, uncle, husband, pastor, friend, and in Christ our brother Ron+
Into paradise may the angels lead you. In your coming may the martyrs receive you, and may they guide you into that holy city, Jerusalem. May the chorus of angels receive you, and with Lazarus, once poor, may you have eternal rest.
How Anglicans can stay together & why they MUST!
Or, how pilgrims walk hundreds of miles, and why they must.
Or, how we can open our doors to strangers, and why we must.
Today's reading from the Gospel: Lord, when did we see you a stranger and welcome you? Hungry and feed you?
Or, how pilgrims walk hundreds of miles, and why they must.
Or, how we can open our doors to strangers, and why we must.
Today's reading from the Gospel: Lord, when did we see you a stranger and welcome you? Hungry and feed you?
Tuesday, the group from the Episcopal church was honored at the mass in the cathedral, but as known Episcopalians, could not receive communion - quite obvious because they were front and center, and noted. There was a lot of accomodation, and honor for them in the mass, but, yet, they could not "receive."
I won't criticize the Catholic church for their teaching on the Eucharist, but use this is an opportunity to point out the division in the Body of Christ, our brokenness as a family. So, after the pilgrims mass, we went out to the statue where we previously had washed feet, and there, Fr. Howard offered Eucharist for his flock, and we communed together in this holy place, a sign of our yearning to be made one, as Jesus prayed for us.
During the mass, we sang one of the Taize chants, from the older hymn, Ubi Caritas. So may it be.
I remain convinced that gathering together for a meal is a significant event, a way Christ taught us to participate in the salvation of the world. Think if kings and dictators and presidents actually ate together before going to war? Of if they would actually eat with their people from time to time.
I'll have to wait and see what our guests thought later, when they have had time to reflect. In the mean time, I think that offering a place for people to gather, and if they wish, to share stories, was the important work of my time here in Santiago.
