Morning Rounds and Evening Musings

I attended Diocesan Council, the annual business meeting of the Episcopal Diocese of Atlanta, yesterday and today. I was expecting to be bored out of my mind, evinced by the fact my purse contained a Newsweek, a book and my Hebrew flashcards, just in case. Much to my surprise, there was enough entertainment that my Newsweek remains unread.

It was exciting to sit in a room with over 600 priests and laypeople (and the Bishop, of course) from all over Atlanta and the region. There's something special that happens when every priest from the diocese comes together in one place to worship, pray and look ahead to our 101st Diocesan year. Judging by the news stories of past few months regarding the Episcopal Church, I expected uncomfortable debates about homosexuality to prevail. It shouldn't have surprised me that the media presented a rather skewed perspective about the work of the church. We actually have missions, ministries and business to attend to that has nothing do with with homosexuality. Of the five foci the Bishop outlined for the upcoming year ranging from fighting poverty to being on the forefront of environmental conservation, not one included anything about sex. Can you imagine?! In a church? It was refreshingly reassuring. We deliberated on everything from making buildings conducive to those people with disabilities, to environmental initiatives, to the budget. And, it was a great networking opportunity--I was offered 2 jobs!!

I almost left early Friday night and skipped out on the Friday night Eucharist. I'm glad I didn't. Despite my drowsiness, it was a powerful experience to sit in the Cathedral of St. Phillip (pictured above), whose interior rivals that of many of the Cathedrals I've seen in Europe, surrounded by so many people who came together with singular vocations and purpose. Bishops present and past attended, and we renewed our baptismal vows together--a pivotal statement following disagreements and varied opinions about almost every resolution that hit the floor this weekend. Diocesan Council provides a great lesson in peacemaking--we've all got to get along somehow. The fractures in our church the media portrays are, of course, not complete fairytales. I have been fearful of a split on the horizon, despite the Episcopal Church USA's decision to halt gay ordination in the U.S. in order to repair relations with the worldwide communion. Bishop Allen was an encouraging voice to that fear: "I have one message. I am here. We are here. And we are not going anywhere."

Diocesan Council came on the heels of All Saint's Day in the Church Calendar. This is the Sunday when we celebrate the communion of Saints--the greater church consisting of the living and the dead. It is these high holy days that make me love the Episcopal Church. I remember the first time I celebrated All Saints. It was a Wednesday night, a week before the anniversary of my Grandpa's death. There were about 12 of us gathered in the small chapel at my seminary. At the litany of the dead, we spoke aloud the names of all those we knew who had died in the past year. We brought them into worship with us, and acknowledged our continued connection with the dead--through the church instead of through their physical presence. In that moment, I felt the church to be about more than me and Jesus. It was about more than the differences that define denominations and even the bickering within denominations. Rather, we affirmed our belief in the great communion of people who read the same stories, said the same creed, preached the same gospel. A communion beyond all physical, temporal and spiritual boundaries that has given us the church we inhabit that we have today, for better or worse. It is that community with whom and through whom we see Jesus and without whom, we might not see him as we should.

Like any family, there are not just heroes and brave patriarchs. The church has their fair share, to be sure, but we also had crusaders and racists. Still, the saints are our companions and teachers. They stand with us in the same way I felt Grandpa with us that All Saints night last year, a vital part not just of our church's past, but of its present.

Diocesan Council had a similar effect for me. Surrounded by these wise men and women, committed to the church's gospel mission and furthering God's kingdom, I said "Thanks be to God" in unison with those 600 others in a new way. And I was thankful--thankful for newfound love of liturgy, unity and a church family.

Money has been on the brain lately. This is the time in the semester when financial aid money runs thin, and Wes and I have discussions about our financial situation every other day or so. This is also the time in the semester where we start to eat at home before we go out for dinner with friends, where we split an appetizer instead of two entrees, and when the new pair of jeans I was eying online become January's dream, after next semester's check comes in and we feel secure again.

When I'm rational and able to think intellectually about money, I find myself convinced that this time of life is formative, good and spiritually enlightening. I fight to get to a place where I can embrace life below the poverty line, and the sacrifices and commitment it takes to 'make it' on so little. I remind myself when I'm tempted to bemoan our financial shortcomings that a) we made our own decisions. It was our choice to go to school at the same time and to take out the least amount of loans possible and b) we're much better off than most of the world living below the poverty line because we have a system of family and friends whose support, both monetary and otherwise, will get us through these slim years. We are very wealthy.

November and December are also good months because they force me to remember the commitments Wes and I made about the way we want to live our lives. Living simply, giving generously and rejecting the culture's nagging voice that tells us more is better are lifelong goals--forced poverty right now makes them a reality, but what happens when, several years down the road after the loans are paid off, we get a paycheck that provides a surplus? The reality of our chosen professions (ok, Wes' profession. Who am I kidding?) is that we will soon be making more money than 95% of the world's population. That's both comforting as we sit 2 years into medical school and seminary with more debt than the money I've earned over my entire life combined, and scary as I realize how challenging it will be to live like we do now when our situation will permit much more indulgence. It's one thing to live simply when you have no other options; it's quite another beast when you're making more money than any family of 10 needs to get by for a year. I'm convinced it will take the support of a similarly committed group of friends to hold us to that one, and a firm commitment to using the portion of our income we need to meet basic needs, and letting the rest go.

After all, we're all taught that money can't buy happiness, right? But, from the looks of the households all across America, no one really believes that. I don't know if I believe that. I often find myself thinking, "you know, if we just had 5,000 more dollars a year, this cloud of anxiety would be gone, and I would be much happier." But I know were that 5,000 to be dropped in our lap, I would crave just that one other little thing. The myth of a person's wealth being found in a bigger salary or in having more stuff is so seductive. The message is everywhere, saturating our TVs, computers and cities. It creeps into my brain trying to make me believe that I would be better looking, have more friends, and be an all around happier human being if I would just buy those designer jeans.

I'm reading a book right now called Deep Economy, by Bill McKibben. He is an environmentalist and economist who argues in this, his latest book, that economic growth at its current pace is not only environmentally unsustainable, but it doesn't make us happier. A homeless person on the streets of Calcutta is rated the least happy in all the world. But once he moves to a shack in the slums, his happiness doubles. Forbes magazine's richest Americans have happiness scores identical with those of the Pennsylvania Amish, and only slightly above those of the Masai tribesman. That person living in the slums of Calcutta is about as satisfied with his life as the average college student. The point is that money only makes us happy to a point. Once basic needs are met, money's ability to bring happiness goes down exponentially.

This should be enough evidence for me to squelch the irrational desire for more, more, more that creeps into my head every so often. I wish it were enough. But that's just more proof that I need to be intentional about who I surround myself with--people who don't make me feel inferior because of my stained, used, $50 couch and whose activities revolve around good times with good people, not good times playing with nice stuff. Luckily, I'm married to one such person who is not nearly as easily seduced by money's false promises.

Wealth is isolating. With it we can buy enough stuff that we're no longer dependent on anyone else. But that too is a lie. Right now, as I'm staring at rent payments, bills, Christmas presents that need buying and grocery shopping in light of a dwindling bank account, I'm calling Wealth on its bluff. Whenever I hear its lies in the future I will say to my soul, Soul, you have an ample wealth of friends, love and happiness in Christ who gives you all good things.