"Being Jesus in all our Fergusons" - a sermon at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Fayetteville, AR

A sermon preached at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Fayetteville, Arkansas, on Sunday, March 15, 2015 by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman

‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.’

It is an honor to be here. And I want to commend you and I particularly want to commend your rector, my old friend Lowell Grisham, for his courage and yours. Lowell invited me here knowing that I was not going to preach a nice, easy sermon. He invited me here specifically to talk about what has been happening in our city of St. Louis around our nation’s original sin of racism. To Lowell and to you all, I say thank you because even now 218 days since Michael Brown was killed in Ferguson, the congregations that are willing to have this conversation are a distinct minority. So I thank you for your courage. Just being here and being willing to talk about this is how movements for change happen.

This past Thursday morning just after midnight, I was standing in a parking lot across from the Ferguson Police Department. Around me was a group of about 50 people who were the remainders of a crowd that had been there all night celebrating the resignation of Ferguson Police Chief Tom Jackson and also making it clear that this was not the end … that much more change was needed.

Across the street, in front of the police department was a line of 40 or 50 police officers all in riot gear with batons in their hands. And as tense as that sounds, it looked like it was going to end up being a quiet night. An hour before the police had pushed the demonstrators back across the street with their shields and had stood face to face with them. Now, the police had dropped back, things were calming down, many people had left and it looked like the night was going to end without further incident.

Then the shooting started.

The shots didn’t come from the gathered demonstrators but up a street behind us. It happened fast, but I remember it in slow motion.

The unmistakable sound of gunfire from behind me.

A police officer falling to the ground.

Fear sweeping through demonstrators and police alike.

Demonstrators scattering in front of me, diving for cover and running from the scene.

Police officers scattering, some diving behind walls, others taking shooting positions, guns drawn. An officer sweeping his gun right across where I and the people I am with are standing, before we too run for cover.

A year ago at this time, I never would have thought this is where I would have been at 12:15 on a Thursday morning – on a street in North St. Louis County with a crowd of mostly young people expressing pain and anger facing down a line of police in riot gear.

A year ago, Ferguson was just one of 90 small municipalities that ringed St. Louis City, most of which came into being through defensive incorporation as white people fled the city for the suburbs. Now Ferguson is one of those words like Watts or Selma – not so much a place but an icon of the deep and systemic racism that infects our world, that many of us like to pretend went away after the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act but that is alive and thriving not just in north St. Louis but all over our nation.

The shooting death of Michael Brown on August 9 last year was nothing new. Young unarmed black men are gunned down by police with shocking regularity in this nation. In fact, just four days earlier, John Crawford was fatally shot in a Wal-Mart in Ohio while talking on his cell phone and holding a BB gun he was shopping for. A white man named Ronald Ritchie had called 911 and told them that Crawford was pointing the gun at people, but a month later admitted this wasn’t the case. The police shot Crawford to death right there in the Wal-Mart.

And that’s why when I first learned of Michael Brown’s death, my reaction was, I’m ashamed to say, sadness but not shock. This happened again. It wasn’t until the next morning when my friend, the Rev. Traci Blackmon, called me and asked me to be at a prayer vigil that afternoon at the Ferguson Police Department. It wasn’t until at that prayer vigil young people began sitting down in the street and screaming for justice. It wasn’t until I learned that Mike Brown’s body had laid in that street for 4 ½ hours. It wasn’t until the police showed up with riot gear and automatic weapons at a candlelight prayer vigil where a community was mourning that I realized this was going to be different.

And it is to my shame that I say it is only at that point that I really started listening.

I had always considered myself a pretty progressive white guy. I had done dismantling racism trainings. Christ Church Cathedral had been involved in many conversations about race and class. If there was a learning curve to issues of race and class and privilege, I figured I was up near the top.

What I learned after August 9 is that I am down here. What I learned after August 9 is how much I don’t know because I haven’t lived it. And since August 9, I have moved up that curve only a little bit … and it has changed my life. And I thank God.

Michael Brown’s killing and the amazing young people who have become the leaders of a movement since then that is now second only to the Montgomery Bus Boycott as the longest continuous protest in the history of the civil rights movement have shone a spotlight on a way of life that I didn’t know existed because I live in White St. Louis, in White America.

It is a life of black mothers and fathers having to have “the conversation” with their sons about what to do if you see a police officer so you don’t end up dead … a conversation I never have to have with my white teenage sons because it never occurred to me nor would it need to that my sons would ever be in any danger from the police.

It’s a life of only having bad educational opportunities and then being blamed for not going to college or being able to get a job.

It’s a life of being seen by the police and the courts less as constituents to be protected and more as potential offenders and sources of revenue.

It’s a life where black men are not given the economic and job opportunities that I have been and my sons will be, and when they turn to the one good economic opportunity of selling drugs, they get imprisoned at a higher rate and for longer sentences than white people committing the same crimes.

It’s a life where children see their fathers killed and imprisoned and then they get made fun of for not having a daddy.

And as that spotlight got shone and the statistics and numbers got faces and names like Derrick and Brittany and Alexis and Rasheen and DeRay and Alisha and Amy, I realized I could not unsee what I have seen and I could not unknown what I now knew.

And so I was confronted with what to do about it. What do I, a quote-unquote “respectable” white church leader, dean of the Episcopal cathedral, do? And I went to prayer. And I went to the Bible. And one of the passages I came to was this one:

‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.’

God looked down at a world that was broken by sin and writhing in pain. And what God offered was the divine self. In the words of the beautiful Christ hymn in Philippians, the Christ did not see equality with God as something to be grasped but emptied the divine self, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself, and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.

When we look at a world that is broken by sin and writhing in pain, what we have to offer is Jesus. What we have to offer is that we ARE the body of Christ. That when Jesus died and rose again, Jesus sent the gift of the Holy Spirit and that is what binds us together now. That we are Jesus. That we are Jesus’ feet and hands and eyes and years and voice.

When we look at a world that is broken by the sin of racism and classism. Where there is too much blood in our streets and too many mothers crying and too many children who have grown up with targets on their chests, what we have to offer is Jesus.

So what does Jesus look like?

I’ll tell you first what Jesus doesn’t look like. Jesus doesn’t look like business as usual. Jesus doesn’t look like us staying in our churches. God so loved the world that God sent God’s son into the world – and into the places of deepest oppression. Jesus wasn’t born in a palace or a temple but as a refugee child in a backwater of the Roman Empire. Jesus lived with the poorest and the most marginalized and continually reached out to those who were even the poorest and most marginalized in those poor and marginalized communities.

And so as we asked ourselves the question, what does Jesus look like? Where would Jesus be? What would Jesus do? The answers became pretty clear.

Jesus would be on the street. Jesus would be standing with the young people who are crying out in their pain and their rage and crying out for justice. Jesus would standing in the breach, in solidarity with the oppressed and yet loving the oppressor. And as a white man, if I am to follow Jesus and offer Jesus, I need to do it realizing first that I look a lot more like the oppressor than the oppressed. That I look a lot more like Pharaoh than Moses. And so the first eyes that need to be opened are my own. The first ears that need to be opened are my own. The first heart that needs to be converted is my own.

God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son.

Part of my spiritual discipline in the weeks after Mike Brown was killed was in my prayers every morning to imagine my own sons’ faces on Mike Brown’s body laying in that street. God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son. That is a powerful love and a powerful sacrifice. I have to do this for my sons. I have to love Mike Brown as my own.

God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son.

God didn’t just love some of the world but the whole world. That means not only do we have to chant with fervor that black lives matter. It means that God loves Darren Wilson. And God loves St. Louis County Prosecutor Bob McCullough. And God loves the police officer out late at night standing in front of the Ferguson Police Department in riot gear. And that I am called to love them, too. It means in the words of Dr. King and Mahatma Gandhi and so many others that our goal is not to defeat an enemy but to transform a heart. That our goal is to invite everyone into the building of the beloved community, the coming of the kingdom of God. To dismantle the us and the them thinking that infects and divides us and invite all into a greater and more glorious We.

God so loved the world that God gave God’s only Son.

A friend asked me a couple months ago, “Why are you throwing yourself on this fire?” It’s a fabulous question. And the only answer I had for him is I have no choice. My friends are on that fire. And I can’t look at Traci and Starsky and Brittany and Alexis and Rasheen and Derrick and Shaun and call them sister and brother and stay in my safe home in my white neighborhood when the tear gas is being deployed and the shots are being fired. And for my friends who are police officers and police spouses who feel betrayed by me and who just can’t hear that I love them, too. I hope they know I hear them, too. I hear their fear and their pain. I hear the trauma of their lives and how the system traps them, too. And I live in hope that they will not only understand some day why we are doing what we are doing but realize that it is when we all throw ourselves on the fire of systemic racism together that the fire will finally go out.

I stand here before you this morning not so much to give you a glimpse into the Ferguson you have seen on TV but to invite you to find the Ferguson right here in Fayetteville. The place of segregation. The place of inequity. The place of invisibility. It’s there, I promise you. Some of you may already know it. Some of you may live there.

And when you find it, remember this Gospel. What we have to offer on the streets of Ferguson, wherever Ferguson might be, is nothing less than Jesus. And that means we must go dwell there knowing that Jesus is already dwelling there. We must learn the names and hear the stories and share the tears and the pain and the anger. We must see our children’s faces on the bodies of the dead. We must like the living Word of God, not be content to watch from a distance but seek those places of pain and danger and sorrow and in the flesh dwell there.

And it will be hard. And we will do it imperfectly. And we will be scared. And we will doubt ourselves regularly with each step.

But we are the Body of Christ. We are the Son that God sent into the world. And we do what is hard. And we do what is right. And we do what is scary.

God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

We are the Body of Christ. We are the Son that God sends into the world, not to condemn but to save.

And with the power of God behind us, if we are faithful to that call, we will not fail.

Amen.

A night that breaks our heart. A God whose heart breaks, too.

Then the LORD said, ‘I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey. (Exodus 3:7-8)

Photo: Lawrence Bryant, St. Louis American

Last night, two police officers were shot and wounded in front of the Ferguson Police Department. Today, the anger, pain and confusion we have been experiencing as a community has new dimension and depth. We need to wrestle with that. That is why I am writing you all, because as followers of Jesus, we never wrestle alone. I hope my “wrestling out loud” will help, and I invite your voice as well.

I was there in Ferguson last night. I arrived about five minutes before the shots were fired. I was there to stand with Alexis Templeton and Brittany Ferrell, two of the activists we hosted at Christ Church Cathedral this past Sunday, and to stand with three other demonstrators -- our diocesan youth missioner, Elle Dowd, and two of the Deaconess Anne interns who have made the Cathedral their worshipping home.

I heard the shots. I saw an officer fall to the ground. In an instant, I saw fear sweep across police and demonstrators alike. I saw guns drawn and people scatter. I heard a cry of pain.

My heart is breaking right now.

My heart is breaking for the police officers who were wounded, for their families and their fellow officers.

My heart is breaking that, last night, violence broke into a movement so many – myself included – have strived to keep nonviolent.

My heart is also breaking for six-year-old Marcus Johnson, killed in a drive-by shooting in North St. Louis last night … and his family, two of whom were also wounded.

My heart is breaking that violence is nothing new to us. That our Cathedral nave is filled with the faces of young people killed on St. Louis streets by guns. That there has been far too much blood shed and far too much pain.

My heart is breaking – and as painful as that is, I have come to believe that our hearts are supposed to break. Because we live in a world of pain and hurt. And in the face of it, our hearts will either break like God or harden like Pharaoh, and given that choice, I choose the Lord.

One of the touchtone scriptures for me these past months has been those two verses of Exodus 3. They are about God not being content to be removed from the suffering of God’s people. God moves with rich, active brushstrokes:

I have observed the misery of my people
I have heard their cry.
I know their sufferings.
I come down to deliver and raise them up.

God’s invitation to Moses was to lean into the suffering of the people – intimately lean into it to the point of sharing it. In God there are no “your tears” and “my tears” but every tear is “our tear.”

That runs the risk of sounding a little too kum ba yah. But it is anything but. It is an invitation to some of the hardest and most rewarding work there is – meeting at the foot of the cross. Meeting at that place of pain and not running away from it but leaning into it.

Like God throughout scripture, loving the people enough to let our hearts break … again and again and again

And so today, my heart is breaking. And maybe yours is, too.

It breaks my heart that those police officers were shot last night. It breaks my heart that even though I can tell you firsthand the shots did not come from the group of gathered protesters but from up a side street, this movement will probably be tagged with this violence.

It breaks my heart that this is nothing new. History tells us that though this is tragic and abhorrent, every mass, nonviolent movement for social change, be it India or South Africa or our own American Civil Rights movement in the 1950s and 60s, has had to deal with instances like this with people who wish to inject a violence that is not what we are about and that profoundly sets us back.

History has shown this is a part of the process because oppressed communities have a tremendous amount of anger and pain … and the African-American community is no different. That in no way excuses the violence – there is no excuse for the violence -- but it is a reminder that the situation is incredibly volatile and has been not just since August 9 but for a long, long time.

In fact, I believe last night shows us why nonviolent action is incredibly important. It gives a way for people to express their anger and pain without violence – and throughout the 200+ days since Michael Brown was killed, on behalf of the core group of demonstrators that is exactly what has happened.

It is a profound misunderstanding to believe that if the protests would just go away everything would be fine. The demonstrations are an expression of deep anger, pain and rejection. They are an expression of the misery of the people and their cry on account of their taskmasters and their sufferings that those of us in our privilege do not automatically share but which we are invited to share in and know.

The demonstrations are a constructive way to direct attention toward places where attention is desperately needed … and the recent responses to the DOJ report and the legislation that nine of us spent the day in Jefferson City lobbying for are examples that the needle is moving and change is happening. Slowly, yes. But it is happening.

Those emotions will not go away if the demonstrations stop … they will just more likely to be expressed in a never ending cycle of more and more Mike Browns followed by violent responses.

Today, the anger, pain and confusion we have been experiencing as a community has a new dimension and depth. We need to wrestle with that. We need to lean into that. If our hearts are breaking, we can be comforted that they do not break alone. That God’s heart breaks, too. And if we are tempted to lean away. To let our hearts get hard because feeling the pain just seems too much to bear … well, we need to hold even more tightly to one another and to Christ. And wrestle more profoundly. And pray more fervently.

Tonight I will be at St. Martin’s Church in Ellisville taking part in a Lenten book discussion of The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. I can’t think of a more important night for we as a Cathedral to be present in a suburban congregation that has the courage to discuss some of the core issues at the heart of what has erupted in Ferguson and throught the nation the past seven months.

This weekend, I will be in Fayetteville, AR, teaching on Saturday evening and preaching on Sunday about what is happening in Ferguson … and how it relates to a God who so loved the world that God sent his Son to be with us, to have his own heart broken and to invite us to do the same. Again, I can’t think of a more important time for us to be the Cathedral in this way for the wider church … after all, there are Fergusons everywhere.

In the coming weeks, months and beyond, we will continue on the course we have set as a Cathedral. A course to seek a deeper relationship with God and each other in Jesus Christ through, among other things, proclaiming the Gospel boldly and embracing diversity joyfully – knowing that these things involve risk and pain and that all roads to the cross are littered with our own broken hearts.

We have said our Lenten journey this year is Face to Face. That means we will continue to walk this path together – together as a Cathedral congregation, together as a diocese, together as a St. Louis region. And it is together that we will be lifted up into that good and broad land, where the hardness of heart of Pharoah and the pain of Egypt will one day be a distant memory.

Praying the DOJ Report on Ferguson -- A Great Litany of Lament

As I spent time today reading the report of the Department of Justice on the Ferguson Police Department, it was clear to me that it is not just an indictment of one city, but of a nation broken by deep divisions of race, class and privilege. It is the story of one city but reflects the voices that are heard in cities throughout our nation.

It is, in fact, a record of the lament of people of color in this country who have been crying out for decades and even generations.

It is, in fact, a Great Litany of sin. A Great Litany of lament.

So that is what I have done with it. I have turned it into a Great Litany.

If you click here  you can download what I am calling "A Litany of Lament for the American Police and Court Systems ... Based on the U.S. Department of Justice Report on the Ferguson Police Department." 

It is long and arduous ... just as the report is. There are 89 different laments based on the sin revealed in the report. There are 29 petitions for transformation based on the recommendations of the report. Interspersed are 11 readings from the report of personal stories of oppression that remind us of the human face of all of this. Each lament, petition and reading is noted with the page number and paragraph it comes from in the report.

It is designed to be used as a liturgy but right now I have no idea if it will ever be used as such. While I have been writing this, I got 3 texts asking people to come to the Ferguson Police Department and protest and while I am holding those sisters and brothers who are doing that right now in prayer, I have felt called to stay and do this instead. For me, writing it was an act of praying with the report and joining my lament to the cries of those who have been oppressed for so long. I hope it can be helpful in our corporate acts of confession, repentance and amendment of life.

Let us continue to pray on our knees, to pray with our feet, to lift up the cries of the oppressed and to work together for the Beloved Community of God.

Brene Brown and Bartimaeus: Vulnerability and Healing

From our opening devotion at the Christ Church Cathedral chapter meeting, Thursday, February 19, 2015.

“Vulnerability is not knowing victory or defeat, it’s understanding the necessity of both; it’s engaging. It’s being all in. Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure we face every day are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement. Our willingness to own and engage with our vulnerability determines the depth of our courage and the clarity of our purpose; the level to which we protect ourselves from being vulnerable is a measure of our fear and disconnection.

“When we spend our lives waiting until we’re perfect or bulletproof before we walk into the arena, we ultimately sacrifice relationships and opportunities that may not be recoverable, we squander our precious time, and we turn our backs on our gifts, those unique contributions that only we can make.
“Perfect and bulletproof are seductive, but they don’t exist in the human experience. We must walk into the arena, whatever it may be – a new relationship, an important meeting, our creative process, or a difficult family conversation – with courage and the willingness to engage. Rather than sitting on the sidelines and hurling judgment and advice, we must dare to show up and let ourselves be seen. This is vulnerability. This is daring greatly.”  - Brene Brown, Daring Greatly

Take a minute and ponder: What makes you afraid to be vulnerable?

"They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way." - Mark 10:46-52

Take a minute and ponder: Where do we as a Cathedral most need healing?

When I ask myself the question "Why am I afraid to be vulnerable?" at the top of the list is REJECTION. It's a scary word and it's a big fear.  I'm afraid that I will show a piece of myself, something that's raw and real, and other people -- maybe even people whose opinion I really value and whose love I really want -- will laugh or ridicule or even just disagree with me in a way that will play old tapes in my head about my own unlovableness and unworthiness.

I love the story of Bartimaeus because there is so much going on here ... and the first thing that is happening is courage.

Bartimaeus dares to be vulnerable. He shouts to this hotshot rabbi, Jesus -- HEY! I'M OVER HERE! HELP ME!  And then his worst fear (OK, maybe it isn't his but it would be mine) happens --- he gets rejected. The disciples say "Sit down and shut up, Bartimaeus!"

But Bartimaeus has got it going on, and we hear that he cried out even more loudly. That's Daring GREATLY! And Jesus LOVES it. And he tells these same disciples that had been sneering at Bartimaeus to bring him into the very center of the community. And Bartimaeus goes all in -- he throws off his cloak, not hiding a thing -- and goes to Jesus.

And then Jesus asks Bartimaeus one of the most amazing questions in all of scripture.

What do you want me to do for you?

Just imagine if Jesus walked up to you and said:

"What do you want me to do for you?" 

Not in an Aladdin/Three Wishes kind of way, but looking deep in your eyes and inviting you to name your deepest wound. For me, it would be the ultimate approach/avoidance situation -- I can have my deepest brokenness healed, but first I have to admit it -- to Christ and to myself.

And Bartimaeus tells Jesus his heart's desire "My teacher, let me see again." And when we tell someone our heart's desire, we put our heart in their hand and give them the potential for throwing it on the ground and grinding it under their heel. But of course that's not what Jesus does ... he says "Go. Your faith has made you well" ... and Bartimaeus not only regains his sight but, maybe even more significantly, he becomes part of this community that just minutes before had been telling him to shut up and stay begging by the side of the road.

There is a link between vulnerability and healing. As followers of Jesus, we know this. We know this because the ultimate instance of power and the doorway to the resurrection is the ultimate instance of vulnerability ... Christ nailed to the cross.

The healing power of Christ is available to each and all of us -- but we have to walk through that doorway of vulnerability first. We have to name our brokenness and risk -- and sometimes even suffer -- rejection.

Where do we need healing at Christ Church Cathedral? Last night at Chapter we named several things -- internal disagreements about budget and mission, old conflicts that still fester, impatience, and our budget and finances themselves (which I know I often describe in medical terms as "hemorrhaging money.").

Where do we need healing in our lives? In our own struggles with addiction? In (in the beautiful words of the Ash Wednesday litany) "our anger at our own frustration?" In our fear? In our feelings of inadequacy, unlovability and unworthiness?

Brene Brown says: "Vulnerability is not weakness, and the uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure we face every day are not optional. Our only choice is a question of engagement."

Bartimaeus enagaged. Bartimaeus dared greatly. He cried out to Jesus, risked and braved rejection, flung off his cloak and spoke the truth of his deepest pain and his heart's desire.

Our ability to receive the healing power of Christ's love is up to us. And our only choice is a question of engagement.

An invitation to a Holy Lent -- Face to Face

I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church,

to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance;
by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by

reading and meditating on God's holy Word. 

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of our Lenten journey that will culminate with our gathering at the foot of the cross on Good Friday and, ultimately, rejoicing at the empty tomb on Easter Sunday morning.

We begin this journey with ashes on our head as a reminder that every one of us will die but that God's love for us will never die. The ashes we place on our forehead today at noon and 6 pm at Christ Church Cathedral are reminders we are free to be completely unafraid of anything, even death, because our lives are built on a foundation that is even stronger than death -- the love of God in Jesus Christ.

Like everything else in our Christian journey, we never do this alone -- always together. 

We are calling our Lenten journey this year "Face to Face." Throughout the 40 days we will be looking each other in the face both as a Cathedral community and as a wider St. Louis community. We will strive to see each other as we truly are. To have the real conversation. To speak our own truths and listen deeply to each others'. To live our mission of "embracing diversity joyfully" by facing each other in all our difference and daring to be vulnerable with and even love each other enough to give ourselves for one another.

We're offering many ways to take part in this Face to Face journey through Lent:

Faces in the Nave - In addition to seeing each other's faces in worship, we will spend Lent with other faces. Cbabi Bayoc's faces of African-American fathers and their children in his "365 Days with Dad" will continue to grace the Cathedral Nave. In addition, throughout Lent the Cathedral Nave will host a display of "Faces Not Forgotten" -- these are portraits on handkerchiefs of young people who have been killed by guns here in St. Louis. We will be looking at these images of God throughout Lent and considering how their ongoing witness is calling us.

40 Essential Bible Passages - Every day during Lent, someone from our Cathedral or downtown community will share a Bible passage that is essential to their lives and why in a 2-3 minute video on our YouTube Channel and our Facebook and Twitter accounts. It's a great way to see a new face every day and hear the diversity of ways scripture is shaping our lives. Click here to see our Digital Missioner Brendan O'Connor kick this off with Ruth 1:16-17. 

Lent Unedited --An online Lenten discipline of being real with each other, showing our messiness and

imperfections with one another -- unedited, unfiltered, imperfect -- and letting the grace of community and the grace of God shine into our darkness and joy. To join, every day (or whenever you remember) post an unedited, real moment of your life on Facebook or Twitter with the hashtag #lentunedited. You can join the Facebook group by clicking here. This is the inspiration of the Rev. Hopie Welles Jernagan of St. Peter's, Ladue.

The Real Conversation  - From 1 - 4:30 pm, Saturday, Feb 28, the Rev. Jennifer Baskerville-Burrows, director of networking for the Diocese of Chicago, will enlighten and equip us in:

    *learning to build relationships even while discussing difficult topics such as race and class               
    *exploring recent events as opportunities for organizing for change.

    *learning to create more authentic communities of faith by listening, learning and communicating well.

There is a $10 per person suggested donation to cover expenses. Please RSVP by clicking here. 

Why Protest: Worship and Conversation About The Movement:  -- On Sunday, March 8, the Rev. Traci Blackmon will be our guest preacher at 10 am and following the service at noon she will be joined by three other faces of the Ferguson protest movement -- Alexis Templeton, Brittany Ferrell and Deray McKesson for a community listening session around three questions:

*WHY Protest -- what is driving the protests?

*Why PROTEST - why choose this method of expression?

*How can everyone get involved in The Movement?

More opportunities will be offered as we move through this season. But one of the best "face to face" Lenten disciplines is to take the time to sit down with someone you don't know very well, maybe someone of a different racial, ethnic, economic, political or theological background than you. Look each other in the face, seek the beloved image of God on each other, and let yourselves be challenged by one another. Once a day, every day, try truly to see a new face - so when we gather at the cross and the empty tomb we have a stronger sense of the deep ways we are connected by God's love in Christ.

I'm looking forward to this journey together.

The "right question" about Bishop Cook and alcohol

I always try to look for the right question.

The right question can lead us down incredible paths of discovery.

The right question can be the first step in breaking decades-long cycles of dysfunction.

The right question can get us into all sorts of trouble … trouble we both fear and desperately need.

The right question is everything.

Since Maryland Suffragan Bishop Heather Cook tragically killed cyclist Thomas Palermo while driving with a blood alcohol level well over the legal limit, all sorts of questions have been asked.

There have been questions about Bishop Cook and her judgment and whether or not she is an alcoholic.

There have been questions about the bishop election process in Maryland and what information should have been disclosed to the electing convention.

There have even been theological questions about the nature of sin and forgiveness.

I have seen countless articles and Facebook posts since that terrible afternoon asking all sorts of questions … good and valid questions. But I have yet to see what I believe is the “right question” … the question I tremble to ask. The question that convicts us all - myself included.

What does this say about us? What does this say about the family system of the Episcopal Church?

I don’t have to dig too deeply in my own reaction to this tragedy to hit my own utter lack of surprise. Not because I know Bishop Cook – I’ve never met her. But because I know my Episcopal Church.

I know that my own Diocese of Missouri had an active alcoholic as a bishop when I first arrived here as a college student in 1986. His name is Bill Jones. I know there was an intervention done at the end of his tenure and that he lives now in courageous long-term recovery but that our diocese has never truly addressed his alcoholism – or the systems of dysfunction that led us to call him, sustained him and did not magically disappear when he left office.

I know that our own Christ Church Cathedral was serving alcohol at Chapter meetings when I arrived here. I know that consumption of alcohol was a central part not just of Cathedral social events but committee meetings. I also know that when we brought Dale Kuhn from Care and Counseling in to do two sessions with the Chapter and two more with the congregation on the topic of addiction and family systems, there was a great deal of pushback and some people left the congregation.

I know that until we named the power of addiction and family systems head on, the three hallmarks of an alcoholic family system – don’t talk, don’t trust, don’t feel – eerily described a Cathedral congregation that even today still struggles with communications and trust issues and where feelings were often expressed in unpredictable, triangulating and inappropriate ways.

I know that any progress we have made has been from naming our dysfunction and by embracing alternate and healthier ways of being. I also know that we still have a long way to go.

I know that a year ago, I helped preside at the funeral of my friend, the Rev. Doug Nissing. Doug was a brilliant and charismatic priest. He was a loving partner to his husband, Dan. He died at age 52 --literally drinking himself to death. (Hear the Rev. Susie Skinner's excellent truth-telling sermon at his funeral here.)

I know that my experience of General Convention in 2000, 2003 and 2006 was that I had never seen so much alcohol consumed outside of a fraternity house in my life – and that I participated in that consumption. That is was easy to participate. That it was expected to participate. That it was unthinkable to me not to.

I don’t have to dig too deeply in my own reaction to this tragedy to hit my own utter lack of surprise. If I'm honest, the question I ask myself isn't "how could this happen" but rather "how has this not happened more?" Or maybe even, "how many times has this happened that we don't know about?"

Systems exist to perpetuate themselves. It is a natural part of how human beings function in community. In an alcoholic family system, there is often one “active” alcoholic who is the focal point for the dysfunction … but everyone in the system participates in it and has a role in sustaining it.

When the alcoholic is discovered – perhaps through a tragic event like this – the temptation is to make her the “identified patient.” It's not about us. It's about Heather. It's about Bill. It's about Doug. Their own obvious culpability makes it easy for the rest of us to say that they are outliers  … they are the problem … and not ask the hard but right question. Not ask the question that makes us tremble. Not ask the question that convicts us all.

The right question is everything. And the right question is this:

What does this say about us?

What does this say about the family system of the Episcopal Church?

I believe our church is an addicted family system. That should be no surprise since our entire culture is an addicted family system. We are addicted not just to alcohol and drugs but to pornography and media and even the dopamine hit we get when we check if someone has liked our Facebook status.

And one thing we know about addictions … we will use every power of rationalization and misdirection we have to defend them, because we are convinced we need them and it terrifies us to the core to have them named and challenged. They are in every way the anti-Christ. They are a power counter to Christ to which we give power every bit as profoundly as we promise to give Jesus. And there is no way we can give our lives to Christ fully as long as they have us in their grasp.

But the good news is we are people of Jesus Christ. And we are people who put our whole trust in Jesus' grace and love. And we are people who believe in Jesus' saving power. And so we are people who need not fear any question -- no matter how deeply it convicts us. On the contrary, we are people who must welcome the hardest and most convicting of questions, the questions that reveal the deepest truths, for we truly believe the truth shall set us free.

There are many questions that Bishop Cook’s killing of Thomas Palermo raises. Good questions. Hard questions. Technical questions. Theological questions.

But I believe there is one question we must ask ourselves if we want a chance to prevent this from happening again … as assuredly it has happened before.

What does this say about us ... all of us? What does this say about the family system of the Episcopal Church?

What do you think?

For an excellent book on addicted family systems and the church read "So You Think You Don't Know One" by Chilton Knudsen and Nancy Van Dyke Platt. 

CCC in crisis: A Gospel awakening we will not waste.

“Never let an economic crisis go to waste.” – The Rt. Rev. Greg Rickel, Bishop of Olympia.

Bishop Rickel preached these words on my first Flower Sunday at Christ Church Cathedral in 2009. They were true then. They are true today.

Economic crisis has led us into mission before. Economic crisis led us to partnering with Lafayette Preparatory Academy these past two years, generating nearly $70,000 in annual income and making us contributors in the battle for education equality in St. Louis.

Two Sundays ago, Junior Warden Urlene Branch shared that – even with the income from LPA – Christ Church Cathedral faces a deficit exceeding $150,000 for 2015. Even after all our efforts – generous giving of Cathedral members, more than 100 people and $15,000 in the first year of Friends of Christ Church Cathedral, and the fair-market-value rental of the Bishop Tuttle Memorial Building – we are still in economic crisis.

The time has come to explore new options for sustaining
the old buildings that are increasingly becoming an
unbearable burden for the Cathedral congregation.

In December, your Chapter identified four essential realities:

*Christ Church Cathedral cannot continue to function as it has. Pledging and building income can’t make up this deficit. Endowment draw is already on the high end of recommended. Money reserved from the Pope Bequest for program and staff is nearly exhausted.

*The Cathedral congregation is healthy but overburdened. We are growing in health and numbers … particularly with people in their 20s and 30s. Current staffing is inadequate for growth or even maintenance at current levels. Cutting further is not an option for growth.

*The biggest piece of the burden is our buildings. We have two enormous buildings with decades of deferred maintenance that are increasingly expensive to maintain. The nearly $120,000 we had to spend replacing the Cathedral HVAC system this fall is undoubtably just the beginning of what these buildings require.

*The Cathedral as an institution is an increasingly vital part of civic life. We have relationships of mutual respect and are a source of unity and a force for the common good throughout the region. Our profile is as high and positive as it has been in decades.

Based on these realities the Cathedral Chapter believes the congregation will never thrive and will inevitably decline as long as it is charged with the maintenance of the Cathedral and BTM. In fact, we will continue to decline, eat into endowment and close if the status quo is maintained. 

This is not bad news. This is Good News. Economic crisis has led us into mission before ... and it will once again. That the status quo is unsustainable is a gift because it opens us up to new opportunities to be the church in the city in transformative ways. It opens us up to possibilities of partnership for mission beyond what we have previously imagined.

Our challenge and opportunity as we look toward the 150th anniversary of the dedication of Christ Church Cathedral in 2017 is this:

How do we restructure Christ Church Cathedral to be a thriving presence of the Gospel and force for the common good in St. Louis for generations to come?

After naming these realities, in December, Chapter unanimously passed this resolution:

Resolved, the Chapter of Christ Church Cathedral authorizes the senior warden, treasurer and Dean to meet with Bishop Smith to explore new options regarding the structure of Christ Church Cathedral as congregation and institution to ensure its long-term sustainability and impact.

This initial conversation will happen in the next week or so. There are models out there in the wider church that can help us, and we have people throughout the region -- Episcopalian and non-Episcopalian alike -- who recognize the value and potential of Christ Church Cathedral who are able to be (and some who have already offered to be) a part of this exploration.

Our belief is we can create a new structure for Christ Church Cathedral that will enable the congregation to continue to thrive and grow in the Cathedral home it loves ... and that will enable the wider diocese and St. Louis region to bring their broad resources to bear in creating and realizing a new vision for the Cathedral and Bishop Tuttle Memorial Building that both contributes to making our neighborhood and the region better and is financially sustainable for decades to come.

Working with Bishop Smith and others on this task will be my primary focus as Dean for 2015. The work that Chapter is wrapping up on the strategic plan for the Cathedral congregation will be essential not only for the mission growth of the congregation but in providing a framework for this exploration -- whatever new structure we create will have to support the mission of the church. We are before anything a people called to bring ourselves and the world into deeper relationship with God and each other in Jesus Christ.

There will be many opportunities to talk about this ... beginning with our annual meeting Eucharist at 10 am on Sunday, January 18. I hope you will be there.

It's important to note we have lots of company in this struggle. As society transitions from Christendom to post-Christendom (read the Bishop's convention address about this here), the grand buildings that were the hallmarks of the success of mainline Protestantism are both deteriorating and left to far fewer (and less-monied) people to maintain. We are not alone in this struggle. In fact, we can be not only a partner but a leader in helping the wider church be reborn for new generations to come.

We are in crisis at Christ Church Cathedral. But this is not bad news. In fact it is a Gospel awakening and an exciting call into the future. And we will not let it go to waste.