Thursday, July 12, 2012
From July 12: News from the 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church
Dear People of Christ Church,
Prayers today for the wrap up of the 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church. For the last week-plus, representatives from every diocese in the Episcopal Church (which includes Episcopalians both in the US and parts of the Caribbean, Latin America, and Europe) voted on a raft of resolutions and elections to keep the church moving into the twenty first century strong and focused. A few highlights:
+ the adoption of resolutions D019 and D002 that incorporate “gender identity and expression” into the non-discrimination canons for access to the ordination process and lay participation in The Episcopal Church—see some lovely work on the transepiscopal blog on that and check out the Out of the Box short documentary on youtube if you haven’t seen it
+Votes in favor of “positive investment” in Palestine (not divestment in Israel as some have called for) as well as a resolution asking bishops and dioceses to raise money for the Al Ahli Hospital in Gaza, whose United Nations funding was unexpectedly cut in May.
+ Formation of the nomination committee for the next Presiding Bishop, as Katharine Jefferts Schori’s term ends at the next GC, including our own Bishop Tom Shaw and Canon Mally Lloyd; Election of our own dioMA (and state representative from Roxbury) Byron Rushing to the vice president of the House of Deputies (the other side from the house of bishops in our bi-cameral electoral system; the HoD has priests, deacons, and lay people from across the church)
+Conversation and vote (but no timeline for action) to sell the Episcopal Church Center (815 Second Ave, New York City)
+Budgets, budgets, budgets!
+The adoption of the trial liturgy for The Witnessing and Blessing of a Lifelong Covenant (i.e., the blessing of same gender unions) which may be used as a liturgy for the celebration and blessing of a (legal) marriage in states like ours. The resolution has a provision that requires a bishop’s permission to perform the rite (so in dioceses where the bishop is against it, the clergy will not be allowed to do it). Our diocese has officially permitted same sex unions for many years (and since Advent of 2009 we’ve been allowed to officiate at same sex marriages), so it’s nice to have the rest of the church catching up, while more conservative places are still in dialogue. The liturgy was well-received amongst participants—an ENS article reported that The Rev. Jack Zamboni, New Jersey, recalled playing the part of the “groom” in a test run of the liturgy. “My reaction after having participated in that liturgy was that I wished [my wife] and I had had this liturgy when we were married six years ago. It’s a wonderful piece of liturgical work.” To see some of the excellent work the team did on the “theology of blessing” you can download the whole text of the resolution and supporting materials from the blue book at http://www.generalconvention.org/gc/prepare
So there’s the news from Indianapolis—and a lot more than that happened, too! I encourage you to check out the links listed to hear from the folks who were actually there.
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
From July 5: Connecting to Faith, Hope & Vulnerability
Dear People of Christ Church,
Happy-belated-fourth of July. This Saturday we'll observe the holiday somewhat in our service of 1792 Morning Prayer for Historic Waltham; we're doing the readings for July 4. Please come!
On this past Sunday we had our magnificent annual Church in the Garden service. One of the particular pleasures of it was the freedom in preaching a little differently; I'm usually not much of an experimenter with my sermons, but I invited the congregation to a special moment of reflection and prayer along with our Scripture. One of the great things about the Bible is that the stories aren't dead; they are in the past, yes, but they are still full of living and breathing insight. The Holy Spirit animates those people from far away just as we are made alive in our own faith. The Gospel was the story of the healing of Jairus' daughter and the healing of a woman who had had incurable hemorrhages for twelve years. Both stories of healing are hope-against-hope situations; Jesus is their last possibility.
All three of the main characters in the story-the woman, the girl, and Jairus himself-are people who are kind of coming apart. We don't have a lot of space in our culture for vulnerability like this. We want to be (or at least appear to be) perfect, organized, confident. Ideally, untouchable. But the situation is so dire for these folks that they've dispensed with all of that. They know the depth of their need, and they are determined to ask for help. So my invitation on Sunday was this-what would one of those three people pray for you? What word of encouragement would that girl give, what strength would her father offer, what love for Christ would you hear in that old woman?
For me, it was about the woman. I don't even know for sure if she was old-it just said she'd been dealing with the flow of blood for twelve years. For twelve years she would have been considered ritually impure; that's a lot time to be apart from your community, never mind how sick she must have felt. My sense of her was the way I imagine Mother Teresa-loving, but also kind of hard and commanding. Particularly earlier in the week when I was focused on work and getting everything done quickly, she followed behind me pointing out the good things I was missing. Health. Connections with others. Attentiveness. Really good leftovers for lunch. So often in getting bogged down by tiny, annoying details-children who track sand everywhere, the fan that doesn't cool you off enough, whatever-we miss the beauty that is all around us. It's like sitting on a train that travels through the countryside, but rather than look out the window your eyes are fixed firmly on the door to a dirty bathroom. So for several days now, the woman who had been sick for so long, who finally was healed, keeps coming up to me and turning my head to the side. Don't look there. Look there, she says.
Where do you need to look? What's happening?
Blessings,
Sara+
Happy-belated-fourth of July. This Saturday we'll observe the holiday somewhat in our service of 1792 Morning Prayer for Historic Waltham; we're doing the readings for July 4. Please come!
On this past Sunday we had our magnificent annual Church in the Garden service. One of the particular pleasures of it was the freedom in preaching a little differently; I'm usually not much of an experimenter with my sermons, but I invited the congregation to a special moment of reflection and prayer along with our Scripture. One of the great things about the Bible is that the stories aren't dead; they are in the past, yes, but they are still full of living and breathing insight. The Holy Spirit animates those people from far away just as we are made alive in our own faith. The Gospel was the story of the healing of Jairus' daughter and the healing of a woman who had had incurable hemorrhages for twelve years. Both stories of healing are hope-against-hope situations; Jesus is their last possibility.
All three of the main characters in the story-the woman, the girl, and Jairus himself-are people who are kind of coming apart. We don't have a lot of space in our culture for vulnerability like this. We want to be (or at least appear to be) perfect, organized, confident. Ideally, untouchable. But the situation is so dire for these folks that they've dispensed with all of that. They know the depth of their need, and they are determined to ask for help. So my invitation on Sunday was this-what would one of those three people pray for you? What word of encouragement would that girl give, what strength would her father offer, what love for Christ would you hear in that old woman?
For me, it was about the woman. I don't even know for sure if she was old-it just said she'd been dealing with the flow of blood for twelve years. For twelve years she would have been considered ritually impure; that's a lot time to be apart from your community, never mind how sick she must have felt. My sense of her was the way I imagine Mother Teresa-loving, but also kind of hard and commanding. Particularly earlier in the week when I was focused on work and getting everything done quickly, she followed behind me pointing out the good things I was missing. Health. Connections with others. Attentiveness. Really good leftovers for lunch. So often in getting bogged down by tiny, annoying details-children who track sand everywhere, the fan that doesn't cool you off enough, whatever-we miss the beauty that is all around us. It's like sitting on a train that travels through the countryside, but rather than look out the window your eyes are fixed firmly on the door to a dirty bathroom. So for several days now, the woman who had been sick for so long, who finally was healed, keeps coming up to me and turning my head to the side. Don't look there. Look there, she says.
Where do you need to look? What's happening?
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
From June 28: Church Inside Out
Dear People of Christ Church,
This Sunday we have our first day of our combined service at 9:30 (instead of 8:30 and 10), and so we gather in the garden. We've had church in the garden on the Fourth of July weekend for the last two or three years, and it's always a nice way to spend some time in a sort of "essential church" mode-reading the Bible, eating bread and drinking wine, just being together. When I was in the Micah Project, the diocesan intern program, one of the places I worked was ecclesia ministries, home to common cathedral, outdoor church that meets for Eucharist on Boston Common. Many of the members are homeless, and many of those homeless are those who stay out on the streets rather, even, than find shelter space. The founder of the organization, Rev. Debbie Little, began walking the streets and meeting people where they were, offering socks and sandwiches and a listening ear. On Easter Day, 1996, they had their first service, and somewhere between Debbie wondering whether she'd do it again and everyone she saw on the street saying they'd see her the next Sunday, a new church was born.
Beginning to learn to minister in that context was amazing; I had a job in an "inside church," too, where there were also homeless members, so it wasn't so much the fact that people were homeless was such a difference between my two site placements. A lot was exactly the same-people learning to live in community with each other, amidst different understandings and hopes and fears and dreams. Being a church that met outside, though, you were forced to really internalize the idea that the church is the people of God, not a building. As much as we might "know" that church isn't a building, it's easy to act that way. Those four walls offer a certain shorthand for who we are and what we believe, but don't tell the whole story.
So, this Sunday, we'll be outside our own walls. It's unlikely to revolutionize anything, but hopefully it will be a moment of slowing down and looking inward, receiving the simple grace of blooming flowers and buzzing bees and simple music. At the same time, pray, too, for the institutional parts of our church; General Convention begins next week on July 5, so many people will be traveling between now than then to Indianapolis. I'll write more in this space next week about that-more news to come!
Blessings,
Sara+
This Sunday we have our first day of our combined service at 9:30 (instead of 8:30 and 10), and so we gather in the garden. We've had church in the garden on the Fourth of July weekend for the last two or three years, and it's always a nice way to spend some time in a sort of "essential church" mode-reading the Bible, eating bread and drinking wine, just being together. When I was in the Micah Project, the diocesan intern program, one of the places I worked was ecclesia ministries, home to common cathedral, outdoor church that meets for Eucharist on Boston Common. Many of the members are homeless, and many of those homeless are those who stay out on the streets rather, even, than find shelter space. The founder of the organization, Rev. Debbie Little, began walking the streets and meeting people where they were, offering socks and sandwiches and a listening ear. On Easter Day, 1996, they had their first service, and somewhere between Debbie wondering whether she'd do it again and everyone she saw on the street saying they'd see her the next Sunday, a new church was born.
Beginning to learn to minister in that context was amazing; I had a job in an "inside church," too, where there were also homeless members, so it wasn't so much the fact that people were homeless was such a difference between my two site placements. A lot was exactly the same-people learning to live in community with each other, amidst different understandings and hopes and fears and dreams. Being a church that met outside, though, you were forced to really internalize the idea that the church is the people of God, not a building. As much as we might "know" that church isn't a building, it's easy to act that way. Those four walls offer a certain shorthand for who we are and what we believe, but don't tell the whole story.
So, this Sunday, we'll be outside our own walls. It's unlikely to revolutionize anything, but hopefully it will be a moment of slowing down and looking inward, receiving the simple grace of blooming flowers and buzzing bees and simple music. At the same time, pray, too, for the institutional parts of our church; General Convention begins next week on July 5, so many people will be traveling between now than then to Indianapolis. I'll write more in this space next week about that-more news to come!
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
From June 14: Politics and Privilege
This past Tuesday, I attended the annual meeting of Episcopal City Mission a group that works for social justice in partnership with parishes and in funding new projects in local communities. Each year, ECM gives out awards for groups or individuals who have done notable work over the year to promote justice. One award was given to the outgoing chair of Morville house, an affordable housing complex that ECM owns for seniors in Boston. Another went to Marisa Egerstrom, one of the first organizers of the "Protest Chaplains," a faith presence at the Occupy movement for income equality that began last September. She’s a PhD student in religion at Harvard and in discernment for the priesthood and goes to the parish that sponsored me for the priesthood, St John the Evangelist, Boston.
Both here in Boston and in the original Occupy Wall Street site in New York, Marisa was instrumental in telling the story about how Christians care about inequality (in all honesty, this should not be news). In her acceptance speech, she talked about how we long for the Kingdom of God--how it is an almost physical, palpable longing. She also thanked ECM for acknowledging the Spirit in people who look different from the way church people often do, and in places where the Church often does not go. The Protest Chaplains had the opportunity to communicate the Gospel in a new way to people who, perhaps, had given up on the Church. That felt, physical longing for justice that buzzed in the air at Zuccoti Park and on the Greenway was a refusal to settle for the status quo as we have become accustomed to it. It was a declaration that we as a society can do better than homelessness and better than billionaires. That longing, the Protest Chaplains offered, is a longing for God--a longing many of the people there would not have labeled as such because religion as they have seen it has been about telling people that they are insufficient, not that they are blessed. It was evangelism as well as activism.
At the same time, I've been getting ready for our screening of Love Free or Die. In preparing to write this morning, I had this background buzz in my mind--"Really, Sara? Really? Do we have to talk about sexuality AGAIN?" It's an excellent movie, but maybe you are feeling the same in wondering whether you will attend tonight. The thing is, as I sit here behind my computer on my suburban couch before leisurely driving into work, the fact is that I have the luxury to even ask that question. A teenager whose parents have kicked him out of the house for being gay, a mother whose ex-husband is trying to take away shared custody of their children because she's a lesbian, service members who are finally, finally able to be honest about who the are--they don't have the choice. And, so, it falls to each of us to tell the story, again and again, of God's love for everyone--everyone, yes, even those who disagree about the issue in the first place.
In a video I posted recently on our facebook page, a seminary friend of mine talks about how the Church needs to be a sanctuary, but a particular kind of sanctuary, one of safety, not avoidance. Michele is currently embroiled in the debate over a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage in Minnesota. She and her partner have been together for more than ten years, and she has a clear stake in the conversation. But she also is advocating for church to be a place where people can love each other across their differences, to respect one another deeply and even, still, be able to disagree. Church is a sanctuary, but not away from the "dirty" things of the world like politics. It's a sanctuary from the dirty things of the world like contempt and fear. We are in dialogue not so much to change each other but to hear each other.
So hopefully I’ll see you tonight—whether you’re all settled on the question of sexuality and the church or whether you’re still discerning—and I hope that you’ll pray for Marisa, and Gene Robinson, and all those people who pose hard questions to easy comfort.
I’ll close with this Franciscan blessing:
May God bless us with discomfort, At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, So that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger, At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears, To shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness, To believe that you can make a difference in this world, So that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
Both here in Boston and in the original Occupy Wall Street site in New York, Marisa was instrumental in telling the story about how Christians care about inequality (in all honesty, this should not be news). In her acceptance speech, she talked about how we long for the Kingdom of God--how it is an almost physical, palpable longing. She also thanked ECM for acknowledging the Spirit in people who look different from the way church people often do, and in places where the Church often does not go. The Protest Chaplains had the opportunity to communicate the Gospel in a new way to people who, perhaps, had given up on the Church. That felt, physical longing for justice that buzzed in the air at Zuccoti Park and on the Greenway was a refusal to settle for the status quo as we have become accustomed to it. It was a declaration that we as a society can do better than homelessness and better than billionaires. That longing, the Protest Chaplains offered, is a longing for God--a longing many of the people there would not have labeled as such because religion as they have seen it has been about telling people that they are insufficient, not that they are blessed. It was evangelism as well as activism.
At the same time, I've been getting ready for our screening of Love Free or Die. In preparing to write this morning, I had this background buzz in my mind--"Really, Sara? Really? Do we have to talk about sexuality AGAIN?" It's an excellent movie, but maybe you are feeling the same in wondering whether you will attend tonight. The thing is, as I sit here behind my computer on my suburban couch before leisurely driving into work, the fact is that I have the luxury to even ask that question. A teenager whose parents have kicked him out of the house for being gay, a mother whose ex-husband is trying to take away shared custody of their children because she's a lesbian, service members who are finally, finally able to be honest about who the are--they don't have the choice. And, so, it falls to each of us to tell the story, again and again, of God's love for everyone--everyone, yes, even those who disagree about the issue in the first place.
In a video I posted recently on our facebook page, a seminary friend of mine talks about how the Church needs to be a sanctuary, but a particular kind of sanctuary, one of safety, not avoidance. Michele is currently embroiled in the debate over a constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage in Minnesota. She and her partner have been together for more than ten years, and she has a clear stake in the conversation. But she also is advocating for church to be a place where people can love each other across their differences, to respect one another deeply and even, still, be able to disagree. Church is a sanctuary, but not away from the "dirty" things of the world like politics. It's a sanctuary from the dirty things of the world like contempt and fear. We are in dialogue not so much to change each other but to hear each other.
So hopefully I’ll see you tonight—whether you’re all settled on the question of sexuality and the church or whether you’re still discerning—and I hope that you’ll pray for Marisa, and Gene Robinson, and all those people who pose hard questions to easy comfort.
I’ll close with this Franciscan blessing:
May God bless us with discomfort, At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, So that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger, At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears, To shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain to joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness, To believe that you can make a difference in this world, So that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen.
Blessings,
Sara+
From June 7: The Trinity: More Than One Way of Being
Dear People of Christ Church,
This morning I was with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington, where I go to celebrate the Eucharist with the sisters every other month. As often happens, I became aware of a feast day I hadn’t known we had! Today is the feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ)—a celebration of the Eucharist. Given its early-June date, I have (happily if perplexedly) been wrapped up in the celebration of the feast twice before while traveling—once in Poland, where a black-clad elderly lady hissed at me (I think for wearing a tank top) and once in Honduras. Both had music, marvelous liturgical processions, and extreme festivity—my enthusiasm was not dampened due to my inappropriate attire.
The feast is always after Trinity Sunday, another slightly haphazard day of celebration. In my sermon with the kids on Sunday we talked about the Trinity, but I had no hope of precisely explaining it. The metaphor I offered came from St Augustine; God our Creator, our father, is the Lover; Jesus is the beloved, and the Holy Spirit is the love that goes between them. I tried to explain it by use of a basketball (for the earth, for God our creator), a figure of Jesus, and a heart—you can ask your kids if that made sense at the time. One of the commentators I read in preparation for Sunday advised clergy not to preach as though their seminary professors were seated in the congregation—a temptation, to be sure, when faced with Doctrine with a capital “D” as we have in the Trinity. Instead, she counseled, celebrate Trinity Sunday as a day just to celebrate God. That God is so present, so abundant, so big, that one way of being isn’t enough.
And, so, today, the invitation is to be thankful for the Eucharist; don’t agonize over how Christ is present, just celebrate. The official Anglican stance is the “real presence”—Christ is, for sure, present as blood and body in the bread and wine, but we have a healthy enough respect for mystery not to get dogmatic about how exactly that is. Questioning is still important—theology isn’t just for the professionals—but when we’re given a day to rejoice, let’s take it! The prayer for the Eucharist asks that we venerate the mystery of Christ’s Body and Blood, but it doesn’t stop there—it also asks God to give us the grace to “perceive within ourselves the fruit” of this intimacy with God we’re given. Give thanks to God for the food we are given in Christ, and see what wonderful things happen in your heart in response. Be fed.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning I was with the Sisters of Saint Anne in Arlington, where I go to celebrate the Eucharist with the sisters every other month. As often happens, I became aware of a feast day I hadn’t known we had! Today is the feast of Corpus Christi (the Body of Christ)—a celebration of the Eucharist. Given its early-June date, I have (happily if perplexedly) been wrapped up in the celebration of the feast twice before while traveling—once in Poland, where a black-clad elderly lady hissed at me (I think for wearing a tank top) and once in Honduras. Both had music, marvelous liturgical processions, and extreme festivity—my enthusiasm was not dampened due to my inappropriate attire.
The feast is always after Trinity Sunday, another slightly haphazard day of celebration. In my sermon with the kids on Sunday we talked about the Trinity, but I had no hope of precisely explaining it. The metaphor I offered came from St Augustine; God our Creator, our father, is the Lover; Jesus is the beloved, and the Holy Spirit is the love that goes between them. I tried to explain it by use of a basketball (for the earth, for God our creator), a figure of Jesus, and a heart—you can ask your kids if that made sense at the time. One of the commentators I read in preparation for Sunday advised clergy not to preach as though their seminary professors were seated in the congregation—a temptation, to be sure, when faced with Doctrine with a capital “D” as we have in the Trinity. Instead, she counseled, celebrate Trinity Sunday as a day just to celebrate God. That God is so present, so abundant, so big, that one way of being isn’t enough.
And, so, today, the invitation is to be thankful for the Eucharist; don’t agonize over how Christ is present, just celebrate. The official Anglican stance is the “real presence”—Christ is, for sure, present as blood and body in the bread and wine, but we have a healthy enough respect for mystery not to get dogmatic about how exactly that is. Questioning is still important—theology isn’t just for the professionals—but when we’re given a day to rejoice, let’s take it! The prayer for the Eucharist asks that we venerate the mystery of Christ’s Body and Blood, but it doesn’t stop there—it also asks God to give us the grace to “perceive within ourselves the fruit” of this intimacy with God we’re given. Give thanks to God for the food we are given in Christ, and see what wonderful things happen in your heart in response. Be fed.
Blessings,
Sara+
From May 31: On grieving...a wordless space
Dear people of Christ Church,
This morning, I'm back at work after having spent the last week with my family in Sweden. I cried when I read the piece I wrote in this space last week; what I didn't know, writing that on Tuesday night, was that, contrary to my comment about her living "six days or six weeks," it turned out to be more like six hours. Meanwhile, I was stranded in Toronto after my flight was cancelled so I got the news of her death in an anonymous hotel room near the airport. It was, as they say, a "good death," with her daughter and sister each holding a hand, but given that I would have made it if my flight had not been cancelled, there was, along with my own grief, a level of very mundane fury at Air Canada for not having its planes in order.
The writer Elaine Scarry, I think, said somewhere that pain takes away our words. In some ways, grief does this, too, because there's such a wide net of loss when someone dies. When we grieve, we don't just grieve the person who has died, but the whole constellation of realities and associations that that person held for us. In our meeting with the pastor who would do the service for Barbro, we all talked about how she had always been "in charge," that she was the big sister, the mother, the one who could do anything. From a leaking washing machine hose to a piece of broken jewelry, she was a fixer. "So who takes that role now?" Pastor Olaf asked. As if anyone could!
It's easy to trust in God's providence for her. I can paint beautiful and sentimental pictures of the wholeness and grace that envelops her in death, the clarity of a sunset on the Angerman river in Northern Sweden where we always went on vacation. Trusting God's providence for *myself* is quite a bit more difficult, and I find myself back in the wordless space (or, when there are words, the ones that come to mind are not printable here!). So there is a certain silence at the center of the experience, but being home, the work of living marches on.
That was the other strange, but wonderful, thing about my trip; in addition to bursts of tears, there was also some very pleasant tourism, beautiful weather, and yummy Swedish food (yes, it actually IS a lot like the cafeteria at Ikea). My cousin and my mother and I did not only sit around crying: there was the startling blue of the Baltic Sea, the spinning of wind turbines (eat your heart out, Cape Wind), and the brilliant yellow of rapeseed fields. I can't imagine it, but I think the kingdom of God must be in color, too.
So thanks for reading--what a wonder to come home to such an inviting space for reflection and prayer.
Blessings,
Sara+
This morning, I'm back at work after having spent the last week with my family in Sweden. I cried when I read the piece I wrote in this space last week; what I didn't know, writing that on Tuesday night, was that, contrary to my comment about her living "six days or six weeks," it turned out to be more like six hours. Meanwhile, I was stranded in Toronto after my flight was cancelled so I got the news of her death in an anonymous hotel room near the airport. It was, as they say, a "good death," with her daughter and sister each holding a hand, but given that I would have made it if my flight had not been cancelled, there was, along with my own grief, a level of very mundane fury at Air Canada for not having its planes in order.
The writer Elaine Scarry, I think, said somewhere that pain takes away our words. In some ways, grief does this, too, because there's such a wide net of loss when someone dies. When we grieve, we don't just grieve the person who has died, but the whole constellation of realities and associations that that person held for us. In our meeting with the pastor who would do the service for Barbro, we all talked about how she had always been "in charge," that she was the big sister, the mother, the one who could do anything. From a leaking washing machine hose to a piece of broken jewelry, she was a fixer. "So who takes that role now?" Pastor Olaf asked. As if anyone could!
It's easy to trust in God's providence for her. I can paint beautiful and sentimental pictures of the wholeness and grace that envelops her in death, the clarity of a sunset on the Angerman river in Northern Sweden where we always went on vacation. Trusting God's providence for *myself* is quite a bit more difficult, and I find myself back in the wordless space (or, when there are words, the ones that come to mind are not printable here!). So there is a certain silence at the center of the experience, but being home, the work of living marches on.
That was the other strange, but wonderful, thing about my trip; in addition to bursts of tears, there was also some very pleasant tourism, beautiful weather, and yummy Swedish food (yes, it actually IS a lot like the cafeteria at Ikea). My cousin and my mother and I did not only sit around crying: there was the startling blue of the Baltic Sea, the spinning of wind turbines (eat your heart out, Cape Wind), and the brilliant yellow of rapeseed fields. I can't imagine it, but I think the kingdom of God must be in color, too.
So thanks for reading--what a wonder to come home to such an inviting space for reflection and prayer.
Blessings,
Sara+
From May 23: Most Kind and Gentle Death
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm writing early, getting ready to fly to Sweden to be with my aunt Barbro. She was diagnosed with lung cancer this spring and has taken a turn for the worse. I should only be gone for a week, but I do regret that I'll miss our festive joint Pentecost service with St Peter's, this Sunday at 11. Matt is preaching and Rev. Mary will celebrate, so it will still be a great celebration! Norm Faramelli has graciously agreed to take the 8:30 service so there will be Eucharist then as well. Please come!
Meanwhile, I've been trying to justify my time away to my children, who are not too pleased about it. Explaining things to them so often is another way of explaining things to myself; in the midst of creating their own worlds, they ask all the hard questions that help me to consider why I really do believe what I do. Most powerfully, they also keep me accountable, pushing me to re-evaluate the half-truths I'm sometimes willing to settle for. Still, talking about death with a five year old is something else altogether (my 2 ½ year old doesn't get it at all, which is fine!).
Isaiah is quite aware that his Saturday playground plans get put on hold for burials, but trying to explain the matrix of faith and sadness that comes together when one of "our own" is dying is another story. We haven't been to Sweden since 2008-when Isaiah was barely 1 ½--so he has no memory of our family there (my mother's whole side of the family, of whom there are not many more). I have been trying to explain to him how I want to go before my aunt dies, to see her before I can't see her anymore. At the same time, I am also explaining that she will be with God, and that everyone dies eventually, so even though I'm sad, it's not necessarily such a terrible thing because we trust in God's love. I really do believe all the alleluias we throw around at burials in the Episcopal Church.
Still, I'm trying to explain it to him with the background of my own grief; the reason I'm going tomorrow and not waiting until "later" (as I've been putting it off since she was diagnosed) is that her needs are such that she is not going home again, whether she lives for another six days or six weeks. This is the time, and I am incredibly blessed/fortunate/just plain lucky to be able to have a flexible job and a credit card that make it possible. There are not many Johannsons or Irwins, so it's not like I can catch the next family heartbreak at a more convenient time.
Meanwhile, there is that perplexity of "my sorrow" vs. "cosmic joy," not to mention the work my aunt herself is doing. Dying is a verb. Going to be with her is witnessing that. Witnessing, in both senses of the word-to see it, to witness, but also to give witness, to affirm it and show that it is important. Gene Burkart and I were talking about this the other day; in our culture death is somehow left to the experts to "fight." Death is often is seen as happening to us, as though our souls and bodies were not on the same team. I think, though, that death has a lot in common with giving birth-when else are we working so closely with God's work on earth? Both are like standing beside a volcano, both with complexity and grace and risk and wonder.
So thank you for your prayers-especially the wardens, Jonathan and Victoria, who fix everything when I'm away! I'll close with the last verse of the wonderful hymn from St Francis, "All Creatures of our God and King." which we sang a few weeks ago. You can listen to some English children with frilly collars singing it, though unfortunately not all the verses--Click here
And thou, most kind and gentle death,
waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise him, Alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
and Christ our Lord the way hath trod
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I'm writing early, getting ready to fly to Sweden to be with my aunt Barbro. She was diagnosed with lung cancer this spring and has taken a turn for the worse. I should only be gone for a week, but I do regret that I'll miss our festive joint Pentecost service with St Peter's, this Sunday at 11. Matt is preaching and Rev. Mary will celebrate, so it will still be a great celebration! Norm Faramelli has graciously agreed to take the 8:30 service so there will be Eucharist then as well. Please come!
Meanwhile, I've been trying to justify my time away to my children, who are not too pleased about it. Explaining things to them so often is another way of explaining things to myself; in the midst of creating their own worlds, they ask all the hard questions that help me to consider why I really do believe what I do. Most powerfully, they also keep me accountable, pushing me to re-evaluate the half-truths I'm sometimes willing to settle for. Still, talking about death with a five year old is something else altogether (my 2 ½ year old doesn't get it at all, which is fine!).
Isaiah is quite aware that his Saturday playground plans get put on hold for burials, but trying to explain the matrix of faith and sadness that comes together when one of "our own" is dying is another story. We haven't been to Sweden since 2008-when Isaiah was barely 1 ½--so he has no memory of our family there (my mother's whole side of the family, of whom there are not many more). I have been trying to explain to him how I want to go before my aunt dies, to see her before I can't see her anymore. At the same time, I am also explaining that she will be with God, and that everyone dies eventually, so even though I'm sad, it's not necessarily such a terrible thing because we trust in God's love. I really do believe all the alleluias we throw around at burials in the Episcopal Church.
Still, I'm trying to explain it to him with the background of my own grief; the reason I'm going tomorrow and not waiting until "later" (as I've been putting it off since she was diagnosed) is that her needs are such that she is not going home again, whether she lives for another six days or six weeks. This is the time, and I am incredibly blessed/fortunate/just plain lucky to be able to have a flexible job and a credit card that make it possible. There are not many Johannsons or Irwins, so it's not like I can catch the next family heartbreak at a more convenient time.
Meanwhile, there is that perplexity of "my sorrow" vs. "cosmic joy," not to mention the work my aunt herself is doing. Dying is a verb. Going to be with her is witnessing that. Witnessing, in both senses of the word-to see it, to witness, but also to give witness, to affirm it and show that it is important. Gene Burkart and I were talking about this the other day; in our culture death is somehow left to the experts to "fight." Death is often is seen as happening to us, as though our souls and bodies were not on the same team. I think, though, that death has a lot in common with giving birth-when else are we working so closely with God's work on earth? Both are like standing beside a volcano, both with complexity and grace and risk and wonder.
So thank you for your prayers-especially the wardens, Jonathan and Victoria, who fix everything when I'm away! I'll close with the last verse of the wonderful hymn from St Francis, "All Creatures of our God and King." which we sang a few weeks ago. You can listen to some English children with frilly collars singing it, though unfortunately not all the verses--Click here
And thou, most kind and gentle death,
waiting to hush our latest breath,
O praise him, Alleluia!
Thou leadest home the child of God,
and Christ our Lord the way hath trod
Blessings,
Sara+
From May 17: Beyond Language and Vision
Dear People of Christ Church,
There are times for me, as I’m sure there are for you, when we just sort of go through the motions. I was meeting with some newcomers yesterday whose church backgrounds are more, shall we say, lively, than our historic, rather staid worship. I asked one of them what they thought of it and he said, “Well, it can be boring sometimes.” As his wife protested he assured us both—“It’s not like she doesn’t know that already!” Indeed. I do know that our worship is not what anyone would call a raucous party. We say the same prayers, the hymns can start to sound the same, and we sit, stand, kneel in all the same places from week to week. If you’re looking for spontaneity or novelty, the Episcopal church is not for you.
Still, enough of us are here, week after week, trying to come near God—beyond language, beyond vision, just, generally beyond. One of the spiritual writer Annies (I’ve heard it attributed both to Annie Lamott and Annie Dillard) says that if we really understood what we were doing in church we’d wear crash helmets; it’s that big. We are trying to squeeze eternity into a silver cup and the ultimate nourishment of our souls onto a little plate. Just what do we think we are doing?
This is where--modern and progressive tattooed lady that I am—I look way, way backward. The poet WH Auden’s response notwithstanding (he inquired of the rector of St Mark’s in the Bowery whether he had “gone stark raving mad” at the changes that came about with
Church doesn’t happen in the words, it happens in us.
Here the mystery is
Are the Words of the Liturgy Worn Out?
not an enigma to be solved; it is reality that makes us live
the more we live from it, the more we experience its inexhaustible and surprising nature..
liturgy summons forth more than reason: it calls forth desire or the heart
Nonetheless, it is not first of all to the intellect that the liturgy is addressed
There are times for me, as I’m sure there are for you, when we just sort of go through the motions. I was meeting with some newcomers yesterday whose church backgrounds are more, shall we say, lively, than our historic, rather staid worship. I asked one of them what they thought of it and he said, “Well, it can be boring sometimes.” As his wife protested he assured us both—“It’s not like she doesn’t know that already!” Indeed. I do know that our worship is not what anyone would call a raucous party. We say the same prayers, the hymns can start to sound the same, and we sit, stand, kneel in all the same places from week to week. If you’re looking for spontaneity or novelty, the Episcopal church is not for you.
Still, enough of us are here, week after week, trying to come near God—beyond language, beyond vision, just, generally beyond. One of the spiritual writer Annies (I’ve heard it attributed both to Annie Lamott and Annie Dillard) says that if we really understood what we were doing in church we’d wear crash helmets; it’s that big. We are trying to squeeze eternity into a silver cup and the ultimate nourishment of our souls onto a little plate. Just what do we think we are doing?
This is where--modern and progressive tattooed lady that I am—I look way, way backward. The poet WH Auden’s response notwithstanding (he inquired of the rector of St Mark’s in the Bowery whether he had “gone stark raving mad” at the changes that came about with
Church doesn’t happen in the words, it happens in us.
Here the mystery is
Are the Words of the Liturgy Worn Out?
not an enigma to be solved; it is reality that makes us live
the more we live from it, the more we experience its inexhaustible and surprising nature..
liturgy summons forth more than reason: it calls forth desire or the heart
Nonetheless, it is not first of all to the intellect that the liturgy is addressed
From May 10: Parish Events
Dear People of Christ Church,
As you’ll see in our ample “save the date” section below, our church continues to hum with the joyful words and sounds of a community in motion! We’ve just set a date for a Lutheran-Episcopal softball game (June 24 after church—Michelle Hache is working on a location) and reserved the library auditorium to host a screening of the Gene Robinson film I mentioned in this space two weeks ago (June 14, 7pm). Early summer will also see the renewal of our several-years dormant young adult group. My calendar is filling up with coffee dates with newcomers, and it was an absolute joy to hear our brave, smart, reflective kids on Sunday talk about their pilgrimage to Costa Rica. Julia Wall’s grace-filled words about how she discovered that God really is always with her were a delight, and Emma’s wisdom about the co-existence of extremes she encountered painted a vivid picture of the joys and challenges of their journey. Thank you to them, to their St James Cambridge colleagues Ursula and Eli who also spoke, and thanks to all the Christ Churchers who offered prayer and financial support for the trip.
God is at work in the world and in the church. I watched sadly as North Carolina amended their constitution and watched happily as President Obama shared his support for same sex marriage (I may have a piece in the Tribune about it tomorrow if there’s room). In his message in response, Episcopal Bishop of NC Michael Curry urged the church to keep fighting for justice and quoted Ted Kennedy: “The dream will never die.” God is at work. When an Episcopal priest was murdered last week at her church in Elicott City, Maryland, the parish offered forgiveness and funeral services for the perpetrator (who killed himself after the murders). God is at work. A number of my friends on Facebook have shared the quote: Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice but I’m afraid He would ask me the same question.” God is at work. We are at work. Our monthly lunch at the Community Day Center continues. With the hard work of Mike B, our deanery rep, the Alewife Deanery granted us $1750 for Diaper Depot. Thanks be to God.
Where is God at work for you? What is God doing in your life? What is God asking you to do in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
A few links:
Bishop Michael Curryhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j8hAgzPz7Y&feature=youtu.be
Forgiveness in Maryland: http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2012/05/10/update-maryland-diocese-practices-forgiveness-in-wake-of-shootings/
As you’ll see in our ample “save the date” section below, our church continues to hum with the joyful words and sounds of a community in motion! We’ve just set a date for a Lutheran-Episcopal softball game (June 24 after church—Michelle Hache is working on a location) and reserved the library auditorium to host a screening of the Gene Robinson film I mentioned in this space two weeks ago (June 14, 7pm). Early summer will also see the renewal of our several-years dormant young adult group. My calendar is filling up with coffee dates with newcomers, and it was an absolute joy to hear our brave, smart, reflective kids on Sunday talk about their pilgrimage to Costa Rica. Julia Wall’s grace-filled words about how she discovered that God really is always with her were a delight, and Emma’s wisdom about the co-existence of extremes she encountered painted a vivid picture of the joys and challenges of their journey. Thank you to them, to their St James Cambridge colleagues Ursula and Eli who also spoke, and thanks to all the Christ Churchers who offered prayer and financial support for the trip.
God is at work in the world and in the church. I watched sadly as North Carolina amended their constitution and watched happily as President Obama shared his support for same sex marriage (I may have a piece in the Tribune about it tomorrow if there’s room). In his message in response, Episcopal Bishop of NC Michael Curry urged the church to keep fighting for justice and quoted Ted Kennedy: “The dream will never die.” God is at work. When an Episcopal priest was murdered last week at her church in Elicott City, Maryland, the parish offered forgiveness and funeral services for the perpetrator (who killed himself after the murders). God is at work. A number of my friends on Facebook have shared the quote: Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice but I’m afraid He would ask me the same question.” God is at work. We are at work. Our monthly lunch at the Community Day Center continues. With the hard work of Mike B, our deanery rep, the Alewife Deanery granted us $1750 for Diaper Depot. Thanks be to God.
Where is God at work for you? What is God doing in your life? What is God asking you to do in the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
A few links:
Bishop Michael Curryhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5j8hAgzPz7Y&feature=youtu.be
Forgiveness in Maryland: http://episcopaldigitalnetwork.com/ens/2012/05/10/update-maryland-diocese-practices-forgiveness-in-wake-of-shootings/
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
From May 3: Welcome to an Outsider
Dear People of Christ Church,
This Sunday at our 10 am service, we'll hear from our Costa Rica pilgrims, Emma Scalisi and Julia Wall, as well as a few of their compatriots from St James in Cambridge, as part of our usual first Sunday of the month children's service. Remember to bring your diaper donations! We'll also "pray in" Victoria Sundgren as our new junior warden, and offer thanks for the ministry of Sarah Staley who leaves the post in anticipation of her and Mike's twins, whose due date approaches. We'll also pray for Rob, Emma, and Jesse as the "part two" of our 2012 Confirmation group commissioning.
Our readings for this Sunday are some of my favorites. In Acts, we hear the story of the Ethiopian eunuch who meets Philip on the road. He's reading the book of Isaiah, and asks Philip to help him interpret it. As continue together in their chariot, they go by a body of water, and the eunuch (who isn't named) exclaims, "What is to prevent me from being baptized right now?" And, so, he does and believes and is brought into the Body of Christ. There is so much that I love about this story-the eunuch, for starters, would not have been accepted in many religious communities, and I love that it's a Christian apostle who offers him the love and acceptance that others would deny him. I love his excitement-why not now?- it's a good paradigm for us in the church today.
So much in contemporary life is about meeting others' expectations and qualifications. I find myself even being anxious about my son entering kindergarten in the fall-kindergarten!-as thought we can write off his future if his scissor skills aren't up to par. But Philip doesn't ask his new acquaintance if he's really serious about it, or whether he's thought about the future, or how he will tithe, or if he'll quit working for the queen all the way in Ethiopia. Philip most pointedly doesn't ask him about being a eunuch, even though Deuteronomy clearly says that such a man whose body had been so altered could not be permitted into the assembly. Rather than tell him he's still not good enough, Philip brings him right in, right now. It's not the eunuch's identity or experience that legitimates him, it's his desire.
Our other readings for Sunday keep the hits coming--our epistle is from the first letter of John (Chapter 4): "Whoever loves is born of God and knows God." The eunuch, no matter what was going on in his life, knew God. Finally, in the Gospel, we hear Jesus the true vine, poetically inviting us to abide, like branches in God's love, bearing fruit. There is also some language around withering and thrown into the fire: less romantic, perhaps, but it does remind us that the stakes are high.
This afternoon, take a moment to abide in God's love.
Take a moment to dwell in that place where there is nothing to prevent you from being bathed in kindness and peace and courage.
It is beyond words, it is above thought, it is below your feet.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
From April 26: Gratitude for Ordinary Life
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I have found myself on several occasions brought to tears in considering intensely ordinary things. I don't think it's that I'm particularly emotionally fragile, but somehow I've just felt blessed to hear about those things I so take for granted that others struggle with. This morning, for example, I had the opportunity to visit the Waltham Family School. WFS opened in 2003 as a way of meeting two needs for families in Waltham: affordable preschool for children and English instruction for parents. Four days a week, housed at the old Waltham South Jr high, parents and kids come to school. The parents are immigrants-many from Central and South America, but also from Asia and Africa. 60% of them have a 6th grade education-or less-in their home country. So they come to learn-learn to speak English, learn to read, learn how to help prepare their kids for kindergarten. This morning, I met a woman who was learning to read. Originally from Africa, when she signed her son up for kindergarten she had to have a friend come along to fill out the forms for her. She couldn't understand the notes that came home-how could she ask her friends constantly to read her mail for her?-and she tried to improvise as best she could. One day, though, her son came home from school and said that all the kids were wearing their pajamas that day. It was pajama day. Why hadn't she told him? This year, she said, when it came around again, she was able to read the notice and bought him a new pair for her son's special day. It is so, so ordinary, but it brings me to tears-all the education, all the privilege I take for granted, and and the tenacious love of a mother to make a better life for her son. Last year, the first 23 graduates of the WFS preschool entered middle school. Nearly half of them are on the honor roll, and 2011 also saw the first WFS parent earn her GED in English. It works-unfortunately last year Congress voted to de-fund Even Start programs. So the Family School has some fundraising to do for their 2013 budget, especially with 39 families on the waiting list. You'll hear more. Another tear-jerker moment came when I was at clergy conference this week. This annual event is not known for its emotional content-all the priests (and some deacons) of the Diocese of MA gather together for presentations and meetings for three days-get ready, get set, sit still!-and there was a lot of that. This year, though, we had the opportunity to screen the film "Love Free or Die" about Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire (the first openly gay bishop in the Church). The film opened at the Sundance film festival this year and screenings are now taking place internationally (including at Philips Andover this evening). I've written in this space a lot about the Church and human sexuality and all the debates we engage in and what it means for our politics and our faith. What amazed me about the movie was how the Holy Spirit was so evident in the deep faith that everyone at the table shared in God and in love and in the church. Bishop Gene was initially the topic of the film-how he went to his consecration as a bishop in a bullet proof vest, how he was the first elected bishop ever not to be invited to the decennial gathering of all the bishops of the Anglican Communion at Lambeth, England. But the movie also took on the church's process at the 2009 General Convention in approving the future consecration of gay or lesbian bishops and the blessings of same sex unions (and, in our diocese, the vote that would permit clergy to officiate at legal same sex marriages as well). We heard tearful voices from both sides of the debate trying to speak their truth honestly and openly, and heard how after the votes the whole room sat in prayer and silence for ten minutes. Even those who disagreed with the majority action witnessed the Holy Spirit, and that is a wonder. Our own Bishop Tom Shaw featured heavily as well, with adorable shots of him playing at the beach with his godchildren and their dads. In the course of the film Tom said that he, too, was gay, though as a celibate monk the question is substantially different for him. After the screening when Bishop Shaw talked about why he'd made the decision to come out, he said that he never would want his godson to think that he should be ashamed of his family. In response, a colleague of mine spoke of how important that openness was to her teen son in his coming out process, and there was not a dry eye in the house. Marriage, love, parenthood, pajama day. What are the gifts that you forget to give thanks for? Pray them now, and pray you don't forget. Blessings, Sara+
This week, I have found myself on several occasions brought to tears in considering intensely ordinary things. I don't think it's that I'm particularly emotionally fragile, but somehow I've just felt blessed to hear about those things I so take for granted that others struggle with. This morning, for example, I had the opportunity to visit the Waltham Family School. WFS opened in 2003 as a way of meeting two needs for families in Waltham: affordable preschool for children and English instruction for parents. Four days a week, housed at the old Waltham South Jr high, parents and kids come to school. The parents are immigrants-many from Central and South America, but also from Asia and Africa. 60% of them have a 6th grade education-or less-in their home country. So they come to learn-learn to speak English, learn to read, learn how to help prepare their kids for kindergarten. This morning, I met a woman who was learning to read. Originally from Africa, when she signed her son up for kindergarten she had to have a friend come along to fill out the forms for her. She couldn't understand the notes that came home-how could she ask her friends constantly to read her mail for her?-and she tried to improvise as best she could. One day, though, her son came home from school and said that all the kids were wearing their pajamas that day. It was pajama day. Why hadn't she told him? This year, she said, when it came around again, she was able to read the notice and bought him a new pair for her son's special day. It is so, so ordinary, but it brings me to tears-all the education, all the privilege I take for granted, and and the tenacious love of a mother to make a better life for her son. Last year, the first 23 graduates of the WFS preschool entered middle school. Nearly half of them are on the honor roll, and 2011 also saw the first WFS parent earn her GED in English. It works-unfortunately last year Congress voted to de-fund Even Start programs. So the Family School has some fundraising to do for their 2013 budget, especially with 39 families on the waiting list. You'll hear more. Another tear-jerker moment came when I was at clergy conference this week. This annual event is not known for its emotional content-all the priests (and some deacons) of the Diocese of MA gather together for presentations and meetings for three days-get ready, get set, sit still!-and there was a lot of that. This year, though, we had the opportunity to screen the film "Love Free or Die" about Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire (the first openly gay bishop in the Church). The film opened at the Sundance film festival this year and screenings are now taking place internationally (including at Philips Andover this evening). I've written in this space a lot about the Church and human sexuality and all the debates we engage in and what it means for our politics and our faith. What amazed me about the movie was how the Holy Spirit was so evident in the deep faith that everyone at the table shared in God and in love and in the church. Bishop Gene was initially the topic of the film-how he went to his consecration as a bishop in a bullet proof vest, how he was the first elected bishop ever not to be invited to the decennial gathering of all the bishops of the Anglican Communion at Lambeth, England. But the movie also took on the church's process at the 2009 General Convention in approving the future consecration of gay or lesbian bishops and the blessings of same sex unions (and, in our diocese, the vote that would permit clergy to officiate at legal same sex marriages as well). We heard tearful voices from both sides of the debate trying to speak their truth honestly and openly, and heard how after the votes the whole room sat in prayer and silence for ten minutes. Even those who disagreed with the majority action witnessed the Holy Spirit, and that is a wonder. Our own Bishop Tom Shaw featured heavily as well, with adorable shots of him playing at the beach with his godchildren and their dads. In the course of the film Tom said that he, too, was gay, though as a celibate monk the question is substantially different for him. After the screening when Bishop Shaw talked about why he'd made the decision to come out, he said that he never would want his godson to think that he should be ashamed of his family. In response, a colleague of mine spoke of how important that openness was to her teen son in his coming out process, and there was not a dry eye in the house. Marriage, love, parenthood, pajama day. What are the gifts that you forget to give thanks for? Pray them now, and pray you don't forget. Blessings, Sara+
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
From April 5: Holy week
Welcome to Holy Week! I hope to see a lot of you in the next few days (a lot as in, "many" of you, and also, "frequently!")
Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Vigil of Easter. They are, technically, one service-there's no final blessing or dismissal until the end of the Great Vigil. The word "Maundy" comes from the Latin, mandatum, which means commandment-
I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:35)
In the liturgy, we wash each others' feet-we are each others' servants. Men and women, older and younger-we are all called to serve each other. Is it awkward? Of course. Don't come in a skirt. It's a level of nearness we don't frequently experience with our friends, much less the person you sit behind in church. But is it holy? Absolutely. The disciples didn't understand what Jesus was doing at first, either. When Jesus kneels at Peter's feet, he says, "You will never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me." Peter is confused-an act of submission by his Lord? No way. Jesus says, "You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand." Does Peter get it, later? Much later, he does-after the crucifixion, after the resurrection, he understands just how different a Lord Jesus was. Not one who wants domination and power, but a Lord who wants to be on the floor, kneeling in front of us, comforting and consoling. A Lord whose only command is love.
The foot washing takes place between the sermon and the prayers of the people. The liturgy continues with Communion. After Communion, we strip the altar. All the hangings, all the chairs, all the cushions and candles come out of the sanctuary. We do this to prepare for Good Friday, to remind ourselves of the abandonment of Christ, and the utter absence and desolation of that day. Everyone who is present in the church is invited to help strip the altar-it's not just a performance by the clergy or leaders of the service; it's shared by us all.
For Good Friday at Christ Church, we follow the liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. It differs in some significant ways from the regular Eucharist we celebrate on Sundays. Instead of the Prayers of the People, we hear a series of collects (aptly named "the Solemn Collects) that offer prayers for the church and the world, for those who suffer and those who seek faith). After the collects comes the central moment, the entrance of the cross. The cross we use is not an elaborate one-it's not made of nice wood, or stained a beautiful color. It's two rough sticks, bound together, that Paula found in the woods. After the cross enters, we are all invited to reverence-to bow, to kiss, to kneel, or just to stand and wonder at the mystery of that symbol, an object of shame and violence transformed into life and love. On Good Friday we don't celebrate the Eucharist. The preacher Barbara Brown Taylor has said that Good Friday is the quietest day of the year-part of that silence is not celebrating the sacrament. In recognition of our need to be fed, however, we do share communion (the bread and wine having been consecrated at the service on Maundy Thursday).
The Easter Vigil is just that-a Vigil-we enter a darkened church, after lighting the Pascal candle from a fire outside the church and then we process in singing, and hear the stories of our salvation from the Hebrew Scriptures. Halfway through the service, Easter begins!-we ring in our celebration with bells and more light (each of us will have to bring our own bell to ring). This year we have the special blessing of sharing in baptism for Jesse Foster-Stout and Rob Atwood, so blessings to them as well! The service continues with a festive Eucharist, with incense and wonderful Easter hymns. The alleluias will be back!
Holy Week is, spiritually and theologically, the high point and center of the whole church year. I often joke that if you only come to church a few times a year, these are it-you can skip the whole year if you come now. I'm kidding, but this is what our faith is really about. Having gone through the journey of Maundy Thursday, the depths of Good Friday, the watching and waiting of the Vigil-the celebration of the Easter resurrection is that much more powerful-and honest. I'll see you tonight, when it all starts. Bring your friends!
Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Vigil of Easter. They are, technically, one service-there's no final blessing or dismissal until the end of the Great Vigil. The word "Maundy" comes from the Latin, mandatum, which means commandment-
I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:35)
In the liturgy, we wash each others' feet-we are each others' servants. Men and women, older and younger-we are all called to serve each other. Is it awkward? Of course. Don't come in a skirt. It's a level of nearness we don't frequently experience with our friends, much less the person you sit behind in church. But is it holy? Absolutely. The disciples didn't understand what Jesus was doing at first, either. When Jesus kneels at Peter's feet, he says, "You will never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me." Peter is confused-an act of submission by his Lord? No way. Jesus says, "You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand." Does Peter get it, later? Much later, he does-after the crucifixion, after the resurrection, he understands just how different a Lord Jesus was. Not one who wants domination and power, but a Lord who wants to be on the floor, kneeling in front of us, comforting and consoling. A Lord whose only command is love.
The foot washing takes place between the sermon and the prayers of the people. The liturgy continues with Communion. After Communion, we strip the altar. All the hangings, all the chairs, all the cushions and candles come out of the sanctuary. We do this to prepare for Good Friday, to remind ourselves of the abandonment of Christ, and the utter absence and desolation of that day. Everyone who is present in the church is invited to help strip the altar-it's not just a performance by the clergy or leaders of the service; it's shared by us all.
For Good Friday at Christ Church, we follow the liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. It differs in some significant ways from the regular Eucharist we celebrate on Sundays. Instead of the Prayers of the People, we hear a series of collects (aptly named "the Solemn Collects) that offer prayers for the church and the world, for those who suffer and those who seek faith). After the collects comes the central moment, the entrance of the cross. The cross we use is not an elaborate one-it's not made of nice wood, or stained a beautiful color. It's two rough sticks, bound together, that Paula found in the woods. After the cross enters, we are all invited to reverence-to bow, to kiss, to kneel, or just to stand and wonder at the mystery of that symbol, an object of shame and violence transformed into life and love. On Good Friday we don't celebrate the Eucharist. The preacher Barbara Brown Taylor has said that Good Friday is the quietest day of the year-part of that silence is not celebrating the sacrament. In recognition of our need to be fed, however, we do share communion (the bread and wine having been consecrated at the service on Maundy Thursday).
The Easter Vigil is just that-a Vigil-we enter a darkened church, after lighting the Pascal candle from a fire outside the church and then we process in singing, and hear the stories of our salvation from the Hebrew Scriptures. Halfway through the service, Easter begins!-we ring in our celebration with bells and more light (each of us will have to bring our own bell to ring). This year we have the special blessing of sharing in baptism for Jesse Foster-Stout and Rob Atwood, so blessings to them as well! The service continues with a festive Eucharist, with incense and wonderful Easter hymns. The alleluias will be back!
Holy Week is, spiritually and theologically, the high point and center of the whole church year. I often joke that if you only come to church a few times a year, these are it-you can skip the whole year if you come now. I'm kidding, but this is what our faith is really about. Having gone through the journey of Maundy Thursday, the depths of Good Friday, the watching and waiting of the Vigil-the celebration of the Easter resurrection is that much more powerful-and honest. I'll see you tonight, when it all starts. Bring your friends!
From March 29: Easter Pigs
I'm writing late this week, having scrambled today to put the finishing touches on our Quarterly (beautiful, as always, thanks to our dedicated contributors and visionary editor Kristin!) and our Palm Sunday liturgies for this week. Palm Sunday is emphatically not visionary-we do nearly the same thing every year, needing each year to read again, hear again, absorb again to try to encompass the Gospel story of the heights of Christ's triumphant entry into Jerusalem and the low of his crucifixion and Passion. What a blessing to be part of a church community that values both!
In other news, this Easter we will again focus on pigs for Haiti in a project organized by Boston-based Grassroots International. After having partnered with Heifer international for "Easter cows" for several years, in 2010 this Easter collection shifted its focus to Haiti in the aftermath of the devastating earthquake in January of that year, and we're glad to continue our support for their Creole Pig Repopulation project.
I'm passing on some words offered by Gene Burkart in the Quarterly that year:
...There is a sad story behind the pigs. Called the Creole pig, it once was a mainstay for rural Haitian families. A hearty, indigenous breed, it could tolerate the climate and feed off local vegetation. Its manure fertilized farm land and its meat added protein to diets. When a family needed extra cash for an emergency or special event, the pig could easily be sold at the market. It was "Haiti's Piggy Bank."
In the 1980's international development experts pressured the Haitian government to eradicate the pigs claiming that they threatened to spread swine flu to the big pig farms of the US. Although some disputed the claim, all the pigs were killed off. People who lost pigs were given a replacement pig from Iowa that was supposed to be newer and better. It didn't turn out that way, though. The new pigs needed to be shaded from the sun, could only eat expensive imported feed, and could not drink local water. The meat didn't taste as good either. Soon the Haitians began calling the pigs the "four-footed princes".
Grassroots International has been working with a Haitian group (National Peasant Movement of the Papaye Congress) since the 1980's to restore the Creole pigs to Haiti. One pig costs about $55.00. To make your donation (of any amount!), just write "Easter pigs" in the memo line of your check.
In other news, this Easter we will again focus on pigs for Haiti in a project organized by Boston-based Grassroots International. After having partnered with Heifer international for "Easter cows" for several years, in 2010 this Easter collection shifted its focus to Haiti in the aftermath of the devastating earthquake in January of that year, and we're glad to continue our support for their Creole Pig Repopulation project.
I'm passing on some words offered by Gene Burkart in the Quarterly that year:
...There is a sad story behind the pigs. Called the Creole pig, it once was a mainstay for rural Haitian families. A hearty, indigenous breed, it could tolerate the climate and feed off local vegetation. Its manure fertilized farm land and its meat added protein to diets. When a family needed extra cash for an emergency or special event, the pig could easily be sold at the market. It was "Haiti's Piggy Bank."
In the 1980's international development experts pressured the Haitian government to eradicate the pigs claiming that they threatened to spread swine flu to the big pig farms of the US. Although some disputed the claim, all the pigs were killed off. People who lost pigs were given a replacement pig from Iowa that was supposed to be newer and better. It didn't turn out that way, though. The new pigs needed to be shaded from the sun, could only eat expensive imported feed, and could not drink local water. The meat didn't taste as good either. Soon the Haitians began calling the pigs the "four-footed princes".
Grassroots International has been working with a Haitian group (National Peasant Movement of the Papaye Congress) since the 1980's to restore the Creole pigs to Haiti. One pig costs about $55.00. To make your donation (of any amount!), just write "Easter pigs" in the memo line of your check.
From March 22: A Season for Everything
This past Monday at vestry, I invited us into a short Bible study from the book of Ecclesiastes (3: 1-8).
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.
There is a season for everything-everything and everyone is held in God's hand. What's perplexing is the way that those season so frequently overlap. At ChristChurch this winter we've had wonderful growth in attendance, having close to 100 on several Sundays between our 8:30 and 10 service. We have six baptisms just in the month of March! At the same time, I have heard so many stories from you-and shared my own, about family members who are sick. There is such intense joy at the growth of our community, but at the same time such grief at facing the prospect of saying goodbye to people we love.
No life is without suffering, neither is any life without powerful gifts. There was a season to give, and a season to receive, a season to greet with joy and a season to depart. For us, too. As we look toward Easter, who knows what it will bring? Sorrow and sighing, but also growth and rebirth. Grief is another measure of love; even for me as a priest, it's pretty impossible to keep an abstract distance when it comes to people I love. We pray "to see in death the gate of eternal life," and "for your faithful people, Lord, life is changed, not ended," but it still hurts.
That acknowledgment, it seems to me, is one of the things that only church can do. A bowling league creates community. An activist group makes the world a better place, forming its people in the values of the cause. Nature can be restorative beyond measure. When I am feeling depleted and exhausted, walking at Waltham Fields farm and putting my hands in the earth feels as holy as any sacrament. But church is the one place we can come just to go to pieces. This can be a place for lament and sorrow, for questioning and frustration. Those hard pews are a strong enough shelter for all the grief we can bring. They don't offer excuses, or explanations, or advice. They just accept, offer refuge, remind us that others have sat there with the same tears. They remind us that our grief doesn't have the last word.
So whatever season you're in-a season of grief or suffering, a season of growth or renewal-give thanks for the church. It can disappoint us and it can frustrate us-it is still, after all, using human hands to get its work done. But at its best, church is also a place of joy and wonder and jubilation and forgiveness. Thanks be to God, always and forever. [and, whispered because it's Lent, alleluia!]
Blessings,
Sara+
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.
There is a season for everything-everything and everyone is held in God's hand. What's perplexing is the way that those season so frequently overlap. At ChristChurch this winter we've had wonderful growth in attendance, having close to 100 on several Sundays between our 8:30 and 10 service. We have six baptisms just in the month of March! At the same time, I have heard so many stories from you-and shared my own, about family members who are sick. There is such intense joy at the growth of our community, but at the same time such grief at facing the prospect of saying goodbye to people we love.
No life is without suffering, neither is any life without powerful gifts. There was a season to give, and a season to receive, a season to greet with joy and a season to depart. For us, too. As we look toward Easter, who knows what it will bring? Sorrow and sighing, but also growth and rebirth. Grief is another measure of love; even for me as a priest, it's pretty impossible to keep an abstract distance when it comes to people I love. We pray "to see in death the gate of eternal life," and "for your faithful people, Lord, life is changed, not ended," but it still hurts.
That acknowledgment, it seems to me, is one of the things that only church can do. A bowling league creates community. An activist group makes the world a better place, forming its people in the values of the cause. Nature can be restorative beyond measure. When I am feeling depleted and exhausted, walking at Waltham Fields farm and putting my hands in the earth feels as holy as any sacrament. But church is the one place we can come just to go to pieces. This can be a place for lament and sorrow, for questioning and frustration. Those hard pews are a strong enough shelter for all the grief we can bring. They don't offer excuses, or explanations, or advice. They just accept, offer refuge, remind us that others have sat there with the same tears. They remind us that our grief doesn't have the last word.
So whatever season you're in-a season of grief or suffering, a season of growth or renewal-give thanks for the church. It can disappoint us and it can frustrate us-it is still, after all, using human hands to get its work done. But at its best, church is also a place of joy and wonder and jubilation and forgiveness. Thanks be to God, always and forever. [and, whispered because it's Lent, alleluia!]
Blessings,
Sara+
From March 15
This week, I pass on vestry notes from Michele Driscoll, our clerk, and also wanted to share quickly with you a passage of Scripture discussed at our Lenten Tuesday evening this week. This Sunday we observe (it feels strange to say "celebrate") the fourth Sunday of Lent-we're in the middle of it. Traditionally, this was known as "Laetare" Sunday: in Latin, rejoice. Its cousin is Gaudete Sunday, in Advent-both are halfway-through resting points, and both days when pink vestments may be worn. While it would certainly make my son Isaiah's heart soar to see the whole church decked out in his favorite color, it seems like a hard argument to make to buy all those vestments, so we're sticking with purple.
The idea of the day, though, is to remember that Easter is coming; its light is shining, and we're now more than halfway there. Another thing to entice us forward is that our windows are back in! You'll see new leaded glass in the hall, sacristy, and Main Street entryway, but we're keeping the stained glass under wraps for now. Suffice it to say that the colors and detail will knock your socks off...at the appropriate time. They'll be uncovered in time for Palm Sunday, our joyful procession at the palms being supplemented with the new light from the Good Shepherd.
For your Lenten practice today, though, take a few minutes to climb up into the tree and see what Zacchaeus is after--and how Jesus finds him.
[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax-collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycomore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, 'Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.' So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, 'He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.' Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, 'Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.' Then Jesus said to him, 'Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost' (Luke 19:1-10).
How are you lost? Found? Where is the journey of Lent taking you today?
The idea of the day, though, is to remember that Easter is coming; its light is shining, and we're now more than halfway there. Another thing to entice us forward is that our windows are back in! You'll see new leaded glass in the hall, sacristy, and Main Street entryway, but we're keeping the stained glass under wraps for now. Suffice it to say that the colors and detail will knock your socks off...at the appropriate time. They'll be uncovered in time for Palm Sunday, our joyful procession at the palms being supplemented with the new light from the Good Shepherd.
For your Lenten practice today, though, take a few minutes to climb up into the tree and see what Zacchaeus is after--and how Jesus finds him.
[Jesus] entered Jericho and was passing through it. A man was there named Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax-collector and was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature. So he ran ahead and climbed a sycomore tree to see him, because he was going to pass that way. When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, 'Zacchaeus, hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today.' So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him. All who saw it began to grumble and said, 'He has gone to be the guest of one who is a sinner.' Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord, 'Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.' Then Jesus said to him, 'Today salvation has come to this house, because he too is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost' (Luke 19:1-10).
How are you lost? Found? Where is the journey of Lent taking you today?
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Lent with Ephraim the Syrian
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week we had our second “Lent Tuesdays for All” and it was delightful. It does make my kids’ bedtime a bit later, and the morning a bit harder, but the time together is a blessing. This week the kids decorated gift bags for Easter for Grandma’s Pantry clients. The theme for adults was Alexander Schmemann’s phrase “Bright Sadness”—Let has a certain atmosphere of sorrow for sin, but also joy for redemption. There is much to repent, but there is more to celebrate. We looked at the prayer of Ephraim the Syrian, a fourth century monk whose prayer is done multiple times in Lenten liturgy in the Orthodox church, as well as many times in private prayer:
O Lord and Master of my life!
Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.
Yea, O Lord and King!
Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother;
For Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen
The first time I read it, it didn’t do a lot for me. I spend a lot of spiritual energy moving away from “master” language—it just doesn’t feel nourishing to envision God as a faraway ruler. But Schmemann, the Orthodox priest whose text I’m reading this year, says that it comprises the whole of the spiritual struggle. All of it. So I gave it another chance, and as he explains the prayer, I agree that it does cover a lot.
Sin begins with sloth, more poetically rendered in Latin as acedia: that feeling that we may as well not even try to pray. [Evelyn Waugh said its malice “lies not merely in the neglect of duty (though that can be a symptom of it) but the refusal of joy. [Sloth] is allied to despair.] Faint hearts filling with darkness, we lose the desire for God’s light. Not following God, we follow ourselves—fleeting desires and flashing satisfactions. Desiring our own way, we become the center of our own worlds, selfishly seeing others as the means of our own self-satisfaction. We hunt for power. Whether it expresses its desire in the urge to control others or in indifference and contempt, my spiritual universe shrinks in on itself.
Ephraim’s reference to “idle talk” struck me as a bit beside the point at first; surely there are worse things. Schmemann, though, puts our speech in theological context. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” Word and words are not unrelated. If God is revealed as Word, then, he says, our speech is the “seal” of the Divine Image in us. But as we abuse our power, the supreme gift becomes the supreme danger. Our speech reinforces our sin and we use the gift of expression to slander, to lie, to judge.
Four “negatives” give way to four “positives:”
Chastity: Not only sexual control, more like whole-mindedness. A counterpart of sloth—if sloth is dissipation and brokenness, the splintered vision that cannot perceive the whole, then its opposite is the ability to see toward God, not only our own urges and alienation. We pray for humility: truth wins. We are able to see God’s goodness in everything, understanding ourselves in right relationship to our creator. We are created, not our own masters. Patience is a fruit of coming near God—in sin, we measure everything by ourselves, wanting everything here and now. But nearer to God, “the more patient we grow and the more we reflect that infinite respect for all beings which is the proper quality of God who sees the depth of all that exists.” Infinite respect for all beings leads us to love—the ultimate purpose and fruit of all spiritual practice and preparation, which can be given by God alone.
Finally, positive and negative brought together by the last line: to see my own errors and not to judge my brother. Even knowing our own sins can be turned to pride, as we compliment ourselves for being so self-aware. Only when we do not judge are wholeness, humility, patience, and love made one in us.
So there you have it…which is your favorite temptation, your stumbling block? Where is Light looking for you? Where will you be found, and what good gifts will you receive?
This week we had our second “Lent Tuesdays for All” and it was delightful. It does make my kids’ bedtime a bit later, and the morning a bit harder, but the time together is a blessing. This week the kids decorated gift bags for Easter for Grandma’s Pantry clients. The theme for adults was Alexander Schmemann’s phrase “Bright Sadness”—Let has a certain atmosphere of sorrow for sin, but also joy for redemption. There is much to repent, but there is more to celebrate. We looked at the prayer of Ephraim the Syrian, a fourth century monk whose prayer is done multiple times in Lenten liturgy in the Orthodox church, as well as many times in private prayer:
O Lord and Master of my life!
Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.
But give rather the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant.
Yea, O Lord and King!
Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother;
For Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen
The first time I read it, it didn’t do a lot for me. I spend a lot of spiritual energy moving away from “master” language—it just doesn’t feel nourishing to envision God as a faraway ruler. But Schmemann, the Orthodox priest whose text I’m reading this year, says that it comprises the whole of the spiritual struggle. All of it. So I gave it another chance, and as he explains the prayer, I agree that it does cover a lot.
Sin begins with sloth, more poetically rendered in Latin as acedia: that feeling that we may as well not even try to pray. [Evelyn Waugh said its malice “lies not merely in the neglect of duty (though that can be a symptom of it) but the refusal of joy. [Sloth] is allied to despair.] Faint hearts filling with darkness, we lose the desire for God’s light. Not following God, we follow ourselves—fleeting desires and flashing satisfactions. Desiring our own way, we become the center of our own worlds, selfishly seeing others as the means of our own self-satisfaction. We hunt for power. Whether it expresses its desire in the urge to control others or in indifference and contempt, my spiritual universe shrinks in on itself.
Ephraim’s reference to “idle talk” struck me as a bit beside the point at first; surely there are worse things. Schmemann, though, puts our speech in theological context. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us…” Word and words are not unrelated. If God is revealed as Word, then, he says, our speech is the “seal” of the Divine Image in us. But as we abuse our power, the supreme gift becomes the supreme danger. Our speech reinforces our sin and we use the gift of expression to slander, to lie, to judge.
Four “negatives” give way to four “positives:”
Chastity: Not only sexual control, more like whole-mindedness. A counterpart of sloth—if sloth is dissipation and brokenness, the splintered vision that cannot perceive the whole, then its opposite is the ability to see toward God, not only our own urges and alienation. We pray for humility: truth wins. We are able to see God’s goodness in everything, understanding ourselves in right relationship to our creator. We are created, not our own masters. Patience is a fruit of coming near God—in sin, we measure everything by ourselves, wanting everything here and now. But nearer to God, “the more patient we grow and the more we reflect that infinite respect for all beings which is the proper quality of God who sees the depth of all that exists.” Infinite respect for all beings leads us to love—the ultimate purpose and fruit of all spiritual practice and preparation, which can be given by God alone.
Finally, positive and negative brought together by the last line: to see my own errors and not to judge my brother. Even knowing our own sins can be turned to pride, as we compliment ourselves for being so self-aware. Only when we do not judge are wholeness, humility, patience, and love made one in us.
So there you have it…which is your favorite temptation, your stumbling block? Where is Light looking for you? Where will you be found, and what good gifts will you receive?
From March 1: Wild Beasts and Old Habits
Blessings on this grey, wintry day! However disorienting I have found this snowless winter to be, going outside in the flurries has made me appreciate the relative warmth of the last few months. I love the cycle of the seasons, but I cannot say I also love having numb toes.
Our winter-free winter has, in any event, made me pay attention more closely. One of the blogs I read regularly in preparing my sermons is written by a Methodist minister in Florida, Jan Richardson. I was recently struck by an observation she made about the wilderness text from the Gospel of Mark. The text says, quite straightforwardly, “Jesus was in the wilderness with the wild beasts.” (Mark 1:13). Richardson points out that there is no threat, no menace implied: they are just there. She wonders whether they might be companions, witnesses, protectors of solace and silence.
Lent, this year, is for me all about questioning my habits: those things I do and think without even realizing it. Living a fairly routinized life, it’s easy to stop paying attention to the unconscious choices I make. But what happens when I don’t fill my commute with radio noise? What happens when I don’t march my children to bedtime like a general, trying to get rid of them into their rooms as quickly as possible? What happens at dinner without that glass of wine, washing the dishes without that piece of secret chocolate? I’m not giving anything up explicitly (except the radio in the car—that one I’m trying really hard on)—so much as really observing what nourishes me. Sometimes it IS a glass of wine or a piece of chocolate—but oftentimes I find I’m fine going without, and those resources can go somewhere else.
Being with the wild beasts: not controlling or panicking, but coexisting, recognizing real threat where it is. Also vital to Christian practice is faith in God’s transforming grace: love is always more powerful than death. In the Daily Office lectionary we’re making our way through Genesis, currently spending time with Joseph (of the fabulous coat) and his brothers. They sell him into slavery in Egypt but he ends up working for Pharaoh, ultimately saving them from famine. As Joseph forgives his brothers, he says, “Though you intended to harm me, God intended it for good.” (Gen 50:20). In the same way as the Trinity’s 1+1+1=3 makes us have to forget how to count, the redemptive power of God makes us have to forget how follow sequence.
The life of faith is not linear. It was a terrible thing that Joseph’s brothers kidnapped him and sold him. It was a terrible thing that God surely would not have planned. At the same time, would Joseph have been able to save his family from the famine that gripped his homeland had he not been sold into slavery in the first place? They all would have died. This is the power of redemption that comes from the cross: not a suffering God had planned or intended, but still an opening of wonder and grace. So, too, with the wild beasts; how often do I perceive something as a threat that actually invites me closer to God? How often do I see something as an exciting option, when actually it distracts me from my path?
Our winter-free winter has, in any event, made me pay attention more closely. One of the blogs I read regularly in preparing my sermons is written by a Methodist minister in Florida, Jan Richardson. I was recently struck by an observation she made about the wilderness text from the Gospel of Mark. The text says, quite straightforwardly, “Jesus was in the wilderness with the wild beasts.” (Mark 1:13). Richardson points out that there is no threat, no menace implied: they are just there. She wonders whether they might be companions, witnesses, protectors of solace and silence.
Lent, this year, is for me all about questioning my habits: those things I do and think without even realizing it. Living a fairly routinized life, it’s easy to stop paying attention to the unconscious choices I make. But what happens when I don’t fill my commute with radio noise? What happens when I don’t march my children to bedtime like a general, trying to get rid of them into their rooms as quickly as possible? What happens at dinner without that glass of wine, washing the dishes without that piece of secret chocolate? I’m not giving anything up explicitly (except the radio in the car—that one I’m trying really hard on)—so much as really observing what nourishes me. Sometimes it IS a glass of wine or a piece of chocolate—but oftentimes I find I’m fine going without, and those resources can go somewhere else.
Being with the wild beasts: not controlling or panicking, but coexisting, recognizing real threat where it is. Also vital to Christian practice is faith in God’s transforming grace: love is always more powerful than death. In the Daily Office lectionary we’re making our way through Genesis, currently spending time with Joseph (of the fabulous coat) and his brothers. They sell him into slavery in Egypt but he ends up working for Pharaoh, ultimately saving them from famine. As Joseph forgives his brothers, he says, “Though you intended to harm me, God intended it for good.” (Gen 50:20). In the same way as the Trinity’s 1+1+1=3 makes us have to forget how to count, the redemptive power of God makes us have to forget how follow sequence.
The life of faith is not linear. It was a terrible thing that Joseph’s brothers kidnapped him and sold him. It was a terrible thing that God surely would not have planned. At the same time, would Joseph have been able to save his family from the famine that gripped his homeland had he not been sold into slavery in the first place? They all would have died. This is the power of redemption that comes from the cross: not a suffering God had planned or intended, but still an opening of wonder and grace. So, too, with the wild beasts; how often do I perceive something as a threat that actually invites me closer to God? How often do I see something as an exciting option, when actually it distracts me from my path?
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
This Sunday is the last Sunday of Epiphany Season, the Feast of the Transfiguration, the story of Jesus taking his friends up to the mountain top and being greeted by Elijah and Moses (needless to say, those friends were pretty alarmed). It has become a custom here at Christ Church (whether by the convenience of the liturgical calendar or intentional theology) that we have had baptisms every Transfiguration Sunday for as long as I've been here, I think. This Sunday, we baptize Lila Nolte, little sister to Griffin (almost 5) and Henry (2) whom we baptized when they were babies.
We hear the story of Jesus' baptism on the first Sunday after Epiphany, the kickoff for this season of illumination and healing. For Jesus, though, his baptism immediately preceded his time in the wilderness; for forty days, he struggled and was tempted, always to be sustained by his beloved Abba God and kept safe. It's a gift for us to celebrate for Lila and remember our own baptism right before our own Lenten season, our version of Jesus' forty days in the wilderness.
It's a gift because our baptism is so easy to forget. That we were made for more than what we just see with our eyes, but that there is so much power and promise and healing in the life we share with Christ. Jesus went into the wilderness with the fact of God's love for him firmly planted in his heart; at his baptism, God thundered, "This is my Son, the beloved." You, too, are God's beloved; the sustenance that Jesus felt, hungering after stones, is granted you as well.
Our Lenten class, "The Lenten Journey," is based around themes from the Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann. He talks about Lent as a "bright sadness;" he says the purpose of Lent is to "soften our hearts" to open them to the Spirit. In Lent, we are called to be quiet: "it is as if we were reaching a place to which the noises and the fuss of life, of the street, of all that which usually fills our days and even nights, have no access-a place where they have no power" (32).
The water of baptism soaks down to that quiet place-Schmemann wrote in 1969, and how much noisier life is now! (not that I was alive in 1969, but I'm guessing...) Life is full of such wonderful, good gifts-rich food and wine and leisure and joy-but sometimes it's good to put those down, to take some time apart. But we aren't sent off without a party-Sunday, of course, but also Tuesday, when we celebrate our Shrove Tuesday pancake supper. The tradition for eating pancakes on that day is that it's a time to use up all the indulgent stuff in the cabinet-eggs and sugar and cream-before the leaner days of Lent. The word "shrove" is a relative of "to be shriven," to receive penance and absolution. RSVP to office@christchurchwaltham.org or to the office (781 891 6012).
As you begin to pray your Lent, ask yourself what will bring you to Christ; what can soften you to reach that silent place within? Is it something to take on, something to give up? How will you bask in the deep love of your Creator, in coming near to God in the wilderness?
Blessings,
Sara+
This Sunday is the last Sunday of Epiphany Season, the Feast of the Transfiguration, the story of Jesus taking his friends up to the mountain top and being greeted by Elijah and Moses (needless to say, those friends were pretty alarmed). It has become a custom here at Christ Church (whether by the convenience of the liturgical calendar or intentional theology) that we have had baptisms every Transfiguration Sunday for as long as I've been here, I think. This Sunday, we baptize Lila Nolte, little sister to Griffin (almost 5) and Henry (2) whom we baptized when they were babies.
We hear the story of Jesus' baptism on the first Sunday after Epiphany, the kickoff for this season of illumination and healing. For Jesus, though, his baptism immediately preceded his time in the wilderness; for forty days, he struggled and was tempted, always to be sustained by his beloved Abba God and kept safe. It's a gift for us to celebrate for Lila and remember our own baptism right before our own Lenten season, our version of Jesus' forty days in the wilderness.
It's a gift because our baptism is so easy to forget. That we were made for more than what we just see with our eyes, but that there is so much power and promise and healing in the life we share with Christ. Jesus went into the wilderness with the fact of God's love for him firmly planted in his heart; at his baptism, God thundered, "This is my Son, the beloved." You, too, are God's beloved; the sustenance that Jesus felt, hungering after stones, is granted you as well.
Our Lenten class, "The Lenten Journey," is based around themes from the Orthodox theologian Alexander Schmemann. He talks about Lent as a "bright sadness;" he says the purpose of Lent is to "soften our hearts" to open them to the Spirit. In Lent, we are called to be quiet: "it is as if we were reaching a place to which the noises and the fuss of life, of the street, of all that which usually fills our days and even nights, have no access-a place where they have no power" (32).
The water of baptism soaks down to that quiet place-Schmemann wrote in 1969, and how much noisier life is now! (not that I was alive in 1969, but I'm guessing...) Life is full of such wonderful, good gifts-rich food and wine and leisure and joy-but sometimes it's good to put those down, to take some time apart. But we aren't sent off without a party-Sunday, of course, but also Tuesday, when we celebrate our Shrove Tuesday pancake supper. The tradition for eating pancakes on that day is that it's a time to use up all the indulgent stuff in the cabinet-eggs and sugar and cream-before the leaner days of Lent. The word "shrove" is a relative of "to be shriven," to receive penance and absolution. RSVP to office@christchurchwaltham.org or to the office (781 891 6012).
As you begin to pray your Lent, ask yourself what will bring you to Christ; what can soften you to reach that silent place within? Is it something to take on, something to give up? How will you bask in the deep love of your Creator, in coming near to God in the wilderness?
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
Next Monday, I hope you'll join me in welcoming the Rev. George Walters-Sleyon, founder and director of the Center for Church and Prison. He is a mentee of our friend Norm Faramelli, and Sue Burkart became acquainted with him through her work with the organization Children of Incarcerated Parents. He will be speaking particularly on the "Three Strikes" law currently making its way through the legislature. It's in committee now, with members of the House and Senate ironing out differences between their versions before going to both for the final vote. The law came about in response to the murder of Woburn police officer John Maguire in 2010 in a shootout in the middle of a robbery. He was shot by Dominic Cinelli, paroled after serving 22 years of three concurrent life sentences. Cinelli had had a history of violent crime but was released on parole (though had the DA been notified as they should have been, his parole likely would not have gone through). Cinelli also died that day
So how does a Christian respond? It's hard to say on any issue that there is one Christian response. I oppose it, and Walters-Sleyon will speak about his opposition as well. But it's an issue in a wider context. This is not just a simple question of one law, or putting people in prison for longer. This issue is a knot of social issues; racism, poverty, and economics all come together in a particularly American stew. Prisons are big moneymakers, particularly those operated by private firms, a practice that is more and more common. The more we build the more prisoners are incarcerated, curiously despite the fact the crime is actually decreasing (no, it's not because all the criminals are in jail). The Corrections Corporation of America, a builder of private prisons, chillingly cautioned investors in their 2005 annual report that profits would go down if drug or immigration laws were changed. Naturally, their lobbyists are busy making sure that doesn't happen.
There are six million people under "correctional control," either in prison or on parole or probation, which would make it the second largest city in the country. Particularly in black communities, a conversation is taking place that we need to use the term "abolition." More than half of all black men without a high school diploma find themselves in prison at some point. Despite relatively equal rates of drug use, black people in the US are significantly more likely to be incarcerated for drug crimes. Blacks are now incarcerated seven times as often as whites. In her book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Era of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander points out that there are more blacks in the US prison system than there were in slavery in 1850. Dominic Cinelli was white, but the bill that seeks to respond to his crime will disproportionately impact black people.
Sociologists and law enforcement are the experts; I don't know how best to allocate punishment to crime, though I intuit there is a lot wrong with how we do it now. As Christians, our job is to try to reconcile the state of our world with the judgment of Matthew 25:
Then they also will answer, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" Then he will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.' (v.44-46)
To look at social issues with the eyes of Christ: that is, to look not at "social issues" at all. It is our job to look at human beings. The family that is left behind, the son or daughter whose mother is addicted, the felon who can't even get a job at McDonald's with a record. What does it do to a person to separate them from society and permanently disenfranchise him? However much prison time a convicted felon has served, s/he still loses the right to vote, permanently. What does it say about us as a society that our system deems certain persons beyond salvation? What does it say about our values that we spend $10,000 a year for a school aged child's education but allocate $47,000 for one inmate? How do we respond to those who have lost hope? Worse, when desperation is a logical response to an impossible situation?
As always, I end with more questions than answers. But I look forward to Monday evening to hear what I can do. RSVP and share the event on facebook.
Blessings,
Sara+
Next Monday, I hope you'll join me in welcoming the Rev. George Walters-Sleyon, founder and director of the Center for Church and Prison. He is a mentee of our friend Norm Faramelli, and Sue Burkart became acquainted with him through her work with the organization Children of Incarcerated Parents. He will be speaking particularly on the "Three Strikes" law currently making its way through the legislature. It's in committee now, with members of the House and Senate ironing out differences between their versions before going to both for the final vote. The law came about in response to the murder of Woburn police officer John Maguire in 2010 in a shootout in the middle of a robbery. He was shot by Dominic Cinelli, paroled after serving 22 years of three concurrent life sentences. Cinelli had had a history of violent crime but was released on parole (though had the DA been notified as they should have been, his parole likely would not have gone through). Cinelli also died that day
So how does a Christian respond? It's hard to say on any issue that there is one Christian response. I oppose it, and Walters-Sleyon will speak about his opposition as well. But it's an issue in a wider context. This is not just a simple question of one law, or putting people in prison for longer. This issue is a knot of social issues; racism, poverty, and economics all come together in a particularly American stew. Prisons are big moneymakers, particularly those operated by private firms, a practice that is more and more common. The more we build the more prisoners are incarcerated, curiously despite the fact the crime is actually decreasing (no, it's not because all the criminals are in jail). The Corrections Corporation of America, a builder of private prisons, chillingly cautioned investors in their 2005 annual report that profits would go down if drug or immigration laws were changed. Naturally, their lobbyists are busy making sure that doesn't happen.
There are six million people under "correctional control," either in prison or on parole or probation, which would make it the second largest city in the country. Particularly in black communities, a conversation is taking place that we need to use the term "abolition." More than half of all black men without a high school diploma find themselves in prison at some point. Despite relatively equal rates of drug use, black people in the US are significantly more likely to be incarcerated for drug crimes. Blacks are now incarcerated seven times as often as whites. In her book, The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Era of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander points out that there are more blacks in the US prison system than there were in slavery in 1850. Dominic Cinelli was white, but the bill that seeks to respond to his crime will disproportionately impact black people.
Sociologists and law enforcement are the experts; I don't know how best to allocate punishment to crime, though I intuit there is a lot wrong with how we do it now. As Christians, our job is to try to reconcile the state of our world with the judgment of Matthew 25:
Then they also will answer, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" Then he will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.' (v.44-46)
To look at social issues with the eyes of Christ: that is, to look not at "social issues" at all. It is our job to look at human beings. The family that is left behind, the son or daughter whose mother is addicted, the felon who can't even get a job at McDonald's with a record. What does it do to a person to separate them from society and permanently disenfranchise him? However much prison time a convicted felon has served, s/he still loses the right to vote, permanently. What does it say about us as a society that our system deems certain persons beyond salvation? What does it say about our values that we spend $10,000 a year for a school aged child's education but allocate $47,000 for one inmate? How do we respond to those who have lost hope? Worse, when desperation is a logical response to an impossible situation?
As always, I end with more questions than answers. But I look forward to Monday evening to hear what I can do. RSVP and share the event on facebook.
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
Next week in this space, you'll hear from our youth, two of whom will travel to Costa Rica over February vacation on pilgrimage with other teens from the Alewife Deanery. Hearing it called a "pilgrimage" instead of a mission trip got me thinking. The usual understanding of being a "missionary" and going abroad to convert people isn't really something the Episcopal Church does much more, but often you still hear that expression; I went on a "Misison trip" to Belize as the assistant rector of Emmanuel Church in 2005, where we traveled to a school and helped build and equip a computer lab. We had a mission, for sure, but we were not exactly missionaries, a la serious young men with dark ties. Happy as we are to share our faith, trying to convert the masses isn't exactly the Episcopal style these days. I definitely appreciate the shift in language.
That word-pilgrimage-is an evocative one.
One of my favorite spiritual images is that of the labyrinth: a way of taking a spiritual voyage, if not a physical one. In our fall education series lead by Matt Dooley, we did walking meditation in the church-occupying the body gives the mind a certain freedom. While the sites of Jesus' passion and birth are certainly venerated in the Christian tradition, we don't have the same commandment to go on pilgrimage as, say, Muslims have to visit Mecca. There is a sense in the walking of silent communion: we are somehow all headed in the same direction. Not long ago I happened to watch a video someone of walking the labyrinth-you can see her shadow filming, but all it shows is ankle, foot, ground. At the time, I was imprisoned in my daughter's room waiting for her to go to sleep. Every time I moved to get up, I heard her lovely/tyrannous little toddler voice call out, "Stay!" Watching those feet on my little iPhone screen brought such a deep sense of accompaniment: feeling that Jan (the walker, whose blog I read but have never met) and I were united in faith, mystically accompanied by God. Feeling rather trapped and frustrated, the image of movement and grace brought me strangely to tears. I was not walking alone and my parental frustration did not have the last word.
Another definition I have always liked is from the Nepalese movie Himalaya. A group of villagers travel down their mountain with their yak to trade salt for grain. Being passed by another traveler, a child asks his father: Who is that? A pilgrim. What's a pilgrim? A religious person who walks.
So... Living. My favorite collect after the prayers of the people talks about our "earthly pilgrimage," and the phrase is in the burial service as well. Walking. Movement. Emma and Julia, going to Costa Rica to help out in churches there and learn a bit about what the diocese is like. Each of us praying for them and supporting them in whatever way we can. I invite you also to consider what pilgrimage means to you: have you ever been on one? Is there a place you want to go? What is revealed to you in the gentle slog of GOING-up a mountain or across a river or shepherding a child to sleep. To Elvis Presley's Graceland, Thoreau's Walden, to Bethlehem, Jerusalem. How are our values confirmed by those experiences? How are they challenged?
Blessings,
Sara+
Next week in this space, you'll hear from our youth, two of whom will travel to Costa Rica over February vacation on pilgrimage with other teens from the Alewife Deanery. Hearing it called a "pilgrimage" instead of a mission trip got me thinking. The usual understanding of being a "missionary" and going abroad to convert people isn't really something the Episcopal Church does much more, but often you still hear that expression; I went on a "Misison trip" to Belize as the assistant rector of Emmanuel Church in 2005, where we traveled to a school and helped build and equip a computer lab. We had a mission, for sure, but we were not exactly missionaries, a la serious young men with dark ties. Happy as we are to share our faith, trying to convert the masses isn't exactly the Episcopal style these days. I definitely appreciate the shift in language.
That word-pilgrimage-is an evocative one.
One of my favorite spiritual images is that of the labyrinth: a way of taking a spiritual voyage, if not a physical one. In our fall education series lead by Matt Dooley, we did walking meditation in the church-occupying the body gives the mind a certain freedom. While the sites of Jesus' passion and birth are certainly venerated in the Christian tradition, we don't have the same commandment to go on pilgrimage as, say, Muslims have to visit Mecca. There is a sense in the walking of silent communion: we are somehow all headed in the same direction. Not long ago I happened to watch a video someone of walking the labyrinth-you can see her shadow filming, but all it shows is ankle, foot, ground. At the time, I was imprisoned in my daughter's room waiting for her to go to sleep. Every time I moved to get up, I heard her lovely/tyrannous little toddler voice call out, "Stay!" Watching those feet on my little iPhone screen brought such a deep sense of accompaniment: feeling that Jan (the walker, whose blog I read but have never met) and I were united in faith, mystically accompanied by God. Feeling rather trapped and frustrated, the image of movement and grace brought me strangely to tears. I was not walking alone and my parental frustration did not have the last word.
Another definition I have always liked is from the Nepalese movie Himalaya. A group of villagers travel down their mountain with their yak to trade salt for grain. Being passed by another traveler, a child asks his father: Who is that? A pilgrim. What's a pilgrim? A religious person who walks.
So... Living. My favorite collect after the prayers of the people talks about our "earthly pilgrimage," and the phrase is in the burial service as well. Walking. Movement. Emma and Julia, going to Costa Rica to help out in churches there and learn a bit about what the diocese is like. Each of us praying for them and supporting them in whatever way we can. I invite you also to consider what pilgrimage means to you: have you ever been on one? Is there a place you want to go? What is revealed to you in the gentle slog of GOING-up a mountain or across a river or shepherding a child to sleep. To Elvis Presley's Graceland, Thoreau's Walden, to Bethlehem, Jerusalem. How are our values confirmed by those experiences? How are they challenged?
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I'm sending along my report for the annual report; a .pdf of the whole document will be available online later today, linked here, and at our website, so please review it as you are able. We will have printed copies available on Sunday, but we find the meeting works a bit better if participants have read the reports in advance.
S+
Report of the Rector, 2011
This year, as I sat down to write my report, without thinking, I began to type "Dear People of Christ Church..." as I begin each week with my email newsletter. I find myself so often in a kind of internal conversation with this parish. My vocation as a priest and my job as your priest come together in ways I am so grateful for. Truly, we share ministry in this place-and I especially couldn't do it without our stellar vestry and wardens!
2011 saw so much come to fruition. We had the first full year of the Christ Church Quarterly, our beautiful newsletter edited by Kristin Harvey, with issues on music, humankind, prayer, and the Sabbath. We had three all-encompassing children's services, where we were lead by our younger members. It was also the year we finally received the CPA grant which we began applying for back in 2010, and undertook an amazing adventure of generosity and faith in our capital campaign. See Mike's report for details- I sincerely could not have imagined what a grace-filled experience we would have in those visits and in your generosity. We had a 10 percent increase in Sunday attendance and a 10 percent increase in number of pledges from 2010. We had the biggest Sunday service in the six years I've been here on Easter, with 180 people gathering to celebrate the holiday.
It also felt like a new year of openness to the gifts of the city around us; for the first time, we reached out to local businesses for donations to Diaper Depot, and received $750.00 from Watertown Savings Bank. The American Legion Band offered a concert to support DD, and our Waltham History Day took on a new significance with our approved CPA grant as a way of opening our doors to the city. The work of Bill Fowler in bringing all of this to fruition cannot be overstated, and I am deeply grateful to him for his hard work and creativity.
In the Gospel of Mark, which we hear on the third Sunday after Epiphany, Jesus goes to Simon and Andrew and calls them from their nets; follow me, he says, and I will make you fish for people. He goes to them right where they are: God finds us and gives us our ministries without too much prompting from us, often when we are engaged in quite unrelated activities! But we do have to keep our eyes, ears, and hearts open. Looking into 2012, I am so excited to see where Christ will find us, how the Holy Spirit will transform us, how God our Creator will continue to nourish us with fruits both physical (thank you, Christ Church gardeners!) and metaphorical.
Christ will find us in embarking on new leadership challenges, Christ will find us in being wise stewards of this building and of each other, Christ will find us at coffee and at the altar rail, playing games and listening, in our conflict as well as our comforts, in our digging deep and drinking in. Thanks be to God!
This week, I'm sending along my report for the annual report; a .pdf of the whole document will be available online later today, linked here, and at our website, so please review it as you are able. We will have printed copies available on Sunday, but we find the meeting works a bit better if participants have read the reports in advance.
S+
Report of the Rector, 2011
This year, as I sat down to write my report, without thinking, I began to type "Dear People of Christ Church..." as I begin each week with my email newsletter. I find myself so often in a kind of internal conversation with this parish. My vocation as a priest and my job as your priest come together in ways I am so grateful for. Truly, we share ministry in this place-and I especially couldn't do it without our stellar vestry and wardens!
2011 saw so much come to fruition. We had the first full year of the Christ Church Quarterly, our beautiful newsletter edited by Kristin Harvey, with issues on music, humankind, prayer, and the Sabbath. We had three all-encompassing children's services, where we were lead by our younger members. It was also the year we finally received the CPA grant which we began applying for back in 2010, and undertook an amazing adventure of generosity and faith in our capital campaign. See Mike's report for details- I sincerely could not have imagined what a grace-filled experience we would have in those visits and in your generosity. We had a 10 percent increase in Sunday attendance and a 10 percent increase in number of pledges from 2010. We had the biggest Sunday service in the six years I've been here on Easter, with 180 people gathering to celebrate the holiday.
It also felt like a new year of openness to the gifts of the city around us; for the first time, we reached out to local businesses for donations to Diaper Depot, and received $750.00 from Watertown Savings Bank. The American Legion Band offered a concert to support DD, and our Waltham History Day took on a new significance with our approved CPA grant as a way of opening our doors to the city. The work of Bill Fowler in bringing all of this to fruition cannot be overstated, and I am deeply grateful to him for his hard work and creativity.
In the Gospel of Mark, which we hear on the third Sunday after Epiphany, Jesus goes to Simon and Andrew and calls them from their nets; follow me, he says, and I will make you fish for people. He goes to them right where they are: God finds us and gives us our ministries without too much prompting from us, often when we are engaged in quite unrelated activities! But we do have to keep our eyes, ears, and hearts open. Looking into 2012, I am so excited to see where Christ will find us, how the Holy Spirit will transform us, how God our Creator will continue to nourish us with fruits both physical (thank you, Christ Church gardeners!) and metaphorical.
Christ will find us in embarking on new leadership challenges, Christ will find us in being wise stewards of this building and of each other, Christ will find us at coffee and at the altar rail, playing games and listening, in our conflict as well as our comforts, in our digging deep and drinking in. Thanks be to God!
Friday, January 13, 2012
Dear People of Christ Church,
This Sunday we celebrate the baptisms of Abram Leonardo and Abigail Sobosik. Abigail is the granddaughter of longtime Christ Churchers Jeanne and Jim McDonald, and joins siblings Ava and Petey-all of whom were also baptized here. Their family lives near Worcester, now, but it's good to welcome them home to Waltham where their parents, Pete and Belinda, were also married. Abram most recently graced our sanctuary in playing baby Jesus in the Pageant, so he will surely take being dunked with water in stride.
This past Sunday we threw water around, too. For our children's sermon we talked about Jesus' baptism-I believe it was Donovan who painted the vivid picture for us of John "shoving him under the water" in the river Jordan. We talked about the symbolism of water, and how the water blessing weaves imagery from all the way through the Christian story. From the beginning of creation when the Holy Spirit moved over it, to the Israelites walking through the red sea, to Jesus being baptized-water has always been a dynamic gift, both physical (we are, after all made of it) and spiritual. After we prayed over it, the kids got to do the asperges (the sprinkling of holy water on the people)-a blessing in so many ways. Putting our wet hands to our heads, we said, "I belong to Christ."
I have written in this space before about how kids in worship help us all-sometimes we get so serious and solemn about things, and they just help us to lighten up. Respect is certainly appropriate, and we need to remember and to connect with the majesty and grandeur of our faith. But there is also so much about life on earth that is just intended for our joy. There is a line in the Eucharistic prayer that says "you made us for yourself"-God's action in creation isn't some kind of distant, impersonal speech-it's celebration and song and delight. We are God's-in English the possessive is expressed kind of weakly with that little --'s--but in Greek there is a whole different verb conjugation for it. The possession is located not in the owner, but in the action itself; somehow it seems even more powerful to me that way. It's not just me that is God's, it's also the belonging itself.
So, this Sunday, be there--and come expecting to get wet!
Blessings,
Sara+
This Sunday we celebrate the baptisms of Abram Leonardo and Abigail Sobosik. Abigail is the granddaughter of longtime Christ Churchers Jeanne and Jim McDonald, and joins siblings Ava and Petey-all of whom were also baptized here. Their family lives near Worcester, now, but it's good to welcome them home to Waltham where their parents, Pete and Belinda, were also married. Abram most recently graced our sanctuary in playing baby Jesus in the Pageant, so he will surely take being dunked with water in stride.
This past Sunday we threw water around, too. For our children's sermon we talked about Jesus' baptism-I believe it was Donovan who painted the vivid picture for us of John "shoving him under the water" in the river Jordan. We talked about the symbolism of water, and how the water blessing weaves imagery from all the way through the Christian story. From the beginning of creation when the Holy Spirit moved over it, to the Israelites walking through the red sea, to Jesus being baptized-water has always been a dynamic gift, both physical (we are, after all made of it) and spiritual. After we prayed over it, the kids got to do the asperges (the sprinkling of holy water on the people)-a blessing in so many ways. Putting our wet hands to our heads, we said, "I belong to Christ."
I have written in this space before about how kids in worship help us all-sometimes we get so serious and solemn about things, and they just help us to lighten up. Respect is certainly appropriate, and we need to remember and to connect with the majesty and grandeur of our faith. But there is also so much about life on earth that is just intended for our joy. There is a line in the Eucharistic prayer that says "you made us for yourself"-God's action in creation isn't some kind of distant, impersonal speech-it's celebration and song and delight. We are God's-in English the possessive is expressed kind of weakly with that little --'s--but in Greek there is a whole different verb conjugation for it. The possession is located not in the owner, but in the action itself; somehow it seems even more powerful to me that way. It's not just me that is God's, it's also the belonging itself.
So, this Sunday, be there--and come expecting to get wet!
Blessings,
Sara+
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)