Presiding Bishop on Mission, July 7, 2009

July 9, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Presiding Bishop’s Opening Sermon
[July 8, 2009] The following is the opening sermon of Episcopal Church Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori, preached at the July 8 opening Eucharist at the Church’s 76th General Convention.

Four and one-half years ago, I had the great privilege to join in the consecration of a new bishop, one who told an amazing story about the journey that had brought us all to that place on a cold night in Seattle. At the end of the service, Victor Rivera father, the retired bishop of San Joaquin, wrapped the new bishop his daughter Nedi, in his cope. Some of you may not know that while Victor Rivera was bishop in San Joaquin, and for many years afterward, he insisted that women should not be ordained. He didn’t go to Nedi’s ordination as a priest, and he had never taken communion from her, over the more than 25 years that she served as priest. I asked Nedi later how he had come to change his mind. She said to me, “He didn’t change his mind; he changed his heart.”

Ezekiel is talking about a changed heart, but in an even more radical sense he means a heart transplant. Ezekiel is speaking to a disheartened body, yearning for home, aching to be reconciled, impatient to end their depressed and heartsick state. Any parallels?

Heart transplants are at least possible in this era of history – brain transplants aren’t yet – but Ezekiel is also talking about a brain transplant. His people understood the heart not as the seat of emotion, but the seat of decision-making, the critical faculty of judgment that we talked about yesterday.

Look at the passage and listen again. Ezekiel says the body will be disinfected (I will sprinkle clean water upon you, and you shall be clean), and then comes the surgery (a new heart I will give you, and a new spirit). This is about a new way of understanding and acting, new life that comes from living in a new way.

We didn’t get to hear it this morning, but if you were to keep on reading Ezekiel goes on to report God’s word about the consequences of this new heart: God says, “I will summon the grain and make it abundant, and lay no famine upon you. I will make the fruit of the tree and the produce of the field abundant, so that you may never again suffer the disgrace of famine among the nations.” He also notes that this abundance will prompt the people to repentance for their misdeeds, and he promises that the towns will be repopulated, and the desolate land brought into production again. God’s garden will be recreated (Ezek 36:29-35).

A new heart results in renewed creation – that reconciling mission we’re so fond of talking about. We receive this new heart from an organ donor who has given his life so that all might indeed have more abundant life.

Hearts renewed stay that way, living flesh not hardening into stone, when they continue to share that new life – the exercise of pumping keeps a heart healthy. Ezekiel’s hearers need a heart transplant because they have forgotten the source of their life and blessing, they have turned inward, they have become small and fearful. Their new life, like that of the dry bones he speaks about in the next chapter, will come as they receive the moist breath of a life-giving God, as they take in hope and possibility and the creative spirit of God, even in the face of crisis.

The Episcopal Church in the Philippines is offering us a remarkable example of what a healthy and life-sustaining heart looks like. The heart transplant began in 1898, with services held by chaplains of the occupying U.S. Army. Though we would probably prefer a different avenue, the miracle of new life happens even in war, and it happens even despite colonial structures. In 1901, General Convention established the Missionary District of the Philippines and elected Charles Henry Brent as missionary bishop. The first Filipino clergy were ordained, and the missionary district became a diocese, in 1937. By 1971, there were three dioceses and indigenous bishops in each one. In 1990, the Episcopal Church in the Philippines became an autonomous province of the Anglican Communion. A covenant relationship with this Episcopal Church continues up until this day, and the Episcopal Church in the Philippines achieved self-sufficiency financial independence in 2008. At the offertory this morning, Prime Bishop Edward Malecdan will present a gift to our church in gratitude for our continuing covenant relationship, as a sign of the strong and growing heart in that Church, eager to reach out to others in love. It is a sacrificial gift, and it will bring more abundant life to both donor and recipient.

The heart of the Episcopal Church in the Philippines began in the missionary heart of this church, as the heart of this church has its origins in missionary hearts farther east, going back over many centuries to the sacred heart in whom we all find our home.

That transplanted or expanded heart has much to do with ubuntu. It is a recognition that the one Body of Christ has many parts, each essential to the functioning and flourishing of the whole, and that no one part can be the whole. It is a deep and abiding acknowledgment that together we are whole, and he cannot be whole otherwise. When the parts of the body are working together, they discover both their gifts and their limitations. The little toe plays an important role in balance, but it can’t smell, even if it is occasionally odorous. The elbow can’t run, even though the energy it gives to a pumping arm can add stability and power to the whole body in a sprint.

The Episcopal Church in the Philippines cannot serve as the primary church in Haiti, even though it has important connections in other parts of this Church, like Los Angeles. Nor can this Episcopal Church still be the primary gospeller in the Philippines, yet the full communion partnership between the Episcopal Church in the Philippines, the Philippine Independent Church, and this Church enriches us all.
The first missionary bishop in the Philippines evidently understood this. He insisted that he wouldn’t “found an altar against an altar.” He wouldn’t go starting Episcopal churches with the goal of converting Roman Catholics. He saw the mission of that nascent church as evangelical responsibility for English-speaking expatriates, and for the urban Chinese population, but more especially for the unevangelized peoples of the Philippine Islands. The strength of the Episcopal Church in the Philippines today largely comes from the indigenous people of the mountains and the lowlands, where the Episcopal missionaries first took the gospel. Brent wouldn’t let them stay in the cities; he believed that the cities already had most of the altars they needed. He went looking for people who were open to being born again, from above, open to receiving a new heart and a new spirit.

That is still our mission work – taking good news and rebirth and offering heart transplants to the languishing. The heart of this church will slowly turn to stone if we think that our primary mission work is to those already in the pews inside our beautiful churches, or to those at other altars. We are in cardiac crisis if we think we can close the doors, and swing our incense and sing our hymns, and all will be right with the world. The heart of this body is mission – domestic and foreign mission, in partnership with anyone who shares that passion.

Jesus has already given this body a new heart. Every time we gather, the Spirit offers a pacemaker jolt to tweak the rhythm of this heart. The challenge is whether or not we’ll recognize and receive that renewed life, whether the muscle will respond with a strengthened beat, sending more life out into the world.

If you read Ezekiel a bit more closely, you discover that the delivered promise of full larders and planted fields and repopulated cities is followed by repentance, by metanoia, getting a new mind – and a new heart. Once abundance is recognized, people begin to feel their hardened hearts. Abundant life is not only promised, but realized, and when we notice, we begin to accept the transplant. We will find more abundant life only in being poured out in giving life to the world.

So, how will this heart push more lifeblood out into a languishing world? Can hear the heartbeat? Mission, Mission, Mission…

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“Perfection” – Deborah Hutchison’s sermon, 5/10/2009

May 13, 2009 · Leave a Comment

The Fifth Sunday of Easter,  Year B,  May 10, 2009
Acts 8:26-40  /  Psalm 22:24-30 / 1 John 4:7-21 / John 15:1-8

Looking over the readings for this Sunday, I’m immediately brought up short by this line in the Collect, that prayer that summarizes – or collects – the themes of our scriptures:  “Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life.”   Oh my, how this pushes my ‘institutional church’ buttons.

The specific button-pusher here is the word “perfectly”.  C’mon.  It’s daunting enough to attempt to follow Christ, challenging enough to try to model our behavior and attitudes on his, but to perfectly know him?  For me, all sorts of interior warning lights and sirens go off when confronted by such a requirement.

This is probably because I have devoted a large chunk of my adult life to recovering from trying to be perfect.  Somewhere along the way – most likely courtesy of some over-zealous parenting and thanks to the nuns who ruled my grade school religious ed. classes — I picked up the idea that God expects me to be perfect, in the sense of flawless, always thinking the right thought, always doing the right thing.

Very “either/or”.  Either you’re perfect or you’re not, right?  As part of my religious education, Jesus’ admonition in Matthew 5:48 to “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” was lifted out of context and cited in support of this unreasonable expectation.

This did not seem like ‘good news’ to me.  But, considering the terrifying alternatives offered by the church of my childhood, I decided I’d just have to attempt the impossible and strive to be the flawless human being God apparently required me to be.  As you can imagine, my image of God was long on remoteness, sternness, and rigidity and mighty short on compassion.

Initially, Jesus wasn’t much help.  Not only was he the one who said the thing about being as perfect as God, but it seemed that everywhere I looked at church there he was hanging on the cross, bleeding and suffering — my religious mentors at the time implied –because of humanity’s abject failure to meet that perfection standard.  Humanity…that would be me, right?

It’s a wonder I didn’t give up on religion altogether.  Why didn’t I?  Because I kept encountering a Jesus who was not nailed to the cross, dying; a Jesus who was teaching and healing and hanging out with his friends, living.   I kept learning new things about this Jesus, things that simultaneously re-wound him backwards into his earthly ministry while fast-forwarding him into my own 20th century life.

The wonderful mysterious multi-layered stories he told, stories I couldn’t get my mind around but that made something true in me ring like a struck gong.  The infirmities of mind and body and spirit he mended.  His penchant for speaking his mind to the religious authorities that made me wish he’d sat next to me in religious ed.  His ability to make something out of nothing filled me with hope.  His calling of bumbling, quarrelsome, cowardly, radically imperfect people to discipleship helped me believe that I might be called to follow him, too, flaws and all.

Flaws and all.  The disciples’ varied and glaring character defects make it abundantly clear that perfection, in the way I had been taught to understand it, is not a prerequisite for discipleship.  So, what does Jesus mean when he says, “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect”?  The Greek word which becomes ‘perfect’ in our English version of the New Testament is teleios.  It means “complete”.  How many of us feel unfinished?  How many of us feel incomplete?  Now, here was something to which I could relate.

It began to dawn on me that my quest for perfection had been all about seeming, acquiring, constructing.  If I just made myself behave in a certain way, maybe form would follow function.  But what lurked beneath the façade – the unfinished me, the fear, the resentment, the need to control, the hollow place from which they came – always won out.  Perfection, in the sense of flawlessness, was clearly impossible for me to achieve.

But perfection, in the sense of a process toward completeness, that was something to which I could aspire.  I discovered that teleios comes from telos, which means “end” or “goal”.  Becoming whole is a marvelous goal, a goal that is central to Jesus’ ministry of healing and reconciliation.  So, I devoted myself to recovering from trying to be perfect and began the process of submitting to completion.

And I came to understand that this process begins deep deep inside, at the very heart of who we are, and works its way outward, sort of the way a puncture wound heals from the inside out, finally manifesting in an integrated true way of being and behaving that expresses something of the nature of God.

Remember I said earlier that that line from Matthew about perfection that caused me such trouble had been lifted out of context?  Well, the context is Jesus’ extended teaching that has come to be known as The Sermon on the Mount.  The line about being perfect comes immediately after a series of statements Jesus makes about how keeping God’s law is all about what goes on inside each one of us.

For example: “You have heard it said…, ‘You shall not murder’ and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’  But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment.”

And it comes just before Jesus’ teaching about not practicing piety in public in order to be seen by others, but rather giving alms and praying and fasting in secret where it’s just between you and God.

This reinforces my sense that the process of being perfected, completed, made whole, is interior.   And, I would offer that it is not something we do by ourselves.  I don’t think we can do it by ourselves.  We cooperate.  We participate.  We allow.  We turn again and again toward the light.  But the work of transforming fear into trust, hatred into love, resentment into acceptance, control into letting go, is completed by Jesus the Christ in his incarnational role as embodier of the presence of the Divine in us.

So, in a very real sense, becoming perfect involves offering our unfinished selves to God and allowing God in Christ to inhabit that hollow place within, and from there, from the core of our being, work outward his remaking of us through all our many layers, until our way of being in the world begins to change.  This change from within is not illusory.  It is real.   And because it is brought about by Christ, because Christ inhabits it, it is one with Christ’s being.

The writer of 1 John touches on this intimate and living relationship.  “[I]f we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us.”  There’s that word again.   And it’s communicating something that should shake us to our very foundations.   The statement that God lives in us should be enough to take our breath away.   But, the writer of 1 John goes on to say that God’s love is perfected, brought to completion, in us.  Now, this may mean that God in Christ is working in us to bring our love to fruition – that is, to make us better lovers.

But it could also mean that we are, somehow, with all our inner loose ends and unfinished business, essential to the completion, the fulfilling of God’s love.  That your learning to do and, more importantly, be love and my learning to do and be love is vital to the fullness of God.

Please don’t ask me to explain this.  I can’t.  I am simply flabbergasted by the implication that we are not just complicated reclamation projects, being rehabbed by God into dwelling places for God’s love, but that we are necessary elements of that love.  We are photons without which the Great Light is diminished.  We are essential particles of creation, vibrating with infinite potential.  It’s not complete, it’s not full, it cannot come to fruition without us.

This is huge.  And, for me, so new that I know I must move carefully into it, letting it work in me as I have learned to let Christ work in me.  I offer it to you so that it may work in you also.  Take heart from something else the writer of 1 John says — “We love because [God] first loved us.”  We don’t have to manufacture this love.  It is already flowing .  Take heart from our gospel metaphor.  We are branches, growing out of and of the same substance as and dependent upon the Vine.

But hold this – it is we, the branches, whose part it is to flower and bear the fruit.  AMEN.

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The Darkest Night – Deborah Hutchison’s sermon, Maundy Thursday 2009

April 24, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Exodus 12:1-4,11-14 Psalm 116:1, 10-17 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 John 13:1-17, 31b-35

The Darkest Night

Our liturgy tonight is worship meant for the dimming of the day. Night approaches. As we gather, this particular Thursday evening in April in the ninth year of a new millennium, to light our little candles against the growing gloom, we take our places with the ancients who, some 3,500 years ago, huddled behind bloodied doorposts as death passed close and a mysterious birthing into freedom lay immanent. As is the way with story, they cower there still, caught between annihilation and liberation, and we with them.

We take our places, too, with their descendents climbing stairs to an upper room in Jerusalem almost 2,000 years ago. As is the way with story, they gather still, caught between incalculable loss and incomprehensible life, and we with them.

Only one among us knows the full depth and breadth of the death that is passing close, the dark night closing in, a night that holds in its shadowed embrace all the suffering and loneliness and alienation that breaks the great heart of creation from the beginning of time to the end. Only one knows that above and beneath, behind and before, and – inexplicably – within this darkness, pulses light immeasurable. Keep reading →

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First version of new sacristy – comments welcome!

March 11, 2009 · Leave a Comment

This version comes after conversations among Ed, Pamela, Jonathan and Phyllis. The new sacristy will have a right triangle sliced off its northeast corner. The existing south and west walls stay – each is just over 11′ long. This is the first version – it will be revised many times. Your ideas are welcome too! If you’d like to look at a sketch of the floor plan, please email or call Pamela.



Proposed new floor plan for sacristy, version one

Proposed new floor plan for sacristy, version one



Proposed layout for south wall of sacristy

Version one of proposed layout for south wall of sacristy


Version one of proposed layout for west wall of sacristy

Version one of proposed layout for west wall of sacristy

Additional notes:

Cabinetry to be good-quality white laminate or “green” alternative

Slab doors

Countertop to be Nevamar or “green” alternative.

The vestment press may need a new top.

One-basin sink, sprayer faucet

More overall lighting

Task lighting uc and at sink

New, openable window at counter height

On the walls – wall-mounted ironing board, full-length mirror, bulletin board

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First version of new kitchen – comments welcome!

March 11, 2009 · 1 Comment

The new kitchen will be about seventeen feet long and twelve feet wide, with pocket doors on both short walls. This sketch was developed from a meeting between Carol & Pamela, with additional thoughts offered by Coral, Jane and Yvonne. This is the first version – it will be revised many times. Your thoughts are welcome too! Click on the sketch to get a larger sketch. If you are interested in a detailed floor plan, email or call Pamela.

Additional notes:

Cabinetry to be good-quality white laminate or “green” alternative: cabinets run 96″ to ceiling

Slab doors

The cabinet next to the refrigerator on the west wall is 24″ deep

Countertop to be Nevamar or “green” alternative

2 farm sinks, backflow protection on drains

uc, task and ambient lighting

Plumb for anticipated eventual fridge with ice maker and plumbed-in coffee maker

Rough-in wiring for disposal at EACH sink

Rough-in wiring for second fridge

Rough-in for eventual range hood

REVISIONS: Brisk conversations have been going on via email. Note these changes.
1. Ditch the 33″ east wall sink. Put in a three-basin commercial sink.
2. Delay purchase of prep tables. Maybe an ordinary kitchen table instead?

INSTALLATIONS/ EQUIPMENT
42″ Kenmore Elite ceramic-top electric range
stainless steel panel behind range
Three-basin commercial sink
24″ sink
2 dishwashers
2 wall ovens

Proposed kitchen floor plan, first version

Proposed kitchen floor plan, first version

Proposed west wall layout for new kitchen

First version of west wall, new kitchen

First version of east wall, new kitchen

First version of east wall, new kitchen

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Updated plans from Woollen Molzan, March 9, 2009

March 10, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Here are the north and west elevations:  09-03-09-sdbb_n-w-elevs

The south and east elevations:  09-03-09-sdbb_s-e-elevs

The floor plan:  09-03-09-sdbb_plan

And the site plan:
09-03-09-sdbb_master-site-plan

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Possible arrangements for worship

February 6, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Click on each image to get a bigger version -

Layout A

Layout A

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WM&P ProjectsSt. David BeanblossomDrawingsSDBB_MP SEATING

Layout B

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WM&P ProjectsSt. David BeanblossomDrawingsSDBB_MP SEATING

Layout C

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WM&P ProjectsSt. David BeanblossomDrawingsSDBB_MP SEATING

Layout D

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WM&P ProjectsSt. David BeanblossomDrawingsSDBB_MP SEATING

Layout E


Layout F

Layout F

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First draft of cover for parish history booklet -

February 1, 2009 · 2 Comments

Greetings to the fiftieth Anniversary Committee!
Here’s a first draft of a cover for the parish history
that Marge is preparing. This is not a printable
image – it has been thinned out for the web.
Let me know what you think, either by comments or
by email – thanks for all your work!
Pamela

parish-history-cover-draft-1

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Pictures from Christmas 2008

January 14, 2009 · Leave a Comment

 You can click on any of these to see a bigger version –



NICHOLAS at the Library - the coloring table

NICHOLAS at the Library - the coloring table



NICHOLAS at the Library - reading Fra Giovanni's blessing.

NICHOLAS at the Library - reading Fra Giovanni's blessing.



NICHOLAS at the Library -Judy and Jim

NICHOLAS at the Library -Judy and Jim



The altar, Christmas 2008

The altar, Christmas 2008



Joe Christmas 2008

Joe, Christmas 2008



pam-ed-jen

In the foyer, Christmas 2008

Eliot with Sheep

Eliot with music gear and sheep, Christmas 2008

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Don’t Waste Time – Advent 2, Year B

December 15, 2008 · Leave a Comment

A sermon by the Rev’d Jonathan Hutchison, December 7, 2008 – 2 Peter 3:8-15a

This thing all things devours: Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel; Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.         – The Hobbit

Some of you who are readers of Tolkien’s The Hobbit, will remember that this is a riddle, a word puzzle. And what is the answer to this riddle? That which devours all things is “Time”.  Time is a paradoxical business. Is there anything in ordinary life that is more reliably consistent, more subject to precise measurement, about which there is such universal consensus? There is certain usefulness in the sure knowledge that ten seconds in Beijing lasts exactly as long as ten seconds in Bean Blossom. Perhaps less usefully, we can use a stopwatch to determine that Eli Manning runs the 40 yard dash .11 seconds faster than his big brother Peyton. It’s somewhat reassuring and comforting for creatures of habit to calculate that when our service started this morning, it had been exactly 168 hours since the beginning of last week’s service, just as it was the previous week and the week before that.  Why is it then, that some Sunday mornings surprise me when they come around again, as if the week has flown by, while at other times, the previous Sunday seems like ages ago?

Time may be infinitesimally precise when kept by an atomic clock, but 18 days left until Christmas, will feel like an eternity to a child, whereas a harried parent is likely to say, “Is that all?”  The early 20th Century American clergyman, educator, diplomat and poet, Henry Van Dyke, wrote: “Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.”  Keep reading →

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