On Rowan Williams, the Covenant, and the Future of Anglicanism

I take no delight in the announced resignation of Dr. Rowan Williams from his position as Archbishop of Canterbury. Although I have some strong disagreements with him and have criticized his leadership from time to time, I believe that Archbishop Williams is a very good man with a deep spiritual grounding and a profound commitment to Christian unity, both within Anglicanism and among the world’s divided churches. In many ways his presence and leadership have been blessings to the Church of England, the Anglican Communion, the wider church, and the world. He has worked valiantly in the area of Christian unity, building bridges between Anglicans and their Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox brothers and sisters. He also has been a vocal proponent of local and global social justice particularly with regard to issues of economics and poverty. The latter so much so, in fact, that he has been labeled a harsh critic of the United Kingdom’s current Conservative government.

I was in the midst of a summer of ministry as a hospital chaplain in a Clinical Pastoral Education program in Boston when the Anglican world learned that Williams, then Archbishop of Wales and a theologian of considerable renown, was announced as the next Archbishop of Canterbury. He was known at the time for his dense theologian mind, but also for his liberal positions on matters of sexuality and the place of women in ministry. Williams’ appointment promised a refreshing change after the more conservative leadership of Archbishop George Carey. I was not alone in thinking that Williams’ theological acumen and more inclusive vision for the church would usher in a new age for the Anglican Communion, which was already showing signs of theological and geographical fracture. He was following, it was hoped, in the footsteps of remarkable theologian archbishops like William Temple and Arthur Michael Ramsey. Williams’ appointment had the potential to lead to a new golden age for Anglicanism.

Just months after Williams’ enthronement at Canterbury in 2003 matters came to a head. First, the Rev. Canon Dr. Jeffrey John was announced as the next Suffragan Bishop for Reading in the Oxford diocese. Dr. John is himself a brilliant theologian and well-regarded. But, he happens to be gay and living in a committed partnership with another man, also an Anglican priest. He maintained, though, that his relationship was by that point celibate. John initially had Williams’ support and was appointed by Queen Elizabeth. However, the outcry from conservatives across the Church of England and the Anglican Communion was so fierce that Williams summoned his friend Dr. John to Lambeth Palace and exhibited considerable pressure to force John to decline the Queen’s appointment. Reluctantly Dr. John did so.

Nearly simultaneously the Diocese of New Hampshire in the Episcopal Church USA elected the Rev. Canon Gene Robinson as its bishop. Robinson, too, is engaged in a same-sex relationship, but without any claim to being celibate. Having succeeded in England, there was again an outcry by conservatives across the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion to find a way to bar Robinson’s consecration. When the Episcopal Church’s General Convention met in Minneapolis and voted to confirm New Hampshire’s election, the Episcopal Church’s Presiding Bishop was pressured to refuse to consecrate, and Robinson himself was pressured to step down for the sake of church unity. He refused and in November 2003 was consecrated as Bishop Coadjutor of New Hampshire.

The outcry against the Episcopal Church’s actions was deafening. It is not an exaggeration to say that the depth of concern, criticism, and outrage was unexpected. Bishops around the Communion declared themselves out of communion with New Hampshire and with the bishops who participated in his consecration. At the same time, the Anglican Church of Canada was liberalizing its position on sexuality. In particular, the Diocese of New Westminster had approved liturgical blessings for same-sex couples. While not the object of the same degree of vitriol as the Episcopal Church, the Canadian church was subject to considerable criticism. Lines were being drawn in the sand.

In retaliation for these liberal actions, global conservatives began to minister to North Americans, establishing missions, sending and consecrating bishops and claiming authority over like-minded congregations when liberal bishops would not denounce their actions and support of Bishop Robinson or same-sex blessings. While many decried these “boundary crossings,” little could be done to halt them. In recent years they have gone so far as to lead to schism and the establishment of the conservative Anglican Church of North America, with majorities in several U.S. dioceses voting to secede from the Episcopal Church, and appealing for official recognition by the Anglican Communion.

It was into this stormy context that the heretofore-liberal Dr. Williams found himself. No longer simply a theologian, diocesan or even national bishop, he was now the spiritual leader of a deeply divided worldwide family of churches, while also leader of the Church of England. Rather than imposing his own theological world-view on the Anglican Communion, he attempted to find a solution that would unite as many of the world’s Anglicans as possible. What began with the Windsor Report, which recommended a number of penalties for those bodies that were perceived to have broken the “bonds of affection” with the Anglican Communion, later developed into the proposal for the Anglican Communion Covenant.

As envisaged by Williams the Covenant would offer a stronger definition of Anglican belief and practice than previously known while also setting forth a process for dealing with conflicts. It is left up to each province to adopt or reject the Covenant. None are compelled to adopt it. However, those provinces that do not sign on could be deemed “second-tier” Anglicans in terms of the life of the Communion situating themselves outside the Communion’s more centralized life. Those provinces that do agree would seek to deepen their connections and commitment to the Communion. Williams has stressed that he would like Anglicans to embrace the meaning of “Communion” in the deepest possible way, rather than pull apart as a looser federation of global churches. Many, with Williams, have embraced the Covenant process as the best chance the Anglican Communion has to weather and survive its current crises. Others have argued that it is either too weak in its enforcement of standards or that it is un-Anglican and potentially draconian in its attempts to limit Anglican comprehensiveness.

The Covenant has found considerable global support, particularly in more conservative provinces; however, it faces a less certain acceptance in the historically liberal churches in North America, Australia, New Zealand, and Scotland. In recent months its chances of passage in the Church of England, once thought assured, also has seemed increasingly unlikely, despite pleas by Williams and other bishops and theologians for its support.

Besides his global challenges, Williams has found his leadership questioned in England itself. Just as the churches and society in North America have grappled with more liberal attitudes to sexuality, so too has the U.K. Williams has articulated a position that upholds the church’s historic teaching on marriage and family while trying also to defend the civil rights of sexual minorities. It has proved to be an uncomfortable position, especially for one who has himself ordained openly gay priests in Wales and written positively about the grace of same-sex relationships when a theologian. To his credit he is alone among world Christian leaders in even considering gay rights and finding some place for sexual minorities in the church. In like fashion, Williams has long advocated for the ordination of women and supports legislation that will allow women to serve as English bishops. However, he has tried to accommodate conservatives by suggesting additional male bishops to minister to those opposed to potential women in the episcopate. It was not an ideal proposal, but it was deemed by Williams necessary to preserve church unity. The proposal was rejected by the Church of England’s General Synod as it continues to debate if, how, and when it will open the episcopate to women. Whatever happens, there will be no “shadow” male bishops. Yet, there is no question that aside from these issues of gender and sexuality, Williams is regarded fondly by the Church of England’s faithful and especially its leadership.

Given all of the above, it is no surprise that Williams looks haggard and exhausted. He took on the mantle of Anglican leadership at what is arguably its most difficult time since the Reformation era or the 17^th century civil war. Thankfully, he will be able to return to academia and theological scholarship and doesn’t face fates like his predecessors Thomas Cranmer, burned at the stake, and William Laud, beheaded. Indeed, many do now and even more will look on Williams’ tenure as a success in a thankless time. Others, of course, will reflect on the promise and hopes that went unfulfilled.

Personally, I recognize Williams’ difficult and unenviable position. My criticisms are not so much related to his lukewarm support for the liberal positions he once embraced; although, there do seem to be questions of personal integrity, especially in consideration of his treatment of Jeffrey John. Rather, I am especially concerned with Williams’ tendency to call and work for an increasingly centralized authority within global Anglicanism, whether in the Covenant or in the person of the Archbishop of Canterbury. The latter is especially ironic since Williams likes to emphasize his vocation as a priest over his episcopal consecration and presents himself in an especially modest manner.

Perhaps this tendency toward centralization is a result of his wide ecumenical vision. Certainly other traditions, especially Roman Catholicism, have a more efficient polity than the diffuse and varied approach employed by the churches of the Anglican Communion. On more than one occasion Williams has spoken of the “Anglican Church” as if we were a single unified body. I suspect this is because Williams wishes it were so, or perhaps even believes it is so in a profound theological way, if not politically or constitutionally. There is no question that he is deeply pained by the divisions in Anglicanism and would have liked to heal them in his tenure as the Communion’s spiritual leader. To his credit, the permanent fractures under his leadership have been limited (albeit highly publicized) and were starting to form before he took office.

Even before Williams’ announced resignation the future of the Anglican Communion Covenant was in doubt. Unfortunately Williams has seemed to stake his personal leadership and reputation on it. If the Church of England rejects the Covenant, as seems increasingly likely, there will be little to commend it to other Anglican churches of the world. This is probably for the best. While there are some positive aspects to the Covenant, in general it proposes such a stark departure from Anglican precedence and practice in terms of centralization, international powers, and even in the effort to define Anglicanism that it would radically change the character of the Communion. Some obviously see this as an improvement, especially those who would like us to more closely resemble the Roman Catholic Church or other communions. But it is not who we have been, who we are today, and who we should be for the world.

The fact of the matter is, Christian unity cannot be legislated. It cannot be enforced with the threat of exclusion from international bodies and consultations. And it cannot be ensured by narrowly defined shared belief. Christian unity is created by God. It exists already as part of God’s design for the church in all those who are united by baptism into the life of the Body of Christ and, in fact, even before baptism in their creation in God’s image. That unity will not be preserved by the adoption of a global Covenant but can only be recognized for what it is already. We fall into sin when we fail to see that which is already before us, when we fail to recognize who we already are. This point has been argued by such diverse Anglican theologians as Richard Hooker, F. D. Maurice, and Desmond Tutu.

In a very real way, the Anglican vocation is to witness to the wider church and world the unity that already exists among us in the midst of our diversity—global, theological, liturgical. That is our gift in the midst of other churches that are more defined by their doctrinal unity or centralized authority. To extent that we display the love, fellowship, and peace of God toward each other, in spite of our many differences, we witness to the central message of the gospel: God is love, a love as deep and boundless as the universe itself.

Despite predictions regarding Williams’ successor, there is no way of knowing whom the Crown Nominations Commission will recommend to the Prime Minister and Queen. The top candidate has to be a citizen of the United Kingdom, Ireland, or one of the Commonwealth countries. Because the Church of England has yet to approve the consecration of women to the episcopate there is no chance that a woman will be selected. However, we can fairly confidently assume that he will be a supporter of women bishops, as this change is likely to be enacted this summer by the General Synod. In terms of the hot button issue of gay rights, a candidate with a moderate view will likely find himself most successful. Certainly we shouldn’t expect a champion, given the divisions that exist in England and across the Communion. The commission will be looking for a bishop who can heal divisions, not exacerbate them.

My personal hope for the next Archbishop of Canterbury, whoever he may be, is that he will find a way to help us all to recognize the life-giving love, the presence of God, in ourselves and in each other so that we can share it with the world.

© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell

Remembering Martin Luther King & Raoul Wallenberg: A Sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany

This week our nation and the world commemorate two of the greatest heroes of the 20^th century. The first, of course, is the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. In fact, King was born 83 years ago today. He was killed when he was just 39 years old—the same age as I am now, in fact, which in itself is sort of a reality check. While in his time Martin Luther King was a controversial figure with his fair share of detractors, history has remembered him as one whose vision and passion for justice and equality helped our country begin to be the kind of place that we should have been all along—a land of freedom and justice for all. Of course, we are not there yet. Even in the year 2012, with an African American president and racial discrimination officially illegal, we are still walking the long, twisty, and rocky path toward justice and equality, sometimes making great strides and at other times stumbling, or even getting lost along the way.

In some ways, I suppose, one could say that Martin Luther King was the right man, in the right place, at the right time. Like other important figures throughout history, he rose to the occasion when circumstances required it. Had he not been there, maybe someone else would have taken up his cause. But then again, maybe not. Certainly there were others—black and white—who struggled for civil rights, and had been doing so long before King was born, but he had that unique ability to inspire, to draw people in, and to help the people of our nation see how we are interconnected and how what happens to some affects us all.

King said, “All I'm saying is simply this, that all life is interrelated, that somehow we're caught in an inescapable network of mutuality tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. For some strange reason, I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. You can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality.”

You know, the thing about Martin Luther King that has always inspired me most is how he translated his deep Christian faith into action. He did so with a clarity and power that seems unique. His devotion to the civil rights movement was rooted in and nourished by his Christian faith. And so I imagine that he would have strongly protested against the notion that religion and politics don’t mix. Because for King, as for many of the civil rights leaders, it was their faith in God, their belief in the liberation offered humanity through Jesus Christ and the promise of freedom and equality in him, that led them to fight so bravely for human liberation for themselves, their children and grandchildren, and all the future generations. We, today, regardless of our ethnic background, are the beneficiaries of their bravery, their commitment, and their hopeful and inspiring vision. As we continue their work in our own time and place, King’s words, his actions, and his vision are still providing inspiration and hope, here in the United States and across the world.

Less well known than Martin Luther King, at least here in the United States, is another hero of the twentieth century who is also being remembered this week. His name is Raoul Wallenberg. I wonder, how many of you have heard of Wallenberg? He was a wealthy Swedish businessman (who was educated in the United States) and served as a diplomat from Sweden in World War II. In particular, Wallenberg was a special envoy to Hungary during the later stages of the War, with a purpose of trying to find a way to save Hungary’s Jewish citizens while it was under Nazi occupation. The situation there was so bad that by 1944 as many as 12,000 Jews were deported from Hungary to concentration camps each day. Because Wallenberg had business dealings in Hungary and spoke Hungarian (as well as German, French, English, and Swedish) he was sent there by the War Refugee Board (established by President Roosevelt) to do something about the growing humanitarian crisis.

By the time of Wallenberg’s arrival in Hungary in 1944, over 2/3rds of the Jewish population had been deported to Auschwitz in the space of just a few months. Only 230,000 remained. He quickly got to work and issued protective passes supposedly authorized by the Swedish government to as many of the remaining Jewish citizens as he could. The passes suggested that these people were in fact Swedish citizens. Remember, they were in fact Hungarian Jews, not Swedes. The passes were illegal (Wallenberg produced them on a mimeograph in yellow and blue, with the Swedish three crown symbol in the corner), but they looked official enough to trick the Nazi and Hungarian authorities. He also rented 32 buildings in Budapest, which he established as Swedish extraterritorial safe houses. He hung large Swedish flags from the buildings and placed signs over the doors calling the houses “The Swedish Library” and “Swedish Research Institute.” Jewish citizens lived in these buildings in relative safety.

One of the drivers working for Wallenberg, recounted the Swedish diplomat’s actions upon intercepting a trainload of Jews about to leave for Auschwitz: “[Wallenberg] climbed up on the roof of the train and began handing in protective passes through the doors which were not yet sealed. He ignored orders from the Germans for him to get down, then the Arrow Cross men [the Hungarian fascists working with the Nazis] began shooting and shouting at him to go away. He ignored them and calmly continued handing out passports to the hands that were reaching out for them. I believe the Arrow Cross men deliberately aimed over his head, as not one shot hit him... I think this is what they did because they were so impressed by his courage. After Wallenberg had handed over the last of the passports he ordered all those who had one to leave the train and walk to the caravan of cars parked nearby, all marked in Swedish colours. I don't remember exactly how many, but he saved dozens off that train, and the Germans and Arrow Cross were so dumbfounded they let him get away with it.”

Estimates are that in less than a year Wallenberg may have saved as many as 100,000 people, more people saved than by any other person or institution in Europe during the war. By the end of 1944 the Soviet army had circled Budapest, although the Germans would not surrender. And then on January 17, 1945 (67 years ago this Tuesday), during the height of the German-Russian fighting, Wallenberg was summoned by a Russian general on suspicion of being an American spy. There are no confirmed reports of him after that date; although, many witnesses claimed to have seen and spoken with him. He was just 32 years old at the time of his disappearance.

Hungarian radio announced he died later in 1945 at the hands of the Nazis, while Russian authorities stated that he died in a Soviet Prison in 1947. It’s probable that Wallenberg was sent to a prison in Moscow. Unfortunately the Swedish authorities believed he was killed by the Nazis in 1945 and did little to find him or secure his rescue from the Russians, despite offers of exchange for Russian defectors. The actual circumstances of Wallenberg’s presumed death are still unknown—as late as the 1980s people claim to have seen him in prison. His personal effects were returned to his family by the Soviets in 1989. He was made an honorary citizen of the United States in 1981 (Only the second person so honored; the other was Winston Churchill); he was also made an honorary citizen of Canada, Hungary, and Israel.

Late U.S. Representative Tom Lantos, a Jewish native of Hungary who was saved by Wallenberg, said “During the Nazi occupation, this heroic young diplomat left behind the comfort and safety of Stockholm to rescue his fellow human beings in the hell that was wartime Budapest. He had little in common with them: he was a Lutheran, they were Jewish; he was a Swede, they were Hungarians. And yet with inspired courage and creativity he saved the lives of tens of thousands of men, women and children by placing them under the protection of the Swedish crown. In this age devoid of heroes, Wallenberg is the archetype of a hero – one who risked his life day in and day out, to save the lives of tens of thousands of people he did not know whose religion he did not share.”

What Martin Luther King, a black American Baptist, and Raoul Wallenberg, a Swedish Lutheran diplomat, have in common is their belief that ordinary people, people like you and me, can make a difference in human life. They weren’t old, standing in line, waiting to gain more experience. Wallenberg was just 32 when he was captured. Martin Luther King was just 39 when he was killed. And as we know, Jesus was just 33 when he was crucified. And like Jesus, they believed that human life, human dignity, justice, and equality are worth fighting for, and sometimes even worth risking your life for. And so, they were inspired by a belief that this world of ours can be a better place. They believed that all life was interconnected and that what happens to some affects us all. Most especially, they believed that they could make a difference. And that there wasn’t time to waste. But rather that God was urging them to action, right then and there.

Martin Luther King and Raoul Wallenberg wouldn’t accept excuses or take no for an answer. And neither should we. As we remember them and their witness this week, may we likewise be inspired to dream impossible dreams, stand up for justice and equality, and work for the day when, as Martin Luther King dreamed, all God’s people will be free at last.

To whom be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell

On Lutefisk, Princess Torte, and Resurrection: A Wedding Sermon

Well, there are some things that you just never expect to do in life. And one of them is marrying your mother, or rather, officiating at your mother’s wedding. Then again, I’m sure that just a few years ago Mom and Jerry wouldn’t have thought that they would be getting married again, after having lost their beloved spouses in the space of just a few weeks. But here we are, and in an Episcopal Church in Massachusetts, no less. They even had to go to a Massachusetts court room to ask a judge for permission to marry. Mom and Jerry are living witnesses to the fact that life is always full of crazy twists and turns, with something new and unexpected around every corner.

And as it happens, those new and unexpected experiences can happen at any moment, even in the weirdest of circumstances—like a church lutefisk supper. I don’t know why, but somehow, lutefisk—that smelly, toxic Scandinavian delicacy made of codfish soaked in lye and then smothered in butter or cream--always seems to want to make an appearance when I start talking about Minnesota Lutherans, or at least when I talk about my mom, and she says doesn’t even like the stuff (though I have witnessed her eat it on more than one occasion). And today is no different since, as it happens, Mom and Jerry first took notice of each other when they and a group from their church were out on a field trip checking out other churches’ lutefisk suppers (why, I have yet to understand). By chance they ended up sitting next to each other, and looking down at their “appetizing” plates of white fish, white sauce, and white potatoes, my mom said to Jerry, “It’s never a good sign when the fish jiggles.” Flirting over lutefisk. Only in Minnesota.

So, it was lutefisk that brought Mom and Jerry together initially, and in a way, it’s lutefisk that brings them here to Emmanuel this afternoon. Now, of course, they had been planning to get married for some time, but they also really wanted to get out of Minnesota, since this weekend their church is holding its own second annual lutefisk supper (they were here last year for the first annual lutefisk supper, as well). That’s what Lutheran churches in Minnesota do for fundraisers. Now you know why I turned Episcopalian. We have wine tastings; they have lutefisk suppers. And as we approach Thanksgiving and then Advent, the Minnesota Lutherans are entering lutefisk season big time.

Garrison Keillor says, “Every Advent we entered the purgatory of lutefisk, a repulsive gelatinous fishlike dish that tasted of soap and gave off an odor that would gag a goat. We did this in honor of Norwegian ancestors, much as if survivors of a famine might celebrate their deliverance by feasting on elm bark. I always felt the cold creeps as Advent approached, knowing that this dread delicacy would be put before me and I'd be told, ‘Just have a little’.” Advent Lutheran Church in Maple Grove, where Mom and Jerry are active members, likes to beat the rush by holding their lutefisk dinner in November, so as not to conflict with other churches’ suppers. But since my mom is mostly Swedish and Jerry is mostly German, they aren’t so thrilled about this largely Norwegian custom. (Even my godmother Sara, who’s also here and is Norwegian, won’t eat the stuff). So, now you know what they gave up (or are escaping) to be married this weekend.

And I bet you thought you were safe, didn’t you, Mom and Jerry? What you don’t know is that we have a tasty surprise waiting in the parish hall! Actually, we don’t have any lutefisk here—you can tell by the fact that people aren’t running out of the church from the smell. But the women’s group seriously did offer to make it (along with a Jell-o-salad)! However, instead, the only Scandinavian delicacy, which really is a delicacy that everyone will enjoy, is a fabulous three-tiered Swedish Princess Torte. That seemed like a much more pleasant way to celebrate a wedding. And in honor of Jerry’s German roots, you’ll notice that most of the music in today’s ceremony is German—Bach, Pachelbel, Handel, Beethoven.

As much as we like to joke, more than lutefisk bringing Mom and Jerry together, it would seem more likely that it was God who brought them together after they each suffered the devastating loss of their beloved spouses—George and Jeannie--in December 2008. Who else but God could have arranged such a thing? Now, I have no doubt that if Mom and Jerry hadn’t met they each would have survived just fine. They both have lots of wonderful people in their lives—friends and family—who wanted to help them get through the trauma of loss. But, of course, life is not only about surviving. Life is really about living.

For Christians, for those who set their trust in Jesus, life is about living the promise and the joy of the resurrection each and every day. And, as we have to be reminded again and again, the resurrection that Jesus promises us is not only something that we experience after we die (though I certainly believe that Jeannie, George, and my Dad--Peter, are experiencing that joy even now), but resurrection is also, and just as importantly, something that Jesus wants us to experience each and every day on this side of life as well. That’s why he said, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

And anyone who has seen the joy in Mom’s and Jerry’s eyes over the past few days can’t help but feel that together, in their relationship, they are experiencing the joy of the resurrection even now. Their happiness and love for each other is obvious—to their family and friends who have flown here to Massachusetts for this special weekend, as well as those back in Minnesota; to the judge at the courthouse in Quincy who was delighted to approve their marriage license request; and even to people sitting at the next table in an Italian restaurant in the North End. In a very real way, Mom and Jerry are living witnesses to the power of the resurrection.

Of course they know that every day won’t be as perfect as a beautiful fall day in New England. Much as we (and they) may like it to be, life together isn’t all smiles and Swedish Princess Torte wedding cake. Some days will probably feel a lot more like smelly old lutefisk. Because that’s just the way life is. But that’s also when that same resurrection faith will give them the strength, patience, and courage they will need to work through whatever problems they face, ever confident that joy is stronger than sadness, and that hope is always more powerful than despair.

So, here we are in another day on a twisty journey through life. And it’s a beautiful day. It's warm, the leaves are vibrant in their rainbow of colors; joy, love, and resurrection is in the air. I have no doubt that for Mom and Jerry, as for all of us, there will be many sharp curves, bumps in the road, and plenty of unexpected things around corners, maybe even a lutefisk supper or two. But the good news for them, and for us, is that they will have the love and support of each other as they walk along, arm in arm, strengthened and supported by their families, by friends, by faith communities here and in Minnesota, and most especially by the God who is constantly bringing us new and abundant life, the God who is the source of all love.

To whom be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus, Judaism, & the Pharisees: A Sermon for the 20th Sunday after Pentecost

For the past several Wednesday evenings our adult education sessions have been dedicated to discussing the book Yeshua: A Model Moderns by Leonard Swidler. I don’t want to speak for everyone, but I think that for the most part, people have enjoyed it; although, it’s not without its challenges. The purpose of the book is to uncover and present anew the Jewish roots and context of Jesus’ life and ministry. It’s something that I think we Christians know intellectually, but which we don’t understand as deeply as we could. So, this book, in its way, tries to help us grow to a deeper understanding of who Jesus was, who the people around him were, and how his life and teaching fit in his time and his society. Since everyone can’t be with us on Wednesdays, I thought that this morning I would share a bit of what we have learned.

The first thing you notice is that the author always refers to Jesus as “Yeshua,” the Aramaic version of his name. Yeshua is what people who actually knew Jesus would have called to him. I said quite a while ago, when I first mentioned this book in a sermon, that calling Jesus “Yeshua” all the time is a little annoying. I even wrote that in an essay in college, and now others at our adult ed sessions have started to agree. But I think the author’s purpose is positive—it helps to strip away all that we think we know about Jesus, so that we can discover more about the real life Jewish man who lived in Nazareth in Galilee some 2,000 years ago. By starting with calling him Yeshua, we have a clean slate for fresh, new discovery.

And what have we discovered? Well, first, what the name Yeshua means. It’s sort of a contraction: the “Ye” is an abbreviation for God’s proper name given to Moses: “YHWH.” The “shua” is the Hebrew word for salvation, which is not so much about going to heaven, but more about holiness and wholeness. For the ancient Israelites to attain salvation is to lead a full and whole life. So, if we put it back together again, Jesus’ name, Yeshua, means “YHWH [or God] is salvation; YHWH is wholeness.” And what’s especially interesting, really, if we are thinking about the Jewishness of Jesus, is the fact that through him, so many millions of people who are not Jewish have come to believe in YHWH, the God of Israel, the God who spoke to Moses on the mountain and who through Joshua (whose name is the older Hebrew version of the name as Yeshua) led the chosen people to salvation into the promised land, as we heard in our first reading this morning. Both Joshua and Yeshua/Jesus lead God’s people to salvation.

Second, we’ve been reminded in our study that like many other reformation figures, Jesus wasn’t trying to start a new religion. Jesus was Jewish. His family was Jewish. His friends and his disciples were Jewish. And really, almost everyone he encountered in his day-to-day life was Jewish. So, the focus of his ministry was not to abolish or supercede Judaism. Rather, he saw his ministry as being about helping people live Jewishly, as best they could. Jesus studied the Torah, the religious law, as well as the teachings of the prophets, and he interpreted what he studied so that people could understand and live in a more faithful way. In some respects, Jesus was more liberal than many (for example, healing on the Sabbath) and in other respects he applied a more strict interpretation, teaching that divorce in any circumstance is unacceptable. What’s more, if we read the gospels carefully it’s clear that Jesus’ mission was focused on the Jewish community, and not really on non-Jewish Gentiles like most of us. But from time to time Jesus did encounter Gentiles and for the most part engaged with them, and even healed some. But he didn’t focus on them. So, it was up to the disciples and early church leaders to debate on how to accept Gentiles into the new Christian community, since Jesus left no direct teaching on the matter.

Finally, we’ve learned that Jesus was born at an exciting time in the development of Jewish religion. Various lay teachers, who became known as rabbis, were emerging, helping people to better understand and live their faith. One such figure was Hillel, who taught in Jerusalem from 30 BC until his death in 10 AD. He was known for his relatively liberal interpretation of the faith. He recognized brotherly love as the fundamental principle of Jewish moral law and said to a Gentile who asked him to give the essence of Torah: “What is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow: this is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn.” This teaching is reflected by Jesus, who taught that the first commandment is to love God and the second is to love your neighbor as yourself.

In fact, the author of our book even suggests that it is possible that Jesus himself learned at the feet of Hillel. Most scholars think that Jesus was born in about 5 BC. He would have been considered mature in the faith at 13 or so--by the year 8 AD, so we know for certain that Jesus and Hillel overlapped in time. And given the gospel story of Jesus going to the Temple in Jerusalem as a youth with his family, then at the very least it’s within the realm of possibility that the young Jesus encountered an aged Hillel there. But even if he didn’t directly learn from Hillel, Jesus almost most certainly would have learned from others influenced by Hillel. There are too many similarities in their respective teachings for it to be merely coincidental.

We’ve also learned that there was another Jewish leader and teacher at that time, whose name was Shammai. He lived from 50 BC to 30 AD and was stricter than Hillel in his interpretation of the Torah. He believed that only those deemed worthy could study the Torah and that Gentiles could not be converted into Judaism. In fact, he tried various ways to separate Jews and Gentiles and taught that those who went into a Gentile household would be deemed unclean. Hillel was more inclusive and thought anyone should be allowed to study religious teachings and Gentiles could convert if they chose.

Well, both Hillel and Shammai had followers, who formed schools grounded in their respective teachings and interpretations of the Torah. And, what’s especially interesting is that the teachers trained in these two schools of thought were known as “Pharisees.” As you’d expect, the followers of Hillel were more liberal. The followers of Shammai were conservative. But whether liberal or conservative, the Pharisees were laymen, who studied the Torah. While the gospels portray the Pharisees as hypocrites, that’s probably an exaggeration, at least sometimes. Because in some ways the Pharisees were quite avant-garde, in contrast to the more traditional Temple priests and Sadducees, accepting several “modern” ideas, like demons, angels, and the resurrection. The Pharisees urged people to live faithful, holy lives, especially after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, when there was no longer a need for priests. And just as Christians speak of the “Priesthood of all believers,” the Pharisees believed in the “priesthood of all Israelites.”

Recently, some Jewish and Christian scholars have suggested, in studying the teachings in these schools of thought, that Jesus himself may have been a Pharisee, or at least very close to them--but firmly in the tradition of Hillel, not Shammai. That sounds weird and perhaps unsettling to Christians, I know, since the gospels almost always portray the Pharisees as the bad guys, hiding behind the shrubbery, ready to jump out to test and challenge Jesus at any moment. But, before we buy into a caricature, let’s keep an open mind and remember a few things.

First, as human beings we tend to get into the most heated arguments with those who are a lot like us—with members of our families or with people whose religious beliefs are fairly close to ours. Episcopalians and Hindus rarely have theological arguments; there’s just too much distance between us. But, liberal and conservative Episcopalians might really slug it out, because we share so much and feel that our opponent’s faulty views is some how hurting the faith we hold dear. The same was true of Jesus and the Pharisees.

Second, in Jesus’ time, the conservative Shammai Pharisees were more prominent, and the Hillel school was in the minority. Hillel’s thought later became dominant and is the grandfather of the rabbinic tradition in much of Judaism today, placing justice at the heart of their religion, but not until after the gospels were written. So, when the gospels write negatively of the Pharisees, they almost certainly refer to the Shammai group, while the occasional “good” Pharisees, like Nicodemus, are probably followers of Hillel. Of course, ultimately, whether Jesus is rightly identified with the Pharisees is speculation, but there’s no question that he shared much in common and better relations with the liberal Hillel group—including similar teaching, and antipathy towards the conservative Shammai school. We find a good example of Jesus’ arguments against the conservative Pharisees in today’s gospel, when he tells his disciples to do what the Pharisees tell them, because they teach the same things as Moses, not what they do, since they set very strict standards for everyone else, but then don’t do anything to help people live out these requirements.

You may have noticed in this morning’s gospel that Jesus mentioned phylacteries and fringes. Just to be clear, these aren’t special priestly garb, but actually were (and for some Jews still are) normal spiritual attire. The phylacteries are the small black boxes that Jewish men tie on their foreheads and arms with leather straps for morning prayers. They contain tiny scrolls inscribed with verses of the Torah. And the fringes Jesus mentions are just the tassels on prayer shawls. Sometimes you’ll see Orthodox Jewish men with fringes hanging out from the backs of their shirts. So, he was criticizing the Pharisees for being outwardly hyper-observant in following the religious law, really publicly obvious even, but failing to help the poor. And what’s more, since the Pharisees taught a kind of priesthood of all, it seemed wrong that they would then seek seats and titles of honor, especially in synagogues where all adult men were supposed to be equal.

One of the questions all this information raises is what was unique about Jesus? Why is Jesus so well remembered when other teachers are not? And if Jesus were really one of many wise Jewish teachers, how is it that people come to believe that he was the Son of God? The answer is simply that we don’t know for certain. But it’s clear that there was something so remarkably special about Jesus and the way he spoke and taught that people were drawn to him. People left their jobs and their families to be his disciples. They were drawn to his interpretation of the law and his unique, and I would say nearly fearless, approach to life. They sought him out for healing. They wanted to be touched and held by him. Even those who disagreed with him—the Shammai Pharisees—were somehow attracted to him and wanted to hear what he had to say, hiding behind the shrubbery to get a good glimpse of what he was up to.

And within a generation, significant numbers of Gentiles were so inspired by Jesus’ teaching and his story of life, death, and resurrection, that they risked their own lives to be baptized and claim faith in him. Because, of course, they realized that in teaching people how to lead faithful Jewish lives, Jesus was also teaching people how to live faithful human lives—to love God and love our neighbors, to heal the sick, to help those who are poor and in need.

Well, that’s some of what we’ve learned and discussed on Wednesday nights. It’s interesting stuff. It challenges our assumptions. It makes us think about our faith differently. And it encourages us to take Jesus and his teachings all the more seriously as we look to him, and ultimately to God, for salvation and wholeness of life.

To whom be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell

On Looking Back and Looking Forward: A Sermon for September 11

I don’t know how you are feeling today, but I am a little conflicted. On the one hand, I am excited about the start of another wonderful program year here at Emmanuel, full of promise and hope for all that we will learn and accomplish together as God’s people in this wonderful place. But then, on the other, we can’t escape the fact that today is also the 10^th anniversary of the day that we have come to know as “September 11th,” and all that that dreadful day has meant and still means for us, for our nation, and for the nations of the world. So, somehow it seems that we are being called to hold or balance this conflicted mixture of thoughts and emotions in our hearts, thinking back on a tragic day seared in our collective memory, while also looking ahead to what we hope is a bright future.

You know, we often hear it said that September 11 changed the world forever. Certainly it has made a dramatic impact on the last decade, here in the United States and in many other countries and continents. Our faltering economy, heightened security concerns, especially for air travelers, and two long wars in Afghanistan and Iraq that have cost too many lives, are all signs that the events of September 11, 2001 are still impacting us in various ways. But in other ways, those of us who haven’t lost loved ones in the attacks or in the subsequent wars have probably moved on, not returning to where we were before, for sure, we can’t go back to life on September 10, 2001, but to a new “normal.” More alert perhaps, a little more suspicious of those around us unfortunately, but still picking up with our lives, raising families, going to Red Sox games, coming to church, smiling, embracing, loving, giving thanks for the gift of life, while perhaps a little more aware of its fragility and uncertainty.

Most people who were alive in old enough in 1963 say that they remember where they were when they heard that President Kennedy was killed. I think that’s true with regard to September 11, too. In September 2001 I had just started a new job. I had been working as a parish administrator in an urban church for a couple years after seminary, but that summer I applied for (and actually was hired) to be the Office Administrator for the Episcopal City Mission in Boston, at the headquarters of the Diocese of Massachusetts. I took up my duties right at the beginning of September. And I remember that I was swamped the first week, as the position had been vacant for some time. I thought I would never make it. But after a week it got better and by Sept. 11 I was settling in a little. And that morning, I got an email or phone call from a friend, saying that a plane had flown into the world trade center. Well, it sounded terrible, of course. But I thought it was a small plane that had an accident. But then, of course, more news came that another plane had it. And that they were large passenger jets, and that they had come from Boston.

I don’t remember how it happened, but just about the entire staff at the diocesan office gathered on the top floor in Bishop Tom Shaw’s office to see the news on TV—Bishop Shaw was on sabbatical in Turkey, but it was the only TV in the building. Of course we watched in shock as the towers fell right there on live TV. And then we heard about the Pentagon and rural Pennsylvania. How do you even begin to make sense of all that? There was a Eucharist in the cathedral that noon, presided over by Bishop Barbara Harris. I have no idea what she said, if anything. And after that, at 1:00 p.m., we were told we could go home. I remember that I felt safer in the diocesan office than I did on the subway to Jamaica Plain, but eventually I left. People on the subway cars were absolutely silent, reading special afternoon editions of the Globe and Herald, perplexed about how this could happen here, and perhaps like me worried that the subway, too, would find itself under attack. I was so thankful when I made it home safely. I didn’t want to go out ever again; although, I don’t know that I had ever felt the distance from my family in Minneapolis so greatly as I did that day. We had a prayer service at St. John’s Church in Jamaica Plain that evening, but I don’t remember anything about it really.

It’s interesting how seeing the news footage again, after all these years, brings back emotions that I had tucked away. I suspect the same is probably true for you. So much of it we haven’t seen in years, and you kind of forget how awful it really was. I’ve seen news clips of live coverage of the day that President Kennedy was assassinated, and it seems like the mood of shock, disbelief, and fear was much the same. Was it just one (or a few) people who would do these things, or was it something much wider and deeper? We’ve been told that in the case of President Kennedy’s assassination, it was just one man acting alone (though many question that). But in the case of September 11, of course, we have learned that it wasn’t just a few, it wasn’t even just the hijackers themselves, but an international network determined to bring western culture and civilization to its knees.

On the one hand we can be very thankful that our nation and the nations of the west have largely resisted the attempts to force us to succumb terror. We are more cautious, yes. But life, for the most part, has not come to a screeching halt. In that way, the terrorists have failed, and presumably will continue to fail, over and over again. The human spirit is just too strong and too courageous. But then on the other hand, we have entered into wars that seem to have no ending and that at this point make little sense, at least to me. I was watching the PBS Newshour not too long ago and they had an interesting piece about Afghanistan and what, if anything, the people there know about what happened here 10 years ago. Amazingly, really, few did. Their nation has been torn by armed conflict for a decade (actually much longer than a decade, but 10 years involving the United States), and yet many of the ordinary citizens have no idea what caused it, our part of the world is so far from theirs. When soldiers showed ordinary people pictures of the World Trade Center towers enveloped in fire and smoke, the Afghanis had no idea what it was, or even where it was. One man even asked if it was a photo of Kabul, since that was the only city he had ever even heard of. The solider narrating the piece joked: clearly the man had never been to Kabul, if he thinks it looks like New York City.

So, how do we make sense of that? How do we make sense of on-going wars that have brought so much destruction? It is believed that 2,977 innocent people were killed on September 11. It was horrific and we will never forget so much death and destruction brought in one wretched day. But in the 10 years since, 2,606 coalition forces have been killed in Afghanistan. About 24,000 Afghan forces have been killed. And anywhere between 14,000 and 30,000 Afghan civilians have been killed. I was not opposed to going into Afghanistan in 2001. I thought we should go after the Taliban and capture Osama bin Laden. But now, a decade later, enough is enough. That’s more than 50,000 lives lost. Sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, spouses, friends, whose faces will never be seen again, whose voices will never be heard again, whose touch will never be felt again. I usually shy away from politics in my sermons. But sometimes, we just need to say, enough is enough.

It’s interesting, isn’t it, that in today’s gospel lesson Jesus calls us to forgiveness. And not just once or twice, but over and over again. Not 7 times, but 77 times, or in some translations, 70 x 7 times (that’s 490 times, for each offence). In other words, an infinite number of times. As people of faith, Jesus tells us, forgiveness has to be at the center of our lives. Forgiveness has to define who we are. And why do you think that is? Well, we could say it’s in part because it’s what God wants. And that’s a pretty good reason. But I think it’s also because Jesus knows that it’s good for us. He knows that unless we embrace forgiveness, we will live forever torn apart, consumed by hurt and anger, and possibly revenge. If we don’t forgive, we can’t move on. If we don’t forgive, we can’t live.

I think that’s the point in the harsh parable that Jesus tells in today’s gospel. One who forgives is able to go on with his life. But one who isn’t, who can’t forgive, is forever tortured. In the gospel it suggests that God does the torturing, but I don’t think that’s exactly how it works. I think we simply end up being consumed by our own anger and hard heartedness. God doesn’t need to do anything to us, because we’re plenty good enough at torturing ourselves, sometimes without realizing it. And sometimes I wonder if our nation has fallen into that same trap, as much as many of us do individually.

But let’s be honest. Certainly, I have had trouble forgiving slights more times than I would care to admit, and I suspect that you, too have at least once or twice lingered too long over some offense and missed the love and grace extended by others. It’s what we all do. But you know what, maybe Jesus calls for such extravagant, infinite forgiveness because he knows that it will take some of us 77 or 70 x7, or even an infinite number of times for his message to really sink in. But when it does, when we understand how to forgive, how to let go, how to move on, how to look forward, and not only backward, we experience again the grace and love that allow us to live. We are set free. In a very real and present way, we experience the power of the resurrection, over and over again.

So, today, in our thoughts and prayers we, of course, remember the events of that September 11 a decade ago--when hijacked airplanes killed thousands of people, and set into motion a chain of events that we couldn’t have anticipated on September 10. We remember the lives lost. We remember the courageous souls—firemen, policemen, and ordinary citizens like you and me, who put their own lives at risk to save others. We remember also those who were left behind, grieving for fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, partners, and friends. We hold them all in our hearts, and we trust that they are held in God’s heart, as well.

And while we are remembering that day, let’s also take time to remember a little further back, 2,000 years ago, when Jesus, God's Son, looking onto a world of broken lives and hurting hearts, looking onto a world as burnt and scorched as ours was on September 11, chose to embrace forgiveness, not revenge, and thus opened for us and for all people a future shaped by mercy, hope, healing, love, and new life. Because that's what forgiveness can do. That’s its power. It frees us to live. It frees us to look ahead, and not just back. It frees us to live now and in the future, full of hope and promise, full of new opportunity, full of resurrection.

May God give us all the strength, the courage, and the hope to forgive, and love, over and over again, so that we can live and grow, now and in the age to come.

To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Finding Hope in Norway

With people the world over, I have watched the news coming out of Norway with horror. Friday's bomb attack on the government's buildings was terrible and surprising enough in a country as peaceful and progressive as Norway. But the calculated, cowardly, and simply inhuman slaughter of more than 80 youth simply leaves one without words. These youth, members of the Labour Party (equivalent to the Social Democrats in other European countries like Sweden, Denmark, and Germany) were Norway's future leaders, gathering for inspiration, skill development, and camaraderie. Their loss is a senseless tragedy for their families and friends, and also for the whole nation for generations to come. To put this situation into some perspective, Friday's death toll is in fact a higher percentage of the Norwegian population than the September 11 terrorists attacks in the United States.

Since Friday a picture of the terrorist has emerged. Not Islamic, a foreigner or anything of the like, Anders Behring Breivik is a 32 year old blond-haired, blue-eyed Norwegian. And yet in a way, he seems to be the Norwegian mirror image of the terrorists who have become all too well known in recent years, embracing an anti-immigrant and fundamentalist world-view, willing to kill indiscriminately in support of their twisted outlook; although, in this case Breivik's fundamentalism is Christian not Muslim. It can be just as dangerous.

In particular, Breivik seems to have been concerned that in opening its borders to those seeking a better life, Norway was losing its cultural identity. Thus he sought to silence voices of tolerance and progress, not only for today but for tomorrow as well. His ultimate goal was to incite a Norwegian revolution, to make Norway truly Norwegian again. Like the murderous fanatics in previous generations, he looked to the day when Europe would be cleansed of its ethnic and cultural diversity.

In a 1500-page manifesto recently posted on-line Breivik wrote: "Multiculturalism is a tool of Islam; it is a disastrous ideology of false 'nice' that is used to stifle critical thought and open debate. Multiculturalism is a complete failure as it is used by our enemies to destroy us. Multiculturalism must be destroyed." Despite his apparent hatred of Islam, he ironically identifies with al Qaeda elsewhere in his "manifesto" when he writes, "Just like Jihadi warriors are the plum tree of the Ummah, we will be the plum tree for Europe and for Christianity."

While Anders Behring Breivik has taken matters to a horrific, deadly extreme, his views regarding immigration and multiculturalism are becoming increasingly common throughout Europe. In 2010 the Sweden Democrats, a right-wing anti-immigrant party, were elected to the Swedish Riksdag for the first time ever. While still a very minor party, they hold more seats than the Christian Democrats and the Left Party. In Denmark, the Danish People's Party (likewise a right-wing, anti-immigrant party) has enjoyed a much closer association with the ruling coalition and has steadily increased its vote share to become the third largest party in the Folketing. The Finnish True Finns Party has likewise risen to prominence. In 2011 the party won over 19% of the vote (up from just 4% four years earlier) and earned 39 seats to become the third largest party in the Finnish parliament. The True Finns differ somewhat from their anti-multicultural Scandinavian counterparts in that they embrace a leftist economic policy, while still strongly conservative on social issues.

Thus it is that under the progressive, social democratic surface, the Scandinavian/Nordic countries are struggling with what it means to be increasingly diverse, multicultural and multi-ethnic societies. Observers of Scandinavia know that this has been true for some time, since at least the 1960s; however, the tempo has heightened in recent years with the rise of the internet and concern that welfare states do not have the economic strength to adequately support new immigrants as well as "ethnic" Scandinavians. Of course the vast majority of Scandinavians engage this struggle in the public sphere through respectful conversation and debate, abiding by the democratic process. However, combined with religious fundamentalism, and no doubt mental instability, the same struggle over what it means to be Scandinavian in the twenty-first century has led to deadly consequences beyond human imagining or comprehension.

The goal of a terrorist like Breivik is to generate such great fear that an open society like Norway closes itself off. This was the tactic employed by Hitler as well in his attempt to create a pure Europe, and thus far less successfully by right-wing extremists in the United States. But just as it ultimately didn't work for Hitler, it won't work for modern-day thugs like Breivik, either. Because for all of Breivik's apparent respect for Norwegian culture and Christian belief, he doesn't seem to understand that at the heart of the Norwegian (and Scandinavian) society and Christian theology is a profound respect for others, care for those who are less fortunate, and dedication to building a peaceable society in which there is room enough for all.

Alfred Nobel, the nineteenth century Swedish chemist who invited dynamite, was distressed when he realized that he would be remembered for discovering a faster way to kill. Thus in his 1895 will he established the various Nobel Prizes to celebrate and honor positive human accomplishments, and to be awarded without regard to nationality in the fields of chemistry, physics, medicine, literature, and peace.

Nobel was especially impressed by those who worked against militarism and war, and looked to make a contribution for the peaceful solution to international conflicts. Thus, he stipulated that the prize for peace should be awarded in Norway (at the time in political union with Sweden) because its history was decidedly less militaristic and more peaceful than Sweden's. In particular, at the end of the nineteenth century Norway's Storting (Parliament) was involved in efforts to resolve conflicts through careful mediation and arbitration. Nobel was impressed by this commitment and left a lasting legacy for the Norwegian people to honor and support it.

Speaking at the Oslo Cathedral on Sunday morning, Jens Stoltenberg, Norway's Prime Minister said:

"In the middle of all these tragic events, I am proud to live in a country that has stood firm at a critical time. I am deeply impressed by how much dignity and compassion I have seen. We are a small nation, but a proud people. We will never abandon our values. Our reply is: more democracy, more openness, and more humanity. But never naivity. No one has said it better than the AUF [Labour youth league] girl who was interviewed by CNN: 'If one man can show so much hate, think how much love we could show, standing together'."

It is this legacy and commitment to peace, and not fear-mongering murderous attempts to terrorize, that will give hope to the grieving people of Norway and the world in the days, months, and years to come.

Meanwhile in Massachusetts

One of the pleasures of living in Massachusetts is the opportunity to welcome friends from other parts of the United States, Canada, and even Europe to this place so rich with history and meaning. Among my favorite destinations is always the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library & Museum. The way it uses artifacts and video footage to describe Kennedy's legendary presidency is nothing short of awe-inspiring. But that, of course, is because for many the Kennedy presidency itself was awe-inspiring, in its ability to speak to people across the world, in its ability to inspire young Americans, in its hope for a more free and just society. Kennedy's vision is as relevant today, 50 years after his inauguration, as it was then. Today, my friend Heather and I visited the museum and we were especially inspired by a moving poem written by Jacqueline Kennedy on the occasion of their first anniversary.

"Meanwhile in Massachusetts"

By Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy

Meanwhile in Massachusetts Jack Kennedy dreamed

Walking the shore by the Cape Cod Sea
Of all the things he was going to be.

He breathed in the tang of the New England fall
And back in his mind he pictured it all,
The burnished New England countryside
Names that a patriot says with pride
Concord and Lexington, Bunker Hill
Plymouth and Falmouth and Marstons Mill
Winthrop and Salem, Lowell, Revere
Quincy and Cambridge, Louisburg Square.
This was his heritage -- this was his share
Of dreams that a young man harks in the air.
The past reached out and tracked him now

He would heed that touch; he didn't know how.
Part he must serve, a part he must lead
Both were his calling, both were his need.
Part he was of New England stock
As stubborn, close guarded as Plymouth Rock
He thought with his feet most firm on the ground
But his heart and his dreams were not earthbound
He would call New England his place and his creed
But part he was of an alien breed
Of a breed that had laughed on Irish hills
And heard the voices in Irish rills.

The lilt of that green land danced in his blood
Tara, Killarney, a magical flood
That surged in the depth of his too proud heart
And spiked the punch of New England so tart
Men would call him thoughtful, sincere
They would not see through to the Last Cavalier.

He turned on the beach and looked toward his house.
On a green lawn his white house stands
And the wind blows the sea grass low on the sands
There his brothers and sisters have laughed and played
And thrown themselves to rest in the shade.
The lights glowed inside, soon supper would ring
And he would go home where his father was King.
But now he was here with the wind and the sea
And all the things he was going to be.

He would build empires
And he would have sons
Others would fall
Where the current runs
He would find love
He would never find peace
For he must go seeking
The Golden Fleece

All of the things he was going to be
All of the things in the wind and the sea.