Fellowship

by The Rev. Kate Atkinson

We talk about fellowship a lot at St. Paul’s – often including it in a list of three “F”s that describe a social event: Fun, Food and Fellowship. But Christian fellowship means much more than enjoying one another’s company at coffee hour, or a foyer group, or even our monthly “Fellowship Potluck.”

In his commentary on the Letters of John, the theologian, John Stott, describes what he calls “the divine order” – angelia (message), koinōnia (fellowship), and chara (joy) – highlighting the middle stage of that progression as vital to our Christian life.

(John R.W. Stott, The Letters of John, Pg. 71 © 1996 Inter-Varsity Press, Leicester, England)  

The apostle John wrote to the first century believers about the importance of living in fellowship with God and with one another, specifically so that we can live without sin, and ultimately so that “our joy may be complete.” (1 John 1:4; 2:1)

In order to do that, John writes, we have to take to heart the message that “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all.” (1 John 1:5)  Light represents God’s glory and splendor – the divine radiance we imagine permeating all of heaven. Light also represents purity and truth – divine qualities manifested in Jesus. And God’s light is offered to us, the children of God, as a source of power, salvation, and discernment.

Fellowship is the act of gathering with other Christians and sharing our common awareness of God’s light. It doesn’t necessarily require us to have deep, theological discussions every time we get together (although sometimes that does happen), but it does mean striving for purity and truth in what we say to one another and in our actions.  It also means acknowledging that we are stronger, safer, and wiser because of God’s presence with us.

That could mean talking about the times we’ve fallen short of what we know God expects of us; it could include occasions when we’ve struggled with Jesus’ teachings and ended up disregarding them; it could be the times we’ve given into temptation of various kinds. Being in fellowship with one another means recognizing that we all face similar challenges – and we all need God’s help, and one another’s, to respond to them.

Fellowship allows us to be utterly transparent about who we are and who we’re striving to be as children of a loving God.

To read more, please check out the full sermon on our website here. 

An interview with Joshua

by Jean Gillespie

Joshua Bruner came to St. Paul's last year to serve as an intern.  He is a student at Yale Divinity School, which he says is a phenomenal experience, working with his professors and clergy administrators.  An important part of the preparation for becoming a priest is to serve as an intern in a parish.  In seminary he gets the academic knowledge.  As an intern he learns about and experiences parish administration and leading worship, which is a vital part of the role of parish priest. Joshua is thankful that he can serve as intern at St. Paul's, in his sponsoring diocese.

At St. Paul's he is working with the Sr. High youth, as well as preaching and leading worship, and serving as a mentor in one of our EfM groups.  He is grateful for all the help he receives here.  He says Kate has been an excellent supervisor, mentor and friend, and Sarah has been a wonderful resource in his work with the youth.  He appreciates the help from Keith and Brother Charles in liturgical matters and all the help he gets from Kristin.  He is thankful for all the parishioners who have made him feel at home here at St. Paul's.  He says "I am extremely grateful to have found this wonderful place to do ministry while I complete my requirements for my degree and move along in my discernment process related to the ordination to the priesthood."

The people of St. Paul's are thankful for Joshua's willingness to share himself with us.  His intelligence, his kind listening ear, and his gift for sharing God's message in a truly personal way that many feel speaks directly to them and their own experiences has been a blessing.

Joshua's internship at St. Paul's will end soon, but I hope that won't end our relationship with him.  He will graduate from Yale in May 2016, and he hopes to find a call to a parish in Central or Southern New Hampshire, as that is where his family will be.  We will keep him in our thoughts and prayers as he finishes his requirements for graduation and ordination to the priesthood, and seeks a parish in New Hampshire.  He has contributed so much to our life at St. Paul's.

The Road to Emmaus

by Marjorie Hascall

It is a Saturday in Advent, a number of years ago; a Quiet Day is beginning, Bishop Walmsley speaks about this time together.  As he speaks my thoughts are drawn to the nave of the church and to one of the stained glass windows.  I hear little that is being said. Yet one statement dos come through: “We are mostly somewhere else.” Yes, I am somewhere else at this moment, visualizing a window – The Road to Emmaus.

As each of the periods for meditation begins I enter the church and sit where I can study and focus on the window.  It is a particular favorite of mine.  Jesus sitting there with two people, appearing in conversation.  I notice the marks of the nails on his hands.  The woman in the scene seems to be reaching out to touch those hands in a caring, soothing, healing way.  Do they see who this person is or are their eyes still clouded.  I look beyond the foreground to the village and hills beyond.  The stars in the sky are so brilliant, they almost seems to be twinkling.

The ‘caption’ to the window states ‘He broke bread and gave it to them, then their eyes were opened.’  Where is the bread?  Have they eaten?  Are they now seeing Jesus for who he is?  Do I see Jesus? Are my eyes opened after I receive the consecrated bread and wine?

What always draws me to this window?  What does it represent to me that I don’t see?  What is there that I do not see?  On the surface there is the night sky with the stars shining brilliantly. The hill with its many earth tones, the village and the foreground with Jesus and this couple.  They have welcomed him into their home.  He is the Risen Christ, who they don’t recognize until he breaks bread and gives it to them.  I am on the outside looking in on the scene.  What would it be like if I could step into the scene and join the group?

Would I have recognized Jesus and welcomed him as my Lord; or would it have taken the act of blessing, breaking and giving me bread to have recognized him, for me to know him as the Risen Christ, 

My eyes are drawn time and time again to the marks of the nails on his hands.  It I were in the scene would I have seen them.  They tell us who he is.  They are reminders of the agony he has suffered.  Is the woman now reaching out to touch those marks in hopes of healing them?  There is a look of concern on the man’s face.  What is he thinking?  This is the resurrected Jesus – the Savior, the Redeemer.

I look to the sky and the stars.  They shine this night as they shone the night Jesus of Nazareth was born.  They are the same stars that shine now on this earth 2000 years later.

There is a bowl between Jesus and the couple.  It appears empty – the bread must have been consumed.  That may be the answer to the look of concern on the young man’s face.  He wonders – “How can this be?”  He was taken from the cross and buried; yet here he is with us.  He fed us, he opened our eyes, he is our Lord.  He has returned from the dead.  How can this be?”

The woman reaches out as if to touch those wounded hands.  Does his garment reveal evidence of his pierced side?  No, and the hands are not blood stained only the marks of the nails are revealed.  Jesus, who was fully human, now reveals his full divinity in human form.  Yes, all those years from the time he was born he was both fully human and fully divine.  He enters into the bread that he blesses breaks and gives.

This couple are truly blessed to be in his presence.  The presence of God.  And to this day aren’t we all truly blessed and in the presence of God.  That Jewish couple represents all believing Christians.  They know they are in God’s presence.  Receiving the Holy Bread from that Holy man who is God and has opened their eyes.

Why just the two of them, where are the throngs who welcomed him to Jerusalem just a few short days ago?  But this scene might have lost its power if throngs had gathered.  God doesn’t need throngs of people to reveal himself – He does it best it seems to the few at a time.  Perhaps that is the  reason the quiet service of Holy Eucharist with few in attendance is for me the more Holy Service.  Where I feel the strong presence of God, where I feel truly fed.

It is as if at those times that I have entered this scene for the quiet private time with God that I seem to yearn for.  This is where and when I feel that I can best talk with my God.

Maybe I am sitting there with the others talking with this stranger that we met on the road to Emmaus.  We were returning from Jerusalem, after that terrible Friday.  When the man we had known as the Teacher was crucified.  He appeared to be lonely as we met him on the road.  It was growing dark – not really all that safe to be traveling alone.  We greeted him, and invited him to join us as we walked toward our home.

There was something strange about this man.  There was both a look of defeat and triumph about him,  and those deep scratches on his forehead and the marks on his hands, what were they?  He somehow seems lost and lonely yet he moves with purpose.  He tells us nothing about himself yet we find ourselves sharing fully with him our lives, our hopes and our dreams, our cares, our worries.  How strange!  How can this be?

We invite him into our dwelling where he joins us in conversation.  The lamp is lit to break through the darkness of the place.  Over the courtyard wall we can see the village close at hand and the hills looming high in the distance.  The sky is so blue tonight, a dark, dark blue that allows the stars to shine brightly.

Bread and wine are prepared and brought to where we sit.  This man, this stranger now seems to be larger than life.  Without a word he takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and offers it to us.

Suddenly we realize who this stranger is.  He is the Risen Lord who had been crucified just days before.  He is here with us.  Our God and our Savior.  We say nothing for a while, we are in awe of this man, who is no longer a stranger or a man but is our God.  We recall all those other times that we were with him.  All too soon he prepares to leave to continue his journey.  He rises blesses us and moves out of the circle of light and out of the door of our dwelling.  We watch as he continues along the road into the mist and out of sight.

I now feel that every time I approach the altar rail, where I kneel to

partake of the bread and wine at a celebration of the Holy Eucharist I enter this scene.  Where again the Lord feeds me with the food of pardon, solace strength and renewal.

We are mostly somewhere else!!

The Road to Emmaus 2         by Daniel Bonnell

Good Friday Reflection

by Tim Frazer 

I earned my living teaching English, and I thought I would contribute to the blog by writing about John Donne’s Good Friday poem.   But while the poem enters in here, I find I got nudged in a different direction.

The title of Donne’s “Goodfriday 1613. Riding Westward” always aroused a powerful visual image of a Good Friday sky, with a rider heading into a wet, west wind, the setting sun mostly clouded over.

I never cared much for the poem itself. I never tried to teach it. Its imagery is complex. I usually quit after the first few stanzas.   But on Good Friday of 2013 I literally found myself riding westward, in this case through southern Vermont and beyond, so I could spend Easter weekend with my mother in Illinois.   Here was another darkish, Good Friday sky lowering over the Green Mountains. I remembered that it was the 400^th anniversary of Donne’s original Good Friday journey.

Remembering Jerusalem, site of the Crucifixion, Donne writes:

Hence is’t, that I am carryd towards the West/ This day, when my Soules forme bends towards the East. / There I should see a Sunne, by rising set, and by that setting endless day beget.

In Wilmington, Vermont, I saw a Catholic church open. Services were not due to start for a few hours, and while I could not stay for that, I was at least able to enter, sit alone in front of the altar, and be quiet until time to hit the road.

  

The Gospel writers’ accounts are brief as to details, but Mark tells us of the “Darkness from the sixth hour over the whole land.”     After the rising “Sunne” and “endless day,” the rest of Donne’s poem is darkened by sin, guilt, shame. It is Good Friday. Hope of Resurrection lays hidden in darkness.

My 2013 Lenten journey ended, of course, on Easter morning, this time in the same church – the same congregation at least – where my Mom had worshipped since 1940 (she will be 100 this June!)   After the service we talked about poetry, and about Resurrection. My father passed away in 1993, and Mom reminded me about the experience she encountered during his funeral. Dad suddenly appeared to her, smiling and warm, and spoke. He said “I have to go now. But don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”   That was like a bright light on yet another dark day.

Mom has led a rich life. Years ago, she lobbied her community to provide breakfasts for kids who were coming to school hungry, and ran the kitchen.   She wrote poetry. Even into her nineties, she preached a number of times in her church. Like others who live long lives, she has had to live with the loss of family members and friends.   She has had to put up with health problems and gradual loss of independence.   But she can still say when I call her, “Tim, I’m doing pretty well.”

To explain the faith that has brought Mom through this long and incredible life, I turn again to poetry – not John Donne’s this time, but Mom’s:

I always knew there was a force

That kept the planets in their course.

And gave the moon authority

To draw the tides across the sea.

And as I contemplate with awe

This absolute and holy law

I know with perfect certainty

This holy force abides in me.

 ----Barbara Frazer