Dear People of Christ Church,
I’m writing this afternoon thinking of all the newness of the year at the same time as I think of the way the past stays with us. The Stations of the Cross we received from St John’s Bowdoin Street continue to linger at the back of the church and still we’re in conversation about what we’ll do with our new guests. Praying the Stations of the Cross (away from Jerusalem, that is) is a Christian practice dating back about 500 years. In it, we trace the events of Christ’s passion. The prayer form we use is found in the Episcopal Book of Occasional Services. Representations of them are often hung in churches to offer a visual image to the prayers. The “original” stations of the cross are in Jerusalem—where Jesus is believed to have actually walked—and called the Via Dolorosa or Way of Sorrows. Those have been a pilgrimage site since the 5th century. (more about all of this on Wikipedia, of course.)
1: Where did they come from?
When a parish closes or merges with another congregation, the diocese has an open invitation to other communities to request items from the closed churches. Over the summer, Sasha and Phil Killewald visted the open house at St John’s on our behalf. St John the Evangelist has an amazing history—they were the parish that Harriet Beecher Stowe’s father was a member of. Isabella Stewart Gardener went there, too. The monks now in Cambridge worshipped there as well when they first came to the United States from England. And our own Marjorie Hartman’s father was a member there, too, which led to her encouraging us to take them as well! We’re continuing to learn more—Erin Jensen has been doing some research on the studio that produced them in the late 1800’s (around the same time Christ Church was built).
2: How was this decision made?
Vestry made the decision after an open call for congregational input. During the month of September we published pictures and announcements in the ecrier and announced on Sundays that the congregation should offer input to the vestry. We offered a field trip to St John’s to visit them (no one took us up on it). After 3 weeks of open input, on September 22 the vestry had a lively conversation, considering many of the questions I mention here and considering the congregational input. The group unanimously voted to invite them to come. Because St John’s wasn’t yet formally closed, they weren’t available until November.
3: Isn’t it a little, um, “Catholic” to have the Stations of the Cross?
You don’t see them in every Episcopal church, but there is nothing inherently Roman Catholic about them. I grew up in an Episcopal church that did stations of the cross every Friday in Lent—they still do. Our stations come from an Episcopal church. It’s true that the Roman Catholic Church has a strong legacy praying the events of Christ’s Passion that the stations invite. Many Episcopal Churches don’t have them—as, indeed, Christ Church didn’t until 2008 when we installed the small photos of the ones from Westminster Cathedral since 2008 (we sometimes left them up through the year, and sometimes took them down after Lent).
4: Won’t it change the look of the church to have so much white plaster up?
It’s possible, but my sense is that the windows and the brick will hold their own. The Stations of the Cross are large, but our church is very very large. Given the layout of the church and windows, the sight lines toward the front of the church won’t be changed—they won’t be hung as close up to the front as the font or the piano, for example. And since they’re white, the color on the windows would be dominant.
5: Some of them are broken. Won’t it be expensive to fix them? And how are they getting hung, anyway?
We’ve received several donations specifically for the Stations of the Cross. The expenses are not coming out of the parish budget. Funds will go toward building frames that will make it possible to hang them, and the frames will support them to make them more durable as well. We also have some leads on professional art conservators, who might be asked to weigh in as well. We are still exploring whether it makes sense to hang them on existing infrastructure or if we will anchor them in the brick work.
6: What if it’s terrible?
If it’s terrible, we can always do something different. The decision on final placement hasn’t been made yet—stay tuned. And, as we said in the open comment period, please talk to your vestry!
Blessings,
Sara+
Showing posts with label DioMass. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DioMass. Show all posts
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Friday, November 7, 2014
Fully Alive, to Joy and Grief
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, of course, I’m still reeling a little after Bishop Tom’s funeral on Saturday, which was just marvelous. You can find the text of Brother Geoffrey’s sermon here. One of the things that I have long loved about being an Anglican is that our worship is actually intended to accomplish something—at Holy Week I always talk about how we do the last week of Jesus’ life, with foot washing and prayers at the cross and celebration of the resurrection. It’s not an abstraction. The funeral on Saturday, too, did what it was supposed to do.
We laughed at stories like Tom telling a visitor to the monastery who asked about it that he was the only one wearing a cross because he was “monk of the month.” We cried when we sang “King of Glory, King of Peace,” Tom’s favorite hymn. We cried when the silence seemed to stretch forever when Brother James, who was to begin the Prayers of the People, just couldn’t speak.
We shared in the Eucharist that is the Body and Blood of Christ who unites us and in whom we find our peace, in whom, the dead are not dead and we all rise to life again. We cried—again—when the brothers sang the Song of Simeon—“ Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised/ For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see.”
And so he is set free, and so are we.
There’s a really important tension to hold when we stand in the middle of life and death. We can say that Tom is set free, along with all of those names we printed in the bulletin on Sunday for All Saints Day, and believe that he is free and sees the glory of God face to face. We hold that reality in one hand. We treasure that promise that Jesus Christ has gone before us and by the grace and miracle of God defeated the power of death. In our other hand, we hold the reality that life is a wonderful, astonishing, and precious gift. In its messiness and mud as well as in its joy and laughter, life is a gift. To welcome death as also a gift is not to diminish the importance of our course on earth—holy as the dying was, the living was holy, too.
Brother Geoffrey quoted the second century bishop Irenaeus of Lyon—“the glory of God is the human person fully alive.” Fully alive includes grief as well as joy. For now, I’m trying to take my time for both.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, of course, I’m still reeling a little after Bishop Tom’s funeral on Saturday, which was just marvelous. You can find the text of Brother Geoffrey’s sermon here. One of the things that I have long loved about being an Anglican is that our worship is actually intended to accomplish something—at Holy Week I always talk about how we do the last week of Jesus’ life, with foot washing and prayers at the cross and celebration of the resurrection. It’s not an abstraction. The funeral on Saturday, too, did what it was supposed to do.
We laughed at stories like Tom telling a visitor to the monastery who asked about it that he was the only one wearing a cross because he was “monk of the month.” We cried when we sang “King of Glory, King of Peace,” Tom’s favorite hymn. We cried when the silence seemed to stretch forever when Brother James, who was to begin the Prayers of the People, just couldn’t speak.
We shared in the Eucharist that is the Body and Blood of Christ who unites us and in whom we find our peace, in whom, the dead are not dead and we all rise to life again. We cried—again—when the brothers sang the Song of Simeon—“ Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised/ For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see.”
And so he is set free, and so are we.
There’s a really important tension to hold when we stand in the middle of life and death. We can say that Tom is set free, along with all of those names we printed in the bulletin on Sunday for All Saints Day, and believe that he is free and sees the glory of God face to face. We hold that reality in one hand. We treasure that promise that Jesus Christ has gone before us and by the grace and miracle of God defeated the power of death. In our other hand, we hold the reality that life is a wonderful, astonishing, and precious gift. In its messiness and mud as well as in its joy and laughter, life is a gift. To welcome death as also a gift is not to diminish the importance of our course on earth—holy as the dying was, the living was holy, too.
Brother Geoffrey quoted the second century bishop Irenaeus of Lyon—“the glory of God is the human person fully alive.” Fully alive includes grief as well as joy. For now, I’m trying to take my time for both.
Blessings,
Sara+
Friday, October 24, 2014
From Fear to Trust
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I wanted to pass on part of our food for discussion from our Tuesday group. Heather Leonardo passed on the poem from Marilyn Sandberg for our conversation about church and spirituality.
When They Revolutionize the Cocktail Parties
Marilyn Sandberg
“Hello, what are you afraid of?”
“Death.”
“Me too.”
“When you hear a Mahler symphony?”
“No, when I wake up in the night.”
"Me too."
“Nice meeting you.”
“Same here.”
The stark simplicity of the scene is riveting; how often do we hear something earth shattering and then sweep it under the rug with polite chatter? It would, for sure, be quite a revolutionary cocktail party if we were this honest with each other.
That question, of course, brings me to church. When is church more like a cocktail party than a revolution? Is that really what God wants for us in community? In my sermon on Sunday, I was talking with you about how we are made in the image of God—that we give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, but that we belong to God and are invited to live from that holy knowledge. This is something that our former bishop Tom Shaw, who died last week, so exemplified. His security in his identity as rooted in God made space for others to live from that reality as well. ;His life was an example of holy living, but also holy dying; he never pretended that everything was “fine.” But even when it wasn’t “fine” in the usual sense, when he was dying and there were no more treatments, it was all still good. He lived in full view of the gift of his 69 years, often remarking how much better it had all turned out than he expected. If you didn’t see his video meditation on the end of his life, please do look for it here:
Tom talks about his gratitude and, sure, his desire to live for another 25 years, but he talks about his trust in God. One of the reflections left on the page of SSJE, Tom’s monastic community, used the expression of how we can allow fear to “melt into trust.” When do you long for your fear to “melt into trust?” What is that moment like?
On Tuesday I felt this so powerfully as we gathered for our Eucharist after our education. My kids don’t usually come, since with a 25 minute drive home it’s way past their bedtime once we’re finally done, but since it was a vestry night for their dad, they got to come along with me. During the service Adah, just turned five, was totally losing it—no matter how many times I asked her to be still, she was crawling up the pulpit and down the stairs, making faces and laughing during our quiet reflection time. I love seeing your kids enjoying themselves (even, yes, sometimes in “inappropriate” ways in church) but when I have to lead a service, it’s much less endearing when it’s my own kids I want to have under control. So I was a bit distracted and cranky, trying to extend us all some compassion. I am surely thankful for the grace extended us by the other 10 people gathered!
In any case, I had a “fear melting into trust” moment during the Eucharistic prayer. Finally understanding that it was truly not possible for Adah to control herself at 8:00 on a school night, I scooped her up and had her on my hip. I’m used to holding her, of course, but with two arms! When the time in the prayer came for the elevation of the bread and wine, of course, I shifted her over—and I’m strong, but 40lbs is a lot of pounds on one arm. Holding her, though, and holding the bread on the other hand and saying those words “Take, eat, this is my body, given for you,” I had a knock-your-socks-off moment of realization—This. Is. True. And I trusted it—trusted God, and that moment, and my parenting, and my kid and the marvelous and strange journey it is to be a parent and a priest, sometimes at the same time. And, with Tom, I give thanks.
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I wanted to pass on part of our food for discussion from our Tuesday group. Heather Leonardo passed on the poem from Marilyn Sandberg for our conversation about church and spirituality.
When They Revolutionize the Cocktail Parties
Marilyn Sandberg
“Hello, what are you afraid of?”
“Death.”
“Me too.”
“When you hear a Mahler symphony?”
“No, when I wake up in the night.”
"Me too."
“Nice meeting you.”
“Same here.”
The stark simplicity of the scene is riveting; how often do we hear something earth shattering and then sweep it under the rug with polite chatter? It would, for sure, be quite a revolutionary cocktail party if we were this honest with each other.
That question, of course, brings me to church. When is church more like a cocktail party than a revolution? Is that really what God wants for us in community? In my sermon on Sunday, I was talking with you about how we are made in the image of God—that we give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, but that we belong to God and are invited to live from that holy knowledge. This is something that our former bishop Tom Shaw, who died last week, so exemplified. His security in his identity as rooted in God made space for others to live from that reality as well. ;His life was an example of holy living, but also holy dying; he never pretended that everything was “fine.” But even when it wasn’t “fine” in the usual sense, when he was dying and there were no more treatments, it was all still good. He lived in full view of the gift of his 69 years, often remarking how much better it had all turned out than he expected. If you didn’t see his video meditation on the end of his life, please do look for it here:
On Tuesday I felt this so powerfully as we gathered for our Eucharist after our education. My kids don’t usually come, since with a 25 minute drive home it’s way past their bedtime once we’re finally done, but since it was a vestry night for their dad, they got to come along with me. During the service Adah, just turned five, was totally losing it—no matter how many times I asked her to be still, she was crawling up the pulpit and down the stairs, making faces and laughing during our quiet reflection time. I love seeing your kids enjoying themselves (even, yes, sometimes in “inappropriate” ways in church) but when I have to lead a service, it’s much less endearing when it’s my own kids I want to have under control. So I was a bit distracted and cranky, trying to extend us all some compassion. I am surely thankful for the grace extended us by the other 10 people gathered!
In any case, I had a “fear melting into trust” moment during the Eucharistic prayer. Finally understanding that it was truly not possible for Adah to control herself at 8:00 on a school night, I scooped her up and had her on my hip. I’m used to holding her, of course, but with two arms! When the time in the prayer came for the elevation of the bread and wine, of course, I shifted her over—and I’m strong, but 40lbs is a lot of pounds on one arm. Holding her, though, and holding the bread on the other hand and saying those words “Take, eat, this is my body, given for you,” I had a knock-your-socks-off moment of realization—This. Is. True. And I trusted it—trusted God, and that moment, and my parenting, and my kid and the marvelous and strange journey it is to be a parent and a priest, sometimes at the same time. And, with Tom, I give thanks.
Blessings,
Sara+
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Vocations of Gladness: Ten Years In
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I've been thinking about vocation, defined in such a lovely way by Frederick Buechner as "the meeting place between your deep gladness and the world's deep need." Over the weekend, I attended our diocese's ordination for the diaconate. I serve on the diocesan Commission on Ministry, the group that works with the bishop when candidates apply for ordination, so two of my advisees were getting ordained, along with Rachael Pettengill, who has worked as an intern at Grace Church, where my husband serves, and as the Protestant Chaplain at Tufts. Even Isaiah wanted to go, since Rachael has taught his Godly Play Class at Grace.
It was a big service-the church has 9 new deacons, who in January will all be ordained priest. What was especially neat was that the ordinations for our diocese were at Emmanuel Church, Boston, where I served for a year as an assistant before coming to Christ Church. So a lot of vocations came together for me that morning, as a member of the diocese as well as mother and priest, all leading up to my ten year anniversary of my ordination (today, as a matter of fact).
Processing in to the church, I remembered the feeling of being so new to the work of the church. Ten years ago, I'd just moved to Boston, had only been married for less than two years, and had no children. Though I loved the way living in New York City had made me feel like I was part of something bigger, I didn't miss the low level of stress that came with Manhattan's constant buzz or the way my very traditional seminary made me feel like such a misfit. Now, I came into that space having launched into a wonderful and strong ministry with you at Christ Church. I walked with my son, whom I couldn't have imagined at that time. I've recovered from seminary-pretty much!-and I have been blessed beyond imagining in this work.
Emmanuel Church is cavernous-you practically need binoculars to see the altar from the back. Entering in, you're engulfed by a sense of sacred space-on Saturday, with two bishops and 20 other priests and 9 ordinands, it was big. Entering in while your 7 year old walks at your side and you remember how it felt the first time you entered a church as a clergyperson, sacred space doesn't just engulf you, it slaps you in the face and punches you in the stomach at the same time, leaving you reeling and out of breath. (For another piece I wrote about priesting and mothering, in the context of church hospitality, see my blog post.)
Most often, of course, the sacred nature of our lives doesn't come quite so forcefully. The usual life of a Christian is more Road to Emmaus ("...So, I guess that was Jesus") than it is Road to Damascus ("Holy @#$, it's Jesus!"). While we sometimes get knocked off our horses, more often you have to do the work of attentiveness and patience, watching and waiting. Sometimes you have to squint so hard to see God you close your eyes and pretend you're somewhere else. At those times, it's totally fair game to complain-the psalms are a great resource for complaint (at least 40% are legitimately categorized as lament, in which the petitioner prays for God's deliverance in anger, sadness, despair).
What is always true, though, is that vocation is in the context of the world as we know it. Your vocation is not to be found later, it's to be found where you are right now. Your vocation at this time might be preparing for something else-going to school, for example-but that doesn't make it any less than what you are called to do right now.
How do you understand your vocation? Do you feel like you chose it, or did it choose you? Caring for a sick parent or spouse is a vocation born out of the depths of love, not always gladness. Caring for children is a vocation, but for every time you gaze lovingly on a sleeping child, there might be three nights they refuse to be still long enough to let you get any sleep at all. Just because God wants you to do it and your deepest gladness is part of the story doesn't mean that you will always feel glad about it.
Leaning into summer, where is God calling you? Where does your gladness meet God's love and longing for the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I've been thinking about vocation, defined in such a lovely way by Frederick Buechner as "the meeting place between your deep gladness and the world's deep need." Over the weekend, I attended our diocese's ordination for the diaconate. I serve on the diocesan Commission on Ministry, the group that works with the bishop when candidates apply for ordination, so two of my advisees were getting ordained, along with Rachael Pettengill, who has worked as an intern at Grace Church, where my husband serves, and as the Protestant Chaplain at Tufts. Even Isaiah wanted to go, since Rachael has taught his Godly Play Class at Grace.
It was a big service-the church has 9 new deacons, who in January will all be ordained priest. What was especially neat was that the ordinations for our diocese were at Emmanuel Church, Boston, where I served for a year as an assistant before coming to Christ Church. So a lot of vocations came together for me that morning, as a member of the diocese as well as mother and priest, all leading up to my ten year anniversary of my ordination (today, as a matter of fact).
Processing in to the church, I remembered the feeling of being so new to the work of the church. Ten years ago, I'd just moved to Boston, had only been married for less than two years, and had no children. Though I loved the way living in New York City had made me feel like I was part of something bigger, I didn't miss the low level of stress that came with Manhattan's constant buzz or the way my very traditional seminary made me feel like such a misfit. Now, I came into that space having launched into a wonderful and strong ministry with you at Christ Church. I walked with my son, whom I couldn't have imagined at that time. I've recovered from seminary-pretty much!-and I have been blessed beyond imagining in this work.
Emmanuel Church is cavernous-you practically need binoculars to see the altar from the back. Entering in, you're engulfed by a sense of sacred space-on Saturday, with two bishops and 20 other priests and 9 ordinands, it was big. Entering in while your 7 year old walks at your side and you remember how it felt the first time you entered a church as a clergyperson, sacred space doesn't just engulf you, it slaps you in the face and punches you in the stomach at the same time, leaving you reeling and out of breath. (For another piece I wrote about priesting and mothering, in the context of church hospitality, see my blog post.)
Most often, of course, the sacred nature of our lives doesn't come quite so forcefully. The usual life of a Christian is more Road to Emmaus ("...So, I guess that was Jesus") than it is Road to Damascus ("Holy @#$, it's Jesus!"). While we sometimes get knocked off our horses, more often you have to do the work of attentiveness and patience, watching and waiting. Sometimes you have to squint so hard to see God you close your eyes and pretend you're somewhere else. At those times, it's totally fair game to complain-the psalms are a great resource for complaint (at least 40% are legitimately categorized as lament, in which the petitioner prays for God's deliverance in anger, sadness, despair).
What is always true, though, is that vocation is in the context of the world as we know it. Your vocation is not to be found later, it's to be found where you are right now. Your vocation at this time might be preparing for something else-going to school, for example-but that doesn't make it any less than what you are called to do right now.
How do you understand your vocation? Do you feel like you chose it, or did it choose you? Caring for a sick parent or spouse is a vocation born out of the depths of love, not always gladness. Caring for children is a vocation, but for every time you gaze lovingly on a sleeping child, there might be three nights they refuse to be still long enough to let you get any sleep at all. Just because God wants you to do it and your deepest gladness is part of the story doesn't mean that you will always feel glad about it.
Leaning into summer, where is God calling you? Where does your gladness meet God's love and longing for the world?
Blessings,
Sara+
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
From Jan 17: Tom Shaw's Retirement
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week, I want to commend to you prayers for our bishop, Tom Shaw, who announced his retirement this week. I met Tom for the first time as a Micah Intern in 2000-since then he's married me and Noah, ordained us, baptized both our children, and installed me as rector here-he always jokes that we have to bury him, but hopefully that won't be for a long while. While in seminary, I remember writing long (somewhat tortured) letters home about how difficult I was finding the whole process. I wrote the letters because I was required to-but I often remember the response he gave me-he said, "it sounds to me like you're looking for the freedom of Jesus Christ."
It was good advice then, and now--I come back to it when things get scary. One of the things I said once to some colleagues about our capital campaign was that it felt like an invitation into that freedom. After all, if we can talk about something like money, maybe we can talk about anything. Just maybe. Again and again, on hard topics like Palestine, GLBT inclusion, and many other issues, Tom has had the courage of his convictions to talk about so much, and lead us forward. And, yes, as Byron Rushing pointed out in the Boston Globe article-a great fundraiser, too. I'll miss him. Rather than be long winded about it, I'll commend to you the letter he wrote to our diocese here and suggest you check out the Globe article as well.
We aren't on the schedule for a formal visitation from him in the next 15 months , so we'll have to come up with a really good party to get him to Waltham. On a practical level otherwise, the Standing Committee will be working with him in inviting nominations for a "co-adjutor" (the new bishop, who will work with Tom for a period before his retirement), who will be elected in April of 2014. Marathon of prayers for our diocese and all those who shepherd us through this process!
Blessings,
Sara+
This week, I want to commend to you prayers for our bishop, Tom Shaw, who announced his retirement this week. I met Tom for the first time as a Micah Intern in 2000-since then he's married me and Noah, ordained us, baptized both our children, and installed me as rector here-he always jokes that we have to bury him, but hopefully that won't be for a long while. While in seminary, I remember writing long (somewhat tortured) letters home about how difficult I was finding the whole process. I wrote the letters because I was required to-but I often remember the response he gave me-he said, "it sounds to me like you're looking for the freedom of Jesus Christ."
It was good advice then, and now--I come back to it when things get scary. One of the things I said once to some colleagues about our capital campaign was that it felt like an invitation into that freedom. After all, if we can talk about something like money, maybe we can talk about anything. Just maybe. Again and again, on hard topics like Palestine, GLBT inclusion, and many other issues, Tom has had the courage of his convictions to talk about so much, and lead us forward. And, yes, as Byron Rushing pointed out in the Boston Globe article-a great fundraiser, too. I'll miss him. Rather than be long winded about it, I'll commend to you the letter he wrote to our diocese here and suggest you check out the Globe article as well.
We aren't on the schedule for a formal visitation from him in the next 15 months , so we'll have to come up with a really good party to get him to Waltham. On a practical level otherwise, the Standing Committee will be working with him in inviting nominations for a "co-adjutor" (the new bishop, who will work with Tom for a period before his retirement), who will be elected in April of 2014. Marathon of prayers for our diocese and all those who shepherd us through this process!
Blessings,
Sara+
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Community and Diocesan News
Dear People of Christ Church,
This week it feels as though every last possible task is trying to be completed before Thanksgiving-Advent bulletins created, worship calendar finished, newsletter articles done. None of them will be quite finished, and yet God is still with us. No matter how stressed or anxious we are, God is present and we are loved. [deep breath]
On Tuesday, a few of us attended the City of Waltham's Community Preservation Committee meeting to answer questions about our application for funds through the CPA act's historic preservation category. The Community Preservation Act was adopted in 2005 to create a fund for historic preservation, open space, and affordable housing. The money comes from a mix of property tax surcharges and state matching grants. The CPC Committee approves the initial application, and then the wider city council group approves it. On Tuesday, Shawn Russell, our treasurer, and I went before the committee to answer questions about our application, while our cheering section sat up front and prayed for us. With few questions, we were approved! Those funds will be spent on restoration of the tower and windows, in tandem with a capital campaign project which you'll hear more about soon. Special thanks to everyone who worked hard to complete the application (particularly Shawn, Jonathan, Cindy, and some last minute editing by Mike)-and especially Bill Fowler, whose knowledge of city politics was instrumental in getting us in front of the committee as soon as we did and who fielded many contractor visits.
In other news, this week Bishop Suffragan Bud Cederholm announced his retirement. I saw him at a meeting last night and told him I was happy for him, but sad for us! Fortunately, we still have a year together and he will continue to be involved in the diocese after his retirement.
I'm pasting the announcement from the Episcopal e-news below. To read the full letter, visit diomass.org.
Blessings to all of you who are expecting guests or who will be traveling for the holiday.
peace,
Sara+
This week it feels as though every last possible task is trying to be completed before Thanksgiving-Advent bulletins created, worship calendar finished, newsletter articles done. None of them will be quite finished, and yet God is still with us. No matter how stressed or anxious we are, God is present and we are loved. [deep breath]
On Tuesday, a few of us attended the City of Waltham's Community Preservation Committee meeting to answer questions about our application for funds through the CPA act's historic preservation category. The Community Preservation Act was adopted in 2005 to create a fund for historic preservation, open space, and affordable housing. The money comes from a mix of property tax surcharges and state matching grants. The CPC Committee approves the initial application, and then the wider city council group approves it. On Tuesday, Shawn Russell, our treasurer, and I went before the committee to answer questions about our application, while our cheering section sat up front and prayed for us. With few questions, we were approved! Those funds will be spent on restoration of the tower and windows, in tandem with a capital campaign project which you'll hear more about soon. Special thanks to everyone who worked hard to complete the application (particularly Shawn, Jonathan, Cindy, and some last minute editing by Mike)-and especially Bill Fowler, whose knowledge of city politics was instrumental in getting us in front of the committee as soon as we did and who fielded many contractor visits.
In other news, this week Bishop Suffragan Bud Cederholm announced his retirement. I saw him at a meeting last night and told him I was happy for him, but sad for us! Fortunately, we still have a year together and he will continue to be involved in the diocese after his retirement.
I'm pasting the announcement from the Episcopal e-news below. To read the full letter, visit diomass.org.
Blessings to all of you who are expecting guests or who will be traveling for the holiday.
peace,
Sara+
Friday, August 28, 2009
September Events
This week, I wanted to write to let you know of some things that are going on in the diocese in September. First is the 9/11 National Day of service. The Obama administration and congress declared September 11th a day of National Service in the Edward M. Kennedy Serve America Act, which also dramatically increased funding for service programs across the country. Now it's a way of honoring Kennedy's memory, too.
The date still sticks in my mind; I was living in New York City at the time and remember such fear and uncertainty, and also anger at the political and military response to what happened that day. But 8 years later it's past time to let go of some of the anger that "9/11" still brings up in the back of my mind, and start to move forward in a more constructive way. The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said: "Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." That goes for hate toward "haters" as well. Toward that end, the Diocese of Massachusetts is joining the national movement and organizing a day of prayer, service, and reflection.
On Friday (9/11) and Saturday (9/12), there will be opportunity to volunteer at a number of service projects. St Stephen's in the South End, host of the B Safe program, Holy Spirit, Mattapan, St Mary's and St Mark's in Dorchester, and several other places are organizing ways for people to be partners in the ministry that those parishes engage in all year. (as an added connection for me, the 9/11 day is being organized by the diocesan intern program which I participated in before seminary and where Caroline Hunter, a member of our parish last year, is serving now). I hope we can get a group of people together to attend--let me know if you'd be interested, or if you'd like to help mobilize the Christ Church effort.
Another diocesan event happens on the same day as a Christ Church one--on September 26, we'll be having a yard sale here at church (Cathy Hughes is organizing donations--there will be more in next week's Fieldstone Crier about how and what to give)--but it's also the day of the annual diocesan "Resource Day," here at Bentley University. The theme is Discipleship: Being formed and sent in the power of the Spirit into the ministries of our daily lives. Resource Day has great workshops on a number of topics, lead by both regular parishioners of local congregations and diocesan staff. You'll find everything from The Spirituality of Parenting to Transformative Stewardship to Ministry with Veterans. Let me know if you'd like a detailed schedule with descriptions of all the workshops--there's also one posted on the "diocesan events" bulletin board. The cost is 15.00, but the parish can help pay if that's a barrier for you.
Hope to see you at one or all three of these events!
peace,
Sara+
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