Why this trip?
Going on a religious pilgrimage to Israel was never really a priority for me. I have a vivid imagination and the stories of the bible lift off the page and find form inside my head. So whenever anyone asked if I would go I politely said no or changed the subject. After 18 months of dialogue with christian ministers and jewish rabbis I was offered a chance to go on a trip sponsored by the JCRC (Jewish Community Relations Council) of San Francisco. This would be a trip with civic leaders trying to find out more about the social and political life of modern Israel. I am going to write about that more fully in a later post, but for now I wanted to say that, if I was in doubt about the benefits of saying yes to this trip, the first full day laid them to rest. Stories that wound and heal Over 18 months I have been thinking about my christian faith through the lens of discussions with local Rabbis. Our Jewish hosts came with us to the church of the Holy Sepulcher. This was incredibly moving. How do we tell the story of Jesus death? How is it heard by others? What does it sound like to Jewish friends and colleagues when they hear us reading the stories that say they killed Jesus? For me the story of the death and resurrection of Jesus is about how we can all fall victim to the temptations of power, and the cross itself provides a critique of power itself. But to Jewish ears it often feels like an accusation, still, after 2000 years. I talked to one of our Jewish leaders, Abby, and to Rabbi Doug on the steps of the church. It was a moment that I will remember for years to come. Precious beliefs for one group can be damaging to others if not understood and contextualized carefully. Power in Israel Half way through our tour of the Old City and Christian sites we took a detour to the Shalom Hartman institute for a lecture on the conflict in modern day Israel. Dr Micah Goodman opened by telling us that we didn't have time to be polite, that the conflict was so urgent we had to ask him direct questions. "Don't worry about being rude," he said, "there is no such concept in Israel." The presentation was from an undeniably Jewish perspective, but it was honest and vulnerable. It raised many questions for me and our speaker was a brave and imaginative thinker and addressed many questions in the course of his talk. It was the best presentation about the conflict I have heard to date. In essence Dr Goodman talked about power, it's use and abuse. The Jewish people had been powerless for much of their history, this had led them to acquire a deep seated fear of persecution that has often been realized Now they had a degree of power in a nation state, what were they to do with it? How might they balance a need for self-defense with a desire to respect all human life? Dr Goodman told us that the fear is not generated by the violence of Palestinian protest, but amplified by it. As the Israeli people defend themselves the methods they use are humiliating to the Palestinian people. Ancient Egypt was a powerful metaphor in Dr Goodman's talk: how do we leave Egypt (become free from slavery and persecution), without becoming Egypt? Fear leads to humiliation and humiliation to violence which feeds the fear. This cycle feels impossible to resolve. Dr Goodman hoped that in time the Jewish people might reflect on what it means to move from powerlessness to authority whilst fully recognizing the right of the Palestinian people to self-determination. He hoped that successive generations may find new ways to conceptualize a peace that can move beyond the cycle of violence. Final Thoughts So in my busy day of prayer, discussion and personal reflection I encountered two narratives in which precious truths for one group could become oppressive to another. The cross of Christ is a symbol of sacrifice and powerlessness that has been used as a weapon to abuse the Jewish people in the darkest moments of our history. That being said, I love it: it shapes my faith, and it helps me to analyze and understand the use and abuse of power, but we must be careful with it. Applied carelessly the lessons of the cross can create more pain, not healing. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict starts with a desire for safety, and becomes a cycle of retribution. The desire for safety is understandable, but the cycle perpetuates is destructive to all involved. I wish I had more wisdom than I do to offer about the experiences of my day. The only thing I have to offer is gratitude that the juxtaposition of these experiences created space for new insights. As the day ended I was also reminded of our episcopal approach to irreconcilable differences. When things look impossible to solve, when we have a situation in which one person has to lose for another to win, our episcopal faith invites us to try and look for a third way forward. I hope we can find it. The Last Stop of the Day. At the very end of the day, suffering from the spiritual indigestion I mentioned above, we made one final stop at the Western Wall. I wrote my prayers down on a piece of paper and folded it up, posting the paper into a crack in the wall, I prayed. It was remarkable, I felt unselfconscious, not even noticing one of our hosts taking a photo. The wall, it's great age, and the thoughts of my day made a heady combination. putting my hand and forehead on the wall my prayers flowed free and sweet, I felt at peace.
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The Tour
"Today we visit the place of Christ's death, burial, resurrection and then later the Garden of Gethsemane." Yishai, our tour guide made my heart sink. I would encounter these holy sites for the first time in 'tour mode' spending fragmented periods at each. I wanted each to be special and meet my expectations, not a 15 minute hop off and on the bus again. But perhaps this was gift I told myself. Left to my own planning I would be wracked with indecision about where to go, when and for how long. At least someone else was making those choices. So we jumped in, the first stop of the day was a vantage point from which you could see the whole city, I rather self consciously said some prayers. I wanted to pray at each site, and yet I didn't know the other tour participants well, so the prospect of spending a day moving through sacred spaces exploring my faith alongside strangers was daunting. I think I withdrew inside myself in order to make the day work. My prayer was halting, but it happened, I used some of the Psalms of Ascent as a framework, they helped. We moved quickly through the sites, and as we did I realized that I was more familiar with the movement than I thought. It was like the stations of the cross that I have known and loved for years. I was visiting these places for the first time, but I had been here before, in my imagination, and I had already spent plenty of time at each. Did it really happen here? There is some debate about the death and resurrection of Jesus took place. We were visiting the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the traditional site of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus for 6 streams of Christianity. It is not certain that this is the site. Our guide invited us to suspend the need for a precise explanation and instead ask what these sites means to the millions of pilgrims that have visited here. Walking down the stone streets of Jerusalem on the way to the church Yishai asked if I was Roman Catholic. We talked about my faith journey for a bit. We were about to arrive at the church of the Holy Sepulcher, he suggested that I take time to go to the Garden Tomb if I could. He seemed to read my reticence and recognized that I was looking for some silence and solitude. We would have no time to visit this alternate site on our tour, but I had booked to be in Jerusalem for 5 days after the official tour finished. More on the reasons for that in another blog entry, but for now, I realized that I would have time to revisit these sites later, and to visit other sites, such as the Garden Tomb. Remembering this helped me see my first day as an 'orientation' rather than a pilgrimage in itself. By the end of they day I would tell some of the other group participants that I was experiencing spiritual indigestion from having seen so many holy places in such a short time. There was no time to process what I was experiencing at each one. I was to discover that this would be a theme for the whole trip. Well I am tired. It is 11:58pm in Jerusalem, 1:58pm in the Bay Area, and we have been on a 14 hour direct flight. In case you were wondering what a 14 hour flight feels like: It feels like sitting in a seat that is slightly too small and pretending to sleep, for 14 hours. Also there were lots of families on our flight and very engaged Israeli dads juggling what seemed like unfeasible numbers of children. To their credit the children seemed to get that crying was ok for hours 1 and 2 and then again 13 and 14, but that it would be less tolerated in the middle!
When we got here our perennially cheerful tour leader Abby Porth, of whom I am sure I will write more later, corralled us on to a bus. I wondered if this was going to be tough with a range of self starter civic leaders all ready to head out in their own directions. Then I realized, we had all led things like this before and knew how tough it could be. No one caused Abby any trouble at all. On the bus, our Israeli tour guide Jesse, pronounced Issay, produced an instant sense of wellbeing in my tired self. It felt like we were going to be looked after by someone who understood his role and would carry it out with charm and humor. On the 45 minute drive from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem Jesse popped up from time to time to give us bits and bobs of information. They were scrambling to make up time as our flight had been 45 minutes delayed, but you would barely have noticed. One of his monologues included a reflection on "Earthliness vs Heavenliness". 'Earthliness' included the following: this drive is 45 minutes long, drink plenty of water, when we get to the hotel there is check in followed by a snack, breakfast is at 7:30am. 'Heavenliness' reminded us that: people come to this city because of dreams, they come here and are full of emotion and passion, Jerusalem is like many other places, and unlike any other place. His talk reminded me of the many pilgrims who had made there way here over the millennia. I was different and similar. Different as I was on an air conditioned coach driving rough the night to the holy city, not walking with a band of pilgrims up a hill. Similar because I am searching for something, and hoping that this group of civic leaders will form a community over the next 10 days and this civic tour will become sacred in its own way. I decided to read the first three psalms of ascent: Psalm 120, 121 and 122. I love these psalms and my vivid imagination can take me back to the time when the tribes would gather in the foothills around Jerusalem before a holy day and ascend the mountain together singing these songs. The first is a reminder to call for peace, even when everyone else is calling for war. The second asks us to look for our help in these hills, where we will also find the presence of God. The third says it is good that we should go to the house of the Lord and reminds us to pray for Jerusalem as we cross its border. Even in the coach, at night, it felt right to contemplate those thoughts. So I am here. I wonder what this trip will bring. Tomorrow will come soon enough. Bed time now. A guest blog entry written for the Society of Laprascopic Surgeons.
A strong, healthy looking young man walked into the ER complaining of a bad asthma attack. A friend of mine, Peter, who had recently qualified as a nurse was part of the team that cared for him. They did everything they could, but his asthma attack had progressed too far and fast and he had waited too long to seek help. Despite valiant efforts by the team he died. Peter felt like he had hit a wall of grief and guilt. It was a stark moment for him. That night he went home and sank into a warm bath, crying about what he had witnessed. Just a young priest at the time I did not know what to say to Peter when he told me the story. I sat with him quietly as he talked about his experience and how it had made him feel. He wondered whether he could have done more. He felt guilty. He remembered the patient being about his own age, and looking strong when he walked in to the ER. He could not believe the fact that a few hours later he was dead. I didn’t know what to say at the time so I just listened. Looking back, I hope Peter knew the following as he reflected on this young mans death. I offer these reflections to you also. Do Your Best You have been given skills and training that make you the practitioner you are, do your best with those gifts. That is all that can be asked of you. Your skill as a healer is what your patient needs, so apply it with all of your energy. On occasion it is not going to be enough, but do all you can. Remember Your Team You are part of a team and your whole team works together to heal patients. In Peter’s case, no one person was responsible for the loss, and no one could have stopped it. If we take personal responsibility for saving every life we encounter it will create an impossible burden for us to bear. Share the load of work with your team and share the load of emption when a patient dies with someone who will listen carefully, a priest, pastor, therapist or rabbi. Remember you are part of a team that extends beyond the walls of the OR. There are chaplains and social workers, family and friends who all contribute to the healing of patients. Learn to recognize the gifts of each and see yourself as a part of a whole. It is in community that we care for the sick. It is also in community that we can receive healing ourselves when we encounter loss. Let Your Role Carry Some of the ‘Weight’ You are a surgeon, so become fluent in understanding your ‘role’. Be aware of the capacity and limitations of your role and let your role carry some of the weight of the difficult choices you must face. The role you occupy has a standard of practice associated with it; you had to train to enter into it, and you know what you are meant to do when you occupy it. When I walk into a traumatic pastoral situation I always remember that I am walking in as a priest. I am not just Matthew Woodward, a friendly, slightly dippy guy who wants people to feel good. I may have to hear things that are hard to hear, or say things that are difficult to say, so I need to remember my role and listen and speak as a priest. You may think I am detaching somewhat and hiding behind my role, but it is not insensitive or dismissive to say that I am being a priest when a priest is what is needed. A surgeon is what is needed in the OR. If I didn’t acknowledge my role and let it carry some of the weight I would be crushed by the responsibility. So, I contemplate what it means to be in my role every day when I put on my clerical collar. Take a moment to do that; contemplate what it means to be a surgeon every time you start a shift, when you put on your scrubs, or when you step into the OR. Be mindful of it and let your role carry some of the weight of what it is you have to do. Recap What is the alternative to these three suggestions? Well, you might think that you are personally responsible for every life you encounter, you may imagine that you are solely responsible for every healthcare choice that someone else makes, and you could imagine you have the capacity to bend the laws of nature and make impossible outcomes occur. But none of that is real… In order to avoid crashing into a wall of grief and guilt I recommend you get to know who you are and embrace your limitations; know what your role is; know who your team are; and, always do best with your skill and training. Having said all of this, difficult moments will still take place: not every patient survives. The most important thing I can recommend when that happens? Be gentle with yourself and try to find someone at the end of the day that will listen to you as you tell him or her how you feel. The Rev. Matthew Woodward leads Transfiguration Episcopal Church in San Mateo, California. He is originally from the UK and over the years has tried to learn to listen more than speak when people are telling him how they feel. http://www.transfig-sm.org On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women who had come with Jesus from Galilee came to the tomb. Luke 24:1
I have been known to overthink things. How about you? We have been singing the song, ‘Guide my Feet’ and posting pictures on Facebook and on the front cover of our announcement sheets. Each time we sang, each picture we posted, each cover we printed was a request. We were asking God to guide us, as a community, as families, as individuals. So where were we asking Him to take us? Was it into a renewed vision of Transfiguration as a community of faithful service? Was it to guide us as individuals through the rocky places of a difficult life transition? Was it into some new understanding of faith? Where were we asking God to guide us? And what is more important to me on this Tuesday afternoon in mid-Lent when I have a ton of deadlines to hit: how are we going to turn that into a theme for Easter!? Well, like I said, I can overthink things. When I sat down to read the Easter Gospel I found it right there in the first line. There were some women who were grieving the loss of Jesus. They did not know what to do next, so they did what a wise friend and Alcoholics Anonymous retreat leader once told me. In their agitation and doubt they asked God to give them, ‘the next right thought and show them the next right action.’ It turns out their next thought was to try and embalm Jesus, to show his mortal remains compassion and care. Forget the fact that there was a stone in the way, forget that his body was under guard, forget that it was impossible. Just do the next right thing. So guided by God they set their feet on the path to the tomb, ‘on the first day of the week, at early dawn’. How wonderful and pregnant with meaning is that phrase? They were about to walk into the unknown, on a new day, at the start of a new week, at dawn. During this Lent I found myself getting up regularly before dawn and going for a walk during which I would pray. I didn’t realize it was a pattern until halfway through Lent, it just felt right. I would pray for all of you, and pray for guidance in my role as priest and in my life in general. At first getting up before dawn and going out was an accident, then after a while it became a practice. I would want to see that sunrise and contemplate the start of a new day just as the day was beginning. During Lent we have also been talking about how to celebrate our vigil service on Easter Day and I realized that I just had a yearning to fulfill the words of that Gospel and gather with anyone who was willing ‘on the first day of the week, at early dawn.’ Where have I found God guiding my feet? Into the dawn, into hopefulness, into beginnings, into life. I have walked with some of you who were in pain during this season, some of you are grieving, some of you are searching for faith, some of you are uncertain about the future. A few of you even got up to walk with me at dawn. So welcome to the path that God has led us on together. Join me at dawn this Easter, if you can, and if not physically then join me in the metaphorical dawn that the text guides us to. Let’s walk into a new day together. Love, Matthew+ So here is the quote I am responding to this morning:
"Soul work is not a high road. It's a deep fall into an unforgiving darkness that won't let you go until you find the song that sing you home." - McCall Ericsson.com It was posted by my friend Regan O'Callaghan on his artists Facebook page. I read it, and instinctively loved it - because I love all of that darkness diving stuff, and I am searching for my song, and sometimes I think I find it. I think that trying to speak to a community about faith in the form of a sermon is like singing for me. Which leads me to the second quote I saw and am responding to this morning: "People have an idea that the preacher is an actor on a stage and they are critics, blaming or praising him/her. What they don't know is that they are the actors on the stage; he [the preacher] is merely the prompter standing in the wings, reminding them of their lost lines." - Søren Kierkegaard I preached at a wedding on Saturday and a baptism on Sunday - people were kind, they praised me, saying that I moved them and that was great, a boost to my ego, which is all to often fragile. Then reading this quote in the afternoon on Sunday was a really grounding experience for me. The sermon is not for my ego and is not a performance, but in most cases it is simply this: a reminder of what you already know in your heart. I rarely say anything new, because as Ecclesiastes reminds us, there is nothing new under the sun. To go back to the metaphor of 'the song that sings you home' - I want to believe that at best I am able to tap into some well used themes in a fresh way that resonates for a moment. Now this blog post is turning into a - wow, how deep and profound I am, so I need to get to my conclusion. I loved reading Regan's quote this morning - but as I read it I reflected on what my morning actually looked like. This morning 'Soul Work' didn't feel like a deep dive into the profound, it felt like a desperate scramble to climb out of the pit of my bed, get showered and pretend that I can do this priest thing. I loved the wedding and Baptism and young adult dinner club yesterday evening - but much driving and thinking and speaking left me tired and depleted. Soul work is hard sometimes. This work is unfinished for me. The birdsong drifting in from the garden is helping! Primates Communique from Canterbury Jan 14 2016
As a gay man and a priest, originally from the Church of England and now in the Episcopal Church, I know what it has felt like to be marginalized. The fact that the whole Episcopal Church has been 'suspended' because it decided to stand with LGBT laity, deacons, priests and bishops, and to wrestle with how to extend the sacrament of marriage to same sex couples makes me feel even more a part of this church. We can stand together on the margins - knowing that perhaps Jesus is standing there with us inviting us to hope, reconciliation and expressions of both romantic and unconditional love that are full of integrity. When I was on my CREDO conference last year, trying to nourish my spiritual, vocational and physical being I learned the importance of margins.
We have often been taught that boundaries are important in pastoral ministry, making sure you don’t mix up the role of priest, friend, manager and leader. But most people know and acknowledge that it is almost impossible to keep all of these things clearly boundaried and be a human being in community and connected to other people genuinely. So another concept is being explored by many – it is the concept not of ‘boundary’ but of ‘margin’. A margin is not a ‘wall’ – but rather space, on the edge of things, where we can contemplate the interrelatedness of everything. We don’t manage good relationships by building walls, we managed them by making sure that we are not overwhelmed, that we have created spaces to think and reconnect with our own inner life, and to reflect on each interaction we have on a daily basis. One of my favorite boundaries is having a good long walk or run in the morning, sometimes in the evening. It is a time to think about the day past and the day ahead, and to reflect on my many relationships. Find a margin today, and give yourself time to think. Love Matthew+ "I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ." Philippians 1:6
This was a verse given to me at either my baptism or confirmation, I cannot quite remember, I will have to dig into the boxes in the garage to find the forms that will tell me. It is not that important when it was given, but I have found myself thinking about the verse over and over again recently. The translation I used above uses the word 'among' to describe the location of God's work - there are other translations that render this 'in' - the one suggests that the work of God is undertaken in community, the other that it takes place primarily within the life of an individual. You can ponder that for a moment as I say that I am not actually so concerned with where the work is taking place, as I am with the fact that the verse suggests it is unfinished. There is a suggestion that work has begun, and is well underway, but it isn't finished yet. It speaks to the impatience of the person or group being worked on, and our desire to be 'finished'. The text may even make us long for that moment of completion even more. But for me, right now, as I read it today, it is encouraging patience. There is a day on which I will be finished, and on that day, the day of Jesus Christ, I will fully understand what all the fuss and struggle was about, but that is not this day. I am not sure when the day of Jesus Christ is exactly - but I am pretty sure it isn't today. I am moving towards it, I am being guided by a divine hand, and sometimes I feel it is almost here, but then I am reminded that I am not finished, and there is still a way to go. I don't think I am ever quite going to be finished here on earth. I think there may be a great danger in assuming that I might be. The Rev. Anders Bergquist, who led my diaconal ordination retreat warned us fresh faced ordinands that 'people are never finished', and that this would be supremely frustrating in pastoral ministry. So much so that we may even try to avoid people and focus on projects in parish life that can give us a sense of completion. He encouraged us to stay with the unfinished. To work with the intermediate, to be present in the mess and to avoid trying to create artificial finality. I am not finished... I am pretty sure that one day I will be, but until then, I am going to work on being happy in the experiment of my daily living. It has been a long week, and I am pausing on my day off to try and absorb what has been happening, and particularly the desire to close our borders to those in need in the face of fear over terrorist attacks.
In re-watching some of the coverage this week I found myself wondering about the French in Paris last Friday night and how so many opened their doors to strangers who were in need of shelter. I wonder if they asked the people at the door to pass some test in order to be let in whilst gunmen were shooting in the streets? This week France has engaged in air strikes against Daesh targets - and I don't know quite what I think about that, but I do know that their commitment to the 30,000 refugees who they already agreed to take has been encouraging. So if we want to know what we should do for those who are fleeing violence and asking us for shelter - I am pretty content to follow the Parisian example: #PortOuvert |
Matthew WoodwardFrom the UK, Matthew loved US culture from the first time he picked up a Fantastic Four Comic when he was 12. Archives
March 2020
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