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| September 21, 2014 |
Snapped this pic on my way to church on Sunday. Happy first week of fall!
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Wedding Time
I love weddings, which is good, because I'm up to my eyeballs in them. In the last few weeks, I've done premarital counseling for two couples, attended a bridal shower, navigated the protocol for a same-gendered blessing from a different diocese, and helped out as a liturgical deacon* during a high mass wedding; in the next few weeks I'm officiating at two weddings, and tonight I'm going wedding dress shopping with my future sister-in-law.
Like I said, it's a good thing I love weddings.
But what is it about them? Well, first of all, you've got the regular reasons -- weddings feel hopeful, and full of love. But more than that, weddings are a liminal time, and everything that happens around them feels meaningful. In the time between being single people and being married people, there's a feeling a movement, transition and living with deliberateness. Loved ones take time to say things that go usually go unsaid, and to tell family stories that haven't been told in years. Loved ones who are gone are remembered, and their impact on the lives of those gathered are marked in formal and informal ways. Overall, weddings are one of the few times that sincerity is welcomed in our irony-laden culture, and I find that refreshing.
Being a priest at wedding is a unique experience -- you get brought into the sphere of the family, and you have a specific task before you. Not only do you teach the couple the rituals to becoming married, and guide them through it, prompting vows and the taking of one another's hands, but you have the privilege and the terror of saying something meaningful about it all, how God is working in the lives of the couple, and the lives of the families gathered.
The other piece, though, is often navigating through a whole wedding full of people you've never met before. Some people really hate this part, but once I get my feet under me, I enjoy it. Even though at the last wedding I was at, I had an animated ten minute discussion with a six-term retired senator before he had to spell out that he was a senator, after I asked what projects he was working on, oh, running a hugely influential lobbying firm... even though he had told me who he name, and I really, truly, should have connected his name to the senate. (Seriously, as an avid NPR listener, I'm still appalled at myself, but I wasn't really looking for a senator to pop up, you know? I thought he was a great uncle or something. I had been talking to his wife all afternoon. She was lovely.) But despite that huge failure as a Washingtonian, I still managed to have some other really meaningful conversations with people, the down-in-the-trenches-I've-never-talked-to-a-professionally-religious-person-before sort of conversations. I love the curiosity and the diversity of world views, and the willingness of people to step up and talk to a stranger. If you're one of those people who talks to the officiant at a wedding, thank you.
And today I'm gearing up for the next wedding, with a rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding itself on Saturday, getting ready to dive into a time of sincerity and love, with all the privilege (and, sometimes terror) that entails.
I love weddings.
*liturgical deacon: a priest that does what a deacon does during a specific service, which for a wedding means, read the Gospel lesson, pray the prayers, and help out during communion.
Like I said, it's a good thing I love weddings.
But what is it about them? Well, first of all, you've got the regular reasons -- weddings feel hopeful, and full of love. But more than that, weddings are a liminal time, and everything that happens around them feels meaningful. In the time between being single people and being married people, there's a feeling a movement, transition and living with deliberateness. Loved ones take time to say things that go usually go unsaid, and to tell family stories that haven't been told in years. Loved ones who are gone are remembered, and their impact on the lives of those gathered are marked in formal and informal ways. Overall, weddings are one of the few times that sincerity is welcomed in our irony-laden culture, and I find that refreshing.
Being a priest at wedding is a unique experience -- you get brought into the sphere of the family, and you have a specific task before you. Not only do you teach the couple the rituals to becoming married, and guide them through it, prompting vows and the taking of one another's hands, but you have the privilege and the terror of saying something meaningful about it all, how God is working in the lives of the couple, and the lives of the families gathered.
The other piece, though, is often navigating through a whole wedding full of people you've never met before. Some people really hate this part, but once I get my feet under me, I enjoy it. Even though at the last wedding I was at, I had an animated ten minute discussion with a six-term retired senator before he had to spell out that he was a senator, after I asked what projects he was working on, oh, running a hugely influential lobbying firm... even though he had told me who he name, and I really, truly, should have connected his name to the senate. (Seriously, as an avid NPR listener, I'm still appalled at myself, but I wasn't really looking for a senator to pop up, you know? I thought he was a great uncle or something. I had been talking to his wife all afternoon. She was lovely.) But despite that huge failure as a Washingtonian, I still managed to have some other really meaningful conversations with people, the down-in-the-trenches-I've-never-talked-to-a-professionally-religious-person-before sort of conversations. I love the curiosity and the diversity of world views, and the willingness of people to step up and talk to a stranger. If you're one of those people who talks to the officiant at a wedding, thank you.
And today I'm gearing up for the next wedding, with a rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding itself on Saturday, getting ready to dive into a time of sincerity and love, with all the privilege (and, sometimes terror) that entails.
I love weddings.
*liturgical deacon: a priest that does what a deacon does during a specific service, which for a wedding means, read the Gospel lesson, pray the prayers, and help out during communion.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Back to School
It's been a crazy few weeks for me; there's been lots of family stuff going on, and I've been flying solo at St. Thomas's since August 3rd. I haven't been as diligent as I should have been getting posts up, but that should change soon since my boss is back in the office today, and I'll be handing over the fire extinguisher.
A few weeks ago I did two Easter People podcasts with the delightful Easter People out of the CMT at Virginia Theological Seminary, and late last week, the second podcast dropped. It's about back to school, school rituals, and our favorite educational programs. I hope you'll listen, even if it means that all of your suspicions about just how nerdy I really am will likely be confirmed (my favorite back to school ritual: buying a planner and putting in the assignments. Enough said.) but you'll also get to hear from some really amazing and smart folks that I was lucky enough to talk about joke around with for 45 minutes.
You can listen to Easter People 21: The Back to School Extravaganza here.
A few weeks ago I did two Easter People podcasts with the delightful Easter People out of the CMT at Virginia Theological Seminary, and late last week, the second podcast dropped. It's about back to school, school rituals, and our favorite educational programs. I hope you'll listen, even if it means that all of your suspicions about just how nerdy I really am will likely be confirmed (my favorite back to school ritual: buying a planner and putting in the assignments. Enough said.) but you'll also get to hear from some really amazing and smart folks that I was lucky enough to talk about joke around with for 45 minutes.
You can listen to Easter People 21: The Back to School Extravaganza here.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Easter People
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| From the Sony Bravia campaign, mentioned in Episode 20. |
Last week I received a surprise invitation to be a guest on the Easter People Podcast. I've been listening to Easter People since their very first podcast, so even though I was a little trepidatious because of an unsuccessful freshman year radio show (me, the one who can talk for hours, clammed up when there was broadcasting involved) I decided to go ahead and do it. And I'm so glad I did, because it was a great way to spend the afternoon -- reflecting on religious experiences and laughing with friends.
You can listen to Episode Twenty here, and I hope that you will add Easter People to your podcast rotation -- it's a thoughtful and fun time.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Free Learning, Free Fun
A few months ago, I wrote a post about a Knowledge Commons DC class and the act of re-creation and recreation. I really enjoyed the class that I took, and the more that I looked into the organization, the more that I discovered that I shared a common philosophy with KCDC: everyone is a student, everyone is a teacher, and everywhere is a classroom.
So I decided that if they took my proposal, I'd teach at the next batch of classes. Happily, they did, and Discovering and Writing the Spiritual Memoir is going to happen at St. Thomas' Dupont Circle on September 15th, at 6:30. If you're interested, I hope you can make it. If you're not interested in that particularly, hopefully you'll take a class on how to photograph airplanes at Gravelly Point, learn some Welsh, or take an abandoned schoolhouse bike tour, among dozens of other classes. More classes will be posted soon for the September session, so be sure to check back.
Another quick note: KCDC is always looking for places to hold classes, so if you belong to (or run) a church or another public space, and are interested in sharing, let me know. St. Thomas' Dupont Circle and St. George's U Street are already in on the action and are getting ready to welcome new friends through their doors.
So I decided that if they took my proposal, I'd teach at the next batch of classes. Happily, they did, and Discovering and Writing the Spiritual Memoir is going to happen at St. Thomas' Dupont Circle on September 15th, at 6:30. If you're interested, I hope you can make it. If you're not interested in that particularly, hopefully you'll take a class on how to photograph airplanes at Gravelly Point, learn some Welsh, or take an abandoned schoolhouse bike tour, among dozens of other classes. More classes will be posted soon for the September session, so be sure to check back.
Another quick note: KCDC is always looking for places to hold classes, so if you belong to (or run) a church or another public space, and are interested in sharing, let me know. St. Thomas' Dupont Circle and St. George's U Street are already in on the action and are getting ready to welcome new friends through their doors.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Thoughts on Suicide
The first time I brushed up against suicide, I was fifteen years old. His name was Adam; it was the last day of our sophomore year of high school. Adam was intelligent, funny, well-liked, and deeply sad. And these kind words aren't a reflection of the white-washing that happens after a death -- Adam was in the gifted program, he could make an entire class go off track for five minutes laughing, and he was a member of the group I called "The Actual Popular Kids" in my head because unlike the "Popular Kids" they were actually well-regarded by nearly everyone and not feared.
Adam's death was shocking, and sad. At that point, I couldn't understand how someone could do this to themselves, but as I've gotten older and had more experience, I understand better now. Suicide is not and never has been a logical choice, because when depression gets deep enough, it takes away your ability to choose. Depression gets you in its clutches, and you are no longer your own.
Robin William's death yesterday seems to have everyone talking openly about depression and suicide, and for that, I'm grateful. The more people understand that depression is a disease, and not a moral failing, the more likely they are to seek help before their actions become irrevocable. There's also been an outpouring of love and admiration for a man who deserves this love and admiration, after devoting so much of his life to making others happy.
However, one comment caught my eye, and this is the comment made me feel as though I had to respond. This is the comment: "Not to be completely callous, but if Robin Williams committed suicide, how can he be in heaven?"
It is true that throughout church history, there has been the overwhelming consensus among Christian theologians that suicide will lead to condemnation by God. For the church fathers like Clement of Alexandria and Augustine, it seemed to be a mostly cut-and-dry issue. Suicide violates the commandment 'You shall not kill,' is a rejection of God's gift of life and grace, and the act of suicide itself leaves no time for a person to be forgiven for their final act of sin. Dante, writing from a medieval milieu, places those who commit self-murder in the seventh circle of hell.
But the church, especially the Episcopal church, of which Robin Williams was a faithful member, has evolved on this issue. We understand more than we ever have about depression and other mental illnesses, the intense suffering involved and how rational choice is muted or taken away entirely. In our chaotic world, we understand better about how morality is not always cut and dry. The church has humbled itself on many fronts, including the predilection to say how God might judge the actions of a person which were committed in a place of intense pain. In practice, especially by allowing funerals of suicide victims, the church has turned toward the grace of God and away from our own judgment. Thank goodness.
My own view is this: because of the Incarnation, which is the Christian belief that God came to dwell among us as a person, God knows from personal experience the limitation of our brains -- that brains break down, and souls become weary. God knows suffering, and if God knows suffering, then God, who is compassionate, knows what is possible and impossible for humans to bear. I think about Paul's claim that "nothing can separate us from the love of Christ" (Rom. 8:38) and the vision that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. (Rev. 21) I also am reminded of this stanza, taken from the Episcopal burial rite:
For none of us has life in himself,
and none becomes his own master when he dies.
For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,
and if we die, we die in the Lord.
So, then, whether we live or die,
we are the Lord's possession.
Suicide isn't the answer, and it leaves a wake of despair and desolation. But I refuse to believe that God condemns people because they succumbed to it.
(And this is the place I leave the DC suicide hotline number: 703-527-4077. Also here is Allie Brosh's beautiful and helpful account of depression, part one and two.)
Adam's death was shocking, and sad. At that point, I couldn't understand how someone could do this to themselves, but as I've gotten older and had more experience, I understand better now. Suicide is not and never has been a logical choice, because when depression gets deep enough, it takes away your ability to choose. Depression gets you in its clutches, and you are no longer your own.
Robin William's death yesterday seems to have everyone talking openly about depression and suicide, and for that, I'm grateful. The more people understand that depression is a disease, and not a moral failing, the more likely they are to seek help before their actions become irrevocable. There's also been an outpouring of love and admiration for a man who deserves this love and admiration, after devoting so much of his life to making others happy.
However, one comment caught my eye, and this is the comment made me feel as though I had to respond. This is the comment: "Not to be completely callous, but if Robin Williams committed suicide, how can he be in heaven?"
It is true that throughout church history, there has been the overwhelming consensus among Christian theologians that suicide will lead to condemnation by God. For the church fathers like Clement of Alexandria and Augustine, it seemed to be a mostly cut-and-dry issue. Suicide violates the commandment 'You shall not kill,' is a rejection of God's gift of life and grace, and the act of suicide itself leaves no time for a person to be forgiven for their final act of sin. Dante, writing from a medieval milieu, places those who commit self-murder in the seventh circle of hell.
But the church, especially the Episcopal church, of which Robin Williams was a faithful member, has evolved on this issue. We understand more than we ever have about depression and other mental illnesses, the intense suffering involved and how rational choice is muted or taken away entirely. In our chaotic world, we understand better about how morality is not always cut and dry. The church has humbled itself on many fronts, including the predilection to say how God might judge the actions of a person which were committed in a place of intense pain. In practice, especially by allowing funerals of suicide victims, the church has turned toward the grace of God and away from our own judgment. Thank goodness.
My own view is this: because of the Incarnation, which is the Christian belief that God came to dwell among us as a person, God knows from personal experience the limitation of our brains -- that brains break down, and souls become weary. God knows suffering, and if God knows suffering, then God, who is compassionate, knows what is possible and impossible for humans to bear. I think about Paul's claim that "nothing can separate us from the love of Christ" (Rom. 8:38) and the vision that God will wipe away every tear from our eyes. (Rev. 21) I also am reminded of this stanza, taken from the Episcopal burial rite:
For none of us has life in himself,
and none becomes his own master when he dies.
For if we have life, we are alive in the Lord,
and if we die, we die in the Lord.
So, then, whether we live or die,
we are the Lord's possession.
Suicide isn't the answer, and it leaves a wake of despair and desolation. But I refuse to believe that God condemns people because they succumbed to it.
(And this is the place I leave the DC suicide hotline number: 703-527-4077. Also here is Allie Brosh's beautiful and helpful account of depression, part one and two.)
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
DCPS Beautification Day!
No seriously. If you don't have plans and you'd like to sign up, you can do so here, and if you want to walk over together, message me. Maybe we'll all go get lunch afterwards.
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