.
So let's start this week with a disclaimer: I've never been a fan of waiting. For anything. And so because God has such a well-developed sense of humor, I've ended up working in the church. Go figure.
AND ... I love how Nora invites us to consider waiting not "prelude to" but "part of" the sacramental circle that calls us to the table and sends us out into the world. It's another one of those "both/and" things -- like this quote from page 28:
The language of the altar is old, much older than us. And it's also new, being made you and and the people around you.Amen.
Another part I loved about this chapter was her admission (on page 29): "I am not a light traveler."
Ironically, I was working on this reflection on the plane yesterday -- a flight from L.A. to Chicago for the Episcopal Urban Caucus that was delayed because there was more "carry-on luggage" than there was room for.
And so as I sat in 15F watching one traveler after another trying to cram "one more thing" in the already full overhead compartments, I wondered if it wasn't kind of a metaphor for what it looks like to God as we try to in cram "one more thing" into our already full schedule, agenda, closet, suitcase, briefcase, or hard-drive.
A Lent or two ago we used the image of "UNpacking for the Lenten Journey" -- and I liked that image a lot ... although, like Nora, I fear I took the "admire rather than emulate" approach. Much easier to take on than to let go.
Other notes on Chapter 3:
I appreciated her take on (and her "taking on"!) the Sodom & Gomorrah story from Genesis -- and the way she artfully wove it together with the Gospel challenge to Empire. Another both/and moment:
Jesus' "kingdom of God" may not be a far-off heaven, but may instead be an alternative to the kingdom of Rome, an alternative to the monetary, social, moral, and legal economy of the Roman Empire and the religious authorities who collaborated with it. An alternative to waste and corruption and greed. Jesus promises us the kingdom of heaven: more compassion, more love, more justice, more courage, more surprise.And here -- finally -- is my favorite image:
" ... the power of subversive inspiration."
Where can we, do we and might we use that power of subversive inspiration to help bring on earth that kingdom of heaven we pray for every time we gather for the Sacred Meal? And -- as Nora asks -- what did we do last week to find the kingdom of heaven in our midst ... and to help others find it?
I have other observations (I'm loving this book), but for now, one thing missing for me was that the author's "waiting" starts on her way up to the altar and my "waiting"/ transition into communion includes the actual Great Thanksgiving/consecration, which she skips over. It is usually one of the most profound moments of any service for me. I begin to get "out of my head" at the point when I enter into the Last Supper. I'm interested in hearing about others' moments of transition to "waiting"... Also wondering how many folks are in this fabulous group of ours....
ReplyDeleteI was also struck by the Rumi quote: "Why is it that I have to be dragged, kicking and screaming into paradise?" Waiting can sometimes be procrastinating, and then we do need to be dragged kicking and screaming!
ReplyDeleteI like the idea that the waiting is a time to ask yourself "what separates you from God?" Is it envy, anger, fear greed, lack of compassion? And to look at the past week and see what actions you have taken "to find the kingdom of heaven in our midst and to help others find it" instead of blindly being a "citizen of the empire".
ReplyDeleteWhat will stick with me from this chapter is page 41. As I read "It may only take ten people left to remind us of how to save our lives and what it is to be human." through "And there will be others, who choose not to live lives of insolence and greed, but cause us to remember what the kingdom of heaven looks like, what a human being is really made of, what a citizen can be", there was an instant recognition (dare I say I was "epiphed?"), a deep feeling of gratitude and a snapshot in my mind of the "lawn" on Sundays at All Saints. Because if I had to describe my community of faith and the impact it has on my journey in this life, I could not have done it better than "And the rest of us may be saved by them, because they kept alive so much that when it comes time to take our turn at the wheel, we will know by their examples what to do". I can only hope that in some small way I may provide this for others.
ReplyDeleteHi everyone,
ReplyDeleteThe images of waiting and traveling described by Gallagher ("long lines," traveling light, carrying "baggage") and then echoed by Susan all resonate with me. I'm traveling on a three week business trip right now, which is why this electronic study group is so attractive to me. I do so much traveling for my job that I have managed to minimize my wait time by cramming three weeks worth of clothes into one carry-on bag, zipping through security lines wearing flip flops. I don't like waiting. The result of all this pre-planning is finding myself at the gate well ahead of boarding time and ironing clothes and finding laundromats late at night in unfamiliar cities. So what does any of this have to do with Communion. Maybe having time at the gate is better than standing in line. At least I can take out a book. At least I can watch my fellow travelers at the gate and observe the families using the laundromat and imagine their scenarios-- on their way to a vacation, celebrating a honeymoon, visiting a sick relative. These days of public cell phones makes us all witnesses of everyday drama and banality. I am connected, even sometimes when I don't want to be, as I am forced to overhear sometimes very personal conversations as I sit waiting for my boarding area to be called . I find myself inspired by the ordinary all around me. Is this the power of "subversive inspiration" working in me?
I love the orderliness of the Communion line. It's all very efficient and actually lovely. Before my pew is released, I watch the others going forward and returning. The journey down the aisle takes me past friends and members I want to see. I am eager to partake, but I am also given time to reflect on what it means and how my life is going.
When my family first started attending All Saints, we brought my grandmother one Sunday. She was a Roman Catholic, but her mantra was that "We all pray to the same God," and so she felt comfortable attending with us. But when the Eucharistic prayer ended and the ushers motioned for the first rows to come ahead, though we were seated well back in the church, my grandmother pushed her way over the knees and backs of the people in our pew and rushed down the side aisle to find a spot at the railing. I tried to stop her (out of embarrassment) and get her to wait our turn, but I was also so impressed at how important it was for her to take Communion. She couldn't and wouldn't wait. More subversive inspiration?
Finally, what most touched me in this chapter was the section on change on p. 37. My job takes me to failing public schools around the country. I'm supposed to be helping them find ways to deliver instruction better, learn the latest research-based strategies for teaching reading and writing. My work is well-received by the teachers and staffs at the schools, but the change is so slow that I am easily discouraged. I want to hang on to the idea that my little steps are part of an inexorable accumulation of other justice steps that will bring better education and maybe better lives for students who don't have all the advantages of those in better schools and better family situations. So I continue to work without showing my disappointment, my way of praying, I guess.
It isn't that there is not a line of people going up to the rail; I just don't experience it as waiting. There is so much to experience seeing friends, watching others as they receive the bread and wine, gratitude for congregation, steadying a frail woman, rubbing elbows at the rail. The is no experience of separating the experience into waiting, receiving, and afterward. It is an experience of congregation and of being aware of others and myself as we move through the service.
ReplyDeleteMy copy of the book just arrived a few days ago, so I am playing catch up.
ReplyDeleteI really like the concept of Communion as practice. This is a new idea to me. Being one who has tried and given up on several other "ancient practices" and, thereby had to deal with the disappointment and guilt associated with giving up, this way of seeing Communion is very reassuring.
Yesterday afternoon I attended a lecture by Anna Deavere Smith at which she performed dramatizations from the interviews she did and incorporated into her play, "Let Me Down Easy." One in particular stuck with me. The speaker is a doctor who was working at Charity Hospital in New Orleans when hurricane Katrina struck. Several days after the hurricane she realized that all the patients from the other hospitals, the non-charity ones, had been evacuated, but no one had come for the patients and staff at Charity. In talking with the staff and patients at Charity she came to realize that they were not surprised no one had come for them. She was shocked that they were not shocked. I think this is a perfect example of what Walter Brueggemann meant (and Nora discussed) when he said that Jesus's compassion for those who suffer is a "radical form of criticism" and not to be accepted as normal. (p. 20) I need reminders such as this that the pain and suffering experienced by those on the margins must not be considered "normal." It is easy for me to become accustomed to seeing it and fall into the trap of accepting it as just a part of life. And now, thanks to Nora, whenever I "wait" in that line for Communion I will carry that reminder with me along with the my own baggage of anxiety and concerns.
Encountering Brueggemann here is, for me, one of those amazing coincidences (graces?) since the Lenten study group in which I am participating at my own parish is using a video of Brueggemann. Gotta love those coincidences!