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+
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
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+
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