Category: From the Clergy

Psalm 40 is one of my favorite psalms. And not just because the band U2 made a rock song out of it. (If you’ve ever been to a U2 concert and heard them play it, and heard the audience singing with it, it’s church. Watch the video below all the way to the end when the audience takes over the song. It’s church.)

I waited patiently upon the Lord;

            He stooped to me and heard my cry.

I’m not patient. Like the rest of the planet, I want what I want when I want it. And not just what I want personally in my own life. I have some very definitive ideas about how the world should work, how things should be, how we need to clean up the planet, take better care of each other, end all war and violence, get rid of library fines, just to name a few. I’m impatient for God’s kingdom and the promise of a place where swords are turned into plowshares, and lions and lambs lay down together. I’m impatient for the Lamb of God to take away all sins of the world and what that might look like.

I have a feeling I’m not alone in this. Psalm 40 affirms that God is listening, God comes to my level of understanding, and God hears me and my lament for myself and my planet.

He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay.

There is something about the image of mire and clay that reminds me of the image of creation: God creating the earth creature, out of the dirt, out of the clay, giving it breath, and calling it good. The image of the psalm, God lifting us out of the clay, is a birthing image. There are things about my own humanity that are great and indeed good, and there are just as many that aren’t so great, that aren’t so good. The psalm reminds me that God lifts me out of that into my true created self that can be free to be fully human, and fully loved by God.

He set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure.

What do we do when the footing is not sure? When the path is unclear? When we can’t take the long view and see the road ahead? I am comforted by this promise of God moving us from the lowest of low – the pit – to  up high on a cliff where the vista ahead is clear. Cliffs can be dangerous places, so for us to feel our footing is sure on that high cliff, that is faith and confidence in God.

He put a new song in my mouth,

a song of praise to our God;

many shall see, and stand in awe,

and put their trust in the Lord.

That’s just the first three verses. Go read the rest. We’ll pray the entire psalm on Sunday in church. Take some time to sit with it this week. Or, another psalm that speaks to your soul right now. What does your soul need? Praise? Lament? Comfort? Chances are, there’s a psalm for that.

*At a concert in Chicago on April 29, 1987, Bono said: “This is a song that when we were being thrown out of the studio… we spent ten minutes writing this next song, ten minutes recording it, ten minutes mixing it, ten minutes playing it back, and that’s nothing to do with why it’s called ’40.'”

I don’t know about you, but I could use some light of the Epiphany season right now. Things are pretty scary in the news these days – the violent anti-Semitism, the wildfires raging in Australia, the uncertainty of what’s next with Iran and Iraq. I especially wouldn’t mind a nice theophany – a  clear and direct message from God, much like the one Jesus and John hear at Jesus’ baptism, “This is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” (Matthew 3:17).

A clear and direct word from God to give light in the darkness of our world would be welcome right now. Suzanne Guthrie in this week’s Edge of Enclosure notes, “Epiphany begins and ends with theophany: the heavens opening and the voice of God over the waters of Jordan and upon the mount of Transfiguration, like supernatural parentheses around the very grounded Galilean ministry.”

Which makes me wonder, what are the supernatural parentheses we might be living in right now? Do you feel like you are in the middle of something about to begin? What might God have said to you at the beginning, and what do you imagine will be his word again when you reach the end?

Perhaps being in the middle of spiritual parentheses is finding meaning during the space of transition. Before we receive the light, or understand what the epiphany of our lives might be, we try to make some sense of things as they are now. I know that reading the news moves me to pray for peace, moves me to use my resources to help where I can, and moves me to be a person of peace in all areas of my life. Perhaps my spiritual parentheses right now is discovering how I might be more of a peacemaker in the name of Jesus, the prince of peace, the one who stands at the shore to be baptized by my side, alongside the pain, the fear, the joy of being a human in this world.

What do you remember about last year? Or, since this is 2020, what do you remember about the past decade? Do you take your yearly learning and use it for New Year’s resolutions? Or do you write your resolutions and hope for the best?

Every year around Epiphany, pretty much without fail, I get a song stuck in my head. It is a piece from Mendelssohn’s unfinished oratorio Christus, “There Shall a Star from Jacob.” I think the University Choir that I sang with in college must have sung it. I might have learned it there. But I can’t remember. Or maybe I heard it several years sung by the choir at St. Bart’s in New York City while I was a member there. Or maybe it was both. I can’t remember.

However and whenever I heard it, there is something about the piece that has imprinted itself on my soul. My Feast of the Epiphany is not complete without at least one YouTube listen.

There shall a star from Jacob come forth, and a sceptre from Israel rise up,
and dash in pieces princes and nations.
As bright the star of morning gleams,
so Jesus sheddeth glorious beams of light and consolation!
Thy Word, O Lord,
radiance darting,
truth imparting,
gives salvation;
Thine be praise and adoration!

I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions. I’ve never had much luck keeping them. I’ve never had much luck on reflecting and sharing what I’ve learned from the previous year. Mostly, the turning of the calendar for me is a prayer to God, “Don’t let me mess it up too much this time around.” A plea for the continued grace and mercy from a savior who is both radiance darting and truth imparting far beyond anything I could ever ask or imagine.

Maybe, maybe, self-reflection and self-optimization is not the point to this existence of mine, and instead of believing every thought that comes along, that being opened by the spirit of God in unexplainable ways, through a song, music, poetry, movies, visual art, sculpture, whatever moves you through your memories and into the present moment is where God is found, and that is enough.

Maybe it is enough to remember that the light that guided the Magi is there to guide me as well, and that just as they made a major course correction after they met the savior, this road I’m on following Jesus is going to go in unexpected directions that I haven’t mapped yet. May we all find that light in the new year.

Saturday, December 21, will mark the winter solstice. Either the longest night of the year, or the shortest day, depending upon your perspective. We can bemoan the fact that it is dark at 5:30pm right now in Raleigh, or we remember that the longest night means that on December 22, we move in the other direction. Minute by minute, the sun remains in our sky. Both perspectives are true, and both can be comforting in their own way.

Darkness and waiting for the light are frequent themes and images in the prayers and Scripture readings of Advent. The Advent blessing from the Book of Occasional Services is: “May the Sun of Righteousness shine upon you and scatter the darkness before your path…” I love the idea of Jesus coming to scatter the darkness in front of me. It sounds so clear, so easy. No more darkness in my path means direction, purpose, meaning, clarity.

I long for clarity, but it seems like I spend most of my time in the dark. Maybe this is why I love Advent. I may find clarity comforting, but my experience of life tells me that clarity is actually pretty rare. Usually, I am stumbling around in the dark, feeling my way through, stubbing my toe painfully from time to time, until I reach a moment of light.

Maybe what is called for is making friends with the dark? Maybe Advent isn’t just waiting patiently and enduring the darkness, but welcoming darkness, uncertainty, and even doubt? If the dark and I can be friends, maybe in the darkness God is creating something new in me, waiting to be birthed, waiting for the right moment, waiting for God’s time.

This Sunday, we hear the story of the Nativity from Joseph’s perspective. Joseph is a righteous man, planning to quietly break things off with Mary when he learns she is pregnant, but then receives a visit from an angel in a dream. The angel gives Joseph instructions, but not a lot of clarity. The angel explains that the child is going to be named Jesus and is to be the savior of his people, but no further information as to the whys or the hows that is to be. Joseph receives his instruction in the dark, and remains in the dark about his son’s future. In fact, Joseph’s next set of instructions come once again, in the dark, by a dream, when the angel tells him of Herod’s plan to kill Jesus, and urges Joseph to take his family to Egypt where they will be safe. There is no return date on the ticket, so Joseph receives, once again, another dream, in the darkness, when it is safe to return to Nazareth.

All this is to say, if you feel like you are stumbling along in the dark right now, searching for clarity or purpose, you are in good company. May you make friends with the darkness this Advent. May it be a time of quiet rebirth for your soul and for the next right thing God is asking of you.

This Sunday is the third Sunday of Advent. Over half of Advent is over, and we are quickly coming upon Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

What were your hopes and dreams for this Advent season? Was there a practice you wanted to try? Did you stick with the tried and true of the lighting of the Advent wreath, or opening the windows of an Advent calendar?

I confess to you that with the multiple funeral services in the past two weeks, my Advent practices have fallen to the wayside. Truthfully, they never even started. My poor children never got an Advent calendar. Our Advent wreath is still packed away with the Christmas decorations. My dining room table still has my very limited Thanksgiving decor on it.

Some of you reading this are horrified on my behalf, I’m sure. Maybe not so much about the Advent things, but certainly over the idea that we don’t have a single Christmas light hung, or the tree up, or decorations at least unpacked! Perhaps there are others of you reading this sighing in relief and solidarity. Or perhaps you’re only half-way there: some good intentions for Advent that fell along the wayside, the Christmas decorations almost but not quite complete, more things left undone than done.

“Fear not!” says the angel. In the words of the ’80’s poets from New Jersey, we are “halfway there, whoa-oh, livin’ on a prayer.”

What I will remember from this Advent season is not how unsuccessful my Advent practices were, or the limited time I had to enjoy my holiday decorations. I will remember this Advent season as a time when I was sad, and it was okay to be sad because I was not alone. I will remember this Advent as a time when we as a church community deepened our connections with one another as we were sad together. I will cherish it as a time when I saw the community reach out to one another, and when asked, the community showed up, with prayer, with music, with casseroles and brownies, with joy and sadness held tightly together.

The remainder of this Advent, may you feel the prayers of our community around you. If you are feeling disconnected from community, I encourage you and welcome you to recommit, reach out, and re-engage once again. May you continue to pray for your fellow Nativity members, and may you rest in the knowledge that they are praying for you. Keep living in those prayers.

The song on my car radio proclaims, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year!” In my experience, it is not. Yes, the holidays and days leading up to Christmas can be fun – there are many events, programs, gifts, and parties to attend. It is also a stressful time to figure out how to plan for all the events, programs, parties, gifts, etc. This season of Advent is also a time when we particularly miss those who are no longer in this world with us; when we long to see those friends and families who are dear, but we see no longer.

If you are feeling a little blue this Advent, you are not alone. The following is a section of the homily I preached for Derek Bodford’s burial service. A number of folks have asked for a copy of it, so maybe you will find it helpful as well. Perhaps this Advent you need to invite grief in for a little while before we move to the joy of Christmas.

In her book, Big Magic, which is about the creative process and writing in particular, Elizabeth Gilbert talks about coming to terms with her fear that emerges when she writes. She writes about how over the years she has learned that pretending fear isn’t there when she sits down to put words on the page doesn’t work. So now she has a little conversation with fear before she starts to write. She tells fear very plainly that fear is welcome to sit in the back seat and come along but is not allowed to drive. And in no circumstances is fear allowed to play with the radio. But yet fear is allowed to be present, isn’t pushed away, and isn’t ignored.

I think that something similar can be said about grief, especially grief that is sudden and unexpected. Much as we are loath to do it, at times like this we might consider inviting grief in. It might be too much to ask to welcome grief, but at least consider opening the door, welcoming grief to sit down for a while, allowing her to be present.

See, grief is going to show up whether we invite her in or not. And if we don’t open the door, grief will find a way to slowly slither up through the gap between the door and floor, to snake her way through the drafty cracks in the windowsill, hide behind the knickknacks, and while your back is turned, grief will take over the room, and bring her friends, shame and regret, along for the ride.

But I believe that when we open the door to grief, right behind is our friend Jesus, who doesn’t just tag along, but enters fully in his own right, bringing with him his comfort, his freedom, and his peace.

Grief is going to rearrange the furniture, whether you invite her in or not. But while the room is being reimagined, Jesus is there too, to remind regret and shame that they can move an ottoman or a figurine, but then they need to go.

Anger might show up too, hiding in the corner, sometimes pretending to be something else. So we can let anger come in as well and we can let anger kick some things around a bit because Jesus isn’t going to let anger burn the house down, so we need not be afraid of anger.

Jesus helps us to look at the room after grief is finished and says, okay, it’s not what we wanted, but we can work with this. Grief is going to rearrange the furniture, but before she gets too Joanna Gaines on us, Jesus stations comfort, freedom, and peace around the room, before she can start knocking down walls and putting up unnecessary clocks everywhere. The comfort, freedom, and peace of Jesus allows grief to do her work, and then to fade a bit.

Grief doesn’t ever leave completely, but eventually, with Jesus’ help, we can allow grief to be tucked away, rather like that old crystal vase that belonged to your grandmother – a little heavy, a little clunky, but yet, necessary to pull out from time to time, not too long, but to fill with beautiful flowers on occasion, to remind us that grief leads to new life, a new way of being. The burial preface in the Prayer Book says, “for to your faithful people, O Lord, life is changed, not ended…”

This Advent, may you feel the comfort, freedom, and peace of Jesus.

Friends, I am writing this as we prepare as a community for several important events. Many are spending time with friends and family, enjoying a satisfying meal, and giving thanks for the many blessings of this life.

Beginning on Saturday, we will start the process of saying good-bye to three members of this parish who have enriched and enlivened our community in different ways. There are not enough words to say thank you to all of you who have stepped up to help with the preparation of these liturgies, the care of the families involved, and the offerings of food, labor, and time given. It is a remarkable testimony of the strength of this community to see people coming together and offering their support to the families at such a sad time.

In the midst of all this, the season of Advent begins on December 1, and so I would ask you to stop and take some time to reflect upon your expectation of Advent this year.

Let us not rush on in to the joy of Christmas. These past few weeks have reminded me that first we must walk through our grief, our anger, our sadness at the way the world is, in order to feel hope and expectant joy for the kingdom that we hope is to come.

In other words, this Advent, take some time to ask yourself: what matters most to you right now, and does your life reflect that?

It is estimated that an adult makes an average of 35,000 somewhat conscious decisions a day. That is a lot of choices. That is a whole lot of energy. Choices can be liberating, or choices can be overwhelming.

Being a disciple of Jesus means you have the choice to live your life asking what matters most, and making choices so your life reflects the hope and promise of the love of God. What matters most is the life we have been given, the new life that is promised to us through resurrection, and the relationships and community we cultivate to share Jesus’ love with others.

Advent allows us to experience the gap between the world as it is, and the promise of the new life of God’s kingdom to come. It is a promise of a world with no more pain, no more sorrows, where swords are beaten into ploughs, and the world is at peace.

What matters most?

Stephanie Sumner
A lifelong North Carolinian, twenty-five year resident of Raleigh and seven-year member of Nativity, Stephanie is looking forward to joining the Vestry and serving this wonderful congregation. In her professional life, she leads sales and marketing for advertising agencies. Currently she is part of the leadership team at VisionPoint Marketing, an agency dedicated to higher education, working with universities and colleges across the country. In her personal life, her world revolves around her husband Neal, 15-year-old daughter Berkeley and 19-year-old son Keaton. She has been a Sunday School teacher for the past several years and enjoys giving our younger members a safe and welcoming place to be themselves and explore their faith.

John Oldham
The Oldham family moved from NYC to join Nativity in 1999. Church of the Nativity answered their quest for an open and welcoming faith community with a strong youth program. His daughters Sarah, Kate, and Jane all went through the youth programs, served as acolytes, and were confirmed here. They are now launched, employed and living in NYC (Sarah), Raleigh (Kate) and Durham (Jane). John has taught Sunday School and participated in Habitat for Humanity builds and Buildings and Grounds work days. He currently serves as chair of the Finance team. John and his wife Sue enjoy traveling, hiking and bike riding, cooking and exploring all that our area has to offer. He looks forward to joining the Vestry and applying his business and volunteer experience toward the goals of this dynamic church community.

Josh Booth
Josh grew up on a farm in the foothills of NC, and moved to NYC to study creative writing at Columbia University. After years on the road, he discovered that Grace beats Karma, and came back home to start a family. He now raises two miraculous daughters and writes poetry about God.

Kim Stoke
Kim is originally from NJ and has been in Raleigh for a few years.  She was confirmed in the Episcopal church and previously served on the Vestry of All Saints Episcopal Church in Hoboken NJ. She is a single mother of two daughters Fay, age 13 and Claire, age 10.   When Kim is not working , she enjoys watching tv and movies, baking, and spending time with friends and family.

This coming Sunday we will celebrate the Feast of All Saints. In the history of the church, this has been a three-day celebration, beginning with All Hallows Eve, now Halloween, on October 31, All Saints Day on November 1, and then All Souls Day on November 2. Lately in the church, we have collapsed the three somewhat, remembering during our worship on Sunday morning (All Souls) all those who have died and celebrating new life that joins us to the Saints through the celebration of Baptisms (All Saints).

Halloween has become a cultural celebration, not just for children, of costumes and sweet treats, and fun. All Hallows Eve traditionally was a time to remember our ancestors and to chase away any hovering evil spirits. Halloween now seems to be a time for us adults to pretend to be something other than who we are, just for one night. We can indulge in treats that we would ordinarily deny ourselves and let loose from our normal day-to-day. In choosing a costume, we can pretend to be more than what we usually allow ourselves – a little more scary, a little more bold, a little more sexy.

I wonder what would happen if we brought that longing to church. How does God free us so that we feel worthy of the indulgence of treats beyond one night? How might we carry the generosity of sharing something sweet with the next person who knocks on our door? How else could we share the hospitality of a party or gathering and bring our true selves, not just the ones with the acceptable masks we share with the world? Can we trust our community to see us, warts and all?

The thing is, God sees us. God sees our hidden longings; God sees our desires, our deepest wishes, our ugliest thoughts. And God loves us through them all. With God’s help, may we carry the spirit of All Hallows Eve, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day with us beyond those three nights. May we remember those who came before us, may we remember the saints who show us how to be brave disciples, and may we be a little bolder in our faith, less afraid to share God’s love, and more emboldened in our generosity.

Speaking of generosity, our 2020 pledge campaign, Made for Mission, Created for Connection has begun. Thus far, we have received approximately $23,000 in pledges. Visit our Giving page to make your pledge today. We thank you for you generosity, and hope your Halloween and All Saints celebrations include lots of sweet treats!

(tl;dr: Nativity is doing a lot of cool stuff inside the church and in our community. We’d like to keep doing it. Plus, pledging your financial support is an important spiritual practice. And yes, Episcopalians tithe. Make your pledge here.)

Our annual stewardship campaign to raise money for our mission and ministries in 2020 begins on Sunday. I believe two of Nativity’s greatest strengths are its commitment to mission outside the church doors and the deep connections fostered within the worshiping community.

Made for Mission

A Heart for Service

Whether it is wielding a hammer for Habitat for Humanity, wearing a hair-net while packing food for Rise Against Hunger, bringing donations the first Sunday of the month for Leesville Backpack Buddies program, our youth participating in mission and outreach on trips, children and families participating in outreach projects, or fiber artists in Chatty Yarns making hats, mittens, and gloves for those in need, helping others is not a extra-curricular program for Nativity – it is a way of life.

Mission Partnerships

Nativity actively seeks partnership and collaboration with other organizations in our community to make the world a better place. We are proud of our mission partnerships with our community including Habitat for Humanity, the Kinder Garden outdoor pre-school, the North Carolina Chamber Music Institute, Leesville Elementary Backpack Buddies program, and Windsor Springs Retirement home.

Leading the Church

Nativity is known throughout the wider Episcopal Church and other denominations for our commitment to creation care and environmental stewardship. We witness through zerowastechurch.org, invitations to speak at other churches, and our leadership in the Diocese of North Carolina. Through our annual diocesan contribution, Nativity contributes to the larger life of the Diocese, helping to fund staffing and programs and assisting other congregations. We mentor numerous interns and have been invited to help with an exciting new venture to train new clergy.

Created for Connection

Replenishing Our Souls

In order for us to set our mission outward, we return to the worshiping community to refresh our souls. Through lively worship on Sunday mornings, weekly spiritual formation for all ages, and active support of each other during times of crisis, Nativity provides a space for members to replenish ourselves so that we may do the work we have been called to do.

Strong Financial Foundation

Over the past few years, our financial foundation and our care for our physical plant has grown stronger and stronger. The addition of solar panels, replacement of aging HVAC systems, and a significant payment of over $125,000 to decrease our mortgage when we re-financed are vital signs of financial prudence and care. With this strong foundation, we are able to turn our attention and resources towards creative program and mission opportunities.

Beyond Our Comfort Zone

As we care for one another, we can can create space for challenging conversations. Presiding Bishop Curry and our own Bishop Sam Rodman have issued a challenge for congregations to work actively in “Becoming Beloved Community.” This means having hard conversations to challenge our ideas about race in our country and in our communities. It forces us to reckon with  ideas about power and our impact on marginalized communities. These conversations offer us space to consider “why” outreach and mission are so important to our community. Sacred Ground, a film and reading series about the history of race in the United States and the Episcopal Church, currently has 30 people from Nativity participating in deep and meaningful conversations.

I firmly believe a healthy worshiping community needs both mission and connection. I hope you will join me in your financial support for the coming year. I pray that you reach for connections within our church and are inspired to share God’s love with others outside the church doors.

Over the next few weeks, we will be sharing more about the church’s budget – our income and where the money is spent. We will talk about the large scope of our people resources – members of Nativity given an incredible amount of their time to the church and in service to others. We will talk about tithing, and we will talk about how giving is a spiritual practice. On November 10, we will have some glorious music during worship as we offer those pledges to God in thanksgiving.

To make your pledge online, click here.