The blogosphere has been abuzz about the recent interview that Honor Moore gave the New Yorker, as they publish an excerpt from Ms. Moore’s forthcoming book on her father, Bishop Paul Moore. One blogger ends a flowery write-up thusly:

Of this I am quite certain: there is great rejoicing in heaven. All the choirs of angels and archangels are singing. For, as Jesus himself told us, what is bound on earth is bound in heaven and what is loosed on earth is loosed in heaven.

I’m willing to bet that even Paul himself is smiling. The man who was always ‘larger than life’ finally is.

Well, perhaps heaven is smiling. But it turns out to be more complicated than that. This is not only the story of a bishop living in the closet, but it’s the story of broken vows. Bishop Moore broke his marriage vows and his ordination vows. The current bishop of New York has written a pastoral letter, in which he ends this way:

Though A Bishop’s Daughter reveals Paul Moore to have been a vastly more complex man than many of us who admired and respected him ever knew, and though there can be no excuse for the enormity of the betrayal of personal trust that he perpetrated in his private life, yet similarly there can be no diminution of the greatness, the nobility even, of the purposes and goals of his public life. We are left seeing a deeply flawed man in desperate need of God’s merciful grace. As are we all.

That seems about right. People always have the capacity for good and for evil, and neither diminishes the reality of the other. Pray for the Moore family, pray for his victims, and give thanks for the vibrant ministry of this legendary bishop.

Read Bishop Mark Sisk’s letter, after the jump:

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In our ongoing Herbert Festivall, I present you…

CHAP. XIII. The Parson’s Church.

THe Countrey Parson hath a speciall care of his Church, that all things there be decent, and befitting his Name by which it is called. Therefore first he takes order, that all things be in good repair; as walls plaistered, windows glazed, floore paved, seats whole, firm, and uniform, especially that the Pulpit, and Desk, and Communion Table, and Font be as they ought, for those great duties that are performed in them. Secondly, that the Church be swept, and kept cleane without dust, or Cobwebs, and at great festivalls strawed, and stuck with boughs, and perfumed with incense.

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This week’s Gospel story is about a man born blind, who gained his sight through the power of Jesus Christ. But this is not just a miracle story about 20/20 vision. It is about the triumph of good over evil. It is a story about the need to do God’s work, not just follow religious conventions. It is a story about sin, and the healing power of God.

The healing of the blind man is almost a minor point in the story. The much larger issue is the inability of others to believe that it had happened. Again and again, people try to find ways to deny what had clearly happened.

Finally the man, who had been healed, is driven out of town. Because others are not willing to see the good that has happened, they reject him. Then this man meets Jesus, who asks the man if he believes that Jesus is the Son of Man. “He said, ‘Lord, I believe.’ And he worshiped him.”

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A day or so ago, I added a counter to my right column. It counts the cost of the Iraq war for the US. I thought that $500,000,000,000 was an unimaginably high figure (especially when you see what that money could have done). But that wasn’t even scratching the truth, according to two Nobel prize-winning researchers.

There’s an article in today’s Guardian about the true cost of the war. If you haven’t already heard, make sure you’re sitting down, and then read on.

Some time in 2005, [Joseph] Stiglitz and Linda Bilmes, who also served as an economic adviser under Clinton, noted that the official Congressional Budget Office estimate for the cost of the war so far was of the order of $500bn. The figure was so low, they didn’t believe it, and decided to investigate. The paper they wrote together, and published in January 2006, revised the figure sharply upwards, to between $1 and $2 trillion. Even that, Stiglitz says now, was deliberately conservative: “We didn’t want to sound outlandish.” <snip, snip>

…Stiglitz and Bilmes dug deeper, and what they have discovered, after months of chasing often deliberately obscured accounts, is that in fact Bush’s Iraqi adventure will cost America - just America - a conservatively estimated $3 trillion. The rest of the world, including Britain, will probably account for about the same amount again. And in doing so they have achieved something much greater than arriving at an unimaginable figure: by describing the process, by detailing individual costs, by soberly listing the consequences of short-sighted budget decisions, they have produced a picture of comprehensive obfuscation and bad faith whose power comes from its roots in bald fact. (emphasis added)

I’m dumbfounded. How can our leaders have done this? How can the American people have allowed this to happen? Why haven’t I done something?

During the first Gulf War I did some protesting. I’m beginning to think it’s that time again. It’s not that we are spending THREE TRILLION DOLLARS. It’s that we’ve been lied to again and again. And we’ve believed it. It’s what that money could do. THREE TRILLION DOLLARS. Why are we talking about health insurance? Why are we talking about homelessness? If we have THREE TRILLION DOLLARS to fight an optional war, we should have had that much money to give people some health care, some clothes, and a great education. And a pound of gold bullion for each person. OK, I made that last part up. I was trying to lighten the mood.

Why aren’t Christians up in arms about this? This offends every possible Christian sensibility. I’m going to write about this some more, I can tell. After I calm down a little. In the meantime, I have a book to read.

This was over at ASBO Jesus:

I wish. I wish Christians would have this kind of spine more often. We Episcopalians get all excited about the last two promises in the Baptismal Covenant, and we forget the beginning bits about rejecting Satan. And although it’s not fashionable among liberals, I believe that consumerism and its temptation are of the Devil. You heard that right.

So stand up. Point the finger. Name the idols, the demons, the tempters. Instead of getting on the news for worrying about who’s having sex with whom, how about going down to the local mall and doing some talking. Talk to people about how God loves them, and they don’t need to look taller/thinner. Having the right things won’t help you find happiness for more than a few minutes. Say that. And tell them you’re doing that because you’re a Christian.

That’ll get them talking. And thinking. Perhaps even praying.

I am always happy to contemplate the merger of two of my favorite things, Christianity and coffee.

A ‘prayer cafe’ is being run by a local church in Croatia, to keep the kids coming in. At the Jedno cafe you pay for your food and drink with prayers.

“In the Acts of the Apostles, it says the disciples used to come together for a meal after the Eucharist, so we’re following a biblical ideal,” said Salesian Father Damir Stojic.

Parents and church leaders donate the food and drink. Three Our Fathers buy you a coffee (four for a cappuccino), a Coke is five Hail Marys and a Glory be. Not sure about the muffins, but a quick Memorare should do it, with a decade of the Rosary if you want choc chip.

What a great idea! See how they moved past the usual “let’s see how much we can charge” right into a different approach? I imagine this will work very well, if the coffee is good. People thirst for God. People thirst for coffee. So if you put the two together, it seems like a sure recipe for success.

From the Times Online, via the Blingdom of God.

Here’s the latest post in my Herbert Festivall. My comments on Herbert follow, after the jump.

CHAP. VII. The Parson preaching.

THe Countrey Parson preacheth constantly, the pulpit is his joy and his throne: if he at any time intermit, it is either for want of health, or against some great Festivall, that he may the better celebrate it, or for the variety of the hearers, that he may be heard at his returne more attentively. When he intermits, he is ever very well supplyed by some able man who treads in his steps, and will not throw down what he hath built; whom also he intreats to press some point, that he himself hath often urged with no great success, that so in the mouth of two or three witnesses the truth may be more established. When he preacheth, he procures attention by all possible art, both by earnestnesse of speech, it being naturall to men to think, that where is much earnestness, there is somewhat worth hearing; and by a diligent, and busy cast of his eye on his auditors, with letting them know, that he observes who marks, and who not; and with particularizing of his speech now to the younger sort, then to the elder, now to the poor, and now to the rich. This is for you, and This is for you; for particulars ever touch, and awake more then generalls. Herein also he serves himselfe of the judgements of God, as of those of antient times, so especially of the late ones; and those most, which are nearest to his Parish; for people are very attentive at such discourses, and think it behoves them to be so, when God is so neer them, and even over their heads.

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It’s true that the “three-legged stool” of scripture, tradition, and reason doesn’t really come from Richard Hooker. Still, these three facets of our faith living in tension define Anglicanism. Sometimes his trifecta is misused by those on the left or on the right. That should not keep us from treasuring this part of our faith. When I explain this to seekers, their desire to become a part of the Anglican Christian community almost always increases. When I explain this to members, their sense of how we understand our faith almost always deepens.

So, with that in mind, I bring you a classic from Father Matthew.

For the next week or so, I want to post some excerpts from A Priest To the Temple, or The Countrey Parson his Character, and Rule of Holy Life by George Herbert. Amidst all the things that divide us in modern Anglicanism, we have lost something of our origins. Herbert reminds us eloquently of the life to which clergy should aspire. Of course, we will never match his lofty ideal, but Herbert sets us in the right direction. Some of my thoughts will follow each excerpt.

CHAP. VI The Parson praying.

THe Countrey Parson, when he is to read divine services, composeth himselfe to all possible reverence; lifting up his heart and hands, and eyes, and using all other gestures which may expresse a hearty, and unfeyned devotion. This he doth, first, as being truly touched and amazed with the Majesty of God, before whom he then presents himself; yet not as himself alone, but as presenting with himself the whole Congregation, whose sins he then beares, and brings with his own to the heavenly altar to be bathed, and washed in the sacred Laver of Christs blood. Secondly, as this is the true reason of his inward feare, so he is content to expresse this outwardly to the utmost of his power; that being first affected himself, hee may affect also his people, knowing that no Sermon moves them so much to a reverence, which they forget againe, when they come to pray, as a devout behaviour in the very act of praying.

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Geez Magazine is having a sermon-writing contest. Their contest is not the usual. They want 750 word sermons that you’d never hear in church. I can’t wait to read the winners. So start writing!

Preaching is hard, both on the producing and the receiving side. I labor over sermons, and I never know exactly how it’s going to go over. I sit there, listening to others, wondering when the preacher will get to the point. And then I hope that the point is compelling, in a life-changing world-loving sort of way.

What could a sermon “that you’d never hear in church” say? I’d like to know, because that’s probably exactly what we should be saying in sermons.

Oh, by the way, I was happy to discover Geez Magazine and this contest on another priest’s blog. I’ll probably keep reading the blog, and I’ll definitely be subscribing to Geez. Come this summer, I have sermons to read.

Our God and King, who called your servant George Herbert from the pursuit of worldly honors to be a pastor of souls, a poet, and a priest in your temple: Give us grace, we pray, joyfully to perform the tasks you give us to do, knowing that nothing is menial or common that is done for your sake; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Today marks the church’s commemoration of George Herbert. Among other things, he wrote the poem from which this blog’s name is taken. You can read more about that on, appropriately enough, the “about” page.

Throughout this day, I will be posting some reflections on the life and works of George Herbert. One of the courses from seminary that has served me best is “Herbert & Donne,” an entire semester spent basking in their works. It was both inspiring and practically useful.

Our blogospheric Herbert festival begins with his biography, written by James Kiefer.

George Herbert was born in 1593, a cousin of the Earl of Pembroke. His mother was a friend of the poet John Donne. George attended Trinity College, Cambridge, and became the Public Orator of the University, responsible for giving speeches of welcome in Latin to famoous visitors, and writing letters of thanks, also in Latin, to acknowledge gifts of books for the University Library. This brought him to the attention of King James I, who granted him an annual allowance, and seemed likely to make him an ambassador. However, in 1625 the king died, and George Hebert, who had originally gone to college with the intention of becoming a priest, but had head turned by the prospect of a career at Court, determined anew to seek ordination. In 1626 he was ordained, and became vicar and then rector of the parish of Bemerton and neighboring Fugglestone, not far from Salisbury.

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My friend Tim Schenck has a bee in his bonnet. Apparently his sabbatical has allowed him some extra jogging time, and he’s noticed something he doesn’t like.

I went for a run around my neighborhood yesterday and it seemed like every other house still had a wreath up. I still haven’t hauled down the Christmas lights from the front porch so I’m not exactly Mr. Holier Than Thou. But the wreath came off the door after Epiphany. So I’m a little bit holier than thou.

The seasons of the church year tend to bleed together. At least out there in “the world.” Anyone who’s been inside a Hallmark store knows this. Fortunately, thanks to our respective altar guilds, our worship spaces are immune to this. You don’t find some of the crosses veiled for Lent or some of the hangings changed to purple — it’s whole hog or nothin’ (totus porkus). Unlike my house where the Christmas lights are still up (though not lit) but the wreath is down.

So, Merry Lent. Now get that hideous thing off your front door!

He’s right. But it’s not always easy. Take, for example, the wreaths at the parish I serve. When we put them up, the Altar Guild Directress says, “Every priest seems to have ideas about when these should come down. What are yours?” I suggest that they might come down immediately after the Feast of the Epiphany. She says, “But they’re so pretty. Maybe they could stay up longer.” So I say, “Sure, let’s get them down on February 2. That’s an important feast day, 40 days after Christmas.” I think to myself, “You are a clever priest. You’ve made the altar guild happy, and you’re being Liturgically Correct.”

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