Mar 11 | “My Daily Prayer Story” (DOC blog post)

This is another excerpt from the Daily Office Challenge blog – a post on my life of daily prayer.

Mar 11 | “Smoor your Heart” (DOC blog post)

Here is an excerpt from another blog I’m running for my internship.

Daily prayer is a natural response to the idea that “heaven and earth are full of God’s glory.”

This is part of what led the Celtic people to mark the most boring everyday tasks with prayer. In a collection of prayers called the Carmina Gadelica, you can find prayers for everything from washing your face to milking the cows to starting on a journey.

One particular Celtic ritual that speaks beautifully to daily prayer (and for which there are many prayers) is smooring the hearth.

Peat is a turf substance that is plentiful in Ireland and other countries on the continent. It occurs in bogs when conditions are too acidic for plant material to break down properly. It has had a multitude of uses over the years and works especially well as fuel for indoor fires.

To “smoor” something means “to smother” it. It’s dangerous to leave any kind of fire unattended, but cottages in Ireland, a very wet and damp place during many parts of the year, would get very cold at night while people were asleep. At some point in ancient history, someone discovered that a peat fire could be smothered enough that it would keep burning throughout the night.

When I learned about this, I thought it was a beautiful way to describe the spiritual life. Our earth has four seasons, but a human life also has seasons. A healthy life of prayer will not be one continuous spike upward, nor should it always be going downward. There will be both of those things, but in between there will be long stretches and plateaus. I feel the practice of daily prayer is a way of smooring the heart(h), keeping the light of God burning during the flat periods of one’s life.

“The Sacred Three to save, to shield, to surround
the hearth, the house, the household
this eve, this night.
Oh, this eve, this night
and every night,
every single night. Amen.”

– Prayer for smooring the fire, Carmina Gadelica

Feb 25 | “Paying Attention” (Sermon, February 25th)

Both readings were consulted for this sermon. They can be found here and here.

This year for Lent I decided to try something entirely new. I am on a mirror fast – limiting the amount of time I spend looking at myself in the mirror.

My previous fasts have mostly been centered around food. I’ve given up alcohol, chocolate, potato chips, soda pop, and tea, and I’ve done two Lents as a vegetarian.

Over the years I’ve noticed that the most difficult parts of these fasts were not going without the items. I didn’t miss them the way I expected to. It was more difficult avoiding people who would offer them to me.

Part of my problem was that I have always had this kind of relationship with food. I “should” avoid these foods, so Lent was a convenient excuse to hold myself to that standard.

That is really not what Lent is supposed to be about.

Lent is not a diet program. It’s not a chance to “be good.” “Being good” used in reference to food is actually a rather unhealthy way to think of things, when you consider it. Is it really a moral failing to succumb to flavours that we are evolutionarily programmed to adore?

I have heard a suggested alternative that makes far better sense to me: “paying attention.” That alternative was not used in a Lenten context, but it really highlights the correct themes.

We don’t do fasts in Lent to “be good.” We do them to “pay attention.”

To what are we meant to pay attention?

Back to the mirror fast.

I look at myself in the mirror a lot. Basically any time I see a reflective surface – not just mirrors but windows and mirrored walls – I look at myself. The kicker is: I don’t think I do it because I’m vain. It’s not that I look because I like what I see. Most of the time I really don’t. Instead, I look and I judge. I feel a small stab of happiness if the angle is flattering, or if my hair looks just so. I feel a larger stab of embarrassment and irritation if the angle is unflattering.

The self-chatter is so constant that it’s not even fully formed words. It’s just feelings: awkwardness or relief.

And I have come to rely on these feelings to give shape to my day. I have come to accept a certain level of bondage, in exchange for feelings of security.

Today, Jesus tells the crowds, which are increasing around him, that they are an evil generation. They ask for a sign, but no sign shall be given except the sign of Jonah.

What is the sign of Jonah? For Luke, the sign is Jonah’s proclamation: Nineveh will be overthrown in forty days. But this is not good news, and we’re supposed to be paying attention: listening for good news. Is it good news for destruction to rain down upon those we despise, even upon those who are cruel and wicked? No! The whole point of the story of Jonah is that no-one should take such delight. Jonah’s desire to see such destruction is thwarted by a God who is quite annoyingly forgiving! The proclamation of destruction – as God surely knew – was actually the sign of redemption for Nineveh.

So too is Jesus’ proclamation. Just before this story, Jesus is casting out demons, and an argument breaks out about the source of his power to do so, and some suggest that this power is demonic.

Jesus retorts that this is nonsensical. They’re not paying attention.

The message so far has been one of liberation – freedom from the insecurity of our daily lives, the conviction that we haven’t done enough to earn God’s love or trust, my personal quiet insistence that I trade the currency of looking just so for a sense of being “okay” in the eyes of God when this kind of ridiculously encompassing liberation has nothing to do with how we look or act but how we handle our beautiful blessed brokenness.

It may seem strange for us to hear liberation when we think of Lent – but this is exactly what Lent is about. Our fasting is freeing ourselves from insecurity and bondage to prepare ourselves for the message of redemption, a message “greater than Jonah” – even greater than the unqualified forgiveness of a city long thought to be unredeemable.

But let us not speak fully of this message yet – we still have many weeks of prayer and paying attention ahead. Instead, let us tend to the seed that was planted last week on Ash Wednesday. Let us bury it in rich earth, the earth of our mortality, the earth into which God breathed sacred life, the only earth that God has any interest in redeeming, because God’s a little crazy like that.

Thank God for the frustratingly open arms of the God of Jonah.

Thank God for the earth-shattering message of the God of liberation.

Jan 28 | “Shedding Light, Shedding Blood” (Sermon, January 28th)

Mark 4:1-20

4Again he began to teach beside the lake. Such a very large crowd gathered around him that he got into a boat on the lake and sat there, while the whole crowd was beside the lake on the land. ²He began to teach them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: ³â€˜Listen! A sower went out to sow. ⁴And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. ⁵Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. ⁶And when the sun rose, it was scorched; and since it had no root, it withered away. ⁷Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. ⁸Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.’ ⁹And he said, ‘Let anyone with ears to hear listen!’

10 When he was alone, those who were around him along with the twelve asked him about the parables. ¹¹And he said to them, ‘To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside, everything comes in parables; ¹²in order that
“they may indeed look, but not perceive,
and may indeed listen, but not understand;
so that they may not turn again and be forgiven.”’

13 And he said to them, ‘Do you not understand this parable? Then how will you understand all the parables? ¹⁴The sower sows the word. ¹⁵These are the ones on the path where the word is sown: when they hear, Satan immediately comes and takes away the word that is sown in them. ¹⁶And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: when they hear the word, they immediately receive it with joy. ¹⁷But they have no root, and endure only for a while; then, when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away. ¹⁸And others are those sown among the thorns: these are the ones who hear the word, ¹⁹but the cares of the world, and the lure of wealth, and the desire for other things come in and choke the word, and it yields nothing. ²⁰And these are the ones sown on the good soil: they hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirty and sixty and a hundredfold.’

“‘To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside, everything comes in parables; in order that
“they may indeed look, but not perceive, and may indeed listen, but not understand; so that they may not turn again and be forgiven.”’

Well, that sucks.

Doesn’t jive very well with what we say about Jesus, does it? We’re used to “Ask and it will be given unto you.” Who is this Jesus who lays traps for the crowd – a crowd so large that he needs to be in a boat to accommodate them all? Who is this trickster who teaches in order to obfuscate – not just to obfuscate, but to exclude?

Those of us at seminary sometimes call the writer of Mark “The Cop.” “Just the facts, ma’am.” There’s nothing superfluous in Mark. Everything there is there on purpose: it has to serve the story. This makes Mark a masterful author – even better than some authors on the bestseller list today. His is likely the oldest of the Gospels in our canon, maybe written twenty to forty years after the death of Jesus.

Christians during this time were struggling to understand how it could be that the man they called the Saviour of the World could have been subjected to such a brutal and humiliating death. Others mocked them, deriding the weakness and futility of a god that could be killed as a criminal. And it was hard to argue.

Already some were claiming that Jesus had been the Messiah all along. There is debate now and I believe there was debate then over whether or not Jesus had actually told people he was the Messiah while he was alive. Mark is unclear. Not just the crowd but the disciples are portrayed as dimwits who never figure it out. Every time the subject comes up around Jesus he appears to shush people. “He sternly ordered them to tell no-one what they had seen.”

Either way, it was hard for new followers who had not known Jesus personally to believe that the Anointed One of God had been the same as the one who suffered a gruesome execution at the hands of the state. How could this be part of God’s plan?

One of the ways that the writer of Mark appears to be trying to make sense of it all is to explore the theme of hiddenness. In this passage we just heard, Jesus says that parables are there so that those outside will not understand (and even the disciples need it explained). In following passages, we hear Jesus say, “Nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest.”

Well, that’s a relief! We might as well end there! Ah, but – why bother hiding at all if it’s only going to be made manifest later?

This is Mark’s masterstroke: One hides in order to make manifest.

That makes absolutely no sense! No – we need some help. So very quickly let’s look at the boundary of this passage. The first word you heard was “Again.” So it’s related to what came before. What’s it referring to? Today, for our purposes, let’s check the last time that boat was mentioned. The disciples brought a boat so that Jesus wouldn’t be crushed by the crowds rushing forward to be healed. What else was going on? Unclean spirits were shouting at him: “You are the Son of God!” And he tells them to shut up. “He ordered them not to make him known.” Again, the original Greek is helpful: one of the words used is related to the word “light.” One could – rather creatively – translate it, “He ordered them not to shed any light on him.”

It’s not time yet.

It is not the season for figs. My hour has not yet come.

The crucifixion is what will shed the light – because that is what God intended. For Mark, shedding light is shedding blood.

This might sound extreme, even vile. It is, a little – we are working within a paradigm that is so far removed from our time that it might as well be alien. We don’t sacrifice animals anymore, so this idea might not work for us. So how can we make it work?

How about this: Bread can only be shared if it is broken. Wine can only be drunk if it is poured out. The life of Christ is a cruciform life, a life of sacrificial self-giving. This is not a call to an unhealthy martyrdom – if there is no bread left to be broken, everyone goes hungry, and the bread is exhausted. A seed withers unless it has good soil for a home.

Draw near then, brothers and sisters, and feed on the bread of heaven, which is never exhausted, and go forth, fearing neither birds, nor sun, nor stones, nor thorns. Draw near and drink living water, and bubble up unto everlasting life.

Jan 19 | “Come and See” (Sermon, January 18th)

I reference two readings in this piece, which seemed a little excessive to post in their entirety. They can be found here and here.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God. But only the one who sees, takes off their shoes.”

The last couple of weeks may have seemed bleak and more than a little violent. We may feel like the word of the Lord is rare in these days, and visions are not widespread. The Hebrew in the Samuel passage today is a lot more evocative than our English translation. The first clause is actually a little closer to, “The word of the Lord was ‘dear’.” That word like in English carries a meaning of both ‘precious’ and ‘expensive’. The second clause of that sentence more literally reads: “And there was not open vision.” That word “open” is actually a less awkward way to translate broken through. Visions have not been able to break through – break through what? Cynicism? Apathy? A vast rage, perhaps, the kind that stokes the fires of violence? A needlessly hostile mockery which grows like a weed into a merciless silencing and repression?

Last week John told us the voice of God is always there, speaking throughout time and in all generations, choosing messengers not to our convenience or according to our narratives and principles, but choosing ones that will nudge us into growth and humility.

Not safe ones. Not great ones. Not regal ones.

Dangerous ones. Poor ones. Little ones.

Other ones.

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God. But only the one who sees, takes off their shoes.”

That is the truth – the Word, if you like – that God shouted into the abyss. The echo still rings out, rings out in the bursting open of seeds, the rich new growth encouraged by wildfire, the death of stars, the obsolescence and renewal of billions of cells in your own body. Because life and death are intertwined, because earth and heaven have married and become one flesh, because God has met us where we were in the everyday desperation of one tiny life, all things have been utterly transformed – every common bush, every ordinary blood cell, every daily bread, every inconsequential life, made new and carrying a spark – crammed with heaven, afire with God.

That is the truth.

Have you seen it?

I promise you have.

If you’re thinking, “No, I didn’t,” well – Samuel didn’t know who was calling him. Nathanael was skeptical of the source.

Both were called, and both answered.

You were called.

Did you know that?

Maybe, like Samuel, you were alone when you heard that call. Maybe you knew someone was calling you but you didn’t know who it was.

Maybe, like Nathanael, a friend brought you a message, and you couldn’t believe it.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is how you respond.

Your uniquely personal response is key – both Samuel and Nathanael show us that. However, it is not the way to respond. It is only one way.

Samuel needed the almost ritualistic words of invitation: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening,” and he got them from his mentor.

Nathanael needed Philip’s invitation: the beautiful and, to me, somewhat haunting, “Come and see.” The Gospel of John is replete with deceptively simple coded and loaded language. “Come and see” is a very special phrase – Jesus used it a few verses earlier to invite Simon and Andrew to stay with him. It pops up again at other moments in the Gospel as well. When you hear it, you should hear this echo or overtone hiding in it: “everlasting life.”

Samuel and Nathanael were called with the help of others, and both responded in their own way – personally, communally. It has to be both. Our Three-in-One God is too dynamic, too powerful, too expansively, foolishly loving to confine such a gift to one person, one conversation. Think of the amazing strength of this God who managed to share such a monumental gift with the whole world through one life. But that’s all the world has ever needed. One seed, one star, one human life donned like a robe only to be taken off and given to us.

Some gifts are so big that we can’t even see them.

So how do we share such a gift? Let’s look again at the invitation. What was the content of Samuel and Nathanael’s invitation? What about our invitation? What do we tell the ones who are being called and haven’t yet discerned?

Let’s look again.

Samuel hears: “See, I am about to do something in Israel that will make both ears of anyone who hears of it tingle.”

Nathanael hears: “You will see greater things than these – the heavens opening, and angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”

See, I am about to do something. You will see greater things than these.

So what have you seen?

Have you seen God do something great in the place where you live? It’s not always about tearing open the heavens, or parting the sea, or wrestling with angels. Sometimes it’s about the view of the mountains from your window, or the smell of cedar trees, or the birth of a child, or shared laughter with an old friend. Sometimes it’s even about the boring mindless work that we do every day, the work we do for the people we love, the work we do because someone has to, and that’s our ministry.

Have you seen greater things than that? Have you seen reconciliation where all seemed lost? Have you seen life emerging from what seemed like death? Have you seen the helpers? Mr. Rogers the children’s television personality said that when he saw bad things on the news, his mother always told him to “look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

If you have seen help freely offered to someone in need; if you have seen the solidarity that grows between two totally different people who become friends and advocates; if you have seen a life poured out in order that others may live; if you have seen children and elders standing together before the altar with their hands held out for bread and wine; if you have seen the sun rise after the longest, worst day of your life, you have seen angels ascending and descending upon the Son of Man. You have seen heaven married to earth. You have seen the Word made flesh.

I have seen him. I am seeing him. Here. Now. He is looking back at me.

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God. But only the one who sees, takes off their shoes.”

Come and see.

Dec 30 | “The Cradle and the Bell” (Sermon, December 28th)

Luke 2:22-40

22 When the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord ²³(as it is written in the law of the Lord, ‘Every firstborn male shall be designated as holy to the Lord’), ²⁴and they offered a sacrifice according to what is stated in the law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons.’

25 Now there was a man in Jerusalem whose name was Simeon; this man was righteous and devout, looking forward to the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit rested on him. ²⁶It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. ²⁷Guided by the Spirit, Simeon came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him what was customary under the law, ²⁸Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying,
²⁹ ‘Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace,
according to your word;
³⁰ for my eyes have seen your salvation,
³¹Â Â Â which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
³² a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people Israel.’

33 And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. ³⁴Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, ‘This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed ³⁵so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’

36 There was also a prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was of a great age, having lived with her husband for seven years after her marriage, ³⁷then as a widow to the age of eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshipped there with fasting and prayer night and day. ³⁸At that moment she came, and began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.

39 When they had finished everything required by the law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. ⁴⁰The child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom; and the favour of God was upon him.

Welcome to the first Sunday after Christmas.

I don’t know about you, but there are still signs of Christmas chaos all over my house. Of course us Anglicans can keep Christmas going for just a little longer – say, another week. Before we know it, Jesus will be all grown up in the story, a little child no longer.

It therefore seems quite magical to have a baptism at this time of year, and today’s Gospel reading is the perfect story for one.

I call it “the Cradle and the Bell.”

Mary and Joseph, the couple too poor to afford the lamb that the Book of Leviticus tells us would be appropriate for the ceremony they are about to undergo, bring their substitute pigeons into the Temple.

Let’s take a moment to imagine how they must have felt. Imagine two desperately poor kids (as they probably were) from the two-thirds world, maybe a slum in India or a refugee camp in Africa, walking into St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican. The Temple was the seat of Judaism, shining like a diamond in Jerusalem, God’s jewellery box. And not only that, but just as crowded and likely a lot noisier. Vendors and money-changers, folks waiting in line with their own prayer requests and firstborn babies, priests and Levites running back and forth. I imagine it was scary – maybe even a bit traumatizing.

And then, behind them, a voice, and arms reach out and take their baby. The paintings always make this story look sweet and tender but can you imagine how weird it would be to have a complete stranger just walk up and grab your baby right out of your arms?

We’re told it was an irresistible urge. Simeon was led into the Temple by the Holy Spirit. I noticed when I re-read this story that I have tended to combine or conflate characters and events in it. For example, in paintings and in our imaginations, often it is assumed that both Simeon and Anna are old and living in the Temple. But in this story only Anna is explicitly named as either of those things. Far less is said about Simeon – only that he was “righteous and devout” and “looking forward to the consolation of Israel.” We assume he was old because when he sees Jesus he knows he has been given permission to die…but the story doesn’t actually tell us his age. He is only a man to whom a promise has been made.

He reaches out, guided by the Holy Spirit, and takes the baby – and in so doing becomes a Cradle for the infinite. The child, conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit, casts his line and draws in this man from outside into the courts of the Temple. We don’t get to hear what Simeon was doing before that. I’m quite curious about it. Did he get up in the middle of something and walk away, like disciples will later walk away from their boats? What happened after this incident? Did he drop dead right there in the Temple, or did he go home and wait? We don’t get to see any of that: only the child in his arms, maybe looking at him with that beautifully studious look that infants have from time to time. The Holy Spirit reached out and drew Simeon in. This is what she does.

Shortly after, we meet Anna, a prophet, who the Greek text either says is eighty-four or has been a widow for eighty-four years! Either way, Anna has, gently speaking, taken more than a few turns around the planet. But she is not a sweet and quiet elderly lady meekly going about her duties. Like most of the elderly church ladies I’ve met, she’s a powerhouse, very active in her faith community. Some ancient documents suggest there may have been a special ceremonial role for widows in the Temple. Whoever she was, she is about her business on that day, as she had been for many years before that. When she tells other people about the child, the prophet Anna becomes a Bell, tolling the story of love and redemption that was promised by other prophets years ago to the people of Israel.

Interestingly, while the male Simeon’s story has a deeply personal and emotional angle, Anna’s is all about action, voice, and community. This is different from what we might see in a contemporary Hollywood story, where emotion is commonly shown as the domain of women while men take initiative and action. If we consider the lack of clarity around Simeon’s age, we could also say this is an inversion of a common view of age: the introspective Simeon versus the engaged and vocal Anna. This reversal of how things so often are – with men as bells and women as cradles – only highlights Luke’s preoccupation with flipping things on end. For Luke, the unexpected is how God chooses to express Godself. The point, here, is not only reversal, but diversity. Jesus is recognized by both Simeon and Anna, and nurtured and proclaimed by both. I feel that Luke’s insistence that we turn our focus to the unexpected, the losers, the nobodies, may for our purposes be less about insisting one is better and more about lifting up stifled voices to be on the same level as privileged voices. We need both. We need prophetic nobodies, like John the Baptizer, and deferent somebodies, like the centurion who begs Jesus to heal his slave, to fill out the kingdom of God.

We need cradles and bells for the kingdom of God.

It follows that we would need cradles and bells for baptism.

It’s not just about being a model for this precious child of God. We do have to take seriously the vows we will make to do all in our power to support this person in her life in Christ. But too often, especially when the candidate is a child, we shift our attention to what we are to do and be for her. There’s nothing wrong with this impulse, but we need to remember that it is not merely us who are here preparing some empty vessel to be filled with the Holy Spirit. Rather, we are called here, out of wherever we came from – waiting at home or in constant prayer and fasting – to witness to a child who has been called by God right here, right now. This is holy work, but not because we are holy. It is holy work because we are being called to be cradles and bells for this child. Remember: before she could speak, God called her. She has a ministry right now, and she’s doing it right now, giving us hope and joy merely by her presence. She is the actor in a drama – which we stage in miniature – that was written before the world began. With this water, we baptize her into the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ: a deep, cellular, universal truth. A mentor at school insisted once that when we hear the sound of the water at a baptism, it’s rarely as dramatic as it should be! So imagine a deluge. Imagine the rainstorm of the century. This child is going to pass through, and we need to accept that in that symbolic death she does not belong to us, but to God…and in this symbolic resurrection, she belongs to us more deeply than she belongs to her own flesh and blood, because she belongs to the Body of Christ in the world.

She has a mission and she is enacting it right now before us all, before she can even speak. If we accept that this happened for Jesus and we proclaim ourselves as the Body of Christ, we therefore rejoice that it is happening for this child as well, right here, right now. We are witnessing God’s glory – directly.

Right now, our mission, like Simeon and Anna, is to rejoice, praise God, give thanks, and proclaim our hope.

Remember: the Holy Spirit is capricious. We cannot know what She has in store for this newest minister in Christ’s Body.

Alleluia and praise God for the beautiful unknown.

Nov 13 | “Called to be Saints” – (Philippians Group Presentation, November 12th)

Quick background: One of the tasks given to me at St. Philip’s (where I am currently an intern) was to lead a talk on saints and to introduce in particular the six Celtic saints depicted in beautiful stained glass on the church’s southern wall. The talk was held at 4pm so we could still catch the light. Here are my notes from that talk.

What kind of words do you think of when you think of ‘saints?’

(We recorded the following words from the group: Halo, good, grace, faith, us, stewardship of creation, prayer, comfort, humility, grandmother, perfection, and meekness; and then the names of several saints including David, Mary, Michael, Martin, and Elfrig).

Let’s invite the Bible to our conversation. Now the Bible has its own words, although obviously not in English. The English word “saints” appears in several translations. It is sometimes used as a translation of the Hebrew word חֲסִידָיו֙ (hasidaw) in the Hebrew Bible. This means “holy ones” or “godly ones,” or, in the case of the song of Hannah who was mother of the prophet Samuel, “faithful ones.” And it’s always used after a possessive – it’s always in reference to God, and ownership by God.

BELONGING TO GOD

The Greek word most often translated as “saints” in the New Testament is ἁγίων (hagiōn). It means the same thing: “holy ones.” And what’s really interesting is that the word only shows up in one Gospel: Matthew tells us when Jesus is crucified, the curtain of the Temple is torn in two, there’s a big earthquake, and the bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep are raised and get up and walk around. So zombies? Probably meant to say something about how a new era has begun, post-crucifixion.

SIGNS

The person who really gets some use out of that word hagiōn is Paul – it comes up in a ton of his letters and the ones attributed to him. It also comes up in some of the other epistles like Hebrews and Second Peter. And someone else who uses it everywhere is the writer of Revelation. His view of the holy ones is apocalyptic and mystical in appropriate Revelation style.

INSTRUMENTAL TO THE KINGDOM

 

So in light of all that, how do you feel when Paul says that the Church at Corinth – and, let’s not kid ourselves, WE – are called to be saints?

(Most people said a variant of “Scared.”)

Fear not. The core meaning of these words hasidaw and hagiōn, their concept of holiness is actually not about being “good,” necessarily, or even “righteous.” It actually has more to do with being “different.”

DIFFERENT

Another word that gets used a lot in Hebrew Scripture is “set apart,” or “distinct.” It’s not about necessarily being more special, or cut off from other folk. We’re meant to understand this as something that’s “not for everyday use,” like how you wouldn’t use one of our communion chalices to pour the tea we’re drinking. We use the chalice for a different purpose. This concept of being “set apart” comes up in Scripture a lot: Joseph is “set apart” from his brothers; the firstborn is “set apart” for the Lord when the great covenant is being made in Exodus. Setting things apart is usually set alongside some form of agreement or covenant. It’s paradoxical – a relationship and yet a separation.

RELATIONSHIP / SEPARATION

Now again, if you’re worried that this is supposed to cut a person off from the regular world, that’s not a full understanding. That’s why the lives of the saints are so important – in Anglican tradition we believe that people becomesaints through the actions they do in their earthly lives. And this relationship isn’t just about God, but each other. You’ll notice in the Bible, we never discuss saints in the singular. It’s always plural.

CLOUD OF WITNESSES

 

Now in the Bible, that’s all we get of the saints. We have some miracles and we have the characters who eventually became saints in our tradition – the Apostles, the martyrs and such – but they’re not explicitly named saints. The saints are usually referred to in the third person, and then we have these descriptors.

So beyond that, what do saints look like in the rest of our traditions? Let’s take a look at some of the ones we have here at St. Philip’s to flesh this out a little.

AIDAN

This is Aidan of Lindisfarne. We celebrate him on August 31^st. He was Irish but is often called the Apostle of Northumbria. Aidan became a bishop during a time when the Christian king Oswald was trying to return Christianity to Ireland after Anglo-Saxon paganism had undergone a resurgence. Oswald chose to send missionaries from the monastery of Iona rather than the Roman controlled monastery in Northumbria, and Aidan picked up where an earlier ineffective bishop left off. He founded the monastic community of Lindisfarne, which produced the stunning illuminated Lindisfarne Gospels. He also made a point of travelling on foot to many different villages, freeing slaves and giving money, room, board, and education to orphans. His model of mission involved conversing with locals face-to-face and taking an active interest in their lives. He also dined with the rich, and distributed the excessive gifts they often bestowed upon him to the poor and slaves. He was a friend of the poor and friend to the rich, and died leaning against the wall of a local church on one of his missionary trips in the seventeenth year of his episcopacy. Bishop of Durham Joseph Lightfoot claims, “Augustine was the Apostle of Kent, but Aidan was the Apostle of the English.”

BRIGID

Here we have Brigid of Kildare, one of Ireland’s patron saints, affectionately known as Mary of the Gael. There has been some controversy over whether or not she was a real person. One art historian believes that the traditions of the mother goddess of a form of Celtic paganism, who was also named Brigid, have been grafted onto this figure. The first clue to that claim is that Brigid’s celebrated on February 1^st, which is the date of the pagan feast of Imbolc, or the first day of spring. A second clue is this symbol: You might recognize this as the cross of St. Brigid, which may be related to an earlier pagan symbol for the sun. The Apostles of Ireland were clever in appropriating the culture of the land for their purposes, and there are a few common adaptations of pagan symbols and legends to ease the transitions between religions. Whatever their motives were, it became a part of the land’s traditions. Now St. Brigid’s crosses are made every year and have traditionally been thought to protect the house from fire.

The real Brigid may have been born in Dundalk, County Louth. Although the biographies differ, they seem to agree that one of Brigid’s parents was a slave. Several of the accounts claim that she performed miracles as a child, particularly for the benefit of the poor. Eventually, she was committed to the religious life, and granted abbatial powers. She established an oratory at Kildare which became a centre for religion and learning, soon developing into a cathedral city. She then established two monasteries and a school of art, including metalwork and illumination. She was apparently very good friends with St. Patrick, with the Book of Armagh stating that they had “but one heart and one mind.” There have been many more miracles attributed to her as an adult, most of them to do with healing and domestic tasks.

COLUMBA

Columba’s feast day is June 9^th. He was born in Ulster and trained under St. Finnian with twelve others who eventually became known as the Twelve Apostles of Ireland. He eventually entered the monastery of Clonard and as Wikipedia so poetically puts it “imbib[ed] the traditions of the Welsh Church.” He is described further by author John Crawley as “a striking figure of great stature and powerful build, with a loud, melodious voice which could be heard from one hilltop to another.” Apparently he was a bit of a troublemaker too, as he got involved in quarrels with other monks and even induced one clan to battle a king when the king had violated a prince’s right to sanctuary with Columba. Excommunication was threatened but later lessened to exile, and he resolved during that time to win as many souls as possible for Christ. He traveled to Scotland, bringing Christianity to the Picts and other tribes up the west coast, and founded Iona, which became a dominant religious and political institution in the region for centuries. He guided the region’s only centre for literacy, wrote several hymns, and transcribed as many as 300 books. He was also appointed a diplomat among many of the tribes. In the Vita Columba we have accounts by the author of Columba’s prophetic revelations, miraculous works, and apparitions of angels.

HILDA

Hilda of Whitby had a high-class upbringing, as her father was related to Edwin of Northumbria. She was appointed Abbess of Hartlepool Abbey by Aidan of Lindisfarne. Eventually she founded Whitby Abbey and remained until her death. Five men from her monastery later became bishops, and two joined Hilda in sainthood. Hilda’s feast day is November 17^th.

The Venerable Bede describes Hilda as a woman of great energy, who was a skilled administrator and teacher. She gained such a reputation for wisdom that kings and princes sought her advice.My favourite story about her is her support of Cædmon, however. He was a herder at the monastery, who was inspired in a dream to sing verses in praise of God. Hilda recognized his gift and encouraged him to develop it. Bede writes, “All who knew her called her mother because of her outstanding devotion and grace.”

She suffered from a fever for the last six years of her life but didn’t let it stop her from founding another abbey at Harkness in her last year. Legend says that the moment she died, the bells at Harkness told. Legend also has it that sea birds flying over the abbey dip their wings in her honour.

BEDE

You might remember him from high school English. He might sound more familiar as “the Venerable Bede.” He is the only native Briton to achieve the title ‘Doctor of the Church,’ which he received in 1899 from Pope Leo XIII. He was born in Sunderland on the land owned by the twinned monasteries Monkwearmouth and Jarrow, and was likely from a noble family. You can see he’s standing next to Cuthbert and this is because they had a connection in life; Cuthbert was one of Bede’s disciples. He became a scholar and started to write around the age of 29. He is best known for his Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, which gave him the title “the Father of English history,” but he also wrote poetry and apparently was a gifted singer as well. He is buried in Durham Cathedral. His feast day is May 25^th.

CUTHBERT

He was another Northumbrian saint, the patron saint of Northern England. He was likely born of a noble family in what are now the Scottish borders in the mid-630s and decided to become a monk after having a vision of St. Aidan being carried up to heaven by angels and then learning that Aidan had died that night. Cuthbert grew up and came of age during a time of conflict between Roman and Irish traditions in the church, which shaped his views. Though Cuthbert himself was educated in the Celtic tradition he accepted Roman traditions without much bother. He became famous and beloved among the people for his missionary trips, miracles, and his charm and generosity to the poor. For a while he lived a contemplative life as a hermit before being elected Bishop – under great reluctance on his part. He was only Bishop for about a year before returning to Northumberland to his cell and dying after a painful illness. He was buried at Lindisfarne the same day but through a series of escapes from marauding Danes his remains eventually came to rest at Durham Cathedral. His feast day is March 20^th, although our Episcopal brothers and sisters down South celebrate him on August 31^st.

So here are some of our brothers and sisters in faith. I see them as living into many of the words we have here. But can we live up to this?

(Someone outright said, “No.”)

Don’t worry. It’s a trick question.

It’s not about living up to an expectation in order to earn your wings. It’s about integrity – not simple truthfulness and a goody-two-shoes “saintly” bearing. It’s not even about being saved.

It’s about turning around and seeing the sunrise that has already begun, and running into it.

At a certain point, miracles don’t matter. Even an exemplary life is something that’s great but not required. How does the saying go? “All may, some should, none must.”

What does matter, in a very general sense, is recognizing the great gift of life you and the entire cosmos have been given. In a Christian mindset, it is discovering and beginning your baptismal ministry and making it determine your truth and your actions.

It’s the work done by love for love by our friends in the places where they were living that made them saints. It was not about miracles. It was about saying “Yes.”

This also must be balanced with the humility that God in Christ is working already in every corner of the world, and was doing so even before any of us saw it happen. We don’t need to join in, but it’s so much more beautiful when we do, because then we are participating in the mystical work of the already/not yet kingdom.

That’s why I brought this. Here is one of our saints: St. A.J. Moyles of Dunbar Heights. We can giggle, but I’m actually being quite serious. He was one of the founders of this parish. He did many good things and gave us the community we enjoy today. God was already weaving miracles in Dunbar Heights before we got here. We just wanted to testify to it.

Anyone can be a saint – from this man and those who worked with him, who gave us so much, to the ungrateful rabble at Corinth. It’s not about being good enough to become a saint. It’s about living into an identity that has already been given to you.

Nov 10 | “The Foolish Bridesmaid” (Sermon, November 9th)

Matthew 25:25-13

25‘Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. ²Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. ³When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; ⁴but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. ⁵As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. ⁶But at midnight there was a shout, “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.” ⁷Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. ⁸The foolish said to the wise, “Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.” ⁹But the wise replied, “No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.” ¹⁰And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. ¹¹Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, “Lord, lord, open to us.” ¹²But he replied, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.” ¹³Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.

This parable has holes, doesn’t it? A bridegroom, but no bride. A wedding feast – was there a wedding beforehand? Where are the bridesmaids supposed to get oil at midnight? What does the oil represent, and how can we make sure we have enough of it?

We know that in a parable everything has a hidden meaning. Historically, most interpretations see the wedding feast as the final restoration of all things that we hear about in Revelation, or that Mary celebrates in the Magnificat.

Well, I want to wonder something. I wonder if this feast was the reception after the wedding. And I wonder if the wedding was the Incarnation: Jesus coming among us, walking, talking, eating and drinking, telling stories, warning us about what was to come, telling us to prepare ourselves.

We’ve been to that wedding. We were born many years later but we were there. We don’t need to have seen Jesus face-to-face to have experienced it. We saw it at our baptism – the reaching out of God, and our reaching back, even if we weren’t conscious of it at the time, for the community’s reaching out on our behalf was enough. We also celebrate it every day. When we love another as we love ourselves we accept our invitation to the wedding. When we allow a vestigial or damaging piece of ourselves to die so that another may live more fully – whatever that looks like – we are present at that wedding of flesh and the infinite.

That’s good news.

But that’s not what this parable is about, is it? The ceremony is over. Now the reception can begin: the great celebration – if you’ll permit me, the wedding night when earth and heaven join together fully and forever at the end of the age.

Where are we now? Are we outside the door waiting for the bridegroom? Are we trimming our wicks and breathing a sigh of relief that we brought enough oil? Or are we scrambling down the alley trying to make our way back in time?

All of the bridesmaids fall asleep. The bridegroom is delayed. It takes a long time between the wedding and the feast.

I think it is easy during these darkening hours to forget the colour and pageantry of the wedding, easy to forget that a promise was made to return.

You can see warnings against forgetting all through Matthew’s Gospel, especially in the chapters before this one. Jesus tells us to beware of false Messiahs, and warns us that there will be great suffering. He was speaking in the context of the Roman Empire…but I think we still know what that means today. We might be tempted by people or things or movements that seem like the answer to all our problems, all our prayers – the latest toys, the slickest campaign ads – even though we know deep down they’re not.

And great suffering – well, we know suffering. Remembrance Day is this week – one hundred years since the beginning of World War I. After World War I church attendance plummeted. Too many of those who returned remembered being recruited from the pulpit. Too many came home having seen things that made them question whether there was any mercy in the world. And World War II, well – there’s people in this room that remember what that was like first hand. And even though my generation may not have known mass conscription or bombing drills, we came of age with the Columbine shooting and 9/11 on our TV screens, and we have organized protests that did not succeed in their mission. Violence continues to smoulder around the world.

All of the bridesmaids fell asleep. Some of the preachers of the early church said the sleep represented death. Maybe…but maybe it could have been despair.

We’ve all felt it – personally and communally.

Now if you look at the statistics, things are actually getting better. People are speaking out and doing great things – adults and children. But you wouldn’t necessarily know that looking at the news. I feel like in our parable, if we’re the bridesmaids, trying as hard as we can to stay awake, the media is like people passing by on the street who say, “Go home. He’s not coming.”

“He’s not coming.”

We all fall asleep – prepared and unprepared. Who knows what causes some to be prepared and some to not be? The parable doesn’t say.

We all fall asleep – and the cry goes up: “He’s coming!”

He doesn’t come with a big fanfare, like the Rapture in the Left Behind novels. Matthew’s Gospel says he comes like a thief in the night. Maybe that’s why we have to light our lamps. We’ll miss him otherwise.

What is the oil for a lamp of hope? Who can say? A better question is, “How are we supposed to get oil at midnight?” The parable doesn’t even say if the unprepared bridesmaids find any. It just says that by the time they got back it was too late.

I don’t know if there is a point at which it will be too late to light lamps of hope to join the feast, a point where we will miss the bridegroom for good.

What I do know is that there is oil for my lamp among this community right now, and maybe it’s oil for your lamp too, or it could be.

Maybe, if you and our brother Matthew will permit me, I can add an epilogue to the parable.

‘One of the foolish bridesmaids, locked outside, decided to write a letter to the bridegroom and slip it under the door. She set down her lamp, scavenged a discarded scrap of paper, and wrote:

“Beloved bridegroom,

I do not know when or if this will reach you. By the time you see it my hair may have turned grey and the hand which holds the lamp may be shaky. I will definitely be hungry and tired, for you can be certain that I will never sleep again.

I will be here, though.

At the wedding, there were so many to greet, and embrace, and bless, and welcome to the family. People came from all over just to see you resplendent in your robe of flesh, shining with the jewels of humankind’s best offerings – community, passion, faith, and love.

You, the bridegroom of my heart: brother, beloved, bone of my bone.

How were we supposed to believe you were really coming, after spending a years’ long night in this wicked city? People passing by laughed at us! “He’s not coming,” they said, and “What? Are you still here?”

But we would do it all again even if it took you twice as long. Except we’d bring some stupid oil.”

As she slides the letter under the door, she pauses to look at her pathetic lamp, dry as a bone and just as useful. The darkness is total now. The streets outside the banquet hall are silent. There is nothing left.

As she leans back against the bricks of the hall to look up at the sky, she is surprised at how warm they are. She can feel music from the feast pulsing against her back, and it makes her smile. She no longer feels hungry, and her eyelids are no longer heavy. She even recognizes the song and joins in – one voice, maybe half a beat behind, but the same song, the same story.

And suddenly, a grinding of wood on wood: someone is opening a window above her head. An amazing swath of light envelopes her. The sounds of the banquet become deafening; smells cascade upon her like a waterfall.

As she lifts her head, blinking into the light, she sees a shadow, gradually becoming clearer as her eyes adjust. Hands reach out – the hands she longed to kiss – and lower down a tray, and on the tray:

A fresh loaf of bread, and a glass of wine.’

Amen.

-Clarity

Nov 06 | “The Dance” (Sermon – All Souls)

John 11:21–27

Oct 31 | Consider the Possibility

Note: I’ve made some changes to this post since first sharing it. I decided to switch out the original “first example” for one that I had a much clearer memory of.

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual harassment, rape account, rape culture

Once again we find ourselves in the midst of a battle over rape culture, this time with a Canadian flavour. Who’s surprised? Certainly not I, says this disillusioned little feminist, but how many times do we have to have this conversation before something really gets done?

I’m not completely lost to cynicism: each time we have this conversation things seem to inch a little closer to better for those who have survived abuse and are speaking out (or aren’t but are watching the tides slowly turn and maybe considering that they might one day feel comfortable to speak out themselves). But why does there continue to be such shock and denial over this concept?

Of course there’s a whole added wrinkle to this kind of conversation when a celebrity is involved, but that’s beside the point for today. What’s troubling is not that celebrities do these kinds of things. They are, after all, just people. From my own experiences of the various scandals that have come to light during my lifetime, really what makes a scandal scandalous is the rampant entitlement that comes to light. Celebrities don’t have any sort of monopoly on a sense of entitlement, although I feel it may be overfed in those cases. Even if it’s overfed, though, scandals of that nature do tend to be reported hysterically, probably because the media behind the reporting is regularly fed by the masses’ desire to feel superior to those they admire, despise, or envy.

To come back to the topic at hand, I’ve long since come to the conclusion that it’s just easy for some folks to be skeptical because they haven’t had a similar experience themselves, or perhaps have not allowed themselves to admit that their experience was similar. And I’m tired of this skepticism. I’m tired of the loud vitriolic finger-pointing and the quiet passive-aggressive contempt. Both of them are borne out of the same violence.

Rape culture is not just a buzz word. I’ve seen it.

Don’t believe me? Fine. I’ll give you two examples from my own life.

First Example: I was twelve years old, and it was my first summer with breasts. I have always been a curvy person, and it made me stand out in my mum’s family, as the women in it do not tend to be curvy at all. Yes, I’ve joked that my boobs came from my dad.

Either way, it was summer and I was wearing a bright red tank top. I don’t remember it being particularly revealing. The straps were wide and it covered my midriff. (Why should I even be compelled to defend myself? I was a CHILD).

I was on my way to my very first day of the Arts Umbrella animation summer day camp on Granville Island. I had never done anything formal with regards to art before. I was so excited to get to go to a camp where I could drawn manga all day.

I came out the front door of our apartment building and the first thing I saw was a guy pass by on his bike. I remember him being kind of schlubby looking, maybe 50 at the most, hairy, wearing a baseball cap. Old enough to be my dad, at any rate.

As he passed, he saw me and stuck out his tongue. Not in a teasing way but in a “Hubba hubba!” kind of way, with big eyes and a wide open mouth.

“Yuck!” I thought, baffled, but as he was whipping by on a bike I didn’t think much of it.

I kept walking, and finally came down to a place where there was a park sloping away from the street and overlooking the water.

The guy was standing there, quite far away, but close enough to see me. I saw him grin and hop on his bike to ride toward.

“Oh crap,” I thought.

He rode alongside me for just a minute – just long enough to snort at me three times, like a pig.

I can remember literally curling into myself, shying back.

He continued on ahead of me.

I bolted back home.

Running into the apartment, my mum looked up, startled. “What are you doing here? You’re going to be late.”

It all came out in a rush. I think I sobbed through it.

My mother was annoyed.

“Now I’m going to have to drive you.”

I stared at her.

“You’re going to have to learn to just ignore that,” she said brusquely, and hustled me off to the car.

I felt so betrayed.

How is this rape culture? Well, first of all, you’ve probably seen scenes like the one I experienced played for laughs on TV and in movies and books. It’s a stereotype: the lecherous old man who’s lost all sense of propriety. Most of the time he’s portrayed as harmless, maybe because he doesn’t appear to have much physical strength or sexual stamina, so he doesn’t really pose a threat. Therefore, she should just shrug off his inappropriate behaviour and maybe have a laugh at his expense.

Have you ever seen a scene where this happens and the woman responds by cuffing or slapping the guy, the way she might in a similar scene with a younger guy in the groping role?

I certainly haven’t.

Take a moment to try and think of the last time you saw this stereotype played out with the genders reversed. Sure, it happens, but it’s not quite as pervasive, is it? It’s not a stereotype the way the former is; it’s usually “successful” as comedy because it’s a reversal of what we usually see. I would argue that it’s a lot more common to see a scene that includes an older woman misinterpreting some hapless guy’s comment as sexually suggestive and accompanying an outraged “Well, I NEVER!” with violence. And who is providing the comedy in that scene? It’s her. She’s the joke. Because no-one would want her. A young girl, though? Possibly undeserving of the unwanted attention, but “understandably desirable” to a horny old man.

Do you realize how messed up this is?

But even more messed up – I can remember hearing girls in my gym class that fall tell a story about a guy they had seen masturbating in public at the beach. They all laughed about it. I remember being totally horrified.

I’ve shared my own story with many other women, and a lot of them, curvy and thin, had not only had a similar experience, but had been, like me, around twelve or thirteen years old as well. That was always the average age of their first encounter with harassment.

That encounter, and my mum’s own irritated response, was only one of the many things that made my breasts a source of shame and embarrassment. I still struggle with that feeling today – that I’m “too much,” maybe that I even deserve any catcalls or staring.

And that is rape culture.

Second Example: This one is a great deal more complicated, and for the most part I’ve kept it low key, although I wouldn’t call it a secret. It’s been the sort of thing that I’ve unpacked in the nine years since it happened, and all of the talk that’s come up around rape culture has kept it pretty far forward in my mind.

A long time ago, I was in a relationship with someone, not the person I’m married to now, and you’ll see why. This other person was and is still, for the most part, a good guy. This is what’s so difficult to explain: the prevalent myths of how rape works and what it looks like — the myths that keep rape culture going — are all deeply problematic. This person was and still is a good guy. He was funny and charming and I have no ill feelings toward him now, but what happened between us cemented an uncertainty that had been building for some time.

This guy, though good, had a sense of entitlement. He demanded emotional commitments from me that only served to make me feel worse about myself during a time when my self-esteem was pretty damn low to begin with. These demands moved along a continuum between merely insensitive and rather unreasonable. All of this came to a head one day where I said to him, “I really don’t want to have sex with you today.” I had been going through a turbulent emotional time, and there were a few other reasons that I won’t get into, and oh my God can you see it now? Why should I even give excuses? I said no and that was that and there shouldn’t be any need to try to exonerate myself because I did nothing wrong. I didn’t owe him my body. I don’t owe it to anyone.

He felt betrayed by this, but grudgingly acquiesced.

Later, I went shopping. It was fun. I bought some cute things. One of the cute things was a mini-skirt. (Oh, mini-skirt. How unfairly maligned you have been. Among the scapegoats of modern society: people of colour, people of a different religion, “the younger generation,” and mini-skirts.)

When I got back to this guy’s house, he asked me to show him what I bought.

I did.

“I like that skirt. Can I see it on you?”

Well, sure! I put it on and gave him a spin.

He grabbed me and threw me on the bed.

I remember all thoughts shooting out of my brain and leaving me blank. If I were to caption my face at that moment it would probably say, “Well that escalated quickly.”

He was on top of me immediately. It wasn’t exactly what I would call violent, but it sure as hell wasn’t tender either.

There wasn’t much of a coherent thought process after that, but I can definitely tell you the emotions that went through me.

The first was shock.

Then fear.

And following that, one phrase echoed in my brain: “I said I didn’t want to do this.”

I had made it clear not two or three hours earlier that I didn’t want to have sex. Just because it had been a couple of hours did not mean I had changed my mind. I had had no plans to break my own promise to myself that we would not do anything, and I trusted him to honour my request.

And following that?

Again, here’s the rape culture part:

The words below did not form themselves in a concrete way, but the emotion was there. I thought, “Should I tell him to stop?”

And what followed was, “No…because I’m scared of what will happen if I do.”

So, it continued.

After that first initial shock and those troubling thoughts, I actually didn’t find it to be an entirely unpleasant experience. We had enjoyed sex in the past together.

But he never checked in with me, and I was never given the chance to really give consent.

And when we were done, I felt disgusting.

I had never felt like that after sex before. It was an entirely new feeling and it was gross.

Everything got papered over after that, like it hadn’t even happened. He was sweet and caring.

He was a good guy.

So was that rape?

People to whom I’ve told that story have been divided. I honestly still feel divided myself.

I’ll tell you two more things about it:

One: Part of the reason why I decided to ditch that good guy and marry another one was the realization after that experience that the other one would never have done something like that. He would never have been angry with me for denying him sex, and he would never ignore or “forget” a request I had made two hours before. He would either wait until I was ready and told him so, or he would ask.

Not like “a gentleman.” Like a human being that cares about the bodily autonomy of another human being.

Two: I have never confronted the good guy about that experience. What good would it do? What could I possibly say to explain how betrayed I felt by him, when he was already the kind of person to ignore a request like the one I’d made? And how crazy would it have sounded, after all this time? Instead of confronting him, I broke up with him about three weeks after it happened. He was devastated and regularly drunk-dialled me in the weeks that followed until I finally told him to stop. He did. We exchanged a few emails after that, and they were sensitive and caring. Several years later he got married and had a child. When my father died unexpectedly, he sent me a beautiful Facebook message telling me he was thinking of me, and sharing that his own father had also died shortly after mine did.

He wasn’t a bad guy.

He was just entitled.

And that’s what’s so important to understand about rape culture.

Men are not beasts who can’t control themselves. They’re human beings. Monsters that jump out of dark alleys to prey on unsuspecting women are exceedingly rare, but somehow they are the stereotype. They are the socially acceptable image of a rapist, just like the sobbing heavily battered woman wearing a floor length wool coat is the socially acceptable image of a rape victim (and they’re always “victims,” never “survivors”).

In reality, men who commit rape are husbands, brothers, and uncles; wage workers and CEOs; criminals and cops. Some of them might actually be heartless jerks who don’t care about anything but themselves.

Most of them, though, just feel entitled.

And the culture supports that entitlement. Look at the advertising that promotes products with women draped all over them, as though a girl is one of the optional accessories on your new car, or an extra side dish with your burger. Look at the popular books and films that portray guys with dangerous emotional problems and patterns of abuse as sexy desirable “bad boys.” Look at the TV cop shows like Criminal Minds or even true crime shows with “reconstructions” that attempt to titillate viewers by using loving close-ups on sobbing bound and gagged women as vehicles for upping the tension in a scene with a killer. Look at the major news networks who lament the lost futures of high school boys who post videos and photos of themselves gang-raping unconscious girls, networks who devote no time at all to the victims who were humiliated.

I know it’s going to take a long time to fully understand how pervasive something like this is if you’ve never been able to see it before. I just want someone to recognize, if for only the few minutes it takes to read this, that the thing that kept you from seeing it was your privilege. “Privileg” is not supposed to be a dirty word, the kind of thing that shuts down conversations and singles you out. It is simply the thing that makes it possible for us to ignore micro and macro-aggressions that happen to others on a daily basis.

If you do only one thing, let it be considering this possibility: Rape culture may be true, and if it is, it’s worth ending.

-Clarity