On the Power of Every Perfect Gift…

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blessing, church, every perfect gift, gift, giving, God, gratitude, stewardship, talent, team, time, treasure

Photo credit: https://www.tens.org/

Ministry is a funny endeavor because you can have a to-do list planned for any given day, but between drop-ins, unexpected calls, or pastoral events, your to-do list gets completely set aside.  Yesterday I had one of those days where I left the office thinking, “Man!  I only got a couple of things done today!  I’m so frustrated!”  But then I remembered that even though I personally only got a couple of things done, my staff picked up a lot of the floating to-do items and together, we actually got a lot of things done.  Suddenly a seemingly wasted day felt like a day of accomplishment.

The last two years have been years of transition for our staff.  A full-time priest left the staff right as COVID hit and was not replaced.  This past summer, we had an administrative staffing gap.  Suddenly, if things were getting done, they really were dependent upon my personally accomplishing them – which is never a sustainable model.  It was not until yesterday that a wave of gratitude overwhelmed me as I realized how much can be achieved when you are a part of team.

This week, we will kick off our stewardship season at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church, whose theme is Every Perfect Gift.  My experience this week made me remember how even our giving to church is a team effort.  We work hard to do our part – giving a tithe or other generous financial gift, our time, and our talent.  But our part does not sustain the work of ministry.  In order to reflect the fullness of the body of Christ, each of us needs to give Every Perfect Gift – those parts that make the whole better. 

As you think about your giving to the church, maybe your finances are making it such that you cannot give as much as you would like.  Or maybe you are giving in earnest, but feel like you are pulling more weight than others.  Or maybe you are taking a hard look at your budget and time and are considering how you can do more this year.  Just remember two things:  1) your gift is perfect and is a reflection of your gratitude to God for your many blessings – making your giving sacred; and 2) you are a part of a community where everyone does their part – where we all make an impact on our community because when we all share our every perfect gift, our collective effort is stunning.  You are in my prayers this year as you consider how you might share your perfect gifts with Hickory Neck!

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, Feast of St. Francis, YB, October 3, 2021

Tags

animals, blessing, burden, creation, easy, God, Jesus, sacred, Sermon, St. Francis, wealth, work, yoke

Occasionally I wander the Hickory Neck property as a way of clearing my head.  I often end up over in the St. Francis Memorial Garden, reveling in the quiet in that remote corner behind the Historic Chapel.  The bucolic scene and the St. Francis statue make me imagine the peaceful walks he took in his journey to commune with God and God’s created order.  The funny thing is our celebrations of St. Francis today are nothing like those peaceful moments.  There is the chaos of the drive-thru, as confused pets worry they are headed toward the dreaded veterinarian or are confused by the people in clerical garb.  There is the hubbub of owners calming pets inside the New Chapel, the curiosity of what unique pets one may see, and the endless giggles and chuckles about unpredictable animals in an enclosed space.  The whole morning is a morning of contrasts.

The contradictions of this day are equally evident in our Gospel lesson.  Our gospel lesson closes with one of our favorite invitations from Jesus, “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you … and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Those words describe a loving, gentle Jesus, who enfolds us in a calm, affirming embrace.  At least, they should.  But if we read the words critically, there is more contrast in them than we might like to admit.  Yes, Jesus taking our heavy burdens and recognizing our weariness is balm for the soul.  But the last time I checked, yokes were not exactly tools for rest.  And even though Jesus promises his yoke is easy, the yoke is still a yoke – a tool for directing, guiding, ensuring productive work is done.  Having listened to the gospels these last weeks, we know this work is anything but light.  In the last few weeks in Mark’s gospel, Jesus told us we would have to take up our cross, suffer, and die; that discipleship would mean being servant of all; and that if our hand or eye were causing us to stumble, we should just cut them off!  That does not really sound like an easy yoke to me!

Part of what we appreciate about St. Francis, and why we celebrate him every year – besides having an excuse to have a day to honor our beloved animals – is St. Francis understood Jesus’ words in a tangible, personal way.  Francis grew up in the life of luxury.  He grew up in a privileged home, lived a life of young adult revelry, and could have easily assumed his father’s wealth in adulthood.  But there were these poor people everywhere he looked around town.[i]  And there was the day everything changed at the church of St. Mary of the Angles[ii], when Francis heard different words from Matthew’s gospel, just a chapter before what we heard today.  Jesus says, “Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons…Take no gold, or silver, or coper in your belts, no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff…”[iii]  For Francis, Jesus’ yoke felt light because the yoke of keeping up appearances, the yoke of ignoring the poor to enjoy your own wealth, the yoke of never feeling like you have enough was indeed a heavy yoke.  The yoke of another way – of the way of Jesus – helped Francis reframe his entire life.

That is what we celebrate too.  St. Francis, in his faith conversion, and in his ability to see the sacred in all of God’s creation, saw the truth of our gospel lesson today.  As one scholar explains, “The proper ordering of our relationship to Father and Son can be deemed ‘light’ and ‘easy’ because an improper relationship to them surely makes for a much harder and more restless life!”[iv]  Whether in the pure love between animals and owners, whether in peaceful moments with God’s creation, or whether in today’s gospel lesson and in Francis’ example, our invitation today is to let go of the hard and restless life and to take up the light burden of Jesus’ easy yoke.  The more we practice taking on that yoke, the more we find work that is meaningful, life-giving, and blessed.  And that is a yoke we can all enjoy!  Amen.

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[i] Holy Women, Holy Men:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  Church Publishing, 2010), 622.

[ii] Hilarion Kistner, O.F.M., The Gospels According to Saint Francis (Cincinnati:  Franciscan Media, 2014), 6-7.

[iii] Matthew 10.7-10

[iv] Colin Yuckman, “Commentary on Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30,” July 9, 2017, as found at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-14/commentary-on-matthew-1116-19-25-30-4 on October 1, 2021.

On Baptisms, Babies, and Blessings…

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absence, babies, baby, baptism, blessing, creation, family, God, loud, messy, mystery, pandemic, sacred, touch, vulnerability, wonder

Photo credit: Kim Edwards; reuse with permission only

I was never really a baby person:  I did not do much babysitting as an adolescent; except for my little brother, there were not a lot of babies around me growing up; and I was just never all that jazzed about babies.  They seemed delicate, loud, messy, and mysterious.  I never had maternal urges in early adulthood, and my friends found constant amusement in any scenario where the question arose about who should take care of a baby in a pinch – obviously, the baby should not come my way.  But the time my husband and I were engaged, we were not even sure we wanted to have children.

Then in my early thirties, a switch flipped and I realized, in fact, I did want children.  I still was not sure about other babies, but I was excited about my own.  But then a funny thing happened.  I was ordained a deacon when I was about seven months pregnant.  What I did not realize was once you are ordained, you handle babies a lot – in baptisms, in walking moms through pregnancies and births, and even in the receiving line at church.  Once I went through babyhood with my own daughter, and she was no longer at that lovely, innocent stage, I realized my vocation included mothering a lot of other babies.  It has become one of my favorite parts of ministry because it is a glimpse into the wonder and mystery of creation and the grandeur of our God.

So, you can imagine, when this pandemic hit, among the myriad reasons my heart hurt was not being able to interact with babies.  Our church had babies born during the pandemic and it killed me to not be able to welcome the baby at the hospital and give the baby and family their first blessing.  My heart ached to see baby photos on social media and know the babies were growing up without the church surrounding them in love.  But mostly, my arms palpably felt the absence of holding babies, swaying to keep them calm, and smelling their unique baby scent.

As we slowly come out of this pandemic, I am keenly aware of the privilege of holding babies again.  At a recent wedding I tentatively asked a guest, who I did not know, if they would like me to hold their baby to give them a break.  When they quickly passed me the baby, my face lit up.  Last Sunday, when I finally got to hold the baby we had prayed for all during her time in the womb, I was elated.   And as we approach two more baptisms this weekend, I could not be more excited to make those special connections – even though they are not really babies anymore!  One of the blessings of the rise in vaccinations is enjoying the sacred honor of touch, of experiencing vulnerability and innocence, and of redefining the boundaries of family.  This week I give thanks for the abundance of love and joy.  May you all find your own encounters with the holy this week!

On Tiny Perfect Things…

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blessing, Christ, God, grace, moment, pandemic, perfect, small, tiny

Photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/269441990176015475/

I just finished up a movie called The Map of Tiny Perfect Things.  The premise is much like Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray relives the same day over and over again.  But in this film, the two protagonists use their day of repetition to find tiny perfect things – an eagle grabbing a fish out of a lake, an elderly woman dancing about a game victory, a perfectly timed funny moment, a custodian sneaking on a piano, demonstrating his incredible hidden talent. 

These last weeks, I have been noticing a lot of tiny perfect things as we slowly make our way out of this pandemic:  a hug between vaccinated friends who haven’t seen, let alone touched, each other in over a year; watching kids play with bubbles, mastering not just blowing them, but popping them too; an outdoor wedding after a year of wondering if it would be possible with a long pandemic and the threat of unpredictable weather; being able to hold and bounce a baby after over a year of isolating newborns from all of us. 

We are approaching some of those tiny perfect things at our church as well.  Because we are loosening restrictions incrementally, we are not getting some magical “perfect” experience where everything “goes back to normal.”  But we are approaching a time where we can sit in pews that were off limits, where we can sing those songs and texts that have been spoken or been instrumental, where we can sit beside a friend whose physical presence we have missed, where we can receive the body and blood of Christ.  We still have to mask, and communion is being served in sealed plastic chalices – but there are tiny perfect things nonetheless. 

This week, I invite you to find your own tiny perfect things – tiny moments of grace.  Take a moment to watch children play in your neighborhood, see what wonders nature is up to, enjoy a bit of hearty laughter, or observe the way an older couple holds hands after what must be decades of marriage.  There is a lot of work to be done as Christ commissions us to go out in the world.  But what will sustain us in that work are the tiny perfect things that remind us of God’s blessing and grace that are there for us every day.  I cannot wait to hear what you find!

On Finding Blessings among the Curses…

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blessing, connection, curse, God, grace, gratitude, Myanmar, pandemic, technology

Photo credit: Troy Mendez

Last week, a seminary classmate sent an email to a group of six of us who had travelled to Myanmar on a mission trip while in seminary.  The trip was a powerful, multiple week trip – for us as individuals, for us as a team (one of our members passed away a couple of years after seminary), and, when we returned, for our relationships with the Burmese students at the seminary.  The experience of that trip forever changed the dynamics between us – there are inside jokes that lead to ribbing; we know each other in ways that only fellow travelers can, leading to belly-laughs and understanding sighs too deep for words; and our connection to the Anglican Church in Myanmar and our spiritual experiences there created a brotherhood and sisterhood that is difficult to articulate. 

So, when the toughly-won democracy crumbled a few weeks ago in Myanmar, we all watched in horror.  The call to gather from my classmate was certainly an opportunity for us to catch up, but more importantly for us to pray – to pray for our Burmese classmates, the brothers and sisters in Christ we met there, and the countless people who simply want to live their lives free of the brutality of a military junta.  Over the course of this year, I have complained more times than I can count about the amount of time I spent on Zoom.  But as the six of us gathered virtually from around the country to tell stories, to laugh, to mourn, and to pray, I confess to you, I have never been more grateful for a technological tool.  Even in that virtual space, we were able to find the rhythm of a group established fourteen years ago, and slow down enough to put the needs of Myanmar above our own.

As we work to vaccinate our country and as churches begin to regather again, I find myself once again grateful for the ways God has made a way in the wilderness.  And although I will be thrilled to see people in person again, I am glad we will still have technological advances available to us – to facilitate community, care, and compassion.  Not once in the years since we left seminary has our mission team managed to get together in person.  But with technology, we were able to create a virtual space of real connection between us, and, perhaps more importantly, a place where God could move among us and beyond us.  I would never wish this pandemic on any of us, but I remain astounded at the way God has used the gifts God has given us to facilitate the spreading of the Good News. 

One year into this pandemic, I give thanks for the ways in which technology has facilitated fellowship, formation, worship, and pastoral care.  I wonder what graces this pandemic has gifted you over this last year.  What ways has necessity inspired blessedness?  As you reflect this week, I invite you to join me in offering gratitude for God’s grace in the midst of a very dark year. 

Please continue to keep Myanmar in your prayers as they struggle for the restoration of democracy, for the safety of innocent people being brutalized and disappeared, and for the encouragement and protection to keep fighting for justice.

Sermon – Matthew 11.25-30, St. Francis Feast, YA, October 4, 2020

Tags

animals, blessing, Blessing of the Animals, connection, creation, God, humanity, interconnected, Jesus, poor, Sermon, solidarity, St. Francis, yoke

Today we honor the life and witness of St. Francis of Assisi.  St. Francis is well-known and beloved for myriad reasons.  Primarily, people tend to appreciate two things about him: his commitment to living in solidarity with the poor, which included dramatically stripping his clothing off, begging for food, and supporting the most needy; and, his affinity for the creatures of God, with stories of preaching to birds, negotiating with a violent wolf to make peace with the local town, and generally valuing the beasts of the earth.  The second component of his identity is why we do things like the Blessing of the Animals. The first component, we tend to get a little uncomfortable with – or at least like to admire his commitment to being in solidarity with the poor, but not actually imitate it. In fact, one author argues, “Of all the saints, Francis is the most popular and admired, but probably the least imitated.”[i]

This week I have struggled with which component to bring to the fore: Francis’ solidarity with the poor, or Francis’ love of creatures.  But as I looked to our gospel lesson, and started thinking about yokes, I realized, the two are not unrelated.  You see, yokes were used to harness two animals for work.  The yoke allowed the two not just to double their work, but to rely on one another – if one was tired, the other could push harder; and then the weaker one could later support the stronger one.  Yokes, like Jesus’ work, were easy and made the burden light. 

But beyond the mechanics of a good yoke, the yoke is also a good metaphor for how we see the gospel.  Being yoked to another makes you connected.  And once you are connected, and see how dependent upon one another you are, you begin to see how that connection extends beyond the two of you – that your yoked interconnection is a microcosm of the connectedness of all of God’s creation.  When Francis was experiencing his conversion, he heard a sermon on another Matthew text.  In Matthew 10, Jesus instructs the disciples to go and proclaim the good news, curing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing the lepers, and casting out demons.  All of this without pay, without backup supplies, and relying on the kindness of strangers.  After the priest explained the text to Francis, Francis’ response was, “This is what I wish, this is what I seek, this is what I long to do with all my heart.”[ii]

But what Francis learned and what we learn when we do likewise is helping the poor and the sick opens our eyes.  We slowly begin to see all of humanity is connected.  And the more we spend time seeing the humanity in others – especially the humanity in those we would rather not – then we start to see that our interconnectedness extends even further – to God’s creation, to God’s creatures, to the cosmos.  If we open our hearts to one, we cannot help to open our hearts to all.  Francis’ love for the poor and Francis’ love for creatures were not two separate things – they were one in the same. 

In our psalm today, we heard the invitation to all of God’s creation:  Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars;  Wild beasts and all cattle, creeping things and winged birds; Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the world; Young men and maidens, old and young together.[iii]  We bless animals today because Francis reminded us how all of God’s creation is worthy of love.  But the invitation for us today is not just to love on cute dogs, cats, hamsters, and horses.  The invitation for us is to start claiming our yoked nature – yoked to those we love, yoked to our political opponents, yoked to those who have different ethics and values than ourselves, yoked to parents who make different parenting decisions, yoked to those with different skin color or sexual orientation, yoked to those we see as deserving of God’s grace and those who are not.  Our yoked nature allows us to pray the Prayer of St. Francis from our Prayer Book:  “Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”[iv]  We can do the work of St. Francis because of the yoke of Jesus.  Thanks be to God.

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[i] Holy Men, Holy Women:  Celebrating the Saints (New York:  The Church Pension Fund, 2010), 622.

[ii] Hilarion Kistner, The Gospels According to Saint Francis (Cincinnati:  Franciscan Media, 2014), 7-8.

[iii] Psalm 148.9-12.

[iv] BCP, 833.

On Teachers, Nurses, and Grandmas…

Tags

appreciation, blessing, care, Christ, God, grandmother, gratitude, Jesus, light, love, ministry, notes, nurses, pandemic, sacred, teachers, thank you, thankful, vocation, work

Photo credit:  https://www.considerable.com/life/etiquette/bring-back-thank-you-notes/

One of the things my grandmother instilled in me from an early age was the importance of thank you notes.  She taught me how to write them, how quickly to send them, and the significance of being a person who reliably sends them.  These days I fear she would be sorely disappointed with how those carefully honed skills have deteriorated over time – not that I do not know how to write them or understand their importance, but how my overflowing plate often means the list of thank you notes to be written makes it to the bottom of my “to do” pile.

That is why I am thankful for the ways in which our country has designated this week as appreciation weeks for two powerful vocations:  teachers and nurses.  Left to my own devices, I regularly forget to show my appreciation for the teachers in our lives.  But this annual week always reminds me that for thirty-five-plus hours a week, teachers are the people who are with my children – teaching them, shaping them into thoughtful citizens, helping them grow into their unique identity, and generally helping them feel loved and valued.  I have always thought of teachers as part of our “village,” who are helping my husband and me raise our children.  And this year, more than ever, I am amazed at the ways teachers are pivoting, learning new technologies, figuring out different ways to engage children in a pandemic, and showing love to our kids while socially distanced.

Likewise, I am grateful for a week to show our gratitude toward our nurses.  My most powerful experience with a nurse was in childbirth.  I had been laboring for the better part of twelve hours when I finally elected to have an epidural.  Everyone left the room, and as I leaned forward for the anesthesiologist, I could not stop shaking – whether from exhaustion or fear, I am not sure.  But the nurse took my arms firmly, looked me right in the eyes, and instilled in me a trust so deep I can still feel it palpably ten years later.  Nurses do this every day – take our lives into their hands, guide us through healing and wellness, and comfort us in ways that build confidence, trust, and care.  And in the midst of this pandemic, they are literally putting their lives on the line to do this often-overlooked work.

I’m not sure this is enough of a thank you note to meet my grandmother’s standard.  But what I can tell you is our teachers and our nurses are doing sacred work every day of the year.  They love us, care for us, and show us the light of Christ every day.  If you have a teacher or nurse in your life, neighborhood, or circle of friends, please be sure to thank them personally for the ways in which they are changing our lives today.  I invite you to return God’s blessing they have been to you back to them.

On Finding Family…

Tags

blessing, church, crisis, family, friends, genuine, harm, imbalance, invitation, invite, Jesus, love, rich, unconditional

Photo credit:  https://www.psychologies.co.uk/five-ways-better-family-conversations

Families are a funny thing.  We are born into them, and have no choice about their makeup.  Some of us are blessed with large or small families that nurture and care for us.  Some us are born into hurtful, abusive families.  And some of us navigate our way as we age, realizing who in our immediate and extended family build us up, and who we can minimize time with or avoid altogether because they do not know how to love us.  As we age, we redefine family – perhaps with friends and lovers who love us better than the family members we were born into, or perhaps with groups of people who understand us and create a sense of “home.”

For some of us, that group is Church.  Now I know churches have been some of the worst offenders – places of pain, abuse, or just meanness.  But Church can also be the family you choose – the place where you are loved unconditionally, feel a sense of belonging, and discover a sense of purpose and meaning.  Church is the place where an unrelated elder can offer care and wisdom you have longed for, where a child teaches you what joy, laughter, and love feel like, and where a once (and maybe still) stranger can pray for you in ways that reaches your soul like never before.  The people of Church can be the vehicle through which we experience the unconditional love of Christ.

What has struck me about this time of separation is how much the separation has made it easier for us to invite people into that family of Church.  Whether a neighbor sharing about their seriously ill parent leads us to invite them to join us for online prayers; whether a friend is struggling with their children and finds our invitation to enjoy online Godly Play or accessible teaching materials; or whether someone who has not been able to step foot on a church property feels less threatened by a Sunday online worship service – we are finding invitation to be a much more organic, genuine experience – because we need that sense of family, we need that love of Christ.

But what has struck me even more deeply has been the shifting dynamic within our Church “family.”  Instead of inviting people “in” to the church, this has been a beautiful time of us being invited “out” – finding how much malleability our family has.  Invitation during this time has not simply been about inviting people into “the family” so that they can experience the blessings we have, but has also been about inviting people into the family because our family is not complete – there are people we did not even know could make us feel whole who we are meeting because Church looks so different right now.  That kind of role reversal can create a sense of imbalance and vulnerability – but it can also create a richer sense of family and loving community.  In our separation from the body of Christ, we are learning just how vast the body of Christ really is.  We may not have been looking for it, or even realized we needed it, but I am grateful for the ways this crisis is growing our family, and expanding the ways we can experience Christ’s love.

On the Blessings of Interdependence…

Tags

blessing, Christ, Christian, community, help, interdependence, Jesus, need, prayer, role reversal

Photo credit:  https://bcalmbcorp.com/rising-interdependence-agreements-are-not-so-far-5947ba50d170

This past Sunday was my first attempt to start using my voice professionally after a bout of laryngitis.  My voice was feeling strained after the second service, so I wandered away from coffee hour and back in the nave to reorder my sermon and rest my voice.  As I was there, I noticed the volunteers at the healing altar tidying up their station.  I have never visited the station in my almost four years of ministry here because I am usually administering or assisting with communion at the time they are working.  But as my gaze settled on them, I realized there might be no better time to get some healing prayers.

In receiving the parishioner’s prayers for healing, I began to understand how much I have had to lean on others for help in this illness:  from the deacon to help with pastoral care calls (because I literally couldn’t speak), to the two retired priests who helped lead services I could not have led alone, to the choir who sang a song so powerful it became a healing balm, to the countless parishioners who prayed for me and simply patiently waited for my strength to return, to my own family who kindly trudged through family life with a Magna Doodle board.  As a person whose job is to care for a community of people, it is a strange feeling to not only not be able to do your job, but also to need the kind of care you usually offer to your own community.

I’ve been thinking this week how much we need, and yet rarely get, that kind of role reversal in our lives.  We are all problem-solvers, hard workers, and generally responsible for ourselves in life.  But sometimes, whether through injury, illness, or other obligations, we simply cannot fulfill our responsibilities or expectations, and are left at the mercy of others.  I am convinced that these seasons of need are the only thing that is keeping us in check to thinking we have no need for community.  Being at someone else’s mercy from time to time teaches us how interdependent we truly are – not only upon one another, but upon Christ.

Being a part of a community you can trust with that vulnerable need for mercy is at the heart of the Christian experience.  Without leaning into the community from time to time, we cannot learn how to lean into Jesus – how to come to Christ for help when everything is overwhelming, difficult, or seemingly impossible.  By learning to say, “I need your help,” to other human beings, we train ourselves to do the same with God – to honestly and authentically say to God, “I need your help.”  If you do not have that kind of community in your life, please know that you are always welcome at Hickory Neck.  And if you are a part of our community, and have not yet leaned into to others, know that our interdependence is mutual!  You are needed here!

The Pilgrim’s Way…Day 5

Tags

beautiful, blessing, body, connection, Eucharist, evensong, evocative, God, instrument, intimate, liturgy, music, pilgrimage, power, Salisbury, sound, spiritual, Winchester

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

Sixteen pilgrims from Hickory Neck Church traveled to England for 8 days of pilgrimage.  Our focus was on choral music, hearing Evensong or Choral Mass at a Cathedral, Minster, or college everyday.  This is the fifth entry, initially posted on our church Facebook page.  For those of you who do not follow us on Facebook, I am repeating the journey’s daily entries here.  Enjoy!

Salisbury/Winchester

Today, I was struck by the tremendous power of liturgy. We stumbled into a midday Eucharist at Salisbury Cathedral. It was spoken, and the homily was humbly short, but poignant. Then, as the priest set the table, she asked if anyone was a licensed Chalicist. I didn’t volunteer for fear someone else would want to help, and even unsure what the rules were in the Mother Church. But as the priest finished the Eucharistic Prayer, I determined I would just go up and offer to help. As soon as the priest saw my collar, she gratefully handed me the chalice. I found myself profoundly moved: doing something almost innate, but something that also felt foreign in the vast space, in a country not my own. And yet the power of Christ’s meal knows no boundaries. His blood is shed for you, and my body is His instrument.

Later this evening, we attended Evensong at Winchester Cathedral. The Adult singers and boy Chorister’s voices sang in perfection: clean and clear, expressive and moving. Their anthem, Deep River, is the third movement of Michael Tippett’s oratorio about the Nazi government’s violent pogrom against its Jewish population—called Kristallnacht. Pulling from African-American spirituals, this last movement holds a message of hope for the possible healing that would come from Man’s acceptance of his Shadow in relation to his Light. Combining the sound of spirituals and Anglican Choral singing, and the message of justice and reconciliation, I felt all my spiritual worlds colliding, and the words and sounds brought me to tears. I was amazed by how evocative a piece a liturgical music could be. I left Evensong feeling like I had journeyed with God somewhere deeply intimate and profoundly beautiful.

I don’t know if you have had one of those liturgical moments lately. If you are longing for that kind of connection, you are always welcome at Hickory Neck. And if you have found that liturgical blessing, do share it with someone who needs it!

The lyrics for Deep River:

Deep river,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep river, Lord.
I want to cross over into campground.

Deep River,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep river, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

Oh, don’t you want to go,
To the Gospel feast;
That Promised Land,
Where all is peace?

Oh, deep river, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only