Kirkepiscatoid

Random and not so random musings from a 5th generation NE Missourian who became a 1st generation Episcopalian. Let the good times roll!





At the cross her vigil keeping,
stood the mournful mother weeping,
where he hung, the dying Lord
There she waited in her anguish,
seeing Christ in torment languish,
in her heart the piercing sword.


--from "At the cross her vigil keeping," 
#159 in The hymnal, 1982

One of the songs we so often sing on Holy Week actually became a link to my solo discipline of Lenten study this year.  This song, also known at the Stabat Mater, is from a 13th century devotion called The Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Also known as the Seven Dolors, the Seven Sorrows incorporate four of the Stations of the Cross and three other episodes in the lives of Jesus and Mary, namely:

The Prophecy of Simeon. (Luke 2:34-35)
The Flight into Egypt. (Matthew 2:13)
The Loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple. (Luke 2:43-45)
Mary Meets Jesus on the Way to Calvary.
Jesus Dies on the Cross. (John 19:25)
Mary Receives the Body of Jesus in Her Arms. (Matthew 27:57-59)
The Body of Jesus Is Placed in the Tomb. (John 19:40-42)

I ended up downloading some of the various translations of litanies, rosaries and stations to this devotion, and, as I studied them, I realized it has quite a bit of relevance in terms of using it much in the way people pray the Stations of the Cross, yet at the same time calling attention to issues related to women's empowerment and some of the Millennium Development Goals, particularly the ones involving women and children.

So, with that in mind, I created a set of stations for the Seven Sorrows.  Each station opens with a stanza from a version of the Stabat Mater; I used stanzas from The Hymnal 1982The Hymnal 1940, and the 1906 English Hymnal, so that the opening lines of each station can be either spoken or sung.  I'll post a station a day until finished, and then post the work in its entirety at the end.  Please feel free to share with attribution!

The First Sorrow--Simeon's Prophecy to Mary

At the cross her station keeping,
stood the mournful mother weeping,
close to Jesus at the last,
Through her soul, of joy bereavèd,
bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
now at length the sword had passed.


Simeon told Mary, "“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.""

Each day during school terms, mothers all over the world send their children off to school--some on buses or in cars, some on foot.  Some wearing crisply ironed colorful uniforms, others toting the ubiquitous oversized backpack.  On each of those days, a mother's hope is that her child learns not just the things that will make them happy and successful as adults, but will also make the world a better place.  In the photos of first grade classes, we see dreams of future firefighters and doctors, farmers and merchants, teachers, nurses, veterinarians, merchants.  None of those children at age six are dreaming of being a sex worker, a drug dealer, a petty thief, or a gun-runner.  Yet, that is exactly who some of these sweet children will be when they grow up.

Each school day, mothers let their children leave the safety of home to be entrusted in the safety of school--but school is not always as safe as our hopes would like it to be.  Every day, all over the world, the safety of school is violated somewhere--school shooters, bombings, wars, coups.  Children are killed on the way to and from school by vehicles, land mines, drive-by shooters, and car bombings.  Children are abducted.  Children are molested.  These crimes against children remind us daily that the world is far from being a safe place.

The Mother of Jesus knew the sorrow of Simeon's prophesy.  Mothers throughout the world know the sorrows of the statistical probabilities in a dangerous and deadly world.  Some mothers know this more deeply than others, in the places of the world with shortened life expectancy, high infant mortality, and high maternal childbirth-related deaths.

Let us pray.  (silence)

Comforter God, the Blessed Mother of Jesus suffered the piercing sword of Simeon's prophecy; you know the swords that pierce our hearts also.  You know our fears for our children, and the fears of mothers all over the world for their children.  Hold our children and our fears in your loving embrace.  When we want so badly to draw ourselves inward and pull our children closer, aid us in letting them go forth in the world to learn and grow, despite the risks.  Help us to remember the mothers in the places where danger is more imminent.  Especially be present with the families whose child does not come home; the families whose children are lost or abducted, missing, or killed.  Help them to find hope and grace in the places that seem too full of hatred and grief.  We pray all these things in the name of your son, Jesus. Amen.

 

 

This door seems a lot like Lent, doesn't it?  A door that's partially open, but locked.  Lent is a time we can see deeply into the mystery of God, but we are locked away from the totality of it.  We can look through the crack and see shadows, glimmers of what is on the other side.  We can hear voices from the other side, if there are voices.  We can even move the door and strain at the chain.

But when I look at this picture, I keep asking, "Is this door locked from the OUTSIDE, or the INSIDE?  If the answer is "inside," it begs the question, "does that mean the key is here somewhere on my side of the door?"  If the answer is "outside," the question becomes, "is there someone out there I can call to and ask for the key?"

Either answer addresses a human shortcoming.  How many times do our fears, doubts, and disbelief keep us "locked in" and away from the fullness of Christ's kingdom?  How many times are we simply too stubborn or prideful to ask, "Does anyone out there have the key?"

That door, between God and us, is always partially open.  Yes, it is locked, but the lock is not that hefty.  I imagine Jesus either has the key or is capable of telling me, "It's right here with you."  



One of my friends posted this on his Facebook page today:

It is always a little ironic on a day like today. For example, the parish we attend when we are in New York City - St Mary the Virgin - is open from 7am to 7pm everyday and pastorally will offer continuous imposition of ashes for the people around Times Square today. Over 3000 people will come today and receive ashes on their forehead. I don't think 3000 people have ever received the Eucharist there in one day - not even on Easter. My own Diocese of Chicago will administer the now trendy 'Ashes to Go' today throughout the streets of Chicago. Why is it that human beings are so easily satisfied with the ashes of death and not the Bread of Life?

I've thought about this one off and on today, and I seem to be of two minds regarding his question.  One is to answer his question exactly as he posed it, and the other one is to ponder, "Is that really what people desiring ashes is all about?"

So let's start with his exact observation.  People seem more willing (judging from the church traffic on Ash Wednesday and the popularity of Ashes to Go) to have ashes--a sign which some read as our sinfulness, others as simply a sign of our mortality--placed upon them more than they do in receiving the Eucharist.  Why is that?

My theory?  People wouldn't be as attracted because it's just way easier for people to get hung up that they're NOT worthy rather than think they're worthy.  It's always fascinated me how people of little to no faith tradition visiting a church--even people who feel warm and fuzzy about the service or even seem desirous of the Sacraments--get all hesitant about Communion.  "Oh, I shouldn't.  I don't go to your church."  Even when the bulletin has a very open and inclusive statement in big black letters.

I wonder sometimes if the stranger who accepts ashes on the street during Ash Wednesday is, deep down inside, hoping for transformation, but shies away from the Eucharist b/c that same deep down inside part KNOWS that the Sacraments are transformational...that their heart of hearts knows the stuff that crawls inside the bread and wine will change them...and we humans, to a great degree, fear change.

Which leads me to that second part.  I wonder if my friend is selling folks short by jumping to the conclusion that people are satisfied with the ashes of death.  Maybe it's deeper than that.

I've thought recently about how, in baptism, we have the sign of the cross placed on our forehead in chrism, and on Ash Wednesday, with dust.  That God knew the essence of us before we were ever born, and will still know the essence of us when we physically cease to exist...that this life of ours, that we treasure so much, that we tend to see in extremes of our awful-ness and our joy, our sorrow and our elation...is just a neatly little book-ended snippet of the totality of who we are in God's Universe.

Could it be that people desire those ashes because they simply yearn to be in touch with that greater totality?  I wonder.

 


(Photo of uprooted tree following Hurricane Sandy, Summit, NJ, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

A Litany for the Aftermath of Severe Acts of Weather
by Maria L. Evans

Eternal God, you are the ground of all being.
Comfort those who find themselves on shaky ground
in the days following nature's devastating power.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.


For those who have suffered loss of life as a result of nature's wrath,
we ask for the repose of their souls.
For those who grieve their loss and those injured,
we ask for your healing touch upon their hearts and in their lives.
For those who have returned to total or severe loss of property,
we ask for them to glimpse a glimmer of hope within disorienting devastation.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

Author of creation, your handiwork reveals you continually make all things new.
Reveal the green and growing places that rise from the heart of tragedy;
Strength to rebuild,
Courage to be led into new directions,
and acceptance of what is gone forever.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.

God of transformation, we also seek your presence in the hearts of those spared by this tragedy.
Grant them a generous spirit,
a willing heart,
and an open hand towards the displaced, the traumatized, and the fearful.
In the name of Jesus Christ, who preached that the first shall be last, and the last shall be first,
We humbly pray.
Amen.
 

 

(Arial view of Hurricane Sandy, October 23, 2012, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

A Litany for Those in the Path of Seasonal Storms
by Maria L. Evans

Sovereign God, you are master of the mighty wind and torrential rain,
In your mercy, hear our prayer.

All-knowing God, you know each boat on the stormy sea and each soul aboard it:  Mighty tanker, tiny tugboat, stately sailboat, and Coast Guard cutter.  Grant your peace to all who weather the tempest and strain to reach land or punch through the storm.  Especially be present with those whose life and work is to search for the lost and rescue the perishing at sea.
 In your mercy, hear our prayer.

All-perceiving God, stretch your hand upon those on land in the path of this storm, and those who have been affected by it: The displaced, the evacuated, and those who bring aid in times of peril--first responders, power and light crews, and disaster relief.
In your mercy, hear our prayer.

Comforter God, shelter all who fear for their own lives or the lives of others during this storm.  Comfort especially those families with a loved one whose whereabouts are unknown.
In your mercy, hear our prayer.

Lord God, king of the universe, you are the God of deliverance; the God whose Son walked on water over the stormy seas; the God of the covenant of the rainbow.  Help us to take heart in the face of terror, stand firm in our faith in You in the cloud of unknowing, and carry us forward into rebuilding a future once the path of destruction has subsided.  In the name of your Son who commands the wind and the waves to do his will, we humbly pray.
Amen. 

 


("The Rich Young Man Went Away Sorrowful," by James Tissot, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

Mark 10:17 - 31:

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

Peter began to say to him, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”



It's a heavy Gospel this week, and I suspect a lot of people who are expected to be in the pulpit Sunday are wondering, "What am I supposed to do with this one?"

I can't even imagine what it must be like to preach this one to a well-heeled congregation...or a dirt poor one...especially during "stewardship season."  (I can just envision all the folks in the pews thinking, "Yeah, and he/she is gonna tell me, "Pledge it to the church!  Pffft.")

We really struggled with it in our Tuesday Text Study and Eucharist.  Worse yet, we hold our text study in the dining room of one of the local nursing homes.  The irony was not lost on me that we were discussing this whole "sell all that you have and give it to the poor" paradox in a place where many of the folks there ARE selling all that they have, so they'll be down to their last $999.99 to be eligible for Medicaid to pick up the tab on their nursing home.  They are spending all that they have so they will BE one of the poor, so they can get the care they need.

Actually, the text is a double paradox.  In that way Mark likes to string things together in pairs, we first experience the rich young man's sorrow at Jesus' reply to his question.  In his mind, eternal life seems nigh onto impossible.  In the second half of the text, we see Jesus once again having to put the slapdown on Peter:

Peter:  "But Jesus, we DID do that, we dropped everything and followed you.  You did notice that, right?"

Jesus:  "Yep, Peter, I did.  And you will be paid a hundredfold for that--in crap.  Trust me on this one.  

I thought about that in the context of my year-and-a-half long house remodeling.  I am now at the phase where I joke that I'm repatriating my house now.  I'm starting to move things back in, out of what I didn't toss or give away during the "gutting the house" phase that preceded this present phase.  As many of you know, I tossed and gave away quite a bit. But as I'm starting to put things in the proper storage spots in the closet and in the house, I am opening the packed boxes and throwing out the things I couldn't seem to do in the first round.  Every box I've opened, I've looked at at least one thing in each box where I went, "I can't keep all this, I've got to throw even more of this stuff out."  Lots of things that made the first cut are not making the second cut.

This activity has reminded me that we are NEVER finished when it comes to the process of "throwing out our crap."  There's always something more we can give up.  Just when we think we've done it right, we look around and go, "Well, really, that there thing can go, too."  Not only that, when we do get around to throwing those things out, and feeling good about it, someone always comes along and tells you what a dumb idea it was for you to throw it out.  "But you might NEED that!  You'll be sorry when you find that out."

What's intriguing about this story, I think, is that in some ways, what Jesus is saying is not meant to be taken literally (otherwise, we'd all be running around naked a la St. Francis renouncing his fine clothing in the middle of town)--yet, in some ways we are ABSOLUTELY supposed to take this story literally.  It's about choosing our relationship with God over our relationship with "stuff."

What Jesus is telling the rich young man, I believe, is, "If eternal life is all about checking off all the correct actions and good works, well, then, it's impossible for people to do it on their own.  Eternal life is not a scavenger hunt. Eternal life is about being in relationship with God and community in such a loving way that we would even give up the things that matter to us the most in order to sit in that state of love.  Are you ready to be open to the possibility you are asking to love God THAT much?"

Yet at the same time, he tells Peter and the disciples that someone who does choose to follow him are not going to be understood--AT ALL--by those closest to us.  

To truly live the Gospel is a dangerous and scandalous business, and comes with no guarantee other than being aware of the power of the love of God to the point you will always find something new to give away.  It means you'll want that love not just for yourself, but for others.  It means that for that deep a love, you'll agree to live in a world where the scrawny person gets to sit at the head of the table, the last one to the party gets to come home with the best participation gifts, and the kid whose last name starts with the letter Z gets to graduate first.  It means money and possessions will always get in the way when you least expect it, because money and possessions are the gold standard of our delusion of control. The world continually tells us, "If you have enough of that stuff, you will be okay.  You will be safe.  You will be content."

Of course, then we discover what any addict knows.  There's never enough.  We will always want more, and getting it is never as good as the first time we had it.  To live the Gospel is to accept we already have more than enough, no matter what, and it's enough to share with others.

What is lurking around the corner in each of our lives that puts us one step closer to living the scandalous Gospel lifestyle?

 

(The April 2012 team of missioners from the Diocese of Missouri to the Diocese of Lui, Republic of South Sudan, with Bishop Stephen Dokolo and his wife Lillian, courtesy of Lui Network)

When I was 25 years old, and was considering the possibility of returning to school to go to medical school, one of my dearest mentors told me, "If you weren't going to be a doctor, I think you'd either be a firefighter or a missionary."  I told him in no uncertain terms just how full of baloney he was about that "missionary" thing.  I had pushed religion to the periphery of my world.  I had walked out the door of the institutional church and had no intention of ever returning.  I thought his statement was absolutely crazy.

Well, it's official.  I am hereby officially eating those words I told my mentor over 25 years ago.  In fact, he's 81 years old and I told him, "Well, I was wrong and you were right."  I think he was glad to have lived long enough to get an apology from me on that one!

You see, I am on the team of missioners traveling to Lui in the Republic of South Sudan from November 25-December 12.  Believe me, it's exciting.  I hope I can bring something of myself to these people that they need to prosper in God's service.  I am sure this trip will change me, but am not speculating on the "how" of that--I think I'll leave that one open to the Holy Spirit.

If you would like to read more about my diocese's relationship with Lui, my blogging pal Lisa Fox has written about it many times on her blog.  Two of my favorite posts she's written on Lui are here and here.  If I were to pick the person who could match my own excitement about this trip, it would be Lisa.  

I invite you to be a ministry of presence for our team.  There are many ways to participate in this ministry:

1.  Follow the action in the next few weeks on the Lui Partners Network.
2.  Hold our team in prayer at this time.  (I suspect I will be thinking, "Toto, we are definitely not in Kirksville," a lot on this mission.)
3.  Offer a donation to the Episcopal Diocese of Missouri here.  Please select the "Diocese of Lui" button.  Also, at the bottom of this page is a box where you can earmark your donation; if you would earmark it in support of missioner Maria Evans, I'd be very grateful.
4.  Publicize this mission on your blog or Facebook page, or via Twitter.

Thank you in advance for your prayers and support.  I hope to be able to blog "boots on the ground" some, as well as upon my return!

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Kirksville, Missouri, United States
I'm a longtime area resident of that quirky and wonderful place called Kirksville, MO and am wondering what God has hiding round the next corner in my life.

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