The rake uncovered a square piece of plastic in the front flowerbed. We tried to scrape it aside with the other debris of winter, but it was stuck. My husband wiggled it out of the soil.
A five-inch statue of St. Joseph emerged (sans the head. It’s probably buried in there too, but saints have lost their heads many times over the centuries!). Some might not know the tradition of burying a St. Joseph statue in the yard when you put the house up for sale. You’re supposed to bury him upside down, which some previous occupant rightly did. And you’re supposed to dig him up when the house sells, which they obviously forgot.
Sometimes God presents a metaphor for life on a silver platter. This is one of those times. Here we are, preparing the soil for planting. Trimming boxwoods, pruning rosebushes, pulling weeds. And in the process, we uncover the buried.
At the time, I was 17 and unaware I could hold biases much less rise to transcend them. A required reading, which supported the class rules, was F. Scott Peck’s The Road Less Travelled. Peck noted in this formational book, “Human beings are poor examiners, subject to superstition, bias, prejudice and a profound tendency to see what they want to see than what is there.”
Years later, I’m still committed to working on it. Lately, I see the leaders of our Episcopal Churches and ministries living in to this same difficult work. “We tried that once….” “We don`t want to risk losing any members with this new ministry.” “We`ve already sunk so much money into this ministry. We don`t want to miss out on it finally working!” Do any of these sound familiar? Encountered at your most recent vestry or leadership meeting?
Harvard Business Review recently published a fascinating article entitled, “Leaders as Decision Architects” by John Beshears and Francesca Gino. In it the authors note:
When I wrote a post about the old battle between using service bulletins or The Book of Common Prayer, I knew I’d get feedback, pushback, and a whole lot of unabashed opinions. My predictions were spot on, but the responses I got were also toned down, at least a bit, primarily because the point I was making was that there’s a middle way, something of a happy complimentary relationship between the two.
Up front, let me say that, in general, I think the best answer to most questions and issues we deal with as the church is both/and. And I think that that’s not just a compromise position but it’s an honest and integrated theological position, expressed in the comprehensiveness that is at the heart of Anglicanism.
Thus, having said all of that (see how it took more than 100 words to get there!) I want to make a case for video/visual screens in worship. I’m not going to really argue the point, and this is only a cursory case, at best. I’m talking about flat-screen TVs or projector screens, installed professionally and as part of an entire audio-visual overhaul of the parish hall and/or church space. At the very least it would be worthwhile to do a serious investigation of how screens might enhance or compliment our worship experience, then considering a congregation-wide conversation.
Now let the pushback and vitriol begin.
There are many advantages to screens in the worship space and setting. If you use screens to project prayers or songs, the people in worship will be looking up and be all the more engaged, together, in the act of corporate worship. Screens are a great way to push out announcements and advertisements for upcoming events. Some congregations might use screens for songs and prayers at a more contemporary service and for a slideshow of announcements before the service begins in a more traditional service. Screens can also eliminate the need for lengthy service bulletins that are time-consuming for the parish administrator.
What do you do with other people’s ideas?
Here’s a scenario I see a lot in the church these days:
Someone does Something in their congregation that really works. It’s a little off the beaten path. Let’s face it; the “we’ve always done it that way” path is famously hard-beaten in the Episcopal Church. I won’t bore you with change-the-light bulb jokes.
Our Someone does their new Something because the usual thing isn’t working, and they’ve had the courage to stop trying to make it work and try Something else, Something that seems like a better fit for the reality they see around them. It works! They are excited because it worked. They want to be helpful. So they tell the world about it in a blog post or article or book.
Then this happens:
A few people recognize that the Something that worked for Someone might work in their context as well. They take the suggestion and run with it. It’s a win.
Some other people doggedly try the Something even though their context is pretty different from the original Someone’s. That usually doesn’t work out very well. They grow discouraged.
Everyone else thinks about it, and says, “Hmm. I can’t really see that working in my place.” Either what they do already works, or they’re pretty sure this won’t solve their problem either. So they pick the Something apart in the comments, or just discard it as one more not-useful idea.
Might there be another way to read other people’s ideas?
Birthdays in the age of Facebook are fun.
People from all different parts of your life chime in and send good wishes. It’s a virtual “This is your life” episode.
Meandering down memory lane is lovely, but this year I decided to try something more. I responded to every message in some way. Some received an earnest “Thanks!” A few got the thumbs-up like. But for most replies, I added a note or two to my thanks.
“Can’t believe how long it’s been since we were in youth group together. We need a reunion!”
“Congrats on your award! Well-deserved!”
“Saw that you were in town. Let’s get together.”
“Love seeing pictures of your cute family.”
“Thank you for being a role model for me.”
More than 200 people took the time to send birthday greetings. And I had the opportunity to reach back out to them, to remember where our lives intersected, to hope they might again, and to acknowledge the piece, big or small, that they played in shaping my life.
The experiment kept me busy! But it also transformed the day in an interesting way. The birthday wasn’t all about me. (Sure, it was some. I did enjoy the requisite singing, opening presents, and sharing dinner with my family!) But it became more about relationship, a way not only to receive these well wishes but also to give some back.
Your team’s in place, you’ve recommitted to the congregation’s mission and vision, and for your first few vestry meetings everything’s been working well. Then “bam” –everything seems to be falling apart. What’s happening?
It could be the Holy Spirit. It might be life in general or something worse. Whatever’s causing this disruption, one thing is clear: Stuff happens. In this Vestry Papers, we look at some of the challenges leaders may face and share stories, resources, and approaches of how others respond to these common challenges.
Here are our May offerings:
Sometimes the Holy Spirit can be inconvenient. There we are going about our lives when, bam! Something happens. I easily produce list after list of the rotten stuff, but that's not for this venue. Besides, often the rotten stuff turns out to be the foundation for living into a new creation. The list that is much harder for many of us to populate is the list of those “bam” moments when we are blindsided by the Holy Spirit and the possibility that death really does not have the last word.
But what about the ordinary? I love the dual nature of the word ordinary. Ordinary, as in the everyday or commonplace and, as in that which is set apart (same root as ordained). God can use the ordinary, yes even our ordinary stuff. In Southside Abbey's small groups, we engage the spiritual maturity muscles. These are required to build a practice of thankfulness for all that “was, and is, and is to come.”
Why might I be writing about these things? I am awakening to the possibility that stuff is not nearly as bad as we thought, that God is still using the ordinary. As I mentioned in my last post, I was gifted with the opportunity to mold the minds of some students at the School of Theology at Sewanee. I shared with them some of the realities the world is facing and how the church might be impacted or be impactful, and how they, in partnership with the Holy Spirit, have a hand in building a church that is passive or proactive.
I have read that between sixteen and seventeen trillion dollars (yes, trillion, with a “t”) is about to change hands. As the last of the Greatest and Builder generations meet their reward and the Baby Boomers retire, the world will see the largest transfer of wealth, ever. That amount is about what the U.S. owes our creditors, but I digress.
The point is: this is opportunity time! The Episcopal Church is primed. We are not a Johnny-come-lately, say-what-we-think-people-want-to-hear-so-we-can-draw-them-in, splash-in-the-pan outfit. No. Society is catching up to us. We have been on the forefront on issues of civil rights, gender equality, and sexuality. Don't get me wrong, we still have lots of work to do here, especially on issues of those who are differently-abled and those who are poor. But, we are standing on a foundation of centuries of theology, scholarship, prayer, and relationships.
We’re Facebook friends. And even at that, I would call us Facebook acquaintances. I don’t know her well, except we greeted each other in the school halls and during field trips. Our kids were in the same grades at the same school before we moved three years ago.
Her theology and politics are light years from mine. And occasionally, I think it’s time to purge. But I’m strangely drawn to her messages. Hers is a faith lived out in real time, with all of its mess and drama and beauty. She isn’t afraid to name and thank God for the good. And she praises God too for the bad, for the opportunities for growth and change.
She beseeches God for strength while her husband recovers from a serious illness. And she posts a picture of his hospital wall, with a handwritten passage from Isaiah: “Be not afraid.” Apparently a doctor and some nurses asked about the sign, and together the couple offered their witness.
They traveled to Romania on a mission trip and have sold their house so they can be more responsive to God’s call for their lives.
I’m not sure what denomination of church they attend. Not Episcopalian, for sure. Way too many altar calls and out-front talk of the transforming power of Jesus.
I love our denomination. Its rich tradition connects me in powerful way to the apostles, to the dusty Upper Room, to the saints who grappled with doubts and questions. I love our focus on the three-legged stool, of discernment through scripture, tradition, and reason. I am proud of our progressive embrace of those on the fringes.
But we have room to grow. And this Facebook friend models a way.
It’s morning in the office, and my instinct is to head straight to my desk, fire up the computer, scroll through email, and wrap my brain around the day’s agenda.
But others think I'm rude. They like to start with friendly chatter, checking in, getting coffee, warming up to the day with conversation.
Neither way is “right.” They are just two styles of communication. But knowing that—and finding ways to bridge the disconnect—is key to healthier staffs (and churches!).
At a conference last week, Denise Trevino of the Diocese of Texas led a workshop on communication styles. I’ve attended a lot of these kinds of things, so I expected it to be more of the same. I was surprised.
She expounds on a concept developed by Edward T. Hall, an American anthropologist. The idea is that people communicate and deal with conflict on a spectrum of low to high context. Low context folks are direct, focused on action and solution, and adaptable to change. High context people prioritize relationships and storytelling.
There’s a lot more to it, but the bottom line is that it’s sometimes hard for low and high context people to find common ground. Take the situation of my morning routine. For me and my low-context self, I like to start the day with a focus on the work ahead. After thirty or forty minutes, I tend to be more social. High context people may think I’m standoffish. Or that I don’t care. Or I’m rude. On the other hand, I stew: why don’t they want to get started on the day’s work?
Most of the time the name Ichabod summons images of a bony, apple-adamed schoolteacher racing from the clutches of the Headless Horseman. But theologian and Church of England priest Graham Tomlin offers another interpretation of Ichabod.
In 1 Samuel, Ichabod is described as a son of Phinehas, a priest in early Israel. His mother gave him the name Ichabod, which means “the glory of the Lord has departed.” Talk about low expectations and that kid needing some therapy later!
Anyway, Tomlin shares how one church held a yearly “Ichabod meeting.” The purpose was to ask the question: “From which of our church’s activities has God’s glory departed?” Are there fundraisers, committees, organizations, events, and traditions that no longer build the mission or vision of the church? Have they long since become disconnected from God’s glory and now are tedious at best and destructive and time (money and opportunity) sucking at worst? Putting an end to something that is no longer building up the Body is an important practice. It won’t be easy, but saying no – or saying no more – can free up resources (people, money, time, and space) for expansion of current projects or for new initiatives.
5 Resources for March: Connect with Your Community
In this month’s Vital Practices Digest, we’re highlighting 5 ways congregations are learning more about and making connections with their neighboring communities. Our 5th resource is a suggestion for congregations interested in the practice of year round stewardship and gratitude.
Please share this digest with new members of your vestry and extend an invitation to subscribe to ECF Vital Practices to receive Vestry Papers and the Vital Practices Digest.
I’m grateful for the feedback and engagement with my previous post: “Beyond Vestries,” February 25, 2015. I’d like to clarify some matters and, above all, point to some larger, more critical principles.
For starters, my one big hope is that the church starts having frank and honest and, yes, hard conversations. That’s why I said as much at the outset: “...if for no other reason than it might do that – actually spark a conversation and actually lead us to seriously re-consider our conventional working model – I’ll go along with it.”
I believe we’re in a moment in which everything needs to be put on the table. Unlike other churches, we’re actually in an enviable position to do precisely that: in our Episcopal/Anglican tradition, that is, the substance of the Christian faith and life is already set – we have the established catholic deposit contained in the Book of Common Prayer, after all, and the parameters provided for in the Canons. What’s left then, the only thing we’re really talking about re-examining are the conventional business model(s) of The Episcopal Church, particularly in its local lived communities. (There are obvious affinities between this conversation and the revisions which need to happen in diocesan and wider church structures, but I’m not going there. Not yet.) On the local level, the business model of most every congregation has changed over time and will, by definition, change. This, then, is the moment to put everything on the table. If not now, when?
In “Beyond Vestries,” I was describing a model, not necessarily the model. Certainly not the only one. It probably wouldn’t work in, say, a congregation that’s far removed from its closest neighbor parish. (Although it could work out ecumenically.) It also would be a difficult model to bring about in larger churches, especially those more resourced congregations and cathedrals. That’s not to say it couldn’t happen in even our largest congregations. It could, for sure, and it could perhaps lead to greater impact on the local community – not just the church institution itself. But the model, itself, is no universal cure all. The proposed solution I was offering was a model, not the only one.
What I was attempting to point toward was a series of principles which, if we could engage them critically and fully right now as the church – if these were really and truly on the table – would lead in short order to serious and significant renewal. Let me offer some general principles, albeit ideas which are probably not without controversy:
Earlier this year I was invited to lead the Adult Forum at All Saints' Church in Worcester. I was asked to speak about welcoming a new rector into their midst - which they anticipate doing in the next few months. I decided to crowd-source the question, asking a half dozen or so clergy who have recently accepted new calls in our diocese to help me compile this list. This is what they said; I just organized and edited their responses. I am very grateful for their help and wisdom. Perhaps this can be helpful to others, and if you have responses to add, or other thoughts, I'd love to hear from you. Email me at [email protected] or, share your comments below.
Welcoming a New Rector
Some things to be done, and some to be left undone…
Entering a new system:
It’s great to invite the new rector (and their family) over to your house for dinner, but try to coordinate it so not everyone is doing it at once. Even better, try to do some events that include smaller groups of 6-8. If there is a staff, let the new rector know when everyone eats lunch and what’s expected: together, separate, going out regularly, etc. The etiquette of eating lunch together is sometimes hard to understand. More generally: convey expectations and be flexible; unspoken expectations are impossible to meet. Put together some kind of orientation binder or list that includes tips of lots of local things to do, pictures with names of active members or at least the vestry members, and some gift certificates to local restaurants, names of people who plow, plumbers, auto shop, dentist, doctor, RMV information, etc. Remember that you have called a rector, but often there is a family in tow that is also trying to find their way in a new community. If the new rector has school-aged children, help them with schools ahead of time. If the new rector has a spouse and that person is looking for work, see what resources are available in the congregation to help with this. One person noted: “…it was very helpful for me that the executive committee committed to staying in their roles for my full first year. Having competent generous people around me has made my transition very smooth.” Give the new clergy time to become accustomed to this new parish. Have four or five different people take the new person on a tour of the city, go out to lunch, and tell them about their experiences and perceptions of the place. Having members of the search committee and other members regularly check in lets the priest know that s/he is not alone, and is much appreciated. Remember that being kind to the new rector is not a betrayal of the former rector.
A friend recently quipped “I don’t believe vestries are needed for the church today.” He said it as a hyperbole, something to spark conversation, and if for no other reason than it might do that – actually spark a conversation and actually lead us to seriously re-consider our conventional working model – I’ll go along with it. If you’d like a more palatable post, though, let me say that vestries, alone, are no longer needed for the church today.
The vestry is a great idea of the late-18th century. It was more formally instituted by the mid-19th century, and in fact it wasn’t until the early years of the 20th century that a denomination wide church canon was established to clarify matters. It’s Title I, Canon 14; Sections 1 & 2:
"Section 1. In every Parish of this Church the number, mode of selection, and term of office of Wardens and Members of the Vestry, with the qualifications of voters, shall be such as the State or Diocesan law may permit or require, and the Wardens and Members of the Vestry selected under such law shall hold office until their successors are selected and have qualified." "Section 2. Except as provided by the law of the State or of the Diocese, the Vestry shall be agents and legal representatives of the Parish in all matters concerning its corporate property and the relations of the Parish to its Clergy."We’ve not only created but, over these many years, we’ve honed and perfected a brilliant late-18th century model of church. It really is a stunning, absolutely creative solution to the problems people faced nearly 250 years ago. Bravo! The problem, however, is that it is now the 21st century.
Not only is the vestry a great idea but also even today, it remains a necessary instrument. It is as important now as it was when suddenly the ‘Episcopal’ churches in the American colonies found themselves with land and property but no clear idea who owned it or how to delineate who oversees the “corporate property” of the parish as well as the ways in which “the relations of the parish to its clergy” shall be managed. What that means in reality, today, is that the vestry of any given parish is an essential and a really great buildings and grounds / cemetery / personnel / liability committee which has ultimate fiduciary responsibility.
But the system of the Church of England, from which this creative solution emerged, did not merely understand the parish as being reduced – or reducible – to its “corporate property” nor simply to “the relations of the parish to its clergy.” Rather, the parish, as such, was understood holistically. It was seen as an expansive and varied place set in a particular time, an entire geographic area which, by definition, necessitated and involved all of its inhabitants whether or not they frequented the building(s) called ‘church’; whether or not they availed themselves of the services of the person called ‘clergy’; whether for that matter they professed an outright belief in Jesus Christ as their Lord. The parish, as such, was much more than what our American colonial forebears imagined when they created the managerial tool called ‘vestry.’ They gave us a good start, and it was an essential move on their part.
Now, however, it’s time for us to create new instruments and new organizations.
When I was in the sixth grade or so, I read through the entire Bible chapter by chapter. I especially remember reading the Gospels and finding Matthew, Mark, and Luke difficult. In those Gospels, Jesus was a little more enigmatic, a little harder to grasp. I loved John, however. John confirmed my beliefs and comforted me.
Now, a few decades later, I am writing a series of reflections for Forward Movement, which requires me to read many passages from the Gospel of John again. I’ve found the task more difficult than I expected. I miss the elliptical storytelling and the ambiguity of Mark and Matthew and Luke. John’s Jesus challenges me. His pronouncements about heaven and the bread of life now trouble me more than they comfort me. I can’t say that I’m enjoying it all that much.
The Scriptures, as we all know, contain a multitude of voices and surprises. Not only are the lessons found in the Bible varied, but what we take from them will change as we change. Something that once reassured us can later shake our understanding.
In this way, my relationship with God, with Scripture, and with Jesus is like any other relationship: It changes over time.
In a faith with long, rich tradition, some things can (and should) be changed.
Annual meetings, for instance, don’t need to be dreary gatherings of moan and drone. Mix them up a bit. Let your annual meeting reflect the life of the congregation—or your hope for life to come.
For the past three years, each annual meeting has been a little different. The first was held immediately after worship. Folks stayed in the pews (or snuck out quietly). The idea was to connect our corporate worship with our corporate business. Last year, the annual meeting was held at the same time but in the undercroft and with a meal.
This year the meeting was on a Sunday evening. I worried that people wouldn’t come back out for a second time, especially on a wintry evening. But attendance was great with 75 people, and most people left the meeting energized and excited about our shared ministry.
Here are a couple of reasons why I think the annual meeting was a success. First, it wasn’t chock full of report recitation. Each committee submitted written reports, which were distributed in a packet. The budget and financial information was also included. Instead of representatives reading each report and detailing the nuts and bolts of the past year’s activities, the featured speaker was the priest at the nearest church. Our congregation and community are relatively wealthy, but just three miles away is this urban church with an active ministry to the poor. Our congregation is very active in supporting this urban church, with volunteers at its feeding, food pantry, and health care ministries. In addition to people resources, we host fundraisers and donate thousands, both as individuals and a congregation, to support these programs.
This priest shared plans for new initiatives, including community gardens and cooking classes. He invited our congregation to participate and to dream.
Our second seasonal experiment with combined in-person/online faith learning and growth has come to a close (read more about this year’s hybrid faith formation cohort in the earlier posts). Networked learning has taken off in several more congregations, and outside interest in this new ministry model continues to be high.
As I sit with the detailed and thoughtful feedback from our cohort participants, I am struck anew by the power of community to help us overcome our fear of change. One participant wrote what I think several others were thinking: “I would not have had the courage to try my online project without this group.” I know I would not have had the courage to advocate so widely for this new approach without the enthusiasm and support of this talented group of action researchers.
So as I try to put my finger on a couple lessons from this year’s much-improved experience, I’ll try to address them not just to individual leaders—although leaders are crucial for convening hybrid networks—but also to congregations as a whole. Without congregations’ willingness to nurture something new, connected small-group learning will never reach its full potential among their members.
Our learners aren’t students
For years now, churches have been noting that the classroom mentality of Sunday school has been both a blessing and a curse to congregational faith formation. I don’t want to belabor the usual points, but I do want to mention one not often raised: our learners are not students.
If we can help each other do that, we’re bound to find new models, new growth, new life.
I don’t watch E! television nor do I have a subscription to People magazine, but like anyone who’s mildly sensitive to popular culture I’m not immune to the images. And I’ve noticed one pretty consistent thing: whenever you see a shot of a ‘star’ out and about on the street, the celebrity is often holding a cup of coffee or some such coffee drink. Mostly Starbucks, let’s be honest. The white cup, sometimes the cardboard heat protector, the green logo; it’s all part of the image, all part of the brand.
I want to start with these simple cultural observations because this is only superficially a post about the church, and it is not at all about etiquette or proper manners or what is right or wrong to do in church. The title says this is about coffee in church. But let me hasten to add that I’m not saying we should rip out the back few pews and put in a coffee bar (that’d be hokey and silly); nor should we serve coffee in church (although, having said that, we could step up our game and serve better coffee at coffee hour); nor should we be drinking coffee or other drinks in church (I’m completely indifferent to this question anyway and whenever I’m a worshiper I really don’t do it, although I may have walked into the building with the cup I was carrying on my walk over and I’d like to find a garbage can).
What I am saying is that there is a popular culture, today, in which people bring their coffee wherever, whenever. They just do. More to the point, you should expect that if you have a growing church – growing with all kinds of people, including young adults and young families – and your church meets on a Sunday morning, say, you may very well have people who bring their coffee into the worship service. Not hordes of them, not all of them, but at least a few. Also, afterwards, they might not stick around for your “hour of coffee” and please don’t get your feelings hurt because they may only be there to worship God in Christ and, honestly, see my point above about the kind of coffee we’re serving in our parish halls.
Karaoke isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.
I know. It’s hard to imagine that cheering an off-key rendition of Copacabana isn’t how everyone wants to pass the time on Friday nights.
I confess: I love karaoke. I think it’s fun and funny and reminds me of the night when I met my husband (Yes. I was on stage, singing. No, I don’t think that’s what caught his attention). So when we were planning our staff party and wanted to add some joy and mirth to the evening, I suggested karaoke.
Our fearless leader knew nothing of the plan until the evening began. Suffice it to say, he is not a karaoke fan. In fact, I suspect he would rank an evening of karaoke right next to scraping gum off the bottom of movie theater seats.
But an important (and sometimes rare) quality of leaders is that they recognize it’s not all about them. So he sat patiently throughout the evening while different members of the staff sang solos, duets, quartets, and various other configurations.
There were no Grammy winners among the performers. But there was a lot of laughter. Clapping. Picture taking. Folks from different departments paired up to sing old favorites. People shared stories about their lives and music.
All in all, it was a great evening of team bonding.
The leader could have pulled the plug but realized the value of putting aside his own interests (and disinterests).
In my past life, I was an active theatrical director and designer. For a few years, I taught theater at a wonderful private school in Texas. During this time I helped to establish a theater program for the school. One of the highlights of this program was the annual musical production, which brought together students of all ages to perform for the school and local community. One year, we put up a fantastic production of The Sound of Music. As a gift for directing this show, a parent gave me a first edition copy of The Story of the Trapp Family Singers, signed by Maria von Trapp. Still one of the coolest editions on my bookshelf. She also gave me a copy of Around the Year with the Trapp Family. When the Trapps came to America from Austria, they brought with them the custom of carrying into daily life the teachings, the beliefs, the feasts and observations of their faith. Life in their home was a continuous response to the cycle and rhythm of the Church year.
In one of my favorite passages from Around the Year with the Trapp Family, Maria tells the story of a family tradition known as "Christkindl" (Christ Child), during the season of Advent:
Mother appears with the bowl, which she passes around. Pieces of paper containing the names of the members of the family and are neatly rolled up, because the drawing has to be done in great secrecy. The person whose name one has drawn is now in one's special care. From this day until Christmas, one has to do as many little favors for him or her as one can. One has to provide at least one surprise every single day — but without ever being found out. This creates a wonderful atmosphere of joyful suspense, kindness, and thoughtfulness. Perhaps you will find that somebody has made your bed or shined your shoes or has informed you, in a disguised handwriting on a holy card, that "a rosary has been said for you today" or a number of sacrifices have been offered up. This new relationship is called "Christkindl" (Christ Child) in the old country, where children believe that the Christmas tree and the gifts under it are brought down by the Christ Child himself. The beautiful thing about this particular custom is that the relationship is a reciprocal one. The person whose name I have drawn and who is under my care becomes for me the helpless little Christ Child in the manger; and as I am performing these many little acts of love and consideration for someone in the family I am really doing them for the Infant of Bethlehem…At the same time I am the "Christkindl" also for the one I am caring for because I want to imitate the Holy Child and render all those little services in the same spirit as He did in that small house of Nazareth, when as a child He served His Mother and His foster father with a similar love and devotion... It is a delightful custom, which creates much of the true Christmas spirit and ought to be spread far and wide.I’ve read Maria’s words a number of times, but there are two things that strike me differently on this occasion, as I’ve become steeped in the Asset-Based Community Development approach that we use in our work.
RSS Feed