The Hokey Pokey really is what it's all about.

(c) 2013 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

 

Bumper Sticker Theology: A pithy saying that makes you shake your head and groan or actually think about something differently.  Today’s Bumper Sticker Theology topic is “The Hokey Pokey: What if it really is what it’s all about?”

I give thanks to God that it’s the Hokey Pokey and that it’s not the Chicken Dance.  I’d hate to think that it’s all about flapping your arms and saying “bock bock bock.”  Similarly, I’m glad it’s not all about Locomotion.  All that jumping up and down hanging on to someone’s waist gets tiresome.  Party Rock – it’s not in the house tonight.  At my age, I’m not that into shuffling.  However, given my conversations and contemplations this week about today’s gospel on the baptism of Jesus, the Hokey Pokey Bumper Sticker Theology isn’t too far off base. 

Really.  Stick with me, people.  This is going to make sense.

Let’s review the steps of this traditional and ridiculous American wedding dance. (You put your right hand in….)  This is repeated with the left hand, the right leg, the left leg, until finally you put your whole self in and take your whole self out and put your whole self in again.

I think, in many ways, the Hokey Pokey is a great metaphor for our journey in faith.  We take one move at a time, some prescribed for us, and some where we step out on our own.  We shake off what we don’t like or just shake to test whether or not something is strong enough to keep.  The goal, eventually, is to put our whole selves into sacramental life, not to get something for ourselves, but to immerse ourselves in the mystery and give ourselves up to the experience, letting it shape us and how we live.

As a sacramental church, we use ritual to make holy time and space.  Our Prayer Book provides language that we use to sanctify the hours of the day, certain days of the year, and significant times of our lives.  One of those significant times is baptism.  As this is the Feast of the Baptism of Our Lord, I’m going to stick to this one particular sacrament.  I think, though, that you’ll be able to see the parallels in the others.

First of all, let’s be clear about Jesus’ baptism.   It wasn’t about his getting to heaven, nor was it done in the name of the Trinity.  This baptism was about repentance – making a new start – turning one’s life in a new direction.  In all honesty, John didn’t really think Jesus needed to be baptized for that either. 

In hindsight, we can interpret Jesus’ subsequential trip to the wilderness, initiated by the Holy Spirit, as Our Savior’s new direction.  However, I don’t think that this was the point either.

In his baptism, Jesus became a part of the community that was surrounding him.  He wasn’t signing off on all of the statements of a creed. He wasn’t testifying to any specific doctrine.  He was putting his whole self in community with the confused, damaged, and broken people who knew that they needed God.

As he prays, the voice from heaven proclaims him to be the Beloved, one in whom God is well pleased.  In essence, nothing is changed. Jesus has always been God’s Beloved, before time and forever.  God has always been in solidarity with the downtrodden.  The act of baptism, though, made it visible to the world around Jesus.  No longer was the divine presence something ethereal; now it was obviously real, in the flesh, not just to his parents or to traveling royalty but to the hoi polloi, the folks at the river who waded into the water to be cleansed from the impurity of their lives in hopes of starting over.  What had always been was now made holy.

The reality of sacramental living is that whether it is blessings or baptisms, communion or confirmation, anointing or ordination, liturgy gives words and signs and actions to Divine Activities that are already taking place. Christ is already present with the community before bread is broken; a child is already loved by God before they are baptized; healing is already taking place before oil and prayers meet the forehead of someone who is sick. The sacraments signal to the community gathered that God is here, now, forever, and we are given the opportunity to see the divine desire in the eyes and hearts of the people next to us.

It is no accident that the sacraments cannot be administered in the Episcopal Church without the community present.  If we are asking people to put their whole selves into this community, through baptism or the Eucharist or any of the others, we need to be there to support them in the transformation of life that will undoubtedly come.  And, we need to be there to hold each other accountable in that transformed life.

Accountability is the gift of the sacraments of the church. The sacraments allow those over whom the Holy Spirit hovers to be accountable not only to God but to the entire community of believers and vice versa.

The sacraments require that we make a commitment of our whole selves to the community in which we now find ourselves.  We witness baptismal promises in a context that includes our own promise to them – to support them, to pray for them, to love them as the beloved children of God that they are.  We are all God’s Beloved.  With us God is well pleased.  If you have any doubt of that, return to the passage of Isaiah that we read earlier.  Read it to yourself and insert your name where it says Jacob and Israel. 

But now thus says the Lord,

he who created you, O __

he who formed you, O __

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name, you are mine.

Is there anything that we cannot do, knowing that we are loved by God so deeply?  How can we stay rooted in our pews when others equally beloved by God are in need?   Why would we want to distance ourselves from the Spirit that creates and sustains this community?  I can’t imagine: Unless you’ve taken your whole self out.

So, put your whole self in – into community, into faith, into the Divine Desire for you.  That’s what it’s all about.  Amen.

Christmas Bells

(c) 2012 C. B. Park, all rights reserved.

The CD player in my car is kaput. I have, therefore, been forced to listen to Christmas music on the radio.  Most of it has been okay, but even I get tired of Josh Groban’s O Holy Night on a daily basis. There was one song that made me feel weird.  It was one of the versions of Carol of the Bells.  It started off pretty enough, but at the end, the voices sounded like they were screaming.  RIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIING RIIIIIING!!!!!!  Egad.

It reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe.  He wrote this amazing poem called The Bells. It is verse filled with onomatopoeia.  You remember what that is – right?  It’s when the pronunciation of a word reveals what the word means.  Like buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Well, The Bells begins rather lightly and ends up on a somber note.  Poe put a lot more into the somber than the light, but then, he was a depressed guy hooked on heroin, so what do you expect.

I decided to revisit Poe’s poem in light of the whole creepy Carol of the Bells thing to see if I could redeem something for Christmas Day. I still like creepy Edgar despite all of his gloominess.  And, he did inspire an Easter sermon for me once.  We might as well give Christmas its due.

The first bells are Christmas bells – silver bells – what a world of merriment their melody foretells!  Poe says that these silver bells keep time under a starry twinkling sky with some of the best lines of literature ever:

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Wedding bells come next.  They are gold and foretell a world of happiness. From them a gush of euphony voluminously wells dwelling on the future and the rapture that impels.

And, that’s when the twist comes.  Poe spends the remaining two-thirds of the poem describing alarm bells that shriek in the middle of the night and moaning and groaning of the funeral bells.  It’s an awful way to end – fearful and without hope.  I think that’s what made me so uncomfortable about the rendition of the Carol of the Bells that’s been on the radio. 

Despite the lyrics declaring Jesus as Lord, it was if they didn’t really believe it.  All that was left was alarm and a shrieking chorus. 

I’m not naïve.  The depiction of the Holy Family in our Christmas crèche is far from factual.  And, it’s not going to take long for this baby to grow up and meet his fate in Jerusalem.  It’s just that right now, Jesus is a baby.  He is Mary’s little one.  Just like most mothers, she looked at him with wonder.  “Here you are, my beloved.  You are my hope for a better world.”

My take-away from this reflection is that the world can do it’s best to fill me with fear, to keep me in a state of alarm.  Death can threaten to upset me to a point of despair.  However, I believe in hope.  I believe that the Love of God was poured into flesh so that I need not be overwhelmed with what the world might throw at me.  The brazen alarum bells may scream out their affright, but the songs of angels remind me that a child is born to bring peace on earth.  And the melancholy menace of the iron funeral bells will be erased when that child becomes a man.

Therefore, in the midst of the most turbulent of weeks, with terror and despair knocking on the door of my heart, I will tell them I am busy.  They cannot keep me from looking at a Baby in wonder, knowing that he is the hope for all the world.

Amen.

Children of snakes

(c) 2012 CBPark, all rights reserved

 I don't really know whether to shake my head in disbelief or disdain when John the Baptist exhorts us all on this penultimate Sunday of Advent.  In previous years, I would have been all Barbie Pink and in more of the Gaudete/Joy of Advent.  I would have clung to St. Paul and his “don’t worry, be happy” motif.  But, not this year, especially after the events of Friday morning in Connecticut. Blue is quite appropriate and any joy we might be feeling is tempered by grief and the Baptist calling us “children of snakes.” 

So, why in the name of all that’s holy did the lectionary gurus put a raving John the Baptist, locusts and camel’s hair and all, in these last days before we observe the birth of Jesus.  Especially since the other readings are all about not being afraid and not worrying about anything. 

 
I can give you the scholarly answer: It’s about repentance and readying ourselves for the coming of the Christ.  But, I think the down-to-earth answer makes a lot more sense.  In fact, it’s the perfect message ten days before Christmas.

John the Baptist is telling us to behave.

I don’t think John the Baptist would have much use for our current “spiritual but not religious” culture.  He was a hands-on, take charge kind of guy.  His baptism wasn’t simply a washing away of your guilty conscience, it was a call to action.  No more could you trust your lineage, your wealth, your position in society, or your place of power when it comes to the Kingdom of Heaven.  Oh, no. All of that thinking needs to take an about face. 

Repentance isn’t a simple matter of saying I’m sorry for something you did wrong.  Repentance was about living your life in a completely different way.  Repentance is about behaving as if we are citizens of a kingdom where our sovereign has great expectations.  The reign of God doesn’t value warm fuzzy feelings as much as it values just behavior.

Make a list. Check it twice.  How often have you and I misused our power or social status to demand something we didn’t earn or deserve?  When have we purchased something, or used our money in some way, that served us personally at someone else’s expense? 

Don’t we often feel entitled to the best things because of where we live or the circumstances of our birth?  These aren’t the “oops I made a boo-boo” sins on which John the Baptist is calling us out.  He wants us to look deep inside our lives and make note of how our living impacts the human dignity of others. And, he wants us to turn that around.

You might ask “How do we do that?”  And, in doing so, we echo the very people confronted by the Baptist at the Jordan so long ago.  “What then should we do? Teacher, what should we do?”  Now, as then, John says – you already know what to do.  Share what you have. Do not cheat those with whom you do business. Be satisfied with what you have and do not scheme to get what you do not deserve.

It is easier said than done. 

We are complicit in the sins of selfishness, cheating, and scheming through covert action, international and national policies, and the acts boards of directors of profit and nonprofit organizations.  Our complicity may not always be obvious, but if we have any integrity we know it exists, when we’re sleeping and when we’re awake.  We know when we’ve been bad or good – so be good, for goodness’ sake.  For goodness’ sake – not for our individual benefit.

Making systemic change when we are used to the benefits of the system takes self-reflection, honesty, and courage.  At times it will feel like we’re being smashed against the rough hard surface of a threshing floor.  Yet, each step we take to do so will break away our hardness of heart, leaving the chaff of sinful narcissism to be carried away by the Holy Spirit’s cleansing breath.  

That’s the good news in John’s exhortations – we will be lighter, we will be good fruit, we will be in right relationship with God and with each other.

So, what shall we do? 

What shall we do to become the fruit of the earth – the healthful grain? 

You and I must examine our lives, our habits, our indulgences.  The first step to turning around may be including charitable gifts in your gift-giving budgets.  It may be looking hard at that portfolio and determining whether or not the companies in which you are invested have questionable policies regarding human dignity.  It may be stepping aside from a leadership position you’ve held for a while in order that new people with new ideas begin the process of change. 

You and I can commit to studying scripture, praying for others, and tithing or working toward the tithe. We can write to our governmental representatives. We can be responsible stockholders.  We can learn to share power. We know what we need to do.  We just need to do it, willingly, cheerfully, lovingly, and without delay. 

There are times when it is appropriate to shout, to pout, and to cry.  Today is one of those days. Life gives us more than we can handle sometimes.  I exhort you though, hear the good news: Someone more powerful than John the Baptist is on the way. Jesus the Messiah is coming to town!

Courageously Bear the Cross

Courageously Bear the Cross.

Those were the words the seminary dean said as he placed my graduation cross over my neck at our final Eucharist. Of course, since it was the dean, it was in Latin!  Had it only been three years ago that I stood in the same place on Holy Cross Day and entered my name in the Bexley Hall Matriculation Book?   “Am I really through with this scholastic endeavor?” I thought to myself.  It went so fast. 

The Feast of the Holy Cross – September 14 -  was our patronal feast at Bexley Hall.  It was begun to honor the work of Helena, the mother of Constantine, who led the effort to clear the debris from atop the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and in so doing unearthed the True Cross – nails and all.  The remembrance started innocently enough, but of course, became more and more ornate as time went along.  At seminary, we pulled out all the stops on Holy Cross Day.  Incense, sung liturgy, much bowing and scraping, and (of course) we had to sing our College Fight Song: Lift High the Cross.

It was great at the time.  But, right now I just want to close my eyes and shudder.  I just don’t think this was what Jesus had in mind. I’ve been thinking about this all week – the Feast of the Holy Cross coming so close upon these propers where Jesus asks us to take up our cross and follow him. With these words Jesus admonished his apostles; with these words he admonishes us. Courageously Bear the Cross.

Okay, but what does that mean?

Jesus is pretty darn clear:  It’s not about us.  His rebuke of Peter tells us that. We are to deny, forego, and ignore the devices and desires of our own hearts so that they might break open and spill out the love of God in our homes and communities.  We are to be willing to march into the messiest, smelliest, most unpleasant, and sometimes deadliest situations on behalf of Christ because that is exactly what Christ did for us.

As much as I hate the thought of Jesus being ashamed of me, I know I’ve made too many decisions about faith and ministry based on my own needs and not the needs of the reign of God.  Jesus asks “Who do you think that I am” and I am caught standing at a jewelry counter examining some gem-encrusted pendant and wondering if it will go with my paisley clergy shirt.  It’s a wonder that a large hand hasn’t appeared from the ether and slapped me upside the head. It does make you wonder about us, doesn’t it.

·         We toss around words like ministry and ‘bearing the cross’ like Tinker Toys. They sound pious but we really don’t have much attachment to them.

·         We forget that liturgy is to be more than esthetically pleasing. We come to church only for comfort and not for inspiration or strength.

·         We buy crosses to wear as bling, not as a declaration of our faith.

·         We volunteer only when activities are convenient or fit into our secular schedules.

·         We forget how privileged we are to be able to worship freely in this country.

You and I distract ourselves so easily from the kingdom of God. As some of my Facebook friends like to post: “We have so many first-world problems.”  

The relative ease of our lives makes us forget that ministry requires serious commitment….it’s not for the faint of heart.  I heard two stories this week to remind me of this.

A friend told me that one year he received one of those ubiquitous Christmas letters.  You know the kind, everything is wonderful, hope you’re well, I probably won’t think about you much over the next 11 months, but happy holidays anyway.  The one he received though had a bit of tragedy.  “They said that they’d experienced some financial hardship and because of that they weren’t able to refurnish their house at the shore,” my friend explained.  “I wish I’d had their tragedy. I was still grieving the loss of my mother.”

Another friend related an experience on a trip to Africa.  It was a story told by one of the priests he’d met there…a true story…a horrendous story.  It was a story of two church pews. In one, a woman sat alone. She was a Hutu woman and her entire family had been killed in the Rwandan genocide.  Behind her sat a man, a Tutsi man, with his family.  He and his people had been responsible for the woman’s solitary presence. It was the priest’s charge to foster a climate of reconciliation so that they could both share that holy space. Now that’s a story to remember when I think I’m having a bad day at the office!

This week has been full of grief and in need of reconciliation.  We remembered those who lost their lives in the tragedy of September 11th. Then, we watched as our embassies were attacked and innocent people killed because a few people are unable and unwilling to set their egos and agendas aside long enough to honor the dignity of others different from themselves.

Do you think that Jesus is here for our salvation only?  He may be your personal savior, and mine, but salvation is not only for us in our privileged bubbles but for the whole, messy, screwed up world.  If we don’t proclaim that salvation through our day-to-day living we are wasting the gift.

Do you think that religion is just about showing up once a week, saying the right prayers, and not engaging in activities that help heal the world?  If you are, then heed well the words of Jesus to Peter. You are about earthly things, not heavenly ones.  It takes more than an hour a week to feed your soul with scripture, study, prayer, and action. It takes more than an hour a week to center yourself in Christian community.

The disciples found it hard to understand that the Messiah was to suffer and die on an instrument of shame.  They expected something more majestic, something more defiant.  But, if the Messiah walked into Jerusalem knowing that what horror awaited him, how can we dare think that our walk with Jesus will be a stroll through a lamb-filled meadow on a spring morning?  We are told to follow him into the horrors that life often brings.  But we are FOLLOWING HIM; he has gone before us and will not abandon us. 

Today, Jesus invites us to begin again, to be reconciled one to another, and be strengthened to bear the cross in whatever path we are led.  Pray for steadfastness, that our privilege not distract us from ministering to the people who are hurting, from seeking forgiveness from those whom we have hurt, or from centering our whole lives on the Gospel and thereby living in God’s kingdom every day.

To be honest, Frederick Buechner said it so much more eloquently:

(The Cross) is the place where such a mighty heart was broken that the healing power of God himself could flow through it into a sick and broken world.”

Courageously Bear the Cross. Amen.

(c) 2012 C. B. Park, all rights reserved.