The Apostle, the Eunuch and YouTube

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Brother David Steindl-Rast (O.S.B.) challenges us, as Christians, to forego the “narrowness, exclusivism, or sexism” that too often typifies an entrenched and defended posture in partisan communities – as the only viable and productive path to meaningful dialogue. Speaking from an entirely ‘different’ background, Thich Nhat Hanh (a Vietnamese Buddhist monk) censures the caution (when one ponders the parallels and overlaps of a variety of traditions) that we ought not to make ‘fruit salad’ of these practices with the delightful observation that “fruit salad can be delicious”! This parishioner’s thoughts on the political side of church till similar soil with yet another hoe.

David Howard.

The Apostle, The Eunuch and YouTube
BCE: Before Computer Era. For a tax accountant, those were interesting days. Well, for some of us, BCE stood for Before Calculator Era. Indeed, any accountant worth their mettle, could add columns of numbers swiftly and accurately in the latterly named times. But science kept gently nudging accounting forward. Soon, there were the hand-crank calculators and summing columns in one’s head became a lost art. The CE, Computer Era, brought significant changes to accounting practices. For tax practitioners, the availability of online forms from other countries probably reduced the sales of extra-strength pain relievers threefold. No longer were the procrastinating clients with their U.S. returns a problem. In the U.S., taxpayers are normally required to file federal, state and municipal income tax returns. Finding a paper return for Small-town, N.J. on April 14th BCE in a Stratford Ontario accounting office was an impossibility. This task, in the Computer Era is a no-brainer; the main complaint now is if the online form is not a fillable form.
Perhaps there are similarities for faith communities. What brings this to mind are the availability of websites that support followers of The Way. The Daily Office is an Episcopalian website that provides noon and evening online offices. It is visually attractive and usually has sound bites from choirs around the world. The discipline of observing daily offices is an important tradition of the Anglican Church. I am often surprised where this practice takes me.
This week, the poll surveys visitors on the question: Why did God tell Philip to baptise the Ethiopian eunuch? The scriptural reference is Acts 8:27-39. Interestingly, there is a YouTube video link, with the poll, that recreates this event recorded by Luke. Two young men, with background music from the movie Chariots of Fire, cleverly and succinctly bring the scripture reference to life.
I reread the biblical text and contemplate the question. The obvious reasons are purposely blanked out. Requiring some stimulus, I Google Philip and the Eunuch. 243,000 results; oh dear. Of the 243,000 results, one attracts me: The Ethiopian Queen of the Desert: researching theology, celebrating diversity. Let’s check this out.
The subtitle of the article is Philip and The Ethiopian Eunuch: Two Role Models for Inclusivity. The author has three university degrees and supports his article with references. There are no spelling mistakes (my first criterion for worthiness).
I’ve read the article three times now. It is a thoughtful and progressive look at the scripture; verse by verse I am given new insight to the text. Superficially, most commentaries (and many of the other 243,000 results as well) focus on the baptism scene and the road to salvation. This author opens my eyes to the profound yet subtle significance of elements of the text. The Ethiopian eunuch is as significant a character, now in my mind, as the Samarian woman at the well. In our age, we are numbed to the powerfully radical actions of Jesus, in the case of the Samarian woman, and Philip, in this case of the Ethiopian eunuch.
Interestingly, another YouTube video focuses on the present-day story of a young Ethiopian immigrant to Israel. His family went to Israel for a better secular and religious life. Neither has happened. The family has met only bigotry, exclusion, racism and poverty. The young man has found his identity through a theatre school and fully intends to fulfill the family vision. It has been a sad and painful journey.
Back to Acts 8 and Philip. Philip is a Jewish Christian who purposely engages the Ethiopian believer. What unfolds is a vision for the Church today. Philip, under the direction of the Holy Spirit, acts with unconditional and radical inclusivity. Philip does not hesitate to receive the hospitality of the nameless African neutered male and enters his chariot. The climactic scene has Philip entering water with the eunuch in a symbolic act of inclusivity; Philip baptises the eunuch to affirm that there are no barriers to life in Jesus. Philip does not worry the issue with words, he doesn’t check in with the authorities for approval, he doesn’t spend years researching if this is doctrine or core doctrine. He simply acts.
Did Jesus believe that the way to God was through the observance and fulfilment of covenantal laws? Did Jesus prescribe the Way for us? It seems so simple, unconditional and radical, the prescription: Love one another. Maybe, we the Church today, need to step back to the vision of Jesus. Spend less time talking about how we can or should be Christians; let’s act, like Philip.
Unlike the impact that the Computer Age has had on the day-to-day affairs of accounting professionals, access to the global Church, digitally, has complicated life for me in that it is constantly challenging my views, broadening my scope of awareness and continuously making me contemplate The Way. I don’t want to go back to summing columns in my head or being unchallenged in my faith.
The Web Scribe

Corpus Christi

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Community matters! Over the past few weeks, a few reminders of this fundamental truth have crossed my consciousness: in these instances, in the guise of two good books, a questionable movie – and now a contribution to the blog from within the St. James’ community. The movie, Into the Wild’s insight by numbers (aka, the Dick and Jane manual to self-awareness) reminds us of the critical role played by those someone(s) with whom to share our life experiences. The writer, E.M. Forster’s opening epithet – “Only Connect” – somewhat more articulately expresses the same sentiment in the novel, Howard’s End. Andrew O’Hagen makes a strong argument against community being simply “a club for resentment” or a “background against which to measure one’s superiority” in his recent novel, Be Near Me, as his disenchanted priest struggles to make sense of his alienation in an, at times, hostile and rejecting Scottish village.

The St. James’ parishioner’s journey into Toronto’s heart through the city’s varied and frequently challenging neighborhoods triggered some thoughts that they wanted to share with our community. I encourage any who wish to contribute to St. James’ ‘community voice’ through the forum of our blog to do so.    David Howard

Corpus Christi

Last trip to Toronto, I made a mental note: Gardiner ramp off 427 down to one lane for the summer; find alternative route. Last Sunday, as I approached the GTA on the 401, I decided to let ‘Judy’ Garmin, our onboard computerized GPS navigation system, direct me down to the Church of Saint Mary Magdalene using Eglinton Avenue.

Our ‘Judy’ is a good gal but she does not take well to overriding her directions: “Recalculating”, she snarls as I decide not to take the Dixie off-ramp. I convinced her, through deceptive programming, that I wanted to get to Plant World on Eglinton and then proceed to Manning Avenue, in the heart of the Annex, where Saint Mary Mag’s is situated.
As I proceeded down Eglinton, I was given opportunity to catch glimpses of towering apartment buildings where small villages of people share homes. One of the singers in the St. Mary’s choir faithfully twice a week, once for choir practice and once for the Sunday mass, travels from one of these massive buildings down to the Annex using the TTC- she had to give up her car in order to make ends meet as a single mom of two teenagers. It is a 40 minute trip one-way using public transit. She rarely misses practice or mass.
Judy takes me down Jane to Dundas. There are no more huge apartment buildings; the streetscape reminds me of small-town S.W. Ontario. The difference between Stratford and this part of Toronto is definitely demographics…we WASPS are a visible minority; the middle-class is the marginal economic group, too. Roman Catholic churches noticeably bear the scars of graffiti. Store-front churches bear names like The Church of the Good Prophet (the accountant in me sees the sad pun…this church was the paradox…the Church of the no-so Good Profit, as it was boarded up and had a For Lease sign hanging askew on its curtained door). People on the streets look tired, rough, angry and dejected, despite the glorious sunshine and first real warmth in weeks.
Dundas to Dupont: abandoned and decaying factories look like make-shift shelters for street people. Sad and tired houses have little shrines to the Virgin Mary as focal points in their postage stamp front gardens. Corner stores have this summer’s gardening stock on the street. There are more WASP-ish types on the street…mostly young people wearing vogue clothing. In a ridiculous juxtaposition, out of nowhere, a Jaguar dealership holds court.
Dupont to Manning: homes are huddled so tightly together that it appears that owners could shake hands with each other by just hanging over their porches. The street is tree-lined and many folk are out putting their distinctive stamps onto their gardens. Speed bump after speed bump, stop sign after stop sign, I finally arrive at St. Mary Mag’s. Wonderful-my favourite parking spot in front of the school under the ancient maple tree is available. As I walk towards the church, I hear the brass quintet playing Renaissance music out on the front lawn. Today is a feast day-The Feast of Corpus Christi. As a Lute-pisker or Ang-lutheran as we are known in Canada, this feast day doesn’t mean anything to me. My son, a member of this parish, strongly urged me to come today for the festivities. “It is a very special day, Mum; you gotta come!”
Corpus Christi celebrates the Eucharist, unbounded by the Passion of Holy Week. This feast day is primarily due to the petitions of a 13th century Augustinian nun. Eucharist is derived from the Greek language and means thankfulness, gratitude, giving thanks.
The centrepiece of the celebration is an outdoor processional. Starting in the church’s nave, we follow six little girls, the clergy and wardens. We are followed by the choir and brass players. And we are to sing. I must quickly decide whether or not I will join in. This is not something an introverted Ang-lutheran feels comfortable doing…takin’ it to the streets. I throw caution to the wind and file in. We leave the church with the organ in full voice loudly encouraging us to carry the melody out to the street. As we sing, the little girls are tossing rose petals into the air that slowly descend to the asphalt. People in their front gardens stop working and look up to watch the parade. I have the good fortune to be between two delightful singers…a tenor and a baritone. A soprano is just behind us…we have an impromptu quartet that sounds quite good. At Harbord, the police escorts on their bicycles squint at us behind their reflective sunglasses as they hold back the car traffic. We turn at Euclid and make our way back to the church. In between hymns (we sing seven hymns in total), it is quiet like I’ve never experienced in Toronto…a peaceful quiet except for the song of what sounds like dozens of birds. They seem to be responding to us in kind.
As I walk on rose petals, down the centre of a downtown Toronto street, singing to my heart’s content, I realize how powerful this experience has been for me. How grateful I am to be included in a community that has been celebrating the Eucharist twice a week. How thankful I am that I can publicly display my faith in a country that will protect me as I do this. How fortunate I am that I live in a beautiful community, own a comfortable home and have access to the family car (with its navigation system) for my every need and whim.
In the Muslim countries, a muezzin calls the people to prayer five times a day from a minaret. Many Christian churches celebrate the Eucharist daily. I used to view this as an extreme practice of one’s faith. As with most paradoxes, the obvious is absurd: in this age of more, we seem to have less. George Carlin the comedian says, “We’ve learned to make a living but not a life. We’ve multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom and hate too often.” The Eucharist reminds us to give thanks. By Luke’s account, at the Last Supper, Jesus takes the bread and gives thanks. Perhaps, here is a new paradox: in these uber-busy times, we need to stop for the Eucharist. Maybe the best thing we can do for our egos, our souls, our family and our community, is to stop and ritualistically give thanks by partaking in the Eucharist with full awareness of all that we have to be grateful for. And, perhaps, once a week is not really enough; but once a week is a good start.

Serious Doubt is Faith

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So what is Easter about anyway? Newly returned to the fold – but that’s another story – I’ve had relatively little exposure to the gestalt, the full experience of Holy Week. In fact, as a sometime Presbyterian, even when I was (previously) in the fold, the opportunity to embrace the richness of this journey was wanting, as the church calendar wound its way from Ash Wednesday, through Lent, to this period of reaffirmation and the full intensity of what our belief system is founded upon. Now, for perhaps the first time for me, Easter had begun to make sense. This year in particular, as St. James has continued to enrich this special season with services that celebrated each stage of this passage, the extremes that attach to the passion were brought home to me. (In truth, Nicola’s been making this point with me for some time now – but who knew she was right?)

We had the further good fortune this year to be sitting this Easter morning in St. Mary Magdalene’s (a high Anglican church in Toronto where Andrew is currently assistant organist), in culmination of this extraordinary week and in the presence of what I can only describe as the ‘full Monty’ of formal Anglican liturgy – in one of few such churches in Toronto (‘Smokey Tom’s’ being the other that comes to mind, St. Thomas’ by its less descriptive moniker). I make this particular distinction, since my expectation was that, here in this bastion of Anglican tradition (from incense and full procession, to sung scripture, prayer, and creed), I would hear, as homily, a reiteration of the principal belief upon which Christian dogma is predicated – that this is the day of resurrection.

Now, I’ve heard Father Harold Nahabedian, longtime rector of St. Mary Mag’s (as it’s affectionately called), speak before. So that his text would be a wonderful, layered piece, commentary on this fundamental truth of Christian belief – but informed by a more progressive and subtle questioning of Christian literality – was not a total surprise. But in the presence of such high ceremony and celebrated utterly surrounded by trappings of the historic and essential church, it brought home the challenge, the paradox for the 21st century Christian with which some of us struggle: just what is it that we believe and weekly reaffirm in our recitation of our creeds, Apostles’ or Nicene.

Perhaps not too coincidentally, Michael Valpy’s editorial, in this past weekend’s Globe and Mail (March 22, 2008), is entitled Taking Christ Out Of Christianity. Slightly less sinister than its title would perhaps suggest, it examines a posture increasingly present in today’s church: considering the possibility that “no miracles-performing, magic Jesus given birth by a virgin and coming back to life” should comprise the core of our belief structure. The piece, largely based on the writings of Gretta Vosper, a Toronto-based United Church minister, explores the contention that it is precisely this set of dated, historical-literal, decreasingly credible myths, doctrines, and dogma – “theological detritus” (in Ms. Vosper’s words) – that is at the root of shrinking church membership and attendance. That today’s Christian is far too sophisticated, theologically speaking, to buy into this system of beliefs and that the church’s viability is under siege – barring a wholesale, revisionist housecleaning. Valpy explains further that, at the core of her argument, is the need to not simply tinker with, modify, or modernize historic, perhaps antiquated and decreasingly relevant concepts and ritual in an effort to find some palatable “middle ground” for we folk in the pews (in the fond hope that we’ll keep showing up!). But to redefine our practices and beliefs in essential and, certainly for some, convulsive ways – not the least of which is the celebration of ‘renewed hope’ in place of a resurrected Jesus, as the central tenet of the rite of Easter.

So where does all this leave me, a reclaimed Christian and newly minted Anglican? Father Harold (in a shared and candid moment at Fellowship following this lovely service) ‘confessed’ that he’d ‘departed’ from his prepared text. Without his further elaboration, I was left to wonder: departed from what? Had he stopped short of an explicit retelling of the ‘usual’ Easter message, perhaps feeling that, like many of the modest number of theologians whose writings I’ve dabbled in lately, he is uncomfortable propagating the literalist view of the resurrection? But still pulled his punch when it came to some variant of Ms. Vosper’s rather radical stance, not wanting to risk alienation of that (likely significant) chunk of the congregation that would see such commentary as frankly heretical? I’ll not have an answer to that one.

I don’t know much for sure about my relatively recently undertaken journey, in from the wilderness as it were. What I do know is that I have been drawn to the formality, the increasing familiarity, and the immutability of the Anglican liturgy (especially the BCP). I know that the ritual ‘climb’, through the church calendar, and Holy Week in particular has lent (sorry, that was an accident!) meaning to this affiliation. And I know that less ‘mysterious’, symbolic, even poetic celebrations have been far less compelling for me. What I don’t know (among many things in this regard) is whether I need to have all this to be predicated on a ‘real’ event, to be a story populated by real people, enacting history exactly as portrayed by flawed, at times contradictory scribes, for it to have meaning for me. Somehow I think not.

“Serious doubt is faith”, Paul Tillich.