I keep going back to this beautiful song on the Biola Advent Project. You can hear it at this link. It's written and performed by an Anglican worship pastor, Marty Reardon.
Come shepherds, come wise-men,
Both rich and poor alike,
Come Hebrews, come Gentiles,
Come every race and tribe,
For Christ is born the Savior's come to us!
Come children, come elders,
Come women and come men,
Come families, come orphans,
Come strangers and close friends,
For Christ is born the Savior's come to us!
Come wretched, come holy,
Both strong and weak in faith,
Come healed and come broken,
Come sinners and come saints,
For Christ is born the Savior's come to us!
Emmanuel, God has come to us!
*****
I think what I love most about this song is the wonderful realization that Emmanuel has come to be with us -- ALL of us. There is no one who is not included in his love. He has come to be with us all, to love us all, to reconcile us all to the Father. He wants to welcome us all into his everlasting kingdom, the kingdom that will never be destroyed. I am feeling unutterably grateful for the good news of the gospel.
Showing posts with label anglican tradition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anglican tradition. Show all posts
Sunday, December 04, 2016
Thursday, March 26, 2015
George Herbert, Jane Austen, and My Forty-Seventh Birthday
It's my forty-seventh birthday, and I woke up thinking about people who have died young.
Heh. Don't worry. I am not feeling terribly morose (far from it...it's been a lovely day) and that comment is not nearly as somber as it sounds. I just found myself reflecting on the Scriptural admonition "teach us to number our days," and thinking about people who gifted the world even during very brief sojourns.
This has been on my mind since I read Timothy George's essay "George Herbert in Lent," the other day at First Things. I either didn't know or at least didn't recall that George Herbert, the extraordinary Anglican poet and priest, died in March of 1633, just short of his 40th birthday. I'm pretty sure that I never realized before now that he never saw any of his poems published. He left them to his friend Nicholas Ferrar; they were all published after his death.
I suspect that both George Herbert and Jane Austen, who died at the age of 41, would be astounded at the strength of their legacies so long after their deaths. They were quiet people whose influence, during their lifetimes, was in relatively small spheres. And yet their influence, their creative power, has spread to so many others, in ever widening circles as the years pass. While it's true that not all of us have the creative genius of these two, I think that the imprint they left behind doesn't have to do only with their words, but with the faithful lives they lived and the quiet but faithful ways they used the gifts they were given. I love the Richard Baxter quote that Timothy George provided regarding Herbert: he was "“a man who speaks to God like one that really believeth a God, and whose business in the world is most with God.”
The older I get, the more I begin to realize that it's the quiet but loving moments that may have the most staying power in my own life, and the most influence for good on people I'll eventually leave behind. Those circles of quiet and loving influence feel so big in my own life. I know, I know. Sober sounding reflections for a 47th birthday. But right now I'm not feeling particularly glum about how old I am, just tremendously grateful for the years I've been given so far and hopeful that in the years ahead, I can stay a faithful course and love even more deeply. I'd like someone to be able to say about me one day that she is "a woman who speaks to God like someone who really believes in God, and her business in the world is most with God." That's a legacy worth having.
Heh. Don't worry. I am not feeling terribly morose (far from it...it's been a lovely day) and that comment is not nearly as somber as it sounds. I just found myself reflecting on the Scriptural admonition "teach us to number our days," and thinking about people who gifted the world even during very brief sojourns.
This has been on my mind since I read Timothy George's essay "George Herbert in Lent," the other day at First Things. I either didn't know or at least didn't recall that George Herbert, the extraordinary Anglican poet and priest, died in March of 1633, just short of his 40th birthday. I'm pretty sure that I never realized before now that he never saw any of his poems published. He left them to his friend Nicholas Ferrar; they were all published after his death.
I suspect that both George Herbert and Jane Austen, who died at the age of 41, would be astounded at the strength of their legacies so long after their deaths. They were quiet people whose influence, during their lifetimes, was in relatively small spheres. And yet their influence, their creative power, has spread to so many others, in ever widening circles as the years pass. While it's true that not all of us have the creative genius of these two, I think that the imprint they left behind doesn't have to do only with their words, but with the faithful lives they lived and the quiet but faithful ways they used the gifts they were given. I love the Richard Baxter quote that Timothy George provided regarding Herbert: he was "“a man who speaks to God like one that really believeth a God, and whose business in the world is most with God.”
The older I get, the more I begin to realize that it's the quiet but loving moments that may have the most staying power in my own life, and the most influence for good on people I'll eventually leave behind. Those circles of quiet and loving influence feel so big in my own life. I know, I know. Sober sounding reflections for a 47th birthday. But right now I'm not feeling particularly glum about how old I am, just tremendously grateful for the years I've been given so far and hopeful that in the years ahead, I can stay a faithful course and love even more deeply. I'd like someone to be able to say about me one day that she is "a woman who speaks to God like someone who really believes in God, and her business in the world is most with God." That's a legacy worth having.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Advent Reading: Love Came Down
I usually try to post something about my Advent reading each year. I love it when people recommend good books for this season! And here we are in the third week already. I'm later than usual, but I thought I'd share what I'm reading this year and post some links to some of my older recommendations.
This year I'm enjoying the meditations in Love Came Down, a collection of readings compiled by Christopher L. Webber. An Anglican clergy friend recommended this book, which is subtitled "Anglican Readings for Advent and Christmas." It's a good collection, running the gamut of a lot of years (from Hugh Latimer on up to roughly present day) though I keep stumbling over the fact that Lewis isn't in the collection. And while I appreciate that Madeleine L'Engle is, I'm not sure why some other more contemporary Anglicans didn't make the cut.
The compiler has a love for the early and middle years of Anglicanism. So you get Andrewes, Donne, Keble, Pusey, Law, and Taylor, among others. He has a bit of a high church bent (likes Caroline Divines and Oxford Movement) but does include some "broad church" folks like Maurice and Brooks (and no, he doesn't include Brooks' "O little town of Bethlehem," rather some excerpts from his sermons, surprisingly chew-worthy). He's clearly not fond of evangelicals. So you'll find no Wesleys, either John or Charles -- and how one can include Anglican advent poems and hymnody and not include Charles Wesley, who penned some of the very best, just baffles me. But every collection bears the particular stamp of its collector.
One of the elements that makes this book both rich and challenging is that it really focuses on traditional Advent themes -- namely heaven, hell, the second coming, the "last things." Many Advent books focus almost solely on the first coming of Jesus and forgot some of those other traditional themes. This one delves deep into "last things" for a good bit of the text, then moves into deeper reflection upon the incarnation and nativity especially in the final week of Advent and the Christmas season to follow (readings begin with November 28 and move up through January 6, Epiphany).
I'm adding this to my list of previously recommended books for Advent, which include (in no particular order): The Irrational Season, WinterSong, The Vigil, God With Us, and God is in the Manger. I posted here about most of these a few years ago.
This year I'm enjoying the meditations in Love Came Down, a collection of readings compiled by Christopher L. Webber. An Anglican clergy friend recommended this book, which is subtitled "Anglican Readings for Advent and Christmas." It's a good collection, running the gamut of a lot of years (from Hugh Latimer on up to roughly present day) though I keep stumbling over the fact that Lewis isn't in the collection. And while I appreciate that Madeleine L'Engle is, I'm not sure why some other more contemporary Anglicans didn't make the cut.
The compiler has a love for the early and middle years of Anglicanism. So you get Andrewes, Donne, Keble, Pusey, Law, and Taylor, among others. He has a bit of a high church bent (likes Caroline Divines and Oxford Movement) but does include some "broad church" folks like Maurice and Brooks (and no, he doesn't include Brooks' "O little town of Bethlehem," rather some excerpts from his sermons, surprisingly chew-worthy). He's clearly not fond of evangelicals. So you'll find no Wesleys, either John or Charles -- and how one can include Anglican advent poems and hymnody and not include Charles Wesley, who penned some of the very best, just baffles me. But every collection bears the particular stamp of its collector.
One of the elements that makes this book both rich and challenging is that it really focuses on traditional Advent themes -- namely heaven, hell, the second coming, the "last things." Many Advent books focus almost solely on the first coming of Jesus and forgot some of those other traditional themes. This one delves deep into "last things" for a good bit of the text, then moves into deeper reflection upon the incarnation and nativity especially in the final week of Advent and the Christmas season to follow (readings begin with November 28 and move up through January 6, Epiphany).
I'm adding this to my list of previously recommended books for Advent, which include (in no particular order): The Irrational Season, WinterSong, The Vigil, God With Us, and God is in the Manger. I posted here about most of these a few years ago.
Monday, July 08, 2013
Two Movements: Into and Out of the Sanctuary
This week I have my students thinking and writing about the different ways the Anglican church engaged the culture in the 19th century. The Oxford Movement, with its emphasis on the "church gathered" and the importance of gathering in worship to "be the church," sometimes had reservations about the Evangelical movement and its commitment to social action, the way it was "being the church" within the world. (This would be the second generation of the Evangelical revival, folks like Wilberforce and his Clapham friends.)
The distinction drawn, for the sake of the question, is purposefully overdrawn for the sake of compelling thought and discussion. Of course the higher church folk often engaged the culture "in the world" in specific ways, and of course the Evangelicals didn't cease to gather in worship to remember who they were. It's more a matter of emphasis, of looking at where each found its firmest understanding of who they were and where they stood. But it's a good question and a perennial one: what does it mean to be church, and how do we best relate to the world around us with fresh gospel energy?
So during my morning quiet time, when I came across this passage in Eugene Peterson's Eat This Book, I just had to chuckle:
Two movements. Into the sanctuary, out of the sanctuary. Both involving the same kinds of actions: listening, loving, obeying, believing, ordering, giving God glory. Both involving all parts of us. Amen. Yes.
The distinction drawn, for the sake of the question, is purposefully overdrawn for the sake of compelling thought and discussion. Of course the higher church folk often engaged the culture "in the world" in specific ways, and of course the Evangelicals didn't cease to gather in worship to remember who they were. It's more a matter of emphasis, of looking at where each found its firmest understanding of who they were and where they stood. But it's a good question and a perennial one: what does it mean to be church, and how do we best relate to the world around us with fresh gospel energy?
So during my morning quiet time, when I came across this passage in Eugene Peterson's Eat This Book, I just had to chuckle:
"The task of liturgy is to order the life of the holy community following the text of Holy Scripture. It consists of two movements. First it gets us into the sanctuary, the place of adoration and attention, listening and receiving and believing before God. There is a lot involved, all the parts of our lives ordered to all aspects of the revelation of God in Jesus.
Then it gets us out of the sanctuary into the world into places of obeying and loving, ordering our lives as living sacrifices in the world to the glory of God. There is a lot involved, all the parts of our lives out on the street participating in the work of salvation."
Two movements. Into the sanctuary, out of the sanctuary. Both involving the same kinds of actions: listening, loving, obeying, believing, ordering, giving God glory. Both involving all parts of us. Amen. Yes.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Radical Message of the Gospel
Yesterday I was reading along in Mark Noll's The Rise of Evangelicalism: The Age of Edwards, Whitefield and the Wesleys (my current church history read) and got stopped in my tracks by this paragraph:
Isn't this a wonderful truth to ponder? Sometimes evangelicals (and Christians of all traditions) can get carried away by their understandable enthusiasm for the past contributions of the church in the cause of social justice. That's good in its place: we should laud the example of saints like William Wilberforce and care deeply about the kinds of things and people that he and other like-minded Christians cared about. But we should also remember where his impetus came from, and why he was compelled to care and to act as he did.
It's the gospel that's truly radical, the gospel that sets people free, the gospel that speaks into people's lives and moves far ahead of any of us in its radical nature. It compels us to be far more radical than we'd ever possibly be on our own. When you look at the legacy of earlier evangelicalism, as it was emerging in the British Isles and North America in the 18th century, you see, for instance, that the evangelical churches' attitudes regarding race, and their work with the African community, is a mixed bag at best. The Wesleys preached the spiritual equality of all people before God. So did Whitefield, to a point (though he eventually accepted slavery and even owned slaves). The Moravians, always on the cutting edge of ministry and mission, didn't speak out directly against slavery, but their actions and their ministry amongst Africans in communities in the Virgin Islands, for example, spoke eloquent volumes about their understanding that all people were made in God's image and needed to hear the good news that alone could set them free. They were far ahead of many of the churches of their day (and many miles ahead of the Anglicans, whose culture-boundedness at this point in their history did not serve them well...has it ever?).
My point: as inspiring as the work of spiritual pioneers like Wesley and Whitefield is, they themselves sometimes struggled with the radical implications of the gospel. It was the radical message of the gospel itself that made them forge ahead, that shaped them outside of their comfort zones. This was true in all sorts of matters, I expect, not just racial matters. I often think about John Wesley, church-born and bred, beginning his ministry not thinking anyone should or could preach outside church walls. God literally moved him *out* -- outside those walls and into the fields where hungry, exhausted miners struggled with poverty and addiction. When Wesley got the place where he said "the world is my parish" it was huge. He'd realized that God was calling him to something much more vast than he could have ever imagined.
The early evangelicals weren't social radicals, but the gospel called them to places they never expected, and they began to see radical fruits because of their ministry. No surprise that a Wilberforce was growing up right behind the Wesleys, no surprise that Wilberforce himself was mentored in the ways of radical grace by a former (and now radically converted) captain of a slave ship. No surprise that the gospel began to have radical effects, because it is indeed "broader, deeper and higher" than any cultural conventions.
And what did all this mean? Well, in the context of the 18th century, the gospel message meant freedom for many people (as it still does today). But it also meant that seeds were planted that are still bearing fruit as we see the enormous and amazing growth of Christianity around the globe now, in the twenty-first century, in all sorts of communities and cultures. Noll calls "the beginning of an enduring Christian presence among African Americans..." "the one truly revolutionary development in evangelicalism" during this time period. We often focus on the ways that evangelical churchmen like the Wesleys sparked revival in the established churches of England (and other English-speaking parts of the world). What I've sometimes failed to grasp is the enormity of the rise of Christian faith among people who didn't need "revival" but who needed to hear the gospel for the first time, the rise of Christian faith "among black communities in the new world," among peoples who often lived as social outcasts and who had "no strong tradition of Christian faith, no stake in church establishments and no heritage of European civilization." This wasn't just revival, it was the evangelization of cultures who had never had the opportunity to hear the gospel before. And it was radical and huge.
God's work often is.
"The movement of evangelicalism beyond the boundaries of British society had begun. As often in the evangelical story, the prompting of Continental pietists was critical. But even more vital was the evangelical understanding of the gospel as free -- that is, as broader, deeper and higher than the conventions of both British Christendom and Western civilization. Evangelicals in their early decades were not social radicals, yet the message that moved them to action was beginning to have radical effects."
Isn't this a wonderful truth to ponder? Sometimes evangelicals (and Christians of all traditions) can get carried away by their understandable enthusiasm for the past contributions of the church in the cause of social justice. That's good in its place: we should laud the example of saints like William Wilberforce and care deeply about the kinds of things and people that he and other like-minded Christians cared about. But we should also remember where his impetus came from, and why he was compelled to care and to act as he did.
It's the gospel that's truly radical, the gospel that sets people free, the gospel that speaks into people's lives and moves far ahead of any of us in its radical nature. It compels us to be far more radical than we'd ever possibly be on our own. When you look at the legacy of earlier evangelicalism, as it was emerging in the British Isles and North America in the 18th century, you see, for instance, that the evangelical churches' attitudes regarding race, and their work with the African community, is a mixed bag at best. The Wesleys preached the spiritual equality of all people before God. So did Whitefield, to a point (though he eventually accepted slavery and even owned slaves). The Moravians, always on the cutting edge of ministry and mission, didn't speak out directly against slavery, but their actions and their ministry amongst Africans in communities in the Virgin Islands, for example, spoke eloquent volumes about their understanding that all people were made in God's image and needed to hear the good news that alone could set them free. They were far ahead of many of the churches of their day (and many miles ahead of the Anglicans, whose culture-boundedness at this point in their history did not serve them well...has it ever?).
My point: as inspiring as the work of spiritual pioneers like Wesley and Whitefield is, they themselves sometimes struggled with the radical implications of the gospel. It was the radical message of the gospel itself that made them forge ahead, that shaped them outside of their comfort zones. This was true in all sorts of matters, I expect, not just racial matters. I often think about John Wesley, church-born and bred, beginning his ministry not thinking anyone should or could preach outside church walls. God literally moved him *out* -- outside those walls and into the fields where hungry, exhausted miners struggled with poverty and addiction. When Wesley got the place where he said "the world is my parish" it was huge. He'd realized that God was calling him to something much more vast than he could have ever imagined.
The early evangelicals weren't social radicals, but the gospel called them to places they never expected, and they began to see radical fruits because of their ministry. No surprise that a Wilberforce was growing up right behind the Wesleys, no surprise that Wilberforce himself was mentored in the ways of radical grace by a former (and now radically converted) captain of a slave ship. No surprise that the gospel began to have radical effects, because it is indeed "broader, deeper and higher" than any cultural conventions.
And what did all this mean? Well, in the context of the 18th century, the gospel message meant freedom for many people (as it still does today). But it also meant that seeds were planted that are still bearing fruit as we see the enormous and amazing growth of Christianity around the globe now, in the twenty-first century, in all sorts of communities and cultures. Noll calls "the beginning of an enduring Christian presence among African Americans..." "the one truly revolutionary development in evangelicalism" during this time period. We often focus on the ways that evangelical churchmen like the Wesleys sparked revival in the established churches of England (and other English-speaking parts of the world). What I've sometimes failed to grasp is the enormity of the rise of Christian faith among people who didn't need "revival" but who needed to hear the gospel for the first time, the rise of Christian faith "among black communities in the new world," among peoples who often lived as social outcasts and who had "no strong tradition of Christian faith, no stake in church establishments and no heritage of European civilization." This wasn't just revival, it was the evangelization of cultures who had never had the opportunity to hear the gospel before. And it was radical and huge.
God's work often is.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
For All the Saints, Who From Their Labor Rest
I so love this hymn.
You can hear it here, with a full choir and organ.
The text is by William How, the glorious music by Ralph Vaughn Williams (whose music I've listened to for much of this day). God's gift of music through Ralph Vaughn Williams is yet one more reason I am thankful for the Anglican tradition.
O blest communion, fellowship divine!/We feebly struggle/they in glory shine/all are one in Thee/for all are Thine./Alleluia! Alleluia!
A blessed All Saints Day to you!
You can hear it here, with a full choir and organ.
The text is by William How, the glorious music by Ralph Vaughn Williams (whose music I've listened to for much of this day). God's gift of music through Ralph Vaughn Williams is yet one more reason I am thankful for the Anglican tradition.
O blest communion, fellowship divine!/We feebly struggle/they in glory shine/all are one in Thee/for all are Thine./Alleluia! Alleluia!
A blessed All Saints Day to you!
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Revisiting Amazing Grace
I'm up way too late (past midnight) trying to get some work done, both teaching and writing. It's been a long, full week with very little time for thinking or reading, and tired as I am, I just feel in need of some quiet space to do both.
This Friday evening found us at church for the monthly movie night, which my husband and a current seminarian began hosting a few months ago. This evening's film was "Amazing Grace," the 2006 film inspired by the life of William Wilberforce.
D. and I originally saw the movie back in the fall of 2007. I loved it then, as you can see from my review here, but I loved it even more the second time around. Perhaps this time I wasn't so focused on seeing whether or not they were historically accurate in the way they portrayed one of my favorite heroes of the faith. This time I just sat back and soaked in the wonderful performances. All of them were excellent, but Ioan Gruffudd was really masterful as Wilberforce. I remembered how well he captured his passion and drive; I hadn't remembered so vividly how he captured his frailty and exhaustion.
That's what really got to me tonight: how terribly in need of grace we all are, even those saints (like Wilberforce and Newton) whose lives we look back on with gratitude and sometimes awe. Wilberforce nearly burned himself out for God. There were clearly times (many times) when he couldn't see what God was doing, when he was worn out and at the end of his rope, and when he felt like a complete failure. Of course we the audience know, even as we watch those darkest moments, that grace will prevail. Wilberforce will succeed (did succeed) in getting his bills passed in parliament. The British slave trade was abolished in 1807 and slavery itself was abolished in 1833. His life's work was blessed and countless people freed and blessed through it.
But Wilberforce didn't know that while he lived it. He couldn't see the very good end, though he prayed for it fervently, dreamed it, imagined it, hoped for it. But what Gruffudd captures so brilliantly about Wilberforce is the truth that, in the midst of the very long fight, there were simply times when it just felt like a long, lonely, bitter slog. And there were times when only the grace of God, especially manifested through the love and encouragement of people around him, carried Wilberforce through.
This Friday evening found us at church for the monthly movie night, which my husband and a current seminarian began hosting a few months ago. This evening's film was "Amazing Grace," the 2006 film inspired by the life of William Wilberforce.
D. and I originally saw the movie back in the fall of 2007. I loved it then, as you can see from my review here, but I loved it even more the second time around. Perhaps this time I wasn't so focused on seeing whether or not they were historically accurate in the way they portrayed one of my favorite heroes of the faith. This time I just sat back and soaked in the wonderful performances. All of them were excellent, but Ioan Gruffudd was really masterful as Wilberforce. I remembered how well he captured his passion and drive; I hadn't remembered so vividly how he captured his frailty and exhaustion.
That's what really got to me tonight: how terribly in need of grace we all are, even those saints (like Wilberforce and Newton) whose lives we look back on with gratitude and sometimes awe. Wilberforce nearly burned himself out for God. There were clearly times (many times) when he couldn't see what God was doing, when he was worn out and at the end of his rope, and when he felt like a complete failure. Of course we the audience know, even as we watch those darkest moments, that grace will prevail. Wilberforce will succeed (did succeed) in getting his bills passed in parliament. The British slave trade was abolished in 1807 and slavery itself was abolished in 1833. His life's work was blessed and countless people freed and blessed through it.
But Wilberforce didn't know that while he lived it. He couldn't see the very good end, though he prayed for it fervently, dreamed it, imagined it, hoped for it. But what Gruffudd captures so brilliantly about Wilberforce is the truth that, in the midst of the very long fight, there were simply times when it just felt like a long, lonely, bitter slog. And there were times when only the grace of God, especially manifested through the love and encouragement of people around him, carried Wilberforce through.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Alleluia! Christ is Risen!
Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!
There are moments in the Easter liturgy where my heart always soars. That first moment when the congregation seems to rise up like a tidal wave of joy to shout "He is risen indeed! Alleluia!" And the moment when the first notes of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" launch us into praise.
I know that the singing of that hymn is not always a part of every Easter service or liturgy, but within Anglican churches at least, it's almost definite that we'll sing it at some point. And I am so grateful. The words of that hymn have become a huge part of the celebration of Jesus' resurrection for me: his rising, his defeating of death once and for all time, our praise, our joy, our sure and certain hope that because he rose we also shall rise. Alleluia!
When I teach English church history, I remind my students that Anglicanism really has no primary founding theologian in the way that the Presbyterians have Calvin and the Lutherans have Luther. We have a founding liturgist in Thomas Cranmer, but he wasn't a theologian in the sense of the others...not a great systematizer or revolutionary thinker. The richness of Cranmer is the way he deeply inhabited the Biblical story and let the Scriptures enrich his prayers.
It strikes me more and more the the best and most deeply influential Anglican theologians have primarily been poets and hymn-writers (which may be one of the reasons I was drawn into this tradition in the first place!) and that Charles Wesley is certainly one of the most important. We may not think of C.W. primarily as a theologian but if you consider a theologian someone who speaks truth about God in ways that enrich the lives and understanding of the community of God's people (and I do) then Charles Wesley is one of the best we've ever had.
This is the man who penned Hark the Herald Angels Sing as well as Christ the Lord is Risen Today, but his prolific and profound poetry didn't touch only on the great feasts of Christmas and Easter but on every part of our journey in Christ. Love Divine All Loves Excelling (sung by the congregation at our wedding), O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing (my favorite hymn as a child), Jesus Lover of My Soul, And Can It Be, Lo How He Comes With Clouds Descending. These are not merely some of the most beautiful and singable congregational hymns ever written; they speak profoundly and truly about who God is, how he loves us, and who he calls us to be.
I love both the Wesley brothers, and though I'm fond of reminding my students of the many thousands of miles that John rode on horseback during his preaching tours (remember the world was his parish!) I love that he wasn't the only Wesley who composed while riding. There's a marvelous story of Charles arriving at a chapel one evening and springing from his horse with a cry of "a pen! a pen!" They say he wouldn't talk to anyone until he had written down whatever words had been given to him as he journeyed along. I'm so grateful for all the words God gave Charles Wesley over the years as well as for Charles' faithfulness in receiving them and using his God-given talents to shape those words into such deep praise and poetry.
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!
There are moments in the Easter liturgy where my heart always soars. That first moment when the congregation seems to rise up like a tidal wave of joy to shout "He is risen indeed! Alleluia!" And the moment when the first notes of "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" launch us into praise.
I know that the singing of that hymn is not always a part of every Easter service or liturgy, but within Anglican churches at least, it's almost definite that we'll sing it at some point. And I am so grateful. The words of that hymn have become a huge part of the celebration of Jesus' resurrection for me: his rising, his defeating of death once and for all time, our praise, our joy, our sure and certain hope that because he rose we also shall rise. Alleluia!
When I teach English church history, I remind my students that Anglicanism really has no primary founding theologian in the way that the Presbyterians have Calvin and the Lutherans have Luther. We have a founding liturgist in Thomas Cranmer, but he wasn't a theologian in the sense of the others...not a great systematizer or revolutionary thinker. The richness of Cranmer is the way he deeply inhabited the Biblical story and let the Scriptures enrich his prayers.
It strikes me more and more the the best and most deeply influential Anglican theologians have primarily been poets and hymn-writers (which may be one of the reasons I was drawn into this tradition in the first place!) and that Charles Wesley is certainly one of the most important. We may not think of C.W. primarily as a theologian but if you consider a theologian someone who speaks truth about God in ways that enrich the lives and understanding of the community of God's people (and I do) then Charles Wesley is one of the best we've ever had.
This is the man who penned Hark the Herald Angels Sing as well as Christ the Lord is Risen Today, but his prolific and profound poetry didn't touch only on the great feasts of Christmas and Easter but on every part of our journey in Christ. Love Divine All Loves Excelling (sung by the congregation at our wedding), O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing (my favorite hymn as a child), Jesus Lover of My Soul, And Can It Be, Lo How He Comes With Clouds Descending. These are not merely some of the most beautiful and singable congregational hymns ever written; they speak profoundly and truly about who God is, how he loves us, and who he calls us to be.
I love both the Wesley brothers, and though I'm fond of reminding my students of the many thousands of miles that John rode on horseback during his preaching tours (remember the world was his parish!) I love that he wasn't the only Wesley who composed while riding. There's a marvelous story of Charles arriving at a chapel one evening and springing from his horse with a cry of "a pen! a pen!" They say he wouldn't talk to anyone until he had written down whatever words had been given to him as he journeyed along. I'm so grateful for all the words God gave Charles Wesley over the years as well as for Charles' faithfulness in receiving them and using his God-given talents to shape those words into such deep praise and poetry.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
"Coming Home"
An article I recently wrote for our diocesan newsletter, entitled Coming Home, is up on their website (the title will link you to the article). I hope this reflection will offer blessing and hope to others about the deep communion of the church worldwide, no matter what your church tradition happens to be. These thoughts were born out of my reflections on the recent realignment of our diocese with the Anglican Province of the Southern Cone. I know there's still a long way to go, but I'm grateful we've taken this very important step.
And if anyone who reads this blog has been praying for the Episcopal Church, the Episcopal Diocese of Pittsburgh and the Anglican Communion in the past months, thank you.
And if anyone who reads this blog has been praying for the Episcopal Church, the Episcopal Diocese of Pittsburgh and the Anglican Communion in the past months, thank you.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Missing Harry
The Harry Potter world got a treat yesterday, when the 800-word "prequel" story J.K. Rowling recently penned for charity became available online. It took my old computer a while to load it, but it was worth the wait. What a pleasure to read (and laugh!) my way through this delightfully funny hand-written scene, in which adolescent James Potter and his good friend Sirius Black evade the Muggle police on a magic motorbike we've all grown very fond of through the years...
One of the things I found most fascinating was the casual mention of the name "Wilberforce" within the scene. I planned to post about it here, but it seems that Travis Prinzi over at the Hog's Head beat me to the punch, along with a number of other folks. I think almost everyone in the world -- well, the Christian literary world anyway -- caught the reference to the great Anglican social reformer and took extra delight in it!
Over at Hogwarts Professor, John Granger was speculating on the inner and outer pressures that might bring Rowling to begin to write again in Harry's world, despite her avowals (in times past) that she wouldn't return to that world as a fiction-writer. I remember Orson Scott Card speculating on this same thing not long after Deathly Hallows. I really do think that the pure joy of having created characters like these and a world like Harry's will eventually pull Rowling back into writing stories set there, either prequels or sequels. I know from my own limited work as a fiction writer how characters have a way of getting into my head and spending a lot of time "talking there" (sometimes to the point that I find myself dreaming conversations between them). I can't imagine how it would feel to have invested this much time, energy and creativity in a fictional world...and not allow myself to go back and play there from time to time. I'm sure Rowling wants to try other kinds of writing too, and certainly shouldn't limit herself to only writing HP-related fiction, but it also seems silly for her to make it completely off-limits for all time. I think she'll miss it too much in the end.
Heck, I know I do. That's the main thing that came home to me yesterday. Reading this tiny little snippet of fiction was delightful because it felt like Harry's world. The cadence was there, the humor, the action. James and Sirius, full of themselves and ever so slightly obnoxious, yet vibrantly alive, made me miss Fred and George especially, but Ron and Harry and the whole gang too. It seemed absurdly easy for Rowling to "fall back into" the story. You almost got the sense that the scene wrote itself -- and given what we know of James and Sirius' characters, and the gift of a marvelous magical object like the motorbike, that makes sense.
So I had to chuckle when I saw JKR's final line, where she wrote that this was from the prequel she was NOT working on, but that it had been fun. Of course it was fun. And she may not be actively working on anything Harry related, but I would guess her mind is playing with the characters and the before and after story-lines more often than even she may know. I wonder if it will be a dream that will get her writing in Harry's world again?
One of the things I found most fascinating was the casual mention of the name "Wilberforce" within the scene. I planned to post about it here, but it seems that Travis Prinzi over at the Hog's Head beat me to the punch, along with a number of other folks. I think almost everyone in the world -- well, the Christian literary world anyway -- caught the reference to the great Anglican social reformer and took extra delight in it!
Over at Hogwarts Professor, John Granger was speculating on the inner and outer pressures that might bring Rowling to begin to write again in Harry's world, despite her avowals (in times past) that she wouldn't return to that world as a fiction-writer. I remember Orson Scott Card speculating on this same thing not long after Deathly Hallows. I really do think that the pure joy of having created characters like these and a world like Harry's will eventually pull Rowling back into writing stories set there, either prequels or sequels. I know from my own limited work as a fiction writer how characters have a way of getting into my head and spending a lot of time "talking there" (sometimes to the point that I find myself dreaming conversations between them). I can't imagine how it would feel to have invested this much time, energy and creativity in a fictional world...and not allow myself to go back and play there from time to time. I'm sure Rowling wants to try other kinds of writing too, and certainly shouldn't limit herself to only writing HP-related fiction, but it also seems silly for her to make it completely off-limits for all time. I think she'll miss it too much in the end.
Heck, I know I do. That's the main thing that came home to me yesterday. Reading this tiny little snippet of fiction was delightful because it felt like Harry's world. The cadence was there, the humor, the action. James and Sirius, full of themselves and ever so slightly obnoxious, yet vibrantly alive, made me miss Fred and George especially, but Ron and Harry and the whole gang too. It seemed absurdly easy for Rowling to "fall back into" the story. You almost got the sense that the scene wrote itself -- and given what we know of James and Sirius' characters, and the gift of a marvelous magical object like the motorbike, that makes sense.
So I had to chuckle when I saw JKR's final line, where she wrote that this was from the prequel she was NOT working on, but that it had been fun. Of course it was fun. And she may not be actively working on anything Harry related, but I would guess her mind is playing with the characters and the before and after story-lines more often than even she may know. I wonder if it will be a dream that will get her writing in Harry's world again?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Reading Round-Up As We Head Toward Official Summer
I know, I know...it's felt like summer for a while already. We hit 96 degrees last weekend. When we went to the library they were having their summer reading program kick-off, complete with an ice cream booth in the parking lot. In fact, we've already signed up for summer reading programs at both libraries we go to regularly. Our air conditioner is laboring. The sweet girl is back into shorts and koolots and has already begun to wear out her newest pair of sandals (as have I). We've been eating plenty of fresh corn and fresh strawberries. S. went through her preschool graduation program (complete with cardboard mortarboard hat and "Pomp and Circumstance") and finished up her last day of school last week. D. spent last evening in the first planning meeting for our church's Vacation Bible School.
Summer!
And of course it officially starts next week, even according to the calendar. So I thought I'd offer up a reading round-up, since I've been trying to do that more regularly this year.
Currently reading:
From Homer to Harry Potter: A Handbook on Myth and Fantasy by Matthew T. Dickerson and David L. O'Hara. The title snagged me (for obvious reasons) and I also picked it up because I like and trust the publisher, Brazos Press. Even though I didn't know either author, I suspected this would be a very good book. I'm in chapter three and thus far it's surpassed my expecations. Well-written, basic (but not overly so), and grounded in Tolkien and Lewis' understanding of myth and faerie. I'm looking forward to the later chapters when the authors apply what they've said about myth and fantasy in the more general overview to some of the writers writing such stories today, including Rowling.
Midnight for Charlie Bone by Jenny Nimmo (and no, it's not even coming close to satisfying my ardent desire for the final Harry Potter book...not that I really thought it would).
And speaking of HP, I finished Order of the Phoenix a couple of weeks ago. So I am 5/6 of the way through my pre-book 7 re-reading marathon. I have been very reluctant to pick up Half-Blood Prince. I've got such oddly mixed feelings knowing the "finish line" to the series is in sight.
Love's Redeeming Work: The Anglican Quest for Holiness (by Rowan Williams et al.) This is a great collection of Anglicans down through the centuries, with brief introductions to each person and excerpts of their works. I'm trying to read through two per week, as time allows, and hope to offer some thoughts and reflections here as I go.
The History of the Ancient World by Susan Wise Bauer. This one is going to take me a while, but I don't mind. I like sipping at books this rich.
Five in a Row (Volume 1) by Jane Claire Lambert. This is the first in a wonderful series of books written with homeschoolers in mind, though I think families that don't homeschool could also benefit from them. Lambert has developed a "curriculum" (for want of a better word) that derives lessons in language arts, math, science, social studies, etc. from well-chosen picture books. I will probably try to weave some of her ideas (in a supplementary way) into my own kindergarten curriculum for S. next year. More on this in another posting perhaps.
I'm still trying to finish up several of the books on my "currently reading" list from last month.
I'm also reading "at" various chapters and articles on apostolic succession and teaching, in preparation for an adult ed. course I'm giving a talk in (either tonight and/or next week).
The sweet girl's favorite reads right now include: Library Lion; Come on, Rain!; The Life Cycle of Honeybees; and Hop on Pop. For family reading time, we're working our way through the fourth Betsy book in Carolyn Haywood's series (Betsy and the Boys), and we're listening to a wonderful audio version of Charlotte's Web read by E.B. White himself.
Although this counts in the watching, not reading, category: thanks to Netflix I am finally getting to watch all the Gene Kelly movies I've wanted to see for years and could never find. Well, most of them anyway. I'm getting one every couple of weeks and reviewing them for Epinions as I have time. His films always give me a real sense of joy!
Summer!
And of course it officially starts next week, even according to the calendar. So I thought I'd offer up a reading round-up, since I've been trying to do that more regularly this year.
Currently reading:
From Homer to Harry Potter: A Handbook on Myth and Fantasy by Matthew T. Dickerson and David L. O'Hara. The title snagged me (for obvious reasons) and I also picked it up because I like and trust the publisher, Brazos Press. Even though I didn't know either author, I suspected this would be a very good book. I'm in chapter three and thus far it's surpassed my expecations. Well-written, basic (but not overly so), and grounded in Tolkien and Lewis' understanding of myth and faerie. I'm looking forward to the later chapters when the authors apply what they've said about myth and fantasy in the more general overview to some of the writers writing such stories today, including Rowling.
Midnight for Charlie Bone by Jenny Nimmo (and no, it's not even coming close to satisfying my ardent desire for the final Harry Potter book...not that I really thought it would).
And speaking of HP, I finished Order of the Phoenix a couple of weeks ago. So I am 5/6 of the way through my pre-book 7 re-reading marathon. I have been very reluctant to pick up Half-Blood Prince. I've got such oddly mixed feelings knowing the "finish line" to the series is in sight.
Love's Redeeming Work: The Anglican Quest for Holiness (by Rowan Williams et al.) This is a great collection of Anglicans down through the centuries, with brief introductions to each person and excerpts of their works. I'm trying to read through two per week, as time allows, and hope to offer some thoughts and reflections here as I go.
The History of the Ancient World by Susan Wise Bauer. This one is going to take me a while, but I don't mind. I like sipping at books this rich.
Five in a Row (Volume 1) by Jane Claire Lambert. This is the first in a wonderful series of books written with homeschoolers in mind, though I think families that don't homeschool could also benefit from them. Lambert has developed a "curriculum" (for want of a better word) that derives lessons in language arts, math, science, social studies, etc. from well-chosen picture books. I will probably try to weave some of her ideas (in a supplementary way) into my own kindergarten curriculum for S. next year. More on this in another posting perhaps.
I'm still trying to finish up several of the books on my "currently reading" list from last month.
I'm also reading "at" various chapters and articles on apostolic succession and teaching, in preparation for an adult ed. course I'm giving a talk in (either tonight and/or next week).
The sweet girl's favorite reads right now include: Library Lion; Come on, Rain!; The Life Cycle of Honeybees; and Hop on Pop. For family reading time, we're working our way through the fourth Betsy book in Carolyn Haywood's series (Betsy and the Boys), and we're listening to a wonderful audio version of Charlotte's Web read by E.B. White himself.
Although this counts in the watching, not reading, category: thanks to Netflix I am finally getting to watch all the Gene Kelly movies I've wanted to see for years and could never find. Well, most of them anyway. I'm getting one every couple of weeks and reviewing them for Epinions as I have time. His films always give me a real sense of joy!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
"The radiancy of joyful sacrifice"
A lot of ink has been spilled in recent days, since the Episcopal House of Bishops (here in the U.S.) issued a "mind of the house" statement in response to the recent recommendations/request of the primates in the worldwide Anglican Communion. This isn't the place to get into church politics, but suffice it to say that the statement from the U.S. bishops was...I sigh to say...stereotypically "American" in attitude. Essentially they said: "sure, we'd like to be part of your global church...but only on our own terms." Since those terms consist of continuing departure from historic and classical Christian orthodoxy, we've got a big problem.
The statement also seems to say (and here's an interesting oxymoron) "we'd like to be part of your communion, but only if we can be completely independent and autonomous." They even harkened back to revolutionary days and talked about the life of the Episcopal Church being free and independent from the Church of England! And they essentially called the worldwide primates "a distant and unaccountable group of prelates." !! This, about our worldwide, global church leaders who are doing exactly what they should be doing in trying to call our leaders to accountability in the light of the gospel!
I really don't understand how one can claim independence and autonomy as the chief tenets of the life of a church. Of course we're "independent" in the sense that we're a unique province in the worldwide communion, and each province has its own location, governance structures, cultural influences, etc. One of the wonderful things about the Christian gospel, in fact, is its translatability into all kinds of languages and contexts and cultures. That doesn't mean the gospel changes, but it does mean it can and should be communicated in different contexts. That's the diversity within unity, but the unity part (when you're part of a global family of churches) matters. And the unity can only come when people hold, at the heart, the same center, the same foundation.
But how can we claim to be both a part of a global family, and "autonomous"? Look up autonomous in the dictionary sometime, and you'll find definitions like "freedom from all external constraints." How can that be? Look at the context of your own family...the daily, everyday family you're part of...and think how long you could function -- and LOVE EACH OTHER! -- if every member in the family insisted on autonomy! Even if you insisted on it, it's impossible! Because for one person to have complete freedom to do what he or she wanted to do or thought was best, will of necessity conflict with what another member needs at any given time. If I was perfectly autonomous, I would often choose to do things a lot differently than I do. I don't do a lot of things I'd like to do, and I stop doing some things I'd rather do...out of love, out of deference for the needs and wants of another, out of respect, out of the deeper desire to build a strong family. I am compelled, and yes, "externally constrained" by the facts of my relationship with others. Those are limits I chose to live within when I made the decision to help create and be a part of a family.
How do you keep loving members of your family who are determined to do their own thing, regardless of the consequences for others? It's hard. We need to find ways to prayerfully do this in the days and weeks and months ahead, as the Anglican Communion finds ways to "realign" (and it's going to get messy).
One of the best things I've read about all this in recent days came from a reflection written by Ephraim Radner, a priest in Colorado. He was counseling that faithful Anglicans in the U.S. stay out of litigation as much as possible (in the matter of property disputes, some of which have already started). And he wrote this: "But there is no point struggling for the truth if the struggle leaves one bitter and hostile, aimed against adversaries instead of praying for them in love. If one is not called to the radiancy of joyful sacrifice, it is better to leave. And hope is radiant and ready."
The "radiancy of joyful sacrifice." That's what a family, any family, especially a church family, should be marked by. If all of us in the communion asked the Lord's help to live such graceful, humble and radiant sacrificial lives before the watching world, perhaps we'd really be the church God calls us to be.
The statement also seems to say (and here's an interesting oxymoron) "we'd like to be part of your communion, but only if we can be completely independent and autonomous." They even harkened back to revolutionary days and talked about the life of the Episcopal Church being free and independent from the Church of England! And they essentially called the worldwide primates "a distant and unaccountable group of prelates." !! This, about our worldwide, global church leaders who are doing exactly what they should be doing in trying to call our leaders to accountability in the light of the gospel!
I really don't understand how one can claim independence and autonomy as the chief tenets of the life of a church. Of course we're "independent" in the sense that we're a unique province in the worldwide communion, and each province has its own location, governance structures, cultural influences, etc. One of the wonderful things about the Christian gospel, in fact, is its translatability into all kinds of languages and contexts and cultures. That doesn't mean the gospel changes, but it does mean it can and should be communicated in different contexts. That's the diversity within unity, but the unity part (when you're part of a global family of churches) matters. And the unity can only come when people hold, at the heart, the same center, the same foundation.
But how can we claim to be both a part of a global family, and "autonomous"? Look up autonomous in the dictionary sometime, and you'll find definitions like "freedom from all external constraints." How can that be? Look at the context of your own family...the daily, everyday family you're part of...and think how long you could function -- and LOVE EACH OTHER! -- if every member in the family insisted on autonomy! Even if you insisted on it, it's impossible! Because for one person to have complete freedom to do what he or she wanted to do or thought was best, will of necessity conflict with what another member needs at any given time. If I was perfectly autonomous, I would often choose to do things a lot differently than I do. I don't do a lot of things I'd like to do, and I stop doing some things I'd rather do...out of love, out of deference for the needs and wants of another, out of respect, out of the deeper desire to build a strong family. I am compelled, and yes, "externally constrained" by the facts of my relationship with others. Those are limits I chose to live within when I made the decision to help create and be a part of a family.
How do you keep loving members of your family who are determined to do their own thing, regardless of the consequences for others? It's hard. We need to find ways to prayerfully do this in the days and weeks and months ahead, as the Anglican Communion finds ways to "realign" (and it's going to get messy).
One of the best things I've read about all this in recent days came from a reflection written by Ephraim Radner, a priest in Colorado. He was counseling that faithful Anglicans in the U.S. stay out of litigation as much as possible (in the matter of property disputes, some of which have already started). And he wrote this: "But there is no point struggling for the truth if the struggle leaves one bitter and hostile, aimed against adversaries instead of praying for them in love. If one is not called to the radiancy of joyful sacrifice, it is better to leave. And hope is radiant and ready."
The "radiancy of joyful sacrifice." That's what a family, any family, especially a church family, should be marked by. If all of us in the communion asked the Lord's help to live such graceful, humble and radiant sacrificial lives before the watching world, perhaps we'd really be the church God calls us to be.
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