Bleep Day: An Ode of Celebration

 Today is, perhaps, one of my favorite religious holidays! (Notice the exclamation point, denoting the emotion often called "excitement." It is not an emotion that I visit often, so I wanted to point that out.) 

To repeat, today is, perhaps, one of my favorite religious holidays! (Again, exclamation, and this time a repetition. Wow. I must be stoked.) 

The reason I use the caveat "perhaps" is not because I doubt my own favoritisms of this day. It is because I am unaware of whether the PCUSA, NCC, RCC, DOC, AB, SBC, UMC, AG, PH, ECO, COE, COG, COGIC, or or any of the other acronymical religious bodies in the world have formally declared today to be a religious holiday. And, believe me, if the annual calendar we publish is any kind of witness, the Presbyterian Church (aforementioned PCUSA) seems anxious to grant every day some kind of religious significance.

Nonetheless, I think today - in its very essence - is a religious observation. Think of it, every four years, we dedicate a whole day to acknowledge that we don't really know what we're doing.

We use phrases like, "It's clear as day" and yet, what is a "day," exactly? We criticize people with the dismissive, "They don't know the time of day," and yet we can't find a way of making an annual calendar without having to add a once-in-every-four-years "day" to correct us and get us back on course. I'm convinced that the only reason we continue to arrogate the inane practice of "Daylight Savings Time" is to pretend that we are, somehow, the manufacturers of time itself, able to "change" it simply by pushing our clocks back or forth. Today is the antidote to such arrogance. For all of our pushing and pulling, for all of our so-called "Greenwich Mean Time," for all of our observatories and atomic clocks and nanosecond technologies - we have to dedicate a whole day, every four years, to correct ourselves. 

Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care? (I have long presumed that the answer to these two questions is "25 or 6 to 4" but there we go, making up numbers and pretending that they mean something again.) 

So, today, in solemn jubilation, I invite you to join me for a celebration of Bleep Day! It is a day when we correct the inadvertencies of life, the unintended consequences of our limited abilities, the 'oopsies', the 'dang its', and the 'whatevers!' Bring your slip ups, your oversights, and other raw human frailties and let's simply confess them together, laughing at how righteously we try to sally forth despite them, and and then let them slip away like the scapegoat from the village. 

Happy Bleep Day, you Bleepin' Bleepers

What's In a Name?

 Friends, 

 

This weekend we will continue our Lenten series, “Between Our Rock and Hard Places,” by focusing on two Scriptural texts where names are changed. As a way of focusing, the Community Engagement Commission put together a collection of questions that speak to our theme this week. The first few questions are, “What’s in a name? Where did my surname originate? Has it been changed over time? Where did my given name originate?” as well as, “How do my names really name me?”

 

I’ll start the process by reflecting on my names, the origins of which sound biblical, but that may be as a much of an accident as anything else. The Welsh surname “Davis” is a derivative from “Davidson” which originally started out as “David’s Son.” I don’t know if there was a “David” whose son was declaimed as “Davidson” along the way, or whether it was an attempt by pietistic ancestors to locate themselves in the family of King David. Likewise, the name “Mark” has obvious biblical connotations and was one of the most popular names throughout the Roman Empire during New Testament times, since it is derived from Mars, the god of war. I was not named after either the gospel or the god. My mom told me that Mark was the name of a cute guy on a soap opera that she liked, so she gave it to me. (I missed my call to be melodramatic eye candy.) 

 

Some of my family names evolved slightly (Smythe to Smith, Adamson to Adams, etc.), but as far as I know none of them was changed because immigration officials couldn’t pronounce them, or to accommodate the prevailing WASP culture to which my families emigrated. When we ask, “What’s in a name,” we want to be sensitive to those whose names have been marred by inept officials, anglicized in order to mask ethnicity, or changed in other ways in order to “fit in.” We also want to be sensitive to those who have chosen to change their name. Some feel the need to distance themselves from a namesake, others change their name because they were assigned a gender at birth that does not fit their identity, and others change their name to reclaim a lost attachment. The question, “What’s in a name?” has many layers of stories.

 

The other questions that we developed for this week move toward the names that we receive along the way such as, “Do I have a nickname? Have I ever been called names that were unkind?” Those kinds of questions can rake up pleasant or unpleasant memories, perhaps some of both. Nicknames can sometimes be endearing, but often are meant to tease someone’s physical features, abilities, or mannerisms. They may offer us a chance to live into, reject, endure, or ignore them, as far as we have a say in the matter. 

 

The final question we developed will be addressed explicitly in this week’s Scripture readings, “What is God’s name for me?” The short answer to that question is what we heard in the baptism story last week: “Beloved.” That’s your name. You are God’s beloved child. No one can take that away from you and trusting in that name can bring tremendous comfort and strength when we are tested. I hope you hear that often, if not in your own mind, at least when we speak to one another at St. Mark. In life and in death, you are God’s Beloved Child, because nothing imaginable can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. 

 

We will read two stories this week when God and Jesus give names. God renames Abram and Sarai, then Jesus renames Peter. The contrast between these two stories will show that naming not only has the capacity to lift up the lowly, it is also a powerful way of bringing down the haughty, by making something plain and bringing into words what might otherwise be hidden. In Peter’s case, it will be a moment of difficult truth. Oh, Simon Peter, bless his heart. And God be with those of us who find ourselves more like him than not. 

 

That’s a teaser, folks! See you in worship this weekend. And plan to stay for a while after worship for our Town Hall meeting featuring our Deacons! They are up to lots of good. 

 

Mark of St. Mark

The Disposition of Worship during Lent

 Friends, 

 

Last week’s worship services were, in my mind, an uplifting blend of celebration and discipleship. We sang songs of joy and we expressed our thanks for the prodigal abundance of creation. We offered ourselves in prayer and we marveled at the story of the Transfiguration. We even acknowledged the hoopla of an event that we make out of the Super Bowl, as we far surpassed our collections of goods and donations for the Souper Bowl of Sharing. What a joyous weekend it was, with costumes and masks adorning our praise and worship.  

 

Then, on Wednesday, our Ash Wednesday service was meaningful in a very different way. We approached the chancel three times. First, we remembered our baptism, after hearing the story of how the Christ stepped into the waters of baptism as a way of “fulfilling all righteousness.” Marvel about this: Jesus “fulfilled all righteousness” by being in solidarity with those of us who need repentance and transformation. Second, we experience the real presence of Christ in our collective spirits by celebrating the Lord’s Supper. We remember that grim occasion, when Jesus forthrightly says that one of the twelve would betray him, Simon would deny him, and all of them would abandon him. Even so, Jesus broke the bread and poured the cup and shared it with them saying, “This is my body, broken for you; this is my blood, shed for the forgiveness of many.” Finally, we acknowledged our mortality through receiving the imposition of ashes. From dust we have come, to dust we will go. I’ve always been struck as how I cannot see my own ashes, but when I see the ashes on my friends, when we wear those smudges together, I become more aware of my own mortality. 

 

“Celebration” is one voice of worship, but there are others. Lenten worship is often seen as “sad” or “morbid,” but I prefer to think of it as a season to be serious and reflective about the very thing we celebrate. The disciples came down from their bedazzling mountaintop experience that we celebrated last weekend, hearing about Jesus’ forthcoming death and resurrection. Likewise, we spend the season of Lent looking at what it means to follow the Christ who was celebrated but also betrayed, who was followed but also crucified, who taught and healed but was also killed and buried. The original twelve Apostles were all on board when Jesus was healing and liberating and feeding the crowds, but when Jesus began to speak about his forthcoming trial, they faltered. 

 

That’s the part of discipleship that we consider expressly during Lent. When we follow the one whose death was demanded by the crowds, who was stripped bare, and executed by the Empire, we are following one whose way of changing the world is not through popularity, wealth, or coercion. This shadow of the cross is what makes Jesus’ sermons different from a Ted Talk – it is a call to think differently, act differently, and be part of God’s Reign, based on an ethic of love and service. It can be liberating for those of us who are bound by the machinations of popularity, wealth, and coercion. But it can also be difficult to accept when we have been coopted by the machinations of popularity, wealth, and coercion. 

 

However you observe Lent – whether you shed a habit, take on a new practice, join some of our ongoing opportunities to live reflectively, or simply stop to look up with wonder each day – I pray that you will experience a deep sense of grace. Our Lenten practices do not manufacture grace, they offer us opportunities to recognize that grace that fills our lives. 

 

Mark of St. Mark 

 

 

Lent

 Our theme for the Lenten season is, Between Our Rock and Hard Places. Each week we will look to God’s steadfast, covenantal love for us – that’s the rock. And we will listen for how that rock can support us when we go through our trials – those are the hard places. 

 

We’ll begin our season with an Ash Wednesday service on February 14, at 6:30pm. Each week we will have a Text Study of the forthcoming Gospel reading, with a 30-minute video posted every Monday and a one-hour discussion every Wednesday morning in the Bonhoeffer Room at 9:30am. That discussion will be on zoom and will be recorded for those who are not free to join or watch during that hour. And, except for this coming Wednesday (because of our Ash Wednesday service), we will continue to have our half-hour zoom discussion of our readings from Brian McLaren’s book, We Make the Road by Walking. That has proven to be a lovely time that always leaves us wanting more. And each week we will post a question for you to hold in reflection, both on our Facebook and Instagram pages, as well as in our Faith In Action newsletter. For a copy of our brochure with all of our worship times, weekly themes, and events, click here. 

 

For this weekend, come celebrate the love of God made known to us in the Christ. Laissez le bon temps rouler !

 

Mark of St. Mark

The Gift of Enough

 As I write this, I am sitting in one of the humble rooms at the Serra Retreat Center on a brief break during the annual Pastors’ Retreat for the Presbytery of Los Ranchos. It sounds like a joke, to refer to this room as “humble,” when this retreat center is located on the top of a mountain in Malibu. There is no end to the irony that Franciscans – who take a vow of poverty – own this property which has to be worth north of $100 million. It was left to them in an estate, so now several Franciscan monks live here and, with a relatively small staff, run the retreat center. The intersection of green and stone throughout the grounds is lovely, the Spanish tilework brings color and geometric symmetry together, and the view of the ocean is spectacular. All of that makes Serra a beautiful spot, but, to me, it is the simplicity of the rooms that makes it a wonderful retreat center. Each room has two single beds, which leave little space for the desk and armoire, along with a sink. I’m fairly sure that the rooms were originally built with only one single bed in mind, since I have to sit on the edge of one bed to type on my computer, because I can’t fit the chair in between them. There is a shared bathroom in between every two rooms, so neighbors have to learn to negotiate that. When we enter, each bed was made with new sheets, etc., by the last person to stay there, so we are to offer a prayer for them. Then, before we leave, we will make the bed with another fresh set of sheets, so they will offer a prayer for us. It is wonderfully unMarriotty. 

 

And yet, it is enough. What a wonderful gift St. Francis and his movement offer to us – to be thankful for enough. Imagine how charitable we could be if we learned well how to be thankful for enough. Instead, we are conditioned to think that our house is fine, but a house a little larger in a bit of a nicer location would be better. Our job is fine, but the trajectory of our career ought always to be on the up and up. Our wardrobe is fine, but if we’re tired of looking at the same outfits over and over, off we go to the store. It all comes quite naturally to us, and we don’t even realize that the presumption of “ever-expanding” is really a learned disposition, not simply the way things are. Enter the Franciscans. There are benches everywhere among the paths and flora, but no television in each room. There are Stations of the Cross, symbols, and statues everywhere to remind us of God’s provision, but no pool, sauna, hot tub, or boutique. And it is enough. 

 

I don’t want to go overboard. Because the room is built for one, yet accommodates two twin beds, the outlets require quite a few undignified contortions to plug in my hearing aid charger or my laptop. And the Franciscans provide Wi-Fi everywhere, a concession to obsession. And there’s Starbucks down at the bottom of the hill. So, we’re not deprived of creaturely comforts. But the simple absence of one or two things, and the mild encouragement to participate in making the center a welcoming space for the next person – those small things awaken me to a whole lot of potential new things that I can do to de-clutter my life and live more intentionally. 

 

Oh my, it sounds like the season of Lent is calling! And it is, starting on Ash Wednesday, February 14. So, I’ll say more about the small changes that awaken us to life next week. I’m supposed to be retreating right now. 

 

In peace, 
Mark of St. Mark