The Fifth Page for Sunday February 1, 2009
I wrote about "expectant waiting" for the morning sermon partly because I am leaving on Monday for a week of study leave, part of which I will spend in a three day silent retreat. This is part of the discernment phase of a two year program in the ministry of spiritual direction. I have been a part of this program since the opening residential week in June 2008.
Since I began this blog, the 5th page has been posted on the Monday following a Sunday sermon. It is often in conversations after the service that I get a sense of what should appear here.
I am going to be "off-line" while on retreat, and will not be able to post anything.
Instead, I reccomend you look at these quotes from the Quaker educator Parker Palmer. They are all from his seminal book "The Courage to Teach", and they express a Quaker theology of personhood, relationship, and education that I think applies as well to a faith community as it does to a classroom:
The subjects we teach are as large and complex as life, so our knowledge of them is always flawed and partial.
The students we teach are larger than life and even more complex. To see them clearly and see them whole, and respond to them wisely in the moment, requires a fusion of Freud and Solomon that few of us achieve.
We teach who we are.
Teaching holds a mirror to the soul.
When I do not know myself, I cannot know who my students are. I will see them through a glass darkly, in the shadows of my own unexamined life—and when I cannot see them clearly, I cannot teach them well.
Teachers at all levels of education have more in common than we think, and we should not be so glib about which level we call "higher."
Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher.
Good teachers possess a capacity for connectedness.
The self is not infinitely elastic—it has potentials and it has limits.
Teaching is a daily exercise in vulnerability.
Unlike many professions, teaching is always done at the dangerous intersection of personal and public life.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Holy Places
The Fifth Page for January 25, 2008 Rev. Darrow Woods
What makes a place “holy” or “sacred”? Did those ancients who erected monoliths at Stonehenge do so to create a holy place, or was it in response to some quality of the location that they had already observed? (These days, if you were choosing a location for a new church, especially in a developed urban setting, your considerations would likely have mainly to do with zoning, access to major transportation arteries, and affordability.)
While serving in a previous congregation, I had the opportunity to sit in on meetings with an architect who specialized in the renovation of existing churches. It was fascinating to watch how he sought to balance the desire to retain the “churchy-ness” of the structure, with the need to modernize, and make the building more accessible, and more amenable to the use of technology (lcd projector, large screen, audio system, room-darkening shades). It is not always easy to sort out what is essential, and what is merely familiar, or traditional.
Do we make a place holy by how we regard it, and what we do in that place? I can think of several churches in which I have felt more alive, more vital, and more connected, simply for walking in the building. I have also been in at least one that felt like a kind of spiritual “black hole”, that sucked life and joy out of people who came there to worship.
Some of the spaces I have been in, that seemed the most “prayed in” are actually not called churches by those who worship in them.
I spent two years working and studying with Quakers, members of the Religious Society of Friends. This denomination began in the 17th century when a man in England named George Fox came to the powerful realization that he did not require a priest or church, or any ritual to mediate for him the presence and power of God. Part of what Quakers offer to the world is the reminder that God is always present, and at work, within us, and around us.
Quakers call their places of worship “meeting houses”. In my experience, Quaker meeting houses are very plain, unornamented structures, with simple furnishings. My favourite ones have lots of windows. This seems fitting in a denomination that often speaks of God’s presence in each of us as the “inner light”.
Ephesians 2:19-22 (NIV)
You are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God's people and members of God's household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.
What makes a place “holy” or “sacred”? Did those ancients who erected monoliths at Stonehenge do so to create a holy place, or was it in response to some quality of the location that they had already observed? (These days, if you were choosing a location for a new church, especially in a developed urban setting, your considerations would likely have mainly to do with zoning, access to major transportation arteries, and affordability.)
While serving in a previous congregation, I had the opportunity to sit in on meetings with an architect who specialized in the renovation of existing churches. It was fascinating to watch how he sought to balance the desire to retain the “churchy-ness” of the structure, with the need to modernize, and make the building more accessible, and more amenable to the use of technology (lcd projector, large screen, audio system, room-darkening shades). It is not always easy to sort out what is essential, and what is merely familiar, or traditional.
Do we make a place holy by how we regard it, and what we do in that place? I can think of several churches in which I have felt more alive, more vital, and more connected, simply for walking in the building. I have also been in at least one that felt like a kind of spiritual “black hole”, that sucked life and joy out of people who came there to worship.
Some of the spaces I have been in, that seemed the most “prayed in” are actually not called churches by those who worship in them.
I spent two years working and studying with Quakers, members of the Religious Society of Friends. This denomination began in the 17th century when a man in England named George Fox came to the powerful realization that he did not require a priest or church, or any ritual to mediate for him the presence and power of God. Part of what Quakers offer to the world is the reminder that God is always present, and at work, within us, and around us.
Quakers call their places of worship “meeting houses”. In my experience, Quaker meeting houses are very plain, unornamented structures, with simple furnishings. My favourite ones have lots of windows. This seems fitting in a denomination that often speaks of God’s presence in each of us as the “inner light”.
Ephesians 2:19-22 (NIV)
You are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God's people and members of God's household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In him the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in him you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by his Spirit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)