2nd Sunday after Epiphany
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of
my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord.
I was born into a middle class Canadian family in 1949. My mother was
a devout Anglican. My dad was a devout atheist.
At my mother’s insistence my brother and I dutifully attended Sunday
school and church throughout the 1950’s.
We learned from mom that Roman Catholics were blasphemers and were to
be avoided, Jews were out to take your money and respectable people did
not keep company with either of them.
What I learned of the church was what I experienced when I was there.
It was full of awe, mysterious and magical. People wore robes; candles
were carried down the aisle and burned at the front on a table. Some of
the robed people were singing to the sound of an organ creating music
unheard elsewhere in my life. I fell in love with Christianity.
In 1962 at the age of 12 I went through a serious and life
threatening surgery. It was the culmination of a lengthy illness which
started at age 6. The experience brought me deeper into the church.
My teen Years were filled with the teachings of a priest whom I
adored and the loving lessons of a Christian Mystic called Daphne
Martin. Daphne, a member of the congregation and a devout Anglican, was
in her late 50’s when I began to spend time with her. She was always
giving me books to read, and would quietly say, "Don’t tell Father Bob I
gave you this!" and then she would smile. I still have her letters to
me.
From Father Bob I learned the mechanics and the meaning of the church
services, such as: the reason we crossed ourselves and when, why we
kneel at some parts and stand and sit at other times and what the
Eucharist represented and why each move was done at the altar and each
prayer was said.
From Daphne I learned that this was all a mystery, beyond what anyone
can really understand with their minds but what can be fully embraced
and experienced with their hearts.
From Father Bob I also learned that those you love, and the
institution you love, can betray you. One horrible night Father Bob was
out late driving his car with an altar boy. He was travelling drunk
through the tunnel under the Welland canal heading for a neighbouring
city. The car crashed, the boy died. His name was Darren.
The full investigation brought to light that Father Bob was abusing
this boy and others in the server’s guild. I was head of the server’s
guild - They were my boys. He was my priest. It was all so very wrong.
Bob was charged and convicted. He served a short sentence and then
the church transferred him to another parish.
Betrayal discolours life and leaves it flat and empty except for the
pain. It takes away the joy, the love and one’s drive to continue. I
trusted him; I wanted to be a priest like him. But I could no longer
spend time in the institution that harboured him.
Shortly after this I was to have two major surgeries needed to save
my life. The ordeal left me with a chronic disability. With that I felt
that God too had betrayed me. I was 19 and my world felt fractured.
I told Daphne I was leaving the Church and God. She understood and
wished me well and predicted that I would fight with God for 10 years
and then I would return to him. I made it 12 years just to be sure.
I joined the many in the ‘coming apart of religious belief’ that was
happening in the 1970’s. The story of Jesus no longer seemed rational or
even reasonable. People were busy with self help concepts. My world for
many reasons had changed so much from the 1950’s.
I came back to the Anglican Church in the 1980’s having felt beaten
down by life. An avid reader, I was full of progressive ideas. I would
attend church and speak re-writes as we went through the service.
Sometimes I simply would consciously not say a part of the service
because it went against my intelligence and better judgment. Church
became a tedious, conflicting and unfulfilling exercise.
My reading took me into the areas of other faith systems. I was
fascinated by other religions. But I was particularly interested in the
fact that underlying the layers of dogma and symbolism there were the
same spiritual truths contained in all of the sacred writings of the
world. They all taught compassion, charity, joy and wonder. Each
contained instructions for marriage and child rearing, duty, right
speech and truthfulness. They all spoke of faith, God, humility,
contentment, wisdom and peace.
And every one held the Ethic of Reciprocity which we Christians call
the Golden Rule. These are the words Jesus taught us: "Do unto others as
you would have them do unto you." There is an underlying level of
spiritual understanding common to all religions.
I began to see people of other religions as living a life that I was
not living and yet was taught to live. The more time I spent with them
the more I wanted to find and hold my own faith, my Christian belief and
practice. It was my cultural gift from God and I had never fully
unwrapped and enjoyed this gift as my friends in other religions had
unwrapped and enjoyed their gifts. It was time for me to do so.
My lack of receiving all that was mine to receive at my church told
me something had to go or I would have to leave the church forever. I
realized that what had to go was the purely left brained, rational,
logical approach I was taking to my Christian religion. I thought back
to the teachings I learned as a teenager. Worship, prayer, and
especially the Eucharist were of the heart, realized through the right
brain, that creative part of me which deals with intuition,
subjectivity, images and symbols.
I relearned how to receive God through the Eucharist by letting go of
what I believed or did not believe about God, his church and his Words.
I began to work from a position of willingness rather than willfulness;
surrendering rather than directing. Society had taught me that I can
accomplish anything if only I apply enough of my will power; if I
focused enough thought and reasoning and action. I forgot that these are
impediments to experiencing God.
Today I come to the church anticipating a deep connection with God by
receiving His Son Jesus through an ancient ceremony which comes to me as
a gift unchanged across two thousand years of time. The Eucharist allows
me to experience God, through Christ coming into me and filling my body
with His presence. And even more so, I feel Jesus move into all those in
attendance so that when the feast is complete I can sense that the Body
of Christ has filled the room with His presence.
What adds greater mystery to all of this is that my faith in Christ
and my depth of experience within my Christian tradition actually
becomes stronger by associating with those of other faiths. When I was
in Seminary for Interfaith studies in New York I attended many different
faith traditions for worship. And each time I felt a deeper respect for
those other religions and a deeper degree of appreciation and love for
my own.
On June 14 1998 I was ordained an Interfaith Minister in New York’s
famous Gothic Cathedral, St. John the Divine – an Episcopal cathedral
and one of New York’s strongest supporters of Interfaith. I was blessed
by the Bishop of New York at Eucharist in the morning in preparation for
my ordination. In the afternoon I was ordained as an Interfaith Minister
collectively by a Rabbi, a Catholic Priest, and a Buddhist monk, a Hindu
Swami, a Native Shaman and a Moslim Imam.
I am not sure if my mother would be proud or horrified!
As an Interfaith Minister my orders are simple: "Go and Build
Bridges!"
I hold dearly a statement made by Martin Luther King Jr. on receiving
the Nobel Peace Prize:
"This is the great new problem of mankind. We have inherited a big
house, a great "world house" in which we have to live together – black,
white, Easterners and Westerners, gentiles and Jews, Catholics and
Protestants, Moslems and Hindu. A family unduly separated in ideas,
culture, and interests who, because we can never live apart, must learn,
somehow, in this one big world, to live with each other in peace."
The two rules I live by in the world of Interfaith were given to me
by my beloved Rabbi Joseph Gelberman who was a survivor of the
holocaust. He said as a bridge builder between the religions it is
important to remember: "Never instead of, always in addition to." This
reminds me that I must have my own active faith which anchors me and
then I can learn from others and find joy within them. And my Rabbi
added "Honour the differences and embrace the oneness." This tells me
that there will always be things in other religions that do not make
sense to me, but there will also be much that I will feel a oneness
with, and therein is the fertile ground of peace and love that makes us
all stronger.
Amen
|