Lent, the Holy Spirit, and Selma

by Bishop Arthur Walmsley           March 25, 2015

Ava DuVernay's film, Selma, is a powerful portrayal of the movement by black citizens to transform the struggle to confront racism in the law and public accommodations, one increasingly public and in the face of violent resistance. Martin Luther King, Jr. was thrust on the national stage during the organized boycott of buses in Montgomery, Alabama, which began in 1955 when Rosa Parks refused to sit in the back of a bus. The movement was vindicated a year later, when the Supreme Court condemned segregation in public accommodations.

The pressure for change continued to mount in the next years. One major event was the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, held on August 28, 1963. It is remembered annually for the "I have a dream" speech of Dr. King which so powerfully captured the vision of a nation beyond segregation, one built on insuring economic well-being for its citizens. Such an event would not have happened without the sacrifices of the civil rights struggle.

Barely two weeks after the march, on September 15, four young girls in a Sunday School in Birmingham, Alabama, were killed by a bomb. The next year and a half was punctuated by demonstrations, violent beatings of demonstrators, a growing sense that the nation would not move short of action by the Congress. The movie Selma captures both the continued affront to the nation's well-being, but what one reviewer of the film characterizes as the elusive "feeling and dynamic of a collective movement." I was at home in our apartment in Brooklyn when the television pictures of the bloodshed on the Pettus Bridge on March 7, 1965. I knew that I would be on my way to Selma the next morning, and I sensed that Selma would be a turning point.

After receiving the blessing of John Hines, our Presiding Bishop, the next day I was able to book a seat on an Eastern Airlines flight from Newark to Montgomery; by hook or crook I would get to Selma from there. The flight originated in Boston, and was substantially full of others on the same mission. I had a long and thoughtful conversation with one of them, a Unitarian pastor named James Reeb. Two nights later he would be bludgeoned to death - he had made the mistake of eating in a restaurant in a white neighborhood.

The attempted march had been held on Sunday. On Tuesday we lined up behind King and the others planning the march, and left the cordoned-off area where we had been secure behind national guardsman, and reached the approach to be bridge. King stopped, we prayed, what seemed like an eternity we just stood. And then, led by King, we knelt, turned and went back to the safe area. The stakes were high; another assault on marchers would have been very bloody. I managed to find a seat on a chartered airliner back to Washington, DC, and during the hiatus prior to the march itself, I worked the phones and twisted arms to lobby members of Congress to support the Voting Rights Bill which Congress would ultimately pass.

The stalemate which ensued gave time to pressure the White House to insure security for a march, not easily achieved with the resistance of the Governor as well as that of Jim Clark, the police chief of Selma. During this period, the numbers of people in Selma kept changing, but morale remained high as the community developed closer ties with local residents, as a good number had to be housed in people's homes. One sign of how important a national event the Selma to Montgomery March had become is the day on which a chartered planeload of church leaders came, to celebrate the life of James Reeb and to encourage the potential marchers.

An agreement was finally achieved for troops to guard the march, and out of the thousands who had gone to Selma, a representative group hiked the 54 miles to Montgomery. On March 25, 1965 a huge throng surrounded the steps of the capitol, signaling the success of the march. Its goal was now guaranteed: on August 6, President Lyndon Johnson would sign the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

There is another significant date in that month. On August 14^th, Jonathan Myrick Daniels, native of Keene, seminarian at the Episcopal Theological School, a young man who chose to return to the South after the passage of the bill to help enroll voters, was assassinated at the hands of a deputy sheriff by a shotgun blast in Hayneville, Alabama. Most of us know his story. He is listed in the liturgical calendar of saintly persons, St James' in Keene has yearly commemorations of him, as do the dioceses in Alabama, a statue of him has been placed in Westminster Abbey along with those of other twentieth century martyrs. If you do not know his story, or even if you want to refresh your memory, there is abundant material available through the internet and elsewhere.

He, it seems to me, epitomizes what it means to be called as a person of hope and transformation. I doubt than any of us will face death as he did. But we do need to read the signs of the times, and I do hope and pray that each of us will play our part in facing the struggles we must confront.

God So Loved the World

by the Rev. Kate Atkinson

“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” John 3:16

Which part of that promise is hardest for us to accept?  We may find it easy to say that Jesus is the Messiah.  But in order to achieve a life-changing shift in understanding and acceptance, we have to believe the first part of the promise: the part that reminds us of how profoundly God loves the world.

That indescribable love is what compelled God to live among us; and it’s why Jesus overcame death and made it possible for us to live with God for eternity. It’s love freely given, poured out without reservation. It’s ours for the taking; but too often we fail to take it.

God can’t possibly love me, we say.  Look how imperfect I am.  Look at all the mistakes I’ve made, that I keep making.  Look at the people I’ve hurt and the opportunities I’ve wasted.  Look at the darkness in my heart and the sins that control me.

Isn’t it interesting that we don’t struggle nearly as much with the idea that God loves other people? Our ministries are rooted in a desire to help other people believe they are beloved children of God.  But when it comes to ourselves, we have such a hard time believing it.

Our Mission of the Month for March is our Mission with Jamaica—a mission that’s been a part of this parish for almost 20 years, capturing the attention – and the support – of hundreds of parishioners. 

Our latest medical mission team recently returned from a week in Jamaica.  They tell amazing stories of the breaking down of racial, social, and religious barriers – of relationships that were forged on shaky ground but have grown into something solid and enduring, and life-changing.  These are stories about God’s unconditional love in action.

Geoff Forester has been on four of the mission trips now, taking literally thousands of photographs.  He’ll be telling the story in words and pictures over the next few weeks, in the Concord Monitor – so we’ll be able to see for ourselves the effects of God’s love, channeled through God’s people. 

There may have been a time, more than 20 years ago, when the residents of Chantilly doubted that they re beloved children of God.  It’s a community characterized by chronic unemployment, and grinding poverty.  Health services, utilities, and education are seriously under-resourced; the people struggle daily with hunger, sickness, hopelessness, and fear for their children’s future.

You may be thinking that the people from St. Paul’s arrived on the scene like a band of superheroes and saved the people of Chantilly.  That’s certainly part of the story.  They brought medicine and medical equipment and expertise; they provided dental care; they helped repair houses and improve living conditions; they refurbished the Basic School and raised funds for uniforms, books and meals for the preschoolers in the village; they offered Vacation Bible School programs—and recruited older children to help with them; and they generated scholarships for high school education that would otherwise be inaccessible for the youth of Chantilly.

Our mission teams brought many things to Chantilly but the main thing they brought was their presence.  Returning year after year, Mark and Jan Carney and the other team members established a deep connection with the people they’d initially chosen to help.  Helping them became loving them; loving them brought transformation.  And it wasn’t only Jamaican lives that were transformed.

Geoff Forester says, “In Jamaica the hugs last longer and the tears flow harder.” 

The people of Chantilly grew to love and trust their friends from New Hampshire.  Before long they were looking forward to their visits not just for the care and assistance they received, but because of the deep relationships they had formed.  When our team arrives in the village, “enthusiastic” doesn’t begin to describe their welcome!  And when they leave to come back home, the grief is overwhelming – on both sides.

God loved the world so much that he gave us his Son to show us what love means.  And God gave us Jesus to show us not only how to love others but how to receive love from others.

When we respect the dignity of our outreach clients, or encourage children in our Sunday school, or take our Ministry of Presence into hospital and hospice rooms, or pray for a fellow parishioner in distress, or open our hearts to the people of Chantilly, we’re both expressing and discovering what Jesus meant when he said, “God so loved the world.”  And by sharing our love wholeheartedly with others, and receiving their love in return, we catch a glimpse of how it will be when eventually we claim our gift of eternal life.

Lents that have been a gift to me

by Bishop Stewart Wood, shared at the Bevy of Bishops Lenten series March 18, 2015

I asked my wife, “Do you remember any Lent that was special for you?”  She said, “No,” and I wasn’t really surprised.  Mind you, not remembering something special in no way suggests all of those Lents went for naught.  Most of us eat three meals a day, most of them enjoyable and nourishing our bodies in some way; but it’s not likely that we can recall many of the meals we’ve eaten as truly special. 

I must confess that when I tried to remember something about the seventy-two Lents I’ve experienced since becoming an Episcopalian only a few really stood out. 

My family was introduced to the Episcopal Church at St. Stephen’s Church in Edina, Minnesota in 1943.   We had attended the Congregational Church in Detroit.  That’s where my sister and I were baptized and where my parents were active. What attracted us to St. Stephen’s was its neighborhood quality.  We could easily walk to it, and lots of our neighbors belonged.  I think you’d call that “Birds of a feather” evangelism.

I got drawn in to its youth programs pretty quickly and loved serving as an acolyte.  My parents relate the story of my coming home one Sunday for lunch when I was twelve and announcing that when I grew up I wanted to be “an erector.” 

All of that is simply to say I loved the Church as a young person.  Lent had a special power because of its mystic length, forty days set apart from the rest of the year.  For me and my friends it was the season of anticipation of Easter.  It was the end of winter’s grip and the promise of spring.

As a seminarian I was drawn to Grace Church, Alexandria, Virginia.  I was intrigued by its patterns of worship and by Edward Merrow, its Rector.  He was a big fellow, had played semi-professional football and sung in opera before being ordained.  With that great voice and imposing body he was something to behold in the pulpit or at the altar.  During Lent he took on a serious discipline of fasting, so much so that by Easter he seemed a shadow of the man we knew on Ash Wednesday.

As Holy Week was approaching that first spring in seminary I signed up for the 2:00 AM to 3:00 AM portion of the Maundy Thursday watch that lasted through the night in anticipation of our Lord’s crucifixion.  To my deep embarrassment I fell asleep in the midst of it.  Like the disciples in the garden on the night of our Lord’s betrayal I had been unable to keep my eyes open.  I was ashamed and felt judged.  That was a jarring experience. I doubt I counted my discipline that Lent to have been very successful.

The first Lent that stood apart from its predecessors was in the late seventies and early eighties while I served a congregation in Glendale, Ohio.  Susan Lehman, my associate, was wonderfully gifted and imaginative.  This particular Lent she took a beautiful crystal bowl that must have been a wedding gift and placed it in the center of their dining room table filled it with dirt.  She had reflected on the phrase used as ashes are imposed on our foreheads on Ash Wednesday, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  For her this was a very realistic message, an encouragement to go easy on yourself.  Lent is a chance to pull back from all that frantic activity that marks our lives and remember we’re mortal.  Take a breath, stop pushing so hard.  Realize you are beloved of God without having to produce something. That has been a lasting counsel, a Lent for which I give thanks to God.  Susan had read our congregation accurately and knew the kind of tonic we all needed for that Lent.

What might Lent be for you the next time around?  What advice can I offer?

I’d say first off, be really careful about what you take on or give up.  Lent is not like going to a fitness club to get in shape.  It’s not intended to be “no pain – no gain” enterprise.  Instead I believe the Church offers it as an opportunity to deepen our awareness of God’s love for us just as we are.  Guilt is easy to come by, and given the demands on most of us the risk of taking on something too burdensome is that it will only generate more guilt.  At the risk of sounding sacrilegious I’m for a “guilt-free Lent.”

Second, I’d encourage you to find a way to share the season with others.  A Lenten series like “A Bevy of Bishops” is one example.  And there are any number of Lenten programs available on the Internet – such as “Stop, Pray, Work, Play, Love” from SSJE (http://ssje.org/ssje/time/).  Engaging in a communal Lenten discipline has the benefit of encouraging you to stay with it and opens you to gifts and challenges not of your own making.

Finally, I’d encourage you to seek several partners with whom you can make the Lenten journey together.   Whatever vehicle you choose will likely be a blessing, but the act of sharing what difference it’s making for you and the others is an even greater blessing.

So here’s to a guilt-free season of discovery with others, one that deepens your awareness of God’s love for you.

Care for Creation

A Lenten reflection from Bishop Bud Cederholm, shared during the Bevy of Bishops Lenten series on March 11

The theme Lent and Creation Care could be subtitled –Holy Habits for a Holy Ground.  How might holy habits such as  Fasting (Carbon Fast anyone? Go to http://www.macucc.org/carbonfast), Prayer, Study, Worship, Meditation, Contemplation, Examination of Conscience, Service, Gratitude etc. sustain us as we work toward a sustainable  environment?  Let’s look at our biblical mandate from Genesis to care for creation.

In his books, Does God have a Big Toe, Rabbi Marc Gellman tells us that we have been created in the image of God to be God’s “partners” in tending and caring for creation. Partners never give up on one another. God will never give up on us and we must never give up on God when we live as stewards of God’s creation. So partners, how have we been doing?  NOT so good according to 95% of scientists and from what we observe happening to all life on earth as a result of Climate Change caused by our action and inactions, greed, apathy and lifestyles. For the sake of all life and what our grandchildren will inherit, I believe that we must see  Climate Change as the # 1 moral, justice issue the Church and world face today. This is not about fear and guilt (though we all bear some guilt for rising temperatures and acidic oceans).

As followers of Jesus who pick up our crosses to follow him in service to others, we believe in Faith, Hope, and Love. God, through Christ is pleased to reconcile ALL things to himself, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of the cross. (Colossians 1:19-20). I have Hope because people of faith are “picking up their crosses” all over the world, serving Christ and, with God’s help, reconciling with creation,  repairing, restoring and renewing what we as humans have done to the earth and all life. I have HOPE because Hildegard of Bingem has taught me to really LOVE creation. In the 12^th century she said, We shall awaken from our dullness and rise vigorously toward justice. If we fall deeper and deeper in love with creation, we will respond to its endangerment with passion.  YES!

So friends of the earth, as people of passion for the environment can we live out our baptismal promises to love our neighbors (including our non-human ones)?  Will we strive for peace and justice and respect the dignity of all people and all life on earth together?  Will we do so repentant,   continuing in the apostles’ teaching, breaking of bread and prayers (and holy habits)?

A question to ponder:  Describe a place in Nature that will mourn your death when you are gone.

Approaching Good Friday 2015

shared by a friend of St. Paul's

As I move through Lent, I try to remind myself of Jesus’s suffering, to make it real, despite the distance of some two thousand years.   I found this reading effective:

“The procedure of the crucifixion – how the victim was hanged – was left completely up to the executioner.   Some were nailed with their heads downward.  Some had their private parts impaled.  Most were stripped naked. . . . With his crime recorded in Pilate’s logbook, Jesus would have been led out of the Antonia fortress and taken to the courtyard, where he would be stripped naked, tied to a stake, and savagely scourged, as was the custom for all those sentenced to the cross.  The Romans would then have placed a crossbeam behind the nape of his neck and hooked his arms over it – again, as was the custom – so that the messiah . . .would himself be yoked like an animal and led to slaughter.

“As with all those condemned to crucifixion, Jesus would have been forced to carry the crossbeam himself to a hill situated outside the walls of Jerusalem, directly on the road leading into the city gates. . . .The crossbeam would be attached to a scaffold or post, and Jesus’ wrists and ankles would be nailed to the structure with three iron spikes.  A heave, and the cross would be lifted to the vertical.  Death would not have taken long.  In a few short hours, Jesus’ lungs would have tired, and breathing became impossible to sustain.”

This account was not written by a Christian – not quite, anyway.    I’ve been reading about Jesus with an Iranian writer.    Reza Aslan, author of Zealot: the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth, was born in Iran and as a teenager fled the country with his family after the Iranian revolution in 1979.   He describes his family as lukewarm Muslims and atheists and who, having lost everything to the Ayatollah, made religion in general and Islam in particular a taboo subject after arriving in California. 

At 15, young Reza converted to evangelical Christianity at summer camp, and fell in love with a Jesus with whom “I could have a deep and personal relationship.”    However, as he plunged into biblical studies to strengthen his new faith,   he discovered the many contradictions in the Bible, even among the books of the New Testament..   “Confused and spiritually unmoored,” he angrily abandoned his new faith and began to rethink his relationship with Islam.

However, he continued his academic religious studies, “delving back into the Bible not as an unquestioning believer but as an inquisitive scholar.”   He became drawn to Jesus again, not Jesus the Christ, the divine being, but the very human Jesus of Nazareth whom Aslan came to admire as a political revolutionary.

So what am I doing trying to learn about Jesus’ death and passion from a not-too-zealous Muslim writer who is very comfortable as an academic skeptic who now teaches creative writing at the University of California-Riverside?    For one thing, he is a fine storyteller, and his brief account of the Crucifixion brings a new perspective to an old story.   Aslan goes on to describe  a time of seething opposition to the Roman occupation and its toadies in the Jerusalem temple, the countryside haunted by false messiahs who often resorted to violence, and the Romans’ brutal violence in kind.   Many messiahs were killed by the Romans, until the final upheavals of 70 A.D and after, which provoked Rome to destroy the temple and drive the surviving Jews out of Palestine.

But what drew me to this book is that it is a story of Jesus, well-written, by someone who is not a believing Christian but an admirer of  Jesus nonetheless.  Most important, here is someone who tries (and fails, it seems to me) to deny Jesus’ resurrection.   “One could stop the argument. . . dismiss the resurrection as a lie, and declare belief in the risen Jesus to be the product of a deludable mind.”   Here is struggle.  Aslan wants to remain a skeptic, but can’t quite do it:

“However, there is this nagging fact to consider:  one after another of those who claimed to have witnessed the risen Jesus went to their own gruesome deaths refusing to recant their testimony. . . they were being asked to deny something they themselves personally, directly encountered.”   Moreover, “perhaps the most obvious reason not to dismiss the disciples’ resurrection experiences out of hand is that, among all the other failed messiahs who came before and after him, Jesus alone is still called messiah.   It was precisely the fervor with which the followers of Jesus believed in his resurrection that transformed this tiny Jewish sect into the largest religion in the world.”

What the Gospels invite us to believe is overwhelming.  It defies what many would call common sense.  Yet faith persists after two thousand years, and keeps nagging at skeptics like Aslan, who want to deny it, but can’t quite seem to shake the Resurrection off.

A Lenten Reflection

shared by Holly Tepe

I am a “cradle Episcopalian”.  Church is a natural part of my life, like breathing.  My first church was St. George’s in Maplewood, NJ. I remember painting crèche figurines in Sunday school to take home.  The church seemed so big to me and the organ playing the postlude (probably Widor) was terrifying, while I clung to my parent’s hands for dear life!  Kind little old ladies would sometimes give me pretty flower s…

Then we moved to Summit, NJ and our new church was called Calvary.  At church on Sundays, following the sound of my mother’s jingling charm bracelets down the aisle to our seat; we became familiar with the joys of hiding under the pews, much to our mother’s chagrin!  Happily for her (and the other parents), we were all sent off to Sunday school before the sermon.  I didn’t stay in the church for a whole service until I started singing in the St. Cecilia girls’choir.

I took my first real piano lessons in the choir room with our beloved organist, Howard Vogel.  My elementary school was across the street from the church and I would often go there after school and wander around the empty building, sometimes helping the Altar Guild to polish silver.

We were expected to give up something like candy for Lent.  It was a Season that seemed inexplicable, long and gloomy, and it wasn’t until I was older and had learned more about it that I began to understand what it meant.  Jesus had become a hero to me and I loved the pictures of Him with the little children.  He spent 40 days in the Wilderness, fasting and praying in preparation for His ministry, this was the length of Lent.  In French, the word “lent” means “slow”.  The actual meaning comes from the Old English word “lencten” meaning spring or the lengthening of days.  I thought that “slow” worked better!

The end of Lent was Holy Week and Good Friday.  I just couldn’t understand why it was called “Good” when it was the day that Jesus died!  I learned that it had to be” Good” because Jesus didn’t stay dead.  He rose on Easter, as the Light of the World.

When I grew up Lent was a blessed time for reflection and developing a closer relationship to God.  Giving up candy was just a small part of it.  Jesus was still a hero, but He became closer and dearer, a loving Friend, Someone to count on in dark times, Someone to mourn for on Good Friday and Someone to rejoice with on Easter….Lucy and Susan Pevensie, riding joyfully through Narnia on the risen Aslan’s back.. ”Redemption and Release”.

“Foot-dragging through the Wilderness of Lent”

Summary of Lenten Discussion from March 4, 2015, St. Paul’s, Concord - 

By: The Rt. Rev. Donald Hart

Lent is holy ground, almost untouchable, and yet many people have problems with the practices, and piety, that Lent carries with it.

The problems are not theological. Lent’s grounding in the suffering of Jesus and God’s atonement that assures us of God’s love and grace is the foundation for our hope and strength in living our lives and facing our deaths. It is not a theology of magic, but one of faith, that calls us into compassion and forgiveness.

Ash Wednesday gives us a contradictory and confusing start. We are given excellent practices to enter a Holy Lent, by reading scripture, praying, fasting, meditating, and repenting. And then, immediately we share in the rite of imposing ashes, and the words reminding us we are dust and to dust we shall return. This powerfully symbolic action has taken place just after the equally powerful reading from St. Matthew’s Gospel, quoting Jesus warning against the hypocrisy of displaying a piety for everyone to see, and the value of washing our faces, so that no one but God will know of our fasting practices.

What is missing is recognition that between the dust of our beginnings and our ending is LIFE, that gift of time when we come to know God and ourselves as people who are called to be holy. Can we claim, in this Lenten Season, more than simply dust and ashes? Can we also enter into the complexity of knowing God’s love – that brings us our greatest joy and most enduring hope?

Our spirituality is fed and nurtured and deepened in so many ways. Traditional church practices often emphasize more services, teaching programs at the church, services with more ritual, the cross draped in purple, the reredos covered, no flowers, hymns in the minor key. Austerity works for many people, but not for all. Those who have difficulty with Lent long for the hymns that feed their spiritual expression, that give them the prayer language of praise and thanksgiving to God for God’s grace and compassion that is at the center of Lent.

Is this not a time for the poets and composers to give us new Lenten hymns that reflect the spirituality of today, and not only of Victorian England? Is Lent not also a time when people can be affirmed in deepening their spirituality, (as people have, since time immemorial ) by turning to nature, in seeing God in creation, in acknowledging that many everyday acts, like running, hiking, reading, knitting, woodworking, cooking, are powerful times of being open to God’s presence in our lives? Can Lent actually have “wilderness”, as it was for Jesus during his forty days, for us to hear God in the silence of life?

Most of us New Englanders have grown up and discovered our religious practices and piety for Lent among Congregationalist (Protestants in general) and Roman Catholics. The “middle way” of Episcopalians has proven to be a confusing path. Our way is no less serious because it gives us the experience of God’s unfailing love in the most difficult of times. That is very good news. Let the last word be to find something to enjoy in this Season of Lent, and if that means praising God with a silent ALLELUIA in the depths of your soul – do it! Enjoy it … and have a holy Lent. 

TIME

A reflection by Jerry Tepe

Tempus fugit. A stitch in time saves nine. Time is money. Time wasted is time lost. Time is of the essence. Time marches on.

How many clichés can we have around a single word? And how often is time important in our lives?

We often say we do not have enough time in a day to do what needs to be accomplished. Yet on other days, time seems to stand still as we keep checking the clock every few minutes.

Now I can fully appreciate that many of us are in circumstances where our time does seem limited. Those with young families have not only their own claims to the hours of a day, but need also to think about the time commitments of their family, particularly the children. Still others have the pressures of their business, particularly of their bosses who may be at times unrealistic in their expectations, but have to be followed regardless. We hear about the need to be available 24/7/365.

Given all this, it is often difficult to find the time in our lives for ourselves; to just stop and reflect on what is happening in our lives, in our families, in our community, in our faith? Granted I have reached the time in my life where many of these outside pressures are limited or nonexistent, but I learned years ago that I needed to build time into my life to care for myself if I was going to be able to care for others. I put these times, like visiting the YMCA for exercise, into my weekly calendar and treated them as I would any other commitment as inviolable.

Many of you have heard me before speak of the importance of putting some silence, silent time if you will, into our lives so we can hear God speaking to us. If we do not block the outside sources that demand our attention daily, we cannot hear God’s voice. To be sure, at times He hits us over the head just like he did with St. Paul; but mostly it is a quieter, thought provoking approach. But we also, at times, need to be silent in our relationships with others, so we can hear their voice, their concerns, their worries and burdens. If we can’t take the time to listen, how can we offer support? And lastly, but maybe most importantly, take the time, a minute here, a minute there, to pray and give thanks.

As we go through the Lenten season, perhaps we can all take on the obligation of allowing ourselves some time away from the distractions of our lives to put that time of silence into every day; to listen, really listen to others; and to pray. Make the effort and I truly think you will find it rewarding.

Carrying Our Cross

Hani

Yousef

Towadros

Maged

Milad

Abanub

Kirollos

Bishoy

Malak 

Girgis

Mina

Samuel

Samuel

Ezat

Loqa

Munir

Esam

Malak

Sameh

Girgis

and one other whose name is unknown.

These 21 men were laborers, fishermen, ordinary, hard-working husbands, fathers and sons who left their homes in Egypt to find work in Libya.  As Coptic Christians, they knew it wouldn’t be easy for them to live in a place where ISIS is actively engaged in terrorism.  But they were desperate to provide for their families so they took the risk in spite of the dangers.

In December and January, during two nighttime raids, masked gunmen went through the city of Sirte, looking specifically for Christians. They dragged these men from their beds and took them hostage, making it clear to the world that they would punish them for the double “sin” of being both Christian and Egyptian.  Two weeks ago, all 21 men were executed.

Those simple, ordinary men probably never intended to die for their faith – but that’s exactly what they did.  Like thousands of men and women before them who, in the face of persecution, carried their cross openly and without shame, they lost their lives.

As Episcopalians in New England, it’s unlikely that our journeys will lead to martyrdom at the hands of terrorists. But many of our brothers and sisters in faith truly do live their lives in danger.  The cross that we’re called to carry every day of our lives is a symbol of solidarity with them.

The martyrs among us may proclaim their faith with dramatic acts of courage – such as stepping in front of an assailant’s bullet to save a life, the way Jonathan Daniels did in Alabama 50 years ago.   And there are less dramatic but equally courageous acts – like earning a living in a hostile country with a Coptic cross tattooed on your wrist. 

Jesus taught that choosing to become his followers requires that we deny ourselves (Mark 8:34). That means recognizing that not one of us is more important than another; no life is worth more; no death is worth less. 

Being ashamed of Jesus doesn’t just mean denying all knowledge of him. It also means denying his sovereignty in our lives by not putting him foremost, by not acknowledging the comfort he gives us, by not responding to his desire to help and bless us in every way.  In other words, being ashamed of Jesus is often expressed in what we don’t do.

If we’re too ashamed to show people what Jesus is like and what he’s done, and continues to do, in our lives, if we compromise our faith to fit into a faithless society, then we dishonor the people whose earthly lives are damaged or ended because they’re not ashamed.

Before they were killed, each of those 21 men cried out, “Jesus, help me!”

We’re all sustained by the same holy, life-giving source, Jesus Christ.  When we’re not afraid to pick up our cross and carry it through our daily lives; when we’re not ashamed to let other people know where our strength and confidence comes from; that’s how we ensure that those who lose their live do not die in vain.  And they are never, ever forgotten.

Excerpted from a sermon preached February 28 & March 1

Artwork created in memory of the martyrs - by Tony Rezk

You may find sermons from our weekend services on our website:

www.stpaulsconcord.org under the Worship Tab - you may read this sermon in its entirety here

Mind the Gap!

A reflection by Jerry Tepe

Anyone who has visited England, or perhaps even watched some British television shows, is familiar with the expression – Mind the Gap! Mind the Gap in the UK refers to the space between the platform and the rail or subway (underground) car. If your foot gets caught in the gap, you risk possible physical injury.

During Lent, we are often encouraged to reexamine our faith, our beliefs and our lives in light of our faith as taught to us by Jesus. But while we look at these elements, do we sometimes miss the gaps that occur between them and at what risk of injury of another type?

These gaps can occur between our beliefs and our actions in daily life; between what our culture tells us, urges us, to do or how to do things and what our faith tradition from the church and Jesus tells us, urges us, yea commands us to do; between what we are taught to believe and how we translate that into daily life. And we ignore these gaps at our spiritual peril.

It is relatively easy to focus on a faith, a belief, a teaching and yet to miss what happens in the gaps between these specific elements. It is truly how we put the various elements of our faith into action during our daily lives, in our relationships with others and with God, and make the whole work for the betterment of the world and to further God’s purpose for our world and our lives.

In the Education for Ministry (EfM) program we practice a thought process referred to as Theological Reflection or TR. In this process we intentionally bring into focus what our personal beliefs, our culture, and our church tradition/teaching tell us about any particular situation or event. During that process we then can examine where the gaps occur between these various points of view and thus help us focus on what or how we should proceed as Christians. While it is unrealistic to expect those outside of the EfM program to pick up on this process without training and experience, we all can, and should, be mindful of the gaps as we work our way through our daily lives. I encourage you, as part of your Lenten observations, to consider where the gaps occur in your faith and life.

DUST

A personal reflection by Cherie Greene

On Ash Wednesday, I had to work an afternoon-evening shift in Bedford. I wasn’t sure whether the 12:10 Eucharist would let me out in time to get to work, so I decided to try one of these “Ashes to Go” stations. I had run an errand up Loudon Road and was returning down Main Street with an eye out for roadside priests. Sure enough, there on the corner of Main and Capitol I spied a man in a cope. By what seemed a miracle, I found a parking spot in the next block.

As I approached him along the sidewalk, I made sure to make eye contact. I didn’t recognize him. Since I didn’t know of any parishes doing this besides St. Paul’s and Grace, I thought maybe they had a new guy over there on the east side. Three other people walked past him without looking, trying to ignore the presence of such overt piety. I would be different. I would show him I appreciated him being there.

Then I got close enough to read his name tag. Beneath a name I instantly forgot, I saw “St. Luke’s Anglican Church.”

Oh, I thought. He’s not ours. He’s from one of THOSE parishes.

If you haven’t kept up on the internal politics of the Anglican Communion in the past few decades, let me explain. The word “Anglican” on an American parish means that they broke away from the Episcopal Church, placing themselves in the jurisdiction of a more conservative foreign bishop—one who would never do anything as divisive as, for instance, ordain a homosexual.

I expected that, if he knew I was from St. Paul’s, he would view me as a (possibly heretical) left-wing radical. I saw him as a right-wing stick-in-the-mud. But I had already given him a friendly smile, and he was smiling back, so I couldn’t wiggle out of it now. I approached and presented my forehead.

“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

I said, “Amen,” and that was that. I now sported a rather large, ostentatious black cross on my face, planted there by someone I disagree with.

My first instinct was regret, even revulsion. I spent the drive from Capitol to Pleasant kicking myself for my haste. I should have kept looking until I found a more ideologically friendly cleric. Our own people were out here somewhere. The cross felt dirty, the ashes polluted with the wrong-headedness of “those people” and their backward ideas.

Wait, I thought. You’re doing the same thing you fault them for, rejecting a fellow member of Christ’s body to maintain your own ideological and ritual purity. And so I spent the drive from Pleasant Street to my place kicking myself for being such a Pharisee.

Only when I was looking in the bathroom mirror, debating whether to remove the ashes before going to work, did the point of the whole exercise finally start to sink in. I’m dust. He’s dust. My bishop and his bishop, both dust. In the end, all our rituals and titles and family feuds will crumble and blow away. If Ash Wednesday is about anything besides making nonbelievers wonder what’s up with our foreheads, it’s about getting over ourselves. We’re all dust.

I washed my face and hit the road.