Category: From the Clergy

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.

Last week Marilyn and I watched this sunset over Bogue Sound and exulted in the glories of God’s creation. What a welcome respite from the agony of the news from the last two weeks! The continuing scourge of Covid-19, the murder of George Floyd, the protests and violence, the conflict between protecting our health and restoring the economy – it all is so overwhelming that it is nearly impossible to remember God’s love and care.

Two weeks ago, my heart was broken on Saturday night as I watched a peaceful protest turn into conflict, destruction, and looting. How could our community, which we thought was so peaceful and harmonious, mutate into such horror?  And this afternoon I watched portions of the George Floyd’s funeral.  It was heartrending.

Paul reminds us, in Romans 5, that suffering is unavoidable. But, at the same time, he frames this within the context of faith and encourages us mightily with this formula:  “suffering produces endurance; and endurance produces character; and character produces hope — hope of sharing the glory of God.  Hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”  (This has special meaning to me, because during my years as a music administrator I coined the departmental motto “Suffering builds character” to exhort my students and faculty colleagues. They were never quite sure how to take this, but they quickly learned that it was encouraging rather than threatening.)

When he commissions the disciples to become apostles and carry the good news of the kingdom of heaven throughout Israel, Jesus also warns them of dangers ahead:  wolves posing as sheep, persecution, arrest, betrayal, torture.  Both opportunity and suffering lie ahead. Does this warning speak to us in the midst of plague, death, riots, rebellion, anger?  If so, we may find hope in the rest of Jesus’s commission:  expect hospitality, take the opportunity to testify to the authorities who arrest you, know that the Spirit will provide the right message when you speak; those who endure to the end will be saved.  (Check it out in Matthew 10.)

As I attempt to navigate these turbulent waters, I take great comfort in the assurance so visible in God’s creation.  New life and resurrection surround us: new growth of trees, flowers, and vegetables; bright young people celebrating milestones of graduation; beautiful spring weather; birds singing their hearts out as they celebrate new life.  Not to mention that sunset over Bogue Sound. God’s love is evident all around us. Yes, beyond the suffering there is hope.

In the words of the great hymn by Joachim Neander (Hymnal #665):

All my hope on God is founded, all my trust he shall renew;

he, my guide through changing order, only good and only true:

God unknown, he alone calls my heart to be his own.

https://youtu.be/W2oYTtyBSxk

May the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace through the power of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

The Rev. Dr. David Lynch

Jesus said, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Matthew 28:19

A few years ago one of our brilliant Sunday School teachers gave her class stacks of colored construction paper and some shapes to trace and a name of one of the apostles. They were to “make” one of Jesus’ disciples in class and have a little description for each. By the end of class, and after a brief detour discussion as to why there was no white paper available and what Palestinian Jews look like, there was a cast of disciples, who looked a little bit like South Park characters, lining the wall. The kids had made disciples.

“and teaching them everything I have commanded you.” Matthew 28:20a

If only making disciples were as easy as it was for those kids. How does one “make” a disciple according to Jesus’ commands? Goodness knows, Christians have been trying to “make” disciples for a very long time, whether the other person wanted to be a disciple or not.

I wonder if the way Jesus meant for his followers to create new disciples was for them to BE disciples first. In order to teach everything Jesus commanded, we must also be living what Jesus commanded.

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20b

I wonder, if living as a disciple is not so much about being perfect in discipleship, as perhaps the church has taught in the past, or forcing or coercing others to be disciples, also in our past, or even scaring people into discipleship… I wonder if living as a disciple is remembering that Jesus is with us no matter what. That Jesus loves every part of us and isn’t waiting to love us as soon as we get our act together and have proved our worth. 

Perhaps, living as a disciple, and sharing the love of God as disciples, is a relationship of love with Jesus. A disciple accepts that she needs the grace of Jesus, and she shares that grace with others. 

May you live that discipleship.

Remember some weeks ago when I asked for your forbearance as we tried to figure out how to do church online? I’m going to need to ask again, and I’m going to ask you to prepare your hearts.

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of all my sermons and blog posts being about issues and feelings around COVID-19. Yet, it is clear that we are going to be dealing with the changes wrought by the highly contagious coronavirus for a long time to come. As we learn more about how this virus is spread, we have learned that sitting, in large groups, for extended periods of time, breathing the same air – like we do for church – increases the risk of transmission. What does this mean for our life together as Church of the Nativity?

First, we have moved to pre-recording the Sunday and Wednesday services. The videos will still “premier” at the usual time so that we may gather and watch at the same time and “see” one another, but each person will record individually. The Vestry approved this option as it allows us to include more people in the worship, allows us to see the faces of all involved, and it is really the only way we can have a soloist sing during the liturgy.

We will start to practice regathering after July 1. Our online worship will continue, but we can try some new ways of gathering. Our gatherings inside and outside will be limited in number. We will all need to wear a mask. There are many, many details to figure out as we slowly move into this next step. It is an opportunity for us to try things and see how they work. Again, forbearance. There will be a small group of Vestry members and others working on this plan in the next few weeks. We hope to have a survey out to get feedback from all of you as to what you need in terms of worship, formation, and fellowship in the coming months.

Prepare your hearts for what it will feel like to see everyone wearing a mask in worship, including the celebrant and preacher. Prepare your hearts for communion to be distributed and received in new ways. Prepare your hearts for any singing to be pre-recorded and that we won’t be singing as a congregation for a very long time. Forbearance.

Join with me in looking ahead to when we can focus on new ways for evangelism as we increase our online presence. Join me in working on how we can meet the needs of those suffering from job loss, food insecurity, and eviction in the months to come. Join me in imagining how we continue our work in racial reconciliation through offering the Sacred Ground program online as we are reminded almost daily by new headlines how much we need to dismantle unjust and racist systems. God invites us deeper into “becoming beloved community,” during this time. May we grieve the things lost, but listen deeply to hear God’s call for what is next.

Prepare our hearts, oh God, and send us your Holy Spirit.

Jesus said, “I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.” John 14:14

Really, Jesus? Good, because I have a list.

Ah, if only it was that easy, right? And yet, it is still so important to share our hopes, our desires, our deepest longings with Jesus, even if we don’t see the answer we want when we want it.

I know I want church to be open again, but I know I also want all of you to be safe. I know I want clarity as to what is going to happen next, and yet, I also will wait for the guidance of our bishops and leaders of the Diocese and the National Church.

I would ask Jesus to take away our grief at all our loss during this time, and yet, taking away our grief takes away our deepest feelings, and perhaps the place where we might feel close to Jesus.

I do know that God (and Jesus and the Holy Spirit) exist outside time and space as we know and understand it. I am very clear that God is God, and that I am not. Perhaps my desire for clarity and certainty are simply ways to hold tight to the fallacy that any of what is going on is within my control, and that I can make it better.

What I can do is ask in the name of Jesus that we be a community of faithfulness. That we allow this time of being apart from one another to give us deeper clarity about our values and priorities, our service to others, and our abiding love, worship, and praise of God. I pray that as we find new ways to experience church those values of love, care, service, and compassion find new expression, and we offer hope and reconciliation to our world.

We will have direction and more clarity around the plan for reopening church soon. It will be different from the ways we gathered and worshipped before the pandemic, and we will likely continue to change and adapt as new circumstances arise. Whatever we do, whatever we ask for, we will be a worshipping community that will trust God to see us through this, and God will be praised.

In the midst of all the unsettling circumstances that disrupt our lives today, we desperately need reassurance. The lessons for this coming Sunday, traditionally known as “Good Shepherd Sunday,” offer tremendous comfort.

If we heard nothing else, Psalm 23 would do it.  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”  I believe nearly all of us have that one memorized — in the King James Version, of course.  When I was a hospital chaplain, I learned that Psalm 23 is the “Protestant Last Rites,” and prayed it with many families as their loved ones made the transition into eternal life. What elegant language! What beautiful images! What blessed assurance!

The Gospel, from John 10, is the beginning of the “Good Shepherd” discourse, which follows the healing of the man blind from birth. Asserting his authority to the audience of disciples and Pharisees, Jesus uses the familiar image of the shepherd and the sheep. Sheep are basically clueless and helpless, at the mercy of animal and human predators. In this section, Jesus is talking about the function of the gate, which keeps out bandits and thieves but opens to admit the caring shepherd. The sheep respond to the voice of the shepherd, who knows each of them by name. They don’t respond to other, unfamiliar, voices. The shepherd protects them from those who would do them harm.

When his listeners don’t get it, he focuses the metaphor. He says forthrightly, “I AM the gate.  Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will go out and find pasture. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

The next verse has the real clincher, “I AM the good shepherd.” We don’t get to hear that this year; it begins the Gospel for Easter 4 in Year B.  But we already know it’s there, and in our minds we do hear it.

So what is this gate image? Jesus is saying that he is the key to that abundant life. He invites us to come through that gate, that door, and to bask in the warmth of God’s love. It’s very much the same invitation that he offers in chapter 14, where he tells the disciples “I AM the way, the truth, and the life.” He is offering them, and us, the opportunity to enter that gate, to follow that way, and to graze in green pastures, drink from still waters, feast without worry of enemies or death, be anointed, rejoice as our cup overflows, to dwell in the house of the Lord forever. 

In this uncertain, worrisome Easter season, may we accept the invitation of the risen Christ.  Laying our worries upon him, may we enter that gate and trust the Good Shepherd to guide, protect, care for, and love us.  Alleluia! 

Here is a performance of one of the most beloved settings of Psalm 23, paraphrased to the tune “Brother James’ Air,” as sung by the Canterbury Cathedral boy choir:

https://youtu.be/Rsw1gix1CvA

Blessings and peace,

David+

Now on that same day two of Jesus’ disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. Luke 24:13

If you aren’t seeing the risen Lord in the midst of this, you are in good company.

What was going on in the disciples’ brains after the experience of the empty tomb? I know we can’t really create a psychological profile based on the scant evidence of the narrative of the Scripture, but I wonder how many of them were in a constant panic attack. How many were reacting by keeping things as “normal” as possible? Is it safe to assume that they all were experiencing trauma? Certainly, they were all experiencing both grief and fear.

If there was anxiety, if there was fear, if there was grief, then of course they didn’t recognize the risen Lord as they walked along the road to Emmaus. It is a wonder they remembered the way to their destination at all.

Our brains don’t work the same way in times of trauma as they do at other times. It is important to remember that right now if you feel consumed by anxiety around the coronavirus. There is so much uncertainty, so much unknown. How can we possible plan for the future when so much is unknown?

There are blessings to be found at this time of uncertainty, but if you can’t see them right now, that is okay. You are in good company.

If you aren’t seeing the risen Lord during our time of quarantine, despite the Easter season, you are in good company.

If you are having trouble recognizing familiar touchstones, familiar places, or even the simplest detail, you are in good company!

Remember, once they are sitting around the table, having invited this stranger to eat with them, their eyes are opened and they see Jesus, their friend, their companion, their savior. Perhaps we too, as we attend to the seemingly simple needs of our life, eating, resting, praying, that is when we too will see that the Lord Christ Jesus is indeed in the midst of us. He is in the midst of this pandemic. He sits with you, and he sits with me.

If you can’t see it right now, and need to take my word for it, don’t worry: you are in good company.

After the resurrection, the disciples were huddled together in a locked room. They were afraid to go out. They were afraid of being arrested. They didn’t understand what happened to Jesus. They couldn’t believe what Mary Magdalene had told them. They were sitting tight, with nothing to do except wonder what was going on. They had no idea if this was the “new normal” or what was going to happen next. There was no plan, no strategy, no image board for the new way forward.

Which is pretty incredible if you think about here we are, thousands of years later, celebrating the resurrection and truly feeling the experience of the empty tomb, and sharing some of the same feelings of the disciples, afraid for survival, afraid for what was coming next, afraid that what was normal is never coming back.

Jesus appears to them in the locked room, and things start to change, slowly. There are still those not ready to believe, like Thomas. But somehow, that fearful little group goes on to share the good news of the resurrection with the entire world.

There was no plan, there was simply the next right thing. Jesus appears, eats with them, leaves again. What do they do? The next right thing: tell their dearest friend Thomas who was not there.

Jesus appears to Thomas. What does Thomas do? The next right thing: a declaration of a renewed faith.

Step by step, the next right thing unfolds, until there is the story of the beginning of the church that we read in the book of Acts. Each encounter with Jesus leads to the next right thing, the next step to share the good news of God’s kingdom.

What happens next in the global pandemic? With all the talk about the so-called new normal, no one actually knows. We can certainly try to plan, but maybe right now in the first week of Easter we could take some time to sit with our feelings and simply ask God, what is MY next right thing?