Ephesians

In my various travels, I have had the privilege of visiting the ancient city of Ephesus located near Izmir in Turkey near the Mediterranean Sea. It was built in the 10th century by Greek colonists. During the Greek era it was one of the twelve cities of the Ionian League. The city flourished after it came under the control of Rome in 129 BC. Ephesus had an estimated population of 33,600 to 56,000 people in the Roman period, making it the third largest city of Roman Asia. This number was deduced from the number of seats in the amphitheater and public latrines that were uncovered during recent excavations.                                      

Temple of Artemis at Ephesus

The city was known for the Temple of Artemis one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. It was destroyed in 268 AD by invading hordes of Goths. Today one of its pillars and pieces of a carved frieze remain, other pieces are either at the Archeological Museum at Istanbul or in that institution holding many pilfered items, the British Museum in London…You can see the Rosetta Stone, Cleopatra’s sarcophagus and huge pieces from the Parthenon from Athens, and they have no intention of returning any of it, but I digress.

Only 15% of the entire Ephesus archeological site has been excavated, but even as it is, in this incomplete state, it holds much significance for Christians. Ephesus was one of the seven churches of Asia that are cited in the Book of Revelation. The Gospel of John may have been written here. 

Mary's House Ephesus

A few miles from the archeological site is a lovely stone house said to be the house in which Mary, the mother of Jesus, lived as she was being cared for by St John the Evangelist. It has become a place of pilgrimage for many Christians who leave prayer requests stuck in a wall as you leave the property. I am not sure of the validity of Mary’s place, but I understand three  recent Roman Catholic popes have visited it…which does give it its own special kind of imprimatur.

The most interesting Christian resident of Ephesus has to be St Paul, the author of the letter which we have been reading throughout the summer. Paul was born in Tarsus also located in modern day Turkey but closer to Syria along the Mediterranean coast. While living in Ephesus Paul worked at his craft, he was a tent maker by trade, and proclaimed the good news of Jesus Christ, a pastime that got him into trouble with the local statue makers who depended upon the cult of Artemis for a living.  They made good money selling various sized statues of Artemis to locals and tourists who come to the massive temple dedicated to Artemis.  He was prevented from speaking at the amphitheater there by a rowdy crowd of artisans who were Artemis fans, and he later spent some time in the local pokey for his outspokenness.

Paul wrote his letter to the Corinthians while in Ephesus; this letter was written while he was imprisoned in Rome. The gist of this letter is rather general in tone. Many biblical scholars feel the pervading theme of this work is the Church as the Body of Christ. I think my favorite description of this letter is from the New Testament scholar Daniel Wallace, who pragmatically stated it as “Christians, get along with each other!”

Additionally, I was struck by the 17^th through 20 verses that say:

” be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

This passed Thursday I shared with my boss the various encounters I had commuting by ferry and subway to downtown Brooklyn:

 A mother and daughter arguing on the boat about the suitability of both her boyfriend and the girlfriend of a non-present brother/son.

“You’re always criticizing me! You never criticize him!”, the daughter shouted and pouted as she banged her fist on the seat.

“I am concerned about you making bad choices.”, the Mom replied with a furrowed brow.

My next encounter was with an elderly man with whom I shared the elevator at the Court Street subway station who began singing an improv'd riff on a well-known children’s hymn: “Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves you!”

My boss told me that I had to think of these encounters as a sign from heaven; I thought about it, and so I did.

I began to think of it in the context of Deacon Novella’s sermon last week in which she spoke about the cycle of loss and the all too easy way of dealing with loss by attacking each other, and the upcoming Vacation Bible School, making them mental book ends for continued contemplation.

I know that we are in the midst of change, change we did not want or expect, and many are unable to see the road we are on, let alone trying to get the road map.  There is no road map. This is frightening and scary to be walking into the unknown, but we can do this if we work with each other, depending on the gifts we all bring here working together as the body of Christ.

I know that next week when Vacation Bible School is being held, this space will be filed with moments of laughter, moments of joy and many moments of children singing and making melody to the Lord, not just in their hearts, but with their voices.

Let us pray that their joy-filled spirit can help us at this time of unanticipated change; that all of us can and will everyday give thanks to the Father for everything that was done for us in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ.  AMEN

 

 

 

Selfies and Stickies

Over the past few weeks I have seen many, many folks taking self portraits with their electronic devices. Most of these are with cell phones, those ubiquitous  individual, hand-held communication devices that have become the bane of our existence. They contain the phone numbers of our closest friends and acquaintances, as well as business partners and co-workers. We use them as alarm clocks, watches and locating maps to assist with driving directions.  We can check on our baby sitters, review our portfolios, check our daily walking mileage, send silly personal text messages, or review e-mail. These objects can remind us to pick up our dry cleaning, assist in ordering take out, and help one to purchase anything from a hot latte to a baby grand piano, and we can do this all on a screen that fits into the palm of our hand. Who ever dreamed that this would be possible even ten years ago?


But this sudden craze of constantly taking photographs of oneself at all sorts of places and at all times is more than annoying.
As I live in a town that is a tourist magnet, it has become almost impossible to avoid visitors who are wont to stop indiscriminately along highways and byways to snap a shot of themselves with a landmark or two. Stopping in front of St Paul's Chapel on Broadway, halting traffic in the theater district to get a photo of oneself and Sponge Bob, tipping the Staten Island Ferry precariously to the port side to make sure every tourist on board gets a self photo with Lady Liberty, these are just a few of the more annoying "selfie" moments I have personally witnessed.




And oh, those clueless visitors with those stick things that they swing around in extremely unsafe fashion in galleries and on broad avenues. I recently witnessed an Italian gentleman actually talking into his cell phone whilst it was in that sticky thing taking a personal call and stopping all foot traffic in a major tourist attraction. The end of that stick was swinging back and forth as he walked and talked and attempted to dodge other tourists in his way.  He had men, women and children of many nationalities scurrying for safety in the overwhelming heat and blistering summer sun.


I have heard that many major museums both here and abroad have outlawed these obnoxious extensions....bravo to them!


I understand that a restaurant chain in Manhattan did a study comparing the time needed to serve customers in our present time and ten years ago.  It actually took 35% longer to seat, serve and bus tables because customers were busy taking photos of the menus, the food and themselves eating what they were served. Narcissism at its best.




So, I guess you might say I am not a big fan of these "selfies" and "stickies"...if you are taking up valuable time taking picurtes of yourself in front of...you fill it in: the Empire State Building, the Eiffle Tower, the  Tower of London, the Hagia Sophia, the Sphinx, the White House, or the Brooklyn Bridge, you have missed the time to actually appreciate the place for what it is instead of a background for self-indulgence.

Transitions

A week ago this evening, a dear friend and colleague died unexpectedly while out of town. He leaves behind a wife and teen-aged daughter who must both mourn his untimely passing and imagine how to rebuild their lives on a different path...an unwanted, but necessary, transition.




Transitions happen to all of us: we move into a new home; we graduate from school; we take on a new job or project; we retire from full time employment; we loose a spouse, a parent, a friend. All are times of transitions; some expected and greatly anticipated; others not so much.  These "others" are times of unrest and trepidation.  They are thrust upon us unawares without preparation or forethought.






Most of us like to be prepared. We save for a rainy day or retirement.  We go to preparation classes for College Boards, GMATS, GRE's and LSATS. We practice over and over again for organ, piano or violin recitals. We memorize times tables so we can be swift and accurate in computations. Yet we still fear being unprepared.




So we pray, as we do in the Great Litany of Lent as it appears in the Book of Common Prayer: From all oppression, conspiracy, and rebellion; from  violence, battle, and murder; and from dying suddenly and  unprepared, Good Lord, deliver us.




But are we ever really prepared for these transitions? At what point does one become an adult?  Upon turning 18? Or when one begins paying rent and monthly bills? Or is it when work and family responsibilities force one to curtail the partying cycle of those halcyon student days? Or perhaps when time and fortune force transition due to the loss of a loved one, especially a parent or grandparent. 


When that ephemeral layer of older generations that hangs above our heads begins to disappear, and we realize that we are now what Great-Uncle Harry was before us...we are now the top of that layer and once we are gone, all memory of those who went before us, at least in our family and social circles will disappear when we ourselves pass on.



And we need, at any point in our own life cycle, to realize that transitions will always happen.  They are part of this human experience and should be embraced for what they are.  We have little control over them, but we can learn to accept that they will indeed happen.

Weaing Clericals

One thing that I do that separates me from most people is that at times I wear a clerical collar. I don't do this as a fashion statement.  I do this because I really am an ordained person.  In April of 1997, The Right Reverend Richard Grein, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of New York put his hands on my head and called upon the powers that be to make me a deacon in the church.  And after that, my world view changed completely. An outward sign of this change was that, on occasion, I would wear the outward sign of that ordination: a clerical collar.
The clerical collar was invented around 1840 by the Rev. Donald MacLoud, a Presbyterian minister in Glasgow. It was later adopted by most Christian groups as well as Orthodox Churches. Originally made of starched cotton, in our times, clerical collars are made of flexible washable plastic...which can sometimes crack in very cold climes or just encourage profuse sweating in areas that are overly warm. Most attach with removable collar studs front and back.  I prefer a Velcro "dickie" that fits under most of my clothing making it both portable and flexible.

Roman Collar

There are two common kinds of clerical collars: Roman and Anglican. The Roman collar is the model preferred by most Roman Catholic clerics and most Lutheran pastors.  It features a white "tab" that visibly joins a rounded black collar. 

 The Anglican one, my personal preference, is a white band that circles the throat.

Anglican Collar

When I am in collar to say that I often am the object of second and third glances would be an understatement.  I am used to it at this point, and just go about whatever it is I am doing. Often people do not know how to react to a woman in a clerical collar. It is not so with the guys.  One is never far off the mark if one refers to said individual as "Father" or "Pastor", but many are tongue-tied when faced with a woman in clericals.

I have been called "Sister" more often than not.  On one particular occasion, I was slated to officiate at a relative's wedding in the US Virgin Islands.  My sister was my traveling companion, and as we entered the jaunty car to get to the venue, the driver turned to her and asked: "Is she a Sister?"

To which my quick witted companion replied: "She is a sister, but she ain't no nun." 
He then drove us to the wedding spot in complete silence.
People are often more polite and tend to watch their language when I am in my collar...that also means I need to be thoughtful about what I say, and sarcasm and flippant remarks...something I am wont to do, need to be curtailed.
Back in the 70's at my local Roman Catholic Church, we were assigned two transitional deacons who were there to work with the youth and get some hands-on experience.  My brother shortened their title to "Deak", and it stuck.  One went on to become a priest, the other left to marry a girl he meet. We referred to Father John by the nickname "Deak"until his unexpected and untimely death.
In my current assignment my rector and his wife refer to me as "Deak".  I am sure John is getting a good laugh at that one.
Today I was at a community event that required me to identify as clergy and I wore my collar.  I sat in the warm summer sun giving out apples, oranges and pears to over 100 children and their parents.  Many are recent immigrant families from Mexico and Central America, so I got to practice my Spanish as well.
 I offered an orange to a gentleman who was with his wife and grandchildren. After he took the orange, he took a close look at me and asked," You a minister?"
To which I replied,"Yeah, what gave it away?"
"I'm Sicilian, but I can tell by that thing you're wearing around your neck."
I smiled at him, but thought to myself:"Ya think?"

What's going on?

Today was an overflow day at the Soup Kitchen/Food Pantry in the Stapleton section of Staten Island. For close to thirty years I have been a volunteer at the Soup Kitchen located at Trinity Lutheran Church on St Paul's Avenue. Back then if we had 40 folks for lunch we were really hustling. Today we had 117.


One of the reasons is that back in the day the Food Pantry operated on Friday evenings, and we served on Saturdays.  Now we work in tandem, and our numbers for both ministries have skyrocketed.


And the work is more difficult.  We have more clients who are in need of better physical and mental health services.  We see more folks who have lost jobs or are returning from incarceration. More mothers and children show up to have a meal after they pick up food from the pantry.  More Mexican and Central American day laborers come in. Many of these guys are homeless and ineligible for referrals to shelters because they are either drug or alcohol abusers or both. They arrive late for lunch so pie-eyed I am amazed they can climb the stairs.  They drink several cups of coffee, chow down on dessert, scrape the lunch into a plastic container and grab an extra orange/apple or two from the box  as they leave. They then  hightail it into the Food Pantry to see if they can convince the clean up crew to give them some bread or peanut butter or both.  They will be back next week; they do not remember what they did the week before, and the dance will begin again.


Then there is "Jacks".  A senior citizen,well known to those of us in the social service business on Staten Island.  He comes every week at around 10am.  If it is not his week to get a Food Pantry pick up, he solicits "donations"....so you don't want those Corn Flakes??? Jacks will take them off your hands, as well as those cans of sardines you are not sure what to do with. Jacks knows and is happy to take your excess.  Next on his agenda is checking out lunch. 


Every week for the past five years, Jacks has been first online to get to the lunchroom. He has explained to me several times that he is a "big guy", and as such, needs us to provide him with an over-large portion. If the portion is not up to Jacks' standards, he may resort to "table surfing".  That is a ritual in which Jacks, once he has finished his meal, stands against the wall and looks intently around the room.  He might spot a family group in which one or two young children did not finish their meal.  He will swoop down, scrap the leftovers onto his reserved plate, sit down and join the folks for another go round.  Today, he did this three times. We try to be overly generous when we serve lunch, but Jacks just thinks we are being too controlling. 

Today I expressed my concern that his habit of finishing off someone else's lunch might be a health risk  He told me that he has been dong this for years, and has never gotten sick.  Oh, by the way, he says, we have the best meals of all the places he goes to eat.  Is this a complement?


I also have two or three regular late comers.  I call one "The Charmer".  He arrives fifteen minutes before we close and packs his lunch "to go" in his own Chinese "take out" container. Bur, he does try to get something .  I do not bite.


     "M'am" he says, " If you close at one and have leftovers, can you give me seconds?"
      "No", is my reply. "We close at one; I feed my staff, and the rest goes to the outreach center;    you can go there if you are still hungry.  It is four blocks down, three blocks over."
     "Well", he says, " I can take some of that burden off of you."
     "Hum", I say, " We can shoulder that burden."


I call the other one "The Philosopher". He is a gentleman of a certain age, an artist, who has fallen on hard times.  He knows and acknowledges many of the volunteers by name and engages several in bright and interesting conversations.  He loves art and is often seen at local events.  He is not a constant client, but comes when funding for his newest project dries up.


 My favorite "late comer" is the "Haitian Cowboy" an eccentric Creole gentleman who, despite a physical disability, shows a real compassion for others and never complains about his state.  I do so love his broad brimmed fedora which he wears with aplomb and a style like no other. And although Walter, our plant supervisor, does not share my admiration for this client, he is always willing to make a place for him at table.


Now, some of you may think I am a really mean person.  Think what you want.  I have to abide by the rules set up by the Soup Kitchen and the NYC  Dept. of Health. I never know how many people the Lord is sending me to feed today.  I never know if I will run out of food. I never know who needs our listening ear today.   And I never know who is going to be walking with me on this journey .

Medical Care in America

Once I reached the magic age of 65, I became eligible for what my Ob/Gyn called the "Cadillac" of medical insurance: Medicare. Since I also retired with medical coverage for which I pay a small fee, and have prescriptions drugs though my Medicare D rider from the UFT and have dental, vision and hearing coverage, I am in pretty good shape when it comes to health care. And I am grateful for that. But it is the small things that can make you nuts.






About two years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea...no surprise there, three of my four siblings have had the same diagnosis.  I was told I could have surgery since the main culprit in my case is a deviated septum.  I opted for the CPAP machine since several friends and relatives had related good experiences with it, and the thought of surgery, even though not extremely invasive, is not something I really want to do. So, I ordered the machine.




For the uninformed, the continuous positive airway pressure CPAP therapy is a common treatment for obstructive sleep apnea. It includes a small machine that supplies a constant and steady air pressure. In my case, it has taken me a very long time to get used to this contraption.  I usually take it off during the time I am sleeping, and the noise will finally wake me up. I then have to put it on again and restart the process.  This happens at least two times a night. Needless to day, I am not a happy sleep camper.


Medicare Part B covers this machine, so imagine my surprise when I received a bill for $1,500 for the machine from the place I got it from via prescription from the ENT guy who diagnosed me two years ago. I also received requests from my secondary insurer regarding charges they denied to pay the rental fee for said machine. In an attempt to fnd out what the heck was going on, I spent the majority of my day on the phone with various and sundry insurers from Don at Medicare (nice enough guy) to Patty and Tammy at the "machine shop".  My favorite call was the first one I made to Beacon, NY at the billing service.  I was told I should go to the post office and mail the machine back to them.


I said, "If you want the machine back, why did you send me a bill for it?"


Their reply,"I don't know.  Just send it back."


My retort, "There is nothing in this letter that tells me to return it.  What if I paid you for it?"


The very intelligent reply,"We still need to have it back."


Then they won't get my money, you think? You can't make this stuff up.  And, remember, I was talking to folks in New York State and New Jersey.


Well, after eight phone calls, and an average of five transfers per call I must do the following:
          1. Contact my healthcare provider ( that's the doctor for those of you who are not sure)
          2. Go to a designated website and download, fill out, save and print up the documents
          3. Get a new prescription from said health care provider/doctor
          4. Fax everything to the new supplier and wait for confirmation
          5. Make an appointment for delivery and sign off on it.


Boy, it is a good thing I am retired and don't have anything to do but take care of my medical situation!  I wonder how others have dealt with this crazy system we have.  Single payer is looking mighty good!

Altar faux pas

Over the almost twenty years since my ordination to the diaconate in the Episcopal Church, I have witnessed or been privy to many main altar mishaps and missteps that were seamlessly camouflaged by the altar party who never again spoke of the high altar hijinks that resulted in the worshiping congregants being unaware of near liturgical disasters. I have come to really respect those clerics and vergers who have been able to easily fix what one might think is an obvious error with quiet aplomb and tact.

Here is a listing of some of the boo-boos I have either witnessed or was an active participant in over my years of altar service:

1. Who let the dog out??

At an extremely liberal and progressive parish in which I served , the rector and I were distributing communion during the service.  One of our parishioners, a professional singer, habitually brought her very diminutive dog to church.  The rector usually blessed the dog as we distributed communion: first the bread, then the wine.  The rector presented the bread; we used whole wheat pita; and before I could offer the cup, the singer gave half of the bread to the dog who quickly chomped it and swallowed it down lickety split. Fido was not given the opportunity to slurp the wine...I skipped over them both.

2. Judge the juice:

At that same urban parish we routinely offered non-alcoholic wine or grape juice for our parishioners in recovery or just for those folks who did not drink wine or preferred juice.  We usually put this into a glass chalice so folks knew which one contained a liquid sans spirits. One Sunday I noticed the glass chalice contained an amber colored liquid which I assumed was white grape juice, since I overheard the sacristan saying the purple juice was gone, and he had run out to the local Gristede's to find another bottle.  Imagine my surprise when I was "cleaning up" the altar and began to consume what I thought was white grape juice, only to discover I was gulping down Mott's Apple Juice! 

3. The drowning bee and the swimming horse fly:

a. The first parish I served at was surrounded on three sides by open park land and a cemetery. Sometimes, in the spring and fall, the ushers would open windows and side doors to catch a great cross ventilating breeze.  On two occasions that caused major problems at the altar.  On one occasion, a rather large bumble bee crawled around the altar and rested on the rim of a wine filled chalice. When the altar server rang the bells, it frightened said bee who unceremoniously fell into the filled chalice and after a few horrific moments of insect struggling, drowned in the sherry. As the rector lowered the chalice after the final elevation before distribution of communion, we flicked said dead bee into the sacristy, and distributed communion as usual.

b. Same issue a few weeks later , but his time with a rather large horse fly who dive bombed into the chalice and began doing the beast stroke across its diameter. He continued to do so during the elevation and owing to a slightly deliberate slosh on the celebrant's part, was flicked out the side and took off into the sacred space of the church to bother some sleepy congregant.

4. Bees, again, on the church wall:  

A swarm of bees appeared on the back wall of the Mid-island Church in which I served.  No problem: call the bee keeper and cancel services. This was done, and the bee removal went pretty smoothly.

5. Ants in the ciborium:

Peonies are lovely. Their colors run the spectrum from creamy beige to brilliantly vivid pints, but they come with their own problems: ants. The Sunday flower arrangements of locally harvested peonies were beautiful, but filled with local ants...and not the kind we are related to.  We picked off as many as we could, and passed out the hosts...no one was any wiser.

6. Candle problems: These are legend.

a. My daughter's hair caught on fire in the 1990's fuelled by hair spray and hot wax.  No harm done, a lay reader swatted her head with his prayer book.

b. Exploding candles happen due to leaning candles and drafty churches. I have seen this happen on many occasions, and you can never really tell if and when it happens. Yet when it does, you are almost powerless to stop it.

c. Too close to the flower arrangements results in drying out of flowers and leaves which is easy to deal with. Just pick them off.    On other occasions this resulted in flaming flowers...never a pretty sight. I know of one church where an attempt to light the overhead

Advent Wreath resulted in the whole thing going up in flames....but the fire extinguisher was nearby...no harm done.






So, a sincere and grateful Thank You to those in the altar party: celebrant, acolyte, verger, deacon, reader, who have stepped up to the plate and helped the rest of us avoid Altar Altercations that could have ended in more than embarrassment.