But we still had the best bands!

Scenes from an Urban Parish

Every morning the sexton picks up beer cans and liquor bottles from the lawn.  Sometimes there are syringes and needles, too.

Homeless people sleep in the churchyard and cemetery at night.  They figure out what time the police drive through so they can hide.

When women go up to take Communion, they take their purses with them.

The church is kept locked when not in use.

When the secretary is alone in the office, she keeps the door locked.

A parishioner is mugged.  The perpetrator is caught, spends nine months in jail, then gets probation and rehab.  Several years before, the parishioner’s teenage daughter was held up at gunpoint in the convenience store where she worked.  The robber is caught, but in spite of identification by two witnesses, is acquitted.

A teenage parishioner is set upon by three acquaintances.  He has to have his jaw wired and lives on milkshakes for weeks.

A large drug store, open twenty-four hours a day, opens.  The spot becomes a magnet for prostitutes and their customers.  The drug store changes its hours to nine to nine.

The neighbors of noisy bar, the scene of many fights, try to have the bar closed.  After a shooting, it is.   A company buys the property to use as a methadone clinic.  The neighborhood, after demonstrations and with the help of legislators, gets the court to stop the purchase.  The clinic appeals and wins.  The status is still uncertain.

The Diocese asks that before every meeting, service, or event the question “How does what we are doing impact those living in poverty?” be asked.

During an evening committee meeting, a man comes to the door.  He says he and his family have just come to the city and are homeless and asks for money to stay in a motel.  The committee members debate whether they should call the rector for money from the Discretionary Fund or chip in themselves.  In the end, they do nothing, but feel guilty.  On Sunday at Coffee Hour, another parishioner tells of being approached by someone who fits the description of the man with the same story a week before in the parking lot at the mall.

The Diocese suggests that for Lent everyone limit his or her food expenses to thirty dollars per person per week, which is the average Food Stamp allotment.  The Bishop says he is going to do it, but does not say how he is going to count the free food at meetings, receptions, etc. 

A parishioner who works in a supermarket sees Food Stamp cards being sold for cash.

I’m just saying

Unearned Atheism -- The Slacker in the Stroller

One of my favorite dead wrong but nice people is Hement Mehta, The Friendly Atheist.  Not only is he unfailing polite as he points out the silliness of belief, but he does it with charm and humor.  His blog, The Friendly Atheist and his You-Tube videos on Atheist Voice include such topics as  “Atheist at  a  Megachurch”, “What Do Atheists Believe Happens to You When You Die?” and “Fifteen Things You Should Never Say to an Atheist.”  (I was impressed that he didn’t call it “Fifteen Stupid Things You Should Never Say to an Atheist.”)

I was glad to see that believers aren’t the only ones who should watch their mouths.  Mr. Mehta has a video “9 Things Atheists Should Stop Saying,” such as “I lost my faith,” or “I can be good without god.”    But the no-no that I found the most interesting was, “Babies are born atheists.”  This is not because he thinks babies believe, but because they have not earned the right to be called atheists.  All a baby has to do is exist.  To be an atheist, he or she has to be bombarded with information such as that there is nothing beyond the material world, that Grandma would have survived the triple by-pass even if no one had prayed for her, that his or her best friend's pastor, who is like a cool aunt or uncle or favorite grandparent, is either stupid beyond belief or, worse, a fraud and hypocrite.  And don’t forget the biggie – when you die, bada bing, bada boom, that’s it for you.  Then the baby, who is by now at least in middle school has earned the title of atheist and can wear atheist t-shirts and necklaces with charms that say, “God free” as he or she rides around in the family car with the cute animal on the back that says “Evolve.”

Well, I don’t think babies are born atheists; I think we are all born with a capacity to believe.  Researchers have proposed the idea of a “God gene” that predisposes people to spirituality.  It even has a name, VMAT2.  But it is more than a God gene.  Throughout history people have been creating rituals and beliefs for themselves, partly out of fear and a desire for explanation of the world.  But I think it also came from wonder, the desire for something greater than oneself, and the marvelous realization looking at the world, that there must be.  And perhaps the God gene is part of God’s gift to us.

Belief has survived disasters, evil, and various Ages of Doubt and Reason.

A baby does not have to earn the title of believer or Christian.  Nobody does.  Belief is in us already.  And Jesus can be, too, if we believe.

 

 

 

  2012 we've been

Examine Your But

The Episcopal Church has a full spectrum of religious views.

In my parish there are those who think Pope Francis is too liberal.  And then there people like me, Whateverists, some of whom, like me, have decided opinions about where the altar should be.  And most people are in the middle.  But we manage to get along, generally.

Sometimes it seems that the biggest debate at coffee hour is whether Hitler had a shot at getting into heaven.

Then there’s the legend of the Bishop who said maybe the Resurrection didn’t happen like it said in the Bible, but also talked about how God spoke to him.  Frankly, I have trouble with both of these statements, but I tell myself that he is entitled to his truths.  Maybe we can talk about in heaven.

This diversity is great, but sometimes we (or at least I) may get confused about how strong our belief are or even what they are.

So Episcopalians, or anyone who would like to clarify his or her views, may be interested in the psychological test or parlor game “I’m __________, but . . .”  First you have to complete the first clause.  “I’m a liberal, but”  “I’m no liberal, but”  “I’m conservative, but”  “I’m old school, but”.  Or “I don’t believe in labels, but. . .”  This may be the easy part.  Most people have a sneaking attachment to their labels.  It gives us a sense of identity and solidarity.  And the anti-label people are even more attached to anti-labelism. 

The interesting part comes after the “but.”  “I’m not High Church, but some smells and bells in the service might fun.”  “I’m no liberal, but why can’t everyone have health insurance?”  “I’m pretty conservative, but the world was created in six twenty-four hour days?  Seriously?”

“I’m sure (Sarah Palin, Bill O’Reilly, the Pope, Hilary Clinton, Jon Stewart, Bill Maher or whoever) isn’t a bad person, but in some things he or she says are just dead wrong.”

What does your “but” tell you about yourself?  What kind of new ideas (new to you, at least) does it stir up?  At the very least it will demonstrate that people, even you, can have seemingly conflicting opinions.  If you think everyone should have health insurance, how should they get it?  What good ideas does the Pope or Jon Stewart have?  You might even want to write about it.  (Feel free to groan here.)

Have fun!  And if anyone has any suggestions on how to lobby for smells and bells, let me know!

 

A Stroke or What?

I was rushing around trying to get dressed to go to a meeting, but things weren’t going well.  My vision was blurry, and when I looked at the digital clock, the numbers were about an eighth of an inch high.  I went to my closet and reached up to the shelf, where I was pretty sure I’d put the papers I needed for the meeting, wondering if I really had, when I started seeing flashing colored lights.  Then I felt myself fall over and hit the floor.  I thought, “Did I just have a stroke or what?”  Then I woke up.

Sorry about that.  Frankly, I don’t care for movies or stories that turn out to be dreams, but I have a reason for bringing it up.  (I know I should have started a new paragraph, but I didn’t want to spoil the drama.)

My first thought when I woke up was that I could see and how bright everything looked.  This wasn’t too surprising, since it is our first sunny day in almost a week.  (I think it’s been week.  I’ve kind of lost track.)  My second thought was, “Well, I guess I had a dream about having a stroke.”  My third thought was, “Could God have sent me a dream about being zapped by the Holy Spirit?”  And then I thought, “Did I get zapped by the Holy Spirit in a dream?”

I haven’t figured it out yet.  I’d prefer to think that it was the Holy Spirit.  (I’ve been disappointed that I got saved so gradually.  You can read about that in “How I Got Saved”, July 28, 2013.) And, not to seem ungrateful, but I’d like to have experience when I’m awake.

Some, probably most, people I know, would say that thinking God had sent me a dream about the Holy Spirit is crazy and thinking that the Holy Spirit visited me in a dream is batship crazy.  Not too long ago, I thought the whole concept of the Holy Spirit was pretty crazy.  But frankly, folks, I don’t give a bat’s behind.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to understand what actually happened.  I’ve prayed for an explanation.  What I’ve gotten so far is the knowledge that an explanation isn’t important; it’s what I do with the experience.  So I’m sharing it and expecting that whatever the purpose is, it will be worked out.

And I am full of crazy gratitude for it.

PS:  If I remember correctly, the meeting I was supposed to go to was about health insurance and I was supposed to speak about it.  Trust me, no one would ever ask me to speak about health insurance.

Among the Top Ten of Trivial Spiritual Concerns

I’m not that serious about this.  (I think.)

A post of Facebook featured a picture of a bench in a beautiful garden with the question “Who would you want to sit on the bench with you?”  (They put it more grammatically.)  I answered the way I usually do:  Barbara Pym (my favorite author.  She wrote “novels of manners” during the 1950’s and ‘60’s about life in English country villages or neighborhoods in London.  Try Excellent Women or Some Tame Gazelle to start.) and Agatha Christie.  When I read the comments, almost everyone else at least mentioned Jesus.  So I felt guilty!  I don’t know if there is a message to this, probably not.

Yes, I would like to talk to Jesus.  But it’s OK to think of Barbara or Jane Austen or Elvis or John Lennon first.

No offense to our Lord, but I don’t think he’d be interested in hearing about my romantic misadventures or my writer’s dilemmas.  Not only would I love to hear about Barbara’s, but I think she’d like to hear about mine.  Not that they are that special, but she was a writer, and anything can serve as material.

In the first post I wrote for Woodstock Churchlady, I said that one of my goals was to show a reader that he or she wasn’t the only person in the world to ever feel a certain way.  So I suppose other people would feel the same in the same situation.  But I’m not entirely sure, so if you have, I’d love to hear from you. 

How about you?  Who would you like to have a conversation with?  How do you feel about your first response?

By the way, another sign that you might be an Annoying Believer would be that when someone tells you that their choice of fellow bench sitter is Clark Gable or Abraham Lincoln or Anne Rice, you look horrified and say, “What about Jesus?”  (And add ten annoyance points if you say “our Lord.”)

Start With Something Easy -- Your Colonoscopy

When you get to be a certain age, it seems the most exciting things to happen to you are medical.  You’re not having love crises, the kids are out of the house, and you really don’t want to waste any oxygen talking about your job.

But someone is always having something done.  And it doesn’t have to mean a medical crisis.  Routine screening procedures offer unlimited topics of conversation.

And the most talked about is the colonoscopy.  What is really interesting is that people are eager to explain that the procedure is easy;  it’s the preparation that sucks.  (“They put the IV in and the next thing you know, it’s over and you’re scarfing down the graham crackers and apple juice.  And I went home and had a cheesesteak and fries.”)  To help and reassure our nervous friends, we go into details that years ago would have labelled us potty mouths.  (“I was so afraid I’d have an accident on the way to the doctor’s that I wore five pairs of underpants,”  “Make sure you get some baby wipes.”)

My point is that if we can share our colonoscopies, we should be able to share Jesus.  Our faith is more interesting and important than our health habits.  It’s a great idea to encourage friends to have screenings.  We do it because we care about their health.  And, even if we are too embarrassed to talk about it, we care even more about their souls. 

So maybe we should stop being embarrassed.  To be graphically frank, if you can talk about something that involves having a camera stuck up your behind, you can talk about God and tell your story.  People will be even more interested in your spiritual journey.

Try it.  And if you’re due for one, get a colonoscopy.