Praying For Peace

As I write this, it’s been nearly three weeks since Russia’s unprovoked invasion of Ukraine began. In that time, we’ve seen a dizzying escalation from scattered Russian columns attempting a quick overthrow of the Ukrainian government to an all-out onslaught against the Ukrainian people, with the Russian Army indiscriminately shelling civilian apartment buildings, besieging cities, and arresting local elected officials. These are not only war crimes, they are crimes against humanity. They are among the darkest expressions of sin imaginable.

The Ukrainian Army has, so far, shown laudable restraint and professionalism in its response; there have been no tit-for-tat attacks on Russian cities by Ukraine. But a war waged well within the lines of acceptable conduct is nevertheless a tragedy. The Russian mass murder of Ukrainian civilians is an abomination. And the needless death of thousands of Russian conscripts, mainly young men barely out of high school serving a poorly-timed year of mandatory military service, is—while not a war crime—profoundly sad.

The Episcopal Church is not pacifist as a matter of theology, as Quakers or Mennonites; while individual members may reject any and all war or military service, the Church as a body recognizes that there are situations in which armed resistance is morally acceptable, even admirable. War is horrifying. But to pray for peace is not to pray for Ukrainian surrender; it is to pray for “peace” is the fullest sense of the Hebrew word shalom: not peace as the absence of conflict, but peace as the presence of justice.

So pray, this Lent, for peace. Pray for the safety of the millions of refugees fleeing Ukraine, mourning the loss of their homes and their family members, seeking safety in a strange land. Pray for the souls of those who have died, civilians and Ukrainian soldiers and Russian soldiers alike. Pray for Russian civilians whose savings have been wiped out or whose stomachs will go unfilled as the result of sanctions. Pray, especially, for the repentance of Vladimir Putin and his allies, that they may see the truth of their evil and turn, and be saved; and save countless thousands of lives.

If you are looking for a reliable way to support the innocent victims of this conflict through financial giving, I’d encourage you to consider Episcopal Relief and Development’s Ukraine Crisis Response Fund. Working through the Action by Churches Together Alliance (ACT Alliance), donations to this fund will provide cash, blankets, hygiene supplies and other assistance to Ukraine refugees who arriving in Poland and Hungary. (You can click here to read more about ERD’s efforts.)

A group of St. John’s parishioners is in the process of planning a prayer service for peace. If you would like to participate, please stay tuned for more information or email Greg.

In the meantime, I have been lingering this month with one of the prayer book’s more powerful prayers, with which I’ll leave you today:

Eternal God, in whose perfect kingdom no sword is drawn but the sword of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the banner of the Prince of Peace, as children of one Father; to whom be dominion and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

BCP p. 815, “4. For Peace”

From the Bishop: “Be Community”

This video and the text below are excerpted from the Rt. Rev. Alan Gates’s Address to our Diocesan Convention on Saturday, November 7, 2020.

Finally, I want to return to the pandemic context of our lives these days. We are weary. We are anxious. We are sad. We yearn for the physical fellowship we cherish, the sacred spaces we treasure, the sacramental meals we crave, the joyful singing for which we pine. One day these yearnings will be fulfilled.

At the moment, however, we know that infection rates are surging and the Governor this week issued revised, tightened restrictions. Your three bishops in the Commonwealth are receiving new guidance from public health professionals, and you should expect further communication from us in the days ahead. For now, I must reiterate the strong cautions included in previous guidelines. Reality-based restraint is essential, especially as regards indoor, in-person gatherings that will become ever more challenging and risky as cold weather descends. Advent and Christmas simply will not, cannot, be observed with many of our cherished traditions this year. It will be a year, instead, for small, quiet, contemplative possibilities–perhaps not unlike the stony stable in Bethlehem shared by that little family at the Incarnation, where the original star of hope prevailed against stony hearts.

Last week I was talking with my 97-year-old mom about the limitations of COVID, and our fatigue as this crisis stretches on. How, I wondered, did everyone manage throughout the four long years of World War II? (My mom was 17 at the time of the Pearl Harbor attack.) Well, she said, we just did what we had to do. She reminisced about food restrictions and ration coupons for things like sugar. She spoke of limited movement, of not traveling from Massachusetts to Maine to see family on account of gas rationing.

But then, mostly, she talked about the six young men she knew from her hometown, Bedford, who died in the war: two of her high school classmates; two from the class ahead of her; two from the class behind her. After seventy-five years, she recalled each one by name. She recollected what part of town they lived in. Which one had been an orphan. Whose family had immigrated from Latvia. What work their parents did. Whose surviving brother was a Bedford cop for subsequent decades. It was a phenomenal demonstration of memory.

But it demonstrated something else as well. It spoke about priorities in a time of crisis. When I asked her how people had endured four years of restriction and anxiety, her answer mostly dwelled upon those who’d died–upon the deep loss to their families and community. Sugar and gas rations and lost opportunities endured by everyone else were recollected as inconveniences, but they were not the tragedy, they were not the sacrifice. I say once again that when you and I think about the COVID-19 pandemic, we must never lose sight of the fact that the restrictions and losses that most of us face–while real, and resulting in frustration and grief–do not compare with the loss of life suffered by pandemic victims–1.2 million of them–and their loved ones.

And that is why masks are a sign of Love; and that is why closed concert halls and closed churches are a sign of Love. And that is why economic deprivation at every level is a sign of sacrificial Love. And that is why the notion of acceptable collateral loss of life in order to minimize economic hardship should be anathema to us.

When my mother’s answer to “how did you endure?” was to talk about baked bean and brown bread sales at the church, and to name the boys who didn’t come home, what she was talking about was Community. Question: How did you endure? Answer: Community. My intention is not to romanticize the small-town 1930s and 40s experience of my mother’s growing up. I simply mean to say that in her context, the way four years of war was endured was Community. And so it is for us.

So, dear friends, go forth and be the Church in Community. Physically-distanced, yes. Masked, yes. Gathering mostly virtually, yes. Sad and anxious and tired, yes. Worried and grieving and impatient, yes. But loved, and capable; blessed to be a blessing; serving those who need you; hopeful, by disposition; hopeful, as an act of will; and empowered by the Holy Spirit. Be Community. Be the Church. Be the Body of Christ, as I know that you can be. Be the Body of Christ, as you know that you are.

We Are the Parade

Dear Friends,

As we were preparing the bulletin for this Sunday, Priscilla and I were discussing the terms we use in the bulletin to describe various participants in worship. I noted that although the Book of Common Prayer uses the term “celebrant” when referring to the actions of the priest, we are now using the term “presider.”  Why the change?  The choice of the word “celebrant” in the 1979 Prayer Book was an attempt to recover an ancient term used in worship, and replaced the words “priest” or “minister” used in the 1928 prayer book. However, in the years since the prayer book’s publication, there has been an increasing awareness of how essential it is to understand that all of us in worship are active participants in the service. Patrick Malloy, a liturgical scholar at General Seminary, puts it well in his book, Celebrating the Eucharist:

“Substituting “presider” for “celebrant” is not a semantic trifle. It bespeaks a mindset that affects how liturgy unfolds and what impact it can have in the life of a community. If the priest is understood to be the celebrant, then others in the assembly may perceive themselves to be observers, or at best, assistants to the one who is ‘up front’.”

In other words we are all celebrants. The full participation of each of us is essential to our worship of God. It is not a matter of some being active and some being passive.You may remember the story I told in a sermon of an out of town couple who were in New York City on an Easter Sunday. They went to Fifth Avenue, hoping to see the Easter parade. What they did not know is that it consists of nothing more than people in their Easter finery walking up and down the avenue.  Seeing no bands or floats, they finally asked a policeman, “Where is the parade?” He smiled looked at them and said simply, “You’re the parade!”  We are the parade. Where are the celebrants in worship? You and I are the celebrants, bringing all that we have and all that are in full adoration of God.

Faithfully,

Tom

Come Away With Me to a Quiet Place…

Dear Friends,

That was the invitation that Jesus made to his disciples in the midst of their life together. In that quiet place he taught them to pray, and there they discovered ways to renew their relationship with God and with each other. Last week, I had the opportunity and privilege to go to a quiet place – a conference center in the western mountains of North Carolina.

The CREDO conference that I attended there was one of many organized and supported by the Church Pension Group. I gathered with close to 30 other clergy from around the country for a time of quiet,  but also of worship, conversation and some work. We were led by a faculty of laypersons and clergy, who asked us to take time to look at four dimensions of our lives: spirituality, vocation, finances, and health. As we alternated between formal presentations, small group discussions, and individual discernment time, we were each asked to create a CREDO plan, with some long and short term goals that address those four areas.

It was one of those rare opportunities to have the time to step back and look at one’s life – where am I thriving and being fed, and where am I struggling or hungering? In the months to come, I will be sharing with the Vestry some of my goals, particularly those around professional development.

I came back from CREDO refreshed and excited. I also came back deeply grateful. I am grateful to the Church Pension Group, which covers most of the cost of the event. And that means I am grateful to you, since the parish contributes to the Church Pension Fund as part of your covenant with me. And I came away grateful to be called to serve here at St. John’s, as I see how God is moving in my life and in our midst. I know how rare a privilege it was for me to have that time. And I pray that in our life together, we as a parish can create smaller but no less significant occasions for everyone  to discover how it is that God has a vocation for each of us, calling us into fullness of life as we discover the gifts we have been given and the ways in which we may share them with the world.
Faithfully,

Tom