Spring Training (414)

On March 22, 2019, in Baseball, faith, hope, by Diocesan Staff

Spring Training is nearly over and the start of another baseball season is almost here. For all right-thinking people, namely, devout fans of the Cincinnati Reds, this time of the year is full of promise and hope, but also fear and dread that we’ll be afflicted with another 90-loss season. But it’s still March, when every team is undefeated and every fan can dream of what might be. There’s a reason baseball begins in the spring and ends in the fall. Like in nature, baseball runs the cycle from new life to certain death. Every new leaf on a tree in the spring will be one that’s raked up dead in the fall and placed in a yard-waste sarcophagus destined for mulch, which will aid in the new life and growth of other living things. Baseball reminds us of this cycle. It helps us see things clearly while also “hoping against hope” (Romans 4:18) that this year will, as legendary sportscaster Marty Brenneman would say, “belongs to the Reds!”

The brain trust of Major League Baseball, however, has decided to make changes in the game, unwittingly acknowledging that they don’t really appreciate baseball’s true metaphysical significance to the world. Commissioner Rob Manfred wants to speed up the pace of play. He points out that the average nine-inning game last year lasted three hours, which was 14 minutes longer than a decade ago. We modern folk, apparently, can’t enjoy being out in a “park” for three hours anymore. We demand our food fast and our entertainment faster. So, to combat this, Major League Baseball has instituted rule changes that limits the number of times a catcher or coach can visit the pitcher’s mound during a game (from six times to five time). They will also reduce the time between innings from 2:05 minutes to 2:00 minutes. That change alone will shave off 45 seconds from the length of the game. Progress! Other changes to speed up the game are coming in the future, like a “pitch clock” (sort of like the “shot clock” in basketball), which will require the pitcher to deliver his pitch under a certain time or have the umpire penalize the team with a called “ball.”

I get it. I understand the pressures the game is under in a culture that more and more has its attention challenged and is impatient for the next stimuli. But for me baseball has always been counter-cultural to these impulses. Part of the draw of a baseball game is to smell the hotdogs and stale beer and to hear and feel the crunch of discarded peanut shells under your feet as you make your way to your seat. It’s watching the other people who have come to game, particularly the more entertaining ones, and wonder what life is like for them. It’s loudly questioning the eyesight of the umpire when he makes a call against your team (but never questioning his parentage). But most of all, it’s watching amazingly skilled players do remarkable things, all with a break for relaxation and conversation with your friends between innings.

If we allow it, baseball will help us slow down and enjoy our time with friends and family. It’s one of the few sports that has no clock where the whole purpose of the game, with all props to George Carlin, is to come “home.” And for Cincinnati Reds fans like me, it has the highest of Christian aspirations (“the last shall be first and the first shall be last” – Matthew 20:16). Play ball!

 
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Bishop’s Address at 194th Convention of the Diocese of Georgia November 2015

On November 13, 2015, in Body of Christ, Community, Convention, Diocese of Georgia, discipleship, Evangelistic Witness, faith, gospel, grace, Laity, leadership, mission, by bishopbenhase

The field of moral psychology endeavors to understand why people make moral choices and the rationale they use to justify their choices. One of moral psychology’s recurring findings is that we have a higher opinion of ourselves than we ought to have. Of course, St. Paul arrived at the same conclusion about human nature nearly 2000 years ago when he wrote that very same message to the Church in Rome (Romans 12:3).

Experiments and surveys have repeatedly shown that we believe we possess attributes that are better or more desirable than the average person. For example, we believe by a wide majority that we’re above average drivers. The same is true when we’re asked about a virtue such as honesty. A high percentage of us report that we’re more honest than the average person. Even folk in jail for theft report such superior honesty. High school students consistently judge themselves to be more popular than average. And nearly every state claims that their average student test scores are above the national average. Of course, since we know something about statistics, we know that such judgments about ourselves cannot be true.

Moral psychologists have termed this phenomenon The Lake Wobegon Effect. It’s named for the fictional town of Lake Wobegon from the radio program A Prairie Home Companion, where, according to host Garrison Keillor: “All the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.”

What these moral psychologists are documenting is as old as humanity. Our tradition names it as sin born from the cardinal sin of pride. Our creation story reminds us that Adam & Eve were quite clear that their judgment about a particular fruit in the Garden of Eden was superior to God’s judgment.

This truth about ourselves needs to be front and center when we spread the Good News of Jesus Christ. Yes, when sharing our faith with those who aren’t Christians we do need to have a “I-know-something-you-don’t-know” quality to it, because we do “know something they don’t know” when it comes to God’s grace in Jesus. But it’s how we share our faith with others that matters. It should be humble. We’re not morally superior to those outside the Christian faith. We may not even be morally above average.

So, from this humble stance, what is it we are to share?

I want to propose three Bible verses that will help remind us of how we should spread the Good News of Jesus.

The first verse is Isaiah 55:1: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and drink!

Notice how the Prophet Isaiah pronounces God’s word here. Everyone who thirsts is invited. All should come and drink and eat without money or price. God’s invitation to humanity is complete and without condition. Isaiah’s prophecy is a bold declaration of God’s intention, made perfect in Jesus’ words in John’s Gospel, that Jesus when he is lifted up on the cross will draw all people to himself.

That means Jesus is doing the drawing. Our congregations then must be places where we’re trained for our role, not Jesus’ role. It may be a conversation you have in the living room at Columba House. It may be you comforting an exhausted Scout Leader after his troop meets one night at your church. It may be you listening to a co-worker over coffee about her current troubles. Whenever and wherever, we need to say to everyone in our communities: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come!”

The second verse is Isaiah 25:9: “Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.”

Spreading the Good News involves us waiting for God to act. Our salvation, indeed the world’s salvation, isn’t our own doing. But our waiting should never be passive. It must be an active waiting, all the while recognizing that salvation is God’s action and God’s property, not ours.

If we remember that, then we’ll maintain a humble stance with those outside of our faith. Even though the Gospel is God’s bold declaration to the world, we should be compassionate and tender in how we share it, because we know many people have only received a false, toxic version of the Gospel.

Waiting for God to save is actually liberating. We’re free from playing the age-old game of who’s in and who’s out. We can collaborate with anyone, regardless of their faith, if they’re willing to do Gospel work with us in our communities.

If someone wants to partner with the Food for a Thousand Ministry at St Patrick’s, Albany or the community garden at the Oak Street Mission in Thomasville, we won’t worry if they don’t share our faith. We’ll feed hungry people with anyone. The Community Cares Café in Darien serves children whether or not they or their parents believe as we do. After all, we’re not on God’s “Program Committee.” We’re on God’s “Welcoming Committee.”

“Lo, it is God who saves us.” And we’ll share that Good News with anyone.

And the third and final verse is Matthew 28:19: “Go, make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

It’s not a liturgical accident that each Sunday our deacons send us out with this short, powerful verb: “Go!” “Go” doesn’t mean, “stay.” “Go” doesn’t mean hang out inside the church walls until somebody shows up. And “Go” doesn’t mean being so hamstrung by political correctness that we refrain from sharing with others God’s forgiveness in Jesus. “Go” means, “Go!”  

Go into the communities of this diocese with a “humble boldness.” Go share good news with the poor. Go tell the spiritually blind that God wants to give them sight. Go speak to the spiritually thirsty and let them know how you’ve learned that Jesus is the Water of Life.

Go to everyone. Go to the NSA, the NRA, the NAACP, the Rotarians, the Elks Club, the Booster Club, the Garden Club, the Optimist’s Club, the Pessimist’s Club, just Go! Wherever God has placed you, Go!

When we actually do go, God does some amazing things.

  • The community youth group in McIntosh County decided to go and this last year we baptized five young people.
  • The Cornerstone Ministry in Augusta chose to go and now regularly has 35 or more youth participate. And some of those aren’t members of our churches. They’re being evangelized by our youth.
  • In the summer when we go to Lake Blackshear with the Good News, people respond. Because the people of Christ Church Cordele decided to go, their worship attendance has doubled in the last few years.

What might God do in our communities if we all decided to “go?” Because when we “go,” we discover God’s already there. When we go to the ends of the earth or just to the end of our block, we find Jesus already pitching his tent there.

My friends, I firmly believe that the future vitality of this Diocese is directly related to our collective willingness to “go.” Our vitality will only grow in direct proportion to the number of us who are willing to “go.” And, this going can’t be a clergy-centered movement. A few laity still think that since we pay many of our clergy to go, they themselves don’t have to go. But that’s not true. The clergy’s primary task is to equip the laity to be the ministers of the Gospel. As the great lay teacher & preacher Verna Dozier wrote: The layperson’s primary function is out there in the world.  And the wise Archbishop of Canterbury, William Temple, wrote: Nine-tenths of the Church’s work in the world is done by Christian people fulfilling responsibilities and performing tasks which in themselves are not part of the official system of the Church at all.

That means when we “go,” we don’t go to church, we “go” to the people and places of our lives taking the Good News of Jesus with us. And if the Good News of Jesus saves us, it will save anybody and everybody.

I know I’ve gone a bit long here, but please stay with me for a few more minutes. I want to end on a personal note. Some of you know that I was diagnosed with cancer two months ago. I’m happy to report to you that I’m cancer free today. And I’m most thankful for all of your prayers. I felt each one of them.

The Diocesan Staff has been amazing, as usual, dealing with their already full responsibilities while also picking up after me, which is nearly an impossible task.

I also couldn’t do even one small thing as the Bishop of Georgia if it weren’t for Kelly, who puts up with me even as I am and loves me anyway, far beyond what I deserve.

There were upsides to my getting cancer. It’s been a great excuse for getting out of stuff. When someone asked me to do something I didn’t want to do, all I had to do was say: “You know, I’d love to, but I have cancer.” That worked every time.

The other upside is that it’s sharpened my mind and soul. It’s helped me see how often I’ve taken for granted the truly wonderful people and blessings that surround me.

And cancer has helped me get clear about what I want my life to stand for and how I want to spend the rest of my days on this earth, however long that is.

So, to quote that wonderful hymn by the Reverend James Cleveland:

Right now, I don’t feel no ways tired!

I’m ready to “go!” And I hope you’re ready to “go,” too.

“Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters”

“Lo, this is our God who has saved us.”

“Go, make disciples”

Deacons, please stand now wherever you are.  Please help me dismiss all of us from this overly long address with one powerful verb. It begins with a G and it ends with an O. On the count of three: One, two, three – Go!

 
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Blessed Knuckleheads Resting in the Shade of God’s Grace (eCrozier #267)

On June 12, 2015, in faith, God’s Kingdom, grace, Parable, by bishopbenhase

A woman and a man were walking down a busy, noisy city sidewalk when the woman suddenly stopped and said: “Did you hear that songbird singing?” The man said: “Are you crazy, who could hear a songbird singing with the sound of jackhammers, car horns, and people yelling all around us?” She looked around at the people walking passed them and nobody seemed to notice. She replied: “But I heard it clearly.” Then she reached in her purse, took out a handful of coins and dropped them on the pavement. Immediately, the passersby all stopped, got on their knees, and began picking up the coins. The woman turned to the man and said: “We hear what we learn to hear.”

And that brings us to the parables we have as this Sunday’s Gospel lesson from Mark 4. I’ve heard numerous sermons on these two parables over the years. I’ve read many commentaries about what they mean. I have to conclude that most get it wrong. I did, too, for the longest time. After all, “we hear what we learn to hear.” Since most of us we’re raised in an American culture that worships the almighty self, we learn to hear things through that filter. When hearing something new, we filter it through our cultural shaping, which is individualistic and self-oriented. We can’t hear the proverbial songbird singing, because all we hear is the sound of coins clinking on the pavement.

So, when we read the Parable of the Growing Seed or the Parable of the Mustard Seed, we tend to place ourselves at the center of both parables. In the Growing Seed, it’s the seed of faith growing in us, which eventually grows into a full grain at the harvest (our resurrection). In the Mustard Seed, it’s smallest of all seeds growing in us, but even though it’s small, eventually it becomes a substantial tree by the time we’re resurrected. Notice how the self is at the center of both parables. The problem is: That’s not what Jesus says. Inconvenient that. Read both and you’ll hopefully hear what he’s saying.

Jesus says the seed is God’s Kingdom growing and not the seed of faith in us. In both parables, humanity isn’t in control. Yes, in the Growing Seed the sower scatters, but then she takes a nap, heads to the gym, does her business’ books, and then picks up the kids at carpool. All the while God’s Kingdom is growing, but she “knows not how” (4:27). And in the Mustard Seed, God’s Kingdom is this seed, which defies appearances and grows beyond expectations. We had no role in it becoming the “greatest of all shrubs.” We’re merely the blessed knuckleheads that get to nap in its shade (4:32).

But our culture has taught us that we should have a more prominent role. Don’t we have to toil, sweat, and from our cleverness and productivity produce the harvest of the Kingdom? It must depend on us because it’s all about us, isn’t it? Sure, go ahead and believe that. Yet, that’s not what Jesus says of the Kingdom, whose harvest comes about by God’s grace and not our mistaken merit, no matter how clever or productive we are. Our role is simply one of “praise and thanksgiving” as the Eucharist tells us. We’re the blessed knuckleheads that get invited into the shade of God’s restful grace. And there are lots of other knuckleheads out there who’d be amazed to learn that there’s a God who’d bring about such grace. Let’s show them what that looks like.

+Scott

 
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A Faithful Response to the Changing Culture (eCrozier #261)

On May 1, 2015, in Anxiety, Change, culture, faith, fear, gospel, grace, by bishopbenhase

As we live through the rapid change of our contemporary culture, some are fearful that Christianity is losing its traditional, privileged place. Demographers tell us that the fastest growing cohort is the so-called “nones,” those with no religious affiliation or particular religious practice. Those who are fearful about this development warn that the lost, privileged place of the Church’s faith will inevitably lead to a growing hostility toward Christianity. Every fear has at least a kernel of truth to it, so there’s reason for us to pay attention. But I don’t think fear about the changing nature of the culture is a faithful response, even as we pay attention to it. Fear is never faithful. All culture is highly elastic and, at least partly, cyclical. Historians look back and find times when particular social, religious, political, and economic conditions in one era were similar to those in another. That’s true of Church history as it overlaps with the larger cultural history. In every age then, the Church faces new as well as familiar challenges for how she will be faithful to the Gospel of Jesus.

I believe we’re in a similar time as to what the Church experienced in the 4th Century. Christianity then had a foothold in the culture, but it was by no means the dominant religion. The Roman Empire had grown vast, outgrowing its own power to govern and control that vastness. In the other words, the Pax Romana wasn’t what it had been. This resulted in great social anxiety as groups sought to blame other groups for why Rome wasn’t what it used to be. Some blamed the Christians. Others blamed the laxness of the traditional Pagan practices. What was evident was this: No one group was dominant or privileged in its ability to guide the culture. This was also the time of the great Church Councils of Nicea and Chalcedon. At these Councils, the Church struggled to define her own faith, identity, and practice. But even amidst the great debate within the Church, we continued to witness to the grace, compassion, and mercy of God. In the middle of the 4th century the Roman emperor Julian (later he had the moniker “the Apostate” attached to his name, which, let’s just say, wasn’t a term he chose) wrote a sarcastic complaint about the Christians he observed: “These impious Galileans not only feed their own poor, but ours also. While our pagan priests neglect the poor, these hated Galileans devote themselves to works of charity.” 

The Church today is struggling, as we always have, to live out our faith, identity, and practice. As was true 17 centuries ago, today we’re not all of one mind on various issues. But that has never stopped the Church from its essential witness to the world’s redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ. We’ll need to continue to find ever more creative and effective ways of sharing and dispensing God’s grace to this beautiful, yet broken world, especially as it becomes more disinterested in or indifferent to the Gospel. So, I believe the truth claims we make about Jesus will never win the day if they’re limited to a “we’re right and your wrong” contest. I think the Emperor Julian (the Apostate) unwittingly showed us the most effective way: A steadfast commitment to sharing God’s unmerited grace with others, particularly to those who are lonely, lost, or left out in our culture, through specific acts that make tangible God’s grace in their lives. The old camp song has it so right: “They will know we are Christians by our love.”

+Scott

 
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Lent, the Lone Ranger, & Tonto (eCrozier #251)

On February 20, 2015, in faith, Lent, sin, by bishopbenhase

Growing up I enjoyed watching Looney Tunes, cartoons that had many levels of interpretation. One of the recurring bits the cartoons used was this: a protagonist is faced with a dilemma and he doesn’t know what’s the right thing to do. As he struggles with his choice, a little angel pops up on one shoulder and a little devil pops up on the other. They both try to persuade him. “Do it,” one urges. “Don’t do it,” the other replies. It goes back and forth until the poor protagonist’s head begins to spin rapidly 360 degrees. I also remember Flip Wilson’s TV show where he played a recurring character named Geraldine. Whenever Geraldine did something naughty she’d shout: “the devil made me do it.” It was never Geraldine’s fault. She never had to take responsibility for her own actions. She was always free from guilt. After all, the devil made her do it.

Both of these elements of pop culture give us a distorted view because both treat our agency like we’re toddlers who are incapable of taking responsibility for the choices we make. It’s the evil out there somewhere that’s the real problem. In this view, left to our own devices, we’d always choose the good. With such a presumption, we can absolve ourselves all the while perceiving a world where some people are evil and some are good; and where we group ourselves in with the latter. In such a worldview, there’s no room for self-examination and repentance because evil exists apart from us. But our Christian teaching on sin tells us that’s not right. The capacity to sin and to choose evil is inside each of us. There’s some part of us that is “fallen” like Adam and Eve; that rebels against living under God’s gracious rule. As we seek to follow Jesus, we know full well that we’re still active participants in a rebellion to God’s gracious rule.

We begin Lent this week hearing of Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness. We can misinterpret this story seeing Jesus inhabiting the role of a Spiritual Lone Ranger battling against temptation. But that’s not what the story says. The Gospel tells us “angels waited on him.” He didn’t go it alone. Occasionally, I’ve gone it alone in the wilderness, even thinking that the wilderness is a safe and attractive place to be alone. But I’m a fool to think that. The Biblical meaning of wilderness isn’t some desert oasis like Palm Springs. No, the Gospel word for wilderness means “a place of terror, a place that destroys.” So, I’m a fool to try it alone. Alone, as a sinner, I’ll consciously or subconsciously opt for death for the wilderness is quite a harsh place.

This is why the Season of Lent is a gift to each of us. Lent helps us recognize the truth about ourselves. Lent helps us name the wilderness in which we live. And in that wilderness, we know that we will struggle to be faithful to God’s call. Yet, the cross that’s placed on our foreheads at our baptisms reminds us of Jesus on whose grace we can always rely. Also at our baptisms, angels surrounded us. Some we could see and some we couldn’t see. And angels still surround us. Many of them are our fellow disciples who are on life’s pilgrimage with us. Count on them and let them count on you.

So, don’t go it alone. Sin is too powerful inside of us. Even The Lone Ranger had Tonto. Who will be your Tonto this Lent?

+Scott

 
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When a Goat becomes a Sheep: Staying Off the Throne of Judgment (eCrozier #241)

On November 21, 2014, in Christ the King, Community, faith, grace, love, by bishopbenhase

Our Gospel for this Sunday’s Feast of Christ the King is the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats. The parable presents us with a compelling vision of God’s final judgment on the creation. Jesus tells us there’ll be sheep and there’ll be goats. And that presents us with the challenge for how we’ll live with this truth in our lives until God’s final judgment. It’s tempting, of course, to get into the judgment business now by deciding on God’s behalf who the sheep are and who the goats are. The problem is that sheep and goats aren’t always easy to name clearly and without a doubt. Sometimes they are. We can all come up with examples of sheep-like or goat-like behavior in the extreme. But it’s those areas in between where we have difficulty clearly sorting them out.

Years ago I met a real goat, or so I thought. Most people looking at this man’s life would have quickly surmised he was just no good. He was in prison for multiple aggravated assaults and for selling illegal drugs. No one would’ve mistaken him for being in the Good Shepherd’s flock. In the great judgment, he’d be a sure bet to be with the goats. Yet, some of us believed in God’s power of redemption. We gathered at the prison where I baptized him in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. After he was released from prison, I lost track of him. Many years later, I ran into him. To be honest, I was a bit anxious. But my anxiety quickly went away. He smiled, hugged me, and told me his life had changed. He was now a deacon in his Church, married, and working full time as an addiction recovery specialist. Was he a goat who became a sheep? Or, was he a sheep all along and no one saw that but God? Do you see how difficult it is when we get into the judgment business? It can lead us to behaviors that should rightly make us pause. It’s clear to me that our moral confusion around, for example, the torture of terrorism suspects comes from our readiness to judge all such suspects as goats before God.

A check on this temptation to be in the judgment business is found embedded in this parable. One of the least noticed aspects of the parable is also one of its most impor­tant. In the final judgment the sheep don’t even know they are sheep. When Jesus places them at his right hand and ushers them into eternal life, they are clueless as to why. They ask, “Lord, when did we do all these compassionate things to you?” Jesus responds to them, “When you did it to the least of these, then you did it to me.” That alone should make us think again when we’re tempted to place ourselves on the throne of judgment.

This parable then is about God’s faithfulness and love. Like with the parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard, it’s not the hard work of the la­borers that’s rewarded. Rather, it’s the faithfulness of the landowner who keeps his promise to all the labor­ers. Or, in the parable of the Prodigal Son, it isn’t the spiritual insight of the son that’s crucial. He just wanted to get out of the pig slop and back to life on his father’s farm. Rather, it’s his father’s gracious love that makes it possible for his son to be welcomed home, no strings attached. In this Parable of the Sheep and the Goats we find God’s faithfulness and God’s love combined in the King who is the Good Shepherd of our souls. Because of God’s faithfulness, God honors our human freedom to choose even to eter­nity. But also because of God’s love, God redeems us, and indeed the entire creation, through Jesus.

+Scott

 
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eCrozier #89

On May 13, 2011, in faith, by bishopbenhase

One must train the habit of Faith. The first step is to recognize that your mood changes. The next is to make sure that, if you have once accepted Christianity, then some of its main doctrines shall be deliberately held before your mind for some time every day. That is why daily prayers, religious reading, and church-going are necessary parts of the Christian life. We have to be continually reminded of what we believe.  – C. S. Lewis

When people speak of their faith in God, they often refer to such faith as a feeling. But faith, as we learn in the Bible and from the saints of the Church, is not a mere feeling. Faith involves our feelings, to be sure, but it’s much more. It’s a commitment to live a life under God’s gracious rule. Such faith needs intentionality if it’s to remain strong, vital, and at the center of our lives. That’s why we need a discipline for our faith.

I joined the Episcopal Church in my last semester at university. It was an end of a search and a beginning of a journey. I was already a Christian, but the Episcopal Church offered a way of worshipping God and following Jesus that I hadn’t previously had. My journey to the Church began my sophomore year when I spent a semester in a Guatemalan village. Each morning, I’d go to the Eucharist next door to the half-enclosed dormitory I shared with others. It was very simple with no music and no variety. I never missed a Eucharist even when I was very tired from my work the day before.

To people unaccustomed to the discipline of worship and prayer, this might seem boring. But to me, it was the bread of life. Yes, worship and prayer can be dry and uninspiring if there isn’t something deeper inside going on. Just as the sameness of marriage will cause it to die if love departs, so will any faith discipline. Anyone who returns day after day to the same spouse with no variety might appear to a promiscuous person as foolish and unfortunate. But if we ask that monogamous person, he or she will tell us that it is the disciplined routine that brings peace and freedom: breakfast, lunch, and supper; dawn, noonday, and dusk; work, rest, and play.

In order for prayer to become a daily exercise, we first have to find a regular time for it and then order it through a steady discipline. Variety is the last thing we need. Only then can we hear God and see what God is up to in the life of the world. This is basic to the Christian life because we must first hear and see clearly before we can act faithfully. The Church offers a wisdom that’s existed for two millennia. The Bible wasn’t written yesterday and we’re not the first people ever to read and seek direction from it.

What we do when we pray and read the Bible is to take part in the ongoing life of the Church. We’ll find our life becomes less individualistically oriented as we move into that life. I’ve discovered after years of disciplined prayer that far from being stifled by the routine, I’m freed to hear God. Daily prayer orders my life. It doesn’t stand apart from it. My discipline helps gather up my life and transform it. There was no way I’d have reached this conclusion theoretically or through logic. I had to do it for months before I came to understand this truth.

+Scott

 

 

 

 
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eCrozier #64

On November 5, 2010, in faith, young adults, by bishopbenhase

Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still.
– T.S. Eliot

As I listen to the voices of younger Christians, such as the ones I recently heard from students at Georgia Southern, I am excited to hear of their passion for the Gospel, their deep desire to follow Jesus, and their longing for true community, even if some part of that community is expressed in online social networking. As a Baby Boomer, such social networking doesn’t feed me. I do, however, appreciate its importance to younger people. What I do not hear from younger Christians is much interest in arguing about what might be called propositional theology, which reduces faith to a series of propositions about God. Taken to its extreme, such propositional theology is reductionist. All one has to do is make sure one agrees with the right propositions about God and then one can be assured one has the right words and thus saved.

This is not to say words do not matter. They do. The words we use have consequences. They can bless or curse. They can build up or they can tear down. They can heal or they can infect others with hate. But as the quote from Eliot above indicates, “words strain” and “decay with imprecision.” And when we equate faith with a belief in a set of words on a page, then we are not being true to the faith we have received from the Saints.

Faith in Jesus involves our whole being. It is a compelling, holistic trust that God was in Christ reconciling the world. It cannot be reduced to the thoughts that run through our heads or to certain propositions with which we agree. To be sure, faith involves our thoughts and beliefs, but it is so much more. Faith in the reconciling love of God in Jesus is the focus of our being. It defines who we are in this world, what we do with our lives, and it is reflected in all the choices we make.

Younger Christians are reminding us of that. I thank God for their witness. As I listen to them, they express disinterest in many of the current arguments of the Church. It is not that they think the arguments don’t matter. Nor do they think the issues being raised are unimportant. It is just that they do not understand why they have reached such importance for older people. It is Jesus that matters to them: what he taught us about how to live in this world; how he conquered sin and death on the cross; and, how his resurrection is the first fruit for all the faithful.

Because of their witness, I am ever more hopeful for the future of Christ’s Church. They are helping us remember that the main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing: A living faith in Jesus.

+Scott

 
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eCrozier #34

On May 5, 2010, in faith, sacramental, by bishopbenhase

I am away on silent retreat this week. In my silence and prayer I have discovered something new. Well, it is not exactly new. Like the Preacher of Ecclesiastes, we can all say: “there is nothing new under the sun.” But I have rediscovered a truth about myself and my hunch is that it is probably a universal human truth. The truth is I have trouble staying in the present; of welcoming the gift of the now; of being radically accepting of what God has given me in this present time.

Like so many, I spend an inordinate amount of time looking backward trying to fix what has been, whether that be in myself or in others. Of course, that is a fool’s errand, but it does not stop us from seeking to do it. I look backward and say: “If so-and-so had been just a bit nicer, or more open, or more loving, then things would have better.” I add a bit of self-examination to the mix and also say: “If I had been just a bit nicer, or more open, or more loving, then things would have better.” While such reflection is edifying to a point, it can also be spiritually paralyzing because it can delude us into believing we can fix the past, especially other people. And it can distract us from the gift of what God is doing in the present.

The same is true if we inordinately look to the future. We can get fixated on our schemes. Or, we can become enamored with the belief that what is coming must certainly be better than what is now. That may of course be true. We call that hope and hope will not fail us. I am not talking about hope though in this context. Rather, I am referring to that tendency in us that is impatient and manipulative; that desires to have God take a seat off to the side so we can program the future coming of the Kingdom. This, too, distracts us from God’s gift of today.

Church leaders need to look back to learn from where we have been. We need to look forward to discern where God may well be leading us. All that is meet and right so to do. But let’s be careful not to make such looking inordinate for if we do we may well miss the gift of God for the now. Maybe the best definition we could have of our faith is “the radical acceptance of the sacramental presence of Christ in the present.” God is working God’s purpose out in your life and my life today. That is faith. God is revealing our Savior Christ to us in the frail instrumentality of this day. Let us be mindful right now of such a revelation of grace.

+Scott

 
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eCrozier #17

On March 3, 2010, in faith, by bishopbenhase

Last night I was with the good people of St Luke’s, Hawkinsville for a wonderful celebration of their new ministry as a parish of the Diocese of Georgia. The Gospel lesson for the evening was from Jesus’ high priestly prayer (John 15:9-16) where Jesus commands us to keep his commandments and to abide in his love. The part of that Gospel that we often do not notice is later where Jesus commands us to “go and bear fruit that will last.”

Last week I wrote to you about Miroslav Volf’s work and used it to begin some reflections on the nature of faith. Since the Enlightenment and Reformation we have, along with our sisters and brothers from other reformed traditions, focused on the reformed notion of faith in God’s grace over the works we engage in for the Kingdom. Actually that conversation has been with us for over 1600 years beginning at least with the debate between Augustine and Pelagius. Some could argue the tension was there from the beginning. The Letter of James almost was not included in the canon because some felt it discounted faith and over-emphasized works. But it has been in the last 400 years that “faith not works” has dominated our theological position. It is all about God’s grace.

Well, you will get no argument from me there. I do not want to stand before the great judgment seat of Christ relying on my own merit. God forbid! That being said, we have allowed a distortion of faith to creep in as a popular definition. We have equated faith with believing certain propositions about God. Faith has been equated with holding a right belief and thus we have only a partial idea of faith. Faith is more than right belief. Faith is the union of Orthodoxy (literally “right glory”) and Orthopraxy (literally “right practice”). Faith is the coming together of belief and action so that one’s whole life (mind, body, and spirit) is given in trust to God.

Jesus clearly expects us to “bear fruit.” Our lives in Christ ought to produce something real and tangible like fruit is expected from a tree. Our faith cannot hide behind mere belief (“not everyone who says to me ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the kingdom of God”). That cheapens the grace with which God showers us just as Bonheoffer reminded us. We do the people with whom we serve a disservice when we do not tell them the truth of the Gospel; that Jesus expects us to bear fruit. James had it right: “Faith without works is dead.”

+Scott

 
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