Author Archives: Saint John's Episcopal Church

Remembering Barbara Bush

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Dear Friends,

Most of us are aware that Barbara Bush, former First Lady and husband of President George H. W. Bush, died on Tuesday. Some of you have noted that her funeral will be held at an Episcopal church in Houston – St. Martin’s Church. Barbara Bush was in fact, an active Episcopalian. While in Washington D.C, she and her husband were members of St. Columba’s Church, where she served on the Altar Guild. The Bush family also has a long connection with St. Anne’s Church near their summer compound in Kennebunkport, Maine.

Many people have commented on her compassion and life of service to her family and the nation, as well as her willingness to speak in frank and honest ways about matters that concerned her. Yes, that frankness created problems at times. I still remember the time during the 1984 presidential campaign, when she made a joking but disparaging comment about Geraldine Ferraro, the first ever female vice presidential candidate. What I love about Barbara Bush is that she quickly realized her mistake and offered a heartfelt apology.

Given the way so many pundits, politicians, and provocateurs have broken down the norms of civil engagement and discourse, acknowledging one’s mistake can seem almost a quaint notion. But of course, it is one of the marks of a Christian. We do it all the time when we confess our sins. To say I am sorry. To say I have made a mistake.

I am certain that Barbara Bush’s Christian faith shaped her life. She lived her life fully. She freely offered her love, many times in sacrificial ways, to her husband, her family, her church, and her nation. We will miss her, but oh, how grateful we can be for her witness.

Faithfully,

Tom

 

Extending the Table and Sharing the Feast

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On Sunday April 15 at the 10 am service, Maureen Lavely and Catherine Womack were each commissioned as  a Lay Eucharistic Minister (or LEM) for St. John’s. Having attended a day long training session in February  offered by the Diocese of Massachusetts, they are now licensed LEMs. Maureen and Catherine will be able to bring communion to persons in hospitals, nursing homes, or at home. While our clergy have carried out this ministry, the sharing of consecrated bread and wine is a ministry in which the laity can be equally involved.  Communion brought to those who cannot be with us on a Sunday morning reminds us that the table which Christ prepares for us extends far beyond the walls of our church. Thank you, Catherine and Maureen, for hearing the Spirit and responding to this call.

Sing God’s Beauty. Act in Love.

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Can we imagine our vocation as one of singing? Can we imagine singing as the facilitator of healing?   

Here’s a story and a song, written by Jane Struss professional singer and our choral director and the Rev. Lyn G. Brakeman, a non-singer who sings anyway. Parts of both are excerpted from the Rt. Rev. Alan Gates’s sermon to the clergy of the diocese on Tuesday of Holy Week, a time when feelings of depletion and vocation-weariness threaten to overwhelm.

The story. King Felipe V of Spain ruled in the early 1700s. He suffered from mental illness that caused him to howl into the night, become incontinent, play obsessively with clocks, and often go mute for weeks. Against all reason he was not deposed. 

Carlo Farinelli was an Italian-born singer who at ten was castrated to preserve his beautiful singing voice. Men like Farinelli were called castrati. Although cruel measures were taken, the sound of their singing had depth and power and a pure, genderless, ethereal sound. 

Farinelli was persuaded by Queen Isabella to come to Spain to sing for the tormented king. The king met Farinelli and quickly sensed—that inner sense we often dismiss but that sometimes turns out to be a nudge from the Holy Spirit—a bond in circumstance.

Both men were made to be who they were against their will—robbed of normality. Heavy expectations were heaped upon them by families, public, even God. Farinelli’s singing penetrated the king’s madness with its beauty, gradually healing his isolation, even reconciling him to the impossibility of his vocation. As for Farinelli, he sang the king to his senses, himself to pride of purpose in his vocation. 

Music evokes truth, love, and beauty.  It calls us forth. Beauty reminded the king that his circumstance was not that for which he was created. Truth lifted him outside of his unnatural gloom. Love sang him to his senses. 

The song.  Farinelli had exceptional quality of voice, yes, but singing and song do not depend on that alone. Anyone can sing. Sing without music or without. Sing quietly to yourself, when you need it. Sing out strong to your people, for encouragement. Sing out loud to the world, for its healing. Sing a song of grief. Sing for joy. Sing in groups or alone. Sing in your mind when you lie awake  at 3 a.m. with anxiety and no solutions.

The bishop’s night-song he learned as a young teen is based on Psalm 104:34-37. It is silent; it swells and carries him along. It fixes nothing, but like Farinelli’s singing it soothes—like the Breath in a divine lullaby.

I shall sing unto the Lord as long as I love,

I will sing praise to my God while I have my being;

My meditation of him shall be sweet,

I will be glad, I will be glad in the Lord.

There is a child about eight in our neighborhood. As she waits for the school bus to arrive she sings and sings and sings, softly and loudly to herself. I don’t know what she sings or why. I don’t care. Her song is prayer. 

And one we often sing that Farinelli and the king might have sung. It’s a song about singing, the words written in the 17th century: My song is love unknown. 

How crucial it is now that we sing a song of beauty truth and love to a world that is scared to death, a world that seems to have lost its mind, a world that needs restoration, redemption—Christ.  

Sing God’s Beauty. Act in Love.