A Joyous and Blessed Christmastide

It's been a tough six months since our dear Vicar left, but on reflection, I think we have coped pretty well.

I won't say it's been easy, being a Christian isn't, but a faithful and loyal church family have made it possible. Thanks to some wonderful supply priests (friends old and new), not one Sunday Eucharist has been missed. We have continued with Bible Study, expanded Daily Office and breakfast fellowship (now six days per week), had a baptism, a funeral and a wedding, have a fully staffed nursery and will shortly be starting Catechesis to prepare candidates for baptism, confirmation, reaffirmation and acceptance at Eastertide. For a small church with no clergy, that's no small achievement and a tribute to the lay members involved.

What am I thinking? That St. Joseph's continued presence is entirely in our hands? Wake up Mick! We all know that the Holy Spirit is guiding the little church with the big red doors, and giving us a helping hand - don't we!!

As our search for a new vicar continues, we realise that God already knows who He is sending to shepherd His flock in Old West Durham. We just have to be patient and put our trust in Him

A Joyous and Blessed Christmastide to all.

Mick

Verger

Christ The King

The following is the sermon preached by Joel Marcus at St. Joseph's on the last Sunday of Pentecost, November 21, 2010.

Colossians 1:11-20

Luke 23:33-43

CHRIST THE KING

Our collect for the day praises God “whose will is to restore all things in [his] well-beloved Son, the king of kings and lord of lords.” This collect is related to the Epistle reading from Colossians, which describes Christ as the one through whom all things were created, who has reconciled all things to God through the blood of his cross, and who presently holds all things together. It is a grand, cosmic vision, in which Christ already reigns over everything. This is, after all, the last Sunday before Advent, the day on which we celebrate Christ the King. The language about all things subsisting, or holding together, in Christ, is particularly striking.

The only question is whether or not this grand, over-the-top language actually corresponds to reality. Let me make a confession, brothers and sisters: sometimes it doesn’t seem to me that everything is holding together. This may be an idiosyncratic view on my part—but sometimes it seems to me, on the contrary, that everything is falling apart.

We human beings seem to have a remarkable talent for screwing things up. I know some people don’t like to hear about politics in church, but I don’t get to preach very often, so bear with me. Because, hard as it is to believe, our government seems poised on the verge of going into an even more advanced state paralysis than has prevailed before. The opposition party has pledged itself to make its number one goal for the next two years not to allow the executive branch to accomplish anything of substance. This at a time when we are confronted by numerous crises in the foreign sphere, in our eroding economic position, and in the climatic Sword of Damocles that hangs over our heads.

The situation reminds me of a story I heard on NPR yesterday about the greatest naval disaster in American history before Pearl Harbor. It happened during the third year of the Revolutionary War, when our Senior Warden’s ancestors sent three small ships with 700 soldiers try to establish a foothold on the shore of Penobscot Bay in what is now Maine. The colonials responded by sending a huge fleet of 42 ships to dislodge the evil British from their position on the bluffs overlooking the sea, where they were starting to build a fort. The colonials were initially successful; after hard fighting, they gained the high ground and could easily have overrun the British fort, whose soldiers were vastly outnumbered. But then the commander of the American army insisted, "I won’t attack the fort until the three British ships are destroyed." And the commander of the American fleet responded, "I won’t attack the ships until you attack the fort." And each of these generals refused to budge until the other made the first move. And so they stopped speaking to each other and did nothing.

Meanwhile the British were building up the fort and sending a small fleet to relieve their ships. The Americans eventually panicked and were not even able to organize an orderly retreat. The British ended up burning the entire American fleet; only one ship out of the 42 escaped. The man in charge of the American artillery, by the way, whose name was Paul Revere, was later courtmartialed on charges of cowardice and incompetence, and his name would have been mud in our collective memory, had not Henry Wadsworth Longfellow salvaged his reputation with a famous and largely fictional poem eighty years later. In any case, the story of the Penobscot disaster strikes me as a parable for where we seem to be heading today—stupidity, stubborrness, and paralysis, leading to disaster. Things fall apart; the center cannot seem to hold.

On a smaller scale, here at St. Joseph’s, things also seem sometimes to be falling apart. We have been vicarless for six months, during which time a major crisis has hit us in the action taken by the city against our homeless neighbors. We on the vestry and other concerned parishioners, especially our tireless Senior Warden and future Verger, have tried to hold things together, but it ain’t always easy. And, in the personal sphere—well, I bet you can fill in the blanks from your own life there. It may suffice to recall one of the most famous opening sentences in all of literature, the beginning of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”--to recall this sentence and to ask yourself which group you identify with. And if the answer is the first group, please do not let the rest of us hear from you!

So what do we make of Paul’s claim that God has reconciled all things to himself? Is this just a pipe dream, the sort of charming vacation from reality that preachers seem to enjoy indulging in?

I’m seriously afraid now that this may turn out to be one of those sermons in which the questions posed are better than the answers proferred. But let me give it a shot anyway. Because, in spite of everything, Paul’s words do ring true. God has enabled us to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his Son, through whom we have forgiveness of our sins.

Notice that Paul does not say that God has transferred us into a kingdom in which we don’t sin anymore. He says, rather, that He has transferred us into a place where we receive the forgiveness of our sins. This means that we don’t have to be sinless to walk in the light of the kingdom. Good thing, too. All we have to do is acknowledge our sinfulness, our incompleteness, our lack of togetherness, both in our corporate and in our personal life. We are not “together,” to use a sixties cliché; we are not whole; we are not happy. But if we can admit our lack of “togetherness,” then perhaps we are on the road to recovery—as was the one criminal who was crucified with Jesus, who acknowledged that he had been justly judged, but asked Jesus nevertheless to remember him when he came into his kingdom.

For the sense of life spinning out of control is not the only thing we have experienced in our lives. We also know what it’s like for someone to turn to us with a bright and joyous look that we didn’t think we deserved or could expect, and at those moments, we may have felt that we were just about to enter Paradise. As one of the characters in Toni Morrison’s great novel Beloved says about his woman, “She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather me and give them back to me in all the right order.” We have experienced that, too. We have known the wholeness that suddenly floods over us and into us when we come into the presence of someone who is unfeignedly grateful for our existence, who thinks we’re the cat’s meow, that we’re “the top,” as in that great old Cole Porter song:

You're the top!

You're Mahatma Gandhi.
You're the top!
You're Napoleon Brandy.
You're the purple light
Of a summer night in Spain,
You're the National Gallery
You're Garbo's salary,
You're cellophane.

Well, I’m not sure what cellophane is doing in that list, but you get the general idea.

And we have experienced this sort of grace corporately, too, as we struggle on in our quest for a vicar and to discern God’s will for this little church as it battles through the dilemmas of daily life here in Durham. We are still together, the church is still here, six months after our vicar left—in fact, it even seems to be growing. Wonderful, self-sacrificial people have stepped into the breach—people like our Senior Warden, and our beloved brother Nils, who probably didn’t know what he was getting into when he crossed the ocean blue to take the job as Episcopal chaplain at Duke. We on the vestry have learned to put up with each others’ absurdity and stubbornness and volatility, to forgive as we have been forgiven, to just keep putting one foot in front of another until we reach our destination, whatever that may be. And from time to time we have been amazed by the word of wisdom, or of encouragement, or the sudden flash of humor, that comes from one of the unlikely candidates for sainthood seated around the table. And so as we plod along in this way, we realize from time to time that we are not plodding alone. We find ourselves, in other words, in the situation of those disciples on the road to Emmaus who were suddenly joined by an unknown stranger who asked them, “What are you talking about as you walk along and seem so sad?”

Yes, sometimes you reach the point where you realize that it’s time to stop talking about what is making you so sad, and to turn with surprise to the one who has suddenly popped up in your midst, who asks the searching and compassionate question that penetrates to the bottom of your situation, the question that elicits the answer that starts to accomplish what all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could not do for all us sad little Humpty Dumpties—to take the bombed-out, shattered bits of our lives and start to put them back in all the right order. That miracle is what this place is for, what this table is for, for here we meet and experience and actually consume the one in whom the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, who reconciled all things to himself through the blood of his cross. That blood, and his shattered body, will soon become our food and drink, and the means for bringing us together with each other and with him and with the God who rules over all forever. Amen.

For the love of God - week 2

More work on the Community Garden:

For the love of God

With a work party scheduled for shaping our new community garden, I was praying that we would see a few extra faces at breakfast this morning. Imagine our surprise when Gail and I arrived to prepare for Morning Prayer. Five of our homeless community, three of whom were new arrivals, were already patiently waiting for breakfast.

Following our 4-week trial period the decision was made to continue with Saturday MP and breakfast even though prayer attendance averaged four, the breakfast averaged eight. This morning twelve attended morning prayer and I lost count of those attending breakfast – it seemed as if Gail would never finish cooking eggs!

With several members staying on to work on the garden project, the fellowship was, as usual, fulfilling. Indeed, the Holy Spirit was among us as our small, but hard working crew set to work with excitement and enthusiasm.

Our community, both inside and outside of our buildings, share a relationship of hard work, love and respect. It is so obvious that our combined love of God is shared every day.

Mick

Community garden

This weekend our community garden began to take shape in our backyard. The vegetable garden is joined by four 6' x 10' flower gardens that await four "church gardeners" to plant and oversee them. Within the next two weeks gravel for pathways, soil and mulch for the gardens will be delivered.

Everyone interested in assisting with spreading of gravel and soil, as well as those who would like to make the gardens sprout, please speak to Mimi or Gail regarding specifics of the schedule.

We would be grateful for donated plants, and are looking for some funding for rain barrels.

Mimi

Embodying Scripture through Movement

Following a summer break, our weekly Bible Study recommences on Tuesday, September 14. We will meet, as usual, in the Parish Hall at 7:00 p.m.

Our dear friend Tony Johnson has designed this course entitled

"Embodying Scripture through Movement"

The program schedule is as follows:

Introduction:

Journey through the Book of Mark

Music: Saint Matthews Passion Tears from Heaven

Week One: Mark Chapter 13 verses 1-33

Week Two: Mark Chapter 14 verses 12-31,verses 43-73

Week Three: Mark Chapter 15 verses 1-15

Week Four: Mark: 15 verses: 21-40

Reflection and discussion

How do you identify with the Passion story and what role you play within the story?

What ways does this story speak to you today.

Journey Through the Book of Acts

Week Five: Acts: Chapter 4 verses: 1-36

Week Six: Acts: Chapter 6 verses: 1-9; Acts: Chapter 9 verses: 1-19

Reflection and Discussion

How do you identify with these readings and what role you play in the readings.

How does these readings reflect on your community?

Whose own the journey with you in your community and what gifts they bring?

What do we believe and experiences through the gospels?

How has these readings scripture transform your live and your call to serve?

_____________________________________________________

I'm sure that this will be an enlightening, moving, educational and knowing Tony, an entertaining course. Please do join us.

Mick

“The Lord is my Shepherd…”

This line of Psalm 23 has kept popping into my head this summer. The psalm is one of my favorites, as it is of many people; what Christian wouldn’t find comfort in the beautiful scene evoked by green pastures and still waters of the first few verses?

This psalm is also a popular one for funerals, and it is this association that I find striking as the opening line “The Lord is my Shepherd” has crept into my mind over the last few months. No, I have not been to any funerals (knock on wood), but I have found myself in mourning over the loss of St. Joseph’s priest. Weeks of supply priests, graciously fulfilling their sacramental duty and privilege, have only exposed all the more the deep emptiness that has pervaded my soul in the absence of our vicar. Don’t get me wrong, St. Joseph’s is a wonderful church body made up of committed people; I would not want to wander through “the valley of the shadow of” loss together with any other group of lay persons (as well as our beloved deacon). But the struggle to continue “finding our way together” without a priest has been like being “sheep without a shepherd”—at least, this is how I have felt, and others may share these weighty sentiments.

So when the words “The Lord is my Shepherd” resound within me, I cannot help but trust it to be the voice of the Spirit, lovingly inviting me to remember and trust that God has not abandoned us. God has continued to lead us, carry us, and provide for us, and God has given and will give healing comfort to us through God’s own presence among us. Whatever has happened and may happen, we truly are not without a Shepherd in our Savior Jesus Christ.

“The Lord is our Shepherd, we lack nothing.

The Lord makes us lie down in green pastures, the Lord leads us beside quiet waters, the Lord refreshes our soul.

The Lord guides us along the right paths for the Lord’s namesake.

Even though we walk through the darkest valley, we will fear no evil,

for You are with us; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort us.

You prepare a table before us in the presence of our enemies.

You anoint our head with oil; our cup overflows.

Surely Your goodness and love will follow us all the days of our life,

and we will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Alleluia.

-jb

Another busy breakfast

Morning Prayer reverted to the original time of 8 a.m. today. This was welcomed by most, not least by those who are not early morning people and had found the 7:30 a.m. start a tad too early.

During the experimental earlier start, numbers had dropped, but so had numbers attending breakfast, even more so, in fact.

Imagine my delight when, this morning, I found myself busy in the kitchen cooking eggs, making toast for nine, and for the first time in six or seven weeks running out of, rather than throwing out, coffee. My spirits were lifted on seeing lively discussions around and about the breakfast table on a wide range of topics. It was great to see "M" back following an absence, looking well and instructing me how to cook the eggs. "C" had a headache(?), but still managed to be his incorrigible self, "Big S" was planning to remove his weather-beaten tent and replace it with another, new model, in the same spot. “Mick,” he shouts, “I need to borrow your car. I’m moving today and have some furniture to shift”.

Following these past weeks, when on some mornings we had none of the guys in for breakfast, I was struggling with the feeling of “what are we doing wrong?” What I realize now is that in switching the Morning Prayer time and the consequential earlier start for breakfast, we did not take in the feelings of all our community.

St. Joe’s is a community for those both inside and outside the buildings. Would we have told our family at home that “breakfast is now at 8, not 7:30?” Of course not. We would have asked them what they felt about the change. Lesson learned. Thank you guys, you contribute to my life more that I sometimes admit.

Mick

A New Chapter

An eventful morning at church today.

Our wonderful Vicar's last Sunday with us. There were, of course, a few tears, but mostly we treated this as a celebration of her three and half years with us.

She has been a tremendous influence on many people's lives, certainly on mine, and I wish her well.

A new chapter opens for her, a new chapter starts for us. Bless you dear Rhonda.

Mick

The following is the sermon preached by Sarah Decker at St. Joseph's on the third Sunday of Easter, 18 April 2010. The text is John 21:1-19.

The Gospel according to John records three different days during which the resurrected Christ appears to his followers. On the first day, Jesus appears initially to Mary Magdalene and then later in the evening to his disciples, minus Thomas. A week later he appears to his disciples, including Thomas. Today’s gospel lesson describes Jesus’ third and final resurrection appearance in the fourth gospel.

The scene is the Sea of Tiberias, where Peter, John, and five other disciples went out at night into a boat hoping to catch some fish, but caught nothing. Just as the sun comes up Jesus (not recognized by the disciples at this point) calls to them from the shore, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” After they answer, “No,” Jesus instructs them to cast their net on the right side of the boat, saying that they will find fish there. Obeying the strange fishing advisor, the disciples cast their net on the right side of the boat and are overwhelmed by a net bulging, but not breaking, with 153 large fish. Perhaps after thinking something like, “Wait a minute… ,” John says to Peter, “It is the Lord!” Peter, who was naked, throws on some clothes, jumps into the sea, and starts swimming to Jesus while the other disciples drag the net of full of fish to land. On the beach the disciples find Jesus preparing breakfast, and after Peter contributes some of their fresh miracle fish, they all eat together around a charcoal fire. And none of them ask Jesus, “Who are you?,” because they know it is him. When they are finished with breakfast, Jesus addresses Peter. He asks him three times, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Three times Peter answers ‘yes,’ and three times Jesus follows Peter’s response with an injunction to feed or tend his sheep.

In this conversation with Peter, Jesus tells us how we ought to love him: by tenderly caring for our neighbor. Jesus reminds Peter of the new commandment he gave earlier in the gospel, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (13:34) and repeated a chapter later with the added declaration, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (15:13) Indeed, Jesus, who calls himself the Good Shepherd who lays his life down for the sheep, tells Peter in our gospel lesson that the love he thrice declares will lead to his death. Jesus says to Peter, “Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” And John comments that Jesus “said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.” The expression, “stretch our your hands” likely refers to Peter’s crucifixion, and the language of being led unwillingly with a belt evokes the image of a lamb being led to the slaughter. Therefore, just as Jesus is not only called the Shepherd, but is also proclaimed by the Baptist to be, “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” so too Peter is charged to imitate the love of Christ by caring for Christ’s sheep as a shepherd and by laying down his life for them as a lamb led to the slaughter.

When we hear the Risen Christ’s words to Peter and his call to him, “Follow me,” we also should hear a call to discipleship that is self-sacrificial love—laying down our lives for one another. This may indeed mean our physical death, as in the cases of the well-known modern martyrs Martin Luther King Jr. and Oscar Romero, as well as the four American church women who, like Romero, took up the cause of the poor in El Salvador despite the Salvadoran government’s persistent persecution of those working for justice. The day in 1980 before Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, Dorothy Kazel, and Jean Donovan were martyred, at the closing liturgy of an assembly of Maryknoll Sisters, Ita Ford read from one of Romero’s homilies given soon before his assassination earlier that year. Ford read, "Christ invites us not to fear persecution because, believe me, brothers and sisters, the one who is committed to the poor must run the same fate as the poor, and in El Salvador we know what the fate of the poor signifies: to disappear, be tortured, to be held captive - and to be found dead." The next day the women were captured by members of the Salvadoran military, were tortured, raped, and murdered because of their love for the poor and refugees of El Salvador. Many Christians, with names known and unknown, have loved Christ in care for their neighbor unto physical death. This is a present reality.

But Jesus not only offered himself upon the cross for us, but also led a life that was characterized by self-sacrificial love, beginning with the incarnation of the Word of God who deigned to take on human flesh and to live among those who would reject him, and plainly expressed in Jesus’ washing of his disciples feet. Thus should our whole lives be marked by self-renunciating love. This may look like changing our plans in order to share a meal with someone hungry, getting a bad night of sleep in order not to cut short a conversation with a discouraged colleague, not purchasing the clothes we like the most because they were made in sweat shops, doing the nasty or boring cleaning tasks at home, suppressing our pride by withholding “I told you sos,” or even letting the other person eyeing the last box of Nature Valley Oat and Dark Chocolate granola bars at Target take home the object of desire.

Maybe each one of these examples does not represent something all that difficult, especially if we are just shooting to accomplish one such self-renunciatory act per day (perhaps with a Benjamin Franklin style check-list). Yet, for them to be mere examples of a way of life that is continual self-sacrifice or the sort of life that leads to the cross is very difficult, perhaps impossible. Even Peter, who zealously declared to Christ earlier in the Gospel of John that he would go to his death for him, could not so much as admit to knowing him when push came to shove.

Yet it is this very same Peter, after his three-fold denial, that Jesus commands to tend his sheep. And it is to this same Peter that Jesus tells that he will in fact lay down his life to glorify God. What is different about this Peter? Sure, he is humbled and repentant. But what gives him the strength this time to make good on his promise of devotion to Jesus? How is it that he is able to go to his death as a follower of Christ?

According to Saint Augustine, it is the resurrection of Jesus Christ that makes all the difference for Peter. He writes, “[Peter] would do, when strengthened by [Jesus’] resurrection, what in his weakness he promised prematurely.” No longer, Augustine maintains, does Peter have a false estimate of himself, but instead has the strength of heart to claim Christ graciously bestowed upon him and the courage to face death because the Lord’s resurrection illustrates the life to come.

Indeed, prior to the resurrection, when Jesus foretells his betrayal and departure, Peter questions him, “Lord, where are you going?” and Jesus replies, “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now; but you will follow afterward.” This is precisely when Peter makes his false claim to faithfulness, saying, “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” Peter did not yet understand that Jesus had to die for him before he could die for Jesus.
Jesus did die for Peter, and for us, and he rose from the grave three days later. And from his fullness, manifested by the resurrection, we receive, as the prologue to the gospel says, grace upon grace. When promising his disciples the Holy Spirit, Jesus declares, “because I live, you also will live.” And on the first day of his post-resurrection appearances, Jesus breathes on his disciples and says to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Jesus’ resurrection from the dead means for us, as Jesus says in the Good Shepherd discourse, abundant life, and it means the presence of the Holy Spirit.

Thus it is the grace of the power of the resurrection that takes Peter from an overzealous coward with mere good intentions to one who, like Jesus, tends the sheep and ultimately lays down his life for them. Furthermore, what transformed Peter transforms us. Because of the resurrection, it is not silliness for us to aim to love one another as Christ loved us, by living lives of self-sacrifice. We have cause to hope that our lives may be shaped by self-gift such that if called upon to die for the Shepherd and the sheep for whom he shed his blood we would remain faithful to the end. We can pray and receive the Eucharist with the anticipation that God has provided the grace needed for our isolated efforts to love self-sacrificially to grow into habits and a way of life. We can answer Jesus’ call, “Follow me,” with the confidence that we, like Peter, have received the grace of the power of the resurrection. Amen.

Easter Monday breakfast

“Alleluia! Christ is risen! Come let us adore him! Alleuia!” Morning Prayer on Easter Monday was well attended and heartily spoken. Mick lead us through the new schedule of liturgy in this new season. The Pascha Nostrum, the Song of Moses, two enthronement Psalms, and readings on the exodus and the resurrection. Now we stand during the Prayers (though as a reflex I began to kneel at “The Lord be with you” and accidentally lead half the worshipers to their knees). This is the Easter position – Christos aneste – Christ is risen – but more literally “Christ stood up.” So we stand with him to proclaim that with him we are raised. What joy! What grace! What can we offer in return for such? Our very lives, which he has now redeemed (=bought! – They are his anyhow!). “Almighty God, we your unworthy servants give you humble thanks for all your goodness and loving kindness to us!” It is great to know, and to learn by the experience of the rhythms of the liturgy, that Easter follows Good Friday. I focus a lot on the cross – and rightly so – but it is good be reminded that after the long, hard toil of the Way, and the pain and torture of the cross itself, stands the inexplicable, illogical, and utterly unexpected glory and joy of resurrection life. We glimpse its reality, if only for a moment, as we gather with the angels in the heavenly choir.

Breakfast followed, of course, in the Parish Hall. The weather was really nice so we are going to have to start eating outside on the picnic tables. All the usual suspects were there – I think we had about 15 total – including about five who spent the night sleeping in the back yard or around town but who then come up for breakfast. One of our usual friends, C, who lives across Durham out in the (comparative) boonies was around for some construction work he did last week. “You going over by my place at all?,” he asked Mick. “No, but I can be,” the good Warden replied. S got out of his tent and came in for a glass of juice and announced that he was going back to bed. “Hibernation,” I think Luke called it. But S didn’t leave before he had announced that (unbeknownst to me) everyone was welcome over at my place tonight to watch Duke play for the national title. We all enjoyed a brand-new egg casserole this morning and quite a good (as usual) one at that. I gobbled up more than my share.

Every week is a new adventure.
--Colin

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

Is it me, or did Lent seem like more than six weeks this year? Surely it was much longer ago that we celebrated Shrove Tuesday at our Pancake Supper, cooked for us by our friends from the Episcopal Center at Duke? Was it that we were celebrating the Daily Office by using the not so familiar Rite I? Perhaps it was due to the fact that I felt more penitent?

Whatever the reason, Palm Sunday and Holy Week did come and were welcomed.
Here at St. Joe’s we have, what I think is a pretty unusual family. I’ve talked before about our wonderful fellowship, but it goes much further than sharing a meal with like-minded committed Christians.

Our table fellowship that follows each weekday Morning Prayer gives an opportunity to talk, laugh and yes sometimes cry with a wide variety of people, some homeless, some not, but nevertheless needing more than that plate of breakfast casserole, eggs, cereals, toast and coffee. Loving thy neighbor is not always easy believe me. I struggle daily with doing just that. There are challenges to our faith on a daily basis, but I know that with God’s help we can overcome them.

Returning to the Easter theme, the eve of Palm Sunday saw seven of us weaving palm crosses. Sharing conversation, experiences, humor and of course food. I’ll be the first to admit that my crosses were not as artistic as A’s, who hails from Lebanon and was teaching us beginners with wonderful patience. But what a gratifying experience it was – nothing technical, nothing sophisticated, but enjoying the four thousand year art (or attempted art in my case) with, as A proudly says, “Our nearest neighbor to the Biblical lands”.

Holy Week was busy for us. Jokes were made about “our car is on auto-pilot”, or “perhaps we should bring our beds to church,” but seven liturgies marking Christ’s death and celebrating his resurrection between Wednesday evening through Easter Sunday have to be the highlight of the year.

After our short, but moving, Holy Saturday morning service, I was seconded to help our wonderful Altar Guild. I didn’t have much choice (only joking) as I am married to one of their members. But after an hour or so of cleaning and polishing, especially the church brasses, I realized what another important example of fellowship this was.

After six flowerless weeks and veiled crosses, our sanctuary became alive again. A resurrection no less. As later in the day we commenced the Great Vigil, being led into a darkened church by the paschal candle, we knew, all of us, that hope, with the light, would soon spring from Christ’s resurrection. After renewing our baptismal vows it was my task to turn on the lights. Never has Alleluia been shouted with such gusto (well, not since last Easter at least) and a wonderful feeling of joy and yes, relief, swept over the congregation who knew that Christ had risen indeed.
Easter Sunday, without doubt, my favorite day of the year, saw a packed (for St. Joe’s) church enjoy and praise the resurrection of our Savior. I was on acolyte duty and admit that together with the relief and joy I could feel tears of emotion – tears of joy especially at what was something new for me. T, a regular at Daily Office and a professional choreographer and dancer, enriched our celebration with his liturgical dancing. Thank you T. Indeed thank you to our music director, choir and musicians. And a big thank you for Altar Guilds everywhere, but especially to ours at St. Joe’s, who tirelessly work to prepare God’s church for worship and the Lord’s table for us to share in the resurrection throughout the year.

Thanks be to God. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!
--Mick

Witnessing to Resurrection Life

The following is the sermon preached by The Rev. Karen C. Barfield, Chaplain of the Episcopal Center at Duke, at the Great Vigil of Easter celebrated at St. Joseph's by the two missions. The texts were Romans 6:3-11 and Luke 24:1-12.

“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6:3)

The last congregation I served in Memphis before coming to North Carolina was a fairly large Episcopal Church. On average there were several hundred people there each Sunday morning.

On the day of the bishop’s visitation there were several folks lined up to be baptized.

In one family both brother and sister were to be baptized that morning. The little girl was about 2 years old, but her older brother was about 10 and was very inquisitive and excited.

As the bishop met with those to be baptized during the Sunday school time, this boy sat right next to the bishop and asked all kinds of questions. He was excited about his baptism and was all ready to go.

During the service when it was time for him to be baptized, the bishop called him over to the font, but the boy clung to his mother’s side for dear life.

He looked at the bishop and said, “I don’t want to be baptized.”

As the bishop tried to coax him over, it was clear that he would have to be peeled away from his mother’s skirt.

The bishop, in his wisdom said, “Your baptism is supposed to be a time of joy. If you don’t want to be baptized, you don’t have to be.”

And that was that.

Later in the service when the boy and his family came to the altar rail for Communion, as the bishop approached him, the boy said, “Well, I guess I blew my chance, huh?”

The bishop smiled and said, “No, you have another chance. Meet me at the font after the service, and I’ll baptize you then.”

The boy, smiling, received his blessing and returned to his pew.

“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?”

That Sunday morning did that boy cling to his mother’s side out of embarrassment or stage fright before the large crowd gathered in the church?

Or did he have some inkling that what he was about to do was as frightening as being buried with Christ in his death?

Did he know that his life was about to change forever –
that new demands would be placed on him that he might not be able to meet?

Perhaps a little of both.

In my experience, children “get it” – they understand things we barely begin to comprehend.

How many times have we heard stories of young children – 3 and 4 years old – saying to their parents on the way back from the altar rail:
“Boy, I really needed the bread of Jesus today.”

__________________________________

Tonight we gather together on the most Holy of Holy nights –
to hear the story of salvation history:
to hear the story of creation,
of rebellion,
of redemption.

We gather here tonight to celebrate that God became human,
walked among us,
suffered as we suffer,
died
and then rose from the grave.

And here is the key (in the words of Paul):

“Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.
“For if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”

We have been buried with Christ so that we, too, might walk in newness of life.

Clarence Jordan, founder of the Koinonia Community in Americus, GA, said,
“The crowning evidence that Jesus was alive was not a vacant grave,
but a spirit-filled fellowship.

Not a rolled-away stone,
but a carried-away church.”

In reflecting on this statement, Lutheran theologian Christoph Blumhardt comments:

“It is not enough to celebrate Easter and say ‘Christ is risen.’ It is useless to proclaim this unless at the same time we can say that we have also risen, that we have received something from heaven.
“We must feel appalled when the tremendous events that took place, the death and resurrection of Jesus, are proclaimed again and again and yet actually nothing happens with us. It has no effect.” (from “Christ Rising” in Bread and Wine, Orbis Books, 2003, p. 350).

As Paul says, “if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”

However frightening that plunge into Christ’s death may be:
whether a literal immersion under the waters of baptism
or a turning from the ways of sin and death we encounter daily,
we celebrate with Christ the newness of life that awaits.

As the new fire, the new light, emerges in the darkness,
we remember that the darkness never overcomes the light.

May the fires of God’s love and grace burn within us
so that our lives may be a witness to resurrection life –
casting aside all fear.

God is doing a new thing in us –
birthing God’s kingdom through us
right here and right now.

So, this day and every day let us shout
“Christ is risen”
not only with our lips
but through our very lives.

Amen.

A Meditation for Holy Saturday

Hope against all hope, when hope looks not only foolish but impossible: this is the call of Holy Saturday. It is an incredibly challenging call to us, to inhabit the tomb with the crucified, lifeless body of Jesus, where the power of death can be palpable, even suffocating. In the face of the death of the Lord, our lives stand still, numb, silent. It is as if the whole world has been sealed up in the tomb with him. Nothing more can be said, nothing can be done. Our future is now completely bound up with his future; our future now rests in him.

From all appearances, though, there is no future for him: this is the reality of Holy Saturday. Jesus has been executed. His life has ended shamefully, horrifically. He did not save himself from the cross or tomb; now he is beyond saving. What shall become of him? What can become of another dead would-be Messiah? What shall become of us who staked everything on him? What can become of us?

The only hope for him, for us, for the whole world, lying in the tomb is God: this is the revelation of Holy Saturday. The future of Jesus is for God to decide. In the realm of death, there is no hope, no security, no foothold, no ray of light; the death of Jesus erases even the tiniest sign upon which we may have based our faith. In the tomb, we are confronted with the sheer absurdity of hope, of waiting for God when all reasons for waiting, for hoping, have fallen short. In the dead body of Jesus, we come face-to-face with the disarming truth of Christianity: the only future we possibly have lies with God because our future lies in Jesus. Easter Sunday does not abolish this truth; it makes it more glaringly obvious.

While it is still dark in the tomb, however, where there is no guarantee of Sunday, let us ponder the lament of Psalm 130: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!...I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in [the Lord’s] word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.” Let us wait in silence and openness for the coming of our God, our future and our hope.
--Jodi Belcher

"We entreat thee, O Lord"

At St. Joseph’s, we usually pray Morning and Evening Prayer according to Rite II. This year, however, we’ve decided to use Rite I in Lent. The first time I prayed Evening Prayer this season, I was struck by how challenging I found the change. Praying “thee” and “thou,” (which has the virtue of making it crystal clear to 21st-century people that we’re not shouting “Hey, you” to God). Addressing God through dependent clauses (“Almighty God, who has given us grace at this time…”) instead of directly (“Almighty God, you have given us grace at this time…”). And confessing in more, and in my case at least, more accurate, detail (“we have followed too much the devices and desires of our own hearts”). I had to pay greater attention, enunciate the words of the prayers, trusting that they will be my own—or rather, that I am theirs, because they're part of the apostolic faith that has formed, and is forming me. I like the freedom that I feel in praying familiar prayers, but I also appreciate the prod offered by less familiar ones—like a gentle but sharp pull on the bridle, making sure I’m still on the path.

Others have an easier time. That first evening in Lent, as I carefully followed along in my BCP, starting to relax into the repetitive response to the intercessions, I realized that a tiny but clear voice had joined in, from the pew directly in front of mine. Our youngest sister at St. Joseph’s, a beautiful 2-year-old, was praying along in perfect time. “That this evening may be holy, good, and peaceful, We entreat thee, O Lord. That thy holy angels may lead us in paths of peace and goodwill, We entreat thee, O Lord. That we may be pardoned and forgiven for our sins and offenses, We entreat thee, O Lord….”

No concern about thees, thous, or yous; no awareness of dependent or independent clauses; little attention to verbs or adverbs. Just pure prayer, offered by a Christian who’s already steeped in prayer, who’s formed and nourished by it, and who unself-consciously offers it up as her own, in harmony with all the saints. To that, even in Lent, I say: alleluia. And amen.
--Vicar Rhonda

Shrove Tuesday supper

For the second year, the chaplain and congregation of The Episcopal Center at Duke hosted a Shrove Tuesday meal at St. Joseph's. Thank you all for your hospitality!

Friday Fellowship

Following Evening Prayer on Fridays, three of us started going for supper and enjoying some end-of- the-working-week fellowship (although all three of us are retired).

The numbers gradually grew and even some who originally declined our invitations started to attend. It might mean a “cheap-and-cheerful” meal at a local cafeteria, an all-day breakfast at a diner, or a more substantial meal, but the common denominator is that it suits everyone and that after the meal it most often includes going back home for yet more fellowship.

Last Friday evening was typical. It happened to be CP’s birthday and he had invited some friends to Evening Prayer thinking that perhaps we could go to IHOP for celebratory pancakes. Meanwhile CM had called me to suggest a pot-luck at their home. Long-story short – a quick change of plan and fifteen of us (that includes CM’s dog Sammie) enjoyed a great evening which included a hilarious ping-pong (mis)match between Gail and CP, heaps of laughter, loads of love, and great food.

Fellowship and hospitality are essentials of Christianity. I thank God I’m a Christian.

--Mick

A Busy Breakfast - January 26th, 2010

A busy breakfast fellowship followed Morning Prayer this morning after we had celebrated the life of Timothy and Titus, faithful followers of Saint Paul. Just as I was locking up the church, M came over and explained he needed to get back to Raleigh after receiving some medical treatment. He was obviously anxious and declined breakfast, but was grateful for the help we gave him to get home.

Courtney, Dave and Gail had breakfast well under way by the time I got back into the parish house. B, a regular, who now has his own accommodation, brought M for breakfast. M who has been staying with B, was obviously so grateful and was busy organizing his and B’s grocery list - another case of “the poor helping the poor” - certainly a reminder to us all. Will, who had attended Morning Prayer, popped in to say hello and drink his daily OJ, while big S, as usual, managed to put a smile on everyone’s face – a wonderful gift of his.

The very faithful Dave and Tony were, as usual, deep in conversation while Jodi was organizing her two-year old's breakfast of Cheerios.

Tuesday breakfast is always fun and could never be dull, especially with Courtney and Gail in form. At the 194th Annual Convention of the NC Diocese last weekend, Bishop Curry continued and expanded his “All Are Welcome” theme from last year. I thought of his words as I buttered my toast, drank my coffee and enjoyed the fellowship of our brothers and sisters. I felt welcomed by all those present. Praise God.

--Mick

Coming home

We had been living in North Carolina for about fifteen months, had purchased our new home, settled down and managed to get all our affairs in order - well at least that's what I thought. We had new places to discover, a new life style to get used to and even a slightly different vocabulary to cope with.

However, we both realized that there was something missing, or rather I did. Gail had known what it was for some time. It took a little longer for the penny to drop as far as I was concerned, but at last it did. God was missing, no doubt about it.

We decided we needed not only God but to be surrounded by members of God’s family. So the search was on and we began to “shop for a church”. An awful thing to say I think, but in effect that's what we did. Of course, we didn't have to shop for a god - God had always been with us, although perhaps I had forgotten it. One August Sunday morning we attended Holy Eucharist at a small (very small) urban church in West Durham. St. Joseph's is known locally as "the little church with the big red doors". We walked through those doors and both of us felt immediately at home. I was raised an Anglican, Gail, Roman Catholic, so the Episcopal Church of America's liturgy, using the Book of Common Prayer, was familiar to us.

Between then and now my life has changed. I have met, got to know and trust, become friends with, many people. Many more than I ever had time to get to know while I was "busy" building a life, raising a family, working from dawn to dusk to keep us in so-called comfort. I suppose that's a real plus for becoming a senior. Retiring and having time to mix more with people from outside of your normal work environment and "social circles".

Did I find time to stop and ask a homeless guy if he needed any help? GUILTY!
Did I really mean it when I asked how a work colleague's sick relative was? GUILTY!
Did I really stop and think what I could do today to make a difference to someone else and not me? GUILTY!

Is it incredible how I traveled 4,000 miles to "come home"? ABSOLUTELY!
Is it incredible how the Holy Spirit guided Gail to persuade me to move from Europe to North Carolina? ABSOLUTELY!
Is it incredible that I have met so many of my brothers in sisters in Christ, whether they live in a 5-bedroom suburban house, a one bedroom apartment or on our church parking lot, who share love, trust and respect? ABSOLUTELY!

Who am I kidding? There is nothing incredible about it at all. I may have forgotten God for many years while I was trying to live life, but, He never forgot me! I was ALWAYS part of God's plan. I just needed that gentle push on the shoulder to “come home” to the family of Christ.

--Mick