building a house with St. Francis

Today as we gather together, we remember of one of my favourite saints;
St. Francis of Assisi. This humble man was absolutely astounding.
Most of us know St. Francis from the statues that we see in gardens, you know the ones – like the one on the cover of our bulletin today. He often has outstretched arms and a bird perched on his hand, and I bet if we could see he feet, there would be more animals gathered around there. He’s known as the patron Saint of animals and ecology.

But the story of St. Francis is so much bigger than that. St. Francis was a radical.
He took on the Gospel message with such passion and enthusiasm that he gave away all of his clothing, all of his possessions, even all of his fathers possessions.
He sought to live a life inspiring kindness in others, and offering Christ’s life-giving compassion to everyone he met.

There is one quote that when we only remember St. Francis as the guy with the animals, that we might forget about. St. Francis said:
Proclaim the Gospel always, and when necessary, use words.
AND WHEN NECESSARY USE WORDS.

Today, in this congregation we are gathering to do a rather remarkable thing.
We are gathering to proclaim the gospel with our action.
We are gathering to do something that doesn't require words.

I know in my own life, there are times when a hug can do more than words ever could.

There are times when a casserole can say I'm sorry for the loss of your loved one, but I'm here for you.

And there are times when having breakfast can build a house.

And that is what we are doing today, today we are gathering to build a house.
It’s absolutely amazing!

We are making God’s love known in a very intimate way for a family who is struggling and we are doing it together, simply by sitting down together to share a meal.
And you know what that makes it? a sacred meal.
Sacred because this morning is more than just breakfast.
We are gathering as a community to BE God’s love in a physical, tangible way.
We are sharing breakfast so we can build a house.
This is going to be a house that Anglican's built.
A house that will become more than just a house, it will be a place of rest for weary souls to lay their head, a house that will become a home for a family.
A home will be built because right now, this very morning, in this place we are choosing to live out the Gospel message of compassion and love with more than our lips, but with our hearts and with our hands.

Matthew 15:10-28

My Nana used to like me to send her my sermons... I find myself right now after the congregation has gone home, wanting to email her. The day after she died I deleted her email account - part of me wishes I had left it open so I could just send these off into space... but instead I'll post it here.

God be in our eyes and in our seeing,
God be in our ears and in our hearing,
God be on our lips and in our speaking,
God be in our heart and in our loving,
in the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen

A young couple was in a restaurant with their four year old son. They were being waited on by one of those experienced waitresses who never show contempt for a customer, but by their unhurried pace and level gaze make it evident they fear no mortal, not even parents. She jotted on her pad, deliberately and quietly, while the parents gave their selections, including substitutions and such. She turned to the boy and he began his order in a kind of fearful desperation.
“I want a hot dog,” he started. His parents barked in unison, “No hot dog!” The mother scowled at the boy who fell silent, and said, “bring him the vegetable and grilled chicken, milk and…”
The waitress ignored the parents and she looked directly at the boy. “What do you want on your hot dog?”
The amazed child said, “Lots of ketchup, and a pickle, too. And could you bring some milk?”
“Coming up,” she said and turned from the table, never even looking at the stunned parents. The boy watched her depart with astonished delight and then said to his dismayed parents, “you know what? She thinks I’m real! She thinks I’m real!”

That’s how you feel when someone listens to you: REAL

Today we have a very disturbing passage.
It feels like no one is listening to each other
A pleading cry pierces the scene:
“Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.”
I picture her on her knees… pleading… begging… looking for anything that can save her child. She seems willing to do anything – to say anything… anything to save the life of her daughter – to release her from her torment.
So she goes to the man known for his healing ability. To the one who stories of healings and compassion follow him everywhere he goes. The one who feeds thousands of people, and not only are they fed but he gets them to sit down together – shoulder to shoulder, breaking bread with strangers… people of different backgrounds different heritages… possibly different languages, genders, ages, socio economic statuses… She goes to this Jesus to plead for his help.

and how does Jesus respond?
He says nothing.
NOTHING.
He ignores her pleadings, he ignores her cry.
Then it says that the disciples are getting frustrated… “send her away” they say. “she keeps shouting at us.”
So it wasn’t just this one request. It was not just a one time on her knees pleading for her daughters life. She’d been there for a bit – she’d made herself known to the disciples and in their eyes, made a nuisance of herself.
At first glance, the next line feels as if it’s directed to the pleading woman… it seems as though Jesus is saying to HER that he was “sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”
It seems that she’s pleading with him and he changes his mind.
Like she caught him out… like he made a mistake…

But in fact, the wording is quite specific – He’s not addressing the woman, he’s addressing the disciples. He says to them. “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” A teacher once wondered if Jesus could have said this with the intonation of a Jewish mother… “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel?” But regardless… the woman hears this… in whatever context it was said and she continues her pleadings… she kneels down and says “Lord, help me.”

And here’s the line – the one that stings – the one that we just don’t know how to take. “It’s not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.”

How have you pictured “the dogs”? Are they controlled animals at the whim of their master? Yappy, barky, needy, greedy? That’s the way the disciples would most likely have seen it. It would be extremely rare for a Jewish family to have a pet dog… especially one that would have had the opportunity to come into the house… that’s why to Jewish ears, this was a HUGE insult.
But the Canaanite woman would have both been likely to have dogs as indoor pets. So Jesus used an analogy that this woman would have understood. Dogs would be beloved pets. Pets that curl up around your feet, that sleep at the foot of your bed… they are different, yes, but they are loved parts of the family.
Then Jesus commends the woman on her faith, and healed her daughter. Healed her… Instantly.

He didn’t ignore her. He in fact listened to her in a way that none of the disciples were prepared to do. He spoke to her in a context that she would have understood. He heard her cries and he healed her daughter.

This is the groundwork for the Gospel to be taught to everyone – Jew, Greek, slave, free, male, female… the love and care was taught to us all and open to us all…
This makes the Jesus story universal. No longer is this message to be understood only for the Jews – it is meant for all to hear, it is meant for all to listen to.
And we know the message, it is one of hospitality. About how we treat one another… about how we live our lives, how we interact with each other and how we listen to the pleas and cries of each other.

Part of my role as a hospital chaplain was to learn the skill of listening. To be, what they call an “active listener”. To not just absorb what I’m being told, but to reflect some of it back to make sure the person I’m speaking with, knows that I’m paying attention – that they know they are not only being listened to, but they are being truly heard.
Because there are times when we have a conversation with someone and in our minds we are writing our shopping list, or composing our ever lengthening to do list.

You might in fact be doing that right now!

But we might also be simply waiting for them to stop so we can tell our story, so we can talk about the things going on in our lives. Because it feels like a rare thing to be truly listened to. To be truly heard.
It’s been said that you can listen someone back into existence. And I believe that is true. And we are called by the promises that we made or were made on our behalf at our baptisms:
“Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being?”
How can we strive for justice and peace if we don’t listen to the suffering cries of people?
How are we respecting the dignity of every human being if we don’t listen to the pleadings of their hearts – to the desires to be heard, to the need to tell their story?

Our ability to make room for others, and the joy we do or do not find in such an activity, depends largely, I think, on our experience of being accepted or not, on our experience of being heard or not. We cry out into the world in hope that someone will hear that cry and reach out into the dark night of our lives and pick us up out of our abandoned and misunderstood exclusion.

We lose our focus on listening for the heartbeat of God in our lives and our relationships, and shift our attention to the heartbeat of our own concerns.
Yet God hears our cries.
Christ knows our sufferings.
The Holy Spirit strengthens us in our weakness helping us to makes space for each other.

For the past 5 years or so, I have carried this little piece of paper in my
wallet. It is a quote from 1 Samuel 3:10 and says “Speak, for your servant is listening”
So remember that waitress that I spoke about? Well she truly listened that little boy in to existence. She understood what the disciples needed to be explained and knew how important it was to be listened to, to be truly heard.
May we, like that waitress, follow Jesus’ example, and listen people into existence, listen people into life… and listen people into knowing they matter, that are important, that they are loved

….That they are in fact, REAL.

Peace

My Nana used to read my blog. I could tell when she visited, because I’d always get an email wondering why I hadn’t written more. Wondering what was going on in my life, and just generally saying hello. It’s strange to know that what I write here today will not generate an email from her. That she won’t be asking me to send her my sermon on Sunday afternoon. That next time I visit my parents and pick up the phone with my usual ‘hello’ I won’t hear ‘Oh Kristen… is your father there?’ She never said hello – it was one of her quirks. She’d never say hello to whomever answered the phone… and would always chuckle when my response to her question of my father’s whereabouts was ‘hi Nana… I’m fine, how are you?’ But that’s just how she was. It’s hard to use the past tense, I don’t like it, but I won’t have any other memories of her to add to my shelves. Those are all past tense. About things she did, things we did, things we all did together. Her 91st Birthday is 11 days from today. I’ll be spending the morning doing crafts at a VBS with kids from the local churches. The afternoon I’ll probably do some visiting. But in the evening, I’ll be up in this far away place, by myself, wishing I was again surrounded by my little family, watching Nana blow out the candles and laughing as she reverses her age and says she’s 19 again. So I’ll feel sorry for myself then, but for her, I’m glad. She told me how lonely she’s been since her husband died – it had been almost 45 years that she lived alone. 45 years of missing the one she thought she would be spending the rest of her life with. In her words – I’m not to be sad for her, for she has gone to be with her sisters, her parents, all her friends that she outlived, and especially, most specially, with her husband, whom she missed so dearly, and loved so deeply.

So I pray again the words I used at her memorial service; Rest eternal grant to her O Lord and let light perpetual shine upon her. May her soul and the souls of all the departed rest in peace.

I love you nana, and I miss you.

Walking in the Rain...

The beach was empty this morning when I went for my walk. There was a downpour for about 15 minutes and when the rain cleared, and some of the humidity had been taken from the air, the beach was peaceful. I walked for a couple of kilometres barefoot through the surf and the sand at the shoreline, sometimes going in up to my knees. The water was clear, but choppy and the wind whipped around me. There was no one around, so I sang to myself, skipped along, splashing in the water. I don’t think I’ve spent a lovelier hour than that in a while. Then back to reality, planning the worship services for a couple of nursing homes in the morning, finishing my little reflection and a Taize service in the evening, doing bulletins, while figuring out the details of a memorial service in a Church I’ve never been in and a burial in a Cemetery with a P.O. Box… Ahhh… Rural life!

wire-less life

This past month has been an interesting one. Not only because I have my own little church to look after for the summer, but I’ve done it wire-lessly – as in unconnected… without cables – without the internet at home – which is also my office! It has been in my mind a month long retreat from being in constant connection. I have been in contact, I have used the internet and my email… and yes, even MSN, but I haven’t left it running in the background of my life. I haven’t let it take over much of my unscheduled time.

I’ve had mixed reaction to this I have to say. I discovered just how much I’ve grown to rely on that little “bing” someone is online, or I’ve received another message, even if it is just Amazon telling me about specials on their books or Yves Rocher telling me of their latest sale on soapy scented things. But what it has allowed me to do is use my time better. To feel like I can relax. To get some reading that I’ve wanted to do for so long, but the last year of seminary just wasn’t conducive to doing it! And just generally try to find my feet. At first, I felt lost, I felt like I was away from all my social network, away from friends and family and it was pretty lonely. At the end of the month, I can look back and say that I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I untangled my mind and spirit from all those wires and ties upon my time, for I’ve been able to do some pretty cool things with time that I would have otherwise simply lost.

Now, my internet is up and running again. The month long experiment is over. I wonder if I can keep up with what I’ve learned – perhaps I’ll have to make it an annual wire-less week. But I hope not – sitting in my car outside a closed wireless café fighting off mosquitoes and confusing police officers as to what my intentions were, grew pretty old!

Israel

I leave for Israel in 17 hours, or rather I leave for the airport then. A suggested arrival time at the airport of 2:30pm, and a flight time of 5pm followed by an 11 hour flight.

I can't let myself get too excited yet - I still have a thesis to finish and hand in first thing in the morning... and I still have 10 pages to go!

Part of the trip is a course and involves writing two site meditations after I have visited these places... Perhaps I'll post these upon my return...

I can't hardly wait to be really excited, if this is how I feel and I'm trying to be restrained tomorrow will be fun! Hopefully by then I will have escaped the noose of my thesis and can say I am officially finished my M.Div!

Open letter to the Ontario Legislature

There is a debate beginning in the Ontario Legislature about the Lord's prayer. You can have your say by going here:

I have chosen to have my say and have included it for you.

Dear representatives of the Canadian people,

I am concerned by the knee jerk potential in this debate. The Lord's Prayer has a deep meaning for me as a Christian, and as a Canadian, I find it reassuring to know that before meetings my representatives in those in discussion are remembering in themselves why they are there, their purpose for being in public life and the desire to not only remember the marginalized in their decision-making process, but to ensure they are acting with integrity and justice.

Reginald Bibby in his book Restless Churches (p46) states; "We live by the creed of diversity and multiculturalism, Christians are extremely reluctant to claim a position of dominance and can be expected to be chastised if they do…[however] the Christian numerical monopoly is a demographic reality that is not about to change in the foreseeable future." The responsibility of this fact is that Christians are an integral part in ensuring that everyone has a seat at the table, regardless of faith or creed, remembering that this includes other Christians.

Given this, I do not feel that the Lord's Prayer is appropriate, but since when did Christians start worshiping the Lord's Prayer? It is at its base, a plea for sustenance and guidance on our path, mercy for our mistakes as we are called to give mercy to each others, and an acknowledgment reminding us not to seek our own selfish gains so that we may see the glory of compassion alive around us, in each other and within ourselves.

However, the time spent with this prayer IS vitally important, and should not be consumed by the start of the meeting, but another general thanksgiving or declaration be given which includes all people of faith and those of no declared religion. This time of direction must not be merely reduced to a stunned silence, then in a few years dropped because its significance is unknown. We are much more than just physical bodies; we are beings with psyches, egos and active minds. But there is more to us still. We are spiritual creatures. To recognize the whole person, we need to recognize that we are made up of body, mind, and spirit. It is not possible to leave our spiritual selves at the door of our employment (or this honourable legislature) and enter expecting to simply do a job.

May we be frugal with our time on this debate, may all engaged feel free to speak remembering that, "Religionizing only one part of life secularizes the rest of it." (as quoted from Abraham Maslow in Corinne Wares book, Connecting to God p76).

Thank you for your consideration

Blessing

This is one of the blessings used by the Iona community, I just found it by chance, and quite like the fact that Bishop Gene Robinson is using it!

Prayer

I have learned that I am a visual person. I pray best within physical tangible experiences as opposed to mental gymnastics. Wonderful pious language sings in my ears and I can read it with passion. The words come from my mouth with the right intonation and expression, but they sit in my heart like a stone. They merely weigh down my experiences, making me believe there must be some sort of deficit in me if I these words don’t speak to me. It forces me to ask what am I missing? Why can I not see what generations before me have seen in Julian of Norwich or Catherine of Siena? What is it that prevents me from taking their language and realizing it is speaking of experiences that touched them so profoundly that their lives were altered? Many people that I speak to have been touched by the writings of these experiences, but at the moment, in my own journey of faith, they simply feel empty and pointless.

Trying to pray in a variety of ways has often lead me to either struggle with deafening silences, or simply become too busy to undertake what it is that others expect me to try in prayer for fear of those deafening silences; and sometimes, silence is scary. I know that I am stubborn. I don’t like to be told how I should pray, what I should experience, and yet I love trying suggestions and gentle offerings from people who have tried different forms of prayer and found them life giving. I love being exposed to ways that other people have been able to connect with God. That is how I discovered the prayers in the Carmina Gadelica as compiled by Alexander Carmichael in the late 1800’s. These words have struck me as so much more than just words to be recited, but prayers that were integrated into the very fabric of daily life in the Irish and Scottish cultures. They weren’t learned and recited by rote, but grew from their collective experiences. It was a thanksgiving in the midst of harsh conditions. I first read these when I was volunteering on the isle of Iona. I spent six weeks was doing menial tasks as a housekeeper in the Abbey. Making bed, scrubbing floors, washing dishes and taking purposeful time away from my secular job and my life in Canada trying to discern what it was that I felt called to. These prayers don’t just speak to people who prayed them in the past, but their simplicity works now. I may not have sheep to feed or cloth to weave, but I can be thankful that I can go and buy groceries and walk to have lunch with a friend. I can recall God’s presence in the moment, reminding me of how I treat others, what I do with my time. Simple little things of the day that let me see the face of Christ in everyone I meet.

I have walked the empty shores, certain that no one is anywhere nearby, with the cold winds whipping around me and the seas crashing on the stony shoreline, and these words spoke to me about who God is. Then in lighting a fire, on the cool Scottish nights, talking with new friends and strangers from all over the world, these prayers illuminated what I was feeling. They have the same sort of otherness about them, differences in culture, time and space that the Julian’s and Catherine’s have, but I have come to understand better since they echo my own personal experience of the Divine. It’s not only in those shores that I found God, but also in bringing thanksgiving into my life, in Toronto traffic, within the walls of my cubicle or anywhere I found myself.

This has been a difficult journey because I have spent years separating out what is church and what is life; what is prayer, and what is business; what is fun and what is expected. These prayers were a catalyst for me in my spiritual experience that started me down a path to try to reunite my spiritual and my secular self. Now they feel like an old friend, comfortable and nurturing precisely because these prayers speak of everyday experiences. They taught me to go beyond what my experiences of prayer have been in the childish ways of ‘now I lay me down to sleep.’ Growing up without a tradition of prayer to grow with me, I was left with an elementary understanding of prayer that didn’t fit in my adult life, and only pushed me further from God. These prayers taught me that prayer is not an external experience to revere God, but an inward understanding of what it means to be created in the image and likeness of God, with all the faults, frailties and oddities that are associated with being human. These prayers are grateful and thankful and thoughtful. They call their attention to God in the everyday. In the morning rising, in the evening and in the smooring of the fires. Instead of suddenly being struck by the ordinariness of extraordinary events in life, they see the extraordinary in the absolute ordinariness that surrounds.

Here is one of my favourites, but all are listed in Carmina Gadelica