Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Lord's Day (XIV Pentecost)

I was fortunate enough on the last three Sundays of my vacation to worship in churches with elegant liturgy and world-class musical resources (Ascension, Chicago; St Thomas' Fifth Avenue, NYC; and St Michael & St George in Clayton, MO). My soul was fed. But I cannot fail to mention how sweet it was to preside, preach, receive the vows of four adults entering the Anglican tradition, and enthusiastically sing "Immortal, invisible ..." with 15 others in the humble venue (converted one-room schoolhouse) of St Mary's, Robinson.

Sermon for Proper 17

St Mary's, Robinson--Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23; Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-9; James 1:17-27

If you spend very much time reading the Bible, especially the Old Testament, it will not escape you that the Judeo-Christian God has a very low opinion of the practice of idolatry. An idol is presumed to be an image or statue, fashioned by human hands from stone or wood or metal, which is then set in a prominent place and worshiped—people make physical gestures of veneration towards it. Psalm 135 makes fun of idol worship with these words: “The idols of the heathen are but silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths, but they cannot speak; eyes have they, but they cannot see. They have ears, but they cannot hear; neither is there any breath in their mouth.“ The anonymous author of the Book of Deuteronomy is particularly worked up about idolatry. There are three verses that are inexplicably omitted from the lectionary citation for this morning’s first reading that refer to an incident when some of the Israelites worshiped an image of the pagan god Baal, and suffered some very unpleasant consequences.

Of course, it’s easy for us who are scientifically literate and intellectually sophisticated 21st century Americans to absolve ourselves of the sin of idolatry. Even those of us who are given to some of the expressions of Catholic Christian piety are not pretending that a statue of the risen Christ is itself the actual risen Christ. Our culture might be guilty of a whole bunch of horrible things, one might argue, but idolatry is not one of them. Or is it? The reason the Psalmist mocks idolaters is not because they’re bowing down to images of silver and gold, but because they think those images are gods! An idol is simply a false god, something or someone who is worshiped as God, to whom ultimate worth is ascribed, but who is not actually God. When we look at idolatry that way, we can suddenly see how pervasive it is in our society. There’s even a TV show named for it—American Idol—where immense adulation and at least virtual ultimate worth is offered to the performer who survives the gauntlet of biased and sarcastic judges. But we have many idols: power, political victory, accumulation of wealth, family, work, our favorite sports teams, youthfulness—it’s a very long list.

No, we don’t get a pass on idolatry. It surrounds us as much as it surrounded ancient Israel as they made their way into the pagan territory of the Promised Land. Even we who constitute the community of the Baptized, the People of God in this world, need to be especially fearless in our self-examination, lest we have even unintentionally worshiped one of the idols, one of the false gods, of the natives of this land. Even we who are in Christ operate with hearts and minds that are distorted by the power of sin and death. We share with all our fellow human creatures a tendency, a predisposition, to look around us, to look at ourselves, and see not what is actually there but what we want to be there. Without meaning to, we adjust our perceptions of reality in ways that lead inexorably to our own gratification, and the sooner that gratification can come, the better. This is especially true in our “cafeteria culture” of the developed western world, where the Autonomous Self has been enthroned as a god, where we worship personal freedom and individual choice and an endless supply of alternatives and options, and our motto is, “It works for me!”

In such an environment, anything that falls under the general category of “religion” becomes kind of dangerous. We are biased in favor of anything that immediately affirms whatever we’re feeling and aspiring to in the moment, that gives us whatever we think we’re looking for as quickly as possible, and the same system creates a bias against anything that seems to constrain us or direct us or challenge any of our self-gratifying assumptions. And, from a traditional Christian perspective, this leaves us completely vulnerable to false teaching, the most serious of which the Church has over the centuries often labeled as “heresy,” only calling anything heresy has a tarnished reputation these days, because it’s so … judgmental; it limits my choices and narrows my options, and that can’t be a good thing. And false teaching—heresy—points in only one direction. Ultimately, it leads only to idolatry.

What shall we do? From where is our help to come? I would like to make the counter-intuitive suggestion to you that our help comes from an unlikely place, a place that makes many in our society these days, even many Christians these days, roll their eyes in suspicion. I’m simply talking about the practice of religion. It’s even possible to read the gospels in such a way that the practice of religion comes out smelling sort of rank, and today’s passage from the seventh chapter of Mark’s gospel is one of those passages. The Pharisees—whom we might think of as making up a sort of “religious order” within first-century Judaism—the Pharisees had taken the Law of Moses—which figures prominently in the Book of Deuteronomy, and which was already pretty complex—the Pharisees took the Law of Moses and made it exponentially more complex. The Law of Moses represents religious practice; the Pharisees represent religious practice on steroids. And we read today how Jesus and his disciples mixed it up with the Pharisees over some details of religious practice. Jesus calls them out on this, and appropriately so, because the Pharisees had refined religious practice to a point that the original obvious connection between the practice and the reason for the practice was totally lost, and wasn’t even considered important. But, in calling them out, Jesus never condemns religious practice itself, only the distortion of religious practice in which it becomes a self-justifying end, rather than a means to an end. (The Epistle of James, which we heard from this morning, reinforces that point.)

So, what do I mean by “religious practice”? I’m talking about the various things we do in order to cooperate with God’s grace for the purpose of making us holy, making us more like Jesus, turning us into saints. Religious practice is not the same thing as having faith. Religious practice presumes a certain baseline level of faith, and its purpose is to help our faith grow. Faith begets practice and practice begets more faith, and more faith begets more practice, and so on. Religious practices are usually habits, routines. When my feet hit the floor as I get out of bed every morning, I am conditioned to make the sign of the cross and remind myself of my baptismal identity, that I have been marked as Christ’s own forever. That’s a religious practice. Saying grace before meals is a religious practice. Participating in public worship each Sunday is a religious practice. Praying at bedtime is a religious practice. Tithing is a religious practice. The list could go on, almost indefinitely.

The benefit of religious practice is that it enables us to adhere more closely to true teaching and avoid false teaching. And when we adhere to true teaching and avoid false teaching, we are much less likely to lapse into idolatry. We are less likely to worship the array of false gods that clamor for our attention, and more likely to worship the true and living God—the God who gave the ancient Hebrews the Law of Moses, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. And when we worship the true and living God, we become whole as human beings, we are doing that for which we were created, and for which our souls yearn.

And why is this? Why is it that religious practice—as routine and habitual as it invariably becomes—why is religious practice so effective in keeping us away from idolatry and turning us into saints? Because, just as our human predisposition toward gratifying our own desires warps our judgment and corrupts our hearts and minds, so our human response to repetitive behavior has a cumulative and profound beneficial impact on those same hearts and minds. Religious practice entails saying certain words and performing certain actions, over and over again—daily, weekly, seasonally, annually—during the course of a lifetime. At any given moment, those words and actions might seem dry and lifeless, and will most certainly often be boring, which is perhaps the one unforgivable sin in our culture! But generations of saints, apostles, prophets, and martyrs will join me in bearing witness to you that … it works. It simply works. If you would be a saint, if you would be like Jesus, if you would become holy, then do the things and say the things, repeatedly, again and again, that will produce the fruits you long for. Don’t see religious practices as ends in themselves—in other words, don’t become Pharisees—but as means to the most worthy end of the perfection of your holiness. And, in the process, without even trying that hard, you will avoid idolatry. Praised be Jesus Christ. Amen.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Saturday

Back in the saddle. Up and out to arrive at the Cathedral/Office complex around 9am. Got ready to preside and preach at the Diocesan Council Mass (we did a votive "For All Baptized Christians"). Several short exchanges with various people as the clock ticked toward 10. Presided at the regular August (third of four annual) Council meeting. Three short impromptu meetings afterward. When the dust all cleared, I refined and printed the text of tomorrow's homily at St Mary's, Robinson. Home (via Hardee's) around 2:30. Ate my lunch and tried to relax, aware that I feel like I'm "coming down with something." (How's that for timing?) Left for Robinson at 5, and pulled in at the Best Western around 8:15 . Lots of internet chores to attend to before bedtime.

Sunday, August 2, 2015

The Lord's Day (X Pentecost)

Brenda and I sat in the pews this morning at St Paul's Cathedral in Springfield, came up to be prayed over because our wedding anniversary is this month, and sat around gabbing with parishioners during the coffee hour. My vacation officially began yesterday, but I've been busy tying up loose ends so I can actually be on vacation. So I'll be going dark in this venue until the 29th. Be well, hold me in your prayers, and I'll see you on the other end of the tunnel--tanned, fit, and relaxed, deo volente.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Saturday (St Joseph of Arimathea)

We are back home now--unpacked, cleaned up, and reacquainted with the cat, who isn't sure whether she missed us or not. Yesterday (Friday) we checked out of our lodging in Arequipa around 8:30 and were taken right away to the local office of LAN, the Chilean-Peruvian airline on which we were book for a flight to Lima later that day. I had gotten a message from a third party about a departure delay, and we were already concerned about a tight connection. The office assured us that all was running on time. 

So we proceeded with a day of exploring the Anglican presence in the city of Arequipa. First up was the smallest and newest mission, Holy Nativity. The church is a modest structure, even by Peruvian standards, but it is strategically located in a well-populated sub-municipality. While we were in the area, Bishop Alejandro decided it would be a good idea to drop in on the local mayor, whom he had not met and wants to cultivate a relationship with. Peru lacks the embedded suspicion of church-state relations that is our heritage in the U.S., and clergy are still held in high regard there, so the bishop's instincts were on target for his environment. 

From there we made our way, through thick urban traffic (and a driving culture that curls the hair of most Americans), to the mission of St James the Apostle. This is the church that Bishop Alejandro had direct responsibility for when we was elected bishop, and he's still trying to figure out just how to take care of it going forward. The church sits on an ample lot, with lots of room for expansion and program development. What impresses me about both Holy Nativity and St James is that that they are both located in desperately poor neighborhoods. In North America, anyone contemplating a church plant would look for a location with a concentration of middle and upper-middle class families, for obvious practical reasons. But there's something utterly Jesus-like about camping out in the midst of the poor, and trying to build community with "those kids of people." I honor that.

By then, it was time for lunch, so we drove to a lovely indoor-outdoor traditional Peruvian restaurant call La Nueva Palomino. I had earlier expressed an interest in a Peruvian version of chile relleno when it was described to me (more meat than the typical Mexican version), and the dish is featured there. It was yummy.

We continued our tour with a visit to St Luke's Church. This one is indeed in a more established middle-classish neighborhood. This parish operates a school, but the children were away on winter break, so we didn't get to meet them. Nearby is a residential facility(Holy Family) for about 15 young people between the ages of nine and seventeen. It's not, strictly speaking, an orphanage, but the kids all come from very broken and dysfunctional domestic environments. We were overwhelmed by our reception--hugs for all and from all both coming and going. For me, this was surely one of the highlights of the trip. Seeing places and things is well and good--places and things are essential for the work of the gospel--but meeting actual human beings in the flesh was inspiring. The plan is to move the children's home onto the campus of St Luke's, and repurpose the Holy Family facility for a new school aimed at the children of affluent families that would have a more rigorous (elite?) academic orientation, thus combining mission with financially smart strategy, since such a school can potentially finance some of the other outreach projects.

After seeing St Luke's Church, the school, and the children's home, we headed to the "cardinal" parish in Arequipa, Christ the Redeemer, where we had left our bulky luggage earlier in the day in order to make room in the crowded van. After a brief look at the physical plant, we did some last-minute re-packing, and headed for the airport, nearly an hour's drive through thick, Friday rush hour traffic. Not only was our scheduled flight running on time, but the LAN agent booked us on another one departing ten minutes earlier. (Why schedule two flights ten minutes apart? Beats me.) We took our leave from our new Peruvian friends, and, from then on, everything went quite smoothly. Our flight to Lima departed promptly at 9:40pm. In Lima, we had to retrieve our luggage, go literally outside one airport door and inside another, where we checked in for our 1:10am departure for Atlanta on Delta. Then we had to clear Peruvian passport control, which went very quickly, and we had time to relax for a while in the gate area. The six-plus hour flight to Atlanta put us there around 8:30 in the morning. Once again, we had to retrieve our luggage, clear U.S. immigration and customs, give our luggage back to the baggage-handling system, go through security again, and make our way from one end of the airport to the other (E concourse to A concourse). It was the final leg that actually ran about 10 minutes late, with wheels down in St Louis ar 12:15. We pulled into our driveway at around 3:30, some 21 hours after we got in the familiar white van for the last time for the ride to Arequipa airport. The three of us were tired, and in need of a shower, but grateful for how smoothly everything went.

I'm still processing everything, but, at the moment, I have three takeaways from this trip: 1) They have certainly found "the man of God's own choosing" in Bishop Alejandro Mesco. I told him yesterday that we did not make him a bishop on July 25, we sacramentally revealed the bishop who was already there. He clearly already thinks like a bishop. He is a man of persistent prayer, humility, pastoral love, deep faith, and evangelical fervor. In his context, he has the makings of a John Henry Hobart or Jackson Kemper. 2) I shall continue to ponder and discern how to make the appropriate translation between the contexts of Peru and Illinois when it comes to incarnational ("moving into the neighborhood") evangelism. We can't do exactly what they do because our population centers are much less dense, and our people exponentially more mobile. But we need to figure out how to do the same thing in our own cultural and demographic context. 3) I'm still not at a place where I can say truthfully that "I speak Spanish," but I can see that place from where I am, and it's not that far away. I'm sure I made some laughable blunders, but I was able to communicate in a way much more sophisticated than rudimentary exchanges with table servers and hotel desk clerks. Vocabulary is my biggest shortcoming, but with improved vocabulary will come, I am confident, increased ability to "hear" the language. Que bueno.







Thursday, July 30, 2015

Thursday

Woke up to a crisp 27°F, though it was not that cold in our unheated hotel room in Juliaca. We were picked up by our usual driver, Fr Victor, at 8am. The first stop was the parish of St Mary Magdalene, where we had visited briefly last night. This time, Fr Luis, the rector, was with us. We read Morning Prayer together, then learned more about the details of the parish's ministries and their plans for expansion onto property they already own in order to accommodate the demand for a primary school. There are also two missions in Juliaca, both of which are also taken care of by the same clergy team of Fr Luis and Deacon Justo. Both of the buildings are owned by private parties who are happy to make them available to the diocese as long as they continue to hold services. Both are located in growing neighborhoods, where the Roman Church has no presence. There is great potential in both places. Together, the three churches involve over 300 people on a regular basis. 

It was around 11:30 when we got back into our familiar van and headed south for the six hour drive to Arequipa. Much of this was through a desert plain--known as the Altiplano--that sits around 12,000 feet in elevation. I'm not happy about the fact that I don't do well at such an altitude, and the last two nights have been largely sleepless because of the need to take a particularly deep breath about every minute or two, which requires being awake. Arequipa sits at about 7,500 feet, and my lungs are grateful for the respite. 

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Wednesday

My excuse for missing a day this time? Not socializing in an exotic bar, but technological failure. I wrote a post last night using Blogger's iPhone app, but it wouldn't upload, due to what I assumed was a too-weak cell signal (no wifi where I was). But when I connected to wifi twice today, the app was just frozen in "publishing" mode, and when it then crashed, my work was gone. So ... a bit of a marathon here.

Yesterday we travelled--with Bishop Alejandro, his English-speaking grown son, and Fr Victor as our most excellent driver--from Arequipa to Cabanaconde, more than six hours in a modestly comfortable but smallish Chevy van. This entailed views of wild vicuña herds, desert landscapes resembling parts of Utah and Nevada, herds of alpaca and sheep under professional oversight, crossing the crest of the Andes as 15,000 feet, stopping for some coca leaf tea (it alleviates the symptoms of altitude sickness), spying a settlement far, far below the mountain road we were traversing and being told it was our lunch destination (and then waiting nearly an hour for us to actually arrive there), ordering (and enjoying) grilled alpaca for lunch (no, it doesn't taste like chicken), driving along the world famous Colca Canyon, and generally taking in some of the most spectacular scenery on which I have ever set my eyes. 

Upon arrival at the mission in Cabanaconde (which Bishop Alejandro himself founded some 15 years ago), we had a serious discussion of his missionary vision for the region-cum-diocese of Arequipa. My observation is that he is really hitting the ground running, and was effectively already the bishop of this area some good while before he was consecrated last Saturday. Our quarters for the night were right there on the grounds, where volunteers over the years have build a small guest house that is not fancy, but gets the job done. The main challenge was dealing with the nighttime and morning chill, as temps dropped into the 30s, and nothing there (or in the whole rest of the country, so far as I can tell) is heated.

Before hitting the road this morning (at about 10), we celebrated the Eucharist together, with Bishop Alejandro presiding and preaching, using the Peruvian liturgy that has been expertly crafted by Bishop Bill Godfrey. Then we were taken to an overlook area where we could get a panoramic view of some of the most rugged and gorgeous territory I have ever seen, and could scarcely begin to imagine, let alone describe. It amazes me that human beings have actually lived here for hundreds of years. Then it was back in the van and a reverse of most of yesterday's route, stopping again for lunch in Chivay, and again enjoying alpaca, this time in sandwich form. It was just past sunset when we pulled into the city of Juliaca, which, like much of Peru, is a dynamic stew of "first world" and "third world" elements. We stopped by the parish of Sancta Maria Magdalena, met the local deacon, and again had a deep discussion about mission strategy. Then, after checking in at our hotel, we (the seven of us, now including Deacon Justo) drove a short while through traffic congested by an armada of three-wheeled taxis to a mall food court, where we were able to choose from an array for our dinner. Three days ago, I hadn't even heard of Juliaca, Peru. Tonight, I found myself eating mediocre fast Chinese food in an ambience that, at first glance, could be mistaken for any number of American settings in the recent era before malls were eclipsed by strip malls.