A "Quiet Morning" is just that: a time to be quiet and listen for the Spirit of God moving among us.
You are invited to a Quiet Morning with inspiration from the life and writings of Julian of Norwich, a 14th century spiritual guide. Julian's Revelations of Divine Love, her reflections on a powerful experience of God, was the first book published by a woman writing in English.
Sponsoring this Quiet Morning is the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross. The Companions are Episcopal women, in all walks of life, who are dedicated to intercessory prayer and work on behalf of social justice. Several of us live in Upstate New York, and gather from time to time for prayer, fellowship and reflection.
Please join us at St. Margaret's House and Ecumenical Center, 47 Jordan Road, New Hartford, NY. (315-724-2324) beginning at 9 am on Saturday, March 28. We conclude with lunch, included in the suggested donation of $25. For reservations, please contact Sue O'Daniel by email, or me, Jackie Schmitt, at this blog.
"All will be well, and all will be well, and every manner of thing will be well," Julian wrote, remembering how God spoke to her at a time of deep personal crisis. Join us, and explore how the life of this 14th century woman can be relevant to us today.
Stories from the Grand Canal
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Friday, September 27, 2013
The Good Lord Bird
Am laid up with ankle surgery. Time on my hands ...
Curious that the two books I am reading now have to do with
John Brown. In Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson, the narrator’s
grandfather was a preacher in the John Brown ilk – rode with Brown through
Bloody Kansas, turned his tiny Kansas congregation into a preaching post for
abolition and judgment – and grace. By the end of his life, his concern was to
care for those in need, by stealing from family and friends, if anyone else
needed things. Near the beginning of the book, we read how the narrator, then
age 12 or so, and his father, traveled from Iowa to Kansas, finally trudging
the prairie in near starvation, to find the grandfather’s grave. He had gone
back in late age to preach once more, to find God’s solace, judgment, mercy,
calling in the empty spaces of a nearly abandoned Kansas town.
I heard about The Good
Lord Bird on the radio a couple of weeks ago. I was captivated by James
McBride, with his talking about growing up poor in a family of 12 children, in
Brooklyn. He’s a writer, musician, teacher, and before I got The Good Lord Bird, I started reading The Color of Water, his memoir of his
white, Jewish mother, who never let her children know she was not African
American – and who never let her children do anything with their lives other
than succeed in school and succeed in life.
John Brown, abolitionist and fanatic evangelical, also
figures largely in The Good Lord Bird,
in this book in the foreground. The narrator is a slave boy, captured by Brown
in one of his bloody raids, and whom Brown mistakes for a girl. As a girl,
“Henrietta” is part of Brown’s gang, along with Brown’s sons and a
multicultural assortment of Free Staters. Brown is a scary evangelical –
McBride admitted to the radio interviewer that he deliberately exaggerated
Brown’s style, his looks, his fervor, using satire even as he portrays Brown as
the hero. John Brown is what happens when religious conviction about God’s
justice and a deep consciousness-change about racism as America’s original sin,
move to their inevitable end. The power unleashed is like those of
anti-abortion activists. Murder is justified when it is vengeance for a sin so
profound.
The Good Lord Bird
of the title is “the Lord God Bird” -- that rare creature ornithologists
thought they spotted in an Arkansas swamp a few years ago. This Ivory-Billed
Woodpecker is one of the largest woodpeckers in the world, with a wingspan of
30 inches. It has a huge head and a thin neck, a white streak that looks
elegant in flight but like a lightning scar when the bird is standing. It does
probably look like some of those images of John Brown: larger than life,
elusive. The Ivory-Billed, if there truly are any living, is headed toward
extinction, due to the destruction of its habitat in the southern, swampy
woodlands, and the fad of killing birds for their “exotic” feathers. John
Brown, in The Good Lord Bird is
headed for extinction himself, driven their by his own passions and by the
inevitability that a society built on slavery will push back with more violence
and the force of law to bring an end to that “exotic” bird’s prophetic and
terrifying cry.
Just finished that remarkable book. It did start out
humorous, or satirical, at least, and much of the satire poked at “Negroes” and
John Brown. But it was all most loving. The narrator character came not only to
love but also admire John Brown, and compellingly makes the case about his
being the catalyst for the final push against slavery.
When I heard the interview with James McBride, he talked
about being a church-goer, a believer – one who acknowledges the power and sustenance
of the Biblical faith – even if, like Brown’s, it has crazy parts. At the end
of the book, after the disastrous Harper’s Ferry raid, the narrator
acknowledges that when Brown was in jail, “writing letters and getting visitors
… he was a star all over again. … the last six weeks of his life the Old Man
got more folks moved ‘bout the slavery question than he ever did spilling blood
back in Kansas, or in all them speeches he gived up in New England. … John
Brown was a Christian man. A bit off his biscuit, but a better Christian you
never saw.” (p. 410)
What makes John Brown a Christian - that "better Christian"? He was murderous and brutal, and yet was loving and kind to all the Negroes he met. Was it that he acted out of love? Yet he left his family for this cause, and put his own children in harm's way -- caused their violent deaths, even.
What is it with fanatics? Do we approve of them if their
cause is right, their end justifies their means? Do present-day abolitionists, taking
on human trafficking and the modern versions of slavery, take their inspiration
from Brown? What about anti-abortion activists, Roman Catholics and
Evangelicals convinced innocents are being slaughtered? The reproductive rights
debate is a bit like the abolition one: it is a battle fought on and over and
through the bodies of others.
The Good Lord Bird, the narrator says at the end, flies lone and wild, and seeks out dead trees in which to roost and peck. He sees one circling around, looking for that "bad tree, I expect, so he could alight upon it and get busy, so that it would someday fall and feed the others." Does that mean violence is inevitable, in the cause of one righteous man's quest for justice? Or is it that rotten institutions must inevitably crumble and fall, and that those peck away at them are hastening the Good Lord's plan?
The Good Lord Bird, the narrator says at the end, flies lone and wild, and seeks out dead trees in which to roost and peck. He sees one circling around, looking for that "bad tree, I expect, so he could alight upon it and get busy, so that it would someday fall and feed the others." Does that mean violence is inevitable, in the cause of one righteous man's quest for justice? Or is it that rotten institutions must inevitably crumble and fall, and that those peck away at them are hastening the Good Lord's plan?
Saturday, January 12, 2013
January Thaw: can the violence of our win-lose society be transformed?
Just to set the record straight: I do like winter, snow,
cold. The light is beautiful, the landscapes new and clean.
BUT I am relieved today for the respite of a January thaw.
Despite the grubby-looking ground, driveways and sidewalks without the danger
of ice and cold are a blessing.
In such an unsettled world, I find myself searching the sky
and the weather for signs: is aberrant weather now the new normal, or only a
wider swing?
I woke up to read Charles Blow telling us, once again, that
since the election of Barack Obama as President, the number of newly armed
“Patriot” groups have multiplied ten-fold.
To the right of Blow’s startling graph, Joe Nocera wrote,
“The combination of President Obama’s re-election and the Newtown massacre has
caused gun proponents to stock up, fearing, against all available evidence,
that the federal government was about to crack down on gun ownership.”
David Rubin, of the Newhouse school, praised SU coach Jim
Boeheim’s comments after the deaths in Connecticut, urging more social leaders
to echo Boeheim: ‘‘If we in this country, as Americans, can’t get the people
who represent us to do something about firearms, we are a sad, sad society.’’
Certainly these reports seem to indicate a polarized,
alienated society, desperately without hope, without any imagination that
anything could ever be different in the future.
I found a hopeful reading of Matthew’s story about the visit of
the wise men “from the East.” (see Community Parson.) Amazing, really, that Matthew would use the
example of Israel’s enemies to proclaim the universal power of God. These
Babylonians or Persians were Israel’s conquerors and captors, and here they
are: marching across deserts, bringing exotic gifts. They are so attuned to the
signs of these times that they recognize the enemies of God right in the midst
of the Jewish people: Herod the conniver, Herod the violent, Herod the amasser
of weapons of mass destruction and the soldiers who wield them.
Even more hopefully, I was moved this morning to read of the work of Rita Nakashima Brock, the theologian who was challenged to moderate her
hard-line, take-no-prisoners pacifism. Not until long after her
soldier-father’s death was she able to envision a future without the hard lines
of polarizing opinions, of win and lose. Brock now works with military
chaplains and veterans in the “Soul Repair Center,” a “vision of spiritual
therapy” that resists “both finger-pointing at veterans and ‘premature
forgiveness’ for the blood they have shed.”
“Everything is connected,” the eco-feminists used to say. Desperation
and violence connect all too frequently in our world. Let’s connect the other
dots, the points of true light. Let’s take risks to admit the wrong-headedness
of our formerly hard-line positions, whatever they may have been. The signs of
the times are all around us that this is the journey we must take.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
GC Deputies, young AND old: not now and never have been agents of change
Here is an excerpt from Scott Pomerank’s piece, entitled, Among the Dying.
The title caught my eye because I thought it might give some more perceptive
commentary on Convention. But alas, it was full of the usual kind of “all these
impassioned people taking stands on all these important global issues,” and ended
up with the usual, fairly smarmy comments about how the earnest youth will be
the salvation of this decrepit but glorious old institution:
… Several full-fledged deputies are in their 20s, and
at least one deputy—who has expressed herself impressively on the floor
multiple times—is a college student. Without exception, every one of
these young people has spoken intelligently, articulately and passionately;
several of them have spoken prophetically.
So is the Episcopal Church a sinking dinosaur? Not if
the young people here at Convention are any indication. They, after all,
presumably have many General Conventions ahead of them. Many of you have
heard me lament that calling youth "the future of the church" can
deprive them of the right to be the present of the church. Here in
Indianapolis, the youth are seizing that right. I trust them to help
guide the church into the future.
Many General Conventions ahead of them? Oh, my God. Are you
insane? Having BEEN one of those “youth who will change the future of the
church” many years ago (in the go-go 1970s, when the Episcopal Church
completely dismantled its entire New York office and gave the money to community
organizations – I certainly don’t hear any talk of “revisiting” General
Convention Special Program as a model of decentralization), and having spent
decades promoting more of those many youth who will change the future of the
church, let me tell you, little has changed. Plenty of those former youth are
doing terrific things – they may even be going to church! They may even pledge!
– but it is less and less likely that the terrific things they are doing are
represented at General Convention. If the deputies who are in the 20s are still
going to General Convention many years hence, then God bless them, but they are
not agents of change.
General Convention: the cry goes up, how long?
I have been casually reading comments on the General Convention
going on now, and the comments from George Clifford, on Episcopal Café follow along
with the more reasonable ones. He hammers home the point that much of the
discussion at church conventions (all denominations) rates barely a blip in the
rest of the country, and that all the various “reforms” do little or nothing to
stop the numerical and financial decline of the denomination. He made a few
ho-hum, re-hashed suggestions about what to do about all this.
Near the end of his commentary, he made real progress
though. This makes sense:
… formal denominational efforts to influence national
and international policies and legislation have achieved proportionately few
results for the resources invested. Single-issue ecumenical organizations, such
as Interfaith Power and Light, have enlisted greater support, received larger
resources, and produced greater results.
Successfully re-visioning and re-creating TEC will produce
an organization focused on its strength (building local communities of God's
people who join in worship, caring for one another, and offer hospitality to
strangers) that networks with other Christian organizations to achieve other
aspects of the gospel mandate. The end of Christendom suggests that a strategy
loosely linked multiple organizations may be more effective than the monolithic
church of the past. The Church’s unity will be seen in relationships rather
than structures.
The central organization of the Episcopal Church (using that
stupid abbreviation “TEC” or even worse “ECUSA” is a major PART of this whole
problem! So fucking in-groupy) can do whatever it wants to. It doesn’t matter
to the mission of the church. People can go to Convention and work out
governance matters, and we clergy can follow the rules. Fine.
Meanwhile, the real church happens, as Clifford says, in
de-centralized relational organizations, groups which rise up as occasions
demand, and then fall away – if those who organized them have the good sense to
get out of the way when the purposes for which they were organized no longer
exist.
Enlightenment/entitlement theology has a death grip on the
institutional church. Every fractured interest group wants a seat at the Table
– but guess what: there is no Table any more, no one place where all the
important decisions are made. There are many, multiple tables, and the ones
which offer the most effective hospitality are the ones on local levels – some
Christian, some interfaith, some post-Christian.
In 1919, the churches developed the strategy that the best
way to influence American society was to imitate it – to develop its own
corporate structure that mirrored the most successful models of American life,
the corporation. This strategy became fully incarnate with the establishment of
the Church Center at 815 Second Avenue. Church as corporation worked for a
while, but it has calcified. Even big American corporations are more flexible
than the Episcopal Church. Management schools have for quite some time
developed more decentralized models, sensitive and able to change and adapt to
changing environments. Business, which we imitated, changed – even Mad Men,
by the 5th season, wasn’t Mad Men in the same way. The church,
however, remains wedded to what it looked like in 1960. There are thousands of
people who like it that way – all those people who love going to church
meetings. It is fun. It can be exhausting. You can come to believe that it is
important.
Meanwhile, whole new webs, relationships, projects, plans,
organizations grow and shrink around us. In many cases, they ARE us, and in
many more cases we can find common mission in ways that have nothing to do with
institutional structures.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Thanks, Dory Previn
When I was in college, in the rush of feminist consciousness, in 1974, in the year 11 women in Philadelphia smashed through the sound barrier of the Episcopal Church by getting ordained to the priesthood, Dory Previn released this song. I wrote for the student newspaper, and if you were lucky you were in the newsroom when the free albums came in the mail. I snatched this one. It became the anthem of our little group of chapel-goers, pushing boundaries on our own, sassy, slightly irreverent, or reverent toward things that really counted.
We'd memorize this song, belt it out, thrilled to shout the line, "save your breath" at all those men who didn't think women had a place, a voice, a role to play.
I read in her obituary in today's New York Times that Dory Previn had a particular kind of working-class Catholic girlhood, with a father suffering the effects of shell shock from the first World War. She had survived, and thrived, through public divorce, with a husband leaving her for a younger woman. She wrote this song, tucked in among the more popular and romantic, and for women in our 20s, trying to find our God-given place in a world that was shattering and being remade right before our eyes, Dory Previn gave our struggle a satisfying kick.
Thanks, Dory Previn.
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