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    <title>Thoughts Along The Way</title>
    <category>Thoughts Along The Way</category>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/a-time-to-keep-silence/</link>
        <title>A time to keep silence</title>
        <description>Leigh Waggonerdu1-i-syn Words … words … and more words. We are inundated by them. Words written and words spoken. Words meant to convince. Words meant to manipulate. Words that express emotions. Words that speak truth, and words that deceive. Words...</description>
        <pubDate>Wed, 13 Feb 2019 22:48:34 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Leigh Waggonerdu1-i-syn Words ... words ... and more words. We are inundated by them. Words written and words spoken. Words meant to convince. Words meant to manipulate. Words that express emotions. Words that speak truth, and words that deceive. Words that question. Words that inform. And words for the sake of filling up the silence. For the past eight years, I have added to the surfeit of words. As a priest I preached. Weekly I would add to the rising ocean of verbiage within which the members of the congregation I served swim. Monthly I would do the same in this column. I wonder now if it isn’t time for some silence. Time to listen. And time to see ... really see. I wonder if it might not be time to stop our self-assured holding forth about all we know (or think we know) and even all we want to know and just be present. It is time to stop ... at least for me. I thank you for joining me these past years as I offered my “thoughts along the way.” When you have agreed with me as well as when you haven’t, your company has been comforting. Now it is time for some silence. Silence on the page. Silence in my surroundings. Silence in which to hear and out of which to see. Leigh Waggoner is a retired rector at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/a-yearly-reminder-to-live-in-faith-daily/</link>
        <title>A yearly reminder to live in faith daily</title>
        <description>Leigh Waggonerdu1-i-syn New Year’s. A date on the calendar to mark new beginnings. New diets. New exercise programs. New commitments to those things we know we should be doing but we aren’t. I suspect most of these things are in...</description>
        <pubDate>Mon, 31 Dec 2018 16:41:47 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Leigh Waggonerdu1-i-syn New Year’s. A date on the calendar to mark new beginnings. New diets. New exercise programs. New commitments to those things we know we should be doing but we aren’t. I suspect most of these things are in our own best interest. Sometimes we might even include commitments to our relationships with others. All in all, what we are striving for is to make the coming year better than the last. It’s odd, don’t you think, that we single out one day in the year for all this improvement. I suspect the infrequency of this enterprise may have to do with our distaste for change. After all, things wouldn’t be the way they are if we hadn’t acquiesced to the existing state of affairs. Either we are actually satisfied with life as it is, or we are just lazy. But, here we are, January 1st, again making resolutions. I find it curious that this phenomenon is typical for both religious and nonreligious folks. Once a year. Resolutions. And then life goes on. But in the Christian world, at least, there is another narrative, one we often forget. It’s a narrative that is expressed most simply and most clearly in Revelation 21:5: “And the one who was seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.’” (The “one on the throne,” in case you aren’t familiar with the text, is God.) God is about the business of making all things new. You might have noticed that, unlike a magician, God doesn’t seem to be zapping the world into the perfection we’d all wish for. So, how is all this newness coming into being? Perhaps a nuanced look at the question would reveal several nuanced answers, but I see two main ways. The primary one is through evolution. The other is through humans willing to work for transformation. The evolutionary part is taking care of itself in a slow and steady way. We, on the other hand, tend to do our part in fits and spurts. While the world offers us a New Year’s, the church calls us to daily “self-examination,” “repentance,” and “amendment of life.” The assumption is that outward change begins with inner transformation. And since we have capacities for altruism and selfishness, the world isn’t going to change for the better without our more than once-a-year efforts. Certainly no one has to be a churchgoer, much less a “believer,” to grasp the veracity of this. We all know folks who have never set foot in a church who live moral, ethical and compassionate lives. I for one, however, need help. I need a structure that calls me to the work that I am less than inclined to do on my own. I need a set of practices that challenges me to look at myself, that holds me accountable for more than just myself and that shows me a way that supports and nurtures my best self. And I need that more than once a year. It’s true that religion can be used by power-hungry people for nefarious purposes. Religion has within it, however, a heart that beats for the well-being of not only the individual, but for all of creation. At its best, religion offers hope for humanity. Not simply hope that the way things are becomes a better version of the way things are. Religion offers hope for a new world that is borne of renewed hearts and minds. And religion, at its best, acknowledges that that takes work, that it takes commitment, and certainly that it takes more than one day a year. Leigh Waggoner is a retired rector at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/the-last-gasps-of-patriarchy/</link>
        <title>The last gasps of Patriarchy?</title>
        <description>Leigh Waggonerdu1-i-syn Years ago, I sat on the couch in my living room facing an investigator from the State Board of Medical Examiners. He had come all the way from Madison to my house in the woods in northwest Wisconsin...</description>
        <pubDate>Tue, 16 Oct 2018 14:55:14 -0600</pubDate>
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        <media:thumbnail url="https://imengine.public.prod.dur.navigacloud.com/?uuid=2A093148-82C2-40D0-B1ED-B3DAC0597F48&#038;function=thumbnail&#038;type=preview&#038;source=false&#038;width=600&#038;height=400" />
        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Leigh Waggonerdu1-i-syn Years ago, I sat on the couch in my living room facing an investigator from the State Board of Medical Examiners. He had come all the way from Madison to my house in the woods in northwest Wisconsin to question me. His task, on behalf of a panel of male medical doctors, was to determine if I’d broken the law. At that point, I did not call myself “a midwife.” When asked, I said simply that I helped women who gave birth at home, and that is what I did. I remember this man leaning in toward me and with all the power of the AMA behind him calmly interrogating me. I remember the internal shuddering that I couldn’t control. I remember not being able to think straight. And when he left, I shuddered all the more as I realized, “This person has power over my life that I can do nothing about.” The short version of the story is that I was investigated three more times by the state but never brought up on charges. All this was in the background at the same time I was moving through a protracted civil case that culminated in a jury trial. After being front page news for months having been accused of “practicing nurse midwifery without a license,” I was found not guilty. It was a grueling, emotionally draining, and expensive year. I write about this, because I know what it feels like to not have power. And power – not sex, not even violence – is behind what we are seeing in the news these days. From public accusations against men in high positions to the women on the streets who are speaking up in the #MeToo movement, women are finding our courage and our voices. We are standing up to those who have assumed power is theirs and theirs alone, and they are rattled. The world is seeing, I believe, the last gasps of Patriarchy. The foundation of the Good Old Boys network is crumbling. Why write about this in a religious column? Because if the stories on which our faith is grounded don’t in some way address inequities in our world, it is not a faith to which many these days want to subscribe. It is nothing more than a tool to prop up those at the top. A challenge for those within Christianity who see another way is that there are Biblical stories that support Patriarchy. It is, after all, a religion born in a time and out of a culture that was thoroughly patriarchal. In our own “sacred scriptures” women were property with all the rights of the cattle their husbands also owned. It is a religion that, as it developed in power and influence, squelched other expressions of faith that centered on the Feminine Divine. It is a religion in which, even today, women have not yet fully achieved parity. This is to a large extent because all religion is embedded in a culture, and, universally, Patriarchy still holds sway. One might ask why any woman would stay a Christian. It’s true, many of us are leaving. Some of us, though, stay. And the reason we stay is because of Jesus. We stay because, for ourselves and for the men in our lives, Jesus – a man – showed all humans a different way. The stories we have about him show a teacher (divine or not) who took the lessons he learned at his mother’s knee about equality (see the Magnificat, Luke 1: 46-55); who learned from a non-Jewish woman from Syro-Phoenicia (see Mark 7:25-30/Matthew 15:21-28) and was willing to be changed in how he understood his culture and his religion; and who stood up to those in power on behalf of those who were culturally and religiously marginalized (see the Gospels). Jesus showed the people of his day another way. The way of radical equality and unity. As a woman I have no desire to “take” power from men. As a woman and as a Christian, I hunger to live in a world that honors and participates in the way of this teacher (Jesus) who looked to God and taught what he saw – a realm in which all are of value (equal value); all belong; and in which everyone’s voice is heard and honored. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/the-only-thing-to-fear/</link>
        <title>The only thing to fear …</title>
        <description>While the image I carry of myself as a backpacker may no longer align with reality, from experience I know the validity of these words: “We pack for our fears.” More than once I have come out of the mountains...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 20 Sep 2018 16:40:20 -0600</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[While the image I carry of myself as a backpacker may no longer align with reality, from experience I know the validity of these words: “We pack for our fears.” More than once I have come out of the mountains or back from the Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness Area and unpacked clothing or equipment that was never used. “Better safe than sorry” had been the driving force behind my preparations. When going into the outback, this may seem like a reasonable guiding principle, but it has its down side: weight. Having to put forth effort is part and parcel of moving through the world self-contained and self-reliant. Any of us who have done it, know that. There comes a point, though, when being prepared for every contingency requires the traveler to carry so much weight that the enterprise of just getting through a day becomes more trouble than it’s worth. Afraid of the cold, and you will take more clothes than you are likely to wear. Afraid of hunger? You will return with days’ worth of untouched food. Afraid of getting lost? That GPS or satellite-communicating device will have added unnecessary weight when your map and compass would have sufficed. Fear can, and often does, drive how we engage with much of our life, not just in the outback. It can drive how we live individually and as a people. And when it does, it limits our capacity and burdens our days as well as our relationships. So, of what are you afraid? Failure? Being alone? Not having enough of whatever? The next minority group to show up in your neighborhood? Death? Well, guess what. Madison Avenue has you pegged. And it has the solution to your fear, marketed, packaged and ready to ship. It’s one thing when we as individuals succumb to our fears, fears that are often unnamed. It’s entirely another when we do it collectively. The havoc that can be wreaked in a single life is tragic, whether that is overwork, jumping into bed with the next person we meet online, shopping ourselves into debt or just the constant anxiety that comes with living with fear. But when fear is collective, the outcome can be dangerous. Entire populations can become “the enemy.” The environment can be commodified. Preparing for (and going to) war can become the focus rather than education and health care that are necessary for a stable populace. I wonder if “Be not afraid” – the words of Jesus, the heavenly beings most religions reference and all the great spiritual teachers – are not words that we would do well to heed, whether we are religious or not. Christianity, at least, teaches that we were made for freedom from all that can hold us in bondage, from those fears that besiege us. It would be easy to think that walking away from our fears would be the first step in approaching that freedom. But, if you’ve ever tried to talk yourself out of being afraid in a situation that seemed so clearly to warrant it, you know how hard that is. Maybe freedom is more about what we do than what we feel. If, intentional step by intentional step, we stop packing for our fears and begin to unpack our lives, we might find that our fear diminishes. And as a society, that might open for us a path into our future whose hallmarks are peace, inclusion, generosity and mutuality. We’ve been sold a bill of goods that we should be afraid and prepare for all contingencies. Carrying around a backpack that we fantasize will save us from the next boogeyman of which we could be afraid (and there will always be another boogeyman) will only weigh us down. There will always be “bad” things. There will always be difficult and painful things. There is no charmed life. But when we live a burdened life, we limit our capacity to respond creatively and adroitly and, let’s admit it, smartly to the difficulties that we will face. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/ignore-nature-and-live-beyond-your-means/</link>
        <title>Ignore nature, and live beyond your means</title>
        <description>“To everything there is a season …” So says the Biblical writer of Ecclesiastes. Hinduism, Buddhism and other Eastern religions impart a similar wisdom that speaks to the seasonal nature of life. The world view that gave birth to this...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 23 Aug 2018 16:41:36 -0600</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[“To everything there is a season ...” So says the Biblical writer of Ecclesiastes. Hinduism, Buddhism and other Eastern religions impart a similar wisdom that speaks to the seasonal nature of life. The world view that gave birth to this insight was tied to Nature. This idea of the seasons of life was more than just an idea, though. It was an entire world view, born of rural life. It asserted that everything, including life itself, was cyclical. What’s more, those cycles are something we do well to honor by accepting our place in the flow of things. We in the “developed world,” for the most part, are stripped of our connection to the land. As such we have lost the sense of the cyclical nature of things We have taken “to everything there is a season” and bastardized it to fit with our linear world view. We proclaim seasons that come and seasons that go, one after the other in an unending march of progress. The wisdom imparted through centuries and across cultures of a cyclical world no longer applies to most of us. We “first world” folks live as though we have moved beyond the constraints of Nature. We have separated ourselves from our fellow humans (witness our self-reference as “first world” people, relegating others to second and even third worlds). And alongside that we have disconnected ourselves from the very planet that sustains us. Hot outside? Turn on the air conditioner. Cold? The furnace. When it’s dark, turn on the lights. And why not? If we can be more comfortable or more safe or more productive, what is the harm? The place where we live no longer defines us as it did for our forebears. Our connection to the land is tenuous at best. In a sense, the whole world is where we live. We eat strawberries in the winter that come from who knows where. We fly to the other side of the state, the country, the world giving little thought to it. The downside to our connections being so broad is that we know no one place well. And when we know not even one place well, we treat all places lightly, as though none is of deep importance. Our relationship with the Earth, while broad, is shallow. And so we grow orchards and alfalfa in the desert even when there is no rain. We cut down trees and plow under fields to make shopping malls. We have become out of touch with the seasons and what they bring us/ what they require of us. We have lost our place in Nature – Nature of which we were created as a part. And this gives us the illusion that we are in control in a linear world of our own making. When we think that we are masters of our domain, it affects not only how we treat the planet – how we grow our food, care for the soil, water, and air around us, not to mention the other living creatures with whom we share the planet – it also spills over and devolves into a hubris which informs how we treat one another. Eastern religions and more indigenous beliefs, draw their adherents more closely and honestly to humanity’s proper place in the universe than much of modern Christianity does. But there is a caveat. Expressions of the Christian faith that follow a liturgical calendar (along with Judaism and Islam) stand apart from the linear thinking that so predominates Western religion. What goes around comes around, again and again. It may seem a small thing when the human religious sensibility finds expression this way. I would contend that it is not. While the majority of our life is undoubtedly spent “in the world” being dragged along on the surface of progress, there is a part of us that knows there is more. Our spiritual selves are given a chance, in fact are drawn, to step aside from the rat race and sink, little by little, cycle by cycle, into a deeper reality. Along with people of all ilks who watch the same sun rise, who tend our gardens, who mark our days with gratitude for the birth, life, and death of which we are a part, at the heart of our shared journeys what we discover is our unity with all that is, that Life is One. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/freedom-brings-new-challenges-and-responsibilities/</link>
        <title>Freedom brings new challenges and responsibilities</title>
        <description>Years ago Marlo Thomas recorded an album entitled, “Free to Be You and Me.” I don’t remember much about the songs on it, but I do remember my kids and I listened to it a lot. Both then and now...</description>
        <pubDate>Wed, 17 Feb 2016 19:39:50 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Years ago Marlo Thomas recorded an album entitled, “Free to Be You and Me.” I don’t remember much about the songs on it, but I do remember my kids and I listened to it a lot. Both then and now the title seems to convey an important message to a world where many who are in the minority have not been free to be who they are. But even white males who are in the majority have not been free to be themselves. They have been constrained by cultural definitions of masculinity. Unlike persons of color, women, and lesbians, gays, and trans-gender folks, their “lack of freedom” has not diminished their lives. Freedom. This is a topic that resides in both geo-political and religious spheres. It would seem it shouldn’t matter to which arena one refers – that freedom is freedom. But the devil is in the details, and the prepositions. There is “freedom from” and “freedom to.” When we speak out of the political sphere, my sense is that we most often refer to whatever it is “from” which we hope be free. When I was growing up this was “communism” for most folks. Nowadays I more often hear “big government” or “terrorism.” “Freedom from” has to do with what is “out there” that impinges on my life. But “freedom to…” – that is about me, about my personal and unique desires or perceived needs. “Freedom to” can be thought of in terms of “rights” – my “rights.” And in contemporary Christian thinking the freedom God desires for humanity is often confused with this “freedom to” or with “rights.” When we look at the paradigmatic story of freedom in Biblical scriptures, the Exodus story, we quickly notice that it has nothing to do with individual rights. Moses’ and the Israelites’ delivery from slavery is a political story of “freedom from” – in this case, oppression. Walking alongside individuals who are being oppressed, who have no voice, who are not “free to” be themselves is where you and I will clearly see the confluence of “freedom from” and “freedom to.” These are persons whose hopes and aspirations are that they will be free from everything that forces them into corners of silence and diminishment and fear. But as society, it is We The People who are challenged to address the structures that limit and silence them. They are our sisters and brothers. It is We The People who alone can break down the walls that imprison them so that they can be both free “from” and free “to.” The simple concept of human decency may challenge some of us to do this work. Others of us may respond to the reasonableness of creating an equitable world for everyone. But those of us who are Christian must respond to Jesus’ mandate to love our neighbors as ourselves and become creators of justice. It is only out of the fertile soil of justice that true freedom will ever grow. Because as Martin Luther King said, quoting Emma Lazarus, “Until we are all free, we are none of us free.” Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/dolores-rotary-club-assists-schools/</link>
        <title>Dolores Rotary Club assists schools</title>
        <description>I want to take a moment to thank the Dolores Rotary Club for their generous support of Dolores Schools throughout this school year. The Rotary Club makes a regular practice of inviting our students and teachers to their meetings, in...</description>
        <pubDate>Tue, 16 Feb 2016 15:35:24 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[I want to take a moment to thank the Dolores Rotary Club for their generous support of Dolores Schools throughout this school year. The Rotary Club makes a regular practice of inviting our students and teachers to their meetings, in order for them to present about the various meaningful projects happening in Dolores Secondary Schools. Additionally, the Rotary provides financial support to varied school projects and initiatives â€“ over $5,000 so far this year. I am blessed to work and live in a community where organizations like the Rotary provide such amazing support to our students and our school. Thank you again, Dolores Rotary! Jen Hufman, Secondary principal, Dolores Schools I want to take a moment to thank the Dolores Rotary Club for their generous support of Dolores Schools throughout this school year. The Rotary Club makes a regular practice of inviting our students and teachers to their meetings, in order for them to present about the various meaningful projects happening in Dolores Secondary Schools. […]]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/in-lifes-mosaic-fragments-of-possibility/</link>
        <title>In life’s mosaic, ‘fragments of possibility’</title>
        <description>Imagine – scarlet. Bring it to mind in all its richness. Sit with this vivid, intense color, and let it speak to you. Now, fuchsia. And then, magenta. Try azure. And in a while, what about Tangerine or plain old...</description>
        <pubDate>Tue, 12 Jan 2016 21:22:17 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Imagine – scarlet. Bring it to mind in all its richness. Sit with this vivid, intense color, and let it speak to you. Now, fuchsia. And then, magenta. Try azure. And in a while, what about Tangerine or plain old orange? I have recently been taken by color after being part of a retreat that used mosaics as a meditative medium. Since then I have learned that the great makers of Italian mosaic tiles (known as smalti) have carefully guarded the recipes that they use to create over 7,000 shades of this special glass. They even have a process for embedding shades of gold leaf in clear glass. When cut into tiles, it’s as though whatever image the gold is used to create glows from within. But there is also stained glass used to make mosaics. It differs from smalti in thickness and the saturation of color. Imagine the transparent jewel tones of pure purple, deepest blue, brightest yellow. How do they make you feel? Like differing musical tones, colors affect us differently, something that has been known for a long time. Add image to all this. Whether creating a picture or a pure design, andamento (the flow and movement the tiles, called tesserae, create) is another element that affects the how the work is perceived. You may be wondering, why write about the creation of mosaics in a “religion” column? Several reasons, actually. Like any artistic endeavor, creating a mosaic draws the artist out of him or herself. Working with glass – choosing this shade over that, placing this piece here, not there – is an exercise in presence. The artist is present not only to the materials with which she is working, but she is also present to herself. During any act of creation when the monkey mind is silenced we are in a position of openness to God. Christians affirm that we are made in the image of this God – the Creator. Each of our creative acts is “of God.” What’s more, unlike dance or music or many other visual arts (except quilting or woodworking perhaps), mosaics are made from fragments. A mosaic is a whole that is created from what has been broken. How’s that for a metaphor for a life well lived? Many authors who write about mosaics have pointed out that this creative process is not about putting back together or fixing what was once whole or perfect. A mosaic brings into being something that has never existed before. And it uses what is “broken” and “useless.” Shards of discarded pottery, rocks, shells, bits of wood, even what’s left of children’s toys; sheets of liquid color now scored and cut or nipped and broken; thick smalti hammered against a blade until there are only little cubes of various shades of hues – these are the media of the creator of a mosaic. They are, as Stephanie Paulsell of Harvard Divinity School writes, “fragments of possibility.” As we enter another year with so much in our world that seems broken and far from perfect, perhaps our theological work is to not waste anything – not what is shattered in our world; not what is fragmented among us; not what is broken within us. And what if, as Paulsell adds, we were to gather up the “fragments of these uncertain times and, together, create something beautiful?” I find that a hopeful image for the world. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/i-wonder/</link>
        <title>I wonder …</title>
        <description>For those of you who read this column somewhat regularly you know that I wonder a lot. I wonder about a lot of things, some of them worth writing about, most of them not. I wonder a lot about people...</description>
        <pubDate>Fri, 20 Nov 2015 00:14:57 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[For those of you who read this column somewhat regularly you know that I wonder a lot. I wonder about a lot of things, some of them worth writing about, most of them not. I wonder a lot about people (myself and others). I wonder about our place in the rest of the created order. I wonder why we think and act as we do. I wonder about our relationship with God. For that matter, I wonder a lot about God … whatever God is. I’m content to wonder. I find it easy. Certainty has never served me well. It requires a lot of effort – effort, first of all, to arrive at it – all the sorting and judging and prioritizing. And then there’s the defending that certainty takes – always checking that I’ve not missed something; that I’ve garnered sufficient arguments to adequately protect the absolute rightness of my position. It’s exhausting. And I never seem to be able to do it sufficiently well. But wondering – now there’s a liberating activity. I can join those who are certain and come alongside them in their world view without having to embrace what they think or believe. I can be genuinely curious about who they are and what has brought them to the understanding they have. I can find them fascinating and see them as my potential teachers. I can befriend them, though I may tend to disagree with them. But if I engage with others who think or believe differently from me, and I do it from a position of certainty, it’s easy for the dynamic between us to be something other than friendly. If I don’t find myself needing to defend what I “know” to be true, I may feel a need to convince the other person of the rightness of my position. Wondering is a softer way to relate. I wonder how it is that humans (along with all the rest of creation?) are imbued with something we tend to think of as “other.” I wonder if maybe that spark isn’t different from us … just not the whole of us. And that makes me wonder about the nature of God and where and how God is. Is God “person” ... an entity with character in the same way we think about humans – the way most Christians were taught? Or, might God be consciousness itself … or pure information? Or, as we Christians say, might God actually be Love ... not someone or some thing that loves, but Love itself at the heart of the Cosmos? And what does that mean? I wonder a lot. Come to think of it, I wonder if wondering is all I’ve cracked it up to be. Maybe a little certainty wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I do know it matters to how we treat one another. Or maybe I’ll keep wondering and just try to be a kind person/self-giving person/compassionate person ... the sort of person I happened to be raised knowing about from the stories of Jesus. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/losing-your-life-and-finding-the-divine/</link>
        <title>Losing your life, and finding the divine</title>
        <description>Durango is a nice enough town. I suspect it’s favored by those who live there. After all, for them it is home. But I can’t imagine choosing to live there – not after living in Cortez. And maybe not for...</description>
        <pubDate>Wed, 04 Nov 2015 21:38:23 -0700</pubDate>
        <guid isPermaLink="false">AC9327E7-27D9-4017-8591-125C123DB133</guid>
        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Durango is a nice enough town. I suspect it’s favored by those who live there. After all, for them it is home. But I can’t imagine choosing to live there – not after living in Cortez. And maybe not for the reasons that jump to your mind. Since moving here almost five years ago I have been captured by the expanse east of Cortez and the peaks of the La Platas to which that expanse rises. I’ve become mesmerized by the Sleeping Ute to the west and the emptiness that precedes it then flows toward a hint of the Lukachukais to the Southwest. I have grown to love the wildness of the little canyon behind my house that connects with McElmo Canyon beyond which lies the Mesa Verde escarpment. I have come to need the wideness of the sky that extends from horizon to horizon and seems to be so thin (or so deep) that if I just relaxed enough I might be able to see the stars that the sun’s light hides during the day. I wouldn’t want to live in Durango because it feels too hemmed in. Some of you understand that. Along with me you hunger for those open spaces – the desert, – those places that are raw and sparse and filled with silence. You and I are among those who, through the centuries, have gone apart to immerse ourselves in a world we cannot control, a world that forces us to take our proper place in the cosmos and our proper place in relationship to that which created the cosmos. It would be my guess that among all of us, you who are not Christian probably have little idea about the unbroken thread within Christianity that, as Christians, we share with you other seekers of wild places. You may be surprised to learn that there is a whole way of “doing” Christian theology that relates to the Great Mystery at the heart of life that frequently finds its best expression in those wild places of which you are so fond. It is called the apophatic tradition. Like you, I suspect most Christians today have not heard of this tradition, much less been formed by it. The majority of us have been formed by a theology based on a literal reading of the scriptures. Although in a minority, an increasing number of us are being formed by the kataphatic tradition. This is an affirmative theology that has taught us to use images and metaphor to speak about the Mystery that we call God. Fewer of us still have been formed in this apophatic tradition, a theology of negation, that is so at home in the wilderness. This is a tradition that assumes God, in God’s essence, is beyond our capacity to name, picture, or much less understand. If we hunger for the divine we must open ourselves to an experience of the love or the energy or the consciousness for which the word “God” is a cipher. Words and images might be of help as we move to the edge of ineffable silence in which God dwells, but then, for us to step into the presence of the Un-nameable, we must relinquish all words and images (the apophatic approach). That’s where wild places come into play. You and I can create environments that seek to mimic the qualities of mountain peaks or desert emptiness – meditation corners, prayer rooms, sanctuaries of all sorts. They may be a start, but they never fully arrive at what nature offers. Besides, when we go about the business of creating such a place we do it with an expectation that it will help us approach the divine – that it will serve our purposes. Like it or not, we are seeking to be in control. This is not the “losing your life” of which Jesus spoke. Wild places, however, require us to enter on their own terms. There we are not in control. What’s more, wilderness doesn’t care about us. Not one whit. It is not there for our spiritual development. It simply is. Mountains. Deserts. Raging rivers – all places dangerous and threatening. In their presence our words evaporate - absorbed into their vastness – swallowed up by their emptiness. Our images pale and are revealed for the idols they are. Both words and images lose their power as agents of possession and control. And we are left vulnerable and impotent. This then is where we might at last be open to the God who cannot be named. How different from the Christianity of which most of us are a part. Belden C. Lane in “The Solace of Fierce Landscapes” writes, “One of the scourges of our age is that all our deities are house-broken and eminently companionable.” (p.53) I wonder who we Christians might be if we spent more time, not in our beautiful churches or in nice, safe retreats or even in the company of “our buddy Jesus,” but instead in places where we really could lose our lives. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/one-family-in-christ-with-values-in-sync/</link>
        <title>One family in Christ, with values in sync?</title>
        <description>I’ve been thinking recently about the phrase “family values.” This is a concept that inhabits both the religious and the political spheres. The extent to which those spheres influence the actual content of “family values” and how those values are...</description>
        <pubDate>Mon, 07 Sep 2015 20:57:34 -0600</pubDate>
        <guid isPermaLink="false">EE4A68DC-4E51-49CA-B049-9B8D303D89E3</guid>
        <content:encoded><![CDATA[I’ve been thinking recently about the phrase “family values.” This is a concept that inhabits both the religious and the political spheres. The extent to which those spheres influence the actual content of “family values” and how those values are lived out seems worthy of consideration. I am particularly interested in the religious side of the picture. It may be an over-simplification to say that in popular usage “family values” means pro-life and anti-gay, but I don’t think that’s far from wrong. While my more theologically conservative sisters and brothers might argue that both those positions contribute to the support of the family, I would like to consider what values there might be that support all families – not just those that look like the “Leave It to Beaver” family – man, woman, 2.5 kids. Are there some ways we can organize ourselves as a society that would help provide an underpinning so that every family can thrive? I’m sure we’d each have our own list of what those societal structures would be. Perhaps the way things are right now is working just fine for your family. I know with certainty that that is not the case for many families. I see too many that look like this: the parent (or parents) who manage to find full-time work toil with little respite, hoping against hope that they (or their children or aging parents) don’t get sick, because they can’t afford to take time off to help them. They are families who now may be able to afford to see the doctor (with the Affordable Care Act), but for many that is still not within reach. These families are grateful for every hour of work they have. At minimum wage, though, they still cannot pay for rent, transportation, utilities, childcare and food. It is a constant battle to stay even. What if Christians of all stripes were to band together and as “We the people …” – “We the Christian people …” – were to decide that in this country we wanted families supported in ways that made all their lives better? I’m not talking about lives being better because they have more “stuff” in them. I’m talking about lives being better because they are free from want; because they are free from fear; because their work lives are such that they have the resources and the time to nurture critical relationships; and because they have regular respite from work that allows them time to renew their spirits. What a difference that would make. If we Christians wanted to support “family values,” might not addressing those needs be good places to begin? What if we worked to create a social environment in which there was less tension over just being able to get by? That would allow families the ease we all need to work through the challenges all families face without flying apart. It would give those who consider themselves Christian the slack in their lives so that participating in worship wasn’t just one more thing they had to do. For more than two decades I spent time among two Amish communities as their midwife. The Amish are one of only a couple of religious groups in this country that orchestrate their lives in a way that treats people as more than cogs in an economic machine. In the two Amish communities where I served, everyone had enough. Pride of ownership was seen as just that – pride – a sin. Everyone had work, and everyone worked hard. And everyone took regular time off and rested. Probably few of us want to be Amish. But I will tell you that when I was among them, the stress of even my small town, rural life melted away. I’m not saying their lives were perfect. No one’s is, but as a community, they practiced values that supported their families. What if the rest of us Christians decided that we wanted those values for all people – not just those within our church communities? Our scriptures say “We, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another.” (Romans 12:5) If that is true, don’t we all deserve the same care? I wonder why we aren’t living like that. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/publicly-confessed-racism-can-move-souls-to-peace/</link>
        <title>Publicly confessed racism can move souls to peace</title>
        <description>Recently I ran across a quote I’d once copied and saved. The quote says that “fear and loss brought to speech lead to energy.” It gives a corollary that “fear and loss not brought to speech lead to violence.” I’ve...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 16 Jul 2015 20:01:34 -0600</pubDate>
        <guid isPermaLink="false">91DEEE08-BF08-4F8E-9EE5-8DB9B0EF76AE</guid>
        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Recently I ran across a quote I’d once copied and saved. The quote says that “fear and loss brought to speech lead to energy.” It gives a corollary that “fear and loss not brought to speech lead to violence.” I’ve been wondering in the face of all the racial violence we’ve been seeing lately if this is, in fact, true. Because I am a pastor, I’ve also been thinking about our churches – how they are not places where folks often come to talk about violence, even though our Bible is rife with it. When we gather for worship many of us arrive with the expectation that we will find respite from everything that makes us world-weary. But if this quote about bringing our fear and loss to speech is correct, perhaps church ought to be a place where we begin to do the work of truth telling – of admitting our fear and our losses and of taking a long, hard look at our complicity with violence. One truth we may be in need of telling is that while each and every one of us has experienced loss, and many of us live with fear, we are wont to speak them out loud … certainly not in public, and for many of us not even in private. We have been taught to see ourselves as strong, self-sufficient persons. To admit that we grieve or that we have fear would be to admit that we are not strong, or God forbid, that we might need one another in some profound way. Another truth we may be in need of telling is how limited our love of neighbor is. In one moment we may say, “yes,” to Jesus’ foundational teaching that we love our neighbor as ourselves and in the next moment justify any of a variety of types of violence perpetrated against all sorts of people. (Those people, by the way, rarely look like us). Few of us give expression to the potential we all have to be ruthlessly violent. For the most part we participate in “soft” forms of violence. We ignore folks whom we find distasteful. We gossip about others behind their backs and demean those on whom we look down. What’s more we support (in both active and passive ways) systems that keep some in our society in second-class positions. Violence runs the spectrum from killing people to looking the other way and ignoring social structures that set some folks up from the beginning to be behind. So is the quote true? Is there some unspoken grief or loss that leads to this “soft” violence? Might we bring something “to speech” that would free us from this cycle of violence? What truth might we have left unspoken that could energize us to live God’s Shalom in which all are included, none is less than, and where peace and compassion are the warp and weft of our lives? As a human being, I am horrified by the recent burning of black churches. As a Christian I am compelled to consider that there may be a silence in which we in so many of our churches have participated for far too long that has contributed to these actions. I find myself wondering if it is a silence born of fear, not of loss. And I wonder if that fear may be that we are losing our white hegemony. If that is the case, it is a fear so deep-seated that it trumps even Jesus’ teaching that we are to “love our neighbor as ourselves.” Should that all be accurate, even if it is not a complete portrayal of what is driving the violence in our country, it would indicate that it is time that we Christians, with “fasting and weeping and mourning… rend our hearts.” (Joel 2:12) And not only that, it would say that it is time we bring our fear to speech – that we publicly confess the racism embedded in our social and sacred structures in which we all participate. And then, if the quote is true, with God’s help we may become energized to live in that Reign of peace and justice in which we all are One. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/systemic-sin-climate-change-and-choice/</link>
        <title>Systemic sin, climate change and choice</title>
        <description>Small churches, like other small groups, tend to be homogenous. Members most often look at the world through the same, or similar, lenses. For the most part they believe the same things; they hold the same values; they subscribe to...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 16 Apr 2015 20:52:17 -0600</pubDate>
        <guid isPermaLink="false">353688D9-3BCD-4159-802F-816971494870</guid>
        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Small churches, like other small groups, tend to be homogenous. Members most often look at the world through the same, or similar, lenses. For the most part they believe the same things; they hold the same values; they subscribe to the same politics; and they reinforce the way they engage with the rest of the world by limiting their encounter with it. All that makes for a comfortable life. It also makes for an “us and them” world in which “our way” becomes the “right way.” One of the outcomes of living in a world like that is we can lose sight of why listening to “those” other people might be a good idea. After all, we know they are wrong. This was brought home to me this week when a gentleman I know, a good and well-meaning human being, sent me an email questioning a recent headline about Katharine Jefferts-Schori, the presiding bishop of our denomination. (FYI: the presiding bishop, while having no greater authority than any of our other bishops, does represent us to national and international communities.) The headline on Huffington Post (3/26/15) to which he referred read, “Head of the Episcopal Church Says It’s ‘Sinful’ to Ignore Climate Change.” This gentleman questioned Bp. Katharine’s credentials for speaking out on a matter that was so purely “secular.” Those of us who serve small congregations need to be sensitive to folks of good will who hold differing beliefs, different values, different politics, and different world views. At the same time, it is incumbent upon us to preach the Good News of Jesus Christ (Notice the preposition. It is not the Good News “about” Jesus Christ. It is the Good News “of” Jesus Christ.) And the Good News that was, and is, “of” Jesus is what he knew from God, the Creator. This Good News was, and is, the Reign or the Kingdom of God. That’s what Jesus preached. It’s what he taught, and lived, and died for – the Realm in which all are one; no one is less than; and in which harmony (read: Love) is the overarching construct that holds it all together. That construct includes not just other human beings (friends as well as foes). It also includes the whole of Creation and everything that affects its life and health. Scientific nomenclature calls this the “Environment.” We have so long been taught by the Church that sin is a private matter (those bad things I do), that we have lost almost all awareness of sin as a systemic matter (systems that support oppression and marginalization and death-dealing.) When “sin” is understood systemically, all of a sudden the way we treat the very planet on which we depend is seen in stark relief against the goodness of God’s creating force. And how we care for our fellow creatures (or don’t) becomes a profound theological issue. Jefferts-Schori’s credentials for speaking about the “sin of ignoring climate change” have as much to do with her theological acumen as they do with her doctorate degree in marine biology. Our care for the planet is anything but a secular matter. Jesus taught about and revealed in his life that the Reign of God is ours for the choosing. We can acknowledge our participation in the harmony of God’s finely tuned, self-correcting system we call Creation, or we can fancy ourselves outside it. We can call issues of the stewardship of the planet a secular matter or we can read our Bibles and know that what God called “good” is in our care. The future depends on our choice. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/rushing-to-a-conclusion-smothers-seeds-of-new-life/</link>
        <title>Rushing to a conclusion smothers seeds of New Life</title>
        <description>Premature convergence. That was my take-away from a training I recently attended. While it is not a phrase I’d heard before, I recognized it immediately – in myself. Premature convergence is forcing a conclusion/a solution/a resolution/an answer too soon. It...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2015 19:33:17 -0600</pubDate>
        <guid isPermaLink="false">34A282A8-88CE-4FC9-9911-C9046F14F33E</guid>
        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Premature convergence. That was my take-away from a training I recently attended. While it is not a phrase I’d heard before, I recognized it immediately – in myself. Premature convergence is forcing a conclusion/a solution/a resolution/an answer too soon. It is a process that pushes for completion when we don’t have the scope or depth of knowledge or experience or input that will make for a satisfying, sustainable conclusion. We make such convergences happen for any number of reasons. Perhaps because we are unsettled by what is incomplete or open-ended. Perhaps because we think we see The Answer and are intolerant to one degree or another of any process or any idea that would delay its appearance. Perhaps because we are too lazy or selfish or untrusting to do the deep work with others that is required. Most of us have pushed like this at one time or another … whether in our families, our workplaces, or our churches. And I suspect the underlying motivation for many, if not all of us has been a hunger for wholeness. We see the imperfections we have wrought or allowed in the world. We see our own imperfections and brokenness. And we ache for what the story of “the garden” tells us….that in God’s economy there is harmony. There is wholeness. There is peace. And in our deepest selves we know we were meant to be part of it. We also know we have squandered that potential. So now we have become impatient. In a world with more than its share of chaos, darkness, and uncertainty we want to pin things down. We long to “make” the world into our various images of “good,” which, as it turns out, just doesn’t work. We grow less and less open to others’ stories or to conversation with them. We want action, and action on behalf of our view of things. It’s obvious where that will lead when so many of us have lost touch with the possibility that we may just not have all the answers. We are a nation top heavy with folks who once had all the answers. In the 1950’s they knew this “Christian Nation” of ours had come through a fight for “our way of life” and had arisen victorious. We had been on the side of “right” and God had vindicated us. That kind of certainty is hard to let go of. It’s also easy to pass on. And so we rehearse that story and become less and less interested in the story of others. We latch on to this narrative so tightly that we begin to think it is the only narrative worth telling…certainly worth believing. So where does this train of thought lead that qualifies it for a “religious” column? Those of us who believe there is a Deity at the heart of creation most often come to the belief that this God’s creating work is ongoing. (There are those of the “Deistic” stripe who hold to a God who set the universe in motion then sat back to watch it unfold. The rest of us plunk ourselves down in the camp of a still active Creator/Creative Force.) And what that means is things aren’t cast in stone. The universe is filled with possibility. You might even say the universe IS potentiality. And here we are wanting to shut things down. To finalize them. To make them secure and predictable. I know we all want our life’s picture to be whole and beautiful. But that means it would have to be static. And if there is one thing that is antithetical to creativity and generativity, it is stasis. For many of us is hard to live with questions, not knowing if we will ever have answers. It is often a challenge to live with imperfection, not knowing when, or even if, healing and wholeness will come. It can be just flat hard not knowing ….about anything. But within the economy of the God in whom most of us say we believe, living with the questions and the uncertainty and the ambiguity is all there is. We can do it gracefully and generously or we can spend our lives clutching at what remains elusive. We can spend our days in hope with expectation or we can rage against the unknown. We do have a choice. We can join the Divine in the dance that is constantly sowing seeds of New Life, or we can insist on one premature convergence after the other. The level of our fear will determine which stance we take.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/living-in-christ-in-the-community-of-church/</link>
        <title>Living in Christ in the community of Church</title>
        <description>I’ve been asked more than once by members of the congregation I serve to video my sermons and put them on our website. When I decline, they often ask if I wouldn’t just post the texts on the website. Again...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 15 Jan 2015 18:37:15 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[I’ve been asked more than once by members of the congregation I serve to video my sermons and put them on our website. When I decline, they often ask if I wouldn’t just post the texts on the website. Again I decline, and people don’t understand why. Here are my thoughts. It seems that so much of what we value these days we feel a need to capture – to pin down, to have available to us – like a butterfly on a display board. And like the butterfly, the only way we can “save” it is for it to be dead. Oh, certainly, we can then study it and even appreciate it – all of which is good – but we can no longer interact with it, because it is no longer a living thing. Like good conversation, what happens in a church between preacher and congregant is not static. It is something that is in the moment. It is alive. While that may not be so obvious from the pew, it certainly is from the pulpit. Sharing one’s thoughts with folks who are engaged and connected, is an entirely different experience from talking with those who are bored or disinterested. Think about a time when you’ve had a story to tell to someone. If that person is disconnected, it is easy to lose the desire to continue the story. But what about from the perspective of the person in the pew? How is the time devoted to a sermon anything like a conversation? Sometimes the preacher who is willing to risk it will actually open up the sermon and invite response. But more frequently being on the “receiving” end of a sermon is like attending to a conversation partner with respectful listening. There is more conveyed than just the words. Mood, emphasis, intent … all those things expressed by tone of voice, pace, eye contact, body language contribute to what the hearer hears. As in a conversation, a good sermon doesn’t end when the preacher concludes. A good sermon elicits rumination, reflection and response. Because it is a living thing, parishioners take the ideas and concepts they have heard into their real world lives. One of the greatest affirmations a preacher can receive is to have a parishioner say, “I keep thinking about ...” or “remember when you said ...” Which brings me to the butterfly on the board. With podcasts and YouTube we now have the capacity to access unending numbers of sermons and church services and theological or religious talks. We can learn from a vast array of sources. We can have a number of ideas about any number of topics to consider. But is that “Church?” Demographics would tell us that “Church,” in the old sense of gathering with others, is becoming an antiquated thing … that we, as a culture, are less and less inclined to come together for worship, or much of anything else, for that matter. Remember the book published in 2000, “Bowling Alone?” There are threads that, in the past, tied together our social and political and spiritual lives. It seems those ties are fraying. We see this in our increasing isolation, our disinclination toward public discourse, our ambivalence about commitment. When those ties snap who will we be? In our culture of individuality, the focus of Church membership has become about the status of our personal relationship with God. While that is well and good, many question if we need to be part of a community for that. But there is much more to being part of a Church. Gathering as a community is about practicing, if for only one hour a week, living in the peace and unity (the Shalom) we believe God wants for all humanity with others aren’t like us. And what happens between preacher and congregation is a little piece of that. Gathered, we don’t just think about peace and compassion and inclusion and forgiveness, we do them. Perhaps we do them imperfectly, but we do them. We practice living “on Earth as it is in Heaven.” And no matter what we believe about the theological underpinnings of everything else at “Church,” the ties that bind us are strengthened. Then we leave, having experienced what it is to live without the pins that hold us to the boards of our separate lives. And in a way that listening to a podcast or even reading a book cannot, the Life in which you and I and all Creation shares will have been nurtured and renewed. We Christians call this living “in Christ.” Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/an-invitation-to-engage-our-faith-in-a-conversation/</link>
        <title>An invitation to engage our faith in a conversation</title>
        <description>Prompted by an Evangelical Lutheran Church in America pastor whose blog I read, I have sent an invitation to the people of the Church I serve. The invitation is to join in an Advent conversation. For those unfamiliar with Advent,...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 18 Dec 2014 20:38:20 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Prompted by an Evangelical Lutheran Church in America pastor whose blog I read, I have sent an invitation to the people of the Church I serve. The invitation is to join in an Advent conversation. For those unfamiliar with Advent, it is the season that begins the Church Year. These four weeks before Christmas are a time to slow down, be present and anticipate the Christ – not just “the baby Jesus” Christ, but also the fullness of the Christ threaded through all creation. In the darkness of our lives, it’s a time to wait, and watch, and expect the light. The conversation to which I have invited the congregation is a way for us to engage our faith as we look at elements of two violent events in the past several months – the deaths of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Mo., and Eric Garner, in Staten Island, NY. We will not gather to convince one another of anything. We will listen to one another as we discuss what it might be like to be a police officer never knowing if an encounter could turn violent. We will try to imagine what it would be like to feel vulnerable because of the color of your skin. We will not debate, but rather try to truly hear one another and understand why we each see things as we do and feel about them as we do. Some may not join in the conversation because they think a church is not an appropriate place to talk about such matters. They will say we are being too “political.” Since the word “political” at its root has to do with “the people,” I suppose these matters are very political. They have to do with how we live in relationship with those around us. As followers of Jesus whom we call the Prince of Peace, we Christians are to live those relationships not as adversaries, not in confrontation, not in hostility. Love is the tie that is to bind us. But love in community is not a soft, warm and fuzzy thing. Love in community is the hard work of willing and working for the well-being of the other. And in the case of Christian love, it is the well-being of all others with whom we share this planet for which we are to work. This hard work must be grounded in self-awareness – seeing ourselves as we really are. It is work we must do, though, because it is not until we are awake to ourselves that we can listen to and really hear one another. Awake, we become aware of the filters through which we so long ago learned to see and hear. We all have them – these filters. They come from messages we incorporated at an early age into how we think of ourselves and the world, and they are virtually invisible to us. To see them, we need others’ help. That is what our little community will do in our Advent conversation. We will listen…carefully and respectfully. With each other’s help we will try to see ourselves honestly, not just the image we present to the world. I can’t help but wonder what Cortez would be like if each of us were to engage in a similar conversation. Or our nation – if we really listened to one another to understand our conversation partners and then see ourselves through their eyes. In this season of expectation when we who are Christian await the Christ – the One in whom all things are made new – may we find that place of generosity that dwells within us and offer it as a gift to our common life. And may kindness be the hallmark of our lives. rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/celebrating-a-transcendent-union/</link>
        <title>Celebrating a transcendent union</title>
        <description>All Souls. All Saints. Dia de los Muertos. Some of us Christians have recently celebrated these days of remembrance. As the days grow shorter, their timing is no accident. We are moving into winter. The light is fading. And the...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 06 Nov 2014 23:06:59 -0700</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[All Souls. All Saints. Dia de los Muertos. Some of us Christians have recently celebrated these days of remembrance. As the days grow shorter, their timing is no accident. We are moving into winter. The light is fading. And the Church takes this as an opportunity to turn our minds toward death. Not death for death’s sake, but death as a platform from which to consider what comes afterward. Christians are not alone in marking the waning of the light. The Cambodian P’chum Ben and Celtic Samhain are but two of the ways persons of other faiths celebrate this time of year when they believe the veil between this world and the next is particularly thin. And each of these commemorations focuses on remembering those who have gone before us … our beloved dead. Unlike some faiths, we Christians don’t worship our ancestors, but unlike atheists, we don’t just miss them either. Because we believe that with death life is changed, not ended, their passing does not remove them as members of the human community. We have an ongoing relationship with them. Our particular stripe of Christianity determines what form that relationship takes. We may do something as ordinary as privately display a collection of family pictures. We may write and recite family histories. In a more public way we may build and visit memorials we make to the dead. We may do something even more visible by gathering and saying communal prayers for them. No matter how it is we remember the dead, there are thoughts and there are emotions involved. The bio-chemists would tell us those thoughts and emotions are simply electrical signals and chemical excretions. And they are that. But what if there is more? What if, as Carl Jung said, there is something outside us – the something he called the collective unconscious. What if each of us has a brain and it is not isolated from others’ brains? What if there is Mind (or God for those of us who are more religious) in which we all share and through which we are all connected … the living and the dead – all members of the human family? If consciousness does not cease at death (which granted is a big “if”) and if we consider our beloved dead in light of a connecting Mind, might not “remembering” the dead actually be a form of “re-membering”/ reweaving the deceased into our lives. This is a concept our Native American sisters and brothers may find foreign. For them ancestors don’t need reweaving. They are never far away. Our concept, however, of the dead having “gone to heaven” serves to separate us from them. We relegate them to somewhere else … somewhere we can’t be. But what if there is nowhere they can be that God/Mind is not also? What if we are eternally connected – that in this God/Mind we all live and move and have our being? Even if that isn’t how it all works, we First World, educated folks, as much as persons with more primitive world views, seem to need to feel connected. Even with all our science and our technology we still have rituals the purpose of which is to re-member our loved ones? Any difference between us and Indigenous folks who put food out to “feed” the dead is merely one of degree. I don’t pretend to know the ins and outs of what happens at death. I do know I’m glad we Christians didn’t throw the baby out with the bathwater and say that just because our religious predecessors believed in a connection between the living and the dead, and we are far more advanced than they, we won’t. If it’s just biochemistry, so be it. I, however, choose to continue to believe in a very real Communion of Saints – the spiritual union that transcends time and space and unites the living with the dead. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/living-and-dying-by-gods-good-nature/</link>
        <title>Living (and dying) by God’s good Nature</title>
        <description>Today when I read Ezekiel J. Emanuel’s article in the October edition of “The Atlantic” titled, “Why I Hope to Die at 75,” I knew there were others thinking along the same lines I do. For years I’ve said, “You’ve...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 16 Oct 2014 19:42:44 -0600</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[Today when I read Ezekiel J. Emanuel’s article in the October edition of “The Atlantic” titled, “Why I Hope to Die at 75,” I knew there were others thinking along the same lines I do. For years I’ve said, “You’ve got to die of something.” While Dr. Emanuel’s line of thought resonates with mine in part, we end up taking very separate tracks. First, let me be clear that “you’ve got to die of something” is a position I’ve come to for myself alone. I feel no need to convince anyone else that they should adopt it. Like Dr. Emanuel, I would like to suggest, however, that how we in this country consider our own deaths and the lives we lead approaching them is a conversation worth having. It is also a conversation most of us avoid. (This, by the way, is an entirely different conversation than the emotionally charged one about assisted suicide – a conversation that is also worth having it seems to me. But please read on.) “American immortal” is the term Emanuel uses to describe the American obsession with doing everything medically available, “all in a valiant effort to cheat death and prolong life as long as possible.” He is, it seems to me, right in saying we believe the fantasy that we can push back the dates of our deaths and then die abruptly suffering few, if any, of the problems associated with growing old. Those will happen to others, not us. Dr. Emanuel’s article methodically addresses the suppositions that support this fantasy. They are interesting and pertinent, but my engagement with this topic takes a more theological tack. As a person of faith I believe in a God who is about the business of creating. This glorious cosmos of which we get to be a part is the unfinished business of that God. From the Jewish story of creation which Jesus would have taken as foundational, I’ve learned that “It is good.” From science I’ve learned that this good creation is finely tuned and intricately interwoven. Taken together scripture and science tell me that even those aspects and parts of creation that are distasteful to me have a place in this good system we call Creation including ticks, earthquakes, and bacteria that can give me the stomach flu. With you and me, they all belong, along with death. Many, if not most of us have come to accept that in the face of a terminal diagnosis offering only palliative care is a reasonable option, acceptable within the Christian world view. What I would like to suggest is that with the development of technology and the pharmaceutical industry, humanity has crossed a line. What was once innovative and considered extraordinary treatment has now become the expected, if not mandated, standard of care. I wonder if we are not overriding the finely tuned balance of which we were created to be a part. We are in fact taking the place of God. In our culture we are individuals first and foremost. We have lost our sense of being a part (a wonderful part, but simply a part) of Creation. We’ve come to think of ourselves as the pinnacle of God’s work, worthy of being saved whatever the cost, even if that contributes to the disruption of the harmony in this finely tuned system. So for me, letting God’s good Nature take its course is the principle I hope to live by, and die by. I do not want to contribute to the problems that come from our constant war against death. I know my choice will not change anything except for me and those who care about me. I could narrow the focus of my concern and decide how to live these last years of life based on what I fantasize will be best for me. I also know that to live my life with integrity, I must trust that with God there is a season to everything, including my natural life. And as a person who has lived a full life, Death will come not as a stranger, but as a friend. Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/experience-the-fullness-of-this-moment/</link>
        <title>Experience the fullness of this moment</title>
        <description>By Leigh Waggoner “This moment” is all there is. And the moment that existed when you read that first sentence no longer is. Another moment – “this moment” is all there is. Because we have brains that can store information...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 18 Sep 2014 20:17:39 -0600</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[By Leigh Waggoner “This moment” is all there is. And the moment that existed when you read that first sentence no longer is. Another moment – “this moment” is all there is. Because we have brains that can store information as memory and can also extrapolate and project beyond “this moment,” we sense that moments are connected – that they extend over time, when in fact, “this moment” – now – is all there is. We often talk about the desirability of “living in the moment.” Maybe we are trying to cope by reigning in our incessant planning for the future and our interminable referencing a past. Maybe we think that “living in the moment” can save us from what seems to be inevitable – ensuing chaos. That said, and no matter how appealing “this moment” may be, we live by story. We make sense and meaning of our lives by that string of events we project backward and forward from “this moment,” calling them past, present and future. In the stories of our lives we call them beginnings, middles and ends. We all know that one single moment does not a story make, even if it is all there is. Stories are, however, just stories. And they are unique to each of us. What I perceive in “this moment” is not, and cannot be, what you perceive. Because the accumulation of everything that makes me who I am creates a framework out of which I perceive my world, my story will never be the same as yours. We humans live in the tension between “this moment” and the unique stories we create with their pasts, presents and futures. A particular story, the story of Sept. 11, is again upon us. We who remember that day think we remember the same story, but we can’t. We have, however, been handed a story that we’ve been told we must never forget. Our leaders and media re-tell that story, at least the parts that reinforce our feeling that to forget it is to be negligent, heartless, un-American, and for some, un-Christian. And what we will be told that we must remember are violence perpetrated against us, the ensuing trauma among us, and our vulnerability. We may be reminded of selflessness, but mostly we will be maneuvered to re-member (viscerally feel again) the fear that is wrought of violence, trauma and vulnerability. We will not be reminded that fear is the opposite of love, nor that the Biblical commandment is to “Love our enemies and do good to those who hate us.” (Luke 6: 27) The dominant message points out that fear is a primordial emotion that precludes sympathy, much less empathy, and therefore separates us from our fellow human beings. And it would be most unusual if we were to hear that fear provides the motivation out of which we justify becoming, ourselves, perpetuators of violence. In place of the quotidian aspects of life – cooking a meal, calling a friend, taking a walk with the dog – you and I will be brought face to face with a story – an exceptional story/ an aberrant story – that tells us we are a nation under attack. And because of our annual rehearsal of that story, we will be less able to be present with “this moment” in which beauty and joy and generosity and forgiveness and hope and love abound. Stories help orient us in this world. Stories help us learn and grow. Stories are not bad, and “this moment” IS all there is, and it is in “this moment” that God/the great Mystery/I AM exists. As people of faith, we would do well to balance the stories we tell (whether from today’s media or the media of centuries ago we call the Bible) with the awareness and experience of fullness of “this moment.” Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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    <item>
        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/here-or-out-there/</link>
        <title>Here or Out There?</title>
        <description>For so long, most of us raised in Christian churches were taught the notion that heaven and God were out there, and life here had little connection except that you’d better be good or you would not make it to...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 14 Aug 2014 20:13:04 -0600</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[For so long, most of us raised in Christian churches were taught the notion that heaven and God were out there, and life here had little connection except that you’d better be good or you would not make it to out there. Some churches still teach that, implicitly if not explicitly. The separation this creates between believing in out there and living day to day life can be so complete that it leaves us free to do whatever we want (or imagine that we are supposed) to do. It does not matter how our actions affect the planet or our fellow life forms. There are even folks who call themselves Christian for whom nuclear war would be a good thing. They are so eager to leave here to be out there that the “end times” can’t come soon enough. What quicker way! Some of you may have read Mark Sandlin’s July 27 article on Patheos.com, “I Want My Christianity Back – Without the Ugly Baggage.” If you haven’t, I recommend it. In it he quotes Napoleon (about whom I know embarrassingly little) who observed that, “Religion is excellent stuff for keeping common people quiet. Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich.” Napoleon is saying, in other words, that religion is about control. To the extent that that is true, I can understand why people would be more inclined to be “spiritual, not religious.” Please hear me: I’m not opposed to the rich. Being rich is better than being destitute. But I am opposed to people controlling others for their own benefit, which is often how people become rich. And I’m particularly opposed to people controlling others for their own benefit in the name of God. That’s where my thoughts about the church’s focus on out there align with Napoleon’s thoughts about control. Jesus, if we are to believe our gospels, was not that interested in out there. He was deeply and passionately interested in and concerned with here. He was concerned with how those without power were marginalized and oppressed and used. He was concerned that they had no voice. Jesus was opposed to the systems created by those with power that perpetuated their power on the backs of those without power. Sound familiar? So long as the church today keeps those of us in the pews focused on out there, those with power will maintain their control. And this is especially likely when we mix, or worse yet confuse, political ideology with religion. While not all Christians do this, there are many for whom the values of the State (progress, exceptionalism, nationalism, militarism) have eclipsed Jesus’ message of inclusion, radical equality, forgiveness, and non-violence. What Jesus lived for, taught and accepted death for rather than participate in can easily get lost – something those with power are counting on. So how do we prove Napoleon wrong? How can we be religious (belong to a faith community) and not be controlled by those with power, whether in the church or out? It’s worth noting that not everyone wants that … not really. It’s easier to have someone else who is in control. That way we don’t have to be responsible for what happens. That way we will have someone else to blame when things go wrong. But for those of us who see in Jesus a way – The Way – that we choose to believe is of God, then coming alongside him and letting go of our fixation on out there would be a first good step. Recognizing manipulative power where it exists and having the courage to publicly name it would be another good step. Doing what we can to extricate ourselves from and refusing, as best we are able, to participate in those systems that separate us from other folks and the rest of creation or that inflict violence on other folks and the rest of creation would be yet another good step. Christianity without the focus on out there could be … well … more Christ-like. And isn’t that what we are supposed to be about – living as Christ? Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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    <item>
        <link>https://tj.durangoherald.com/think-on-these-things/</link>
        <title>Think on these things</title>
        <description>I like to think of myself as a flexible and open person. Maybe I’m just open to new people and new ideas … not so much to new things. If I’d been born at the time when electricity was being...</description>
        <pubDate>Thu, 17 Jul 2014 22:13:01 -0600</pubDate>
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        <content:encoded><![CDATA[I like to think of myself as a flexible and open person. Maybe I’m just open to new people and new ideas … not so much to new things. If I’d been born at the time when electricity was being put in peoples’ homes, I probably would have resisted – at least for a while. I used to refer to myself as a Luddite, but even I have succumbed to many of the advances in technology, albeit somewhat behind the typical curve. And now I find myself reaping the results, both positive and negative. The result that has taken on a new slant for me is the one with which most of you who have cell phones are familiar. I know no one’s phone number any more. Numbers that I used to just dial (yes, dial) my phone “remembers” for me. How often have you heard it said, “It’s not so important that we learn information. We just need to know where to find it.” And then what? You find it; you use it; and then you forget it? This behavior takes the concept of a disposable culture to a new level. I wonder if our ideas, along with our used ballpoint pens and plastic water bottles, are becoming the source of just so much trash….if the need and our capacity for memory are becoming obsolete? I serve in one of the number of denominations in which there is a liturgy. This means that each Sunday at least a portion of the service is the same. Young folks complain that it is boring. I guess in their world of unending novelty, it would be boring. But words repeated have a way of getting into your bones. They can then be reflected on – not just once, but until we have taken in their meaning. And the amazing thing is those memorized words don’t become stagnate. Over time they take on greater depth. As our lives change, their meaning evolves. These words don’t just anchor us, they also draw us into newness. Perhaps you carry within you “Tyger, tyger burning bright….” or “Four score and seven years ago” or “In the beginning was the Word….” Were the unanticipated to happen – the grid go down; the satellite lose orbit – you would still have these ideas, and the meaning they carry could not be taken from you. In the June 20th Bad Catholic blog the writer uses the phrase “Internet mind” and highlights the flattening out of our memories when we’ve handed them over to social media. Technology is a safe repository for an event, but it does not allow the memory to develop or give joy – to take on importance or transform. Technology relegates the living event to a series of lifeless zeros and ones. All memories have equal status in FaceBookLandia. Your trip to Disney World and your visit with your sainted grandmother - they look the same. And at the end of the year it is FB’s algorithm that will churn out your Timeline, telling you and the world what was important in your life. How well do you imagine Grandma will fare? I try not to be cynical about technology. I know it is not all bad. Perhaps what concerns me most is my response to it….how I will let it affect how I relate to the people and the world around me. When sacred notions, beautiful words, profound ideas, and relationships begin to reside “out there” instead of having life “in here” I fear for what it will mean. I am grateful for the liturgy of my church and the repeated words that I will not forget. From years of repetition they have sunk deeply into my marrow and are part of me. They keep me oriented Godward when the world does its best to turn me elsewhere. Perhaps as our engagement with technology usurps more and more of our time, leaving us with less and less inclination to commit much, if anything, to memory, the best we can hope for is an app based on Philippians 4:8 “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things….” Leigh Waggoner is priest at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church. She can be reached at 565-7865, or rector@stbarnabascortez.org.]]></content:encoded>
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