Conley chimes in . . .

Dear Middle-School-Aged Parishioner,

I’m sending you this brief note to give you my opinion on “prayer in school,” as you asked on Sunday.

You know that I value prayer. I also value religious freedom and the separation of church and state.

I’m not an expert on law, but it is my understanding that prayer has not been banned from public schools. What is forbidden in schools is organized prayer, led, sponsored, encouraged or prescribed by the school (and/or teachers and staff in school).

You and I, as students in any school in America, are free to pray and read religious texts, as long as we do not disturb other students. We are free to do so before, during and after school hours. At least, that’s how I understand the law today.

Since Jesus did virtually all of his praying in private, and he encouraged others to do the same, I see no conflict between the existing laws and the practice of my/your faith.

I actually believe that there is no way to legislate or regulate prayer out of the schools or anywhere else. Life is prayer. God hears the prayer of my life and yours without our even being aware of it or our uttering a single word.

Yes, we often verbalize our thoughts to God in prayer – even, sometimes, making the mistake of treating God like Santa Claus: “God please do this, or give me that, or don’t allow that other thing.”  But God sorts through our words and conscious thoughts and hears the prayer of our heart and life.

It is unfortunate that prayer is an issue at school—especially when someone’s position on “prayer in school” is used as a litmus test for “proving” if you are a good Christian, or not. Hogwash.

Yes, I pray and I encourage everyone to pray. Prayer is not a magic formula but a connection that we open between ourselves and God. Our life’s conversation with God is what our best life is all about.

Thanks for asking me the question. I am sure you have studied and struggled effectively, formulating your own opinion in the matter.

See you in church,

Rev. Pat Conley

It occurred to me last night, driving home from  the Easter Vigil, that somewhere along the line I stopped needing proof about Jesus and the resurrection.

I didn’t need any proof at all when I was a child. There was plenty of proof in the faces, voices and singing of everyone at church. Besides, of course it is all true—that’s what my grandma said, and she was old enough to know.

However, by the time I was thirty, I wanted real proof. How could God create me as me and then condemn me to hell for being me. Christianity made no sense any longer. I wanted some proof.

And then, one day, I guess about thirteen years later, again, I stopped caring about proof.

It was after my brother’s suicide. Broken-hearted and driven to my knees with grief, somehow I recognized deep spiritual pain in that mix of grief. I wasn’t looking for proof of anything. I only wanted relief.

I assumed Christianity would not want me back. A tiny little congregation at St. Elizabeth’s Episcopal Church in Brighton, Colorado proved me wrong. They welcomed me. They accepted me. They loved me.

I must have stopped looking for proof about Christianity, when, once again, I experienced living-proof in those people. The empty tomb might not convince me, but the love shown me by that congregation of the faithful, 2,000 later, proved everything.

Last night I preached about resurrection to a wonderful congregation at St. Ann’s Episcopal Church in Woodstock, Illinois. Driving home, I considered my own beliefs.

What strikes me most—what gives me pause—is realizing that I no longer seek proof, one way or the other, about whether the resurrection story is historical fact or spiritual truth.

I choose to believe. Period.

Today at St. Ann’s, again, I was surrounded by faces and voices filled to overflowing with God’s love. Who needs more proof than this?

I thank God for the healing in my own life and for the community of Christians around me who are living proof of God’s love and grace.

Of course, I don’t dare say that I will never again want/need evidence about God and my Christian faith. That would be like finishing a great meal and saying, “I’ll never be hungry again.”

Who knows? For this moment, though, today, I seem to have stopped needing proof.

How about you? Still need proof? When did you stop requiring proof?

 

Our Good Friday challenge is not about accepting
and embracing the cross of Jesus.

Our challenge is to wrestle with the cross,
discovering it’s painful and threatening, tortuous virtues.

There is nothing comfortable about the cross.

The cross is about
 . . . taking the hardest roads –
    the roads much less traveled.

The cross is about
 . . . looking out for the needs of many –
     rather than ourself.

The cross is about
 . . . enduring what we cannot possibly bear –
    not about finding an easier way.

On this Good Friday
 . . . resist attempts to explain the cross
 . . . resist attempts to convince the world of its love.

Instead, go to the cross,
Go to the foot of the cross – and rediscover the cross, today.

But, brace yourself.

Brace yourself,
. . . because, standing with Jesus on the brink of death
. . . is not easy.

Brace yourself,
. . . because, the world might challenge you next.

Brace yourself,
. . . because, just beyond that cross
. . . is Almighty God.

What does the cross mean to Christianity?

It is almost like asking, “What does chocolate mean to Hershey?” Or, “What does BEARS Football mean to Chicago?” Many assume the answer is obvious.

What does the cross mean? Actually, it is NOT a simple question and the answer is not obvious.

The Gospels—Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John—do not include the same information, nor do they always agree. In David Lose’s book, Making Sense of the Cross, he explains the different points of view of the four Gospels, reminding us that the Gospels were written well after the time of Jesus, and that they were not meant to be eye-witness histories, but rather, compelling explanations about the meaning of the life, suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Consequently, each Gospel addresses a particular audience, and each bears its own view of and response to the cross. Actually, as David Lose says, “The whole New Testament is a response to the cross.”

Mark 8:31-38 offers an example of the centrality of the cross in Christianity. In fact, this specific Gospel reading falls, physically, almost precisely in the middle of Mark’s gospel—a centerfold location for a central theme: the cross.

Immediately prior to this reading, Peter (on behalf of all the disciples) speaks aloud—for the first time—the truth about who Jesus really is. Peter answers Jesus’ question, “Who Am I?” with the answer: “You are the Christ . . . the Messiah!” But instead of breathing a sigh of relief because the disciples finally understand, instead of giving Peter a gold star or sending him to the front of the class, Jesus tells the disciples to keep it quiet—not to breathe a single word about his being Messiah to anyone!

Then, at this central point in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus makes his first reference to the cross. Jesus tells the disciples, frankly and with specific clarity, about his approaching death. The reading says, “Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering . . .” and that Jesus would be killed, and even that he would rise again, after three days. However, Peter would not hear it! Peter and Jesus even argued about what Jesus had said. Essentially, Peter told Jesus not to talk like that. Still Jesus was not dissuaded from telling the truth about his coming suffering, death, and resurrection. Peter freaked out. Jesus did not recant.

Jesus could have tried to make it easier on the disciples by back peddling and not terrifying them. Instead, Jesus heaped on the truth. He kicked it up a notch, you might say, expanding the suffering to include all who follow. Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” Explaining further, he said: “For those who want to save their life will lose it and those who lose their life for my sake . . . will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?”

“Take up your cross and follow me.”

The people who first heard Jesus say those words knew all about crosses. The cross was not a new concept. Thousands had already died on crosses. The people understood crosses as the Roman method of choice for executing criminals; the cross was not something they would choose. The executioners’ cross was disgraceful. It was painful, and it was humiliating. In first-century Palestine, the cross meant only one thing: death—a cruel, tortuous death. The Romans put up crosses like billboards—advertising the fate of any who dared to challenge Caesar. So yes, certainly, Jesus’ followers understood the cross, and the cross scared them to death.

Today we no longer face execution on a cross—not literally. Still, as Christians, we need to know what the cross is all about. As modern followers of Jesus we often wonder, “Is there not some new way to follow Jesus Christ, except through the cross?” In fact, the season of Lent is oriented toward the cross, creating a special opportunity each year for exploring, questioning, and remembering the Christ’s journey to the cross and beyond.

In the story of Jesus of Nazareth, all roads lead to the cross. All roads lead to the cross, and in Mark’s gospel, Jesus not only embraces his journey to the cross, but Jesus challenges all who would follow him—you and me included—to embrace our own cross as we journey with Him.

Ours is not a Roman cross of execution on a hill outside Jerusalem, but it can be almost as intimidating. In your life and mine the cross is a metaphor, implying great suffering—and suffering is something most of us dread and fear. In fact, Barbara Brown Taylor preaches about fear as actually being our cross. Explaining that fear is perhaps one of the most difficult crosses to face, Taylor says. “Each of us probably has something of which we are deathly afraid.” She offers examples: “Like . . . the fear of admitting an addiction to” . . . drugs, alcohol, food –whatever. And Taylor suggests that perhaps “. . . we harbor and fear an horrible memory—something that still has the power to send us running.” Or, Perhaps, “. . . we fear standing up for something we believe in. . . or telling the truth about who we are to people who might disapprove of us.”

Who of us does not understand the fear of discovering that we have an illness that no medicine can cure, or that someone we love does? Perhaps we fear running out of financial resources before we run out of life. Whatever it is that scares us to death, according to Barbara Brown Taylor, “. . . that scares us so much, that we start offering to do anything, anything at all, if this thing we fear will just go away. . . so“– THAT is our Cross.

Our greatest fear IS our cross, and if we leave it lying there—that fear will take our best life away from us. But as Taylor says, “If we you turn away from that which we most fear . . . if we deny our fear and run away from it . . . then we deny God the chance to show us the greatest miracle and greatest mystery of all. The greatest mystery of all, is that right there—right in the middle of our worst fear—is God’s passage to abundant life.”

What does the cross mean to Christianity?

There is no simple answer.

Perhaps the best clues await us within the challenge of Jesus: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.”

 

In my geographic corner of the world, spring is just around the corner. Green things are trying to pop-up in the garden. Canadian Geese and Sandhill Cranes fly overhead—hundreds of them.

In the Church as well, we have signs of spring: Easter is coming.

The announcement of a new Pope, Francis, has infused millions of Christians around the world with new hope for this spring.

I’m praying for a full-fledged Christian Spring—not the political kind, but a life-giving Christian Spring, filled with new energy, growth and spiritual vibrancy for Christians and churches everywhere.

We have some work to do before our Christian Spring gets here. Part of that work is the essential journey of Holy Week.

Sliding directly from Palm Sunday into Easter is tempting, but detouring around Holy Week misses out on vital experiences and leaves the narratives of our tradition as stories from the past rather than coaxing them to full relevance in our life today.

Certainly, we might spare ourselves some discomfort, by moving a bit too quickly from Palm Sunday to Easter—but, we might short-change ourselves as well.

It is possible for our Holy Week experiences to become the 3-D lenses through which we experience resurrection in our own life.

Spring is in the air. Easter is around the corner. Hope is almost palpable.

If we want something new from spring and Easter this year, it is time to prepare.

As you plan ahead for next week’s journey from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, consider a slow passage through Holy Week—making yourself especially susceptible to God in the Christian Spring days ahead.

If you are in northern Illinois, here are some opportunities for Palm Sunday, Holy Week and Easter Sunday at St. Ann’s Episcopal Church, Woodstock, IL.