Swimming During the Rain Storm

Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m looking forward to talking with our kids about Lent in the children’s sermon this Sunday. It’s such an interesting opportunity to think about moving toward Lent with kids, who don’t have any of the same baggage as many of us end up with about the season. We are invited to observe Lent with the same intimacy with God as Jesus did—he went to the wilderness after his baptism to spend time with his Abba. That’s what it’s about for us, too.

But… Intimacy with God for us is a bit trickier than it was for Jesus. When we enter Lent longing for intimacy, we are necessarily called to look at the things that block our closeness with God. The word for that, of course, is sin. The hard part about sin (as if there were only one) is that in trying to figure out sin, we are already wrapped up in it. It’s like trying to get dry after a swim during a rain storm—you can get out of the pool and use as many towels as you want, but it’ll still going to be raining on the walk home and you’ll get wet again. Sin gets us stuck in our own stories about our innocence and others’ guilt. In shame. In paralysis. Vulnerability is embarrassing. We don’t want to ask for help, even from God who loves us more than anything. So even in trying to look honestly at our sin, we end up doing it in kind of a sinful way. Examining my white privilege makes me feel stuck, so I do nothing. Thinking about my lack of compassion for others, I deflect blame on to their slowness, not my impatience. My car uses too much gas and I let my kids watch too much TV. I squeeze prayer in at the margins of my day, not the center. There are many sins. You have your list, I have mine.

This Sunday will be the second time we hand out “Lent in a bag” for kids at the children’s sermon. None of the symbols in it have anything to do with how terrible we are. They’ll get sand, as a reminder of Jesus’ time in the desert wilderness. Two clothespin people: one larger (Jesus), one smaller (that’s us). A seashell. Are there seashells in the desert? Nope. But the Holy Spirit always has a surprise or two up her sleeve, and we need to remember that. Also: a rock, since things can get hard, and a candle, for light. Also a heart for God’s love.

I was talking to someone recently who commented that they felt in need of Lent, that it had been feeling like a very tender time in their life. I so appreciate that articulation—when we are feeling fragile and sensitive, what better time than Lent to come and remind us of whose we are? The life we find in Lent is real—that list of sins doesn’t go away—so it’s true that it’s not all seashells and hearts and clothespin people. If we are trusting God, though, really, really trusting, it becomes possible to confront our frailties and selfishness and occasional just-plain-being-a-jerk-ness with God, rather than muddling through on our own. Trying to fix all my sinful ways on my own is a sin, too—I’m not going to be able to save myself.

Times like this, I am especially grateful for our liturgical church. I don’t have to understand everything. Next Wednesday, we’ll put ashes on our heads and pray on our knees. God will do the rest. Kids know that, and I look forward to listening with them on Sunday.

Blessings,
Sara+

Annual Meeting Blessings

A blessing is not something that one person gives another. A blessing is a moment of meeting, a certain kind of relationship in which both people involved remember and acknowledge their true nature and worth, and strengthen what is whole in one another… We enable people to remember who they are.
—Dr Rachael Remen, My Grandfather’s Blessings

By any measure, by any definition, our work together at Christ Church is a blessing.
I am always grateful for the ministry that we share, but this year I was especially grateful as we reached the ten year mark of ministry together. Jonathan’s sermon the day of our celebration was so kind, and the book Anna and the vestry put together with all your notes was just beautiful. With Victoria and Sasha offering each of their particular mix of steadiness and brains at the helm, our vestry has been so great this year. Having Mike Hughes full year as treasurer we can see how much further we’ve come, and Sarah Staley’s grace and intelligence in our reflection on our ministry is both grounding and inspiring. Christine Dutt’s analytical firepower always saves the day.
While an annual report is in many ways primed to celebrate newness, and that’s appropriate, I also want to take a minute to thank the matriarchs. Sally Lobo once advised me to slow down and smell the roses. Like Isaiah’s toddler days, those first steps won’t last forever, she said–enjoy them, and enjoy Christ Church as my first parish–another kind of first born. So I want to begin by thanking all those who keep have for so long kept things humming and the coffee brewed and the honest feedback coming.Thank you for hanging in over the last ten years and for accompanying me in this adventure of ministry, each in your own way.
If II were to try to find a metaphor for the year 2015 at Christ Church, it would be about how seeds planted long before—maybe even without our knowledge!—come to fruition. One of the best things about being a priest is seeing how people seize hold of their baptismal vows and live into them in new ways. At a baptism, all kinds of promises are made on behalf of and in support of those who are baptized—often, when it’s a child, completely without their knowledge. Sometimes a Christian spends their whole life immersed in the life of the church—they are part of it at every level from day one and the mission of Christ just grows. More often, though, the holy oil of baptism hovers on our foreheads and takes a while to seep into our bodies and for us to hear the ministry that the Spirit longs for in us. God plants the seeds sometimes especially when we’re not paying attention.
I have seen this happen with individuals—those of you who take to a new project and the rest of us marvel at how it’s possible that you’ve not been doing it for thirty years. I commend the excellent reports from our wardens to you as they talk more in detail about our work this year. Victoria mentions that she’d never expected to take on being senior warden when she first joined and now I can’t imagine being a rector without her. Many of you are leaders in this way—you might not have expected it, but here you are and it’s a wonder. It feels like Michael Mailman just stepped into the role of convening the building committee as though everyone were waiting for him to call it forth in some mystical way. There it just was, and ten people were at the table with him! When we were making plans for the children’s play area, Jordan Shea was just suddenly there, ready to lead. The same is true for finance, for our excellent children’s ministries, for Erin and Heather who teach us all to look in a new way, for altar guild (I’m thinking of you, Mary Kerr—talk about suddenly not being able to imagine a ministry without someone!)… the joy and pleasure of leadership is such a gift. Based on our conversations at our intergenerational Advent and October education series, I’ll probably just let Eli Jensen handle the whole thing next time.
As Sasha will say, too, our finance team also had a great beginning in 2015 with Byron Garcia’s leadership—I will always be grateful for the clarity that emerged when Pratibha Harrison, at her first meeting, asked the most elegant question, “Now what is the purpose of this meeting?” and kicked our brains and hearts into action. The most important question is often the one you think everyone already knows the answer to—because quite frequently, you often don’t. Our finances in particular had an amazing end of the year with Sasha and Doug’s hard work on the roof campaign, an incredible end to a year that began with 30% higher pledges than any other time in our history.

I also have to say a word about Suzanne Hughes’ work with the Grandma’s Attic thrift shop room, which Suzanne has tended for 6 years, with monthly opening since 2010. That space has, a long long story as part of the ministry of Christ Church (In her humble way, Suzanne describes more in her report). Thank you, Suzanne, for giving it “your all,” and for your commitment to this place through thick and thin and fire and flood. Speaking of flood, the resiliency of our children’s ministries is a wonder. Even when their rooms were out of commission and their materials in boxes, our Godly Play classes continued. The way that this church has become open to the gifts and needs of children is one of the more important engines of our creativity and growth. To every parent who ever felt like their child was making more noise than anyone else, ever, please know that we are glad that you are here and that we wouldn’t exchange their rambunctiousness for silent stillness for all the world!
Finally, I should also say a word about my work in the wider church and world! This year I spent more time on my own blog, saraiwrites.blogspot.com, and had an essay from there adapted for publication in the book There’s a Woman in the Pulpit, which came out in April. I’ve also continued with the occasional piece in the Waltham News Tribune, and even had one in the Boston Globe over the summer on the death penalty. I’m now into my third year as a member on the Commission on Ministry, which works to advise the bishop and interview candidates for ordination, and I was appointed dean of the Alewife Deanery (our local cluster of 13 Episcopal Churches east to Cambridge and north to Bedford). I’ve also been glad to be able to testify at Waltham City Council on behalf of WATCH and to support the Community Day Center wherever I can, as well as serve on the board of the Parmenter House affordable housing units on Crescent St and Main St and to co-chair the Waltham Ministerial Alliance. It is a full, and generous, ministry of blessing and being blessed.

Being and Doing Together

Dear People of Christ Church,
With the Baptism of Jesus, we’re swimming in the epiphany waters if the revelation of Jesus Christ as God’s beloved Son. Beloved, delighted in, enjoyed, God’s own longed- for firstborn.

Jesus, at this point, hasn’t done anything at all in his ministry. He has not taught anything of particular note, or called any smart people into community around him, or healed any diseases. The only ones who thinks he’s special at all at this point are John the Baptist and his mom. Still, the heavens are torn open by the voice of God. Throughout Epiphany, we’ll hear stories about where God’s power is made manifest in Jesus’ ministry—where there are epiphanies of all kinds, those desired as well as those never dreamed of.

For many of us, the question of our baptism never really comes up: sure, we say all the right words when the church “does” a baptism for a new member. But this beginning of the season of Epiphany invites us to ask ourselves what, really, our baptism means. It’s the foundation of our life in Christ, but what is it, really? Most often, it’s easy to skip forward to the action our baptism calls us toward, all of that seeking and serving and respecting and believing. We don’t often take the time to dwell and ground ourselves in what we become in baptism. Remember that Jesus didn’t do anything at all to earn the love of God or that holy voice on that day. Also consider this: the first thing Jesus does when he is baptized isn’t to run out do a bunch of things. Ministry comes later. Jesus goes to the wilderness to be loved, for time with his Abba (the time we practice in our tradition as Lent). In baptism, we are called by God’s grace just to allow God to love us. Not in spite of who we are, but because of it.

Church, it may go without saying, is a community centered around baptism. We are baptized, we do baptism. We live out our baptism. Eucharist recalls us to our baptism. Even the rite for burial recalls us to our baptism. It’s our thing. Being One with God in Christ.

If that’s our mission, becoming One with God in Christ, that shifts priorities in a certain way. Our parish vision statement is a reasonable picture of a community living out the baptismal covenant, but I wonder if there are ways we can more deeply welcome each other into a new life of faith in a more profound way. Our annual meeting is in one week from Sunday. In that meeting, we’ll talk about our hope for the future as well as celebrate our accomplishments. The format will be some small group conversation, some larger group listening, and, as always, new Christ Churchers will be invited to sign our membership book (how do you know if this applies to you? If you come regularly and pledge, you’re in.)

How, in 2016, can we be together as well as do together? What are the things that we are called toward in 2016 to pray, to imagine, to invite? How can our be-ing and loving naturally call others to the love of God?

Blessings,
Sara+
Update from the international Anglican primates meeting:

Remember how I mentioned in my sermon how a group of English clergy are calling the Archbishop and the communion to a John the Baptist moment and repent for the church’s treatment of LGBT persons? It did not quite go that way. Instead, the primates (the heads of all the individual Anglican Churches worldwide) decided to suspend the Episcopal Church from Anglican councils and from representing Anglicans as a whole on ecumenical or interfaith bodies, specifically because of the national church vote in July 2015 to make the marriage canons inclusive. See the whole thing at primates2016.org.

Speaking of Baptism, check out what our own Presiding Bishop/Primate, Michael Curry, had to say:

“Our commitment to be an inclusive church is not based on a social theory or capitulation to the ways of the culture, but on our belief that the outstretched arms of Jesus on the cross are a sign of the very love of God reaching out to us all. …Our decision regarding marriage is based on the belief that the words of the Apostle Paul to the Galatians are true for the church today: All who have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female, for all are one in Christ.”

Please also keep our sisters and brothers from St Peter’s Ugandan Congregation in your prayers, as international conflict like this comes even closer to home for them, and the Archibishop of Uganda did not stay for the whole conference because a provision like suspension wouldn’t go far enough for him.

Stations of the Cross

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+

Now, Take a Deep Breath

Dear People of Christ Church,
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Tomorrow is the end of this long Advent journey, with John the Baptist and Mary and all the rest. From Alicia’s Children’s sermon about how God makes straight the crooked places and makes the mountain a plain, to Bishop Alan’s time with us reminding us that “bedlam” and “Bethlehem” have a lot in common, we have traveled some distance.

We will, I imagine, never come to Christmas Eve after the journey of Advent and find ourselves completely ready. Whether it’s the unsent Christmas cards or the charity requests piling up, or the present list that’s not been written, much less checked twice…there is often so more to do. And yet, and yet, Christmas comes anyway. We spend all of this time with John the Baptist being told to “prepare the way” that we forget that God can travel on the bumpiest of roads. That’s what God does. Neither our negligence nor our faithfulness will speed or delay the unfolding of God’s time.

So today, rather than continue with more words, I invite you instead to take a breath. (If you want words, there will be a Christmas editorial from me in the Waltham News Tribune tomorrow, based on this last week’s message about our many Gospel stories). Now, take a deep breath. Imagine that God has already received every offering you have to give—your kindness to God’s people, your attention to the “least and lost,” your worries, your fear. Because when given to God, even your fear is a gift—God so wants to be able to care for you, and came to be born with us for this.



Blessings,
Sara+
P.S. I’m experimenting with putting sermons online—if you missed last week, it’s on Soundcloud. Hopefully Christmas Eve will go up tomorrow night, too!

New Visitations

Dear People of Christ Church,
For this year’s Advent series, we tried something new, an intergenerational Bible Study. From week to week, we looked at the different stories of the origins of Jesus Christ—the traditional nativity story in Luke, with the manger and the shepherds, the cosmic Christ through whom the world came to be as described so poetically in the Gospel of John, the beginning-that-is-no-beginning offered by Mark, who just launches into Jesus’ ministry with not a word about where Jesus came from. And, of course, Matthew, who gives us Joseph’s dream and the visitation of the Magi.

Each Gospel is written from a different perspective, and each one teaches us something different about who Jesus is and what God desires for us. Each time we met for our Advent conversations, we asked the question: what if this were the only story we had? What if we had magi, and no shepherds? What if we had the manger, but no cosmic poetry?

The fact is, we need all of these stories.  We need them all because we need to spend some time with different emphases—we need the cosmic Christ to remind us of God’s intimacy with the world, always and from the beginning. We need the birth of a messiah heralded by outcast and dirty shepherds, Mary a pregnant teenager with no place to stay, to remind us that God always goes to the places of powerlessness. But we also need Matthew, to tell us that Jesus is a King in the line of David,  that Jesus comes in “majesty and awe,”  too. The kings of this world aren’t the only ones with gold and frankincense.  We need the jolt of imagining God in a manger, and the familiarity of imagining the kings visiting Mary in an ordinary house.

God speaks to us in many different ways.   Whether Jesus is born indoors or out of doors, or whether the Gospel gives a story of his birth or not, the wisdom of our tradition has invited us into all of those different realities. God’s truth, even within Christian teaching, is varied.  And how much more do we need to remember that as we, with Mary, “ponder in our hearts” God’s working in the world in other faiths.
God speaks however God will, whenever God will. God speaks shepherd as well as king. God speaks more languages than we can know.

Blessings,
Sara+

The Light Shines in the Darkness

Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m reeling a little from the horrifying rhetoric coming out of certain corners of Christianity and American politics. Whether Jerry Falwell, Jr. exhorting the students of Liberty University to carry guns to “end those Muslims before they walked in and killed us” or Donald Trump wanting to bar Muslims from entering the United States, it seems like whatever level of “too far” I think I’ve heard one week, the next week it goes further.

That’s not my Christianity and not my country. As Shane Claiborne pointed out in a response to Falwell, Jesus carried a cross, not a weapon. When Peter moved to defend him from the Romans and cut the solider’s ear off, Jesus said no. Always, always, the way of Christ is the way of non-violence. I don’t pretend to always live as Jesus invited us, but I hope to recognize it when I see it in others, and hope that I turn away from vengeance when I find it in myself. The power of peace and love is what makes resurrection happen, the power of God in Jesus and for us. We are called to repent, to turn away, from the violent logic of the world that says that you just need to be faster with your own gun before someone else comes at you with theirs.

As Jerry Falwell, Jr. demonstrated last week (as have any number of domestic terrorists who call themselves Christian), Christianity as a whole, not just individuals, has need of repentance and conversion. Just as peace-seeking Muslims don’t recognize their faith in ISIS/Daesh, I don’t recognize my Jesus in Falwell, and I certainly don’t recognize my faith in those who would exclude or promote violence against Muslims. Whether the Crusades, or the Inquisition, or violence perpetrated against Native Americans, there are many examples when our faith, too, has failed to live up to the invitation of Jesus to love.

Again and again, I keep coming back to that reading we hear as part of the first Sunday after Christmas—“the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” I need to keep telling myself this. It is too dark otherwise not to keep lifting up the light. I have to remember that the violence of anti-Muslim hatred—even when perpetrated by those who call themselves Christian—will not win.

The darkness now, though, is very dark. I read a facebook post from a Muslim activist, Sofia Ali-Khan, who talks about how the rhetoric is no longer ignore-able. She invites allies to check in with the Muslims they know, to learn, to stand in solidarity. The causes of big political hatred can seem beyond us, but the reality is that hatred is transmitted person to person, and the place where hearts are changed is from person to person. That could be a gentle “Well, no, all Muslims don’t believe in terrorism” when a friend seems to imply otherwise, to a quiet smile at a woman in a head scarf at the grocery store. These are not earth shattering gestures, but they hold up light in a terribly dark time.

That’s what’s at stake at Christmas—the light coming to be born in this darkest time of the year (literally as well as metaphorically). We are working to make a world for that light to shine as well as looking for ways to allow that light to shine in our own hearts, in quiet and peace.

What does that look like for you these days?

Blessings,
Sara+