I had a blast giving the commencement address yesterday as Ben graduated from Derby Academy in Hingham. It really was very special to be asked to do this with a son in the graduating class and I was very grateful for the opportunity. Of course I didn’t say what I really wanted to communicate to the students upon finishing 8th grade: “Congrats! Now move out of the house and get a job!”

As you’d imagine with the oldest co-educational school in the nation, there are many commencement day traditions. Each year on Derby Day the entire school processes down Fearing Road to the New North Church for the graduation ceremony. It happened to be raining but that didn’t stop Head of School Andrea Archer from saying “busses be damned!” (or something to that effect). And we all marched jubilantly down to the church umbrellas in hand.

The commencement address is referred to as the Derby Day Lecture — in fact I gave the 222nd one in the school’s history. To me the difference between an “address” and a “lecture” is about 40 minutes but fortunately for everyone involved I didn’t go with my gut. In my experience, as with sermons, no one has ever complained about a commencement address being too short.

I don’t think I’ll be replacing Oprah on the short list for Stanford or Yale next year but my mid-May calendar is pretty wide open at this point. I’m just disappointed I was awarded an honorary 8th grade degree.

 222nd Derby Day Lecture
June 7, 2013
New North Church
Hingham, Massachusetts
The Rev. Tim Schenck

A few weeks ago I spent some time with the 8th graders and had the opportunity to sit in on a number of their senior speeches. They touched on a variety of topics but I was so impressed not only with their public speaking ability but with the content. This is a group of young men and women who are passionate, articulate, profound, thoughtful, and witty. And, frankly, I’m a bit nervous having to speak in front of all of these wonderful public speakers.

As happens when learning the basics of oratory, they were encouraged to begin each speech with a formal introduction. Which went like this: “Honored faculty, fellow students,” and then since I was there they were required to add “distinguished guest.” Now I admit it was pretty good for my ego to hear that phrase over and over again. For some reason my family refuses to refer to me as “distinguished” when we’re sitting around the dinner table and I hardly ever get called “distinguished guest” when I show up at The Snug.

But this morning, I think we need to turn this around a bit to recognize that this is a special day in the lives of our graduates as we gather to celebrate the Derby Class of 2013. So here goes:

Mrs. Archer, esteemed trustees, honored faculty, family members, friends, and distinguished guests.

Today each one of you is a “distinguished guest” as we mark this milestone. You have worked hard to get to this moment and I encourage you to revel in it and savor it and enjoy it. Just don’t expect to be called “distinguished” for the rest of the summer. It’s not happening.

When Mrs. Archer first called on behalf of the Board of Trustees to invite me to offer the 222nd Derby Day Lecture, I had two initial thoughts. First, I have to admit I thought there’d be horses involved. And big hats and mint juleps. And that I’d be at Churchill Downs in Kentucky. I was all set to handicap the big race; the Kentucky Derby, the crown jewel of racing’s Triple Crown.

And then I realized she was talking about a different Derby Day. But a Derby Day no less grand in its pageantry and tradition and importance. And if you think about it, there are some parallels between the pageantry of a Triple Crown race and a DerbyAcademy graduation. Instead of the jockeys being all decked out in colorful racing silks, we have the faculty all decked out in colorful academic garb. Instead of the horses processing up to the starting gate, we have the graduates processing into NewNorthChurch. In both instances there’s a tangible sense of excitement and anticipation in the air; a spirit that not even a little bit of rain can dampen. There’s only one problem with this analogy: your lives are not a horse race. It’s not a sprint to the finish with blinders on. You’re here to enjoy each moment, to soak it all in, and to revel in the relationships you make along the way.

As many of you know, as a commencement speaker I’m not a completely objective observer — I’m also the father of one of our graduates. And so my second thought after being asked to speak today was what a wonderful, unique, diabolical opportunity to publicly humiliate Ben. I recognized a chance to get him back for all the nagging about homework and all the chauffeuring around town and all the times I asked about how his day went only to be given the one word response: “fine.” For parents of middle schoolers much of life is lived on a “need to know” basis and there is evidently precious little that falls into that category.

Okay, I promised I wouldn’t do or say anything too embarrassing — I mean besides my mere presence. But as many of you know, Ben has a certain pet he likes to talk about. A lot. Mimi the ferret. In fact, I understand that Ben’s known to his classmates as the Ferret King. I am so proud of him for this that it literally makes me want to weep. But I did promise Ben and some of his friends that I would somehow work ferrets into today’s address.

So here goes — four pieces of advice based on why you should not act like a ferret. First, ferrets are sneaky. They like to abscond with things like keys and mittens and important papers like homework. So my first piece of advice to you is don’t steal things.

This is related to number two. Ferrets live in cages. If you steal things you too might end up living in a cage. Don’t go to jail.

If not bathed occasionally ferrets begin to smell. Trust me, you haven’t really lived until you’ve bathed a ferret in the kitchen sink while your wife takes a photo of you and immediately posts it to Facebook. So the third piece of advice is, bathe occasionally.

Finally, ferrets sleep for 22 hours a day. Don’t sleep for 22 hours a day. You’ll miss school, you won’t be able to hold down a job, and you may well wind up living in a cage.

Okay, graduates, that was your brief ferret shout-out — I hope you enjoyed it.

Now when you’re dressed like this you have to at least mention Scripture. And there was a particular passage that kept popping into my head as I thought about this day. In Matthew’s gospel Jesus talks about those who hear his words and act on them as being like a wise man that built his house on rock. “The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock.” But those who hear his words and fail to act on them are like a foolish man who built his house on sand. “The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell.”

What this speaks to in this context is the importance of a strong foundation.Through your parents and your teachers and your classmates and your entire Derby experience, you have a solid foundation for the rest of your lives; a foundation built on rock. No one can take that away. And as the storms of life swirl — and they will — you can always trust in this foundation. This foundation that has been built by loving parents, gifted teachers, dedicated friends, and by your own hard work. This foundation isn’t complete of course — it will be added to and fortified over the years. But much of this foundation is formed from the culture of support and honesty and creativity and love and care at DerbyAcademy. And it is a solid foundation upon which to build the rest of your lives.

And, yes, you have a lot more life in front of you. You’re facing four years of high school. And then four years of college. And then, for some of you, another two or three years or five years of graduate school. In other words, you have about another decade of school ahead of you. Your future holds tens of thousands of pages you haven’t read; hours and hours of homework you haven’t done; hundreds of essays you haven’t written; myriad math problems you haven’t solved, and tons of tests to study for.

Now, I’m not trying to depress you on this celebratory day; quite the contrary. Because your future is a great gift. And along with all that future hard work comes opportunity. You have the opportunity to make a difference in the world. You have the opportunity to be a force for good. You have the opportunity to impact lives. You have the opportunity to share your creativity and giftedness with others. And I know you will.

But if there’s only one thing you remember about this day, I’d like you to remember this — it’s something that’s important as you enter high school and it’s something you need to live a full, fruitful, healthy, and successful life: find your passion. It doesn’t matter what it is — playing the oboe or writing poetry or rugby or rock climbing or chess or chemistry. Experiment, try new things, challenge yourself, fail at some things and realize it’s all part of the learning process.

Your calling over the next few years is to find your passion, to seek out what brings you joy, to discover what makes your soul sing. Your passion is something as unique to you as your DNA. Only you can discover it and nurture it and allow it grow into maturity.

And as you step out of the familiar and friendly confines of DerbyAcademy into the new, exciting, yet unfamiliar place of what is to come, never forget the solid foundation upon which you stand. It will serve you well as you discover that each moment of your life is dripping with possibility and teeming with energy and passion. Go out and find yours.

Thank you and God bless you all in the years ahead.

Last week I wrote about The Often Overlooked Humor of Jesus. I’ve adapted this idea into my latest monthly “In Good Faith” column. This version is shorter and more suitable for my column — the point of which is to bring faith into everyday life and reach out to people who don’t necessarily attend church.

Divine Comedy

Jesus is hilarious.

Okay, that’s not a sentiment you hear very often. You won’t see a Comedy Central special called “Joking with Jesus!” And too many of us have encountered humorless Christians over the years. You know the type — tight lipped, judgmental, unsmiling, puritanical. People who view frivolity as sacrilege and humor as heresy.

But this understanding of the Christian life is incomplete. A more nuanced reading of Scripture leads us away from an attitude of holier-than-thou solemnity and Jesus himself points the way. Jesus uses humor to teach, heal, convert and, ultimately, redeem. Seriously. And he does this while modeling the fact that laughter and profundity are not mutually exclusive.

The humor of Jesus is subtle, nearly imperceptible at first glance. The Sermon on the Mount, for instance, doesn’t begin with a joke to warm up the crowd. But throughout his ministry Jesus displays great wit, command of the language, a gift for irony and word plays, and impeccable timing — all hallmarks of great comedians.

The gospels aren’t funny in the traditional sense. It’s not slapstick comedy; there are no pratfalls. They’re passion narratives, not anthologies of “The Wit and Wisdom of Jesus Christ.”

Yet when you dig a little, you start to see that Jesus had a wicked sense of humor. Which makes sense — a master storyteller would never forsake humor as a means to reach an audience. Jesus, who spent much of his ministry breaking down barriers between people, knew that humor does exactly this. Humor disarms and unites; it sets people at ease and leaves them receptive to the speaker’s message. He understood that laughter is simply good for the soul and that humor allows us to confront the darker sides of life with grace and composure.

The examples of Jesus’ irony and wit are plentiful. Perhaps we can view the humorless Pharisees as the ultimate straight men for Jesus. Throughout the four gospels the joke, it seems, is on them. Their somber rigidity is paralyzing; their hypocrisy and self-righteousness keep them from true relationship with the divine. They are the perfect foils to Jesus’ message of love as he continually meets their scorn and contempt with quick wit and perfect timing.

The encounters with the Pharisees are full of brilliant one-liners. “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Mt 22:21) is a perfect response dripping with irony. The blind leading the blind is, of course, a comical visual image and a pointed commentary on the religious leaders of the day (Mt 15:14). And think about the hilarious image of straining out a gnat while eating a camel (Mt 23:24). His hearers certainly chuckled at this purposefully ludicrous image. And it invariably stuck with them.

There are hosts of other wonderfully amusing moments in the gospel accounts. There is irony and humorous exaggeration, phrases that would have brought smiles to the lips of his hearers, if not full belly laughs. Explaining the efficacy of prayer he asks the Apostles, “What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If your son asks for an egg, will you give him a scorpion?” (Lk 11:11-12) “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of the needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God” (Mk 10:25). That’s a memorable image.

Unfortunately we lose the facial expressions and tone of voice so crucial to successful comedy. David Letterman can make us laugh with a smirk or the inflection of his voice. A manuscript of his show wouldn’t be nearly as amusing as seeing it live. So it’s a shame the gospels have been handed down to us as manuscripts and not YouTube videos.

The point here is not to place Jesus in the Comedy Hall of Fame. Rather it is to encourage us to see and hear the message of our Lord with fresh eyes and ears, to discover a new aspect of his divine brilliance and to meet him with renewed joy and laughter in our hearts. Above all, Jesus encourages us to take our faith but not ourselves too seriously.

As you’ve probably heard, the “next big thing” to hit the market and change your life will be Google Glass. While still in the experimental phase, Google Glass is basically a wearable computer in the form of futuristic-looking eyewear. The idea is hands-free computing, allowing the user  to use voice commands to surf the web, take pictures and video, get directions, and send messages.

It used to be that you could separate the sane from the insane by whether they talked to themselves while walking down the street. That theory was tossed aside with Blue Tooth and will be buried further with Google Glass.

I’m not an early adopter with technology so you won’t see me sporting these fancy specs anytime soon. But I was thinking about how this technology could assist me in my vocational life. If Google could come up with a Clergy Edition, I might just reconsider. Here’s what I’d need and how I’d use it:

1. Face recognition software that would allow me to identify parishioners by name while greeting them after the service (especially the C & E crowd!).

2. The ability to scroll the sermon text so my brilliant thoughts would appear “off the cuff.”

3. X-Ray vision so I could see how much Reserved Sacrament we have without having to open the aumbry door.

4. A program that would allow me to engage in what Helen Prejean calls “Biblical quarterbacking” so I could cite relevant chapter and verse the next time I get into a debate with a Baptist.

5. Take POV (point of view) video as I celebrate the Eucharist allowing everyone to experience what it’s really like to be a priest at the altar.

6. Surf the internet during boring diocesan meetings while seemingly paying rapt attention.

7. Read the latest Grisham novel during the curate’s sermon.

8. Scroll through my Twitter feed during pastoral visits.

9. Google newcomers in real time so I seem omniscient when I ask about their hobby of bee keeping.

10. Change the Scripture passage to read: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbour’s eye, but do not notice the Google Glass in your own eye?” (Matt 7:3)

There’s nothing worse than a humorless Christian. You know the type — tight lipped, judgmental, unsmiling, Puritanical. Someone who views frivolity as sacrilege and humor as heresy. Perhaps you’ve even met the type — online or in person.

But this understanding of the Christian life is incomplete. A more nuanced reading of Scripture leads us  irrevocably away from this attitude of holier-than-thou solemnity. Jesus uses humor to teach, heal, convert and, ultimately, redeem. And he does this while modeling the fact that laughter and profundity are not mutually exclusive.

The humor of Jesus is subtle, nearly imperceptible at first glance. The Sermon on the Mount, for instance, doesn’t begin with a joke to warm up the crowd. But throughout his ministry Jesus displays great wit, command of the language, a gift for irony and word plays, and impeccable timing — all hallmarks of great comedians.

The gospels aren’t funny in the traditional sense. It’s not slapstick comedy; there are no pratfalls. They’re passion narratives, not anthologies of “The Wit and Wisdom of Jesus Christ.” But then the story of our salvation, the death and resurrection of our Lord, is serious business.

Which is precisely why Jesus made his message so accessible. Parables, with their use of common language and commentary on everyday situations, spoke directly to people. And so, while Jesus’ messages held the keys to salvation, they were couched in language people could understand and relate to.

A master storyteller would never forsake humor as a means to reach an audience. Jesus, who spent much of his ministry breaking down barriers between people, knew that humor does exactly this. Humor disarms and unites; it sets people at ease and leaves them receptive to the speaker’s message.

Jesus recognized that humor is as equal a part of the human condition as suffering and joy. It is integral to the human condition, and Jesus embodied this just as much as he embodied forgiveness, compassion and hope. Jesus had a wonderfully vibrant sense of humor, but it wasn’t employed merely to “get laughs.” It is humor that seeks to inform and convert. Even when the humor is directed at a certain group, such as the Pharisees, it is still a humor born of love and compassion. Jesus mocks the self-righteous even while calling them to open their eyes, repent and see.

Jesus exposes our human foibles not to embarrass or condemn but to illuminate and transform. When we take ourselves too seriously, we commit perhaps humanity’s greatest sin: trusting in ourselves rather than God. Jesus shows us the absurd consequences that invariably result.

The examples of Jesus’ irony and wit are plentiful. Take, for instance, his relationship with Peter. Naming this impetuous, overly eager apostle “the rock” is amusing. You can almost envision the sly smile as Jesus says, “Upon this rock I will build my church.” Time after time, Peter was anything but a rock in difficult situations. The irony must not have been lost on the other disciples. And yet, it indeed was upon this “rock” that the Church was built. With Jesus, the line between the deadly serious business of faith and the human attempt to live out this faith blurs. And, because there is some of Peter in all of us, it becomes untenable to take ourselves too seriously.

Which is precisely Jesus’ point. Perhaps we can view the humorless Pharisees as the ultimate straight men for Jesus. Throughout the four gospels the joke, it seems, is on them. Their somber rigidity is paralyzing and their hypocrisy and self-righteousness keep them from true relationship with the divine. They are the perfect foils to Jesus’ message of love as Jesus continually meets their scorn and contempt with quick wit and perfect timing.

The encounters with the Pharisees are full of brilliant one-liners. “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Mt 22:21) is a perfect response dripping with irony. The blind leading the blind is, of course, a comical visual image and a pointed commentary on the religious leaders of the day (Mt 15:14). And think about the hilarious image of straining out a gnat while eating a camel (Mt 23:24). His hearers certainly chuckled at this purposefully ludicrous image. And it invariably stuck with them.

There are hosts of other wonderfully amusing moments in the gospel accounts. There is irony and humorous exaggeration, phrases that would have brought smiles to the lips of his hearers, if not full belly laughs. Explaining the efficacy of prayer he asks the Apostles, “What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If your son asks for an egg, will you give him a scorpion?” (Lk 11:11-12) “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of the needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God” (Mk 10:25). That’s a memorable image. What fool would place a lamp “under a bushel basket or under a bed and not on the lampstand?” (Mk 4:21)

It is a bit odd that within the Church the humor of Jesus is so roundly ignored. Maybe we’re afraid to laugh in the presence of the divine. We tend to shy away from visions of our Lord smiling and joking and engaging us in laughter. Yet there is great evidence that Jesus desires this  important piece of our humanity to shine forth. Laughter is simply good for the soul and it allows us to confront the darker sides of life with grace and composure. Since God created humor, it makes sense that Jesus would use humor to communicate with humanity. Without humor, life would be unbearable. Humor is used as a means to deal with the burdens of life. It makes light the yoke of sin, death, and human frailty.

One obstacle may be that Jesus’ mastery of words is literally lost in translation. Our Scripture is a translation of the Greek, which is a translation of Jesus’ own Aramaic. Without knowledge of Jesus’ native tongue, certain wordplays are simply lost to us. For instance, an added layer of Matthew 23:24 is that the Aramaic word for gnat is galma and the word for camel is gamla. We are deaf to this aspect of the exchange.

We also lose the facial expressions and tone of voice so crucial to successful comedy. David Letterman can make us laugh with a simple facial expression or the inflection of his voice. A manuscript of his show wouldn’t be nearly as amusing as seeing it live. And unfortunately the gospels have been handed down to us as manuscripts, not YouTube videos.

The point here is not to place Jesus in the Comedy Hall of Fame. Rather it is to encourage us to see and hear the message of our Lord with fresh eyes and ears, to discover a new aspect of his divine brilliance and to meet him with renewed joy and laughter in our hearts. May we continue to take our ministry seriously but not ourselves.

Some weeks it’s tough to keep up spiritually and emotionally with all that swirls around us. In the last couple of days we’ve seen images of devastation coming out of Oklahoma. We continue to be pummeled with disheartening world news and violence in our communities, even as many of us are still trying to process the Boston Marathon bombings, the explosion at a fertilizer factory in West, Texas, and the collapse of a clothing factory in Bangladesh.

As people of faith, our first response is prayer. Upon hearing about the latest tragedy or disaster we get down on our knees and pray. Or at least close our eyes for a moment at the next stoplight or post a prayer on Facebook. Sometimes we pray because we know it’s what we’re “supposed” to do; sometimes we pray because we can’t thing of anything else to do; sometimes we pray because it’s part of our ongoing and life-long conversation with God; and sometimes we pray because we know it matters.

Yet it’s hard not to feel overwhelmed to the point of “prayer fatigue.” We’re  bombarded on all sides by tragic news, horrific images, and interviews with the bereaved, all of which contribute to an overall feeling of helplessness. As many of us are discovering, there’s only so much capacity the human brain has to respond to grief, sadness, and traumatic events. We could become hermits and spend all our days in prayer and, still, it wouldn’t be enough. We’d just be scratching the surface of the world’s needs. As we seemingly face crisis after crisis it’s easy to feel that prayer doesn’t matter or that it doesn’t change anything.

The 24-hour news cycle doesn’t help as images of natural disaster, war, and abject poverty assault our senses and our sensibilities. Nor does social media which, in the face of tragedy, serves as an echo chamber. That’s not to say we should all go off the grid when tragedy strikes — there’s tremendous value in connecting with others, offering prayers and resources, and even raising money as a way to “do something.” Rapid response online donations in the wake of tragedy (at least the ones that warrant media coverage) are becoming part of the national grieving process and perhaps even a secular form of prayer. But it still never feels like enough — there’s always the next tragedy, the next disaster, the next shooting.

The good news is that the world’s peace and harmony doesn’t depend exclusively upon us. That’s God’s realm, not ours. Once we realize this, it takes the pressure off of us to get the words right or say the proper number of prayers to “fix” everything. We don’t even need words — they’re usually inadequate anyway. We can weep with those who weep and mourn with those who mourn while leaving the big picture to the God who cares for us as a mother cares for her children. This doesn’t mean that tragedy won’t continue to pervade our lives — it’s part of the human condition — but we’re not in this alone. Jesus, who knew something about tragedy, is with us at every step of the journey.

And so, even in the midst of despair, we’re left with hope. As Christians, hope is the bedrock upon which we build the foundations of our lives even as things seemingly crumble around us. Where is God in all of this? Under the rubble; crying out with the disaffected and impoverished; in the tears of those who weep and mourn.

This weekend we mark Trinity Sunday and revel in the fullness of God even as we pray for hope and healing and reconciliation. There is, perhaps, no better time to do just that.

 

I love baptisms. Baptizing infants (and those who can speak for themselves) is one of my absolute favorite things about ordained ministry. Being the conduit for establishing that indissoluble bond between an individual and Jesus is a privilege.

Plus, when there are babies involved — which is the norm — I’m able to get my baby fix. I look at it as grandparent training: holding babies until they do those things that babies do and then handing them back to the parents. Some of my parishioners call me “The Baby Whisperer” and I admit I do have a pretty uncanny ability to quiet down a fussy infant. Also, my preaching puts them right to sleep.

We’re fortunate to do a lot of baptisms at St. John’s and there’s nothing better than welcoming a new parishioner into the “household of God.” But we also err on the side of grace and baptize babies of some families we don’t know. I always run a mandatory baptismal preparation class for parents (and ideally godparents) in the days or weeks leading up to the big day. I talk about the symbols of baptism and the liturgy and what it all means (fortunately I had the Episcopal Church’s baptism guru, the Rev. Dr. Ruth Myers, as my liturgics professor so I take this stuff seriously). I also give them a booklet with some more detailed information about baptism in general and at St. John’s in particular.

One of the major points I like to stress is that baptism isn’t a rite of passage but a rite of commitment. And there’s a major distinction between these two! If the baptism becomes merely something to “get through” before the day’s major event — brunch — then we have a problem. Reading through the baptismal questions demonstrates just how serious this stuff is, a point I’m always tempted to make by showing parents that wonderful carnage-filled baptism scene from The Godfather.

Yesterday on Pentecost — one of the four days of the church year deemed “especially appropriate” for baptism — we welcomed thousands of new Christians into the church (uh, not at St. John’s — five this weekend — but in parishes everywhere). And I’m always reminded that some people still struggle with taking it seriously (not regular parishioners mind you). I think the worst example of Baptismal Parties Behaving Badly was the parish I served in New York where a godparent answered her cell phone during the baptism and then proceeded to narrate the entire baptism for her friend.

So in this light, I have rewritten the baptismal questions from the Prayer Book. There are three renunciations followed by three affirmations. Maybe we’ll start reciting these at our baptism prep classes!

Then the Celebrant asks the following questions of the parents and godparents who speak on behalf of the infants and younger children.

Question: Do you renounce flash photography and all annoying actions that rebel against the liturgy?
Answer: I renounce them.

Question: Do you renounce blowing off coffee hour and other actions which corrupt and destroy the concept of community?
Answer: I renounce them.

Question: Do you renounce yapping during the communion anthem and all sinful desires that draw you from the love of the sacrament?
Answer: I renounce them.

Question: Do you turn to the hymnal and actually sing the hymns?
Answer: I do.

Question: Do you put your trust in God by shutting down your cell phone and not surfing the internet during the sermon?
Answer: I do.

Question: Do you promise not to use the Peace as your own personal family photo op?
Answer: I do.

Okay, so I’m having some fun with this. And in that spirit, feel free to share your own stories. As clergy we do ourselves and the church no favors by accepting such behavior and it’s our responsibility to nip it in the baptismal font.

 

 

So, I forgot to post this article a couple of weeks ago. On the other hand the day after Mother’s Day is perfect for a column that talks about the plight of the suburban male. Okay “plight” might not be the right word but I have a theory that men are lousy at maintaing friendships and are the poorer and lonelier for it.

Theology on Tap

Men are lonely creatures. At least suburban men who work, commute, and have families. No self-respecting man would articulate this publicly since it sounds either whiny or weak but it’s true. We used to pride ourselves on our close friendships be it the “glory days” of high school or the keg-stand fraternity days of yore.

But that was before the big “R” of responsibility took over our lives. Work, marriage, children, pets, the yard. They’re all wonderful things — mostly. Over time, almost imperceptibly, however, they crowd out our male friendships and suddenly many of us find ourselves left with a bunch of acquaintances but little depth in our relationships.

From the male perspective, women just seem to be better at nurturing adult friendships. They meet friends for coffee, they volunteer together, they have work friends, they join book groups (or as I like to call them, wine drinking parties). My own wife certainly checks all these boxes and she’s happier for it.

Yes, this is a gross generalization but there does seem to be some truth here. A lot of men simply don’t have close friendships. Sure, we have buddies from our college days with whom we share fond memories, some printable, some not. But they generally live all over the country and, while there might be an annual golf outing or fishing trip, that’s hardly sustainable for the other 362 days of the year.

We nod to people on the commuter train and we’re on a first name basis with Jeff from Accounting. But the guard’s always up, the protective emotional armor is always donned. We work hard not to show weakness or vulnerability which is why we wear power suits and deflect intimacy with a quip or by sticking to safe topics like sports or carburetors.

But what about our humanity? Where do men go to talk about the things at the depths of our souls? Events like the bombing at the Boston Marathon bring our vulnerability to the fore and yet we have few outlets to process our emotions. So they get buried and fester until our hearts become fossilized or unhealthy behaviors emerge.

At my parish on the South Shore of Boston, we’re trying to remedy this by introducing a men’s group. Now, this won’t be your typical church men’s group where a bunch of guys get together in the nether regions of the church to gorge themselves on pancakes, give each other hugs, and tell themselves that Jesus was really a man’s man — someone to shoot pool with or hang out in the bleachers at Fenway.

We’re calling this venture Theology on Tap. We won’t meet at church but in the upstairs room at the Liberty Grille. We’ll grab a pint, listen to one another’s stories, and talk about a topic of interest. God’s just as present when a bunch of people gather in his name at a bar as at church on a Sunday morning (just don’t tell anyone).

This won’t solve all the problems of the world but hopefully it will chip away at the hardness of our hearts that has built up through the years. Hopefully, over time, it will provide an outlet for friendship and some conversations that get below the surface of everyday life. I encourage all of my fellow men to be intentional about seeking friendships that move beyond safe topics. You may feel vulnerable at first but it sure beats the usual hunting and gathering.

 

I was down in Copley Square last week for the first time since the marathon bombings. The place was still crawling with news trucks and reporters and police on a beautiful Tuesday morning. I saw the impromptu memorials made up of running shoes and t-shirts and flowers and teddy bears and hand-made signs.

There was a hushed tone quality in the memorial area even as the bustle of downtown Boston swirled all around it. People were writing notes of prayer and support and simply milling around trying to take in the whole scene. Some looked stunned, some resigned, some were quietly wiping away tears; there were gawkers, of course, angling to get in the background of one of CNN’s live shots, but I think everyone was in some way seeking to come to grips with what happened on marathon Monday.

After I said a few quiet prayers, I started thinking about the Boston Strong slogan that’s been on t-shirts and stickers and hats and, more importantly, in the hearts of so many in this area. I agree with the sentiment that in times of trial and distress, it’s important for a community to band together and seek strength in its own unity. Those of us who live in the Boston area take pride in this community and our ties to it and there is great strength of spirit and character here. Anyone who witnessed or participated in the singing of the National Anthem at the Garden before the Bruins played in the first public event after the bombing couldn’t help but get chills.

But I think focusing exclusively on the image of strength has potential pitfalls. When we wrap ourselves in the mantra of Boston Strong, we face the possibility of denying our vulnerability both as individuals and as a community. Clinging to the notion of strength in the midst of uncertainty and fear, does make us feel better and safer in the short-term. But it also has a shadow side of desperation — if we only say we’re strong over and over again, it will magically become true.

Now I realize no one would buy a hat that said “Boston Vulnerable.” That’s not a slogan anyone would rally around or start chanting at a Red Sox game. But from a faith perspective we’re challenged to think beyond popular slogans to get to the heart of things. People being blown up in a public place on a sacred day at an iconic event makes us feel anything but strong. If we’re honest with ourselves, it taps into our deepest anxieties and fears; and feelings of vulnerability and helplessness can’t help but be stirred up.

In his First Letter to the Corinthians, we hear Jesus tell St. Paul, “My power is made perfect in weakness.” In other words strength and vulnerability are not mutually exclusive. It is because of our vulnerability as human beings that we’re able to trust in the strength of God. It’s not our own strength that will see us through — no matter how many t-shirts get sold. It is the strength of God alone that allows us to endure and persevere in the midst of profound tragedy and grief and to find comfort and strength and solace in the context of community.

In light of this Paul goes on to say, “Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.” Not because God will fix it and make it all better like a mother who kisses a skinned knee. But because through Jesus we know that God is present even in our darkest hours, even in those moments we feel most vulnerable or alone of forsaken.

When I was a priest in New York, a parishioner asked me if I’d go say last rites for his grandmother — the woman who had raised him. The catch was I had to go to some huge hospital in the middle of the Bronx, which I was happy to do even if it meant getting lost a few times on the way. It turned out her roommate had just died and one of the hospital chaplains was with the family as I arrived. He kept saying over and over again, “Be strong. You gotta be strong.” And I wanted to scream, “No! That’s not what they need right now!” This is precisely the time they need to cast their burdens upon the Lord. They don’t have to be strong, just faithful. And if they can’t do that right now they can just be, and let God hold them in the palm of his hand.

There’s a time to be strong but there’s also a time to admit our weakness, to admit our powerlessness in a situation and let God take the lead. And in that we find true strength.

Yes, it’s that time of the year: Clergy Conference. Three of the four I’ve been to here in the Diocese of Massachusetts have been graced by an evening “talent” show (aka Anglican Idol). My first year I wrote a poem welcoming me to the diocese. That was followed up by a letter from then-Senator John Kerry after he canceled at the last minute. Tonight I’m riffing on Jeff Foxworthy.

Most of this is insider clergy humor. Hopefully, if you even bother to continue reading, you won’t get most of the references.

If you’ve ever…you must be a priest in DioMass

If you’ve ever had to shovel the snow off the front steps of your church in April…

If you’ve ever tried to buy a drink with MECA Bucks at your local pub…

If you’ve ever been to a diocesan convention and prayed to Jesus that the bishop wouldn’t uncross his legs…

If you’ve ever thought there was a canon stating that every straight white male priest must play the guitar at clergy conference…

If you’ve ever started your vestry meeting with a form of Appreciative Inquiry even though you really didn’t know what the hell it was…

If you’ve ever left the cathedral wondering what in God’s name is stuck to the seat of your pants…

If you’ve ever wondered how a Confirmation Service could possibly last 3 1/2 hours…

If you’ve ever driven to Weston…

If you’ve ever been turned down for postulancy in another diocese…

If you’ve ever wondered why a certain guitar-playing retired bishop keeps showing up at deanery meetings…

And similarly, if you’ve ever heard a certain retired bishop drop an F-bomb while smoking a cigarette…

If you’ve ever spoken to a resolution at convention and referenced the baptismal covenant…

And finally, if you’ve ever had a strapping young gay man trapped inside of you…

Okay, I should explain that last one — it’s a reference to something one of the speakers said. It was a joke. I think.

Finally, a few more that I couldn’t bear to say publicly in front of everyone but don’t have a problem putting on the internet since it’s so anonymous, untraceable, and easily erased:

If you’ve ever wanted to step on a precious little dog during a visitation…

If you’ve ever wondered how so many crazy people could have possibly graduated from EDS…

If you’ve ever thought your parish was in danger of closing…

If you’ve ever thought the social hour at clergy conference resembled the scene at a gay bar…

If you’ve ever wondered how a gigantic image of the nautilus passes for a Christian symbol…

If you’ve never attended an Episcopal seminary…

“Run with perseverance the race that is set before you.” This quote from the Letter to the Hebrews sustained me the one year I ran the Boston Marathon — in 2008. Along with the supportive crowds along the entire 26.2 mile course, this mantra carried me from Hopkinton to Wellesley to Heartbreak Hill and into Copley Square. It is a quote we need now more than ever.

With Monday’s events we have collectively hit the dreaded wall. Unspeakable violence has been visited upon the purest of human pursuits with three dead, 150 injured, and the innocence of an iconic event forever altered. The images of destruction amid what would normally be a scene of unmitigated joy and triumph are seared into our minds as shouts of encouragement morphed into screams of terror.

It would be easy to quit or walk away — that’s the standard reaction when you hit the wall. I hit it pretty hard in my first marathon, a result of the classic rookie mistake of starting too fast. Around mile 18 of the 2005 Baltimore Marathon I started cursing my decision to enter the race. I  began walking although what I really wanted was to curl up in the fetal position underneath the table at one of the water stops. Eventually, I snapped out of it and continued on to the finish line. I ended with my inflated time goal blown but was both proud and relieved as I swore off ever running another marathon.

I have no doubt that the city of Boston, all of New England, and our entire nation will push through the wall. Like the runners themselves, we are a resilient people. Unlike the elite runners, we may not win any races but we never give up in the face of adversity. We muddle through, placing one foot in front of the other. We keep moving forward partly because we have no choice but also because we believe in running with perseverance the race that is set before us.

Having this happen on Patriot’s Day only strengthens our resolve as we hearken back to the spirit of our nation’s forebears. Paul Revere’s lantern reminds us that the darkness of tyranny and hate cannot overcome the light of liberty and love. Just as John’s gospel says of Jesus Christ’s entrance into the world, “The light shined in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”

As we continue to wade through the carnage and seek answers, I find it helpful to focus on the stories of heroism and selflessness that abound. So many have reached out their hands in love and compassion both in the immediate aftermath and in the intervening hours and days. In this Easter season, I see these acts as glimpses of resurrection glory amid the despair. As Jesus conquered death and the grave on that first Easter Day, he continues to do just that in our own lives even in the face of tragedy.

As people of faith our first response is always prayer. On Monday evening, as we held an impromptu prayer service at St. John’s, we closed with the following prayer. As you continue to pray for the victims, their families, first responders, medical personnel, and those affected by these horrific events, I encourage you to reflect upon it.

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen.

BREAKING NEWS — An ancient Biblical text was recently discovered in the Egyptian desert that debunks a controversial piece of Christian Scripture. Scholars have been left scrambling how best to interpret a papyrus fragment containing a single verse — John 20:19.

This verse has long been a sticking point in Christian-Jewish relations. It reads as follows:

Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you. (John 20:19 — King James Version)

Liturgical Christians traditionally read this passage on the Sunday after Easter at the start of the story of “Doubting Thomas” (John 20:19-31).

The line “for fear of the Jews” has led to instances of anti-Semitic behavior perpetrated by Christians at various points in history. This, coupled with the Passion Narrative from John’s gospel, has led some Christians to the conclusion that it was “the Jews” who crucified Jesus. Indeed it wasn’t until the 1960′s that the Roman Catholic Church officially repudiated this assertion.

This newly discovered fragment appears to further dispel the notion of Christians being afraid of “the Jews” following the resurrection. Translated into English from the original Greek it reads:

Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the juice…(italics added for emphasis).

In other words, the early church was not afraid of “the Jews” at all but of “the juice.”

Scholars are currently holed up at the Vatican attempting to determine whether the offending juice was orange, apple, or pineapple. One viewpoint has emerged arguing that it was not fear of juice per se but rather of co-mingling combinations such as cranberry-grape or mango-guava. We also understand, from an anonymous source, that one prominent scholar is pushing a theory that the early Christians were not afraid of “the juice” at all but lived in dread of “the Juice” aka O.J. Simpson.

Attempts to contact Jose Canseco for his opinion on whether this may involve Performance-Enhancing Drugs (aka “juice”) have been unsuccessful.

While we all await the final verdict, network television executives in America have, in an attempt to distance themselves from juice, banned advertising from Capri Sun, Tropicana, and Welch’s. Complicating matters for liturgical leaders of denominations such as the Methodist Church is their use of grape juice at communion. When asked about their serving of juice during services, Methodist headquarters issued a blanket “no comment” statement.

Stay tuned as this controversy continues to unfold.

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This is, of course, no laughing matter and as Christians we cannot simply ignore these inferences when they arise in our Scriptures. My assistant, the Rev. Anne Emry, has written a brief blurb we like to run in our bulletins on this Second Sunday of Easter (see below). Feel free to use or adapt it in your own congregation or if you use something similar, consider sharing it. Thanks and continued Easter blessings to all.

“The doors were locked for fear of the Jews.”
Christianity has a difficult history which includes terrible persecution of Jewish people. It is important to clearly address how wrong it is, and how far from the teachings of Jesus. Know this: Jesus was a Jew and his followers were mostly Jews. The people he preached to, taught, and healed, were mostly Jews. He taught from the Jewish Scriptures and was executed by the Romans. Later historic struggles between Christian and Jewish communities, reflected in the Gospels, allowed anachronistic transfer of blame from the Romans to the Jews. Anti-Jewish violence and prejudice is intolerable. We must not force the Jews to lock their doors for fear of the Christians.