December 22, 2016 - Post-Confession
It has long been part of my spiritual discipline to make my confession, usually before the two great feasts of the Church Year, during Advent and Lent. And today was such a day. It is never easy to do this. One might think that gathering up one's faults and sharing them with another priest would come easily after all these years. It isn't!
My first confession was as a boy of 16 at Church camp one summer in Kansas. The Chaplain of the camp and the "Theme-Coordinator" were teaching us high school kids on the subject of "The Five Minor Sacraments." Some today would take issue with inflicting this sort of thing on unwitting adolescents, but for me it was a profound experience to be there. The camaraderie among the kids was infectious and the leadership from all the staff, mostly priests, was excellent.
The day for concentrating on the Sacrament of Penance, as it was then called (this was 1958 after all!), came with a "demonstration" of one priest making a mock confession to the Chaplain. I recall that, during this time, someone in the back who couldn't hear yelled out "Can't year ya!" That broke everyone up, but the seriousness of this was imprinted upon me in a way that has never really disappeared. An impassioned meditation at Evensong that night also made a huge impression upon me: the priest who gave it talked about a young man who'd left home in a huff, and from the bus window he saw a handkerchief tied to a branch of a tree in his yard. Apparently his mother had left this as a sign of her love for him, even though he'd chosen to run off. The boy cried as he saw that handkerchief and was reminded of his Mom's love as well as the love of God.
There was a sign-up sheet for those of us who wanted to avail ourselves of this "Most Comfortable Sacrament," as it's been called, and I timorously signed up. Without going into detail about what I said (remember I was a 16-year-old male!), and all my sweat in that hot place, it went well. The Chaplain was a most compassionate man and reminded me at the end of our time to throw away the sheet on which I'd listed my faults.
I'd wondered what I'd do - or how I'd act - around that priest when I saw him again. What would he think of me, spitting out all those "sins" as I knelt beside him as he sat in a chair with a purple stole around his neck? He had told us that the priest never, ever talked about what was said "in the confessional" to the penitent or to anyone else. That made the whole thing very safe in my estimation.
Now, fast-forward 58+ years later, and I went again, as I've gone many times before, to another priest to make my confession. And, every time I go I tremble a bit, but I am so blessed to have a wonderful colleague as my confessor. He is a wise, understanding man, a busy parish priest who makes time for those of us who want to avail ourselves of this sacrament. It's obvious that he's heard many confessions. In my own "career" I have not heard as many. In fact, in my last parish where I was Rector before I retired, I heard no confessions whatsoever. And this parish "billed" itself as Anglo-Catholic where such a thing would be expected! In much "lower" parishes, I heard a few confessions and in one place more than one priest came to me for that sacrament. That parish had developed something of a reputation as a church to which a priest could go for that purpose, assured that a priest there would be experienced and skilled. It was a daunting, awesome task.
It is part of what priests do, I suspect fewer and fewer in the contemporary Episcopal Church, but I've often been surprised how many people do "go to confession" and often for the first time. It is a safe place, as I said earlier, to open up one's soul. It is making oneself vulnerable in the presence of another human being, being spiritually "stripped naked," as it were. It is a time of transparency, candidness and truthfulness. I would have to say that the confessor has to muster up all the compassion he/she has to offer. One has to listen closely, offer what counsel one can, pronounce the absolution provided in the Prayer Book formula, and send the penitent on his/her way. It is hoped that it will be a joyful and forgiven way.
Some priests I've gone to have said an old sentence that always moves me whenever I hear or see it: "May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ make whatsoever good thou hast done, or evil thou hast endured, be unto thee for the forgiveness of sins, the increase of grace, and the reward of eternal life ... Go in peace, the Lord hath put away all thy sins, and pray for me, a sinner." That part about "evil thou hast endured" always strikes me right between the eyes. So many who come to us are in great spiritual pain, some have been abused in one way or another, and they lay themselves bare, heart and soul. And we are there for them at that crucial time, to be a part of God's great grace and gift of forgiveness and healing and wholeness. In our tradition, we've come up with a handy little slogan about this sacrament: "All can, some should, none must." In our Anglican/Episcopal way, it is not required before receiving Communion and there is absolutely no coercion or expectation that people will go to a priest for confession.
It's been my "custom" after finishing my time as a penitent and after praying what the confessor has given me as a "penance" (not really that, but more of a reflection in the way of a Psalm or prayer or hymn), to stop off at a store and purchase a poinsettia (before Christmas) or a lily (before Easter) for our home. It has become a way of celebrating the fact that my sins have been "put away" and the "slate is cleared."
But, today, a minor disaster occurred when I had to slam on the brakes on a busy freeway on my way home. I heard some bottles (I'd bought some wine and beer for our family celebration in a few days' time) fall from the seat onto the poinsettia that I'd placed on the floor of my car. I won't recount what I said just then, but I vowed never again to put anything on the seat - everything from now on would be on the floor! Well, I was able to salvage a small part of the poinsettia but it looks like another version of Charlie Brown's infamous Christmas tree!
Now, just what, do you suppose, is the metaphor here? That elated feeling of having re-connected with God in that wonderfully poignant time at confession being shattered by a minor disaster? I could have had a car wreck and that surely would not have been a very nice Christmas gift. So I was thankful for that not happening! Or is there some sort of warning here: don't try to "celebrate" after a confession? Perhaps God is saying, "Just be with it quietly and confidently!" Or just maybe it was this: the shattered poinsettia is a symbol of the mess we can easily make of our lives and the need we all have to repent?
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Thursday, December 8, 2016
December 6, 2016: About Dr John Ruef
It is December 6, 2016 and I see I am 'way behind in adding anything to my blog-site. Today, at a luncheon for retired clergy here in the Diocese of Oregon, a colleague mentioned his blog and that got me to think about my neglected one that I think I started around 2008 or 2009. Btw, Steve Norcross is an excellent writer, and I'll ask his permission soon to incorporate it here so that others may enjoy his writing.
But for me, at present, I'm preparing for our annual Advent/Christmas letter to our family and friends. Sad to say, the list grows shorter with deaths, and each time news of someone's death reaches us, I go to the Christmas card list and delete their names. I find that very sad, but know that death is inevitable and many I know have, as we sometimes say, "died a good death."
It is about one recent death - and his life - that I want to say something about herein. Our clergy pension group sends out a "necrology" (a list of those who've died) each month to fellow pensioners. Espying names of clerics I've known, some rather well, on that list comes as a shock. And the death of my seminary New Testament professor, John Ruef, came as a shock, but no surprise; he had been quite ill and in a nursing home these past few months.
I've had the joy and pleasure of keeping in touch with Dr Ruef through the years, ever since I was graduated from Berkeley Divinity School in New Haven in 1970. Not only was he my "NT Prof" but was our neighbor on Mansfield Street, right by the "Yale Whale," a euphemism for the Ingalls Hockey Rink. He also consented to travel out to the plains of Kansas to preach for my ordination to the Priesthood nearly forty-six years ago this very month.
We met up from time to time at various Episcopal Church functions, and it was always fun to see him again and talk with him. He would always have some pithy comment to make, often in a sarcastic vein. One time I saw him at a Trinity Institute conference in New York City when he lived and worked in Buffalo, the see city of the Diocese of Western New York. I asked him what his impression was of a foreign Roman Catholic prelate who addressed the conference. "Well," he said, "When you dress up Billy Graham in lace, what do you have?" I blushed and probably mumbled something like, "Huh?" His reply: "In other words, I was disappointed." That seemed to clarify things.
Later, he became Dean of Nashotah House, one of the Episcopal Church's seminaries, located in a rural area near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I visited there to do some continuing education and, as Dr Ruef put it, to have "a little 'R and R.'" These three visits each were singularly stimulating and enlightening for me and could be the subject of another blog entry some time. One of these, in 1978, took place when Michael Ramsey, the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury, was in residence at "The House," teaching theology and being available for the faculty and students as a colleague and friend. A walk that I took around one of the lakes on the seminary's property, with the good Bishop and a student assigned to help him not to trip (Bishop Michael's eyesight was waning), was memorable. Bishop Michael had remarked how his chaplain was "such a name-dropper." Said I, "But, Bishop, I'll drop your name once I get home." He: "Yes, yes; but just once!"
I see that I never finished this post - it is now December 8, a few days later than when I started. Pressed for time at present, I'll continue the thoughts I put down here some other time. Suffice it to say, I miss John Ruef dearly. I've heard from his widow, Jane, a singularly wonderful and beautiful woman, right after his funeral which took place November 29th in Chatham, Virginia, where they had lived for about thirty-one years. John was Chaplain and Teacher at Chatham Hall there, then retired, having the care of Emmanuel Church, Chatham, and small missions in Gretna and other towns nearby.
There will be more later on. Meanwhile, blessings to the readers of this and wish me luck keeping it up in the future!
But for me, at present, I'm preparing for our annual Advent/Christmas letter to our family and friends. Sad to say, the list grows shorter with deaths, and each time news of someone's death reaches us, I go to the Christmas card list and delete their names. I find that very sad, but know that death is inevitable and many I know have, as we sometimes say, "died a good death."
It is about one recent death - and his life - that I want to say something about herein. Our clergy pension group sends out a "necrology" (a list of those who've died) each month to fellow pensioners. Espying names of clerics I've known, some rather well, on that list comes as a shock. And the death of my seminary New Testament professor, John Ruef, came as a shock, but no surprise; he had been quite ill and in a nursing home these past few months.
I've had the joy and pleasure of keeping in touch with Dr Ruef through the years, ever since I was graduated from Berkeley Divinity School in New Haven in 1970. Not only was he my "NT Prof" but was our neighbor on Mansfield Street, right by the "Yale Whale," a euphemism for the Ingalls Hockey Rink. He also consented to travel out to the plains of Kansas to preach for my ordination to the Priesthood nearly forty-six years ago this very month.
We met up from time to time at various Episcopal Church functions, and it was always fun to see him again and talk with him. He would always have some pithy comment to make, often in a sarcastic vein. One time I saw him at a Trinity Institute conference in New York City when he lived and worked in Buffalo, the see city of the Diocese of Western New York. I asked him what his impression was of a foreign Roman Catholic prelate who addressed the conference. "Well," he said, "When you dress up Billy Graham in lace, what do you have?" I blushed and probably mumbled something like, "Huh?" His reply: "In other words, I was disappointed." That seemed to clarify things.
Later, he became Dean of Nashotah House, one of the Episcopal Church's seminaries, located in a rural area near Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I visited there to do some continuing education and, as Dr Ruef put it, to have "a little 'R and R.'" These three visits each were singularly stimulating and enlightening for me and could be the subject of another blog entry some time. One of these, in 1978, took place when Michael Ramsey, the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury, was in residence at "The House," teaching theology and being available for the faculty and students as a colleague and friend. A walk that I took around one of the lakes on the seminary's property, with the good Bishop and a student assigned to help him not to trip (Bishop Michael's eyesight was waning), was memorable. Bishop Michael had remarked how his chaplain was "such a name-dropper." Said I, "But, Bishop, I'll drop your name once I get home." He: "Yes, yes; but just once!"
I see that I never finished this post - it is now December 8, a few days later than when I started. Pressed for time at present, I'll continue the thoughts I put down here some other time. Suffice it to say, I miss John Ruef dearly. I've heard from his widow, Jane, a singularly wonderful and beautiful woman, right after his funeral which took place November 29th in Chatham, Virginia, where they had lived for about thirty-one years. John was Chaplain and Teacher at Chatham Hall there, then retired, having the care of Emmanuel Church, Chatham, and small missions in Gretna and other towns nearby.
There will be more later on. Meanwhile, blessings to the readers of this and wish me luck keeping it up in the future!
December 8, 2016
In re-reading my "profile" on this blog, I see I said there that I was 68. Well, I have to update that: I am now 75. This simply reveals that I haven't added anything for seven years. Shame on me!
The other day at a luncheon for retired clergy in the Diocese of Oregon with our Bishop, one of my colleagues remarked he had a blog. He is a very talented writer and I was glad to hear that he was doing that. I said to another colleague that I "once had a blog called 'Phillip's Fillups'," to which she replied: "That's cute!"
Cute or not, I'm going to continue to write. Some days it will seem like "I'll write, come hell or high water" but I'm going to give it a go. Wish me luck, and if you pray, do that for me.
On this snowy - a bit unusual here in Portland, Oregon - and wintry day that is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception in the Roman Catholic calendar I attempt to write. Btw, it's also the commemoration in Holy Women, Holy Men (formerly Lesser Feasts and Fasts) of Richard Baxter, a Puritan pastor and poet. I read about him this morning when I was reading Matins in my basement oratory. I have loved his, "Christ leads me through no darker rooms / than he went through before." Perhaps I'll write later about that hymn but now, I must close this for now and post it.
Perhaps I will tell more about this blog and they will read the posts. Meanwhile, I wish you well and God's richest blessings, this time of year and always.
In re-reading my "profile" on this blog, I see I said there that I was 68. Well, I have to update that: I am now 75. This simply reveals that I haven't added anything for seven years. Shame on me!
The other day at a luncheon for retired clergy in the Diocese of Oregon with our Bishop, one of my colleagues remarked he had a blog. He is a very talented writer and I was glad to hear that he was doing that. I said to another colleague that I "once had a blog called 'Phillip's Fillups'," to which she replied: "That's cute!"
Cute or not, I'm going to continue to write. Some days it will seem like "I'll write, come hell or high water" but I'm going to give it a go. Wish me luck, and if you pray, do that for me.
On this snowy - a bit unusual here in Portland, Oregon - and wintry day that is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception in the Roman Catholic calendar I attempt to write. Btw, it's also the commemoration in Holy Women, Holy Men (formerly Lesser Feasts and Fasts) of Richard Baxter, a Puritan pastor and poet. I read about him this morning when I was reading Matins in my basement oratory. I have loved his, "Christ leads me through no darker rooms / than he went through before." Perhaps I'll write later about that hymn but now, I must close this for now and post it.
Perhaps I will tell more about this blog and they will read the posts. Meanwhile, I wish you well and God's richest blessings, this time of year and always.
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