Patience is a Virtue?

There’s a song by Guns N’ Roses entitled “Patience”. In it, modern theologian Axl Rose (not a theologian, yes that’s how he spells his name) ends the song with repeating the words, “Patience, yeah, yeah…just a little patience.” It was one of the first songs I learned to play and sing, so, knowing the tune and the lyrics as I do, the words have been on repeat in my mind, lately.

They say patience is a virtue, but sometimes I wonder how virtuous I am. I tend toward quick decisions (here’s looking at you ‘J’ on the Meyer’s Briggs) and I lean toward having a good idea of what I expect from the work I have done throughout my life. Yet, my expectations aren’t reality—they are sometimes on another plane of existence—and I recognize my inability to practice ‘just a little patience’ in those moments. I have worked on this throughout the years and I find myself getting more patient with some things as I age; yet, with others? I have developed an eroding fuse.

I wonder at this. What’s so difficult about patience? Why does it elude me? Then, I recognize that I am not alone; the other citizens of this planet also struggle with varying degrees of situational, and even long-term, patience. We lack patience in our conversations, only half-listening while bursting at the seams to have our turn to talk. We lose patience with our loved ones, though I believe this instance to reflect the adage, “we’re hardest on those we love” (that doesn’t make it okay.) We show little patience with the incarcerated, the impoverished, the theologically different, and many more groups of people. We have little patience, it seems, concerning anything to do with what ‘we’ want or expect. Yet, when someone else has an issue? We become some kind of pseudo-sage that starts humming ‘ohhhhm’, telling the person across from us to have patience, that everything will work out in God’s time.

Dude, really? That’s where we’re going with this? When we become impatient, others around us, the world and God are to blame. When others practice that very same impatience, they should just calm down and allow the moment to unfold? Um, this is pot, calling for kettle, party of everyone.

The truth, at least as I see it, is that patience isn’t a virtue at all. It’s a trait that some people hold more sway over than others. Much like being a singer, I think people are born with a bit more aptitude toward being calm, and they also work on that to foster a greater sense of patience from it. Likewise, people born without a modicum of ‘chill’ would also do well to work on it, do breathing exercises or something. I don’t know, I tend to fall in the latter group.

What I do know is this: Without faith, and without actively praying about situations within which I feel untethered, patience is impossible for me. Adding to that, I also seek out opinions of others around me regarding rough situations and actually attempt to listen to them, rather than thinking of ways to defend my words or actions. Am I always successful? Big nope. But at least I try. As for others around me, I find that it’s easier and easier to be patient with them when I’m doing better in my prayer life versus not. Christ compels all of us to be kind, not nice, and yes there is a difference. Being nice is nodding, smiling, and beating feet to get away from the situation as fast as possible. Being kind is to be present to someone who is showing a lack of patience, it might be all they need in that moment—perhaps they don’t need to be ‘fixed’, just heard. Let people finish their words, allow people the agency to vent, and most of the horde will come to an end-point on their own. Perhaps we should have the patience for them. That way, when it's our time to shine with impatience, they can return that grace and allow us the same safe space.

Just listen. Be present. And be grateful that, during our times of impatience, that person chose to do the same. We don’t need to fix people’s problems, not all the time. We don’t need to think of wise words whilst others are speaking, especially when said advice wasn’t solicited. We don’t need to offer an opinion on every situation, or question everything all the time—especially when the person on the other end of the line is clearly struggling. Sometimes, all we need is a little patience.

Just a little patience, yeah?

Yeah.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Sticks and Stones

A lack of communication occurred this past Sunday. My opening statement of “I hate New Orleans” was received by many as “I hate Mormons”. While somewhat amusing, this is not what I said—I can only imagine people unable to pay attention to the following lines of the sermon due to wondering why I hated Mormons. This leads me to believe that many may have missed why I said, “I hate New Orleans”. I don’t, really. I was attempting to prove a point about hearing second-hand information and making a decision based upon it rather than exploring the content on my own. I’ve never been to New Orleans. How could I possibly know whether or not I liked it?

The rest of the day was spent reading comical text messages and receiving phone calls about my sudden ire against Mormons. Again, I have nothing against the Mormon people—also, I know very little about their contemporary theology or goings-on.

Which led me to ponder this: How much is being lost in translation every day? The way in which we speak to one another matters, words matter. Words have meaning, yes, but they also contain power and authority. I find myself wandering in some conversations due to a word that is used, thus missing the content of the rest of the interaction. It’s an issue on which I’m working. Yet, I marvel at the power of words and the way we use them.

In conversation, especially difficult conversation, our words are not always received as intended. Ever had that happen? You make, according to you, an innocuous statement only to discern that it has been received as something completely unintended? Again, see hating Mormons above. When this happens, the spirit of the conversation is lost and the give-and-take turns to an argument over what was said, rather than the initial reason for the dialogue. When this occurs, our ability to communicate is lessened.

The sad thing? This happens all the time and is incapable of being completely averted (especially for the more loquacious individuals out there).

All we can do when these situations happen is take time, give time, and offer an apology. It is up to the person on the other end of the line to accept, refuse, or engage in future conversation. But it doesn’t give us license to wash our hands of the hurt. If you crumple a piece of paper, apologize to it and smooth it out, it’s still going to have remnants of the previous harm committed to it. When we say things to people that hurt them, there will usually be things thrown back at us, in turn, inflicting injury as well.

How do we break that cycle? How can we more effectively communicate?

This is where I believe our faith and system of believe can aid us in striking ways. If we are able to hold ourselves accountable for misspoken or ill-communicated ideals, then perhaps the other will be able to do the same. If we can apologize without adding an additional line, “I am sorry for the way I said what I said, but…” then the relationship and conversation can continue to thrive rather than be fractured. In most cases.

Jesus used confusing words with the people and the disciples around him. All the time. They were called parables. Even his best pal Peter had a difficult time understanding his buddy Christ, evoking Jesus’ righteous anger in the words “Get behind me, Satan.” Peter’s understanding wasn’t there, so he started talking rather than remaining silent until the rest of the thought was conveyed. If it happened between Christ and Peter, you can better believe it’s going to happen to us. The question: How will we respond?

When words fail, hearts prevail. It is our calling to be loving individuals, even when we do not like one another, momentarily. We are tasked with being forgiving people. Sometimes the only words that will work in tense situations are, “I’m sorry. I mean it. This is what I was trying to say…” And then allowing the other time to process the situation. It isn’t trite to type these words—it’s our Christian duty. With the upcoming election in 2024, with the ever-rising debate on…everything…we, now more than ever, have to remember our baptismal vows to “love and respect the dignity of every human being” and “proclaim by word and example the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Words have power and authority, yet language is broken and so are we. Thanks be to God that we have Christ as a mediator and advocate, to allow those broken moments to heal through the power of faith and love.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

A Diet of Faith

I dislike diets, as I have come to understand them. At least, up until two weeks ago. Diets never seem to work; they help one lose weight for a short period of time and then the practice goes away when said ‘goal’ is reached. Or I’ll get busy and fast-food is the only way I remember to eat. On the way up again, Mr. Scale, party of 200 coming your way. I have fluctuated in weight in a crazy way over the last five years, never seeming to be able to find homeostasis at a comfortable number. But I also like Eischen’s, brownies, and everything June Howard leaves on my desk.

I realized two weeks ago (yes, I’m a little slow on the uptake) that I needed help, so I called a friend who looks like an extra from the movie 300 and pled for aid. He set me up with a path of what to eat and how much to exercise, and also said, “This isn’t a diet, it’s a life change.” Turns out, ‘diet’ is the way we eat, not a period of time in which I have to say no to donuts.

Faith can be like this, too, regarding my previous understanding of diets. Sometimes our faith can be one of momentary need until a goal is reached, or until we get really busy and have to hurry through life and cut something out. Poof, there goes our practices that keep our faith strong, being cut out to make room for other things. I don’t think it’s ever intentional, but I do think that we tend to talk to God when we need favors more than we do when we’re in need of nothing at all. This isn’t completely true for everyone all the time, but I imagine that it is a little true for everyone at least some of the time.

Yet, our faith isn’t a momentary tenet of our lives. It’s an everyday sense of being. When I feel stretched, I will look for someone who lives like they walked straight out of the Ten Commandments; I’ll ask them for guidance, and pretty soon I’m back on the right track. But it takes work, and perseverance in the face of life’s busy seasons, to make time to put God first and everything else, second. When our faith is alive and well, our lives are better; this isn’t even an opinion, it’s just my observed truth. I’ve seen the difference in some of you when you’ve been down, and when you’ve been down but held your faith practices tightly. You are two different people at those points. I am much the same.

Our faith is a life-long diet of scripture, worship, fellowship, fun, and service to others. If we do all of those things, even in the slightest, every day? We will be at home in our own skin, even when things seemingly fall apart. If you’re down, and faith seems impossible to reach, give me a call, give a friend a call, or give someone a call. God will answer through them, to get you back to where you want to be.

…and where God is calling us to live.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

How Do You Know?

Our drive to Denver was fairly quick as far as nine-hour drives are concerned. We talked about the future, the past and the needs of ‘now’. We talked about the weather; Oklahoma during the summer seems like punishment for a crime we didn’t commit. And we sat in companionable silence. It was a good drive. Road-weary as we were, we decided to head down to the hotel bar for an hour. Nicole and I rarely have a moment to share a drink in a public space for a lot of reasons. It almost never works out for us, as one of us will invariably know someone in the surrounding space. That’s a good thing, yet it also takes away from our time together. So, to the bar we sojourned. Fifteen minutes passed, the Lakers G-League team was trouncing Golden State, and we were happy.

Then he sat down.

Listen: I’m not one of those people who typically mistakes someone for someone else. I have fairly decent recall for names and faces, so I know when someone is or isn’t … well, who I think they are. That being said, I swear to the Lord Almighty that Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury, sat next to us. I did a slow-motion head-turn to Nic, and we locked eyes. “That’s not…no way, dude. No. Way.” She giggled and said, “No, hon, that’s not him. Believe me, I would recognize the man who celebrated the Royal Wedding.” We laughed and seemingly went back to our drinks.

And yet…I couldn’t help myself. As he ordered a vodka soda, a crisp British accent lilted over the bar and my inner-church-nerd started screaming at me to be the extroverted person I am. I HAD to talk to him. So much for private time, eh…sorry Nic. Time to run for Mayor of Nowhere.

I turned toward him and asked his name—it was Grant—and asked what he did for a living, after telling him that he looked exactly like our Archbishop of Canterbury. His response was priceless, “I don’t have use for that man.” He explained that he didn’t align with the Church of England, that its archaic views ‘buggered’ him. Then he asked what I did for a living, and I told him. But as much as he was ‘buggered’ by his nation’s belief system, his next question sent me reeling.

“So, Sean, how do you know you’re going to heaven?”

A nuclear scientist asked me how I knew I was destined for paradise. I paused for a moment and said, “I guess I really don’t know.” He sat back, stiff upper-lip, and smirked. A pregnant pause, another drink order, and I turned back to him and said, “I’d like to revise my answer: I’m going to heaven because of grace, not because of what I have done here.” Grant looked at me and grinned, “Sean. That’s the right answer.”

We talked for another hour or so, Nicole joining in a bit here and there, and parted ways as friends. But his question, my two responses, and the whole conversation stuck with me. Why did I say I didn’t know? In my heart of hearts, I believe I’ll join God wherever heaven is, without a doubt. And yet, my first reaction was based upon the things I’d done to ‘earn’ a place there. That’s not how it works, though. And I know that. Yet, I couldn’t help myself from answering with qualified words due to my own insecurity surrounding my deeds and faith.

But grace doesn’t require deeds. And grace asks for the faith the size of a mustard seed. I have that. Too many times in this life we are conditioned to recognize our deeds as a means of worth. But as the Great Thanksgiving says, “For the means of grace and for the hope of Glory,” we must remember that, ultimately, God sees us as lovingly created beings, drawn from the dust and meant to roam this world with free will. When we choose to accept grace freely offered? Our paths are destined for paradise, no matter our failings. Living into God’s commandments is a secondary step to a primary and primal beginning: We have to choose to believe that God is greater than we can fathom and that nothing we do ‘earns’ us a spot in eternal glory.

Jesus already did that.

Our job is to believe in God, love God, and believe in ourselves. We are to take the grace that is freely given and spread it about the world. We are called to be harbingers of the world to come, being saved out of sin into righteousness, out of death into life. So why do anything at all, if grace is all we need? Because once we accept that grace, the love of God moves us to act. True belief acts as a catalyst to fan the flames of faith, burning away wrongful desires and ill-intentions. To disallow us to think that we can do it on our own, and to encourage us to include our fellow humans in the greatest gift ever given to humankind. It isn’t our free-will. It isn’t our deeds. It’s grace, all the way down.

And it always has been.

That’s how I know I’m going to heaven. And how I know that I’ll see you there.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

The Truth is...

One of the hardest things in this life to grasp—at least for me—is the ‘why’ behind humanity’s behavior. I often find myself simply responding with “why?” when I hear about violence, hateful speech, or even simple arguments that shouldn’t even be a ‘thing’. Then I recognize those same terrible attributes in my own life. I can be a bit judgmental sometimes; I can get angry over silly nonsense; I will enter into an argument on social media or insert my opinion into conversation without being invited. What’s so important about me that allows me to think it’s absolutely fine to sit back and judge the world while also committing the same atrocities?

Fact is, too many of us are like this, whether we like it or not.

Christians, in particular, are called to live by a higher standard. We’re supposed to be the ones who think before we speak, who spread our personal truths and the word of God with kindness, not vitriol. But lately it seems that Christians have developed a preternatural ability to condescend to and belittle others without a second thought. My question:

Why?

What makes Christians, the Church, the people of God so special that we get to sit upon the judgment seat and look at others with the scales of justice in our eyes? Someone disagrees with our theology? Cancel them. Someone attends a church with whom we hold differing views? Cancel them. Someone doesn’t go to church but talks about how the church hurt them, and we get defensive instead of inclusive? Cancel them. We walk into offices, living rooms, and board meetings with a sense of self-importance; we know best, we hold the only real knowledge of God, you should listen to us. If we ever wonder why people are hesitant to step through the church doors, it’s because they don’t want to be put into a fishbowl of judgment-viewing pleasure. Resurrection is a wonderful community of loving people, yet we still have our own demons to battle. The whole Church-large (God’s one, catholic, UNIVERSAL church) has demons it needs to face. The demons of exclusion, of judgment, of insert-what-the-other-guy-did-wrong-here.

The truth is that we, too, are guilty of excluding others in the name of inclusion. “This church believes ___. So if you don’t, maybe somewhere else is better for you.” Those words aren’t said, but damn, sometimes I feel them when I attend other places, gatherings with clergy, or sit and listen to other pastors talk in coffee shops. The truth is that we, too, judge others on their clothing, their piercings, their neck tattoos, their language, or any other number of ‘their issues’. The truth is that we, too, look for fights in common conversations when ill-intent isn’t intended. We seek it. And we revel in the glory of the argument.

But really? The truth is that none of us is righteous, no not one. The truth is Jesus Christ came to save everyone, not just the people who agree with you or me. The truth is that if we want the Church to swell with vitality, we need to diminish some of the nonsense that we spew on social media and in parking-lot conversations and allow the spirit of God to wash us clean of the particular sin of self-righteousness.

Because the truth is that we are called to be the hands and feet of Jesus Christ, his words through our mouths and his love in our hearts. His kindness in our souls. I hope we can work toward being better. Because the world needs us to. Evil will shy away from the Good News. Every. Single. Time.

And that, my friends, is what the truth is.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Remember the Fallen and the Risen

Memorial Day Weekend, otherwise known as ‘sorry Father, I’m worshiping at St. Lake on the Beach’, is where we remember those who came before us. We give thanks to the men and women of our military for their service, their sacrifices; these patriots give their time, their passion, and sometimes their lives for this and other nations around the world. Recurringly, soldiers leave to defend and come back less appreciated, thus creating a feeling of isolation and despair. Where do they fit in, where is the ‘home’ they defended so vigorously? They are trailblazers and heroes, even if their service was limited to being stationed in non-combat areas; yet, Memorial Day’s greatest meaning comes in the form of remembering those who lost their lives defending the country and people they cherish. They should be remembered, named, and lauded for their service, not scoffed at by those who haven’t seen war and think peace is attainable by simple abstention from conflict.

No, these people go and fight so that others may find peace and safety.

I hope that you and your family will honor the memory of those who died for this country, for others in other countries, this weekend. While you’re at the lake, or in the backyard, take a moment of silence for the men and women of militaries across the world—people who devoted themselves in defense of tyranny, injustice, oppression and genocide. They saw the worst in humanity and still sought to march into the fray rather than run away.

God loves all of humanity, equally. I do not think God pleasures in killing, nor do I believe God desires for us to have to fight. But sometimes justice requires sacrifice, and the character of soldiers is molded into that of an unbreachable bulwark which stems the tide of innocent blood. I believe, as Christians, we serve in a soldier capacity, too. We are to be the bulwark that stands tall against evil; the loving body of Christ that steps in front of the poor, the afflicted, the friendless and the needy. And let us also remember that the ultimate sacrifice, the general of our army, died on a cross to save every generation of every nation in one act of defiance. Christ did not walk away, he reached into the jaws of death, pried them open, and defeated the evil that threatened the world. He rose from death, from the ashes, and ascended on high so that we could continue his work as his reborn hands and feet, being freed from the tyranny of evil—true evil—if we would only choose to be brave like those before us. Just like the men and women who fought physical evil, we must honor those who fought the insidious evil of sin. The saints, the believers who came before us.

Spend a moment in silence for the fallen heroes of wars’ past. Spend a moment in thankful prayer for the martyrs of faithful justice. And remember that you are part of the present army of God, the ones who take up the mantle of Jesus Christ to keep thwarting evil in this world so that we may march to heaven with our heads held high, and our arms wide open, receiving the ever-longing and loving embrace of Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

So, What Now?

“Well, that’s good information, thank you. But I have to ask: So what?”
 
It’s one of the many sayings/questions attributed to local theologian and snarkologist (yes, I made that up) Dr. Steve Orwig. As the Dean of the Iona Collaborative School of Ministry over the last ten years, Dr. Orwig has stood watch over throngs of emerging clergy in the Episcopal Diocese of Oklahoma. He has been tasked with the testing, formation, and overall wellness of his students—a task he has approached with love and sarcasm, the best mix. His jokes? Terrible. His attire? Grandpa. His mind?
 
Brilliant.
 
He has a way of drawing out the importance within the statements being made. Someone may write or orate a pleasing sentiment, but Dr. Orwig almost always follows up with, “So, what?” What he means is this: So, what now? What do I do with the knowledge you just gave me? How does this land in a practical way, theological way, or any way that I can utilize for myself? I have absolutely loved this part of his pedagogy, even as a bystander and partner with him at Iona. His questioning mind has triggered my own in different ways, causing me to ask the same question, especially following Holy Week.
 
So, what now?
 
We had a tremendous turnout beginning on Palm Sunday and spanning throughout the week, culminating in the resurrection at Resurrection. I’ve received texts, emails, and phone calls regarding the meaningful services and sermons, so I know that people were changed if even only a little. Yet, I ask myself, “So, what now?” What do we do with all this built-up spiritual discipline, this stronger discipleship? Often enough, people will get worked-up by words and have nowhere to expend that energy. We get excited about something temporarily, but without consolidating our gains, we end up losing much of what we obtained. My hope is that this writing can serve as a reminder to keep moving forward while also taking time to discern what this past week, and season of Lent, has meant to us. What has it shown us about ourselves? About our communities? About one another?
 
I encourage all of us to continue seeking faith-filled acts and services. I urge all of us to consider what we’ve already encountered—and to reflect on that. They say the hardest part of a diet isn’t losing the weight, it’s keeping it off through maintenance. Don’t forget to maintain the disciplines of Holy Week and Lent. Remember that we aren’t this faithful just once a year, rather we are called to remain diligent in our faith, year-round. While the Summer looms and fun vacations await, our faith is something we can never allow to be set aside; instead, we must remember that we are set apart (2 Corinthians 6:14-17) and that our work is never finished.

We have entered Jerusalem. We have eaten in the upper room. We have washed each other’s feet. We have sat at the empty tomb. We have witnessed the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So, what now?

Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+

The Church Welcomes You?

Christians, we have a problem.
 
We are violent. Our violence manifests in many forms: speech, actions, misuse of human-created items, thoughts, and a general lack of care for our fellow humans. We worship at the altars of xenophobia, aporophobia, heterophobia, homophobia, and many more phobias that I cannot even spell. Fear seems to be the starting point of our beliefs. It isn’t that we believe in anything in particular, but rather that we fear something ‘other’ and therefore name that ‘other’ as enemy. Then we go to war.
 
When the cries of thousands emanate from the blood-soaked ground upon which we place our soap-boxes, their pleas for justice fail to reach our ears. We’re too busy expounding upon the reasons for which we should get rid of this or that, the virtues of our standings, that we miss the real issue plaguing us: In the name of inclusion, we have decided who’s ‘in or out’.  Then we draw circles to exclude, answering violence with violence. The violence of excommunication from church, community, and/or civilization in general. The adage of “you’re either with me or against me” rings true in our souls, while we espouse a different message with our mouths. The Episcopal Church Welcomes You. But we forget to print the parenthetical to that statement, “as long as you agree with the new way.”  There’s a shift occurring in our little denomination that serves as a microcosm to a much larger paradigm shift. With all the ‘isms’ with which we terrorize each other, we lose sight of the important call laid upon us: To seek and serve Christ in all persons.
 
In ALL persons.
 
Someone is a gun advocate? We shun them. Someone holds a different view on sexuality (both heterogenous and homogenous), we shun them. Someone expresses a belief with which we disagree? We shun them. Our doors aren’t as easily entered as we might hope—it’s actually becoming more difficult to be welcomed into anywhere and accepted for who we are. These fears, these ‘isms’ breed violence. God is forgotten amid the desire to be right. Not righteous. Right. We would rather set up our camps and volley insults and bible verses at each other than actually come to the table, together. “I just can’t see Jesus in that person.” Well, good thing for us that God sees Christ in every one of us. It isn’t up to us to decide who’s in or out, who’s wrong or right. It’s up to us, those of us who prescribe to Christianity, to find a way to live in a holy tension with one another. Even if it means facing ourselves and recognizing that we, too, have placed restrictions on who we would like to see in our pews, across our tables, and in our circles.
 
I am guilty. I am one of the ‘we’ to which I refer. And I know I need to do better about opening my eyes and ears to see and hear the words from the ‘other’, before conversation dies and violence begins.
 
There is undoubtedly a presence of evil in the world. We cannot hope to contain the sinful nature or violent nature of every human being. Yet, we can strive to listen to each other and include one another through our differences. This insidious disease of dis-ease with one another is the root of much evil that infects our hearts and blinds our eyes. We may not be able to save the world, but thankfully that’s already been done for us. The way I see it, our job is to do the best we can to love one another through our differences. To recognize that much more unites us than separates us. To allow our anger to be aimed at its progenitor: the vile discrimination manifesting in our souls. My hope is that we can, in our individual communities, seek to understand varying perspectives and have real conversations. We don’t have to get angry and walk away from each other. We don’t have to resort to a Wick-ian version of excommunicado. We’re called to respect the dignity of every human being, and that excludes waiting for them to do it, first.
 
Christians, we have a problem. The violence infecting our hearts is seen and heard by others who would otherwise have a bastion of hope to look to: a community of believers who truly love one another even through their differences. This is what I aim to do, naïve as it might sound. Trite as it might be. I desire to stand and proclaim God's law without muddying it with my own agenda. Because I know that to affect change, I have to be an agent of it as well. I don’t blame knives, guns, bombs, disease or anything else as the primary means through which evil begets violence. I blame the hands and feet of those who utilize these in evil ways. There is no jus bellum in self-righteous beliefs, there’s just war.
 
Stand up for what you believe in. As will I. But I’ll never hate you for it because I am called to love you no matter what. We may not like each other, but we don’t have to hate each other. Then, perhaps the violence we see in this world will lessen, the walls between us will begin to crumble, and we can come together and build a community based on mutually-assured success and love. Not ‘like’.
 
Love.
 
The love of Jesus Christ.
 
Faithfully,
 
Fr. Sean+

What's Like Got to Do With It?

“Is it okay that I don’t ‘like’ my kids all the time? I mean, I always love them more than life itself, but I don’t always like them…”

We were in the midst of celebrating with thirty of our other friends—new and old—as he dropped this question in the middle of the table. My mind immediately reminded me of the time my folks had a talk with me concerning my attitude and general disposition, “We love you honey, but we don’t like you very much right now.” I didn’t understand how you could love someone and not like them. It didn’t make sense. Now that I’ve grown up (well, perhaps aged) I recognize the differences, as I am sure you do, too.

I think this is one of the many issues why some people don’t attend church. There may be this underlying notion that ‘we’ all like each other all the time; after service, we all get together and talk about puppy dogs and ice cream. I mean, we do spend an inordinate time in this community talking about dogs but that’s just because dogs are amazing. However, I wish people would set aside those preconceived notions of perfection and utopia. Because, and let’s be honest here: Church is messy sometimes.

The idea that utopic worship and community exists on this plane is ridiculous. Any time a large group of people gather together repeatedly, there will be differences of opinion; there will be disagreements on theology; political lines will be drawn; feelings will be hurt. That’s the truth. Yet, we still come together. Why? Because we love each other, even during those moments when we don’t particularly like one another. Small spats and even longer moments of discord are part of the human condition—we’re passionate! However, love means taking a deep breath and continuing doing life together. Imagine if God predicated God’s love for us on ‘liking’ us, first. I won’t lie, I’d be in serious trouble…and I imagine, if you’re honest, sometimes you would be, too.

The people we love the most are the ones who drive us to madness. Knowing how much God loves us, I’m surprised the Earth hasn’t been redesigned for dogs. Because…dogs. But still, God sticks with us. God continues to show grace and mercy. Humanity continues to bumble and heaven sighs too deep for words at our inanity; God takes a breath and keeps giving life to us, so that we can continue doing life together—going even so far as to give up His child, the one with whom he was well-pleased, the one he loved and liked, so that we could be saved from ourselves.

So, I looked him in the eye and said some of what I just wrote. I’m sure the language was a little more colorful in some parts, but the sentiment was the same: Yes, it’s okay not to ‘like’ your kids, your family, your friends, your neighbors, sometimes. Because you know you’ll always love them, and you’d give up anything to ensure their survival. That’s how we know a little bit of God resides within us, because we inherited an infinitesimal spark of goodness that ignites our souls into action, into love.

Churches aren’t perfect. Communities aren’t perfect. I am not perfect. Neither are you. But our love for each other should strive to be perfect, in that it has been handed down through a long line of love that began in a manger and never ended.

Hopefully we will like each other most of the time.

I know we will love each other, forever.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

A Simple Reminder

When I was a Curate at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Bartlesville, America, I had one of the greatest mentors of my life. The Rev. Dr. Lee T. Stephens was (and is) everything I wanted to be as a priest. He is kind, pastoral, and magnetic. He has a sense about him that oozes care and concern when appropriate, and an energy that is infectious and inviting during other times. His preaching is deeply rooted in scripture, yet I always felt like he was talking directly to me—a feeling that many others share in as I began to know the congregation.

It was common for me to Kramer my way into his office unexpectedly throughout the day. The light sounds of classical music emanated from a peaceful surrounding and then BOOM, a mid-thirties priest-puppy exploded into the serenity and plopped down on the couch, wagging his eager (and ill-timed) proverbial tail. “Whatcha dooooin?” was usually my beginning assault. He’d just smile lightly and push away from his desk, fold his hands, and respond with the same word. His deep baritone resonated in his office like a command that everything should be still. One word: “Yes?”. And yet in that one drawn-out word, a whole litany of questions and statements loomed. What do you need? What are you doing? Why doesn’t my assistant ever stop you? And yet, that gaze and that word always held kindness.

It was in one of these encounters that I learned about a particularly curious item that hung on the wall behind his chair: a foot-long silver-painted ceramic spoon. In an office decorated with books and boasting degrees I could only hope to earn, this strange object dominated its small corner of that world. And it felt so out of place. So, I finally asked about it.

It turns out, as with most peculiar objects, this spoon had a story behind it. When Fr. Lee was a young priest, his mentor had this very spoon hanging in his office. Young Fr. Lee was tenacious; he had all the gifts in the world and his mentor knew he’d do great things. I’m shortening this story a bit because to tell the whole tale would take more time than you probably have to read, today. But, when Fr. Lee had been called to a new church, that spoon had been left on his desk with a note that read something along the lines of, “Lee, remember that you have all the talent you need to do ministry. You came into this world with a silver spoon in your mouth, so to speak, and your struggles have been much less than others. Remember where you came from, and remember that without work and dedication, that ‘spoon’ will only take you so far. Let this funny object be a reminder to you to remain humble, and to do the work.”

A couple of years later, Fr. Lee retired officially after 46 years of ministry. I was to take his place at St. Luke’s while they searched for a new Rector. When I moved into his office, the spoon lie. Alongside it, a simple note that read, “Sean, remember where you came from. Do the work.”

Sometimes, we forget whom we serve. Our ministry turns into one that is self-focused or self-serving, if we allow it. What starts out as reverence and humility quickly turns into power and authority misplaced. In my life, it’s during those times that I see that spoon that hangs on my wall, and I remember. I remember that God uses all of us, each with our unique gifts, to further His mission. That none of us is greater, and that it takes all of us to do this work. None of us can do it alone, and the work isn’t about us, ever. I hope that you have something that reminds you who you serve. And why you serve. Some of you may never need that reminder, and I thank God for you. Yet, if you’re like me, then sometimes you need a reminder. Remember whom we serve. Remember why we serve. And remember that the work is never done, and that we’re not the only ones who can ‘do it right’. It doesn’t start with us, nor does it end with us, we’re simply workers in a long line of love that stretches back to the one who started it: A man hanging on a cross.

So, as the spoon hangs on my wall, Christ hangs in my heart. And I am grateful for that reminder, every day.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean