Circles

Whoever decided to put Christmas right next to New Year's Day was a genius; must have been the same person who decided that dessert comes at the end of the meal. This year, the theme has been "life as a big circle", i.e., the ends of things smashed up against new beginnings. Life has provided more than it's share of circular happenings this year, it seems. Daughter M. graduated from college this month, and begins more school next year. Daughter K. graduated also, and begins the next phase of her life. Son E. now has a son of his own, the beginning of acute responsibility and the end of "laissez faire" - the same for daughter-in-law S.

Christmas Eve was on a Sunday this year, so I attended the morning worship service, then later attended the Christmas Eve service in the evening.

Christ Church, in Fairfield, is a melting pot of a church. Holy Communion there is different than most; we all stand in a big circle, old and young, rich and poor, red and yellow, black and white, while the priest makes his way around to each of us to give us the consecrated host. Sometimes the children, not able to stand still, will dance like they're at a party.

I like standing in that big circle, at the end of the week and - at the same time - the beginning of the week; remembering "the last supper", and realizing that it was just the beginning of a new thing that lasts forever, a celebration without end...

Matzah

If you search the news about the Episcopal Church ("ECUSA") these days, you will come across the phrase "There is a crisis in the Episcopal Church" far more often than phrases like "What a wonderful place, this Episcopal Church". There are wars and rumors of wars on every side, about homosexuality, the role of bishops, the future of the world wide Anglican Communion, declining numbers, money problems - you name it. It's a major distraction, to say the least, and many, many good Episcopalians are spending many, many hours thinking, writing, talking, traveling, meeting, arguing, and stewing over "issues". Our former rector spent the last year or two of his time with us in turmoil over these "issues", or so it seemed if you listened to his sermons. He was, and is, an incredibly talented, intelligent, gifted man - but it seemed that the "issues" got the best of him - i.e., each week, the liturgy seemed to point to some aspect of the "issues", and less and less to some aspect of our brokenness, our relationship with God, our day-to-day lives.

There is, however, much important work to do, if we could stop contemplating our own belly buttons long enough to do it. Close to home, my dear friend is still on her deathbed (see the earlier post), and to say her family is suffering right along with her is the understatement of the day. The oncology ward at Children's Hospital is full, too. There's a war on, and people on both sides are being maimed or killed with numbing regularity. There's this poverty thing, and this HIV/AIDS thing, and this international drug problem thing.

On the flip side, there's lots to be happy about - my buddy G. and his wife S. just had a beautiful baby boy, and my friend B. just came back to church after being on sabbatical for a few months; there's actually a whole heap of things to be joyful about.

It just seems like we spend a lot of time and energy on ourselves, and not enough time and energy sowing the seed of the Kingdom, rejoicing in our brother's and sister's blessings and happiness, and helping those who are "in trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity" (BCP, p. 329).

When Jesus instituted the Lord's Supper, (aka the Eucharist, Holy Communion), it was during the Jewish feast of the Passover, commemorating God's protection of the Jewish people during the plagues. He served the traditional foods - unleavened bread and wine. The bread was unleavened because it was important for the Jews to be prepared to flee at a moments notice from Pharoah's henchmen - therefore, the dough didn't have time to rise. As a matter of fact, it wasn't supposed to have any yeast in it at all, only the simplest of ingredients, flour and water. So, it was called both "the bread of haste", since you didn't have to wait for it to rise, and "the bread of poverty", because it was so simple and cheap.

Drop by most any Sunday at an Episcopal church and you'll see this kind of bread being used in the service of Holy Communion. It's a reminder that we better hurry up and get out there to do whatever it is He has called us to do, even if we don't know exactly what that is. The words of the priest - "The body of Christ, the bread of heaven" - don't really do it justice. Maybe if the priest said "Here, take this bread and eat it fast, 'cause there's trouble out there, and it's coming your way - We didn't have time to bake yeast rolls - Hurry up! - Get your butt out there and get to work - Now!", or maybe "Here, take this bread, it's not much - only flour and water - but God has made it into something incredibly important, just like he can make something truly amazing out of your screwed-up, sorry self". There is so much affirmation in the Eucharist - I've seen people weep with joy and great relief who "get it": There they stand or kneel, some in tears, "in the moment", as they hold out their hands to receive this little piece of unleavened bread. To see it up close, you'd think they were receiving something really, really special...

Did I mention that there's a crisis in the Episcopal church?