Jamie Parsley's Blog, page 79
May 26, 2014
May 19, 2014
Some of Fr. Jamie's weird personal rules regarding priest-parishioner relationships
I recently had a newer member of St. Stephen’s ask me a question: why don’t you Facebook friend anyone. It seems like everyone has to request you. It was good question to ask. And the answer is an easy one: you are very right. One of my tried and true personal rules is that I never Facebook friend anyone, especially parishioners. Why? Because many people simply do not want a priest (especially their priest) on their Facebook page. And worse, some people might not like some of the things their priest says or posts on Facebook. Of course I don’t post anything inappropriate. But I do give my opinion on Facebook in a way I sometimes do not in sermons or in church. For an extrovert like me, this is sometimes very difficult. I like making friends, and having Facebook friends. I like he open interchange of Facebook. But because I do, I also have to be clear that Facebook friend requests need to be from the parishioner, not from the priest. And in that case, I accept all Facebook friend requests.
A few other weird, personal rules of Fr. Jamie:
Do not expect me to just drop in at your home . One of the first things I was asked when I came to St. Stephen’s was if I just dropped in at people’s homes without calling. I said then (and believed wholeheartedly) that I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
In turn, I do not appreciate drop-in visits at the rectory . Oftentimes, because the rectory if in such close proximity to the church, people feel it is fine that they just drop by the rectory. I have a very strictly rule about that. The same courtesy about unannounced drop-ins runs both ways. I feel unannounced drop-ins violate the privacy of the rectory and tramples on the fact that, yes, your priest does have a life outside the congregation.
Do not expect personal invitations to the rectory from me of social events . I knew a priest at a church I served once who had certain members of the congregation over for drinks of meals at the rectory. Sadly, I was not one of those people who were ever invited. It smacked of favoritism. And it also smacks of inappropriateness. As a result, I never invite individual parishioners to the rectory for social events. I will, of course meet with parishioners there for pastoral reasons (f the church is too busy for a more personal meeting, if he church is too cold in the winter, etc.), always maintaining Safe Church guidelines of course. And more than once I have had parishioners who have simply invited themselves to the Rectory. But the invitation never comes from me. The only people I invite socially to the rectory are friends of mine outside the congregation (Yes, I do have a social life outside of the congregation).
Of course, I also host several Rectory open houses throughout the year so people from the congregation can enjoy the rectory.
I think the only time I have tweaked this particular rule is when I hosted a wedding reception for James our organist and William, his spouse. But then, that of course was also opened to the congregation as well, so that wasn't even really a tweak.
Do not expect invitations from me for any outside social events . Again, this is another hard one for me as an extrovert. I do not ever extend invitations to go to supper, drinks, etc. with any parishioner, though I accept any and all invitations (as long as it works within my schedule) from parishioners themselves. I enjoy going out, whether it be one of the finer establishments in town, or one of the more affordable places. I have never been picky on any place. I do however have a rule not accept more than two invitations in one day. Again, I do have a life outside the church and I try to make sure that not all my social life involves parishioners. The only exception to this rule is the Wednesday night, post-Mass supper, when I feel open invitations are perfect within reason.
I will not store anything from the congregation at the rectory . I have been very firm in this rule. My feeling is that anything stored at the rectory then becomes my responsibility. If it becomes damaged or if there is some kind of water damage, etc. I am the one responsible for moving it and protecting it. Part of the reason I resent storing things at the rectory is because I think there is also some double standard for single clergy over married clergy. Married clergy with family would not normally be asked to store things for the church. But a single clergyperson is because I should be more readily available for such things. It also allows parishioners to have more ready access to the rectory, which I find violates the priest’s privacy. If these arguments usually don’t convince someone, I then simply say that since I pay for my own snow removal and lawn care throughout the year, the congregation does not have a right at this time to ask me to store anything at the Rectory. In the future, if that changes, however, I will still maintain my privacy as a reason for not storing anything.
Living in the Rectory is not always a fun experience. There is truly the sense of living in a fish bowl at times. That is just one of the common issues of living in church property. But for the most part, I enjoy it. I like living in close proximity to the church. I like being available, even in bad weather, to the church building.
Some of these rules might seem strange to some people, but I think keeping clear boundaries in a priest-parishioner relationship is important.
May 18, 2014
May 11, 2014
4 Easter
Good Shepherd SundayMay 11, 2014 John 10.1-10 + This weekend, of course, was an interesting weekend for those of us who watched very closely as our friend, Pastor Mark Strobel, as well as Vanessa and Max with him, went through the emotional gauntlet of the Bishop’s Election of the Lutheran Church of the Easter Synod of North Dakota. I talked several times with Mark this past week, either in person, by text or email, and I saw firsthand what an emotionally grueling experience this has been for him. Most of us surrounded Pastor Mark, Vanessa and Max with our prayers and hopes, and we felt their sadness at not being elected.
Also, this past week many of us remembered the 10thanniversary of the consecration of our own Bishop, Michael Smith. I remember that day very well in my memory.
For us, as Episcopalians, Bishops ARE important. I mean, we are after all, Episcopalians. Our very name tells us we are “governed by bishops.” We place a lot of hope and ideals in our bishops. We long and pray for good and strong Bishops to lead us and guide us. And we know, as Episcopalians, that we NEED Bishops, just as we need priests and deacons and lay leaders in our Church.
I think it’s appropriate that, in the midst of all this activity regarding Bishops, we celebrate then, today, Good Shepherd Sunday. On this Sunday, we pray this wonderful collect in which we recognize Jesus as our Good Shepherd. And, on this Sunday, we encounter this wonderful reading about Jesus being the gate for the sheep. Jesus describes himself as the Gate through which the sheep enter the pastures.
This is probably one of the most perfect images Jesus could have used for the people listening to him. Although they don’t get what he’s saying at first, they certainly would have understood what a good shepherd was and what a bad shepherd was.
The good shepherd was the shepherd who actually cared for his flock. He looked out for them, he watched them. The Good Shepherd guided the flock and led the flock. He guided and led the flock to a place to eat. This is an important aspect of the role of the Good Shepherd.
The Good Shepherd didn’t feed the flock. Rather the good shepherd led the flock to the choicest green pastures and helped them to feed themselves. In this way, the Good Shepherd is more than just a coddling shepherd. He is not the co-dependent shepherd. The Good Shepherd doesn’t take each sheep individually, pick them up, and hand-feed the sheep.
Rather, he guides and prods and leads the sheep to green pastures and allows them feed themselves. The Good Shepherd also protects the flock against the many dangers out there.
If we follow the Good Shepherd, if we allow ourselves to be led by him to the Gate, we find that incredible reward of green pastures awaiting us. And even if we don’t follow, if we stray, we will find him prodding us.
But, with our eyes on the Shepherd, we know that the bad things that happen to us will not destroy us, because the Shepherd is there, close by, watching out for us. We know that in those bad times—those times of darkness when predators close in, when storms rage—he will be there for us.
More importantly the Good Shepherd knows his flock. He knows each of the sheep. If one is lost, he knows it is lost and will not rest until it is brought back into the fold. He will go after that lost sheep.
In our wonderful collect for today, there is this wonderful petition,
“Grant that when we hear his voice, we may know him who calls us each by name…’
This is the kind of relationship we have with Jesus as the Good Shepherd. We know him because he knows us. He knows us and calls us each by our name.
In Jesus, we don’t have some vague, distant God. We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves. We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knows us each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of the flock and goes after us, chasing us down.
Last week I shared with you that wonderful bit from the Rule of St. Benedict about welcoming all people as Christ. Well, the Rule of St. Benedict—that endless source of great practical advice—also has an incredible chapter on the role of an Abbot. An Abbot, of course, is the leader—the parent—of a monastery. But more than that, the way St. Benedict lays it out, the Abbot becomes the embodiment of the Good Shepherd.
In Chapter 64 of the Rule, Benedict writes: Let [the Abbot] recognize that his goal must be to profit the monks, not to be preeminent over them.
And later in that same chapter, we hear this:
Let [the Abbot] not be excitable, anxious, extreme, obstinate, jealous, or overly suspicious, since such a man is never at rest. Instead, he must show forethought and consideration in his orders, and whether the task he assigns concerns God or the world, he should be discerning and moderate, bearing in mind the discretion of holy Jacob, who said: If I drive my flocks too hard, they will all die in a single day (Gen 33:13). Therefore, drawing on this and other examples of discretion, the mother of virtues, he must so arrange everything that the strong have something to yearn for and the weak nothing to flee.
Probably the best summation of this chapter—and role of the Good Shepherd—is this:
Let him strive to be loved rather than feared.
Imagine what the Church would be like all our leaders—not just our Bishops, but all our priests, all our deacons, all of our lay leaders—strived to do just this in the Church? Our Church would be a glorious place!
As Christians, as followers of Jesus the Good Shepherd, we are also called to begood shepherds to those around us. All of us.
All of us who are called to ministry—and we all, as Christians, are ministers and we have each been called, in our own ways—we know that to be truly effective ministers we have to be good shepherds. We should be helping others toward the Gate, and through the Gate into that green pasture. We should be nudging and prodding each other along, in love. And we should be concerned about those who have fallen away, who have been led astray. This is what it means to do ministry.
So, on this day in which we celebrate the Shepherd who leads and guides, let us allow ourselves to be led. And let us lead. On this day that we look to the Shepherd who guides, let us be guided. And let us guide. Let us allow ourselves to be led by that Great Good Shepherd, who brings us to himself, to the very Gate. And there, either led or prodded, leading and prodding others, let us go through the Gate, that goal of our spiritual lives, into that glorious place we have longed for all our existence. And when we are there, in that glorious place, let us rejoice together in our God and in each other. It will be a great day on that day, for there, we will be with the One who not only is aware of us, but knows us and calls us by our very name. Amen.
May 5, 2014
May 4, 2014
April 27, 2014
April 20, 2014
April 19, 2014
April 17, 2014
Maundy Thursday
April 17, 2014Exodus 12.1-14, 1 Corinthians 11.23-26; Psalm 22; John 13.1-17,31b-35
+ I have to admit—and I hate to admit it—but, I haven’t been very spiritual this Holy Week so far. In fact, I’ve found myself a bit distracted. Distracted by physical things, rather than spiritual things. Of course, I’ve still been praying the Offices and being present spiritually for our Maundy Thursday Lots of physical things have been going on here at St. Stephen’s of course.
Of course, we have our new Tenebrae hearse that we introduced last evening, which took some planning. Our remodeling of the undercroft bathroom, of course, continues and may possibly be done by Easter. Our Memorial Garden is coming along and the planning of it is always kind of in my mind right now.
And, in my own life, I have been working very diligently on the final manuscript of my book of short stories, which I’m planning on getting to my publisher by the end of this month. This book is no 40 page collection of poetry. Working with 300 pages of manuscript—and prose manuscript nonetheless—has been daunting.
So, yes, I’ve found myself distracted by these physical things. Not that physical things are bad. They certainly are important.
This evening of Maundy Thursday, after all, is all about the physical. Tonight, we are experiencing physical signs of God’s presence. We are coming forward to be fed with Body and Blood of Christ. In fact, these next few days are also about that merging between the physical and spiritual—about, truly, Incarnation.
This physical Body of Jesus will tomorrow be tortured and then will be nailed to the Cross. It will die and be laid in a dark tomb. On Saturday, it will be there, laid out, broken and destroyed. But on Sunday, that physical Body will rise out of that darkness. It will rise out of that destroyed state. It will come forth from that broken disgrace and will be fully and completely alive and present.
But, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. For now, we are here, in this moment. We are here on Maundy Thursday, experiencing the physical and spiritual life that we have been given. We are preparing ourselves to remember that Last Supper, as we do every Sunday. I think we often take for granted what we do at this altar each Sunday and every time we gather to celebrate the Eucharist. I know I do occasionally.
But what we celebrate together here is not something we should take for granted. What we celebrate here is truly an incredible and beautiful thing. It is more than just some memorial Jesus left us. It is more than just nice, quaint practice of the Church. It is an unveiling. For a moment, the veil is lifted between this world and the next. For a moment, as we celebrate this very tangible gift of Jesus in our lives, we get to glimpse the other side of the veil. We get to see the larger worship that is going on throughout time and eternity.
We gather here not only with each, but with all the Church—with those of us here, present in our bodies, and those who have gone before. In this one moment, as our liturgy reminds us, we are gathered with all the saints, and with all the angels and archangels, who now sing before God in this moment. But it’s more than just a mystical experience as well. It also lifts the veil that exists right now, right here between each of us.
And we do live in a veiled world. We live in a world in which we ignore each other, in which we really and truly don’t SEE each other. Here, at the Eucharist, that veil too is lifted.
Tonight, we are all experiencing humbling experiences. Tonight, we, the followers of Jesus, are witnessing Jesus truly humble himself. He humbles himself in the washing of feet. And he humbles himself in his giving himself to us in the basic element of bread and wine. And he invites us, as well to enter into this humbling experience—this experience in which we need to encounter each other in this most basic of acts.
He essentially invites us to enter into what Gallagher calls “the kingdom of the living bread.” What we experience here with each other at this altar in Holy Communion is truly a bridge of sorts. We find that the divine is present to us in some thing we can touch and taste and in those gathered with us here.
And more than just some spiritual practice we do, we do this not just with our spirits, but with our very bodies as well. We do it with our very physical presence. And, in doing so, we realize that we are catching a glimpse of the resurrected state that we will so glorious celebrate in just a few days time on Sunday morning.
What comes to us at this altar, is truly the manna come down from heaven. It is a reminder to us of the sacrifice of that Lamb of God, which we found prefigured in our reading from Exodus. During the Eucharist, whenever I raise the broken bread, I say,
“This is the Lamb of God. This is the one who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are we are invited to this supper.”
This not just quaint language we use in the church. This not just poetic symbolism. This is the foundation of our belief.
What we celebrate at this altar is not just some archaic sacrament, left over from some forgotten chapter of history. Maybe it is to the outside world. If someone who has no idea what Communion was saw us tonight they would definitely be confused. Certainly the bit of bread we receive and the little taste of wine is not enough to sustain us. It is not going to quench our physical thirst or sure our growling stomachs. By outward standards what we do at this altar is frivolous.
Still, for us, who celebrate this mystery together, we do leave here filled. We do leave here spiritually fed. We do come away with a sense that Jesus is present and that he goes with us—each of us—all of us—from this altar and from this church, into the world.
So, let us come forward to this altar tonight, with each other. Let us come forward to this kingdom of the living bread. Let us also come forward on this night in which Jesus instituted this incredible sacrament in which he remains with us, on this night in which he humbled himself and invites us, as well, to humble ourselves. Let us humble ourselves and be fed. And let us go from here, humbled and fed, to feed others and to be the Presence of Jesus to others.
