12 posts from 2008

Dear St. Michael’s Community Member:

Open your mailbox any day and you’ll be deluged by bills—Cox, SoCal Ed, the Gas Company, Visa, DMV, insurance, and a host of others.  Then the computer generated requests for money from charities and political organizations of all sorts, plus credit card offers and it all adds up to stress. This letter from St Michael’s stewardship team is a personal heartfelt plea to support our church this coming year with a pledge of money, time, and talent.  In the Gospels of Matthew & Luke Jesus says, “For where your treasure is there will be your heart also.”

St Michael’s is a treasure, a beacon of spiritual light in Goleta and Isla Vista.  Our fabulous new vicar has energized the college crew, brought the Isla Vista and Goleta community into the sanctuary with Community Bilingual Yoga and Compline, added mariachi music to our joyous Lessons and Carols, and so much more.  But ordinary Sundays at St Mike’s are also a special time, for we are a small congregation, a face-to-face church like so many in the early years of Christianity.  No could mistake us for a mega church!  We participate in the life of the church by reading the lessons from the Hebrew Bible or the Epistles, sing the creed and the Lord’s Prayer. We greet each other warmly exchanging the peace, newcomers, old timers; young children, college students, and our stalwart group of elders.  We pass the collection plate to support our church with money.  And we gather around the altar for communion, renewing our baptismal commitments in taking the bread and wine.

In these tough financial times we are all cutting back on expenses.  Everything seems to cost much more--gas and groceries for a start.  But think of St Mike’s as a source of spiritual energy and food for the soul.  It is easy to give when times are abundant, but when times are hard, giving is tough.

Now think about where your treasure is. And then renew or make a new a pledge today.  At Lessons and Carols on December 7 at 7pm we will bless the pledge cards—and once again give the fantastic prize to the first one to pledge of the Virgin Mary night light.  Through all our pledges we help bring Christ’s light to Isla Vista and Goleta.

Yours in Christ,

Madeline Blickley
Sarah Cline   
Tim Cooley, Bishop's Warden      
Mark Juergensmeyer   
Dan Lowrey       
The Stewardship Team

~~~

What Stewardship Means To Me...

"Where is God?" our then two-year old daughter Sona asked me one evening, as she splashed in the bathtub. It's one of those questions that almost all parents must face from their children, but I had thought and hoped that it would come a little later, perhaps after Sona was toilet trained. Perhaps then I might be able to explain to her the doctrine of the Trinity. But it seems that our child and God always have different schedules than the one that Julie and I rigorously try to plan.

A big gulp. "You know when someone does something nice for you, or when you are nice to someone? How does it feel?" I point to her soapy chest.

"Good."

"Right. That's where God is." Inwardly, I pat myself on the back for this succinct statement of the immanence and transcendence of the divine.

"Oh."  Long pause. "Is God also where I feel sad?"

Leave it to God to reveal God's self to a toddler, in order to teach her parents what the faith we practice is all about. God isn't a heavenly benefactor who dispenses good things to the good people by taking away blessings from those whom we consider undeserving of our-and therefore God's-love. God's presence isn't a zero-sum game for whose attention we compete. God is where we feel good and where we feel sad: what Sona taught me that evening is that God is not God in our image, but rather we are the image of God.

What this means for us is that God is most obviously present to us when we feel the wonder and beauty of the God's creation: the sight and smell of wildflowers along the freeway, the family that gathers around a delicious meal, the hand on the shoulder at the communion rail, the chaotic vibrancy of a first kiss. But God is also where we are sad, when things fall apart, when the world around us collapses because of sickness, death, dissolution, calamity. God is most present when we experience the radical discontinuity of sadness and grief, the despairing loneliness at the heart of the human condition, what Alphonse de Lamartine best encapsulated when he wrote, "Sometimes, when a person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated."

But Lamartine also wrote this: "Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys." It is where and when we are sad that God reveals God's true self to us. For as much as our lives are a constant search for God's will in our lives, the converse is also true. The great civil rights activists and theologian, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, called this "God in search of man"; it is the story that we retell over and over when we recite Scripture in church and in our daily lives, that God makes a pastoral call to God's people whenever God's people are down on their luck. And it is the story of the cross that we look to, to the person executed because he wanted to remind us that at the moment we felt absolutely alone in this world, God looked for us in the example of a Palestinian Jewish peasant whose destiny was to take the world's sadness and say, God is where you are sad.

Stewardship for me means that we honor God's standing with us in our most vulnerable moments by standing with each other, holding one another aloft in both our despair and joy, reminding ourselves over and over that God is where we are happy and where we are sad. Stewardship is our response to God's persistent story of being in search of God's creation, in constant care to the places and people where God's people hurt most in the world, by becoming God's colleagues in turning the earth into God's kingdom. Most of all, stewardship invites those of who call ourselves followers of God through Christ to show ourselves as agents and examples of God's liberating demolition of isolation, alienation, and loneliness by giving of ourselves all the gifts that God gives to us to the rest of God's world, so that our work might be part of God's great plan to transform the human race into the human family.

Jim Lee, an enthusiastic pledger and supporter of campus ministry, teaches in the Asian American Studies Department at UCSB. Jim makes his spiritual home at St. Paul’s, Ventura.

Nearly sixty years ago, back when Isla Vista was a sleepy place with unpaved streets, inexpensive vacation cottages and ramshackle dwellings, a forward thinking priest from Trinity Episcopal Church in downtown Santa Barbara challenged his parishioners during their annual meeting to think about the opportunities for mission that awaited them at the new UCSB campus in Isla Vista. Shortly after that meeting, the Methodist husband of one of the Trinity congregation members handed the priest a check for $5,000 to "see what could be done" in Isla Vista. And so, on December 11th, 1949 the rector of Trinity and a small group of parishioners erected a sign amidst the grass and eucalyptus trees announcing the future plans for this small piece of property that we now worship on. By 1954, the first chaplain had been called to the new university mission. A 34 year old former journalist and practicing physicist, he served part time in Isla Vista and part time on the staff of Trinity. He named this new church community "St. Michael's."

 

It is unclear exactly why the mission was named for Michael the archangel. One theory is that the new chaplain named it St. Michael's after a parish he had previously served before coming to Santa Barbara. The more interesteing and appropriate theory, of course, is that he chose the name of St. Michael & All Angels for this church, in honor of the saint whose feast day coincides with the start of the school year. In the calendar of saints, St. Michael's feast day is celebrated September 29 and known as Michaelmas Day, one of the four quarter days on which accounts were settled and, in England, when the terms began in universities.

 

Regardless of the first chaplain's particular motivation to claim Michael as our church community's patron saint, Michael's link to the university calendar is certainly fitting. There is also a whole lot more to the legend of St. Michael that bears exploration and celebration. As I've commented before: "Thanks be to God, we certainly don't draw our identity from the lore of a lame saint!"  And just like we might draw inspiration and strength from the meaning of our own names and the stories of our own families and communities, so too can we be challenged and strengthened by knowing the story of the person for whom our church community is named and knowing our faith community’s own history.

 

There are many, many stories in many, many religious traditions about St. Michael. In Jewish tradition he is known as the protector of Israel. In Islam he is know as a good angel, bringing "peace and plenty." In Christian tradition, the Book of Revelation – the text we just read this morning -- tells the story of Michael's triumphant battle over evil. He is often depicted with sword in hand and known as the good angel of death and field commander of the Army of God. Popular Christian lore casts Michael as the patron saint of paratroopers, police officers, mariners, paramedics and grocers. His profile as a healer is especially well developed and legend has it that he even caused an outbreak of the plague to cease!

 

I think it's fair to say that Michael never shied from being in the "thick of it all."  Cosmic battles. Infectious disease. Warring nations. The magnitude of these forces never prevented Michael from being able to envision possibilities for a new, more peaceful, world order.

 

Having a tendency to be drawn into the thick of important questions and issues isn't bad DNA for a church! Over the course of its communal life, St. Michael's University Church – along with the students, faculty, staff and community members it serves -- has found itself drawn into precisely these sorts of conversations, ministries and work. In fact, the bell we ring every morning as the first act of communal worship, was christened "The Prophet Isaiah" – and is seen as a modern-day sword-being-turned-into-plowshare story. And so one could say that from the first ring of the bell each Sunday, we are drawn into professing and living out the sort of  radical transformation that both Isaiah and Michael engaged in.

 

In preparation for today, as I reviewed history the of St. Mike’s documented by one of its former vicars in a "paper" written in honor of the church’s 40^th anniversary in 1994 (thanks Mark Gardner!), I found story after story of transformation. Here are just some highlights: During the 1950s, “Teen Canteen,” an effort to diffuse Latino-Anglo racial tensions in Isla Vista brought high school youth together at the church for social events and mutual understanding. The police estimated that it cut delinquency rates by 50%! Around the same time, a group of students from the Devereux School for developmentally disabled kids began to attend the church on a regular basis -- for a while they constituted half the community members present at the service. By the end of the decade, this chapel in which we now sit had been constructed – the architecture meant to represent in modern design the simplicity of the Isrealites’ tent for God during their wilderness wanderings. In the 1960s a group of committed parishioners helped to establish a community nursery school on site. St. Michael’s also welcomed Bishop Pike – a restless and radical visionary who had been forbidden to preach or celebrate in this diocese; he “preached the announcements” on Easter Sunday at two services attended by over 550 people. In the 1970s, Bishop Barrett who in his retirement helped to “irregularly ordain” the first 11 women priests in the Episcopal Church known at the "Philadelphia Eleven", became a member at St. Michael’s. Following his participation in these ordinations, he and a well-known outspoken Catholic bishop, Daniel Corrigan, gave a forum at St. Mike’s to discuss their views on women’s ordination. Barrett remembers that the people of St. Michael’s were “quite receptive” to the idea of ordaining women, and a Roman Catholic official appeared to be implicitly sympathetic by attending the forum.” As community and student participation flourished at St. Mike’s, so did the nursery school. It soon gave birth to a secondary ministry called Operation Kids, which allowed disadvantaged children in IV to receive care and educational enrichment while their parents, mostly single mothers, worked. In the 1980s, St. Mike’s established Transition House (housed in the Little House)—a place where homeless people could make the transition back to mainstream life. The chaplain also led students in a series of humourous and dramatic gospel plays in place of the homily on Sundays. Students also developed an outreach to nearby Friendship Manor Retirement Community, regularly joining with residents there to say Evening Prayer. During the 1990s and early part of this century, St. Mike’s sold a part of its property to Hillel, engaged in a major renovation of its buildings and grounds and in its desire to become a spiritual oasis for the community, experimented with sober block parties for the neighborhood. Today we engage the student and neighborhood community through various spiritual formation, educational and activism opportunities. And of course, just as Michael would have it, our ministry continues to evolve and grow in new and perhaps unexpected ways in response to the people, issues and needs among and beyond our community. (If you'd like to read more about the history of St. Mike's in "Our First 40 Years" -- please speak to the chaplain!)

 

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Some of you know that I've in the middle of a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon through my DVDs by mail program. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a television series about a high school student named Buffy who has been anointed as a slayer of vampires. She and her team -- which consists of school mates and her adult "watcher" who also serves as school librarian – make it their business to keep the forces evil at bay. And so, Buffy trolls graveyards armed with crosses, holy water and spikes to save the world from the encroaching forces of cosmic evil. These forces of evil, however, are resilient and stubborn things, however. They fester below ground in the underworld until they gain the strength to surge from the hell mouth to claim their next victims. Each kill, each act of evil, gives them the energy they need to continue the battle.

 

Despite the 90s clothing styles, suburban high school setting and sometimes cheesy vampire creatures, this television series is not what you might expect at first glance. Upon close examination in fact, Buffy is a sophisticated and relevant theological and progressive commentary on the battle between good and evil and other events we read about in the Bible. It's a modern take on the ministry and work of Jesus, St. Michael and a whole host of others – the ministry of imagining the possibility for a more peaceful world – and working to realize this vision. Flanked by ancient wisdom, imagination, adventure, desire and a moral compass, all of these figures challenge the society of their time and push their communities to explore previously unknown territory.

 

I'm currently at a point in the seven season series where Buffy is struggling with identity as a slayer. Many days, she just wants to be a normal high school student at Sunnydale High, yet she is anointed and called to be the slayer. In this identity crisis she is forced to confront questions like: How will she find a balance between her vocation and her life as a high school student? How will she come to terms with her relationship to an immortal "good vampire" named Angel who is a vampire cursed with a soul?

 

I raise this topic of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, not to digress or to grace you with more pop culture knowledge – but because 1) I think that like the TV series Buffy, there is a lot about St. Mike’s – especially to our neighbors – that may not be apparent at first glace. 2) These questions that Buffy struggles with about her own vocation may also be relevant to us at St. Mike’s. Being a vampire slayer is no easy vocation, nor is it easy to follow in the footsteps and tradition of our patron saint Michael! Yet this is precisely our call – to be a community that works to bring about justice, encourages conversation about big questions and cares about the physical, psychic and spiritual needs of our neighbors. It may be of surprise to your average Isla Vistan, perhaps knowing nothing about St. Mike’s or never having thought about church in an expansive way, to hear that this is the vocational DNA of our church community.

 

So our challenge this morning is to go out and tell and live the story that is a part of our DNA! To seize the invitation to enter the “thick of it all.” To think about how we wish to shape the future! And as we celebrate the life of this congregation and the feast day of our patron saint, may our guiding light Michael the Archangel continue to be a constant source of challenge and strength to us all, inspiring us –individually and collectively-- to explore new realms and possibilities within our often fractured, anxious and hurting world.

 

The Rev. Nicole Janelle

Feast of St. Michael

28 September 2008

Back when I was in middle school, Magic Eye books were all the rage. You might remember that these books are filled with page upon page of what appears at first glance to be an intricate computer generated colorful pattern. But when you take a closer look at the pattern, a three-dimensional image or even a whole scene emerges through the fuzz of these blotches of color. Every person seems to have his or her own system of accessing that 3-D image. Some people plaster the book to their nose, others cross their eyes, and still others stands on their heads in an effort to see this image pop out among the blotches of color! The trick to activating your Magic Eye is being able to see and seize the world that lies beyond the chaos of the page.

 

Life is sometimes like contemplating a page of a Magic Eye book. At first we may only see static or chaos and then after a good long stare the static blurs and if we are focused we’re able to feel ourselves cross over a threshold into a new world. This new world may come quickly into focus – and then maybe quickly out of focus for a moment – but with patience this new realm is ours to marvel at and to explore.

 

Today’s reading from the Hebrew Bible presents us with a bunch of nervy, subversive women who were able to cross into a new world. In this lesson we learn that Pharaoh, weary of the prosperity of the Israelites in Egypt, has ordered the midwives to kill all male babies bore to Hebrew women. From the moment we are introduced to these midwives, we know that something exciting is about to happen. Women are not often named in the Bible and so for us to fall upon two named women (whom the text suggests may not even be Hebrew women) we are clued-in that Shiphrah and Puah must be a critical part of Israel’s story. Well, it turns out that they are extraordinary women; spurred on by their awe or fear of God, they single handedly subvert the orders of the king to ensure the survival of Israel. And when pharaoh reprimands the midwives, they feign incompetence (wink, wink!), insisting that Hebrew women are a rare breed – they are so vigorous that before the midwife can come, they give birth. This story is followed up of course by tales of more brave women who aid in rescuing and saving Moses.

 

These stories are especially powerful because they introduce us to people who boldly and unabashedly defend life, even at considerable personal risk. Through their inner compasses, some might say their “magic eye”, they see another way out of the chaos and are able to transport their communities into a new world – a new realm – the Kingdom of God.

 

You may know that one of the things I did during my time away this summer, was to visit the Episcopal Diocese of Haiti. And coming off of that experience I find myself with a renewed sense of awe and appreciation for people and groups who are able focus on a way forward amidst chaos and injustice to bring about new reality. I traveled to Haiti to assist in a non-violence training for young adults, sponsored by the Episcopal Peace Fellowship. My week long jaunt to Haiti was extraordinary – I got to meet many young adults and hear about their lives, I was able to preach in lively Episcopal Church as a part of a four day diocesan wide “spiritual renewal,” I celebrated Eucharist with several congregations including a group of elderly folk at an Episcopal nursing home (Foyer Notre Dame) and I visited a new pediatric hospital that is serving the poorest of the poor in Port au Prince. Those of you who may have visited Haiti know that it is a country in chaos and it is a country that is suffering – and yet in the midst of this chaos the Episcopal Church is doing amazing things – operating and building schools, universities, retirement communities, a seminary, medical clinics AND organizing children’s choirs, orchestras and church programs.

 

The Episcopal Church of course isn’t the only bright light in Haiti, there are many other organizations that are bringing infrastructure and hope to place that has been torn down by decades of devastating foreign policies and internal corruption. The now famous American physician Paul Farmer, who has established a comprehensive healthcare system on Haiti’s central plateau, is another example an individual who along with others has been able to carve out a space for healing, hope and justice among the chaos. Some of you may have heard Dr. Farmer speak about Partners in Health this winter during his visit to Santa Barbara – I know I brought a few students to his lecture. I mention Paul in particular, because it turned out that he was on my flight from Haiti back to the States – which I found incredibly serendipitous!

 

People in the Diocese of Haiti, Paul Farmer – these are examples of folks who have seized the same decisiveness and determination to preserve life as the women of today’s reading. These individuals are making their way out of stasis and chaos to realize a new vision – and making it happen!

 

During our nonviolence training, each young adult was asked to complete the following statement: “If I weren’t afraid, I would __________” It’s a brilliant exercise because follows is extremely telling. Think for a second, how would you answer that question? We know how the women in today’s lesson answered that question. The young adults in Haiti talked about putting an end to the kidnappings, the corruption, the hunger, the unemployment, the general violence, the violence against women and children, the lack of opportunity for education and advancement and absusive foreign policies. A funny thing happens when we answer the question -- it takes the edge off that thing we are afraid of doing, doesn’t it? I have no doubt that the mere exercise of vocalizing a response to this question empowered these young adults to go out and create change in a way they throught may not previously have been possible – we’re talking small change, of course, baby steps, but a change nonetheless.

 

Whenever I talk to people about the Magic Eye books as a metaphor for their spiritual lives, I always have to confess that I am one of those people who has tried in vain to enter the three dimensional world of the Magic Eye, but with little success. My sister, who has tried and tried to explain exactly what she does with her eyes to see beyond the page, assures me that there are other like me who can’t quite get the knack. I still haven’t met these people, but I assume that they exist. Regardless, I’ve heard in such detail what she and others see that it doesn’t matter that I am not able to actually see this world for myself, because through my imagination I am able to be in that world.

 

Regardless of our ability – or lack thereof – when it comes to the Magic Eye, it’s important to know that the realm beyond the page – the Kingdom – is there and it is ours if we can see it and seize it. For some, this process might be swift – the focus will be immediate and sharp. For others, focus might emerge more slowly and may involve creative means.

 

Thomas Merton, the Catholic monk and contemplative writer, wrote that his moment of seeing came out of the blue, on a street corner in Louisville. “I was suddenly overwhelmed [he recounted] with the realization that I loved all people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness…It is a glorious destiny to be a member of the human race, though it is a race dedicated to many absurdities and one which makes mistakes: yet, with all that, God Himself gloried in becoming a member of the human race! To think that such a commonplace realization should suddenly seem like news that one holds the winning ticket in a cosmic sweepstake.”

 

We are blessed to be part of a rich tradition of people who can be challenging conversation partners in our journey to uncover the Kingdom of God. Brining about the Kingdom is no easy task. But like the midwives, once we are able to see what needs to be done, the blessing of God carries us through.

 

Amen.

 

The Rev. Nicole Janelle

St. Michael's, Isla Vista

Year A, Proper 16

24 August 2008 

This summer the Episcopal Peace Fellowship sponsored a nonviolence training conference in the Episcopal Diocese of Haïti. Over 100 young adults gathered in Port au Prince from around Haïti for this four day seminar. I was privileged to tag along for the ride -- aiding our facilitator, engaging with participants, preaching and celebrating Eucharist in French, struggling to decipher Kreyol. And to top it off, I left Haiti with Paul Farmer, co-founder of Zanmi Lasante/Partners in Health, on my flight (and yes, I was too chicken to talk to him...)! You may see more photos of our time in Haïti here.

La Rev. Nicole S. Janelle
Sermon sur le thème « La paix est un don de Dieu »
Eglise Episcopale d’Haïti
Paroisse Ascension, Thor-Carrefour
08.14.2008

Je voudrais commencer par remercier le Père Fanfan pour m’avoir invitée à prêcher aujourd’hui. C’est un honneur d’être ici parmi vous, d’apprendre de votre bon travail dans l’église du Haïti.

Un petit mot sur mon travail: Je suis chapelain et pasteur d’une communauté universitaire cent milles au nord de la grande ville de Los Angeles, dans un quartier universitaire et Latino. Je travaille principalement avec la communauté universitaire, mais aussi avec tous les membres de notre quartier pour offrir des programmes bilingues qui encouragent le développement de la vie spirituelle des participants. Ce voyage au Haïti est mon premier, mais j’espère que ce ne sera pas mon dernier. Ce sermon en français, c’est aussi mon premier, et ce sera peut-être more dernier – on verra !

 « La paix est un don de Dieu. » Cela est le thème de notre temps ensemble et le thème sur lequel on m’a demandé de réfléchir.

Cette année une étudiante Juive est venue à plusieurs de nos services dans ma paroisse. Elle a beaucoup aimé son expérience et une journée elle m’a présenté une liste des aspects favoris de notre culte. La première chose sur sa liste: La paix du Christ. Elle écrit : « Que la paix soit avec vous. Ou plutôt, la paix est cool. J’aime l’idée que nous n’oublions pas cette idée de la paix dans notre vie quotidienne. Je crois que c’est un geste positif et que c’est quelque chose qu’on devrait prendre l’habitude, de la paix chaque jour dans notre vie et notre monde. Ça me semble trop facile d’oublier que la paix peut exister dans un monde plein de violence et de guerre. La meilleure partie de ce rite est la chance de faire contact avec les autres membres de la communauté – on peut toucher la main pour mieux connaître les gens. C’est un geste chaleureux. » Parfois ça prend le commentaire d’une personne de « l’extérieur » pour que l’on puisse voir et apprécier l’importance de nos rites. Il y a 40 ans aux Etats-Unis, les étudiantes marchaient en masse dans les rues pour la paix et la justice. Aujourd’hui, nous ne voyons plus de telles manifestations. Et c’est pour cela que la présence d’une église qui enseigne à ses membres le travail de « créer la paix » est tellement importante.

Dans l’Evangile de Matthieu, Jésus se trouve dans les montagnes avec ses disciples. Il leur enseigne dans son fameux sermon sur le mont: « Heureux les artisans de paix, car ils seront appelés enfants de Dieu! » Jésus parle de beaucoup de choses dans ce sermon – mais cette ligne « Heureux les artisans de paix, car il seront  appelés enfants de Dieu » est unique à l’évangile de Matthieu. Cinq chapitres plus tard, on retrouve Jésus qui dit « N’allez pas croire que je sois venu apporter la paix  sur la terre; je ne suis pas venu apporter la paix, mais la glaive. Car je suis venu opposer l’homme à son père, la fille à sa mère, la brue à sa belle-mère: on aura pour ennemis les gens de sa famille. »

À première vue, c’est un peu difficile de comprendre les différences entre ces deux textes. D’un côté Jésus propose l’idée que ceux qui procurent la paix sont en train de faire le travail de Dieu. De l’autre côté, il propose une sorte de guerre entre ses disciples et une absence de paix entre les membres de la même famille. Que peut-on faire de ces textes?

Le maître de la non-violence, Mahatma Gandhi disait que la paix nécessite non seulement l’absence de violence mais la présence de justice. C’est ce que Jésus prêchait. Il savait que la paix a souvent son prix, des travaux durs, des risques à prendre, même la mort. Il savait que la paix ne marche pas la main dans la main du statu quo, mais qu’elle demande beaucoup d’efforts pour l’atteindre et pour la sauvegarder. Quand Jésus parle de la paix, c’est la paix qui a sa racine dans le mot « Shalom » qui signifie plus que l’absence de conflits, mais aussi la présence d’harmonie et de communion. Les artisans de paix ne doivent pas éviter le conflit, mais ils doivent en plus confronter le mal pour qu’il ne continue ses ravages. Heureux les artisans de paix, car ce sont eux qui choisissent de prendre des risques face à la violence, à la recherche d’un monde où l’on subvient aux besoins de chaque humain et où l’on pratique le respect pour tous.

Récemment, j’ai lu un article dans le New York Times à propos d’un réchercheur d’épidémiologie à Chicago qui a une nouvelle façon d’aborder le problème de la violence. Il soigne la violence comme si c’était une maladie infectieuse, un virus. La violence des gangs est un problème infectieux dans les grandes villes des Etats-Unis. Chaque fusillade, chaque meurtre laisse une dévastation profonde dans la communauté. Il y a beaucoup d’experts qui pensent qu’on ne peut améliorer la pauvreté urbaine sans rompre ce scénario habituel de violence. Dans ce but, on augmente les ressources pour la sécurité, et on impose des peines de prison plus lourdes, ce qui rarement contribue à solutionner le problème. Mais ce réchercheur voit le problème autrement. Il croit que la violence imite les infections comme la tuberculose et le SIDA, et alors, il propose de traiter la violence d’une façon semblable. C’est à dire, traiter le plus infecté d’abord pour supprimer l’infection. La tuberculose engendre la tuberculose. La violence engendre la violence. Il propose d’interrompre la prochaine transmission de violence, le prochain geste violent. Pour le moment son plan a l’air de marcher. Les artisans de paix dans ce programme de santé publique sont les anciens membres de gangs. Ils s’entraident et ils reçoivent l’appui de ce programme pendant qu’ils travaillent dans la rue pour interrompre la violence. Ils se rencontrent avec les membres des gangs et les familles touchées par la violence – des groupes qui ont le pouvoir de perpétuer cette violence – et ils essaient de persuader ces individus de ne plus se venger. La glaive que ces interrupteurs apportent dans ce milieu, c’est le don de paix.

Dans mon état natif du Maine, un autre programme qui s’appelle Les Grains de Paix regroupe des enfants qui viennent d’endroits en conflit – notamment l’Israel et la Palestine—pour du camping et un été de dialogue non-violent. Ce sont des enfants qui grandissent dans des pays voisins et qui apprennent à haïr l’autrui. Arrivés dans le Maine, ils apprennent à vivre ensemble, à se parler, et ils deviennent des artisans de paix qui peuvent imaginer un nouveau monde. Cette colonie produit depuis quinze ans un cadre d’amis pour la paix, qui comme adultes, travaillent, en politique internationale, dans le monde des affaires, en médecine, dans les organismes à but non-lucratif et dans les médias. Rentrés dans leur propre pays, ils risquent tout, même l’opposition de leur famille, leurs amis, et leur communauté

La paix est un don de Dieu. Nous devons lutter pour l’atteindre et ce n’est jamais facile. Il y cinquante ans, le vendredi saint 1968, des milliers d’activistes anti-nucléaires britanniques manifestaient à Londres. C’est à ce temps qu’est né le symbole de paix que nous connaissons tous aujourd’hui. Le cercle représente le monde et les symboles à l’intérieur représentent le désarmement nucléaire. Ce symbole s’est répandu à travers le monde, utilisé par les anti-militaires de la guerre au Vietnam, les hippies, et le mouvement pour les droits civiques. Certains ont dit que le symbole à l’intérieur représente le désespoir d’un être humain qui se traine les bras par terre

Aujourd’hui, comme dans le temps de Jésus, la famille humaine est en désespoir et la paix est en danger. D’un côté, la paix est un concept inconnu pour ceux qui vivent dans la violence. De l’autre côté, on a domestiqué la paix pour ceux qui vivent dans l’aisance. C’est dans la complexité de l’enseignement de Jésus où l’on peut trouver notre chemin. Jésus comprenait l’interconnectivité de la communauté humaine. Et c’est peut-être en saisissant cette idée – que mon bien-être dépend de votre bien-être, et que votre bien-être dépend de mon bien-être – que nous pouvons commencer à découvrir le don de paix. Jésus savait que le chemin vers la paix ne serait pas facile, plein d’obstacles. Malgré tout cela, nous pouvons trouver à travers le monde des signes encourageants, des niches de paix : les interrupteurs de violence à Chicago et les grains de paix qui se forment dans le Maine. Dans mon diocèse de Los Angeles, nous avons commencé un nouveau programme pour les jeunes, La Colonie de Paix, et une vingtaine de jeunes gens y ont passé une semaine pour se transformer en artisans de paix. Vous connaissez sûrement tous des artisans de paix qui travaillent déjà dans vos églises, dans vos communautés. Ce sont nos rayons d’espoir.

Chaque août, nous commémorons la dévastation de la ville de Hiroshima par les forces armés des Etats-Unis. Lié à cette tragédie est l’histoire de personnes qui se dévouent pour la paix, qui deviennent des artisans de paix. Vous connaissez peut-être l’histoire de la jeune Sadako qui avait à peine deux ans quand la bombe fut larguée sur Hiroshima. Toute jeune, elle semblait athlétique, vigoureuse et brave. A l’âge d’onze ans, elle fut diagnostiqué leucémique, la maladie de la bombe atomique. C’est alors que son amie lui récita le vieux conte japonais qui prétend que notre vœu le plus cher nous sera accordé si l’on plie mille grues en origami. Sadako espérait rétablir sa santé et pouvoir un jour courir et jouer avec ses amis. Elle s’est mise à l’œuvre et a réussi à compléter plus de mille grues en papier multicolore avant sa mort à l’âge de douze ans. Sadako n’a jamais perdu courage. Inspirés par l’exemple de Sadako, ses amis ont eu l’idée de construire un monument à la mémoire de Sadako et de tous les autres enfants japonais, victimes des bombardements atomiques. Les enfants à travers le Japon ont amassé les fonds nécessaires en trois ans. On a érigé dans le Parc de la Paix une statue de Sadako tenant dans la main une grue dorée.  Les enfants ont aussi fait le vœu inscrit sur une plaque au pied de la statue: « Notre supplication, notre prière, c’est la paix dans le monde. » Aujourd’hui partout dans le monde, les gens plient des grues en origami et les envoient au monument de Sadako à Hiroshima.

Que Dieu vous bénisse et bénisse votre trajet comme artisans de paix. Comme les enfants de Hiroshima, que vous ayez le courage de surmonter les obstacles sur le chemin, la force pour persévérer, et la créativité pour semer les grains de paix, selon vos besoins, à travers vos communautés. La paix est un don de Dieu!
 
Amen.

Address to UC Regents 7.15.2008

My name is Nicole Janelle. I’m a member of Clergy & Laity United for Economic Justice as well as the Episcopal Chaplain @ UCSB and priest of St. Michael’s University Church in Isla Vista.

This morning, to help orient your moral and ethical compasses, I wish to share with you a short story about a woman named Muriel Lester – a women who was a friend of Gandhi’s and an important champion of social justice in the Christian tradition.

At the turn of the century, Muriel--then a teenager raised in relative wealth and security--would frequently take train through London. On these train rides she routinely observed passengers push up their open windows as the train approached East London, in order to keep out the stench. Problem was, they couldn’t keep out the stench. And eventually, Muriel would learn that the stench that filled East London came from the soap factories – factories that manufactured the same sweet smelling soap she used on a daily basis.

What is sweetness for some is stench and bitterness for others.

The sweetness of a well-run university by committed, hard-working workers is sweetness for many. And it is bitterness for these workers.

This morning I implore you to search your conscience to do right by these workers, lest the stench of their misery further invade and weaken the fabric of our entire community.

Thank you.

 

Our neighbors are struggling financially, members of our congregations and neighbors in our communities, whose voices are rarely heard, whose paychecks are among the lowest in the area.  Who are these neighbors? Healthcare workers and custodians who work for UCSB, the largest employer in Santa Barbara.

8,500 University of California workers began a strike at UC's ten campuses and five medical centers on Monday, July 14. These workers are the backbone of the UC system, doing the daily work of maintaining the university by cleaning rooms, serving food, driving shuttles, and much more. 97.5% of workers voted to authorize this strike; an overwhelming majority believe that it is time to show the UC executives how important this contract is.

Did you know?

+That custodians and healthcare workers  at UCSB, members of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME),  are paid less for the same work than other University of California campuses, the Community College and State University systems, and the City and County of Santa Barbara, despite the high cost of living on the South Coast?

+That decisions about their healthcare and pension coverage are often made without their negotiated input?

+That in order to support their families many of these workers commute long distances and work multiple jobs?

+That many of these employees have been working without a contract since 2007?

+That dignitaries such as former President Bill Clinton, retired General Wesley Clark and Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., refused to speak at graduation ceremonies at UC campuses this year until a new contract is agreed upon, to show their support for the 20,000 AFSCME workers employed by the UC system?

+That the University has been working hard to improve the wages of their lower paid employees despite this difficult budget year? In 2007, the University provided special increases for employees earning less than $40,000 per year.  Yet this is not enough.

(From Jennifer Bailey, Executive Director of Clergy & Laity United for Economic Justice, Santa Barbara)

Gracious and holy God,
Creator of life -- earth, wind and fire.
May our prayers, entwined with the flames that ravage our mountainside,
be set forth in your sight as incense,
the lifting up of our hands,
our common supplication to you.

Bless all creatures in the path of harm's way.
Strengthen the firefighters and all those working tirelessly to keep us safe.
Comfort those whose beloved homes are threatened by flame.
Soothe those who are anxious and in need of rest.
Hallow the good earth and the fire that surround us.

O God of all creation:
In the midst of uncertainty, help us to find community.
In the midst of tragedy, help us to find a semblance of peace.
May we know your
compassionate,
restorative
and healing presence
in our souls as we labor on.
For only in you do we rest in safety.
All this we pray in your holy name, AMEN.

A few months ago, I noticed a big, colorful foam board sign in the Little House with the words “Miracles are coming.” It was sitting on the mantel of the fireplace. I figured that someone from the AA or OA groups that use our space might have accidentally left it behind after a meeting. But the sign didn’t disappear. And so after a few weeks, I moved it to the top of the bookcase so that we could enjoy both of the framed pictures that rest on the mantel – and the sign. A few days later, it was gone. “What a shame,” I thought to myself. While I found the message a bit cryptic – or perhaps a bit more new age-y than I am, I appreciated the spontaneous sign of spirituality and the burst of color. I concluded that the sign’s creator must have been offended by my relocation of the message to another part of the lounge and went on with my work. And then, on Good Friday, the sign reappeared – on top of the bookcase. I saw it before heading out to participate in the Stations of the Cross and couldn’t help but smile. Good Friday – a day of solemnity and solace in the Christian community – and in the midst of that was a reminder of hope, a reminder that the impossible is sometimes made possible.

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Jesus asked Mary as she stood outside the tomb. Her grief was so strong and tears too numerous to see the miracle in front of her. I picture here my young cousins so overcome by tears of separation anxiety that they no longer recognize their parents when they do walk back into the room – it takes reassuring words and hug to for recognition to break through. It’s not just tears that can be blinding. Sometimes our focus is so intense – or gaze set in one direction – that we totally miss where we need to be present.

Lately I’ve been watching the TV series “House” on DVD. It’s another one of those medical shows – emphasis on complex medical cases with unpredictable twists. The main character of the show is a gruff, sarcastic middle-aged doctor named Greg House, who walks with a cane and pops pain pills like they are candy. He supervises a trinity of gifted young neurologists. Every episode, a new case presents itself and the young team is broadsided. They follow the symptoms down one path, are certain they are going in the right direction – and inevitably find themselves needing to change course. House’s genius is his ability to make room for a change in approach – he’s able to stay present, but at the same time remain open and respond to the strange signs around him. That’s what makes him a brilliant diagnostician.

The resurrection of the Jesus is the “strange sign” and miracle that greets us this Easter morning. Unlike Mary weeping at the side of the empty tomb or the medical team on House – we are probably not broadsided by it. On a certain level, we know this story well – Jesus eats a last meal with his loved ones, he is handed over to the authorities, is crucified and rises. The question is: how do we know this in our bones – how to we embody this story within our selves?

The brilliance of the liturgical calendar – of inventions like Lent and Holy Week – is that we are taken on a journey of no return. It’s like boarding a rollercoaster tram – the safety bar comes down on you – and short of a mal-function  (which you pray won’t happen) – you only get to exit after having up and down the peaks and through the cork screws. Lent and Holy Week are a bit more gentle than a roller coaster – but they can take us to some difficult and scary places – as well as places of utter bliss and joy. In this day and age, as we find our religious holidays being exploited more and more by consumeristic culture, the journey through Lent and Holy Week can help to keep us grounded for Easter.

Today, we greet the Jesus of life. He’s at first mistaken by Mary to be a gardener – a quiet, tender-type of growth. And then just like that -- she registers the miracle before her very eyes. This weekend I picked up some daffodils from Trader Joe’s – the kind that sell for $1.29 and have yet to flower. Clip the stems, place in water and they pop open overnight! A visible sign of life – emerging rapidly – it’s delightful and wonderful. And this is what Mary wrestled to wrap her head around – on a much larger and profound level – during the wee hours of the dawn.

There is a famous quote from Irenaeus that reads “the glory of God is the human being fully alive.” What signs of life, growth and hope can we point to our communities this Easter season? When we look at our own life, where do we find ourselves most alive? A few nights ago Tavis Smiley interviewed the now famous author Anne Lamott. As a part of that interview, he asked her where the journey from Good Friday to Easter brings her this year. She talked about her own struggle with the landscape of the current political climate – and about feeling that a new hope was sprouting up around her through presidential campaigns. Regardless of whether or not you share Anne’s particular sentiments, that feeling of a heaviness about to be lifted – be it the heaviness of death, of an illness, of a broken relationship or of physical violence – is at the core of Jesus’ Easter proclamation. And how are we to celebrate the gift of Jesus’ resurrected life? Well, according to Anne Lamott – we can do this in small, slow and sometimes messy ways: agreeing not to look away, bearing witness, not killing – keeping a note by the phone to remind us “do not kill” (!), giving food to the hungry, saying what is true, recognizing the beauty of good people, seeing a vision of hope about us – and carrying that hope like glass of water – it may be just a small cup, but still carries the power to bring life to our world. Living in a world where the needs are so great and belonging to a small church community surrounded by so many needs – in this context, Anne’s message is an especially powerful one for us to hear. It is not in the flurry of Easter trappings peddled to us in the stores that we will come know the meaning of resurrection. It’s in our willingness to follow strange signs where they might lead us. It’s in our ability to remain open to the mystery of the impossible becoming possible. It’s in our willingness to carry hope like a glass of water – and knowing where to find the most parched patches of ourselves and our world and dousing with the water of life.

Amen.

The Rev. Nicole Janelle
St. Michael's, Isla Vista
Easter 2008

“What DO priests do during the week?” It’s a question frequently posed to priests. I suppose that even priests ask it of their colleagues – at least I do. “What do you do in that church of yours during the week?” A priest’s ministry context varies. The rhythm of my life at St. Michael’s -- a campus ministry and mission church set in an unincorporated beachside district, inhabited by both students and low-income Spanish speakers  -- is vastly different from my previous life at St. Mary’s in urban Los Angeles -- a historically Japanese-American church, filled with Japanese and Belizean Americans on Sunday, and Latinos during the week.

So in response to those who are mystified by all that a priest does between Sundays, here is a taste of what I do during the week!

Sunday, March 9th –

7:30am - It’s Daylight Saving Sunday. Spring forward. I hate this Sunday. Service starts at 10am, but it feels like 9am. Still, I’m thankful to be rid of the dreadful 7:30am service obligation of my previous placement. I get up at 7:45am, review my sermon on my computer, grab a bite (banana to eat), dress up in my priest gear and head out the door. I’m running late.

9:30am – Much later than I wanted to arrive to church, but what can I do. Quick – print the sermon (my printer @ home is busted), make sure Altar Guild is on track, turn on the lights, welcome people. I’m so happy that our sacristy is sparkling.  Last week, I spent an afternoon cleaning it out with three other dedicated elders.

10am – Start church on the dot with three clangs of the Isaiah bell.

11:15am - Church is over. Catch up with parishioners over coffee hour.

12pm – Wrap up conversation with parishioners and start some office work that includes editing last year’s Easter bulletin and deciding on a version of the Stations of the Cross this year that highlights the Millennium Development Goals. Around 3pm, I get inspired to clean my office. Find some new icons in my cobwebby, yet to be organized closet to hang of the walls! Move the boxes of files--stretching back 15 years--that have littered my floor for months into the chaotic closet. Do major filing.

3:30pm – Decide to head back home because I’m tired and hungry.

6pm – Take a walk around my neighborhood, since daylight has been extended!

7pm – Work on my tax questionnaire.

9pm – Start in on more work. Write my weekly emails to the congregation, faculty/staff/grad student and student-only listservs to inform about the activities of the coming week. Spend time replying to email correspondence. Start drafting a flier to advertise the bilingual Yoga & Compline program we plan to offer Spring Quarter. Wonder when I/we am/are going to have time to flier the neighborhood – and remember that I still need to create a bilingual Compline booklet by April 1. Create flier for the Progressive Christian Student gathering on Tuesday – come up with the title “Prayer for Dummies: A Crash Course on Prayer & Meditation.” Glad that our Communication Intern will flier the campus tunnels tomorrow. Generate the language for next Sunday’s bulletin and select hymns. Prepare agenda for Bishop’s Advisory Committee Meeting on Tuesday.

11pm – Watch several episodes of House on DVD. I’m warming up to this series.

2am – Finally get to sleep. I’m a night owl.

Monday, March 10th –

9am- Morning prayers from the New Zealand Prayer Book plus some spiritual reading.

11am – Get to work. Consult with the Office Administrator on the projects of the week.

11:45 – Pick up a chicken shawarma sandwich and head to the Antiochian Orthodox Church in Isla Vista for a meeting of area clergy. We talk about the future our campus interfaith center and our growing relationships with administrators at UCSB.

1:30 pm – Return to the office. Review financials for BAC meeting. Call a parishioner whose mother died that morning. More email correspondence. Prep for the on campus Progressive Christian Students meeting. Select helpful materials on prayer for office admin to copy. Talk to a VOX Planned Parenthood member on the phone about a counter demonstration she hopes I can attend later in the week.

3 pm – Visit the parishioner who is dying. Say prayers with her. It’s clear to all of us that she is on the threshold between this life and the next…

4pm – Go home. Manage to get to the gym before the day is over.

8pm – Listen to an episode of Speaking of Faith online. I LOVE this radio show – check it out for yourself: www.speakingoffaith.org!

9pm-10:30pm – Update the campus ministry website and blog from home while watching TV.

Tuesday, March 11th –

10am – Head to work.

10:30am – Conference call with other LA Diocese college chaplains. I’m a big fan of freeconference.com – as it saves me many hours on the 101 freeway!

12pm – To campus for the Progressive Christian Students conversation on prayer and meditation. Am thankful to be facilitating these conversations with a faculty member who will begin preparing for ordination in the fall.

1:15pm – Receive call that my ill parishioner has died -- Can I come to say prayers with the family? Head to family’s home, say prayers, make Wednesday appointment to talk with family about funeral.

2:25pm – 10 minutes late for meeting with downtown SB UCC minister to discuss a collaborative denominational approach to strengthen a progressive Christian presence on campus.

3:10pm – 10 minutes late on conference call with other LA Clergy to debrief recent conference we organized for clergy in financially stressed congregations. I don’t think being late is a good practice…

4pm – Hoped to have taken this time for a quick walk on the beach, but instead I’m preparing materials for my funeral planning meeting tomorrow, putting the finishing touches on an appeal letter to some parishes with resources that must go out this week and outlining my thoughts for a panel discussion in a residential hall this evening. Successfully (I think) hand off the task of Spring newsletter layout to a graphic designer who attends an area Episcopal Church! Register that I still need to do work on the content of the newsletter and organizing of propaganda pictures for the newsletter by the end of the quarter.

6pm – Bishop’s Advisory Committee meeting begins. BAC is made up of students and associates who meet once a month and function as a steering committee of the church and campus ministry. Together we pray. Map out the end of the school year. Discuss financials. Assign “homework tasks.” I’m a believer in homework assignments for all who serve on committees. :)

7:30pm – Meeting ends. A few students stay for College Crew. We cook pasta, talk and say Compline Prayer together.

8:30pm – Begin my trek to campus for the panel discussion.

9:00pm – Conversation with students and panelists on the question “Do you believe we live in Christian privileged society?” I believe we do. I also believe it’s a challenge to claim our Christian roots given the way our capitalist system hijacks our traditions and culture does not value depth. I appreciate our thoughtful interfaith discussion.

11:30pm – Get back to the office. Go home. I’m fried. Praise God to discover that the palms have (finally) arrived on my doorstep for Palm Sunday.

3am – Can’t get to sleep until 3 (did I mention that I despise springing forward?!). Annoyed I never made it to the gym and have fallen off the yoga boat. Ruminating about the lists of things that need to get done in the next month. I have an unusually busy six weeks ahead of me.

Wednesday, March 12th –

10am – Leave the house. Try to connect on my cell with the Office of Women’s Ministries at the Church Center to talk about some Imagine conference business. Forgot that I had agreed to check in with the director at 8am PST. Don’t succeed in getting through to her.

10:45am – Arrive on campus to join with VOX Planned Parenthood students in counter demonstration with Justice For All – an outside pro-life group that displays large pictures of bloodied fetuses on campuses. One student walks by and starts sobbing uncontrollably. She mentions to me that she had abortion and the display is too much to bear. She responds to this violation by railing at the JFA people. A crowd begins to gather as she voices her anger. A group of us pulls her out of that conversation and I walk her to class with another student. She begins to calm down, but is still distraught. I make sure to give her my card in case she later wants to connect with supportive ear. We also tell her that there is help available at Student Health Services. Above head, plane is circulating the UCSB campus with the photo of a bloodied fetus on it…

11:55am – Reluctantly leave the counter demonstration to attend a quarterly on campus gathering of Episcopal faculty, staff and graduate students at the Faculty Club. Today, St. Mike’s parishioner Mark Juergensmeyer is giving a mini presentation on the intersection of his spiritual life and academic work. I’m reminded that Mark and I, despite our age gap, have a bit of a parallel life – we attended the same seminary AND did our field work in the same parish! Learn that one of my seniors has been accepted into her first choice PhD program. Hooray!

1:20pm – Connect with Women’s Ministries Office about our work on promoting Imagine gatherings while walking back to office from campus.

1:30pm – Meet with the family of my parishioner to plan her Celebration of Life service.

2:45pm – Get back to office work. Sketch out funeral service bulletin for our office administrator. Assure musician is available the service. Talk to several people about the logistics of Campus Connection (a new outreach initiative of the campus ministries of UCSB & CSU-CI to bring students to our campuses for an overnight immersion experience) preparation meeting this Saturday in Los Angeles. Proof and sign a set of appeal letters. More email correspondence, including an email to the congregation about parishioner’s funeral arrangements; service will be on Monday of Holy Week!

4pm – A call from a retired clergy friend. He’s in the neighborhood. Can he swing by? Of course…I guide him to the church over the phone.

4:10pm – Turns out my friend has a guest with him – none other than The Rt. Rev. Ann Tottenham --retired Suffragan (Anglican) Bishop of the Diocese of Toronto! I have a picture of her in my office taken ten years ago at Lambeth with the other bishops who are women. We tour the grounds of St. Mike’s together. I’m glad he stopped by with +Ann!

5pm – More prep for Campus Connection. Start to work on my sermon.

7:30pm – Head home.

8:30pm – Gym. Bring a draft my friend’s manuscript Environmental Change-Making with me. Spiritual reading on the elliptical machine! :)

10:30pm – Do some house chores. Water my thirsty plants. Spiritual reading. Pack for LA.

1am – Sleep.

Thursday, March 13th –

9:30am – Walking meditation.

10am – Finish up sermon writing.

11:30am – Gym.

12:45pm – Leave for meetings in LA.

2-5pm – Meet with my clergy support and study group in LA. Our group includes four other women clergy from the Methodist and Episcopal traditions.

5pm – Spend the evening with friends.

Friday, March 14 –

Supposed to be a day off.

9am – Meeting with my tax guy who specializes in clergy taxes over the phone. Thankfully I’m getting a refund.

12pm – Lunch with a priest friend. We end up talking too much about work.

2pm – Meditative beach walk in Santa Monica.

3:30-5pm – Car wash and oil change madness.

5-9:30pm – Spend time with friends.

9:30-11:57pm – Finalize Campus Connection gathering schedule and materials for tomorrow’s meeting. Catch up on email correspondence. Delighted to find an email update from a student who is spending her last semester as a senior in New Zealand!

Saturday, March 15th –

Normally, a day off – note that I will comp it after Easter as I am part of "the new generation," a believer in and stickler for 2 days of rest every week (many clergy to not live by, nor subscribe to this idea of a “weekend off” -- nonsense, I say!).

9am – A visit to the $.99 store for some last minute meeting supplies!

10am – 2pm – Campus Connection meeting with students, clergy and mentors at my previous church, St. Mary’s in Koreatown (Los Angeles). Touch base after meeting with clergy friend about the possibility of going to Haïti (!) for a few days in May to assist with a peacemaking class through the Episcopal Peace Fellowship. I’m very interested!!!

3pm – Head back up to SB.

5:15pm – Arrive home. Eat. Head to the gym. Place finishing touches on Palm Sunday sermon before going to bed -- tonight @ a reasonable hour! It’s not been the most balanced week, but a rich one nonetheless…

Sunday, March 16th –

It’s Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week! Gulp! All glory laud & honor…

Some of you may have discovered a new television show this season called Pushing Daisies. The tone of Pushing Daisies, in my mind, is a rip off of the French movie Amélie (one of my all time favorite films). The premise of the movie, however, is more a la Lazarus.

Pushing Daisies is about a man named Ned, a gifted pie maker, who has special powers – specifically the power to bring people back to life. There are a couple of catches however: When Ned brings someone back to life for more than one minute, something of similar "life value" in the universe dies; and, once he brings a person back to life, he can't touch him/her again or else s/he dies -- permanently. Ned's powers have played out somewhat tragically in his life: his mother died of a brain aneurysm, he revived her but then accidentally gave her a good night kiss and she died again; the woman with whom he is in love, he can't touch because he revived her, and she'll die if he touches her. Ned takes all of this in stride and finds his vocation in both making pies and teaming up with a private investigator to bring murder victims back to life.

The lectionary readings this morning of the dry bones and the raising of Lazarus – like the whimsical series Pushing Daisies – prime us to turn our attention to the cycles of life and death. Next Sunday we celebrate Jesus' entry into Jerusalem and crucifixion. Then we launch into Holy Week – reliving the last supper, the crucifixion, and the empty tomb – until we finally greet the resurrected Jesus on Easter Sunday. This sequence of events calls to mind a radio interview I heard recently with a rabbi who talked about the journey Jewish congregations make during Yom Kippur – or days of atonement. She explained that during these high holidays – when the synagogues fill to the brim – the selected texts read are not the dramatic and forthright stories of the Hebrew Bible you might expect to hear on a day when the whole community actually shows up to temple. Rather, during Yom Kippur obscure texts get read about minor characters in the Bible. It's all a brilliant attempt on the rabbis' part to get people to slowly dial into their own sinful behavior of the past year. And three days later, the congregations are there, sitting with their own sins in a way that perhaps might not have been possible had the text knocked them on the head the first day of service. The Lenten progression of Bible texts follows this same logic, I think. We get a bit of a knock on the head with Ash Wednesday, but then there is some breathing space during our 40 days in the wilderness that allow for some interesting meetings with characters who hopefully teach us as much about our own humanity as we learn of theirs.

The Gospel passage we read from John is the last act of ministry, if you will, of Jesus before the procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. It's a disturbing story on some levels. Lazarus, like Jesus, is young – and his death untimely. It's also disconcerting that Jesus waits a long time – several days – before making his way to his friend. He waits so long, in fact, that according to Jewish tradition, Lazarus' soul would have departed his body and his corpse would have begun to rot. But Jesus finally does arrive to the scene where he meets Mary and Martha. Mary is quick to say that had he been at Lazarus' side, perhaps her brother would not have died. It's then that Jesus notices the weeping sisters and others also crying. And then he begins to weep. We don't know what was in those tears of Jesus'. Were they tears of anger directed to people who did not seem to have much faith in him? Were they tears for what would come to pass in the next several days? Were they tears for the brokenness of the world – or simply tears of exhaustion, frustration and sadness?

There is a beautiful story of a good and faithful rabbi…

"The day of Yom Kippur came, and all day the rabbi had fasted, done penance, and prayed for his people, his small congregation. That night, the holiest night of the Jewish year, they were all gathered in the synagogue praying, asking for forgiveness and mercy from God, blessed be his Name. The rabbi stood with his back to the people, tightly wrapped in his prayer shawl, and prayed. He prayed as fervently and intensely as he could. He remembers that every synagogue around the world gathering the Jews together on this day and all their prayers were ascending to God, the Holy One.

As he prayed he begged God for some sign that his prayer on behalf of his people was heard. As soon as he thought it and prayed it, he was taken aback. Why should the Holy One respond to such a prayer, when there were probably many others, hoping for the same thing? And yet, almost instantaneously, he was given an answer to his prayers. For just a moment her heard the voice of God, clear and ringing out like a bell: "Have Tam offer your prayers to me, and I will graciously accept all of you back into my heart, forgiving all things and showing my mercy upon you." And then just as surely the light, the sense, the sound, was gone. The rabbi stood with his back to the people praying still, and he was alone.

Then he turned toward the people. Instead of praying the prayer of intercessions as the ritual demanded, he called out: "Tam! Tam! Where is Tam?" He know what everyone was thinking – he had been thinking it himself just seconds before. Why Tam? Tam was hardly ever in the synagogue. He was poor, unlettered, and worked so hard that he often missed services. Oh, he was a good hearted enough soul, but he certainly hadn't amounted to much in the community. The rabbi didn't even know exactly what Tam did for a living. The people were stunned, shocked.

And poor Tam, who was in fact in the synagogue on this holy night, was equally stunned. He was paralyzed and could not move. Why did the rabbi call out his name instead of praying? What terrible thing was about to be visited upon him? But others in the synagogue recognized him, and the rabbi gestured to them to carry Tam forward to the front of the synagogue. Tam stood, silent, with head bowed before the rabbi. The rabbi spoke loudly and directly to Tam. "I have been praying for mercy and forgiveness for all of us on this night and I have been clearly told by God, blessed be hi Name, that we all will be forgiven and taken back into the heart of God if you pray for us, if you give your prayer to God on our behalf."

Tam was speechless. How could he pray? He could not even read the service, the prayers in the book. But the rabbi was insistent. God would only take the community back into his heart and give them a year of blessing, grace and mercy if Tam prayed for them. He had to pray for them! Finally, Tam agreed. But he looked at the rabbi and said: "I have to go get my prayers."

What? the rabbi thought. You have to go get your prayers? "Then go." he said.

Tam ran down the aisle, pushing people aside. Everyone was in confusion and disarray. But Tam did not live far, just down a street away from the synagogue's back door. He was back in no time.

Once again there was tumult in the synagogue as Tam returned to the front to stand but the rabbi and pray on behalf of the community. He stood before them all, and in his hands was a large earthen pitcher. He lifted it high, turned his back to the people, and addressed God. "O Holy One, you know I am not good at praying, but I bring you all I have. This pitcher holds my tears. Late at night, even when I am tired, I sit and try to pray to you. And then I think of my poor wife and children and the fact that they have no clean clothes to wear to services and are ashamed to come to the synagogue, and I cry. And then I think of all the hungry ones, the beggars on the steps of the synagogues and in the streets, in the cold and rain, miserable and so alone, and I cry some more. And then, God I think of what we do to each other. I think of all the gossip and hate, all the quarrels and wars, and I think of you crying, God, you looking down on us hurting one another so, and I know that you weep for us always. God, I cry for you and how we must break your heart and sadden you so. Please take my tears, accept my prayers, and take all of us back into your heart once again. Give us a blessing and forgive us in your great mercy and kindness.

And Tam took his pitcher and poured his tears over the floor of the synagogue. There was a long silence, and then the rabbi spoke, haltingly: "God has heard of Tam, and we are forgiven. We are once again the people of God. Let us live this year with grateful hearts."

The people sang, but they left the synagogue quietly. They vowed never to forget Tam's prayer or his pitcher of tears and to make sure there would be less to cry over in the years to come. They looked at Tam and his family differently, and their neighbors too. Some even reconciled with their enemies. But they all went home thinking of the tears of God."

From Lent: The Sunday Readings by Megan McKenna

Out of Jesus' tears comes the raising of Lazarus. Doubt and confusion surrounds him. Yet he stays true to his vocation to be an (unlikely) restorer of life and a kindler of the Spirit. It's interesting to note Lazarus walks out of that tomb, is presumably unbound and never heard from again. Many throughout history have creatively written endings to Lazarus' story. Pushing Daisies is a response in pop culture to the intrigue of this concept of "life after death". Jesus' life after death story, unlike that of Lazerus', offers a glimpse, however limited, into this segment of his life. The overall lack of emphasis on the specifics/details of "life after death" in the text pushes us back to the central themes of our lectionary readings – the work of "restoration of the Spirit." I've often admired the way some devote their entire lives to restoration work – be it of cathedral frescos, wetlands, rare books or ancient ruins. Yet I was struck that today's readings challenge us to see the work and art of restoration not just as the trade of specially trained professionals, prophets or messiahs. Rather, we are asked to play a part in restoring life to our selves, our churches, our communities and our world. And the tears we weep, like those of Jesus' and Tam's, may point to immediate spaces in need of restoration and a new breath of life.

Amen.

The Rev. Nicole Janelle
St. Michael's, Isla Vista
Lent 5 ~ 9 March 2008