August 19, 2020

 Clare of Assisi (d. 1253) wrote about the cross as a mirror and the necessity of studying our face within it.

The cross was an instrument of violence. It was used by Romans as a means of torture and to advertise the power of Rome. It was a very visible and morbid way of saying, “If you cross Rome, Rome will cross you.” That pax romana, the famed peace of the Roman Empire, was partly established through this very violent means of torture.

We often think about violence as being done to us. Whether it be physical or mental abuse, a home invasion, a robbery, or some other crime, violence is something that happens outside ourselves or against ourselves. But when we gaze upon the cross as a mirror, we begin to see the violence of the cross within ourselves.

During the reading of the Passion, we all shout, “Crucify him! We want Barabbas. Crucify him!” And a Holy Week hymn points out, “Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee: I crucified thee.” We are the ones committing violence against Christ.

But as we gaze upon the cross as a mirror and consider our own complicity in the violence against Christ, we might also begin to recognize other acts of violence we have participated in and committed. How are we complicit in humanity's violence against nature? How are we complicit in violence against others based on their income level or skin color? How have we violated the dignity of other human beings? The list, unfortunately, is endless.

I don't write this in an attempt to make anyone feel guilty; but I do write this in an effort to say we could all do better. As we gaze on the mirror of the cross, Clare asks us to consider where we fail in love and where we find freedom in love.

And if we do this long enough, this gazing at the cross as a mirror, it just may be that we can move from seeing the cross as an instrument of violence and death to an instrument of life-giving love.

Be well,

Todd+

August 12, 2020

On the news the other day I saw a brief story about a church holding services at full capacity, defying the state's guidelines on the number of persons allowed to gather in one place. Unfortunately I can't remember what state, city, or church this was, but that really isn't important here. What's important are the two different reactions that were presented.

The video showed two groups of people: one group wearing masks and holding signs saying, “Love your neighbor,” and the other group going into the church without masks and proclaiming that their civil liberty to gather and worship as they saw fit was being violated by that state's mask and gathering orders.

A female parishioner being interviewed said, “I get the whole mask thing and not wanting to gather and that's fine for you. But what about me? My civil liberty to worship is being violated and that's not right.”

And that pretty much sums up where our society as a whole has devolved to: What about me?

Wearing a mask to help prevent the spread of the coronavirus has somehow morphed into a flashpoint for people claiming their individual rights are being violated and claims of masks hampering their ability to breathe. Which, when compared to people who truly couldn't breathe like Eric Garner, Javier Ambler, Manuel Ellis, Elijah McClain, and George Floyd, is sad, ironic, and completely oblivious.

For those claiming their civil liberties are being violated by not being able to worship as they see fit, it's not all about you. A huge disconnect has developed between what I want and what is good for the body. Paul wrote about the necessity of a healthy body. Jesus' whole life was focused on others and, at one point, said, “Not what I want, but what you want.” Scripture is full of examples and admonitions to care for others. Loving your neighbor sometimes includes doing that which is personally uncomfortable. Being in a worshiping community means we do what we can to ensure the health of that community – whether that's wearing a mask, following gathering guidelines, or both.

Worship is part of what we do as a church, and there is no doubt that worship edifies and sustains us spiritually and emotionally. Worship is also the primary and most visible way we honor God, but it is not the only way. We can also honor God by caring for those who are hungry, homeless, abused, and otherwise in need. We can honor God by respecting the dignity of every human being; and in this time, respecting them enough to wear a mask so as not to inadvertently spread the coronavirus. We can honor God by seeking justice, exhibiting kindness, and living humbly. We can honor God by focusing less on our own desires and more on the needs of God's creation in its entirety.

As a whole, we would do well to spend less time focusing on what individual rights we seem to be losing and more time losing ourselves in the will of God. So as we move forward through the pandemic and quarantines, how might we find new ways to honor God and shift our focus to others?

Be mindful,

Todd+

August 5, 2020

The first one is in the books.

This past Sunday was our first Sunday with in-person worship since March. In preparation for that service we had to evaluate and plan for a variety of issues, which, thanks to the hard work of the Parish Reopening Committee, were well-put together. Everything from which doors shall we open to a reservation system to ensuring extra masks were available to cordoning off pews and removing books was discussed and planned for.

We made plans for an August 2 restart and all seemed in place. I thought last week was the storm before the calm (as I wrote in the last Wednesday Word), where everything was a beehive of activity and stress seemed to increase as we prepared to have people in church again. But even with all of that, I did manage to get a good night's sleep on Saturday.

Then Sunday came and there wasn't much calmness. I was hoping that Sunday morning would sound a little like the theme song to Welcome Back, Kotter – somewhat slow, a little jazzy, and very comfortable. Instead it was more like The Boys are Back in Town by Thin Lizzy – fast, loud, rambunctious, and slightly out of control.

By 9:05 I was already exhausted, but everything that needed to be done was done and the only thing left to do was to take some time, relax, and stand over the A/C vent to cool off. By the time we got to 9:30, we were ready to worship. And we did and it was glorious.

As Dcn. Sue and I made our way from the High Altar to our seats I was overwhelmed with joy at seeing all of the people in the pews. As we made our way through the liturgy, it was both thrilling and comforting to hear the congregational responses. I was reminded of how different it is to preach with a church full of people as opposed to preaching to a camera. And being able to administer Communion, the Body of Christ, to people who had not received that blessed Sacrament for close to five months, was a truly special moment.

Just like those first few Sundays of online-only worship were stressful and different but settled into a routine, these first few Sundays of limited in-person worship will also be stressful and different; but they will also be good as we come together to the best of our ability and worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again: despite everything going on in the world around us, and despite having to continually adjust to this new way of being, there is no other place I'd rather be going through all of this than right here with the people of Saint John's.

As we move forward, let us continue to remain calm, connected, and church. Let us worship together both with our limited in-person presence and unlimited online presence. And let us continue to work to spread the light and joy of Sunday morning to the world around us.

Blessings,

Todd+

July 29, 2020

The calm before the storm.

I understand why people say that. I've said it myself. We say it because there oftentimes seems to be just that – a period of relative calm before things get really crazy, hectic, out of control, or whatever. During the football season, it's that time when the officials are all gathered together in one place, apart from everyone and everything else, between the time we've finished dressing and the time we walk out onto the field, when there's a feeling of calm.

I'm sure we all have our own examples of that period just before things get crazy when we have a moment or two where we can gather our thoughts, take a deep breath or two, and then off we go.

Right now should feel like that – it should feel calm before we begin to regather for in-person worship this Sunday. It should, but it's not.

All of the planning and discussion the PRC did toward this moment is finished and we are ready to go. The petition to the diocese was made and accepted. But now we are working to ensure that everything we put down on paper gets addressed and lived into in person.

Do we have enough hand sanitizer? Did we get tables and chairs where they need to go? Do we have the right signage? Will our thermometers work? Will the reservation process go as planned? Will we have enough bulletins? And, and, and, and . . .

So this time isn't the calm before the storm, but it is the storm before the calm.

We have prepared as well as we can. Things will be as ready as they can. And on Sunday we will welcome both people into the building and those watching online as we worship together. It will be there, with our gathered community, online and in person, where the calmness of our worship will wash over us. It will be there where we will pray together, hum together (no singing yet), and feast together. And it will be there when the words of Julian of Norwich will echo in our collective minds, “All shall be will. All shall be well. All manner of things shall be well.”

This Sunday, what will be will be, and that will be enough.

If you have made reservations to join us in person, I look forward to worshiping with you. If you will be joining us from your home, I look forward to worshiping with you. Wherever you are on this journey, know that we are gathered together; and I hope that brings a bit of calm into your life.

Be well,

July 22, 2020

Joelene and I were on vacation last week, and we had a nice getaway. We headed over to Lewes, DE, and spent three days in a wonderful B&B near downtown on the main street and less than a mile from the beach. We also spent some time at Rehoboth on the beach and wandering through some shops.

In general it was a good time away where the only thing we really had to worry about was making sure we were up and out of our room by 9:00 so we could be served breakfast. We read a little, played some cribbage, did a little sight-seeing, ate well, and not much else.

That said, it was also good to come home; it's always nice sleeping in your own bed. Vacation continued through Sunday when I made pancakes before getting online to watch Sunday service.

And then it was back to work on Monday – no sleeping in, no relaxing breakfast prepared for us by a doting staff, no leisurely strolls through downtown or along the beach. It was back to regular mornings, returning phone calls and e-mails, working on the Wednesday Word, the monthly Ramblings, sermon prep, and seeing to any number of other things needing attention.

At some point during the day I went into the church to drop off a few bottles of hand sanitizer and then walked back to the sacristy. And as I made that walk up the center aisle looking toward the High Altar and the Mark 16 window I let out a little sigh and said to myself, “It's good to be home.” For indeed, this is a special place, and it is a place, as I said two weeks ago, where we gather engage with each other and God. Not that we must do that within the walls of Saint John's, but every group needs a gathering place, and this is ours.

With that feeling of good-to-be-home and the deep sense of holiness that embraces you when you are in the nave, either alone or with our community, I looked ahead ever so slightly to when we might once again regather. Because, while I have been able to worship in the beauty of holiness every Sunday, as well as weekday Evening Prayer, most of you reading this have not, and I look forward to the day when parishioners of Saint John's can once again join me in this holy place.

The Parish Regathering Committee has a meeting tonight to discuss this very thing. We have been working to get protocols in place for regathering, looking at the COVID infection rate in Washington County, and being guided by diocesan policies. I will send out an update tomorrow as to where we are and what was decided at tonight's meeting.

This has been a long stretch for all of us. I want to thank you for your continued support, dedication, and understanding, as well as all your prayers. My hope is to be able to provide something positive for us – for you – to look forward to once again being in our sacred space, to once again be able to gather in community and worship, and for us to say, “It's good to be home.”

This is home, and I believe we are close to returning.

Be hopeful,

July 8, 2020

“The church building is not, per se, the place where God dwells. Rather, it is a meeting house where the community engages with God and one another.” – The Shackles of the Present, Matthew Alderman, The Living Church, September 21, 2014.

We have been doing this COVID thing now for about four months. It seems a lot longer to me, and maybe it does to you as well. And over that time we have lost some things, but we have also gained some things.

We have lost our ability to come together and worship God in the beauty of holiness. We have lost our ability to come together and be with each other over a Monday morning breakfast, Sunday coffee hour, or any number of times and places where we had normally gathered.

We have also gained a new understanding of what church is or can be. We have learned to connect with people in different ways. Some of us have been calling others on a regular basis to check in and keep up. People who didn't normally cross paths have gotten to know each other in new and meaningful ways. We have developed our online presence and are continually working to improve that aspect of worship.

But still . . . we miss our building. I get that. Episcopalians love their buildings. Sometimes, though, that love of building can fall into a type of idolatry. I have a friend who, when he was having a particularly bad week at the church, would say, “Maybe we just need to burn the thing to the ground so we can learn what church is all about.” I don't really know anything about that congregation other than what he told me, but it seemed like that group of people had fallen into the trap of building idolatry.

I don't think we suffer from that here at Saint John's. We certainly love our building, and we do our best to care for it so that future generations may appreciate its beauty. But we also know that there are plenty of times and places and circumstances where we encounter God, and others encounter God through us, outside of our building.

We know that God is not confined to a building. We know that we don't need a building to do a lot of the things we do. But the church building is the place where the Beloved Community gathers to intentionally engage with each other. We have learned that worshiping alone is hard, worshiping with others via the internet is hard, connecting with others outside of this space is also hard. That's why our building is important.

The good thing about the COVID quarantine is that we have learned we can do this. We can be church without the church, so to speak. But it has also taught us just how precious and important our communal engagement with each and and God is to us.

The building isn't where God dwells. The building isn't where church happens. But the building is where we intentionally engage with God and others.

Through all of this, I want you to know that I am hopeful that, sooner rather than later, we will once again be able to engage with God and others in that sacred and holy space we all love.

Be hopeful,

July 1, 2020

Joelene and I are going on vacation in just over a week. I put a post up on Facebook asking for recommendations of where to go and got all kinds of responses. If you were one of the people who responded, thank you. We opted for a beach excursion and will be spending three days by the ocean.

Coordinating vacations for the two of us can be difficult. She needs to worry about how much time she has available and if a particular time-slot is available. I'm easier on that front, but I need to worry about whether or not I can find supply clergy to cover those Sundays I want to be gone. The good news is that we made it work – at least for this particular week in July.

So we're going to take some time, get away, walk on the beach, explore the town, and generally just relax. We'll spend some time in silence listening to the sound of the ocean. We may take a short road trip and go explore. I'm sure there will be a few other things that will make themselves available (crab shacks are high on that list), but I'm particularly looking forward to listening to the ocean.

Listening to the ocean is something along the lines of holy silence. There's really nothing you can say to the ocean, you can only sit and listen to the never-ending sound of waves coming to shore. It's a sound that hasn't changed for billions of years, ever since the first ocean wave crashed ashore on the first mass of land it encountered. We just sit and listen.

I know people who like to vacation in the mountains or other parts of nature who also enjoy listening – listening to the birds, other animals, gurgling brooks, the wind, or maybe a waterfall. There's something about listening to these things, spending time in that holy silence, that is calming. There is something there reminding us that, no matter how crazy, hectic, or chaotic things get, all will be well. But we need to take the time to sit. We need to take the time to be still. We need to take the time to listen. We need to take time to sit in holy silence.

Wherever you are, however you are coping with the stress of COVID, whatever busy-ness has been showing up in your life, take some time to spend in holy silence. What can you hear? What do you want to hear? Listen.

Sometimes in that listening we discover answers to our questions. Sometimes in that listening we discover answers to questions we never knew we were asking. Sometimes in that listening we are comforted. Sometimes in that listening we just listen and nothing is different.

All of those are okay. It's not about finding answers. It's not about discovering some deep, previously unknown answer to life. It's simply about being available to listen to the God who has been here for billions of years singing a song as never-ending as the waves crashing onto shore.

And maybe, if we spend time in that holy silence just listening, we can also learn to be present with others, offering to them the holy silence of ourselves as we listen to what they are saying.

Be well,