A comment from a friend about our governor's declaration of "Confederate History Month"

I have not heretofore commented on Virginia Gov. Robert McDonnell's declaration of "Confederate History Month" and his appalling omission of any mention of slavery until his statement became national news. My lack of comment in no way reflects any trivializing of this on my part. If anything, I am still groping for words on this one.

So it was definitely helpful that on Thursday my friend Wallace Adams-Riley, the rector at St. Paul's, Richmond, commented on his blog. Allow me to pass along to you his comment in full:

Consciousness, the Light of

April 14, 2010

My Dear People,

Memory: a golden bowl, or a basement without light.

--Mary Oliver, Poet

The light of consciousness is the light of the One.

--Eckhart Tolle, Mystic

+

I joked with a friend last week, while in South Carolina, that I was getting used to being in Virginia and being embarrassed by South Carolinians (my distant cousin Joe Wilson's "You lie!," the governor's "hike on the AT," the lieutenant governor's comparison of the poor to stray animals), but it was a new thing, for me, to be in South Carolina and be embarrassed by something a Virginian did. But so it was a week ago, with our governor's proclamation of April as Confederate History Month.

A lot of commentary has gone under the bridge since then, as would be expected. (I commend to you, by the way, yesterday's RTD op-ed by Charles F. Bryan, Jr.; and M.P. Williams' column, particularly as it quotes U of R's Ed Ayers.) Embarrassment has been a common motif, as has sadness; and there has been talk of blindness. Language like "shockingly amateurish" and "gaffe" has been used. Apologizing for leaving African-Americans and slavery entirely out of the proclamation, the governor explained that he had not been "focused" on slavery.

The thing is, this was not merely about a misstep, or an inattentive moment. This was not a gaffe. This was not about things being done in an amateur fashion, versus professionally. To think or speak of it in those terms is to trivialize the substance of the matter, is to miss entirely what is important about the moment. Something much deeper and much more significant was and is at play.

+

He was standing by Hagood's side on the right of the line, when Hoke's aide brought the order to advance. The men, who had been told to follow his lead, were intently watching him, and when he was ordered to go, without speaking, he drew his handkerchief from his breast and raised it aloft. The men sprang over the parapet with a yell and rushed upon the enemy across the intervening space, he moving upon the right of the line... When they were driven back and had laid down in the oats (as they were instructed), to await the coming of the supports, he moved east along the whole length of his line under the close fire of the enemy and shortly after reaching the left, disappeared.

"He," like me, was a South Carolinian in Virginia; and he was my great-great-great grandfather Nelson. He died that day, in 1864, in between the lines at Petersburg, just below the Appomattox River.

I was raised to be very proud of him, and my ten other direct ancestors who served in the Confederate armies. I grew up, meanwhile, with no meaningful consciousness of what that whole war meant for African-Americans.

+

My sons will grow up differently. They will be conscious of their two great-great-great-great grandfathers named Nelson, one who served in the 7th South Carolina, and one who served in the 7th Vermont, both of whom died honorably in that service. They will also grow up more consciously than I did of what that war meant for and means to African-Americans, namely, the end of an "evil and inhumane practice," as the amended version of the governor's proclamation put it, and the beginning (albeit a far from perfect beginning) of liberty and justice for African-Americans.

+

The religious quest can be spoken of in many ways. There is, however, no more apt way to speak of the religious quest (or, to put it another way, the human quest) than to speak of waking up; of consciousness; of emerging, from the unconscious darkness, into the light of consciousness. ("In him was life, and the life was the light of all humanity," the Gospel of John says of the Word made flesh, Jesus.)

Let us pray for a greater and more whole consciousness, for ourselves; for all Virginians, including our governor; and for all people; especially as we approach the Sesquicentennial of the Civil War and of Emancipation. Again, last week's excitement was not about a mere gaffe. It was about being awake; it was about being conscious. And how we talk about our history (memory) is as true a sign as any of how conscious we are; of how awake we are; of how much the light of the One shines in our minds, in our hearts, and in our lives, today.

+

May our history be for us, not a basement without light, but a golden bowl.

As the song says: Shine, Jesus, shine.

Your brother in Christ,

Wallace+

Our community garden springs anew: Season II

With the snow melting and the sun shining, our community garden it is definitely time to tend to our community garden. You may remember last year a group of parishioners and University students created a community garden in an African American neighborhood near the church.

Our goal is creating a place for the community to gather, grow good, and give the food away. Not only did the garden produce bushels of food, but we held picnics, poetry readings and concerts at the garden.

Time for the garden again!

Lori and I went over the other day to have a look. The apple trees planted last year are blooming; the tulips are gorgeous. The soil looks ready for planting.

Work parties are there on Saturdays. Please join them if you can.

The garden is just south of Preston Avenue on 10 1/2 Street in an open lot.

Photos by Lori.

Low-tech solution for people who can't walk

Lori came across this the other day, and I share it with you: The PET project (Personal Energy Transportation). This is a campaing to build low-tech hand-cranked wheelchairs for people in poor countries who can't walk. Check out the website by clicking HERE, and have a look at this video:

A power that slips us by, swims upstream: An evening with Gary Snyder

On Tuesday evening, Lori and I went to a poetry reading and lecture by Gary Snyder, sponsored by Brown College at the University of Virginia. This was not the first time we've seen Snyder read his poems, but it is the first time we've seen him wear a necktie (it was red with little skulls on it). We figured that was his nod to the East Coast.

Hearing Snyder Tuesday evening was wonderful because he read poems about places I am from, mountains I have climbed, roads I have traveled, places I've lived.

For those unfamiliar with Gary Snyder, he is best known as one of the 1950s-1960s generation beat poets. But he is more than that. He is a scholar of Asian languages and culture, an environmental essayist, an iconoclast who lives in a house he made with his own hands up in the forest near Nevada City, California, and he is still an edgy commentator on our culture of waste and environmental degredation. He is also a Buddhist, though no religion seems to contain him. Gary Synder is my favorite poet.

The last time I saw Snyder, a few years ago, I sat next to him at an environmental writing conference at the University of California, Davis, where he was a professor for many years. The featured speakers that day were John McPhee of the New Yorker and my friend, geologist Eldridge Moores. No one wore a necktie that day, though Eldridge wore a bollo.

Here is a poem from Snyder's book Axe Handles:

Money Goes Upstream
By Gary Snyder

I am hearing people talk about reason
Higher consciousness, the unconscious,

looking across the audience
through the side door
where hot sunshine blocks out
a patch of tan grass and thorny buckbrush

There are people who do business within the law.
And others, who love speed, danger,
Tricks, who know how to
Twist arms, get fantastic wealth,
Hurt with heavy shoulders of power,
And then drink to it!

they don't get caught
they own the law.

Is this reason? Or is it a dream.

I can smell the grass, feel the stones with bare feet

though I sit here shod and clothed
with all the people. That's my power.
And some odd force is in the world
Not a power
That seeks to own the source.
It dazzles and it slips us by,
It swims upstream.

The chewing gum of God

I am still catching up from Easter, and I haven't reported to you about our terrific experience a few weeks ago at the Virginia Festival of the Book, a Charlottesville annual event that brings in authors from everywhere to talk about their work.

I was particularly entranced by a talk and reading by Kevin Young, an African American poet who splits his time between Boston and Atlanta. His poems range over many themes, some woeful others quite joyful, some a mix of both. He read to us from a series of poems he wrote on food, and I loved them all.

This one, titled "Ode to Boudin," is the final poem in Young's book Dear Darkness. I like this almost as much as I like boudin, which we eat whenever visiting Lori's Louisiana relatives, which is not often enough. For those unacquainted with boudin, it is a Cajun delicacy of rice and meat inside a pork casing, kind of like sausage but not really. Usually you steam them until they burst. A priest friend of mine from Louisiana, Don White, swears boudin is Jesus' favorite dish.

Ode to Boudin
By Kevin Young

You are the chewing gum
of God. You are the reason
I know that skin
is only that, holds
more than it meets.
The heart of you is something
I don't quite get
but don't want to. Even
a fool like me can see
your broken
beauty, the way
out in this world where most
things disappear, driven
into ground, you are ground
already, & like rice
you rise. Drunken deacon,
sausage's half-brother,
jambalaya's baby mama,
you bring me back
to the beginning, to where things live
again. Homemade saviour,
you fed me the day
my father sat under the flowers
white as the gloves of pallbearers
tossed on his brier.
Soon, hands will lower him
into ground richer
than even you.
For now, root of all
remembrance, your thick chain
sets me spinning, thinking
of how, like the small,
perfect, possible, silent soul
you spill out
like music, my daddy
dead, or grief,
or both--afterward his sisters
my aunts dancing
in the yard to a car radio
tuned to zydeco
beneath the pecan trees

From Dear Darkness, by Kevin Young, 2008, Alfred A. Knopf, New York

The Monday Funnies

I couldn't make this up if I tried, and note the mention of my seminary, the Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley (where else would this be possible?). And file this in the Small World Department: The creator of Episcopal Rev. Barbie was once active at St. Paul's and is a University of Virginia alum. Welcome to the Monday Funnies...

Barbie gets ordained, and has the smells-and-bells wardrobe to match

By Leanne Larmondin

(RNS) With her careers as veterinarian, astronaut and U.S. president behind her, Barbie has at last found her true calling: as a second-career Episcopal priest.

The 11.5-inch-tall fictional graduate of Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, Calif., has donned a cassock and surplice and is rector at St. Barbara’s-by-the-Sea in (where else?) Malibu, Calif.

She arrived at the church fully accessorized, as is Barbie’s custom. Her impeccably tailored ecclesiastical vestments include various colored chasubles (the sleeveless vestments worn at Mass) for every liturgical season, black clergy shirt with white collar, neat skirt and heels, a laptop with prepared sermon and a miniature, genuine Bible.

Apparently a devotee of the “smells and bells” of High Church tradition, the Rev. Barbie even has a tiny thurible, a metal vessel used for sending clouds of incense wafting toward heaven.

The Rev. Barbie, who in less than a week had drawn nearly 3,000 friends on her Facebook page, spends most of her time in the office of the Rev. Dena Cleaver-Bartholomew, rector of Christ (Episcopal) Church, in Manlius, N.Y., near Syracuse.
The doll, her wardrobe and portable sacristy were a gift from Cleaver-Bartholomew’s friend, the Rev. Julie Blake Fisher, a priest in Kent, Ohio.

“I got a phone call from my husband who said a large package had arrived;Julie had told me that she was making something for me. She used to be a dressmaker and she makes gorgeous stoles, so I thought she was making me a stole,” said Cleaver-Bartholomew. “When I came home and there was this enormous box, I knew it wasn’t just a stole!”

Fisher had made Episcopal Priest Barbie and a few vestments two years ago for the children in her parish to dress.

“I thought the children would like to practice playing with the vestments and learning what they are,” said Fisher. The Rev. Barbie was a hit with both the children and a local group of women clergy, including Cleaver-Bartholomew.

When Cleaver-Bartholomew later got called to her parish in New York, Fisher the perfect gift for her friend.

“I thought, `I don’t have time to make her one of her own; I’ll just send her Episcopal Priest Barbie for her farewell gift,”’ said Fisher. “But then, when I sat down to start to package everything up, I thought `What if I added this? What if I added that? What if I made this? It would just take one more day.“‘

One more day turned into 100 hours of painstaking labor, and “before I knew it, it was Episcopal Church Barbie—High Church Edition,” Fisher said.

Barbie’s clergy garb is the real deal, made from dress patterns that were crafted or adapted by Fisher. Barbie’s collared blouse was cut down from the fabric of a genuine clergy shirt; the chasubles and alb are made from real silk and linens. Her capa nigra (black funeral cloak) sports pewter buttons. Her nearly-complete Bible was originally sold as a keychain. The thurible was crafted from a teeny tea ball.

Episcopal Church Barbie’s popularity exploded after she got a shout-out on the popular blog, BeautyTipsforMinisters.com. A “Friends of Episcopal Priest Barbie” Facebook group has grown exponentially since its March 31 inception.

Many of the Rev. Barbie’s online admirers asked about her career aspirations.

“How long till she is Bishop Barbie?” asked one.

Fisher has found a calling of her own: She responded that her next project will be Episcopal Priest Barbie: Cathedral Edition. She promises an African-American Bishop Barbie, a Hispanic Ken doll who will be cathedral dean (rector) and his African-American friend, Stephen, will be a deacon. Barbie’s little sister, Kelly, will be an acolyte.

For her part, Cleaver-Bartholomew thinks Barbie could be a tool for evangelism for the Episcopal Church—particularly for conveying that “we have a sense of humor, we can be fun.

“Barbie’s very versatile that way,” said Cleaver-Bartholomew. “She’s open to new possibilities, so evangelism is definitely in her future.”

Doubt

Today's sermon is based on John 20:19-31.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Last week, in this pulpit, I talked a fair amount about faith, definitely a good subject for an Easter Sunday.

For those of you who just might have been elsewhere, I mentioned that living a life based on faith requires holding values that are sometimes foreign in our world, values like kindness and forgiveness; courage and tolerance.

I talked about how a life of faith is based on things hoped for and not seen, and comes by hearing with all our heart and all our mind for the living God who is right here among us, who loves us with no strings attached; who loves us especially when we feel we have little or no faith at all.

Today I want to talk about another dimension to this life of faith.

To live a life of faith sometimes requires living with doubt, and making doubt into a tool of faith.

Yes: Doubt is a tool of faith.

To fully live into a life of faith is to be out on the edge, asking the greatest questions a human being can ask.

By honestly acknowledging doubts we can come face-to-face with faith.

The best way I can explain this is to give you examples – two examples of people who changed my life.

Let me back up: During my training to be a priest, I worked for a summer at a big urban hospital undergoing the rite-of-passage known as “clinical pastoral education,” or “CPE,” working as a student chaplain.

I got to know two patients especially well that summer. One was a drug addict. She was 40ish, and her liver was giving out. Her name was Cathy. She had grown up in the suburbs and worked in professional positions until the drugs took over her life.

The other was a 92-year-old man, and his body was simply wearing out. His name was Ben.

Neither would regain their physical health. I preached at both of their memorial services before I became a priest, the first two of many I would do.

What I am about to tell you I mentioned at both of their services with their respective family’s permission, so I am not violating any confidences.

Cathy and Ben, as I found out, were Episcopalians, or had been, as both had become very alienated from the church of their upbringing. When I met them, neither had darkened a church door in many years.

For Cathy, it was about feeling judged by the chorus of boos about how she had lived her life, and truthfully, she was dying an early death because of how she led her life. She made no excuses.

For Ben, his alienation was deeper than just the church. His alienation was with God.

As a young man, Ben had become an Episcopal priest, and I came to find out, he was the United States Navy chaplain at the terrible Battle of Guadalcanal in 1942 and 1943. The horror was more than he could bear, and when World War II was over, he quit being priest. He was done.

That summer I saw Ben and Cathy nearly every day, and I continued to see them for many months after my chaplaincy was officially completed at the hospital.

Both talked bluntly about their doubts and fears. Somehow, both Cathy and Ben found a way in their final days to work through their doubts.

For both of them, faith was a struggle that went to the deepest core of their being, and they never let go because it was that important.

They both found a way through the muck to find the living God who had been with them all along. There was not a single moment of revelation, but many moments along their path, and it was my privilege to walk with them for a time on that path.

Both died quietly in their sleep, and each left me a gift. Cathy left me the gift of her smile. Ben left me his Bible, the same Bible he had used at Guadalcanal.

My bishop used this Bible at my ordination as a priest.

I sincerely believe both of them found a sense of spiritual health in their final days because they had found a way to express their doubts.

And through the expression of their doubts, Ben and Cathy found a deeper place of faith – a relationship with God – that was all their own, springing from the rubble of their doubts. I only wish the church had welcomed their doubts sooner.

Doubt can be a tool of faith by propelling us to ask hard questions and compelling us to not settle for easy answers.

Today we hear an extraordinary story that goes straight to the point, the story of “Doubting Thomas.”

It is a story about the power of doubt.

In the days following the crucifixion, Jesus appears to the disciples, but Thomas is somewhere else whenever it happens. “I want to see it,” he proclaims. “I want to touch Jesus’ wounds.”

So Jesus comes to him and shows him.

The image of Jesus in this story is haunting. Jesus enters a locked room. He comes in physical form, yet he is beyond physical, as if he is from some other dimension of time and space.

Notice that no one – none of the other disciples, not Jesus, not anyone – judges Thomas for saying what surely others outside the room must also have felt. They give him the benefit of the doubt.

Giving the benefit of the doubt can break down walls of isolation and create islands of kindness so that each of us can grow, as God would have us grow.

Jesus tells Thomas that it is blessed to believe without seeing. He tells Thomas to doubt his doubts, and Thomas does, and by so doing he comes to a new understanding of himself and his own walk of faith.

For Thomas it begins by proclaiming openly his doubts.

Communities of faith that leave no room for the expression of doubt can become hollow and stale – or worse, self-destructive cults.

The tools of reason, inquiry and analysis are gifts from God, and can yield truths beneath surface readings of religious texts and doctrines.

When we put those tools of the mind with the tools of the heart through prayer, we can grow in faith beyond anything we can imagine, both individually and as a community of faith.

The story of doubt and faith does not end in the closed room for Thomas. The door opens; Thomas goes into the world different, changed, somehow new from his encounter with the Risen Christ.

Nor does the story end for us today. The doors here will open, and we will go forth from this room today different, changed, somehow new from our encounter with the Risen Christ.

And it begins by asking questions, openly and honestly; and bringing all of our trust, all of our prayers, all that we know and all that we doubt – truly all of our being – on this walk of faith, and then watching anew for the Risen Christ coming among us.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Photo above: Japanese airplane wreck, underwater in Iron Bottom Sound, Guadalcanal.

The Diocese of Virginia delays ordaining deacons

Yesterday we received three emails from the Diocese of Virginia. I have already posted two on the votes by our bishop and Standing Committee declining to consent to the election of Mary Glasspool as suffragan bishop in Los Angeles. Their votes have no practical effect because she received enough elsewhere to go ahead with her consecration as a bishop in May. You can read more about that below.

The other communication received Friday (why do these always come on Fridays?) concerned the future of the vocational diaconate in the Diocese of Virginia. The decision has an unfortunate impact on ministry in this diocese and our parish. I am reprinting that communique below; to slice through the obtuse language, it means that this diocese will not ordain permanent deacons until 2011, if ever.

The Standing Committee's stance is a signal that there is a major vacuum of education in this diocese about the diaconate. Mostly what we've seen in Virginia are transitional deacons who are temporary deacons on their way to becoming a priest, like Heather Warren who is currently serving at St. Paul's in such a role. There are a few vocational deacons here, like Ann Scupholme, who were ordained deacons elsewhere, and they tend to serve as unpaid missioners in small churches.

The authentic role of vocational deacons is to bring the church to the world and the world to the church; to lead us out of our cloisters and into the ministry beyond our walls. As one deacon I know put it: "The role of the priest is to bring the good news to the world. The role of the deacon is to bring the bad news back."

The vocational deacons serve permanently, and in my opinion every congregation should have a deacon. Indeed, all of us are called to be ministers in the church, lay and clergy alike. But we also ordain some to lead us, and through their ordination to highlight the sacramental and incarnational value of our ministry. Priests tend to the flock and grow the flock; deacons are there to pull us out of ourselves and move beyond the flock.

You know the deacons by how they wear their stoles over the left shoulder. Liturgically, they set the table, emphasizing their servant ministry.

In the last two dioceses where I served, I was privileged to serve alongside deacons. I cannot imagine how we would have done our work without the deacons -- they are that important. The vibrancy of the permanent diaconate was infectious, and brought to life everything else we did, from prison ministry to Cursillo, to work in nursing homes and homeless shelters. We could not have done any of it well without the deacons.

By delaying ordaining vocational deacons, the Diocese of Virginia is cutting itself off from this crucial and fruitful ministry. I pray that our leaders will soon discern an understanding of the importance and potential of the diaconate and get on with ordaining vocational deacons.

Below is the communication from the Diocese of Virginia:

April 9, 2010

The Standing Committee, key leaders in diaconal formation and some members of the diocesan Committee on the Diaconate recently gathered for a conversation on the formation process for the vocational diaconate. After the meeting, the Standing Committee made two decisions that affect the process and that will have implications for the formation of future deacons. First, the Standing Committee voted to recommend Candidacy for Holy Orders for the first class of postulants who have completed the Diaconal Formation Institute. "The Standing Committee recognizes candidacy as a time of significant formation and we invite the group to continue in that formation," said Don Metheny, president of the Standing Committee.

The Standing Committee also postponed consideration for ordination of the initial class until all canonical requirements are completed successfully. The five members of the initial class will begin their practicum placements in parishes at the end of May, completing them in late November. The Standing Committee plans to consider the initial class members for ordination at that point.

For the five candidates, this means a second delay of their ordination, which was originally scheduled for January of 2010, then rescheduled for May. The ordinations are now tentatively scheduled for early 2011. The Rt. Rev. Shannon S. Johnston, bishop of Virginia, said, "I concur with the Standing Committee in their decision, while standing in support with these five and with all who are in formation for the vocational diaconate."

"These pioneers have been on an emotional roller coaster, but they continue to experience God's call and to feel God's grace," the Rev. Canon Susan Goff, canon to the ordinary, said after sharing the news with them.

In 2008 and 2009, the first two classes of vocational diaconate postulants entered the diocesan Diaconal Formation Institute. Vocational deacons live out their entire ordained ministry as deacons, focusing their energies on a bridge ministry, which is intended to build significant ties between the Church and the world, particularly in service to persons in need.

Letters from Bishop Shannon Johnston and the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia concerning their votes on Canon Mary Glasspool as bishop

We received two statements this afternoon, one from Bishop Shannon Johnston and the other from the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia, concerning the election of Mary Douglas Glasspool as suffragan bishop of Los Angeles. Some of you have asked what these statements mean. Here is my best attempt:

The Rev. Canon Glasspool, who serves as the canon to the ordinary on the Diocese of Maryland, was elected suffragan (assisting) bishop by a convention of the Diocese of Los Angeles last Fall, which would make her the second openly partnered gay bishop in the Episcopal Church and Anglican Communion.

To be consecrated, anyone who is elected a bishop by a diocese must undergo a confirmation process involving the entire Episcopal Church. To be confirmed requires receiving consents from a majority of the elected Standing Committees representing each of our 110 dioceses, and a majority of the bishops. Canon Glasspool has, in fact, received the required number of consents to be confirmed, and she will be consecrated a bishop at a ceremony in Los Angeles in May.

The statements coming today from Virginia were to tell us how our representatives voted; both Bishop Johnston and our Standing Committee voted to withhold consent (i.e., voted no). Bishop Johnston, by the way, mentioned in his letter that he voted after Canon Glasspool had already received enough consents to be confirmed.

I believe you should let these letters from our leaders speak for themselves, and the letters are posted below. It is unusual, by the way, for bishops and standing committees to explain their votes, so this is also a mark of the sensitivity of this matter. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.

April 9, 2010
Dear Diocesan Family,

The Rev. Canon Mary Douglas Glasspool, a priest of the Diocese of Maryland and a partnered gay woman, was elected to serve as a bishop suffragan in the Diocese of Los Angeles in December 2009. The consent process, a 120-day period, requires the receipt of consents from majorities of the Standing Committees throughout the Episcopal Church and from the Church's bishops with jurisdiction. On March 17, just before the opening of the House of Bishops meeting at Camp Allen, Texas, the presiding bishop's office announced that Canon Glasspool had received the number of consents required to proceed with her ordination and consecration as a bishop.

Along with several other bishops, I had been delaying my vote until the House of Bishops meeting so that we might confer with one another as to the implications of this episcopal election. As consent is a responsibility upon all diocesan bishops, I then sent in my ballot even though the process had already been decided. Understandably, the diocesan offices have received numerous inquiries as to how I voted. I write this to announce my decision for this particular process and to say something about what this means (and doesn't mean) for my leadership in the Diocese of Virginia.

Bishop-elect Glasspool's election has been both a source of celebration and of alarm for many in our diocese, just as in the Episcopal Church and our wider Anglican Communion. In my judgment, both "sides" make compelling arguments and have quite legitimate concerns. Personally, I am more torn by this decision than by any other decision I've yet faced, whether as priest or bishop. After deep prayer and thought, I voted to decline consent to the ordination of Bishop-elect Glasspool. This is not to reflect on Bishop-elect Glasspool herself (who, by all accounts, is indeed highly qualified and well suited for the ministry of bishop) but rather is about the circumstances of this case.

My decision was based on the unique context of this particular election. Under other circumstances, I would have voted differently. Frankly, I look forward to the time when I can. As it is, however, several points swayed my decision; taken together they presented what was to me an overwhelming weight.

First, as I have stated before, I believe that it is theologically inconsistent to ordain a partnered gay person as a bishop without provision for the Church's recognition and blessing of that partnership. (We would not do this with heterosexuals.) As things stand now, the cart is before the horse. To me, the controversy about partnered gay bishops would be moot if we dealt successfully with the blessings of monogamous gay relationships. I will continue to work for that result: first things first.

Second, immediately following last summer's General Convention, both the presiding bishop and the president of the House of Deputies wrote to the archbishop of Canterbury (in letters made available to the Convention) stating that the Convention's actions did not overturn, and should not be interpreted as overturning the moratorium on the consecration of partnered gay and lesbian bishops. That moratorium had been in place since 2006. With statements from both presiding officers of Convention affirming that it remained, for the present, the policy of this Church, it seemed to me that a denial of consent to this election was necessary.

Third, the 2006 General Convention committed the Episcopal Church to participation in the work developing an Anglican Covenant for consideration by the Communion. My understanding is that we pledged to cooperate in those deliberations until the Covenant was either adopted for this Church or not. We gave our word, and I believe that we should live up to that word. To proceed with such a controversial move at the very time that the Covenant is under consideration is, I believe, contrary to the good faith necessary in our commitment to that work and ensuing discernment.

As I made clear when I was elected bishop for the Diocese of Virginia, I am committed to the Anglican Communion. The Communion is not some patched together entity; still less is it something merely abstract. Communion across international bounds and embracing the globe is nothing less than a gift of grace. This is why it must be held dear. I do not know just where this controversy will lead us, but as your bishop I will work to support and strengthen the unique witness that is the worldwide Anglican fellowship of faith.

At the same time, as I have stated clearly in a variety of settings, I am no less committed to the full inclusion of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters in all areas of ministry in the Church's life. I understand that my vote to deny consent in this case could be interpreted as backing away from that commitment. Even so, I can only declare again my deep conviction that full inclusion is also a sign of grace-and we should be reaching to embrace it.

From this, it follows that I am both "pro-Communion" and "pro-inclusion." I reject completely any notion that these positions are mutually exclusive. I remain hopeful, even confident, that there is a way to be faithful to this "both/and" witness. Our history teaches us that we Anglicans-when we are at our best-have been able to hold perceived opposites in a creative and liberating tension that has room for everyone and gives birth to new answers. This is the time to reclaim our best yet again.

Faithfully,

The Rt. Rev. Shannon S. Johnston
Bishop

Statement of the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia

The Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia has declined to consent to the election of the Rev. Canon Mary Douglas Glasspool as bishop suffragan of the Diocese of Los Angeles because, in the view of a majority of the Committee, her election is inconsistent with the moratorium agreed to by the General Convention of the Episcopal Church. That majority believes that, at this time, failure by individual dioceses to respect the Church's agreement to the moratorium would be detrimental to the good order of our Church and bring into question its reliability as an institution. The committee found no other reason to withhold its consent to the election of Canon Glasspool.

What wakes you up in the middle of the night?

Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, who we hosted for three days in January in the midst of a blizzard, preached at the Easter Vigil at Christ Church, Binghamton, NY, a few days ago. You might hear a few echoes of what she said to us. Before we get too far into the Easter season, here is her sermon:

The Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori
Presiding Bishop and Primate
The Episcopal Church

What are you most afraid of? What wakes you up in the middle of the night? For some here tonight it's probably about where the next paycheck will come from. I have one friend who's just been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and another whose son is in jail for statutory rape. For almost all of us, there is some primordial fear linked to thoughts about our freedom and our own mortality.

Fear can keep us from life and hope, and any possibility of new creation. I've known people who died a lot younger than they probably should have, because they just weren't able to acknowledge that their symptoms were signs of something serious. It was somehow easier to ignore that intuitive knowledge than it was to face the possibility and get more information, like going to the doctor.

We've been haunted this week by the story of an Irish immigrant girl in South Hadley who committed suicide because her classmates taunted her so unmercifully. She saw no hope.

Fear could paralyze the people of Haiti, but they go on, with the help of their friends, working yet one more time to build a society of abundance for all.

Fear could have stopped Martin Luther King that night after his house was bombed. But that experience of violence led him deeper into his conviction that God had something else in mind. He went forward in hope, even though it led to his death 42 years ago in Memphis.

Your own American Civic Association is going forward, even more deeply committed to helping new generations of immigrants and refugees. The deaths here a year ago could have been the end of that work of building community, but the fear engendered in the shootings did not prevail.

We're here tonight looking for hope.

We're here tonight to hear the old, old story of God bringing life out of death, and finding a new way through the fear that so often paralyzes us.

The ancient prophets have two responses to that kind of terror: "fear not, for God is with you," and "learn wisdom." We just heard each of those comfortable words twice. Moses says to his traumatized band, "don't be afraid, stand firm, God will deliver you." Zephaniah says to a much later band of depressed and terrified people, that the day will come when they will hear that “God has turned away your enemies, there’s no need to fear disaster any more. Don’t be afraid, God is with you.”

Isaiah and Baruch both talk about Wisdom -- and it's important to know that Wisdom is a personification of God. If God is the architect of creation, then Wisdom is its builder or crafter, and she's often spoken of as hosting a feast, which is what we hear in Isaiah, "turn in here and get what you need -- wine, milk, bread. Come and feast and return to God." Baruch speaks of befriending wisdom in order to find peace -- or in other words, the absence of fear.

In a few minutes we'll hear the oldest gospel account we have of the Resurrection (Mark). It tells about Mary Magdalene, another Mary, and Salome, coming to the tomb at dawn and finding it empty. The angel tells them, "fear not, he's not here, go find him in Galilee. He's waiting for you there." "Fear not, for God is with you." But they flee the tomb and run away, terrified.

Yet somehow those women at the tomb found the strength and courage to tell their story. They turned in at wisdom's door and discovered peace. We only know the good news of Easter because they told of their frightful encounter. Wisdom's invitation keeps on going out: "turn in here, join the feast, find blessing, life, light, and peace."

We still struggle to find the courage to tell frightening news. My friend who's just gotten the cancer diagnosis announced it in an email blast like this, "It is against my religion to share extremely personal information or to ask anyone for help, but the Universe has sent me a lesson here and it’s time for me to start learning it." I find it intriguing that she'd start that way -- and it's a reminder that religion doesn't always tell good news. I think she means that she wants to be self-sufficient, and not dependent on others. But she goes on to tie it to a sense of being connected to all that is. It's an echo of that ancient teaching, "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom." That "fear of the Lord" is an unfortunate translation in the old King James, because it actually means something more like a "deep awareness of God's otherness" or "being in awe of the Creator's majestic work." Yet it is that sense of awe and connection to all that is that encourages any of us to turn in at Wisdom's door and join the feast.

That's what Jesus did over and over again. He insisted that God's intent is for a feast for all people, not just the rulers of the Roman empire. He healed and fed and welcomed people who had been put out of the feast by religious rules or their own suffering. At the end of his ministry, he turned his face toward Jerusalem and the feast that waited for him there -- a feast he celebrated with his disciples in an upper room, and continued through the ages in the banquet we're going to share here -- but also the feast of his own life, made holy in its offering. He went to Jerusalem to challenge the un-wise, who insist that power, rules of exclusion, and violence rule this world. Jesus offered an alternative kingdom, where all are welcome to the feast, none is excluded, and no one lives in fear or want.

We all hunger for that feast. We search for a link with something or someone beyond our limited or painful or excluded experience. We have a deep yearning to transcend the nothingness of death, to bring meaning into what we most fear.

Fear not, for God is with us. Christ is risen, trampling down death, entering into hell to search for those who can find no way out, going ahead to wait for his disciples. Fear not, and join the feast created before the beginning of the world.

Photo from Bishop Katharine's visit at St. Paul's Memorial Church, Jan. 31, 2010

I'm a Social Justice Christian

You may have heard some background noise recently about a certain news commentator who called on Christians to leave their church if they heard preaching about social justice. I've been reluctant to dignify this with a comment. But I ran across this video earlier this week that says this better than I could. It doesn't take long.

Life calmly gives out its own secret

I may write in a day or two, as the Spirit moves, more about my experience in the Easter Triduum. Each of the services had its own character, each was deeply moving in its own way. For now, my brain is and body is weary, and I need a respite from writing. So a poem for the day, a gift from our friend Karen in Tennessee...

“I want a lot.”
By Rainer Maria Rilke

You see, I want a lot.
Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.

So many live on and want nothing
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.

But what you love to see are faces
that so work and feel thirst....

You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.

The Monday Funnies

It is the Monday after Easter, and I am definitely about out of words (or anything original). To the rescue comes our friend Pat Hill with The Monday Funnies...

* * *

Top Ten Reasons to Celebrate Easter

10. You absolutely love the movie, "The Ten Commandments."

9. You look really, really good in yellow.

8. You just went on a low cholesterol diet and didn't want to waste all those eggs in the fridge.

7. You figure any Holiday that starts with a "Good Friday" can't be all bad.

6. You love to bite the heads off chocolate bunnies.

5. It's a good time to check out your neighborhood church and not be noticed.

4. You have this bunny suit you love to wear, but are too insecure to wear it without a reason.

3. Even though you don't know what it is, you really like the sound of going to a "Passion Play."

2. You figured since Jesus went to all THAT trouble to make it to the first Easter, you'd give it a shot.

1. As a Christian you celebrate the resurrection every other day, why not Easter too?

* * *

Why The Easter Bunny Brings Eggs

- Tax write-off.

- Who wants Easter bricks?

- Consider all of the varieties Scrambled, over easy, hard boiled.

- He gets a good deal from the local chickens.

- Secret plan to eliminate human race by cholesterol overdose.

- Pressure from the Egg Marketing Board.

- Because if it brought bottle rockets it would be the Independence Bunny.

- Would you want to hunt for waffles?

- He thinks there's guys who should get chicks at least once a year.

- Because the Energizer rabbit got the good job.

* * *

An elderly pastor, looking over his large congregation on a sunny Easter morning, startled them with this announcement "My friends, realizing that I will not see many of you until next Easter, may I take this opportunity to wish all of you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!"

Cartoon by Dave Walker

The women who told an 'idle tale' on that first Easter: Alleluia Christ is Risen!

This is my sermon for Easter Sunday, based on Isaiah 65:17-25, Acts 10:34-43 and Luke 24:1-12.

Alleluia Christ is Risen!


This morning, I want to welcome you to a way of life. For some, this might be a way of life you already know. For others, this might be a new way of life.

This way of life requires holding values that are sometimes foreign in our world, values like kindness and forgiveness, or courage and tolerance that goes beyond merely tolerating.

This way of life involves welcoming the stranger because once we were strangers in a foreign land.

The tools for this way of life are patience and listening to each other, and especially going out of our way to hear the still quiet voice that comes through prayer and reflection. And I can tell you that is sometimes in short supply with me.

This way of life involves feeding the hungry, caring for the sick and poor, and sometimes, sticking your neck out – to “be bold.”

This way of life will change you if you let it.

The way of life I speak of is a life of faith.

This life of faith is based on things hoped for and not seen, and comes by hearing with all our heart and all our mind for the living God who is right here among us, who loves us with no strings attached; who loves us especially when we feel we have little or no faith at all.

This life of faith is about God who has faith in us.

The life of faith is, first and last, about living into the promise of Easter.

It is about becoming the Easter people we are created to be.

It starts with a story, a story that those who first heard it thought “an idle tale” for it sounds preposterous, unbelievable, impossible, over-the-top.

Maybe the story is so familiar to you that the details have become lost, or reduced to the size of a greeting card. So hear it again:

The story is about a peasant Jew named Yehosua, or Joshua – or “Jesus” as we have rendered his name into our Anglo-Saxon Germanic language.

Call him Joshua, or call him Jesus, he was born to a young unmarried peasant girl, Mariam, or Mary; he grew up, and he roamed the countryside, captivating thousands of people with everything he did by welcoming everyone he met – rich, poor, male, female, saint and sinner alike.

Those who followed him saw in him a new way of life coming into being, an order not based on brute power but based on love and healing, prayer and forgiveness, and justice – yes, social justice – for the downtrodden and destitute.

And then everything went terribly wrong.

The Romans arrested Jesus because he posed a threat to their settled order of things. He was flogged and put to death on a cross. His followers fled, afraid for their lives, afraid the Romans would get them next.

Then something amazing happened to these people long ago and it changed their lives – and our lives – forever.

The first to see the Risen Jesus were the women who had been with him. The Gospel of Luke tells us what happened next:

“It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.”

So it was that on the first Easter morning, the ugliness of death was swept away. The story of Jesus was not over, this new way of life was now in the open for all to see.

Jesus had gone to the Cross not to satisfy a bloodthirsty God, but to descend with us into the worst moments of life and death a human could suffer. And he did it to show us the way out, to show us how to live without fear and bring us to hope and wholeness.

Those who first saw the Risen Christ in the days we now call Easter, began to understand the real meaning of his life. They continued to write the story in the way they lived afterwards.
This story is also our story. We continue to write this story by how we live our lives.

This way of life is not just about the afterlife that we cannot yet see. This is also about how we live right now, here, today and tomorrow. Salvation does not wait until the next life but comes to us right now.

The life of faith is about living into that reality.

In the biblical tradition, faith is seen as a gift, not an achievement. But the biblical tradition also presents faith paradoxically; people go to great efforts to find the gift of faith, and sometimes the gift of faith is right beneath our nose, and we don’t see it.

Sometimes it is people around us who give us faith, who have faith for us when our faith fails.
And that brings me to the touchy subject of organized religion.

Why would anyone want to do any of this alone? The deepest questions of life, death, God, salvation, heaven and hell, are so large, so universal, so infinite none of us are capable by ourselves of finding fully meaningful answers.

This Easter season, I would invite you to join a community of faith if you don’t have one. If you live here in Charlottesville, and if any of this speaks to you, join us here at St. Paul’s. If you have been away from this church for a while, come back.

Join us – join me – and let’s explore this journey of faith together in this loving caring community.

And then we have work to do, people feed, the sick to comfort, children to rear, and a hurting world that needs every single one of us.

This way of life will change you if you let it. This way of life will change everything in this world.

This way of life begins today.

Alleluia Christ is Risen!


Art by He Qi

Taking this life on faith

As many of you know, I once earned my living working for newspapers. The one where I worked the longest, The Sacramento Bee, asked me to write an essay about faith for Easter, appearing in today's Sunday Forum:

Taking this life on faith, with faith, can fulfill our yearning for connection

ShareThis

Buzz up!

By James Richardson
Special to The Bee

Published: Sunday, Apr. 4, 2010 - 12:00 am | Page 1E

In my line of work, I am accustomed to hearing people say: "I am spiritual, but I don't believe in organized religion."

At times I am tempted to flippantly reply, "The only religion I know is disorganized; when you find one that is organized, let me know. I'd like to join."

This Easter Sunday an increasingly large segment of the American public will register its dismay, or disgust, or pure boredom with organized religion by staying home.

Anyone who follows the news can list the reasons for this alienation, including but not limited to the continuing pedophile scandal in the Roman Catholic Church. The slow and inept reaction from the Vatican hierarchy should concern not just Catholics, but the leaders of every faith, because it paints all religious institutions with the brush of indifference.

Just as corrosive to a life of faith are stupefying religious practices that make little sense, except to insiders, and lack a connection to the lives of people where they dwell spiritually, emotionally and physically.

Yet religious leaders, and their critics, would be mistaken if they view alienation from human religious institutions as alienation from God. There is a deep yearning across our land for a connection – a relationship – with God. Religious institutions fail when those who lead them fail to recognize the authenticity of that yearning.

You can read the full piece by clicking HERE.

May you have a blessed Easter!

Holy Saturday: Jesus goes to Hell to break down the gates and let everyone out

I hope you have followed the Lenten reflections offered by members of St. Paul's. They've been remarkable, and each has underlined for me the depth and breadth of the people of St. Paul's (we've posted all of the reflections on a special blog you can read by clicking HERE).

It is my privilege to offer the reflection for today in the Lenten reflections, and I am reprinting it below:

Isaiah 42: 5-7, Psalm 16: 8-11 , 1 Peter 3: 18-20, Matthew 27: 50-53

When I was a small child in church I got chills whenever we would recite the part of the Apostles’ Creed that proclaimed Jesus went to Hell. Stop and listen to those words: “He descended into hell."

Did the adults know what they were saying?

It was not until the fifth decade of my life that I began to understand the line. And when I did it was one of those amazing moments of clarity. I had arrived at Holy Saturday, a day that is crucial to understanding the relationship that all of humanity – indeed, all of creation – has with the Risen Christ of Easter.

On Good Friday, the first day of Easter, Jesus dies on the Cross. Holy Saturday, the second day, is when Jesus opens the gates of Hell to let everyone out. On Holy Saturday, Jesus has robbed Hell of its power. Death is the enemy, and death is vanquished.

Without Holy Saturday, the resurrection of Jesus has very little to do with us. With Holy Saturday, we go with him. Holy Saturday is the fulcrum between the Cross and Easter.

Holy Saturday is a proclamation that no one, not even those who are already dead, is beyond Grace. The concept of Holy Saturday pushes us to reconsider the all-too-human urge to put limits on God’s mercy. On Holy Saturday, Jesus comes to find us in our deadest moments not just in the next world but also in this world.

Because of Holy Saturday, Jesus not only dies for us; Jesus dies with us, and he reveals himself as God-become-human, showing us a way to live without fear. Easter becomes not just about the One, but about all of us.

Collect for Holy Saturday

O God, Creator of heaven and earth: Grant that, as the
crucified body of your dear Son was laid in the tomb and
rested on this holy Sabbath, so we may await with him the
coming of the third day, and rise with him to newness of life;
who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one
God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Liturgical notes: Holy Saturday is remembered with a series of simple prayers and psalms on Saturday morning. If you have a chance, join me in the chapel at 9 am -- the service is quite brief.

Tonight at 7:30 pm we celebrate the Great Vigil of Easter. This is by far my favorite service of the year, and it is the most important on the Church calendar. We begin by lighting a fire, and then processing into the darkness of the church. The Great Vigil of Easter, also called the “Paschal Vigil” or the “Divine Liturgy” is the first official celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ in the Easter season.

Historically, the earliest known accounts of The Great Vigil of Easter date to the early 3rd century of the Common Era. In the ancient church, it was at this service that people, especially children, were baptized and adults received as catechumens into full communion with the Church. The Vigil is held in the hours of darkness between sunset on Holy Saturday and sunrise on Easter Day. The Great Vigil of Easter is considered to be the first celebration of Easter because Hebrew and early Christian tradition consider feasts and other great days to begin at sunset.

In the Roman Catholic, Orthodox and Anglican Communion (of which the Episcopal Church is fully a part), the Easter Vigil is the most important Mass of the liturgical year, and is the first celebration of the Eucharist during the fifty-day long celebration of Eastertide. The service begins outside with the lighting of the Easter fire, and then the congregation proceeds inside following the Paschal Candle and led by the cantor chanting the Exsultet. In darkness, we hear the story of how God’s people are delivered from darkness. Finally, we proclaim Easter and the Resurrection of Jesus Christ and we celebrate our Eucharist. For the first time since the beginning of Lent, we proclaim “Alleluia!”

Art: "He is Risen," by He Qi

"My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Descending into the Netherworld on Good Friday

The words of Jesus on Good Friday are haunting:

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

(Matthew 27:46)

Those are the words of despair, desolation, agony, isolation and death. Yet there are more words beyond those.

The words are intended by the gospel writer to point us to Psalm 22. Those familiar words about being forsaken come the start of the psalm, but that is only the starting point. The psalm represents a journey, an agonizing journey to be sure, and at the end there are words of hope.

Psalm 22 is assigned for today in our lectionary, and I've been reflecting on it this morning using Robert Alter's masterful translation. The psalm begins this way in Alter's translation:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Far from my rescue are the words that I roar.

My God, I call out by day and You do not answer.

by night--not stillness for me.

Those are the words of the condemned, the lonely, the dying. The psalm continues with cries about being betrayed, using "curs" (dogs) as a metaphor for evil circling the condemned. But then the psalm emerges from the darkness, declaring how the LORD finds even those who are dead in the depths of the earth. Listen to how Alter translates these final verses, for they speak of salvation across time and space:

For the LORD's is the kingship--

and He rules over the nations.

Yes to Him will bow down

all the netherworld's sleepers.

Before Him will kneel

all who go down to the dust

whose life is undone.

My seed will serve Him.

It will be told to generations to come.

They will proclaim His bounty to a people aborning,

for He has done.

Book notes: The Book of Psalms: A Translation with Commentary, by Robert Alter, 2007, W.W. Norton & Co.

Art of the crucifixion by Marc Chagall

Vows renewed, feet washed - and a drive up Highway 29

The Great Three Days, the Easter Triduum, began yesterday, the holiest of holy days on the Christian calendar. I had an unusual sense of calm throughout the day. Many hands, both staff and volunteers, have labored long in planning a series of worship services that we hope and pray will be meaningful and life transforming. We are ready.

So the best thing for me Thursday was to get out of town.

Associate Rector Ann Wilms and I drove an hour north to Culpeper and a gathering of clergy with Bishop David Jones for the renewal of our ordination vows.

The drive up Highway 29 is not usually the prettiest of drives in Virginia, with all of the strip malls and gas stations. But yesterday under a bright blue sky with the trees beginning the bud, the drive was gorgeous.

We gathered with Bishop Jones, he washed a few feet, we renewed our vows, he blessed chrism oils, and we went on our way.

A few of my friends recently have pointed out that these the annual Maundy Thursday gatherings with bishops are too clerically focused, and should instead become a larger gathering for the renewal of baptismal vows by everyone. I am inclined to agree with them. Yet, I find the renewal of ordination vows to be an important reminder to myself of the call to servant ministry, and the connection I have with others in ordained ministry in different places.

And I enjoyed getting out of town and driving. We even put on the air conditioner (weren't we just buried under a blizzard a few short weeks ago?).

In the evening at St. Paul's, we held the traditional Maundy Thursday worship with the washing of feet. I was quite moved at how many people came forward to have their feet washed. No one needed to be cajoled ahead of time to come forward. They simply came.

We celebrated our last Eucharist before Easter, and Deacon Heather Warren took consecrated bread to the chapel where it is remaining "in repose" until this evening when we will distribute it in silence. Good Friday and the Cross awaits.

Collect for Good Friday

Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your
family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be
betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer
death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and
the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Liturgical notes: Good Friday, the day of the crucifixion, is called "good" because Jesus comes to us where we suffer to show us the way out. At St. Paul's we will be holding four services on Good Friday. At noon we will gather for the three hours tradition holds that Jesus hung on the Cross. This year we've added reflections by seven people on seven characters in the passion story (Mother Mary, Peter, Mary Magdalene, Pilate, John, Herod, and Judas). We end this service at 3 pm with the tolling of the bell and we leave in silence.

We gather again at 5 pm for the Solemn collects of Good Friday, and I will be giving a homily. At the end of this service, we will distribute, in silence, the bread (wafers) that we have reserved in the chapel from Maundy Thursday.

The Stations of the Cross will be offered at 6:30 pm in the nave.

Then at 8 pm, we gather again for Tenebrae, a contemplative service of readings from Lamentations and chanted psalms from our schola choir. The word "Tenebrae" means shadows, and we will sit in the dim light of the evening for this moving service.

We are also offering the opportunity for private confessions (Reconciliation of a Penitent) between the services. No appointments are necessary. Please come to the chapel if you'd like to make a confession.

May you have a holy and live giving three days.

A day of emotions, a theme of healing

The day was full of textures, colors, and many emotions. The theme of healing emerged throughout the day in prayers and images. For me, Wednesday of Holy Week began before dawn with Morning Prayer and the blunt Collect of the Day that speaks of graphically of betrayal and how Jesus gave his body "to be whipped and his face to be spit upon."

Startling words indeed to begin the day.

I worked on various projects until noon when I paused to preside at a healing Eucharist. A handful of people came; we recited the "Litany for Healing" that is in our supplemental prayer book Lesser Feasts and Fasts: "God the Holy Spirit, you make our bodies the temple of your presence."

The collect in the early morning, in a peculiar way, was connected to healing because it speaks of betrayal. Sometimes it is our bodies that betray us, and we become sick. At the healing service, I anointed people with holy oil, blessed by our bishop a year ago in Holy Week. We then stood around the altar and celebrated the Eucharist. One young woman who came was using a cane, and so she sat.

In the late afternoon, we held our regular Wednesday Evening Prayer in the chapel, and it was especially focused on children. The Rev. Janet Legro, our associate rector for youth, read a children's story about how Jesus was anointed with oil by Mary. Janet brought a little bottle of aromatic oil, and she put a dab on each child when they put their arm out.

After dinner, two of our young adult leaders led a "Stations of the Cross" mediation in the nave; there were 17 people who came. I had not attended a Stations of the Cross observance in some time. I found it moving and challenging. It ends with these words we imagine Jesus might have said:

I told you at the start my life was not complete until I crowned it by my death and resurrection.

Your way is not complete unless you crown it by your life.

Accept each moment as it comes to you, with faith and trust. All that happens has my mark upon it, that somewhere out of the darkness will come light.

We ended the evening with an instructed Eucharist in the chapel, led by The Rev. Henry Minich, a retired priest who helped draft our current prayer book in 1976. He was a font of knowledge and wisdom.

Today, Maundy Thursday, we enter the Great Three Days: The Easter Triduum. For me, Maundy Thursday will begin again before dawn in my private Morning Prayer, and then I plan to go to Culpeper for a gathering of the Diocese of Virginia clergy with our bishop, Shannon Johnston. He will recommit himself to his ordination vows, and then he will ask us to stand and renew our own ordination vows. I always find the renewal of vows not only powerful, but revealing of the path of my own calling. Bishop Shannon will then bless the holy oils for us to bring back to our parishes for anointing the sick and blessing the newly baptized.

The Stations of the Cross will be observed again this evening at 6:30 pm in the nave.

At 7:30 pm today we will gather at St. Paul's for our last Eucharist before Easter, and the traditional washing of feet by the clergy of our people. I hope you can join us.

Collect for Maundy Thursday

Almighty Father, whose dear Son, on the night before he
suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood:
Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in
remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy
mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives
and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever
and ever. Amen.

Liturgical notes: The word maundy comes from the middle English maunde, which means "commandment" or "mandate." The day commemorates the Last Supper of Jesus when he commands his followers to remember him in the breaking of bread and sharing in the cup of wine, and to be servants to each other and the world.

The washing of feet on Maundy Thursday is one of the most ancient and universal rites in the Christian Church. It is a reminder to us all of the humility necessary to us as ministers to each other. The ceremony has its origin in the Gospel according to John. Unique among the Gospels, John has no account of the institution of the Lord’s Supper, including instead the account of the washing of the disciples’ feet by Jesus with the admonition, “do this for one another.”

Jesus was pointing to this act as a sign of our servant ministry to one another and the world. Tonight, we remind ourselves of that vocation through the washing of feet. The clergy wash the feet of those in the congregation who come forward. This shows the church’s regard for the spiritual gifts of all its members.

The service concludes with the stripping of the altar and a procession by the deacon to the altar in the chapel, where the reserved sacrament (a container of consecrated wafers), the outward and visible sign of the presence of Christ, will be placed. This altar is designated as the “Altar of Repose” and it is here that the sacrament will lie in state until it is distributed on Good Friday at the 5 pm service. You are invited to sit in silent prayer in the chapel until 11 pm this evening.

Art by Flor Larios.