Category Archives: reflection

Of the Mind and of the Heart…

15 Friday Mar 2024

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Photo credit: https://www.everypixel.com/image-8567765057447502976

A couple of weekends ago, my husband and I found ourselves kids-free, walking the local downtown area.  As we strolled along, we observed other families – parents pushing strollers, parents supervising kids learning to ride their bicycles, parents pausing family walking for educational moments.  Watching the other families brought back a flood of memories of those stages of our lives – the fond, endearing moments as well as those moments when we felt like we might crack.  But what was not familiar was what we were experiencing that day:  the children having plans of their own, making choices to be with friends over being with their parents.

My husband and I used to work with families at our church who were going through those very changes:  the phase of life where the children’s primary influence shifts from parents to peers.  It is a good and natural phase, but one we observed was much harder for parents than for the children.  But teaching and knowing something is quite different from experiencing something – from watching your own children do the very thing you have taught other parents about.  That moment is the clarity that comes from taking an academic subject and having it become a very real, emotional subject.  Suddenly, I could see the future of the relationships with our children in a much more tangible way.  And there was some sadness, some joy, and lots of somethings in between.

As we make our way past the halfway mark of Lent and we see the approaching journey of Holy Week, I have been thinking a lot about the learned experience of faith and the felt experience of faith.  Often we Episcopalians are creatures of the mind – studying repentance and forgiveness, participating in liturgies that shape the penitential nature of Lent, and even talking to others to learn about their Lenten experiences.  But knowing about Lent can be quite different from living Lent – facing all those things we preferred to keep in the “academic” box and instead having to move them into the “lived” box. 

My prayer for you as your Lenten journey approaches the climax of Holy Week and Easter is that you let yourself feel all of it.  My prayer is that you allow that much more vulnerable version of yourself to gather next to Jesus and keep walking forward – as the imperfect person you are, accompanied by the perfection of the Savior who makes this journey possible.  I look forward to hearing how letting down those walls of self-protection and letting in the grace, love, and forgiveness of God shapes these last days of Lent.  Know that I walk with you!

On Letting the Dust Settle…

21 Wednesday Feb 2024

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Photo credit: https://ymi.today/2015/04/when-dust-settles-in-the-sunlight/

Oftentimes, I think are two version of church:  the version that is consumed and the version that is fully knowledgeable of all the details and intricacies that it takes to create the consumable experience.  In the former, one comes to church, prays prayers, sings beautifully written songs, hears scripture, engages with a sermon, consumes communion, and is commissioned to go out and live the Gospel.  Of course, there may also be the juggling of children, the scramble to get there on time, and the focus needed to fully engage all that is “church,” and not be distracted by life whispering in the background. 

For the latter – the version of church that is fully knowledgeable, the experience of church happens through a filter.  In that experience, you are juggling the personnel details (did the lector show up, how the procession should line up based on who is serving, whether a choir member is late and didn’t get to rehearse fully), you are painfully aware of the hours of planning that went into the bulletin (the liturgical and musical decisions that were made to create a seamless experience), and you are mindful of all the administrative details (did the altar book get marked, which cruet has wine and which has water, do we have enough wafers for the number of people in church, did we remember all the announcements, and on and on).  People in both categories consume church in equal amounts, but the buzz behind the experiences may be different.

As someone who falls in that latter category, I have been especially grateful for Lent this year.  Our staff worked really hard to have all the liturgy planning completed early this year.  That is a fantastic feat, but it also means this winter has been extremely busy and detail-filled.  Even the start of Lent was chaotic.  On Shrove Tuesday, you are eating and merrymaking, and less than 24 hours later, you are spreading ash on people’s foreheads and making sure they have a meaningful Ash Wednesday.  By that Sunday, you are chanting or saying the very long Great Litany on the first Sunday of Lent, and by that Monday, you take a gulp of air once you realize you have done it – Lent has begun.

What all that preplanning has meant for me this year is that gulp of air is an invitation to trust the planning and to now live into Lent.  Instead of my head being abuzz with details, now I can sit down and clear out space to be with God – to do a meaningful assessment of my relationships with God, self, and neighbor, and see what invitations arise about what in those relationships needs repentance, repair, or rejoicing.  In essence, I suppose I shift now to being a consumer of church for a time.  I get to do the prayer, fasting, and alms giving that Lent invites without all the intricacies that began the season.

I wonder where you are finding yourself at the beginning of this second week in Lent.  How are you creating spaces where the buzz of life, the swirl of life’s details, and the burdens of the everyday can be set aside to connect with God, self, and neighbor?  How are you finding meaningful ways to repent, repair, and rejoice?  I cannot wait to hear how this Lent is reigniting your faith journey!

On Ashes, Valentines, and Ultimate Things…

14 Wednesday Feb 2024

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Photo credit: https://abidingpresence.net/newsfeed/2018/2/8/holiday-mashup

“Happy Ash Valentine’s Day!” my friend wrote this morning.  At first the greeting made me chuckle, especially given the number of grimaces and eye rolls I have received this year about how the Church has to celebrate Ash Wednesday on a day that is supposed to be about love.  Truth be told, I am not even sure how many faithful will even come to church tonight instead of going out to dinner or staying in for a cozy night with loved ones. 

But what I loved about that greeting today was how it married the two notions:  that you can celebrate love and death all at the same time.  In the same way that the Church soberly says, “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,” the secular world, despite the obvious consumerism of the day, uses this day to soberly say, “No really.  I love you:  I love you my friend, I love you my co-worker, I love you my classmate, and I love you, my beloved.”  These two days, at their root, are meant to talk about ultimate things:  love and death.  And as a priest, when I walk individuals and families toward death, there is nothing but love hovering around.

I wonder if the confluence of Ash Valentine’s Day might be an invitation for us this Lent.  How might you use these next forty day to meditate and act on those things of ultimate significance?  How are tending your relationship with God in a way that acknowledges that relationship’s ultimate significance?  How are you loving your neighbor in a way that honors the ultimate significance of their dignity?  How are you caring for yourself in a way that shows the ultimate significance of your identity as a child of God?  I don’t know if you need some silly candy conversation hearts that remind you that you are dust – or if you need ones that remind you that you are truly loved.  Either way, I hope this Ash Valentine’s Day is a day you can enter into Lent with significance, remembering you are loved. 

On Finding Our Way to Reconciliation…

03 Wednesday Jan 2024

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Photo credit: https://orionmagazine.org/article/this-land-was-made/

This past week, my family was able to visit The Legacy Museum in Montgomery, Alabama.  The museum artfully and comprehensively presents the “history of the destructive violence that shaped our nation, from the slave trade, to the era of Jim Crow and racial terror lynchings, to our current mass incarceration crisis.”  We have made a point as a family to visit various museums focusing on civil rights, but this museum was the first to tie those four actions in history (slavery, segregation, lynchings, and modern incarceration) so intentionally, powerfully, and succinctly. 

One of the more moving sections for our family was a wall of jars of dirt, of varying colored soil.  As we moved closer, we learned the story of the project through the Equal Justice Initiative.  Family members, researchers, and volunteers worked have worked together to trace every known lynching, visit the site, collect dirt in a large jar, and then label the jar with the name of the victim, the date, and the location of the lynching.  Something about the varying colors of soil from around our country, and the sheer volume of jars was mesmerizing – as though you could see the variation in the victims’ stories, while being reminded of the ways the earth bears witness to the sins of her inhabitants.

As we left the museum, we soberly began talking about impact the museum had on us and what we might like to do differently to be a part of breaking the cycle of violence in our own day.  Inspired by leaders in the closing “Reflection Room,” we realized we all could do something – in our way, in our own place, in our own time.  As a parent, part of my work is exposing my children to the awfulness of our humanity that we do not always discuss – especially recognizing the inherent privilege we have to determine when and how our children know this part of our nation’s story.   But I especially appreciated the invitation to begin wondering where God was uniquely inviting each of us to play a part in the shaping of the future.

I often say the work of racial reconciliation can never be “done” or completed.  Racial reconciliation is lifelong work for us as a country.  But sometimes I worry that the reality that we could never “accomplish” racial reconciliation creates a disincentive to even try – to do anything because it feels so very big.  As we begin a new year, and as we add many resolutions to our plans for 2024, I invite you to pick just one thing you can do to be a part of work of reconciliation – in your own way, your own place, your own time.  God and God’s created order have shown us vividly how far we have to go.  Together, we can find our own place in the history of reconciliation. 

On Children, Questions, and Dignity…

06 Wednesday Dec 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.adl.org/resources/tools-and-strategies/respecting-dignity-words

We have been having lots of “big” conversations around our house the last couple of weeks.  The first happened when my younger child and I went to shop for our Angel Tree gifts – an annual tradition from our church and the Salvation Army.  Our girls tend to prefer to choose someone their age – perhaps because they feel more equipped to imagine what someone their age wants, or because it helps them feel a sense of camaraderie.  This year, the nine-year old we selected ended up being quite different from the nine-year old in our family.  Though the toys she wanted were familiar, the size of clothing needed made it obvious that the two girls could not be more different.  So, in the middle of a store, I found myself having a deep conversation about genetics, systems of poverty, and the blessed nature of all creation.

Later, the conversation turned heavy again.  Something came across the same nine-year old’s radar about Israel and Palestine, and the barrage of questions were endless and increasingly difficult.  We started with why they were fighting, talked about what each side had done, and what the impact of this war has been.  Eventually we got into the murky waters of the religious backgrounds of the warring sides – careful to talk about the interconnectedness of the Abrahamic faiths.  But then came the gut-punch question, “So, who do we want to win?”  Talking about war and peace, death and destruction, and the biblical complicatedness of the Holy Land was not exactly the conversation I was expecting between school, dinner, and various sports practices.

One of the disadvantages of being a “grown up” is we often think we have things figured out:  capable of complicated thought, educated and experienced, we have seen enough of life to understand its complexities and make judgments based on our learnings.  It is one of the many reasons why I am so grateful for the children in our lives – both my own, but also our community’s children.  As part of their village, our work is to responsibly help them see the complicated, often sinful, nature of humanity, and help them love humanity in all its complexity.  In essence, children help us see why one of the main promises in our baptismal covenant is we will respect the dignity of every human being.

As we bustle around the Advent season, tempted to be too busy to handle anything other than our massive to-do lists, I invite you to slow down.  When we run so fast and when our minds are so occupied, we miss the invitations to respect the dignity of every human being:  from our neighbors impacted by poverty, to the frazzled parent just trying to get their children to school, to the person suffering within their body, to the innocent bystanders of war.  Scripture tells us that each person, when they are at their best or their worst, their strongest or their weakest, their most successful or their most failing, are made in the image of God.  Whether we like them or not, Jesus asks us to respect the dignity of that creation every day.  How might you better respect the dignity of the humans around you today?

On Being Love and Light…

29 Wednesday Nov 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.thekitchn.com/amazon-pipishell-shopping-cart-review-23250404

This week, I was out shopping for household basics and managed to get in a fairly short line.  But before I could load my items onto the conveyer belt, I noticed the customer checking out was having some sort of issue.  Eventually I surmised it was an issue with a credit card.  The staff and customer realized she was using a card the store doesn’t accept.  The customer rifled around for another card, but for some reason, during her flustered search, she became emotional.  I would not have noticed except the checkout clerk and the bagger immediately jumped into caretaking.  I heard them soothing her, assuring her everything was okay.  I then overheard the bagger explaining how his day had been pretty crummy too, with a broken-down car and a phone that fell into a rain puddle.  The mood lightened – for the three of them, certainly, but even for those of us further back in line who may have been tempted to become impatient or frustrated. 

I confess, I was in awe of the interaction.  Here were three very different people – of different genders, races, and socioeconomic statuses – and yet, in that moment, they showed anyone willing to see how to be a decent human.  That may sound simple, but with shoppers bustling around with the frenzy of the holiday season upon us, and the emotions that are often lingering right under the surface this time of year, it was a powerful reminder about our priorities this season.

I do not know about the religious affiliation of anyone in that triad, but in Church speak, those two staff members were showing the love of Christ to that woman – they were showing what our baptismal covenant calls “respecting the dignity of every human being.”  One of our core purposes at Church is to equip followers of Christ to go out into the world, sharing the love of Christ in their own particular vocation.  As Advent approaches this Sunday, I am reminded that the world needs that love now more than ever.  We certainly do that intentionally at Hickory Neck, with services like our Blue Christmas service that acknowledges how our vulnerable emotions can be bubbling right under the surface this time of year, or with our Invitation Sunday coming up that honors how much longing there is in the world for meaningful community.  But more importantly, I hope our church is empowering our parishioners to be agents of love everyday, who can, at the drop of a dime, see need right in front of them, and show compassion, mercy, and grace.  I look forward to hearing from you where you see invitations this week to show Christ’s love and light!

On Looking Back to Look Forward…

20 Friday Oct 2023

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Font at Virginia Theological Seminary

I remember when I was a seminarian, sitting in daily worship, my eyes and mind would sometimes wander.  In particular, I was fascinated by the names or other small mementos carved into the old pews.  I always wondered who the mystery person was who left their mark, how long ago they carved it, and how they managed not to get caught.  What I loved about those small little marks was how they made me feel connected – connected to a long line of priests and lay leaders shaped by the seminary, all with varying gifts and talents, serving God in God’s church around the world.

Last week, my seminary honored 200 years of forming priests in the Episcopal Church.  Though those pews from the old chapel were lost in a fire, what struck me was the massive changes the seminary has seen.  From slaves who helped build and then worked on the property, wars that shaped the context for ministry dramatically for generations, fiduciary decisions that impacted the viability and structure of the seminary, the growing diversity of the student body as the Episcopal Church’s understanding of who can be called to ministry has expanded, and an evolving physical plant that has shifted what the school on the holy hill looks like – all of that change has made for a rich and layered history, of which I am a small part. 

But perhaps what speaks to me most about Virginia Theological Seminary is the ways that it also has a microcosmic impact on the church – namely, the ministry of every graduate from the seminary.  My time at VTS shaped and formed me into the priest I am today – from academic formation to liturgical formation, from learnings on leadership to the development of relationships, from shaping my spirituality to shaping my sense of the wider church.  And for every graduate like me, VTS has shaped thousands of others who go out into the world to preach the gospel.  That reality is what inspires my financial support every year – knowing the future generations I can support.

As my church journeys into stewardship season, a time of discernment about how we will support our church financially and with our time, I am reminded of how we all come to think about the stewardship of our resources.  Supporting my seminary and my church financially are ways I say to those institutions and my community that these institutions are important to me:  they have made an impact in my life, and have inspired me to make an impact on the them.  I would not be the priest, mother, or wife that I am without either my seminary or Hickory Neck Church.  What about you?  How has our church shaped your life?  What stories are the stories that make you eager to be a part of financially supporting ministries of impact?  I can’t wait to hear what inspires your giving!

On Celebrating Life, Death, and Movies…

04 Wednesday Oct 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.cnn.com/2023/09/28/tech/netflix-dvd-rental-movies-ending/index.html

Well, it finally happened.  Netflix’s DVD business closed last Friday.  Now I recognize that acknowledging I still received DVDs from Netflix may make me seem old-fashioned.  Even a contemporary exclaimed recently, “Do people even have the equipment to play DVDs anymore?!?”  I took a good ribbing, but the truth is I love movies, and Netflix’s DVD business allowed me to watch movies that were not available via streaming services.  I was constantly finding new gems, and still had over 100 movies in my queue that I hoped to watch some day.

For those of us old-timers still watching DVDs, the closing of Netflix’s DVD branch has been tinged with nostalgia and a tiny bit of grief.  Over the course of 18 years, I watched 667 films, each story sparking my imagination, eliciting pleasure, sorrow, excitement, indignation, laughter, and hope.  Obviously there will be other ways for me to revel in the artistry of filmmaking, but there is a certain finality to the closing of this chapter. 

Despite my wistfulness, I commend Netflix for the way they have handled this change.  Instead of wallowing in grief, or attempting to apologize for market changes beyond their control, instead, they have handled this “death” with grace and joy.  Knowing the closing was coming, this year they used their iconic mailing envelopes to feature celebratory artwork honoring how a whole generation has been shaped by their service.  On the week of their closure, the sent a “gift” to every member – a summary of the highlights of our membership – what movies we had watched each year, milestones in our membership, and even the list of movies in our queue in case we want to find another way to see them.  Instead of a death, it has felt like a celebration of life.

In a lot of ways, it has reminded me of the ways the Episcopal Church approaches death.  When someone we love passes, we use the burial office to celebrate life – certainly the life of the one who has died, but especially the promise of eternal life promised in Jesus Christ.  But I’ve been thinking about it over this last week, and the Church honors “mini-deaths” all the time:  the ending of a ministry that is no longer needed or effectively utilized, the retirement of a ministry leader after a successful tenure, or the blessing of a parishioner or staff member who moves away from the community.  All those transitions can be hard because they make us remember fondly the ways ministry blessed us in the past.  But those transitions are also often the source of new life:  a new ministry we could never have imagined five years ago, a new leader whose fresh ideas opens up new opportunities, and new members who shape and mold us into a new community.

I wonder what things feel like they are dying in your life right now – what things you thought would always be there are undergoing change.  Where might the Holy Spirit be inviting you to see new shoots of growth in the midst of something withering on the vine?  How might those “mini-deaths,” be tremendous gifts to you or your community?  How might we take a cue from Netflix, and find ways to celebrate those endings with dignity and joy?  I am grateful for the ways a secular business is helping me see the sacred in our own life cycles.  Let’s celebrate together!

On Loss and Light…

20 Wednesday Sep 2023

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There’s an old adage, at least among clergy, that deaths often come in threes.  As clergy, we are accustomed to walking a community through the death of a loved one.  In death, time sort of stands still, as being present with the grieving, and preparing for funerals takes precedence over all other work that was formerly deemed urgent.  If a second death happens, clergy get a little skittish because of that old adage about threes.  So, death can not only upend a week or two, it can last for weeks on end. 

But recently, I have begun to wonder if subscribing to that adage about threes clouds our vision about what else is happening.  I have had the experience of sitting with someone in the hospital who was approaching death, only to hear over the hospital PA system the tinkling sound that marks the birth of a new baby.  I have had the experience of within twenty-four hours receiving four texts:  one about the death of a friend’s mom, followed by one about a clean bill of health after cancer treatment; another one about a death in the parish, followed by one about the birth of a grandchild.  When we only see deaths in threes, we seem to lose sight of the incidents of life all around us. 

I do not mean to minimize the experience of death – each one is unique and needs time to go through the full cycle of grief.  But I have been wondering if in those darkest moments – whether in death, divorce, or the loss of a job – there isn’t lightness breaking in too.  That tinkling sound announcing a birth did not negate the end of life walk of my parishioner.  But as we made eye contact, that tinkling did help us remember all the moments of life that parishioner had experienced before those last days. 

I do not know what you are going through today:  what losses you may be grieving or what deaths are hanging over you like a cloud.  But as a people of resurrection, I suspect there is life surrounding you too – maybe as quietly as a tinkling, or maybe as loud as a toddler who has found her words.  My prayer for you today is that whatever pain you are experiencing in death today, you might be gifted with eyes to see the blessing of God’s light and life.   

On Finding God in the Busyness…

06 Wednesday Sep 2023

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Photo credit: https://www.theladders.com/career-advice/overcoming-business-our-cultural-addiction

One of the questions I received before heading off on sabbatical was whether my sabbatical was too full.  I chuckled at the question because on paper, my sabbatical did have a great deal of movement and activity.  But I also knew that as an extrovert who was longing to reconnect after a pandemic that forced a period of disconnection, I would be just fine.  What I was more surprised about was my own parish’s response to their sabbatical.  When I have asked them “How was your sabbatical?” many people have responded, “It was busy!” or “That was one of the busiest summers we’ve had!”  Upon further inquiry, to a person, the follow-up comment was how although the summer of sabbatical was busy, it was full of meaningful, powerful, enriching things – none of which they would have missed or wanted to omit from the schedule. 

I often talk about the temptations of busyness – how busyness can keep us from noticing God, or how busyness can make us feel like we’re accomplishing something even if that accomplishment is purposeless movement or busyness for busyness’ sake.  But I never really thought about how busyness filled with the work of God or with encounters with God in community can be tremendously life giving.  In essence, the difference seems to be how we define sabbath or sabbatical.  For many of us, sabbath or sabbatical should mean rest or a slowing down of all things so that we can take in God’s creation and blessing.  And for many, both physical rest and spiritual rest are necessary.  But for anyone who has wasted a day away binge-watching a series, we know that not all “rest” is created equal.  That’s why we talk so much about sabbatical or sabbath being about renewal – about the feeding of our souls.  That renewal might be found in the busyness of yoga classes, labyrinth walks, meditation classes, or movie and game nights.  Renewal might be about surrounding yourself with laughter, storytelling, and dancing.  And renewal might also be about sitting on a bench in solitude, listening to the sounds of God’s creation.

As the school year gets underway, church gets back into its program year, and busyness starts to bubble up in our lives, I hope what we take from our time of sabbatical into our post-sabbatical time is a pattern of making our busyness holy.  Where are you finding God on the football field, gymnastics mat, or the horse stables?  Where are finding God in the lunch meetings, PTA events, or church calendar?  Where are you finding God in phone call to a grieving friend, the meal made for someone recovering from surgery, or the backpack purchased for a neighbor?  Our busyness does not have to be inherently pulling us away from God.  Our invitation is to look for and celebrate God in the midst of the busyness.