Here's a little song I wrote to accompany my sermon at Peace Community Church a couple weeks ago. As you might figure out via googling/sword drills, it's "on" Matthew 11:25-30. I'll post the chords here, mostly for my own future reference, and if you'd like a recording let me know and I'll link you to the appropriate google doc.
"Come to Me"
D A
G DA
They say, 'it's not worth all the effort'
they say, 'what are you gonna do?'
they say, 'what are you thinking?'
'It cannot be changed, at least not by you.'
This life has been getting you down
and you're at the end of your rope
when all your plans add up to nothing
the Spirit will give you a little more hope
(she'll say:)
Chorus:
Come to me, all who are weary
and I will give you rest, rest
Come to me, all who are weary
and I will give you rest, rest
This life has been getting you down
this life feels like more and more pain
but the walk gets deeper and stronger
and you find rest out in the reign
You've been doubting the Lord
You've been wrestling with the word
It's not bad to trust and obey
but is it better to argue, is it better to say:
Chorus
How can the struggle feel like the dancing?
How can the mustard tree feel like a nest?
I don't know how, but this is what I'm preaching
when I trust her the yoke feels like the rest
They say: there's qualifications
to keep out the sinner and the liars
but what he says about the peace of the beloved:
you don't have to be anything but tired
Chorus
This is what you say to the terrors
this is what you say from the pit:
just one battle is not what we're here for
and the only struggle that we lose is the one that we quit
they are trying to break you
they would love it if you would just burn out
it would be better for the haters if you gave up,
so please listen to my Jesus longing shout:
Chorus
The Spirit tells us that there's justice bubbling up now
She tells us that we can and we should
such promises that carried on our forebears
she reminds us that they are all still good
So what are you doing in your church or your vigil?
what are you saying in your preaching or your play?
Please remember, whatever else you're doing-
may you make a safe place, and to the people say:
Chorus
Showing posts with label liturgy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label liturgy. Show all posts
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Invocation from Nate's Ordination
My beloved colleague Nate Dannison asked me to write an invocation for his ordination service, which happened earlier today. He said I could say whatever I wanted. Here's what I wrote:
Triune God, we call you to this place and moment-
knowing that you were herre before us,
and that you will be after we are gone-
but knowing that our hearts find strength
when we call out to you:
By the name of God the Mother and Father
who brings us to birth and to rebirth
who remembers every child,
who feeds every spark of liberation
and mourns every tear of oppression
By the Holy Spirit
who hovers over our lives
pulling us through distraction and despair
pulling us over the even-now-crumbling walls of empire
dismantling our sinful hierarchies
And by our brother the Risen Lord Jesus
who danced with us, even unto death,
who walks to the margins of the crowd
and snaps open his plastic case,
and takes out the world's rattiest
two dollar fiddle
and begins to play:
And when we hear his song
it is so familiar, so new; so bold and humble
so warm and troubling and romantic
that what can we do but
join his foolish dance eternal?
In the name of these three, and in the name
of the Beloved Communion of Saints,
who watch with us in joyful anticipation,
and in laughing certainty:
Come, Triune God,
and be present in this place and moment.
Amen.
Triune God, we call you to this place and moment-
knowing that you were herre before us,
and that you will be after we are gone-
but knowing that our hearts find strength
when we call out to you:
By the name of God the Mother and Father
who brings us to birth and to rebirth
who remembers every child,
who feeds every spark of liberation
and mourns every tear of oppression
By the Holy Spirit
who hovers over our lives
pulling us through distraction and despair
pulling us over the even-now-crumbling walls of empire
dismantling our sinful hierarchies
And by our brother the Risen Lord Jesus
who danced with us, even unto death,
who walks to the margins of the crowd
and snaps open his plastic case,
and takes out the world's rattiest
two dollar fiddle
and begins to play:
And when we hear his song
it is so familiar, so new; so bold and humble
so warm and troubling and romantic
that what can we do but
join his foolish dance eternal?
In the name of these three, and in the name
of the Beloved Communion of Saints,
who watch with us in joyful anticipation,
and in laughing certainty:
Come, Triune God,
and be present in this place and moment.
Amen.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Ordination Vows
I got ordained on Sunday by a whole crowd of wonderful and strange people.
The whole service was awesome. I don't know what else to say about it.
Here are the vows that I made, drawn from a wide variety of traditions and colleagues.
---Ordination Vows
We will begin with a reaffirmation of the vows made for you at your baptism and made by you at confirmation:
On behalf of the whole church, I ask you:
Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of your sin?
DW: I do.
Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms the present themselves?
DW: I do.
Do you confess Jesus Christ as your savior, put your whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as your Lord, in union with the church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations, and races?
DW: I do.
And continuing with new vows:
Do you believe that you are truly called to the work of the pastor as your vocation and ministry in this season?
DW: I do, God being my help.
Will you be faithful in prayer and devotion, in reading of the scripture and in examining of your own heart?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you invite others into the holy work of God, into the proclamation of the Gospel, into the movement for the coming Kindom of God? Will you seek to empower everyone you encounter in their own vocations, their own ministries and calls?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you refuse to follow the biases of the world, and seek to follow only the biases of God?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you be faithful in preaching and teaching the Gospel, administering the ordinances and rites of the church, in exorcising demons and in exercising pastoral care and leadership? Will you bear faithful witness to the history and practice of your Baptist tradition?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you endeavor to seek, always, the further edge of possibility? Will you bring a radical hope to mundane moments, a radical joy to terrifying moments, and a radical love to difficult moments?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you endeavor to know, always, the nearer shores of comfort- the solace of God's own embrace, through prayer, fellowship, rest, and play? Will you maintain friendships, interests, and intimacies outside the congregation of your service, as a commitment to your own full living?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you endeavor to release your grasping, to cede that which is not yours to control? Will you uphold your calling as a sign and agent of God's saving work in the world, remembering that you are no savior, but only the teller of salvation's story?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you care for all of God's creation, in its radical diversity, both in its present Now and its future Not-Yet, including your own self and body?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you be brave and honest, loving and clear, in understanding that people will sometimes look to you as a way of looking for themselves, the lost truth of the Divine Within, and in helping them in that search?
DW: I will, God being my help.
As an agent of truth, will you love the dishonest? As an agent of justice, will you love the unjust? As an agent of reconciliation, will you love the divisive? As an agent of kindness, will you love the cruel?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you relentlessly serve the cause of Jesus in the world until you cease to draw breath or until justice is won and we all feast together at the Great Welcome Table?
DW: I will, God being my help.
And now, after those 3 and 12 vows for the ordinand, there is just one for you:
Will you the gathered community support David Weasley in the ministry of Christ? (If so, say, "We will.")
The People: We will.
The whole service was awesome. I don't know what else to say about it.
Here are the vows that I made, drawn from a wide variety of traditions and colleagues.
---Ordination Vows
We will begin with a reaffirmation of the vows made for you at your baptism and made by you at confirmation:
On behalf of the whole church, I ask you:
Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of your sin?
DW: I do.
Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms the present themselves?
DW: I do.
Do you confess Jesus Christ as your savior, put your whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as your Lord, in union with the church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations, and races?
DW: I do.
And continuing with new vows:
Do you believe that you are truly called to the work of the pastor as your vocation and ministry in this season?
DW: I do, God being my help.
Will you be faithful in prayer and devotion, in reading of the scripture and in examining of your own heart?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you invite others into the holy work of God, into the proclamation of the Gospel, into the movement for the coming Kindom of God? Will you seek to empower everyone you encounter in their own vocations, their own ministries and calls?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you refuse to follow the biases of the world, and seek to follow only the biases of God?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you be faithful in preaching and teaching the Gospel, administering the ordinances and rites of the church, in exorcising demons and in exercising pastoral care and leadership? Will you bear faithful witness to the history and practice of your Baptist tradition?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you endeavor to seek, always, the further edge of possibility? Will you bring a radical hope to mundane moments, a radical joy to terrifying moments, and a radical love to difficult moments?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you endeavor to know, always, the nearer shores of comfort- the solace of God's own embrace, through prayer, fellowship, rest, and play? Will you maintain friendships, interests, and intimacies outside the congregation of your service, as a commitment to your own full living?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you endeavor to release your grasping, to cede that which is not yours to control? Will you uphold your calling as a sign and agent of God's saving work in the world, remembering that you are no savior, but only the teller of salvation's story?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you care for all of God's creation, in its radical diversity, both in its present Now and its future Not-Yet, including your own self and body?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you be brave and honest, loving and clear, in understanding that people will sometimes look to you as a way of looking for themselves, the lost truth of the Divine Within, and in helping them in that search?
DW: I will, God being my help.
As an agent of truth, will you love the dishonest? As an agent of justice, will you love the unjust? As an agent of reconciliation, will you love the divisive? As an agent of kindness, will you love the cruel?
DW: I will, God being my help.
Will you relentlessly serve the cause of Jesus in the world until you cease to draw breath or until justice is won and we all feast together at the Great Welcome Table?
DW: I will, God being my help.
And now, after those 3 and 12 vows for the ordinand, there is just one for you:
Will you the gathered community support David Weasley in the ministry of Christ? (If so, say, "We will.")
The People: We will.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Shame-Related Confessional Sequence from Emily Jones
Emily Jones wrote a great confessional sequence for a class she's in.
Me: "You should put this up somewhere where people can get it!"
Emily: "Like where?"
Me: "Like... the internet?"
Anyway, it's based on the first creation story, and is in opposition to some popular interpretations of the second one...
Here it is: (apparently we're doing blogging liturgical elements for Casimir Pulaski day...)
God created all people in God's own image. God affirmed, at the first moments of creation, the goodness of all that God had made. Yet, we have rejected God's creation, blasphemed against this Holiness, drowning ourselves and each other in a culture of shame, rejecting what God named good, in one another and ourselves. We have come to repent of the ways we have shamed others; we have come to refuse the shaming we have received. We have come to see God's creation more rightly and ready ourselves for action.
Come. Gather with me in a moment of prayer, as we earnestly open our hearts to God and to one another.
Hear, O God, our prayers.
Jesus, we come to you a shamed and shaming people.
Release us, God, from this bondage.
We have swallowed shame, which we did not deserve.
Heal us, for we are your good creation.
We have force-fed shame to others, which they did not deserve.
We repent of our sins and look to be made anew.
We have learned and forced on others this falsehood, too often,
teaching others to be ashamed, learning to be ashamed:
for the color and texture of our hair
but you, O God, created our hair
for the shape of our desires
but you, O God, are in our wanting
for the thickness of our accents
but you, O God, are in our voices
for the appearance and abilities of our bodies
but you, O God, made our holy flesh.
Learning and teaching shame, also:
for our dreams, too outlandish to be real,
but you, O God, are in our dreaming
for our tears, too messy,
but you, O God, are in our struggles
even, sometimes, for the unseemliness of our joy
but you, O God, made all people in your likeness, your good creation.
Under powers and principalities too numerous to name, we have learned shame.
We have not only learned, we have also taught; we have been oppressors as well as oppressed.
Come, God, and enter into our brokenness.
Let us be cleansed of the evil done to us.
Let us repent and turn from the evil that we have done.
At this time, some moments of silence will be observed.
God says to us, clearly: You are beloved in ways beyond your knowing. You are the flesh of my body, born of the first waters, born of my own blood. You are the good creation, a people fated to wholeness. I give you my strength. Go, now, into God's good creation, rejecting all that is evil and turning towards God in all you do. Go now to one another and offer a sign of God's presence, a mark of God's peace.
At this time, please greet each other with a sign of peace, remembering the fullness of God's affirmation.
Me: "You should put this up somewhere where people can get it!"
Emily: "Like where?"
Me: "Like... the internet?"
Anyway, it's based on the first creation story, and is in opposition to some popular interpretations of the second one...
Here it is: (apparently we're doing blogging liturgical elements for Casimir Pulaski day...)
God created all people in God's own image. God affirmed, at the first moments of creation, the goodness of all that God had made. Yet, we have rejected God's creation, blasphemed against this Holiness, drowning ourselves and each other in a culture of shame, rejecting what God named good, in one another and ourselves. We have come to repent of the ways we have shamed others; we have come to refuse the shaming we have received. We have come to see God's creation more rightly and ready ourselves for action.
Come. Gather with me in a moment of prayer, as we earnestly open our hearts to God and to one another.
Hear, O God, our prayers.
Jesus, we come to you a shamed and shaming people.
Release us, God, from this bondage.
We have swallowed shame, which we did not deserve.
Heal us, for we are your good creation.
We have force-fed shame to others, which they did not deserve.
We repent of our sins and look to be made anew.
We have learned and forced on others this falsehood, too often,
teaching others to be ashamed, learning to be ashamed:
for the color and texture of our hair
but you, O God, created our hair
for the shape of our desires
but you, O God, are in our wanting
for the thickness of our accents
but you, O God, are in our voices
for the appearance and abilities of our bodies
but you, O God, made our holy flesh.
Learning and teaching shame, also:
for our dreams, too outlandish to be real,
but you, O God, are in our dreaming
for our tears, too messy,
but you, O God, are in our struggles
even, sometimes, for the unseemliness of our joy
but you, O God, made all people in your likeness, your good creation.
Under powers and principalities too numerous to name, we have learned shame.
We have not only learned, we have also taught; we have been oppressors as well as oppressed.
Come, God, and enter into our brokenness.
Let us be cleansed of the evil done to us.
Let us repent and turn from the evil that we have done.
At this time, some moments of silence will be observed.
God says to us, clearly: You are beloved in ways beyond your knowing. You are the flesh of my body, born of the first waters, born of my own blood. You are the good creation, a people fated to wholeness. I give you my strength. Go, now, into God's good creation, rejecting all that is evil and turning towards God in all you do. Go now to one another and offer a sign of God's presence, a mark of God's peace.
At this time, please greet each other with a sign of peace, remembering the fullness of God's affirmation.
welcome: your citizenship is in heaven
At the church where I've been working, it's customary to share some piece of poetry or inspiration as part of the welcoming time in the service. Here's something I wrote up for yesterday's, inspired by the bit in last Sunday's lectionary about citizenship in heaven.
Your Citizenship is in Heaven
Phillipians 3:18-4:1
When they tell you that you have no place here
when they tell you that you are not important enough,
not ordinary enough, not quiet enough
to fit in here:
say it, out loud or silently:
My citizenship is in heaven.
When they mock you, when they fear you,
when they refuse to sit next to you in the bus
or in the church sanctuary
tell them, out loud or silently:
My citizenship is in heaven.
When they tell you that you don't belong here
because you have the wrong papers
because you weren't born here
because you don't have a job or
because you don't have a family:
write it on your protest signs
and door frames and hearts:
your citizenship is in heaven.
When they try to keep you in your dead-end job,
your dead-end life;
your category, your gender, your nationality:
Remember: you cannot be contained
you are in league with the Risen One
your citizenship is in heaven.
Your Citizenship is in Heaven
Phillipians 3:18-4:1
When they tell you that you have no place here
when they tell you that you are not important enough,
not ordinary enough, not quiet enough
to fit in here:
say it, out loud or silently:
My citizenship is in heaven.
When they mock you, when they fear you,
when they refuse to sit next to you in the bus
or in the church sanctuary
tell them, out loud or silently:
My citizenship is in heaven.
When they tell you that you don't belong here
because you have the wrong papers
because you weren't born here
because you don't have a job or
because you don't have a family:
write it on your protest signs
and door frames and hearts:
your citizenship is in heaven.
When they try to keep you in your dead-end job,
your dead-end life;
your category, your gender, your nationality:
Remember: you cannot be contained
you are in league with the Risen One
your citizenship is in heaven.
Monday, August 27, 2007
all kinds of love
Last week I finished my summer hospital chaplaincy internship, and this weekend I flew down to Atlanta to officiate at my sister's wedding.
I saw a lot of love in the hospital, and a lot of marriages. Often, I saw this love, and these marriages, in moments of incredible crisis: either the sharp moments surrounding death, or the long slow suffer of walking with someone through illness and surgery.
Eventually, I came to see the face of grief as the same face of love, filtered through pain and anguish; I guess it's like what that book said that I quoted here a few days ago- every lament is a love song.
But it was pretty powerful to come out of the hospital, to take a step back from husbands standing constant vigil over sick wives, from the wife I saw trying to pray her husband back to life, from the man who rushed in to the hospital in the middle of the night because his wife coded, and then just looked at her. Because, the thing of it is, that man who came in looked at his wife, lying wordless and trached, in the intensive care bed, and she looked back. And it was the same look that Kate and Kenneth shared, as they stood in front of me, as I performed their wedding. This love is the same. And it is as strong as death.
The first song they danced to, at the reception, when I could finally cry my wedding tears and wasn't so caught up in my role that I had to take appropriate distance from my emotions, was this ben folds song, 'the luckiest.' The amazing bluegrass band that played there learned it just for them. The last verse pretty much says it.
"Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away
I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong..."
There it is.
And I am pained and proud to carry my identity as a lover into the hospital room and into the wedding feast. I got to write the pronouncement part of their wedding. I'll close with what I said there:
"This world is often full of struggle and hardship. We walk daily amidst sickness, amidst news of wars and death and tragedy, amidst injustices on a grand and intimate scale.
In the face of this, the greatest gift that one of us can give to another is a constant, faithful, loving presence.
Therefore, it is my great pleasure, to stand before the gathered community today, and to stand before Kenneth and Kate. I do not only stand for myself, but also for the gathered and the scattered Loved Ones, and for the Spirit.
Then, on behalf of all of these, here amidst these pines and these witnesses, I pronounce you Kate and Kenneth McGuinness, husband and wife."
amen.
I saw a lot of love in the hospital, and a lot of marriages. Often, I saw this love, and these marriages, in moments of incredible crisis: either the sharp moments surrounding death, or the long slow suffer of walking with someone through illness and surgery.
Eventually, I came to see the face of grief as the same face of love, filtered through pain and anguish; I guess it's like what that book said that I quoted here a few days ago- every lament is a love song.
But it was pretty powerful to come out of the hospital, to take a step back from husbands standing constant vigil over sick wives, from the wife I saw trying to pray her husband back to life, from the man who rushed in to the hospital in the middle of the night because his wife coded, and then just looked at her. Because, the thing of it is, that man who came in looked at his wife, lying wordless and trached, in the intensive care bed, and she looked back. And it was the same look that Kate and Kenneth shared, as they stood in front of me, as I performed their wedding. This love is the same. And it is as strong as death.
The first song they danced to, at the reception, when I could finally cry my wedding tears and wasn't so caught up in my role that I had to take appropriate distance from my emotions, was this ben folds song, 'the luckiest.' The amazing bluegrass band that played there learned it just for them. The last verse pretty much says it.
"Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away
I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong..."
There it is.
And I am pained and proud to carry my identity as a lover into the hospital room and into the wedding feast. I got to write the pronouncement part of their wedding. I'll close with what I said there:
"This world is often full of struggle and hardship. We walk daily amidst sickness, amidst news of wars and death and tragedy, amidst injustices on a grand and intimate scale.
In the face of this, the greatest gift that one of us can give to another is a constant, faithful, loving presence.
Therefore, it is my great pleasure, to stand before the gathered community today, and to stand before Kenneth and Kate. I do not only stand for myself, but also for the gathered and the scattered Loved Ones, and for the Spirit.
Then, on behalf of all of these, here amidst these pines and these witnesses, I pronounce you Kate and Kenneth McGuinness, husband and wife."
amen.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Six Things for Six Days til Pentecost
1. I have finished my first year of seminary. They didn't kick me out.
2. I heard Barbara Kingsolver talk Friday night, about her new book "Animal, Vegeatable, Miracle." Local food is a necessary ecological corollary to the coming anarcho-baptist revolution.
3. This week in Chicago, Pentecost is coming with cicadas. Folks at Grace Baptist Church celebrated Pentecost a week early. I was shocked and appalled by this gross violation of the liturgical year, but I am happy to have two chances to celebrate my favorite day of the year. Chicago's 17 Year Cicadas will emerge from the ground, we think, sometime this week. There's something deeply Pentecostal about this, and there is probably a poem in there somewhere: quietly waiting below ground for seventeen years, sucking on tree roots for nourishment, and then all coming out together, and covering everything, and making the loudest insect noise on earth. Like, really loud. There may also be a revolutionary strategy there.
4. According to NPR, no one knows how cicadas know to all come up from underground together, after seventeen years. I believe that cicadas are impelled from their nests through the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Pentecology.
5. Tomorrow morning I leave for two weeks in Nicaragua. I'll be back June 6th, and on June 11th I start my hospital chaplaincy internship. I expect both of these experiences to be deeply challenging and wonderful.
6. I bought a broad-brimmed hat for my trip. It had a tag on it that proudly trumpeted its ability to float. It also featured a warning label "not to be used as a flotation device."
2. I heard Barbara Kingsolver talk Friday night, about her new book "Animal, Vegeatable, Miracle." Local food is a necessary ecological corollary to the coming anarcho-baptist revolution.
3. This week in Chicago, Pentecost is coming with cicadas. Folks at Grace Baptist Church celebrated Pentecost a week early. I was shocked and appalled by this gross violation of the liturgical year, but I am happy to have two chances to celebrate my favorite day of the year. Chicago's 17 Year Cicadas will emerge from the ground, we think, sometime this week. There's something deeply Pentecostal about this, and there is probably a poem in there somewhere: quietly waiting below ground for seventeen years, sucking on tree roots for nourishment, and then all coming out together, and covering everything, and making the loudest insect noise on earth. Like, really loud. There may also be a revolutionary strategy there.
4. According to NPR, no one knows how cicadas know to all come up from underground together, after seventeen years. I believe that cicadas are impelled from their nests through the direct inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Pentecology.
5. Tomorrow morning I leave for two weeks in Nicaragua. I'll be back June 6th, and on June 11th I start my hospital chaplaincy internship. I expect both of these experiences to be deeply challenging and wonderful.
6. I bought a broad-brimmed hat for my trip. It had a tag on it that proudly trumpeted its ability to float. It also featured a warning label "not to be used as a flotation device."
Monday, April 02, 2007
april fool's communion
They scheduled me to help lead communion yesterday. Which was both Palm Sunday, and April Fool's Day. One would think that by now they would know me better than this, but it got me to thinking about similarities between this holy week and, well, April Fool's Day.
First, I remember hearing about a liturgical tradition from the first few centuries of the Christian church. Apparently, on Easter morning, the priest was required to make the whole congregation bust out laughing before the beginning of the mass. This was in celebration of Christ tricking the devil, as atonement theology went in those days. My atonement theology is markedly different, but I still think there's something hilarious about resurrection.
Second: Someone told me about the origins of April Fool's Day. Apparently, when Europe switched over to a new calendar, some folks didn't get the memo, and so celebrated New Year's Day on the first of April. I think that being on a non-Empire-endorsed calendar, and getting laughed at for it, is appropriate on such a holy week.
Finally, I thought about Maundy Thursday, coming up here. It was my job to give the invitation to communion, since I was the guy holding the cup, and I thought about what Jesus was inviting his loved ones to in that moment. Basically, much as at the beginning of a joke, or the first day of a new year, or at the beginning of any invitation, he was inviting them to mystery. I said to my church, "If you decide to come up here, I don't know what's going to happen."
I was going to leave it at that, in that doubt and mystery and slim hope. But I was reminded of Dow Edgerton's advice about preaching, in class last week, which was this: (he got it from a retired woman preacher, one of the first in Ohio and Indiana and Wisconsin) "Preach your faith, not your doubts." And so, in an effort to preach the part of my spiritual life that feels like faith and not just doubt, I said, "I don't know what's going to happen. But I know who you'll be with."
And they came.
First, I remember hearing about a liturgical tradition from the first few centuries of the Christian church. Apparently, on Easter morning, the priest was required to make the whole congregation bust out laughing before the beginning of the mass. This was in celebration of Christ tricking the devil, as atonement theology went in those days. My atonement theology is markedly different, but I still think there's something hilarious about resurrection.
Second: Someone told me about the origins of April Fool's Day. Apparently, when Europe switched over to a new calendar, some folks didn't get the memo, and so celebrated New Year's Day on the first of April. I think that being on a non-Empire-endorsed calendar, and getting laughed at for it, is appropriate on such a holy week.
Finally, I thought about Maundy Thursday, coming up here. It was my job to give the invitation to communion, since I was the guy holding the cup, and I thought about what Jesus was inviting his loved ones to in that moment. Basically, much as at the beginning of a joke, or the first day of a new year, or at the beginning of any invitation, he was inviting them to mystery. I said to my church, "If you decide to come up here, I don't know what's going to happen."
I was going to leave it at that, in that doubt and mystery and slim hope. But I was reminded of Dow Edgerton's advice about preaching, in class last week, which was this: (he got it from a retired woman preacher, one of the first in Ohio and Indiana and Wisconsin) "Preach your faith, not your doubts." And so, in an effort to preach the part of my spiritual life that feels like faith and not just doubt, I said, "I don't know what's going to happen. But I know who you'll be with."
And they came.
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