Category Archives: From the Rector

Weekly articles from our Rector published in the News & Notes newsletter.

“Life Up Close” — From the Rector

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If you’ve walked around outside in the last couple of weeks, you’ve probably seen the wreckage: tree limbs dangling perilously off electrical wires, downed branches on the sidewalks and the playgrounds, a new layer of twigs and sticks scattered like birdseed across the backyard. The two powerful windstorms of the last month have brought a variety of emotions for adults: anxiety about the danger of a live wire, annoyance at the prospect of yet another branch to clean up, sadness at a fallen favorite tree.

But the preschoolers have been delighted.

You may have noticed that our friends at Charlestown Nursery School are having school outside this fall, rain or shine. Most days, we get a visit from one group of preschoolers or another, looking for life in the Garden with magnifying glasses in hand, or listening for new noises on a “sound walk” around the neighborhood, or sitting on our sunny grass for circle time. And one day, as they walked back into the Garden, I got to go out and tell them: Be careful! There’s a big branch down.

When you’re barely three feet tall, this is marvelous. The leaves on the trees, normally so far above your head, are suddenly down at your level. You can feel them, smell them, see them as you never have before. Up close and personal, the green blob of leaves becomes a complicated forest of yellow and green, a city’s-worth of bark and twigs too intricate to grasp.

2020 has downed a branch in all our lives. We’ve seen things up close we’ve never seen before: what our spouses really do at work and what our kids are like in class; what our relationships are like when we don’t have enough time apart; how lonely we can be without our daily dose of casual conversation. These fallen branches can be annoying, they can be sad; they can even be dangerous. But they can also be chance for us to look at the world through a preschooler’s eyes, holding up our magnifying glass to our own lives in wonder, inspecting ourselves and our world and trying to grow. So my prayer for all of us this week is that we can look at our lives with the wisdom of children, to look at the world around and, even when it is annoying, or sad, or dangerous, to wonder at what it contains.

Peace,
Greg

“Fall Gardens” —From the Rector

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Turn now, O God of hosts, look down from heaven; behold and tend this vine; *
preserve what your right hand has planted.
– Psalm 80:14

I spent a few hours this week chatting with a handful of parishioners on the patio at Gardens for Charlestown. As the weather cools and our lives move indoors, I’ve cherished these last few opportunities to spend a pleasant morning outside—and not just because of COVID. I’ve always loved those late-spring, early-fall days, between the cold rain of April and the bitter breeze of late November, days when it’s comfortable to wear jeans and a fleece and sit outside for hours. (Unfortunately, I’ve lived my whole life in New England.)

There’s something sad about an early-October community garden. The summer’s bounty of vegetables has been harvested; the flowers’ beauty has faded away. A few green cherry tomatoes remain, unlikely ever to ripen now.

There’s something beautiful, too, about a garden’s fall. It gives us time to start afresh, time to pull out the plants that bore no fruit, to let the earth lie fallow for a season, to make plans for a garden made anew. Do we stick with our trusty perennials, the things we know work for us time and again? Do we give up on this year’s experiment, tossing it on the compost heap of failed experiments? Do we learn from our mistakes and try again?

Maybe you can see where I’m going with this. The Church is in a strange, autumnal time. Old habits that we loved have faded away. There’s fruit from March still left green on the vine. It’s okay to mourn the loss of brighter days, the loss of the warmth we once felt from one another’s sun. And it’s okay to dream. To plan. To imagine what comes next for our little garden plot. To gather up the plants that never thrived and leave them behind; to look ahead with joy to our perennials’ return.

Peace,
Greg

From the Rector…

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From the Rector …

Depending on how exactly you count, I’ve had close to twenty-two first days of school. I won’t make you do the math, but let’s just say this means that in a supermajority of my Septembers, I’ve strapped on my backpack, stood outside with my parents (or wife!) for the obligatory “first day of school” photo, and then headed off into the unknown amid a flood of tears. (And sometimes I cried, too.)

Well, a new school year’s just begun here in Boston, and the goodbyes have been… a little different. Fewer backpacks, more headphones. Fewer lunchboxes, more Wi-Fi extenders. (Just about the same number of parental tears.)

I’m reminded, as those of us with kids at home become accidental homeschoolers, how central the home is in the Jewish tradition of religious education. For many Jews, the primary place a person learns to be Jewish isn’t a synagogue or a Hebrew school; it’s the home. It’s a tradition found 2,600 years ago in the Book of Deuteronomy: These words that I am commanding you today must always be on your minds. Recite them to your children. Talk about them when you are sitting around your house and when you are out and about, when you are lying down and when you are getting up. (Deuteronomy 6:6–7 CEB)

Our children and their teachers will muddle through math together this year, one way or another. Somehow, between our own meetings, we’ll help them with home lab experiments and toddler cooking projects. But I wonder, whether you live with children or with a spouse or alone: What are the lessons we’ll teach one another this fall? What are the words that are always on our minds? What do we recite to one another? What do we talk about when we’re just sitting around?

Most of us never meant to be teachers. But I wonder what hidden things we have to teach. And most of us are no longer students. But I know we still have a lot to learn.

Peace, 
Greg+

From the Rector …

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Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ. – Philippians 1:2

In French, they say, “Good day” or “Health!” In Hebrew, “Peace”; in Hawaiian, “Love.” In English, we say “Hello,” the strange telephone greeting that only barely won out over Alexander Graham Bell’s preferred suggestion for how to greet a caller: “Ahoy!” (Is it possible we missed out on having a smartphone called the iHoy?)

The Church, though, has its own greetings: “Grace to you and peace.” From the earliest letters of Paul to our modern-day “passing of the peace,” we recognize that it’s not enough for us just to say “hello” to our family in the Church. It’s not enough just to acknowledge one another’s presence with an “ahoy” as we pass by. We offer one another grace; we pray for one another’s peace.

Well, I’m here now, settling into my new office, getting ready for our first Sunday service together, and looking forward to meeting and greeting you all.

It’s a strange time to become your rector, but I wanted to share with you a few ways we can get to know one another: 
1. I’ll be hosting a weekly Zoom “Coffee with the Rector” on Wednesdays, from 8:30-9:30am. Feel free to drop in for a few minutes before you log on to work or after you’ve sorted the kids out for school, or come and stay as long as you’d like. Click here any time between 8:30am and 9:30am this coming Wednesday morning to say hello!
2. I’d love to meet one-on-one for a Zoom or phone call, a conversation outside in the Garden, or a walk somewhere around Charlestown. You can email me at rector@stjohns02129.org or call the office at (617) 242-1272. Both Priscilla and I will be in the office on Tuesday from 9am until 2pm.  We can also access voice mail remotely, so feel free to leave a message as we both continue working primarily from home.
3. We’ll be organizing a few group get-togethers in the coming weeks and months, on Zoom or outdoors. Stay tuned for dates, times, and details on how to sign up.

Finally, of course, I’ll be leading our Sunday worship every week, so I’ll look forward to seeing you there, in person or virtually. I can’t wait to get to know each one of you, and to have to opportunity to say hello. But for now, I’ll just say…

Peace,
Greg

From, Reverend Rebecca

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One of the many themes of Christian life is showing God our gratitude. What is our mission and purpose is a question answered by our Catechism in this way– “To reconcile all people to God and to one another.”
I like to think that the poet Mary Oliver answered the same question with the same answer, just said in a different way in this poem.

Messenger
    by Mary Oliver

    My work is loving the world.
    Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
              equal seekers of sweetness.
    Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
    Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

    Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
    Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
              keep my mind on what matters,
    which is my work,

    which is mostly standing still and learning to be
              astonished.
    The phoebe, the delphinium.
    The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
    Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

    which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
              and these body-clothes,
    a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
              to the moth and the wren,
              to the sleepy dug-up clam,
    telling them all, over and over, how it is
              that we live forever.

Tell over and over again, friends, how it is we live forever. May we show our gratitude to God in all our words, in all our actions, and in how we live our lives.

Blessings and love,

Reverend Rebecca