The Bishop is Coming! The Bishop is Coming!

Yes, it’s true. Bishop Cathy Roskam is coming to All Saints’ this Sunday to make an official visitation on behalf of the Diocese of New York. The 200+ parishes in the diocese get a bishop once every two years and we were due.

Officially, she will meet with the Vestry, examine our parish register, and do Confirmations. But beyond the canonical duties, episcopal visitations remind us of our connection to something bigger than our individual congregations. While we live out our lives as disciples of the risen Christ in a particular parochial context, we are also part of something that transcends the bounds of the parish community. Namely: the Diocese of New York, the national Episcopal Church, the worldwide Anglican Communion, and the communion of saints that encompasses all the saints and angels and faithful departed who have ever walked the path of Jesus.

While larger parishes (and there are a bunch of them in New York) tend to get bishops on big liturgical days like Pentecost and All Saints’, smaller congregations get them on lesser days like the 5th Sunday in Lent (this year) or the Sunday after Easter (two years ago). I’m not complaining since this makes intuitive sense but it’s harder to have a big celebration at the end of Lent (Woo hoo the bishop’s here! Let’s get penitential!).

I’m lucky to have served in dioceses (Maryland and New York) with great bishops. Because, let’s face it, visitations have the potential to be pretty awkward. The rector plays host but it’s also a bit like having the boss to dinner — with the boss making the meal and helping to serve it.

When I was in seminary in Chicago the Roman Catholic archbishop, Cardinal Francis George, had a lousy reputation among parish clergy. Granted he had to succeed the late and exceedingly popular Cardinal Joseph Bernardin. But he developed the nickname “Francis the Corrector” for his penchant to correct the smallest liturgical detail at the parishes he visited. I can’t imagine the clergy looked forward to his visits a whole lot.

I am looking forward to an exciting Sunday morning and, anyway, I did get a break from writing a sermon this week.

About Face(book)

So after announcing that I was giving up e-mail and Facebook for Lent (after 6 pm), word has gotten out. Since I didn’t give up talking to reporters for Lent, I was quoted in an article titled “Fasting from Facebook.” It’s an interesting and well-written article by Lisa Hamilton of Episcopal Life Media which you can read in its entirety here.

Below is the excerpt where I’m quoted:

The Rev. Tim Schenck, rector at All Saints Episcopal Church, Briarcliff, New York, considered giving up Facebook completely for Lent. But, he said in an e-mail interview, “since I view social networking sites as ways to connect with people, I didn’t feel this was an appropriate Lenten discipline. Plus, my parish has its own group on Facebook made up of parishioners. Lent is a time to stay connected.”

Instead, Schenck is denying himself Facebook, e-mail or Internet surfing after 6 p.m. during Lent.

“So far, so good,” he reported via an e-mail sent at 2:36 p.m. “Though the first few days were brutal (especially when I heard my BlackBerry buzzing during dinner on Ash Wednesday).” When he checked in the morning, the message was spam.

Meanwhile, Schenck has found time to read a Bible story with his young sons each night. They decided to take on this spiritual discipline after their father explained his Lenten practice to them.

“I’ve always seen Lent as a way to ‘get back to (spiritual) basics,’” Schenck wrote. “And nothing strips away the clutter of modern life quite like unplugging yourself for awhile. By being accessible to others 24/7 — and feeling the need to respond immediately — the potential exists to put ourselves rather than God at the center of our lives. Intentionally unplugging, even for brief periods, helps realign that balance.”

So much for that reading appointed for Ash Wednesday that reads, “Beware of practicing your piety before others” (Mt 6:1). Maybe next year I’ll give up telling people about my Lenten disciplines and just let everyone guess.

EpiscoPeep

There’s just something about the Peep. The combination of Yellow #5, sticky marshmallow, and a vaguely bird-like shape is strangely compelling. I have a fascination with Peeps in the same way I’m enamored with Elvis, Spam, and RVs. Plus they’ve become a uniquely American symbol of our Lord’s resurrection (yes, that sound you hear is Jesus spinning in his empty grave).

It’s easy enough to get a Peep fix on the internet: there are literally hundreds of websites devoted to these multi-colored siamese quintuplets. Think I’m kidding? Just click here for a gigantic list of Peep links. You’ll find answers to any possible Peep question — like “I wonder what a Peep looks like when it’s microwaved?” or “What happens to a Peep if it’s left soaking in chocolate milk for 24 hours?”

I’ve had Peeps on the brain ever since my friend Sharon Tillman, Communications Director for the Diocese of Maryland, asked me to be a celebrity judge for their “All God’s Peeps” contest. Now, granted, Sharon needs some remedial education on the definition of “celebrity.” But they are holding the first ever (I mean ever in the history of the entire world) contest for people to create Peep-based dioramas of Bible stories.

This is brilliant! What better way to combine the Lenten discipline of reading Scripture with the best-known secular symbol of Easter. I’m not sure how I’d feel seeing a Peep nailed to a cross but I say bring it on. Oh, and if you win? The grand prize is a Lennox china Peep.

Bunny Slasher

I didn’t have anything to do with slashing this poor woman’s five-foot tall inflatable Easter bunny. I swear!

I have an alibi. I was running my church’s Wednesday Night Lenten Program last night. I have witnesses! And a parish full of lawyers!

I can’t deflate these things by telekenesis. And believe me I’ve tried. All Advent long I tried to deflate giant blow-up Snowmen and Christmas Shreks by staring hard at them in horrified disbelief. But it never worked. So don’t blame me. I was just an innocent, if disapproving, bystander. Here’s the article in this morning’s local paper.

Going Down

Okay, folks, it’s time to take down the Christmas decorations. I’ve been patient with you; I didn’t nag (much) around the two traditional times to take them down, Epiphany (January 6) and Candlemas/Ground Hog Day (February 2). But it’s time.

I realize it’s 11 degrees outside so the idea of pulling out a metal ladder is unappealing. (I recommend wearing gloves so that your hands don’t become permanently affixed to the third and sixth rungs). But nothing says lazy quite as much as brown garland adorning your white picket fence. It’s Lent. So look at it as a Lenten discipline if you must.

I may be particularly sensitive to this because I continue to run outside year-round. I know, for instance, that six of my neighbors still have Christmas wreaths on their front doors. My running partner, Father Patrick, gets tired of me pointing out all of these seasonal violations. But my vigilance does make the time go by faster.

I read in the local paper this morning that a teenager was arrested for “slashing” an Easter decoration in his neighborhood. I wouldn’t resort to that (and I have an alibi). But it does beg the question: What’s worse? Christmas or Easter lawn ornaments during the penitential season of Lent? Hmmmm.

But please, at least get the wilted brown wreath off your garage.

There. I said my piece. Now I really should go take down the icicle lights from my front porch.

Dust Bunnies

There’s always a bit of confusion about how to greet people on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. “Happy Lent!” doesn’t feel quite right. “Merry penitential season of repentance!” is worse. If only Hallmark made Ash Wednesday greeting cards we’d know how to properly greet one another.

The Church invites us to keep a “holy” Lent. So that’s probably as good a salutation as any. I bid you all a Holy Lent and a blessed Ash Wednesday. Below is an Ash Wednesday reflection I wrote that was posted today on Episcopal Life Online. Enjoy.

Kicking Up Some Dust

I don’t like dust. And I especially don’t like dust bunnies. You know, those mysterious furry things that lurk behind your bedroom door, or in your closet, or under your bed. Who knows how they got there? Who wants to know how they got there? But they’re there and I don’t like them. And I especially don’t like when they move around. You’ve probably seen them do this. You open a door, look behind it, and the dust bunny catches just enough air that it starts moving like it’s possessed.

Ash Wednesday always makes me think about dust because of the words said during the imposition of ashes: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It is not a particularly uplifting image. If the oak tree is the symbol of strength and permanence, dust is the symbol of transience and fragility. Here one moment, gone the next. To be dust is to be fleeting. Dust can be swept away in an instant; or blown away by a gentle breeze. Dust scatters; it is transitory. Just like us. We are no more permanent upon this earth than the smallest speck of dust. With the slightest breath we can be lost forever. Forgotten. Erased as if we had never existed.

Reflecting upon our own mortality is about as much fun as thinking about dust bunnies. The good news is that, as Christians, we do so within the context of Christ’s resurrection. Dust is not the end of the story. Death is merely a temporary state, as ephemeral as dust itself. We pass through death into the new life we share with the resurrected Christ. Which doesn’t mean that death is without regret or pain or grief. We are human. But the dust of the grave is not our final dwelling place.

Now think about dust for a moment. There are two ways to create it. One is through inactivity. If you go downstairs into a part of the basement you never use, the part where you store old boxes of books or the pair of skis you haven’t used in 25 years, you encounter dust. Run your finger along those skis and you get a tangible reminder that they haven’t been used in ages. Your finger is suddenly covered with dust. And maybe you even sneeze once or twice.

But there’s also another way to create dust: through activity. That’s how those dust bunnies in your bedroom came to be. Through the activity of everyday life, you create dust. It comes in on your shoes, or your clothes; it’s formed when you take that cookbook off the shelf to find a recipe for guacamole. If we’re not kicking up some dust, we’re not really living.

So, there are two ways to create dust: through inactivity or through activity. And the best we can do is to create dust by being active. When you reach out to a friend who’s hurting, you kick up dust. When you volunteer your time to tutor a child, you kick up dust. When you sacrifice an afternoon to work on a Habitat for Humanity house, you kick up dust – both figuratively and literally. Jesus encourages us to kick up some dust every now and then; to roll up our sleeves and get involved with the world and the people around us. We might get a bit dirty every once in a while, but that’s okay. Because through our relationship with Jesus we are cleansed and renewed and dusted off.

An Actual Lent Wreath?

It turns out some companies are actually marketing a crown of thorns Lent Wreath for liturgical use. Check out priest and blogger Scott Gunn’s post on this http://www.sevenwholedays.org/2008/02/26/lent-wreaths/. He includes a picture of a Lent Wreath complete with pink candle. Are you kidding me? How dumb do they think we are? I’m sure they’ll tell us it’s a little-known tradition from the Middle Ages that’s being revived (for $36 plus shipping and handling).

Plus, I have enough trouble finding candles to fit our family’s Advent Wreath. It’s a small silver-plated thing — not your standard size. We got desperate a few years ago and I’m pretty sure we were the only family on our block with blue Menorah candles in our Advent Wreath.

The Lent Wreath

Okay, folks, it’s time to take down those Christmas wreaths. I’ve been forgiving up to now. I realize Easter comes earlier than it has since 1913. But for God’s sake, it’s Lent. A brown, wilted wreath is not one of the traditional symbols of the season. Remove it now before you realize it’s Pentecost and it’s still on your front door. At that point you may as well just leave it up for next year.

Sorry to sound so grumpy on this subject. I went for a run around my neighborhood yesterday and it seemed like every other house still had a wreath up. I still haven’t hauled down the Christmas lights from the front porch so I’m not exactly Mr. Holier Than Thou. But the wreath came off the door after Epiphany. So I’m a little bit holier than thou.

The seasons of the church year tend to bleed together. At least out there in “the world.” Anyone who’s been inside a Hallmark store knows this. Fortunately, thanks to our respective altar guilds, our worship spaces are immune to this. You don’t find some of the crosses veiled for Lent or some of the hangings changed to purple — it’s whole hog or nothin’ (totus porkus). Unlike my house where the Christmas lights are still up (though not lit) but the wreath is down.

So, Merry Lent. Now get that hideous thing off your front door!