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Monthly Archives: May 2017

In which Megan indulges in some shameless self-promotion

Posted on May 9, 2017 by megancastellan

So, I have written this here blog for a few years now.  (That’s really crazy when you consider that I started it so that I would no longer torture my college students by ranting to them about things in the church over which they had no control.)

I really love this blog!  And when I began it, I had the idea in my head that no one would actually WANT to read it, because what sort of odd human would want to read my scribblings–alternating as they did between dry wit and barely-contained fury?

It would appear that many of you are, in fact, that odd.  You adorable people, you.

And so, I would like to tell you, who might be interested, that I have helped write a book!   Yes, an actual book which is printed on paper, with ink and a cover, and whatnot.  Like we used in the Olden Days of the 1990s.

This book is available here, from Church Publishing.  (You can also get it in Kindle form from Amazon.  I won’t judge you.)

It’s by Bp. Michael Curry, and others.  I’m one of “the others”, a designation I am delighted with, especially since it includes Very Smart People like Bp. Rob Wright, Broderick Greer, Nora Gallagher, Anthony Guillen, and Kellan Day.

I encourage you to check it out.  And stay odd out there, y’all.  The world has need of us.

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Revived

Posted on May 7, 2017 by megancastellan

The Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, the Most Rev. Michael Curry, was in Kansas City over the past few days for a revival.

I realize this sounds highly un-Episcopalian.  As I commented to someone afterwards, I was not raised to worship outside, to sing Jesus songs while clapping, or to raise my hands unless at the altar.  These things were unseemly and altogether too Baptist to be borne.

However, yesterday afternoon found me outside, in a public city square, cheering on a sermon as the head bishop of my church urged us all to get out there and reclaim the word “Christian.”  Will wonders never cease.

I admit to being a cradle Episcopalian with some trepidation–like pandas raised in the wild, we’re increasingly rare, and that’s not a bad thing.  The more the church becomes a refugee camp for those seeking solace from the terrors of the world, then the more it’s doing its job, perhaps.  However, I am a convert to the idea that we actually need to speak openly about our faith in Jesus.  I am a convert to evangelism as being A Thing.

But I have come to realize that we need to attach words to this hope that is in us.  That we need to learn how to explain to others why we care so deeply about faith, because it is, in fact, something they need to hear.  Why is it that my little church devotes so much of its time and energy to an enormous food pantry?  Why did my youngest parishioners show up yesterday morning to eagerly hand silverware to our pantry guests so they could eat a hot meal?  Why do we pray daily for the famine in South Sudan, and write our representatives at the UN, urging them to seek an end to that situation?  Why do we care so much?

For most of my life, I thought it went without saying.  That I did just what anyone would do, if they had time, or thought about it, or slowed down, or something.  Lately, I have realized that this is not true.  I live my life this way–my church acts this way– because I believe this is what Jesus wants of me.  Jesus wants me to feed the hungry.  And to fight for the poor.  And to make sure the sick are cared for.  That’s what Jesus asked of me, and because I love Jesus, I must do that.  Because we follow Jesus, this is what we do.

This isn’t true of everyone.  And by that, I don’t mean that Muslims don’t fight for the poor.  (Boy howdy, do they ever.  I’d like to introduce you to the women who staff KC for Refugees sometime if you’d like to dispute this.) Or that Jewish people don’t worry about the hungry, or that atheists or agnostics don’t worry about the poor.  They all can and frequently do.

What I mean is that there are people who choose to live selfishly.  To live as if their personal lives and wellbeing is the most important thing in the universe, and seek to structure the world around THAT belief, rather than any other.  Let the poor starve; I have enough food.  Let the sick get sicker, my staff and I will have care. And even worse, there are times when these people cloak their selfishness in the name of the Jesus I follow, as if that makes their selfishness more palatable, instead of a grave slander.

What the presiding bishop reminded me (aside from the fact that I really should use this blog for stuff other than sermons) is that we have an important story to tell, we Jesus people.  The world needs to hear that Jesus isn’t a free pass for selfishness and hatred; Jesus wants us to live for others, and to love each other. And that’s just as easy and as hard as it’s always been.

There are times when you need someone to preach to you, so that you remember the truth, and this was one of those times.  So thanks, Bishop Curry.  Let’s go tell our story.

 

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On the Road Again

Posted on May 2, 2017 by megancastellan

I think Jesus must have been in a super-good mood, after the Resurrection.  He seems to have spent most of his time playing the same joke on his disciples:  sneaking up on them, acting all nonchalant, then BAM.  They’d recognize him, and either have a teary reunion (a la Mary Magdalene) or he’d disappear (Road to Emmaus).  I don’t know exactly what got into him during his Time in the Tomb, but his newfound love of pranks cracks me up every Easter season.

I humbly suggest that, instead of Christmas pageants, or even Passion Week cantatas, we should dedicate a day of the liturigical year to sneaking around in disguise, and trying to suprise other church members with our kind deeds.

(Then leaping out from behind furniture, and yelling, “SURPRISE!” because why should Jesus have all the fun?)

Rev. Megan L. Castellan

April 30, 2017

Easter 3

Luke

You may have noticed that in these post-Resurrection stories we’ve been reading since Easter, Jesus has been a bit different.  He’s not doing his usual, Jesus-y things.  There’s less preaching, healing, and teaching, and more…..apparating?  More disappearing and reappearing?  More walking through walls, cooking fish, and showing off flesh wounds.  

 

This is not your imagination; the Resurrected Christ is, in fact, noticeably different from the pre-resurrection Christ.  And scholars talk about this at length, only they call it “Points of significant discontinuity as well as areas of continuity.”  They do not address whether JK Rowling derived any inspiration for Harry Potter from Jesus’ exploits, however.

 

These changes also seem to befuddle the disciples a bit.  Over and over, they seem to have trouble figuring out what to do.  They don’t know what they’re supposed to do in the aftermath of Christ’s death and resurrection, even when Mary Magdalene and the other Mary(s) give them fairly specific instructions, and when Jesus does show up, they are still confused, and often have trouble recognizing him.  

 

This is mostly not their fault–they’d been through a lot, and times were uncertain, and really, who does expect someone to rise from the dead and appear within a locked room?  After the trauma they’d collectively suffered, I think the disciples can, for once, be given a bit of slack for their general confusion–because the world was just confusing right then.

 

And so, on this particular day, we meet another pair of disciples, trying to make the best of things, and sort of making a hash of it.  

Now, things get weird in this story right away, but you don’t notice it unless you’re looking for it.  The text tells us that the two disciples are Cleopas and….we don’t know.  The other one never gets a name, nor a specified gender.  Western art usually depicts Other Disciple as a male, (assuming that all disciples were male), while Middle Eastern Christians have held that the Other Disciple is Cleopas’ wife, Mary–who has already made an appearance when she tagged along with Mary Magdalene to the cross, then to the empty tomb, so she does seem to be pretty involved.  For ease of preaching, I’m going to go with Middle Eastern Christians on this one.

 

So Mary and Cleopas are out on the road to Emmaus, and they are arguing back and forth about what’s happened in the past week.  While the rest of the disciples are back in Jerusalem, locked in an upper room somewhere, afraid and in hiding, it seems this pair has decided to flee town in the wake of Jesus’ death.  They are arguing about this, apparently, so much that they do not really notice when Jesus appears beside them and asks them what they are arguing about.

They explain the situation to him–there had been this wonderful friend and teacher, Jesus, who did miracles no one had seen before.  They had hoped and believed in him like no one else, but then he had been crucified by Rome.  Now they didn’t know what to do.  So, they were leaving.

 

Jesus, it would seem, absorbs all this, and starts walking with them, as they continue to discuss.  When it grows dark, they invite him to have supper with them–it’s the nice and hospitable thing to do— and when he shares the bread with them, something triggers in their memory, and suddenly they realize who he is.

 

In a flash, Jesus disappears again.  

 

But the disciples race back to Jerusalem, and tell the others what they experienced.  

 

That’s the curious part of this story.  Two people–lost, confused, hopeless, and irritable–encounter Jesus, and now they’re rejuvenated, and empowered.  These are the folks who were literally fleeing from the scene as fast as they could, and once they recognized Jesus, they turned right around and headed back.

 

And let’s be clear–it’s not like Jesus pulled a magic trick (beyond the weird undercover Messiah trick of sneaking up on them then disappearing.)  He didn’t overthrow Rome.  He didn’t dethrone Pilate.  He didn’t make Palestine safe for Christianity, and he didn’t erase the memory of that horrible last week.  All the things that Mary and Cleopas were afraid of are still back in Jerusalem.

 

What Jesus did was change them.  Just by his presence, just by his listening, just by being with them for a while, somehow, he gave them the strength and courage to go back to face what they were most afraid of facing.  

 

Jesus didn’t change the world; he helped Mary and Cleopas change the world.  

 

Perhaps part of why Jesus acts so oddly post-resurrection is that a shift is under way.  Before his death, he was living out the Gospel.  After his resurrection–we are the ones who need to live it out.  Us.  You, me, Mary, Cleopas.  

 

We are the ones who are sent back to Jerusalem, to heal, to teach, to comfort the lonely, to lift up the oppressed, and feed the hungry.  We are the ones sent back to preach good news to the sorrowful and let the captives go free.  We now step into the path Jesus paved for us.

 

And like the disciples on the road discovered, we don’t do this alone.  We have the resurrected Christ walking alongside us, to accompany us, and guide us.  Christ sneaks up during our moments of doubt and confusion, to show us where to go, and remind us of all we have learned and all we have to give.  Christ is with us when we least expect it: in moments of pain and in triumph, so that we are never alone on this journey.

 

The journey we have been taking with Jesus doesn’t stop at the Cross, and doesn’t stop with the empty tomb–it leads on into a wider world, where we are called on to each tiny village that needs our help.  So onwards we go.

 

Amen

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