Epiphany in Summer

On a recent Sunday afternoon, I stepped into the Cathedral before Evening Prayer in the chapel.  It was the time of quiet afternoon shadows, with the western sun streaming through the stained glass windows.  Flickering votive candles and the scent of incense remained from the morning celebration of the Eucharist.  All converged to focus and open the sacred.  (Choir member Dave Baxter took this photo of one of the west windows (a Tiffany) at a similar moment a few weeks ago):

Our buildings and even much of our liturgy are, to a great extent, ruins of Christendom, fragments of an earlier era that have survived to this one.  Not unlike the candlelight and incense left from a Sunday Mass.  And yet these things still have the capacity to be signs of the Resurrection.  Thank God for those who work, pray,and give to keep them going in our midst.  

So what is it about Call the Midwife and Rev?

I am one of those Anglophile types who enjoys many of the programs that come to us from the BBC or ITV.  Most Sunday evenings eventually come to Sharon and me sitting down to watch one or two of them.   I have come to expect that the Church of England in general, and the clergy in particular, will not be presented in these programs in a very flattering light.  In fact the clergy are frequently portrayed as strange and ineffective, as lazy, or alcoholics, or hiding some dark secret, usually of a sexual nature.  Those of us who live closely to this world know that sometimes such things are true, but we also know that these dramatized stories are way out of proportion to the real world of ecclesiastical and clerical life.

What a relief and happy surprise it is, then, to see positive, healthy, and realistic depictions of church people and ministry in two current and popular British programs, Call the Midwife and Rev.  Midwife is about the work of Anglican Sisters and Nurse Midwives in the East End of London in the 1950's.  Rev. portrays the life and struggles of an Anglican Vicar in the inner city today.  Of course both are made for television, but they are recognizable to me as the Anglican/Episcopal way of being Christian that I know, live in, and love.

It is a happy surprise as well to read that the gritty and unglamorous ministry of the inner city church world is actually appealing, an appeal that reaches to younger folks preparing for ordination to the priesthood.  Count it another sign of resurrection in the ruins of Christendom.

Restore the Ruins? Why the Question Mark?

I am just finishing up a Doctor of Ministry in Preaching through the A.C.T.S. program in Chicago and Bexley Seabury (which is why this blog has been so quiet for a while).  It has been a great experience for me, including the Oral Review last Thursday with my adviser Ted Curtis and Seabury faculty member John Dally.  As we came toward the end of the review, John asked me about the title of my thesis, "Restore the Ruins: Cathedral Preaching on the Other Side of Christendom."  Did the title reflect the tone of irony in the text?  The title came from signs I had seen around the ruins of Coventry Cathedral in England while I was there last summer.  A capital campaign was underway to "restore the ruins" and the Coventry web site page about this concludes with the wonderfully evocative phrase, "Without your help these ruins may not be around for future generations to enjoy."  Well, I decided to add a question mark in my thesis title to make it "Restore the Ruins?"

This is not a satirical or cynical question, but an ironic one.  I believe that cathedrals are indeed ruins of Christendom, in metaphorical sense.  They are remnants of a culture which saw itself as Christian through and through, a culture now gone, though pieces of it remain.  And remain in many cases, with continuing or renewed vitality.  Our post-everything time includes, for many, a longing to learn from the past (which is not the same as longing to go back there).  Cathedrals, as ruins, draw a wide range of people for a wide range of reasons.  There remains a public perception, hopefully somewhat accurate, that cathedrals (like ruins) have porous boundaries which enable access for both coming and going.  What does it mean, not just physically in Coventry, but generally to "restore the ruins?"  It is a provocative question, and not only for cathedrals.

The Church is dead; long live the Church.  Or, better, "Much of the Church as we knew it is dead or dying; long live the Church as it will be."  Cathedrals and other "ruins" will not lead us back to Christendom, but, for the time being, it looks like they will be part of carrying us forward to what God is stirring up.

Keep the Incense

At our recent Diocesan Convention, we were taking our part in discussions related to the Task Force for Reimagining the Episcopal Church.  TREC is working on adapting the structures, governance, and administration of the Episcopal Church to better reflect the mission challenges of today and the future.  The question before us was something to the effect of what we should keep and what we should let go of.  We were doing our best and saying the usual about Scripture, Tradition, Reason and being inclusive.  All right as far as it goes, but somehow, fairly predictable.

Then someone at the table said, "Keep the incense."  We all laughed from the heart and it felt like we had struck something deeper than the earnest things we had been offering.

My impression of the use of incense in worship in the Episcopal Church is that it has moved from being used all the time in a few places, to being used a few times in (not quite) all places, and the frequency of use is growing.  At the Cathedral of Saint Paul, we are now using it (in a non fussy way, of course) on most Sundays.  There are all kinds of reasons and all kinds of witness around that incense and other traditional forms of ritual are being welcomed, especially by younger people.  "Keep the incense."  We wrote the comment down. Wonder if it will make it into the report and proposals?

Church Buildings: Ruins or Resurrection?

This week I attended a presentation by Bob Jaeger from Partners for Sacred Places.  He was in Erie for the Non Profit Day sponsored by the outstanding local organization, the Nonprofit Partnership.  I had heard of and read about Partners for Sacred Places before, but it all becomes more real in person.

To me, many of our church buildings are ruins of Christendom (maybe most of them in these parts).  Some are fine examples of architecture and art which are drenched in the histories of their communities.  Others may not be so artistic or historic, but they have been centers of worship, faith, and mission for years.  And yet community and economic changes have often resulted in deferred maintenance.  Sometimes the cost of upkeep and updating is beyond the resources and capacities of the congregation.  And often, even if the buildings could be properly repaired and brought up to code, they would still be ineffective for the life and mission of their congregations today -- too many stairs, too much space, old, inefficient, unwelcoming.

Many congregations lost the resources to support paid clergy during the last few decades.  Often this was met by new forms of partnership and/or the use of ecumenical, retired, or locally trained and ordained clergy who serve with little or no pay.  It worked for a while.  But now, or looming soon, comes the lack of resources to pay for the building.  The serious consequences cannot be avoided -- there is no cheaper way and deferred maintenance, even if possible, only pushes more difficult decisions on to someone else.  It is another form of "kicking the can down the road."

Partners for Sacred Places brings a determined and hopeful perspective to this.  First of all, they believe in the importance of our historic church buildings and what they mean to a community.  And they are working on ways to maintain and sustain them that values the congregation but opens up to the wider community in new ways.  I commend their work wholeheartedly.  I especially commend their growing work on the economic impact of churches, even small ones, on their communities. Here is a link from their web site if you wish to learn more about the Halo Effect.  I will be writing more about this and the implications for our understanding of mission.

Life After Life After

With the advent of a new web site for The Cathedral of St. Paul, it seems a good time to resurrect this blog. Poking around the ruins took me a few weeks ago to Coventry Cathedral.  I was there as a part of my Doctor of Ministry in Preaching project, which has to do with preaching in cathedrals. After all, what could be more a ruin of Christendom than a cathedral?  And yet, cathedrals in the Church of England are experiencing an unanticipated vitality (see the report Spiritual Capital).  Does this have any significance for our cathedrals in North America?  What about our relatively small cathedrals around the Great Lakes?  And what, if anything, does this have to do with preaching in cathedrals these days?

I went to Coventry because of its unique setting with the bombed ruins of the former cathedral incorporated into the complex of the "new" cathedral built in 1962.  What an image of resurrection on the other side of Christendom!  And yet I found it was more complex than that.

N.T. Wright has been challenging the common understanding of life after death in recent years.  He contends that the biblical view is not so much about "life after death," as in going to heaven when you die, but rather, "life after life after death," or, as the Nicene Creed puts it, the resurrection of the dead.  What does this have to do with Coventry, or with us?

The "new" Coventry Cathedral is, in many ways, still a Christendom cathedral.  Large crowds of tourists and pilgrims came after it opened, out of curiosity for sure, but more significantly, because the ruins and the bold new building drew deeply on the older spiritual capital as well as the profound experiences and emotions of the WW II generation.  Now that all seems to have run its course.  Pilgrims (like me) still arrive, but not nearly as many, and resources are not available to support the scope and number of  local and international reconciliation initiatives undertaken in previous years.  Leaders there know this is a time to go deep and seek what the Spirit is stirring up now for Coventry's unique witness and mission.  Poking around these ruins, I wonder if many of us are at or approaching some kind of  "life after life after," signalling a time to go even deeper than we thought we would into what arises from the Cross and the Tomb.

Reenactment or Resurrection?

I have been haunted for a good while by the comment of a friend and colleague.  He said that sometimes we in the Church are like Civil War Reenacters, dressing up and acting like we are in a Church that no longer exists.  No congregation, large or small, urban, suburban, or rural is immune from this possibility.

At the same time, I am convinced that there is something good (bene esse), even essential (esse) about the fact that the Church, while appropriately expressed in many cultural forms, nonetheless has a culture of its own, which transcends time and place.  One example of this would be clergy vestments.  It is historically interesting that the priestly chasuble derives from an outer garment during the Roman Empire.

But it is more important that it has come to represent the priestly ministry, even to those who have no clue where it comes from.  Liturgical form and ritual actions rise above locality alone.  And so I knew what was going on at Mass in India, even though I didn't understand a word of the language.  This is part of being baptized into the dying and rising of Jesus.

All of this is good, and we need not be ashamed of it, or of expecting people to learn it as they take up and grow in Christian faith.  But it is good as well to be haunted by the prospect that we can get it quite wrong and indulge ourselves in a fantasy world.  The ruins of Christendom are challenging us to sort this out.

Full and Running Over -- Back from India

Just a few weeks ago, Sharon and I returned from a trip to India.  We were there to see a new church building for which our Cathedral had provided most of the funding and to meet face to face with the people of that village parish -- St Paul's, Edayattupadam, Kottayam, Madhya Kerala Diocese, Church of South India.  In addition to visiting this congregation, we were guests of the bishop at the Diocesan Convention (more like a conference to us) and also attended Liturgy at Holy Trinity Cathedral in Kottayam.

In 2008, I had the privilege of attending the Holy Fire Ceremony in Jerusalem on Easter Eve.  Being with the people of St. Paul's, Edayattupadam as they welcomed us and we celebrated with them, in Eucharist and after, now ranks for me alongside the Holy Fire Ceremony as astounding, even overwhelming, experiences of the Resurrection.

Here is some video of the procession around the church following the Liturgy:

The Church of South India is the result of a successful merger of Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Methodists.  These former divisions are part of the ruins of Christendom that came to India with the missionaries.  But their coming together over 60 years ago is a sign of the Resurrection, despite the controversy it provoked at the time. Now, all these decades later, we experienced a Church which is ecumenical, evangelical and catholic.  It is thriving as a minority within a multi-faith culture.  We have much to learn from them as we poke about our own ruins.  We heard their children singing, "My cup is full and running over," and that song continues in our grateful hearts.

Calmly Plotting the Resurrection

In my part of the world, it is time for the final yard clean up before winter arrives.  Raking, blowing  and bagging leaves, trimming or pulling out plants, such are the tasks.  The years form us to know that these are indeed endings, but we also know that they are done in anticipation of another spring a few months on, so we also plant bulbs  Advent is impinging, even for those who would not know or think to say so.

I recently came across a moving expression of this by E.B. White, in a bit from the Introduction to his wife Katherine's "Onward and Upward in the Garden," found in "Autumn: A Spiritual Biography of the Season," (p.16) .  White writes of his wife planting bulbs:

"As the years went by and age overtook her, there was something comical yet touching in her  bedraggled appearance on this awesome occasion -- the small, hunched-over figure, her studied absorption in the implausible notion that there would be yet another spring, oblivious to the ending of her own days, which she knew perfectly well was near at hand, sitting there with her detailed chart under those dark skies in the dying October, calmly plotting the resurrection."

Schmidt, Gary D., and Susan M. Felch, eds. 2004. Autumn: a Spiritual Biography of the Season. Woodstock, VT: Skylight Paths Publishing.

This Preacher Needs Help

If you have not come across this some other way, these are brief video reflections I post on the weeks I am preaching about some of the challenges of the upcoming Sunday's scripture readings.  Feel free to subscribe on YouTube or find them on the Cathedral website or Facebook page.

Angels, Animals, and Saints (and Public Liturgy)

There is just over a month between the feast of Michael and All Angels (Michaelmas) on September 29 and All Saints Day.  Early on in that month comes St. Francis Day (October 4), with the Blessing of Animals in many places.  I have taken to thinking of these weeks as the time of Angels, Animals, and Saints, lifting our vision and imagination to a wide and deep view of creation and beyond, blazing spiritually like the fall foliage in this part of the world.  It begins our movement toward the end of the liturgical and then calendar year.

The Blessing of Animals is another of the ways churches "take it to the streets", not unlike Ashes to Go.  It always generates interest and enthusiasm beyond the regular church going crowd and, in a small city like Erie, usually brings the news media.  I wonder if it isn't another of those signs of the resurrection in the ruins of Christendom?  For this event, the sheer joy of God's creation, bigger than our thoughts and words, looms larger than the troubles of the day.  Affection abounds and wildness gets a foothold in our (reasonably) ordered ways.  Faith, hope, and love are evident all around.  Whatever the challenges to what is happening in our churches in these times, the Blessing of Animals is an example of vitality on the margins where church and culture meet.

Back On...and some Summer Signs of The Resurrection from the Good Sisters

Summer is coming to its end and it is time for me to get back in the saddle.  So I'm reflecting on some signs of the Resurrection I saw in recent weeks .   It is hard not to be aware that there are some challenging conversations going on between the Roman Catholic Bishops and the religious communities affiliated with the Leadership Conference of Women Religious.   These matters are of interest and concern to me, although it is not my place to render public opinions about them.

What I can do, however, is give thanks for some of the work done by Sisters here in the city of Erie.  Just a few weeks ago, the annual Italian Festival was held in the historic Little Italy section of town.  My wife and I never miss it.  Not only does Sharon have a family connection to the Italian immigrants who gave the neighborhood its identity and name, but some of our friends and neighbors are involved in leading the festival.  Whatever it was like in its older heyday (and I often wish I could time travel to see that), it has become a challenged inner city area.  Among those who are working hard to revitalize the neighborhood, not as it was, but as it could be, are the Sisters of St. Joseph, through the Neighborhood Network.

More recently I took part in a Take Back the Site Vigil.  These are occasions when Sisters from the various communities in Erie gather folks to places in the city where murder has occurred.  With Scripture readings, prayer, and blessing, the site is reclaimed from violence for the purposes intended by God.  It was my humble honor to be there.  Here is the scene as I approached the corner:

 
And a report from the Erie Benedictines with a link to more photos on GoErie.com.

I am deeply grateful for the courage and witness of these Sisters, and for their constant hospitality toward me.  They are trusting in God now, without dwelling in the past or being anxious about the future.

Firewater (And a Word about Communion Without Baptism)

Before the memories of Eastertide and Pentecost fade, I want to say something about Baptism as I poke around the ruins.  It is unsure what practices, structures, and institutions of Christendom will persist through these and coming days.  But the core things will for sure.  And the well spring is no doubt the great renewal of Baptism which is unfolding before us.

From the margins of "getting the kid done" (hopefully in private) to something more and more in the center of the Church's life, Baptism is like new water gushing up among the ruins.  Or maybe, remembering Pentecost, firewater.

It has been said that while the first fruit of the Liturgical Renewal was the return of the Holy Eucharist to the center of worship on Sundays, the deeper impact will come as we re-receive Holy Baptism.  I would say that we are still early in the time of the renewal of both of the principal sacraments.  But it is our time and it is an exciting time.

The hotly debated topic of Communion without Baptism will eventually be resolved as we deepen our practice and understanding of the Sacraments on the other side of Christendom.  Meanwhile, I would recommend no official change in policy while we live with some ambiguities in practice (perhaps stretching the concept of the "baptism of desire").

But the more significant "meanwhile" is the bubbling up of new life among us, through Baptism (and Baptismal Renewal).  I have said many times that we never come closer in this life to seeing the Resurrection with our own eyes than we do when we gather to the waters of Baptism.

Cathedrals -- After

Back from the North American Cathedral Deans Conference in Denver.  And it was a good one.  St. Johns Cathedral in Denver is a large, lively and active place and people. Traditional worship thrives as does a Sunday Evening Liturgy called the Wilderness which goes beyond the (to me) tired and worn out "worship wars" of contemporary vs. traditional.  It seeks to be deeply traditional, but using today's technology and sensibilities.

The speakers were outstanding, ranging from matters of mission, worship, architecture, the traditional Orthodox view of a cathedral, new/urban monasticism, stewardship and funding, and the challenging views of Diana Butler Bass regarding Christianity after Religion.  But in every presentation, one central theme kept coming into focus -- spiritual authenticity.  It wasn't planned, it was just real, and we all know its true -- spiritual authenticity is the longing and challenge of these days, in the church and beyond, for others and for ourselves.

All the things that make many cathedrals hopeful places remain -- resources of places and people that will likely be sustainable and fruitful now and in the future.  But the one thing needful is a challenge and a possibility not just for cathedrals but for all kinds of congregations and all kinds of ways folk are seeking to live lives of faith and meaning.  The one thing needful is about deepening our responsiveness to God at work in our world and in our lives.

Cathedrals -- Before

Back on track after some time off for a little thing called Holy Week and Easter Week.

Tomorrow we go to the North American Cathedral Deans Conference which meets this year in Denver.  It is actually more than just a "Deans" conference as it fully includes spouses and partners.  A particular gift is the fact that it by definition brings together folks from the U.S.A. and Canada, and often guests from beyond.

In the ruins of Christendom, many cathedrals are doing pretty well.  The steady increase in attendance in the English cathedrals has been widely noted.  And while the experience in North America ranges from cathedrals that are closing to some of the largest congregations, my overall impression is that most of our cathedrals are lively places of worship and mission, blessed with financial and facility resources, with communities large enough to provide a decent congregation, and with a unique role in city and diocese including a certain freedom that comes from not being constituted as part of the political structure of the church (however much cathedral folk may be involved as individuals).  For all of these reasons and more, cathedrals may well weather the storm we are going through and provide both refuge and leadership in the days ahead.  There is some irony in this as what could be more a symbol of Christendom than a cathedral?  Still, in larger and smaller versions around North America, this seems to be so.  It is so in Erie, PA.

We will meet in Denver under the theme "Cathedrals in the 21st Century: From Mother Churches to Mission Centers."  An interesting group of speakers will address the topic, including Diana Butler-Bass.  I will offer some reflections afterwards.

At last it ringeth to evensong

Be the day weary or be the day long, at last it ringeth to evensong.


This very Anglican sounding proverb appears in many places, including at the stake in Fox's Book of Martyrs.  I can't remember where or when I first heard it, but since then, I have not forgotten it.

Last Sunday (Mid-Lent, Mothering, Refreshment, Laetare -- take your pick), we sang Evensong at the Cathedral.  We don't have the resources or the support to do it more often than a few times a year, but Lent 4 is one of them.  Our choirs do a fine job and have experience singing the service at home and on Choir Trips/Pilgrimages.  It is often well attended and appreciated (as it was this time).  I am always taken with the surprise of delight by those who have never been to Evensong before.  Evensong is certainly alive and well in many Cathedrals and Colleges, in "Quires and places where they sing (1662 Prayer Book)," and even on a weekly BBC broadcast.  I think there is a reason for this.

Stephen Hough wrote a piece for his blog in The Telegraph not long ago entitled, "Do not touch me: the wisdom of Anglican thresholds."  It includes this thoughtful passage:

"Evensong hangs on the wall of English life like an old, familiar cloak passed through the generations.  Rich with prayer and Scripture, it is nevertheless totally nonthreatening.  It is a service into which all can stumble without censure -- a rambling old house where everyone can find some corner to sit and think, to listen with half-attention, trailing a few absentminded fingers of faith and doubt in its passing stream.


Most religious celebrations gather us around a table of some sort.  They hand us a book, or a plate, or speak a word demanding response.  They want to "touch" us.  Choral Evensong is a liturgical expression of Christ's Nolle me tangere -- 'Do not touch me.  I have not yet ascended to my Father (St. John 20:17).' It reminds us that thresholds can be powerful places of contemplation; and that leaving someone alone with their thoughts is not always denying them hospitality or welcome.


I believe there are lots of folks among us who want such a threshold.  Many belong to our churches, and this may be one (of the many) reasons we don't see them so much.  Some of them may be more active members of our congregations, and some days or some seasons we may be fairly near them ourselves.  Evensong is one gathering place among the ruins of Christendom and I thank God for it.

The B-I-B-L-E

"The B-I-B-L-E, yes, that's the book for me..."

Somewhere back there I learned this song.  I doubt it was in the Episcopal Church.  There we were more likely to sing a song of the saints of God and to learn the four colors of the Church Year than the four Gospels.  So I probably heard it before my family became Episcopalians, or in a venture to another congregation for VBS or something like that.

Nonetheless, the Bible did function in very important ways in my Episcopalian upbringing.  The Lectern and its Bible were impressive (and now Gospel Books even more so).  The scripture readings were included in the Prayer Book then and it truly can be said that more Bible was (and is) read in Episcopal Churches than in those congregations where the preacher selects a few verses for a sermon.

But perhaps most important was the way biblical phrases, imagery, and narrative were embedded in the prayers and rituals of the Book of Common Prayer.  Scripture passed deep into the heart this way, perhaps more enacted than merely read.  I don't regret it one bit.

But it is a healthy thing when Episcopalians want to read and study the Bible outside of liturgical practice.  And there is a good bit of interest in this these days, more so than in the past.  Whether it is studying the Sunday Readings, or praying the Daily Office, the Bible Challenge (to read the Bible in a year), E-100 (100 key passages), or various kinds of book and study groups -- all of this is healthy and good (more Bible Study links here).  I even find real joy in seeing our cathedral kids learning the books of the Bible or memorizing verses -- they actually line up to do this in our Sunday School!

As so much of Christendom, of Church as we have known it, collapses and dies before us, certainly all of these ways of encountering the Word of God in Holy Scripture will be part of the way forward.  The story will continue as God's People arise in old and new ways in the days ahead.

Takin' it to the Streets

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday.  As usual, we had three liturgies, with the noontime and evening one shared with our neighbors from Luther Memorial Church.  Not as usual, the cathedral clergy took turns for one-hour blocks  from 8 to 5 in the Cathedral to be available for walk-ins looking for ashes and/or prayer.  Many came throughout the day.  Even more not as usual, we joined the growing movement called Ashes to Go.

We distributed Ashes on the streets outside the Cathedral.  On 6th Street, we face the Erie County Courthouse, and on 7th Street, we are the middle of the Gannon University Campus.  Both places provide good opportunities to offer ashes.  I took the early time on 6th Street.  Bishop Sean Rowe took that site during the noon hour.  Evan Clendenin, our Curate, took the 7th Street side at both times and he was joined by Shawn Clerkin who is on the Gannon faculty for the early time.  It was a great experience all around.

I was struck by the deep gratitude of many who received ashes as they were going to work at the Courthouse or who had business there.  It didn't at all come off as easy convenience, but rather as something  truly important for people who probably wouldn't get to a full liturgy.

Among them I particularly think of one woman who came up to me saying, "What a great idea!"  Then she asked, "Are you Catholic?"  I spared her the 45 minute explanation she really wasn't asking for and just answered, "I'm Episcopalian."  Then the Spirit stirred within and I added, "But we're all human, and that's what the ashes are about."  She said, "I agree with you," and gratefully received the sign of our literal common ground.  As I poke around the ruins, looking for signs of resurrection, I wonder if sharing ashes in the church and on the street might not be one.

We got lots of good and friendly media coverage, as happened around the country.  Perhaps this kind of attention won't last too many years as it will cease to be a novelty.  But for now, we can be grateful.

Here is a link to coverage by the Erie Times and another one.

And Where Are You, God? -- A Theology for Poking Around

Where is God among the ruins of Christendom?  I understand Christendom to mean a total, universal system by which Christianity is held to be absolute truth, absolute in a way that leads to a sense of privilege for the Church in all areas of life and culture, from theology to politics.  At best, it produced stunning art and music, social and educational developments, and reconciling purpose in people's lives.  At worst, it produced things like the Inquisition and the Crusades, wars between conflicting Christian groups, and the marginalization of people of other faiths (or none).  It reached its peak in Europe many centuries ago, although pieces of it washed up on North American shores.  It has been over for a long time, but awareness of its demise and grief over it have not yet been fully realized.

At a recent question and answer session, someone asked Brian McLaren what we can say to people for whom even the word "God" is so damaged as to be inaccessible.  This is very much a question from the ruins of Christendom.  Brian mentioned a writer named Richard Kearney, and especially Kearney's book Anatheism, as resources for exploring this question.  Kearney is a philosophical theologian and Anatheism, while not technically difficult, will probably appeal most to those with an appetite for this kind of writing.  Let me summarize my reading of it for those who will likely not read it or for those who might be intrigued.

Anatheism literally means "God again."  It is God "again" after both theism and atheism have run their course.  For many of us theism and atheism both have their place and we can't resolve them with one "winning" nor  can we get back before the atheist critique and just simply believe again.  Reviewing theologians like Bonhoeffer and Ricouer, and writers like Joyce, Woolf, and Proust, Kearney identifies how the possibility of meeting the sacred comes anew, challenging us over and over to "wager" that life is lived in relation to the Holy (or not).

For those who wager "yes," this is a call to return to and practice our traditions deeply, deep enough that we seek the mysticism that is at the wellspring of religion, but which is greater than religious definitions.  We then can live our "wager" with both commitment and humility, and we can meet those who are different from us with hospitality rather than hostility.  It is in such meetings that God is to be found now.

Whew!  I am almost out of breath trying to condense this.  But I do think it provides an insightful theology for poking around the ruins.  At least it is a theological bicycle I can ride for a while.  God is in the ruins and seeking and finding God there will point to what comes next.

Ancient and (Post) Modern

Are we stuck in a stand-off of "traditional" vs. "contemporary?"

After the leave-taking of the old Seabury chapel and campus (see last post), we drove to the new site and blessed its spaces, including the chapel.  From a funeral to a baptism, so to speak; death, burial, and resurrection.

The new chapel is, as yet, without Altar and Lectern (and  a stand for the Font -- the bowl was used for the blessing).  I had a chance to chat with the artist who is making them, David Orth. I asked him about the widely noted attraction of traditional worship for younger people, often to the curiosity, if not confusion, of middle age and older folks who feel much of their life has been an exodus from the way things were when they were young.  Some of this may be normal generational differentiation, but maybe not all of it, and maybe not the heart of it.

David reminded me that what we usually take as "traditional" is really not all that traditional and is often Victorian.  Perhaps "traditional" is really as modern as "contemporary," one's yin to the other's yang.  The draw of the young to things traditional may be in good part a turning toward the only alternative they see to a faith and practice that seems too light and thin for life today.

Is "traditional" the best that is available for a desire to find solid foundations or deep roots?  Is the longing actually for what is authentically ancient, yet expressed in our ways, in our time?  That is what David is attempting with the furnishings for the new Seabury chapel.  I think it is Peter Rollins who says something to the effect that what we should seek is not the Early Church but the Event which brought the Early Church into being.