Orientation: Mid-Week Reflection

EMILY RUTLEDGE, Youth Minister

Today something really scary happened.

We took our daughter to kindergarten orientation.

My daughter: the one that carries my heart around with her and who made me a mama. Kindergarten: the bullet train to her moving out of our house. Orientation: the time babies (seriously, she is a baby!) ride on a bus and meet their future teachers and my husband and I learn about all the amazing things that will be happening that are so far past what we can digest because we went to kindergarten decades ago in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Before getting to orientation we picked my husband up from work and I asked him how his morning had been. His reply: I don’t even know, I haven’t been able to focus on anything because I am too nervous about this.

We are basically super calm parents who are comfortable with change.

We pulled into the school: one excited four year old and two terrified parents… and there was our neighbor. Then one of my daughter’s preschool classmates, then another, and another. We were surrounded by our people. Most of them seasoned at this Kindergarten thing and laughing at our petrified faces and my watery eyes--as only real friends would.

Then, it happened, we were oriented. We were given our ‘relative position’ in this new world. That position: surrounded. Supported.

In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians he writes that God’s “grace is sufficient for you, for (God’s) power is made perfect in weakness.” For me, parenthood is a continual reminder of my own weaknesses. It is the magnifying glass, the mirror, and the projector which reinforces that I cannot and will not approach being even close to perfect. My issues, my failings, and the depths of my heart are all exposed as a mom.

Alone, I am not sure that I would have even made it to a first birthday let alone kindergarten orientation. It is only when I orient myself to the people that surround me that I realize I am held up and knit-in by a community that God’s grace and strength flows through. That is when I find some sure footing.

God's power is not limited to a gathering of believers whose membership belongs to the same organization. It’s not constrained by denomination or even belief. There are people that transmit grace and are beacons of strength that do not believe in a God. They are my children’s emergency contacts and a knowing look across a crowded cafeteria when I’m scared of my baby growing up. They are neighbors who are more than people that share a street name, they have become the extended family we experience life with. They are the continual providers of grace and strength when life seems too hard.

I know some believe that to be oriented as a Christian means keeping our eyes firmly fixed on God by following a moral code and being steadfast believers through life's storms.

I think they are wrong. It’s impossible to live this life fully and not experience times and situations that seem devoid of God. Instead, if we orient ourselves to love and be loved, God will be revealed in more people and ways than we can imagine. When we orient ourselves to connection, to community, to unity we give God the space to encounter us daily and reveal Her nature and love no matter our weakness, how unstable the ground, or how scary the situation.

Building Bridges: Mid-Week Reflection

FR. DAVID STODDART

On April 1st, about a dozen COOS parishioners visited the masjid, the house of worship of the Islamic Society of Central Virginia, for Friday prayers. We were warmly welcomed, and all of us found it to be a great experience. I was particularly moved by the sermon, which spoke about the need to respond to evil with good. The speaker addressed the fear that many members of that community feel and encouraged them not to hide but rather to be involved in the wider community. He urged his listeners not to let their fear dominate them but to let people see what Muslims are really like.

This past Sunday, several Muslims from that same community came to address our Adult Forum. They offered some basic information about Islam and tried to dispel some misconceptions (most of the world’s 1.6 billion Muslims are not Arabs; those who commit terrorism in the name of Islam are a tiny fraction of a fraction). In addition, one of the presenters spoke movingly about the human toll of being the target of hatred and discrimination, even here in Charlottesville. He said that respect for all people, even when they have differences of belief, conveys the true spirit of religion. It was a powerful testimony.

I am convinced that we need to build bridges during this fractured time. I am very grateful to this parish for participating in that, and very thankful to the Islamic Society for being so receptive and welcoming. I hope that we can somehow continue to build on this as we move forward. Certainly Christ would have us reach out in love: his commandment to love others does not include only those we agree with theologically. As he both teaches and demonstrates, we are all children of the same God and are all called to live in loving community with one another. Please join me in praying and working for just that.

[NOTE: The conversation with members from the Islamic Society of Central Virginia continues this Sunday, April 24, at Adult Forum - 10:15am in the Mission. Please come!]

Christmas Tree Onesie: Mid-Week Reflection

EMILY RUTLEDGE, YOUTH MINISTER

Our youth leadership team has a group text message that, I have to admit, I often skim over because it is full of high school student’s commentary on things not pertaining to their leadership and instead focused on which smoothie is best when you have your wisdom teeth taken out and one particular student just giving positive praise to everyone daily. It’s sweet but I’m often changing diapers or sleeping when they are texting. Also—I’m not a teenager. Last night as I was deep in the battle of the toddler bath my phone began to chirp incessantly.

The instigating message was “Proposal: me wearing my Xmas tree onesie to thirst tomorrow so I can celebrate Jesus’s life while we prepare to celebrate his resurrection. All those in favor say aye.”

The slew of responses following were full of ayes and support. Tonight is a night of service in our youth community. It’s not part of our Holy Week liturgy. It doesn’t show up on the website with a service time yet it has become as Holy and Spirit-filled as a Eucharist or Stations of the Cross. Tonight we prepare. We fill bags for Easter morning to give the children after their egg hunt, each lovingly assembled and prayed over. We fold bulletins that the hands of people we know and those we will never meet will touch, read, and experience the resurrection through. We walk through our children’s Good Friday service, working through details to be sure it is not too graphic and not too light but honors the heaviness of the day and the innocence of their hearts. Tonight—we serve our parish because we love the God who died for us.

And these students… they don’t do it out of guilt or with heavy hearts. They don’t approach Holy Week with dread, they approach it with joy and thanksgiving for the resurrected Christ. They can connect the expectation of the long awaited Jesus of Christmas to the joy of His resurrection at Easter. They can wear Christmas PJ’s during Holy Week and totally get the connection. They are not separate seasons created so we can decorate our homes differently as the months change… they are CONNECTED, one, just as God is. To enter into a life in Christ means to live it all simultaneously: birth and death. Christmas PJ’s while stuffing Easter Eggs. Advent and Holy Week. Mary in the stable and Mary at the Cross. We are each always in both of these places in our lives. Straddling the circular nature of God that is birth, death, and life again: watching children grow as we witness others die. Taking something on as we let something else go. Allowing new hope to grow inside of us as we acknowledge the disappointments and failures that are inevitable in life.

This Holy Week may you wear your Christmas PJ’s.

Palm Sunday Sermon

THE REV. DAVID M. STODDART

Where does all the pain go? Seriously. If I misplace my keys I get bent out of shape. Developing tendinitis makes we want to yell in frustration. What does Jesus do with all his pain: abandonment, physical trauma, emotional agony? If anyone ever had reason to rage and scream, it was Jesus. But we don’t get that. He grieves for the women who are watching; he forgives his executioners, he offers Paradise to a criminal dying with him. But no ranting, no acting out. In the most concrete way possible, he practices what he has always preached: Turn the other cheek. Love your enemies. Forgive those who hurt you. Bless those who curse you. Pray for those who abuse you. Whatever else he may do with all that pain, he does not return it and he does not pass it on. It’s as if, in the story of his passion and death, God says in the most dramatic way possible: All the pain, all the violence, all the suffering stops here. Or as Jesus cries out at the end of John’s account, It is finished. Done.

If we had just listened to the saga of some superhero who lived long ago and far away, the story might be inspiring but largely irrelevant. That, however, is not what we just listened to. We eat and drink Jesus every week. We are his Body on earth. His Spirit dwells in us. All of Christian faith comes down to living in Christ and having Christ live in us. This is not someone else’s story: his path to death is precisely our path to life. And so let me reframe the question: not what does Jesus do with all his pain, but what do we do with all our pain? From the trivial to the horrific, our suffering must go somewhere. It doesn’t just disappear. That is a basic law of human nature. As Richard Rohr puts it so succinctly, “If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it.”

This world is filled with people who transmit their pain to others. Whether lashing out at their family at the end of a hard day or blowing up dozens of people in a crowded market, whether by sending a snarky email or calling for the torture of our enemies and the carpet bombing of their cities, pain has a way of escalating: “I’m hurt so I’m going to make you hurt!” And before we know it, often without even thinking about it, in ways large and small, we are adding to the sum total of misery in our world.

But there is a way out of that horrible cycle, and we just heard it. Jesus embodies it. He does not retaliate and he does not hate back. He refuses to pour more fuel on the fire of human anguish and rage. Somehow, some way, Jesus directs all that suffering to the one and only place it can productively go: into the infinite abyss of God’s love and healing power. But the Good News in all of this, almost impossible to comprehend, is that Christ does not only do this before us: he can and he will do it in us.

I wish I could now give you a simple formula for this, a clear step-by-step guide to having God transform your pain. But I can’t. The Apostle Paul says that we must work out our salvation with fear and trembling, meaning there is no way to do this but by actually doing it and learning from hard experience. And I am acutely aware of how often I have failed in this regard. But I have experienced enough of it, and I have witnessed enough of it in others, to know that letting God take and heal our pain is absolutely critical to our well-being and the well-being of the world: there is no abundant life, there is no salvation, without it. And what it requires is absolute, unflinching honesty, a willingness to name our pain, whatever it may be—anger, grief, jealousy, fear, whatever—and consciously, deliberately bring it to God. So easy to say, so hard to do, so hard to be that vulnerable (from the Latin vulnus, “wound”), so hard to be that wounded. But when we practice it, Christ meets us in that place of pain and does what we cannot do on our own (there’s a reason we call him Savior): takes it, takes all that negative and destructive energy, and changes it into something else.

That “something else” has taken different forms in my own experience. Sometimes it has been an ego-shattering realization of how much I need, how much I utterly depend, upon God’s grace. Sometimes it leads to greater compassion, a deeper empathy, for the suffering of others. Often it feels like what God gives me is simply the ability to put one foot in front of the other, to walk in hope even in the midst of pain, and to do it without wanting to inflict my pain on others. But when we are faithful, when we do bring our suffering to God and invite God into our suffering, there is always Christ: loving us; walking with us, if need be carrying us, and always, always shining through us, even when we don’t know it or feel it.

Which is the point, isn’t it? Jesus tells us that we are to be light for the world. We are called to offer the world a better way, to actually demonstrate what transformed living looks like: compassionate, not hateful; restorative, not destructive. The church should be filled with people who are learning to let God take even our worst suffering and bring something beautiful and life-giving out of it. When Jesus tells us to take up our cross and follow him, this is what he means. When we do it, we become changed people, beacons of hope in a dark world. And when we don’t, we are just adults playing church.

Of course it is not easy. If there were a better alternative, we would not be here today. If there were any other way for love to conquer suffering, then we wouldn’t need to read the Passion, wouldn’t need to go through Holy Week. Jesus reveals as much in Gethsemane when he prays, “Abba, if there is any other way, let this cup pass from me.” But the answer, then and now, is abundantly clear. The way of the cross, the way of letting God take and transform our pain, is not a saintly way or a pious way or even an excellent way. It is the only way. And, for God’s sake, let it be our way.

Children's Lit Theology: Mid-Week Reflection

EMILY RUTLEDGE, YOUTH MINISTER

For an English major I must admit that the majority of my reading for the past four years has included a plethora of online blogs and the entire collection of Dr. Seuss. While the vocabulary is much more palatable that middle-English Chaucer the lessons on life are just as meaningful and poignant. My poor children and husband often have to sit with me as I tearily read through another one of Seuss’ books that teach a lesson I should already know or that I desperately want my children to learn without the pain of the life-experience that goes with it.

For a long time I wanted to emulate the faith and Christianity of those I admired. I wanted to be able to text a perfectly applicable bible verse to a friend who shared with me a person struggle. I was desperate to be able to argue my case on heated religious topics with accurate historical support that I could summon from my brain without needing to go back to books I had scribbled in and stuck post-it notes all over (funny how when in those conversations asking someone to wait so you can collect your thoughts and get your information together doesn’t really work).

I love and admire people who can do those things, it has brought joy to my life and helped me feel solidified on the Holy ground I walk on.

I am not those people.

I have found that when someone tells me something hard I can hug them really well, listen hard, and with the right person, find the perfect picture from the internet that is witty and a bit crass but describes their situation perfectly to text them. I can’t spout out religious history or argue well my case when it comes to controversial topics regarding hot button issues but I can point to the cross and duck.

I can give the simple answer, God is love. If it’s not about love… it’s not about God.

This whole faith thing, following Christ, aligning our living with the living of Jesus, it’s complicated. If you are like me you get in your head about it and start to look around and wonder if everyone else is a New York Times Christian and you are just sitting there reading Dr. Seuss and learning the basics. I’ve come to accept something: I’m okay being a One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish Believer. I’m okay with the fact that I find Christ in Children’s books and send ridiculous memes as pastoral care. I’m okay because I’m me. God knit me together to love Her, understand Her, and discover Her in a way that feels right to me.

There is no right way to do this Christian thing. There is only your way.

The questions are complicated and the answers are simple. They are inside of you to discover in a way that is true and real and meaningful for you. The Holy dwells in you, its form in each of us is different and miraculous and life-giving. We must stop looking around to find out how it compares and instead honor it and share it with the world that is in desperate need of that unique life-giving love.

The Devine Physician: Mid-Week Reflection

THE REV. DAVID STODDART

This week, many of our parishioners are undergoing diagnostic procedures: lab tests, MRIs, PET scans, biopsies, you name it. Most of these protocols are not fun; all of them entail waiting and anxiety. And even as I hold these people in prayer, I cannot help but remember on this Ash Wednesday that we are—all of us—subject to a rigorous spiritual assessment as well.

When I write that, I am not referring primarily to moral failings. We certainly have plenty of those, but so often they are merely presenting symptoms of a deeper malaise. Indeed, the word that leaps to my mind as we enter this penitential season is not “guilt” or “shame.” What I think of is “brokenness,” and what our Lenten liturgies call us to is a thorough and unflinching diagnosis. We have thoughts, habits, attitudes, and ways of being in the world that harm us and hurt others. Can we honestly name them? Are we willing to expose them to God’s healing light?

When I think of myself and ponder my personal confession, I try to admit the things that stop me from loving God and others as much as I would like. It’s not a pretty list: it includes selfishness, comparing myself unfavorably with others, stress that I don’t handle well, an innate perfectionism I afflict on myself and those around me, and a besetting fear of failure. I know these things inhibit the free flow of grace in my life as surely as clogged arteries block the flow of blood to the heart. And I know that, while your list may be different than mine, you do have one. All of us are broken in various ways: that’s what it means to say that we’re sinners.

But Jesus, our divine physician, does not seek to condemn any of us. If he puts us through a painful diagnosis, it is only so that we can undergo healing and renewal. The more we own and accept our spiritual ailments, the more room we give the Holy Spirit to move within us and make us whole. In fact, if I were to suggest a Lenten discipline, it would be simple: spend time looking with God at the most broken parts of your life. And I mean just that: look with God. Don’t judge. Don’t excuse. Don’t condemn. Just keep breathing and look at all of it in the unquenchable light of God’s love. She’s waiting to pour mercy on us; she’s longing to mend us. We cannot control or predict how God will do that, but I’ve experienced it enough to know that it’s true and to make me want more. And as Jesus, Ash Wednesday, and the medical travails of my parishioners all remind me, every successful cure begins with an accurate diagnosis.

Jesus' YES: Mid-Week Reflection

EMILY RUTLEDGE, YOUTH MINISTER

We are entering one of my most dreaded times: college acceptance season. Each time my phone goes off and I see a high school senior’s name my stomach clenches and I am afraid to read what the message says. The excitement and heartbreak that comes with the YES or NO from a university is life altering. Within seconds dreams and imagined futures begin to come to fruition or quickly change. The worst part is; it’s arbitrary. I’m not saying that in a universities-don’t-know-what-they-are-doing way but in the reality that qualified and worthy students are being turned away from schools. It is not because students’ grades are not sufficient or their SAT scores are too low. It’s not their lack of extracurriculars or a horrible recommendation. A friend of mine who works in college admissions has told me how wide and deep the applicant pool is to draw from and that sometimes it is just luck.

In our culture of smarter, brighter, and better we are achieving at such high rates that the cream at the top is thick. Superb students are rejected from schools and as I comfort them I can’t help but think ‘who in the world did they pick over this kid?’ I am completely sure that I would not be accepted at my alma mater if I applied today. Praise God for the timing of my birth.

With the competition steep students are overscheduled and overworked and parents often wonder if it is worth the fight to get their kids to church. Their child is working their tail off at school and sports and with every other extra to help them rise up in this pool of super-achievers: does it really matter if they come to worship once a week (because, let’s be honest, that's definitly not getting you into college)?

Shouldn’t you let them sleep in if they want to? You can’t MAKE a child believe in God, you took them to church when they were little, you'll let them find their path just like you did. They say they don’t get much out of it. They don’t really like the other kids. It’s always a fight. You just don’t have the energy for it.

I have heard it all and it’s all true; it’s hard… and teenagers are hard, and tired, and it appears like they are getting nothing out of church sometimes.

Then there is this moment: There is an arbitrary decision by a university. A cut made by a coach. A social blow-up that excommunicates them from a group. A breakup with their first love. There is a devastating rejection. There is a glaring NO.

And then there is Jesus. Whose only answer is always, without a doubt, YES.

“Do not be afraid. For I have bought you and made you free. I have called you by name. You are mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers, they will not flow over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.” Isaiah 43:1-2

And that gift of YES is why we push for church. Why the fight matters. When you think they aren’t paying attention… they are. You know how smart they are, look at all the do! The yes comes from worship, from the surrounding community, from the Eucharist, from the liturgy. From the knowledge that no matter what; Jesus is the same and you are already accepted into the community of Christ.

The need for Jesus’ YES is universal and timeless. It’s as important at 16 as it is at 60.

Jesus’ YES is so much louder and sweeter than any NO we will ever hear.