At their best, Annual Meetings are wonderful celebrations of parish life. They give parishioners a chance to hear about the breadth of ministry that takes place — both visible (Sunday School) and invisible (Altar Guild). New vestry members are elected, the annual budget for the coming year is presented, and the congregation is given an opportunity to ask questions and offer comments. The Annual Meeting is an invaluable time to take a step back in the midst of the daily ministry grind and seek the broader view, examine the past year, and look ahead to where God may be calling the congregation in the future.

Unfortunately they rarely live up to such lofty ideals which is why they are often poorly attended. If you haven’t checked your watch early and often during an Annual Meeting, you’re probably not a true Episcopalian. These affairs are also an annual source of stress for clergy, lay leaders, and parish staff. Transparency is important and thus offering details about the budget plays a vital, if tedious, role. If there are “fireworks” at the Annual Meeting they usually stem from the budget presentation. This is one reason I make our treasurer available for a pre-meeting conversation the Sunday before. Those with issues on their minds can get them addressed in a small forum which helps reduce everyone’s anxiety and diffuse any potential disagreements at the meeting itself.

Many trees get slaughtered to put the report on paper and it takes a tremendous amount of staff time to pull it together. Perhaps one day they’ll all be available on i-Pads but for now we’re printing fewer copies while making it available as a pdf. If you’re interested you can view our Annual Report here.

So, to all my brothers and sisters diligently preparing for their respective Annual Meetings (and those who must endure them), I offer the following:

The Annual Meeting Haiku

Budget blah, blah, blah
Something about Jesus Christ
Please up your pledges.

What’s really happening here as I (hold my nose and) work with Scott is that I’m using him. Don’t tell anyone but unlike Scott, I’m not a former IBMer. So I’m using him for his technical expertise and geekery, both of which he has in spades. Oh, and the Forward Movement contact list.

Thus, you’ll note that Lent Madness now has its own website www.lentmadness.org. and you can “like” it on its own Facebook fan page. For bloggers and web page administrators you can even download a free Lent Madness widget. (Put it on your site! Don’t delay! Lent is coming!).

Tim ignoring what Scott is saying

Unlike the last two years I won’t be hosting Lent Madness here on my blog but rather over at the new site. And I’ve enlisted eight “celebrity” bloggers to do much of the writing. It’s an amazing group of writers! Check out their bios here.

I’m excited about this new approach and thank (gulp) Scott for joining me in the madness this year. Now in its third year, Lent Madness has a solid history, a growing fan base, and will continue to be an informative, fun Lenten devotion.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot the new slogan that Scott wouldn’t go for (party pooper): We put the ‘Damn’ in ‘Madness!’

It’s not ‘only a game’
Ravens’ fortunes bind a diverse community with a single, consuming passion

By Tim Schenck

HINGHAM, Mass.-I’m in mourning. Not the kind that involves grief counseling or a call to the local funeral home. I’m mourning the loss of my football team, the Baltimore Ravens, in gut-wrenching fashion to the New England Patriots in the AFC Championship Game.

Of course, I’mnot getting any sympathy around here, living as I do in the heart of Pats country. My day-after-the-game visit to Pete’s Barber Shop was an exercise in torture, decked out as it is in Patriots memorabilia. And while I have yet to meet fellow Hingham resident Coach Bill Belichick, I have a hard time believing he’d offer me his hoodie-adorned shoulder to cry on.

There’s a terrific sports program called “Only a Game” that airs Saturday mornings on public radio in Boston and Baltimore. It’s basically a sports show for the highbrow fan –  you won’t find anyone identifying himself as “Lou from Lowell” calling in to suggest the Red Sox trade John Lackey to the Yankees for Derek Jeter. The stories are told from interesting angles and are well-researched, written, and delivered by host Bill Littlefield.

My only problem with the show is the name, because to die-hard sports fans, it’s much more than “only a game.” Such a title implies an observer’s detachment, not a fan’s passion.

Yes, every sports fan, when pushed (even ones who have season tickets and wear face paint) will admit that ultimately it is  just a game. Perspective is important, and whatever the sport, whatever the stakes, it’s never life and death.

Nonetheless, in the midst of profound grief over a heart-wrenching loss by your favorite team, the perspective doesn’t matter. It’s not a question of the mind but of the heart – because even though I know the Ravens’ loss is hardly the end of the world as I know it, the loss stings.

Days later, I’m still nursing profound disappointment when I think about the game, though the immediacy of that raw, slugged-in-the-gut feeling has dissipated. Yes, even a seemingly mature, thoughtful, emotionally healthy and spiritually plugged-in person can experience profound sports-related grief. I skipped over the denial phase after watching Lee Evans seemingly catch the winning touchdown pass from Joe Flacco and then seeing kicker Billy Cundiff miss a potentially game-tying 32-yard chip shot. I went straight from disbelief to anger to depression, which was only reinforced by the stark photographs of the Ravens players cleaning out their lockers the next day. In sports, unlike much of life, there is a black-and-white finality that defies nuanced shades of gray.

The other reason true fans don’t treat their sports as “only a game” is that our teams become part of our identity. I’m not sure “Orioles and Ravens fan” will be inscribed on my tombstone, but it will likely make the obituary one day. Such loyalty allows me to tap into my geographical roots (Baltimore), my emotional roots (my childhood) and my spiritual roots (my late father). This is why we care so much about our sports teams – our loyalties transcend the box scores and standings. There’s a reason I own a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium: It’s a holy relic from the past that keeps me connected to a cherished time in my life.

As a person of faith, I realize that my true identity has nothing to do with sports teams or social clubs or denominations or schools attended; it is as a child of God. Yet God has created all of us to be interconnected with one another and to be in relationship with others. One manifestation of this is our human associations and shared passions.

I’ll get over this loss (I’m not that pathetic), and so will every fan, coach and player. But that doesn’t mean it  won’t affect us all in profound ways. This is part of the joy of our humanity: We hurt, we heal, we are transformed. Passion and loyalty for things beyond our personal control don’t make us delusional – just human.

The Rev. Tim Schenck, the rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church, is a transplanted Baltimorean living in Hingham, Mass., a suburb of Boston. His email is frtim1@gmail.com.

My only problem with the show, aside that I don’t get to hear it very often, is the name. Because to die-hard sports fans it’s much more than “only a game.” Such a title implies an observer’s detachment, not a fan’s passion. Yes, every sports fan when pushed (even ones who have season tickets and wear face paint) will admit that ultimately it is only a game. Perspective is important and whatever the sport, whatever the stakes, it’s never life and death. We may use all sorts of war-like images in football — the blitz, the bomb, etc. — but we all know that sports heroes don’t compare to actual heroes.

Nonetheless, in the midst of profound grief over a heart-wrenching loss by your favorite team, the perspective doesn’t matter. It’s not a question of the mind but the heart. Even though I know that the Ravens loss to the Patriots in the AFC Championship Game is hardly the end of the world as I know it, the loss stings. The game’s emotional roller coaster ended in tangible grief, something that makes it much more than “only a game.”

I’m still nursing that slugged-in-the-gut feeling this morning. And I’m aware that even a seemingly mature, thoughtful, emotionally healthy person can experience sports-related grief. I skipped over the denial phase after watching Ravens receiver Lee Evans seemingly catch the winning touchdown pass from Joe Flacco and then seeing kicker Billy Cundiff miss a potentially game-tying 32-yard chip shot. I went straight from disbelief to anger to depression. Where I’m still lingering as I suck down my morning coffee.

For someone who lives much of his faith up in his head, it’s good to know that I can still be in touch with such emotions. The life of faith is always a balance between head and heart. We assent intellectually but experience emotionally. There’s a reason I don’t like “happy clappy” liturgy (well, many actually) but it’s not something I can do with any authenticity. Yet when the Ravens miss a field goal at the end of a hard-fought playoff game I can writhe around the floor like a fired-up Pentecostal. I’m not sure why this is but it’s all in there; it’s all part of my human make-up.

The other reason true fans don’t treat their sports as “only a game” is that their teams become part of their identity. I’m not sure it will say “Orioles & Ravens fan” on my gravestone but it will likely make the obituary. It allows me to tap into my geographical roots (Baltimore), my emotional roots (my childhood), and my spiritual roots (my late father). There’s a reason I own a stadium seat from the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore — it’s a holy relic from my past.

I realize that my true identity has nothing to do with sports teams or clubs or denominations or schools attended — it is as a child of God. Yet God has created all of us to be interconnected with one another and to be in relationship with others. One manifestation of this is our human associations and shared passions.

I’ll get over this loss — I’m not that pathetic — and so will every fan, coach, and player. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect us in profound ways. And that’s the joy of being human — we hurt, we heal, we are transformed. Passion and loyalty for things beyond our personal control don’t make us delusional. They make us human.

Thank you, Ravens, for a great ride this season. And now I feel empowered to face another brutal year as a long-suffering Orioles fan. It’s been a long quarter century on that front.

You’ll note right from the start that mine was a Top Ten list while Scott, pathetically, could only come up with nine items. But perhaps his Top Nine list will start a trend. Get Letterman on the phone.

Scott’s famous for turning his blog into a glorified infomercial as he hawks Forward Movement tracts and book. He recently posted about the latest best seller Walking With God Day by Day which, I might add, I wrote. Sure, my contribution was only 1.37% but the whole book was basically built upon my shoulders, er pen. Thus, while I’m busy paying his large, CEO-like Executive Director salary, I’m being exploited like a migrant writer. Perhaps I’ll just take my talents to South Beach. Or Abingdon Press.

If you’ve ever considered your own personal archnemesis, let me assure you it’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Plus, it’s irritatingly time consuming. Now it’s back to my important work of running a parish and saving souls. Scott used to have such responsibilites  but he gave it all up for a bigger computer and, presumably, a more comfortable chair.

In today’s version of keeping those around me safe from crankiness, I thought I would direct my energy toward annoying Facebook statuses. Below are a few general categories of those that annoy me. Granted, I’ve probably been guilty of using some of these over the years. And I have no illusion that others aren’t annoyed by some things I post: “If I see one more status update where he uses his annoying ‘religious’ jargon, I swear I’ll un-friend him.”

So with that as the context, here goes:

1. Anything having to do with the food that you are either eating or preparing. Unless you are dining on foie gras with the King of France, I’m not interested.

2. The weather. Is it flurrying? That’s great but please keep it to yourself. If I’m really interested in the weather where you are (and chances are I’m not) I will consult the Weather Channel.

3. Quotes from fill-in-the-blank inspirational leader. If I want to be inspired by MLK, JFK, or anyone else whose last initial begins with the letter K, I will read a book by or about them. Having you quote them is somehow less inspiring than going directly to the source.

4. Anything posted by bishops. Since the ability for public snark was extracted at ordination to the episcopate, all posts are non-offensive and “safe.” I’m delighted you had a wonderful visit with the good people of St. Elsewhere — save it for an article in the diocesan newspaper (oh, that’s right, it was eliminated due to budget cuts).

5. Videos of songs and/or hymns. I’m glad you love the Kings College, Cambridge, version of “Once in Royal David’s City.”  So do 25 of my closest friends. Plus, I have the CD. The basic rule of thumb should be that if you are a professional musician and you played the music yourself, post away. Otherwise go listen to your i-Pod.

6. Pictures of your children. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love posting pictures of my kids and seeing pictures of your kids. It’s one reason why we don’t have to send out so many Christmas cards these days (plus stamps are going up to .45 cents). But, really, once a day will suffice.

7. Posts reminding everyone that it’s National XX Day. Unless it’s National Coffee Day (September 29th), I don’t care.

8. Status updates longer than two or three sentences. A status update is not a novella. If you have that much to say all at once, start a blog. Or become a preacher.

9. Posting more than four times a day. I realize you have a lot to say, are endlessly fascinating, and believe everyone is hanging on your every word and action. That may well be true. But there’s an outlet for this. It’s called Twitter.

10. Liking your own status update. Zuckerberg shouldn’t even let this be an option. Liking your own status update is like laughing at your own joke — it’s annoying. Please stop.

I realize this leaves little left over to write about on Facebook. And I’ll probably lose a friend or two. I guess I could write a blog post about what types of status updates really float my yacht. But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun. Nor would it do much to channel the crank.

I had such a phone call on Monday. A man called my cell phone while I was sipping a nice Guatemalan coffee at Redeye Roasters. His first line was “Here’s a call you weren’t expecting – it’s the infamous Hingham hunter.” And, no, for those of you who fondly recall the 2010 Goosegate controversy I was not expecting a call from David Schutz.

Dave wanted to talk to me about a well-publicized recent incident where a hunter in Norton mistakenly shot a woman out walking her two dogs. He thought she was a deer. Now, I’m no hunter but I’m pretty sure I’d be able to distinguish between Bambi and a 66-year-old woman walking a couple of dogs.

The woman, Cheryl Blair, has undergone a whopping seven surgeries since the New Year’s Eve shooting. You can read about her current condition here.

So why did Dave want to talk to me? Besides praying for Mrs Blair — which I have been doing — I couldn’t imagine much more I could do. Some clergy have been known to offer a Blessing of the Hunt at the start of hunting season but that hardly seemed appropriate in this case.

It turns out that since our well-documented, AP wire encounter, Dave created an organization called The Sportsmen’s Alliance (yes, TSA). The purpose of the group is to educate the public about hunting laws in general and advocate for ethical hunting practices amid hunters themselves.

According to Dave, the hunter in Norton saw a deer earlier in the day and assumed the movement he later observed was the deer’s tail. Two problems here: when hunting you must be 100% sure of the target — there’s no “I think” when it comes to the discharge of a potentially deadly weapon — and you never shoot a deer in the tail which will injure but not kill the animal. Needless to say, Dave was outraged at what he considers the unethical and immoral actions of the hunter involved. You can read some of his comments on the issue here.

One other wrinkle to this case: the hunter is a Massachusetts State Trooper. The state has not filed criminal charges nor have they taken away his hunting license. Dave’s group is not calling for the hunter to be jailed but is adamant that his license to hunt be taken away. As he put it to a group of fellow hunters regarding law enforcement, “If they won’t step up to stop a bad hunter, how can we depend on them to protect good, responsible and lawful ones?”

It is on this issue where Dave sought out common ground with a known opponent of hunting. Of course, as I said from the very beginning of Goosegate, I am not opposed to hunting but I am opposed to hunting at the Hingham Bathing Beach. In fact, a couple of months ago a hunter in the parish brought me some of his famous pheasant stew after a trip to Vermont, which was decidedly savory.

Nonetheless, I do agree with Dave that at a minimum the hunting license should be revoked and I’d be willing to sign his petition to make this happen. It reads as follows:

We the undersigned, support the efforts of The Sportsmen’s Alliance  to promote public safety and the laws relating to hunting in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for the benefit of the public and responsible hunters. Towards this objective and consistent with Mass. General Law Ch. 131 sec. 60 – Negligent or careless use of a  weapon, causing injury or death, we demand that the hunting license of Mr. John Bergeron be revoked for what we believe to be careless and negligent use of a hunting rifle that seriously and permanently injured Mrs. Cheryl Blair.

If you live in Hingham, you’ll likely see this petition at some point and I wouldn’t be surprised if an online version makes the rounds as well. As I told Dave, I won’t be circulating this at church (for obvious reasons) but I’m happy to write about it here.

Following our phone call, we agreed to chat in my office the next day. We had a wide-ranging conversation on a number of topics, including hunting. While you’ll never catch me out stalking antelope and while I’ll never support hunting along Hingham Harbor, this is yet another reminder that nothing beats face-to-face conversation. I actually liked the guy. A lot. And as he was leaving he even joked about me not having horns after all.

Media wars and the vilification that comes from dehumanizing online anonymous comments only widen the gaps between people of differing views. Actually speaking to someone remains the best way to break down barriers between people.

I thank Dave for reminding me of this. Plus he said he’d bring me a goose one of these days (hopefully already plucked).

I never read the book nor have I seen the TV show but the concept has spawned all sorts of take-offs and parodies which I will leave you to Google since I’m not going to be responsible for endorsing any of the content. The title of this post alone will likely get me into trouble with a certain set. I guess I could have called it “Stuff Rectors Think” but that would lose the viral appeal of the coattails I’m shamelessly grabbing.

So here’s an ecclesiastical take on the concept. If you have others, by all means share them. In the meantime here goes (and remember this has been filed under the ‘church humor’ category):

Sh*t Rectors Think (but don’t say)

1. Could the organist possibly play this hymn any slower? The “grace” is rapidly losing its amazingness.

2. (During a pastoral counseling session) You think you have problems? Let me tell you about mine!

3. I wonder how many more tedious vestry meetings I’ll have to endure before I retire? Is there a Golden Number for this?

4. Please stop the overly dramatic reading of the Epistle. It’s not as if you wrote it yourself.

5. I hope the bishop doesn’t have any spies around here.

6. I hope the bishop doesn’t read my blog.

7. The homemade cookies are nice but can’t someone give the rector a nice bottle of scotch for Christmas?

8. How does a twit like Joel Osteen get tens of thousands of people to show up on a Sunday morning while I’m lucky to get 200 or 300?

9. (When visiting another church on a rare Sunday off) Why would anyone possibly come to this place?

10. “What time is the Easter service?” does not qualify as a pastoral emergency. See you at Christmas.

11. (Musing at coffee hour as you can’t remember any names) Why is it that all children under the age of five look alike as do all gray-haired ladies?

12. When does the Pension Fund kick in?

13. Why don’t they make homiletical candle snuffers to be used when the assistant/seminarian’s sermon loses its focus?

15. I wonder if we get wi-fi in the chancel?

16. Must that guy in the fourth row be a split second behind on every congregational response? I wonder if I can summon an usher using mental telepathy to have him removed before the Nicene Creed?

17. If you gave up that membership to the country club, maybe you’d be able to “afford” a pledge greater than $5 per week.

18. A monkey could have done a better job arranging those flowers on the altar.

19. It’s not that the microphones “don’t work as well as they did when Father XX was the rector,” it’s that you’re going deaf.

20. This meeting better end before “Modern Family” starts.

Most clergy (and lay people) can relate both to the experience and the frustration of cell phones going off in the middle of public “performances” (we happen to call them liturgies).  Look, if you’re a high churchman you’re used to things ringing during the eucharist — sanctus bells rung at the elevation of the bread and wine are an integral part of the mass. But things rung by anyone other than an acolyte (ie. that cell phone) interrupt the flow, the majesty, and the passion of the sacred space created through intentional, devoted worship.

We certainly all have stories of cell phones going off at the worst possible times. A cell phone went off while I was preaching just this past Sunday. If it has to happen, I’d obviously prefer it to go off during a particularly boisterous hymn. But at least when I’m in the pulpit I can just stop and wait it out (trying my utmost not to glare).

I particularly remember two instances of cell phones ringing in church. Last year a cell phone went off in the middle of the Good Friday silent veneration of the cross. I remember thinking “This is outrageous!” but there’s nothing you can do about it. The other was at my church in New York during a baptism. A teenage friend of the baptismal family was standing around the font as we were baptizing a little girl. Her cell phone went off…and she answered it! “I’m at a baptism; I guess I’ll have to call you back.” I wanted to dump the holy water all over HER (and her flip phone).

I’d be interested to hear other cell phone stories if you have them. Maybe we can compile the best ones. What are your strategies for dealing with this annoyance? Have you ever stopped the proceedings like Maestro Gilbert or do you just barrel through? Has YOUR cell phone ever gone off during a service?

I’m not sure what Jesus would have done if a cell phone went off during the Sermon on the Mount. Something tells me he would have grabbed it and tossed it into the Sea of Galilee.

One of the best-known religious athletes was Sandy Koufax who famously refused to pitch Game One of the 1965 World series because it fell on Yom Kippur. Well, he went on to pitch in three more games that series and was named MVP as the Dodgers defeated the Twins in seven games. A lot has been said about Koufax’s faith and courage but it has never been suggested that the Dodgers won the World Series that year because God especially smiled upon Sandy Koufax.

I have very little patience with a theology that insists God cares who wins football games or somehow intervenes. There are equally faithful players, albeit less demonstrative perhaps, on every team in the National Football League. Is their faith somehow less important or does God just really dig “Tebowing?” It’s a very slippery slope.

And anyway, if you want further proof that God could not care less about the outcome of sporting events, I have my own Exhibit A. Last spring and summer another Episcopal priest, Tom Mulvey, and I coached our 10-year-old sons’ baseball team. With this rationale you’d think our team would have been a shoo in to take the little league World Series in Hingham. I think we won three games all season.

No, we didn’t do any Tebowing before games and I guess we could have created a pre-game ritual involving two bats in the form of a cross at home plate. And, believe me, with the players we had it would have taken a miracle to win more games. But if two clergy coaches couldn’t get a break why would anyone think someone else should?

Don’t get me wrong. As a huge Baltimore Ravens fan, I was delighted to see the Broncos bounce the Steelers out of the playoffs last weekend. I just can’t imagine God sitting in a La-Z-Boy chair watching the game on a big screen TV and deciding who should win.