Bishops Propose Plan

I must interrupt my terribly verbose definitions for a bit of news.

The House of Bishops have proposed a plan for delegated episcopal pastoral oversight.

I can't find the text on the net, so here it is;

Caring For All The Churches

A Response of the House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church to an expressed
need of the Church:

The church is the Body of Christ. Our life in this Body is a continuing
action of God's grace among us, by whose power alone we are "joined
together" in Christ and grow "into a holy temple in the Lord" (Eph. 2:21).
Through the church's common life in Christ, God intends to signify to the
world the beginning of a new and reconciled creation.

We know the unity with God that Christ has won for humanity, he won through
the victory of his passion. We are mindful of the suffering of Jesus who, on
the Cross and through his resurrection, reaches into every corner of
alienated human life, reconciling and restoring to the household of God all
who come to him in faith. By God's grace the church is continually called,
in repentance and hope, to be a trustworthy sign to the world of this costly
reconciling power of God. We understand that, in obedience to Christ and
putting our whole trust in him, we may share in his unity with the Father
through the Holy Spirit. Communion in the Trinity is the salvation of the
world. The church, thus, exists for the sake of the world. Therefore, for
the sake of the world, we have been called "to serve before God day and
night in the ministry of reconciliation", (BCP, p.521) which is to be
carried out "with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing one
another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the
bond of peace." (Eph.4:2-3)

We as bishops are not of a common mind about issues concerning human
sexuality. Different points of view on these matters also exist within our
dioceses and congregations. In some instances there are significant
differences between congregation(s) and the bishop and few of our
congregations are themselves of one mind. As we exercise pastoral leadership
in our dioceses, we pledge ourselves to work always towards the fullest
relationship, seeking, as the Archbishop of Canterbury has said, "the
highest degree of communion." We are grateful for his leadership and share
the pastoral concerns expressed by the Primates of the Anglican Communion in
their statement of October 2003, "for those who in all conscience feel bound
to dissent from the teaching and practice of their province in such
matters." We have committed ourselves to living through this time of
disagreement in love and charity and with sensitivity to the pastoral needs
of all members of our church.

In the circumstance of disagreement regarding the actions of the 74th
General Convention on issues of human sexuality, we commit ourselves to
providing and to making provision for pastoral care for dissenting
congregations, and we recognize that there may be a need for a bishop to
delegate some pastoral oversight. Oversight means the episcopal acts
performed as part of a diocesan bishop's ministry either by the diocesan
bishop or by another bishop to whom such responsibility has been delegated
by the diocesan bishop. In other Anglican Provinces, the term "pastoral
oversight" signifies what we mean by "pastoral care." In our Episcopal
Church polity, "oversight" does not confer "jurisdiction." We are aware of
current examples of the delegation of pastoral oversight in the gracious
accommodations which have occurred in some dioceses.

As we together commit to a process for Delegated Episcopal Pastoral
Oversight, we also recognize the constitutional and canonical authority of
bishops and the integrity of diocesan boundaries. We are in accord with the
statement of the primates: "Whilst we affirm the teaching of successive
Lambeth Conferences that bishops must respect the autonomy and territorial
integrity of dioceses and provinces other than their own, we call on the
provinces concerned to make adequate provision for episcopal oversight of
dissenting minorities within their own area of pastoral care in consultation
with the Archbishop of Canterbury on behalf of the Primates."

Sensitive pastoral care does not presuppose like-mindedness. Bishops and
congregations have frequently disagreed about particular articulations and
interpretations of scripture and the Creeds while being able to transcend
their differences through common prayer and celebration of the sacraments of
the new covenant. The notion that the bishop's views must be in accord with
those of a particular rector or congregation for the bishop to be received
as chief pastor opens the way to undermining the bishop's pastoral ministry,
which must embrace all and "support all baptized people in their gifts and
ministries." Our theology and practice hold that ordination and consecration
provide the gifts and grace necessary for the sacramental acts of a bishop
to be effectual. (See article XXVI of the Articles of Religion: Of the
Unworthiness of the Ministers, which hinders not the effect of the
Sacraments.)

As bishops we share a ministry of episcope as stewards of the mystery of
faith that none of us possesses alone. We believe it is our particular
charge to nourish, guard and represent in the church this "unity of the
Spirit in the bond of peace." We understand this to be for the sake of the
world and in fidelity to our Lord who gave his life to restore all to unity
with God. We recognize and repent of our failures of charity towards one
another in this shared ministry of episcope, and we pledge ourselves to a
sacrificial ministry with one another, valuing in each the presence of the
Crucified and Risen Christ. While our unity may be strained, we continue to
strive for godly union and concord. Our task requires humility, charity,
mutual respect and a willingness to make every effort to maintain the unity
of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

In March of 2002 the House of Bishops adopted the following covenant:

"We believe that the present Constitution and Canons of The Episcopal Church
are sufficient for dealing with questions of episcopal oversight,
supplemental episcopal pastoral care, and disputes that may arise between
the bishop and a congregation. We encourage that their provisions be used
wisely and in the spirit of charity."

"The provision of supplemental episcopal pastoral care shall be under the
direction of the bishop of the diocese, who shall invite the visitor and
remain in pastoral contact with the congregation. This is to be understood
as a temporary arrangement, the ultimate goal of which is the full
restoration of the relationship between the congregation and their bishop."

Expanding on this previous agreement, and working always towards "the
highest degree of communion," we offer the following recommendations in
order to provide Delegated Episcopal Pastoral Oversight. We expect that the
first priority in a relationship between a diocesan bishop and congregation
is a striving for unity. As such, it is incumbent upon both the bishop and
the rector/congregation to meet together, with a consultant, if needed, to
find ways to work together. If for serious cause in the light of our current
disagreements on issues of human sexuality, the bishop and
rector/congregation cannot work together, we propose the following process
for Delegated Episcopal Pastoral Oversight.

1) In the spirit of openness, the rector and vestry, or the canonically
designated lay leadership shall meet with the bishop to seek reconciliation.
After such a meeting, it is our hope that in most instances a mutually
agreeable way forward will be found.
2) If reconciliation does not occur, then the rector and two-thirds of the
vestry, or in the absence of a rector, two-thirds of the canonically
designated lay leadership, after fully engaging the congregation, may seek
from their diocesan bishop, (or the diocesan bishop may suggest) a
conference regarding the appropriateness and conditions for Delegated
Episcopal Pastoral Oversight.
3) After such a conference the bishop may appoint another bishop to provide
pastoral oversight.
4) If no reconciliation is achieved, there may then be an appeal to the
bishop who is president or vice-president of the ECUSA province in which the
congregation is geographically located, for help in seeking a resolution.
Those making such an appeal must inform the other party of their decision to
appeal.
5) When such an appeal has been made, the provincial bishop may request two
other bishops, representative of the divergent views in this church, to join
with the provincial bishop to review the situation, to consider the appeal,
and to make recommendations to all parties. If an episcopal visitor is to be
invited, that bishop shall be a member in good standing in this Church.
6) When an agreement is reached with respect to a plan, it shall be for the
purpose of reconciliation. The plan shall include expectations of all
parties, especially mutual accountability. The plan shall be for a stated
period of time with regular reviews.

The provincial bishop shall periodically inform the Presiding Bishop, the
Presiding Bishop's Council of Advice, and the House of Bishops at its
regular meetings of the progress and results of this process.

As bishops of this church, we pledge ourselves to pray and work for patience
and the generosity of spirit that can enable a pastoral resolution as we
live with our differences. As well, we will strive for Godly union and
concord as together we seek to be led by the Spirit of truth who, as Jesus
tells us, "will guide us into all the truth." (John 16:13)

The House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church
23 March 2004

"Stopping the World," the Fourth Definition

'One must assume responsibility for being in a weird world,' he said. 'We are in a weird world, you know.'

I nodded my head affirmatively.

'We're not talking about the same thing,' he said. 'For you the world is weird because if you're not bored with it you're at odds with it. For me the world is weird because it is stupendous, awesome, mysterious, unfathomable; my interest has been to convince you that you must assume responsibility for being here, in this marvelous world, in this marvelous desert, in this marvelous time. I wanted to convince you that you must learn to make every act count, since you are going to be here for only a short while, in fact, too short for witnessing all the marvels of it.'

I insisted that to be bored with the world or to be at odds with it is the human condition.

'So, change it,' he replied dryly. 'If you do not respond to that challenge you are as good as dead.'

- Carlos Castaneda, Journey to Ixtlan; the Lessons of Don Juan, pp. 107-108.

During my time in jail, I happened across some of Castaneda's books. I know there remains some controversy as to if his works are fact or fiction. I tend to think that they may be more fiction than fact, or at least that Don Juan is a composite of various teachers Castaneda met. The stories are about Carlos, an Anthropology student and later professor at UCLA, who meets up with a brujo; a "man of knowledge," who takes him under his wing as an apprentice. Through the use of various techniques, including psychotropic drugs, Carlos enters into "a separate reality." One of these techniques is called "stopping the world;"

Don Juan stated that in order to arrive at 'seeing' one first had to 'stop the world.' 'Stopping the world' was indeed an appropriate rendition of certain states of awareness in which the reality of everyday life is altered because the flow of interpretation, which ordinarily runs uninterruptedly, has been stopped by a set of circumstances alien to that flow...Don Juan's precondition for 'stopping the world' was that one had to be convinced; in other words, one had to learn a new description in a total sense, for the purpose of pitting it against the old one, and that in that way break the dogmatic certainty, which we all share, that the validity of our perceptions, or our reality of the world, is not to be questioned.

- Journey, p. 14.

Castaneda convinced me that maybe I wasn't quite as crazy as some people thought I was. If his bizarre journey could become a cultural favorite, I might just be on the right path. Encouraged by this, I headed for the desert of New Mexico.

Was any great epiphany waiting for me there? Certainly not what I was expecting. I saw one possible brujo. After a night of drinking, we convinced a neighbor to take us onto the reservation. We drove for hours in the desert, until we came to a house with nothing else near it for miles in any direction. We stopped about half a mile from the house. The neighbor told us to stay in the car while he approached the house on foot. After a few minutes, an elderly man came out, walked to the front of the car, stared at us, and then turned around and retraced his steps. The neighbor came running to the car, shouting, "Go! Go!" as he piled into the backseat, both pockets of his coat brimming with peyote buttons. I've always imagined this old man was much like Castaneda's Don Juan. I suppose I'll never know.

We spent a lot of time in the desert. We simply drove off the road into the sand. If we got stuck, we jacked up the car and pushed it off the jack until eventually the rear wheels found firm sand. We hunted jackrabbits, drank beer, and eventually got jobs at a local auto dealer detailing cars.

During one night of intense tequila consumption, we caught up with another car that had passed us and almost forced us off the road. We screamed at the lone occupant as we kicked dents into his fenders, broke off his antennae and smashed his side mirrors. He finally drove away, taking off the driver's door of our car in his haste. We threw the door into the backseat and took chase. I loaded up one of the rifles that was still lying on the seat in the back from our earlier jackrabbit hunt. I got off a couple of shots before the car in front of us careened around a corner and was gone.

Relocating to another state had not changed much, it seemed, except now I was looking at a New Mexico prison instead of one in Oregon. Time for desperate measures. My life was out of control. I couldn't even follow my own script anymore. I was tired of being hungry and broke. I needed discipline. I needed to be forced to play out a role in a drama that I could not manipulate. I needed to rediscover what it meant to be "normal."

The year was 1973. Vietnam was drawing to a close. The local recruiter was desperate for volunteers. By creatively filling out the forms in order to keep my colorful past hidden in obscurity, I was able to enlist in the US Navy. I served for four years as a jet engine mechanic, and received a good conduct medal and an honorable discharge. Imagine that.

Just a couple of comments regarding Castaneda; to my young mind, his stories seemed quite innovative and exciting. Later in life I found other renditions of these same ideas that were much more coherent and healthy. I am not recommending Castaneda's work.

My primary reservation regarding Castaneda is the appearance of entities he refers to as "allies," of which Mescalito is probably the most well-known. I find them troubling. They were often depicted as dark and malevolent figures, who had to be forced to form an alliance through various rituals and connections made through complex allegiances.

During this wild adventure, I had encountered principalities, or powers, that fit Castaneda's descriptions well. My experience (and Castaneda consistently insists that knowledge rises from experience), was that these were destructive forces, playing in a drama which I did not understand, and in which I could never be more than a pawn. I was helpless against them.

I am not suggesting a dualistic understanding, of forces of good waging war with forces of evil. That kind of thinking makes little sense of my experience. Yet, the reality of "twisted good" being a very real power in this world is denied at our own peril.

Perhaps a few words from Walter Wink will make this clearer;

I do not believe that evil angels seize human institutions and pervert them. Rather, I see the demonic as arising within the institution itself, as it abandons its divine vocation for a selfish, lesser goal. Therefore I would not attempt to cast out the spirit of a city, for example, but rather, to call on God to transform it, to recall it to its divine vocation. My spiritual conversation is with God, not the demonic.

- Walter Wink, The Powers That Be; Theology for a New Millennium, p. 197.

Wink's work I will recommend, without any reservations.

I had discovered that the script which I thought I had written was not always originating from me. I seemed headed for self destruction, even though that had never been my intention. I was broken, and could not fix myself. I needed a guide, a Director, who would place me in a drama in which I survived the last scene.

When things got out of control, and I was confronted with frightening realities, I had taken to repeating the name of Jesus Christ over and over. I used it as a type of talisman. It did not "make it all better," but seemed to lessen the feelings of panic and despair. A little thing, I suppose.

When the man stamping my dog tags asked what religion he should put on them, I said, without hesitation, "Christian."

He rolled his eyes and asked, "What kind of Christian?"

"I don't know," I replied. He muttered as he scrawled the generic label on a form and called for the next recruit.

Another little thing. Yet, this is how so many journeys begin; small steps that lead to a new path, and a new life.

J.

"Stopping the World," the Third Definition

I continued to explore the boundaries between the imaginary and real dramas of life. The woods had taught me that there were natural dramas that were difficult to rewrite. I had also discovered limited success in manipulating adult dramas. I began to accept the boundaries set by adults less and less, as they had proven themselves to me to be a species that was not to be trusted. But the natural boundaries were yet to be explored.

A secret life emerged; consisting of crawling out of my window at night and roaming the city; sometimes with companions, sometimes alone. The opportunity presented itself to test a particular boundary that had fascinated me for some time. Through an unexpected turn of events, I found myself in the possession of the set of keys to a new Cadillac.

The speedometer read 110, and I still had some pedal left. Before I could fully explore the limits of this machine, I failed to navigate a corner. It slid out of control, smashed into one pole, and then shot ahead, wrapping its nose around another. A costly lesson in physics was learned that night.

My cousin and her family were in shock when they arrived at juvenile hall to pick me up. They decided they had no choice but to send me back to my father and stepmother. Before the date for my departure arrived, I slipped away. At fourteen years young, I found myself living on the street.

There were many children on the road in 1968. It was easy to blend in. The first order of business was to make the obligatory pilgrimage to Haight-Ashbury. I headed for the interstate, stuck out my thumb, and five hours later was wandering the streets of San Francisco.

The next few years were to be a wild adventure, consisting of hitching up and down the California coast, eventually getting picked up by the police and placed in a foster home, and finally being sent to the state boy's school.

Part of this adventure involved drugs. Lots of drugs. We were human guinea pigs; ingesting, injecting, snorting, huffing, toking guinea pigs. Some of us didn't survive the experiment. Others melted their minds. Others lost their soul. Others were put in a cage like the wild animal they had become.

There were magical moments; I could tell you of nights filled with beautiful visions and communing with fellow travelers. But then I would also have to tell you about the ugly times; hiding under a bush shaking with a club in my hand, or having to pull over because I was unable to stop screaming.

I speak of this because it is a part of the journey. The story would be incomplete without it. Before going any further, let me say this clearly. The use of any drug, including organics, is a shortcut, a back door, which offers short term rewards, but the final cost may not be realized until it is too late. In my experience, the cost is always too high.

A certain drug offered glimpses of a realm that I deeply desired; one that molded both the real and the imaginary dramas into one experience. The way it accomplished this amazing result is difficult to explain. A simple description might begin with a consideration of how the mind works. We are bombarded with millions of stimuli every minute. We cannot possibly process so much information. So, we develop filters, removing everything but the essential data. This drug took away all the filters. Every external stimulus was fully experienced.

At the same time, this drug caused the brain cells to fire in new and unusual patterns. Not only was the brain overloaded with external data, it also had to process a constant flow of new internal information, coming from parts of the brain previously hidden to the conscious mind.

During one of my weekend passes from the boy's school, where I had been incarcerated for the dangerous crimes of "consistent runaway and drug abuse," I was given a particularly pure dose of this drug. As I felt it beginning to open the filters, I climbed the stairs to a friend's apartment, and knocked on the door. A woman I had never seen before opened it. As we stood talking, I noticed that there was something wrong with her stereo. The song was slowing down, and the voices were getting deeper and deeper. Before I could comment on this, I noticed that the woman's hand motions seemed to flow, as in a choreographed dance. Her voice was also getting deeper. And slower. Then, the music stopped, as did her hands, and her mouth. She stood before me frozen with her lips still trying to form a vowel.

A sudden wave of fear gripped me. My fright seemed to kick the stereo, as the turntable slowly began its circular journey once again, the deep bass tones gradually becoming recognizable as the voice of Eric Burdon. The woman continued her explanation of why my friend was not there, as if nothing had happened.

I stumbled down the stairs and back into the sunlight. As I began to walk with my friends down the sidewalk, I had to stop every few steps as the implications of what had just happened began to sink in: "...but that means...and that means...and that means..." It was as if a deck of cards had been fanned before my eyes so quickly that I only had a glimpse of each unique design. But that glimpse was enough to turn my world upside down.

Was it just a drug-induced illusion? Most certainly. Yet, illusion or not, the possibility that another more universal illusion had been exposed was a suspicion that was born within my mind that day. Just possibly, our division of time into segments of past, present, and future are artificial dissections.

Three years later, just a couple of weeks after my eighteenth birthday, a patrol car tried to pull me over. I floored my Chevy, and smiled as I saw the flashing lights receding in my rear view mirror. That smile quickly disappeared when I returned my gaze to the road in front of me. Two more sets of flashing lights were waiting up ahead. You may be able to outrun the cars, but you cannot outrun the radios.

I spent enough time in jail for my head to begin to rise above the fog formed by all the chemicals I had ingested. As I did an inventory of my network of friends, I came to the realization that every one of them, without exception, was either in a mental hospital (or belonged in one), in prison (or headed there), or dead. This was the drama unfolding on the stage of my life.

It was high time to rewrite the script again. I knew a fellow traveler who was leaving for New Mexico. He had invited me to go along. It sounded like a plan. Ride out into the desert, allow it to dry me out, and start putting together a new script.

In summary; "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." And there are many ways to uncover these things beyond this physical realm and the world of dreams. We may learn to stop the world, but taking a shortcut along the path always comes with a price. If you enter through the back door, be prepared to have insanity, incarceration, or death be your escorts as you make your final exit. Beware.


J.

"Stopping the World," the Second Definition

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:--
We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

-William Wordsworth, The Tables Turned

I now knew that my step-mother was not the Director, but I mistakenly suspected that perhaps I was. After a short time with my grandparents, I went to live with an aunt and uncle who had a son my age. It was a wonderful home. But, a year later, I was told that I was being shipped to a cousin in Oregon. This was not supposed to happen. This was not in the script.

The family in Oregon were good people. They were also quite wealthy. They were also devout Christians, of the Pentecostal variety.

I was familiar with God, and had read the bible a few times during those years in the room. Smooth Jacob and King David were more familiar to me than Lassie and Superman; the heroes of my peers. I had talked to God since I could remember, although I wasn't so sure He was listening. At first, the spirituality of my new family was attractive. Maybe this was the way to discover who the real Director was?

The experience of worship was powerful. Clearly God, as revealed through Jesus Christ, was a clue to the real drama going on underneath the perceived one of daily life. That's what I wanted to get to now; the reality beyond.

Eventually, I began to wonder about the Pentecostal experience. It required such a expenditure of emotion. It was like a play that consisted of a series of song and dance numbers, without any story to connect them. I was suspicious of a euphoria based on a manipulation of my emotions. You can only respond to so many altar calls before the script becomes so familiar that it loses its ability to have the required effect.

This family also introduced me to another new aspect of life; hunting and fishing. After the initial fascination with having the power to kill things wore off, I found myself strongly attracted to the woods. Soon, I was setting off by myself each Saturday before the sun rose with a lunch in a pack on my back. I would hike in the mountains and return home as the sun set. Removed from the human dramas played out on stages of asphalt and concrete, it seemed easier to draw closer to another drama, one that was not controlled by any human, including me.

At first, I went into the woods with my peers; other twelve year olds armed with pellet rifles and .22s. The thrill of shooting anything that moved, and crashing through the brush like the herd of wild apes that we were, soon wore thin. Eventually, I chose to go alone. I found that after a couple of hours, the animals accepted my presence. Rather than an intruder, I slowly found my place in this world, as an observer. I learned to walk quietly, and sit still for long periods. In this world, the scripts being played out were not driven by any human neuroses. The squirrels chased each other from tree to tree because it amused them to do so. The robin sang because life was good.

One day, as I began climbing a small hill that opened onto a meadow at its summit, I remembered to be especially quiet. I knew that there might be wildlife in the meadow at that time of day. As I slowly raised my head over the top of the hill, I found myself looking into the eyes of a spike, a young buck, not more than six feet away from me. He had two nubs for horns, suggesting that in deer-years, he and I were peers. We both froze. It seemed that everything froze. I heard no birds, nor saw any trees swaying in the gentle breeze that had caressed my face moments before. My senses were strangely intensified. The colors of the wildflowers were blazing brightly. The dew on the grass sparkled like tiny gems. I could make out every detail in the face of the young buck, and my nostrils were full of his musty scent. For just a moment, time stood still. The division between my perception of this pastoral scene and the drama unfolding in the meadow wavered and shimmered for just a moment. And then I took a step, the buck bounded away, and the moment was over.

I tracked him for most of the day. I never saw him again. But that moment, that glimpse of a reality beyond my perception, a reality in which the buck, the flowers, the breeze, and the young boy were not separate, but all part of one grand canvas, was etched on my heart forever.

In summation; another way of understanding "stopping the world" is to find a means to "stop" our limited human perception of things, and to quit insisting that human perception is the only "true" way to make sense out of his world. Take a walk in the woods, for, as Wordsworth said, "Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect--Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:--
We murder to dissect."

J.

"Stopping the World," the First Definition

I recently spoke with someone who just started reading Jake. One of her questions was, "What is the 'stopping the world' bit all about?" I suppose maybe it is time to unpack that phrase. I'm going to have to do it in parts, as the definition involves a few different glimpses of my internal world.

The first definition is drawn from childhood. As you can see, the name of this site was stolen from a delightful children's story, by Georgia Bying. In case you are not familiar with it, here's Amazon's synopsis;

The follow-up novel to Georgia Byng's bestselling debut MOLLY MOON'S INCREDIBLE BOOK OF HYPNOTISM. Molly Moon, the funny-looking orphan who once took Broadway by storm, has vowed never to use her amazing hypnotic powers again. But when she learns that a megalomaniac master hypnotist called Primo Cell is rumoured to be controlling the minds of famous movie stars, she has to intervene. Arriving in Hollywood, Molly, Rocky and Petula the pug get to work. While Petula is being pampered at a beauty parlour for glamorous pooches, Molly and Rocky plan how to blag their way into Primo's famous Oscar-night party. Here they find that their enemy is far more dangerous and powerful than they suspected. Primo thinks it will be a breeze to control the minds of two kids, but he doesn't know that Molly has discovered an extraordinary new ability. Her hypnotic eyes can actually stop time itself...

Such creative stories as this introduces children to the understanding that the act of reading itself can be a way of stopping the world. The better the story, the more the world around them begins to fade, and eventually stop altogether. Video stories and games can have the same effect, but they do not offer the silence of reading, or the stretching of their own creativity required to use words alone to paint scenes within their mind.

Books became my only friends when I was in grade school. I'll attempt to paint the scene that led to this with an economy of words, but I'm making no promises!

My father remarried when I was 5. Prior to this, I had lived with my grandparents, and had experienced a fairly "normal" life. With those years as a frame of reference, it did not take me long, even at that young age, to realize that my new mother was not "normal."

She had some rather extreme fears, which today I recognize as probably various phobias. One of these fears involved germs. When I was in the first grade, I developed a bad cough. I was sent to my room, and to bed, for the next six months. The diagnosis was a "bronchial/respiratory condition."

After the cough was gone, and I was given a clean bill of health by the doctor, I still did not leave my room. I remained in that room for the next four years, except to walk back and forth to school. When I left my room for the short walk to the door to leave for school, I was required to wear a doctor's mask.
I awoke each morning to find a bowl of cereal and a glass of milk on my desk, with various pills lined up alongside the spoon. Some were vitamins. One was a Dristan tablet. I have no idea what the others were. When it was time for dinner, I was called from my room. My plate was placed on the counter across the room from the dining table, where the rest of the family was gathered. The routine was that I dropped my mask, ate as quickly as possible, and then replaced my mask and returned to my room. This routine limited the numbers of germs that might escape from my diseased person, I guess.

As the years went by, a few other bizarre daily routines were added. I was assigned my own bathroom, which was to be scoured with Comet each morning before I left for school. I lost my name, which was replaced with "that dumb kid," and other less pleasant descriptive phrases which I have conveniently misplaced. The daily lectures started becoming more full of anger. Eventually physical attacks were added to the verbal lashings.

So, that's the scene. It ended when I was eleven, when they sent me off to live with various relatives. One of the first things my relatives did was to take me to a doctor. He declared me fit, although he was concerned about my low white blood cell count. He attributed it to a daily dose of Dristan for four years. So, at eleven, I was allowed to go outside and play for the first time since the first grade.

Ok, on with the "stopping the world" lessons learned during this time. As I mentioned, I realized early on that there was something wrong with this woman. This was a critical awareness. She was not evil; she was sick. Trust me, if I had not realized this, I would most likely be in prison for premeditated murder right now.

It was as if this person was living life according to a script to which she owned the only copy. For some reason, possibly because I was a constant reminder of my father's first marriage, I was cast in the role of the villain. Once I realized that she was not living in reality, the absurd happenings were not as traumatic. This led to the next important realization; I could choose to accept or reject her reality. It may be true, or it may be some fantasy in her head. But, I was not powerless. I had a choice. This is such an important lesson in "stopping the world." So often, accepting the role of victim is a choice, often a choice in response to allowing ourselves to get sucked into playing a role in someone else's personal drama. If we don't like the script, we can stop the drama, and change the script. Of course, this entire script was demented, so it took me until eleven to figure out a way to dump the whole thing, and start fresh.

Figuring out how to change the script emerged from those years in that room. For the first few years, I was allowed to read. I learned to escape into imaginary worlds where she could not go. The shrinks get quite enthusiastic when this part of the story comes out. Here's something they understand...escape into fantasy. Whatever. I'm not convinced that this is such a terrible coping mechanism. If the external world is the living out of someone else's fantasies, it doesn't take long to realize that fantasy is the ticket to creating your own world.

Eventually, the books were taken away. Some walnut shells were found in my room. I had taken to sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of he night to help myself to a little snack. Since I could no longer be trusted, I was required to sit in a chair in the doorway of my room, masked and bookless. This meant that in order to escape the bad movie going on around me, I had to depend even more heavily on my own imagination. Tales of heartless pirates, cool cowboys, chivalrous knights and heroic soldiers played across my own private screen.

Letting these internal dramas continue to run even while having someone scream in your face or strike you repeatedly with a belt was quite the trick. It required awareness of another tool in stopping the world; recognizing the presence of the "objective observer." There was some remote part of me that would stand back, and without emotion, quietly comment on what was going on. Sometimes this part would make the most unusual observations and suggestions. The problem was, the observer was not only lacking in emotion, but also in any semblance of morality. For instance, one of his suggestions, "Kill the bitch," was simply not an option. Not because she didn't deserve to die, or that I was incapable of doing the deed, but because it would deeply hurt my father, who, for reasons I will never understand, deeply loves this woman, even today. And I continue to love him.

I don't recall if that option was ever seriously considered. As I have said, I realized that she was sick, not evil. But, even entertaining the notion reveals a critical piece to stopping the world. We are never trapped. We can always change the script. But this requires creative thinking; thinking outside the box. And sometimes, to do this, we have to step outside the world of emotions and morality, just to make sure there aren't some options we have overlooked. One way of stopping this script was to remove the director. But, the cost was too high. Eventually, I discovered a better way; remove myself from the stage.

In summation; we are not helpless players in this drama of sad and happy dreams. We can "stop the world", stop the play; drop the curtain; rewrite the next act, and then raise the curtain, cue the lights and let the show go on. Then, if we write ourselves into the role of victim, we only have ourselves to blame.

J.

A "Must Read"

Take a look at the excellent reflection; Rape, domination, and power in the Church: pt. 1 over on The Heretic's Corner.

As one who is aware that my own reactions are often inappropriate, I am looking forward to Part 2.

J.

The Power of Story

In the field of co-intelligence, stories are more than dramas people tell or read. Story, as a pattern, is a powerful way of organizing and sharing individual experience and exploring and co-creating shared realities. It forms one of the underlying structures of reality, comprehensible and responsive to those who possess what we call narrative intelligence. Our psyches and cultures are filled with narrative fields of influence, or story fields, which shape the awareness and behavior of the individuals and collectives associated with them.
-from The Co-Intelligence Institute

Story as a way of sharing realities. I think most of us would agree with that. I think it is through stories that most of us make sense out of our lives. The glue that holds together communities is a common story.

Some of us grew up with the biblical narrative being The Story. It was the underpinning of Western thought and literature. I think it is important to face the reality that, in some places, this is no longer the case.

I can recall a time in my life when the social norm was that everyone went to church on Sunday. If your car was in the driveway Sunday morning, the neighbors would take note. In the latter part of the twentieth century, this norm shifted. It became acceptable to play golf, take junior to a sporting event, or curl up with the Sunday Times in bed on the first morning of the week.

With the liberation of this shifting of the social norm also came the freedom to adhere to a higher level of intellectual integrity. As Marcus Borg suggests;

Mainline denominations have seen a membership decline of roughly 40 percent over the last 35 years. But most of the people leaving mainline denominations have not joined more conservative churches. They've simply dropped out. Presumably, a major reason many of them dropped out is that the form of Christianity they learned growing up ceased to make compelling sense to them. If it had made sense, they still would be in the church.

This generation, who knew the biblical story but chose to reject it as "their story," became the parents of another generation, who grew up with limited or nonexistent knowledge of the scriptures. Now these children are having children.

I don't think humanity can sustain any level of cohesiveness without a primal story that connects them and gives them a common frame of reference. There are Christians who recognize this need, and are attempting to sort out what is essential to the Gospel story, and how these essentials might be presented today (I think Marcus Borg is among the best in this effort). This work needs to be one of highest priorities, as a simple rearranging of the furniture is not going to do the job. The entire story has to be rethought, and presented in such a way that it meets people where they are.

Where are they? To quote Borg once again;

The vast majority of Americans, according to polls taken in 2002, cannot be religious exclusivists. Only 18 percent of people surveyed in two different polls taken in 2002 said yes to "My religion is the only true religion." Another example: In a Gallup poll taken in 1963, 65 percent of the sample were biblical literalists. By 2001 that figure had gone down to 21 percent.

We might say that these Americans are "wrong," and that they MUST accept the Gospel as presented by previous generations, but I don't think that perspective is going to get anyone to listen to the story.

While Christians debate about how to retell the story, the rest of the world has moved on. New stories are discovered that resonate with their life experience. As of yet, there is not a dominant story. But I think it is only a matter of time until one emerges.

As but one example, consider The Matrix. I have one son who watches these movies over and over. They speak to his condition. They make sense of his world.

James Ford, in The Journal of Religion and Film, makes this observation;

Mixing metaphors from Christianity, Buddhism, Greek mythology, and even cyber technology, The Matrix as myth may be seen as an analysis of the contemporary existential condition. It appropriates the decidedly Christian messianic mythological framework but imports a form of Buddhist idealism to radically transform the (Christian) existential understanding of the human condition. In this respect, it dialectically produces a new worldview through myth.

This is not accidental, btw. This story is literally brimming with bits and pieces pulled from our collective unconscious. For a more thorough examination of the bits and pieces, check out this exegesis of the film.

It is when I listen to your story, and you listen to mine, that we discover the places where we might encounter God's story.

If Christians continue to insist on holding an exclusive discussion on what can and cannot be considered the "right" story, we may one day wake up to find Keanu Reeves as the new messiah, and the summary of the law being expressed as "Be excellent to one another."

Although, some days I'm not so sure that would be such a bad thing.

J

House of Bishops Meeting

The House of Bishops will begin their meeting today in Camp Allen, Texas. They will conclude their time together on the 24th. No doubt that there will be discussions of the acts of ecclesiastical disobedience committed in Ohio last weekend. There will also most likely be some discussion of "Alternative Episcopal Oversight," although that discussion may now have to begin by defining what it is not, rather than what it is, which is unfortunate.

The recommendations of how the bishops might respond range from Louie Crew's suggestion that Bishop Grew back-date a graceful letter of welcome to all six bishops, to Bishop Robert M. Moody raising the possibility of "a censure of these bishops or a presentment that could lead to an ecclesiastical trial."

My own honest response is a bit convoluted. To sort it out, I'm going to use some archetypes of the masculine, drawn from a book I read years ago, whose title escapes me.

In light of some other current discussions, I will confess, as I have previously, to being a "recovering chauvinist." I inherited a set of "tapes" from my father pertaining to what it means to be a man. It was not until I started helping raise two daughters that I discovered that Dad got a few things wrong. My first reaction is sometimes to play those old tapes, but today I can sometimes catch myself, and choose to listen and make new recordings. Thus the label of "recovering chauvinist."

Masculine and feminine are terms that represent much more than gender differences. They are a form of shorthand for two divergent yet potentially complimentary perspectives. When I offer my personal perspective on various things, it is drawn primarily from the masculine side, as that is what I know best. This perspective is not offered as the only "right" one, nor is it offered with any apology. In the words of the seafaring philosopher Popeye, "I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam." So, it is what it is...

Every boy dreams of being a hero. Hero worship is often a symptom of immaturity or delayed development when seen in an adult male. The healthy adult will have discovered methods to integrate four archetypes:

The Warrior - this part of me wants to tell the bishops to hit the Ohio 6 hard, and then hit them again. Use every option available to squash them like a bug. Not a pleasant aspect of myself, but an honest one. It is the perspective of many of the young terrorists today, btw. Oppressed boys grow up to be angry young men. This is one reason for the story about the tares and wheat. We do not pull up the weeds growing with the wheat. Why? Because a warrior will charge into the field, rip the evil weed from the ground, and hold it aloft with a shout of triumph, never noticing the wheat that has been trampled and broken in his wake. "The harvest is at the end of the age, and the reapers are the angels."

The Lover - this part of me is devastated by the breaking of trust and feelings of rejection. The grieving has started, as a parting seems inevitable. The temptation is to become angry, be in denial, or try to make a deal; anything to escape this dark sadness that crushes my heart. These feelings have to be honored, but I also have to realize that they may not be an appropriate reaction to the situation. Responding from my grief and my love for the Church tempts me to grasp reconciliation and peace at any cost.

The Magician - The light side of this archetype is inclined to agree with Louie Crew; be a transparent conduit of grace. The dark side is inclined towards a bit of manipulation; possibly a banishing ritual? I think I'll leave this one alone now. Sometimes less is better.

The King - This is supposed to be the place where all the aspects are integrated. The ideal is a benevolent monarchy. But benevolence, to be effective, flows from a position of power, or at least authority. Is the Episcopal Church in such a position? It depends on one's perspective. From the view within the USA, most definitely. The view from the perspective of the Anglican Communion is a bit more cloudy. The King will clarify his position as the authority, but will also not seek to unnecessarily make new enemies. The embodiment of this archetype at this meeting will be Bishop Griswold. Will he be up to the task? The tone of his last communication suggests he may be. But past performances cause me to not be so sure. His preferred archetype seems to be the Magician. Right now, we definitely need to see a manifestation of the King.

I am more than willing to listen to other perspectives on this, specifically some aspects I may have left out due to being a "recovering chauvinist."

But there is one more role that I carry with me, one that transcends all those above, as well as the masculine/feminine discussion. I am also a Priest. And the Priest does not hesitate to insist on a specific response to this situation;

Let us pray:

Almighty and everliving God, source of all wisdom and understanding, be present with those who take counsel in the House of Bishops for the renewal and mission of your Church. Teach us in all things to seek first your honor and glory. Guide us to perceive what is right, and grant us both the courage to pursue it and the grace to accomplish it; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

J.

UPDATE: I found the book...King, Warrior, Magician, Lover; Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculine, by Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette.

A Ghost From the Past

It was too wet to be outside. I had to find shelter. I headed toward the University.

I couldn't return "home," which is an almost absurd description for the place I had left; a garage converted into a bunkhouse for eight teenage boys with nowhere else to go. It was licensed by the state as a foster home, meaning the owner got a fat check each month. The more boys in the garage, the fatter the check. The preferred form of discipline was to pull the offender out of bed in the middle of the night and bounce him against the wall a few times. I stayed through the worst part of the winter. As soon as it seemed warm enough, I stole a good coat and new pair of boots, and walked away.

When I reached the campus, I first searched the dorms, and finally found what I sought; food trays in the abandoned dining room that had not been taken to the kitchen. Potato skins, rejected green vegetables, and cut-away fat took the edge off my hunger. I moved quickly and quietly, as it was too early in the evening to be prowling the dorms. Any minute one of the college boys might wander in and sound the alarm.

As I slipped out the door, I was startled by a strange sound coming from the large evergreen in front of the building. A lone blackbird was singing a sad song from deep within the branches. For a moment I considered joining my feathered brother under the protection of the pine needles, but the brightly lit dorm entrance caused me to choose the safety of the shadows instead.

The rain had changed from a light mist to a steady drizzle. I increased my pace. Next stop was the Newman Center. The Church was usually left open, and the confessional was a warm and dry place to hole up for the night. For some unknown reason, this night there were people there, doing some kind of strange ritual up by the altar. Students in pressed slacks and cashmere sweaters. They looked at my soggy state, and dripping long hair, and ordered me out of "their" Church.

I tried to swallow my rage as I once again stepped into the wet night. At the end of the street was a cyclone fence barring the way to the campus athletic field. I kicked it, and then kicked it again and again and again, until my foot was throbbing and my fury was exhausted. The noise had brought the occupants of the church out into the street where they stood making low guttural sounds in response to my display. As one of them move towards me, I moved the blade I had slipped into my hand so that it would gleam as it caught the rays of the streetlight. "Call the cops," someone muttered. Time to move on.

I kept to the alleys to avoid the cruiser's spotlight. I stopped and listened every few steps to make sure I was not being pursued. Miles later, I was moving towards the distant sound of music and laughter. A beautiful smiling face in an upper window of the YMCA invited me up. The dance had been going on for some time now. After a visit to the facilities in an attempt to dry myself with paper towels, I joined the beautiful smile at the window. We talked and kissed and held each other for one glorious hour. The lights came on, and the adult presence announced it was time to go home.

The beautiful smile got me a seat in her ride. Soon, the man behind the wheel had delivered all the teens back to their waiting families, except me. I asked him to drop me off back at the Y. Being a responsible adult type, he refused. I decided to take the risk. I told him I was on the run. He drove in silence, eventually turning into the driveway of a small ranch house with a well manicured yard. He invited me in. As I sat in the kitchen, I could hear a muffled conversation going on in the next room. The man reappeared with a towel, and showed me the way to the shower. When I stepped out, my clothes were gone, and a terrycloth robe was in their place.

When I emerged, the man led me to a bedroom containing a single bed and numerous boxes piled against two of the walls. On the bed were the contents of the pockets of my jeans, including my blade and the gum wrapper on which was scrawled the phone number of the beautiful smile.

I awoke to the smell of bacon. My clothes had reappeared, freshly laundered and folded. A place had been set for me at the kitchen table. The man served me bacon and eggs, and then sat and drank his coffee while he watched me eat.

As I put on my coat, he said "I have to insist you call your parents." Should I tell him I had not seen my parents for five years? Should I tell him about the garage? Better not. I walked to the phone, placing myself in the way of his line of sight, and dialed the number for time. Pressing the receiver hard against my ear so he could not hear the recording, I muttered a few words to the automated voice about being alright, and that I would call again soon. The man frowned when I hung up, but seemed satisfied there was nothing more he could do. He dropped me off at the Y, pressing a five dollar bill into my hand before putting the car in gear and vanishing into the morning traffic.

The sun was shining. I was rested and fed. My clothes were clean, and I had a new phone number stuffed in my jeans. The day was full of promise. As I sauntered along with a fresh spring in each step, I hummed Joni Mitchell's new song that I had heard for the first time the night before. I think it was Joni. Maybe it was the Beatles? Or maybe it was the blackbird?

J.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly...Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird fly...Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life...
you were only waiting for this moment to arise...

The Bishop's Address

I recently mentioned my observations of the 220th Annual Convention of the Diocese of New Jersey, and quoted a brief excerpt from the message offered by the Rt. Rev. George E Councell. It is now available online;

Bishop's Address

Just a couple more excerpts;

While we design and implement a discernment process, there is urgent work to be done, and areas of mission and ministry where we need to stretch. First, I believe that it is urgent that we stretch to reach out to the impoverished people of the world, of our nation and in every neighborhood of our Diocese, especially so in the cities and urban areas. Pope Gregory served in a time of plague, pestilence and famine. To minister to hungry people, he opened up the papal granaries. He placed the Patrimony of Peter, lands and endowments, in the service of the poor. In one of his homilies, Gregory taught that we 'must honor the poor. Consider that those you see experiencing the world's contempt are within themselves friends of God. Share your possessions with them, so that in the end they may deign to share what they have with you. What you reach out to offer to a person lying prostrate on the ground you are giving to One who is seated in heaven.' (Be Friends of God, an English Version, by John Leinenueber)...

...Our conflict over the ordination and consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson and the ongoing debate over the development of rites for the blessing of same-sex unions have stretched us, our churches, our diocese, our province and the Anglican Communion. We have heard that our Communion with one another is stretched, strained, impaired, damaged, and/or broken. That these developments are very much present with us in New Jersey is evident in the resolutions that will come before us tomorrow. I am personally grateful that our diocese has not experienced the extremes of strident language and dramatic action that other dioceses and other provinces are experiencing. I have been stretched as a pastoral leader to serve and lead you in this complex moment in the history of Anglicanism and our Episcopal Church as I followed my conscience and what I believe to be the leading of the Holy Spirit when I took part in the Consecration of our brother Gene Robinson. I will continue to stretch, to reach out, to honor and respect and love and learn from my brothers and sisters who are gay and lesbian. I will continue to stretch, to reach out, to honor and respect and love and learn from my brothers and sisters who are angry, disappointed, or confused, and/or who believe that my own position and my actions are in error. Please. Let us wait with patience and hope for the report of the Lambeth Commission next fall. Let us wait with patience and hope for the work of our own House of Bishops on a process for the provision of supplemental episcopal pastoral care of those who are in distress, but who wish to remain in the Episcopal Church. In this, as in all things, I call upon us to remain at the Table of our Lord together. If he stretched out his arms of love on the hard wood of the cross, you and I cannot do less than to stretch out to embrace one another. Every Church is or will be facing these issues and conflicts. This is our way. I believe that God has his hand on this Church and that we are being stretched for greater glory and loving service...

...I love our Lord Jesus Christ, I love our Church, and I love being with you in New Jersey. Please accept my profound gratitude for entrusting me with this ministry as your shepherd in our Diocese. Unworthy as I am, I thank God and I thank you for this call. I will do my best to be a good shepherd and to handle the gifts and responsibilities that you handed over to me on St. Luke's Day last year. I ask for your prayers.

At the end of the day, I say to you that God is good. All the time. We know that because of God's heart, revealed to us in the passionate living, dying and rising of our Lord Jesus Christ. Hear now the words of Brian Wren in Hymn 603/604 and let them be our prayer as we engage the mission of the Servant Church.

When Christ was lifted from the earth, his arms stretched out above through every culture, every birth, to draw an answering love.

Still east and west his love extends and always, near and far, he calls and claims us as his friends and loves us as we are.

Where generation, class, or race divide us to our shame, he sees not labels, but a face, a person, and a name.

Thus freely loved, though fully known, may I in Christ be free to welcome and accept his own, as Christ accepted me.

Can I get an AMEN?

God is good...all the time!

J.

Presiding Bishop Responds to Actions in Ohio

The Most Rev. Frank Griswold, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, sent the following e-mail to every member of the House of Bishops this afternoon:

By their recent action in the Diocese of Ohio, five of our retired bishops and a bishop from the Anglican Episcopal Church of Brazil have arrogated to themselves the right to perform episcopal and sacramental acts without the permission of the diocesan bishop. The claim that their action was pastoral and in accordance with a mandate from the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Primates of the Anglican Communion is contradicted by the statement of the Primates last October which states quite clearly that they, 'reaffirm the teaching of successive Lambeth Conferences that bishops must respect the autonomy and territorial integrity of dioceses and provinces other than their own,' and that they 'call on the provinces concerned to make adequate provision for episcopal oversight of dissenting minorities within their own area of pastoral care,' and that they should do so 'in consultation with the Archbishop of Canterbury on behalf of the Primates.'

Provisions for 'episcopal oversight of dissenting minorities' is thus clearly a matter to be resolved by the province. That is precisely what this church is seeking to do. In consultation with the Archbishop of Canterbury and his chancellor, our bishops have been considering a draft plan for episcopal pastoral care which they will address further when we gather for our spring meeting later this week in Texas.

With respect to this forthcoming meeting, the Archbishop of Canterbury said in a recent letter to me, 'My hope and prayer is that this meeting will offer generous and constructive ways forward within the constitutional and canonical structures of ECUSA that will guarantee Episcopal care for all and avoid further fragmentation, and the consequent distraction from our main task of proclaiming Christ.'

What is quite clear is that whatever pastoral response is agreed to, it must, as the Archbishop points out, be consistent with the 'constitutional and canonical structures of ECUSA.' Here I note that according to our Constitution:

A bishop shall confine the exercise of such office to the Diocese in which elected, unless requested to perform episcopal acts in another Diocese by the Ecclesiastical Authority thereof.[Article II,Sec.3]

Why, I am moved to ask, did these bishops decide that Confirmation of these persons was pastorally necessary at this moment and act without permission of the Bishop of Ohio? Given that the House of Bishops will meet later this week, I can only surmise that their intention is to co-opt the bishops' agenda and provoke a reaction that will appear sufficiently lacking in pastoral concern for 'dissenting minorities' to justify what they have done in the eyes of others. I trust that they will be disappointed in their hope and that the vast majority of bishops of this church-occupying the diverse center-will find a way forward that is clear and just in its principles, pastoral in its approach and responsive to the needs of the church in this present moment.

The Most Rev. Frank T. Griswold
Presiding Bishop and Primate
The Episcopal Church, USA
March 15, 2004

This is strong language for Bishop Griswold. From the reaction I have seen so far from some of the AAC, the implications of his words are not sinking in. Canterbury is not pleased by these actions. To be an Anglican means that one remains in communion with Canterbury. If and when the AAC does break from ECUSA (and with the level of hatred I see coming from the AAC directed towards Bishop Griswold and ECUSA, I cannot see how they will remain a part of this Church much longer), it is going to be difficult for them to be recognized by Canterbury in light of these events.

J.

Fear of the Feminine

I just stumbled across an interesting article on gender roles, Fear of the Feminine, by Nancy Myer Hopkins.

Here's an excerpt;

"What is driving the intensity of our current church infighting?" Is it really just about what people do sexually with each other?

Probably not. A more likely reason for a significant amount of the negativism is that same-sex relationships violate the rules laid down by all patriarchal cultures about how men and women should behave in relationship to one another. The same rules also narrowly define acceptable relationships between people of the same sex.

Looking through this lens, we can see that the offenses pile up rapidly. If a lesbian woman does not need a man to satisfy her, protect her and keep her in line, the threat of the feminine is there; if a gay man is able to access the feminine side of his being, his every move can be considered suspect and an affront to many. If long-term relationships between two people of the same sex toss the age-old formulas attached to male dominance and female submission out the window, what are we left with? And if we must allow people who are partnered in this way to live openly and with our blessing -- so that we can't pretend that this is not happening -- how offensive is that? It is only offensive if we continue to cling to a patriarchal framework which keeps the feminine in her "proper" place.

I think this author is on to something. She goes on to compare the human body language of dominance and submission and the body language of dogs. Drawing from media ad examples, Hopkins makes a convincing case that "...many women have subliminally absorbed the idea that to be sexy, desirable and attractive, one must be submissive. It is no accident that troublesome females are called bitches..."

Take a look. Let's hear your reaction.

J.

The Plot Thickens

There has been a new development within the ongoing saga within the Episcopal Church. It appears that six congregations gathered in Ohio for Confirmations, but the Diocesan Bishop was not invited to participate. For those of you who prefer not to register to view the article, I'll provide the most relevant excerpts from a Cleveland paper, The Plain Dealer, written by Mark Rollenhagen;

...Six area congregations unhappy with Bishop J. Clark Grew II's support of the election and consecration of an openly gay bishop in New Hampshire broke church protocol and brought in retired bishops from outside the diocese to conduct the confirmation service.

They secretly planned the service and held it in an Orthodox church so that Grew could not stop it and they later could not be accused of holding an improper service in an Episcopal Church...

The Washington-based council (the American Anglican Council) called the fact that five retired bishops from other states and one active bishop from Brazil crossed diocesan boundaries to conduct a confirmation service without permission from the local bishop "an unprecedented and historic move."

This is a troubling development, for a few reasons. First of all, such actions are simply not allowed, according to the Constitution of the Episcopal Church;

Article II, Sec. 3. A Bishop shall confine the exercise of such office to the Diocese in which elected, unless requested to perform episcopal acts in another Diocese by the Ecclesiastical Authority thereof, or unless authorized by the House of Bishops, or by the Presiding Bishop by its direction, to act temporarily in case of need within any territory not yet organized into Dioceses of this Church.

The presence of a bishop from Brazil is also troubling. It brings to mind the Chapman letter, which outlined a plan by the AAC to replace the Episcopal Church with their own form of conservative Christianity. When it became obvious that they would lose their property, they backpedaled, and even formed a new entity, The Network, which is the AAC dressed in new vestments. One of the strategies is to use foreign bishops who are outside the authority of the Episcopal Church.

Keep in mind that these are the same people that have been claiming that the Church is going to hell in a handbasket since the '79 Book of Common Prayer was introduced and women were admitted to holy orders. They are fixated on some imaginary golden age of the Church, in which "Father Knows Best" and the pews were full of Cleaver clones. Not only is this past they desire to conserve a work of fiction, it also refuses to acknowledge the reality of change. We are certainly informed by our past, but we also "strain forward to what lies ahead."

So why is Bishop Robinson the line in the sand? They could not rally much support around prayer book revision. Many people consider the '79 book to be an improvement. They couldn't rant too loudly about women's ordination without risking the alienation of half of the human race. So, the sacrificial lamb became gay and lesbian Christians. They grabbed a handful of bible verses, verses that can only be "true" according to their interpretation, rallied support from those who think homosexuals are "icky," and marched lock-step on a crusade to "save the Church." Never mind that they have to walk on the backs of innocent victims along the way. It is about being "right," and relationships be damned.

Another troubling consideration is the precedent this will set for the future. I recall one bishop whose visitation I always dreaded, because he simply could not chant, but thought he could. In the future, will I be able to request "alternative episcopal oversight" on the grounds that my people require a bishop whose voice brings to mind an angelic choir instead of a cat fight?

Crossing diocesan boundaries without permission of the Ordinary is not only rude and arrogant; it also ignores the checks and balances that we have in place for very good reasons. Wandering foreign bishops have caused much turmoil in our past.

I think it is quite obvious why this incident happened in Ohio when it did. Later this month, the House of Bishops will meet. There will be discussions on "alternative episcopal oversight." The AAC, in their new disguise as the Network, will now come to this meeting with their right to send any bishop of their choice across diocesan boundaries a fait accompli.

J.

There you go man,
Keep as cool as you can.
Face piles
And piles
Of trials
With smiles.
It riles them to believe
That you perceive
The web they weave
And keep on thinking free.

-Moody Blues


UPDATE: The Ven. Mark Hollingsworth Jr., Bishop-Elect of Ohio and the Rt. Rev. J. Clark Grew, II, Bishop of Ohio, respond to the Extra-Canonical Confirmation Service.

My Spin on Convention

I have just returned from the Annual Convention of the Diocese of New Jersey. I attended as an observer as I am not canonically resident. It was held in an ideal facility; a convention center in Wildwood, New Jersey.

I had a grand time. Their voting process here is rather complex, requiring 6 ballots. I didn't mind. As I couldn't vote, each ballot allowed me ample opportunity to browse through the numerous exhibits.

Near the end of the convention, there was about 45 minutes of discussion regarding a resolution (2004-4), and an amendment to the resolution (2004-5), having to do with human sexuality issues. To keep this in perspective, this was 45 minutes out of about 8 hours over two days in session. About 10 people spoke, the amended resolution passed by what sounded like a large majority, and the business session moved on. No shouting, no new information, simply a fairly civil disagreement. Those wanting us to condemn the actions of the last General Convention voiced the same points heard numerous times; that homosexuals needed healing, that homosexuality was against the created order as described in Genesis, that "the vast majority of the Anglican Communion has broken communion with us" (I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I've heard this gross exaggeration). One speaker even suggested that we should consider homosexuality the same way we view alcoholism. As I said, nothing new.

What I did notice was that those making these comments, (with the exception of one pompous rear posterior who will remain unidentified), appeared quite sincere. I honestly think they believed that they were telling us something we didn't already know. I can respect that, even while I sincerely believe that they are quite mistaken.

However, there were a few delegates at this convention, both clergy and lay, who I know to be gay, and I could not help but wince when I heard some of these statements. They were quite hurtful. That may not have been the intention of the speakers, but it was the result just the same. If the way to unity requires us to scapegoat even one of our brothers or sisters, I think the cost of such unity is too high.

These speakers were held accountable for their words. A number of people spoke quite eloquently for the amendment. It seemed to me that as the words got more hurtful, more and more people moved quietly to the microphone to respond. This didn't take away the sting of the words, but something good came out of it; more voices were offered to counter the pain, and the amendment passed.

Seen in its entirety, it was a brief moment within the whole of the convention. I have chosen to comment on it because this morning, when I arrived at the parish, I was greeted with, "Have you seen the papers?"

It appears the press decided to put their own spin on what happened in Wildwood over the weekend. How lovely.

Tonight I decided to check out what some of the other spin doctors had to say. Kendall Harmon mentioned it, with no commentary, but those making comments could not resist the smell of fresh blood, it appears. (How can you read that stuff, Karen? My blood pressure can't take it!)

That was more than enough for me. Instead of taking the bait, I'm saying just a bit about it here instead, for my own sake as much as for anyone who may be reading these words.

Let me close with a quote from Bishop George Counsell from his sermon during our Eucharist on Friday;

Listening is a profound act of service. I hope that, when we come away from our consideration of these resolutions tomorrow, we will be built up by extraordinary care, lavish respect, and sacrificial love. "You know the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you;..." (Mark 10:42-43). Let us conduct our debates so as to show ourselves and our world that the Servant Church still serves, even when in disagreement with itself; and especially as we strive for justice and peace and respect the dignity of every human being.

From my perspective, I feel that, for the most part, the Bishop's hopes were realized, regardless of what the spin doctors say. This is a fine diocese; a Servant Church indeed. I may just decide to stick around for awhile.

J.

Grace

I think that this is what Christianity is all about. I may be wrong. But that is what I have learned from life so far.

Grace; unmerited favor. Can't be earned. Can't be bought. A freely given gift of unwarranted love. To be loved because I am.

My children taught me grace. When they first emerged into this bright world, they needed to be held, to be cuddled, to feel gentle hands assuring them that they were safe; that they were loved.

When my youngest son was born, the nurse gave him to me to hold. I walked over to a corner of the room away from the bright lights, and rocked him in my arms as I whispered words of joy. He shook his tiny head, and struggled to open his eyes. We gazed into one another. Time stopped. Nothing but the flow of love between us existed. A moment of grace. A moment that seemed so natural, so spontaneous, and in some ways, so familiar. I had been to that place before. But I couldn't remember when, or where.

As the years went by, the grace flowed. As love was given, it was now returned; not because I was such a perfect father, or the most handsome, or the smartest; but because I was Dad.

This is the root of my understanding of our relationship with God. God is madly, head-over-heals in love with us, and woos us, and all of creation, into being, because we are. I have a hard time holding on to this foundational relationship. In day to day life, it doesn't fit very well.

Many of us learned of grace at an early age from our families. One day, we were sent off to school, to be educated and socialized. We learned new rules. We must earn respect. Life is about competition. Happiness is found in being better; smarter, faster, stronger, funnier. We saw the lives of adults in a new, frightening, stark light. If we were to be loved, we had to perform. The "real" world was not about grace at all. It was all about competition.

As Wordsworth would say;

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

William is a bit more strident than I feel right now, but he gives voice to some of my frustrations. When I look deep within myself, I find a weary soul, tired of striving. I don't have many glimpses of grace that would make me less forlorn.

Grace is still there, but some days I seem to have misplaced her. I know that more study, more good deeds, more striving will satisfy my need to "do something" about this tragedy, but I also know that path is a dead end. It's more a matter of remembering.

Would I rather be a pagan? I don't think so. For me, Jesus Christ is the window, the icon, by which I glimpse something that is very close to what I'm trying to remember. I need an icon, an image, a symbol, to help ideas, longings, and glimpsed memories to become concrete and real. Christ is that icon for me.

The historical Christ is a powerful example, but left to myself, he could easily become no more than another heroic figure from the past. I need something more concrete; something that will engage me in the here and now, something, or someone, who will help me keep grace in sight.

The tool, the icon, the window that I have discovered is the Church. As Christ is the outward and visible sign of God, so the Church is intended to be the outward and visible sign of Christ. The Church is first and foremost sacramental; the sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

The problem with the Church is that it is made up of frail and flawed people like myself who have also been indoctrinated into the ways of "getting and spending." Some critics of Protestant Christianity have claimed that it is "the merchant's religion." I think there's some truth in that statement.

Don't misunderstand me; I love the Church. She continues to be a wonderful conduit of grace. But some of the messages that come from her seem so lacking in grace.

For instance, I just don't know what to do with the whole idea of hell. I'm sorry, but if heaven is supposed to be a place of eternal bliss, how could I be there and know even one soul is burning in hell? It would certainly ruin my bliss. There's something twisted in the way hell is often presented. It sounds like more competition; the goal in life is to get your ticket, and to hell with everyone else. I fail to see the grace in that. I don't suggest I know anything about the next life. I choose to simply admit my ignorance, and try to look for grace in this life, and leave the next one in the hands of God.

Then there is the idea, articulated in its most extreme form as extra ecclesiam nulla salus est, "outside the Church there is no salvation." This takes on various forms today; one of the most popular being "unless you accept Jesus Christ is your personal Lord and Savior, you are not saved." The gift of grace has strings attached? Having directed quite a few non-profits over the years, one lesson I have learned is that a gift with strings attached is not a gift. Just say no.

Obviously the gift has to be accepted; recognized and received for what it is. But this is more a matter of awareness than a striving to earn it, it seems to me. I struggle with the image of God as the great coin machine in the sky; insert the right prayer, the right devotion, the right action in the slot, and bing! swoosh! clunk! out comes a bottle of grace, or a packet of forgiveness. Is our relationship with God primarily a transaction? Is God a "problem" to "solve"? Or are we puppets in a divine game in which the winners are defined by the existence of losers? If so, then indeed I would "rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn..." I'll choose standing in awe before a mystery any day.

I once heard a preacher say in a sermon, "The Church is a harlot, but she's all we've got." Harsh, but it dances near the truth, I think. Yet, I find that I cannot give up on the Church, anymore than I can give up on humanity. I don't imagine that I can personally initiate any lasting changes in the Church. The only thing I know I can change is Jake. To recall the gift of grace, it is helpful to return to the places where I last saw her. And I have seen her so many times on the faces of those with whom I share this journey; my brothers and sisters in Christ. It is within this community that grace flows. Sometimes, in the midst of the liturgy or a study, I catch the eye of another, and I see that place I shared with my newborn son. Such moments fill me with joy and a sense of peace; God's grace continues to flow among us.

Can this grace ripple outward to embrace all of creation? I think it can, and I think it does. We just don't see it, because we are too busy convincing each other that grace is a commodity, and we have a monopoly on the market. Our grace is "special" because we have it and you don't. Silly creatures, aren't we?

We can transform this world, if we are conduits of grace, giving and receiving as the hands of Christ in the world today.

J.

She carries a pearl
In perfect condition
What once was hers
What once was friction
What left a mark
No longer stains

Because grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things

Grace finds beauty
In everything

Grace finds goodness
In everything

-U2 (thanks, Joe!)

For the Sake of the World

On Sunday's BBC Breakfast with Frost, Sir David Frost interviewed Frank Griswold, Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church USA.

The conclusion is worth noting;

DAVID FROST: Is it possible do you think, Bishop Griswold, that in the end the only way that these deep divisions can be solved is by saying okay, no more Anglican union as such, we'll just be a sort of federation of different churches? Is that the only way to solve this one?

BISHOP GRISWOLD: I think it's worth pointing out that the Church is for the sake of the world, not for the sake of its own self preservation. My sense is that if we draw deeply from the well spring of grace and goodness and divine compassion that is at the very heart of the Church's life, we will find a way to continue forward with our different perspectives.

I think it's worth pointing out that Anglicanism, historically, was an effort to contain radical differences, a reformation consciousness in a Catholic consciousness within a context of common prayer, in which one point of view was not the answer but the ability to come together around word and sacrament.

And I think that continues to be the heart and centre of the Anglican experience and that, I think, could carry us through these difficult times.

Well said, Most Reverend Sir.

J.

The Illusion of "Us" and "Them"

This morning, I had the unexpected pleasure of walking the labyrinth. This is a spiritual exercise that I was first introduced to while serving in California. If you want to know more about it, I highly recommend Walking the Sacred Path: Rediscovering the Labyrinth as a Spiritual Tool by Dr. Lauren Artress of Grace Cathedral, San Francisco.

Another group needed to use the hall, so we folded up the portable labyrinth (it is on a 20' x 20' piece of canvas), and began rearranging the room. A woman who had arrived for the next event approached me, and engaged me in the following conversation;

"Is this a Catholic church?"

The factual answer to this can become quite complicated, but since I was juggling a boom box, a handful of CDs and a pile of books, I went for simplicity..."Um, well kinda, but not really. We're Episcopalian."

"Oh." This was followed by silence, which allowed me to almost reach the door...

"Why do Wiccans worship Satan?"

Such a question is not unusual when you wear a dog collar, but this time I was caught off guard. I had seven minutes left before the next group started, and the food still needed to be put away. Yet, either this person was really trying to get my attention, or this was a teaching moment. Either one took priority over the food.

"The Wiccans that I have known don't worship Satan. Most of them don't even believe in Satan. It is an earth-centered tradition, which is very healthy in many respects."

"Well, I was talking to some Wiccans, and they hate God."

"Are you sure they were Wiccans?"

"I think that's what they were. Maybe they were Satanists."

"Oh. I don't know much about Satanists. I've never known anyone who claimed that title."

"How could anyone hate God?"

"I don't know. Maybe they see Satan as the flip side?"

"The flip side?"

"Yea...maybe they see God as the God of both good and evil."

"God can't be evil."

"You're right. But sometimes I wonder if I understand evil, or Satan."

"Wouldn't anyone who hates God be evil?"

"Maybe the God they hate is the God of dualism; the idea that God and Satan are engaged in some kind of cosmic fisticuffs. Or maybe they are just really twisted, or just like to shock people..."

We talked for a few more minutes until more people arrived. I offered to continue the conversation another time. I'm not sure any answers were given, but I wonder if that was the real motivation for the conversation anyway. We'll see.

It did give me a reason to reflect on my experience of things that are often labeled as "Pagan." I was involved with an inter-faith group for awhile. I have to be honest and say that the most rude, arrogant and mean-spirited members of this group were some of the Christians. The most caring, fun-loving and healthy members were some variety of Pagan.

I suspect that this is the result of generations of Christians considering any tradition but their own to be "of Satan." What many Christians seem to miss is that this attitude makes it impossible for anyone to hear their stories about their tradition. They are seen as arrogant and self-righteous, and unwilling to educate themselves about other faith traditions. To some degree, I think this criticism is true. We respond from our fear of the unknown. We judge other faiths by the degree that they resemble Christianity.

My lovely wife was nurtured back to life, both a spiritual and a physical life, by some wonderful people who many would label as "Pagan." She is a Christian today because of the love of God expressed through Pagans. Imagine that. She has told her story on her site, Pilgrim's Progress.

I think we need to set aside our "us" and "them" thinking. It may have been effective in other times, but it simply doesn't work anymore. I rejoice that a person is following any spiritual path, and believe that we share a common passion. It seems to me that in order to treat another with the dignity and respect due one who is created in the image of God requires us to meet them where they are in their spiritual journey, and not try to drag them to where we think they should be.

We listen to their story. We share our story. We look for the places that God's story intersects our stories. We laugh together, and maybe even cry; maybe even pray. If we listen closely, we may just encounter God in the most unexpected places.

J.

God Hates Shrimp

This is making the rounds on some of the mailing lists, so I thought I'd mention it here.

From Leviticus 11:9-12 and Deuteronomy 14:9-11, it appears that faithful Christians need to start closing down the local Popeyes and Red Lobster. God hates shrimp, and lobster as well, so we must adhere to the authority of the scriptures, and protect the sanctity of our restaurants.

T-shirts are available.

As a refresher, here are a few other things it appears God hates;

God hates pork chops. (Lev 11:7)

God hates cheeseburgers. (Deut. 14:21)

God hates poly-cotton blends. (Lev. 19:19)

God hates shaving. (Lev. 19:27)

God hates tattoos. (Lev. 19:28)

God hates the handicapped. (Lev 21:17-19)

Ironically, it appears that we got it wrong regarding one reform. God loves slavery. (Lev. 25:44-46)

If we are to purify this decadent world we live in and bring it back in line with biblical standards, we had better get busy. We have lots of work to do. Don't take any shortcuts, though. No fair picking and choosing which biblical standard you are going to champion. God hates that, or at least that was the impression I got the last time She discussed the matter with me.

J.

Get Up Off Your Knees

As I was browsing in the Cathedral bookstore last week, Raewynne Whiteley brought to my attention a new book she has co-edited, Get Up Off Your Knees; Preaching the U2 Catalogue. I bought a copy (and got Raewynne to sign it, of course!).

Here's an excerpt from the foreword by Eugene Peterson, Professor Emeritus, Regent College, Vancouver;

...it comes as no surprise that substantial elements of the Christian church have responded to U2 with something less than enthusiasm, responses ranging from wary detachment to condenscension to outright rejection. For even though three members of the band are candid and unqualified in their witness as followers of Jesus Christ, they have little patience with media-driven aspects of the Christian religion and a church and culture that shows little concern for justice and poverty and sickness, especially the out of control epidemic of AIDS in Africa. In every age, religion has served as a convenient cover among an astonishing number of people for cozy self-righteousness and a judgmental rejection of suffering sinners. Prophetic voices that challenge the people of God to live "in accordance with the scriptures," scriptures that are especially vocal about care for the poor, the suffering, and the disreputable, have never received cordial treatment from people who use religion to cocoon themselves from reality.

Royalties go to The AIDS Support Organization (TASO) in Uganda.

I went out and got their older Best Of album to play on the way home today. Great stuff...and indeed a prophetic voice . Buy the book!

J.

What is Worship?

A comment the other day got me to thinking about how I understand worship. To be quite honest, I often feel like my perspective is becoming the minority view. That doesn't mean it is wrong, though, does it? Unpopular, maybe, but not necessarily wrong.

I have always understood worship to be our offering a sacrifice of praise and thanksgivings to God. Period. It's not a meeting. It's not a class. It's not about fellowship. It's not even about having a "spiritual experience." It's not about us at all. It's about God.

Out of all of creation, we know of one creature that is conscious of the existence of a Creator. Sometimes, I think that is why I exist; to offer praise and thanksgiving to God on the behalf of a silent creation. That is my role in the cosmos.

Part of the offering of thanksgiving is to participate in God's transformation of this world. I understand that means ushering new people into the kingdom. And, I understand that having innovative and inspiring worship, that offers powerful "spiritual experiences," accessible teachings, and a strong feel of community is important if we expect new folks to stick around. It's a good idea to address felt needs, as long as they don't replace real needs. People who are new to worship are expected to bring with them a consumer mentality. Wanting the biggest bang for the buck, asking "What have you done for me lately?" is not unusual. But, if this kind of thinking is allowed to become the primary focus of worship, my experience is that something quite important can become lost. We have put the focus on the community, and taken it off of God.

So, when someone tells me, "I'm just not being fed in our worship," I bite my tongue, and say nothing. What I want to say is. "Guess what? It's not about you." But that would be too harsh, I suppose.

Yes, I think we are to offer the best of our creativity, music and art to God in our worship. But too often, this becomes a performance, with people playing to people. In my tradition, about 50 years ago, we started pulling our altars away from the wall, so the celebrant could face the people. Some days I wonder about the wisdom of that move. Now the temptation is for the celebrant to begin making eye contact with the congregation during the Eucharist prayers. It can become a dialogue between people, with God assigned the role of passive observer, at best. My understanding is that the celebrant is but a conduit, and so is to be transparent; one reason among others for the vestments; they take away the individuality. When the altar is against the wall, the celebrant faces the same way as the people, with his or her back to the people. The focal point is God, with the celebrant being a transparent representative of the people.

Quite often some kind of teaching, fellowship and some form of spiritual experience will occur during worship. But they are icing on the cake. When I enter worship with clarity about who I am, and whose I am, I know my place in the kingdom. I am the one who offers praise and thanksgiving to God on the behalf of a silent creation. The role requires sacrifice, as I have to set aside my own needs; I have to take the focus off of me. But dying to self, as an offering to God, is the way of this kingdom. As Francis would say, "It is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

J.

It is right, and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere
to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth.

Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with Angels and Archangels,
and with all the company of heaven, who forever sing this hymn
to proclaim the glory of your Name:

Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might.
Heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.

Silence is not always golden

Allen, over on The Right Christians wonders why only conservative Christians were invited to give testimony on the proposed federal marriage amendment. Could it be that the conservatives are considered the voice of all of Christendom?

Thanks to Religious Liberal for pointing me to a few progressive voices that are willing to speak up. Alan Jones, Dean of Grace Cathedral, is quoted. He is the author of many books, including A Passion for Pilgrimage, from which I pulled some lengthy quotes in the Longing for Home piece.

I hope that more voices might speak out from the perspective of seeing God calling all people to become citizens of the kingdom, not just those who fit our cookie-cutter design of what it means to be Christian.

On a completely unrelated note, the first two volumes of Daniel Matt's translation of The Zohar are now available, for those interested in such things. I"ve ordered both, but haven't looked at them yet. The hype is that this may become THE translation.

J.

11th Commandment?

It appears that the Methodist Church UK and Ship of Fools are seeking suggestions for the 11th Commandment.

Sounds like a cute gimmick, but do we really need more rules?

Ok, in the spirit of the thing, here are some suggestions.

Thou shalt not ever ever ever cook cauliflower in a confined space causing others to endure the scent of decomposing vegetation.

Thou shalt not allow the animals into my office.

If said animals are inadvertently allowed into my office, thou shalt not use the fact that the top of my desk sometimes resembles a litter box as an excuse for their appalling behavior.

Thou shalt not go to Mexico and forget to call Dad for three weeks (yes, son, this means you!).

Thou shalt not lust after cars you cannot afford (this includes that sweet black Cobra with the supercharger and the rebuilt engine with only 200 miles on it and the black leather interior and low profile wheels that they are asking half what it's worth and is one of a kind so would really be an investment....).

Thou shalt not sing Rocky Racoon in the car unless alone (why everyone groans is beyond me, but obviously it causes pain to others, so needs to be on this list).

Thou shalt not invite the Jehovah Witnesses in just to play with their heads.

Thou shalt not test the endurance of the garbage disposal with various non-organic items.

Thou shalt not smack the young man who thinks it's funny to blow bubbles in the chalice.

Thou shalt not make announcements in the middle of the liturgy.

And finally, the one that may have the most universal appeal...

Thou shalt not spam.

J.