We are not a Christian nation. We're not even very Christian.

The United States is not now, and never has been, a "Christian nation."  This is a good thing. 

We are a secular nation, not a theocracy. This is a really good thing.

But if we ever needed proof that the people who make the loudest claims that we are a Christian nation aren't very Christian themselves, we are seeing it right now.

Today, this headline appeared in newspapers and in news broadcasts nation wide. 

Unless you've been in a cave, you must be aware of the refugees flooding into Europe as they flee the violence in Syria. You may have even wept over the heartbreaking photo of Aylan Kurdi, the  three-year-old child who was swept out of his father's arms and drowned. There are hundreds of thousands of children, women, and men in desperate need of succor.

And yet we, the richest nation in the world, decides to take in only 10,000 refugees? We should be ashamed of ourselves.

But where is the outcry of protest from the right wing Christian extremists that it's not near enough? 

Why are no Republican presidential candidates calling for a protest march on Washington? Why is there no House or Senate committee calling for an investigation of why we aren't taking in hundred of thousands of refugees?

Why isn't Kim Davis using her new found fame as a Christian martyr to join with Mike Huckabee and Ted Cruz to demand more aid for these refugees, clearly the "least among us"?

I ask because if there is one thing the bible is VERY clear about, it's God's call to welcome the stranger. It's even in Leviticus -- the only book of the Bible many of these folks appear to have read.

Leviticus 19:34 says The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.

There is no mincing of words here. This is very clear. But Leviticus isn't the only place where Christians are commanded to welcome the stranger -- it's in several places in both the Hebrew and Christian scriptures:

• Deuteronomy 10: 19 You shall love the stranger, for you were once strangers in the land of Egypt.
• Luke 10:27 You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself. 
•  Matt. 5:43-44 You have heard that it was said, ‘you shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy’. But I say to you, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you.
• Romans 13:8 Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. 
• Romans 13:10 Love does no wrong to a neighbor,    therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.
• Romans 12:13 Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.
• Acts 10:34 Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.
• Revelation 21:3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “See the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them.”
• 3 John 1:5 Beloved, you do faithfully whatever you do for the friends, even though they are strangers to you; they have testified to your love before the church. You do well to send them on in a manner worthy of God; for they began their journey for the sake of Christ, accepting no support from non-believers. Therefore we ought to support such people, so that they may become co-workers with the truth.
• Hebrews 13: 1 Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.
• Colossians 3:11 In that renewal there is no longer Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave and free; but Christ is all and in all.
• Matthew 25: 35 I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.
• Matt. 25:40 Truly I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of my brethren you did it to me.

And yet, there is no outcry. 

The right wing Christians are too busy oppressing their gay neighbors and despising the aliens among them who happen to be from Mexico, or even look as if they are from Mexico, or attacking their Muslim neighbors, or those who even look as if they might be Muslim, to care about some strangers in Europe.

So let's be clear. These are not the actions of Christians. These are the actions of people using the name and word of God as instruments of hatred and fear. 

And here's the bible verse that comes to mind as I watch and listen to them:

John 11:35: Jesus wept. 

The "judge not lest you be judged" thingie

I am a Christian and I am sick to death of people using their "Christian" faith as a weapon of mass discrimination. People of all faiths are welcome to worship and live out their faith as they please, but they are not entitled to impose their religious beliefs on others -- not even recently famous would-be Christian martyr County Clerk Kim Davis.

Apparently Davis is fairly new to Christianity and apparently she is involved in an evangelical branch of the faith, which tends to be heavy on biblical literalism and light on theological study.

What disturbs me is that she clearly is being taught a Christianity based in fear, not love. Hence her overwrought claim that the act of issuing a marriage license to same-sex couples would endanger her immortal soul. She overlooks the whole "judge not lest you be judged" thingie.

According to news reports, Davis was pregnant with twins by her third husband before she was divorced from her first husband. Her second husband then adopted the twins. She later divorced the second husband and married her third husband, who she also later divorced to marry her fourth husband.

Are you following this so far?

According to her attorneys, her divorces and remarriages happened before she became a Christian, and now all those past mistakes are forgiven and thus not relevant. But Jesus doesn't offer "get out of jail free" cards.

Being forgiven doesn't mean there are no consequences for one's behavior. Some measure of humility is called for, not smugness. Self-examination is good. Examination of the faults of others, not so much.

Jesus' forgiveness doesn't come with a license to judge others. In fact, Jesus is pretty clear about who gets to judge others, and it ain't Kim Davis. Just read Matthew 7:

7 “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. 2 For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

And there's that inconvenient thing Jesus says about looking at the speck in your brother's eye while ignoring the log in your own.

Still, while I think she should either do her job or resign, I also feel compassion for her. The faith that should be bringing her peace is instead clearly terrorizing her. Hence her talk of this being a "life or death matter."

But dear Ms. Davis, you don't have to make this so hard. You don't have to be so afraid.

See, here's the thing. God loves us all. No exceptions.

The Jesus you follow said that the two great commandments are to love God and to love your neighbor as yourself. In these two commandments lie all the law and the prophets.

God loves you. God loves you now. God loved you when you were getting divorced and remarried. God loved you when you had your twins. And God will love you even if you issue those marriage licenses.

Because God also loves those same-sex couples who are coming to your office seeking to get a license that will allow them to seal their commitment and mutual love in a marriage.

God IS love. Jesus taught that, again and again. So do not be afraid. It's not all on your shoulders.

God loves who God will love. You aren't on God's selection committee. 

Indeed, you're supposed to be part of the welcoming committee.

Happy birthday, National Park Service!

Today is the 100th anniversary of the National Park Service. You can read more about it here.

If we are very very lucky, one hundred years from now our descendants will still be able to visit our nation's fabulous national parks -- unless the Republicans manage to sell them off for oil drilling or other development. This, despite the fact that both Republican and Democratic voters have consistently supported protecting these treasures and the jobs and billions of dollars in economic benefits they provide.

In March of this year, the United States Senate voted 51 to 49 to support an amendment to a nonbinding budget resolution to sell or give away all federal lands other than the national parks and monuments. What does that mean? According to the New York Times, "It means that should the measure ever be implemented, hundreds of millions of acres of national forests, rangelands, wildlife refuges, wilderness areas and historic sites will revert to the states or local governments or be auctioned off."

Think about that for a minute -- the states having control of these national treasures. The thought is enough to make Texans shudder.

The Senate action was followed by a 228-to-119 vote in the House of Representatives approving another nonbinding resolution that said, according to the Times, “the federal estate is far too large” and voiced support for reducing it and “giving states and localities more control over the resources within their boundaries.” Doing so, the resolution added, “will lead to increased resource production and allow states and localities to take advantage of the benefits of increased economic activity.”

As the Times pointed out, the measures were "symbolic," but "they laid down a marker that America’s public lands, long held in trust by the government for its people, may soon be up for grabs."

Indeed, if Republicans had had their way, we wouldn't have the national parks we do have. I was reminded of their historic short-sightedness regarding our national patrimony this summer when my husband and I took a week to drive through parts of Utah, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming to visit his nephew and to see Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons national parks again.

It brought home once again just how amazingly beautiful parts of our country are, and how fragile their well-being is in the face of greed and politics.

 It was instructive to read the history of the establishment of Yellowstone and the Grand Tetons parks. I did so while we were in Jackson, Wyoming, a small city whose continued existence was assured by the establishment of those two parks -- something the residents opposed with all their being at the time.

Congress created the Teton Forest Reserve out of land not included in the Yellowstone National Park in 1897. By 1918, some in Congress were offering bills to create a larger protected area by expanding Yellowstone southward to include the Teton Range and northern portions of Jackson Hole. But local residents fought tooth and nail to defeat these efforts, calling it a land grab by the government.

In 1929 the central peaks of the Teton Range and six lakes at their base officially became the Grand Tetons National Park. It covered an area only a third of its present-day size. It did not protect a complete ecosystems nor did it protect mountain views from development in the valley.

Enter John D. Rockefeller Jr. In 1926 he toured the area with Yellowstone superintendent Horace Albright. Albright believed the beauty of the Jackson Hole country would be ruined by for-profit development. Rockefeller agreed. Congress was deadlocked on the issue, largely due to the steadfast opposition of the locals. So Rockefeller formed a company and bought up 35,000 acres of farm and ranch land with the goal of donating it for an expanded park. But congressional and local opposition kept the government from accepting the gift for 15 years.

Finally Rockefeller forced the issue by threatening to sell off the land. President Franklin Roosevelt responded by using a presidential proclamation to create the Jackson Hole National Monument, a 221,000 acre tract of valley lands around the Snake River. Creating a monument didn't require congressional approval like the creation of a national park would. Only Congress can establish new national parks. But the 1906 Antiquities Act, signed by President Theodore Roosevelt, allows presidents to declare federal lands "national monuments," which enjoy similar protections. Nearly every president since then has used the law to set aside lands.

When Franklin Roosevelt used it, local resident fumed. The State of Wyoming filed a lawsuit against the National Park Service in an attempt to overturn the proclamation. It failed in court.  (Sound familiar, Texans?) Then Western congressmen lobbied to withhold maintenance funding from the Interior Department's budget.

In spite of their best efforts, they weren't able to undo it. And today, of course, everyone acknowledges that the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone are a huge economic engine for the region, driving the main (practically only) industry in and around Jackson of serving tourists, hikers, skiers, hunters, and campers. The parks generate millions of dollars in revenue for local businesses each year.

This summer President Barack Obama established five new national monuments, including the new Waco Mammoth National Monument in Texas, where archaeologists discovered the remains of 24 Columbian mammoths that died 65,000 years ago.

The reaction from some Republicans?

"President Obama has shown complete disdain for Congress and the people of Nevada, California and Texas," Rep. Rob Bishop, R-Utah, said.

But Waco officials -- not exactly a bunch of liberals -  beg to differ. Local Waco officials have been lobbying to get the federal government to do this for years, being well aware of the financial bonanza a national park can be to local economies. Even the "small government" crowd in Austin has been conspicuously silent about this.

In Northern California, the president's action set aside 330,780 acres of mountains, meadows and other remote areas from Napa to Mendocino County as the Berryessa Snow Mountain National Monument. It is comprised of land owned by the U.S. Forest Service, the Bureau of Land Management and other government agencies. It is home to bald eagles, black bears and tule elk, and is now the second-largest national monument in California. A study by the Napa Chamber of Commerce and Winters Chamber of Commerce found it would generate $26 million in new revenue from tourism over five years.

Another new monument is the 704,000-acre Basin and Range National Monument, 110 miles north of Las Vegas, which preserves pioneer ranching and mining sites, along with rare Native American rock art.

President Obama is in good company in creating these new National Monuments. Presidents have used the law to establish more than 140 national monuments, including the Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon and Arches in Utah, and Pinnacles in San Benito County.

And Congress would eventually upgrade all of these to national parks. But without that law, one can only imagine what might have happened to these glorious places.

So happy birthday, National Park Service. And thank you for protecting some of the best gifts this nation has for all its people to enjoy.

A racist Atticus Finch is us, white people. All of us.

Like most people, I love To Kill a Mockingbird. I loved Gregory Peck as Atticus. I loved Scout and Jem and Dill and Calpurnia and Boo Radley. I've lost count of how many times I've read it, or watched the movie.

And I plan to read Go Set a Watchman. But like way too many others, I will not be devastated to read that Atticus turns out to be a racist in his old age. Why?

Because Atticus was a racist in To Kill a Mockingbird.

Yes. He was. So was Scout. And Jem. And Dill.

And so was every other white person in this nation then -- yes, even in the smug Northeast, from which many of these shocked and outraged book reviews are coming.

They couldn't help it. They were as immersed in the racism of this nation as fish are in water. And like fish that don't notice water until they are ripped from it, they didn't notice racism except when it threatened them -- or someone they cared about.

The characters in Mockingbird were immersed in what was perhaps a more blatant racism, but it differed only in degree from that of the rest of the nation. And this is still going on today.

Because being a racist is not just being a violent bigot who wants to lynch black men who dare to look at -- or worse, pity -- white women. Being a racist is taking part in and benefiting from-- either passively or actively -- the systemic oppression of an entire people simply because of their skin color. It's not just waving a Confederate flag, or using the N-word. Racism is being able to not even notice white privilege. It's assuming white children have an innocence that black children do not. It's according a dignity to white people of any age that is too often denied to black people of any age.

Ever wonder why Atticus' maid, Calpurnia, comes in the back door of the house instead of the front door? Because she's a Negro. Note that in the cast of characters, she and another black woman, Lula, are the only people without last names. And even little girl Scout and saintly Atticus call the adult maid by her first name while their white neighbor is called Miss Maudie. And while Miss Maudie is pretty open-minded, even she gives thanks for not being born a black person:

"The handful of people in this town who say that fair play is not marked White Only; the handful of people who say a fair trial is for everybody, not just us; the handful of people with enough humility to think, when they look at a Negro, there but for the Lord's kindness am I."

When Calpurnia takes Scout and Jem with her to her church, Scout asks, "Cal, why do you talk nigger-talk to the—to your folks when you know it's not right?"

Atticus is assigned to defend Tom Robinson, he doesn't volunteer to do it. But once assigned, it's more his ingrained sense of justice -- and his own self-image -- that causes him to put on a real defense as much as any outrage at the racism inherent in the case.

Remember the famous courtroom scene, when Scout sneaks into the balcony? All the black people are forced to sit up there, yet a little white girl and boy are allowed to be there too, while any little black girl or boy who tried to sit downstairs would have been thrown out. And while Scout calls Calpurnia, an adult Negro woman, by her first name, Scout, a white child, is called Miss Jean Louise even by the Reverend Sykes, the respected Negro pastor.

None of this strikes Scout or Jem-- or her father -- as strange.

Tom Robinson is called Tom, not Mr. Robinson, by Atticus. But he calls Atticus "Mr. Finch." Neither finds this strange. And even Atticus knew the best he could do for Robinson was to give him the strongest defense possible in the face of a preordained guilty verdict. Even though Robinson clearly could not have done what he was accused of, it didn't matter. Race trumped justice. Bob Ewell and his daughter may be trash, but they are WHITE trash, and that makes all the difference.

But when white trash Bob Ewell attacks Scout and Jem, and is knifed to death by the reclusive Boo Radley, a white man, Atticus, along with everyone else accepts it when the sheriff announces that Ewell fell on his own knife -- even though everyone (including the sheriff) knows Boo Radley did it. Here class trumps justice. An upper class, if reclusive, white man kills a trashy poor white man. No big deal.

It was all part of the racism and classism of the South and of all the United States, then, and now.

So get over your shock about Atticus, white people. He is us. All of us.

Texas Democrats - the party for sane Texans

Not too long ago the Republican governor of Texas added his gubernatorial credibility to the paranoid fantasies of extremists that the federal government was going to invade Texas under the guise of a military exercise. He seriously ordered the Texas State Guard to keep on eye on the U. S. Armed Forces to "protect Texans' rights and property," which brought up this mental image: 

This was just about the last straw in a huge bale of crazy for me. I created a new Facebook avatar and a bumper sticker:

I just wanted to remind the world that there ARE some sane Texans. I think there are LOT of sane Texans. In fact, I think there are more sane Texans than there are insane Texans. A lot of those sane Texans are Democrats, but believe it or not, there are sane Republicans as well. And certainly Independents. And all Libertarians think they are sane, right?

So when I was invited to speak to the Northeast Tarrant County Democrats on Flag Day, June 14, I decided to share my idea with them:

Let’s reboot the Texas Democratic Party as the party of sane Texans.

And here are my admittedly rough draft thoughts of what the Sane Democratic Party will do:

• We will advocate for automatic voter registration upon a Texan's 18^th birthday. 

• We will work to make voting as convenient as texting – although we won’t let you do it while you are driving. 

• We will support the police by holding rogue officers accountable, because one bad officer can undermine public confidence in police much faster than 50 good officers can build it up. 

• We will work to eliminate the school-to-prison pipeline by working with school districts to keep police out of school disciplinary matters. 

• We will opt out as much as possible of the incredibly wasteful expensive and useless War on Drugs, and instead put resources into education and regulation, much as we do with alcohol now. 

• We will acknowledge that most Texans are people of faith. We won’t patronize or condescend to them. We will honor the First Amendment by keeping the state out of religion and religion out of legislative matters. 

• We will proclaim that freedom of religion means the freedom to practice your faith and live out your beliefs. It does not mean the right to impose your religious beliefs on everyone else through the force of law. 

• We will respect rural Texans, listen to them, and engage them in policy decisions while at the same time working with urban areas to meet their needs. 

• We will acknowledge most Texans grew up around guns. We will talk sensibly about this but we won’t pander. The Second Amendment should be respected, not fetishized. Guns should be regulated as least as much as cars are – people have to pass a test to be licensed. Guns, like cars, aren’t appropriate in all places. More guns make us less safe, not more.

Let's Play Godball!

If you've read this blog for any length of time at all, you will remember sermons by my friend Bruce Coggin. I've hosted several of his sermons here.

The great good news is that he's now published a book of sermons preached from 2009 to 2014. They were preached as he served several congregations who were displaced from their buildings after the split in our diocese, as well as at a couple of other parishes. They are funny, moving, thoughtful, surprising, and down to earth in the way only a guy with a genius IQ from Bowie, Montague County, Texas, can commit. 

These sermons fed the souls of people who were displaced, hurting, and feeling pretty alone. They helped these folks heal, they empowered them, and they sent them out to offer that healing love to the parts of the world in which they found themselves.

But here's the thing. You don't have to like sermons to love this book. You just have to like great writing and story telling. These are the work of a GREAT story-teller.

Let's Play Godball! Unorthodox Sermons by a Circuit Rider Episcopal Priest from Middle Texas is available at Amazon.

The Foreword is by the Rt. Rev. Sam B. Hulsey, retired bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Northwest Texas.

Owanah Anderson, long time senior warden at All Saints’, Wichita Falls, writes in a cover blurb, “Hearing Bruce Coggin preach is an energizing, enlightening experience. His loving use of language – sometimes homespun, sometimes scholarly erudite – awakens one with a jolt: ‘Hey, I knew that! How come I’d not already tooled those words into my own thinking?’ And you carry home the concept and count it as your own treasure.”

Rebooting the Democratic Party in Texas

The Texas Democratic Party needs to reboot. Here is a start at some things I suggest they think about:

Democrats, PLEASE don't act like God doesn't exist. A LOT of people in Texas are people of faith, whether you like it or not. Our faith informs our politics, so don't discount that, and for God's sake, don't patronize or condescend to us.

Texans who live in rural areas aren't idiots. They are conservative the way people who make their livings from the land are conservative. They are pragmatic conservatives, and for the most part, they aren't mean spirited. They are usually whip smart and endlessly inventive -- how do you think they'd manage to wrest out a living in rural Texas otherwise? Respect them and their way of life and they will listen to you.

Keep it positive and keep it real. Don't make promises you can't keep. Acknowledge that most Texans grew up around guns and that MOST of them, like me and others, learned sensible rules about how to act around guns. I personally am not a gun owner, but people I love and respect are. Talk sensibly about this -- don't pander.

Talk about what this state needs. An educated work force is an economic issue. Companies moving here need skilled workers. If our school systems can't provide that, they will move elsewhere.

A healthy work force is an economic issue. Sick people can't work. Access to health care for everyone is an economic driver. Invest in it.

Women being able to control their reproductive lives is an economic issue. There aren't enough men to fill all the jobs so, yes, women will be needed. Safe contraception also helps prevent unwanted pregnancies and thus reduces abortions.

Job safety is an economic issue. Having workers die on the job is not only immoral, but it costs money to retrain a replacement. Talk about these things in ways that the most conservative business person can "get," in ways that relate to their lives.

If our roads and infrastructure are falling apart, goods and services can't be safely delivered. INVESTMENT in these things is an economic driver, not a tax burden.

Poverty, not race, not political party, not even quality of schools, is the greatest driver of the most common problems in our state. It's related to failure to thrive, to failure in school, to the likelihood of ending up in prison. Poor people are NOT the enemy. Pragmatic compassion means investing in ALL Texans, not just those above the poverty line.

Rich people are not the enemy. Treat them with the same respect you do others -- the same respect. Don't pander to them, and don't dismiss them.

Young people are not "the future." Young people are HERE RIGHT NOW. Listen to them. They are drawn to the relevant and the authentic. Don't just go for their energy. Seek out their ideas, their dreams. And here's a thought -- Respect them.

Technology is not the answer to everything. It's a tool that makes life hugely more convenient but it is RELATIONSHIPS that matter in politics, particularly in Texas politics. There aren't six degrees of separation in Texas, as huge as this state is. For many of us, if you diss some of us, you diss us all.

Pay your civic rent. Work at the local level. Get involved in your city halls and your school boards, Then work your way up. But for Pete's sake, get people to run for office at all levels. We can't vote for Democrats if no Democrats are running.

OK. What else?

From comments on Facebook:

From Cindy Wood:  If there is no water, there should be no big companies moving here with lots of employees and more housing needs. Job creation is one thing. However, the drought is so destructive to those in the rural areas you talk about, as well as parks and recreation, that all of Texas loses anytime another 100, 1000, 10,000, 100,000 people start drinking and bathing and watering their grass. There is no water for growth.

From Terry Evans: Find a way to separate issues of fairness and economic good sense from emotional and philosophical prejudice in people's minds. For instance, if we could get regular folks to look at gay marriage and marijuana legalization (at least medical) without filtering the issues through culture-tinted glasses, maybe they would see there's no valid reason to oppose them, and many good reasons to allow them.

From Diane Morrison Snow:  We need to let people know about how many Texans now have health insurance that are very proud to have it . And we need to expand Medicaid and get that money that other states are getting because we turned it down. We got Ann Richards in .. We can get another Democratic governor in! 

From Thomas Baker: News flash: Some Dems are persons of faith or religion who simply believe in separation of church and state. They sometimes get brief from both sides: their faithful church friends and their faithful political friends. Abortion is a real dividing line nowadays with Catholics. If you are a Dem your Catholic friends and the church probably see you somehow as heretic if not demonic because you support candidates from the perceived abortion party. I personally abhor abortion. I see the side that government has power to make some laws and I see that women have rights to make medical decisions regarding their bodies with their doctors. To me abortion was the unspoken elephant in the room in this gubernatorial election.

Looking at TREC's proposal from the other side of schism

You know, I really did want to support TREC.

After all, I live in a diocese that has been flying the airplane while we are building it in the wake of a 2008 schism when our former bishop and much of the diocesan leadership left The Episcopal Church but claimed –and occupied – most of our church property. We have been Reimagining the Church like crazy around here ever since then. So I was eagerly awaiting TREC’s ideas.

Others – Episcopal Café here and here, Tom Ferguson on his blog Crusty Old Dean here, commentors on the HOB/D list -- have done brilliant jobs of outlining things they like and things that concern them, and I urge you to read them all. I haven’t written a detailed analysis. Instead, I offer a view from the other side of schism, for what it’s worth.

My first reaction was - what business major wrote this and has he or she ever been to church?

My second reaction was - has this person ever been to a General Convention?

My third reaction was - did they really think through the implications of using Lazarus as a starting place?

Seriously?

Lazarus?

And my fourth reaction was – did no one learn ANYTHING from what happened in San Joaquin, Quincy, Fort Worth, Pittsburgh, and, most recently, South Carolina? 

Full disclosure – I live in the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth. I am a lay woman coming at this from the perspective of a person who was confined to the margins of my diocese, and thus of General Convention, for more than 20 years. As an outsider I observed the workings of the church in ways that insiders don’t have to. For me, as for people of color, all women, for my LGBT sisters and brothers, learning the ways of those who held power was not a luxury – it was imperative if there was to be any chance of being heard in the councils of the church.

Tipping the scales of the balance of power in favor of those traditionally on the margins was not then and is not now easy in an institution still steeped in clericalism and mesmerized by the color purple. But it is possible, with patience and a willingness to understand how the system works, to learn where the ways into the system are, and where the system offers opportunities for anyone to speak up. All of this is true, by the way, of ANY institutional system, no matter how big or small.

In 2009, I suddenly was thrust into “insider” status. My bishop left The Episcopal Church, we reorganized the diocese, I was elected a deputy and, to my utter amazement, elected to Executive Council on the first ballot at General Convention in Anaheim. My work on the margins had given me enough name recognition to make that possible.

At home my diocese and other reorganized dioceses still are working to rebuild in the wake of a schism that should have been prevented. I see amazing creativity and openness to new ways of being church. I see clergy learning to value the lay people with whom they partner. I see lay people growing into the fullness of their baptisms. I watch feisty small congregations take on ministry projects that would make many large congregations cower. I see displaced congregations growing into being Welcoming Congregations. I watch valiant Episcopalians in congregations that have been locked out of their church homes faithfully creating church from scratch every single Sunday in rented spaces they have access to only on Sunday. I see growth, small, but steady.

Why? Because even though people are tired, they are not afraid. We are not into feeding the fears here.

Of course, I also see families split between those who stayed with The Episcopal Church and those who stayed with Bishop Iker. I see time and way too much money being eaten up in legal fights that Could. Have. Been. Avoided.

The schism in my diocese – as in San Joaquin, Quincy, Pittsburgh, and now South Carolina -- was more than 20 years in the making. The people organizing this move were almost to a man ordained (very few women were involved). They made no secret of their goals - read the Chapman memo and Jim Naughton’s Following the Money. Laity were disempowered. Those who protested were demonized and marginalized, and those who were compliant were used as tools to further the aims of the clergy. Purple reigned, with bishops taking the idea of “princes of the church” into new realms of virtually unchecked power.

The twenty years leading up to the schisms were filled with strife fulminated by these people intent on undermining The Episcopal Church. They wanted a very public fight in which they would be seen standing up for patriarchy, “traditional marriage,” and a vision of The Episcopal Church as it was in the 1950s, when men were men and women – and minorities – knew their place. This had the effect of running off folks who don’t like conflict, folks who don’t like bigots, and folks who bought into the idea that politics is a dirty word. All these added to the ongoing decline in all the mainstream protestant denominations, which led to calls for a more “nimble” church.

During this time, two presiding bishops and the House of Bishops worked hard to placate their brother bishops and fellow priests and their conservative allies in the Anglican Communion. This purple brotherhood did virtually nothing to stop the bishops who later would leave The Episcopal Church while laying claim to millions of dollars’ worth of Episcopal Church property. If you have wondered why the larger church should help pay the legal expenses of San Joaquin and South Carolina, it’s because the wider church’s inaction allowed this legal mess to happen.

What happened in my diocese and the others happened not because General Convention is too big and too long, not because the PB doesn’t have enough power, not because there are too many CCABs, not because the Executive Council has too many people -- but because the balance between clergy and laity was tilted mightily in the direction of the clergy, silencing and marginalizing lay people. There were no countervailing voices strong enough to gainsay what the bishops were doing. There was no will among the House of Bishops to use even peer pressure, much less what canonical powers did exist, to rein these men in.

And now comes TREC with a proposal to turn us into a Roman Catholic Church Light with our own PB pope, a much smaller role for laity in a smaller General Convention and Executive Council, and – has anyone noticed? No change at all in the frequent meetings and workings of the House of Bishops. Additionally, in a church full of small congregations, this proposal will insure that no one from a small congregation can be elected to anything, Episcopalians living west of the Mississippi will be invisible and church wide staff for the most part will be independent contractors, which absolves employers of any emotional investment as well as most of the financial investment made in regular employees.

And all this is supposed to make us nimble – because look how nimble the Vatican is.

Why I am an Episcopalian - the elevator speech

I am an Episcopalian because The Episcopal Church is not afraid to explore what Baptism really means. When one is sealed as Christ’s Own Forever, there are no asterisks. Women, men, gay, straight, trans, black, white, Asian, Native American, Hispanic, mixed race – all are acknowledged as part of the Body. Figuring out what this means in the context of scripture is hard work. At its best, The Episcopal Church calls on everyone – bishops, priests, deacons, lay people -- to work in partnership to figure it out.  We don’t always get the balance right, but what I love is that we keep trying, struggling to love one another even when we may not like one another.

A Funeral Homily

NOTE: I am pleased to host this homily for my friend Bruce Coggin.

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A Funeral Homily for Paul Crews
The Rev. Bruce Coggin
preached at St. Mary’s Church, Hillsboro, Texas
November 11, 2013

“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”

Lord, what a mouthful! What a statement, what a really big statement. Jesus bit off a mouthful when he said that.

Way back when I was in seminary, we had a British professor of apologetic theology named Casserley who put up with us fairly patiently. One day I remember one of us, not me, unburdened himself of some vast, all-encompassing philosophical/theological generalization, the product no doubt of hours of fervid cogitation, the result of much heat and little light. Oh, we were full of ourselves we were! And when the orator finished declaiming, Dr. Casserley took a long, deep breath and said, “Oh, a large claim, a la-a-a-arge claim!” Well, in those words with which we started this event here at St. Mary’s Church, Jesus makes a large claim.

In nearly half a century of priesthood, I don’t know how many times I’ve said those words as I headed down some church aisle on occasions like this one, dozens, surely a hundred and more. And every time I’ve done it, I’ve started with a little word to myself: “Son, whether you believe all this or not, you’d better sound like you do.” Because I can hardly imagine making a larger claim. Just think. Life. Life! If you believe in God, you know it’s his greatest gift to us, calling us out of nothing into something, into being, into sharing God’s own life. Even people who don’t believe in the God we worship or any god at all, I think they’re mighty happy to be alive too. Few mean it when they say, “Oh, I wish I’d never been born”; and when life is so bad some people end it themselves, I think they do it from a sense of real disappointment in how wonderful it could have been. Because life is pretty wonderful, all things considered, and none of us really wants to leave it. I can’t prove that, but I expect it’s generally the truth. And I think it’s safe to say that, even if we tire of life, we don’t want to . . . well . . . die. When I learned my sweet Grandmother Yeager was sick unto death, we had a visit, and I asked her, “Mamaw, are you afraid?” And she said, “Well, Honey, I’m not afraid of being dead. I mean, it’ll either be wonderful or it’ll be nothing. But I just don’t look forward to doing it.” Death is the stark negation of everything we love and long for and cling to, and the experience itself . . . I’m not looking forward to it, tellya right now. Don’t imagine you are either. In the presence of the majesty of Death, a great hush falls on us all. Or should anyway.

Well, we’re here this morning because one of us has died—Paul—your husband and father and friend, our friend whom we treasured and enjoyed and respected and put up with, just because he was Paul—most of you call him Hotch—and found him dear if difficult at times and bound ourselves to him in love and affection and friendship. He died last week, as you know, at the end of a short, hard battle with the disease that finally took his life away. The little rubbery machine he lived in gave out, just like yours and mine will, and he shuffled off the mortal coil. But like the Prayer Book says, as the outer man decayed, so was the inner man the more strengthened, because he stayed Paul right up to the end. Those of you who were with him say he was happy. Think of that.

At this point, funeral homilies are supposed to dwell on the more presentable details of the life of the honored guest. Fact is, most of you here this morning knew Paul Crews better than I did. I met him—Barbara, when would it have been?—back in the days when I lived in Cleburne and was Dean of the old Southern Deanery, I guess. I visited here back then, mostly while St. Mary’s was giving birth to the congregation over on Lake Whitney. In the eighties. And then life intervened and we didn’t see each other again until maybe five years ago or so when I started coming to Hillsboro a couple times a month, though we might wave at each other at some church gathering. I’m not going to do that routine, because I wouldn’t have half so much to say as some of you. Instead I’ve been trying to think about what Paul’s death means to me, what my experience of him was and why I will be diminished by his passing. Put it that way, and I can tell you some things for sure. First, my experience of Paul was entirely positive. Oh, I don’t doubt he had a negative side; we all do; and you know enough about that. I, though, knew nothing but his big, sky-wide grin and his firm handshake and the unfailing offer, “Father, is there anything I can do?” Usually there was, and he did it, usually did it well. He read the Bible like he’d read it before. If we lunched after prayers, he was right in the middle of the conversation, had something to say, usually intelligent. I never heard him say anything ugly about anybody. I’m sure he did from time to time, but I never heard it. But I can’t claim that Paul was my intimate friend. Rather I’ve been trying to come up with some image to capture my experience of Paul, and I think I hit on one the other day. You know those little bitty teeny-tiny bright bright lights people sometimes use at Christmas? Sometimes you’ll come across a winter tree, no leaves, just swathed in them, and it’s often a pretty exhilarating sight. There was a famous old pecan tree in Highland Park in Dallas that some feller saved, and the city used to wrap it in those little twinkling lights. Well, if I think of the broad array of people I know and like and love as such a tree, then one of those little twinklers just winked off. My life won’t change radically as a result, but I miss it. I know it’s off. 

Of course, to you, Barbara, he wasn’t one of a myriad, not just a little twinkler. He was the star on the top of your Christmas tree.  For his sons and grandchildren he was a guiding star. Your lives have changed forever, and the flood of emotions—both the good and uplifting as well as the bad and frightening and painful, the flood you’re weltering in today—will throw you about for a while. You’ll find your way forward, believe me, and . . . well, life goes on. I think you’re really lucky in this case that, as I mentioned before, you don’t have to remember Paul fighting it. He was happy as he lay dying, and I reckon I know why. Bishop Terwillinger used to say, “Death is a meeting with someone you know.” Paul looked up and saw his Lord Jesus and . . . went with him. I think it’s wonderful to think of him not so much as that little light that winked off but rather, if we go out under God’s shining sky at night, to think of him as that new star there in the firmament, twinkling the way he always did, always will. Thank you, Paul, for taking it right in stride.

And now, back to the beginning. Resurrection. “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.” There’s that large claim again. In the face of the physical evidence—Paul’s ashes are right there, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, right there—we gather to proclaim our faith that at death our lives are not ended but rather changed. We who have known resurrection all our lives—in our baptism, in our sinning and repenting and living again, in the thousand ways your life or mine has at times become a living death and all the Hell we need, then turned and revived and lived again, stronger and more joyous than ever—we who have known resurrection all our lives, we now claim that for Paul. In the very next breath comes the question: just what does that mean? What does resurrection mean? What does it mean to you? I figure most of us grew up in religious communities where as children we learned about Heaven, all the golden streets and the angels and the harps and Mama and Papa and Cousin Martha coming to meet us, spending the rest of our days singing God’s praise. All that. Most of us also sorta kinda turned loose of that Norman Rockwell kind of Heaven on down the line, find it all charming and dear but not entirely . . . So then what is it? God knows I’ve pondered it considerably in the past seven decades, and I have a lot of trouble wrapping my mind around it. Oh, my heart goes there in a flash, but when I think about it, I have to be honest with myself. It’s pretty daunting. First thing I wonder is, will I know me after I die? I mean, will I survive personally, as me, as Bruce? It seems unreasonable that the God who took the trouble to make the splendor that is me, the splendor that was Paul, that is you, unreasonable to think that God our creator would go to so much work to make us and then . . . just throw us away or leave us with some vague concept of living on in the memories of those who loved us and so on. Nah, I want to live, I, me. And yet . . . ? When I contemplate those images from the Hubble telescope, the unmanageable chaos which is in fact a kind of order, the unsearchable depths and distances, the violent mystery of the Big Bang and the questions it raises—What banged? Who banged it?—why, I don’t know about you, but my composure just collapses around my feet and my courage turns to skim milk. How can I, l’il ol’ me, one of some billions living now and of uncounted hosts of those who have lived before and all those yet to come, just a little twinkler down in the corner of God’s sparkletree—what arrogant vanity leads me to believe I can actually continue to . . . be, to know, to love . . . in the midst of All That? Who do I think I am? Yet even from the depth of that quivering despair, I really wish I could, really hope I will, really do want to see Who Banged and What Banged and how it is that The One who did all that took frail flesh and died . . . for me. I think we all really want to do that, even in the face of worlds of evidence to the contrary.

Jesus says we can. Jesus says we will. He promised it. All the lessons we read at funerals are full of it. We sometimes hear Job affirm that he knows his redeemer lives and that he shall see him face to face and not as a stranger. We often hear Paul remind us that nothing—neither height nor depth nor principalities nor powers nor life nor death—absolutely nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Jesus himself tells that he will take to himself all who come to him, all the Father sends, and that he will lose not one of us. In the lesson from John’s gospel you just heard, he tells us that his Father’s house is a big one, plenty of room, and that he’s going on ahead to get our room ready—and then he asks, “Would I lie to you about something like that?” Know what? I don’t believe he would; and whereas it’s more than I can wrap my mind around, I have faith that the God who has shown us so much resurrection in this life will go right on being the same life-giving, life-restoring, loving, forgiving father or parent or creator or what word you like that I’ve known all my life. None of us knows when our turn to cross the bar will come. I just hope I’m there when it happens. I mean I hope I’m not drugged up and inconscient. I hope I can, like Paul, face it like a man. I am going to be scared, I know, but I hope I have the presence of mind to say, “Precious Lord, take my hand. Lead me to the promised land. O Lord Jesus, take me with you.” And after that, well, it’s all up to him.

So this day we come to mourn the loss of Paul, and we’ll shed some tears. I’m glad. I don’t understand dry-eyed funerals. I hope somebody sheds a tear for me. But in the midst of our sorrow, hope rises; in darkness, light shines; and even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Happy are they who die in the Lord, because they rest from their labors in that place where the saints cast down their golden crowns around the glassy sea.

And now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the everlasting covenant, make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is well pleasing in his sight; and the blessing of God Almighty, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost be upon you and remain with you until time is no more.

Amen. Alleluia.

We never know what kiss will awaken a child

Here is another of the columns I wrote about my daughter when I worked for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Her birthday is Friday. This was published on August 23, 1985.

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In the Walt Disney movie Sleeping Beauty, baby Princess Aurora is visited by her fairy godmothers, each of whom gives her a gift.

They give wonderful things, such as the gift of beauty, and song. I always loved that scene, because

I thought it was the dream of all parents - to know what wonderful gifts your child possessed. Even when the scene was interrupted by the wicked Maleficent, I still felt that Aurora's parents had the better of it.

Maleficent, in a fit of rage, cursed the child so she would prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die. However, one of the good little godmothers hadn't given Aurora her gift yet and so was able to mitigate the curse. Aurora still would prick her finger, but she wouldn't die. She would simply sleep until awakened by true love's kiss.

But as bad as that still was, at least Aurora’s parents had some idea of what to expect.

What parents wouldn't like even a small clue as to what gifts were embodied in their child and what the future holds for her or him?

Unlike Aurora's parents, we can only wait to see what gifts will emerge in our children. We have to await patiently the unveiling of the marvelous secrets they hold within.

Twenty years ago today, a nurse handed me a tiny bundle whose eyes and fists were so tightly shut I was convinced they never would open. No sooner had the door shut behind her, though, than those fists unclenched and one tiny hand closed around my little finger. At the same time, those eyes opened and I found myself looking into the bluest blue eyes I had seen up to then, or since.

And I fell instantly, irrevocably, head-over-heels. sky-rockets-and-brass-bands, earth-shakingly, totally, in love.

She and I looked at each other for a long time. I don't know what she saw, but I saw the most magnificent blending of her father and me that could be imagined. Somehow, the best of both of us had gone into her making and out of two such different people had come this unique individual.

Some of the gifts became visible early on. Even as a small child, she could draw well. She understood color and line and space early, and it shows in her artwork, in her room and in her clothes.

She has a stubborn streak that is serving her better all the time as she figures out how to manage it. She has an uncanny instinct about people, and I've learned to pay attention to her first impressions. She loves animals, music, family gatherings when her uncles start telling jokes, and fast cars.

She has a generous spirit, and no meanness exists in her soul. She is gentle and can tell a joke well. She is loyal and will brook no slight to those she loves. She is a good letter-writer and loves to read.

She already knows how to forgive and is learning patience.

I'm not saying Maleficent left her alone. She doesn't leave anyone alone. She moves about, playing tricks on us all, dealing out a short temper here, giving out selfishness there, and robbing most of us of the ability to see our gifts.

This last is Maleficent’s favorite trick, I suspect. All people, with the exception of a lucky few, have to fight through lack of belief in themselves before they can become comfortable in the world. Some never make it and go through life convinced they are impostors, undeserving of the success they've achieved.

If I had three wishes to give our children, t would give them the ability to believe in themselves, to see the gifts they already possess and to be open to those gifts that haven’t fully revealed themselves to them yet.

But when the babies arrive, there aren't any fairy godmothers, and there aren't any instructions. We parents have to simply do the best we can with what we have at the time.

So it happens that when parents think of their children, our minds form that eternal parental question: How goes it with the child?

As I consider my child on the 20^th anniversary of her birth, I realize that there is never going to be an answer to that question for me.

The only answer that matters has to come from her, for her.

The hard truth is, no parent can provide the kiss, the answer that will awaken the child's sleeping self.

Parents can only provide an atmosphere in which the kiss can happen that brings the child into full awareness of her or his or her capabilities.

But there are some gifts we can give them. One is keeping quiet so they will have a chance to hear that answer when it comes.

And the other is to let them know they are loved, that they do not sleep unguarded.

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Happy birthday, my darling. 

Packing the house and heading for college

Here is another of the columns I wrote about my daughter when I worked for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. This was published September 12, 1985.

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I spent this last weekend protecting my possessions from invaders from the east.

My daughter was home from college for the weekend. As she was preparing to leave, I discovered among the things she was planning to take back to school:

•         A 5-foot shelf that had been holding some of my books in the library.
•         The extension cord I keep permanently on the vacuum cleaner so I can vacuum the entire house without changing outlets.
•         My wonderful white cuddly terry cloth bathrobe.
•         The brand new can of spray starch.
•         A large carpet scrap that had been hanging in the garage against the day we needed it to patch the carpet in the house.
•         A large red plastic storage container into which I had tossed packages of photographs I planned to organize someday before I'm 80.
•         The lotion in the large bottle I keep by my bed. (The bottle was still there - the lotion had been poured into her bottle.)

As I discovered these things, her invariable response was, “Well, you never use it anyway."

Apparently, if it was not on my body or in my hand at the particular moment she decided it would look good in her dorm room or on her body, it was fair game.

As we began negotiating over what was to be put back and what she could take, I realized this child is missing her calling. She should be in our State Department, heading up our negotiating teams. We would not only have the Soviet Union totally disarmed within days, we might end up owning it - or at least a good portion of it would be in her dorm room.

As I was telling some friends about this raid on my household, I discovered mine is an experience common to most parents of college-age children who live away from home.

One woman told how it happened to her. Seems the father of a friend of her son had pulled a horse trailer equipped with hanging rods into their driveway. Her son proceeded to empty the entire contents of his closet into the trailer. (Two chairs also disappeared from his room.)

When his mother asked why he was taking everything to school instead of splitting it into warm weather clothes and cold weather clothes, he patiently explained that taking it all was easier than deciding.

I told some other friends of this phenomenon, whereupon one told of how she knew her oldest son had really left home for good. He borrowed a friend's van and began to load it with things from her house.

His two younger brothers watched the operation in silence (she wasn't at home). To this day, the two younger brothers refer to it as The Rape of Fort Worth.

Another woman I talked with on the phone later that same day told me her daughter left for college on the East Coast three weeks ago. So far, she is missing two chairs, one small bookcase, three saucepans, four blouses and a pair of slacks.

"At least that's all I've discovered so far," she said. "I haven’t been up in the attic yet.”

She said she should have been prepared. When her son left the year before, he not only took almost everything in his room plus four lawn chairs, he also tried to sneak the family dog into his car.

She was really pleased when her son came home so often for weekends (He’s going to school in Texas). Then she discovered his frequent visits home were because he missed the dog.

"He said, 'Well, gee, Mom, I can always talk to you on the phone,” she said. "It keeps things in perspective for you. I'm not sure I like the perspective, but what are you going to do?

“One good thing is that he'll never get homesick. He has most of home in his room.

"When they come home for Thanksgiving this year, I may have to conduct body searches before I let them out of the house to go back to school," she said.

Since I know dorm rooms at my daughter's school are about the size they were when I was in college, I can’t imagine where she is putting all this stuff. All I can think of is the scene in Walt Disney's The Sword in the Stone when Merlin packs the entire contents of his house into one small carpet bag. He does this by magic, of course, being Merlin. As some spritely music plays, everything in the house - pots and pans, beds, chairs, cabinets, chests - marches into the bag, each item getting littler and littler until it all fits. This is the only possible explanation - magic.

Still, I’m amazed she was able to get it all in one small car. It was a feat of packing that would be envied by professionals. There was not one wasted square inch in that car. She even moved the vase with a dozen red roses that her boyfriend sent her for her birthday.

Now she has-announced she's coming home next weekend, too. I would be flattered at all these visits home except that I know why she's coming.

She can do the laundry for free here. It costs money at school.