All That Twitters…

…Is Not Gold.

Yes, I’ve given in to peer pressure and have started Twittering. Or perhaps you could argue that I drank the Kool Aid. But whatever, you can “follow” me here: @FatherTim. If you Twitter, you’ll know what this means. If not, it probably looks like an aborted e-mail address or a typo.

I admit I’ve been conflicted by some of the Twitter language. Rather than having “Friends” like on Facebook, you have “Followers” — people who receive your status updates. At last count I have five (versus my nearly 200 “friends” on Facebook). I actually prefer to think of them as “Disciples” and am considering not accepting any more after I reach 12. How’s that for a priestly Messiah complex?

I admit that, at this point, I am the Mr. Magoo of Twitter. I have no idea what I’m doing. People think I’m some technological guru because I’m a priest who blogs, Facebooks, and now Twitters. The reality is that I only appear to be competent because of the company I keep. Besides a few younger priests who can do this stuff in their sleep (with one hand tied behind their backs; though that’s a rather uncomfortable way to sleep) most clergy are horrible with technology. That’s because the majority of us are old.

I always swore I wouldn’t Twitter until I could figure out the grammar. I’m still somewhat confused but here’s what I’ve learned: Twitter is the proper noun; tweet is a noun – you send a “tweet”; twitter is the verb (not to be confused with the proper noun “Twitter”). So you can use Twitter to twitter a tweet. I think. I may have to write a tongue twister.

I’ll keep you posted on my adventures in Tweet Land. So far they’ve been tentative and uneventful. But then, I’m probably doing it wrong.

Blessings from the Tweet Deck.

Peeporama

Today is Judgment Day. Not in the apocalyptic, end-of-the-world sense (I hope). But this morning I am exercising my powers as a “celebrity judge” in the Diocese of Maryland’s Peep-based Biblical diorama contest.

The weight of responsibility makes me feel like Atlas holding up the world. Except I’m holding up a giant yellow Marshmallow Peep. While simultaneously drinking coffee. So I’m sitting here at Coffee Labs on my day off with a steaming mug of Kenyan coffee and a pile of color photographs depicting shoe box dioramas of Biblical stories told with Peeps. Never a dull moment in parish ministry.

My problem is that they’re all pretty amazing — lots of effort clearly went into them. Some insanely clever and “crafty” people went crazy with the whole concept. Of course, given my inability to do even the simplest Sunday School project, I’m easily impressed. Glue sticks, contstruction paper, and crayons are decidedly not my bailiwick. In fact, if I submitted an entry (and, yes, I realize that would be a major conflict of interest that might get me defrocked), I would have found an old shoe box and labeled it “The Empty Tomb.” That’smy level of giftedness when it comes to crafts.

So, here I sit surrounded by these pictures (I’m getting some odd looks from other patrons). We’ve got the usual array of Noah’s Ark scenes, the Three Wise Peeps, Peepacost and, for some reason, more than one scene depicting the binding of Isaac (Peep sacrifice should be illegal). Ben and Zack picked out their favorites this morning at the breakfast table.  But as the impartial (celebrity) judge that I am, I must set aside their preferences and let the judging begin.

First, I will put on my judicial wig and try not to be too wigged out by Jesus’ command to “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

Art Quiver

This isn’t my usual blogging fare, but I want to encourage you to check out my brother Matt’s new venture: Art Quiver. AQ is an online art site with the slogan “Art world, meet the web. Art lovers, rejoice.” It just went live this month.

Prior to starting Art Quiver, Matt worked as the VP for marketing at Rosetta Stone, the language learning software company. Actually he joined them very early on, when they were a tiny company, and was a part owner until they sold to a larger company a couple of years ago. You know those Rosetta Stone kiosks you see in airports and malls? Matt’s idea. Which is slightly annoying to me since every time I see one I have to think of my younger brother.

Here’s an added bonus available only to readers of this blog (and anyone else with opposable thumbs): If you purchase anything on Art Quiver you’ll automatically get a $50 discount ($100 off purchases over $800). Simply click this link (or copy and paste it) for the automatic discounts to be applied upon checkout:
http://www.artquiver.com/?code=GRAND-OPENING. The offer expires on April 30th.

The technology on the site is pretty amazing. It’s basically an online art gallery with all sorts of ways to search based on your personal preferences. I’ve offered to be one of the featured artists on the site — I could do some amazingly abstract art if given canvas, paint, and a few brushes. At least as long as “abstract” is a euphemism for “horrible lack of talent.” Matt hasn’t taken me up on this yet.

Rebuilding the Temple

In 2005 my friend David Knight’s parish, St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church in Long Beach, Mississippi, was completely leveled by Hurricane Katrina. As the church’s rector, this was obviously a defining moment in David’s priesthood. Beyond the immediate crisis ministry (which in many ways continues), the pertinent questions about the church’s future arose: Should we close the church? Should we rebuild? How would we fund a new building? 

After much prayer the congregation, under David’s inspired leadership, chose to rebuild its “temple.” They have put together a compelling video of this process and I urge you to check it out. I’m not usually one to get all emotional over youtube videos (or movies or Hallmark ads for that matter). But this one (nearly) brought me to tears. It’s that powerful.

David reports that 93% of their parishioners (many of whom are still not back in their homes) have contributed to their capital building campaign. But they still need help. I bid you to join me in supporting their “$5,000 for 100″”program, asking 5,000 people to contribute $100 each to the cause. You can donate by going to their homepage and clicking on the “donate” button.

David and his wife Jennifer lived two floors above us in seminary housing at Seabury-Western outside of Chicago. You will never meet two more prayerful, devoted, hilarious Christians. Their witness over the past several years has been an inspiration to me personally and to countless others. Please keep them and the people of St. Pat’s in your prayers. 

As David recently wrote to me, “Working on this video has brought back to me, strong and sweet, bitter and exhausting, a lot of memories. It has been a tough 3 1/2 years for all of us. We are limping to the finish line, financially, and we still need help making it. I am weary yet God is faithful and the Spirit is strong with us. Soon and very soon we will celebrate; we have wept by the banks of the river in Babylon, indeed we have, yet we too shall soon return from exile.”” 

David and his wife Jennifer lived two floors above us in seminary housing at Seabury-Western outside of Chicago. You will never meet two more prayerful, devoted, hilarious Christians. Their witness over the past several years has been an inspiration to me personally and to countless others. Please keep them and the people of St. Pat’s in your prayers. 

Economic Stimulus From God

I’m clearly in the wrong denomination. The headline in today’s New York Daily News reads: “Furor Over 600G Pastor.” Turns out there’s some controversy over the compensation package of the new senior pastor of Riverside Church.

According to church insiders, the Rev. Brad Braxton’s  salary includes: 

$250,000 in salary.

$11,500 monthly housing allowance.

Private school tuition for his child.

A full-time maid.

Entertainment, travel and “professional development” allowances.

Pension and life insurance benefits.

An equity allowance for Braxton to save up to buy a home.

Much of this is standard fare for clergy of mainline denominations. Except the maid. And perhaps the private school tuition. And the scale of it all. He also hired a second-in-command at $300,000. Why didn’t I see that job posted anywhere?

Clergy have always had an odd relationship with money. We’re not called to poverty (just ask our spouses for clarification) but neither did we go into this line of work for the AIG-like bonuses. The mixed messages are abundant: Many of us are embarrassed to talk about money, yet Jesus talked about money more than any other topic. Many of us don’t want to see the specific pledge numbers of our parishioners, yet financial stewardship is an integral piece of spiritual wellness. Many of us don’t want to “get our hands dirty” with church financial matters, yet budgeting and raising money is a critical part of what we do.

Part of me thinks Braxton’s salary is outrageous given the long history of social justice at Riverside. And given the current economic climate you could make the argument with words like “unconscionable.” But a small part of me thinks, “More power to him!” His position is fraught with unimaginable stress, he’s running a small corporation, and he’s a leader in his “industry.”

Or maybe I’m just jealous. At least of the full-time maid — I could surely use one of those. Preferably one who could craft poignant, witty, and profound sermons.

The actual Riverside Church (see comments).

“Feed My Peeps”

Now, this never happened when I was in Sunday School: marshmallow Peeps used to illustrate a Bible story. You just gotta love hip, creative Sunday School teachers. Especially when they ply their trade at your parish as opposed to the “competition” across town (just kidding St. Mary’s, Trinity, and St. Paul’s).

Inspired by a link I forwarded about the Diocese of Maryland’s Peep-based Biblical diorama contest, our elementary school-aged kids were treated to a tasty lesson about the Feeding of the 5,000. They listened to the story and then re-created the scene using Peeps. Jesus was a yellow bunny, the disciples were pink bunnies, the crowds were every other unnatural color you could imagine, the “loaves” were jelly beans and the “fish” were Swedish fish. Brilliant!

The kids had a blast and, more importantly, this is now a story that they will never, ever forget. And isn’t that really the underlying point in all of this?

Of course they also got to eat their fill of Easter candy along the way. As Coffee Hour was winding down, the edible Scripture was deemed fair game. I can’t imagine why my boys had absolutely no desire to eat lunch after church. Hmmmm. I think Ben alone had about 13 Peeps. Including, I’m slightly mortified to admit, Jesus. As we were leaving he proudly announced, “Dad, I ate Jesus.”

Hah! Can’t get a rise out of me that easily. This is, after all, what eucharistic theology is all about. Perhaps that’s a future Peep-inspired lesson…

The Glorious Taper

When most people (at least in church circles) think of “tapers” they envision beeswax candles, acolytes, and high altars. For marathoners the taper is something entirely different, though no less holy.

I’ve reached that vaulted stage of marathon training known as “The Taper.” Most of the mileage is behind me and I can now focus on letting my body heal and gain strength for race day. In my case, the Providence Marathon in Rhode Island on May 3rd.

The taper is all about easing off on the training and bumping up the rest. Oh, and eating lots of carbs. My favorite! While marathoners differ on the specifics of the taper, most look like what I’m doing this year: 22 miles three weeks before the race, 12 miles two weeks before (I did this today), 8 miles the week before, then 26.2 miles on race day. Those are the weekend “long runs” — shorter runs get mixed in during the last three weeks as well plus cross-training.

The problem is that marathoners never quite know what to do with themselves while tapering. We’re exercising less, eating more, and getting the pre-race jitters. This is a bad combination. Especially for our spouses who must put up with us in this state. Bryna usually just sends me to the refrigerator to eat something or drink some Gatorade if I start to drive her nuts.

There’s great freedom in the taper because there’s nothing else you can really do. If you’ve trained hard and prepared correctly, the marathon will take care of itself. The fact is, you can’t “cram” for an endurance race. You’re either prepared or you’re not. It’s the difference between “Godspeed” and “God’s judgment.”

But I find that there’s also a great sense of peace that takes over during the taper — since there’s nothing else I can do besides short workouts and annoying Bryna, I can let it all go. Sure, I’ll be anxious in the days leading up to the race but there’s nothing more I can do to get myself ready at this point. And that’s a nice feeling after the hundreds and hundreds of miles I’ve run to get to this point.

So, the taper continues. And here’s one (probably not) final plug to help me raise money for Episcopal Relief & Development: Donate now! Click here!

Hip Hop

I’m afraid that when the Temple curtain was torn in two this year, Ben and Zack got a glimpse behind another curtain: they no longer believe in the Easter Bunny. Now I admit I’m not a big fan of the Easter Bunny. We’ve had our run-ins in the past — which I can’t go into (though “egg hunts” on Good Friday were involved). But generally I take a “don’t ask don’t tell” approach to the Easter Bunny: Bryna is welcome to encourage the arrival of the bunny on Easter morning; I just don’t want to hear anything about. Nor will I enable the Easter Bunny by abetting her like some sort of Paschal elf.

This year, however, I overheard a great conversation between the boys a few days before Easter in which they agreed there couldn’t possibly be any such thing. Ben: “A big bunny hopping all around the world delivering candy? Yeah, right.” Zack: “Plus bunnies can’t even swim. How would it be able to take Easter baskets to China?” Good point.

So they know. Which is fine with me since it’s not a myth I care to perpetuate. Bryna just smiles and uses that old parental cliché, “You have to believe to receive.” In reality, I don’t think they care about the delivery system as much as the end result. They certainly “believe” in Peeps, jelly beans, and chocolate bunnies.

Funny, though. There’s been no talk about that other gift bearing icon; the one who shows up in December. I guess his sleigh helps him get to China. Plus, at this stage, not even our guys want to mess with a good thing.

Hooray for Holy Week!

At the downright evil (though deliciously inspired) suggestion of Meredith Gould, I’ve written lyrics for “Hooray for Holy Week.” It is, of course, sung to the tune of “Hooray for Hollywood.” Think Doris Day combined with Dorothy Day and you get the idea. Don’t know the tune? Click to hear Doris Day sing it on youtube.

I’ve only met her once; how in the world does Meredith know what buttons to push with me?? And what would possibly possess me to take time I don’t have on Maundy Thursday to write this? Like I said: evil.

Hooray for Holy Week

Hooray for Holy Week
That unnervingly liturgically Holy Week
Where every acolyte and young curate
Hopes to endure it, without undue repression
Where any verger can make a merger
If he processes without transgression.

Hooray for Holy Week
If Church annoys you, turn the other cheek
Where anyone at all from TV’s Osteen
To the Pope’s rood screen, is so equally unique
Go out and try your best, before the Christ’s arrest
Hooray for Holy Week.

Hooray for Holy Week
When all the clergy always like to speak
They come from all the seminaries
With their breviaries, as if by divine right
All dolled up in very fancy vestments
the holy aura of their halo bright.

Hooray for Holy Week
“Hosanna,” “Crucify,” then wash those feet.

If you can cross yourself and genuflect
You’ll join with the Elect, and liturgical elite
And then come Sunday, you’ll want to go hide away
Hooray for Holy Week.

Holy Week, Batman!

Well, it took until Wednesday in Holy Week for someone to wish me a Happy Easter. I appreciate the sentiment — I really do. I just don’t quite know how to respond. So I generally grit my teeth, put on a forced smile, and mutter “Almost!”

Not to be too much of a liturgical Pharisee, but it’s just difficult for me to think about  Easter greetings while writing my Good Friday sermon. And I realize this morning’s coffee shop salutation was genuine. The woman in question was wishing me a Happy Easter. But when you’re so invested in Holy Week, Easter seems light years away. Or at least a foot washing, a garden, a crucifixion, and five-services-in-between away.

Holy Week is a profound, emotionally rich journey. And walking with Jesus along this path each year takes energy and investment for everyone involved — those leading the services and those attending them. I have tremendous respect, admiration, and love for my parishioners who walk the entire journey. It’s takes great dedication, devotion, and commitment to do so. Heck, at one level I’m in awe of these folks — as much as I assume I’d be there right along with them (well, maybe not at all three Good Friday services), I’m paid to show up.

In my early days as a rector, I used to get annoyed that relatively few people took this journey. Partly because of the numbers thing but mostly because I wanted more folks to experience the power that comes through this journey of discipleship. I keep talking it up and continue to impress upon people that it’s impossible to know the full power of the resurrection without experiencing the agony of the cross. But I’ve also come to revel in the small band of pilgrims that travel through the last days of Christ’s life from the Upper Room to Gethsemane to Golgotha. Their faith inspires and informs my own. And I thank God that I am blessed to walk this particular leg of the Christian path with them.

And, of course, none of themwish me a Happy Easter until after the Easter Acclamation at the Great Vigil. The precise moment where it means, quite literally, everything in the world.