Jesus spent most of his ministry around the shores of Israel’s largest freshwater lake, the Sea of Galilee, now peppered with ancient synagogues and Christian pilgrimage sites. Known as Kinneret in Hebrew (also called Lake Tiberias, and the Sea of Chinnereth or the Lake of Gennesaret in the Old Testament), it is 13 miles long, 8 miles wide, and about 720 feet below sea level. Today it reminds me of a beach destination, with families coming to swim or boat, with schools of young people learning how to wind surf.
But surrounding the Sea of Galilee are places where Jesus taught and healed. Jesus most likely came here after his time in the desert (following his baptism in the Jordan River). Galilee is a region of Israel/Palestine north of Judea, separated by Samaria and south of Lebanon. Herod Antipas, (21 BCE—39 CE), son of Herod I the Great (read about the Herodium) became tetrarch of Galilee and ruled throughout Jesus of Nazareth’s ministry. Jesus is reported as having referred to him with contempt as “that fox” (Luke 13:32).
From Monday, June 9th through Sunday, June 23rd my husband and I joined a group of pilgrims from the Episcopal Church in Connecticut to visit our Holy Land for the first time. I use the word “our” because it is a land that belongs to all of God’s people. While I have been home (a bit jet-lagged) for four days now, I am still coming to grips in my mind what I experienced and what I am going to do about it.
My expectations were simple: I wanted to walk in the places where Jesus and other people from scripture had been. I wanted this to be something other than a vacation to another part of the world, especially since we’ve travelled so much abroad in recent years. My expectations were rewarded, but they were also challenged, enlightened, troubled, comforted, and so much more. I went as an American Christian from the Episcopal tradition who happens to be from Connecticut and is a Christian educator. I returned the same, but different; more cognizant of the rights I have as an American citizen and a person who can freely worship (as well as travel) anywhere I choose. Not so for most of the people who call Israel/Palestine home. Jerusalem could be called the “center of the universe” for many faith traditions. Whose land is it? It’s complicated.
Another initiative that was launched at the 79th General Convention was a “call” from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry for The Episcopal Church to follow “The Way of Love: Practices for a Jesus-Centered Life.” Since that day of its launch, social media has been abuzz with people asking about resources and how to engage with this rule of life. I was blessed to be on the early track of this launch, having been invited by Stephanie Spellers, Canon to the Presiding Bishop for Evangelism, Reconciliation and Creation (the pillars of The Jesus Movement) to join a group of Christian formation leaders in the Episcopal Church to flesh out how this might become a reality and a formation tool for growing disciples. As those of you who are Christian formation folk, you know that when you are given a challenge under a deadline and put in a room of like-minded folks amazing things can happen. With various individuals adding input and encouragement from across the Church, The Way of Love was launched. Continue reading “The Way of Love” for Families→
This past Wednesday evening, I, like many of you, was in front of the television for the seventh game of the World Series. Besides being a stressful, nail biter of a game, what remains with me was what happened before the game even started. The Cleveland Orchestra’s String Section performed the national anthem with the crowd singing in unison. One voice comprised of thousands. It made me feel how baseball unites, bringing opposing teams together for the good of the sport. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that sense of pride in humanity.
Not much has been uniting in America these past weeks and months. The vitriol, fact-checking for truth or lies, fear mongering, and incivility of this election season has led to a significant amount of stress in over half of the adults in this country. I know I feel it. I want Tuesday to be over with; but I’m afraid that no matter what, Wednesday will not be any better.
I will be working the polls on Tuesday in Norwalk and this past week attended training as required by the State of Connecticut. We were told that security will be stepped up more than ever; the 75-foot rule will be monitored closely; intimidation can be expected. And we can expect to have lines from 6AM to beyond 8PM. We were told to prepare for lack of civility and a very long day. I don’t remember hearing these messages in over forty years of exercising my right to vote.
14th Sunday after Pentecost: August 21, 2016
Luke 13:10-17 Psalm 71:1-6
In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge;
let me never be ashamed.
In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free;
incline your ear to me and save me.
“Ryan Lochte locks down spot in Olympic hall of shame.” So headlines an article in the Houston Chronicle in a report from Rio. The first lines stated, “Congratulations to Ryan Lochte for winning the final race of his Olympic career: the race for most embarrassing athlete.” The U.S. has had plenty of embarrassing athletes before: Tonya Harding and her goon squad in 1994; the American hockey players who trashed their village room in 1998. But Lochte and his three swimming buddies managed to not only embarrass our country, they humiliated the host country in the process, not to mention themselves.
As a noun, shame is a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior. As a verb, we think of its use as when we humiliate, mortify, embarrass, chasten, or “cut down to size” another person.
An early memory of feeling shame for me comes from my grandmother when I was a child – about 8 years, I guess. I don’t quite recall the full incident, but I must have been talking back to my mother in a very hurtful, hateful way in the presence of my grandmother. Later when she was alone with me she told me how disappointed she was with me and how horrible it was for me to speak to my mother in that way. She was visibly upset with what I had said. I don’t recall what I did next, but that feeling of shame and sorrow remain with me as a visual and visceral memory. I had been called out for something I had done, by someone I had loved. It was shame given with love, meant to make me notice that my actions had broken – or at least splintered – an important relationship. Continue reading The Cones of Shame→