SpiritAtWork

Elisa

2008-10-25T20:01:00.000-07:00

by Kirstin Paisley, cross-posted from my other blog.

I’m just back from Reading Week; rather, I came back yesterday. I spent the first weekend of it at the Ranch, hosting and having a really great time. I walked outside as much as I could. It took me forever to make it up the hill to the peace pole, but I got there. For the first time ever, I didn’t leave a prayer—I just sat with everything around me. And I walked around the refectory playing count-the-friends; I knew at least somebody in each of the groups.

Came back that Sunday night to do field ed at the Night Ministry. Again, I’m in the right place. I love the work, and the people. The hours suck, but I knew that.

I spent the rest of the week with A. in the valley. I really wanted and needed to catch up on work—but instead I took a lot of naps. I don’t regret them.

I would have stayed this weekend and taken care of the cats, or perhaps gone back to the Ranch, but I had to come back for another training last night, and Elisa’s funeral this afternoon. She died on Monday. I miss her, and I’m more sad now than I had been. The service itself was wonderful—though crowded, and hot. I really, really wish I’d seen her more. Last I saw her was about six months ago, at church, shortly after my own diagnosis. I came back in the fall, busy and sick, and kept meaning to send her a card but didn’t do it. I wish now that I had just seen her once in the last while.

I’m not even sure what I want to thank her for—we weren’t even all that close. But she had a way of seeing people. And, she was funny as hell. In a sly, dry, blunt and honest way.

I know it’s a cliché, but you only have people while you have them. Notice the gifts all around you. This is what matters. Give your love, and your time.

I escaped a much more dangerous diagnosis by sheer dumb luck. I had the tumor (stage II melanoma) for at least two years. Nobody was expecting me to get cancer; least of all myself. It happens. Elisa died. I live.

Love the people around you. Be a gift to them.

Priesthood of All Believers

2008-05-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

In her book Leaving Church Barbara Brown Taylor chronicles her spiritual journey as she decided to leave the local parish priesthood and enter a life of teaching. She candidly struggles with her own second-guessing and the difficulties in leaving a calling that she loved, but that had drained life from her. In talking about the loss of her identity she writes:

“A priest is a priest, no matter where she happens to be. Her job is to recognize the holiness in things and hold them up to God.”

If you have been around St. Aidan's and the Episcopal Church very long, you probably have heard the saying “the ministers are the ones in the pews.” There is an ancient belief of the Church called “the priesthood of all believers.” In very simple terms it means that no matter your profession (teacher, mechanic, pharmacist) your vocation is to serve God and to serve neighbor. So no matter if you have been ordained or not, your vocation in Barbara Brown Taylor’s words is to “recognize the holiness in things and hold them up to God.” What an amazing calling! What an amazing opportunity!

So what is it in your life that is holy that you need to hold up to God? What is it in the lives of those around you that is holy and that you need to hold up to God? As people of faith, it is our sacred calling; it is our sacred vocation to be witnesses to all that is holy around us.

In a time where our nation seems to be in the grips of fear-mongers, perhaps we can rise above that and be the ministers that God has called each of us to be. Perhaps we can respond in faith, rather than fear.

Let hope be your mantra

2008-04-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

If you are like me and listen to the radio in the mornings and watch the news each night, you are probably in the uneasy place of wondering what is going on with our economy and how bad things are going to get before they get better. When all we hear are the doomsayers that preach a diet of fear, it is easy to be afraid. Without even knowing it, we can become anxious, and fearful, and disheartened, and worried as fear becomes our mantra: fear of the future, fear that there will not be enough, fear of what might happen next … fear!

So, instead of letting fear be your mantra, why not make a choice for hope, for possibility and for promise? Why not choose life? So, I offer to you today an ancient prayer, first sung by the Psalmist. It carried within it the joys of loving God and knowing that nothing, not even death, could separate the one who sang it from the love of God.

When the news tells you that we need to be afraid, very afraid, and that there will never be enough—enough gasoline, enough money, enough love, enough hope—and fear takes hold of your heart and your imagination, I invite you to pray with me:

“For the LORD is good; God’s steadfast love endures for ever.”

Repeat it until the fear subsides.

The real question for people of faith in these days is whether we will worship Wall Street or worship God. I, for one, choose the latter because I am convinced that, in the end, God will be with me in life, in death, in life beyond death. So why not throw your lot in with God right now and trust that God’s love will always be enough, in the good times and in the bad, in the light and in the darkness, in life and in death?

Not an April Fool's Joke

2008-04-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

Today is April Fool’s Day and I was thinking about a reading from the Hebrew scripture featuring one of the Bible’s most famous stories. The prophet Jonah, as you will recall, had been called by God to go preach the message of repentance to the people of Nineveh (The Hebrew people’s arch- enemies of the time). Jonah wanted no part of the plan and sailed off in the opposite direction to Tarshish. A storm at sea and other plot twists resulted in Jonah’s being swallowed up by the huge sea creature and finally unceremoniously regurgitated on the shores of, you guessed it, Nineveh, where the reluctant prophet begrudgingly delivered the sermon that would result in the salvation of his enemies. It was God’s ultimate April Fool’s joke.

Like many movies today, Jonah’s principle story line is often overwhelmed and forgotten by the spectacular special effects. The great fish, whale, sea monster or ocean creature, depending on which translation you follow, is a much more memorable image to most of us than the picture of some wet rebellious guy delivering a sermon. But the real plot is about the futility of resisting God’s call, as well as one of the First Testament’s greatest examples of loving our enemies. And the fish turns out to be not a monster, but a symbol of God’s provision for our welfare even when we think we have sunk below our last hope.

Is it time God sent a great fish into your life? We are surrounded these days with depressing, fear-based news and dire predictions that tend to make us forget that God has calmly been waiting for us in our depths well before we ever knew we would go there. And like Jonah, regardless of our fears, doubts or outright rebellions, God’s plans for us will be accomplished in ways beyond our imaginings. That’s no April Fool’s joke. It’s a promise.

What do you do after Easter?

2008-03-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

On Easter Day we heard the story of Mary Magdalene and another Mary going to the tomb early in the morning and encountering the Risen Christ, who said to the women: “Do not be afraid: go and tell my disciples to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” With that sentence the reading ends. But I always wonder, "What do you do after Easter?" After you have encountered the Risen Christ, after you have celebrated the resurrection, after you have told all your friends that love and life have won the day, what next?

Many of us will return to the routine of everyday life. Churches that were filled to overflowing on Easter Sunday will be half empty the Sunday after Easter. Why do you think that is so? Maybe it is because so many of us believe that the Easter message is just too good to be true. How could it be that love really overcomes hate, when there is still so much hate in the world? How could it be that hope wins out over heartache, when there is still so much heartache in the world? How could it be that life actually conquers death when all of us still die? I suppose the answer to those questions is where faith is born.

The Gospel of Matthew didn’t end with the Risen Christ telling the women to go and tell the disciples to go to Galilee. No, the story goes on to say that the eleven disciples went to Galilee, where they saw Jesus whose final words to them were, “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Notice that Jesus did not say, “And remember, now there will be no more hate, no more heartache, no more death.” No, he said, “I am with you always.” Maybe the real resurrection happens in our lives when we embrace the reality that no moment of our lives, no breath we take, no joy or heartache, no death of someone we love, nothing happens that God is not with us.

So, tell me, how would living that truth change your life?

Remain Episcopal in the Diocese of San Joaquin

2007-12-30T17:46:00.000-08:00

Kirstin Paisley

You will notice a new item in the sidebar. Under the St. Aidan’s logo, the red “Remain Episcopal” button takes you directly to the website. Here you will learn about the struggle that the continuing Episcopalians in the Diocese of San Joaquin are facing. You will see who they are, and where they are, and what you can do to help.

My best friend lives in this diocese. Many of you have met Andee; she has spoken to our community about what life is like as a faithful Episcopalian in the Central Valley. She is a member of St. John’s, Lodi, and Contingency Representative to the Remain Episcopal board. Her charge for the past few years has been to help strategize in preparation of a diocesan vote to secede from the Episcopal Church. This vote, first passed in December 2006, was finalized at the San Joaquin convention this past December 8. Her own parish, relatively “liberal,” is safe—but she, and now I, have many friends and acquaintances who worship in exile. (Learn more about these communities here and here.)

For two and a half years, I was very peripherally involved in the struggle in San Joaquin. It was my friend’s work; I supported her, but never claimed it for my own. That changed this past December 23. Andee and I went to St. Nicholas, Atwater, to witness what happened there when the erstwhile, ex-Episcopal bishop of San Joaquin showed up for a visit on short notice. What I saw there crystallized my own calling to minister to the forgotten, the mistreated, the exiled. The vicar, Fred Risard, had only recently dared to speak out against the diocese’s move to split from the Episcopal Church and align with the Anglican Province of the Southern Cone. John-David Schofield proceeded to fire him, in front of the congregation, during the liturgy. Two days later, on Christmas, John-David locked Fred out of the building. His authority to take either of these actions is highly questionable, as he is no longer an Episcopal bishop.

The community of St. Nicholas currently worships in a rec center in Atwater. Fr. Fred's salary is being paid by contributions primarily from outside the diocese of San Joaquin.

I’m currently hoping to do my Field Education in the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin. My heart is with the exiles, and I very much want to be part of the re-birthing. Meanwhile, asking for your support is easy to do.

These things are most needed now:

Financial donations. Anything you can give is needed and appreciated. Money goes to further publicity, pay legal fees, and support people like Fr. Fred Risard.

Witnessing. Fr. Fred mentioned that other vicars, clergy who serve at the pleasure of the bishop, had spoken with him. He may represent the first of many confrontations. If you can, worship in the Central Valley. If you hear of a threatened community, go there. Be present to that community, and share what you saw, when you come home.

Worshipping in solidarity. The closest continuing Episcopal parishes to the Bay Area are St. John’s, Lodi and St. Anne’s, Stockton. Further south, there’s Holy Family, Fresno and Church of the Saviour, Hanford. In Atwater, St. Nicholas Mission welcomes everyone to join them in worship. Communities in exile exist in Bakersfield and Turlock, where the parishes voted with the diocese to secede. Faithful Episcopalians hold services elsewhere, most often without benefit of clergy. This means that they pray in community, but rarely receive Communion. (It isn't hyperbole to say that this schism is starving people.)

Worshipping courageously. If you have a chance to worship with a congregation whose leaders voted to leave the Episcopal Church, visit there, too. During announcements or coffee hour, let it be known that you are visiting in support of those who want to stay in the Episcopal Church. Be prepared for some possible unpleasantness--but realize that your visit may be life-saving to some who believe they are isolated and without hope.

Prayer. Hold San Joaquin before God, in your hearts. There are human beings on all sides of this struggle. We speak of it differently, but all seek God, and healing.

On Sundays I’m not here, I’m usually in the Valley. If you are interested in worshipping in San Joaquin, and don’t particularly want to go alone, please contact me.

Father Jake has been following developments in San Joaquin for years, and has been collecting the witnesses of others (including, recently, me). He is the best place to start, if you want to educate yourself quickly.

The relevant postings on my personal blog are here.

Thank you.

UPDATE: One of the commenters at Jake's place mentioned that there were people from St. A's in attendance at St. Nicholas' first Sunday in exile. (Yay, thank you!) If that was you, would you be open to telling your story in this thread? If you'd be more comfortable, you can e-mail me and I'll do it. Public anonymity is OK. They/we are looking for windows on what it was like there--and I'm just plain proud of whomever it was, for going.

ANOTHER UPDATE: I know who you are. Thank you, so much.

Advent 2007, from the Diocese of Washington

2007-12-03T10:48:00.000-08:00

From the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, here is an interactive Advent calendar. When you click on a day, you don't get chocolate--you get a carol, a meditation, that day's Daily Office readings, and a giving opportunity. (Yesterday's linked to the Heifer Project, which you can still contribute to.) The art displayed is from the creche at the Cathedral.

It's a really neat site. Go here to explore.

Alternative Christmas Shopping

2007-11-25T16:15:00.000-08:00

Kirstin Paisley

Jane Redmont, formerly of the GTU and now teaching at a Quaker college in North Carolina, has a wonderful blog called Acts of Hope. She posted a list of resources for alternative, environmental and social-justice friendly gift buying. Other ideas are listed in the comments. Go check it out!

Media and News Resources

2007-11-18T16:05:00.000-08:00

Deborah Frangquist and Kirstin Paisley

At the Adult Forum on November 18, with Bishop Marc Andrus, we talked about being better informed about the Millennium Development Goals and reducing world poverty.

One important part of being informed is having good information. Resurgence Magazine, the wonderful British magazine about sustainable living principles for individuals, communities, and nations, is an alternative to mainstream US news media. Whether you subscribe to the hard copy or the electronic version, Resurgence provides an excellent way to know about possibilities, projects, and ideas that we may not ordinarily hear about.

Bishop Marc mentioned the Episcopal Public Policy Network. Registration is quick and easy. Specify your areas of interest, and EPPN will send you updates that allow you to stay informed about pending legislation and the positions the Episcopal Church has taken. The updates that arrive in your inbox include links for more information and to write to your Senators and Representatives when you choose.

It can be really hard as a single Christian to keep up with the public policy issues which relate to the Gospel. EPPN makes it possible to be more informed and engaged as Christians and as citizens.

Links to Resurgence, EPPN, and other outlets have been added to the sidebar to the left, under the heading "Media/News Resources." Please explore them, and post in the comments any links that inform your way of living in the world. (You may also e-mail your links to Kirstin directly; she'll be happy to add them.)

Wonderful Mary!

2007-09-21T11:18:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: "I have seen the Lord!" And she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:18

Have you ever been a victim of type-casting? That question keeps coming to mind lately as I have been reading Susan Haskins' book, Mary Magdalene- Myth and Metaphor. It explores Mary's various assumed or invented roles preserved in literature and art since her entrance into history in the Gospels. You know most of the rumors and speculations. She was either Jesus' wife, lover, confidant; a demon-possessed disreputable sinner, a prostitute; the model of repentance, or maybe all or none of these.

Mary Magdalene's legend often grew out of mistaken identity. There were at least five different Marys in Scripture. (Not surprising, since over half of the women in first century Israel were named Mary, after the Prophet Miriam, the clever and outspoken sister of Moses and Aaron.) Mary Magdalene is often pictured in art as the long haired woman with the little perfume bottle who anointed Jesus' feet, in the assumption the woman was a prostitute and so was Mary. She wasn't. That particular slander originated in an influential sermon given by Pope Gregory I in 591. What the Scriptures do tell us about Mary is that she, Joanna and Susanna financed Jesus' ministry, she was the disciple at the cross, the first witness to the resurrection and, as Susan Haskins puts it, the Herald of the New Life, yet to many people, she is still identified as the repentant prostitute, type-cast in a role she never played.

At least, current scholarship is making a valiant effort to vindicate Mary, but her story is a good reminder to us to avoid being casting directors to those around us. The next time we are tempted to say, "Of course you know about what he used to do?", or "she's just not my kind of person," let's remember Mary. Bad casting can last 1,400 years.

The most fun I've ever had in church

2007-09-09T22:50:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

I couldn't tell you what the Gospel was, if you paid me. But the sermon was about God's loving care for creation.

I didn't hear all of it, because I was helping to pass out balls of white clay, and napkins. We were instructed to make a bowl, a vase, a vessel or container of some sort, while we were listening. It was the coolest thing ever.

Tommy asked, "Do you like it?" I yelled back, "I love it!" I didn't realize he meant the product, not the process. It didn't really matter, because if we didn't like what we came up with, we just squished it up and started over. Like God--who doesn't throw anything away.

Afterward, we all had dried clay on our hands. I felt like I had creation all over me. And I got the neatest mental image: God washing her hands in a waterfall, when she was done. :-)

Grief, and awe

2007-08-23T05:58:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

Rob was a soft-spoken, gentle soul, with the driest sense of humor on the planet. Easter before last, I was serving. I was wearing an alb, and carrying a torch. We were singing "My Jesus Rose." I forgot what I was wearing, and what I was holding, and clapped my hands--thus getting wax all over me.

I was slinking around, looking for an Altar Guild member to confess to, when I bumped into Rob. I asked him, "Now what should I do?" He answered me quietly and completely deadpan, save for a twinkle in his eye:

"Well, you're going to hell now."

I'm still working at the Ranch, and couldn't participate in the vigil that the community kept for him. But everyone who reported back to me told me that he was surrounded by love. People from our community took two-hour shifts, around the clock, to be with him. Jack played his harp for him. The Brothers were with him. His nieces were with him.

Last night, after he died, Ken and Jenny went to Kate and Angela's. They connected me by speaker phone, and we all read Compline for Rob. This impulse to pray--and their desire to figure out a way to include me after I sobbed on the phone that I needed people to pray with--is a piece of the love we all share. The same love that celebrated with me at our parish weekend, when I got up and told a story, completely confidently and without ever once tripping over my mouth.

I know what lifted Rob as he left us. And I know that same beam of light would be focused on any of us in a millisecond, if we needed it.

I remain in awe.

Safe passage

2007-08-21T22:26:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

As I write this, members of our community are keeping vigil with Rob. He is held in the same circle of love that I was so touched by last weekend. The hands that squeezed mine in celebration, are easing his journey to the illimitable Love who embraces us all.

I’m 70 miles away, reading e-mail updates from friends who have visited him at CPMC. You all say the same thing: he is receiving wonderful care, and is surrounded by love. Our community is present with him, around the clock. The Brothers are there. His nieces are with him. Jack played his harp; the same harp he played for us three days ago.

I am in awe, of love. There is an unspeakable sweetness in this. I know Rob, and I know our God; I know that he is safe, in good hands, and going from love, to Love. I’m aware of my own sadness, and we will miss him tremendously. Right now, though, he is being given a gentle, attentive passing. You are doing the “work of the people.” And doing it beautifully and well.

I want you to know, also, that Rob is being prayed for at the Bishop’s Ranch. Jack Dowling and I talked about him, and I lit a candle in the chapel. I’ll do it again, tomorrow. We are with you, and with Rob.

My prayers and my love go with you.

The power of story

2007-08-21T01:35:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

To this community, the Bishop's Ranch, and to God, all I can say is thank you.

Parish Weekend was a homecoming for me, in ways deeper than words. I’ve been working at the Bishop’s Ranch all summer; being part of this gathering felt like my whole family had come to see me. I got real time with people I’m particularly close to. I got closer to people I’ve respected for a long time. And I got to see for myself, how far I’ve come.

The theme of the weekend was "journeys." We did an exercise Saturday morning, using the metaphor of rocks in our shoes. I asked to be one of the storytellers that night, because the idea didn’t terrify me. I’ve struggled with speaking clearly since I was a teenager; my brain goes faster than my mouth, when I’m excited or nervous, and I almost always have to repeat myself. I knew that I could do this, and I really wanted to. I stood up, in this circle of love in the Ranch House living room, and spoke my truth in total assurance. I knew as I was speaking that I was slow enough; knew that I was loud enough. I didn’t get stuck, and I didn’t get lost. I never once tripped over my mouth. I hadn’t had any prep time, but I didn’t need it. I wasn’t trying to read the words in my head. I just, simply, spoke them.

Are you getting the idea yet, that this is huge ? Because it is. It’s the equivalent of climbing a mountain without ropes, trusting that your hands and feet will grip the rock—and then being proven right, with every fluid motion. I felt completely supported by the community. I also felt completely capable. Part of that assurance comes from being at the Ranch all summer. This is a place of unfathomable healing. The land and the people are good for the soul; joy and justice live and grow here, and I've learned how to breathe. Part of it is the intentional work I’ve done, and that some of you have helped me with. I cannot minimize the gift of this community—the power in knowing that everything offered is received, in love. Questions and critiques come later. The first gift we give one another is appreciation. I’ve witnessed this for two years, and it is palpable.

Here, then, for those of you who were not there, is my story. I had detailed the event in my own blog, and my reflections there took me to a slightly different place. This is more or less how it came in the telling. I'm still learning how to tell this story; I'm still learning how to live it. It happened a little more than two weeks ago.

The rocks I carry with me have never hurt my feet. The rocks I carry with me are liberating.

I’ve been up at the Ranch all summer, working. I’d been needing an ocean fix. Two weeks ago Friday, when I had a day off, I drove out to Goat Rock, to walk around in infinity for awhile. I needed to pray—and I often do that best when I’m moving.

There are signs up everywhere saying, “Stay out of the water.” The “safe” area is more-or-less flat; the danger zone slopes steeply toward the ocean. I was there at high tide; the water came almost to the lip. It was so socked-in that I couldn’t see very far; this was kind of like looking down at a huge, unpredictably roiling bathtub.

I walked toward the rock, slowly, barefooted over sand and gravel. The beach is fairly narrow at high tide, and bounded on the dry side by rusty, windswept cliffs. Something more than curiosity told me to go check them out. I found myself standing, my back pressed to the edge of California, feet thrust into shifting sand, face toward the water and the wind. I was thinking of plate tectonics, how the cliff I was leaning on was slowly pushing toward the ocean.

And I heard, or felt, God, saying, “Go.” Not literally, “jump into these riptides and drown,” but, “Go be in my ocean. Live with and love my people.” The voice inside me was the rock at my back. The water was all life, all possibility, all adventure, all love.

I don’t know how long I stood there, just being with all of this. I walked back slowly, watching where I was going. I noticed a rock at my feet. It was pale grey-blue, light and porous, shaped like a flat egg, barely denser than pumice. It was wet and shiny; the color caught my eye. I picked it up. It was small, flat; I would have skipped it across the water without thinking, had the ocean not been so rough. As it was, I held it for awhile, turned it over and looked at it, then tossed it back onto the ground. But… it seemed to want to come with me. I felt like, if I had the right kind of ears I could hear what it was saying. So I picked it up again, and walked on, watching the ground, trying not to walk on gravel.

The same thing happened two more times. I carried three small, flat, nearly identical rocks home in my pocket. I carry them with me now. Again, I wish I could hear better. I don’t know really what the rocks are about. But what I take from them is this: Listen. Remember. And be present.

A Word of Hope

2007-04-19T11:57:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Don not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. John 14:27

Our nation is gripped by the events that unfolded this week at Virginia Tech. Indeed it feels as though another part of our innocence has died. I have not been feeling quite like myself, realizing that my heart grieves for that community. I cannot imagine the horror and fear that those students and their families are feeling. My heart also grieves for the family of the one who perpetuated the violence. I cannot imagine the pain and questioning they are experiencing.

In a world that seems bent on violence and war, we often grieve events such as this. What is the role of faith in the midst of grief like this? Where is God in the midst of times like this? God is found through the power of peace. However, we must be mindful that peace begins with each of us. God sent Jesus to earth, not so that he would die, rather that Jesus would live and in turn teach us to live! God yearns for us to live with the abundance that comes from the peace that we experience with God.

It is not hard to see that peace has been shattered in Blacksburg, Virginia. The peace that college students existed in is gone. Cho Seung-hui was not at peace. If we are honest, there are times in our own lives where we do not feel at peace either. Hear the good news of our faith: We are Easter people. We are in the season where we celebrate that light overcomes darkness, that life overcomes death and yes, peace overcomes violence.

I offer the words of Frederick Buechner: "Resurrection means that the worst thing is never the last thing." May it be so for those in Virginia, and may it be so for you.

Bishop Barahona to preach and celebrate, May 6

2007-04-15T17:43:00.000-07:00

The Most Right Reverend Martin Barahona, Primate of the Anglican Church of Central America and Bishop of El Salvador, will preach and celebrate the Holy Eucharist at St. Aidan's Episcopal Church, San Francisco on May 6th ( 8 AM and 10:10 AM).

Bishop Barahona has been the bishop of the Anglican Episcopal Church of El Salvador since 1992. Before becoming a priest in the Episcopal Church, he was a priest of the Roman Catholic Church for 11 years. He is currently the Primate of the Central Region of America (IARCA), position to which he was elected in 2002. As bishop he has made the mission of the Episcopal Church to "take the good new of Christ to the world" through focusing on migration, human rights, sexuality and other interests. Under his leadership the Episcopal Church in El Salvador has grown in infrastructure and spiritually. He was one of only two primates of the Anglican Communion to lay hands on Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire.

He is a long time friend of our rector, and hosted the mission team from St. Aidan's last October in El Salvador.

Jay Bakker to preach April 29

2007-04-15T17:32:00.000-07:00

Jay Bakker will preach at the 10:10 AM liturgy at St. Aidan's Episcopal Church in San Francisco, April 29. Jay Bakker is a 30 year old pastor who grew up witnessing both the good and bad of the church. His parents are Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, ministers-turned-TV-hosts who helped start both the Trinity Broadcasting Network and the 700 Club in the 1970's, and later founded the PTL (Praise The Lord) Club. Jay started a church for those who feel rejected by traditional approaches to Christianity; this church is called Revolution. The idea behind Revolution is to show all people the unconditional love and grace of Jesus without any reservations due to their lifestyles or background, past or future.

Currently Jay is the center of ONE PUNK, UNDER GOD, an observational documentary series on the Sundance Channel that takes an all-access look inside the life of Jay Bakker and his Revolution ministry. Jay travels the country speaking to churches and organizations, encouraging them to reach out to the lost and hurting. His goal is to return to the grassroots of Christianity founded on inclusion, love and grace; his heart is helping people realize that God loves them no matter what.

St. Aidan's is located at 101 Gold Mine Drive in the Diamond Heights neighborhood of San Francisco.

The Message of the Cross

2007-04-05T07:51:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon

I have a wall in my office that is filled with crosses. Each day as I come into my office I see it, and it floods my memory. One of the things I like best about my cross wall is that I haven't purchased a single cross on it. They have all been gifts to me from important people in my life. They speak of so many of the chapters in my life. Interestingly, the first cross that I received for this wall was from a girl I dated in high school. Another cross is from my parents. A different cross is from the staff of the church I served in Baton Rouge. One of the crosses was given to me at my ordination by close family friends. They all remind me of people and places that mean so much to me and have made me who I am. Ironically, the crosses also provide memories of the times that I let some of those people down.

But even in the diversity of these crosses, they all hold the same image during this season of Lent and especially during Holy Week. They remind me of the death that Jesus and many others have experienced at the hands of governments. I am also reminded that Jesus said that to be a disciple we must follow Jesus into the places we don't often want to go.

But the Easter message that we discover three days after the cross is that even when we do not live up to whom Jesus has called us to be, even when we hurt those we love, we are reminded of the power of the cross. The power of the cross is that good overcomes evil, light overcomes darkness, resurrection overcomes death.

You see, taking up the cross of Christ doesn't simply mean that we share in death; it also means that we share in resurrection! What could be more powerful and humbling than that?

New Orleans Pictures

2007-04-03T18:12:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

I’ve finished uploading and organizing my pictures from New Orleans. You can see them here. The set labeled “NOLA” is mainly focused on hurricane and flood damage. The pictures in “NOLA Fun” are mostly of the swamp tour that Judy, Vivian, and I took on Saturday morning.

I think we’re all still processing the trip; I know I am. Ken and Jenny took me to lunch on Sunday. We were driving through the neighborhood, and I was looking out the window. Suddenly it hit me: no spray paint on the houses! No water marks! The strong foundations and intact structures appeared to be completely out of place. Then I remembered, “Oh yeah. I’m in San Francisco.”

I picked up something called “barotrauma” from the flight home; it’s what happens when you fly when you’re sick, one or both of your eustacian tubes don’t open, and you end up with fluid trapped behind your eardrums. It’s in my left ear, and doesn’t hurt now, but it’s uncomfortable. I’m hearing half-underwater. I called the advice nurse at Kaiser, because this had never happened to me before. She asked how I got it. I answered, “I was in New Orleans….”

She was way more interested in that experience than in my gunky ear, and kept thanking me for going. She said it made her night. I appreciate her thanks; I really do, but it’s kind of surreal. Everyone we met in NOLA thanked us as well. Going down there seemed like an adventure to me before we left; now I’m grateful that I could go, and I wish everyone would. That experience changed me forever. And every little bit of attention or caring helps, whether you’re gutting houses, distributing clothes, or just sitting with people. Praying for them helps. Sending money helps. I think that presence is the best gift of all. If all you can do is witness to the fact that these people exist in these conditions, that is tremendous. They will tell you.

I saw the doctor this morning; my ear is supposed to heal on its own, in “a few weeks.” Meanwhile, I’m developing empathy for hearing-challenged people, and praying that the Sudafed I’m taking works soon.

A blessed Holy Week to all.

Home

2007-04-01T01:01:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

Michael flew back to Berkeley last night; Vivian and I flew together, and got home about an hour ago. Judy is visiting family and friends, and will be back at Eastertime.

Thank you all for your thoughts, your prayers, and your love. Your support has meant more to us than I can tell you. Knowing that you carried me, and us, with you helped me tremendously when what I saw in New Orleans overwhelmed me.

We are perilously close to Sunday morning. Goodnight, and peace be with you.

Rabbit holes

2007-03-31T04:50:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

Michael flew home yesterday afternoon; the rest of us are leaving tonight. Yesterday was our play day. We went to the New Orleans School of Cooking. We had a great time, and were fed very well on crawfish etouffee, shrimp and artichoke soup, bread pudding, and pralines. The chef (Kevin) was a riot; he loved bantering back and forth with us, and he told great stories. It was the most fun I’ve had at lunch in a long time.

We went around the tables and said where we were from, and he asked us what we were doing in New Orleans. People shouted, “touristing,” “eating,” and suchlike. Michael called out, “House gutting.”

Kevin stopped us. “What?”
“House gutting.”
“Thank you.”

Several locals in the audience also thanked him/us. I felt really proud of Michael for having been able to do that; I have asthma and am rightly afraid of black mold. Vivian, Judy, and I did very worthwhile work here, but what is most clearly and widely needed is house gutting. Many neighborhoods in this city have block after block after block of flood-damaged homes. Kevin cited New Orleans Times-Picayune writer Chris Rose, who writes in his book One Dead in the Attic, “Our city has a bathtub ring around it.” From what we saw, that is literally true.

This exchange got me thinking. Most people, who live in cities that are not prone to hurricanes, and who have safe, sturdy houses, would view teams of strangers coming in and taking their houses apart from the inside, down to the studs, as a shockingly gross invasion. Here, the houses were damaged by being flooded with toxic water for up to six weeks. They have to be taken apart to be saved. There aren’t enough contractors in the city to do what needs to be done here, and most people couldn’t pay for that level of labor anyway. So, volunteers come in with Tyvek suits, respirators, and crow bars, and tear apart houses for free—to preserve the homeowners’ property rights.

You can’t just leave a flood-damaged house indefinitely; there are deadlines. One is coming up in mid-April; I don’t know if that is city-wide or only for the 9th Ward. But if houses aren’t “improved” by the deadlines given, they are condemned. Gutting counts as evidence of improvement.

I understand the issue. But the reality here once again makes my head spin.

We met a group of ABSW students for beignets, afterward; the Baptists had traveled from Berkeley to a town in Mississippi that was literally blown away by Katrina, to build houses with Habitat for Humanity. Then we walked around the park, into the cathedral, and back outside to listen to music. You know you’re in New Orleans when the street musicians are good.

After that, my friends visited a voodoo temple; Michael had met the priestess ten years ago. There was too much incense for me to stay, so I sat outside in the courtyard and called Molly. She gave me a piece of wisdom she learned in El Salvador. She told me, “I was there to do the work, but I was really there to let it change me.” One week is not enough time to save the world, or New Orleans. It is enough time to be changed forever, to be more deeply committed to being the body of Christ, to loving people everywhere, and to raising people’s awareness so that more can be done.

I really feel that I’ve found a piece of my calling. I can’t wait to get home and test it.

Getting it

2007-03-30T05:13:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

I figured something out, yesterday. It happened in the course of two phone conversations.

First, I did get to talk to Tommy, in between writing yesterday’s entry and posting it. We talked for about 20 minutes, about what it is and was like to be here, what I’m experiencing (and why the hard things are so difficult), and the conversation I’d had with Bill Terry+ at St. Anna’s. Tommy’s really excited about the work that the Diocese of Louisiana is doing. They’ve shifted focus completely away from caring about anybody’s sexuality, and are totally committed to serving the people most affected by Katrina. There are so many great projects happening here.

Hearing that, lit me up. I’d been thinking about how to continue this work at home, and we’re going to talk about it when I get back.

I called a friend at bedtime. I said to her, “I wouldn’t work with this organization again. But I’d come back here, and do this work, in a minute.” Coming here, to this third-world situation in my own obscenely wealthy country, has given me more empathy for all such situations. I’ve always cared. But I’d never felt compelled to go outside of myself, until I’d seen with my own eyes how the poorer people in New Orleans live. Fifteen minutes from the 9th Ward, is the bustling, happy, touristy French Quarter. I have genuinely had a lot of fun there. We’re going back today, to play. But the proximity of these two opposites makes the dichotomy too obvious to miss.

I’m going back to Berkeley tomorrow night, to one paper that’s late already and to a project I’ve just asked for an extension on. I miss my church community more than I miss taking showers, and I’m ready to go back. School right now doesn’t feel real to me at all. The mission bug has bitten me, hard. But coming here is only a small piece of this; it’s essential, but we’re limited to what we can do in one week. I’ll know if I’m truly called to this, if I continue the work at home. I already know that I’m a good organizer. I can’t wait to start experimenting.

Healing

2007-03-29T14:44:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

I just finished my last shift at the “orange house,” or women’s shelter, run by Common Ground. I did a little bit of work on their resource database, and hung out with the women there. It was exactly what I wanted to do, on our last work day here.

Yesterday, I worked at the “blue house,” or distribution center; a combined clothing bank, food pantry, and tool library. It was strange to see the levee just a few blocks over; it’s a completely nondescript concrete wall. It doesn’t look imposing. And yet, its presence was in the back of my mind the whole time I was there.

Common Ground workers are staying in one of the houses on this block, and using four others, while their services are needed. (One has a functional bathroom; the other a kitchen, complete with filtered water. Another holds supplies that often end up in the distribution center.) The houses they use are mostly gutted; ubiqutous blue tarps apparently protect them from whatever gunk is still in the walls. One of the women who runs this particular project is a 19-year-old from Olympia. Six or seven years ago, I worked for her mother. We chatted a lot about home.

People come here from all over the country to help. That is deeply encouraging.

We got to go to church last night, at St. Anna’s. One of the women at the orange house told us about it, and we all wanted to go. Tommy is friends with the rector there. We really, really, oh, so really—needed the worship. All of us were hungry. And all of us were fed.

I completely fell apart during the service, but it was a good falling-apart. I can’t remember what the hymn was, but there was a whole lot of soul in it. (St. Anna’s uses LEVAS, apparently heavily, and they have a better-than-decent worship band.) It hit me that I’d seen the horror of the effects of this storm, and that had overwhelmed me. Listening to this music, I saw beauty again. People can suffer so much, and still be beautiful. That realization was as wonderful, and as disorienting, as I imagine any resurrection would be. I was an absolute mess.

A woman sitting behind me held my hand as I was crying. I couldn’t go up for Communion or anointing for healing, because of the incense. The priest brought them to me, and my friends stood around me. I don’t quite know how to say how I felt, but it was definitely better.

I sort of feel silly, falling apart as much as I have this week, because this is not my home. It’s not my city; not my life, and I’ve only seen strength, and graciousness, in the people I’ve met who live here. But it’s also good to cry for something bigger than myself. I’m going to do something with these experiences, when I get home. This church has a benefit potluck dinner for musicians every Wednesday, and a free legal clinic, acupuncture, and a couple other services at the same time. I asked the priest, “What would you want me to take back to California with me?” He answered, “Peace. Hope. And send us money.” I’m going to work on that when I get back. I cannot come here and not do something after I leave.

Michael just called; we’re going out to dinner in ten minutes. Time to post this and go. Thank you all for your prayers, your thoughts, and your love. We definitely feel them.

I thought I knew poverty...

2007-03-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

I didn’t. I was a Catholic Worker for a year in Olympia, WA. It’s a white, middle-class state capital and college town, with a vocal, active underclass who are still not as poor as they think they are. I thought I knew racism. I worked in non-profits; I was given all the proper diversity trainings, by white, middle-class Olympians. They taught what they knew, and they meant well. I begrudge them nothing. But no amount of repeating, “Power + prejudice = oppression,” equals the experience of three days in Louisiana.

The people in New Orleans are caught, quite literally, between Mother Nature and Big Oil. They have Lake Pontchartrain on one side, connected tenuously to the Gulf of Mexico. The river’s on the other. And down from the river, fed by its delta, are the wetlands, disappearing at a rate of an acre every 33 minutes. That disappearance is accounted for both by efforts to control the river, and oil companies drilling the bayou. Levees prevent the river from changing its course. They help to protect the city from normal, cyclical flooding—they also funnel the silt the river carries directly into open, deep water. If the river were allowed to run, silt would be distributed among the wetlands, keeping them intact, slowly increasing their area. As the wetlands are drilled, they sink, leaving the coast—and the city of New Orleans—ever more exposed.

When a hurricane hits, every three miles of wetlands reduce the category of that storm by one. Katrina had just downgraded to a Category 3 hurricane when it made landfall. It took 43 days to pump New Orleans dry. Half the population of the city has not returned from the evacuation. Without wetlands protection, and with the increase in hurricanes (due partly to global warming), more Category 4 and 5 storms will hit here. Recovery? What’s that?

I was told by one of the women’s shelter coordinators, something about the racism issue that just makes me seethe. The 9th Ward is/was primarily African-American. There is evidence to suggest that some of these levees were blown on purpose, during Katrina. Also, a casino company wanted to raze the houses and build a casino here, protected by a 14-foot levee. The people sued to keep their houses, and won. Essentially to punish them, the destroyed 10-foot levee is being rebuilt. “Sure, you can have your houses. But we’ll leave you with less protection than you need.”

I’m going to have to research that, but it’s easy to believe.

I called Kate last night, from the emergency room at Tulane University Hospital. (We had to take Michael there for a gash in his leg. He’ll be okay.) She gets it, and I knew she would. The first thing she asked me was what they could do for me. (Whether she meant she and Angela or the St. Aidan’s community, or both, is beside the point.) “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Pray a lot.” We talked about violence, safety, building in floodplains, and how when I get back, I’m not going to know which of these worlds is Earth and which is Mars. One is so wealthy; the other so poor. I was a self-confessed “poor hippie” in Olympia. I didn’t know what I was talking about. I have choices, and resources, that the poor people of New Orleans couldn’t dream of.

She closed the conversation with, “We love you.” I know they do. And that little bit of humanity, from my other world, meant so much.

We were at the ER from 7 p.m. until about 12:30 a.m. Everyone in there was African-American, but us. Some had obvious emergent injuries. One man left paintbrush-sized swipes of blood on three chairs, from a stab wound in his back. Others appeared to simply need routine health care. One man was vomiting; a family held their coughing infant. A woman cussed out one of the techs; she called security immediately. I finally broke down while they were treating Michael. I haven’t slept well since I got here; I don’t feel safe in the building we’re staying in, and that plus the effects of everything I’m seeing caught up with me.

The night after we got here, we went to get beignets in the Quarter. The next afternoon, we went driving around the 9th Ward, and I took 60 pictures of the neighborhood. (I’m struggling to upload them here; I’ll display them as soon as I can.) I won’t describe them now; I’ll wait until I can show them in context. Yesterday, we spent five hours in the emergency room, and a man came in with a stab wound in his back. What kind of city is this? I don’t know how to make sense of what I’m experiencing. And I know that I can go home. For these people, this is their home. This is their life.

I woke at 3:45 this morning, and broke down sobbing again. My friends took care of me. Judy sat with me, talked to me, prayed with me. Vivian rubbed my shoulder. Michael moved his cot to between me and the door, and held my hand while I lay down, until I was calm. I got up to go to the bathroom, and ended up talking to Roderick, an African-American long-term volunteer from Georgia, who had given us our midnight tour of the building when we first got here on Friday. We talked about poverty and racism. I didn’t know what to do with my outrage, but sharing it helped, and we laughed a little. Then I went back to bed, and slept some. I want to get up and go work—but I’m still so tired. I haven't slept well since I got here.

I need to call Tommy. I need to talk about what’s happening here, with someone who is not here anymore, but who knows it well. I came here thinking I was supposed to share the presence of God. The women at the shelter have more faith than I do, here. They have nothing, materially, but their spirits are strong. All I have the strength to do—all I think I ever could effectively do—is hear their stories, and share them at home.

I said something on the phone to Kate, that she said I needed to write down. I cannot imagine myself, any group I belong to, or anyone I love, being this completely forgotten. (As uneasy as I feel about some aspects of our host organization, they are doing more than FEMA.) I cannot, and will not, ever forget this.

First impressions of New Orleans

2007-03-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

We're staying in what was St. Mary of the Angels Catholic school in the 9th Ward, until Katrina. (There are lots of abandoned schools around; literally half of the city hasn't come back after they were evacuated, 19 months ago.) We sleep on cots in the classrooms; the room where our group sleeps currently hosts 18 people.

The shower (there are 4, but two don't have hot water) is a contraption involving propane tanks and PVC pipes. You get the temperature you get; you can't adjust it. Dishes are washed in tubs with soap and bleach, but still manage to feel greasy all the time. We can wash our hands to our hearts’ content, and are encouraged to, but there is nothing to dry them on.

They ask us to work three shifts here, as well as 40 hours/week at our placements. I pulled a security shift from 3-9 this morning. I was on the third floor, where long-term volunteers sleep. During the night, someone tried to break into the refrigerated truck out back, holding our food.

Urban camping is more of a challenge than I was ready for. But the conditions here are not very different from some other places in the neighborhood.

Judy, Vivian, and I worked in a women's shelter yesterday; an average-size house that 17 people call home. I don't know how they do it. I talked for a long time with a cargo worker from the Port of New Orleans, who is staying in the shelter because her second house since Katrina was condemned two weeks ago. She's tried twice to leave, and got sent back by her union (or so I understand). She says that because she’s from New Orleans, she’s having a terrible time finding work at other ports. The city’s reputation for violent crime precedes her wherever she goes. I asked her, “What do you want me to say about New Orleans when I get home?” Her answer: “Get the troops out of Iraq, and bring them here. This is a war zone.”

She was essentially calling for martial law. I am very uncomfortable with that entire idea—but this is not my city, not my home. I don’t have the right to make decisions about what happens here. I can use my voice to amplify the voices of the people who live here; that is what I am doing.

I went to get a glass of water, and the "cold" tap didn't work—but the "hot" only had cold water running out of it. I was told that one of the bathrooms only had hot water. The residents only use the upstairs toilet, because the downstairs one doesn't work. Someone said that's typical; there's sea water underneath the city, messing with the pipes. They can't fix it, because there's not enough money to do that kind of work in the city.

We three will be back at the shelter tomorrow; they want me at 7 a. m. to ride with people on the bus to the walk-in clinic that opens at 8. Apparently it's a 15-minute bus ride, but the buses come at odd intervals that nobody can figure out. There are not enough mechanics to fix them when they break down, which is often, on these pothole-covered streets. They come when they can. And last time, 30 people waited in line for the clinic to open; only the first 9 were seen.

Michael, the only one in our group who's been here before, took us to Café du Monde for beignets last night. It was a bustling, happy place, full of sugar and laughter. We walked around the Quarter for awhile, wandering into shops, looking at monuments, feeling the history. It was busy, brightly lit, and filled with other gawkers just like us. They were filming a TV pilot in the park. That's one of the strange things about this: working in a disaster area, and then going out to a different neighborhood, playing tourist, having fun.

My task today is to begin telling as many people as I can, what is happening here. I'll upload pictures later.

Going to New Orleans

2007-03-21T15:44:00.000-07:00

Kirstin Paisley

I am traveling with a group of fellow CDSP students to New Orleans, on Friday. Last night, the four of us held our last pre-trip gathering. We heard from a Baptist pastor, now living in the Bay Area. Pastor Dwight had lived for the past two decades in New Orleans; he still travels there frequently. He told us something of what to expect of the people we meet there, and how to be genuinely helpful. The most effective volunteers that Pastor Dwight had met there were a group of Buddhists. They approached the people they were serving without presumption; without any preconceived notions about who they were, what they needed, or how they got there. They were present, and patient.

I am not at all sure I can do that, but I will try. It feels very strange to be going to a place that is so famous for its culture, to work in a disaster zone. I am focusing on approaching this as openly as I can.

I talked to Tommy this morning. He gave me ideas for places to go on our off-time, and told me to take his cell phone number along. I also spent a few hours online, learning about the physical environment of the Delta in general, recovery efforts, and the general political feelings there. I feel a little more prepared—and very much more naïve.

Our group has been taking turns leading our Tuesday night meetings, which all conclude with some sort of devotion. Last night, there were metal coins strewn all over the coffee table in Gibbs Hall. Most had a picture on one side, and a word on the other. We were instructed to look at the coins carefully, and choose one to mentally take with us. The first one I picked, I knew was right for me. It depicted a sailboat; the word on the flip side was “Explore.”

I am going where the wind of the Spirit takes me. I am called to be open to this adventure; to travel fearlessly into my own soul, to meet the souls of others. I am called to explore my own sense of (white middle-class) privilege, my own desire to serve others in a place I’ve never been; my own trepidation and joy at doing this. We are called to be the hands and feet of God, and to find and honor God in all people, everywhere. I get to be pulled out of my books for a week, and go to New Orleans, to do this.

I really can’t wait.

CDSP Mission Trip to New Orleans

2007-02-08T08:25:00.000-08:00

Kirstin Paisley

A group of CDSP students is planning a trip to New Orleans over Spring Break, the last week of March. I've set up a blog for us; click on the title of this post to see. So far it consists of organizational updates, requests for prayers and resources, and the prayer I passed out at church last Sunday. All are welcome to read and comment.

Feel free to share this information with your wider communities. Thanks!

Let's Throw Him Off A Cliff

2007-01-26T15:36:00.000-08:00

Tommy Dillon

The good news today is that God loves us and calls us to love one another. Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 13:4-13 that love is patient, love is kind, love rejoices in the truth and love never fails. We are called to be people of great love; to treat every human being as our sister and brother with an all inclusive, forgiving, compassionate love. Jesus embodied this kind of love and showed perfect love when he went back to Nazareth. Unfortunately, they tried to throw him off a cliff. They were not very loving to him in Luke 4:21-30. Talk about being rejected!

I’ve heard "no" a lot in my life but no one has ever tried to throw me over a cliff, at least not yet.

Apparently, Jesus denounced their lack of faith, their injustice and their support of violence, and concluded that no prophet is ever accepted in his home community. Specifically, he said no prophet was ever sent to them because they were so unfaithful, and worse, those who were sent, were sent to heal and serve their enemies. They did not want to hear that.

Jesus had no problem "speaking the truth."

We are reminded in Corinthians and Luke that speaking the truth in love and grace will not always be a popular choice. It may even be a "costly" choice. Too, you may be called cynical or negative.

Why did Jesus talk like this? I think he was trying to wake them up, to shock them into awareness. How would we feel? We’d probably be insulted too, but the challenge today is not to kick him out like they did, not to try to kill him, but to humbly say, "Jesus, you’re right. Help us to turn back to God, to repent, to reach out in love to everyone, including our enemies."

A Word of Hope

2007-01-06T11:06:00.000-08:00

Tommy Dillon

"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff – they comfort me." (Psalm 23:4)

Advent is the liturgical season of anticipation. It is the time when we anticipate the coming of Jesus into our world. But this past Advent, I waited for more than the coming of the Christ child, I waited and hoped that three climbers on Mt. Hood would be found alive. I felt as though I got to know Kelly James, Brian Hall and Jerry Cooke during the three week ordeal. I vividly remember watching television the day they thought they had found the snow cave. I found myself constantly checking news reports of any updates on the three climbers. I never met any of the climbers, I've never climbed mountains and I've never even been to Washington State. So I began to question why not only me, but what seemed to be the rest of the world was so captivated by this story. As I thought more about it, I began to realize that we were so hopeful that the three men would be found alive because for what we could tell, they had done everything right. They had left notes on their route and their climbing abilities with the park rangers at Mt. Hood. They even left notes on what they would do if something went wrong. Indeed something did go wrong and climber Kelly James was laid to rest in Dallas last week; and the other two remain missing.

Do you ever feel as though you are doing everything right and yet nothing is going the way you intend it to? Do you ever wonder if God has simply abandoned or given up on you? The first week of this new year has been really tough for me and members of our parish family with news of illness, broken relationships, family tensions, unhappy former employees, financial woes and death of loved ones. The reality of human existence is that there are difficult times when things do not go "our way." Even if we do everything perfectly by human standards, it does not mean that life always turns out the way we want it to. However, as a people of faith, we are guided by the one thing that can NEVER be taken away from us... our relationship with God. If we will turn to it, God is the source of strength in difficult times and never leaves us in the "darkest valley." May the light of the newborn Christ child guide us when we feel as though we are walking in darkness.

"Creator God, grant me your strength in difficult times. Amen."

Tommy+

The Final Hours of Brother Justus

2006-12-31T21:24:00.000-08:00

Alan Wali

To Archbishop James/Charles Dalton
14th December 2006

REPORT ON LATE BR. JUSTUS VAN HOUTEN’S DEATH

INTRODUCTION

The report here is to present the fact report on the instant death of late Brother Justus. I first knew late Brother Justus in 2004 when we were together, when he was a lecturer and I as a student at Newton Theological College. This report will present the life story of the pleasant trip to my own Parish (Koinambe).
The story begins at the departure from Popondetta and ends at his instant death at my village (Kompiai). Everything said in this report is the facts and what I as a very close witness and a student and a good beloved friend of late Brother Justus.

DEPARTURE AT POPONDETTA (NEWTON COLLEGE)

Our actual day of leaving or left Newton College for visiting my Diocese and particularly my Parish (Koinambe) was on Wednesday 6th December. He had just arrived from Port Moresby a day before we began our trip. After leaving Newton College I found out that he had hard cough and a sore throat.
He actually mentioned to me that he had hard cough and a sore throat after his recent trips from New Zealand and coming to and from Port Moresby for the College Council Meeting.
However, we left Popondetta on the 6th December for Mt. Hagen. We had to fly from Girna to Port Moresby, changed the flight and we caught another flight to Mt. Hagen. We stayed two nights and a day in Hagen. The cough and sore throat in him doesn’t change. During our staying in Hagen we were given The Mepang Missionary home to overnight there two nights.
While we were in Hagen on Thursday I showed him the city in actually taking a walk, just around the central part of the city or township only for sight viewing, because this is his first time to the Province (WHP) and the Highlands.

MT. HAGEN TO KOINAMBE PARISH

On the 8th December, we flew by MAF to Koinambe, where we met The Parish Priest (Fr. Nicholas Kaam), all the church leaders and the Christians fully dressed in customs and welcomed us from the airstrip to the Parish Hall for refreshment and rest.
There were lots of greetings and joy with tears from the Christians in receiving us. We rested the whole day after arrival on Friday at the Parish. We stayed with the Parish priest for three days, which were: Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
On Saturday I took him around the station for sight viewing and visited the school, Parish itself and the health Centre. One thing we did while at Koinambe for this three days was visiting and praying for the patient at the Health Centre. That reminds me of how Br. Justus love to serve and care for the soul of others in the ministry he was called to serve.
On Sunday 10th December we had a very spectacular service. Late Br. Justus was told to take the Gospel reading and preached. In his preaching all done in Pidgin, I can remember and recall one thing he mention in Pidgin that “Yumi Mas Redi Long Kambek Bilong Jesus Long Laip Bilong Yumi “ This phrase in his preaching in Pidgin meant that we must be prepare and ready for the Lord coming in our lives today.
Anyway we ended the Sunday service with speeches, ‘bungka’ and presentation of items. Then we stayed overnight the last night at the Parish St. Johns the Baptist Parish at Koinambe.

KOINAMBE TO KOMPIAI AND MENGIK

On Monday 11th December we had to take our walk from Parish to Kompiai which is another out station. We started the journey at 7.30 am and reached to the village at 4.00 pm in the afternoon. Christians and the leaders both the church and the community welcomed us with refreshment and rest. After our arrival at Kompiai I found out about his cough and sore throat that it got worse.
On Tuesday morning I told him that we should stop at Kompiai and not to go further to Mengik, but he insisted and mentioned that we should finish the trip. So, we went over to Mengik on the 12th December started the journey at 7.30 am but it took us a while or a day before reaching the village. At Mengik he cannot say or do anything because he was very tired and very weak after the walk, not only that was the cause but also the hard cough and sore throat. And eventually he was having a complication of breathing and the symptom of the case grew worse and in the same night he had diarrhea. I have to nurse him all night with the help from community up until Wednesday morning.
In the early hours on Wednesday I told the Christians to make a stretcher so we will carry him to the near Health Centre, which is at Koinambe. So we carry him on the local made stretcher left at Mengik at 9.00 am and carry him all the way and just reaching Kompiai my own family village Late Brother Justus had passed away at 1.00 pm in front of my Christian community and me his own student and his brother.
I would like to recall the last words from Late Br. Justus Van Houten “ Adam my brother, this is the end of my ministry in Christ. Our visiting here at your Parish is not a waste, but we fulfill the ministry that we are called to do in Jesus, Thank you “
Then as I have said he took the last breath and end of his life at 1.00 pm at Kompiai, my own village.

After his death or he has passed away the Christians continually carry the body all the way down to Koinambe for chopper lift to Mt. Hagen. The information about his death gone through the VHF Radio to be air broadcast to the Anglican Church of Papua New Guinea. We carry the body down to Koinambe and it took us one and half hour, and we finally put the body on the chopper lift. We arrived in Mt. Hagen at 5.00 pm and took the body straight to the morgue with the help from Diocesan Staff here at Mt. Hagen.
Now to be honest in my report about the instant death of Late Brother Justus SSF is from the hard cough and the sore throat and as a result of those that final night at Mengik the problem grew bigger and also that night he had diarrhea. His death was end with very high breathing symptoms, meaning that he had pneumonia or what we call sort win in Pidgin.

Written by
Student – Adam Wali
Close witness
, Adam Wali

Come, O Come, Emmmanuel

2006-12-17T07:58:00.000-08:00

Tommy Dillon

A Devotional

This Advent thing is so strange. We await the birth of the one who came to bring us peace, but we can’t stop to breathe because we’re rushing around like lunatics buying stuff, preparing family dinners, and stressing out in general. If this supposed to be a sacred time, what’s with all the commercialism and the stress? Where did this conflicting behavior about this season come from? I have a theory.

In 354 A.D. the Church set December 25th as the birth date of Jesus, intending to Christianize the Roman date of the Winter Solstice. Solstice literally means standing-still-sun, and it is the day of the year when the night is longest and the day shortest. December 25th was also the date of the supposed virgin birth of Mithras, the ancient Zoroastrian god of light popular with Roman soldiers.

Solstice celebrations are historically attested back as far as 4,000 B.C. in most cultures, especially those where winter is harsh. They have common elements of feasting, gift-giving, celebration, bonfires, candles, evergreens…and anticipation. Further, the ancients carried a deep-seated anxiety that spring would not come, and to assuage this apprehension, they developed rituals to please the gods they believed controlled such matters. Later, Christian leaders endeavored to attract pagans to the faith by adding Christian meaning to these existing festivals.

What does all of this have to do with us at Advent in 2006? My theory is that the overlaying of a Christian tradition onto millennia of pagan ritual has contributed to a clash of the sacred and the secular that we may never overcome. Further, since this odd anxiety is so deeply rooted in the human psyche, there is no escaping this primal angst as our nights grow longer.

The Good News is that we as Christians recognize the symbolism of who this waiting is for. We anticipate the birth of the one who came to deliver the world from its separation from God. We call it Advent, and so, in whatever emotional state we find ourselves, we joyfully wait.

=

The Funnest Event of the Season

2006-12-03T23:12:00.000-08:00

Nancy Sabin-Hinds

THE DANCE-ALONG NUTCRACKER

Some St. Aidan's members will be attending the Sunday, December 10th
3:00 performance of the Dance-Along Nutcracker, performed by the San
Francisco Lesbian/Gay Freedom Band at the Yerba Buena Center for the
Arts (YBCA). This is a REALLY fun holiday event where every other piece
is a Nutcracker song to which the whole audience is invited dance along.
Some folks sit it out and watch, while others, all ages, dance, prance
and twirl their hearts out, wearing any version of a tutu or tiara that
they can find! Anyone interested in going, please go to the website at
http://www.sflgfb.org/dancealong.html and purchase tickets. Let Nancy
Sabin Hinds nancy_hinds@sbcglobal.net know that you are attending, and we will either arrange to meet there, or possibly carpool (maybe grab lunch together before going?)

While you are at the sflgfb website, look at the videos of past
performances. The 2004 one shows Michaela Hinds at age 3 in a black
tutu, being dragged around Nancy's feet, right after the baton twirler,
at ~1:35 into the clip. And the article under the section titled "The
Show," refers to "the woman in Nutcracker drag who led the full audience
in the march of the soldiers..." That was Nancy Sabin in 1997 (tights
stuffed with a sock in the crotch, nutcracker jacket that has since been
worn by David Franquist a few times as circus ringleader, fake mustache
and nutcracker hat, and a spatula in place of the usual sword.)

This is possibly the most fun holiday event, if not the silliest.

Love, Nancy

Some News from Panama

2006-11-27T06:52:00.000-08:00

Kenny King

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ:

It is our hope that this note catches you in preparation for Christ the King Sunday and the onset of Advent. It is also a approaching time for the celebration of my ordination to the Sacred Order of Priests in the Anglican / Episcopal Communion. Please join with me on November 30th (St. Andrew's Feast Day) as I continue to rededicate myself to the calling that God has placed before me.

Also this week, please keep me in your prayers, as I have moved to accept a new position in the Diocese of Panama. At the request of the Bishop of Panama, the People of God here in the Provence of Bocas del Toro, and with the grace of God; I am accepting the position of Provencal over the parishes of this region. My new responsibilities will be for the spiritual direction and shepherd for Santa Maria de Virgen, Isla Colon, Bocas Town; St. Jorge's Episcopal Church, Almirante; Transfiguration Episcopal Church, Changrinola; St. Michael's, Guiabito and various preaching stations throughout the Provence. I will be traveling from our home in Almirante throughout the ensuing weeks preaching, celebrating the Eucharist and offering the sacraments to these various communities; and overseeing the operations of these parishes and stations in their day to day activities. Pray for me that I may receive the guidance, wisdom and knowledge to give the People of God the Good News of the Gospel of Christ.

Our lives continue to be extremely busy, as we have had two funerals in the last week and I celebrate the Blessing of a Marriage on December 7th. God continue to grow the Church in this area and the English Only Service begun on Isla Colon now has a regular attendance of North Americans and European Citizens. We continue to be amazed at the grace of God in this ministry.

Our struggles continue as we call the "powers that be" to accountability for their treatment of workers and people of this Provence. We make little, but steady progress, as these powers continue to oppress a people who have little hope for the future of their children. Often now, in the beginning of our rainy season, we struggle for lights and water. When we have two to three boats in port, we loose all power and water so the ships can be supplied by the company. The Company has little regard for life here, and we seem to be a expendable community as we try to educate the children without lights for study at night, water to bathe in or clean dishes or clothes with. Yet there are communities around us that do not have even these basis necessities, mostly the indigenous populations. Pray that God will soften the hearts of the "powers that be" and give them a concern for their fellow human brothers and sisters.

May God continue to Bless and Keep you in your individual ministries and in the work of our beloved parish family. We miss you all greatly and our prayers continue to support you in the work that God has set before you.

Many Blessings,

Fr. Kenny Ryan-King, and Oonagh
Your Missionaries in Panama

"All that is necessary for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing." Sir Edmund Burke

Searching

2006-11-27T06:48:00.000-08:00

Tommy Dillon

A Devotional

A friend of mine has recently had a string of bad dates. In fact they have been so bad, that it caused him to sit down one night and compose a “Dating Creed” and then email it to a group of friends and family. There are 14 points to his creed, but it’s the fourth tenet of his creed that has continuously played in my mind. It reads:

“If you can look around at this planet and still not believe in God,

then you are not the right person for me.”

A holiday can summon a variety of feelings. There are memories of holidays past that no longer represent the way life is now. There are memories of those who will no longer gather around the table with us. There are memories of strained family relationships. However, there is also hope found in the holidays. There is the excitement of a new tradition. There is the excitement of new relationships. There is the excitement of pain overcome.

CNN recently reported that this year Americans will spend $750 million on self-help books, more than $1 billion on motivational speakers and there are more than 100 colleges now offer classes in positive psychology - the science of happiness. The reality is that we are a people in search of happiness looking in many places. Perhaps we need look no further than the world around us. We see God at work in those who will feed the hungry today. We see God at work in the gift of a new life. We see God at work with those who have stood by us in difficult times. If you are struggling today to find what you should be thankful for, I invite you to look, really look, and find where God is at work. My guess is that there are things surrounding you in which to give thanks for. My prayer is that we can find the words to give thanks. This holiday season, I invite you to try Hope for the Holidays.

Baby Shower Dec. 3

2006-11-20T06:57:00.000-08:00

Debbie Nocero

St. Aidan’s is Hosting a Baby Shower for St. Luke's Hospital

On Sunday, December 3rd at coffee hour

What better way to begin Advent than planning for a child! St. Luke=s Hospital Auxiliary keeps a layette closet of baby gifts for needy moms. Churches around the diocese help keep it filled by hosting baby showers throughout the year. Some moms really need a boost when they are feeling exhausted after giving birth and are facing financial problems ahead. Some are homeless or have special needs, for example, preemies need preemie-sized clothing. When we receive requests from the social workers, the Auxiliary happy to be able to provide a bit of tender loving care for these families and the moms are so grateful to receive some much needed items for their babies.
All items need to be practical and easily washable. Colors are needed for both boys and girls, as well as unisex or bright ones. Our Auxiliary members will put the items together and make an attractive package for the mom, tied with ribbons and a card.

All babies deserve to feel welcomed into this world - with a little help from us.

Needed Baby Items

Receiving blankets
Blankets
Nightgowns
Warm sleepers
Pajamas
Undershirts, Onesies
Disposable diapers
Bibs
Booties, socks

Outer clothing
Sweaters
Hats
Preemie-sized clothing
Baby towels
Wash cloths
Baby wipes
Pacifiers
Burp cloths

Please join us for the festivities!

Laughter is a Gift from God

2006-11-12T21:42:00.000-08:00

Tommy Dillon

A Devotional

One of the things I love about working at St Aidan's is that our staff loves to laugh. If you were to spend the day in our office, you would definitely hear laughter coming from every corner of the building. It’s wonderful, refreshing and most definitely contagious. Sally, Diana, and I laugh much of the time!
I believe that laughter is a gift from God. In Rick Coram book, It Feels Better When I Laugh, he says this about laughter, “The Great Physician has prescribed laughter as a medicine that is good for us. The happiest place in the community ought to be the place where the body of Christ assembles and celebrates. Of course, there is a time for reverence and quiet. But it is wonderful when the joy of the Lord overflows from the cup and runs into the saucer!

A couple of years ago In my former parish in Baton Rouge. One Sunday morning a bitter old man that looked like he hadn’t smiled in years came up to me and told me that he believed that laughter in the church was offensive to God. With a smile on my face, I replied, “I don’t think laughter offends God, I believe scowling, sneering Christian do.”

So, did Jesus laugh? Of course, because he shared in our humanity. More than this, I believe Jesus engineered laughter from the situations he created and spoke into. And look at the people He hung out with. In particular one of Jesus’ closest friends, the gruff fisherman from Galilee called Peter must surely have kept Jesus in stitches. He got himself into all kinds of trouble: he had a stab at walking on water but soon found out he couldn’t do it as well as Jesus could. On another occasion, having caught no fish all night Peter agreed to the ludicrous suggestion from Jesus to put his net out in deep water, only to catch so many fish that his boat began to sink. Most memorably, at the Transfiguration where Jesus stood in shining light with the prophets Moses and Elijah a dumbstruck Peter made the off-the-wall suggestion to set up three tents for them to stay the night in. I’m sure he teased about this for a long time afterwards.

Always remember to laugh!!!

All Saints' Day

2006-11-12T16:47:00.000-08:00

Kirstin Paisley

Sermon from Sunday, November 5, 2006

Matthew 5:1-12

Wow. It’s All Saints Day. It’s fall in California!
This is the day when we remember all who came before us.
We praise famous, and not-so-famous, people.
We think about what it means to honor them, with our lips and in our lives.
People jump into our minds at odd moments,
and we wish them happiness and love.
We send out a quick thank-you for the ones we love,
as we go back to studying or washing the dishes.
We might notice a grandparent in a child’s smile.
We remember, in turn, who we are,
whose we are,
and how we are called to live.

The first record of a feast set aside to commemorate all the saints
dates from before the year 270,
in a work by Gregory the Wonder-Worker, a bishop in Greece.
The date was fixed to November 1 in the eighth century.
This is our way of honoring our ancestors.
We’ve been doing it for a very long time.

What is a saint?
Is it someone who lived a legendarily perfect life,
and died centuries ago in the service of the faith?
Is it someone about whom we tell miracle stories?
Is it the statue under the birdbath in the yard?

The catechism in the Book of Common Prayer says this about sainthood:

“The communion of saints is the whole family of God,
the living and the dead, those whom we love and those whom we hurt,
bound together in Christ by sacrament, prayer, and praise.”

Saints are the faces on the icons,
and the names forgotten centuries ago.
Theirs are the stories we tell once a year on their feast days,
and the stories remembered only by their children.
We are the babies of the family.
Ours is an ancient line of love and faith,
seeking and finding,
wrestling with and celebrating God.

This is a time to honor our own pantheons,
as well as those individuals specifically mentioned by the church.
Not only Aidan, monk, missionary bishop, and generous soul,
but Dymphna—patron of madness and also, for us, of creative chaos,
amazing organizational skills, drag-queen nuns, and children.
Not only Francis, who loved peace, practiced radical poverty,
and kissed a leper on the street—
but all who have lived and died and worked and played
and loved in this city.

I honor friends right here, who have welcomed me, laughed with me,
taught me a new skill, and helped me through a difficult time.
I honor a woman I never knew in the town I came from,
who roused her friends to create a flock of doves out of paper mache,
old sheets, glitter, paint, and glue.
They marched in an annual street fair celebrating life,
the year before she died on Palestinian soil.
I honor her parents, who carry on Rachel’s work
and who have become good friends to me.
I honor a child I cared for when I was just out of college.
She’s a self-conscious thirteen-year-old now;
she no longer jumps into my arms when she sees me.
But she taught me more about joyful assertiveness than anyone has,
before she even turned two.

I honor Mary, the bearer of God, saying yes to wild possibility.
I honor Mary Magdalene, first, vocal, witness to the resurrected Christ.
I honor Thomas, who honored his own need to see and touch
the resurrected Christ for himself.
I honor all those who serve the San Francisco Night Ministry,
and who give their time by volunteering anywhere
in the service of God’s people and creation.
I honor those, too numerous to mention, following their faith
with thoughtful abandon,
stepping out bravely and joyfully into new ministries,
serving the God who calls us all to be our true selves.

Who do you honor today? How do they help you hear the call of God?
How do they encourage you to shine your light for others?

Saints are the holy ones, and saints are all of us. What is holiness?

Jesus said,

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

Blessed are the ones who are not attached to material things,
or financial security,
for they will find freedom in the generosity of God.
These are the ones who can share what they have,
with others who need even more than they.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

Blessed are those who can feel their true feelings,
who can grieve and cry without shame.
They have the courage to ask for the comfort that they need.
When others need to be held, or rocked, or listened to,
these are the ones who have the strength to give that.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”

Blessed are the ones who meet anger not with posturing and threats,
but with openhearted, unreserved love.
These are the ones who can heal the ruptures in this world.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.”

Blessed are those who seek God through working for justice on this earth.
The power of God will be with them
like a mighty stream.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.”

Blessed are the ones who can reach out with love and offers of forgiveness,
for they too will be loved and forgiven.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.”

Blessed are the ones who are not complicated by greed,
hunger for power,
or any wrong attachments.
These are the ones who can pray in silence.
These are the ones who can be still, in their bodies and souls,
and make space for the love of God to fill them.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”

Blessed are the ones who work to heal divisions
between all peoples of the earth.
This is the work of shalom to which God calls us;
when we do it, we live into our call to be co-creators of the Kindom.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

God is with us in our hurt and fear and pain,
as much as God is with us in our joy.
God knows our deepest intentions, and God loves us immeasurably.
God “gets” who we are.
In a time when it was physically dangerous
to practice a countercultural faith,
Jesus was assuring his listeners that God was present with them,
even in their suffering.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

The work we do here matters.
Our lives matter.
The love of God, shining through us, matters.

Shalom is a Hebrew word that means more than peace;
it means wholeness, completeness, union with one another and with God.
Our new Presiding Bishop, Katharine Jefferts Schori,
preached yesterday on what it means to embody the concept of shalom.
She said,

“The ability of any of us to enjoy shalom depends on the health of our neighbors. If some do not have the opportunity for health or wholeness, then none of us can enjoy true and perfect holiness. The writer of Ephesians implores us to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace – to be at one in God's shalom. That is our baptismal task and hope, and unless each of the members of the body enjoys shalom we shall not live as one. That dream of God, that word of God spoken in each one of us at baptism also speaks hope of its realization.”

We are given the work of holiness at baptism,
the very moment at which we enter the communion of saints.
When we do this work,
we affirm the love, the creativity, and the reconciling power of God.

Today we celebrate the Feast of All Saints.
Our cloud of witnesses is right here with us.
Let us do the work that God has created us to do.
Let us be who God has called us to be.
We are the family of God.

Holy Listening

2006-11-02T11:06:00.000-08:00

Tommy Dillon

Some of my fondest memories from childhood are of sitting with my grandmother Keet at her table in the kitchen of her Tulsa home. There was always something good to eat—pound cake with homemade butter or tomatoes from my grandfather's garden-- but even more special was a quality of attentiveness that she possessed. As she listened to my chatting about this and that, she acted as if being with me were the most important thing she could be doing at the time. She taught me that listening is an act of love.

Such responsiveness is rare in our culture where we talk too much and listen too little. We all know how minimizing it is to try to share something with someone who is half-distracted, too busy or just waiting until they can get their point out. Contrastingly, how affirming it is to be with one who attends fully and respectfully to what we are saying.

The healing dimensions of being listened to are significant. Those suffering from loss or recovering from woundedness need to tell their story again and again, re-entering it, piecing together the fragments of memory. In the sacred presence of a witness, a companion who truly listens, isolation is diminished and connection to the human community is restored. Often it’s not really as much what we say in such times as a quality of caring presence. Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen suggests, “Listening creates a holy silence. When you listen generously to people, they can hear truth in themselves, often for the first time. And in the silence of listening, you can know yourself in everyone. Eventually, you may be able to hear, in everyone and beyond everyone, the unseen singing softly to itself and to you.”

The Rule of St. Benedict suggests that prayer is “listening with the ear of the heart.” He means, of course, listening for the still, small voice of God. But I believe that it is also true that we pray with one another when we hear a person’s story as sacred, when we hear with the ear of our heart.

50 People at the Parish Weekend

2006-10-29T22:48:00.000-08:00

More than 50 people gathered at The Bishop’s Ranch for our annual Parish Weekend, God’s Voice, Our Stories, based on Tommy’s May 14 sermon.

TOMMY'S SERMON identified three ways to listen for God: immerse yourself in the Bible, give yourself to prayer, and surround yourself with spiritual friends

The weekend was planned by the St. Aidan’s Vocations Committee, which seeks to help people in their discernment of God’s call, both in Christian ministry and in other major life decisions—look for more information in an issue of the forthcoming St. Aidan’s newsletter.

Job and Passion

2006-10-27T08:33:00.000-07:00

Molly Haws
Sermon from Sunday, 10/15/06

Oh, that I knew where I might find him, that I might come even to his dwelling! I would lay my case before him, and fill my mouth with arguments. I would learn what he would answer me, and understand what he would say to me. … If I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him.

In 6 weeks it’ll be Advent: the beginning of a new church year. We’re coming to the end of this liturgical year, and at the end of the liturgical year, we get the Book of Job.

The Book of Job is chaos. Chaos theory says we cannot predict outcomes; we cannot control external circumstance; and we will certainly never know all the permutations of the ramifications of our actions. Only God knows these things; we are not around long enough nor do we have the omniscience to see the fractal patterns undulating and unfolding. So God says to Job, “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?...Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and cause the dawn to know its place?” (38:4, 12).
When we arrive at the end of Job’s story, what we are left with is the fundamental truth that the only thing, the only thing, over which we have any control at all is our own choices. We are free to choose. Our choices are important, they matter, not because we have any ability to affect external circumstances, but because it is by our choices that we define who we are.

What we discover along with Job is that we are not defined by our circumstances, be they good or ill. We are defined by the choices we make within those circumstances. Job, in the end, is defined by the choice he makes, over and over again, to seek God (19:23-27, 28:20-28, 30:20, 31:35-37). Job seeks God relentlessly, with tenacity and defiance and fury and pain. He seeks God with everything that he is. In the end, no persecutor, no circumstance, no calamity, no friend, no satan, nothing and no one is able to make Job do anything, or refrain from anything. He is free.

Job experienced passion. He chose to remain himself, to be affected at the deepest level, rather than trade away the definition of himself that he had forged from a lifetime of choices. Job remained vulnerable. He chose to continue to be affected, to be passionately hurt, angry, indignant, confused, desperate. Job chose to live as himself: a righteous man: one who seeks God without ceasing, not despite circumstance, not ignoring circumstance, but in the midst of circumstance.

Circumstance has loomed particularly large for me in the last few weeks: There is work to be done and I’m going to get right on it. As soon as I get back from El Salvador. No, wait, just let me get on the other side of Dymphna. Those are a couple of great big whopping circumstances, and I know you know what I’m talking about, because you’ve all had these times in your life, whether or not you went to El Salvador or are working on Dymphna, and it should not have surprised me when I told Tommy I had a hankering to talk about Job and I’d like to preach sometime while Job is in the lectionary, that he promptly offered me Dymphna Sunday.

So 2 weeks ago I’m sitting in the hotel’s Mexican restaurant in San Salvador with a margarita and my journal, feeling very, very vulnerable to circumstance, and I find myself writing these words:

“Here in El Salvador, our job—our mission—is to be affected as deeply as possible. It is a difficult mission. It is difficult because it is counter to every single bit of our identities as citizens of the USA. We are not a passive people. We are not accustomed to going forth with the intention of being acted upon. Yet that is what God calls us to do, in this time, and in this place.
Hear. Receive. Become passionate. Be acted upon. Choose.”

Wednesday night—or maybe it was Thursday, I don’t know anymore—Betsy Eddy saw me dressed in black, ripping gaff tape off a big roll and frantically taping down every cable in sight, and asked me, “Does this take you back to your college days in theatre?” I looked up and stopped for a moment. “Trust me,” I said, “this does not even remotely resemble anything I’ve ever done before.”

When I describe Dymphna to the uninitiated, I always end up saying, “It’s its own little miracle.” And it is. This thing we do here is the purest incarnation of the theatrical urge I’ve ever encountered. From the unvarnished motive of bringing in money, to the unanticipated moments of amazing grace when the perfect thing no one even thought of just happens in performance, Dymphna is what theatre is trying to be.

The rush of doing live theatre is a house full of humans who are there—who have paid money—for the express purpose of being acted upon. It’s intentional passion. In rehearsal, we are acted upon by the text. In performance, we are acted upon by the audience, who is there in order to be acted upon by us. Theatre is an exercise in incarnation. Intentional, passionate, incarnation.
And as such, it is a reflection of God’s choice to be acted upon, to become incarnate, to be affected at the deepest level, by us. God chooses passion. God chooses incarnation in the person of a Jewish boy in a Middle Eastern country that is occupied by a foreign empire, conceived outside of wedlock and born to a family of laborers, subject to all the social and political and natural and historical circumstances of place and time. Jesus didn’t even get the same caveat God gave for Job: God did not “spare his life.” Jesus was affected at the deepest possible level. Jesus was as vulnerable as it is possible to be. Jesus experienced passion so profoundly that it actually killed him.

Jesus reveals to us the truth that the power of pure passion is such that it cannot stay dead. The power of pure passion is to choose to be affected at the deepest level of who we are, while remaining who we are. The author of the epistle to the Hebrews tells us, “we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.” Paul Tillich tells us that sin is separation. Jesus lived in the midst of circumstance and remained who he was. He was affected by circumstance, while never being changed by it: never separated—from us, from God, from himself.

Jesus’ passion—like Job’s—is a function of who he is. Truly himself and truly alive. Pure passion cannot be destroyed. Death cannot curtail and comprehend life anymore than darkness can envelope and extinguish light. Jesus’ death did not end his life. He lives. He lives within and among us. Here. Now. Whenever we gather, 2 or 3 or 40 or 90. He lives and invites us into life, into passion. And the way I know this is that I am not sitting in my living room right now saying or writing or thinking these words in isolation, for myself alone. The way I know Jesus is alive and inviting us into life and passion is that we are all here right this minute.

It’s not a command performance. It’s an invitation that comes to us with all the longing—and passion—of a lover yearning for the beloved: “Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’" Become vulnerable. Allow yourself to be affected at the deepest level. Choose passion.

Like Job, we are free to choose. We can escape some of the effects of circumstance—we can avoid being affected at the deepest level—if we are willing to be other than who we are. If we are willing to separate. We can trade away part of our selves, pieces of our souls, in order to become a person who is not affected, who is not hurt by the brokenness in the world around us, who is not vulnerable to our fellow human creatures. We can refuse passion. We can, if we so choose, do as Job’s wife advised: we can refuse to be who we are; we can turn away; we can “curse God, and die.” We have that choice. We have that choice because that is the way God created us. We can choose: passion and life—or inviolability and death. Life. Or death. We are free.
Choose.

Love,
Molly

Meditation: The Shock of Forgiveness

2006-10-12T21:19:00.000-07:00

Tommy Dillon
"Then Peter came and said to him, 'Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.'" (Matthew 18:21-22)

Recently the world was horrified to learn of the gruesome murders that took place in a one-room schoolhouse in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania; a small farming community west of Philadelphia. Of course, the only natural question to follow was "why?" The answer is remarkably simple, yet perhaps the most complicated answer one can offer - we don't know.

However, there was a second shock in relation to this crime; the shock of forgiveness. The world has watched the families of the young victims offer gestures and words of forgiveness toward the man who perpetuated the violence before their daughters had even been buried. Of course, the only natural question to follow was "why?" This answer is as simple and complicated too - because it is what Jesus taught us to do. In an interview late last week, one of the members of the community was asked how they could forgive and the response was "we would rather focus on the time that we had with them."

I believe that people come into our lives to teach us something. Even if only for a brief or painful time, people teach us about ourselves, about God or about human complexities. The challenge is when the people that come into our lives hurt us, and we must forgive. The question is naturally raised, "why?" The answer once again becomes - because it is what Jesus taught us to do.

Forgiveness is not glamorous nor is it easy, but it is what we as a people of faith are meant to do. It is the world that says "Hold a grudge, don't let them win!" It is Christ who says, "Forgive, so that love can win." I don't know who has caused you pain, but I know what you are called to do about it. May God give us that strength.

El Salvador: Martyrdom Sites

2006-10-03T20:59:00.000-07:00

Archbishop Romero was murdered in this chapel while celebrating Mass.

Six Jesuit priests were murdered in this garden.

El Salvador: Final Log (# 5)

2006-10-02T17:11:00.000-07:00

Final log (#5) Martyr Sites then Home

This morning we woke up and had a great breakfast at the hotel- I am loving sweet corn tamales for breakfast!

We packed up and met in the lobby to head out to the hospital where archbishop Romero lived with the nuns and where he was killed while celebrating mass. We had a tour from one of the nuns. We then went downtown to see the tomb of Romero but it is only open one hour in the afternoon in the crypt. The powers that be moved him and limit access because so many are pushing for him to be a saint but the Roman Catholic authority is trying to quiet that movement. Its great that the two statues of Romero are in Anglican/Episcopal churches one being the National Cathedral in Washington DC and Westminster Abbey in London. We toured the cathedral and went out into the square where 70 were killed by the government during Romero's funeral.

We traveled to the Univerisity of Central America which is a Jesuit school. This is where the 6 priests and two women were killed. We visited the chapel there which has amazing but graphic artwork of those beaten and killed during the civil war.

We had lunch in a shopping mall- I had McDonalds which was great!!! We then went back to the Univeristy and toured where the Jesuits were killed. It was very moving. Seeing the real pictures of the dead was shocking. We then went back to the hotel to get our luggage and head ot the airport.

It has been a great trip and now for the real work - to continue the work we have started here!

El Salvador: 3 Pictures, Including an Archbishop with a SF Giants Cap

2006-10-02T15:51:00.000-07:00

El Salvador: Sleepless in Salvador

2006-10-02T15:47:00.000-07:00

Log 4

This morning I got up with not much sleep under my belt but we made it to the cathedral on time. Turns out that Molly was sick - she was suffering from a migraine-and had been dropped off at the cathedral. The group split up to experience different parishes around the diocese. John went to one parish and Daniel went to two parishes and I was at the Cathedral. All three of us presided at the mass in Spanish. It was a great service but Molly spent her time in the bathroom. I was happy that I didnt chop up the Spanish too badly.

After the service we went back to the hotel for a 2 hour siesta. I had a great lunch and then took a 45 minute nap. We left the hotel at 2:30 to go to the patron feast of St Michael at a church 30 minutes outside of San Salvador. It was HOT there!

Met up with the archbishop and enjoyed the service. When the bishop baptized a baby boy- He threw lots of water on the 3 year old and scared him so badly he was screaming. He said that when a baby is born a baby cries so when a baby is baptized the baby is ok to cry becase it is part of new life! I had the chance to speak to the crowd along with John and Daniel.

After the service the kids went after the pinata- A Winnie the Poo one - looked like Winnie had broken his neck! After some of us was hit by the blindfolded kids, the Poo Bear finally dropped and kids went CRAZY to get the kids. We boarded the van and headed back to San Salvador viewing a beautiful rainbow over the mountains.

This evening we met with the Archbishop at the hotel to talk about future trips and how we can all work together to further the mission in San Miguel. After the meeting was a yummy dinner in the hotel. Tomorrow is our last day where we will tour the sites having to do with the life of Archbishop Oscar Romero.

El Salvador: Street

2006-10-02T15:29:00.000-07:00

El Salvador: Molly with Kids

2006-10-02T15:27:00.000-07:00

El Salvador: Cathedral Kids

2006-10-02T15:24:00.000-07:00

El Salvador: The Jungle and the Archbishop

2006-10-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

LOG 3

We woke up in San Miguel and drove to San Salvador which was a 3 hour trip on the Pan American Highway. The views were amazing! Lush jungle and large volcanos everywhere. We were caught in traffic for a while due to a fatal truck accident. Very sad to see the dead man laying on the road with a small blanket over him. A bit of a shocker.

We checked in the hotel and then went to the Diocesan Center for the Anglican Church of El Salvador where we met with Archbishop Martin Barahona. He wanted us to have a restful day so we went to lunch at his home. It was so much fun! He and his wife Betty had lots of booze and food for us. We stayed there for about three hours laughing and telling great stories. We then went to a local market to buy Salvadoran crafts. Then back to the hotel where I was practicing my Spanish because the bishop wanted me to celebrate Mass at the cathedral.

I sounded like Gomer Pyle speaking. Then to a Mexican Restaurant in the hotel where we had tapas and maragritas. A women was singing Karaoke in the place and it was quite funny. Daniel and I then hit some local bars and discos which was a blast!

Went to bed late but it was well worth it!

El Salvador: With Bishop Barahona

2006-10-01T22:06:00.000-07:00

El Salvador: 4 Pictures

2006-10-01T19:43:00.000-07:00

El Salvador: Prison, School, and Orphanage

2006-10-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

Log 2

We woke up after a nice 8 hour sleep and gathered for breakfast which was YUMMY! Beans, Eggs, tortillas, plantains, and tamales. We spoke about the liturgy that would take place in the women's prison during the meal.

At the prison we all had to get searched by the guards- male to male and female to female and then we gave them our passports. We walked into the prison where we were greeted by the women who live in a courtyard during the day. We toured the area while Mother Evans prepared the altar for mass. The area looks like a chicken coop. The women make crafts to sell, hang out, wash cothes and even bake bread during the day. The stay in a dormintory setting at night. They even had a snack stand in the prison selling Pepsi products!

We gathered for the eucharist with around 40 inmates. They sang, prayed and participated fully in the service. Daniel Simons presided at the service, Molly Haws read the Gospel in Spanish and I administered the chalice to the women. Several had tears streaming down their face. We took a group picture before departing- By the way It was HOT once again. Wearing black clericals was a bit much in this weather. I would like to create cooling clergy wear- I would make a FORTUNE.

We left the prison and visited a school for young kids in a neighborhood filled with gangs. One twelve year old child had been shot four times in the chest recently due to his brother being part of a local gang at the school. The school has 1500 students. We visited a kitchen that was funded by the San Lucas Mission and then hungout with the children. The kids LOVED us- They kept on gathering around us laughing and touching us. Several of us had conversations with them trying to tell them about where we were from. We visited the computer lab that only had 15 computers- it was a great room because it had A/C.

We had lunch and then traveled to an orphanage run by the Franciscan Sisters. We gave them the goods we collected in San Francisco and toured the facilities. The kids were adorable. They were fascinated by our cameras when we would show them the pictures we had taken of them on the display.

At this point many of us were so TIRED from a long day but that was not it! We boarded the bus for a lagoon which was in a volcano crater but we got there too late. We drove to the top of the volcano where there was a town called Allegria. It was very beautiful up in the clouds and it was cool. Then the bottom dropped out and a rain storm fell from the sky. We were all soaking wet and now cold.

We had drinks until it slacked and then visted a local festival that was taking place. We drove back down the volcano to a great local restaurant where I had fajitas and we had great conversations about what we had seen during the day. We were dropped off at the hotel to retire for the night.

El Salvador: We're Off!

2006-10-01T19:39:00.000-07:00

LOG 1

The group arrived at the SFO airport and flew for El Salvador at 1:30am. We arrived safely with all of our luggage and were on the road in our van for 9am. All of our luggage was in the back of another pick up truck. It was HOT and humid- very far from San Francisco weather.

We drove for two hours until we arrived San Miguel where we picked up the Rev. Elizabeth Evans who is the priest for the mission of San Lucas. We checked into our hotel and had a nice lunch introducing ourselves to Mother Evans and learned more about what we would do for our days in San Miguel. San Miguel is next to a very large volcano and is surrounded by lush tropical forrest. Its probably the hottest place in El Salvador.

We took a 1.5 hour siesta since none of us received much sleep on the plane. Once we were assembled we drove to the local public hospital where we met with the director of the hospital. We learned about the needs of the facility which are great. We viewed the mammogram x-ray machine which the mission of San Lucas helped get to the hospital. We toured the pediatric ward and gave baby clothing to nursing mothers. They were very grateful.

We then saw little Oscar who was in the pediatric ICU. He was a premature baby and was extremely small and frail. He moved many of us to tears and we met with his mother and assured her of our prayers for she and her baby boy.

We drove to the mission church of San Lucas where we toured the church center where many ministries take place- a worship space, office, classroom, housing for released inmates from the women's prison and housing for the chaplain. We saw another home of Mother Elizabeth's assistant who also offers her home for inmates on their days out from the prison.

We drove 30 minutes to the home of a 65 year old released ex offender who lived with her 90 year old mother in a home with no electricity. She was so honored that we came to visit her. Her dogs attacked one of her chickens in the yard while we were there and that became their dinner.

We drove back to San Miguel where we enjoyed a meal before retiring for the evening. Everyone is tired from the long day and night. I know I will take several showers a day while we are here. Thank God we have A/C in our hotel rooms.We get up early and head to the women's prison for 8am.

Peace,
Tommy+

El Salvador: 3 Pictures

2006-10-01T19:35:00.000-07:00