Message from Bishop Mariann: Supporting Efforts to Protect Our Children

Dear Friends of the Diocese of Washington,

Across the nation, we find ourselves in a moment of reckoning on the issue of sexual misconduct and abuse. When children are involved, the abuse is all the more devastating. And when the abuse impacts your own community, it forces you to ask some soul-searching questions.

What happened? How could we have prevented it? What do we need to do to make sure it never happens again? 

Earlier today, the four institutions on the Cathedral Close – Washington National Cathedral, Beauvoir, National Cathedral School, and St. Albans – announced the expansion of an independent investigation started last month by St. Albans into past instances of sexual misconduct between adults and children. As the Bishop of the Diocese of Washington and President and Chair of the Protestant Episcopal Cathedral Foundation, I have worked alongside the Cathedral Close leadership in recent days. I fully endorse their decision to participate in this expanded investigation, and am proud of our leaders for taking an honest look at the past.

The Dean of the Cathedral and the three heads of school have made clear that this decision was not prompted by reports of any current misconduct involving adults and children at any of our schools or the Cathedral. And I am confident in the safe and secure environment we are providing to students and other children who visit the Cathedral Close. This process will only serve to raise our high standards.

Though this was not our plan, this investigation feels especially appropriate in the season of Lent, when God calls us to conduct an honest accounting of our lives. Lent is a time for the hard work of making restitution for our failings. We do this work in confidence of God’s healing mercies and the grace to amend our lives.

Reckoning with our past and making amends to anyone who was harmed is not an easy path to take, and I give thanks for the leaders of Cathedral Close institutions who are showing us how to face a difficult issue with bravery, determination, and honesty. Through this process, they are modeling how each of us can shed a critical light on uncomfortable truths. May our efforts help to heal the wounds of those who have suffered abuse.  

I echo the call made by the Cathedral and the schools to share any relevant information with the independent team leading the investigation. If you or anyone you know has information about past adult-child sexual misconduct on the Cathedral Close, please contact the lead investigator, Mary Beth Hogan, at mbhogan@debevoise.com or (212) 909-6996. As experts in this field, Ms. Hogan and her team will make every effort to protect your privacy and maintain confidentiality of information shared.

“Create in me a clean heart,” we prayed on Ash Wednesday, “and renew a right spirit within me.” I ask you to join me in prayer for the Cathedral, Beauvoir, NCS and St. Albans, and for each of us to invite Christ’s light to shine in the darkened corners of our lives and of our world. 

 

Faithfully,

Bishop Mariann

 

Becoming Good Soil Begins with Prayer

Becoming Good Soil Begins with Prayer


Jesus said, ‘Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.

John 15:4-5

I write today, as your bishop, with a personal request.

Would you please join me in prayer for us, the people of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington, as we begin the discovery season of our strategic planning process, Becoming Good Soil?

On Saturday, March 16th, we will host our first regional discovery session for the congregations of North Prince George’s County. Two more sessions will follow later this month, on Thursday, March 28th, for the congregations of Central Montgomery County and on Saturday, March 30th for the congregations of North Washington, D.C. Other regions will have their gatherings in late April and early May.

I have asked that each congregation be represented by at least two leaders (more are always welcome), so that we might discern together how we might become good soil for the gospel seeds that God is already sowing all around us. We have leaders in each region now, working to bring us together for heartfelt conversation and joyful God-inspired dreaming. Please pray for them, and for all who will gather in these sessions. Consider being one of them–I would love to see you there.

In Sunday worship, many of you pray for me, your bishop, as you offer prayers for the church and the world. Thank you. I need your prayers, especially now, in this season of my episcopate, that I might be faithful to Jesus’ call and his way of love. In the context of the Lord’s Prayer, we ask that God’s Kingdom be realized on the earth, as it is in heaven. As you pray that prayer, please hold in your heart all in the Diocese of Washington, that we might be a people dedicated to God’s kingdom, and faithful to God’s will, not ours.

If the Episcopal Diocese of Washington is to become a compelling witness to Jesus’ way of love in this world, it will be through the grace of God, the redeeming love of Jesus, and the power of the Holy Spirit working in us, accomplishing far more than we can ask for or imagine. And it will be through our faithfulness and courage that we offer our best and imperfect selves to this good work.  

Join us now in this time of discerning prayer, from which our future actions will flow. Thank you for your faithfulness. I pledge mine to you, and to our God.
 

40 Days and 40 Nights

Jesus said, ‘Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.
Matthew 6:1

The season of Lent is a fixed period of time, counting backward from Easter Sunday to mark its beginning, always on a Wednesday. The forty days are patterned after the great biblical rhythms of forty–the forty years the people of Israel wandered in the wilderness before entering the promised land and the forty days Jesus spent in his own wilderness of prayer, fasting and preparation for his public.

Forty is a symbolic number, signifying a long time. If we decide to do anything for forty days, we’ll have to recommit to that decision more than once, regardless of how we feel. Yet forty days isn’t forever. Lent is a long enough period of time to get our attention, but not so long that we can’t see past it.

On Ash Wednesday, we’re reminded that our bodies come from the earth and will one day return there, while our soul’s true home is with God. Thus we are encouraged to spend this time in intentional relationship with Christ, “the exact imprint of God’s very being who sustains all things by his powerful word.” (Hebrews 1:3)

The Scripture passage that inaugurates Lent comes from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, in which Jesus’ encourages his disciples in three foundational practices: generosity, prayer, and self-denial. But what mattered most to Jesus was that they do these things in secret; in other words, not for others, but for ourselves, and as a way to draw closer to God.  

The gift of Lent is the invitation to authenticity and an investment in spiritual depth. Thus it matters less what we do or don’t do in Lent than the spirit with which we engage this time, for its disciplines are not for show, but for our spiritual growth.

While the tone of our worship tends toward the somber in Lent, it is not meant to be a burdensome time, but rather a gift. May it be so for us all, a holy reminder that whatever God wants from us pales in comparison to what God longs for us.

What Lies Beyond Mountains

Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”–not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!” When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.
 Luke 9:28-36

I am honored to worship God with you, All Saints’ Church, and to be among your gifted clergy whom I often turn to for inspiration. Thank you for welcoming me so kindly.

For the last month in my writing and preaching, I have been exploring from a variety of perspectives a central theme: Living a Called Life.

Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, in his book The Prophetic Imagination, writes that the greatest heresy of our time is the notion that any of us can live an “uncalled life.” That is, a life with no reference point beyond the self, no sense of vocation or greater purpose given to us by God. Conversely, the experience of feeling oneself called to something, or somewhere, is among the most powerful and persuasive of spiritual encounters.

It begins, I believe, with a sense or conviction that we’re being summoned, somehow, either by our life circumstances or an internal, driving energy that all spiritual traditions attribute to the voice of God. In the Christian life, Jesus is the one who calls. We hear him call us by name into relationship with Him and to follow him, as his disciples, according to his teachings and wherever he leads.

The call can lead us virtually anywhere: deep within ourselves in prayer, boldly out into society to serve the least of God’s children. It can be a call to devote the greater portion of our life’s energies to the raising of children, the care of a loved one, or to walk courageously through a door into the unknown, leaving for a time the comforts and intense commitments of home. The call can come by way of joy and the fulfillment of our greatest dreams; it can come to us in response to tragedy or heartbreak. But there we are, and the call has come to us.

To be called is a uniquely human experience, because of the element of choice. Even when it feels as if we have no choice, we can, in fact, choose to say no to the summons, or refuse to give our hearts to what our bodies are forced to accept. Conversely, we can say yes, give our consent and whole-hearted engagement, even in response to a call we would have given anything to not to receive, and in so doing become fully alive.

To feel oneself called is also a universal experience, and therefore a powerful point of contact for us with our non-Christian friends and family, where we can begin conversation about what it means to feel oneself into relationship with Christ.

Many of the classic stories of Scripture are call stories. Think of Moses’ call, when God spoke to him from a burning bush and told him that he was the one to go to Pharaoh and liberate God’s people from slavery in Egypt. Or the call of Esther, a Jewish woman who found herself in the Persian King’s court at the precise moment when the Jewish people living in exile were threatened with genocide. “Who knows?” her uncle Mordecai said to her when she insisted that she could not do what was being asked of her. “Who knows, perhaps you have come to your royal position for a time such as this?”

Nearly every biblical character resists the call at first. The prophet Isaiah responded with an acknowledgement of his own sinfulness:  “Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips and I dwell among a people of unclean lips.” Simon Peter said much the same thing when Jesus called him. We heard his story in church a few weeks ago. You may remember how when Jesus told Simon Peter to put his nets down for a catch and there were so many fish that the nets began to break, Simon’s response was: “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” He was certain that if Jesus knew who he really was, he wouldn’t want anything to do with him. But Jesus did know him; he knew all about him, and it was Simon that he wanted. “Follow me,” Jesus said. “From now on we’ll be fishing for people.”

Coming to terms with our imperfection comes with the territory when living a called life, and Simon Peter is the patron saint of imperfection. Methodist pastor Adam Hamilton has recently published a book about Simon Peter entitled Flawed but Faithful Disciple. Simon Peter gave his heart to Jesus, but time and again, he would get things wrong, say the most inappropriate things, even fail spectacularly in his efforts to be faithful. We heard a bit of his fumbling this morning when he was on the mountain with Jesus, so wanting to be helpful, yet entirely missed the meaning of what was happening. Nonetheless, Jesus turned to Simon more than any other disciple, as if to say to all of us, “I do not expect perfection from you. Embrace the path of imperfection.”

What makes Simon’s example so compelling is his perseverance, a willingness to get up every time he falls, acknowledge his failings and accept Jesus’ forgiveness. Remember that he was the one who denied even knowing Jesus three times on the night of Jesus’ arrest. How could he ever forgive himself for abandoning his teacher and closest friend? Even then, after his resurrection Jesus seeks Simon out to make sure that he knows he is forgiven, and still called to be a witness to Jesus’ way of love in this world.

We’ll hear more of that part of Simon Peter’s story with Jesus at the end of the season we’re poised to begin in church. For today we stand on the threshold of Lent, the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday, patterned on Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness and his journey down from the mountain of his transfiguration to his entry into Jerusalem.

This morning I invite you to linger a bit with Jesus, Peter, James and John on the mountaintop where Jesus had gone to pray, and in so doing, call to mind our own mountaintop moments. We often use the phrase “mountain top” to evoke that feeling of arrival, clarity of vision, and sense of coherence to our lives that can be hidden from us in the valleys of daily existence. From a mountaintop, we also see our destination, where, in the language of faith, God is calling us to go. Mountaintop experiences are gifts of sheer grace, although often hard won, in that it takes effort to climb a mountain. Once there, we are touched by a power and presence that gives meaning to all that has gone before and all that will come afterwards.

On the mountain of his transfiguration, Jesus was filled with light and surrounded by the love of God. His spiritual ancestors joined him there and spoke to him about “what he was about to accomplish,” our translation puts it. Other translations are more specific: it was to be his exodus, harkening back to the exodus from slavery that Moses led, bringing to all humankind a deeper freedom from sin.

His experience on the mountain seemed to negate all the harsh premonitions that Jesus had about his future, and had spoken about to his disciples about time and again, warning them that he was to go to Jerusalem to die. Simon Peter must have been so relieved! No wonder he wanted to build a shrine to mark this pinnacle of glory, so that they could bask forever in the light. Maybe the exodus wouldn’t be one of suffering after all. If only that were so. But Jesus knew that for all the power of that holy mountain, his destiny lay below, in Jerusalem, the seat of political and religious power, where prophets must go to speak, and almost certainly, to die.

But what a gift that moment must have been for him, and how important a memory it was for those who were there with him. The text tells us that they didn’t dare speak of it at first; I suspect that it wasn’t until after the resurrection that the three shared with others what they saw. Only then did the experience make sense to them–it wasn’t a lightning bolt from the sky, changing Jesus’ course. It wasn’t an isolated event, but more a resting point in a longer journey of faithfulness to his call. So these experiences often are for us.

Years ago, when I was a young priest about to accept my first call as a rector, I spent a weekend with my family at our diocesan camp. The executive director of the camp was also in transition as he was leaving the camp to accept a position as the director of a residential home for teenagers in juvenile justice system. He was beaming as he told me of this change, which clearly wasn’t a step up in prestige or pay, as vocations go. He said something I’ve never forgotten, one of the best expressions of a mountaintop I’ve ever heard: “I have been preparing my entire life for this job.”

What an amazing thing to be able to say–and I knew that he was telling me a lot, about his own life, perhaps his own struggles, and clearly he was overjoyed to be called by God for such a time and place.

I never saw him again, and so I don’t know how things turned out. But I would guess that it wasn’t any easier coming down from that mountain of clarity than it was climbing up it. Mountaintop experiences, wonderful as they are, are both preceded and followed by a lot of not knowing and many small steps of persevering faithfulness.

I suppose that’s one thing we know for sure about mountaintop revelations: they come to an end. Sometimes something happens on the way down the mountain that calls into question everything about our experience.

Once, when struggling to make a decision of real consequence, I went for a swim at a nearby recreation center. Somewhere in that timeless zone of swimming laps and praying for clarity, clarity came with a rush of euphoria. I knew exactly what I was to do and why. I remember feeling so relieved to have reached a decision, knowing in my bones that it was right. But no sooner had I stepped out of the pool and dried myself off when all my uncertainty came rushing back. It took every ounce of faith to stay with the decision I had made. This memory remains a touchstone for me; every time I have a similar experience of insight followed by doubt, I remind myself to hold steady, not let the forces of ambiguity blow my life off course, and to trust whatever glimpses of direction I have received.

So it is for all of us: we come down mountain, get hit with reality, take a deep breath, and go on. Life looks pretty much the same on the way down as it did on the way up, and maybe that’s the point. After Jesus comes down from the mountain, he sets his face toward Jerusalem and all that awaits him there. On the journey, he does what he did before: heals the sick, feeds the hungry, preaches good news to the poor. He did his day job, and so do we.

The sweet, rare moments of clarity and affirmation are wonderful when they come, but where life gets interesting is what happens next, when we re-enter the world as it is and do our best to live according to the clarity we received. As the Haitians say, what lies beyond one mountain is another mountain. How we walk the path between them is most important, giving thanks for the sweet moments of illumination when they’re given us, but remembering how we live both before and after is what matters most.

I invite you all to take the Scripture home with you today, find a quiet place, and ponder your last significant mountaintop experience, or any that comes to mind. Consider how and where you’ve traveled since then, and what Jesus might want to say to you about that journey, in gratitude or encouragement, in consolation and love. If you are in need of such an experience–one of greater clarity and affirmation–ask for it in your prayers.

Name for yourself the ways you feel your life called by God, or by the circumstances before you, and pray for strength and confidence to be faithful to that call. And if you, like all of us, are wondering what the call might be now, ask for guidance and the prayer support of your faith community and your spiritual leaders.

We aren’t meant to walk the road of faithfulness alone. We aren’t meant to be perfect. There is love and support all around you, beloved All Saints’, as you strive to follow the one who calls you each by name. Know that your bishop is praying for you, and giving thanks for your faithfulness.