The Cake of Life

 

The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost - August 11th, 2024

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33 | Psalm 130 | John 6:35, 41-51

Through the written word and the spoken word, may we come to know your living word. Amen.

When we left King David last week, he’d just been told by the prophet Nathan that his somewhat impulsive decision to sleep with the wife of one of his soldiers and then have him killed was going to cost him dearly, with much violence and discord in his household. And friends, God wasn’t kidding. In the verses between that passage and this one, the baby who was the result of that dalliance dies. Then David’s favorite son Amnon forces himself sexually on his own niece Tamar, causing her father Absalom to arrange for Amnon’s untimely death. Absalom hides from David for a time, but then starts plotting to steal the people’s loyalty from his father. Seeing no choice but to engage his son and his followers in battle, David nonetheless urges his troops to “be gentle” with the young man. It wasn’t clear if that meant a mercy killing while Absalom is left hanging by his head from a tree, but that’s apparently what they heard. “Make it look like an accident, eh?”

In case you hadn’t picked up on it yet, David is a pretty complicated individual. While his mourning for Jonathan, his partner in possibly the world’s first recorded bromance, is understandable, he has almost the same reaction over the death of Saul, his father-in-law, former boss, and the guy who tried to have him killed a few times. British theologian Paula Gooder writes, “David’s grief over Saul’s death is a powerful example of the biblical theme of loving one’s enemies. It speaks to the complex nature of forgiveness and loyalty, and to the deep personal integrity that David sought to maintain in his own kingship.” 

And David is similarly vexed by the confrontation with Absalom… on one hand he is facing an existential crisis for himself and his people, but on the other hand, it’s his son, and he’s already lost two others. It’s a decision no parent would want to face, and yet it roughly parallels some of the impossible choices families confront, brought about by addiction, gang culture, and abuse.

"Eternally" by Daniela Muñoz Santos
Used under Creative Commons license
Some rights reserved

“David’s struggle with Absalom’s rebellion reveals the profound pain of a parent betrayed by their child,” writes British theologian Jane Williams. “His command to spare Absalom, despite the threat to his own life and kingdom, speaks to a deep-seated hope for redemption and reconciliation. This story underscores the heartbreak that accompanies broken relationships and the enduring love that persists even in the face of betrayal.”

When he hears that the rebels have been defeated and Absolom is dead, one must wonder how much of David’s grief is for his traitorous offspring versus the realization that kingship is not all it is cracked up to be. In the verses following, he is jolted out of his misery by the accusation that he’s selfishly upsetting the troops by mourning his son instead of celebrating the victory they won for him.

Jesus might have been feeling equally unappreciated and misunderstood in today’s Gospel reading. After weeks of following him around so he could heal, teach and even feed them, when he tries to explain who he is and why he was able to do the miraculous things they witnessed, the crowd suddenly turns sceptical. “Who does this guy think he is?” they ask themselves. “We know his family, and now he’s claiming to be the Messiah, the One who is to come.”

Unsurprisingly, they are not very satisfied with his response, in which he claims to have been sent by the Father not bearing but embodying the bread from heaven which is the key to eternal life. In the verses that follow, which we’ll hear next Sunday, he says again “my flesh is the bread and my blood is the wine, which you must eat and drink to obtain salvation.” Taken at face value, this is a troubling concept, and more than a little bit icky if we’re being honest, even for a culture that was accustomed to the idea of ritual sacrifices. And more than a few of his followers walked away.

Fortunately, as we know, Jesus did not ask his friends to take his command literally. Instead, when he was about to face the cross, he joined them for what liturgist Steven Shakespeare calls “a meal that tasted of freedom” at which he turns the metaphor around. He holds up the bread and wine and said “this is my body, which will be broken for you; this is my blood, which will be poured out for you. Whenever you share them, do it to remember me.”

And remember it we do as we gather each Sunday morning. Some traditions including Roman Catholicism hold that the bread and wine become Jesus in that moment. Others maintain it is merely a memorial symbol. In the liminal space that is the Anglican tradition, there is room for both schools of thought, and room in between. In my first Episcopal church, we used real bread, crumbs of which sometimes ended up on the carpet. A dear friend who was raised Catholic like me, made it a habit to pick up the larger crumbles and eat them. Since they were consecrated he couldn’t abide the idea of them getting vacuumed up. Our priest--who had also been raised Catholic--had also been a plumber in a past life, and brought that practicality to the situation. He told us, “If Jesus is smart enough to know when to get into the bread, don’t you think He’s smart enough to know when to get out?”

Bread and wine are--by nature--rich in symbolism because of how they are made and how long they have been a part of human culture. Rising dough seems almost alive; wine needs to be uncorked at the right age. And they are ideal symbols of community and generosity, given the care that must be taken in their preparation. But they are by no means the only ones. Yesterday we remembered Jeanette Cole, whose marvellous home-made cakes were an institution at every St. Mark’s event… how better to tell someone you love them than in fondant and edible flowers? Author Anne Lamott has asserted a shared bag of M&M’s works just as well as a Communion wafer in a pinch. And in the classic movie Moonstruck it’s prosecco and oatmeal that is ceremonially shared to welcome Ronnie Cammareri--coincidentally a baker by trade--into his new family.

Sometimes the thing which we gift to each other, isn’t even… a thing. In 1966, a teacher named Sister Suzanne Toolan spent her lunch break in an empty classroom, trying to get a song written for an upcoming diocesan event. When the bell rang, she was dissatisfied with her work, tore it up and threw it out before heading to the next period. Out in the hallway she encountered a student exiting the infirmary next door. “What was that music?” the girl asked her. “It was beautiful!”

Whether that was a chance encounter or the mischief of the Holy Spirit at work, Toolan’s confidence was restored. She retrieved the scraps from the garbage and taped them back together. The song she eventually finished is called “I Am the Bread of Life” and today it is sung around the world in over 25 languages, second only to “Amazing Grace,” or so I’ve been told.

Decades later, radio personality and author Garrison Keillor recalled an Easter service when it was heard. He writes, “As the congregation sang, a few people stood and some raised their hands in the air, a charismatic touch unusual among Anglicans, and then more people stood. I stood. I raised my right hand. I imagined my long-gone parents and brother and grandson and aunts and uncles rising from the dead and coming into radiant glory, and then I was weeping and my mouth got rubbery and I couldn’t form the consonants.” He continues, “That’s what I go to church for, to be surprised by faith and to fall apart. Without the Resurrection, Episcopalians would be just a wonderful club of very nice people with excellent taste in music and literature, but when it hits you what you’ve actually subscribed to, it’ll blow your mind.”

This kind of experience, which we help create for one another here, through prayers and music and hugs and ideas and, yes, food, are all expressions of the instruction Jesus gave his followers around that table. Author and Episcopalian Madeleine L’Engle said, “When Jesus says he is the Bread of Life, he is inviting us to a banquet of spiritual richness. It is a reminder that our deepest needs are met not by material things but by the love and presence of God made manifest in Christ.”

The important thing is that we gather and share it, even when--like Saul--we’d rather sit with our sadness and not engage with anybody. Maybe especially then. Feeding each other… physically, spiritually, and intellectually, is our common purpose here and it is Christ who set this example and in whose name we continue to gather around the table. Rowan Williams, theologian and former Archbishop of Canterbury, writes, “In calling himself the Bread of Life, Jesus invites us into a relationship that sustains and nourishes our very being. It is a call to partake in the divine life, a life that is both transformative and sustaining.”

That relationship is with Christ and about Christ. In that way he is the bread that we share, but it is also with one another. There is a reason why our priests do not say Mass when they are alone… the holy Eucharist, and all the other ways we follow Christ’s example, are meant to be shared. In this place where we gather in times of joy and of sadness, we are all His body and blood, his hands and his feet, sustaining one another until the day when we see Him face to face again.

Will you pray with me?

Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain-bearer, Life-giver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all, Loving God in whom is heaven:

The hallowing of your name echo through the universe! The way of your justice be followed by the peoples of the world! Your heavenly will be done by all created beings! Your commonwealth of peace and freedom sustain our hope and come on earth.

With the bread we need for today, feed us. In the hurts we absorb from one another, forgive us. In times of temptation and test, strengthen us. From trials to great to endure, spare us. From the grip of all that is evil, free us. For you reign in the glory of the power that is love, now and forever. Amen

- From A New Zealand Prayer Book

And Goodnight, Mrs. Pruden, Wherever You Are

Walter Rauschenbusch, Washington Gladden & Jacob Riis - Prophetic Witnesses to the Social Gospel

A few years ago, I saw one of those cartoony Facebook postcard thingies that said something to the effect of, "Love is wonderful; you should tell someone that you love them every day. But love is also terrifying and confusing, so when you tell them, scream it in German!"
 

Wilma-Jean Bland Pruden

When I heard that anecdote, I relished sharing it with my friend Wilma Pruden, because -- among her many talents -- she prided herself on being fluent in that intimidating language.  However, she did not need to resort to Teutonic rants to command respect, either from those who knew her well or -- as it sometimes happened -- perfect strangers. 

My favorite Wilma story took place in a setting that was far from our normal stomping grounds: in a "healthy food, fast" franchise that was catering, at least at that moment, primarily to the gym-obsessed male denizens of Chelsea.  For the uninitiated, visitors to the Muscle Maker Grill make their selections at the counter, but the food is then brought to your table.  The young man working the register, after taking Wilma's order, politely asked, "May I have your first name?"

Wilma, just as politely, replied, "No, you may not."  

 

Our server looked stunned.  Clearly this had not been included in the training; perhaps women of bearing did not typically frequent this stretch of Eighth Avenue.

 

Sensing his confusion, she went on to explain, "Only people I know call me by my first name. You and I have not even been introduced. You may call me Mrs. Pruden."

The employee, bless his heart, dutifully keyed "MS. PRUDEN" into the register.  After two-and-a-half minutes, he knew better than to argue.  And, if Wilma was tempted to school him in the correct uses of Mrs., Miss, and Ms., she chose instead to let it go.

I don't tell that story to make Wilma sound haughty or uptight; her tone throughout this whole exchange was completely cordial.  It is simply an example of a woman who knew there was a right way to do things and treat people, and she was not afraid to point them out.  She was no less exacting in her standards for her own conduct than her expectations from everyone else, and while we kidded around about her legendary ire, she also had a rich sense of humor and loved to laugh, especially at herself.  

 

For several years, Wilma and The Archwarden shared responsibility for managing our now-former parish in the absence of a full-time rector, and I looked forward to ribald stories about what Wilma did or said during their epic meetings.  And during our years of "leading" our church youth group and making basement-music with the Archwarden's late father Henry, I could also count on her husband, (whom we all know simply as "Doc") to share similar tales with his trademark smile.  He is as easygoing as Wilma intense; a balanced partnership that helped them get through medical school, four children, and now a new generation to love and spoil.

We lost Wilma today.  I'm still trying to get my head around that. My heart aches for Doc and their kids, and all the lives that will have to adjust to the hole left by her formidable presence.

Whatsoever You Do, or Sheep and Goats

Since our congregation is currently without presiding clergy, parishioners have been asked to offer reflections for the cover of the service leaflet. This was my contribution, which was published today.
Matthew 25:31-46

The Gospel in a recent Daily Office  reading begins "When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. Then he will separate the people, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats."

The Internet has been abuzz this week with two important arrivals. One is the very real newborn son of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, who is now third in line to the British throne. The other, an incoming megachurch pastor named Jeremiah Steepek, is most likely a fictional character created to prove a point.

Prince George of Cambridge is, through no actions of his own, destined for a pretty comfortable and prestigious life.  People who will never meet him or probably even cross his mind celebrated or at least discussed his birth, by sheer nature of who his ancestors are. 

Pastor Steepek could have similarly enjoyed the trappings of his title, albeit on a smaller scale.  Instead, he chose to conduct an experiment.  While the congregation of thousands assembled to welcome their new leader, a disheveled-looking stranger also joined them in the sanctuary.  Very few people exchanged pleasantries with him as they greeted each other.  He asked some for change to buy some food, but was refused.  He attempted to take a seat near the front, but was asked to move to the back.

Surrey, a homeless man in
Richmond whose photo
was distributed with the
Pastor Steepek story.  Photo
credit, Brian Gerrard. 
All rights reserved.  Click
for larger original and
artist info.

 
It was only when the new pastor was announced and the crowd rose and clapped in anticipation that Pastor Steepek stood and revealed himself as the same unfortunate-looking individual whose attempts to engage them were so recently rebuffed. As they watched in shock, he took the pulpit and recited the same familiar parable: "for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me."

When he was done, he sent them home, many weeping.

A valid argument has been made that deceiving people and trying to shame them into a particular behavior is not a healthy way for a religious leader to teach. Pastor Steepek, had he actually existed, would likely have lost the trust of many in his new flock. 

Yet this story resonates with us, because we know that -- by human nature -- how we treat a newcomer is driven at least as much by what we know (or think we know) about them as by what they actually bring to the encounter.  See also #royalbaby.

The parable continues, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these. who are members of my family,  you did it to me.” How would Christ expect us to treat someone who (by the world’s standards) would appear to have absolutely nothing to offer in return?

Leave Your Preconceptions at the Door

Cyril and Methodius - Missionaries to the Slavs (869)

Those of us who are deep enough in the world of religious geekdom to be aware of the Ship of Fools live in mild trepidation of the possibility our place of worship will be a port of call for that phantom menace, the Mystery Worshiper.  You never know that a visitation has taken place until (s)he leaves the trademark calling card: literally, a card in the collection plate.  Of course, everybody from the altar guild to the homilist fears such a guest will come on the day we are least prepared to impress, and the reviews, while taking into account a congregation's resources or lack thereof, make no bones about elements of the service they find less-than-heavenly.

 My own congregation has yet to be paid such a visit, but my previous one has been.  And -- while a few of the comments were beyond argument -- it's one of those things where it's okay for us to say it, but when you hear it from an outsider, well, ouch.

Animal

Thus, it was with some interest that I learned about a blog project underway called "Who are the Churches in Your Neighborhood?"  If that sounds like the name of a song from Sesame Street, that's not an accident.  In fact, the writer adopted as a pseudonym "Bob McGrath" after the actor who gave voice to the puppet character with the same first name.  His reasons for anonymity are similar to those of the Mystery Worshiper: he wants to experience congregations as they really are, not when they're putting on a show.

However, while I've deduced that the purpose of the Mystery Worshiper is to gently and humorously show us how we are perceived by others , Mr. McGrath's intentions seem purely introspective.  He decided to -- over the course of a year -- visit the 50 houses of worship closest to his home, simply "because they're there." He knows that his understanding of the various faith communities around him are shaped by everything except what they should be: direct contact with the people inside.  Thus the one person he expects to be changed by this experience is the one person who should be: himself.

This is not to say that he is not observant of what he's taking in, and sometimes it is delivered with the same biting humor favored by the crew of the Ship of Fools:

"I was intrigued to see that they had built an enclosed cage for the drummer. I thought it was probably needed to mute the clanging cymbals in the acoustically challenged room, but when I saw that the drummer actually looked like Animal from the Muppet Show, I wondered if the box was for safety reasons."

Of course the article through which I stumbled into this project is the one where he visits "the gay church" aka the local Metropolitan Community Church.  Founded in the late 1960s by a defrocked Pentecostal minister, The Rev. Elder Troy Perry, the MCC has emerged into a worldwide Christian denomination whose 250 congregations are majority-LGBT.

Mr. McGrath's account of his visit to the MCC church near him is three-quarters about what was going through his mind as he approached, entered and participated in the service, and very little about the service itself, much less detail than he gave to the megachurch the week before.  I think that's because what struck him about it was not how "different" it was, but how different it wasn't.  I'm not going to deconstruct every line, instead I invite you to read it for yourself.  However, I was struck by his honesty about what was in his head going towards that visit, and what he took from it.

Jesus Loves Me, This I Know

This was started a while ago and got lost in the shuffle

Charles Chapman Grafton - Bishop & Ecumenist (1912)

JERSEY CITY

For the past ten years, gay and lesbian organizations in and around Jersey City have staged their own Pride festival on the last weekend in August. This nicely brackets the summer and allows them to avoid competing with the statewide celebration in Asbury Park and the original commemoration of the Stonewall riots in New York, both of which take place in June.

A seventeen-month-old Long Island boy was beaten to death by his mother's boyfriend because he "acted like a girl". Tinky-Winky aside, do we really expect a toddler to be aware of rigid gender roles, much less adhere to them??

This event centers around three blocks or so of Exchange Place, a street that ends at the Hudson River in the heart of the city's financial district. As the surrounding office towers are mostly abandoned on weekends, the streets can be closed with a minimum of disruption, and there's plenty of parking to be had. For the first time, this year's celebration also included a short parade from City Hall a little bit further inland.

Several organizations of the Episcopal Church have taken part in these events at various times. The OASIS, the LGBT ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, has sponsored a table where area parishes are invited to give out information and meet community members. This year the OASIS, as well as the NYC-area chapter of the its national equivalent (Integrity) and the Episcopal Response to AIDS all shared the time and expense for this outreach. It also gave us the opportunity to discuss plans for some future collaboration.

What none of us had really given much thought to was the possibility of any conflict. Surely we were past this; our immediate area has become pretty comfortable with LGBT issues, with the majority of the population even supporting marriage equality even if the governor and legislature do not agree.

So I was somewhat surprised when -- dispatched to the pharmacy for twine and duct tape to keep our rented canopy grounded against the fresh breeze coming off the river -- I saw a handful of people with placards and a bullhorn organizing themselves on a street corner a block or so from the festivities.

Truth be told, they've been there before. They showed up several years ago and walked up and down the sidewalks on the perimeter of the event using a bullhorn to bray their various threats of hellfire and damnation at the passing crowd. After a quick ecumenical "Situation Room" discussion, the various church groups responded in a way that we knew would probably infuriate them, but could not be labeled as combative or even really acknowledging their hateful rhetoric: We followed the same path up and down the street, just INSIDE the event, and sang hymns, loudly. Hymns such as "Jesus Loves Me, This I Know", "God Loves All the Little Children" and so forth, in an effort to counter their efforts.

Don't leave home without it!

The only problem is, we quickly discovered that we didn't collectively know much beyond the first verse of anything, and in some cases the Methodists knew one version that might be different than what the Episcopalians or Lutherans remembered. Thus was born one of my bright ideas, that -- as is typical -- gets immediately forgotten until the next time it would come in pretty darn handy. I had made up my mind that I would put together a handful of common, public-domain hymns that suited the occasion and have copies of the lyrics ready to facilitate the singing.

Then, for the next few years, the protesters didn't come, and I forgot about it. But I can see that -- maybe as a hallmark of the progress we've made with the general public mindset -- this event is back on their radar. And apparently, once they figured out where the church tables were, they parked on the nearest corner and kept the commentary up all afternoon. Interestingly, there were two "groups" of them this year... the hellfire gang were joined by one or two people from a more "compassionate" crowd: they represented an "ex-gay ministry" ... something the American Psychological Association and most other credible witnesses describe as pointless and more likely harmful. When it was that guy's turn with the bullhorn he kept telling us how we didn't have to be this way, we could change like him, etc. I recently met a young man who endured eight years of this "therapy" only to realize that sexual orientation is not something that can be "cured", and luckily today he is learning to celebrate and live into the identity he is meant to have.

One event-goer was apparently either prepared or resourceful, because he appeared with a sign that said "I'm with stupid" and an arrow and followed the protesters up and down the street.

Truth be told, with a few exceptions nobody was really paying very much attention to them, and everyone -- even the cops -- were getting annoyed with the bullhorn after a while. We were too busy networking and trying to keep our tent from blowing away to "gracefully engage" them, let alone regale them with ecumenical hymnody.

As the afternoon wore on, the commentary got more random and dejected, wandering between taxes, the speaker's kids and Lady Gaga. I'm not really sure what they were trying to accomplish, but I don't think they won over any supporters, and the tone was in stark contrast to the merriment going on all around them. Nobody present seemed to be experiencing the shame and misery they kept insisting are part and parcel to same-sex attraction.

Would that everybody would be so lucky. In the weeks since, news (and by news I mean blogs and the independent press, since these stories never seem to make the papers) broke of yet another teenager who committed suicide after enduring years of bullying. This follows on the heels of another case, this one in Minnesota, in which the mother reports she had been asking the school to intervene for years. They are hardly alone, as a recent survey by the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network shows that nearly nine out of ten LGBT teens endure harassment at school.

Does anybody else find it ironic that supposed Christians, trying to portray themselves as "compassionate", would come to a LGBT event and preach conversion to a crowd that is apparently pretty much okay with its sexual identity? The underlying message is, of course, that to be LGBT is to be somehow broken or "less-than", and unfortunately, despite logic, experience and the advice of medical experts, this message continues to imbrue our young people's collective consciousness, courtesy of trusted role-models including preachers, teachers and coaches, and apparently with the tacit approval of parents and other community leaders who refused to stick out their necks when this was pointed out as a problem.

And this abuse does not always wait until a child reaches the age where (s)he even knows what sexual identity is, let alone aware that his or her mannerisms, speech or clothing might be advertising it. In a heartbreaking story this summer that didn't seem to make it past the Huffington Post, a seventeen-month-old Long Island boy was beaten to death by his mother's boyfriend because he "acted like a girl". Seventeen months old. Tinky-Winky aside, do we really expect a toddler to be aware of rigid gender roles, much less adhere to them??

These are sobering reminders of how much work remains to be done, and they stand in sharp contrast to the joyous community gathering I witnessed. I can only hope that -- whatever it was they were trying to accomplish -- the protesters couldn't help but notice that what they were witnessing was not a depraved orgy, nor a gathering of unhappy deviants crying out for help. It was ordinary folks of all persuasions, enjoying the freedom to be who they were and love whom they love. Even if they didn't get to hear us sing.

God Hates Religion?

Samuel Ferguson - First Black Bishop in the Episcopal Church & Missionary to West Africa (1916)

“I don't care to belong to any club that will have me as a member.”
- ATTRIBUTED TO GROUCHO MARX

There's a pretty good chance that you've heard by now that novelist Anne Rice has declared to the world that she is "no longer a Christian,” citing the “quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous” lot we have become, and saying that to count herself among us would mean she would have to declare herself “anti-gay … anti-feminist … anti-artificial birth control … anti-Democrat … anti-secular humanism … anti-science … anti-life.”

To quote Vic Ferrari: "Hard to get happy after that one."

Since the initial announcement, Rice has clarified repeatedly that this does not mean she is giving up on God; she still believes the same God those quarreling Christians purport to follow. She just can't do it in the same room with them anymore. This is different than the last time she walked away from the church; that time she declared herself an atheist, returning to the Roman Catholic faith several years later.

As CNN's Brian McLaren pointed out, this leaves the rest of us in kind of a conundrum:

"Her brief announcement raises lots of fascinating questions. For example, when a person quits Christianity in the name of Christ, what do you call that person? If Christianity means 'following Christ’s followers,' what do you call someone who wants to skip the middlemen?"

Semantics aside, it's a somewhat bitter pill to swallow, especially for those of us who have made universal inclusion a central part of our ministry. Apparently Ms. Rice has not heard of the Believe Out Loud initiative, a movement by seven mainline Christian denominations and a number of smaller ones, plus independent churches, secular organizations, and individuals to connect the LGBT community with congregations who have agreed and equipped themselves to welcome them.

She is also apparently unaware of, or chooses to tune out, the efforts many of us have made -- some of us at great personal sacrifice -- to help bring women closer to full equality both in the church and the world. The Episcopal Church ordained its first female priests in 1977 and its first female bishop in 1989. She also might not be familiar with the church's support for the UN's Millennium Development Goals, which prescribe the use of "non-natural" contraception and frank sex education to reverse the spread of HIV/AIDS, and all kinds of other science to improve the lot of billions of people around the world.

Apologies that I keep focusing on the Episcopal Church here for my examples, but she might also not know that our means of governance pretty closely parallels that of our democratic (at least in theory) nation, which is not a coincidence since many of the same people worked on setting them both up.

It would also be hypocritical for me to condemn Rice for her decision. I personally separated myself from the Roman Catholic church for fairly similar reasons in my late teens, attending only when family or a paid music gig required it, and did not find a new church home until shortly after 9/11. I don't blame the gay and lesbian people, Marxist graduate students, or anybody else who tells me they can't reconcile the message of inclusion I share with the images of Fred Phelps, Pat Robertson and all the others who use the Bible as a club to beat back those they perceive as undesirables from the gate. Some pretty rotten stuff has been done both by churches (including my own) and by individuals in God's name. And there really are verses in the Bible to which they can point and claim they are doing exactly as God instructed.

Even in "liberal" mainline churches like mine, there is still vast room for improvement. Our internal dirty laundry has been spread all over the world media for the better part of 25 years as we squabble over these issues. Maybe Rice's words sting because -- despite the progress I mention above -- there is more than a grain of truth to them. Even those of us on the "right" (by which I mean those who share my opinion, natch) side of these issues are guilty at times of looking at those who disagree with us as "the other" and maybe not worthy of our time. These problems would go away if only they would. Except that -- in some cases -- they have, and we keep bickering nonetheless.

Rice is correct that the church, religion in general, is flawed. This is largely because it is a human construct, and thus flawed from the start. We behave the way we think God wants us to... at least most of the time. But -- having little more than a very, very old book, cobbled together from scraps of parchment and oral history, then translated and truncated by people divinely inspired perhaps, but human nonetheless, as concrete evidence of what's expected of us -- we don't all get the same message at the end of the game of theological telephone. All of us -- Rice included -- share some responsibility for the result, something that is at times awful and other times wonderful, and even if she walks away she continues to shoulder that burden.

Viewed through that lens, it's somewhat amazing that we bumble forward even at the glacial speed that we do. But the fact is that there are still moments when we collectively deliver something that wouldn't be possible otherwise, such as the church's adoption of the ONE campaign to support the UN Millennium Goals when logic, experience and cynicism all tell us they are hopelessly optimistic. And grace happens at a much smaller, but no less important, scale every day thanks to hundreds of people who work together to make someone's life a little better, because -- at the crux of it -- that's what Jesus wants from us. We know that much for pretty certain. The rest of it is -- in my opinion -- best left to the suits.