The Black Bishop of the Episcopal Church

Absalom Jones came a long way, after being born into slavery in Delaware in 1746, before he went to his rest, an honored Episcopal churchman, at age 71 in 1818. But, oh, the sufferings he endured along that way, and the continual indignities to which he was subjected, first by leaders of the Methodist Church, to which he belonged, and later by leaders of the Episcopal Church! For all our celebration now of Absalom Jones and honoring him with a yearly liturgical commemoration, I have to say that reading the story of his life and of his association with churches, particularly the Episcopal Church at the very time when we were proclaiming "liberty and justice for all" in America, is painful and embarrassing. Yet it also impresses on us what an extraordinarily strong and humble man Absalom Jones must have been.

He and his followers established the first black Episcopal parish in the U.S., St. Thomas African Episcopal Church, in Philadelphia in 1794, only five years after the Episcopal Church itself had been born in this country. Jones' parish was accepted as part of the Episcopal Church according to the three conditions which Jones and his people had laid out: 1) that St. Thomas Church as a whole be received; 2) that the parish maintain control over their affairs; and 3) that the choice and support of clergy was entirely theirs. Soon after the reception of of St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Absalom Jones was chosen to be the minister, first serving them as a licensed lay reader; in 1802 he was ordained as the first black priest by Bishop William White.

During his 23 years as leader of St. Thomas Church, the parish grew dramatically and Jones was responsible for nearly 1200 baptisms. He was noted for his preaching and fearlessness in publicly confronting the immorality and injustice of slavery. Yet, his people knew him as a gentle and devoted pastor who nurtured his flock and his community. So much so, that he came to be known as "The Black Bishop of the Episcopal Church", extolled, after his death, by Bishop White for "his eminent virtues, and...his pastoral fidelity".

Set us free, heavenly Father, from every bond of prejudice and fear;

that, honoring the steadfast courage of your servant, Absalom Jones,

we may show in our lives the reconciling love and true freedom of the

children of God, which you have given us in your Son our Savior

Jesus Christ. Amen.

Justice In Our Own Backyard?

Ever since I read the article on February 7 on the blog The Lead, "Union cleaners out, non-union in at 815", I've been saddened and upset. [www.episcopalcafe.com/lead/] The news broke the same day in a New York Daily News article by Albor Ruiz. [www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/bronx/2010/02/07/2010-0207_abruptly_fired_ church_ crew_ needs_miracle.html]

The gist of the story is that nine union workers at the Episcopal Church Center in New York City lost their jobs, which paid standard wages and benefits, when the Church Center canceled its contract with Paris Maintenance, a union cleaning contractor, and replaced it with the non-union Benjamin Enterprises. "We came to work on Dec. 30 as every day, hoping to leave a little earlier to celebrate the new year," said Bronx native Héctor Miranda. "But when we got to the building we were told that we no longer worked there. Just like that."

Linda Watts, chief operating officer of the Episcopal Church, put out an official statement: "Budget constraints have prompted The Episcopal Church to review all contracts and to implement cost-cutting measures where possible," she said. But there was no mention of the plight of the nine men and women who lost their jobs or of lending them a helping hand. "Good luck, we wish you all the best," read the note the workers found in their lockers on Dec. 30.

Some have pointed out that the article is a bit misleading in that the union workers involved were employees, not of the Episcopal Church per se, but of Paris Maintenance. Nevertheless, the action taken, in favor of the Church Center's rehiring a non-unionized company, and the moral questions surrounding the situation are disturbing and deserve more reflection and action by folks in the Episcopal Church.

I encourage you to particularly look at the Comments section following the article on The Lead blog. You'll find a wide range of opinions reflecting the complexity of the issues. It does, however, highlight, at least for me, some major blunders the Episcopal Church made in handling the situation. Our Baptismal Covenant provides that we "respect the dignity of every human being". That's the theory. How do we who are the Episcopal Church (not just the Church Center executives and staffers!) live that out in practice?

Bearing Witness To God's Power and Glory Reflected

As we celebrated the real culmination of the Christmas season on Tuesday with the feast of the Presentation of Our Lord, Candlemas Day, I was struck more than usual with the reality of what happened to Simeon, that righteous old man who held the infant Jesus in his arms. Luke, the same writer of today’s Gospel, speaks of Simeon as “righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel...the Holy Spirit [resting] on him.” Here was a man who knew what the word “waiting” was all about. We spend a lot of time waiting in grocery or department store or post office lines, often longer than we think we should. But Simeon apparently waited long years, with only a deep, yet vague, assurance that he’d live long enough to see the Messiah.

On the day Mary and Joseph bring Jesus into the Temple precincts Simeon feels himself physically moved by a kind of divine radar: “Guided by the Spirit”, Luke says, “Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child...Simeon took him in his arms and praised God...: ‘Master, you are now dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation...’” And even the old 84-year-old widow who lived in the Temple, Anna, daughter of Phanuel, gets swept up in the emotion of the moment and begins to praise God and, Luke points out, “to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.”

What must that have felt like for Simeon? To hold that baby boy, knowing that this was “the One who saves”, the One whom generations of his ancestors had longed to see? What was Anna thinking and feeling? And the people, passersby, in that busy Temple? What did they see beyond a group of four people and an infant?
It was literally a “divine” moment! A moment of manifestation, of revelation, of theophany: where the curtain was pulled back -- re + velare, a retracting of the veil -- and human beings experienced God Himself.

In our sacramental rites we celebrate such moments of enlightenment with or by holding candles: certainly in Baptism and Eucharist, sometimes in Marriage and Ordination, often at wakes and memorials for the dead. In the words of Lutheran Pastor Kim Beckmann: “...candles point to our own bodies, our own lives lived in the world, as places where God may dwell and others may see God’s power and glory reflected.” And that’s what we’re about today in the Scriptures, as Isaiah, Paul, and Peter experience similar moments of revelation in which they, too, see “God’s power and glory reflected”.

Have you ever stood in wonder at the Sanctus, the Holy, holy, holy of the Eucharist, on Sunday morning in what Pastor Kim calls “awareness and jaw-dropping awe of God’s glory”?! In the time since I was in the seminary, there’s been a lot of study and discussion about Isaiah’s vision in the temple, his call as a prophet (Isaiah 6:1-13). Many conjecture that he wasn’t a priest or part of the religious establishment, as previously thought, but perhaps just someone who came in off the streets. Which would then give Isaiah’s experience the perspective of someone looking into the temple from the outside. God’s greatness, majesty, glory and mind-blowing presence -- and God, according to the writer, filled the temple with only “the hem of God’s robe” -- was unimaginable, inexpressable! An inkling of God’s reality could only be hinted at by the vision of six seraphs, in wing-covered awe, attending to the throne, all the while chanting, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory”, so loudly and resoundingly that the very threshold posts through which Isaiah was witnessing all this shook violently! He groans audibly: “Woe is me! I am undone!” Any human being, that close to the mighty God’s presence, would immediately become acutely aware of human limitation, deficiency, uncleanness: nothingness, in comparison. His eyes probably blinking, Isaiah becomes aware of one of the seraphs holding a live coal from the altar in front of him, touching his lips with it! Improbable as it must have seemed to him, he hears the words: “Now...your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out...”

Even more astounding: his ears tingle at God’s own voice: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Before he can even think about it, Isaiah blurts out: “Here...me...send me!” Almost as if nothing which Isaiah would’ve said would matter, God commissions him to go and speak God’s message to a completely deaf, uncomprehending, unseeing, unaccepting, arrogant, totally resistant populace in Jerusalem. Perhaps with a gulp Isaiah asks: “How long, O Lord?” Essentially, God intimates, until the land is totally devastated and everyone sent away into bondage and slavery, until it all looks like a complete failure, until there is no-thing human left: except for a stump, a “holy seed”, a remnant, from which the chosen people of God might start over in the future. See, we don’t mind committing to answering God’s call for a token “limited time only”. It’s the long-haul commitment that bothers us: the day-in, day-out routine, with people who give us a bad time because they don’t see it our way. Yet, the great and glorious God, for all God’s breathtaking mystery, and for all of our misgivings and lukewarm investment, is always leaving little doors and windows open for new life under Plan B.

There’s an important verse missing at the end of the second reading for today’s liturgy (1 Corinthians 15:1-11); important, because it probably names the real issue which moves Paul to write the first 11 verses. “Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, [plus all that’s implied by what Paul spells out in vv. 13-26] how can some of you say there is no resurrection of the dead?” Many commentators suspect that some in the Corinthian church didn’t understand the end-times communal nature of the resurrection, and that “a for-this-life-only, privatized, nonembodied understanding could render Paul’s work, and their faith, in vain.” (Kim Beckmann) In a magnificent model of how the Christian faith, the “tradition” is received and handed down, Paul sets down “the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message...unless you have come to believe in vain...” The teaching is this:
- Jesus died for our sins in accord with the Scriptures;
- he was buried;
- he was raised up according to the Scriptures;
- he appeared to Peter, then to the twelve;
- he appeared to more than 500 others at one time (scholars think this could refer to Pentecost);
- he appeared to James, then to all the apostles;
- he appeared to Paul.

Paul compares Jesus‘ revelation to him as an “untimely”, premature birth. Who could have expected that the Holy God would even think twice about sending a person like Paul out with the Good News: a persecutor of God’s church, one who stood by and held the cloaks of the people who stoned Deacon Stephen to death? But -- and this is the unimaginable wonder and glory of God’s mercy -- “by the grace of God I am what I am.” Even more remarkable is that Paul lay claim to this just to show that he’s an apostle. He tries even harder than the others, and realizes, every step of the way, that he’s not the one who’s accomplishing anything, but only “the grace [presence] of God” working through him among the Corinthians. And, he says, it doesn’t even matter whether it was him or the other apostles: “...so we proclaim and so you have come to believe”.

The heart of the matter for Paul, and hopefully for us, is that the proclaiming, the receiving, and the spread of the Gospel is and must be a networked, rather than a linear ministry. Paul mentions the other great apostolic leaders by name, but surely he would have thought, too, of those many unnamed disciples, e.g., the women at Jesus’ tomb, Mary Magdalene, etc., who were witnesses to the Resurrection [though please note, interestingly, that just 7 verses before this passage, Paul had ruled that “As in all the churches of the saints, women should be silent in the churches...”]! Nevertheless, Paul wants his hearers to catch a glimpse of what he and we don’t know yet: the glory of our life in Christ to come. He himself is striving mightily to embody it, and his message is to convince the Corinthians and us to open ourselves more and more to grace, which, according to Paul Sampley, is a code word for the “ongoing work of God” which renews our own selves even as we’re sharing that grace with our sisters and brothers.

Finally, there’s Peter, sitting by his boat on the shore of the harp-shaped lake of Gennesaret, cleaning his nets after a long night of fishing with friends in another boat and catching nothing (Luke 5:1-11). Jesus walks over and commandeers Peter’s boat; tells him to put out from the shore because people are crowding in on him, hungry to hear God’s Word explained. After his teaching session, Jesus surprises Peter by directing him to go out into the deep water and cast the nets for a catch. Although he was probably very tired, I can imagine him looking directly at Jesus, a coy smile beginning to form on his face as he inwardly thinks, “Right...!” Peter didn’t always manage things well as an apostle, but he darn well knew about fishing. Luke mentions that two boats had gone out together the night before. It’s entirely possible that Peter was a sort of manager of a cooperative effort in a barely more than subsistence venture with his fishing buddies. He’d worked hard the night before, and he knew there weren’t any fish out there.

But Peter patiently indulges Jesus, knowing that, after all, nature is unpredictable, and just maybe... He also knew that Jesus had done some pretty astounding things on their journeys together, one of them the healing of his own mother-in-law. So out they go into the deeps; they cast the nets, and as they begin to reel them in Peter becomes flabbergasted. Fish begin to literally leap into the nets, such that the amount hauled in begins to strain them to the breaking point. [Take a look sometime at Winslow Homer’s 19th century painting, The Herring Net, for an idea of what they were coping with.] They quickly send an S.O.S. out to those in the other boat to come and help. And the boats are filled and close to sinking under the weight.

Peter, the humanly expert fisherman, is, in a flash -- like Isaiah, like Paul -- suddenly humbled before the mighty, glorious God revealed in Jesus. “Lord,” he cries [that’s Luke’s equivalent for “God”], “go away from me for I am a sinful man...” No, Jesus says, not “sinful”, just “amazed”; maybe “afraid”?? “Don’t be afraid...from now on you’ll be catching people.” Peter now realizes that what Jesus had in mind wasn’t just a fishing trip, but an opportunity to get Peter to open himself to God’s unpredictable grace. God in Christ showed up in Peter’s bailiwick, the sea, and bids Peter to let grace, the “ongoing work of God”, reveal the glory of God to others in Peter. Luke’s story here makes it clear that everyone of us in the Church is a necessary partner in grace-giving. When the nets are full of “fish” [read “people”], when the harvest is ripe with “grain” [read “people”], Jesus lets us know that all of us have work to do.

Kim Beckmann writes: “On the day of our baptism, new members of the priesthood of all believers are given a candle. In Christ, we are places where God dwells, revealing lights to the world. Where are our stories in the tradition of those called to bear witness to God’s glory? How is the meaning of our everyday life...transformed by the call to follow Jesus? How do we see ourselves networked in community...?”

A Cloud of Witnesses

The Christian Martyrs of Japan

Monument to the Martyrs of Japan, Nagasaki

The Martyrs of Japan were Christians who were persecuted for their faith in Japan, mostly during the 17th century.

The shoguns and the imperial government at first supported the Catholic mission and the missionaries, as a way of reducing the power of the Buddhist monks, and to encourage trade with Spain and Portugal. Nevertheless they were also wary of colonialism. The Spanish had assumed power in the Philippines after converting the population. Roman Catholicism represented a clear threat. Thus, organized persecutions of Christians began. Christianity was outlawed and any Japanese who refused to abandon their faith were killed.

Twenty-six Christians, six Spanish Franciscans, three Japanese Jesuits, and seventeen Japanese lay people, including three young boys who served as acolytes, were executed by crucifixion in Nagasaki on February 5, 1597. They were raised on crosses, then had spears driven into them.

Further persecutions, between 1613-1630, continued. The "Great Genna Martyrdom" occurred in Nagasaki on September 10, 1632, when 55 Christians were martyred. Amazingly, without clergy, theological teaching, or the sacraments (except for baptism), public Christianity disappeared, though thousands who'd gone underground preserved the faith for some 200 years, until Western missionaries arrived again in the mid-19th century.

While there were many more martyrs, probably over 200,000, the first martyrs came to be especially revered, the most celebrated of which was Paul Miki. The Martyrs of Japan were canonized by the Roman Catholic Church in 1862 by Pius IX.

The prospect of witnessing to my faith by suffering torture and death through martyrdom has never been something I like to think about. Yet, during the years of the Bosnian tragedy from 1992 to 1995, especially the Srebrenica and Markale massacres, when we could see, live on TV, hordes of displaced people, many of whom had lost loved ones or had seen horrendous abuse of them, it hit me like a ton of bricks that this was happening now, in our time. It made it starkly clear that it was possible for something like that to happen in the U.S.: here...in our country...to us! How would I cope with something like that? Could I endure it? My thoughts go to Luke 12:11-12: "...when they bring you before...the rulers, and the authorities, do not worry about how you are to defend yourselves or what you are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say..."

My mind tells me that I believe this and that it's meant to encourage and console me. Nevertheless...I struggle with it.

Become A Fresh Air Host Family for Summer 2010

In 2009, The Fresh Air Fund's Volunteer Host Family program, called Friendly Town, gave close to 5,000 New York City boys and girls, ages six to 18, free summer experiences in the country and the suburbs. Volunteer host families shared their friendship and homes up to two weeks or more in 13 Northeastern states from Virginia to Maine and Canada.

The Fresh Air Fund relies on donations to provide memorable summers to NYC children.

The Fresh Air Fund needs hosts for the summer of 2010.

More than 65% of all Fresh Air children are reinvited to stay with their host family, year after year.
Thanks to host families who open up their homes for a few weeks each summer, children growing up in New York City’s toughest neighborhoods have experienced the joys of Fresh Air experiences.

Fresh Air Fund Host Families

"It is rewarding to see the smile on our Fresh Air child's face as she enjoys the simple things we take for granted..."

Friendly Town host families are volunteers who live in the suburbs or small town communities. Host families range in size, ethnicity and background, but share the desire to open their hearts and homes to give city children an experience they will never forget. Hosts say the Fresh Air experience is as enriching for their own families, as it is for the inner-city children. There are no financial requirements for hosting a child. Volunteers may request the age-group and gender of the Fresh Air youngster they would like to host. Stories about real Fresh Air host families and their New York City visitors are just a click away!

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An Obedient Rebel

St. Maria De Mattias (1805-1866) was born at Vallecorsa (Frosinone) in Italy, into a relatively well-to-do family. Her father, Giovanni, was the city's mayor. She had an older sister, Vincenza, and two younger brothers, Michele and Antonio: the only survivors out of seven children born to Ottavia De Mattias, Giovanni's second wife. It was a time of constant political turmoil. Vallecorsa endured constant feuding between several rival factions. Politics and religion were intertwined, since the Pope was a ruler and Napoleon was ambitious to become emperor of everything. Civil unrest, unemployment, economic uncertainty, banditry, intimidation of peasants and villagers, and gangs of young people were as alive then as they are today in many parts of the world. Because the De Mattias family possessed property and wealth, they were potential targets, particularly for the kidnapping of children. As a result, Maria and her brothers were forced to play inside most of the time.

Maria was lively and restless by nature. Her mother found it difficult to cope with her impulsiveness and activity. She was definitely a "Daddy's girl", drawn to Giovanni's patience and gentleness. As a child, she learned from him about the Scriptures and about Jesus, the Paschal Lamb, who had shed his Blood for the sins of humankind. Yet,even with such a strong male father figure, Maria was very afraid of men. As she grew, proud of her long blond hair, she spent hours in front of the mirror, posing and arranging her clothes. At other times, her moods would result in her sitting alone in her room, curtains drawn, experiencing a common teenage affliction: boredom.

During her adolescence, Maria's spiritual inclinations increased, despite some of the strictures, particularly with young girls, often imposed by well-meaning confessors in those days. At age 16 Maria became especially devoted to Mary, the mother of Jesus. She also discovered in the Crucified Christ the supreme proof of the infinite love of God for every person. She began to feel the need to devote her whole self more completely to God through the adoration of the mystery of the Cross and through service to others.

In 1822 St. Gaspar del Bufalo, a Roman priest and founder of the Missionaries of the Most Precious Blood, brought a mission team to Vallecorsa. Gaspar's preaching, for which he was noted throughout Italy, touched her very deeply. Shortly after the mission, the political situation in Vallecorsa worsened and her father was even imprisoned. Maria found herself isolated, and was reluctant to speak about her situation, particularly her spiritual experiences, with the missionaries. St. Gaspar returned to visit Vallecorsa twice in 1823. In 1824 he sent Fr. John Merlini to preach the Lenten mission and to oversee the founding of a Precious Blood Mission House in Vallecorsa. Merlini and his team made special effort to set up associations for various groups in the town. Maria was drawn to Fr. Merlini, though she she was fearful of approaching him because of her severe personal scruples and doubts. She eventually worked up the courage to go speak with him and Fr. Merlini put her completely at ease: so much so, that those initial conversations developed into a beautiful friendship lasting the rest of Maria's life. Very early on, John Merlini discerned in Maria qualities which made her ideal for becoming the leader of an order of religious women which St. Gaspar and Fr. Francesco Albertini already had in mind. After much prayer and many discussions between Maria, St. Gaspar, and John Merlini through the next ten years, the Adorers of the Blood of Christ became a reality in Acuto (Frosinone) in March, 1834. The spirit of the Congregation is expressed well in the words of St. Maria De Mattias: “Charity toward God and toward our dear neighbor”.

Despite Maria De Mattias' difficult life, her courage, perseverance, and loving spirit enabled her to touch untold lives throughout central Italy. She struggled with physical illness: asthma, fevers, physical exhaustion. Yet she made arduous journeys to mountain towns, instructed people, particularly young girls and married women, by the hundreds, and preached from balconies and standing on tables in town squares. Merlini, in his letters, often urged Maria to take better care of herself. She died on August 20, 1866 at the age of 61.

In her lifetime Maria De Mattias remarkably implemented the universal call to holiness and mission envisioned much earlier by St. Gaspar and his missionaries of the Precious Blood. She had the knack of adapting the church calendar and devotions for ordinary people in practical ways, and for fostering the spiritual life of busy people. She foresaw the tremendous potential of women in the ministry of evangelization in the Church and the world.

Maria, overcoming her own natural flaws and insecurities, displayed how prayer and mission can be integrated. Though she knew herself to be a rather frail, sometimes fearful, person, she became attuned to Christ's compassion for all humankind, expressed in the shedding of his Blood out of love. This gave her a tremendous appreciation of love's power and an unshakeable determination to share that among the others with whom she worked.

As might be expected, her strength as a holy woman, even something of a religious rebel, attracted hostile reaction and abuse from Church officials. The archpriest of Acuto referred to her as a "would-be priest". A bishop reminded her of the passage in 1 Timothy, excluding women from preaching. Yet those who knew her best respected, supported, and encouraged her. Merlini constantly advised Maria to listen to her heart and to her own good judgment.

Fr. Michele Colagiovanni, C.PP.S., in his book Obedient Rebel: The Story of Maria de Mattias makes a poignant observation: "Maria's devotion to the blood of Christ, in an era when she could not receive the Precious Blood, calls those of us who have the privilege of sharing in the up to a deeper appreciation of our communion in the blood of Christ."

Holy God, in your loving plan you adorned Saint Maria De Mattias

with exceptional gifts of grace so that in the Church she might be a

witness to the blood of Christ; grant that, through her intercession,

we may faithfully adore the Lamb without blemish who died and rose

for us, celebrate with thanksgiving the new and eternal covenant in

his blood, and with zeal proclaim to all peoples the power of the love

of Christ crucified. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives

and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Apostle of the North

St. Anskar of Denmark

c. 801 - 865

Almighty and everlasting God, you sent your servant Anskar

as an apostle to the people of Scandinavia, and enabled him

to lay a firm foundation for their conversion, though he did

not see the results of his labors: Keep your Church from

discouragement in the day of small things, knowing that when

you have begun a good work, you will bring it to a fruitful

conclusion; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.