This is Us

“You’ll get out what you put in.” It was a confirmation class with the youth and the adults, so I wanted to say anything that would grab their attention. I’d prepared notebooks and slideshows; I’d spent time on the phone with seasoned clergy and lay leaders; I’d ‘put in’ quite a bit. My hope was that they’d all read, mark, and inwardly digest the materials—I mean, didn’t we all? What I had missed was essential to my own growth…it’s the main piece that I got out: People are different, not having the same passion for church nerdery as others. For some, that class was a means to pacify parents, partners, or peers; for others, it was a deeply connected conversation with God which led to confirming baptismal vows spoken on their behalf or from their own lips. In hindsight, my opening statement to that class was probably not as powerful as I’d intended…most likely (like everything else) it was received by those who were there in earnest and it fell on deaf ears by those who weren’t. Their experience had little to do with how I had prepared and more to do with the desire they held to learn.

In short: It’s not always all about me.

To be clear, I hate it when people say that. “It’s not always about you, Sean.” Yeah, I know. I didn’t intentionally think it was. Thanks for making a statement that adds anger to frustration. And also, thanks for the emphasis on my name…THAT makes it much easier to receive. If you know me, you know that I struggle with a sense of perfectionism that stems from insecurity—this has to go right or my worth will be diminished. And as you’re reading this, I wonder if you’ve thought, “Well, so far this article is all about you…lol. What’s the point?”

Well, it’s not all about me.

We live in a current climate of chaos. Our worth is tied up in our beliefs, our aspirations, our work, and our practices. And yet, our worth has nothing to do with what’s going on. A pandemic happens: Some prepare for the long-haul and shut themselves in, while others make statements like, “It’s fake, there’s nothing going on out there any more dangerous than the flu.” Part of the pandemic life is wearing a mask—and yet even there we can’t agree, choosing instead to make a stand for or against them. “If you don’t wear a mask, you don’t care about me.” “If you make me wear a mask, you don’t care about my beliefs.”

Well, it’s not all about you. Sometimes doing something that makes someone else feel safe is necessary, even if you don’t agree. And in that same sense, shaming someone for their lack of belief in masks is tantamount to shaming someone’s lack of belief in God. We don’t win hearts by attacking atheists—we win hearts by sharing our thoughts, listening to theirs, and continuing to live in a way that starts and ends with love. The same could and should be said about how we interact in every other conversation. Our worth isn’t tied up into what we perceive as right—it’s already been vaulted to the highest possible point by virtue of our creation in the Imago Dei. So why fight about masks—do you think you’re going to get through to people who disagree either way? I’m sure some of you want to disagree with me, right now, about masks. “Science proves…” “My rights are violated…” Yes. To both. But again, it’s not all about you. Masks are required to be most places these days; we don’t need the added insult of name shaming on those who disagree. And masks are required to be most places; disagreeing won’t change the rules.

We also find ourselves within an election year. “If you don’t vote Republican/Democrat, you don’t care about your neighbor; you aren’t Christian; you must be an idiot (actual words I’ve seen from church people around the country). “If you’re an independent, you’re wasting your vote, one that could go to my side.” Again, it’s not all about you. People are going to disagree. Period. It’s something in our created nature that allows us to exercise free will, at will. Do the statements and arguments help? Not really. If someone wanted to change their mind, they would have long before you or I got to them with our super genius words and apologetics. Our worth isn’t tied up in that, either.

Again, our worth comes from a long line of love by virtue of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Nothing. Else.

We’re making everything about us, when in reality, we might want to stop and think about why. This Pandemic will be here for a while. This election year is going to happen and the results will be what they will be. People will write things and we will disagree. People will say things and we will want to argue. But if we’re interacting in our daily lives as true followers of Jesus—Love your neighbor, Love God, love yourself—then shouldn’t that mean that we stick to the stuff that we can change?

Violence has no place in our society.

Poverty is the root of most of our problems.

People shouldn’t be shot in classrooms, on streets, in cars, or in their homes.

A person’s skin color—including white—doesn’t make them evil or good. It makes them human.

Loving your neighbor is hard. Loving yourself is hard. And yes, sometimes loving God can be hard. But we still have to do our best.

In God’s eyes, it IS all about you and me. We are the center of God’s world—the beautiful creation made manifest through love and divine design. Fluffy words don’t make that statement true: It’s true because God said, “I AM…and you shall be made in my image.” So maybe we do get out what we put into things. If we put in hateful words, we get back hateful words. If we put in arguments to satisfy our own beliefs, we get back broken relationships. However…If we put in love, we will receive grace—the love of God. If we put in time to listen, we will receive someone else’s perspective and have the opportunity to grow from that experience. If we put others before us, we will get out of our own way and perhaps make this world a bit better than we found it.

It isn’t about you. It isn’t about me. It’s about us.

And we need us to make it through these times.

All of us.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Community, what is it good for? Absolutely everything.

How do you define the word “Community”, and what does it mean to you?

Is it something simply convenient? A group that can be entered and exited with the seasons; or is it something deeper, something more intentional?

The answer is both, for me, lately. And I’m not sure that I like it…

There are groups to which I belong that serve a singular purpose, typically one that allows me to network or to gain skill at something, but one of which I can also freely leave without remorse at any given time. Take golf lessons, for example. Sure, I like the instructor and the people with whom I’m learning—and we have fun doing the things we’re there to do. But in reality, I don’t need to be there; I choose to because it helps me singularly gain skill at something that ultimately allows me to enjoy a hobby a bit more. Sometimes I’ll get lucky and meet people within the group that extend beyond the temporary, but most of the time it ends with, “Well, it was nice to meet you. Hit em’ straight and I’ll see you around.” The point being that we don’t always come together intentionally to form relationships; sometimes we come together to hone our own skills and then disband. Not in a malicious or uncaring way, but in a ‘that was fun, but I’m finished now’ way.

Then, there’s community. The place and people that feed me and that I feed in return. Not because I have to, or they have to, but because there’s something that inextricably binds us together: A common cause, a sense of purpose, a way of life.

Recently, those two types of community overlapped for me, and I learned something. It isn’t so much about which type of community we enter as it is about what we put into it. I could go to golf lessons and learn by myself without engaging others; I could be in it for me and be careless about those around me. But do they not have struggles, too? Or feelings? What if a few of them viewed me as a true friend, because they don’t have that in their normal lives? What if I’ve taken for granted the blessings of having a support system around me and simply chosen not to engage because I didn’t need anything from them? Sounds a little selfish, right?

I won’t name the community, but I will say that I just left it and have felt conflicted emotions over the ramifications of that choice. I realized that simply entering and exiting communities based upon my personal needs isn’t a Christian virtue, it’s more of a quid pro quo: You do this for me, I give you money, and we’re done here regardless of the others around us. That’s not community at all—it’s transactional living. I made some real connections with the people in the afore-mentioned group, without realizing how deep those connections impacted me. I chose to utilize my time there to grant escape and respite from ‘the real world’ and it turned out to be more work than I intended. Therefore, I left.

But the relationships I’d entered seemed to be a little deeper than I’d thought. Sure, the people will move on quickly and ‘miss me’ much the same as I will ‘miss them’, but we’ll all be fine. What does that mean? Does it mean that I didn’t give enough? Did I not take a moment to think about the transactional nature of this particular situation and then have the foresight to try and develop friendships rather than further my own agenda? That doesn’t seem to be the Christian way, either. If we’re only engaging people for what they can do for us, rather than for true connection, why even bother?

My point is this: Community—real community—shouldn’t have variations of worth. We’re either in it, or we aren’t. Church life can sometimes seem like a transactional community. We come in, pay our tithe, make our personal prayers, and leave. Transaction ended. But if we live by the example of Christ, shouldn’t we stick around and pay attention to those who are also there? What are the driving factors behind guiding us to Church—or any community for that matter? Do we miss opportunities to enrich the lives of others when we walk into situations simply concerned for ourselves?

As we’ve learned over the past few months, Church is more than just a building we visit. It’s a sense of belonging, a sense of relationship with God and neighbor. So, in that definition, isn’t there an implicit call for us to be with one another in all arenas? Can ‘Church’ also be held at AA? Yes. Is ‘Church’ present for us at the golf course? Yes. Does ‘Church’ happen online with people from around the country in chat rooms or forums? Yes.

Our free time is valuable, so we should seek to obtain as much value from it as possible. That’s one of the blessings of our local Church that enriches my life so deeply: People genuinely care for one another. Sure, we get angry from time to time and we need to step back from certain others for short periods, but overall, we’re a strongly knit group of faithful people who spread love and support by virtue of our beliefs. That doesn’t have to be contained solely within the confines of church life.

Take a look at the ‘communities’ to which you belong, this week. Why are you there? If it’s shallow, then how can you make it more meaningful both for yourself and those around you? What if every community we’re in becomes ‘Church’? Doesn’t that sound like the work we’ve been given to do, the life we’ve been called to lead? Loving our neighbor in every corner of our life rather than loving our neighbor on Sunday and Wednesday? If we all took time to see our neighbor as ourselves and love them in that way, then perhaps Church truly stops being an institution or a building, and starts becoming something…more. It starts to take over the world and offers a sense of belonging to everyone it encounters. We don’t have to pick people with whom we agree to have community. We simply have to choose to accept those with differing views and allow our own faith to guide us into a deeper understanding of one another, rather than a transactional and shallow relationship. We can’t live this life in silos, or its beauty will be diminished.

Take the resurrection community into all your other ones…see what happens. You might just change someone’s life.

And your own.

Faithfully,

When the rain's blowing in your face...

We needed the rain, today.

To be honest, I’m not sure whether it rained or the dew was just a bit stronger, but when I ventured out to mow the lawn (it’s 75 degrees…), I noticed the grass was too wet. It’s been a hot and dry summer lately, so I was grateful for the moisture, for the replenishment. My yard had started looking a little brown; I noticed an almost crunchy sound when walking around. I water, of course, but sometimes it isn’t enough. Sometimes, we need a little help from Mother Nature to inject life into our gardens, plants and grass. Lately it seemed like Mother Nature was on vacation—at least the rainy portion of her.
 
We needed the rain, today.
 
As you may have surmised, I didn’t end up mowing the lawn. But a thought came to me as I walked back inside and put up my mowing clothes: “We needed the rain, and the ‘rain’ comes in many forms.”
 
St. Teresa of Avila talks about prayer in a way that lends itself to rain. She says that, in the beginning, prayer can feel like drawing water from a well—quite a bit of work. As she continued in her spiritual practices, she noticed that the work became easier, moving from drawing water to a rainfall of the Holy Spirit. Water came abundantly rather than being worked for, or being forced out via human endeavor.
 
St. Teresa needed the rain, those days.
 
Since March 8th, ministry has felt like drawing water from stone…we didn’t even have the well. Many of us have been scurrying around, attempting to learn new skills in order to impart the same Gospel. YouTube has been sort of a well for us; it’s taken work, but we’re drawing people in and getting prayer and the message of God through. Then we took a step forward and added someone to the team who made the work easier—still not ‘rain’, but we definitely built that well. The workload lightened, spread out among us.
 
Then, this past Sunday, God made it rain.
 
I can’t describe the feeling of receiving communion for the first time in five months—and I am not insensitive to those of you who chose to stay home for good reason. I only speak from my experience at the altar, and that of taking communion again. My prayer life has seemed like drawing water from a well, alongside my ministry life. There’s only so much we can do before we reach the end of our own potential, our own abilities. Of course, we’re rooted in God and therefore sustained by the Holy Spirit and love of Jesus Christ—but it seemed harder. This last Sunday, in receiving communion and being with my church family, the rain came in sheets. It came in physical form from my eyes and the eyes of those around me; it came in spiritual form in that filling sensation brought on by the Holy Spirit; it came in mental form, knowing that our return to a new normal is closer on the horizon than it once was.
 
Sunday, we needed the rain.
 
As the week progresses, and the weeks after, I encourage you to seek the rain of prayer and grace of which God so freely provides. It sustains us, makes us grow, cools us down in the current climate, and allows us to have a refreshing drink from the ever-flowing fountain of grace. Communion was that rain for me—how does the rain manifest for you? My prayer this week is that you feel the rain, get watered by the fount of every blessing and are made new by its cascading effect. Because, as it turns out…
 
We need the rain, every day.
 
Faithfully,
 
Fr. Sean+

The Lasting Thin Space

There's a pervasive sense of wondering/wandering in my life right now:

When will things find a new normal?

What do I do with the 'extra' time?

Am I doing enough?

As these questions rifle through my mind, the answers come almost as quickly: Be still; you are beloved. It's a strange time, to be certain, but the grace abounding within turmoil hasn't gone unnoticed. While my health hasn't been all that great, I have insurance and good doctors. While the church doors have been closed, we've continued to add people to our calls and zoom meetings. While many ministry groups have been suspended, others have been created and are flourishing. God is evident in all of these moments, a presence in a veritable ongoing thin space that sustains me and brings joy in the lowest of times.

God breaking through and shedding light in the darkness happened quite a long time ago for me, but it continues to happen. I just have to be willing to listen for the shattering glass...with a sigh too deep for words, being wrapped up in the love of Christ. Often times, I choose to turn a deaf ear to that sound—the whisper of the Holy Spirit trying to soothe my soul—instead selecting a penultimate failure or sadness upon which to focus. But that is human nature, and God is there, too. God is readily available to bring us up when we fall, to carry us through the burdensome times in our lives and to dance alongside us in those moments of pure elation. Lest we forget, God created us in His image so that he could look upon us and see a piece of Himself.

As we venture into the unknown—or rather continue to the journey—I encourage all of us to keep in mind that which God so abundantly and freely shares: Grace.

Grace will sustain us. Grace will give us hope. Grace will consume our souls with a Holy fire that has the ability to burn off the chaff of this world and refine us into the fruitful people we were made to be. Instead of asking questions of ‘why’ and ‘how long O Lord’, I’m mindful that searching for God in the midst of this is the answer I really seek. And I’m also aware that I wasn’t there when God created the world, nor will I be here when God ultimately remakes it. It is my, and your, calling to trust in God, love one another, and continue to adapt to an ever-changing landscape of seemingly endless catastrophe. I believe that if we hold our faith dear and accept that grace which is so lovingly given, these times will be mitigated greatly. Instead of wondering and wandering, I’m going to be in this moment with you; I’m going to admit when I’m down and exude joy when I’m up, and I’m going to continue to be there to share those moments with you. Because that’s what God would have us do…because that’s what God  does.

…and if we’re created in His image…shouldn’t we do the same?

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Peace in Perspective

What gives you hope?

I remember times during my twenties when I had severe anxiety. The doctor prescribed anti-anxiety medicine for me to take, as needed, and the problem seemed to go away. But there was always a question in the back of my mind, “What if this persists or comes back?” So, after a few months of taking the medicine, I stopped. I wanted to try to get to a new normal without the aid of modern medicine. I was hopeful that it ‘wouldn’t always be like this’ and that one day I’d see myself medicine-free. But just in case, I carried that pill bottle around with me, everywhere I went. It was sort of a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ but also a, “I have it with me…I know it’s there…and that’s enough.”

It worked for years. Until recently, my anxiety has been mitigated through activity and the knowledge that I will be ‘okay’. Not everyone has the same level of this, so I don’t blanket statement my own experiences with theirs, nor do I fault anyone who relies upon medication to sustain a—to them—normal lifestyle. However, for me, having that security of just knowing the pills were available, even if I didn’t take them…helped. Immensely.

The Church has been closed for in person worship since March 9th. The doors have seen a fraction of the people walk through them that they once did, and the halls are empty just waiting to envelop old friends into a walking embrace. As I think about my own trials with anxiety, and how just ‘knowing the bottle is available even if I don’t use it’, I think about what impact that might make on our congregation.

Covid isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It’s the reality within which we live. I stand by my decision to keep the Church doors closed to this point, as I believe that we are protecting people and providing one less arena wherein Covid’s insidious nature can be proliferated. However…I also believe that there’s a sense of longing deep within many of us to see these doors opened, again.

Even if most choose not to use them.

For many, knowing that the Church is available to them—should they choose to come or not—will be a boon to their souls. I know this, because I’ve listened to you. As such, I am standing beside my decision to open up for in person worship on August 9th. There are some who will come, many will not. Both of those scenarios are perfectly acceptable. I suspect that attendance will be in the lower to middle twenties for the first few weeks. I’m prepared for that. But I also suspect that the simple fact of knowing the church is there, and open, will do much for those sitting at home thinking about her.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sending out a concise overview of what worship will look like when we gather in person. The most important thing I want you to know is this: Whether you feel safe to return or decide to stay home, this Church will be available to you. We will continue the call list; we will continue the online worship videos; and on Sunday, we will live-stream the service. If you watch the live-stream and then watch the prerecorded video, chances are that the sermon will be different…especially if I’m the one preaching. But the important thing is that we begin the journey back into our sacred space, opening it up and giving people the opportunity to worship in person, while also giving people peace of mind at home. Because, just like I knew the bottle was there if I needed it, I believe it will help you to know that the Church is open even if you choose not to visit it in person.

Grace to all of us in this time; we will get to a new normal. I don’t know when, and I don’t know what it looks like, but I know it will come. As with all things, this, too, shall pass and we shall see the dawn of a new day.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Just Keep Rowing...together

Learning to deal with change is not something people typically enjoy. Don’t believe me? When was the last time you changed your auto insurance? Of course, I’m joking, but that’s a real thing—and shameless plug, if you need insurance, Cathy Wade at Premier is wonderful. But change is hard. We don’t like it. We resist it. “Why can’t things just go back (or stay) to the way they were?”

Over the past few months, change has been a pervasive part of our culture. From one day to the next, we don’t know what ‘new’ issue will crop up, or what new action will take the pulse of the nation. It’s a gamble to even write sermons before film days; that’s the amount of change we’re experiencing. And yet, amidst all the ongoing changes, hope abounds and words matter. Last week, I received a forwarded article written by a doctor who talks about his cancer patients and how they adapt to everyday living in the midst of turmoil. It gave me hope, to be certain; but more importantly, it gave me resolve to accept that which I cannot change and just keep going. I hope you find inspiration and perspective in the following, as I did. And I hope you keep rowing with me and your fellow humans.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Article follows:

An oncologist’s prescription for managing fear and chaos in the COVID-19 pandemic

DOUGLAS B. FLORA, MD|CONDITIONS|APRIL 12, 2020

When physicians present at medical conferences, we usually start with a slide disclosing any potential conflicts of interest to our audience. I probably need to disclose two things here. First, I’m an infuriating and inexhaustible optimist. Second, I’m a cancer doctor but also a recent cancer patient myself, and I understand intimately how it feels when your world unexpectedly spins out of control.

With the arrival of COVID-19 on our shores and our lives suddenly looking as if they were cut from the pages of a Michael Crichton novel, we are all facing new fears and uncertainties previously unimagined. It’s only natural we now find ourselves seeking guidance on how best to survive in this new world. My prescription: Ask cancer patients. These patients were going about their normal lives when a cruel and terrifying reality intruded. Sound familiar? They are trained in uncertainty. They have been forced by their diseases to adapt, survive, and thrive amidst their own personal chaos. These patients’ experiences can offer valuable lessons and simple, but powerful tools we can use to adapt to the current COVID-19 pandemic.

Cancer patients must adapt to nearly impossible situations each day with grace, courage, and indissoluble hope. Real, applied hope is a powerful thing to behold. These patients embrace it. Can we tackle the coronavirus with a similar approach? I watch this hope help my patients overcome otherwise insurmountable hurdles every day. These lessons have informed my perspective as I offer this prescription to help you through the next few very difficult months: Hope on. For those of you on the frontlines working in healthcare, hope will be the fuel we burn every morning when we head to the hospital. We’ve learned this from the resolve we’ve seen in our own patients over years fighting in the trenches. You can put this to work too. Keep your own hope alive, no matter how dark it gets. This too shall pass.

However, hope alone may not be enough. We must face some grim realities. Many lives are going to be lost before another (new) normal returns. I’m reminded of a dear patient and survivor. This young mom was diagnosed with breast cancer while caring for her husband as he was dying of cancer himself. I asked her how she coped so well under such incredible stress and sadness. Her response has stuck with me for over ten years, and I’ve shared this simple phrase with hundreds of patients since: “When there is no wind, we row.” Right now, our nation has no wind to power our sails. Despite the fear of the unknown, we each need to row in order to support the normal rhythms of life. We must do our own part to preserve this critical physical distancing and move the boat a little each day as a nation. Already we see what this collective individual work and self-discipline has accomplished at the pandemic’s epicenter, as life is resuming today in Wuhan, China. If we do the hard, necessary things they did in China to isolate, test, mitigate, and separate, our own discipline will be similarly rewarded. My patients get this, and, despite all of their fear and uncertainty, I still see them rowing their own boats each day. In the coming months, the wind will return and fill the sails again … but until then, we row.

Cancer patients also learn to excel in stress management. In times of uncertainty, they strive to control only those things which they can control. Cancer patients understand that every moment matters, so they waste none. Another longtime patient and dear friend is living her best life despite an incurable stage IV melanoma. She is thriving. She works full time. She travels. She still punishes her Peloton almost daily! She reminds me that control is always within our grasp. You can do this too. Exercise. Read a great book. Pause your scrolling online to call an old friend. You must stop to consider what you can control, then, to quote this wise patient, “double down on it.” This approach to stress management is just as applicable to pandemics as it is to cancer. You cannot control thousands of spring breakers reveling on Florida beaches. Let it go. However, you can safely socially distance your family, you can religiously wash your hands, and you can help those unable to help themselves. Let go of the things you cannot control, and double down on the things you can.

Cancer patients teach us about the importance of community. They find strength in numbers and groups, whether by wearing pink ribbons, running in Races for the Cure, or attending support group meetings. A community is greater than the sum of its parts. We are more powerful together than on our own. No matter if you are in Wuhan, Bergamo, or my hometown of Cincinnati, we all share the hope for better days ahead. This infuriatingly optimistic cancer doctor sees glimmers of it already: the survival of the human spirit and real community. You can see it in the spontaneous celebrations of healthcare workers ringing from balconies in Madrid, or beleaguered nurses in hazmat suits dancing with signs on TikTok. Right now, even though it may feel like it is pulling us apart, our world is actually being pushed together by this virus, whether we realize it or not. To borrow from one of my new heroes, WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom, “This amazing spirit of human solidarity must become even more infectious than the virus itself.”

During this hard pause while our lives are at their strangest — while there is no wind — we must row. All of us. But it’s not enough to just row; we must row together. Like cancer patients, we need all the hope, resolve, and community we can muster.

If the prescription above doesn’t work for you? This cancer doctor recommends you double the dose.

Douglas B. Florais an oncologist.

Beautiful Days

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+