Episcopal Church Foundation Vestry Papers - for leading congregations

People warned us not to go. With the Euro soccer tournament and the wounds still fresh from last November’s terror attack in Paris, France was on high alert. Belgium was reeling from the bombing at the Brussels airport. Germany is flooded with refugees. Maybe, concerned friends and family members suggested, we should postpone our trip to Europe.

But we forged ahead, two decades of saving and dreaming unwilling to be daunted by possible threats. Eight days after our flight home to Cincinnati from Paris, a man turned celebration into terror. He transformed a truck into a weapon to mow over crowds of people who had just finished watching fireworks in honor of Bastille Day — akin to our Fourth of July.

If our trip was tomorrow instead of a month ago, I wonder if we would go. Among the 84 dead are a father and 11-year-old boy from Texas. Our son is 11. Although we didn’t visit Nice and the south of France, we ascended the Eiffel Tower, explored the city center of Munich, walked cobblestone streets in Belgium, and put miles on our pedometers in London. I can’t imagine the whiplash of emotions, from a longed-for family vacation to murder on the street. As I mourn with this family and with all of those killed in the attack, I turn inward, wanting to create a safe space for all those I love and to push away all the unknowns, to fear the stranger.

And yet there is Dean.

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Oh beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years

On a downtown sidewalk in Plock, Poland, a small city about 70 miles from Warsaw, my husband and I were approached by a woman who motioned to us to stop. The year was 1992, just two years since Lech Walesa became Poland’s president following the country’s first semi-free elections in 1989. In November 1989, the Berlin Wall had fallen at the hands of Germans yearning for a united and free nation.

The woman in Plock eagerly asked, “Are you Americans?”

I simultaneously wondered, is it that obvious? And, Oh boy, where is this leading?

She gazed at us with an intensity in her eyes I will never forget, then simply stated, “Thank you for my freedom.”

Stunned, we stammered, “God bless you,” as she stepped around us to continue on her way. I think I also said, “You’re welcome,” as if I had anything to do with it. But, in retrospect, I suppose I did, as much as any American who pays taxes and votes.

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“When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn?”

Peter, Paul, and Mary sang these words in protest against the war in Vietnam. Today, in the aftermath of the terrible hate crime in Orlando, leaving too many dead and tragically affecting so many more, I find myself again asking, “what can I do?”

My answer: “More.”

To start, I’ll share this Vital Post Jeremiah Sierra published in December 2012. He reminds us of the importance of facing our failures and asking ourselves what might we do differently going forward:

The church has failed.

A few weeks ago I listened to Joan Chittister give the keynote address at Trinity Institute. Evolution, she said, teaches us that we are all participants in an ongoing creation. It shows us both that we have tremendous responsibility as participants in creation, and that failure is a natural part of growth.

In a time when we are reeling from tragedy, when we are facing problems as large as climate change and increasing economic inequality, and as our communities are shrinking, it’s time to embrace and face our failures. They are staring us in the face from the pages of the newspaper and the empty pews.

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We should talk about the 400-pound gorilla in the room. That and a four-year-old boy.

In case you’ve been in silent retreat on a desert island without wifi, newspapers, or a message in a bottle, here’s the recap: Last weekend, a four-year-old boy climbed into an enclosure at the Cincinnati Zoo and came face-to-face with a 400-pound gorilla. Zoo officials decided they had no choice but to shoot and kill the gorilla to save the life of the child.

Protestors took to the streets, and frenzy descended in social media. Horrible, vicious memes have been posted. I’ve read eviscerating criticism of the mother, the child, the zoo, and gorillas. I heard today that the mother has received death threats. Seriously. Death threats.

The whole situation is sad. I mourn the death of Harambe, the endangered gorilla. I feel badly for the zoo employees who faced an untenable decision. I pray that the boy recovers completely. And I empathize with the mother. (I know how easily children can escape a watchful eye. I’ve lost a toddler in a discount store and watched in slow-motion horror as my son pulled a bookcase on top of him. Thankfully, they were safe.)

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3rd in a series of 4 posts - see below for the previous articles.

Like many people at this time of year, I find myself reflecting on the great and not-so-great things that have happened over the past year. Among the things that fall into the obviously 'great' category: that day in August when I officiated at a good friend's wedding. In the not-so-great category: that time my backpack, suitcase, and laptop were stolen in a smash and grab while I was visiting my family in Texas.

Of course, there's another, subtler category and that's what this series of blog posts is all about -- namely, the great things that somehow got overlooked. It is oftentimes only in looking back that we can fully recognize their obvious greatness, and it is only now, many months later, that we can champion and share those things with others. There are a number of things that the Episcopal Church Foundation produced over the course of this past year that fall into this third, subtler category, and I'm happy to share my short list as a sort of Christmas "gift".

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1st in a series of 4 posts.

Long ago I gave up any expectation that people would read everything I wrote or posted. Not everything shared on ECF Vital Practices’ reaches thousands of eyeballs, despite the more than 100,000 unique visitors to the site again this year.

Lest you think I’m complaining, please know I’m not. I frequently see posts or articles I want to read – later, when I have more time. In reality, I often lose track of what I wanted to get back to.

For Christmas, members of our editorial team will each share three ECF Vital Practices pieces we really like and you may have missed. We’re calling it our Christmas Special – all with no expiration date and no commercials – just click:

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This Sunday we began Advent with the usual apocalyptic lectionary readings. Jesus says, “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves.” 

I never know quite what to make of these words. They're a little unsettling and I’d rather pretend that Jesus didn’t say them. In this respect, Advent is a little like an invitation to a party you’re not sure you want to attend. You're happy to be invited but you don't know what to expect. What kind of people are you going to encounter? How late are you going to have to stay up? Wouldn’t it be nice just to stay home and watch a movie instead? But you can’t just ignore an invitation like that.

Some of these readings make me think of our current reality. The seas are roaring and nations are in distress. The temperature or our planet is rising because of climate change and many live in fear of terrorism or racist violence or war. Advent asks us to consider all of that. To look at the difficult and uncomfortable truths and ask us how we will respond. It might be easier to ignore them, to stay home, but you keep thinking about that invitation. 

On the first Sunday of Advent I joined a climate march. Not because it’s how I wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon (especially after traveling back from the Thanksgiving weekend on a train with a very unhappy dog), but because the reality of climate change is constantly breaking into my life no matter how much I try to ignore it, forcing me to respond. 

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About the only time I listen to the radio is in the car. And, since I work from home and often walk when running errands, I'm not in the car very often. Which makes me categorize my choice to drive recently as a “God moment.”

On the air was an interview with Andrea Campbell, attorney and first time candidate, challenging a long time incumbent to represent District 4 on the Boston City Council. What caught my attention – and stuck with me – was her answer to this question, “Why should the voters in District 4 choose you, new to the process, versus someone with a proven record? Here’s her response:

“When I set out to run, I didn’t wake up one day and say ‘I’m going to run for Boston City Council.’ I prayed a lot about my God given purpose.” After talking a bit about her work with Governor Patrick’s administration and other related experience, Andrea continued, “For months I said, ‘What is my God given purpose, what is my assignment?’ This run for city council is my response. I never made it about Councilor Yancy… It’s truly a calling in my heart and for me, from the beginning, it’s about how you bring a different perspective on the issues affecting the community"

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I lost it when I pulled the Buzz Lightyear doll out of the boy’s closet. Until then, I’d been okay. Even after discovering what at first appeared to be flocked wallpaper was instead, an eerily beautiful pattern of black mold. And, after the discovery of a black snake, hidden deep in the overstuffed closet in the next room.

It’s January 2007. I’m with my colleagues from Episcopal Divinity School, inside a 3-bedroom home in East New Orleans. Earlier that week we’d helped gut other homes, in other neighborhoods, but this was our first experience working in a home seemingly untouched since the family fled the rising flood waters 15 months before. Clothing was hanging in the closets and folded into drawers. Toiletries littered the bathroom counters. Kitchen cabinets were stocked with food. Everything was damp and moldy and at the same time a powerful reminder of the family whose lives were forever changed by the power of wind and water.

Since that first trip, I’ve been back to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast many times. Once on another work trip, installing sheet rock in stripped-to-the studs homes, a hopeful step on the path to bringing families home. More often to visit family who call the Gulf Coast home: family members who lost homes or jobs to Katrina. Over the years we’ve seen the progress: schools, churches, homes, and businesses being rebuilt. And, as we noted during our most recent visit this past spring, too many empty lots remain, many with faded For Sale signs; ever present reminders of the destructive power of wind and water.

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This is the second of a 3-part series about the relationship ministry of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in South Bend, Indiana. Read part 1 here. 

In 2011, in the midst of “mayhem” in inner city South Bend, Indiana, Holy Trinity Episcopal Church hosted a community meeting. Rather than retreating into the fortress of the church in the wake of violence, the people of Holy Trinity invited neighbors to join with them in activism, calling on authorities to pay attention, and calling on each other to live in peace. It was the planting of a Kingdom seed.

In the four years since that time, Holy Trinity has continued planting seeds, and now celebrates how the seeds, and the congregation, are firmly rooted.

Through open listening sessions, the people of Holy Trinity learned that what neighbors wanted most was relationship – to be in community with the church. Current priest-in-charge, Mother Terri Bays, says the process helped the congregation “become more attuned to the blessings of the neighborhood.”

This mutual respect is reflected in Holy Trinity’s responses to ministry opportunities. For instance, Mother Terri explains: “We had children wandering into church during services. They gobbled up snacks. We talked about that. One man said, ‘I just want to make them some soup.’ But none of us wanted a ‘soup kitchen.’ 

Rather, Holy Trinity began hosting community suppers – not for their neighbors, but for members of the church and neighbors, so everyone could sit and talk with each other. 

“Our ministry is to walk with our neighbors and to notice the work of God already going on in their lives,” explains Mother Terri. “It’s not just us who are holy. Part of our job is to help people recognize their own gifts.”

Walking with neighbors is quite literal for Holy Trinity. On Rogation Days, instead of praying for the work inside the church, Holy Trinity processes down sidewalks, stopping to pray for people who work in the neighborhood. Mother Terri explains the church asked store owners in advance for permission to come on their property and pray. She then wrote special prayers for each place.
“We started with our own community garden, then the convenience store across the street, then we kept going. Along the route was a business that washing cars out front, but was suspected of selling drugs out back. We noticed a group of people sitting out in front of the business, and they were watching us. We went into a gas station where people thanked us for our prayers, and we kept walking. Suddenly one of the people from the group watching us came running up to us. I left the front of the procession and circled back to meet him. As the man approached he asked, ‘Are you praying only for the good people? Aren’t we good enough?’’

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I've been thinking and writing recently about social media. Two posts ago, I mentioned that when I go places to speak, I am asked – and it is assumed – that we have social media guidelines in place at Southside Abbey. Well, we don't. What we do have – when we are at our best, which is not always – are how to treat one another guidelines. We all have access to these guidelines in the life and ministry of Jesus and his followers and the prayers that shape our corporate lives.

A lot of social media conflict that I have seen fits into a question that I consider a lot: Would you rather be right or would you rather be in relationship? Much of the conflict on social media occurs between folks who want to be right, often at the cost of relationship.

Social media is still young. We might even think about it as having some maturation ahead. We are coming from an Internet of anonymity, to posts with real-life repercussions. Maybe we've all got some growing up to do in this arena.

At Southside Abbey, we are about growing spiritual maturity (which requires social maturity). This is a good time to consider our social media posts with another question: Whom are we promoting? Are we promoting ourselves, our parishes, or Jesus? These things are not necessarily mutually exclusive, but the pictures and posts that point to our Savior are the ones that disarm in the best of ways.

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First of a three part series... 

In one of the poorest neighborhoods in South Bend, Indiana, the Feast of the Virgin Mary was celebrated this month with ecumenical neighborhood joy radiating from Holy Trinity Episcopal Church. Since 1948, Holy Trinity worship has valued catholic traditions, but the church’s relationship with its neighbors is an even bigger part of its ministry story. The story is so compelling that I’d like to tell it in a three-part series on Vital Posts.

Most mainstream churches in Holy Trinity’s neighborhood moved out to the newer parts of town decades ago. As is often the case, the parish struggled to survive, and was the subject of a “What are we going to do about Holy Trinity when the rector retires?” discussion at the diocesan level.   

Meanwhile, back in the summer of 2011, violence in the deteriorated neighborhood escalated at an alarming rate. Parishioner Susan Adamek tells the story best…

“On a regular basis, [neighbors] witnessed gun fire, homicide, and serious injury almost in their front yards. …neighbors felt abandoned by the city and believed they had no power to reclaim what was rightfully theirs.  “So here we are! Good Christians sitting in the middle of mayhem! Several times, gun fire and robberies to persons, were taking place as we were having Sunday services and on one Saturday as a bride was walking down the aisle to meet her groom! What to do? We could continue to deny everything and go right on as if nothing is happening, or we can take up the call and stand up in protest! Our neighbors were asking us for help! Then we definitely received a collect call from God! Now what? Scary!! You must realize that we are a very aging church with small numbers and few youthful energies, to answer this call.

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It happened two weeks ago today, at the time I send this for publication, and I still can't believe it. An armed gunman opened fire on United States military recruiting offices in our town of Chattanooga.

I think a lot about my identity as a priest in the church. Let's call that discernment. One of my thoughts is that, in some ways, I am in the business of believing. I try live my life in such a way – believing so “loudly” in peace, love, family, relationships, and God – that hopefully others are drawn to that way of life. At least, that's my working theory. So for me to write that I cannot believe something is tough. In the weeks I have had to reflect, I think what I cannot believe the most is tragedies like these are always happening somewhere in our country.

According to an article in the Washington Post, there have been as many mass shootings in the United States this year as there have been days so far this year. That's what I cannot believe. My two hometowns – the one where I was born and the one where I live now – are Charleston, SC, and Chattanooga, Tenn – were both hit a month apart. News coverage can paradoxically simultaneously draw attention to the sensationalistic aspects of while shortening our memories of the events' impacts on the lives of those left in the wake of senseless violence. It can all get to be too much some times.

But I got to witness something recently. In the aftermath, our city, Chattanooga – still fragmented by the aftereffects of segregation and institutionalized racist policies – is trying to come together... and it is happening through social media.

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It is time for congregations to develop protocols for responding to hate initiatives on their doorsteps.

As the intolerant lose any self-discipline in lashing out at others, we can expect a fresh round of cross-burnings, gay-bashing graffiti, and online vitriol. At an Episcopal church in Delaware last weekend, for example, worshipers returned to their cars to find leaflets attacking them for being an inclusive church.

Such incidents are happening throughout our deeply divided nation, as well as in European states dealing with ethnic diversity and neo-Nazism. If your church, or its denomination, is identified as being gay-affirming, performing same-sex weddings, welcoming women into leadership, collaborating with Jews and Muslims, or honoring racial diversity, including mixed-race couples, you can expect to be noticed and, increasingly, targeted.

Will that mean 100 hate initiatives, or a thousand, or a million? There's no way to know. But being prepared seems sadly necessary.

Here are some suggested protocols for handling hate initiatives affecting your congregation:

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¿Cómo vivo #blacklivesmatter #homelessJesus #LoveWins y otros eslóganes a diario? (las vidas de los negros vale/importa, el Jesús sin hogar, el amor gana)

Estaba mirando mi gafete que llevaba en la Convención General y noté que algunos de mis botones se han caído. Sé que algunos se quedaron por Utah porque los perdí antes de regresar y no sé que pasó con los demás. Mientras veo también la bella estatua de miniatura del Jesús sin hogar me pregunto si he estado viviendo tan entusiastamente los sentimientos de estos recordatorios como cuando estaba en medio de personas que usaban los mismos botones y sonreíamos cuando nos encontrábamos. Es fácil dejarme llevar con la emoción de todo el mundo y, mientras estoy en lugares o con personas que alimentan estas causas pensar que lo que hacemos vale la pena. Pero cuando regreso a casa, ¿qué? En realidad, ¿qué significa todo esto si mi corazón sigue igual? Y, ¿cómo puedo llevar lo que he visto, sentido y oído en mi corazón y en mi vida cotidiana?

Como una de mis pasiones es tomar fotos y hacer videos, he podido usar esta pasión para difundir diferentes mensajes de personas alrededor de la Iglesia Episcopal. He puesto varios videos en español en el canal de YouTube de ECF (suscríbete aquí para no perderte ninguno https://www.youtube.com/user/ECFVideos/videos) y cuando los edito tengo la oportunidad de escuchar los mensajes una y otra vez y me inspiran. Esta entrevista con el Padre Fred Clarkson me inspiró a hacer una lista de cómo seguir alimentando y viviendo todo lo que he aprendido durante el mes pasado sobre la inclusión, el sufrimiento, la igualdad, la compasión, y la Iglesia Episcopal.

Siga leyendo....

This post is also available in Spanish aqui.

I knew it was going to be life-changing
I just didn't know how
I knew I was going to shed some tears
I just didn't know when
I knew I was going to feel uncomfortable
I just didn't know why
I knew I was going to learn new things
I just didn't know which
I am at a Plantation for the first time
I knew I would see a big White House
And slave quarters
As I walk towards the big house
I feel as though I am in a scene from The Color Purple
and I smile with pain
I stand near a chimney and breathe
With spirits of young and old running all around me
Showing me how to feel and what to do
As I touch a slave child’s footprint left on a brick
and imagine his laughter (he’s my son in my mind)
I cry.

Written during my quiet reflection time after hearing three slave narratives at one of the largest plantation complexes in the south – Stagville Plantation.

Last week I had a transformative experience when I was part of the Lift Every Voice/Freedom Ride event in the Diocese of North Carolina (you can read about it here). It was an event for youth and young adults that centered around truth, reconciliation, and peace. There were over 70 of us from several dioceses around the nation and South Africa. As part of the leadership and music team I had the opportunity to plan and hear ideas of how we would help the participants and ourselves months in advance. From the first moment I felt the love of God in each person of the team – mostly comprised of young adults. Even though I only knew the director, my musician partner, and my son, I felt great intimacy with each person present. We were united by curiosity and deep emotions and I also feel we are united by some fear that this experience will bring a lot of feelings that we might not even know we hold inside. We pray a lot and we commend ourselves to God.

During the week we had opportunities to visit places that were key for social justice and the history of civil rights in North Carolina. We had the chance to meet historic figures as well as activists who greatly inspired us. We heard many narratives from invited guests, team members, and participants. Each story, each anecdote, each poem, each video, each prayer drew us closer and gave us hope to keep going. We cried, laughed, remembered, and lived.

One of my highlights was meeting Episcopal Latinas and being able to interview some. I interviewed Cecilia Alvarez, Canon for Transition Ministry and Clergy Development from the Diocese of New Jersey who taught me about making daily devotion time to spend with God. Student and activist Fernanda Torres taught me about the feelings of isolation and people’s judgment when people find out you are undocumented. Activist and teacher Elisa Benitez taught me the importance of being an advocate for those who don’t have a voice or aren’t being heard. Fernanda and Elisa are from the Diocese of North Carolina. Each one taught me lessons the entire week on God’s unconditional love and the importance of having a relationship with God. (Note: You can find more videos, pictures, and stories by searching #LEVNC on social media.)

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Well, they actually have already come, and gone. One of the blessings of being an ECF Fellow for 2015 is the opportunity that it affords Southside Abbey to grow with other communities that will come visit us as part of the Innovative Leadership Rounds Program. Our time with the Minnesotans was a pilot of that program, graciously put together by Missioner Steve Mullaney and the Episcopal Church in Minnesota. 

Nine Minnesotans descended upon Chattanooga's Southside late Thursday evening. I don't know what any of us thought would happen, but I can share what did happen. Somewhere along the way the Holy Spirit showed up for each one of us.

While it certainly helps that Steve brought a fantastic group of faithful followers of Jesus with him, I know that this special weekend is one that I will treasure for a long time to come, as it continues to feed me days later.

This time together was an opportunity to learn from one another. We at Southside Abbey were able to share with our new friends what we are doing, while at the same time seeing Southside Abbey's mission and ministry through fresh eyes.

During our time together: We ate, we prayed, we shared our hopes for the trip, we slept, we went on a “reality bus tour” of Chattanooga's Southside, we ate, we met immigrants and those experiencing homelessness, we shared Christ's table with them at H♥ART Gallery, we ate, we jubilee-ified (now a word) a laundromat – providing quarters, pizza, soap, and hope, we were part of house blessing of a man who had lived on the streets for more than a dozen years, we ate, we worshiped in “traditional” Episcopal ways, we worshiped in “non-traditional” Episcopal ways, we shared stories, we talked, we processed, we ate, we wrote a compline liturgy together (which still requires some editing and permissions, but will soon be up on Southside Abbey's website under the “Open Source” tab), we sang, we prayerfully walked the neighborhood, and we said “see you later.”

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A few years ago I started to worry a lot about climate change. Reading more about it wasn’t helping (this article in Rolling Stone magazine was particularly motivating). The only thing I could find to assuage some of my worry and anxiety was to find a way to take some meaningful action.

So I went to a meeting of the New York chapter of 350.org, a grassroots organization founded by Bill McKibben, working to stop or at least mitigate climate change. I volunteered to hand out flyers and to help plan events. It was in these meetings and that I learned more about climate change and about some possible solutions.

Sometimes, I think, solutions arise from careful planning and reading and writing and sometimes they arise from simply jumping right in and trying things out. I didn’t make a plan or evaluate all the options. I just went out and volunteered to do something.

As we’ve been hearing lately, the Episcopal Church, like many churches, is facing declining membership numbers. Many of us are wondering what the church will look like for future generations.

I don’t think the solution to church vitality lie in theological statements or inspiring blog posts. Of course, these are good and useful. I’m glad there are theologians out there thinking through what we’re doing, but another thing the climate crisis has taught us is that being right isn’t enough to win people over or spur them to action. Preaching the best theology isn’t going to grow the church. The right words and the best arguments aren’t what change the world.

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There was an adage growing up in white Baltimore that declared, "70% of Baltimore is black; the rest of us all know each other." I recall being vaguely uncomfortable whenever I heard it -- the product of liberal parents -- but also thinking, well, there is some truth to that.

And therein lies the problem. Despite all the rhetoric, Baltimore, like many urban areas, has remained a segregated city -- geographically, socio-economically, religiously, politically. The forces of income inequality and institutional racism, combined with the tragic and preventable death of Freddie Gray, have sparked the inevitable outburst of despair triumphing over hope.

As the Episcopal Bishop of Maryland put it in a sermon he preached on Tuesday afternoon, "We are in an official State of Emergency, but we are also in an unofficial State of Despair."

And we're all responsible. Every time we fail to acknowledge our privilege comes at another's expense; every time we neglect to reach out and embrace the less fortunate; every time we close our hearts to those who don't look or act like us.

Whenever children grow up in privileged communities, you hear parents lament that their kids are "growing up in a bubble." Living in a wealthy community on Boston's South Shore, I've had the same thought. Sometimes when parents say this, it's because their "ungrateful" children don't know how good they really have it. There's also a sense of guilt that they aren't exposing them to the "real world" and helping them develop a healthy empathy for others. Of course, given the choice, parents wouldn't actually leave that bubble. It's not perfect, of course, but it's not as if they're going to uproot their families to leave the bubble that is their perceived birthright.

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“The more you have, sometimes the more complicated your life gets."   - Dan Price

On April 13, 2014, 30-year-old CEO Dan Price of Gravity Payments made a startling announcement  to his 120-person staff. Over the next three years, Price intends to raise the minimum rate across the company from to $70,000. Today, his company pays an average wage of $48,000. 

To ensure all of his employees are compensated at this amount, he anticipates a decrease in his salary to $70,000 from about $1 million dollars. He plans to keep his salary at this amount until the company earns back the profit it made when the new salaries came in to affect.

What motivated him? Not politics---instead what drove him was inequality. Price is more concerned about the well being of his employees then his own salary. He notes, “Of all the social issues that I was in a position to do something about as a business leader, this was a worthy one to go after”

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