Author: Church of the Nativity

The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: This month shall mark for you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year for you. Tell the whole congregation of Israel that on the tenth of this month they are to take a lamb for each family, a lamb for each household.

This Sunday we will hear the story of the first Passover. The story of how God passes over the Israelites and sends death to the homes of the Egyptians. There is a hypnotic rhythm to the story as it carefully outlines each step the Israelites must take to protect themselves.

If a household is too small for a whole lamb, it shall join its closest neighbor in obtaining one; the lamb shall be divided in proportion to the number of people who eat of it. Your lamb shall be without blemish, a year-old male; you may take it from the sheep or from the goats. You shall keep it until the fourteenth day of this month; then the whole assembled congregation of Israel shall slaughter it at twilight.

It clearly is a story meant to be spoken and shared aloud. The repetition and the rhythm need a voice for the reading to have its true power. The reading offers safety and comfort in the clarity of purpose and instruction. There is no question as to what each household must do; there is no ambiguity or special circumstance. To live, they must follow these steps. To survive, they must take part in this ritual.

They shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it. They shall eat the lamb that same night; they shall eat it roasted over the fire with unleavened bread and bitter herbs. Do not eat any of it raw or boiled in water, but roasted over the fire, with its head, legs, and inner organs. You shall let none of it remain until the morning; anything that remains until the morning you shall burn. This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly.

It is important to remember that the story we read today was told long after the actual event of the first Passover. There were many tellings and retellings. Different voices added to it. Details enhanced. The clarity in the story we have now was not present on that first night. That night was most likely chaotic, fraught, and scary. The rush to find a lamb, to share with neighbors, to mark doorways, was almost certainly filled with breathless terror of what might be coming next. These were a people afraid for their lives and their continued survival. A people who were putting their hope and trust for freedom in the hands of a trouble-maker who kept challenging Pharaoh. The guidance to eat while standing came from that sense of terror and fear, not the calm and reasonable instruction in our story.

This day shall be a day of remembrance for you. You shall celebrate it as a festival to the Lord; throughout your generations you shall observe it as a perpetual ordinance.

In this time of Covid-19, I find the clarity of instruction and purpose in this reading incredibly comforting. There is no question of when to begin, no wondering if it is Stage 1 or Stage 2, and there is an order to it that creates boundaries.

Clarity is hard to find in the midst of a global pandemic. But perhaps in the lack of clarity we can find a reminder that God brings order, clarity, and wisdom to all stories. Perhaps reading this story with one eye on the soothing ritualism while the other remembers the fear and chaos of the actual night, we will be reminded to seek clarity in our faith. Perhaps we can find some simple rituals that remind us that God is present with us just as he was with the Israelites.

What ritual might you start to remind your anxious self that the God who led a nation of slaves out of Egypt into the promised land is also the God who continues to dwell and delight in you? Is it a daily, intentional recitation of the Lord’s Prayer and the Apostles’ Creed? It is a few minutes of silence each day to rest in the presence of the Lord? It is a pause at the end of the day to reflect upon the presence of God in the day?

Perhaps it is a daily reading from Psalm 46: Be still, then, and know that I am God. Whatever you do, may you find peace.

In our readings this Sunday, Moses encounters God in a burning bush. Would that be nice right now? Or terrifying? Probably terrifying. Moses was pretty scared. Not only does the voice of God come from a bush that burns but isn’t consumed, but he asks Moses to do something that sounds impossible.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus tells his disciples to take up their cross.  A cross that will not bring them fame or glory or even praise. Taking up the cross means not seeing the end result, not being sure what God is about, but believing that God will prevail, love will win, even if we don’t see it in this lifetime.

We are being called as followers of Jesus to live through a global pandemic with grace, compassion, and love. We are being called to cry out against systemic racism and injustice in our country, and to work towards an equitable world in which all God’s children are loved and honored and each life afforded dignity and respect. It seems sometimes impossible.

Yet, our faith says that it is possible. We have our part to play as followers of Jesus who believe in a love that has saved us all. The story doesn’t end at the cross.

The burning bush is asking something of us all. What is God saying to you? How will you respond?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uyfW1opFEk

I am so excited that we can start offering some in-person worship opportunities at Nativity. I’m sure you all are tired of hearing me say, “I miss you.” But it’s true – I miss you. I want to see your faces, even if they are partially behind a mask.

The Diocese of North Carolina’s reopening plan allows us to gather outside for worship in groups of 25. We will stay 6 feet apart from one another, and we will wear masks.

What does this mean for Nativity?

We will start small on Sundays with a Morning Prayer service at 8am and an Evening Prayer service at 7pm. We will experiment for a few weeks and see how it goes. Since attendance at the services is limited, if we find we need additional times to accommodate everyone who wants to worship in person, we will look to add other opportunities.

How will this work?

Signup will be available for two weeks before the service in the weekly email. The Friday before the service date, we will email you a brief pre-screening questionnaire and ask that you complete it that day.

What happens on Sunday?

Bring your mask, and bring a lawn chair. We will arrange seating under the oak tree, six feet apart. We will send a bulletin before the service that you can print at home or read on your device. As you get settled, we will check your name off the list, and might ask you if anything has changed since you completed the health questionnaire.

What if it rains?

If it rains, we won’t have the service at that time. We will send an email to the group signed up a half hour before the service begins if it is raining at church and the service is cancelled. But, it might be the case that you arrive, and it has started to rain, and we aren’t able to proceed. I will ask you to be patient and be flexible.

Will we still have a service online?

Yes. We will continue with our main service at 10:30 am on Sunday mornings. Please join us on Facebook or YouTube to participate.

I’m very excited to try this. I’m very excited to worship in person and on our church grounds once again. There will be more to come for online offerings for the fall for worship, fellowship, and formation.

The 150 Psalms model prayer for God’s people – praise, adoration, supplication, intercession, thanksgiving, lament, even anger.  When we can’t find the right words, praying the Psalms can connect us to God.

This week, I have been drawn to Psalm 137:

1 By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept, when we remembered you, O Zion.

2 On the willows there, we hung up our lyres.

3 For there our captors required of us songs, and our tormentors, mirth: “Sing us one of the songs of Zion.”

4 How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?

5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither.

6 Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy.

Composed during the Babylonian Exile (597-539 B.C.E.), when Jerusalem was sacked, the Temple destroyed, and the survivors taken captive, this Psalm resonates with anyone separated from a beloved homeland.  It had profound meaning to the hapless Africans kidnapped and forced into lives of slavery, as it has spoken to immigrants and refugees throughout the ages.  In an 1852 speech, the abolitionist Frederick Douglass referred to it:  “If I do forget, if I do not faithfully remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, ‘may my right hand forget her cunning, and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth!’” Somehow this sounds appropriate still today, doesn’t it?

Our own community also mourns the loss of so much we had taken for granted – including the freedom to gather in our beloved space for worship.

Psalm 137 has inspired a tremendous variety of musical settings. Bach, Dvorak, Verdi; the Melodians, Boney M., and Stephen Schwartz have all been drawn to it.  In Schwartz’s Godspell, “On the Willows” (a paraphrase version) is sung as the disciples bid a poignant farewell to Jesus during the Last Supper.  It is heartbreaking.    http://www.themusicallyrics.com/g/237-godspell-the-musical-lyrics/1585-on-the-willows-lyrics.html

But the last three verses of the Psalm are a curse:

  

7 Remember the day of Jerusalem, O Lord, against the people of Edom, who said, Down with it! down with it! even to the ground!”

8 O Daughter of Babylon, doomed to destruction, happy the one who pays you back
for what you have done to us!

9 Happy shall he be who takes your little ones, and dashes them against the rock!

Ouch!  It was so sad, so moving – what happened?  Is this not a totally human response to tragedy?  (The Lectionary, of course, would stop us at verse 6.  No anger, no cursing, please.)  Please remember:  these are human beings handing their hurt, their anger, to God, trusting God to deal with it.  In confidence, we can join in prayer through the Psalms and know that God hears us.

God bless you and watch over you this week and in the weeks ahead, beloved sisters and brothers.

David

I don’t know about you, but my soul is weary these days, feeling that there are no good answers. There are no happy solutions to anything related to the way our lives have changed because of Covid-19. We don’t have to imagine unintended outcomes to later take us by surprise, because no matter the outcome, the consequences will not be good for someone and probably soon.

As Anglicans, we pride ourselves on our ability to see the middle path, the via media, between the extremes, to be able to compromise, find a solution, and leave room in the tent for everyone. However, right now, there doesn’t even seem to be a middle path, a way to compromise, a way to find solutions that help everyone and do not harm in some way. Every decision comes with an unusual (in “normal” times) amount of risk.

This leave me feeling spiritually depleted. How do I keep my spirits up when it’s all bad news? How do I possibly ask God to help (other than a complete and total cure and/or vaccine for this virus) that doesn’t come with some sort of consequence? What do I pray for when I can’t see any conceivable solution, or to even know what to ask for?

This might be the time we as Anglicans need to reconnect with our tradition of mysticism. I wonder if we need to sink deeper into the mystery of God at work in the world in ways we don’t and can’t understand. I wonder if resting in the silence of “unknowing” might be the spiritual solution for reviving our souls during this spiritually challenging time.

Living in the present is not very fun right now, but living in the presence of God is something else. Resting in the presence of God in the present moment and surrendering our wills to God brings us a sense of peace. This is not to say that we don’t continue to work and do the next right thing. But waiting in the presence of God brings us a kind of peace as well as some clarity of the next right thing.

I find it comforting that God is at work in all this, though we might not see how right away. The mystery of God is what gives me hope right now. How about you? Can you find hope in the mystery?

 

John Chapman (1774-1845) was a strange bird indeed.  Living on the unsettled plains of the countryside between Pennsylvania and Indiana, he traveled entirely by foot and had virtually no possessions.  He wore old clothes which became rags; loved the plants and animals of nature; befriended settlers and Native Americans; had no permanent home; often slept on the bare ground; preached the Gospel wherever he went; and planted seeds.  These seeds, which he collected at no cost from cider mills, were meant to grow apple trees.  Other seeds – his preaching and faithful witness to the Gospel – were meant to grow godly souls.  Although many of those seeds came to naught, others flourished to become orchards, to help establish property lines for settlers, and to grow into devout believers.   Hundreds of people remembered him, with love, by his nickname – Johnny Appleseed. 

Next Sunday’s Gospel (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-33) is the well-known parable of the sower and the seed.  I’ve been reflecting on the lessons it continues to teach us, even as we wander in the wilderness during this time of isolation.

In his New Seeds of Contemplation, the Trappist monk Thomas Merton says:  “Every moment and every event of every person’s life on earth plants something in her or his soul.  For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds, so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest imperceptibly in the minds and wills of men and women.  Most of these unnumbered seeds perish and are lost, for such seeds as these cannot spring up anywhere except in the good soil of freedom, spontaneity and love.”

What does this tell us?  I think we are constantly offered opportunities for growth and service (seeds); and it’s up to us to recognize them and to seek ways to share God’s love (soil) through them. What kind of soil are we — good or bad, rock-filled or thorn-infested?  What sort of harvest can we produce?

To draw on another parable, are we able to differentiate between the good seeds of love and the harmful seeds of hatred, prejudice, and self-centeredness?

Think: how have you have been the sower; the seed; the soil.  How many seeds have we sown or have we received which are waiting to flourish or to die?  What is God calling each of us to do now with our wild and wonderful lives?

On our daily walks, Marilyn and I enjoy a lovely English flower garden in a neighbor’s yard.  On the curb, growing through a crack in the solid concrete, is a single flower (a cleome hassleriana, or spider plant) of the same type as those in the garden.  I find this flower a metaphor of hope  – somehow a seed found its way underneath that concrete to soil which nurtured it.   

May we nurture those good seeds offered to us.  And may we find hope in the midst of this wilderness.

In God’s love,

David

Here’s a vintage song, “The Sower,” by folk singer Pete Seeger.  Enjoy:

https://youtu.be/pLUdmKRxqN0

As the numbers of hospitalizations and positive Covid-19 test percentages increase in our state, the Diocese of North Carolina will not be moving into phase 2 of the reopening plan at the beginning of July as had been expected. Phase 1 will continue as we have been. Our Bishops are making some slight changes to phase 1 that will include an option for some limited outdoor worship opportunities, and I anticipate news about that in the next week or so.

What does that mean for Nativity?

We will continue our pre-recorded online worship offerings at 10:30am on Sundays, and 6:30pm on Wednesdays. We will be taking a break from the Wednesday night organ meditations at 6:15 for July and August. There will still be an organ prelude and other music in that service. Both services will “premier” on Facebook each week, allowing for you all to join the service at the same time, comment and share with one another, while remaining at home. (And in your pajamas, drinking your coffee, I know!) We will continue to hold meetings and gatherings via Zoom for the time being.

When we receive more direction about gathering outside, we will be trying a few services of Compline out under the big tree. This will give us a chance to try out what it looks like for folks to sign up in advance to attend services, what exactly ushers and other support volunteers will need, and what does it feel like to worship when everyone is six feet apart and wearing masks.

There will also be additional instruction from the Bishops on how we might celebrate and share Holy Communion in a safe way. This too will be something we will need to experiment with and try a few options to know what is right for Nativity.

As your priest, I wrestle with a few things. On the one hand, I know it is important for church to be something that is a constant, something you can count on, a place that feels secure. I feel we need that assurance more than ever as we navigate the collective anxiety experienced during this pandemic. On the other hand, all our ways of traditionally worshipping together are not safe for us, so a certain amount of experimentation and change is going to be necessary for a good long while. The only way forward is to continue to do the best we can in whatever circumstances we find ourselves, and to keep praying. I trust that God will see us through this time.

Keep praying for each other and checking in on each other. Think about those folks who sat in the pews near you way back in February, and give them a call.