4 Easter

Good Shepherd Sunday

April 26, 2015

The Baptism of Cohan Ranney

Psalm 23; John 10.1-10

+ As most of you know, our congregation of St. Stephen’s has a very solid tradition of Benedictine spirituality. Several of us, including James and myself, are actual Oblates of St. Benedict at St. John’s Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota. Others of us are spiritually aligned with Benedictine spirituality. We carry out this spirituality by not just following the Rule of St. Benedict in our personal devotional lives. We actually attempt, through our ministries, to make the spirit of the Rule of St. Benedict a reality. We do so by following St. Benedict’s command to welcome all people who come here as Christ. That means, people who come to this church are welcomed and treated with respect, no matter who they are. Because we believe that Christ dwells within each one who comes through that door. And that’s not just our newcomers. That’s our long-time members too.

The Rule of St. Benedict has been a great source of living out the Gospel in a practical way. And one of the areas of the Rule I’ve always loved and appreciated it the chapter on Abbots and Abbesses. Abbots and Abbesses, of course, are the leaders of monasteries. And I’ve discovered that Benedict’s chapter on Abbots or Abbesses is probably one of the best documents written on how to be an effective pastor and minister. And not just for clergy. But for anyone in leadership in the church.

The Rule makes clear that care of the sheep entrusted to one, is vital to a healthy monastery and, in our case, a healthy congregation.  St. Benedict writes:

“Above all let [the abbess] not neglect or undervalue 
the welfare of the souls committed to her, 
in a greater concern for fleeting, earthly, perishable things; 
but let her always bear in mind 
that she has undertaken the government of souls 
and that she will have to give an account of them…
“Let her know, then, 
that she who has undertaken the government of souls
must prepare herself to render an account of them. 
Whatever number of sisters she knows she has under her care, 
she may be sure beyond doubt that on Judgment Day 
she will have to give the Lord an account of all these souls, 
as well as of her own soul. 
“Thus the constant apprehension 
about her coming examination as shepherd (Ezech. 34) 
concerning the sheep entrusted to her, 
and her anxiety over the account that must be given for others, 
make her careful of her own record.” 
Essentially Benedict’s Chapter on Abbots and Abbesses is about how to be a Good Shepherd. That is very appropriate for today because today is, of course, Good Shepherd Sunday—the Sunday in which we encounter this wonderful reading about Jesus being the Good Shepherd. And I’m happy that, on this Good Shepherd Sunday, we are able to celebrate the baptism of Cohan Ranney.
Jesus describes himself in today’s Gospel as the Good Shepherd. This is probably one of the most perfect images Jesus could have used for the people listening to him in hat day and age. They would have “got” this.  They understood the difference between a good shepherd  and  a bad shepherd.  The good shepherd was the shepherd who actually cared for his flock.  He looked out for them, he watched them. The Good Shepherd guided the flock and led the flock. He guided and led the flock to a place to eat.

This is an important aspect of the role of the Good Shepherd.  The Good Shepherd didn’t feed the flock.  Rather the good shepherd led the flock to the choicest green pastures and helped them to feed themselves.  In this way, the Good Shepherd is more than just a coddling shepherd.  He is not the co-dependent shepherd. The Good Shepherd doesn’t take each sheep individually, pick them up, and hand-feed the sheep.  Rather, he guides and leads the sheep to green pastures and allows them feed themselves.

The Good Shepherd also protects the flock against the many dangers out there. He protects the flock from the wolves, from getting too near cliffs, or holes, or falling into places of water.

Let’s face it, there are many dangers out there.  There are many opportunities for us to trip ourselves, to get lost, to get hurt.  If we follow the Good Shepherd we avoid those pitfalls of life.

Of course, the journey isn’t an easy one.  We can still get hurt along the way.  Bad things can still happen to us.  There are predators out there, waiting to hurt us.  There are storms brewing in our lives, waiting rain down upon us. But, with our eyes on the Shepherd, we know that the bad things that happen to us will not destroy us, because the Shepherd is there, close by, watching out for us.  We know that in those bad times—those times of darkness when predators close in, when storms rage—he will rescue us.

More importantly the Good Shepherd knows his flock.  He knows each of the sheep. If one is lost, he knows it is lost and will not rest until it is brought back into the fold.

In our collect for today, there is a wonderful reference to the Good Shepherd.  In the prayer, we ask God:

“Grant that when we hear his voice, we may know him who calls us each by name…’

Jesus sets the standard here for us.  Yes, we are called. But, in our calling, we then, in turn, are to be good shepherds to those around us.  We are called to serve, to look out for those people around us who need us. We are called to lead others to those choice places of refreshment. We are called to help and guide others.  And, most importantly, we are called to see and know those people we come into contact with in this world.  We are not called to simply exist in this world, vaguely acknowledging the people who are around us.

How often do we walk around not really “seeing” anyone around us? We are called to actually “know” the people we are called to serve.

The God Jesus shows us is not some vague, distant God.  We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves.  We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knows us each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of the flock.  We have the God who, in Psalm 23, that very familiar psalm we have all hear so many times in our lives, is a God who knows us and loves us and cares for us.  

But God accomplishes this love and knowledge through us. We, by being good shepherds, allow God to be the ultimate Good Shepherd. We were commissioned to be good shepherds by our baptisms. On that day we were baptized, we were called to be a Good Shepherds to others.

Today, dear Cohan is being commissioned to be a good shepherd in his life as a follower of Jesus.  And our prayer for him today is that he will, truly, grow up to be a good shepherd to those he meets and serves in his life.

Anyone can be a good shepherd.  Certainly, priests and pastors have long clung to that image and applied it to their vocation.  We’ve known the good shepherds in our clergy and ministers. I hope I have, at least sometimes, been a good shepherd to the people I have been called to serve.  

And we’ve all known the bad shepherds.  But, today, we don’t have to worry about those bad shepherds. Today, we celebrate the Good Shepherd—the Good Shepherd that is showing us the way forward to being good shepherds in our own lives.

So, on this day in which we celebrate the Good Shepherd, let us be what he is.  Let us live out our vocation to be good shepherds to those around us.  Let us truly “see” and know those people who share this life with us.  And let us know that being a good shepherd does make a difference in this world.

Let us make a difference. Emboldened by our baptism, strengthened by a God who knows us and love us, let us in turn know and love others as we are called to do.

The Loneliness of Blizzards 20th Anniversary

20 very long years ago today my second book of poems, The Loneliness of Blizzards, was published. 

20 Years - The Loneliness of Blizzards

20 very long years ago today, my second book of poems, The Loneliness of Blizzards, was printed (the actual publication date was April 28, 1995). It seems like a lifetime ago.

 

3 Easter

April 19, 2015

Luke 24.36b-48

+ I’ve shared this part of the priestly vocation with you before. But, during Confirmation this past year, I also shared it with our students.  As our confirmation class starts to wind down, I’ve discovered, as the students and I have reviewed all we’ve learned throughout this year, one of the things that has entertained them most was the stories of me being called in to deal with people’s houses that may be haunted.

The story you probably have heard is this one: When I was a new priest and was asked for the first time to come in to a person’s house and deal with what seemed to be paranormal activities, I honestly didn’t know what to do.

I was a fairly fresh priest, to be clear. I thought I knew all the answers. I’d already been through the wringer a few times.  But, I was a bit unprepared for this.

I was serving at Gethsemane Cathedral here in Fargo at the time and Bishop John Thornton, retired Bishop of Idaho was serving as sabbatical pastor. I loved—and still love—Bishop Thornton. He’s one of my pastoral heroes.  I learned so much about being an effective priest from Bishop Thornton in the short time I knew him and served with him.

Well, on this particular situation, I went in and told him I was asked to deal with this ghost situation.

I said to him, “Bishop, what should I do? I don’t know if I really believe in ghosts.”

The Bishop leaned back in his chair and with a  twinkle in his eyes, said, very nicely, “Jamie, who cares what you believe?”

I was shocked by this.  That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear.

But he very quickly added. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, Jamie. If these people think they have a ghost, go in and bless their house. If they need you to be an exorcist, be an exorcist. If they need you to be a ghostbuster, be a ghostbuster. Whatever they need you to be, be that for them. For that period of time you’re with them, believe whatever they believe. If they believe they have a ghost, while you’re in their house, believe they have a ghost. Bless their house. Drive out whatever they think they have. And then once you get back in your car and drive home, if you still don’t believe, then don’t.  The key is this: be what they need you to be.”

It was the best answer I could’ve ever received.

So, I went.  I blessed their house.  And sure enough, whatever the issue was, it never made itself known again.

Bishop Thornton’s advice was by far the best advice I ever heard.  It simply blew me away.  It has also been advice that I have been able to apply to many other situations in my pastoral career.   And I can tell you, I have been asked, again and again to go in and deal with such issues.  

I still don’t know what I believe for certain about ghosts.  But, as Bishop Thornton made clear, it really doesn’t matter what I believe on this issue.

But there’s no getting around the issue of ghosts.  In today’s Gospel, we find Jesus’ followers experiencing something they believe to be a ghost. But the experience they have is also much more incredible than any experience with a ghost.  It much more life-altering. 

The Jesus who stand before them—the Jesus they know had been tortured and murdered, the Jesus who breathed his last and actually died—now stands before them.  But this Jesus is no ghost.  He is flesh and blood.  They can touch him.  They can feel the wounds of his death.  They can hold him.  And he can eat actual food with them.  The Jesus who appears to them, who actually lives with them, is someone they no doubt cannot even begin to understand.  If they thought what he said and did before the crucifixion was amazing and mind-boggling, now it is even more incredible. 

This Jesus we encounter in today’s Gospel is just as incredible to us.  And perhaps maybe even more so.  For the people of Jesus’ day, they could actually wrap accept the fact that things happened beyond their understanding.  For us, we tend to rationalize away anything we don’t understand.  And the idea of someone who has died suddenly appearing before us—in the flesh, with wounds—and eat with us—is more than incredible.  It seems impossible.  And as we hear it, we do find ourselves beginning to rationalize it away.

But rationalize as we might, the fact remains: Christ is still present to us in the flesh.   We, the Church, those who have collectively come together to follow Jesus, to live the Christian life, to live out what Jesus taught us—we are the physical body of Jesus in this world still.  We, with our wounds, with the signs of our past pains, with all that we bring with us, are the embodiment of Jesus in this world. We are the ones who, like Jesus, bring a living and loving God to people who need a living and loving God.  We are called to embody God’s love, to embody God’s compassion, to embody—to make part of our bodies—a God who truly accepts and loves all people.  That is what it means to be Jesus in this world.

We are not called to be ghosts. We are not called to be vague Christians, who sort of float around and make echoing ghostly statements about our faith to people hoping they will somehow “accept Jesus.” We are called to be living, loving human beings embodying a living, loving God, serving living humans beings who, like us, are broken and in pain.

Just as Jesus shared what was given to him, so are we to share what is given to us. We who have known the love and acceptance of our God are called to, in turn, share this love and acceptance to others.  And when we do, we are the body of him who we follow. We can’t do the ministry we do if we are just ghosts.  We are not going to help anyone is we are wraiths and specters of God in this world.  

The God we embody and carry with us is not some ephemeral thing.  The God we serve is real.  And when we go out and serve others as Jesus, we make God physical.  We make God real. We make God’s love real. And that makes all the difference. That changes things.

So, let us carry out this mission together.  Let us be the body of  Jesus in the world.  And as the Body of Jesus, let us be the conduits through which we bring God to those who need God.  Let us sit down and eat with those with whom we serve and those we serve. Let us never be ghosts.

“…a ghost,” Jesus says to us, “does not have flesh and bones…”

But we do. And we are called to use out flesh and bones to serve others.  Let us never be vague Christians who float about transparently. But let us be physical Christians, showing our wounds to those who are wounded.

And as the body of Jesus in this world, we can do what Bishop Thornton reminded me to do when I was a new priest:  we can be whatever we are called to be in a particular situation.  We, as the physical Body of Jesus, can adapt and mold ourselves to those situations in which we can make God present in those areas in which God needs to be present.

If we do, we are doing what Jesus calls us to do.  If we do so we will find that we are not frightened and that whatever doubts will arise in our hearts really, in the long run, won’t matter.  Rather, by our presence, by love, by our acceptance, we will do what Jesus did. We will drive away, once and for all,  every one of those ghosts of fright and doubt.

Dying, thanks to Bishop Pike and William Stringfellow

I’ve been obsessing a bit lately about the Bishop James Pike, who died in September 1969 in the Judean wilderness. In my obsessing, I came across this amazing quote by another hero of mine, William Stringfellow. What I love about this quote is that, as I meditated on it, I found myself replacing all of Bishop Pike’s issues with my own. Dying to these things we once held so dear is essential to dying "in Christ," I realize. Dying to our ego, to our aspirations, to our preconceived notions of ourselves and this world. Dying to ourselves now, our actual death will truly be a birth. Thank you, Bishop Pike. Thank you, Bill Stringfellow.

“The death to self in Christ was neither doctrinal abstraction nor theological jargon for James Pike. He died in such a way before his death in Judea. He died to authority, celebrity, the opinions of others, publicity, status, dependence upon Mama, indulgences in alcohol and tobacco, family and children, marriage and marriages, promiscuity, scholarly ambition, the lawyer’s profession, political opportunity, Olympian discourses, forensic agility, controversy, denigration, injustice, religion, the need to justify himself. By the time Bishop Pike reached the wilderness in Judea, he had died in Christ. What, then, happened there was not so much a death as a birth.”

The Burial Liturgy for Georgia Patneaude

The Funeral Liturgy for

Georgia Patnaeude

Fredrikson Funeral Home
Halstad, Minneosta

April 12, 2015

+ I will be honest with you tonight.  don’t want to be saying goodbye to Georgia tonight. I—like many of us tonight—just aren’t ready. Yes, I know she had a long life. Yes, I know she was tired. I know it was time for her to go.  But, it’s still hard. And I am going to miss her very much.

I knew Georgia for many years. And I certainly enjoyed greatly those years I knew her.  Every time I would visit her, she would always be so happy to see me. She would brighten right up and let out little yelp of joy when I would I come in to see her.  And I enjoyed that. I have always been very grateful for that.

As I said, I, like everyone here,  will miss Georgia dearly. I will miss her kindness, her gentleness, her laugh, her great sense of humor. I will miss that almost contagious joy that she carried within her.

I know this last year was a hard one for her. I saw her three weeks ago tomorrow, and that day she was having a hard day. But, as we talked that day, I can tell you this:  she was prepared. She knew what awaited her after this life.  And it did not frighten her.

As difficult as it is right now,  the reality is this. We are saying goodbye, yes. But it is only a temporary goodbye. It is a goodbye until we see each other again.

Georgia, I can tell you, had a very deep faith and belief that we would, one day, all see each other again.  She had a deep faith in her God, who was with her and remained with her until the end. She knew that she was loved and sustained by her God.  I can assure you, her faith was strong. She never wavered, throughout all of those last trials and illnesses. She never wavered through any of the hardships of her life.  She never complained. And, I can tell you,  she never once lost her faith.

Every time I visited her and asked her is she wanted Holy Communion, she very anxiously and excitedly said, “Yes!” She was always, to the very end, a good Episcopalian and a faithful follower of Jesus.  

The scripture readings we have today are particularly apt. Our reading from Romans could have been written with Georgia very much in mind: Paul writes, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.”

And a bit later in Romans, we hear an even more incredible statement:

“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, ³⁹nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Nothing—nothing—separates us from that incredible love God has for each of us.  It’s almost too amazing to even imagine. Georgia knew that love and that strong faith. And last Monday morning, that glory which the Apostle Paul spoke about earlier in that reading, that glory was revealed to Georgia.

She believed in that glory. She knew it awaited her. And she knew she was headed toward that glorious destination.

At the end of this service, I will lead us in what is called “The Commendation.”  For many of us, we have heard the words of the Commendation hundreds of times. But if you listen closely tonight to the words of the Commendation, you will find the heart in which Georgia Patneaude’s faith was found. In the Commendation, we will say,

Give rest, O Christ, to your servant with your saints,
where sorrow and pain are no more,
neither sighing, but life everlasting.

And it will end with those very powerful words:

All of us go down
to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.

Those are words in which, even in the face of all that life—and yes, even death—throws at us, as it did to Georgia through her life, we, like her, can hold up our heads even then,  with integrity, bolstered by our faith in God. Even in the face of whatever life may throw at me, we can almost hear her say: I did not let those bad things win out in my life. And she did not.

“…yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.”

Even you, death, will not win out over me, Georgia seems to say. Even in the face of these awful things, I will hold up my head and I will face you, death, with strength. And, because I have faith in my God, you, death, will not defeat me.

And I can tell you, death has not defeated Georgia Patnaeude. All that joy, all that love, all that wonderful life that was contained within that little small frame of a body—all of that is not gone tonight. It is not lost. Tonight, all the good things that Georgia Patnaeude was to us—that woman of life and strength and joy—all of that is not lost.  It is not gone. Death has not swallowed that up.  Rather all of that is alive and dwells now in a place of beauty and Light inaccessible. All of that dwells in a place of peace and joy, where sorrow and pain are no more, neither sighing, but life everlasting.  In a place in which, there never again be any more tears.

Georgia will never cry another tear again. Sadly, we’re not at that point yet in our own lives. We will shed more tears.  Certainly tonight and tomorrow we will shed more tears. But, for us who are left, we know that that place awaits us as well.  That place of light and joy awaits each of us as well.  And we will have the opportunity to dwell there.

Yes, I am brutally honest tonight. I will miss Georgia very, very much.  We will all miss her and will feel her loss for a long time to come. But, on this day in which we bid her this temporary goodbye, let us also be thankful. Let us be thankful for this woman whom God has been gracious to let us know and to love. Let us be thankful for her example to us.  Let us be thankful for all that she has taught us and continues to teach us.  Let us be grateful for the love she felt for us and the love we felt for her. And let us be grateful for all she has given us in our own lives.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Georgia. At your coming may the martyrs receive you, and bring you into the holy city Jerusalem.  Amen.

2 Easter

Low Sunday

April 12, 2015

John 20.19-31

+ I’m going to test you this morning. This is going to be a hard test. I’m going to see if anyone here actually read my book of short stories, The Downstairs Tenant. I wrote a story in it called, “I Could’ve Gone on Forever.” In that story, I talked about an astronaut and an actual famous event about astronaut in the 1960s.  So, who was the astronaut I wrote about? Or—and I’m going to make this easy for you who didn’t read it—who was the cosmonaut? It’s all right if you didn’t read the book or the story.

It was about Yuri Gagarin. And today, April 12, is the 54^th anniversary of Yuri Gagarin’s trip to space, making him the first  human being in space. In 1961, this was a HUGE event.  

Supposedly, the first words attributed to humankind in space came from him and they were not words of awe, or praise. The first words from humans in space were:

“I see no God up here!”

Actually those words are probably apocryphal.

But, let’s face it—he didn’t see God up there. He didn’t see God there or anywhere. You’ve heard me say it again and again.

I have deep and profound respect for atheism. I truly believe that atheism is fairly simple and straightforward. But belief—belief is hard.  And none of us can believe without a certain level of doubt. Doubt is healthy. It’s an important part of true faith.  In fact, it’s one of the healthiest things we can do as believers.

In this morning’s Gospel, we encounter doubt of course in the person of the apostle Thomas.  Doubting Thomas, as we’ve come to know him, doubted that Jesus was resurrected until he had put his very fingers into the wounds of Jesus.  It wasn’t enough that Jesus actually appeared to him in the flesh. Obviously, Jesus wasn’t a ghost or something after all.  He stood there in the flesh—wounds and all.  Only when he had placed his finger in the wounds, would he believe.

It’s a strange and wonderful story.  I always liked this story and what it stands for. I think it’s always interesting to hear this story of Doubting Thomas.  Thomas, I think, is so much like us in many ways.  We sometimes do need little bits of proof to make our faith meaningful.  We sometimes need to touch the wounds of our own faith to actually believe.  We sometimes need to proof just to get us through the difficult phases of our belief.

But, the fact is, we are not St. Thomas.  For the rest of us, we don’t get it so easy.  Our doubts are not as easily done away with. Jesus is probably not going to appear before us—in the flesh.  And we are not going to have the opportunity to touch the wounds of Jesus.

Let’s face it, to believe without seeing, is not easy. It takes work and discipline. A strong relationship with God takes work—just as any other relationship in our life takes work.  It takes discipline.  It takes concentrated effort.  There will be good days and bad days in our relationship with God.

And with that, we cannot get around the fact there will be times of doubt.  We will question.  We will, however briefly, question God’s actions, God’s love for us. Or even that God exists at all.  We might even question the actual existence of God at times. It’s important to question.  Questioning means we’re not robots. And doubting is not a bad thing in and of itself.  Without some doubt, we would, again, be nothing more than unthinking and unquestioning robots.  And that is not faith.

Faith is being able to weigh both the certainties and uncertainties and still make that step forward into the unknown and hope and believe that we will be sustained.  Doing so is not the easiest road to take.  It takes constant work to make that step into the unknown.  Belief doesn’t—and shouldn’t—come easy.  It takes constant discipline to believe in something we can’t see or touch.  It takes constant discipline to believe that there is something out there that we cannot see or feel that will sustain us when we take that step forward.

In a sense, we are sometimes like blind people groping in the dark, trying to understand who and what God is in our lives.  We make our guesses.  We see God as we want to see God.  We often form God into our image when we can’t do anything else. And when we do that, it’s easy to say that God of our own perceptions doesn’t exists because…that God doesn’t exist.

There’s a great quote I once heard:

“The same God many atheists don’t believe is the same God I don’t believe in either.”

That god is often a god of our own perceptions,a  god created in our image. And I do not believe in that god. If that were THE god, then I too would be an atheist.

But it isn’t that easy, sadly. Now, for Thomas, he saw.  He touched. It was all made clear to him.  We however don’t get that chance.  We are often just groping about in the void, trying to make some sense of who this God is that we follow and love and worship.

“Blessed are those who believe but don’t see,” Jesus says this morning in our Gospel reading.

We are those blessed ones.  We are the ones Jesus is speaking of in this morning’s Gospel.  Blessed are we.  We believe, but don’t see.  Yet.

We are the ones who are able to look into the void, into the very depths, and, unable to see God with our eyes, we somehow still have faith.  Seen or unseen, we know God is there.  And our faith is not based on seeing God here.  Because we have faith that one day, yes, we will see God. We have this faith because the one we the follow—Jesus—showed us the way forward.  He stepped out into that void and was held up by God.  He still motions to us to come forward, to step into what we think is a void.  Because Jesus did what he did, we know we too will be held up by God.  And because he died and was resurrected, even though we might doubt it at times, even though it doesn’t make sense to our rational minds, we know—deeply—that this is what awaits us as well.  And, on that glorious day, we will run to God and see God face to face.  And in that moment, our faith will be fulfilled.

Blessed are you who believe but don’t see now.  The Kingdom of Heaven is truly yours.