Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015, from Michael B. Chesson, the Epiphany in Winchester

The Church of the Holy Make Believe

After our visit to Bethlehem and the Church of the Nativity, I felt that the morning's experience had cost me a good deal of my faith.  I silently said a pious little prayer for the grace to recover at least part of it.

Thanks to our priests and two wonderful guides, we arrived quite early.  Manger square was cold, slippery, and wet.  Deep in an encounter with the other, one of my favorite quotations did not intrude on my scant consciousness: "An haughty spirit goeth before a fall." For that spirit was mine.  Bouyed by kind souls and the grace that I prayed for, I have begun to realize the depth of my fall.

After some introductory remarks, we were given our liberty to roam about, but sternly instructed to meet by 9:00, or perhaps it was changed to 9:30, at the rear of one of the several churches that cling to the complex "like barnicles," a figure of speech used by two different writers I have encountered since our Holy Land pilgrimage arrived in Jerusalem.  I wondered idly which writer was the plagiarist, or whether both had lifted the language from yet another author?  The change in time was only a mild irritant for one who likes certainty, but bridles when urged to be flexible, a near constant admonition.

Some places we were told not to enter lest we cause a theological or possibly a diplomatic crisis leading to another holy war, a term that I group with those used by military historians, like "friendly fire." Both can kill you, but always for the best of reasons.

I realized then that I was in the supposed birthplace of the Prince of Peace, the Nazarene whose nativity was moved in a wonderful slight of hand by leaders like Jerome, reeking with incense, as Helena reeked with the gold and power of empire that enabled her to find the true cross, an Indiana Jones in the garb of an empress.  It is contested ground, but I had known that even before our bus ride from Ben Gurion airport to the St. George's guesthouse, through a landscape marked by walls, razor wire, and restricted access highways, a nightmarish blend of the Jim Crow South and Orwell's 1984.

The spiel given to pilgrims by A-list guides now tells one that my Lord and Savior was born not in a wooden stable but a cave; that the inn that was full was not a franchise brand, but a cave full of cousins; and that Mary gave birth in a recess of the cave that offered some privacy, but was also used by animals.  There may have been a manger, but it was carved out of stone, but yes, it would have had the benefit of animal warmth, like any stable.  It's one of my fondest childhood memories, that babe and the animals.

I had become increasingly uncomfortable before our group gathered.  Seeking a quiet place, not to pray but to think, and try to control my nerves, I found that I was back home, with the sexton, lectors, and ushers all rushing busily and importantly around the church.

When our group did finally gather in respectful silence, one of our number being designated as pool photographer, the church and the Latin Mass was soon awash in a flood of stereotypical Asian tourists, each with at least one camera, and some with a battery of electronic gadgets.

We soon left the guitar strumming Mass, a ceremony that could have been found in almost any American Catholic church, for a Greek Orthodox service, or perhaps it was Armenian.  What I do recall was the metal scaffolding, and one little cherub swinging on his own personal liturgical jungle gym.

And oh the wiring!  Haitian wiring simply cannot compare with the Palestinian variety.  It's all exposed, whether inside or outside. 

Our worship had become a movable feast for, led by our faithful guides, like Virgil leading Dante, they found a service deep underground where we became, if only for a moment, participants and not mere spectators.  The ancient officiant wore a stocking cap of a design I've never seen in the Bean catalog, and he looked a bit like the misshapen character in The Lord of the Rings movies who keeps whining about "my precious," the difference being that this ordained and vested gnome really did dispense the precious.  Seldom have I tasted better.

Still, I was overcome by the profusion of trappings and decorations in worship spaces that looked as if they had not been dusted in a century, if ever.  The walls, or in some cases canvas tarps, were covered by carefully framed black and white photographs of dignitaries, all male, whose highest earthly honor was to rate their likeness being hung somewhere in the God complex.  Few living now remember them, and even fewer knew them.

Emerging, finally, from the welter of competing Christian services, we were told that the wild cacophony of unintelligible liturgies was produced by only three denominations that "controlled" the space, unlike the six that compete at the NFL level in the Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem.

Bethlehem is a sad, tawdry little tourist town that one could find in a thousand American burgs.  There was nothing that made me feel spiritual, much less holy, depressed as I was by the ever present wall.  The excellent food and attractive gift shop, both run by "cousins" of our chief guide, could not disguise the sour taste I felt when I discovered that the "authentic" shawl pressed on me by a street vendor had been made in India.  It does make me look a bit like Omar Sharif, but in wire rim glasses and without the bedroom eyes.

After my Bethlehem visit I felt, not like a rude beast lumbering somewhere to be born, but a sullen sinner who wanted to rant but lacked an audience.  I wanted to escape, to get away even from my fellow pilgrims.  But I could not.  As our guide Iyad reminds us, "you have no choice."

I reached bottom on the bus ride through the checkpoint back to St. George's when I read one of the many handouts we've been given.  In "Bethlehem," Annie Dillard says everything I felt and have tried to say and achieved an epiphany, while telling me I've not even reached the level of an agnostic much less a heretic or atheist.  Who better to teach that lesson than the Pilgrim from Tinker Creek.

Tomorrow we head into the desert.

Michael Chesson

Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015, from Alice Krapf, St. John's in Charlestown

This post reflects our day from Wednesday, 14 January, but was posted on the evening of 15 January 2015. 

We are off early to Bethlehem, passing by the Jaffa Gate and seeing much more of the Israeli section of the City.  Clean streets, impressive buildings, especially the housing, without equipment and wires hanging off the roofs and sides of the buildings.  Less than 15 minutes later, we sail through a long line of cars and the checkpoint and find Bethlehem.  I was prepared for a modern city, a tourist city; but I did not expect to find a city hanging on a steep hillside with lovely vistas, and I certainly didn't expect to see it completely surrounded by a 30 foot high concrete wall (Iyad says there is a part that is a fence). 

The wall makes several  statements beyond the obvious ones of separation and fear.    Palestinians have painted posters on it, with stories of the occupation, along with slogans, a little art work and some basic graffiti.  At one point, we stand in front of barbed wire,  an observation post with conical roof looming above us.  It looks like something from a prison, and I can think of some other historical antecedents, but don't really want to go there.  Later, someone comments that violence has substantially decreased since the walls have been built.  But that has also been accompanied by rerouting of roads, the checkpoints and other driving restrictions.  It has also resulted in a major decrease of the Christian population of Bethlehem, now down to 18%.

The town itself is quite pretty and appears much more prosperous than East Jerusalem, newer, all white limestone, washed by wind and sun.  In the near distance are rolling hills, dotted with other Palestinian towns, more walls, and new Jewish settlements.  The settlements are also a surprise, not rural or even suburban, but many thousands of multi family apartments in mid and high - rise buildings, whole cities of well over 100,000 people.   They represent a massive, coordinated effort - architectural, governmental and financial; the real estate developer part of my brain starts calculating the myriad vested interests in their creation and sustained operation.

The political situation has quickly incurred on what I think is my primary purpose for being here, so it is some relief to arrive at a quiet Manger Square - it is about 8 a.m. In the morning!  The Church of the Nativity is, of course, under construction, lots of exterior scaffolding with about two workers, no hard hats, hauling construction material up in what looks to be a reinforced plastic bag. OSHA would be horrified.  Construction inside also, in the Greek Orthodox portion of the building, with three tiered chandeliers and more sanctuary lamps than I can count actually hung from the construction scaffolding.  OSHA would be apoplectic, at this, especially if they saw the three year old using the scaffolding as a jungle gym.  We plaster ourselves against a wall a few steps below this makeshift sanctuary, with its incredibly rich backdrop of elaborate gold framed icons, trying not to intrude.  There is a busy pageantry with its own choreography of singing, ring kissing and movement of people around the altar.  The congregation responds, sings, stands, etc., with no prayer books or hymnals. 

We head down a stair into the room said to be where St Jerome wrote the R.C. Bible, referred to as the Vulgate, with two faithful women helpers, and then further down into a multi room cave, recently excavated, that Mark says is more like the Christmas manger than the official site.  It is lovely in its emptiness, and a good place for us to gather for a reading from Matthew and a heartfelt rendition of O Little Town of Bethlehem.

Outside again, there is a lovely cloister with orange trees, anemones, freshly turned earth, and elegant double columns. I could stay here all day.  I look through the entrance and see four women in headscarves, and realize they are all from our group.  A photo opportunity impossible to resist, we manage to find about eight of us at once.   We visit the Roman Catholic sanctuary off the cloister, which is a nice space, but the service with multiple tour groups and nine priests, seven of whom are in bizarre white chairs, does not draw me in.  When Iyad signals we should leave, I'm wondering whether we've been thrown out like the early Christian initiates who have to leave after the readings and before the Eucharist. 

When we do finally get into the area with the star in the floor which represents where the Christ child was born, I'm impressed by its smallness and cavelike appearance despite the tapestry, marble and gold.  An old R.C. priest with a brown watch cap conducts a beautiful Eucharist in Italian in a minuscule cave two steps down (the location of the manger) from the birthplace.  I think it must be very hard to concentrate on a holy task when there  are no assumptions one can make about the intentions of the impromptu congregation, which changes constantly. 

After lunch, we stroll the Shepherds Field, which is a lovely garden and in no way suitable for sheep.  But it has an archaeological excavation of a typical cave of the region, and a chapel with marvelous acoustics.  We are treated to a gorgeous concert by Korean nuns and then try our own voices out on the space.  We are fortunate to have good representation from the Parish of the Epiphany's choir and Father Tom Mousin's excellent voice and conducting.

We are all exhausted when we get back, but rally for dinner and conversation after, getting to know each other better.  We seem to be a pretty comfortable group.  There is a cake for Carol Bellamy's birthday and she shares with us a present she received from some local UNICEF colleagues she visited: a carved manger scene, with a wall and watchtower as a backdrop; when she turns it around, there are the Magi, unable to get to the manger.   

From Jane B. Sherwin On the Church of the Resurrection/Holy Sepulchre

Tuesday January 13

The Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem is a vast confusion of architectures and centuries and, as in most of Christian Jerusalem you go deeper and deeper underground the closer you get to the original sites, the first century ones, many of them identified by Helena, mother of Constantine. 

Helena built the original fourth century structures to identify and protect the central Christian sites. Then the Byzantine emperors and the Crusaders and a total of six different organized Christian religions (not including any Protestants) rebuilt, tore down, and rebuilt. The little that remains of Helena’s buildings are limestone walls, high and thick, with heavy columns headed by capitals in an odd three-dimensional basket weave, and no windows.

At the main entrance we approached the anointing stone, cracked and uneven pink and white marble lying on the floor under a canopy. People kneel to kiss the stone or bring something they care deeply about for anointing by a fragrance that our guide said often remains. I’m always willing to give these things a try—placed my hand flat on the stone but it remained cold as an egg, and I didn’t smell anything. Someone had left a little round rubber band, distracting, on the surface. Penny kindly brushed it away. Jerusalem is a cold place in winter. The stones hold the cold.

After the anointing stone we passed the blackened wooden structure covering the actual tomb and began going down and down again, this time along a corridor past the walls of the out-of-use stone quarry identified as Golgotha, the place where Jesus hung on his cross. Through a glass window one is able to view a rough limestone crag in the quarry, a crag which Helena had identified as the precise location of Jesus’s own cross. The crag was behind glass to stop pilgrims from chipping off bits to take home. 

Down and down again we went to a chamber where there was neither gold nor mosaic nor brass hangings nor icons nor shabby oil painting, but one remaining wall of the same out-of-use quarry where we were shown the marks laborers made to extract stone for all the buildings the Romans were busy constructing, especially walls to defend their possessions. And at the very bottom of the passage, at floor level, were rectangular spaces cut for placement of the dead—much as Jesus’s tomb might have looked. It was still cold, but there was enough air.

Our guide said the church is a numinous place with all the wild variety of religious construction, devices, hangings, brass, candles and altars. Easter must be brilliant, filled with people standing in the dark shouting Come Lord Jesus and suddenly filling the huge place with the lighting of thousands of candles. Still, for me, the notion of Helena’s determined effort, a resolute detective, a careful questioner—I admire her. 

Looking at the chipped quarry walls I thought, there could have been one stone worker there, even if they had closed the quarry. Maybe he needed a little cash to buy a drink. Maybe during yet another crucifixion he was just working away, like the horse scratching his behind while Icarus fell from the heavens, his wings melting, in Breughel’s painting. Maybe his great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter gave evidence to the great Empress herself. The mystery of presence is evoked as much by story as by any kind of proof. The more the story begins to come together the more my heart fills.

Jane B. Sherwin

The Parish of the Epiphany, Holy Land Pilgrimage 2015

Living Stones, Tuesday, 13 January 2015

We arose early and gathered inside the very chilly nave of St. George Cathedral for Morning Prayer. The winter sun beams illuminated the starkness of all that is English and Gothic, even if they didn't do much for actually warming us up. A group photograph revealed that several of us are organizers, then we were off to the edge of the city, to Mount Scopus, to get a bird's eye view of Jerusalem, especially to the south and east and west. 

Canon Qumri spent several minutes describing the geography along the Jordan River, and the Syrian-African Rift--the natural boundary between contemporary Jordan and the West Bank of Palestine. Then, he spoke vulnerably about what it's like to live with increasing Israeli settlements right here in East Jerusalem. Some of us had our eyes opened.

The rest of the morning was spent listening to Archbishop Suweil Duwani, the Bishop of Jerusalem, speak about the ministry of the Anglican-Episcopal Church in Israel/Palestine, Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan. It was our honor to present him with a small gift to support the ministry that is theirs, and now ours, in this place. Bishop Duwani spoke about "living stones"--that what's needed here in the Middle East is for young people to stay as witnesses, so that Christianity remains alive (less than 2% of the population is now Christian). 

God is making something of us to be these living stones, at least for the next several days. But then, after we're home, who knows how our enlivened faith might catch hold in the communities where we live and serve--living stones indeed! 

Thomas J. Brown

P.S. we have organized ourselves for business and we're ready to blog every day beginning on the 14th--so you'll get to read from other pilgrims, thankfully, and not just from me!

HOLY LAND PILGRIMAGE 2015 Arrived in Jerusalem!

Following near-perfect travel from Boston to Frankfurt, then a several hour connection time at Frankfurt (including comfortable cots on which to sleep a couple of hours), we made our way right on time to Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv. Canon Qumri was there to meet us, and Muhammed, our bus driver, got us safely and quickly to East Jerusalem, to St. George's Guest House, on the close of the Cathedral of St. George. We had a brief meeting at which we introduced ourselves, and stated aloud what we were leaving behind and what we hoped to take away from our pilgrimage, followed by dinner. Now, we're headed to sleep to commence tomorrow with 6:45am breakfast. We will use this blog and Facebook to update you. Please remember us in your prayers; all of you are in ours:

Mary Adkins & Diana Reed, Pat & Will Aldrich, Mary Hannah Arnot, Elaine Barger, Carol Bellamy, Mike Chesson & Jane Sherwin, Charlie DePuy and Mary Ann Haagen, Mary Kay and David Donovan, Kate Ebbott, Ralph Engstrom and Suzanne McAllister, Carol & Ted Kellogg, Alice Krapf, Maureen Lavely, Kathleen McCormick, Thomas Mousin & Thomas Brown, Suzanne & Solomon Owayda, Matthew Owayda, Penny Partlow, Susan Reed, Barbara & Fred Rowland, Mary & Scott Street, Holly & Ashely Stevens, Cynthia Terzariol, Sarah Wasdyke, and Jane & Robie White.

Times they are a changing

The Parish of the Epiphany is engaged in a strategic planning exercise. We're using a tried and true book from the Alban Institute, Holy Conversations. We're also using a product from Father Jay Sidebotham called RenewalWorks, which is embedded in Forward Movement's new service-oriented approach to reinvigorating the Episcopal Church. 

Yesterday a parishioner asked me, "why are we doing this strategic planning? It doesn't seem necessary; things are fine." I'm afraid my eyes told her of my incredulity!

Then this morning I found through Facebook this post from a young clergy person's blog. I'm not sure he says it all, but he sure says a lot about what I'm thinking these days:
http://ancientfuturefaith.net

Faithfully in Christ,
Thomas

Address to the Parish's Annual Meeting

An address to the 125th annual meeting of the Parish of the Epiphany, given by the rector, 

the Reverend Thomas J. Brown, on Wednesday, 19 February 2014. 

Your flexibility in rescheduling because of our storm two weeks ago is another testimonial to your resilience, and to your ongoing commitment. Thank you for being here. 

The Annual Report provides a thorough accounting of what we did during 2013. God is good all the time, and all the time God is good. Let me say a few words about where I’d like us to go during 2014. 

You know that for the past 11 years I meet without fail twice a year with a group of eight other priests (actually one of us is a bishop now). We pray, we laugh, and we challenge each other on our shortcomings, even as we celebrate our growth.  At a meeting in May of 2010, each was responsible for bringing to the group one successful adult education program or initiative which the rest of us could adopt or reuse in our respective congregations. What came from that weren’t 9 different programs, but a synergy which landed us to sketch one comprehensive program to adapt for our respective contexts. After all there isn’t one size that fits all—what a parish does for formation in Marin County won’t necessarily fly at the Cathedral in St. Louis, nor will whatever’s sponsored at Trinity Wall Street necessarily work here at Epiphany. And, the truth is, the end result wasn’t completely ours as much as it was Carol Anderson’s, the former rector of All Saints in Beverly Hills, for whom one of us once served as her curate. 

So from that meeting came the Basic Courses—Basic Anglicanism, Basic Bible, Basic Christianity, and Basic Discipleship. And following two years of those courses happening all over the country, arose in one of us a desire to write a book about discipleship, and to form a network, something called The Restoration Project. Epiphany is part of this network. In fact, you can watch a video of Christopher (the author) on our website, and hear more about his interest in helping churches grow through ancient spiritual practices including developing friendships with the poor and structured small groups and formation classes. 

And from there we developed the 20+1+4 theme. It’s a challenge and an invitation, but one I present gladly. Will we spend 20 minutes a day praying, 1 hour a week worshiping, and 4 hours a month serving directly and intentionally the poor among us? 

Many of the churches in this network are adopting 20+1+4 as a Lenten challenge, but we’re going to adopt it as our theme for the entire year. So when you see 20+1+4—you’ll think PrayWorshipServe—20 minutes a day, 1 hour a week, 4 hours a month. 2014. Much of what we’ll do programmatically throughout this year will revolve around 20+1+4. 

There are four other matters to discuss tonight. The first is the strategic planning process and the second is the search for an organist. Scott Street and Suzanne Owayda have shared a good deal already about each of these topics, but I want to add to information about the strategic planning. First, about the survey: it’s not the only medium for collecting your experience and voice. It’s one tool, and it gets at the heart, I think—which is your assessment of how the Parish of the Epiphany fosters your spirituality, your prayer life, your sense of being a baptized Christian. But, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to speak in your own words about where you believe we should focus our attention in the next 5-7 years, some of those will be individual conversations in groups with others, and some of them will be in constituent ministry groups, which means that many of you will have multiple opportunities to speak and to hear. Your attention to this work is key; thank you.

The third is about the building project, and the fourth is about a change in our personnel. 

There are really two projects related to our capital campaign. The first is to repair the tower, and the second is to install an elevator; both of the projects are in the engineering design phase, right now, and our hope is to present to the vestry as early as next month the cost estimates. This will give the vestry time to prioritize and to schedule the projects. You’ll hear much more about this, but for tonight, I want to recognize Fred Spencer and Jay Stott who are leading these efforts and giving so much of themselves and their time. 

Finally, a word about the transition that’s occurred because of Tommy Campbell’s resignation. As you know, Tommy was a part-time employee who supported our children and youth programs. Right now the Christian Formation Steering Team and the Assistant Rector are working with children’s chapel leaders, parents of middle schoolers, and our  church school teachers to figure out what we can accomplish for the rest of the year, as well as to look ahead to next fall. Whenever there’s a personnel transition it makes good sense to look at the whole picture, and we’re doing just that. Your opinion about what you think is needed, and your interest in helping us keep the program strong are welcomed. 

I conclude now with a word of deep thanks for the sacred privilege you grant me to serve among you. The trust and the encouragement given me, as well as the guidance and course corrections you suggest are great gifts. 

You know that I don’t do this work alone, and so I must express equal thanks to the wardens and the vestry, and to my colleagues on the staff. Every day they are here to serve you and in doing so they support me—and they do it in response to God’s mission. If we are congregational leaders it’s not because we possess certain innate traits, charismatic gifts, or a particular office, but because over time we have been molded into the likeness of Christ. Our metamorphosis comes through our life of praying, worshiping, and serving. As congregational leaders—all of us—you could say that we are made, not born. For your prayers, and for your generosity of time and money, and your continued devotion to the Risen Christ who is always among us, I am profoundly thankful. 

Presentation of the Icon of the Visitation of the Magi to one who has demonstrated exemplary faithfulness to God in service of the Parish of the Epiphany

JOSEPH GEORGIS

2014

Warden, Usher, Stewardship Chair, Lector, Chalice Bearer, 

Property Chair, Resident Expert on Middle East Culture, Food, and Christianity, Faithful Communicant of the Sacraments and the Church’s Corporate Worship, and a Lover of all the ways the Parish of the Epiphany seeks and serves Christ, the Icon is joyously presented to Joseph Georgis, 

19 February 2014

Putting on our own masks first

The Sisters of Saint Anne are five women religious whose gifts of prayer and hospitality seem utterly boundless. About 15 years ago they partnered with a number of lay women in the Diocese of Massachusetts to develop the Bethany House of Prayer. Today, the once quiet city block containing their convent, chapel, two houses, and their former school for girls is bustling with activity. People go for spiritual direction, for retreats, and various church and non-church groups use the resources of these highly skilled women (most of them not ordained) to connect with God and to develop community. I go to the convent about once a month to celebrate Mass for the sisters, a precious gift which they give to me and to many other local priests. 

The Sisters of Saint Anne
Arlington Heights, Massachusetts

Two years ago the Parish of the Epiphany’s vestry went to Bethany for a retreat, ably led by Bethany House of Prayer’s staff, Julia Slayton and Mary Meader. We left renewed and energized and we didn’t do a single piece of business. We prayed, listened, ate, and prayed some more. 

Just this past Friday and Saturday, like we did in 2012, the vestry turned ourselves again toward Julia and Mary’s voices, the Sisters’s hospitality, and it’s not too much to say that in doing so we were transformed yet again

Vestry work is often intense, and it’s also quite often fairly mundane. A monthly meeting in a parish hall, no matter how attentive we might be to Bible study and to praying at the beginning and at the ending of our meetings, is not an adequate forum to reflect on our call, or to connect with God and each other. Yesterday after church every single vestry member who was there (in church) made a comment about the retreat—how important, how moving, how grounding, how energizing, how powerful. 



There’s no question that we’ll do an annual retreat—we might even do two a year—because it’s now in our DNA: it’s essential to our ministry.

In September the Diocese of Massachusetts sponsored an event in Roxbury about the B-Peace for Jorge Campaign (our work to end violence in our city). The keynote speaker was the rector of Trinity Church in Newtown, Connecticut, Kathy Adams-Shepherd, who had been there for 18 years when the tragedy at Sandy Hook School occurred. In her keynote Mother Adams-Shepherd told us a story about how Trinity Church was completely unprepared for that moment (everybody was), and completely prepared for it. Her church, led by the vestry, worked together in complete synchronicity during those days and weeks. She attributed their capacity to respond to the community (and to one another), and her ability to lead them in those dark hours, to the parish’s emphasis on pastoral care and prayer. Then she said there one particular practice their vestry has always done: they go on retreat twice a year. “In those vestry retreats we have learned the importance of putting on our own oxygen masks first,” Adams-Shepherd said, “then we can help others.”

Ending Hunger

My neighbor at Thousand Island Park stood on the stoop of my porch to return the bottle of ketchup she’d borrowed. She glanced down and noticed the book I was reading.* Then she said, “you know me, Thomas, I’m spiritual, not religious. I’m hungry for something bigger, but the hunger is in here (she pointed toward her heart) not up here (she pointed to her head).” In 1933 my predecessor, the Reverend Truman Hemingway was, in essence, run out of town following a 2/3 vote of the parish which called for his resignation. Among the complaints from Epiphanyites was that he was too religious, too concerned about prayer and worship. Maybe even as the Hemingways were driving north to Killington, Vermont, to pastor a country church and farm (the very church in which Tom and I were married almost exactly 70 years later), another person, living in England, wrote a letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, her name was Eve-lynn Underhill. Ms. Underhill wrote to the leader of the Anglican Church about the priests of her church. Remember this was England circa 1933. She was concerned that too much emphasis was placed on the nurture and development of the intellect, and less on the improvement of the soul. She was quick to write, “I cannot underrate the importance of the intellectual side of religion; it’s necessary, but my real hunger is not for the reconciliation of theology and physical science, it’s for the deep things of the Spirit.” She went on to inform the Archbishop that most of the priests she knew were “ignorant of the laws and experiences of the life of prayer.” In that letter to the Archbishop Evelyn wrote, “people are hungry for God,” then she suggested that a life soaked in prayer, and through “adoring worship” we would be helped to apprehend God. I wonder if her words to the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1933 might describe something about all of us in 2013. Underhill’s words certainly capture what my Thousand Island Park neighbor was saying to me as she handed me the ketchup she’d borrowed: she wants something that will nourish her spirit, and she believes she’ll find that in just about any place except a religious institution. It’s not lost on me that both my neighbor and Evelyn Underhill used the word “hunger” to describe their yearning for God. The truth is I’m sometimes hungry for God as well. The irony is that much of the time I try to fill that hunger from my own well, giving my heart over to things that don’t satisfy. Too often I think it’s all up to me, or I fall into the trap of thinking about, rather than worshiping God. I’m no Truman Hemingway either because I often forget that God is the interesting thing about religion. This year your parish’s staff and leaders will do everything we can to capture what Evelyn said to the Archbishop of Canterbury: God is the most interesting thing about religion. Take some time this week to be silent, then consider one step you might take to know God better. Doing so might put an end to hunger.

* Life of Evelyn Underhill: An Intimate

Portrait of the Groundbreaking Author of

Mysticism by Margaret Copper, 2003.

Prayers, Music, and Silence for Boston in the wake of the Marathon tragedy

The Winchester Interfaith Council

 Prayers, Music, and Silence

 for Boston in the wake of the Marathon tragedy

The Parish of the Epiphany

Wednesday, 17 April 2013 at twelve o’clock noon

______________________________________________________________________________

Prelude

Words of Welcome The Reverend Thomas J. Brown, Rector

All stand to sing the

Entrance Hymn O day of God, draw nigh in beauty and in power

All are seated.

A Prayer for Guidance                                                                                   The Reverend Audrey L. O'Brien

The Psalm 46                                                                                                  Fr. James Savage, St. Eulalia Parish

A Litany

The Reverend John Millspaugh, Winchester Unitarian Universalist Society

In the silence after each petition, you are invited to offer individual prayers in silence or aloud.

Leader       Eternal God,  in whom we live and move and have our being, be amongst us with your healing power. Help us to see your presence in  our grief, as we struggle to respond to hatred and violence in our midst. We pray for all those who died in the attacks at the Boston Marathon, and for their families…

Silence

    With one voice we pray,

All         Bring your light and peace, O God.

Leader  For all those who were injured, and for all those traumatized by these events…

Silence

With one voice we pray,

All                 Bring your light and peace, O God.

For all those who responded with courage and compassion: police officers, firefighter, doctors, nurses, volunteers, and others who risked their lives to bring aid and assistance…

Silence

With one voice we pray,

All                 Bring your light and peace, O God.

For our wounded city, and for all who weep this day…

Silence

With one voice we pray,

All          Bring your light and peace, O God.

For those throughout the world for whom terror and random violence are a part of daily life…

Silence

With one voice we pray,

All         Bring your light and peace, O God.

For our enemies, and for all those who would do us harm…

Silence

With one voice we pray,

All         Bring your light and peace, O God.

For ourselves, that you will deepen our faith and resolve to commit ourselves walk in ways of peace and compassion…

Silence

With one voice we pray, 

All         Bring your light and peace, O God.

A Reading Matthew 5:1-12                                                                                     The Reverend Eric Dupee, Crawford United            Methodist Church

A time for silent reflection and prayer 

All stand to sing

The Hymn God be with you till we meet again

All remain standing for the

Closing Prayer

Mr. Sal Caraviello, St. Mary Church

Religious leader Gracious God, you walk with us through the valley of the shadow of death. We pray that the suffering and terrorized be surrounded by the incarnate presence of the crucified and risen one. May every human being be reminded of the precious gift of life you entered to share with us.  May our hearts be pierced with compassion for those who suffer, and for those who have inflicted this violence, for your love is the only healing balm we know. May the dead be received into your enfolding arms, and may your friends show the grieving they are not alone as they walk this vale of tears.  All this we pray in your holy name. 

All Amen.

      

Postlude

During the postlude the liturgical leaders process from the chancel, outside to the forecourt.

All are invited to remain seated or depart quietly. 

The Church will be open for prayer until 8:00pm.

Copyright and Credits

The hymns are taken from The Hymnal 1982 (Church Publishing, Inc., New York, New York), and are reprinted with permission. The Litany was composed by the Reverend Thomas N. Mousin, rector at St. John Church in Charlestown, Massachusetts. The closing prayer was composed by the Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts-Schori, presiding bishop and primate of the Episcopal Church. 

An invitation to holy week, and a holy life.

This is the pastoral article for 26 March 2013 for the weekly newsletter of the Parish of the Epiphany, The Three Crowns.

The early morning hours, still dark, in East Jerusalem were not a hindrance to the neighborhood’s constant bustling. We gathered in front of the hotel, we pilgrims from the Diocese of Massachusetts, with our guide, Canon Iyad Qumri. He was holding a wooden cross, small enough to carry, but large enough to be seen, as if to say, “we’re going to carry this cross!”

The five minute walk into the Old City took us across cobblestone sidewalks, and we were greeted with polite nods from various shopkeepers who were, even at that early hour, unpacking their wares to prepare for the day’s commerce. We kept quiet, helping the elders among us who walked more slowly, and carrying our little books, “A Walk in Jerusalem: Stations of the Cross.” The book had all the short readings and prayers for each of the stations. 

Every Friday in Jerusalem Franciscan monks take groups of pilgrims down the Via Dolorosa, this road Christ likely walked on his way to the cross. We were earlier than the crowds, and said our prayers at each of the stations as a group, just us. The fourteen locations which mark Christ’s final moments retell the passion narrative, naturally, but each station represents something even more than retelling the story because at each station we also prayed. We prayed.

After each station one of us would carry the cross, and we would sing “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” or we would walk in silence. At the very end, inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, we were in an empty tomb. It's the only church in the world with an empty tomb. It was my privilege, a great, great honor, to lead the litany in that place. My fellow pilgrims were standing in a circle, and I said, “People of God, he is not here; he is risen.” They responded, “Yes, he is risen!” Then me, “He is risen!” They responded, “And he is here, Alleluia!”

This week is ours to do the same thing, figuratively and powerfully. We are not in Jerusalem, but we are here, and that’s what matters. This week, Holy Week, is centered on our walking the way together. On Wednesday evening, something new for us this year, will be a chance to walk our own version of stations of the cross. Then, on Thursday the one, long service in three acts (Thursday night, Friday night, and Saturday night) will take us from tenderness, to betrayal, to death, and ultimately to new life. 

Holy Week asks a question: how can we go deeper and deeper each day to let go of all that is false in our lives? Or, put another way, walking this way helps us remove everything that keeps us from our true existence. What’s discovered, along the way, is an  ultimate beauty, a space which God lovingly fills in the joy of Easter. 

To make this journey with you is death and life, and life again. I’ll see you there. 

Women, lay people, process, and prayer

This post first appeared in "An Epiphany Sunday Morning," our parish's weekly worship leaflet.

The upcoming conclave in Vatican City is rather fascinating to me. Though I have to say Pope Benedict's decision to resign isn't terribly surprising. My own take on things there, at the Vatican, and generally within the Roman church in America, is that its decades-long turn inward and rightward should change. However naive it might be, I actually think the allegations of scandal and of corruption within the curia, swirling around every newspaper in the world, could actually lead the college of cardinals to make a choice that will lead Christianity’s largest church in a different--rather than the same--direction. 

Yet the whole way leadership is chosen is so completely different from Anglicanism’s understanding of baptism, of priesthood, and of the episcopacy. Granted the American church, the Episcopal Church, is uniquely democratic. Every diocese elects their own bishop--with the votes of both laity and clergy having equal weight. Which is to say, that in other parts of the Anglican Communion bishops are indeed appointed, not elected. Still, no province of Anglicanism has a curia or magesterium. In the Episcopal Church, and in a few other Anglican churches, the selection of the Presiding Bishop, our version of an archbishop, the laity play a crucial role. Electing a presiding bishop is not solely up to the bishops of the Episcopal Church. Yes, the bishops elect, but the House of Deputies (equal numbers of laity and clergy) must confirm the election. There is a check and a balance, and an ecclesiology which declares baptism a principal value: the voice and the wisdom of lay people count!

The button many people wore the day after KJS was elected. 

In 2003 I was elected to the Joint Nominating Committee for the Election of the Presiding Bishop, and that committee elected me their secretary. It was wonderful work, for three years, coming up with a profile, and interviewing potential bishops in our church to be on the ballot at the General Convention in 2006. A seminary classmate was ultimately nominated and elected...a woman incidentally with precious little parish experience. Katharine Jefferts-Schori’s colleague bishops saw in her the gifts and skills to lead our church, and those of us in the senior house (the laity and clergy are considered senior!) confirmed handily her election. As the Presiding Bishop-elect entered the House of Deputies I sat there with tears coming down my cheeks. How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven (Genesis 27:18). The moment stands out for another reason, in addition to the tears and the surprise that a woman had been elected because it was the first-ever text I sent! I sent it to my partner, Tom, who was in the Thousand Islands and it read, “KJS on 5th ballot!” Lest I suggest that the Episcopal Church is superior to other Christian communities I must state plainly that we definitely have our share of foibles and challenges. Our history during the Civil War and our reticence to make a pro-Abolitionist stance, and thereby to condone slavery, is appalling! Sadly that’s only one example. The point is we’re not perfect, by any means. But, when it comes to honoring lay people and women, we stand in a different place from our sisters and brothers in the Roman Catholic Church.