Friday, February 25, 2011

One Layperson's Journey of Lent and Fasting







My introduction to Lenten tradition took place on the public school playground when I was 9 or 10 years old. Carlos came to school with a dirty smudge in the shape of an X on his forehead one Wednesday in spring. No one said anything during class. There was just some muffled giggling and whispers. Then recess came. Of course, being ignorant kids, we immediately made fun of him; as was our duty when anyone did something different or unusual. In his defense, Carlos blurted out that this was what everyone did at their church on Ash Wednesday. This made me curious.
I had recently become a new Christian along with my parents and we attended an Assembly of God Church, but we didn’t get smudged on Wednesday. Why did they do this at Carlos’ Church? I cornered him about this at the drinking fountain. I remember that he explained it like many 9-year-olds would.
“I dunno why we do it. It has to do with Jesus dying on the cross or something.”
And that marked the beginning of my very incomplete education of High Church Sacraments and Traditions.
As I grew older, my own church dismissed Ash Wednesday and Lenten traditions like fasting and praying as an archaic invitation to morbidity. My church of origin equated it with the ancient extreme practices of mortification like self-flagellation. Our pastor would say,
“My Jesus is not DEAD! He is alive. He is risen! He is victorious over death! We are free!”
So I ignored Lent in favor of the tidy closure of a risen savior; clean and white and shiny; bloodstain-free.

The Anglican tradition was introduced to me anew about twenty years later as an adult wife and mother when we were baptized and confirmed in the Anglican Church. This time I had better advisers into the meaning behind the traditions and sacraments of Lent. I learned that Ash Wednesday has several meanings. The ashes are used, just like in the Old Testament as a symbol of mortality/death and humility. The Church we attended at the time would actually save the palm branches they used on the previous Palm Sunday; the day that Christ rode the donkey through Jerusalem and was worshipped and praised with the waving of Palm Branches. They would then dry out those branches, burn them to ashes; and then use those ashes from those palm branches on the subsequent Ash Wednesday. What a brilliant reminder of our fickle and forgetful humanity; worshipping God on Sunday, crucifying Him on Friday – so in need of a Redeemer.

I then began noticing the people around me discussing what they were going to “give up” during the Lenten Season. The most common topic was fasting. Many people fasted on Wednesdays and Sundays or would only eat soup on Wednesdays. We even had a Soup Night at our Church on Wednesday nights where all the participants would take turns making and bringing their favorite soups on Wednesday nights. This meal would be followed with a multi-week study of the crucifixion and prayer. I loved it and I learned so much about the Lenten traditions listening to the more well-seasoned Anglicans.

At one stage of my life, I began to pray and felt compelled to do a liquid fast. I soon learned that, as a Christ-follower, to truly fast from something is not mortification or self-pity; but rather intentionally creating a space for God normally filled with food. It is an invitation TO something more than merely a withdrawal FROM something. I was advised to cleanse my system for two days prior to the fast, and read some excellent articles on fasting by Campus Crusade for Christ in preparation. I was also advised to check in with my husband and get his okay as well. We are one person, so anything I do will affect him as well. Additionally, I would need his support, prayer and encouragement as I began this journey.

The first 2 1/2 days were the hardest. Interestingly, I did not have to stop cooking for my family during this time. I enjoyed it even more in some ways as I had a new gratitude for food and vicariously fed my family what I could not give myself at that time. I would sit with them with my broth or juice and I was amazed at how much more I was interested in the conversation and the nuances of my children’s behavior. It was like I was peeling back a layer into my relationships with the people around me that I saw every day; a layer that I didn’t really see before. As I was getting in touch with my own spiritual identity, I was becoming aware of my family’s dual identity as well. I finally experienced, to some degree, what C.S. Lewis referenced in his book, The Weight of Glory.
It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another; all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.

I was sobered and giddy to realize my own spiritual identity as well as that of many all around me. The physical effects of my fast were surprising as well. I was sleeping better. I would jump out of bed in the morning without the usual coffee-dependent grogginess, and my energy level was easily maintained throughout my teaching day. This was WITHOUT caffeine!
Another unexpected side effect was my heightened cognitive acuity. I recall my lunch hour in the teacher’s lounge about the mid-point of my 40 day fast. I was sitting at the computer typing up scriptures for my weekly women’s bible study. The computer consul was positioned next to a doorway between the main office in the front and the teacher’s lunch table in the back of me. There were at least two conversations going on behind me at the lunch table and several ongoing conversations between the office receptionist and clients that dropped in. I found myself engaging in conversations with my teacher friends, providing information to the receptionist, and typing my verses simultaneously without feeling frazzled and without any typing errors; this after fasting for almost three weeks.

My prayer life was the most interesting change. I was no longer “doing prayers”. I was a prayer. My life and my whole being were so integrated with conversing with God and he with me, it was like I didn’t know where I ended and he began. Strangely though, it did not make me out of touch with my humanity. I was MORE human. I felt more empathy for those around me; even more connected to my fellow man. I remember that during this time my husband was sick. I woke up and I saw him lying there ill and I felt compelled to just hold my hand on his head. I remember staring at my hand and being amazed that at this moment that my hand and God’s hand were one and the same. It even seemed that muttering a prayer would have been redundant. I felt the weighty presence of God so strong in my physical and spiritual being that this was enough. It was an unforgettable and humbling experience. I never even woke Dave up. I just held my hand on his head for the longest time until I felt released. I wish I could say he was healed the next day or something like that. However, I honestly do not remember. For me, the larger miracle was the revelation of God’s presence manifested in my own doubting Thomas hands.

Lastly, I remember almost not wanting to break the fast. Fasting that long does put you in an altered state. It is dangerous to do it without the help of the Holy Spirit. We are always more spiritually vulnerable and attuned when we are in an altered state of any kind. Isn’t this when Satan tempted Christ in the Desert? I have learned that it is essential to seek God’s filling of our physical and spiritual void during a Fast of any kind.

Is everyone called to a 40-day fast during the Lenten Season? I do not know. It certainly would not be wise to do it without an okay from a physician if you have any health issues. I do know that some kind of fast is spiritually beneficial, even if it is not food. As Father Rob recently said,
"The bible does say, “WHEN you fast” not “IF you fast” so it seems there is a time when it is imperative in every believer’s life to fast something some time."
For me, it was food. For others, it may be a partial fast of chocolate, coffee, meat or sugar. Last year I gave up Facebook and “procrastifacing”. You may want to give up television, texting or the internet when not at work.

The advice I have heard is that it is not What You Give Up, but rather How You Fill the Void that really matters in a true spiritual fast. For me it was the praying the BCP and Scripture. A good group or self-study like Eugene Peterson’s Tell it Slant might be another way to go; particularly Chapter 19: Jesus Prays from the Cross: The Seven Last Words. This is very powerful to read during the Lenten season.

This is the season of our faith where we recognize, respect and ponder grief, death, and our common mortality. It cheapens Life to ignore Death.

Again, I must make a C.S. Lewis Reference here. In the movie Shadowlands there is a point where Lewis gets a bit impatient with his terminally ill wife during a beautiful walk in the Golden Valley. Her terminal cancer is in remission. The day is perfect. He comments how he wishes the moment could last.
His no-nonsense wife says,
“You know it’s not going to last.”
Irritated, he responds,
“Let’s not ruin the good moment right NOW talking about the bad stuff that comes later.”

She counters,
“The bad stuff later is part of the good stuff now. It makes it real! You can’t have one without the other. That’s the deal.”

I would add that the reverse is also true in the context of Christ’s death and resurrection. The bad stuff now, the pain, the death, the grief and sorrow; it’s all part of the good stuff then, the resurrection, the hope renewed, the ransom paid. It makes it real! You cannot separate the two. That’s the deal.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Heart is Where the Home Is


To be so weary And daily duty bleary
And then discover
In that constant loving place
Another's delight
At the wonder of my embarrassingly Simple Me-ness
This is home.
You can't go home again 'tis true
For life's cruel seasons
Batter the proudest fortresses
And snow will visit every roof
Yet wisely I carry home
Deeper within
Where cold cannot penetrate,
Moth beat in futility,
And rust is mocked for the effort.
My home is hidden in the eyes of my mother
Smiling back at me within my own reflection
Echoing the laughter of my father
Playing Fee Fi Fo Fum before bedtime.




(This one was written during one of my "aha" moments visiting my parent's home (Leon and Faye Criner - mom pictured at top; dad with a few of many grandkids pictured above) in Santa Clarita in 2002. I just felt so rich to have parents that model for me my own constant belovedness - no matter how much weight I gain or how old I get. It's kind of their job. :-))

My Last Babe

My last babe

With warm cheek and blistered lip

Ripe from suckling.

I hold you differently

As the blanket has tatooed your soft head

With dotty flannel quilt patches.

Gazing now at your rising infant chest

Breathing the soft, hiccuped gasps

Of the truly contented.

Never to feel so complete again,

I sigh sweet and bitter.

(Okay so this was a bit of a lie... It was written for Rocki shortly after her birth in 1995 - pictured above. My 3rd child under 6, I thought I was done having babies. As you can see from the picture below, we were not done experiencing the wonders of bringing "LIFE" into the world - thus the name of our 4th child - Zoe, pictured with her big sister Rocki.)

I Did Not Like Your Sermon

I did not like your sermon.
I squirmed and struggled through.

I could not jot a single note
Though usually I do.

I could not doodle envelopes,
Nor hold my husband's hand.

I had to listen mouth agape
To words I could not stand.

I could not nudge my neighbor,
Nor give my knowing nod,

Nor pat my little pocket
Where I keep my little god.

I did not get warm fuzzies,
Nor weepy with elation.

I did not get all riled up
With righteous indignation.

I did not like your sermon
At all because, you see,

For once I must admit out loud
THIS SERMON WAS FOR ME!


( You can tell I had 3 kids under 6 when I wrote this - I was in total Dr. Seuss mode. This is actually the original "Sitting in My Own Pew" effort, so I thought perhaps worthy of inclusion. A humorous lesson in conviction sitting in the pew under Pastor Clete Doyal from First Christian Church in Santa Maria, CA. back in 1995.)

Great Expectations



I expected someone tall, dark, and handsome.
I got dark, handsome, and able to reach stuff.

I expected someone to laugh at my jokes.
I got someone I don't need to entertain.

I expected a holy knight in shining armor.
I got a knight in holey jeans with a shiny forehead.

I expected a man with the patience of Job.
I got a man carrying on heated conversations with red lights.

I expected someone with all the answers.
I got someone who shares my questions.

I expected someone to hold my hand while I cried at sad movies.
I got someone who hogs the tissue box.

I expected someone to bring romance, concerts, and candlelight.
I got someone who can make romance out of daylight and dirty dishes.

I expected someone who could make me feel beautiful.
I got someone who loves both my chins.

I expected someone just like me.
I got someone who loves me because he is not.

I expected someone who was "perfect."
I got a human being.



(written by Cathy Criner (Bartholomew) in February 1987 to her first love, David, for the Valentine Edition of her weekly column "Criner Out Loud"in the CLAUSE. It will be 22 years of marriage this December 30th, 2009)

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Reflections on Rocki's Bappatism - archived from 2001

Is this the Sunday I get "bappatized", Mom? Rocki asked for the umpteenth time.

No. I replied hiding my amusement at her seven-year-old pronunciation of this new word. This is Easter Sunday. You will be "bappatized" next week when Bishop Talton comes.

Is this the Sunday when we get to say the "A" word, she whispered with an impish grin.

Yes! My smile escaped; delighted that she was already grasping this new Episcopalian tradition of waiting patiently through lent until Easter Sunday to shout Alleluia at the conclusion of the service.
Alleluia! she erupted, anxious to be the first one to say it today.
Alleluia! I chimed back, laughing at her zeal! And then I felt my eyes sting and my throat tighten.

The sense of relief and release I felt was one that only other fussing, ambivalent parents can identify with when thrusting ones children into a new and unfamiliar church of one's own adult choosing. Will they fit in? Will they be awkward? Will they forget when to kneel and when to stand. Will they forget to zip their zipper upon leaving the bathroom? I felt now for the first time since our arrival at St. John's that my kids were not only going to survive this transition, but that they could really thrive here. They were connecting. Perhaps they were already feeling that "Welcome Home!" promised on our visitor mugs.

The following Saturday, we accompanied Rocki to her baptismal class to familiarize her with the elements and sacraments to be used in her baptism on Sunday. Father Larry was thorough; his enthusiasm and zeal for each step of the sacrament obvious. Each tradition became rich with meaning and spiritual significance. He made it clear that although these sacraments do not have magical power in and of themselves, they do give shape and form to our own internal spiritual reality.

The air was filled with anticipation and awe for Bishop Talton's arrival that Sunday morning. My husband Dave and I had invited our closest friends and family to share in this exciting step in our journey of confirmation and Rocki's baptism. They brazenly took up four front pews. I realized I had not been this giddy, sober and electric simultaneously since our wedding day.

Suddenly, the big moment arrived and we began filing up toward the baptismal font with great reverence; Rocki muttering her rehearsed responses under her breath like a mantra, I will...I will... I turned to see my husband eagerly waving up any other family members who wanted to join us, and my mother-in-law bounding up the steps last minute with my son DJ running a close second. Shelby, our older daughter choosing to wait comfortably from the first row. Rocki was beaming as Bishop Talton baptized her, beaming as she took her first "bappatized communion", and beaming as she ran all over the neighborhood later that day to show off her baptismal candle she is supposed to light every April 7th as a reminder of this special day.

Just recently, Rocki's Godparent certificates arrived in the mail. It listed the special responsibilities, prayers, and days to pray for Rocki throughout each year. It was a sober reminder of an awesome, ongoing responsibility that Dave and I will also have for their youngest daughter next month upon her baptism. Again, I was deeply moved. Rocki's Godparents, Mark and Liz Powers, are two of our closest friends from college. They were chosen long ago because they just seem to "get" Rocki. It was bittersweet to look across the baptismal font at my friends, knowing that they would be leaving us soon to pursue their dreams in New York. Also Episcopalian, I feel a communion with them now, through the common book of prayer and liturgy, that beautifully transcends this gap in our geography.

Reflecting on this with our confirmation class at our final meeting last week, I shared how powerful this entire week was. I have concluded that Baptism, like Confirmation, is not merely an event. It is a continuing process. It is not solely for my daughter, but is inclusive of the entire body of Christ. It is not static. It is ongoing. St. John's has brought an intentionality and rich purpose to my faith with its expression through tradition symbol and sacrament. These sacred tools provide a tangible and concrete way for me to articulate my faith in Christ during a season when mere words often fail to do it justice. St. John's points me to something larger than myself by connecting me to my historical Christian past, and encouraging me to strive toward an eternal identity with Christ when I once again will say, Alleluia! and hear that final and familiar reply, Welcome Home!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Reflections On the Eviction of a Holy Church

Dear Fellow Pew Sitters:
Welcome! This is the first edition of my blog that will focus on my view from the pew.

This past week our wonderful Anglican Church, St. Luke's of the Mountains in La Crescenta, was evicted from their property of 80 plus years because they refuse to serve under a diocese that has strayed from the gospel and orthodoxy to the extent that they claim scripture to be irrelevant. Irrelevant. Not open to interpretation; not even worthy enough to banter over before making critical leadership decisions. Merely irrelevant.

At any rate, our sleeves are rolled up and we are throwing our stuff in the green pickup truck and moving on. We are among a great host of witnesses as we follow Christ and many saints that have gone before in our conviction that part of being the church is being counter-culture and persecuted. It feels, strangely, like a badge of honor to be treated in this manner.

However, despite all of this, I have a confession to make: I am a semi-liberal parishioner fiercely committed to an orthodox,biblically conservative and politically-incorrect church. While I was quoted in the LA Times in support of the church and its stand against ECUSA/scriptural irrelevance, I must admit that I have lesbian and gay friends who have almost unfriended me on facebook for betraying them and, what they consider to be, the very core of their being. (I should also note here that not all ECUSA rectors still serving under the liberal Southern California diocese are in alignment with their bishop, but are still openly defying their own diocese's stance on scriptural irrelevancy from within their own walls. In many ways, this is an even more difficult a tide to swim against. I feel a solidarity with these orthodox ECUSA parishes as well.)

Although I am behind the church 100% regarding the stand it is taking for scriptural relevancy and orthodox doctrine, I am passionately conflicted about sexuality issues (not my own – just generally speaking). When I am surrounded by people who share my sexual tradition and church opinions, I am confident, sure, and adamant in my beliefs. When I am hanging with my more liberal, Episcopagan friends, I feel duplicitous, arrogant, exclusive, uncertain of my convictions, and ambivalent. One of my brilliant Episcopagan friends challenged my LA Times quote on Facebook with the comment:

God’s love is inclusive not exclusive
And I thought, Hmmmm… Yes. Yes, it is. You are right! I remember hearing that on Oprah so it must be true…
Then my Eastern Orthodox Friend countered my Episcopagan friend with the comment:
God's love isn't inclusive.
It is boundless, not willing that any should perish. It is God's love that grants us the freedom to follow our own inclinations rather than the way of salvation that is readily available to all.
And I thought, Hmmmmmmmmmm. Yes. Yes it is. You are right.
Then my very liberal professor, mentor and best friend yelled at me in my mind saying,
They cannot both be right!!!!
And I thought, Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Yes. Yes that is true. You also are right.

And then I thought, I really must stop watching “Fiddler on the Roof” over and over again when I am home sick for the week.
After being soundly beat up by my Episcopagan friends this week, I began asking the hard questions. I was tempted to search scripture again for any loopholes that might make "gay okay". I realized that I can comb the bible all I want for loopholes. I used to look for loopholes for pre-marital sex because, well, we really really really really really loved each other, but in the end I could not choose to dismiss scripture as irrelevant merely because it did not fit my very natural 20-something inclinations to sleep with my boyfriend.


To be honest, one of the many reasons Dave and I left the evangelical low church tradition of our childhood in exchange for the high church traditions of the Anglican communion was to embrace a vibrant, grace-giving, inclusive church community that would welcome any and all sinners into its doors. We do this well. I want a church that cares about the poor and the sick and the disenfranchised – that reaches out to all people regardless of their messiness. I frankly want a church that looks like heaven will look one day – diverse and ecumenical. But let us be clear. I want a church, not a social club.

For me that means that while I go to church to hear the good news of the gospel, I must, as a prerequisite accept that we live in a fallen, broken world that is wrought with bad news; a world desperately NEEDING good news. For me, a church must part company with ECUSA because they no longer can preach the good news. You cannot preach good news unless you are preaching with the understanding that we live in a world that is wrought with bad news; a world desperately NEEDING good news. However, ECUSA must at some point acknowledge that there is no gospel (no good news) where scripture is irrelevant.

If sin is a myth, then so is the need for repentance. If there is no sin; nothing to be saved FROM, then there is no crucifixion or resurrection; there is no Savior; just a watered-down, politically correct, small g god, malleable, conformed to our own whimsy - crafted in our own image. Gone is the GREAT: Christmas and Easter, but here to stay is the "good": Kwaanza, Earth Day and the Spirit of Ubuntu.



And still I am conflicted... I want to be liked. I want to be a good Episcopalian: open-minded, smart, sophisticated, politically savvy, loving to a fault, inclusive, progressive, reconciliatory, and cutting edge. I feel like if I disagree with my ECUSA friends that I will be out of this invisible "cool" politically-correct club. Words will be whispered behind my back like: exclusive, small-minded, old-fashioned, homophobic, arcane, fundamentalist, racist, misogynistic, judgmental, even fat and poorly dressed in bright green polyester and sensible shoes. It is much more fun to be fashionable.

But then I remember – it is not about ME! It is about Holiness, obedience and a righteous God that requires this from us so we can be in union with him, so that we can have life - and life ABUNDANTLY. He is for us - even to the point that he would send his Son to the Cross to make this possible. At the end of the day, can I say Christ died for nothing? Can I mock the Eucharist?

I admit it. I don’t like that the bible is not always clear. I wish it were all so obvious. I wish God would explain why some people insist that they were born with no desire to pro-create with the opposite sex and some not.

Sometimes I am embarrassed to admit this but I identify with Lot’s wife at times. Remember when she turned and looked back at Sodom and Gomorrah and was turned to a pillar of salt. I used to think that she was so stupid, like those rubber-neck drivers slowing down traffic on the 210. The command was so clear and so easy, “Don’t look back! Don’t look back!”
"Oh C’mon. Lord, just one little peak?"… boom – she’s a salt lick.
But now I find myself identifying with Lot’s wife. As I have gotten older and our culture has gotten lax, life has gotten harder and messier. Secretly, I love shows like “Will and Grace”, "Glee", and “Modern Family”. Ellen is one of my favorite comedians and day time hosts. Being gay is fashionable. My friends who embrace homosexuality as a lifestyle are among the most brilliant, fun, insightful, creative minds that I have ever crossed paths with. To me, and indeed to God, they are MORE than their sexual choices. They are the Imago Dei – created in his image. They are also sinners, just like me, drowning in bad news – needing good news; needing the gospel. I have to admit, it is hard not to look back. I think it should be hard. It is always hard to balance our love for the people around us, but in the end to love and fear God more.

Lastly, as I said before, it is not about me. It is about God. It is about his church. The church needs to step up and be the church. As I wrote from my pew last Sunday, if the church is truly following in Christ's footsteps, it will be counter-culture, radical, politically incorrect and persecuted at one point or another. This is our history. Admittedly this can feel contrary to the people-pleaser in me. I struggle daily against the heresy of universalism for the same reason. Can’t we all just get along? I don't want anyone to be left out. But when I look to scripture, the answer is clearly NO! Man was given the will to choose, and man can and will always choose to say NO to God, or not.

In conclusion, to quote my Eastern Orthodox friend's scriptural wisdom once again:

God's love isn't inclusive. It is boundless, not willing that any should perish. It is God's love that grants us the freedom to follow our own inclinations rather than the way of salvation that is readily available to all.

I think that says it all.

Sitting in my Own Pew,
Cathy Bartholomew