December 4th, 2019

I wonder how often we view church as a place solely for joy. It seems to me—in all of my great wisdom as a 39-year-old—that people (including myself) sometimes think church attendance and engagement is only appropriate when ‘everything is fine’. Of course, there are plenty of folks attending church regularly without the previous statement being applicable; I’m aware of that and thankful for it. But some fear that their hurts and struggles will show, that the others will see them in pain, and choose not to come until they can ‘get it together’.

I don’t have anyone in mind, right now, except for a few people—me, my wife, and a couple of others. Recently, my personal family group—a group of which I include close friends—has experienced a catastrophic and life-changing loss. Life as we know it will never be the same, and we’re all in the beginning stages of grief. There are no words to console this ache, no actions that can take place to overcome it, nor are there any plans to set in motion in order to gracefully move through it. It’s going to be hard. It’s going to take time. It’s going to hurt. And it isn’t even directly about me or Nicole—it concerns people so close to us that we feel the shockwave as though we’re standing within the blast; our hearts are shattered. With nowhere else to seek safe haven, we have but one place to turn.

God. 

But that turn doesn’t look like the movement that most would assume. This isn’t a happy-go-lucky turn…no. It’s a “Why. Why this?” type of turn. I’m not angry with God, I’m confused and hurt; and God is the only entity to whom I can turn and beg for grace and comfort. But in order to do that, I have to get up every day, put my shoes on, and step into God’s house. I have to approach the altar and lay bare my anxieties and trauma, seeking God’s comfort, hoping for the restoration of a new normal. Alas, it will take time; but if I don’t come here and do that, if I don’t allow my prayer life to remain awake, then it will take even longer—if ever—to proceed. And I need you. All of you. I need to focus on this, but in doing so, focus on everything else around me, realizing that the world still spins, even if I will it not to do so. Without this community, overcoming the deepest valleys of faith would be an impossible upward march. Without God’s grace, stepping toward God’s warm embrace would feel excruciating, because of the leaden shoes of grief and stubborn resistance. Without your smiling faces and your stories of normal life, I’d forget that life isn’t all bad, and that joy comes in the mourning...in the listening…and in the fellowship of those around me.

I wonder how many of you are experiencing something like this. I wonder how many of us struggle in screaming silence, railing against the same grace that would see us through. I wonder how many of us wander into the depths of despair, refusing to look up and search for that guiding force that we otherwise give all glory, laud and honor. If you are like me…and those for whom my heart breaks…please hear this: You are not alone, you are beloved, and if you simply reach out, you will be covered in support and love from this community—from this household of God—that seeks to lift you up and see you to the other side of the valley of the shadow of death.  

Grief and despair don’t disappear just because the holidays arrive. This season is just like any other in terms of everyday life; the unimaginable happens whether we expect it or not. However, we can use this season—this time of anticipation—to look toward better days. We are not the sum of our fears or failings, but rather the perfected creation of God who holds us in an unrelenting loving embrace. For those going through pain, God sees you. For those grieving recent or decades’ old loss, God sees you. For those in joyful transition, God sees you. For those walking the normal moments of life, God sees you. Whatever comes tomorrow, God is willing to walk alongside you (and me) if we’ll allow it. And God has sent prophets in disguise—the people sitting next to you, calling you, or missing your presence—to help with the work of restoration and that ‘new normal’. Today and every day hereafter, know that the Holy Spirit is speaking to you through the breath of those around you, if you would have ears to listen. My prayer for anyone going through the impossible is that we realize one truth: With God, anything is possible, without God nothing is worthy, and without one another, we are denying the chance for our better selves to emerge changed by grace.

As you love me, know that I love you. And God loves us all.

Onward into Advent,

Fr. Sean+

November 26th, 2019

Sometimes giving thanks isn’t easy. For many, 2019 hasn’t been a year of remarkable import; the grueling pace of life and public attitude of conflict have seemingly joined together in an unholy matrimony, determined to steal the joy from situations at every turn. Political environments steal joy. Money woes steal joy. Uprooting and transplanting family steals joy. Cancer steals joy. With the multiple overwhelming outliers helicoptering everyday life, it’s hard to be thankful for anything, much less be joyful.

And yet, we have much for which to give thanks—as hard as it may be to recognize. Our lives are centrally focused most of the time—and not in a bad way—but in a ‘I have a family to take care of and bills to pay’ way. But were we to simply take a breath, look around, and engage with the world around us in intentional ways, we would experience the unbreakable force that is the human spirit. Globally, endeavors are underway to improve the quality of water, air and overall life for communities in need. Thanks be to God. Nationally, projects seeking to provide assistance to those in desperation are funded by volunteers’ time, talent and treasure. Thanks be to God. Locally, this church is attempting to make a difference in the lives of the community by feeding the hungry (Mobile Meals and the Advent Project), clothing the naked (giving coats and clothing to Skyline Ministries), tending the sick (taking food and medicine to the homebound), shielding the joyous (caring for our youth and giving them a hopeful lens through which to view the world), and growing with grace.

We have much for which to be thankful, if we simply focus on the ‘good’ of life occurring around us rather than fixating on the dreary, the dark, or the desolate. Despondency can take root if we are not watered by the hope that abounds in faith. All it takes is a little perspective to see that there are plenty of people in this world still fighting to respect the dignity of every human being and protect their neighbors by loving them as themselves. This Thanksgiving, choose hope. Choose to see the good in people, seek to find the commonality that bonds us as sisters and brothers of a beautifully dysfunctional yet loving family. Far more unites us than could ever separate us, all we have to do is keep running the race. When we’re tired, we can look to others around us for support—because we have a community for that. When we’re lonely, we can call on others for company—because we have a community for that. And when we feel like the world is going to hell in a hand-basket, we can remember that the world doesn’t have the final say—because no matter what happens, God’s community exists to thwart that.

Whatever is happening in your lives, good or ill, remember that you are loved. Pull your children, your mates, your families and friends, and even people you hardly know close and be thankful for them. Life can be hard, but it doesn’t have to be hopeless. Remember that you have been marked and sealed as Christ’s own forever, and that there are people in this community who will not let you fall because they love you, they’re thankful for you, and they will walk through fire with you if you simply reach out. And for those in times of joy, be ambassadors of thanksgiving. Allow your joy to infect those around you, to uplift those in despair. Practice resurrection. Practice Thanksgiving.

And Thanks be to God that we have one another to do so.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+  

November 13th, 2019

In the sheep world (because I don’t know the technical term) the ewes and lambs have a special relationship—a strong relationship that allows for the lamb to grow strong and thrive on its own. Normally, this is the way of sheep; they birth more sheep and then take care of them. But once in a great while, what’s known as a ‘bummer lamb’ will be born. This occurs when the connection between lamb and ewe does not take place—more concisely, when the mother shuns the baby. Heartbroken, the lamb will hang its head low, barely move around, not eat, and eventually die. But there’s hope, yet.

Enter the shepherd.

When bummer lambs are noticed, the shepherd of the flock takes action. While still caring for the rest of the fold, he/she will take the bummer lamb indoors, to the dwelling place of the shepherd. They’ll sit by the fire with the lamb, wrapping it in a blanket and holding it; this mimics the affection that would have been felt by the lamb and given by the mother. The shepherd feeds the lamb, nurtures the lamb, and ensures that it feels loved and wanted. Eventually and inevitably, the lamb grows into a healthy sheep and is returned to the flock. Integration occurs, and the sheep makes relationships with other sheep around it, allowing for a sense of normality and continuance. This story is taken from the personal experience of Sheila Walsh…

It gets sweeter.

Anytime—in the event of a bummer lamb—that the shepherd goes out to call his/her sheep, the bummer lamb (now fully healthy) is typically the first creature to heed that call. It will come running to the one who cared for it, who nurtured it, who brought it back from the brink of death. While the other sheep also hear that call, it is the bummer lamb who turns into the joyful returner, leading the way for the others to join their beloved shepherd.

This has to be the way God cares for us. I can’t think of a more fitting analogy than that of the shepherd/lamb story above. Jesus says, “I am the Shepherd, you are my sheep.” Believing this, and knowing the human condition, I can safely assume that there are many of us who have—at one time or another—felt like the bummer lamb. We’ve felt isolated, weak, unloved—and most of the time we have people in our lives who will raise us up, uplifting us to stand on our own. I believe they are charged with the Holy Spirit and that God works through them to be shepherds in their own way. We, too, all have the opportunity to be shepherds. Look around you, and I imagine you won’t have to search very long before you see someone who is feeling isolated, weak, and/or unloved. While Jesus is the Good Shepherd, you can be a shepherd, too. It only takes a moment to change someone’s life, usually. A smile, a kind word, even allowing someone to go first in the grocery store line. But sometimes, it may take longer. It may take investing time into that person, to care for them when they have no one else, to make a phone call once a week and check in, to give them the food of love and walk them back from the brink of despair.

To give them hope again.

God calls us to be disciples and to walk in the footsteps of Christ. It is impossible to recreate that journey—we just can’t do it. We’ll mess up, commit sin, succumb to our own desires. But that doesn’t mean it’s hopeless. Because once in a while, we can follow the way of the Good Shepherd.

We may be sinners, but we can be shepherds, too.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

November 6th, 2019

Three people were stranded on an island. The first, a widow from Texas, began to search the wreckage for tools; she wanted to ensure that the trio had shelter for the evening, so she planned to build one. The second, a young college student from OU, began collecting any books they could find—quite a few had been on the plane—and he wanted to ensure that he could have enough knowledge at his disposal to know which plants to eat, how to create clean water, etc. The third, a billionaire from California, sat down on the sand and prayed. So calm and serene, the other two stopped what they were doing and asked him how he was dealing with their situation so well. The man looked up at them, then smiled and said, “Well. I belong to St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church. It’s stewardship season right now, so I have no doubt that my priest will find me in very short order.”

It’s funny because, in some cases, I can actually see this happening. But notice that all three people had individual ways in which they could contribute to the situation—aside from the humorous ending.

Stewardship does crazy things to our brains, as clergy. We sit in front of computer screens, prognosticating potential outcomes and doing our best to write faithful sermons—all the while hoping and praying that our congregations will respond well and not see us as money-hungry people. In this church, I hope we have created the ethos that stewardship comes in many different varieties, and that your clergy are not burning themselves with worry due to your extraordinary love of this place. Time, talent, and treasure are all integral, vital components of that which fuels the church for her mission in the world. Without people giving time—building shelter, showing up to workdays, joining ministries—we don’t make an impact. Without talent—people taking pictures of those moments mentioned above, people cooking for funeral receptions/wedding receptions, or people fixing things around the building—we don’t make an impact. Without people being generous with their treasure, we don’t have the money to: buy the tools to build; purchase the food to cook; pay the salaries of the music ministers, nursery attendants, administrative assistant, and clergy who all work to create a sacred space of worship.

I typically don’t let stewardship get under my skin, here. This place has proven faithful to doing what the people say they’ll do. You’ve been in the valley, you know what it is to struggle. You’re currently in (or at least it’s my hope that you feel this way) an upward advance of joy. This place is thriving…growing every day into a deeper relationship with God and with our neighbors, and with God’s help and your faithfulness, it will continue to do so.

Over the next three weeks, you’ll be hearing about stewardship, each Sunday. Not just money. Not just time. Not just talent. But all three, because it takes all three. My hope is that you will continue to give graciously and generously of those things—whether it be one, two, or all three. It takes all of us to make this work, to keep the lights on so that others who are in the dark may find their way to our doors—these doors that provide a space of the Holy, a sense of hospitality, and a place of safety to the lost, lonely and searching souls of our immediate and broader community. Bless you for your work, your time, and your loving souls.

Thank you for playing your part in what makes the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection such a shining bastion of hope for the people in and around it.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

October 16th, 2019

In one of my favorite episodes of “The West Wing”, President Bartlett is sitting with a psychiatrist and talking about lack of sleep. After a back-and-forth, Bartlett says, “Stress is for other people.”

Stress is for other people.

How many times a day do we feel the burden of stress? Whether it be money woes, family issues, grief from missing our loved ones, transitions in our lives…stress is an unwelcome passenger in that veritable clown-car of daily happenings. We must be the other people. We feel it. We carry it like a handbag, whether we like to admit it or not, and we rarely acknowledge it, as though ignoring stress would make it disappear. But there it is, the ever-willing and never-invited participant in our already full lives. Stress has become—for many people, if not all—part of our daily routine; grab the coffee, find your keys, pick up your to-do list and open the door for stress to follow you out into the world.

Let’s face it: Stress is something we all deal with. In one way or another our bodies react to the happenings around us and stress manifests in different ways. For some, it’s mental anxiety; for others, it’s bodily aches, pains, and illness. Sleepless nights, scrambled thoughts, and/or poor physical health can all become presents from our unseen companion. So how can we do better? How can we overcome stress and allow it to melt away?

I don’t have the answer to cure all stress, but I have a few thoughts on how to diminish the effects of it.

1.     Sleep. Did you know that lack of sleep is one of the most often over-looked causes of stress? When we’re tired, we can’t think as clearly, work as efficiently, and care for ourselves or others nearly as well. Now, I know some of you are thinking, “duhhhhh,” but here’s the thing: There’s a difference between knowing something, and actually putting that knowledge to use. So, if you’re feeling a little stressed out, perhaps some sleep is in order. We’re all busy, and all of us have deadlines and tasks to meet, but making time to sleep is absolutely paramount for our well-being and for the mitigation of stress.

2.     Prayer. I know, I know, I can see some of your eyes rolling. But prayer works. Prayer can be a moment wherein all the other ‘stuff’ rolling through your mind can take a backseat. Stopping for a few minutes every other hour and letting God know how thankful you are for your family/friends, your job, your significant other, pets, trees, the wind…anything for which you are thankful…can literally change your day. Sometimes I’m guilty of saying I’m too busy to pray, it happened yesterday; but I realized it and went a little while later. Praying is more than just taking time to ask God for stuff, it’s also a time to speak with God and lay some of our worries on the altar—altars are wherever we are when talking to God—and allowing a sense of grace to wash over us and offer respite.

3.     Talk about it. Don’t think for a moment that feeling stressed makes you weak. Talking about things with other people helps. The conversation may not yield any solutions, but it will always, always, allow a little unburdening. There’s something holy about sharing ourselves with others; the stress begins to melt away a bit when we interact with each other. Part of being human is relying on other humans; talking about things always helps, even just brief conversations.

4.     Allow your body some grace. Don’t overdo it, folks. If you need sleep, adjust your schedule. If you need food, eat. If you need to cry, well, watch Old Yeller or something. But listen to your body and keep it happy. The better we feel, the better we operate. Take it from someone who puts his head down and goes face-first, mouth-open through life; there’s no possible way to sustain a constant state of busy-ness…it will not end well for any of us.

5.     Be good to yourself. You are created in God’s image, with love in mind. Sometimes our faith is deep and strong, sometimes it is tested by outside circumstances. In either space, or the space between, allow yourselves to feel God’s unending grace. There are times in our lives when we feel as though we’ll never get through, that our luck is just gone, and that the hurt/strain/stress/pain/hardships will never end. They will. Try to pick three things a day for which you are thankful, and concentrate on them. Try to remember to give yourself a break and know that not everything has to be done, today. And try to remind yourself that you are a beloved member of a beloved community full of people Just. Like. You. People who feel stress, who need love, and who are willing to love others.

This life is a gift. The presence of stress can belittle that gift and make it seem as though we’re just constantly at odds with the ‘next thing’. Take a breath. Exhale. And realize that you are worth so much more than what you accomplish or what’s on your to-do list. Let that companion of stress be replaced by a presence of grace. And let grace guide you through the rest of the week.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

October 2nd, 2019

The smell of smoke still clings to my shoes, to my hat sitting in the back seat. The images from last weekend’s St. Crispin’s Cookoff loom in my mind. Initially, this was to be a fundraiser for St. C’s—something to aid in buying ‘stuff’ for new buildings; what it became has overwhelmed my wildest imaginations.

Of the images mentioned above, I see five men playing a frisbee version of horseshoes; I see four others joyfully arguing over the rules of cornhole; there are two people on the fringe speaking their hearts; there are teams interwoven in conversation; there are children running, laughing, and playing without the aid of technology. I’m witnessing God’s kingdom in action—the true community which Christ intended; people loving their neighbor as themselves.

Too often, we are competitive in life. We compete for money, attention, glory, pride. We compete with agendas. We compete when we don’t really need to; sometimes our competitive nature shoves the communal nature aside in order to satisfy our immediate needs. As I watched these people come together to compete in a food showdown, I noticed how deeply they connected prior to the judgment day. I witnessed relationship take place of division—the teams still wanted to win, sure, but they were more concerned with connecting than ‘winning’. This is what church looks like to me; this is what I desire for our community, for our world.

Can you imagine a world free from agenda? Okay, maybe that’s a little too idealistic. Maybe this instead: Can you imagine a world with very little agenda? With our competitive nature constantly overwhelming our better sense, life becomes difficult—well, more difficult—and often unwieldy. We have elections to win. We have arguments to win. We have competitions to win.

Win. Win. Win.

If we take our agendas and shove them to the side, allowing space for grace to reside in their stead, the face of the world has the chance to look more like the face of God and less like a mask of hatred, of the drama mask intimating our fake laughter or real tears. We’re approaching another season of potential division; a season wherein pride will overcome righteous desire and we will become lesser because of it. Whatever our leanings, whatever our penultimate desires, we would do well to remember that we have more in common than that which divides us. It may read trite—but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. This week, this season of life, look for the ways in which to play, to pray, and to simply ‘be’ with your neighbor. If we can remember that it’s in His name we pray, in His name we play, perhaps it can be in His name that we stay…connected…loving…and unified into the beloved community He so longs for us to be.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

September 25th, 2019

A few years ago, some of my peers began posting the following question on facebook: “How can I pray for you, today?” At first, I thought it was a little strange…not in a bad way, just a “hmmm, why haven’t I thought of that?” kind of thing. As I read the comments people were leaving, I noticed actual need in some of them. People were battling cancer, had family issues, were fighting monetary problems—and they had the courage to put that out there on the internet for all the world to see. The beautiful part of it? Not one single comment was answered by an internet troll or a cyber-bully. No one replied with, “Well, you think you’ve got it bad? MY problems are…” blah blah blah.

I was amazed and encouraged. I started doing it, too. The response was overwhelming. People messaged me privately, commented publicly and some even commented below others’ posts and said they were praying for them, too. What a ministry. What a way to co-opt a secular device and arena and make it better! And it’s so easy…

The truth is, we get busy in our everyday lives. Sometimes, unfortunately, prayer takes a backseat to problems, rather than riding shotgun and taking them on alongside us. More often than admitted, prayer seems to come as an afterthought, post-fix, or not come at all. But even if you have a great prayer-life, there’s still something here for you, too. Think about the people on social media. It isn’t a strictly religious venue, so there are all types of folks on it. What would it look like for you to reach out and offer prayer to people who have never stepped foot in church? Who have been hurt by the church? Who don’t know if there’s a God or not? Who don’t believe in God but are experiencing hardships? I wonder what the impact would be if fifty people simultaneously asked the social media world, “How can I pray for you, today” one time a month. I’m willing to bet that quite a few folks would take advantage of that opportunity, in a positive way; and I equally imagine that very few would respond with negativity.

Just some musings from a priest on a Wednesday. Whatever you choose to do with this, there’s no expectation from me! But having said that…

How can I pray for you, today?

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

Anger. What is it good for?

Anger can be an emotion that allows our greater demons to shout down the inborn grace of our humanity. Some people don’t allow anger to guide them, instead sluffing off its yolk and allowing it to melt away.

Lucky them.

For the rest of us mere mortals, anger issues surprise us in everyday life. In a seemingly innocuous encounter, anger can flare up into an inferno—turning a small issue into a bonfire of emotion. Typically this is because we haven’t dealt with (or are unable to do so on our own) something that’s transpired in the previous weeks or years. Anger can destroy us if we let it; it can break relationships, divide families, and/or separate us from one another for no good reason at all. Before I go any further, I’m aware that in certain situations, anger is justified and righteous—slavery, murder, and other atrocities that defy immutable natural law. 

What I’m getting at is the anger we hold that turns into a grudge, or anger that sparks an undeserved harsh statement. Have you ever been in a conversation with someone who pushed the right button (intentionally or otherwise) and reacted inappropriately? Have you ever—to quote The West Wing—doled out a fifty-dollar punishment for a fifty-cent transgression? Have you ever been in a situation wherein you accepted someone’s anger as your own and returned it twice as much? I have. In my youth, anger was a constant companion during arguments. It was how I ‘won’ disagreements. Say something hurtful and shut the conversation down, then you don’t have to worry about being wrong. It was completely inappropriate given that the reason I was angry usually sprouted out of a need to be ‘right’.

But that doesn’t help. Ever. The only thing venting anger during a disagreement does is add insult to an already tense situation. But there’s good news: We have a choice as to whether or not we accept the anger offered by another. We won’t always be able to allow our better selves to shine forth—we are human, after all—but we can control ourselves for the most part. It’s amazing what occurs when anger is removed or mitigated in tense moments. People’s posture changes, breathing slows, calm appears and then we’re able to work through things rather than allowing our own anger to rule our mouths and actions.

And anger is usually born out of pain. Pain of loss, pain of disappointment, pain of embarrassment for being wrong. But the choice to say two simple words and mean them, “I’m sorry” is always at our disposal. Anger from pain and disappointment doesn’t necessitate “I’m sorry”, but rather “I’m hurting”. Being honest about how we’re feeling can go a long way to bridge understanding and replace anger with compassion. Additionally, apologizing when we’re wrong is difficult for many of us—we want to be right, justified in our opinions and actions. But sometimes, we just get it wrong and need to admit it. If we do that, then the choice lies with the ‘other’ in terms of how it’s received…and we’ve done our part to begin reconciling with them.

I write about this because I see the anger in the world. And so do you. I want to make an attempt to do my part in removing some of it, not letting it add to everyone else’s. I believe God made us imperfect so that we’d learn from one another’s mistakes, learn to accept the grace that comes with forgiveness, and learn to allow our love for one another outweigh any differences we may have.

We are unique. We have passionate opinions. But we are better together than we are apart, and that unity comes by virtue of love and the release of unrighteous anger. Try to allow joy to take anger’s place, or in the least, allow anger to diminish and God’s love to shine through instead. If we do this, we’ll all be better for it. Grudges lose their meaning. Harsh words aren’t spoken as often. Hearts are healed. Lives are changed.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

September 11th, 2019

The phone rang too early, I knew it wasn’t a casual call. I’ve never been an early-riser. I had just been promoted to general manager of Journeys footwear; this day was slated for packing the truck and moving from Lubbock, TX to Las Cruces, NM. The voice on the other end of the line squawked loudly, “Are you ok? Have you turned on the television? Get up, man!” Click. It was my new boss, a man typically unflappable, with currents of hysteria in his voice.

I got up and made my way to the living room—my roommates were all still asleep—and turned on the television to see scenes that would indelibly mark my memory. At this point, only one plane had struck—as I watched, a second plane careened into the second building. The World Trade Center was being attacked; all I could do was watch. Buildings afire, ash and debris raining down from the sky. People covered by veneers of gray and black, mingled with red. Horror. Terror. Pain. 

Each generation has their dark remembrance, a moment of catastrophe that lingers in the back of their collective conscious and springs forth annually reminding them of the chaos of the day. As the years go by, new remembrances emerge; this day is no different. I’m sure I’m not the first person to ever write this—I haven’t researched it—but the people’s faces on television are what strike me, today. In all the chaos, in all the confusion, each face was the same color. The ash had covered and created a hue that made each ethnicity indistinguishable; racism couldn’t etch its name in the dust that covered a human family’s visage. Each of them looked the same. Not black, not white, not Latino. Just. Human.

In the months that followed, America became a unified front. This country pulled together, exhibiting a level of ‘love thy neighbor’ rarely—if ever—demonstrated in its history since the American Revolution. For the first time in two centuries, we the people stood together and cast down our greater demons to uphold one another in our deepest moment of sadness. We looked into one another’s eyes and saw a brother, a sister, a fellow American. A fellow human.

Fast forward to today. We have forgotten that feeling for the most part. As the world tears itself apart in the name of violence and random acts of terror, we no longer come together. Instead we blame each other. We point fingers at instruments of destruction, or at people’s beliefs. Some sit in silence while others drown each other out in meaningless diatribes. On a regular basis terror strikes at the heart of our beloved home; instead of rising together, of seeing each other as ‘same’, we elect to divide deeply and step further away from the tenet of ‘love thy neighbor’. We have started to ignore thy neighbor; hate thy neighbor; mistrust thy neighbor.

Lest we forget, September 11th was a short time ago, in the grand scheme. Under two decades have passed and we have already forgotten that we have the ability to get over our own schisms to come together and work as a human family…as the American family…as the World family.

Today, I will try and remember that feeling of love I had for every person in that terrible moment. And I will try to recreate it. It shouldn’t take moments such as these to remind us of how important we are to one another. Of how much we need each other. And of the fact that, every eye staring back at us holds the gaze of a beloved child of God. We used to reach for the stars, setting our sights on unimaginable goals only to find that, when we worked together, those goals weren’t unreachable at all. Remember that. Remember that moment when the dust covered the faces of humanity and allowed for a glimpse at equality and what it meant. Remember that we are dust, and to dust we should return. If only to see the true nature of who we are meant to be.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+

September 4th, 2019

I recently read an article detailing the collapse of the Episcopal Church, which can be found here. Over the years, I’ve read quite a few articles such as this, proclaiming ‘the end is nigh’ and doomsaying TEC (The Episcopal Church, national). Some of the points in this particular writing are accurate—we’re an aging church with little diversity and our ethos is stuck in an old mentality of ‘they’ll come to us’. But much of what the good dean from General Theological Seminary states seems to be the musings of a jaded and tired priest, whose context doesn’t provide much hope for his surroundings. He is still going to ‘go down swinging’ (sic) and hasn’t given up, but his projection is that the church will decline to an average Sunday attendance of 400,000 nationally by 2035.

And I don’t want to believe that.

I can’t.

While numbers and statistics point to his favor, I feel as though he’s missed something vitally important: There are pockets of Episcopal culture throughout the country that are already implementing the changes he deems necessary. The Diocese of Oklahoma is growing and diminishing at the same time. We’ve seen growth in recent years, followed by decline, but the numbers are not too overwhelming. As many of the boomer generation clergy retire, they’re being replaced by younger enthusiastic priests and deacons who have not accepted the imminent collapse of the church. This isn’t to say that boomer clergy are to blame—they have run the race well and provided us with stellar leadership for well over four decades. What I’m attempting to convey is the overwhelming power of the Holy Spirit and the life-giving energy being passed from generation to generation.

Take ECOTR for example. Our church was on the brink of collapse, itself. Attrition and differences of opinion led to very few people in the pews, barely affording to keep the doors open and the lights on. And yet…here we are. The boomers blamed in his article are the same generation that kept hope alive, even the smallest amount, feeling in the depths of their souls that God wouldn’t forsake them and that their faith would be rewarded. Instead of allowing the words from talking heads to diminish your hopes, you stood firm in the face of collapse. You didn’t allow negativity and talk of demise to dash the Holy Spirit’s flame within you. You stood tall, proud, and shouted back, “We will not be beaten. We will not go quietly. We are the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection, and we will continue proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ, regardless of what anyone else tells us.”

Collapse, indeed.

The only collapse I see happening in the world today is the collapse of tired naysayers who nostalgically long for ‘the good ole days’. There are ebbs and flows to any life-cycle, tides of growth and attrition that naturally occur. If you see articles such as the one linked above, know that. And continue to believe. Because there’s one thing the dean said that I absolutely believe, with one caveat:

“The church as we know it is dying.  But the church itself is not dying, because it can't.  The church is God's creation.  It's not ours to kill; God help us we probably would have already if we could have.  And that rebound in the 2040s, if there is one, will be because have seen the new way of being church that God is calling us, and have embraced it.”

The caveat is that I don’t think we’ll have to wait until 2040 for a rebound, because we’ve discovered that new way of being church.

We’re living it, now.

Keep up the hard work and determination. Keep the faith. Long live the Episcopal Church. Long live Resurrection. And thanks be to God for that.

Faithfully,

Fr. Sean+