Bishop Jelinek's Sabbatical Reflections

It is good to be back with you here in this wonderful Diocese of Minnesota in which we serve our Lord Jesus Christ together -- I will be with you as your Bishop for another 21 months or so, God willing and depending on the winds of the Holy Spirit.

I feel both relaxed and energized and I look forward to taking on the work God calls us to do together, particularly the work of spiritual transformation.

On my sabbatical, the rest I got was great, along with many miles of walking and some bicycling.  Being in Honduras and Ecuador, the stimulation of having to think in another language was good mental exercise and took me away from my norms of work, relationships, language and culture, particularly in Honduras, the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere after Haiti.

While in Honduras, I witnessed more hopelessness among the people than I have anywhere, not just due to the poverty in that resource-rich land, but chiefly due to the violence of street thugs, the terrorism of international gangs, the incredible corruption of government on every level, and the breakdown of countless family systems by the departure of poor mothers who leave their children to try to earn a living in the United States and send money home.

I heard cab drivers screaming and yelling, not at me, but in helpless rage at what seems unchangeable.  I listened to one of my Spanish teachers, a woman in her late thirties and a single mother, practicing Roman Catholic, saying she needed to pray for forgiveness for her attitude while reading an article that morning.  That she needed to pray for her pessimism that no one could be trusted, that nothing would change.  And that she needed to pray for her on-going doubts that anything governmental leaders at any level do will really be honest and make a healthy difference for people's lives.

There were highlights, to be sure -- acts of kindness and generosity among the poorest of the poor.  My work was about letting go of some feelings, some attitudes, suspicions, resentments -- you know the kinds of things I am talking about, the real work of spiritual transformation.  I have many times told the story of Desmond Tutu having to pray energetically to love someone who was slandering him in order to preach the gospel, and I live with a deep appreciation and conviction that if I am going to speak about transformation, I must be open to it, as well.

This letting go was not easy.  I carried stuff through the meeting of the House of Bishops, and through a wonderfully simple Holy Week at my sister's and worshiping with the folks of St. John's, Wisconsin Rapids.  It was not until my annual seminary reunion with a dozen class-mates who have known each other for over forty years, that I could do the inner work I needed -- not just the ventilating.

We Americans ventilate everywhere and I think most of the time we spew hot air out and do not inhale any fresh air.  I cannot tell you how it happened, except to note that by then I was ready to let stuff go and that is when grace so richly and -- shall I say "predictably" -- overwhelms us.

The last month has been lighter, easier, more joyous than before.  I come back not knowing whether anything has truly changed, not expecting bliss or rapture, not girded for a struggle or to slog through this remaining time of ministry together.

I come back hopeful.

There was a phrase in the epistle for the Sunday before the Ascension that struck me again, having been moved by it several times before.  It is Paul's comment about accounting for the faith that is in you. (I often use hope and faith interchangeably, for they are so much a part of one another.) This is a fearsome line in some respects. It is often much easier to account for what we did wrong, own up to it, face the shame and consequences, and be done with it.  But you and I are called by God not only to confess and repent when necessary because of our actions and attitudes, we are called to witness to faith, to hope, and to love.

Christians in some traditions call themselves "people of the book." I believe we are a people of transformation, God's transformation of us over time because we live within time.  I am mindful that every promise we make in a liturgical context -- be it baptism, confirmation, marriage, ordination -- every promise we make "with the help of God."

Whether on sabbatical or vacation or enjoying our weekend, we have opportunities to reflect on our own spiritual transformation.  I share some of my journey so that you can know how important I consider this to be.  I invite you to begin with you.  Take a couple of minutes of quietness to reflect on your own needs for transformation and to give thanks for the transformations God has already given you.

God will transform the Church only when we allow God to transform us.

Amen.