The Episcopal Church is "home"
How sweet it is to come home

It is so refreshing to read of someone's love for The Episcopal Church. Just read a wonderful blog post from Molly. Here's a part of what she has to say:

So I opened some mail I’d left on the counter yesterday and one of the envelopes had a birthday card in it from the Episcopal church we’ve been attending. It’s been six months now, give or take a few weeks, since we first visited that little building on a search to find a place to gather. It’s become “home.” I am not exactly sure why I love it so much, but I do. I definitely enjoy the liturgy, and so do all of my reading-aged children. Having grown up feeling sorry for people who had liturgical services, it’s kind of funny, really. There was a sweet note inside the card and I hung it on the fridge.
I also enjoy the people there. Mostly elderly, it’s a small group that very much feels like family, and they opened their arms wide to this mother of five children, even though her children are, well, totally children. That was what I really wanted in a church, more than anything. That sense of close community, of family—along with a service order that wasn’t going to set off my post-evangelical-traumatic stress syndrome.

Read more here.

Extreme Shepherding

[With apologies to animal lovers everywhere. No sheep were harmed in the making of this video. Several were undoubtedly embarrassed, however.]

A member of a Commission on Ministry in an Episcopal diocese passed this along to Episcopopcorn. In the church, it appears, shepherding the flock is often quite like this video. Our Episcopopcorner COM member writes, "It seems that COM Shepherds are not the only shepherds who do not hide their lights under bushels." Just picture your Vergers at work at the last candle-light vigil.

Being True to Yourself
John C. N. Hall

I am reading the latest edition of a magazine that claims to be "An Independent Weekly Supporting Catholic Anglicanism." Again, this week, as in countless previous editions, this magazine is painful reading as it outlines the "current state of The Episcopal Church and Anglican Communion" and its many perceived woes.

I am so tired of it -- so tired of the folks who spout gloom and doom for The Episcopal Church because of its honesty.

I say, "Hooray for the folks who are honest in the Church. Bravo for all, regardless of their theological leanings. Three cheers for the ones who beat as the heart of The Episcopal Church." It is time to be real with each other and to love all in the Church! It is never the time to anathematize the other.

Parker J. Palmer, in his wonderful, little book entitled Let Your Life Speak, writes,

"The punishment imposed on us for claiming true self can never be worse than the punishment we impose on ourselves by failing to make that claim. And the converse is true as well: no reward anyone might give us could possibly be greater than the reward that comes from living by our own best lights."

Thanks be to God for all in The Episcopal Church who are claiming true self. God bless us in our journey and guide us into living by our own best light -- the light of Christ.

Open Another Bag and Pass the Dip
Thoughts on Giving

by John C. N. Hall

A writer recently reminded me of two television commercials for snack chips that aired about a decade ago. These two ads clarify my approach to “giving,” a widely understood concept, and a word I prefer to use in place of the churchy code word, “stewardship.”

The first ad opened with a scene in which two solitary Eskimos were sitting outside a lone igloo in the middle of a vast field of ice. One Eskimo was slowly eating from a bag of Ruffles potato chips while his friend looked on longingly. Eventually, the friend asked for a chip. The Eskimo with the Ruffles looked around and replied, “If I give one to you, I’ll have to give one to everybody.” This advertisement clearly portrays the idea of limited resources. There will not be enough to go around. Scarcity is the driving force, and all must be done to fend it off.

The other commercial showed comedian Jay Leno with a bag of Doritos. He crunched away and simply said, “Doritos. Eat all you want. We’ll make more.” Here is the notion of abundance rather than dearth. The Doritos customer lacks nothing. The supply is endless.

In the Reign of God, the Creator of all wants for nothing and has supplied a fullness of spirit that overflows. Giving, in God’s plan, springs from the endless gifts God first showers on God’s people. Christians give from their abundance because, ultimately, all is a gift from God. God is a Doritos giver, and Christians are to follow God’s lead.

You might say my approach to giving is one in which I trust God to be a God of abundance. God has already given all the money, people, and talent needed to do God’s will. I believe God can change people’s hearts and open their purse strings. God is not to be tipped, but rather worshipped with all that we have, all that we are, and all we ever will become. I know God, like the maker of Doritos in the commercial, is ready to equip and supply the church to do whatever God calls it to do.

So I say, “Please open another bag, and pass the dip.”

Franciscan Spirituality
The Seven Basic Franciscan Values

1. Conversion to and love of Jesus Christ, His Gospel and His Church.
2. A Christocentric theology accenting the primacy of love.
3. An Incarnational emphasis as seen in the crib, cross and the Eucharist.
4. Lived experience of the Triune God in prayer and contemplation.
5. Hope, optimism and the goodness of God and His creatures.
6. Fraternity and peace through Reconciliation with Christ and one another.
7. Solidarity, as lesser brothers and sisters, with, among and in service to the Poor.

On anxiety about prayerFrom What is Contemplation? by Thomas Merton

On anxiety about prayer
From What is Contemplation? by Thomas Merton

“Do not be too anxious about your advancement in the ways of prayer, because you have left the beaten track and are traveling by paths that cannot be charted and measured.

Therefore leave God to take care of your degree of sanctity and of contemplation. If you yourself try to measure your own progress you will waste your time in futile introspection. Seek one thing alone: to purify your love of God more and more, to abandon yourself more and more perfectly to His will and to love Him more exclusively and more completely, but also more simply and more peacefully and with more total and uncompromising trust.”

Redwoods and The Episcopal Church

an essay by John C. N. Hall

When walking among the massive coastal redwoods in the Muir Woods National Park north of San Francisco, one speaks in hushed tones. Dwarfed in the deep shade of these colossal trees, one senses the sacred nature of an ancient cathedral. The tallest redwoods are reaching higher than the Statue of Liberty. The oldest began growing before Christ was born. Yet, these top-heavy giants have shallow roots and would easily be felled by the constant coastal wind if growing alone. So, as if by some divine command, the trees grow in groups, with roots twisted and intertwined to form a vast labyrinth of support for all, just below the surface. This unseen mesh of connectedness binds the forest into one vast living organism with unifying strength, and allows each individual to reach in safety toward heaven. The trees are one.

In the seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John, Jesus prays that his followers would be kept in safety as one. Seeking unity for those he loves, Christ petitions the Father saying, “Keep them safe by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one just as you and I are one.” It is this unity, spoken of by Christ in prayer, for which people long, the desire for God-given oneness, to live together as one Body in Christ, and to be reconciled to each other, to the world, and to God.

Some might say a realistic look at The Episcopal Church suggests that all is not well. Others find the Church poised for new learning, new growth, and a bright future. Certainly, universal agreement is neither a hallmark of The Episcopal Church in this present moment, nor has it been in times past. Nevertheless, while the Lord Jesus in his “high priestly prayer,” as it is sometimes called, prays for unity, Christ is not ordering his followers into oneness, as some action of collective will. Rather, Christ is praying that God will preserve his loved ones in the unity that is already theirs in Jesus’ name. “Keep them safe by the power of your name, the name you gave me…” he prays. It is by belonging to Christ, by gathering in the name of Jesus, that the Church’s roots are kept bound together. The Episcopal Church is, in fact, already one in Christ Jesus by the will of God.

The fourth chapter of Ephesians provides the first words of the service of Holy Baptism. “There is one Body and one Spirit; there is one hope in God’s call to us.” In claiming the promises made at Baptism, Christians live as beloved sisters and brothers, and members of one Body, the Church. Saint Paul’s wonderful description of the Church as the Body of Christ, complete with eyes, ears, nose, and hands, in his first letter to Corinth reveals the Church’s diversity in the midst of its unity in Christ. This unity in the body does not necessarily equate to uniformity, or even agreement, however. An eye and a toe behave differently. They are one in the body and still surprisingly unique. Yet, the Body of Christ, when functioning optimally, seeks to live by one simple rule: agreement follows unity rather than unity following agreement.

The faithful members of the Body of Christ in The Episcopal Church are like the magnificent redwoods along the Pacific coast, they already are knit together in unity, rooted as one in the name of Jesus Christ.

Body Parts

an essay by John C. N. Hall

You shook my hand hard at the door of the church, leaning your face too close to mine, and waving your index finger at the corner of my eye. “Just visiting from Virginia,” you said. “I am an Anglican. Always have been. Always will!” you assured me. “I’m a cradle Episcopalian, but my Church has left me. My Church has left me. You and your church have gone too far. You have left me,” you accused.

“Nice to meet you,” I smiled. I wondered what you thought of the service we had just shared. I doubted you had really heard any of the sermon I had just preached about unity in Christ. I assumed you felt uncomfortable as you exchanged the Peace with someone in your pew. I suspected you missed the warm words of welcome I offered to all of our guests and visitors during the announcements. I thought you might have questioned the validity of the sacrament we had received, since I, a priest in this wayward church, had presided at the Eucharist.

“I’m here this week visiting my sister,” you went on. “I have left the Episcopal Church. In fact, most of my whole congregation has left,” you explained. You spoke louder, as if I couldn’t hear, and barked, “What with the bishop in New Hampshire. The new woman elected as Presiding Bishop. And now the General Convention denying Christ.” With a final squeeze of my hand you reached your crescendo, “I have left this church, but I’ll always be an Anglican!”

Your grip finally loosened and my fingers recovered as the blood-flow returned. My eyebrows rose a bit. “You’re welcome to join us for coffee and refreshments,” I said, offering a toothy smile.

Just then, your sister bumped you with her elbow as she took my hand and greeted me – another parishioner in the line at the door, another member of the Body of Christ.

I have thought of you often since then. Our encounter clings to the folds in my brain. It saddens me when one is so sure of truth that there is no alternative but to cut off the community of faithful seekers. Had you not read Saint Paul’s wonderful description of the Church as the Body of Christ, complete with eyes, ears, nose, and hands, in his first letter to Corinth? How Paul writes, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you’”? Why would you sever yourself from the Body? Or, why suggest we removed you?

I wanted to acknowledge before you that we are not perfect, but you wouldn’t understand. I wanted you to know that we are not all in agreement, but your mind was already made up. I wanted to suggest that there is room for questioning, but you already had all the answers. I wanted you to remain attached to the magnificent-awkward-astonishing-embarrassing-beautiful-warty-flexible-Body, created in the image of God, but you would have no part of it. Most of all, as a nose, or a kneecap, or a middle toe, or whatever I am, I wanted you to know that I need you – we need you – but you had already gone to the Coffee Hour to corner and excise another body part.