Radio Silence

Until just a few years ago, maritime radio stations were required to observe radio silence on certain frequencies for the three minutes between 15 and 18 minutes past the top of each hour, and for the three minutes between 45 and 48 minutes past the top of the hour. These periods of radio silence were imposed to allow opportunity for the possibility of weak distress signals to make it through the din of usual radio traffic. More colloquially, we often use the term radio silence to describe the situation when someone who is usually very chatty stops communicating altogether.

The sundial on the south wall of
Ely Cathedral with the Greek inscription
"Know the Time" 

I’m not sure but you may have wondered why there was an abrupt halt to my regular sabbatical blog posts. Since my last post, much has transpired. There was much to do and many decisions to make. After my time in Cambridge and my pilgrimage to Canterbury, I made my way to London to spend a final few days in the United Kingdom. You heard me correctly – a final few days.

After two months, resources began to run low. While inflation may have begun to ebb slightly in the US, it is a very different matter in the UK. When plans and budgets were set months ago, I could have anticipated a very different outcome. I could have squeezed several more days into the budget but there was more to consider. Without going into a lot of details, it proved necessary for me to adjust my plans and return to the US two weeks ahead of schedule. As I write this entry, I am recovering from a more intense case of jet lag than I had experienced in the past – but recovering, nonetheless.

All that is to say, that in that silence, I had to take time to reflect. I concluded that it was time – time to return home – not because the clock had expired but that “the time was right.” Ancient peoples understood this in ways we moderns often miss. This is the notion of time the ancient Greeks called kairos.

Kairological time is the time of events rather than intervals. It is the time of ‘right times’, the right times for things to happen. It is the time of the Ely sundial (pictured above), whose message, kairon gnothi, often translated as ‘know the time’, is more accurately rendered as "choose the opportune moment." Though our sense of this kind of time has weakened considerably in our modern world, we still do sometimes respond to it. For example, if we feel a hunger coming we might say, “It’s time for lunch.” That’s a statement of kairological time. By contrast if we declare, as we more commonly do, “It is one o’clock, lunchtime!" we are responding to a command dictated by chronological time, when the clock determines our activity. The decision to return home was not one taken of chronology but of “kairology.”

Now that I have returned, it’s time for me to “break radio silence.” So, fear not intrepid reader, my sabbatical is not yet over (chronologically or kairologically!) and there is much to process from the time I spent wandering as a stranger in a strange land. The reflections that will follow will be a bit less “linear” – they will not follow the timeline of my journey – so much as they will be a bit more “3-D” as a deeper dive into the experience and the impact that it had. Stay with me. I am still walking, though on more familiar soil. Even so, the paths may lead to places yet unknown!

Community

Chapel of the Martyrs and Witnesses
Past and Present
Canterbury Cathedral

Mention “church” to most people and a vision comes to mind that includes buildings with pews, pulpits, organs, choirs, hymnals, sermons, Sunday school and the like. For others, they may think of Sunday evening suppers or special service projects. Still others may think of an event they attended once or twice that made an impression for good or ill.

When we read the scriptures, one of the earliest words used to describe the church was “ecclesia” – a Greek word that, at its root, means “gathering.” In other words – the roots of the church are in the people that gather – in the relationships that form as people find what they have in common as they focus on their own relationship with Jesus.

Relationships – the core of church. Without that all of the awesome architecture, inspiring poetry and melody can be reduced to passing experience of something transcendent but ultimately impermanent. We can be reminded of that when we pass the ruins of monasteries no longer active, or churchyards long forgotten and untended.

In the Church, these relationships find expression in what we profess each Sunday in the phrase the “communion of the saints.” When we profess our belief in this doctrine we too often think of it as an abstraction – as a way of connecting ourselves to the souls of the past. But it is a very present reality. This came home to me in a very real way in, of all places, Canterbury.

Deirdre Good

As it happened, my planned visit here coincided with a visit of one of my most cherished colleagues from the Stevenson School for Ministry, Dr. Deirdre Good. Deirdre’s mother, now in her mid-90s lives in a care home in the north of Kent, not very far away, and Deirdre was staying in Canterbury during her visit. Once we were both aware of the parallel timing, we quickly planned to meet. On Deirdre’s recommendation, we met outside Christchurch gate and walked to Cote Brassiere a few blocks away. We wiled away the hours in conversation about many things – family, retirement plans, current projects, anything, and everything. It was an absolute delight. The bistro filled and emptied during the time we were there. Finally, the evening came to an end, and we walked as far as we could before we had to separate to go follow our different path again, not sure if we would see each other before we took our leave, each for our respective homes in the US one in Maine the other in Pennsylvania.

Some would say that it was another example of “six degrees of separation” – or connection. I believe, however, that it is an example of the power of community – of shared values – of connection in the Spirit of God. Two souls, connected by a power beyond out understanding that recognize within each other something beyond themselves, a power that transcends space and time, that makes a connection even in a far away land. 

It is the same power that connected those who did not now each other but gathered for Morning Prayer in the chapels of the Cathedral or celebrated Holy Communion in the East Chapel dedicated to the Martyrs and Witnesses of the Past and Present. It is the power of the “communion of the saints” – it is the fellowship of the ring – not a magical ring of gold but a spiritual ring of faith that gathers us together wherever we find ourselves.

Seeds bear fruit.

The seeds of where I wanted to spend my sabbatical were planted several years ago with an article that appeared about an organization called the British Pilgrimage Trust (BPT). I referred to them in an early blog post about the Coronation Pilgrimage in which I participated shortly after arriving in England. The initial interest came with an article that described their work in ferreting out a pilgrimage route that is now called “The Old Way” - a 240-mile journey from Southampton to Canterbury.

Unlike the Camino de Santiago de Compostela in Spain, this pilgrimage path was almost forgotten – but the BPT rediscovered it on what is thought to be Britain’s oldest road map (the Gough Map, ca.1360), which reveals an intriguing red line running from Southampton to Canterbury.

The west gate

This path may not have been exclusively used by pilgrims, but the waypoints are known to include large religious houses that formed a network of hospitality that pilgrims used. It also connects the harbors and ports along the South coast of England, where many European pilgrims would have disembarked before joining the most convenient and direct route to the shrine of Thomas Becket, the martyred Archbishop of Canterbury. Many of these waypoints have a long history of pilgrimage as destinations themselves. Also, along the way, there are many lost shrines, healing wells, and much pilgrim graffiti that hints at the journeys known to have been made back and forth along this path over the centuries.

Of course, several years intervened that included a pandemic. I have grown older, and the 240-mile trek seemed more and more formidable than something I felt I could undertake. Quite frankly, the costs associated with the pilgrimage also grew exponentially and the entire idea became a pipe dream. But the seeds had been planted. I ended up in England on sabbatical with an entirely different vision of what I would do on sabbatical, but the frame of the vision would still be one of pilgrimage – a journey of discovery – and as it happens – a journey that would conclude, in its spiritual dimensions, in Canterbury.

On Saturday, I arrived in this special place probably just as weary as if I had made the trek on The Old Way – or so it seemed. Loaded with a backpack of belongings that sustained me for the last two months, I trekked up the cobbled streets toward the center of the city, toward that destination which has attracted pilgrims for centuries.

Christ Gate (at left) with the Cathedral Tower
just showing to the right

Soon the ancient city gate appeared, but there was more to go. I really began to feel what those ancient pilgrims must have felt – anticipation but a sense that this might never end. My GPS (something they wouldn’t have had to aid them!) kept urging onward until I realized I made a wrong turn and had to retrace my steps! Finally, there it was, Christ Gate – the entrance to the Cathedral precincts was in view.

What I hadn’t realized was that the lodgings I had booked were actually within the precincts of the cathedral itself! I would be spending my time here on the grounds of the Cathedral with access the general public did not have! And all quite by accident! Or was it?

Circling Around

New Street looking west in downtown Birmingham

My stay in the UK to this point has been fairly, well, “protected?” Most of it was spent within the rarified atmosphere of an academic city and that within a theological college. Some time was spent on pilgrimage to religious sites of significance taking in the experience of the pilgrims’ way by staying in hostels rather than plush hotels. Other days were in more posh locations like London’s Kensington and Notting Hill neighborhoods attending meetings of canonists and jurists and more academics.

Upon completion of my time in Cambridge, I took a trip to Birmingham, England’s “Second City.” Birmingham is an industrial center in the west midlands of England – more Pittsburg or Chicago than London or Boston. Hardscrabble in areas, very diverse in language, ethnicity, religion, and politics, Birmingham probably reflects more of what today’s Britain is like than what one sees on YouTube travelogues and vacation brochures. As large and influential as it is, even my tourist “bible” (anything by Rick Steves) didn’t even have an entry for the city.

I think that’s what made it intriguing for me. Birmingham lacks the medieval walls of York. Its churches are large, and some are notable, but few make the impression of, say, York Minster the Cathedrals of Ely or Lincoln. Birmingham is populated by second and third generation descendants of Commonwealth transplants from Pakistan, India, the polyglot nations of Africa, and the far East. Victorian era Anglican churches, built primarily to care for the spiritual and often the physical needs of factory workers, stand next to twentieth-century mosques, and Sikh temples. Hillel grocers are on nearly every street corner – or at least most green grocers offer Hillel products.

Modern middle-class grade high rise apartment complexes dot the suburban landscape around the Olympic style arenas where the Commonwealth Games are held periodically, and older housing is being rehabbed and updated with high-tech and high-end appointments. All this evident from the number of DYI and big box tech stores along the major access highways and the empty boxes and dumpster rentals at the entrances to the older developments along the way.

It is an area of contrasts. Along with this sense that it is an area “on the move” the marks of a darker side still manifest themselves. Gang graffiti tags overpasses and industrial buildings. Carcasses of cast-off vehicles and long neglected retail spaces litter other, clearly forgotten neighborhoods.

A newspaper recently carried the headline that economic stats indicated that the UK would avoid the forecasted recession. All this sounds vaguely familiar. What is interesting to me is that in the UK credit for that accomplishment is being taken by a conservative government. In the US, it is being touted by an administration that is professedly left leaning. In the end, it seems, it may not matter who is in charge. Maybe the 18th and 19th century economic philosophers who speculated about the “invisible hand of market forces” were correct after all. If that is true, what is important is what we do with the wealth we derive from these forces.

As Anglicans, we may need to revisit the social ethics of thinkers like those of the Oxford Movement, who saw within the gospel message proper correctives to the excessive drive toward the accumulation of wealth and power. Perhaps we need to get our religious values reoriented away from the priorities of the “prosperity gospel” and toward a “preferential option for the poor.” Just perhaps, it’s time for a rethink about what Jesus had to say about whose kingdom we pray for each day.

The Last Day

My window on the last day

This story began on April 25. It ends today - June 16. Barely eight weeks. Two lunar months. Not quite two calendar months. Fifty-three days.

Time passes. Time.

I can’t help but reflect on how artificial our assessment of time has become. My sabbatical has made me deeply aware of this. I spent weeks preparing for the “time” I would have. While I have been away, I have struggled with the whole idea of “sabbath” time. In my academic discipline of canon law, we make a distinction about time. The notion of tempus utile or “useful time” is time during which someone can be expected to act. Interestingly, this category of time is a subset of time generally. In other words, all time is not time when someone is expected to act or is held to account for a particular responsibility. Now, of course, that’s legalese ripe for use in the conduct of legal procedures, but it is helpful to understand how we may have gotten a bit off course about how we look at time in our culture and in our lives.

Especially with the arrival of 24/7 news cycles, cable TV, streaming services, social media and the like, things like “useful time” seem to have disappeared. All time, our culture seems to tell us, should be useful time. If you are not doing something useful all the time, you are wasting time. What is even worse, in an age where “multi-tasking” is a highly valued skill, if you are not doing more than one thing at a time you are wasting time and energy.

Once I arrived in Cambridge, I tried to get myself on schedule – a different one – but a schedule, nonetheless. I had my “to do lists.” I had the readings I wanted to accomplish. I had the places I wanted to visit. I wanted the experiences I wanted to “check off.”

It wasn’t until I undertook my brief pilgrimage to York Minster that I woke up to the fact that the gift of the sabbatical wasn’t merely the privilege of being away from the daily grind of my usual work – but that it was the gift of – you guessed it – time. In the great minster, it took the punishing climb of the Great Tower to awaken me to the reality that simply “getting things done” was not the purpose of my journey. I was here to awaken something deep inside me – an awareness of God’s spirit and life that had been calloused by over-use and over-work. It had become more difficult to feel God’s tenderness because the places where that touch was most often felt had grown rough and tough. They needed to be restored and renewed.

As I descended the tower, I stopped the harried pace of my tour. I sat in the mighty nave listening to the brief hourly prayer and heard that still small voice within say, “Quiten, David. It’s time for quiet.” Nearly an hour passed. I needed that hour just to recover physically to be honest. But as the enfleshed spiritual child of God I am, it was the beginning of a renewal that has now continued through the remainder of this sabbath time.

Out went to the to-do lists – though not entirely. They just took a different priority. Out went the intense scheduling – though not entirely – each day came with new opportunities. Walks in the meadows replaced the need to “be somewhere.” Coffee at Michaelhouse with one of the books I wanted to peruse, rather than the library. If I got distracted, all the better. I was awakening. God was doing God’s work. The only difference? I had finally let go – and let God (trite saying, yes, but true and necessary).

The time that passed was not totally ignored. That lovely scene outside my window was a gradual transformation – from the vibrant tulips of that late April day to the varied wildflowers of the ubiquitous English style garden – that itself a metaphor of sorts. Planted and tended, to be sure, but largely left to its natural cycles. Maybe it’s a lesson I have learned in these several days – a lesson I hope to being home and live into in the days to come.

Late yesterday those wildflowers witnessed final good-byes as students and their families, faculty, staff and these two refreshment guests celebrate the Eucharist for a final time under the "marquee" on the college lawn and in the evening twilight a bit of an informal party.

Earlier in the day, a final time together in the lecture hall presented an opportunity to address the students. There, I was able to thank them for their hospitality and for the service the provided me - to remind me that the first vocation any of us receive from God is to be a disciple - a vocation that is first and foremost in the life of every Christian and remains the most important call we receive from God. Everything else is in service to that basic and most fundamental call. 

Strange that after over 40 years of ordained life, the most powerful element of my sabbatical experience would be to remind me that regardless of any other accomplishment of a long career, the most important thing I could ever be was a disciple of Jesus - a follower of The Way. Upon reflection, just about every great saint teaches that same truth - not that I am a great saint, far from it - but the truth is self-evident. It just took me this long to remember it. By God's grace, I will never forget it.

The Last Days - Part 4

The community seated for dinner
at the May Ball

They are always meant to be festive occasions, but events like the May Ball (a.k.a. “The Leavers’ Ball”) are bittersweet. The warm, Tuesday spring evening began with that most British of aperitifs, a Pimm’s Cup, on the Principal’s lawn. Students and faculty dressed to the nines. Some dedicated to serving, others, up to now having their talents exposed only in the praise band accompaniments at worship were under another tent regaling the gathering crowd with Dave Brubeck’s classic “Take Five.”

The announcement was made that the “Moule Hole” (usually a playground for faculty and resident student children) was now open (transformed into a photo venue). Not long after, Fiona Greene, our Sabbatical Coordinator (and the Assistant Principal/Dean of the college) appeared on crutches! She seemed just fine when we spoke at morning prayer earlier that day. Apparently, to her surprise on Monday, during a game of Rounders, she made a diving catch and fractured her knee. It ached horribly so she went to get it checked out. This was the result! Alas, we aren’t getting any younger. (I had missed that event since I was still in London at St. Milletus College.)

This writer and his refreshment
companion Judy Berinai from 
the Anglican Church in 
Malaysia

Then came a lovely three course dinner, expertly prepared by the house chef, which I came to learn, is an executive hotel chef who is, shall we say, underemployed at Ridley Hall, and, as Fiona told me over dinner, “lives for moments like these.” As a testament to his skill, I learned the next day from one of the student servers that the desert course met with disaster. As it was being transferred to a staging area, the trolley collapsed, and it all came crashing to the ground. Chef Howie was able take available resources and create a new dessert that, when served, seemed to have been planned all along!

The Rev. Michael Voland
Principal of Ridley Hall
addressing those gathered.

Then came the toasts and the speeches. All were brief. Many funny. All, in the end, poignant. As noted, this is “the Leavers’ Ball” which is part of the good-bye process for those who are finishing a chapter in their formation for ministry. They face new chapters as they leave for their first curacy, an appointment as a lay chaplain, or simply to search for ways to serve God and the Church. Those left behind find themselves facing new roles when they return without their student mentors to guide them. They, in turn, will become the community’s elders. It is a microcosm of how the Church itself works – of how we guide and mentor one another in the ways of the faith.

It seems this past week has been filled with these experiences. On Tuesday of last week, a special service was held at Great St. Mary’s for the “leavers” (graduates) from the consortium, which comprises the Cambridge Theological Federation (which I described in an earlier blog post). That began the steady flow of bittersweet experiences (including a "leaver's ceremony" at St. Mellitus) that will culminate on Thursday of this week as I say my final goodbyes to Ridley Hall’s community. More on that later. But for now. Cheers!

The Last Days - Part 3

But Sunday wasn’t the end of it. There was still Monday to go.

Thanks to my new colleagues at Ridley Hall, I was able to contact a Cambridge local (Fr. Mark Scarlata – another US transplant, by the way) who is also a member of the team at St. Milletus College in London.

Morning session opens at St. Milletus

St Mellitus College is an English theological college established in 2007 by the Diocese of London and the Diocese of Chelmsford of the Church of England. St. Mellitus College remains a non-residential college that has pioneered context-based training within the Church of England by integrating academic theological study with ministry placements throughout the course of study. It was one of the models I came to study as part of my sabbatical inquiry.

The college was formed as a merger between North Thames Ministerial Training Course, which was based in the dioceses of London and Chelmsford, and St Paul’s Theological Center and has grown significantly since. It has moved into its own premises at St Jude's Church, Kensington (2012), a building renovated specifically for this purpose that houses a range of teaching space, rooms for pastoral care, academic and administrative offices, a growing academic library, space for hospitality and college worship.

While in many ways, St. Milletus mirrors our experience with the Stevenson School for Ministry in the diocese of Central Pennsylvania and the diocese of Bethlehem and beyond, there are significant differences not only in structure, but also in the way they can respond to the Church’s needs because of the polity of the Church of England. We are organized very differently in The Episcopal Church, and the processes involved in raising up people for lay and ordained leadership can have profound differences. However, there are many things that are the same whether we are Anglicans in American or in the UK. These are the things I came to study.

Experiences like my immersion in the work of Ridley Hall and my visits to places like Westminster College (Cambridge) and St. Milletus (London) have given me a great deal to think about. Along with my colleagues at the Stevenson School for Ministry, we continue to face many challenges for the development of church leadership for the Church of the twenty-first century.

I’ve gathered a great deal of data. In fact, my brain is swimming in it. As some time passes, some of it will settle – much like the rich silted soil in a river delta. My hope is that from this richness there will emerge some new thinking that will help us all to discover what God has in store for us in the days and years to come.

By the end of the day it was time to return to my temporary "home away from home" - Ridley Hall. Road weary and tired - oh and by the way, weary of the heat (it's been a whopping 85 deg F here!) - I showered, read a bit, had my evening tea and collapsed into bed for a rest. The next few days may prove just as challenging!

The Last Days - Part 2

Facing the nave from the chancel at 
St. Peter's Church, Eaton Square, London.

On Friday last, yours truly travelled to London for the Annual Conference of the Ecclesiastical Law Society to be held at St. Peter’s Eaton Square the following day (Saturday). This conference focused on the issues surrounding “Contested Heritage.” In the USA, we know this issue more in the secular sphere in the debates over statues and memorials related to the Confederacy and the Civil War. Here, the present issue focuses on the trans-Atlantic slave trade and the revenue that it brought to the British economy. Often these funds were “washed” by use for “good” in charitable purposes. Consequently, large, and sometimes ornate memorials decorate churches and churchyards extolling the kind works of these benefactors conveniently omitting the historical origins of their wealth. How these matters get resolved is no easy challenge and in the UK, it often involves church law and the church courts.

St. Peter’s itself has an interesting history. In 1987 an anti-Catholic arsonist set fire to the east end, mistakenly believing that it was a Roman Catholic chapel. Within hours the church was fully engulfed. Soon only the Georgian shell of the building remained, roofless, with most of its furnishings destroyed. The church needed total rebuilding. With a total redesign of the building the result was a new and simpler interior, with a vicarage, offices, flats for the curate, verger and music director, a meeting hall, nursery school rooms and a large playroom for the church's youth club. Our day-long meeting was held in that meeting hall. 

In the nave at Westminster Abbey
for the Holy Eucharist

Of course Sunday was the Lord’s Day. I spent the morning at Westminster Abbey participating in the Holy Eucharist. To enter the Great West Entrance seems almost inconsequential, until you realize that just weeks before, King Charles and his consort walked these same stones in a sacred ceremony extending back a thousand years.

Touring such a place is not the same as sitting and waiting for a liturgical service to begin. As a tourist, it’s all just an artifact. As a participant in the liturgy, you realize that this is a living place – that it is a sacred place where people come to meet God and where God touches the hearts and souls of men and women daily. That is a reality that is too easily forgotten, whether here or in Cambridge, or Ely, or Lincoln, or York, or in any of these grand places. It becomes obvious soon after worship begins, and people begin to slink away once they’ve had their fill of the pageantry – once the words and actions get down to the business of worship and reflection.

Worshipping in a place like this makes a point about sacred space. In our harried and modern world, we can sometimes lose contact with the fact that we ourselves are embodied beings. We live in a world of flesh and blood not just a world of bits and bytes. We are more than our Twitter or Facebook feeds. We are people – made in God’s likeness and image – with the accordant dignity and sacred character.

We can too often neglect our need for awe. Awe is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends our understanding of the world. Places like this help us recover that sense. But we need to see them for what they are – more than a setting for a selfie. We need to see them as the work of human hands, with the cost of human toil and even human lives. We need to see the selflessness that they represent and drink in the vastness of time and space they encompass.

Awe helps us pay attention to the moral beauty of others. It draws us out of our narrow worlds. It helps to begin to see as God sees. It is there that we begin to meet God. This was part of my Sunday morning. It continued with my meandering walk through St. James Park later that day. The sheer beauty of nature – of families on picnic blankets – of children playing on the grass beneath ancient trees – of swans swimming in the lake. I probably would not have been nearly as mindful of this beauty without the initial experience of the abbey that morning.

(to be continued)

The Last Days - Part 1

This writer has been silent these last days, not for lack of words or experiences to share! Quite the opposite. The last week was replete with activity.

Wednesday last was “Moule Day” here at Ridley Hall. Moule Day showcases the way Ridley seeks to preserve its best traditions while looking ahead to ways to best serve the Church. One of these is an effort to engage with the world where the Church finds itself. One area of interest is in the calling of those who serve in public office (i.e., politics).

Particularly here, where the Church of England remains an “established” church, this is an area of life where there is need to have a specifically Christian voice and witness. This year Ridley’s Moule Day speaker was the Honorable Tim Farron, M.P., the former leader of the Liberal Democrats, who delivered the C.F.D. Moule Memorial Lecture, about whether Christians should get involved in the “mucky business” of politics.

In addition to the lecture, Moule Day is a kind of alumni day when former graduates of Ridley return for a day of remembrance and rekindling of old relationships. It is a day to meet current students (even the temporary refreshment students like yours truly). It was a day filled with conversation and conviviality, thoughtful reflection, worship, and prayer.

The procession begins outside
St. Bene't's Church

Thursday was the Feast of Corpus Christi. While St. Luke’s marks this day on the Sunday nearest, the formal day in the liturgical calendar is the Thursday after Trinity Sunday. You may recall an earlier blog post about Corpus Christi College. It makes perfect sense that there would be great celebration attached to the patronal feast of that institution – tied to the parish that I have been attending every Sunday while in Cambridge, St. Bene’t’s. On Thursday evening, we gathered for a Solemn Celebration of the Eucharist joined by many regional clergy and a join choir of several parishes, including “Little St. Mary’s” just up Trumpington Road.

Upon completion of the Eucharist, the assembly prepared itself for the Eucharistic procession from the parish church of St. Bene’t’s to Little St. Mary’s (which, truth be told isn’t really all that “little”). The procession, accompanied by a small brass band, sang Eucharistic and Easter hymns making its way up Cambridge’s most historic corridor, led by crucifer, torches, clergy, choir, and a large assembly, all singing and giving witness to their belief in the presence of the Risen Lord in their midst. Once at St. Mary’s the service ended with Benediction and a refreshment reception in the parish hall.

(to be continued)

Nearing a chapter’s end.

Punting on the River Cam near Queen's College

On Sunday morning, I walked to St. Bene’t’s for Sunday worship as has become my custom. The changes were ringing out from the various churches as I described in one of my early sabbatical blog posts. It was warm and sunny – a perfect spring morning. But a but a sadness crept in as I suddenly realized that this would be my last Sunday morning walk into Cambridge for worship during my sabbatical. This would be my last Sunday worshiping with the community of St. Bene’t’s that I had adopted as my own for my brief stay. I have another weekend, but I will be in London for meetings of the Ecclesiastical Law Society. Term will end later the week following and must then take my leave.

In some ways, it’s a metaphor for life. When planning this sabbatical, there were so many things I had planned to do and to accomplish. I set out to make a study of contextual theological education and assess some implications for the way we undertake formation for ministry within the Episcopal Church in Central Pennsylvania. I set out to make pilgrimage to key sights in the Anglican story that provides the foundation for the religious and cultural contours of the Church in which I serve and that I have come to love. I set out to explore elements of the broad traditions of the Church of England from both its catholic and its evangelical incarnations. I set out to ….

Yes. When I set it all to writing, it amounts to much more than could possibly be accomplished in the eight weeks allotted for my time at Ridley Hall. However, I must say that despite my overly ambitious agenda (quite characteristic), quite a lot was experienced and discovered along the way. I shared some of my ruminations through the posts of this blog (and will continue to do so) but realize that so many of the experiences, so much of the knowledge is still in the form of genuinely “raw data” that needs to be processed.

For the more technical theology geeks out there, my theological methodology over the years has consistently followed the patterns set out by Bernard Lonergan, introduced to me by one of my seminary professors, Fr. Peter Drilling. In his theological method, Lonergan notes that the first step is “Experience” – or the phase where we gather data on many levels. Our minds begin the process of formulating insights from this raw data (I won’t go into the whole process here!) that often results in an “Aha! Moment,” or “insight” as things coalesce around a central kernel of truth. The challenge for the theologian (in this case, me) is then to discover ways to communicate that reality to others – and this, in turn, becomes the data I and others will use to move the whole process of discovery forward. This is the work on ongoing conversion – of continuing change about the way we think of and view the world - and God.

So, with less than two weeks remaining at Ridley Hall, I begin the process of closing another chapter of ministry – a chapter of pilgrimage and of discovery. The journey is not yet over, to be sure, and there is more to come. But it will be a new chapter – something different from what has come before – and that, too, is a metaphor for life.

Symbols Speak Volumes

A simple cross - A chance encounter

This afternoon I was walking down Bridge Street in Cambridge. It passes over the River Cam (obvious, huh?) near Magdalene College. As I passed by All Saints-St. Mary’s (also known as “The Round Church”) a man in what I guess was his late fifties or early sixties, hard ones, came up to me and asked me simply, “Are you a believer?” At first, I was a bit non-plussed. But then he repeated himself and pointed to my chest where peaking out from behind the sling of my daypack was a cross that I had been wearing for the last few days.

Today the cross was more obvious because it was a beautiful and warm, sunny afternoon and my seater didn’t need to be zipped up. Once I collected myself I answered him in the affirmative. He followed up, “Born again?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“You share your faith?”

“With anyone who asks,” I replied.

“Good. God bless you,” he said as he smiled and walked away.

This has happened to me before, but for more obvious reasons. I’ve been in COSTCO with my clerical collar on as I stopped to pick up something on my way home to Harrisburg from Lebanon one evening when a lady in the check-out line asked for special prayers. Again, in a grocery store, a man inquired if I was a pastor. When I told him that I was, he asked me to pray with him then and there for a special need that he shared with me there in the produce aisle. These occasions are almost predictable. It’s one of the reasons we wear the distinctive garb we wear – so that people can recognize not only the role we play but the One we represent in an authentic and sacramental way.

This time was different. The cross I was wearing could have been merely an ornament, a piece of jewelry. For this man, for some reason, it signified that another disciple walks the same walk he did – or so I surmise. There is something mystical about that connection. I will never see this man again. Was it an angel? Was it a test of my willingness to give witness to the One I profess as Lord and Savior? Was it merely a chance encounter? I will never really know. But what I do know is this: it once more reminded me that we, all of us who profess to follow Jesus Christ, in all places and in all times, are sacraments, signs of his love for the world. We must always be ready to do as St. Peter admonishes:

Be ready at all times to answer anyone who asks you to explain the hope you have in you (1 Peter 3:13, Good News Translation)

A Pastoral Letter - From Cambridge - It's PRIDE Month

The storefront window of the
Cambridge University Press Bookshop. 
The world's oldest publisher at the
oldest bookshop site in the country.

Dear Friends in Christ,

As part of its pastoral vision, St. Luke’s has moved to become a community partner in intentionally affirming LGBTQ+ members of the wider Lebanon community as part of its Mercy Works/Outreach efforts. I write to you today as your pastor to affirm that effort and to place it on a theological and spiritual foundation.

In recent years, there was frequent talk about “the gay agenda,” or how there was a conspiracy afoot to “destroy the family,” or to “redefine marriage.” None of this is true. Quite frequently, those who espouse such positions will use religious terminology and scriptural references to prove their point. Regrettably, we also know that both the bible and church doctrine have been used to justify positions that, in hindsight, we found regrettable at best and sometimes even repulsive. For example, it was not that long ago that churches divided over the principle that slavery was a permanent and beneficial institution ordained by God.

As Episcopalians, we believe that our understanding of God rests on three fundamental pillars: Holy Scripture, Reason, and Tradition. In other words, we read the Word of God, we think and reflect on it carefully, and we consider what we conclude considering the teachings we have received through the ages of the Church’s life.

What the LGBTQ+ question confronts us with is really our understanding of God. Why? Because Scripture teaches that we are made “in the image and likeness of God.” We are, in this sense, “icons” of the divine being. We start to get a little mixed up when we start to think about Jesus. We also believe that Jesus is the “perfect image of the living God” – God incarnate – made flesh by the Holy Spirit of the Virgin Mary. As a human being, Jesus had to be made either male or female – and there is the rub. That binary choice.

It is that binary division that has been baked into our cultural mindset. We think of it as something so obvious that we apply it to all beings – including God. It is interesting that biological research reflects nature as far more complicated and varied than that. Anthropology demonstrates that other cultures and historical periods have looked at gender differently. Even the bible and early Church tradition have used more fluid gender metaphors and concepts that have been overlooked or deliberately ignored for centuries. Today, in a world where gender issues are discussed far more than most of us even want, we continue to apply strict binary categories – “either/or” choices to many things – even to God. Regrettably, this choice is now being used to divide us as a society and as a nation along political lines. This should not be a political issue. It is a human issue. As such it is ultimately a theological and spiritual issue.

St. Luke's booth at Lebanon's Got Pride
celebration in June 2002

Part of the problem comes from our need to categorize things. We use categories to simplify and to organize the complex world in which we live. As things get more and more complex, we increasingly need to use categories. Categories in themselves are neutral. There is nothing wrong with them.

The problem arises when categories get in the way of our awareness of reality. If we allow our categories to become too rigid, we only perceive things about the world that match our expectations, rather than interacting with a multifaceted and surprising reality. In other words, we make people fit our categories rather than meet them as unique individuals. We narrow things down even more when our categories provide only two choices, as in: you can be male (a category that requires you also be masculine as I perceive what masculine means) or you can be female (which means you must also be feminine as I perceive what femininity means). But you can’t be both—and you certainly can’t be anything else. “It’s simple biology,” it is often said. Except it’s not biology. Experts can explain to us how assigning physiological sex is far more complicated.

Simple divisions like male/female have another problem as well: We have long tended to rank one as better than the other. The assumption that men are inherently superior to women provided the foundation for patriarchy, a form of rigid social categories that began some 5,000 years ago in the Near Eastern societies, an outdated pattern based on social patterns that no longer even exist. Many Christians would disagree. Instead, they say, binary gender (and the roles that emerge from them) is not merely a set of convenient mental pigeonholes but rather a God-ordained reality. The bible, after all, begins with this same division: “God created humankind in his image,” in Genesis 1. “In the image of God, he created them; male and female he created them.”

As we are increasingly realizing today, pronouns are important. When the masculine pronoun is assigned to God in this verse (as it is in the original language), it thwarts any implication of equality between male and female. Although we can assert that females may have also been made in the divine image, if God is a “he” who created males first (Gen. 2), then females must somehow be blurry, secondary copies - not quite as complete or accurate as males. Furthermore, a God who is “he” would naturally favor the human most like him, who bears his image most precisely, namely, the male.

Some of these assumptions are based on language. For humans, categories and language go hand in hand. We have a hard time thinking about anything for which we lack words. When I was growing up, for example, we didn’t talk about gender. Coming to terms with my own identity as a gay man took longer because I had no language to describe it or understand it. Similarly, I could never conceive of God as anything but male. Only later could I begin to even think of God having any feminine qualities at all. For many of us as Catholics, that was why we developed such devotion to another feminine icon – the Virgin Mary. But, we were told, Mary was not God. So, God still couldn’t have feminine qualities, they were still second best – and so were women. It took a long while and a major conversion of thought to overcome that prejudice. Our language not only reflects our beliefs but shapes the way we construct our view of the world.

Hebrew has no nongendered pronouns. This means if you were speaking in Hebrew, you would refer to a book as “he” and a loaf of bread as “she.” For the most part, these are purely grammatical categories. This is true in many languages even today. We can argue that the Old Testament refers to God as “he” simply because the word god is masculine in a grammatical sense. However, whenever the same scriptures speak about the Spirit of God, feminine pronouns are used, because spirit, in Hebrew, is feminine in form (as it is also in Greek and Latin).

But why do our translators never use feminine pronouns when talking about the Spirit of God? More than likely because they, like many of us, have adopted a perspective that the Triune God is wholly masculine and so cannot have feminine qualities. So, the Holy Spirit is “he” not “she.” If we used “she,” somehow, we would almost immediately conclude we were not speaking about God.

The more we dig into the scriptures, the more we find that if we remove our prejudgments just for a bit, we will find that there is more gender fluidity than we would ever expect. In fact, the Old Testament is filled with such images. In the New Testament, Jesus uses many feminine images to describe God: as a mother hen (Luke 13:34); the woman searching for the lost coin (Luke 15:8-10); the Spirit giving birth to our new life (John 3:5-6). How many times do we hear the Apostles speak about God “giving birth to us?”

I am not trying to be dismissive or flip here. I am not trying to be super “relevant” or “woke.” What I am trying to do is to point out that many of our prejudices and social biases may be inconsistent with the teaching of our Christian faith even though others may say that these things are required of those who profess such faith.

The main point is a simple one: God is not gendered. 

If we are made in the image and likeness of God, then the gender with which we identify in an authentic manner and in which we can sincerely and fully worship the one true God with pure and open hearts is the gender in which God is glorified. The practical implications of living within the physical, psychological, and social world present us with challenges. These challenges must be confronted and resolved within an authentic faith. 

That journey is unique and requires a place of safety where one can find the space and time to explore, study, pray, worship, and discover the God who created, redeemed, and most of all, loves us all into eternal life. 

St. Luke’s must provide that space for all people who seek it.

While this letter was long and perhaps tedious, I can assure you, there is much more to explore. But I wanted you to know that the decisions that have been taken by parish leadership, by the wardens, by vestry, and by me, have been made after much careful thought and reflection.

I ask you to reflect prayerfully on what I have outlined here considering our baptismal covenant, especially the promises we make about finding Christ in all persons and striving for justice and peace. I ask you to continue your support for parish leadership as we move with other community partners to be a genuinely open and affirming community to all of God’s children so that the message “God loves you. No conditions. Full Stop.” is boldly proclaimed and clearly heard.

With you as pilgrim on The Way,

The Competition is Intense

Not too soon after I arrived at Ridley Hall, I became aware of what was to become one of the highlights of the Easter term - the Annual Lawn Croquet Competition. This longstanding tradition even has a champions’ board posted in the Common Room opposite the Dining Hall. I was somewhat honored to be recruited into the tournament, an honor I quickly declined - I am no croquet master - and as I quickly discovered - neither are many of the competitors! However, having a room on the ground floor of F Staircase gave me ample opportunity to observe the many hours of practice exercised by the teams that had formed from the student body.

This is serious stuff, mind you. It is the topic of conversation at meals - the coordination of which becomes the major distraction from study as end of year essays, interviews, and exams begin to stress. And it's all in good fun.

I couldn't help but wonder though, how properly British this was - a lawn croquet tournament as the competitive sport. But again, it was perfect. The game does not require a great deal of physical prowess, endurance, or the "stuff" or our more American competitive engagements. It's not flag football on the quad, or half-court b-ball as when I was in seminary (of course there is no gym here at Ridley). It's a gentle and gentile game that allows men and women to play with and against one another. It allows people of all skill levels to make their errors and the occasional great "strike." It is in its own way, fully inclusive of anyone in this community that wanted to be engaged. I can see why it is so attractive.

It was marvelous to behold just this afternoon as the final game was being played and the championship was coming down to "match point" that nearly everyone gathered around the courtyard as a hushed tone waited on the players to make their moves. When the decisive point was scored there was, you guessed it, polite applause all around. It was a delight to behold. Soon thereafter, everyone got "back to business." Preparing essays, studying for exams, rehearsing for sermons, getting ready for interviews with prospective placement supervisors. It served its purpose.

Soon the courtyard will transform again - from a playing field into a lecture hall as a grand marquee (we call it a tent) appears for the Moule Lecture next Wednesday and for the "Leavers Ball" on the Tuesday following. You'll hear more about those events as they draw near. I fear discussing them too much yet since they signal that my time here at Ridley Hall will soon draw to a close.

So, let's just let each day come as it will.