Dear Friends,

“Be a good neighbor.” Those were words offered by a physician being interviewed this week about this year’s flu. What does it mean to be a good neighbor?

First and foremost, if you are sick, or feeling sick, stay home if you can. It is ok to miss a Sunday at church if you have any reason to believe that you might be catching the flu or  are capable of spreading it.

When at church, remember that when we exchange the peace of Christ, it is perfectly appropriate to offer signs and gestures without shaking hands. Simply placing your hands in front of you and nodding as you speak words of peace is fine, and will keep cold and flu germs from spreading.

At communion, sipping from the chalice is the healthier option when receiving wine. And, since we understand that Christ is fully present in both the bread and wine, you may choose to refrain from receiving the wine until the flu season has passed. If you choose to refrain, simply cross your arms across your chest after taking the bread. The chalice bearer will still say the words of invitation for the cup, and you may simply respond by saying, “Amen.”

Wash hands often, smile rather than shake hands as needed, and avoid crowds when not feeling well yourself – all are ways of being a good neighbor.  Of course, we should also be checking in on each other as we learn of another’s illness. Finally, if you haven’t yet done so, DO get a flu shot. Although reports indicate it may not be as effective this year in preventing the flu, the data indicate that having the vaccine can lessen the severity of the illness.

Hoping for a relatively flu free season for us all,

Tom

Dear Friends,

I saw the cartoon from The Simpsons on someone’s Facebook page. It showed Homer Simpson reading the local paper. The headline on the front page read, “Today we remember Martin Luther King, Jr.” Beneath it, in a smaller font were the words, “Tomorrow we forget him.”

The cartoon caught the challenge we often face in marking off special times for celebrations and commemorations. We may hear again and again portions of the “I Have a Dream” speech on Martin Luther King’s birthday. How often do we reflect on its meaning or engage in the work of fulfilling it the rest of the year?

The same can be true of our celebrations as a church. We know that the Incarnation of Jesus Christ was not confined to a manger in Bethlehem. But as we pack away the creche figures, do we pack away the meaning of God’s coming to us as well? Easter is not one Sunday in the spring. Indeed, every Sunday liturgy is meant to be a celebration of the resurrection, and all of its implications for us.

Though we may have packed away the baby Jesus, our weekly scripture readings call us to remember, rather than forget. As we did last week, this week we will listen to an account of the adult Jesus coming amongst us and saying,”Follow me.” And so we will follow. And if we do so with eyes, ears, hearts, and minds open,  then we will do more than remember. We will discover how Jesus is calling us in this present day, and in every day to come.

Faithfully,

Tom

Dear Friends,

There is something wondrous about the silence a snowfall brings. I read recently of the reason that sounds are muffled during a snowstorm:

When light, fluffy snow accumulates on the ground, it acts as a sound absorber, dampening sound waves much like commercial sound absorbing products.

“Snow is going to be porous, and typically porous materials such as fibers and foams, and things of that sort, absorb sound pretty well,” said David Herrin, a professor at the University of Kentucky’s College of Engineering who studies acoustics.*

For all of the inconvenience that a heavy snow can bring, it can also bring moments of seeing God’s beauty, and time to contemplate in quiet what our place in the world is meant to be. Quiet is rarer and rarer in our world today, as is the requirement to sit or stand and simply contemplate.

In the psalm we read this past Sunday, we were told by the psalmist that God

…gives snow like wool:
he scatters hoarfrost like ashes.

We know that God does not direct the particular aspects of any weather event. Still, we trust that this is the same God, who the same psalmist declares,

“counts the number of the stars,
and calls them all by their names.”

And God knows our names as well.

I hope that in the midst of shoveling, scraping, and dealing with reconfigured schedules, you can nonetheless take at least a moment today to dwell in the quietness around you. Receive that quiet as a gift from God, in which you may contemplate your place in this beautiful cosmos, and your response to the One who knows you by name.

Faithfully in Christ,

Tom

Dear Friends,

I was up extra early this morning – for whatever reason, our dog was ready to go out and about at 5 am today. I usually do not walk her that early, and in a part of the woods where she can be off the leash, I had a hard time seeing her as she ran about. Her black coat blended in perfectly with the surrounding dark.

Of course, the longer we were out there, the more the light increased. I am accustomed to being outdoors at the end of a day, when the light diminishes and night overtakes us. I am not nearly as accustomed to watching the subtle growth of light, even before the sun has risen. On this shortest day of the year, it gave me pause to realize that with patience, I would see more and more – both of Esther, and of the world. In that pause I gave thanks, and was reminded that the light of God does not always burst upon us like a brilliant sunrise, but sometimes slowly envelops us in ways that give us hope. The light may not come  in a blaze of glory, but  be like a lamp hanging in a stable, providing just enough of a glow for new life and new hope to be born.

Wherever you celebrate Christmas this year, I hope the light of God in Jesus Christ will give  you hope, and vision to see, and act, in love.

Faithfully,

Tom

Be Not Afraid

Dear Friends,

On my recent trip to New York City, I visited for the first time the Franklin D. Roosevelt Four Freedoms Park. Located on the tip of Roosevelt Island in the East River, the memorial commemorates what Roosevelt, in his 1941 State of the Union address, identified as four essential human freedoms: freedom of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want, and freedom from fear. With these words, Roosevelt sought to resist the increasing isolationism that he encountered throughout the nation, at a time when international events threatened all those freedoms.

Though Roosevelt listed freedom from fear as the last of those freedoms, it strikes me that fearfulness often is the root of threats to the other three freedoms. When we fear another’s viewpoint, or question the reliability of facts when making political decisions that affect us all, we are tempted to discount the importance of freedom of speech. When we are encouraged to fear or ban others from our shores based on their religious beliefs, freedom to worship for all persons is endangered. And if fear and anxiety make us accumulate as much as we can without regard for others, then the true wants of those in need will not be addressed, and our humanity is diminished.

As Christians, we do not deny the reality of fear. Fear is a very human emotion. Yet in this season especially, we remember the words,  “Be not afraid.” Those were the words that Gabriel spoke to Mary in a small home in Nazareth. Those were the words that angels offered to frightened shepherds on a hillside as the brought tidings of great joy. Those were and are the words that Jesus offered to his disciples, and to us.

Each of us has the freedom to respond to what we perceive as threats with all the reason, skill, and compassion that God has given us. Each of us has the capacity to defend those four freedoms.

If we wonder how we can do that, when the larger events of the world seem beyond our control, perhaps we can listen to the words of Eleanor Roosevelt. After her husband’s death, she was instrumental in drafting the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which enshrined those four freedoms. Reflecting on the challenge of defending human rights, she wrote, “Where after all, do universal rights begin? In small places, close to home…unless these rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere.”

Freedom of speech, freedom to worship, freedom from want, and freedom from fear. May they have meaning for us here in this “small place,” this parish that we love, so that our witness may resonate with in a world so in need of all these freedoms.

Faithfully,

Tom

Adapted from the rector’s  Clergy Viewpoint column of the Charlestown Patriot-Bridge, December 14.