On Holy Week, Distance, and Hope…

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church, community, Coronavirus, creativity, different, digital, grace, grief, Holy Spirit, Holy Week, hope, intimate, physical, sacrament, technology, tradition

Photo credit:  https://www.brownsvilleherald.com/news/business/the-latest-holy-week-ceremonies-closed-to-public-over-virus/image_b2f632ed-6243-5410-accd-34ccf4865671.html

I remember the first time I was a Rector and planning Holy Week.  I was debating about whether to use the reserve sacrament on Good Friday or not.  I spoke to a priest colleague, and he shared the philosophy of the Rector under which he was serving:  on Good Friday, not even the consolation of the Holy Meal is available to us.

When our staff at Hickory Neck first started talking about Holy Week, we were faced with a stark reality:  there was no way for us to celebrate Holy Week the way we traditionally do.  Sure, we could use technology, and sure, we could try to do parts of what we normally do, but so much of Holy Week is physical and intimate – from waving palms, to washing feet, to kissing crosses, to huddling together around a fire, to having water sprinkled around, to gathering close in the dark, to finally gathering in a huge celebration with large crowds, Easter egg hunts, pictures with friends, and brass instruments.  There just is not a way to create that same feel digitally.  And so, Holy Week would need to be different.

For those of you who know me, you know Holy Week is superlatively special to me – it is my favorite week of the year.  So, for a moment, I grieved that loss, adding it to the long list of things I am grieving during this pandemic.  But then I took a deep breath, made room for Holy Spirit as I relaxed my grip on what I falsely imagined was under my control, and let the creativity flow.  Before I knew it, we were trying evensong for Maundy Thursday – a service we experienced daily on a recent pilgrimage in England.  We were creating a simple, powerful Good Friday liturgy.  And, I was trying for the first time a liturgy I had barely noticed in the Prayer Book – a Holy Saturday liturgy.

Holy Week and Easter will not be the same this year.  But, in all honesty, nothing is the same in this season of life.  If our lives are so distinctly different these days, it makes sense that our liturgies would be different too, as liturgies reflect the life of the people.  Somehow, creating this alternative Holy Week has felt like the Church settling in alongside the community and walking in step with them (from a safe distance, of course!).  Somehow, recognizing grief, discomfort, and sadness has made room for creativity, hope, and grace.  Somehow, experiencing a daily life much more in line with the journey of Holy Week is making Holy Week viscerally palpable, and ultimately healing, life-giving, and strengthening.  We still have a long way to go with this virus and its impact, but I am especially grateful for the gift of Holy Week this year.

On Liturgy, Love, and the Lord…

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communion, community, Episcopal Church, Eucharist, God, instructed, liturgy, longing, mental, mystery, physical, ritual, spiritual, welcome, wonder

Photo credit:  Hickory Neck Episcopal Church; reuse with permission only.

This past Sunday we celebrated an “Instructed Eucharist,” a worship service in the Episcopal Church narrated to explain how and why we do the things we do in Church.  Though Instructed Eucharists are pretty common in the Episcopal Church, I had never led one myself, and I found I was pretty nervous about how it would go.  I worried the narrative pieces would feel too long and people would start to lose attention.  I worried the worship would feel too disjointed by narration to feel like worship.  I worried the teaching portion would not be particularly meaningful for those gathered.

As in most things, my worries were unfounded.  Many of those gathered shared that the narrative did not make the service too long.  In fact, they were surprised at how seamlessly the narrative flowed, and how engaging the experience was.  Several of those gathered were touched by the parts that are always touching – scripture, music, preaching, the peace, communion, and the dismissal.  And many of those gathered, of all ages, and of all spiritual backgrounds, shared not only did they love the service, but they also learned many new things.

What caught my attention about the feedback was not simply that people liked the experience.  What caught my attention about the feedback was people were excited about worship.  Having learned something about the weekly ritual of worship allowed our worship to shift from the physical (the habits of bowing, kneeling, standing, singing, eating, greeting) to the mental (understanding the theology, history, and spirituality of our worship) to the spiritual (the opening of our bodies and minds creating deeper connection with God).  That kind of excitement is at the heart of what drew most Episcopalians to the Episcopal Church – a ritual that somehow spoke to something deep inside them, and of which they wanted more.  Sometimes that longing could be easily described, but sometimes that longing was too mysterious to capture in words.

If you had that experience this past Sunday, or if you have ever been touched by that mysterious sense of God in the worship within the Episcopal Church, I invite you to share that sense of wonder with someone today.  You may share the first moment you stepped into an Episcopal Church, or a lifetime of practice, or a simple Instructed Eucharist.  Share the wonder and beauty with someone else, and invite them into the same experience that has enlivened your spiritual journey.  And if you have never had that experience in a church before, know you are welcome to join us at Hickory Neck – a place where you can weekly come and participate – whether physically, mentally, or spiritually – in something bigger than yourself, but in something that makes you feel more grounded in yourself – something that allows you to find God within, already there waiting for you, affirmed in the community around you.  You are welcome here.

Come and See!

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church, come, community, connection, gospel, internet, isolation, Jesus, physical, prayer, see, snow, virtual

This past weekend, Williamsburg was hit with over a foot of snow.  Living in an area without many plows, and serving in a church without a Rectory on the campus, I knew that Sunday services at Hickory Neck would be nearly impossible.  Our parking lot did not get plowed until early Monday morning, and many of our parishioners live on rural roads.  With great disappointment, I cancelled all Sunday services.  But then my husband turned to me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “You should lead Morning Prayer on Facebook Live!”

That night I put together a video to tell people what we were going to do and where they should go to join me in worship.  And on Sunday morning, at 10:00 am, I went live.  By the time we had finished, there were over 60 views.  By the time we got to the end of the day, there were over 300 views.  By Tuesday night, there were over 700 views.  The positive feedback poured in – from our parishioners, from their neighbors, and from dozens of people who were snowed in all up and down the Atlantic coast.

As I have thought about the experience, I realized what a gift technology can be.  Isolated in homes, people were able to come together and pray the same prayers, hear the same readings, confess our sins, lift up our intercessions and thanksgivings, and give glory to God.  So often we talk about the challenge of the church is being tied to the walls of the physical building, not taking the Gospel out in the world.  Our experience on Facebook felt like a little way of getting ourselves out in the world, and sharing the beauty of worship in virtual community.

Of course, I don’t think church can always be expressed in virtual ways.  Being physically present with one another allows us to engage all our senses, to read the body language of someone who is suffering or experiencing joy, and to engage in the holy meal that brings us together despite our divisions.  But the experience certainly made me realize that we can supplement that communal physical experience with communal virtual experiences.  And once you show your neighbor that cool video from your church, then, like Jesus in our Gospel lesson this coming Sunday, you can say, “Come and see!”[i]

Photo credit:  https://www.queertheology.com/john-1-29-42

 

[i] John 1.39.