Location: Chicago
Date: Sometime in a wet and cold spring
Parish: the world
Be it not in thy care. Go, I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide. - the bard : William Shakespeare
I graduated this year - from seminary. I and many of my friends now have Master of Divinity degrees. ...
We sat in polyester black gowns, fashioned with some sort of odd sleeve that looked like the tailors' mistake sold as the fashion of the day. (Look to the 1980's if you think this doesn't happen.) I sat wondering when it would feel real - this graduation, this earning of a Masters degree in Divinity. Would I see a difference in my skin, my hair, my eyes? Would I say profound or at least quipy things? Would I feel different on the walk out?
On a cool and windy day the inspiration we would receive was to learn that attendance numbers are going down even in the stalwart liberal church of the Unitarians and Universalists. We would be reminded that curiosity is a worthy thing to hold. And we would be reminded that service is the path to most every idea of humanistic salvation.
It's up to us folks. God will not go away, probably doesn't even care if we still worship. But hasn't that been the point all along. The covenants, the laws, the guidance, the parables, the entreats, the worship, the service - the salvation not earned but informed by all of these.
We are still in need. We are in need of God, we are in need of the Holy, we are in need of the example of Christ. We are in need of these communities of worship that form and foment, we need God and we need of each other.
My father sticks by love as the grounding principle of his faith. That one small word that serves as the point at which our conversations about God can begin at last. This weekend we spoke about respect as well. The lessons of Christ for me in this world have to do with these things - learning to live as part of a vine, learning to love my neighbors, learning to serve everyone and myself, learning to try and try again if it doesn't turn out the first time and learning - always learning - to listen for the will of God amongst and above the voices of men.
The vinca vines, with their brilliant purple flowers love this weather. Hearty enough to grown out onto cement blocks put there for our feet, not theirs. Heaven may be far away for me - but for this vinca heaven may simply be within the reach of its vine. The vinca need not worry which theologian is right about angels or Christ. The vinca plainly follows God's command - grow.
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