Dear People of Christ Church,
This week I’m continuing to mull over the “Meet your Muslim Neighbor” event hosted at Government Center by the new Waltham Center for Community Engagement, and the Waltham League of Women Voters. More than 100 people (including at least ten Christ Churchers!) came to learn, be in solidarity, and meet each other across lines of difference. Attendees were members of the Waltham Islamic Society, who along with the panelists shared stories of gratitude for interfaith connection. I think probably a lot of people could identify with the WIS member who had been on the construction team who said how nice it was to be at government center not trying to get a building permit!
One of the panelists, Unitarian Universalist minister Manish Mishra-Marzetti of First Parish in Lincoln talked about how we as a nation are in a spiritual crisis of fear. I haven’t heard of any stories of interpersonal violence in Waltham, but that doesn’t mean that nothing has happened. The notion that it could be said out loud that an entire religion ought to be banned from entering the United States and that such a position be taken by a leading politician reveals exactly how troubled our culture is.
We are so easily manipulated by fear, but we must find ways to be part of “stories of hope,” as Celene Ibrahim said. The sole woman in the group, she is a PhD candidate at Brandeis and co-director of the Center for Inter-Religious and Communal Leadership Education at Hebrew College and Andover Newton Theological School said (she’s also Muslim Chaplain at Tufts—she is impressive!).
Not just about sharing stories of hope, but being people of hope is what, at their core, all faiths share. The thing that the event on Sunday didn’t quite get to was that being in interfaith dialogue actually makes us better at being who we are in our own faiths as well. The event on Sunday was much more about dispelling myths—speaking into the fear chamber—and that’s very important. One of the panelists pointed out that there is no such thing as radical Islam—there are only radical Muslims. People talk about it as though it’s some monolithic thing, but that really doesn’t exist. There may be a radical community or a radical individual, but terrorists don’t speak for Abdul Cader Asmal, a doctor on the panel, any more than Donald Trump speaks for me.
Chaplain Celene say that in Islam when you pray for others what you’d pray for yourself, that the angels say that prayer for you. How beautiful is that?! We are so enriched by the substance of others’ practices. Learning about others’ experience is about being in relation with each other. It’s not about figuring out who’s right or who’s wrong, or whose practice is more or less liberating or charitable. It’s about the joy of sharing in community, children of a Creator who is beyond all of our grasp.
Blessings,
Sara+
Miss the sermon Sunday, February 21? It’s here.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Thursday, February 18, 2016
One Wild, Precious [Rule of] Life
Dear People of Christ Church,
Last Sunday both of our Lent groups were full steam ahead, with hearty conversations and good thinking. Our Sunday 9:15 group is on ssje.org, a series of daily videos from the brothers mailed to you on creating a rule of life. What’s a rule of life? The same idea as a ruler—it measures—a rule of life is a way of intentionally considering how you want your life to reflect your relationship with God. Crucially, though, it’s up to each individual to create their own. I could no more write a rule of life for someone else than they could move into my house and take over my spouse and children. The rule of life is about your life, to pinch Mary Oliver’s explanation, your one, wild, precious life, which is yours to do with it as you are called. That’s the thing about having a rule of life that is liberating, not confining: it’s only yours. No one can make you want to pray the Lord’s Prayer eighteen times a day or train for a marathon before you turn forty. A rule of life begins with looking at the life you actually have—that amazing gift—and listening for where God is leading you there.
In our later group (Sundays, 11:45), we listened to the first of several talks from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry about racism. Talking about the Black Lives Matter movement, Bishop Curry said in response to the “all lives matter” rejoinder, “of course all lives matter. But if somebody’s house is on fire, you have to respond. You don’t just run down the street saying that all houses matter.” As with the rule of life conversation, the most important part is the having of the conversation: no one at that table comes to it with the right answer, all ready to fix America for everyone else. White America has a lot of reflecting and repenting to do, one by one, prayer by prayer. It is, after all, Lent. And there’s a concurrent kids’ program on social justice! Come on, everybody!
Finally, the Tuesday group starts on Tuesday, pending enough sign ups! PLEASE let me know if you are interested, 7pm Lenten Bible Study. We’ll be looking at the Gospel for the coming Sunday. All ages welcome, but readers and up will be most comfortable. 7pm conversation, 8pm Eucharist, again, if there’s interest.
Continued Lenten blessings!
peace,
Sara+
ps—sermon from last Sunday is up!
soundcloud.com/sara-irwin-530951447/lent-1-c-2016
Last Sunday both of our Lent groups were full steam ahead, with hearty conversations and good thinking. Our Sunday 9:15 group is on ssje.org, a series of daily videos from the brothers mailed to you on creating a rule of life. What’s a rule of life? The same idea as a ruler—it measures—a rule of life is a way of intentionally considering how you want your life to reflect your relationship with God. Crucially, though, it’s up to each individual to create their own. I could no more write a rule of life for someone else than they could move into my house and take over my spouse and children. The rule of life is about your life, to pinch Mary Oliver’s explanation, your one, wild, precious life, which is yours to do with it as you are called. That’s the thing about having a rule of life that is liberating, not confining: it’s only yours. No one can make you want to pray the Lord’s Prayer eighteen times a day or train for a marathon before you turn forty. A rule of life begins with looking at the life you actually have—that amazing gift—and listening for where God is leading you there.
In our later group (Sundays, 11:45), we listened to the first of several talks from Presiding Bishop Michael Curry about racism. Talking about the Black Lives Matter movement, Bishop Curry said in response to the “all lives matter” rejoinder, “of course all lives matter. But if somebody’s house is on fire, you have to respond. You don’t just run down the street saying that all houses matter.” As with the rule of life conversation, the most important part is the having of the conversation: no one at that table comes to it with the right answer, all ready to fix America for everyone else. White America has a lot of reflecting and repenting to do, one by one, prayer by prayer. It is, after all, Lent. And there’s a concurrent kids’ program on social justice! Come on, everybody!
Finally, the Tuesday group starts on Tuesday, pending enough sign ups! PLEASE let me know if you are interested, 7pm Lenten Bible Study. We’ll be looking at the Gospel for the coming Sunday. All ages welcome, but readers and up will be most comfortable. 7pm conversation, 8pm Eucharist, again, if there’s interest.
Continued Lenten blessings!
peace,
Sara+
ps—sermon from last Sunday is up!
soundcloud.com/sara-irwin-530951447/lent-1-c-2016
Thursday, February 4, 2016
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+
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+
Thursday, January 21, 2016
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.
—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.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
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:
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.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
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+
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+
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
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!
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!
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