“In a society that overvalues progress, development, and personal achievement, the spiritual life becomes quite easily performance oriented: ‘On what level am I now, and how do I move to the next one?’ ‘When will I reach union with God?’ ‘When will I experience illumination or enlightenment?'”
-Henri Nouwen, Spiritual Formation, xv
“Jesus never told us to build huge buildings. There should be a several-church cooperative to serve the poor instead.” – recent visitor
When I was growing up, I belonged to and served a church that met in an elementary school’s cafeteria. Being part of a church plant for most of my young life significantly formed the way I understood “church”–I was a Sunday School teacher for elementary students sometimes, though mostly I played guitar on the worship team. A high schooler was able and allowed to help lead the entire congregation in worship, or to plan and lead a Sunday School lesson, because there weren’t a lot of other people available to do it. I was given the opportunity to lead and to teach before I was able to drive!
Somehow, ten years later, I’ve ended up serving in a church with a huge, impressive building, though I’m still leading worship and teaching Sunday School.
There’s a great energy, freshness, and openness in church plants, young church communities, and groups not saddled with an arduous history or heavy buildings. The groups are lithe, flexible, not constrained by the past or by mortar.
So why shouldn’t all churches, all church groups, all faith communities, be new and fresh and young and building-less?
After the flood, God promised humanity that he’d never again destroy the earth by water, he’d just deal with whatever evil schemes and habits we humans came up with, he’d work with what he had. I wonder if our old buildings and old-faith-community-habits are sort of like that–baggage-y and frustrating, perhaps, but also demanding continuity and faithfulness of us, the people who come later on.
The leaky, traditional, literally inflexible building in which I now work and worship is beautiful–there’s really no question there. It’s been excellently restored by master craftspeople, and it serves as a stunning backdrop for weekly (and daily) worship. Part of the reason I became Episcopalian was because I realized that God is the epitome of beauty, and the way that Episcopalians worship emphasizes that truth.
In past ages, Cathedrals were built over the course of a lifetime, with the skills of hundreds of artisans offering their greatest gifts to the glory of God. Houses of worship are a place where the talents, skills, and gifts of God’s people can be offered back to him, and where those of us who aren’t as artistically gifted can enjoy and affirm these gifts which help us to see God’s beauty a little more clearly.
Ecumenical efforts to serve the poor are a vital part of the ministry of Christ; honoring God’s beauty and the beauty he instills in human hearts is vital too. In an age where efficiency, economics, and perception hold such sway, abundant beauty is especially necessary to help humanity understand God–what better place to experience heart-rending beauty but in the sights, sounds, and words of a church service?
It’s all about texture, and these muffins are perfect—not dense, but substantial, and just as delicious warmed up the next day. They’re not the usual bakery-style blueberry offering; these are grainy, not “white” or strudely. Inspired by Martha Stewart, it’s the first muffin recipe I’ve found that actually makes exactly 12 perfectly-sized (that is, normal muffin pan-sized) muffins.
Combine in a medium bowl:
10 Tbls. butter or oil, melted
1 tsp vanilla
2/3 cup sugar
2/3 cup milk
1 egg
Whisk together in a large bowl:
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup oatmeal
1/4 cup whole wheat flour
1 Tbls baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
Preheat oven to 400 degrees and grease a standard 12-cup muffin pan.
Pour the wet ingredients into the dry, and add:
1 cup frozen blueberries (keep them frozen!)
1/4 cup chopped almonds
(use any combo of fruit and nut or filling desired, up to 1 1/4 cups).
Fold batter together, using as few strokes as possible—the least mixing necessary.
Fill cups with about 1/4-1/3 cup batter, bake for 17-19 minutes.
There’s an Episcopalian joke I like to tell: some parishioners went to their rector and said, “Father, we want to do a Bible study. What book should we start with?” Their rector, taken aback, but quite pleased, suggested they start with the Psalms; he showed them where it was, near the middle of the Bible, and told them to come back in six weeks and tell him what they’d learned. Six weeks passed, and they came back to his office, rather upset. “Father!” They exclaimed, “The Bible has stolen its material from the Book of Common Prayer!”
Last week one day, the Daily Office Lectionary assigned Philippians 4:1-9; a passage with 3 or 4 separate highlighter marks in my trusty hard-backed NIV Bible from high school.
The passage epitomizes why I became Episcopalian. As I read, or listen to, these words, I hear memory verses in verses 4, 5, 6, and 8—sentences I committed to memory as an elementary or high school student:
“4 Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. 5Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. 6Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
8 Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”
In verse 4 I hear the lyric to a children’s song I learned more than twenty years ago at home.
Verse 7 is the common blessing offered during Ordinary Time at the end of a Eucharist service:
“And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
When verse 8 is read, I hear part of a prayer said during the service in the Book of Common Prayer called, “Thanksgiving for the Birth of a Child”—a service I relish offering at hospitals when I visit the newest members of my congregation.
The psalms have become the same kind of patchwork quilt for me—snippets and echoes of other Scripture passages pop up in the psalms all the time, and in turn, the psalms are woven throughout our Book of Common Prayer.
The little red (or black) book that guides Christians of the Anglican tradition in their prayer, worship, and study with God is a puree of Scripture, set to rhythm and mashed up to show through its very being how the God of the Old and New Testaments is made man in Jesus Christ.
I had a cold. Often, when people have colds, they clasp their hands together during the part of the church service when everyone else is reaching out to each other–the Peace (Romans 16:16, 2 Corinthians 13:12, 1 Peter 5:14)–and say, “Oh no, I’m sick. Don’t want to infect you!” or, holding up a hand as a stop, “Don’t touch me, I’m sick!”
Four years, ago, at an early morning weekday Eucharist, I did exactly that; “No no, I have a cold, don’t get too close!” And my friend ignored me. He said, “If we can’t share the peace whether we’re ill or not, what can we share?” And he gave me a hug.
That’s being a vessel of God’s love to each other.
Both before and after that moment, I took classes with this friend. We probably had dozens of other conversations, but I don’t specifically remember any one of them, just that one. Though I haven’t seen him in years, I still remember that moment, and anytime he’s mentioned, that’s the one thing I recall.
May we all being such willing vessels of God’s love.
hope of things not seen 