On Singing in a Strange Land…

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bless, community, Coronavirus, God, Lord, Lord's song, prayer, psalms, reality, refugee, Rivers of Babylon, singing, strange, upheaval, virtual

Paul Raskin, “On the rivers of Babylon.”  Photo credit:  http://www.artnet.com/artists/saul-raskin/on-the-rivers-of-babylon-CQj4JGZtS9eQctXb-beJg2

In some ways, I suppose I could have predicted it.  We spent hours luxuriously debating how to safely distribute communion, being able to consider every detail:  imagining how hard this new reality would be for our parish, who is a loving, “touchy-feely” parish; researching burgeoning new practices in other parishes and dioceses; and prayerfully considering how to model safe behavior.  And in the end, our parish engaged beautifully, the pain of their sacrifices obvious on their faces, but also the determination to protect and care for one another equally obvious on their faces.

But then the bottom dropped out.  It was two weeks ago, and I was in the family surgical waiting room, already letting my wardens know I would have to miss a Vestry meeting because my daughter’s surgery had been more complicated than expected, and I had yet to see her.  But just as the nurse was telling us our daughter had been moved to recovery and we could go back soon, our Bishop sent out a communication, cancelling all church campus activities, including worship – including that Vestry Meeting we had planned to hold.  The next several days were a blur – sleep in three-hour bursts as I tended my daughter; texts, emails, and calls to figure out how to still hold worship virtually; pastoral letters to be written to the parish explaining what was happening and how this would all work; and the reality of this even newer normal sinking in slowly.

I have never had a long conversation with a refugee, but I have watched enough news coverage, read enough human-interest stories, and seen enough movies about refugees to have a tiny inkling of how upending, world-changing, and scary it must be to be a refugee.  I would never argue my life in the midst of the Coronavirus is as brutal or devastating as a refugee, but there do seem to be some parallels.  Within moments, our world has been upended.  We went from being totally free to do whatever we desire, to being confined to our homes, having our jobs be totally changed (or sometimes ended), having the schooling of our children and the social support system schooling represents stripped away, worrying about the scarcity of necessities and the wisdom of going out to obtain what we could find, feeling the anxiety of financial insecurity, and losing the comfort of physical touch and community.  As a parent and priest, it has meant taking on the impossibility of two full-time jobs, knowing everyday you could do more, and yet being limited to the constraints of 24 hours a day.  And none of that even touches the emotional, psychological, and spiritual weight of upheaval that our bodies are processing, whether we try to stifle it or not.

Unlike most refugees, I know this new normal for us is relatively temporary.  Someday, we will be able to go back to some modification of the old normal.  But for now, this new reality is foreign, disorienting, and unnerving.  I was just yesterday reminded of that song “Rivers of Babylon,” which pulls from Psalm 137 and 19.  The echo of the verse, “How can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?” has been lingering with me.  And yet, that seems to be the only thing holding me together these days – singing the Lord’s song in a strange land.  For all the upheaval, all the disorder, all the anxiety and confusion, rooting myself in daily prayer – having people join in watching on Facebook Live, leaving their comments or greetings, or just seeing their names pop up, has felt like a balm to my heart.  I have not been able to bless or consume the holy meal, I have not been able to embrace my beloved parishioners, and I have not been able exchange physical signs of the peace.  But I have been able to hear the prayers of not only our parish’s heart, but also the hearts of our neighbors, friends, and even strangers.  I have not been able to gather physically with our community, but I have felt the connection of virtual community so palpably, I thought I would cry.  I do not know how long this new reality will last, but I am grateful for the opportunity to sing the Lord’s song in this strange land.  You are most welcome to join me in this singing.  And if you do not know the song, I’m happy to teach you or sing it for you for a while.  May God bless you all, and I’ll see you sometime today as we gather virtually to sing the Lord’s song!

The Blessing of Broken Plans…

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broken, control, flexible, God, invitation, laugh, look, love, order, plans, routine, unpredictable, upheaval

Photo credit:  www.moleskinerie.com/2014/10/meet-the-moleskin-evernote-planner.html

I am a planner.  I like routine.  I like order and control.  Knowing that those are my natural dispositions, I probably should not have decided to become a priest or a mother.  Both of those vocations regularly involve upset plans, routines, order, and control.  Of course, one cannot do either job well without plans, routines, order, and control – but one has to also be able to extremely flexible when those things fall apart.

This past week has been a week like that.  We had a parish death about two weeks ago, which meant the funeral needed to be on my normal Sabbath.  I was totally fine with that – in fact, I usually drop everything when a death happens.  Again, that is part of being a priest.  You learn to reshuffle the week, and make it work.  And that was what I was doing until this weekend hit.  I ate something that was apparently spoiled and got sick overnight.  The next morning the malfunction light on my car came on as the car lurched its way down the highway.  And then, right as I was trying to rally to get back to my work routine, my eldest got sick in the middle of the night too.

Of course, it is not often the case that everything is shifting and changing all at once.  But when you have a week of concentrated upheaval, you begin to wonder about what God is up to.  In general, I think singular schedule changers are good reminders about self-importance.  Mass schedule changers though seem to be an invitation to do a few things.  First, laugh.  Laugh at how silly it is to think we are ever fully able to control this crazy, wild, wonderful gift of life.  Second, look.  Look at the room full of mourners reminding you of ultimate importance.  Third, love.  Love that God made a tender moment of cuddling with your three-year old because you are too tired to do anything else.

I don’t wish the chaos of my last week on anyone.  It can be disorienting, frustrating, and exhausting.  But if you do find those moments of unpredictability coming your way, perhaps you can take a moment to see where God is inviting you to laugh, look, and love.  Your plans will be there tomorrow!

Gratitude and Giving

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church, community, encouragement, faith, giving, God, gratitude, pledging, prayer, spiritual, stewardship, upheaval

This week we begin a series of guest blog posts by parishioners at the Episcopal Church of St. Margaret in Plainview, NY.  They are reflecting on what stewardship means to them, and how God the Giver has been a part of their lives.  Our first guest post is from parishioner Phil Russo.

I am grateful for many blessings in my life but most recently I find my gratitude rooted in the support my family has received during times of adversity.  Over the course of the past two years I have encountered two sudden and unexpected upheavals.  The first involved my mom suddenly falling ill, resulting in a long hospital stay, with series of setback after setback.  As we began to grasp the reality and gravity of the situation, my family and I founds ourselves sitting in a hospice facility knowing that the end was near.

Photo credit: http://newmanec.com/parish/prayers/

The second upheaval was even more unexpected and impactful, as my wife Nancy fell seriously ill.  It turned our life upside down as we faced surgery, treatments, and adjusting to a new normal striving to get our lives back.  During both of these ordeals, I found myself praying more often, asking God for help.  At times I labored in trying to understand why these things were happening to me and my family.  As many of you know, these kinds of things can test your faith.  One constant source of support and comfort was knowing that we had a church family at St. Margaret’s praying for us, pulling for us and reaching out with words of encouragement.

St. Margaret’s for me has always been a kind of spiritual anchor, a kind of home base for me and my family in our faith journey.  It made us feel good to be part such a caring church community.  It also underlined the importance of having a spiritual support base to lean on in time of need.  I am grateful and blessed to be part of the St. Margaret’s family.  It just seems logical for me to start from a place of gratitude when I consider my thoughts about Stewardship and pledging financial support.

I am also grateful that I have gotten involved in some of the business aspects that go into keeping St. Margaret’s running.  Unfortunately, St. Margaret’s pledges do not cover expenses and we operate at a loss.  This is not sustainable.  This is an inconvenient truth that many do not realize or may choose to treat with indifference or leave to others to deal with.  It will eventually cause us to make difficult decisions and possibly cut programs near and dear to many.  Therefore, I find it helpful to keep these facts in mind as I consider my annual pledge.  It always starts with gratitude but it is also grounded in an understanding of the financial side of St. Margaret’s.

Submitted by Phil Russo.