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When I was received into the Episcopal Church by the then Bishop of Indianapolis Kate Waynick she preached about the origins of the word Liturgy. It comes from the Greek λειτουργία (lit-oor-gE-ah) and means in her words, “a public work done at private cost.”
The fourth of July is one of the few holiday’s my family actually celebrated together when I was growing up. Sparklers and snappers, grilled burgers and dogs, time outside with my siblings, and then fireworks that evening. It was a time of special happiness that I remember fondly and now with some reservation.
Everybody knows the story of David and Goliath, more or less. . .
Jesse’s youngest boy, David, had been strangely anointed in his childhood by the prophet Samuel to be the king of Israel after Saul – a fact the family very wisely kept to itself, since Saul undoubtedly had plans for his own children. Some time after Samuel’s visit, the Philistines – a group of Canaanites who appear from time to time in Israel – are on the attack. For 40 days an enormous man, a giant, Goliath, taunts the Israelites, calling them into a winner-take-all battle of champions.
This week the news has been filled with stories following the actions taken to codify Juneteenth as a National Holiday. I admit I was an adult when I first heard of Juneteenth and a seminarian before I understood the impact and importance of it as a celebration of life, liberty, and freedom. It commemorates the last State in the Union receiving word of the Emancipation Proclamation; that slaves had been freed by law. We should all know and acknowledge that former enslaved persons continued to be abused and murdered yet that is a story unto itself for another time.
Dear St. Luke’s,
As Christians we are called to live not just for ourselves but for Christ to died and rose again for us. This advice that we receive through Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians is something that seems well suited for a seminary class, but Paul didn’t intend this to be an intellectual exercise. All of his letters were meant to encourage normal people to live a life that brings them closer to Christ, and his words are just as relevant for us today as they were for the ancient Corinthians.
Dear Friends,
The idea of home is as varied as there are people who long for it. My wife is remarkably fortunate in that she knew the same physical home almost her entire life, while my family moved fairly often growing up. Both ways of growing up have their advantages and disadvantages. My siblings and I see excitement along with pain whenever a major change is on the horizon, because moving so often took the fear out of transition. That is nice, but I crave my wife’s sense of place and continuity. She can still go to her parent’s home and see the woods and grounds she explored since was a small child. Her memories are grounded in something she can see, while my memories of DeWitt Michigan might as well be in Narnia.
Dear Parishioners,
The past two weeks have been an emotional whirlwind. It reminds me of the equal but opposite feeling that I had at the beginning of the pandemic. Then it was an exercise of waking up to a new reality and seeing what plans would have to be thrown out of the window. Seeing new ministries start, celebrating Easter together, and going on family vacations all went out of the window one by one.
Summer is just around the corner and oftentimes it’s seen as a period of freedom, playfulness, and rest. When I was a child my family and I would make our annual pilgrimage to Arcadia, Michigan and the small family camp there for a week’s vacation. It was the highlight, even the embodiment, of Summer for me. A week on the shore of Lake Michigan filled with hiking, games, and good food. It was in that same place that I first felt my Call to the Priesthood, though I didn’t know that’s what it was at the time.
I wrote the letter below right before the CDC made their new guidelines saying vaccinated people no longer have to wear masks inside, and I hate to disappoint you, but we all have to continue to wear masks while at Church. In an odd way, this perfectly proves my point that we must remain patient and steadfast as we respond to a very fluid situation. I hope that we take this as evidence that relief to the pandemic is right around the corner. Whatever changes we will implement at St. Luke’s will be in accordance with guidelines from the national, state and local governments, as well as from the Bishop. This means things will move slower, but they will likely also be crafted to our specific situation. Below is the letter that went out to the congregation about our plans to worship back in the building in the near future. I hope to see you in person soon!
-Nick
This past Sunday afternoon we took an important first step in the work to prepare ourselves and our space for regathering. The Usher ministry members gathered for instruction and to ask questions about the ways of doing things that will be required, at least for the foreseeable future.
It was a difficult time to realise how different things will have to be and to reflect on how limited the number of families present may make the time and the space feel not as full as one might like.
But it was in the moments just before the training began that I had an encounter that caused my heart to swell and then to ache. I was near the doors of the church making sure those attending received the print out and letting them know we were gathering in the Nave when one of the attendees said in a happy voice how good it was to see me. Then, realising why there was a pause in my response and introduced themselves. They knew me, but I did not know them.
That moment was hard, and also joyful. It caused me to realise that I have spent this past year praying for, serving, and deeply loving the community of St. Luke’s while still not having met most of you.
I was here on Sunday’s only serving as a deacon for a time but those short encounters were far too few. Some people who have felt safe enough to come to outdoor 8 am worship I have come to know, but only so far. I used the wrong name for someone just the other day, realising it only after they had gone.
It pulls at my heart that I’ve been unable to learn the names and faces of the people of St. Luke’s who have shown me the strength of God’s love through this terrible pandemic. By that same token I hope and pray that I have been able to share that love with you and that you will be able to finally come to church and introduce yourself. That we can be known to each other and carry forward the work God has given us to do.
Sharing Love,
Fr. Chip
Dear St. Luke’s,
On Easter Day we celebrated redemption, and probably, in more ways than you assume. I imagine the story will live on in the mythology around St. Luke’s sacred objects for some time. The exact nature of the story has yet to be flushed out, but I imagine it will go something like this children’s story: ...
Everyone. Everyone is welcome at church. That is the way it should be. If you ask me, that’s a lot to live up to.
I was thinking about how Easter changes the world this week and was reminded of the claim often found on Episcopal Church signs and in our published materials, “The Episcopal Church Welcomes Everyone.”
To some that might seem like a new and radical claim. Or to others it might seem like a statement of the obvious. In fairness, it may be one or the other depending on how you were taught about who the church is and what it means to be a Christian.
The church has failed at welcoming everyone. Some have even converted the purposes of God’s love into moralist authoritarianism. Telling themselves, and others, to keep out those who don’t measure up or conform to arbitrary standards that are unequally applied besides.
The earliest records of the Christian tradition tell us that the early church was mostly slaves, the poor, outcasts, and women (who were oppressed and disenfranchised) that responded with faith to the message of Jesus Christ.
Support for the church came mostly from women with access to funding or other resources.
These were not “respectable” people in their Sunday best. Many persons gathered around those early Eucharistic tables would be struggling to survive. Education would not have been common. Sin and suffering would both be close at hand.
These are the forebears from whom we inherit the faith and its traditions. The welcome in our churches is radical and open because of the example set by those who came before us. Everyone is welcome at church. God, I pray that it will be so.
Seeking peace,
Fr. Chip
The beach after a storm is a place of wonders. With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, I get up before dawn and go outside as the sun rises. I find
A tree trunk lying askew, as if casually tossed by a giant hand
Gaping holes and deep gullies in places they hadn’t been the day before
The sand stripped away in some spots and piled high in others
Shredded beach umbrellas and bent chairs strewn every which way.
Amid the wreckage, life goes on.
Sandpipers continue their dance at the edge of the breakers
Gulls cry overhead
Pelicans dive and dolphins swim
Life goes on, changed and ever new.
With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, women friends of Jesus got up before dawn after a weekend of storms and went to the tomb as the sun rose. They found
A stone rolled away, as if casually tossed by a giant hand
A gaping hole that had once been closed and sealed
The earth stripped away beneath the displaced boulder
Grave cloths strewn and scattered every which way.
Amid the wreckage, life went on.
Birds sang. Critters crawled.
And, so much more.
Resurrection was revealed in the simple calling of a name:
“Mary.” “Rabbi.” “My brothers.”
Amid the wreckage, Christ is risen. Life prevails. Liberation is loose in the world.
In this Easter season, this time of wonder that transforms our world,
In this Easter season, as we begin to emerge from the wreckage of pandemic
Our Liberator shows us how to live with eyes wide open
to see how the pandemic has changed the landscape
to lament what has been lost and broken
to witness the power of resurrection even in the wreckage,
especially in the wreckage.
Our Liberator strengthens us to live with ears wide open
to hear the pain and confusion of others
to hear their stories of freedom and transformation
to hear Jesus every time he calls us by name even in the wreckage,
especially in the wreckage.
Our Liberator delights for us to live with hearts and minds wide open
to celebrate how life goes on without demanding that it be the way it was before
to find beauty in the brokenness,
life amid the loss,
wonder in the old and in the new.
Christ is risen. Life is changed. We are free.
What will we do with our wild, wily and wonderful freedom?
We made it! Easter is here and the sun is shining (most days anyways). And our Lord and Savior is risen from the dead!
Which is all well and good until I released the other day that I spent weeks slogging through the season of Lent only to end up on the day of Easter with a loud shout and then silence.
That is not how it’s supposed to be!
Easter is a season spreading across 50 days. That number is deliberately 10 more than the 40 days of Lent. Easter is a whole number of completeness greater than Lent. The celebration of our Lord’s triumph is more than the time we spent in preparation for it.
Remembering that Easter is not one day, one service, or one moment can be life giving. We are called forward by our traditions in the church to spend almost 2 months in joy and celebration. You’ll hear Nick and I begin services with a cry of joy at Jesus’ resurrection throughout Easter. The shout of Alleluia is once again on our lips during the Eucharist.
Just as we were called to prepare, we are now even more fully called into joy, hope, and celebration.
Know that you are in my prayers this happy season and that as we live and breathe so too our Lord lives and breathes. Alleluia!
In Joy,
Fr. Chip
Holy Scripture tells us that the fabric of the world fundamentally changed when Christ died on the cross. The natural world experienced earthquakes, and the manmade world saw signs such as the torn veil within the temple. Despite these tremors radiating out into the world, the mundane persisted. Thousands of miles away people still strived to scrap out a living from unforgiving soil, meals were being prepared, people fell in and out of love, and infants needed cleaning.
We have gone to great efforts to tell the story of our salvation in how we keep time. Easter is not meant to be the anniversary of Christ’s death on the cross, so it is bound by how we tell the story through our liturgical seasons, not by an exact date. This means every year we are subject to a moving target of when we proclaim “Alleluia” from our long penitential season of Lent. We do a lot to make the season meaningful. We have special services, our Lenten programs countdown to our season of hope and joy, and we even color eggs, because that’s tradition and you don’t mess with tradition.
In the background of all of these special events and traditions is the sound of normal day-to-day life. We’ve put a lot on hold in the office, but we all know that we still need to tackle building projects, and we need to prepare to regather in the Church, which takes a surprising amount of work. Outside of the office the world does not know that everything else is on hold. A crew is still working on our heating and cooling units, and I’m not sure if they plan on attending the Maundy Thursday service this evening.
Another reminder that life continues in the midst of Holy Week arrived yesterday in the post. A letter that reads as if several thoughts, conversations, and heaps of anxiety were chopped up and tossed into a salad arrived, and it is overwhelmingly clear that someone needs help, but the how or even the who is a bit more mysterious and difficult to decipher. These don’t arrive often, but anyone who works in Churches has probably seen a few different versions of these letters. Churches, along with other places of worship and public libraries, are often a rare haven for the authors of these letters, and we should not divorce our response to them from our sacred season.
Don’t get me wrong, we are not going to fix the world by showing a little bit of kindness. We are not saviors, but like the tremor or the torn veil on the day of Christ’s crucifixion, we can be signs of hope for a fallen world or a sign of the kingdom to come. Like the quaking ground or the torn veil, we can allow the reality of Christ’s death and resurrection change us, so others can see that things may not be what they seem. Many will recognize us as “the Church” for our Easter services and the baptisms, but I hope they will know that we are Christians by our love.
Blessings,
Nick
So this is it: The most important part of the calendar of remembrances in our church year.
Holy Week is the collection of days beginning with Palm Sunday and running through Easter Day. It encompasses triumph, betrayal, humility, Holy sharing, deep fear, painful suffering, death, and after all creation trembled there is resurrection.
The path we walk every year from the beginning to the end of Holy Week is a spiritual act of endurance. Can we really believe that all of this happened? Did Christ live and then die for our sins? Is the tomb empty on the third day? Could it be that God actually loves creation so much to do all these things?
If God does love us this much, what does that mean for our lives?
Even as we enter into these days together there is a part of living through Holy Week that each of us does on our own.
God is within us in our faith. It’s a relationship and God is present and active in our souls each in unique ways. There is a place in these days of Holy Week for us to listen to God, to learn what God wills, and to respond to God’s love with love.
I pray for us each to live into these coming days with humility and faith so that when the time comes we can stand together beside the empty tomb, rejoicing.
In Peace,
Fr. Chip
A letter from Fr. Nick about the Future at St. Luke's
Every single day, I think about getting out there. Mostly, I’m thinking about getting out there to eat a meal that somebody else cooked, or taking in an actual movie, or hanging out with actual three-dimensional people -- and, of course, worshiping with the community I love. I’ll bet you have a list of things you can’t wait to get out there to do.
And there’s another kind of getting out there that’s calling to me, too, and to many of you as well. I’m dreaming of the possibilities that come from being cast out of our old well-worn paths (let’s not call them ruts…), out of our pre-COVID automatic habits, out of the tracks we had laid from house to work to church building. There’s a precious chance for some reinvention, some expansion, some re-imaging of the ways we engage what’s out there. On the downward slope of the greatest socio-everything disruption of our lifetime, we can make our world even more connected, more just, more peaceful, more caring, more an outpost of God’s Kingdom, just because we’re out of the old track and we can re-shape the new one if we want to.
I hold Churches and their leadership in very high regard, sometimes to an unrealistic standard, and since I have found myself in positions of authority, I have tried earnestly to lead and live in a way that would allow me to sleep soundly at night. I do not like conversations about “how the sausage gets made” in terms of Church business, because I ultimately do not think that Churches should engage in practices that would make us feel ashamed, or feel the need to hide what we are doing. I believe that the Church can excel in moments where we find ourselves at crossroads with no perceivable way forward that will leave us completely unsullied. Churches should excel in these moments, because we should be collectively able to do what I find to be so difficult, which is to extend grace to those in leadership positions who have found themselves in difficult situations.
This week the clergy of the diocese were given clarified guidance about our drive in worship services. One of the points made was that distribution Eucharist is not allowed, and currently, exceptions are not being made.