Yesterday, we went to a little venue outside of Stillwater for my cousin’s wedding. We were invited, but it was also a ‘priest’ gig, as well. I will admit that I was a little concerned about being around quite a few people all at once, being mindful that we’re trying to distance in order to keep safe. But I also wouldn’t have missed this wedding, period. The young lady is the daughter of my first cousin (family math is hard, just like math is hard) and I’ve known her since she was born—my cousin and I are quite close, and oddly enough, her husband and I are arguably closer. So to be there with them, to see their grown daughter get married, and to take part in the service? All of it was a blessing.
But the takeaway was more than just a ‘nice’ day or event. In a moment when the world seems like it’s crashing down around us, with murder hornets (still waiting), civil unrest, murder in the streets of police officers (Tulsa; please keep that officer in your prayers), a plunging economy, and…oh yeah, COVID, things seem downright ugly. But yesterday was different than the days over the past few months...
Yesterday was beautiful.
It was such a stark contrast to the ‘norm’ of the past seven months. People weren’t fighting about anything other than floral arrangements (joking), and people of different skin tones sat side by side sharing a meal and a laugh. There were different economic groups there, different political affiliations there, different genders, different “insert literally everything else here” there. And everyone got along just fine. They talked. They played cornhole. They watched the little ones play outside and run around inside. Some made new friends while others caught up with people they hadn’t seen in years. All without needing to be ‘right’ about something.
They came together to watch love’s fruition. They came together to watch two people become one and proclaim their love for the world to receive.
Yesterday was beautiful.
Very tired, I still sat up late last night thinking about the day’s events. Didn’t Jesus do the same thing? Didn’t Christ tell us to love one another as we love ourselves? When did the exception clause get adopted into that commandment?? I know we can’t always agree, and I know that there are personalities that we won’t necessarily always jive with, but does that mean we can’t love? When did we lose that ability?
As I read Corinthians (Love is patient, love is kind…it is not proud…love does not keep account of wrongs), I thought to myself, “Man. We REALLY need to heed this. Right. Now. Watching two young adults stand tall amidst arguably the toughest season any of us has lived through was a point of grace and a thin space for me. They didn’t let the world tell them how to love, or who to love, or who they could involve in their lives. They simply invited all their people—of all different stripes—to come and join them in a day of joy. I saw God yesterday. And I heard God through the love proclaimed by two people and many others around them. And it filled me with hope and faith and love. But the greatest of these was and is love.
Yesterday was beautiful…
Tomorrow can be, too.
Fr. Sean+
Choose joy!
Hello and happy Wednesday!
In Thessalonians chapter 5, verses 16 through 17, we are told to pray without ceasing and rejoice in everything. What if we took this to heart? What if we decided that no matter what, we would search for joy in every situation? Now, I know that that isn’t always our first inclination. Due to our human nature, sometimes we are just unable to see the joy in situations because of the gloom that overshadows us. It’s at those times that we need each other the most. It’s at these times now, that we need each other the most.
I’ve set up my Amazon fire stick to show pictures when we’re not using it. As it was scrolling through the other night, it started showing all kinds of pictures from church events over the last two years. Now, I won’t lie to you, I was having a rough day because I had been told that my wrist was broken. How? Funny you should ask. I broke my wrist around five weeks ago but I’ve been too stubborn to go to the doctor. Well, after mowing about 10 times, cleaning the house, and various other tasks that needed to be done at home and Church, it finally started hurting to the point that I had to go get help. But I digress…
As I was sitting in the living room that night, the pictures started scrolling. I got to see almost all of your faces as many of you have been captured by my lovely wife or by Jason Pierce over the last few years via photograph. And what a beautiful sight it was and is. We are so blessed to have experienced the joy of one another in this church. We come from a place of people coming to the church with their heads down—and leaving in much the same manner—to a place where people almost run for the door to get insiderather than to go outside. You can see it on every face and every smile as the pictures scroll along; I wish you could see these pictures, too.
I guess my point is this: with Covid, with all the other strife is going on in the world currently, and now with a broken wrist, I was feeling like “how long, oh Lord?” But after seeing those pictures, and seeing what we’ve done together and what we’ve accomplished, I realized this is just a moment in time. The current situation won’t last forever; yet, it may last longer than we desire. However, I choose joy. I choose joy because of you, because of my wife, because of my family, because I’m learning how to be a priest in new ways every day, and because I know that no matter how long we’re separated by proximity, we will always be connected through our memories and through the hope that is to come.
In last week’s sermon, I told you that I was going to start seeking joy and seeking the good in situations rather than focusing on the bad. I still plan to do that. And, even at one of my hardest moments, when I didn’t see Joy as clearly as I’d like to have, I saw your faces and was reminded. I hope that you have something at your home that reminds you of joy. I hope that you remember in your mind’s eye the smiling faces and the love that abounds at your church; I hope you remember that you are loved and that you are remembered and that these dark moments will not last forever. If the night becomes hard or the days seem long, remember the words of Thessalonians chapter 5: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, and give thanks in all circumstances.”
Joyfully,
Fr. Sean+
Righteous or Right: Have we ears to hear?
I don’t think there’s a single soul in our congregation that doesn’t mourn the atrocity of George Floyd’s murder and the circumstances surrounding it. I don’t doubt anyone’s heart, at all. The aftermath of his death, however, is another thing. So instead of trying to defend one way versus another, how about this: Let’s talk about what Jesus did.
When the house of God was defiled by money lenders and ‘that den of robbers’, Jesus marched into the Temple, made a whip out of cords, and drove out those who were practicing undesirable acts in the house of God. He did so out of righteous anger. People were misusing the space intended for peace and prayer, opting instead to further their own agendas. For literally the rest of his life, outside that one event, Jesus chose peace and the path of kindness. He turned the other cheek…do we? He lowered himself to serve others and seek the best in them while also trying to teach truth…do we? He sought to bring people together while peacefully challenging the existing orthodoxy…do we?
When George Floyd was murdered, many people took to the streets in peace. I was among them, in spirit, as COvID is still around and we’re about to open again—I am not chancing that. The protests during the day were peaceful, but then the day turned dark…and night presented a whole different side of ‘protesting’. I use quotes here because I don’t consider looting and violence to be a Christian, or viable, form of protest. I understand the anger—well, as much as I can as a white guy who has lived with an entirely different experience—but it doesn’t excuse the action. From what I’ve heard from my conversations with those of color, their anger stems from years of trying everything else to be heard, so now they feel (not speaking for all, but just from my experience through these conversations) as though this is the only means of getting attention. It doesn’t make it right, but it does pose the question “Have we been listening?” And if you have, then good for you, I’m not writing to you and you have no need to defend yourself or get angry at my words! But, if like me, listening is not something you’ve done well over the years, then perhaps it’s a starting point.
Jesus’ anger was righteous—he flipped tables and drove people out because they were misusing sacred space. What is occurring in the destruction of property is not done out of righteous anger—it’s done out of violent anger. Righteous anger is protesting with signs and words, not with fists and spray paint.
Since the dawn of America, protest has been part of our DNA. Americans threw tea into a harbor due to taxes; marched on Washington for women’s right to vote; marched for civil rights in the sixties; marched for gay/lesbian rights in the nineties. These are all (with the exception of the tea incident, which to be honest none of us really care about) viable means of protest. And righteous. There’s sanctity in standing up peacefully for one’s belief in a noble or humanitarian cause. There is no sanctity in watching the world burn.
The thing is, we have to listen. Not just with our preconceived notions or our own experience, but really listen to others even when we don’t understand and especially when we don’t agree. Half of remaining connected is being able to hear someone without needing to be ‘right’, without inserting our own opinions and trying to fight our way to being on the winning team. Because right now, no one is winning. Streets are burning, families are mourning, people are jobless, people are dying from the virus, and yet all most people want to do is get on a soapbox to prove how their ‘side’ is the right one. I include myself in this. I stand by my words, but I also want to invite conversation in, as I’ve realized that I have a threshold that has been crossed and my objectivity has been diminished. Jesus turned tables to change an ethos within a particular context. But let’s not be so hasty as to liken his actions to those who destroy businesses and homes in the name of righteous anger, or to those who dismiss anger as petulant behavior. They’re not protecting anything. They’re causing destruction. We’re not listening to anything, we’re dismissing voices.
For my part, I will do better to listen, listen to the Holy Spirit, and listen to my neighbor. In all of this, it seems that prayer and thoughtfulness has taken a back seat to pride and prejudice. I must question my own call from the Spirit and make amends where I can, rather than simply blasting away on a keyboard and holding myself up as the one who is right. So, I hope that you can hear the truth I believe, and I hope that you’ll kindly share yours. That form of communication is the only way forward; otherwise, we’re just continuing to throw things into the fire—and wheat and chaff will both be consumed. Together, we can gain understanding. And instead of being ‘right’ according to my own standards, I’d rather discover the right in relationship with as many people as possible.
Because though we are many, we are one Body. And right now that Body is broken.
Fr. Sean+
Reach out and touch someone...
For the last thirty years, almost to the day, I’ve spoken to my best friend on the telephone, almost every day. That’s not hyperbole—we rarely miss an opportunity to chat like teenagers, easily falling into conversations about nothing in particular, with a smattering of real-life issues thrown in. I won’t lie to you; most of our conversations involve obscure movie and television quotes that have been co-opted for applicable point-making. If I tried that with my wife, she’d look at me and wonder if I’d been spending too much time alone. But with my buddy—you’ve heard me refer to him as my brother, which is another article entirely—it’s effortless, understood, and amusing. It’s also effective.
We haven’t lived in the same city for almost twenty years. Before that, it was another three. For twenty-seven years of our thirty-year friendship, we’ve lived in different cities, and for most of the time, different states. All we’ve had is a telephone, with occasional visits, to keep our relationship strong, and to continue to grow together. Not many people have the type of bond that we do, I’m not blind to that. But it has also taken a great effort on both of our parts to remain in contact. Sometimes, I’ll get so busy that he’ll call or text and say, “Don’t forget, you get really sick when you work/go to hard.” Sometimes he’ll get wrapped up in his work and volunteer to do too much on the side and I’ll say, “Hey, don’t forget that you’re not Superman and you need to ease up a bit, take care of yourself.” Both of these statements—while true on the surface—also mean something added: “It’s been a day or two, don’t make me put your face on a milk carton. Call me.”
This practice is not just with him, anymore…this everyday conversation to build relationship. While it’s been all we’ve had over the past two and a half decades, it was out of necessity and desire to remain in contact through separation by proximity. But now, the whole world is operating like we do. I wonder how it’s going? Not everyone enjoys telephone conversations… Most people these days prefer to text in order to move on with their day; the phone has become less of a verbal communication device and more of a ‘let’s get this out real quick so I can avoid a lengthy conversation and get back to my day’ piece of equipment. But phones are all we have—or computers with video. That’s how we can connect these days, in meaningful ways. It isn’t the same as being in person, but take it from someone who has a relationship built on distance through the telephone: it works, and it’s beautiful.
In times like this, many folks are lonely. Even if you live with someone, or three or four other humans, chances are that you’re missing human connection with people. We all love our families, but we also love our friends, our people. So how can we do that in a time that sees us isolated? A phone call.
There’s still work to be done. Not everyone is simply sitting at home waiting for this to end. But, let’s face it, some people are. And then there are those that do work full-time still, but also have the energy and desire to do a little extra at night. So here’s what I’m proposing: If you’re one that wants to keep up connection, wants to check on folks, and/or one that is feeling a bit isolated and could use some conversation, I think we should divvy up the phone list and begin checking on one another. We have quite a few folks living alone in our midst. We have quite a few people with anxiety about the future. We have friends who might need to vent, cry, laugh, or tell a silly story from their day, whom have no other avenue through which to do so. If you’re interested in being one of the ‘callers’, send me an email at fathersean@resurrectionokc.org. I’m going to put a list together in the next day or two for individuals to reach out and utilize. I’m thinking if ten people made ten calls a week (or less, if that’s too much) that we’d cover everyone in the church in ten days or so. Think about that. Families contacting families for a few minutes, or longer if desired, just to see how they’re doing. It sounds like church, to me. And in reality, it sounds like the deepening of relationship that I’ve been doing for over thirty years with someone who has become so deep a part of me that words can’t give it a fair explanation.
So let me know if you’d like to join in on the phun (heheh) and I’ll get us going. On the same note, please let me know via email if you don’t want your number given out to anyone. That’s not strange and I completely understand. Not everyone needs this, but I’m willing to bet that most, do. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re alright with being contacted and that will be that.
We need each other, right now, and always. Part of being a church community is just that—being community with one another. As time rolls by and we discover new ways in which to worship, we also have to come up with new ways in which to remain in community. The Zoom calls on Wednesday evenings and the phone calls/texts I make during the day are good, but imagine if there were ten or twenty people doing it, too!
I hope you’re well, and I hope that you’re taking care of yourselves. As always, if you need anything please don’t hesitate to ask, I’m just a phone-call away…
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+
Living in Dystopia
These are strange days…
I feel like we live in the beginnings of a dystopian novel. It all started with news about a mysterious virus across the world. People didn’t take much notice of it, at first; we just went on with our lives and prayed for those infected…over there, wherever there was. Then, cases cropped up in Europe and other parts of Asia. People began wearing masks in public; toilet paper became a commodity; rumors started circulating. Now, businesses are closed, people are locked behind closed doors, and everyone is hunkering down for the foreseeable future.
But unlike a dystopian novel, this is reality. However, like that same novel, there are heroes who will help right our situation. They don’t come in the form of angsty teens, set out to flip a current status quo. Instead, the heroes of today are reading this article. One of them is the grocery store attendant; the mother of three who is desperately trying to keep it together while dealing with throngs of scared and ravenous consumers. On her team she has the shelf re-stocker—a young man picking opportune moments to take needed supplies and make them available for purchase; the cleaning crew that comes in and kills germs with their weapons of sanitary salvation; the managers who ensure that goods will continue to be available. This is just one battleground.
In another part of our story, we have healthcare professionals of all kinds: Janitors, Nurses, Administrators, Doctors, Volunteers. All of these form a super-team of brave individuals who are putting themselves in danger to care for those afflicted. Twenty hour shifts are commonplace for most of these folks; their days containing little sleep, they continue to serve while they fight to find a way to heal. For them, rest is fleeting and danger is immanent.
Yet again, elsewhere in our tale, we discover small bands of vigilantes roaming the streets and taking food to the hungry, caring for those who can’t do so for themselves, and making trips to the pharmacy for medicine for pre-existing conditions that have little to do with this virus. The stories go on and on. A myriad of heroes are showing up in all facets of life, doing their part to counteract the effects of this antagonistic pandemic.
And, lest we forget, we haven’t mentioned the main protagonist of this story. The one we all must look to for hope. For grace. For comfort. For healing.
Our faith places us alongside the people mentioned above. Just like they’re doing their part to combat this virus, we also have ours to play. Our faith in Christ must shine brighter than ever, our prayers must be shouted louder and more frequently. Our misgivings must be placed at the altar of the One who has already defeated death and overcome adversity. We must pray for the heroes out there: the people who stock shelves, the doctors, the nurses, the food-delivery folks, the janitors, the trash collectors, the volunteers. And, if possible, we will continue to be some of those folks, too. Because this isn’t the end of our story. Our tale started well over two thousand years ago and will continue to be told for generations. This is simply a point in the book of life that will challenge us to be better than we were, to reach for faith and hold on tight when the days become difficult.
All of us has a role to play in this story. Whether it’s on the front line or in a darkened room, we can all impact what’s happening around us. Be kind to one another, remember that we’re in this together. Set aside petty grievances and look beyond them. Pray without ceasing, love without condition, serve without fear. Check on those who are more vulnerable to this moment and see if they need your help. If you’re among the vulnerable, reach out and someone will take your hand. There’s nothing we can’t do if we band together and act as intended, operating like the Body of Christ in a broken world.
Continue to take meals to folks. Continue to pray. Continue to bring hopeful words to the hurting. This is not our final chapter. Our story lives on through you.
Be heroes.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+
Be still...
Over the past few days I’ve seen a recurring trend: Do nothing for Lent. These words have been disseminated via a video, an article, and a conversation with three different people. I saw the article first, found here, entitled, “A Not-So-Radical Proposal for Lent: Do Nothing”. Immediately my eyes rolled back and I thought, ‘Oh boy, here we go…another excuse to not give anything up.’ But I read it, anyway. As I read, my presupposition was destroyed; the writer wasn’t encouraging a spiritual laziness—he was suggesting a spiritual openness. I finished the article and two words kept brushing against my mind…be still. I sat with that for a moment and then moved on.
A bit later in the day, I came across a video (found here) from one of my colleagues in the Diocese of Oklahoma, The Rev. Dr. John Toles. In it, Fr. John talks about giving up versus simply giving; he says the act of giving up is more about our personal willpower whereas the act of giving is a testament to one’s relationship with God. When talking about giving up versus giving, he says, “…But what does that have to do with your relationship with God? How does it enhance that relationship, deepen that relationship? Not only with God, but with the people around you, with the community?” He goes on to speak about giving ten, fifteen, or thirty minutes a day to God…without necessarily doing anything. Again, those hushed words touched my consciousness…be still. As my calendar dictates my life, I realized I was about to be late for a meeting, so I stood up, gathered my things and headed out of my office door.
As soon as I turned the corner out of my office and into the hall, someone stopped me. They needed a moment to talk, and I had just a few minutes, but we went back into the office and sat down. While the conversation was and is private, one thing I’ll say is that those two words didn’t whisper in the back of my mind, again; this time, I said them out loud in response to this individual’s questions. Be still.
An article, a video, and a living conversation took place within the span of two hours, all with the same message: Be Still. Today begins in what can arguably be noted as the busiest liturgical season of the year. Starting today, clergy everywhere will begin the work of Lent; lay people will also begin this work. I have to wonder what meaning we will take from this season if we enter it with a task-oriented mindset. Is the important question of Lent, “What will I give up?” Is it, “Will people show up for service?” Or even, “How will I manage to do all the things I’m supposed to do in order to observe a holy Lent?” I think these are appropriate questions, but I don’t think they’re the first questions we should be asking. Instead, I wonder if we should start by asking, “God, how can I get closer to you? How can I make myself available and be still long enough to hear your voice and heed your call in my life?”
“Can you help me to Be still?”
Entering Lent, my prayer for all of us is that we will make time to take time with God. The season can be overwhelming for Christians attempting to strengthen our relationships with God and each other. We want to do all the ‘things’ that come along with Lent, but in reality, I think the most important item on that to-do list is the one we miss most often: We must make time to be still with God. Whether that means taking a ten minute walk instead of scrolling through social media, sitting in silent reflection or prayer instead of watching a thirty minute program, or taking a moment to say something loving to a neighbor and greeting them in the name of God, we can make long-lasting impacts in short amounts of time through ‘being still’ and taking a break from our to-do’s.
This Lent, learn to be still. If you already know how, then practice it. If we do this, the thing we give up to God will be the most meaningful gift we have…
…ourselves.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+
February 6th, 2020
On Tuesday, it was business as usual. I made some calls, wrote some ‘stuff’, checked facebook…you know, all the things a priest should be doing. The world was normal—or at least the normal to which we’ve all become accustomed—and nothing was out of the ordinary. I checked the weather and saw that it was going to snow so I canceled service on Wednesday. In my head I thought, “yeah, yeah…we’ve heard this before. You say it’ll snow and then tomorrow arrives looking the same as it did, today.”
Well…here’s to you weatherpeople. You got it right.
I awakened on Wednesday to a world that I haven’t seen in quite some time. A blanket of snow had been stitched on the roads, yards, and houses around me. Our back porch had a drift that was up to my knees; I know this because…yep, you guessed it…I walked into it. I turned around and opened the door, calling to Kevin. I wanted him to experience his first snow; I thought he’d be excited. I thought, “Man, he’s not going to think twice; he’ll jump in and go at it, immediately.”
I was wrong.
Kevin, fully adorned in his red snow-suit, took a few steps out onto the porch, looked at the snow, looked back at me, and then sat down staring in utter disbelief. He looked at me, again, with a question in his eyes. He seemed to ask, “Erm…dad…what is this? Where is the backyard? I am confused and I refuse to go any further without explanation.” Now, I have always considered myself a fairly patient individual. Typically, I would’ve coaxed him into the yard, bit by bit, encouraging him to go and experience the ‘newness’ out there. Not Wednesday. Not a bit. I bent down and gave him a little shove out into the snow; no warning, no coaxing, just BAM! Experience this new cold, wet, strange stuff that you’ve never seen before without any warning! Looking back, I feel a little bad (very little) because of the shock that he must’ve experienced, but hey…it was pretty cute and he is a resilient and curious animal. He skidded into the snow, and from then on out, it was on. That little fifteen pound animal plowed his way through the four or five inches of snow like he was a bulldozer hired to clear a lot. Watching him sent tears of laughter streaking down my face. It was so funny that I had a hard time breathing. He tore from one side of the yard to the other, making little Kevin canals throughout the area. For the rest of the day while he was inside, the only thing he wanted to do was go back out there and play in the snow.
Wouldn’t it be nice to take change that readily? Kevin didn’t know that the same ground existed under the new white blanket of snow; for all he knew, I had maliciously taken away his known territory and replaced it with something foreign. But, when pushed, he just accepted it and moved along. People are decidedly—for better or worse—not dogs. We do not accept change without explanation; we do not appreciate new things thrust upon us without proper preparation. And, in the event we are prepared, change is still difficult.
A change is about to happen to this church family. We started out small and we’ve lost a few members along the way to various reasons, but we are about to lose someone who has meant so much to the life and growth of this place that it is impossible to type into sentiment. This Sunday, Jeanne Oden says goodbye to Episcopal Church of the Resurrection. While she will come back and visit, she’ll no longer be in the pews every Sunday. Her infectious smile won’t be readily returned by virtue of its absence. The lack of presence of her friendship, counsel and leadership within these walls will be much like the new snow was to Kevin, at first: Terra Incognito. Jeanne has given herself to this place in so many ways that it is impossible to list them all. She’s been the Altar Guild directress, a vestry person, a communications guru, a Daughter of the King, and so many other titles. But she’s also—and more importantly—been a friend and a beloved member of this community.
As we get shoved into the snow on Sunday, for those of you who know her, remember that the same ground she helped us grow on is still there. We may be hesitant to rush out onto it, but it’s what we have to do. Every time someone departs this place, we feel that loss. But we have also been blessed with new people whom God sends to not replace but to refill our ranks so that we can continue on in the work we have been given to do. To Jeanne, I say this: You are beloved, you will be sorely missed, and you always have a home here. Godspeed on your move and enjoy your new snow; it’ll be strange at first, but knowing you, you’ll jump right in. To the rest of us, I say this: We are going to experience ‘new snow’ at quite a few points in our lives together. How we approach it is what matters. We will continue to find new ways in which to connect, love and care for the community around us. We will continue to make lasting relationships with one another and those who we have yet to meet. We will do so in the name of God; we also do so because that’s who we are, and we come from a long line of love: Sandy, Henry, John, Jim, George, Marcy, Monty, Debbie, Tom and Tawana, Bee, and now Jeanne, alongside so many others. Our lives are enriched because we shared them with the folks above and with each other. So, here’s to fond memories and new snow; let’s continue to make Resurrection canals.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+
January 30, 2020
I wrote something yesterday morning concerning forgiveness and the way in which we arrive at our decision to either forgive or delete. As with any writing, I read it back to myself and thought it was clear, concise and evinced the type of theology I hold.
Then I heard another voice.
With so much going on in the world, we seek comfort in many sources, chief among them for most is entertainment. We watch movies, sports, attend concerts, etc… Inevitably, we end up finding ourselves fans of someone. First for their craft; we watch them do the things that we never could, or never had the opportunity to do. After a few years, we become super-fans. If something happens in their lives, it’s easy to over-look, to allow ourselves to have a sense of temporary blindness to terrible acts of human nature. Ray Lewis killed a man. He’s in the Hall of Fame. That’s just one story, but there are many, many more.
I’ve been a Kobe Bryant fan my entire adult life. I literally watched him every season, in most of the games (I won’t say all, but pretty close); I watched him, rooted for him, celebrated when ‘we’ won and mourned when ‘we’ lost. I’m a Lakers fan, through and through. I always will be. But I was also a Kobe fan.
And as much as it pains me to admit, I was a blind Kobe fan.
When someone dies, the last thing we should do is defame their character; especially when the death of one of their children is alongside. As humans, it’s alright to grieve and feel a sense of loss—it’s expected. As Christians, and especially as a Christian leader, it’s not okay to absolve the acts of someone who committed violence against another human, and then proclaim them a hero in the aftermath of their death, no matter how sad. The truth is, someone held a mirror up to me yesterday and spoke some truth that I needed to hear. There’s another person in this story of a soon to be Hall of Famer—a young woman who was sexually abused. The pathology reports speak for themselves, so the question of guilt isn’t one of legality, it’s one of humanity. There’s a young woman out there who was assaulted and then publicly shamed for being ‘promiscuous’. But here’s the thing, as another writer put it: Just because someone chooses a lascivious lifestyle doesn’t mean they deserve to be dismissed as a victim. It also doesn’t automatically ensure that every sexual encounter is consensual.
I have a duty as a Christian leader to speak against violence of any kind. I have a duty to myself as a human to do the same. I don’t want to be the kind of guy who uses his voice to perpetuate a system of blindness; who reinforces the thought that just because someone is mesmerizing in their field, we should make exceptions when their lesser humanity shows it’s head. These words aren’t easy to type, and believe me when I tell you how upset I am about Kobe’s death and the death of his daughter, Gigi. He was still young and he had his hand in quite a few wonderful things that benefitted the communities around him. But he committed an atrocity, whether or not the legal system agrees. He did something that we cannot allow to be swept under the rug: he was a human who played a game well, treated most other people well, was a fantastic father and an intelligent man—yes, he was all of that—but he was also harmful to someone who’s life will never be the same. Someone who now has to hear how wonderful he was while remembering how horrific her encounter was with him. No amount of money from the settlement will restore her dignity. No amount of time will take away the painful memories of that night. And as a Christian man, Priest, and human, I have to walk back some of my utter devotion to him, as painful as it is. God asks better of me. God asks me to be honest with myself and the people around me. So here I am, a day later, trying to do that. I don’t think Kobe should be deleted from the annuls of history; he’s done good things for people, and he played the game better than most…better than all but one. But he also hurt someone. Deeply. And now, other people who have experienced something similar also have to watch as someone who represents the perpetrator in their own experiences is lauded as a hero. It isn’t right. We have to get to a place where we, as a society, can help rehabilitate people and hold them and ourselves to a higher standard—or in the least, a standard of doing no intentional harm. We have to speak out against violence against anyone, women and men, and say, “Not a hero. He turned into a good man, but he did something in his past that must be remembered simply because of the lasting effect it had on the person he did it to.” It’s bothered me to the point of not sleeping last night, because I knew that I’d not articulated my theology of forgiveness well enough to try and encapsulate the player I loved alongside the man that disappointed me and hurt someone else.
I don’t expect everyone to agree with me. But I write this in support of those whose voices have been silenced, for those who have experienced pain and shouldn’t have to have a clergy person, or any leader, laud someone who has done something like this. We are all human, we will all do something in our lives that will darken our souls—no matter the level of ‘bad’. My belief is that grace found Kobe in the latter half of his life, and that he and his daughter are together. But I don’t want to make it seem like I’m ‘ok’ with what he did because of who he turned into. Someone has to stand up and say the hard things. That’s my job. This is the truth that I have been given to share; I’ve been convicted for my words yesterday, so today I write and shine a light on the truth of a man who lived a life cut short by tragedy, but also a life with a moment of darkness that stained his legacy, and more importantly, harmed another human being. I hope you see the point I’m attempting to make, but let me be as clear as possible: Sexual, Emotional, Physical, or Spiritual violence against anyone is not acceptable. Certainly, with God’s grace, nothing is irredeemable, but it doesn’t mean we forget that it happened. I appreciate you reading this, and again, please understand how difficult it is to write. We live in a world where violence is a reality. There’s a difference between acknowledging that we’re fallible people and making someone a hero regardless of what they’ve done.
My condolences to the Bryant family. A parent should never lose a child. A spouse has a hard road ahead when they lose their partner. I will continue to pray for his family, for his daughter Gigi, and for him. But I will also lift up the victim in prayer, the one who relives this right now. And every other victim of assault. It isn’t a liberal thing. It’s a human thing. And I’m trying to be a better one.
Sean+
January 29th, 2020
Do we really believe in forgiveness? I mean really. Every single human that has ever been born (with the exception of one) has committed sin, in one way or another. What’s interesting to me is that, as a people, we have decided which sins count and which ones don’t. But the reality is this: We really just condemn people based on the sins that we dislike the most; for some, it’s murder, others it’s lying, and the list goes on. This has been brought home in extraordinary ways this past week with the death of Kobe Bryant. The amount of opinions concerning his legacy are overwhelming; some people say that he’s a hero, while others maintain that he shouldn’t be remembered as anything other than a criminal. Why does it have to be either/or? Why can’t we acknowledge that Kobe did some spectacular things in his life, and also committed some egregious sins against his neighbor? Why do we have to refuse one side in favor of the other?
Kobe is my favorite athlete of all-time. I should say that, just to get it out. Watching him on the court was like watching magic happen—the things he could do with a basketball were mesmerizing. At the same time, I felt so embarrassed, ashamed and angry with him when his dark deeds were made public. I couldn’t believe that someone I enjoyed so much could do such an atrocious thing. Nothing can make up for what he did, no matter the verdict from the court. But—and most don’t know this because they stopped watching his progress, directly after the allegation—he started making changes in his life. And I kept watching.
And that’s really all we can ask of people, isn’t it? We live in a society hell-bent on deleting people immediately after they sin. We have very little room in our hearts for forgiveness—and just to make it clear: Forgiveness is not forgetfulness, nor does it make the transgression ‘go away’. Forgiveness does not mean reconciliation, nor should there be an expectation of the victim to EVER feel beholden to returning to relationship with the offender. Ever. But deleting people is also not the answer. If God were to delete us for our largest and most egregious offenses, most of us would’ve disappeared quite a long time ago, during our teens or twenties. And yet, here we are, worshiping in God’s house, trying to do better.
I have to believe that we are the sum of our actions, but we are also the sum of our intentions afterward. We cannot simply rest in a state of sin and expect salvation, but we cannot move forward if others won’t allow it. As modern theologian Nicole Ekberg said to me, “Forgiveness seems to have turned into a convenience instead of what it’s supposed to be.” I couldn’t have said it better. Too many times we expect too much of our leadership and our neighbors. Nothing will ever make what we’ve done ‘okay’, but attempting to change will make us better than we were. Forgiveness is a part of that, too. In order to be forgiven, we also must choose to forgive. Again, that doesn’t mean that the atrocity disappears or that whatever happened is ‘ok’. It simply means that we have elected to choose grace instead of the delete button. Allowing people the opportunity to change and grow is one of the most important things we can do as human beings. I am not perfect. Neither are you. Remembering that when someone else offends is perhaps the greatest action we can commit, in order to allow us to forgive while still remaining watchful. It’s a tough road to travel, but it’s the road God calls us to traverse. Try to remember that people are fallible, and not all deserve to be a part of your life; but also remember that grace is given to everyone…it’s how they receive it that matters, and how they try to change afterward. Hopefully we all earn the forgiveness given to us, in the end.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+
December 11th, 2019
What We Need is Here—Wendell Berry
Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer's end. In time's maze
over fall fields, we name names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed's marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
Hand me a shard and I will scrape away this grief. Place my hands in the wounds of Jesus’ side and let me know true pain. Lift my eyes to see the splintered wood of the cross so that I might understand sacrifice. Open my ears to the screams emanating from dark corners of the earth, so that I might hear truth. Am I Job? Am I Jesus? Am I forsaken?
No. No. No.
In the midst of sadness, joy comes in the mourning. That’s what I wrote last week. The line is from Psalm 30—but I have changed the word ‘morning’ into ‘mourning’. It resonates with me that through grief we are able to claim joy, just like through death Christ was able to claim life. It isn’t on the highest peaks of faith that we ‘find’ ourselves, but rather the valleys, below. Many of our friends and family are suffering silently, agonizing over illness, grief, despair, or loneliness—or all of the above. Yet we have something that quite a few do not. We have faith. In times such as these, faith is the last remaining vestige of sanity lost—the quiet current of insoluble grace flowing through our veins which ties us to Jesus Christ. In his blood, we find our own. In his body broken, we find our wholeness. In his act of triumphant defiance, we rise.
We rise.
We rise above grief and allow the dawn from on high to break upon us. We rise from ashes of burning lives—lives lived in a hurry to get things done, to complete the next task, to be better human-doings--to become loved human-beings. We rise and take account of that which has been provided for us. We must take refuge in the glory of God; listening rather than asking; accepting rather than forcing. Because what we need is here. There is a holy table upon which we place our hopes, our dreams, our created wares. There is a holy font with living water which can humidify our arid souls and soothe our parched begging voices. There is a table from which to feed, a pew upon which to rest, a fountain from which to drink, and a great cloud of witnesses from whom to glean strength. What we need is here.
In the joy of the third week, the joy of Advent, we rise. We lift our faces over the manger in hopeful anticipation of seeing new life. We rise to worship, we rise to work, we rise to realize that we rise together. We rise to meet the face of new creation, the incarnate Word of God. We rise to thank God for the realization that what we need is here.
We rise.
Fr. Sean+