As Foolish as a Samaritan

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany, January 29, 2023. The lectionary readings are Micah 6:1-8, 1 Corinthians 1:18-31, Matthew 5:1-12, and Psalm 15.

*The Good Samaritan*, 1890 by Vincent Van Gogh

This week, as we continue to read and hear and see videos and commentary about the Memphis police beating 29-year-old Tyre Nichols, it can sound like that first reading from Micah is directed especially at us– we who live in the United States and either put up with systemic problems, ignore them completely, or throw up our hands in frustration.

But God calls God’s people to account. God says, “I have a controversy with you.” Speak for yourself. Explain yourself. We hear God’s disappointment and almost heartache at having been let down by his people, God’s beloved. In words that return to us again on Good Friday, God asks, “O my people, what have I done to you? In what have I wearied you? Answer me! For I brought you up from the land of Egypt, and redeemed you from the house of slavery…”

And what are we to say?

But then God seems to make it even more difficult. Saying we’re sorry won’t be enough. Simply offering prayers of penitence or offering works of charity won’t wipe the slate clean. We might contextualize Micah to our day and notice that slogans, protests, or quick fixes aren’t the long-term answers, even though they can get things started. Was the Black Lives Matter movement simply a distraction from a boring spell in Covid? Does a plaque or a prayer around Reparations for slavery follow through in any way for change over time?

For God, anyway, the occasional prayer, vigil, or remembrance service doesn’t quite cut it. “Here is what the Lord requires:” Micah thunders. “. . . to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”

In that we live in a world of gerrymandered voting districts and big money politics, we can sometimes wonder how such vacuous leaders end up in power. And while we vote and organize and be persistent, our current situation also means that answers become up close and personal. They will be local, even as we advocate for national and global change.

How do I do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God?

In trying to respond to the dismay and sadness this week, after more shootings, violence, and “other news,” the Most Rev. Michael Curry, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, issued a pastoral statement. Bishop Curry noted that as Tyre Nichols was being beaten, among the police and the EMT who were present, there was not one person who offered help. Not one Good Samaritan, as Bishop Curry framed it.

In his statement, Bishop Curry goes on to remind us of the Good Samaritan story that Jesus told. How a man is beaten, and people pass him by, ignoring his situation. The priest kept walking. The Levi, the learned man of Jesus’ day, kept moving. But the Samaritan—the one with no power, no social standing, up against all kinds of prejudice himself (as an outsider, as a mixed-race person, as someone who followed another god entirely)—but that Samaritan stopped and helped.

Bishop Curry says, “The fundamental call and vocation of law enforcement officials, and indeed every one of us, is that of the Good Samaritan.” And he goes on to say, “Here is where there is hope: The Good Samaritan in the parable of Jesus was not the last one.”

Bishop Curry points out that those who have moved towards justice in the wake of Tyre Nichols’ death are stepped out, spoken out, and offered help– like Good Samaritans. Bishop Curry writes

There are Good Samaritans who are government officials in Memphis who, after assessing what happened, fired the offending officers, charged them with crimes against human life and dignity, and have committed to addressing systemic and cultural issues that created an environment in which this evil was enabled.

There are Good Samaritans doing what is necessary to radically reform the environment and culture of law enforcement—to create an atmosphere in which the dignity and worth of every human being is respected, protected, affirmed, and honored.

There are Good Samaritans in law enforcement, and other first responders, who often work while others sleep, laboring to protect and serve, at times risking their own lives for the neighbor they do not even know.

There are Good Samaritans, people of goodwill and human decency, who are peacefully protesting. There are Good Samaritans who are activists working tirelessly for the realization of communities and countries where there is truly, as the Pledge of Allegiance proclaims, “liberty and justice for all.”

He goes on to say, “While we grieve, we cannot give in or give up. Just throwing up our hands in despair is not an option lest we leave a brother, a sister, a sibling on the side of the road again. No, let more Good Samaritans arise so that Tyre Nichols’ death will not be in vain.” Amen.

Our Gospel reading today is not from the story about the Good Samaritan, but the section of the Sermon on the Mount known as the Beatitudes.

Some scholars suggest Jesus was laying out the basic standard for admission for any who might follow him. But others suggest that Jesus was preaching in a time during which people really thought the end of the world was coming soon and that such preaching was meant to usher in the Kingdom of God.

But I don’t think Jesus is giving us a formula for bringing in the Kingdom of God. I don’t think he’s laying down criteria for entering the kingdom of God. Instead, I think Jesus is describing the lives of the people he’s teaching and preaching to, and saying that no matter what you’re going through God is there with you. Jesus is reflecting the reality of those around him, blessing them so that they can be a blessing to others.

If Jesus’ words sound crazy, we can look to Paul for a little explanation. Paul tells the Corinthians that “The message about the cross is foolishness to [most of the world] . . ., but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

People thought Jesus was a fool for lots of reasons. Lifting up the poor instead of the rich? Hanging out with sinners instead of the holy-rollers? Talking to women? And not to mention his socio-political theory: how foolish, naïve, inefficient, and idealistic!

Jesus gives us the Beatitudes as a kind of foolishness that has the wisdom of God hidden inside. He offers this list of blessings as invitations, I think, invitations for us to listen and look for God EVERYWHERE, but especially when we’re in a rough spot.

Blessed are the poor in spirit . . .
Blessed are those who mourn . . .
Blessed are the meek, . . .
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness . . .
Blessed are the merciful, . . .
Blessed are the pure in heart . . .
Blessed are the peacemakers, . . .
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake . .
Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.

As Paul says, “we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block . . .[many], but to those who are the called, . . . Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.

The Church also as a long tradition of a Holy Fool—someone who seems out of their mind, totally bonkers, but serves the role of helping the faithful see deeper truth to their practice and piety.

Early on there were those who sought the silence of the desert of fourth-century Egypt. Their sayings are strange and almost Zen-like and are filled with examples of how they would confuse the sophisticated and side with the ignorant. Later, there was St. Simeon Salos, a sixth-century monk who went into church one Sunday with a handful of nuts. At the beginning of the liturgy, he started throwing them and managed to put out all of the candles. When people tried to catch him, he went up in the pulpit and began throwing nuts at all people. He dressed up in strange clothes, ate sausages in public on Good Friday and did everything he could to question tradition, convention, and propriety.

While we might not be as extreme as some of those Holy Fools, if we follow Jesus in our day, people are probably going to see what we do and what we believe as being foolish. But the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ shows us that the life of faith will always look foolish in the face of worldly ways.

God says we need to be about “justice, kindness, and humility.” What craziness! But what holy wisdom and really, the only way forward for people of faith.

May we risk standing up and speaking out as Good Samaritans, may we be holy fools, and may we know the blessings of God’s indwelling presence so that we can be a blessing for others.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

2022: A Year of Strengthening & Deepening for the Future

Following my usual custom for the Sunday of the Congregation’s Annual Meeting, I deliver a version of my written report within the sermon. A slightly longer version of this report will be included in the documents of the Annual Meeting, available on the parish website. The Gospel of the day is Matthew 4:12-23.

Matthew’s Gospel begins in a crisis, as Jesus hears that John the Baptist has been arrested.  We’re not told exactly why Jesus then leaves Nazareth, but he goes to Capernaum.  Miracles, growth, excitement, and renewal all come later in the Gospel, but for now, Jesus pauses and steps aside.

It’s this aspect of today’s Gospel that draws my attention today, as make my annual report in the context of the sermon. I’m noticing the way Jesus pauses and re-evaluates before jumping back into ministry with new energy.

Just as Jesus used the crisis of his cousin’s arrest to think and pray more deeply about mission, I think we did some of that in 2022.  Because of the pandemic and its stresses, some events were cancelled or postponed, and many went online.

Our community presence has been strong. The garden has been open, our building has been open for recovery and community groups. And Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center has been going strong. Every Saturday, volunteers have cooked and served dinner for community guests, and more recently, we have gathered supplies for refugees. In November, resumed the Thanksgiving program, with some 300 dinners prepared and delivered. This happened thanks to coordinators Lydia Colon, Suzanne Julig, Joe Lipuma, Pat Miller, Jeff McCulley, and others. As always, Erlinda Brent went above and beyond her job as parish secretary to coordinate orders, deliveries, and all the other logistics around the program. Last summer, HTNC had a fund and friend raiser cookout. We raised some money for programs, we enjoyed the food, met some new people, heard the band, and even had a special appearance by our own understated rockstar, Nick Viest.

One HTNC and church program that has not come back yet has been the Tuesday Senior Lunch.  Initially, we were concerned for safety around COVID. But the reality over the last year is that we don’t have the volunteers.  We’ve had that and further challenges with our shelter, even though it’s extremely unfortunate that during a city-wide crisis in housing and homelessness, our HTNC shelter has not reopened. But we still don’t have a reliable network for screening guests, and we no longer have the particular volunteer leaders who were the backbone of that program.

But our parish continued to open up in 2022.  We added volunteer singers to our choir, Yemisi Ariyibi revived the children’s Sunday School, and little by little, altar guild, acolytes, coffee hour teams, ushers, and lectors have all been slowly rebuilding.

Like Jesus, who went away to pray and enrich his own spirit, we sought to deepen our spirituality. In Lent, a dozen of us spent a weekend on retreat at Holy Cross Monastery, in West Park, New York. And Liz Poole has continued to offer online yoga every Wednesday night, leading us in deepening the connections among mind, body, and spirit.

During the summer months and into the fall, a handful of us gathered in the Cloister Chapel every Sunday morning for twenty-five minutes of silent meditation. Simone Crockett led most of these meditation sessions, and I was grateful for her steady and prayerful leadership.

Last summer, I had a two-month sabbatical. In the terms of my call to Holy Trinity (the contract with me signed by the church and the Bishop) there’s a stipulation for a sabbatical, a time away, every six or seven years of ministry. And while the vestry and others suggested I do a full three or four months away, it seemed to me like two months would be a better fit. (I knew that we would need to be searching for a new music director, and I also felt uneasy leaving the church as we were just emerging from the pandemic.) The time was an absolute blessing, and I remain to the vestry, other parish leaders and staff, and to everyone who contributed money, ideas, or time to the sabbatical experience.

I spent the month of June on sabbatical in Spain, walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, practicing Spanish, and going deeper into the spirituality of St. Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, as well as spending time with every painting by El Greco that I could find. In July, I spent time with family in North Carolina.

By mid-July, I was missing you, I missed New York, and I deeply missed our common life at Holy Trinity. And so, returning in August, it felt like the perfect time away. I felt a little like Jesus must have in today’s Gospel, stepping away from Nazareth, getting refreshed in Galilee, and being renewed for what God has in store next.

I’m thankful for Bishop Andrew St. John’s leadership in June, and that of our friend from our link parish in London, the Rev. Graham Buckle, who took over for July. The Rev. Doug Ousley and the Rev. Margie Tuttle helped with pastoral care and other services, and I appreciate everything they did. Alden Prouty and Chris Abelt led the vestry while I was gone, with the amazing support of treasurer Christine du Toit, and clerk of vestry, Paul Chernick.

Our Vestry has been steady and wise through 2022, and I offer all my thanks to Alden Prouty, who has served as Warden of Vestry for two terms, and rotates off vestry, and also to Helen Palmer who has fulfilled her terms. I’m grateful to Paul Chernick, Lydia Colón, and Marlin Mattson, who have completed one term (and can still serve another time, if elected.)

Our organist and director of music Cleveland Kersh told me around Easter of his and his husband Christoph’s plan to move to his Christoph’s native Germany over the summer. In May, we celebrated them, blessed their marriage, and then said farewell in June.

We also celebrated our longtime senior sexton, Arold Dorsinvil, as he retired from Holy Trinity. While we missed seeing familiar faces and mourned the gifts of both Cleve and Arold, their departures allowed for discernment and adjustment.

Our building needed immediate attention to chronic problems, broken pipes, and unsafe electricity. With the help of Lu Paone and the ongoing good maintenance work of Ozell Ryant and José Cornier, we have made enormous improvements.

Regarding our music, Cleve’s expertise and care brought us through the pandemic in ways very few people could have done, but we also realized that Holy Trinity’s music program after the pandemic needed to expand, include more people, celebrate a diversity of styles, and encourage the mission and growth of our church—that mission being (in shorthand) “to show and share the love of God.”

After a careful search, with candidates from all over the country, Adam Koch was selected.  Adam joined us officially in September, and his time with us has already blessed us beyond my imagining. I enter church every Sunday looking forward to the music, and usually leave church humming a hymn or anthem.

We also welcomed the Rev. Deacon Pamela Tang to our church family in October. Deacons, in the Episcopal Church, are not paid for their ministry by the church, but must support themselves with other work. Pam is the office manager for Mission Graphics at the Church of Our Savior, Chinatown, and she is also busy with studies at General Seminary and her other volunteer work in the diocese and larger church. I’m glad for her help in our Sunday worship and welcome her support in expanding pastoral care in our parish.

We lost some members in 2022, as they moved out of the city. But we also mourned the deaths of Hart Fessenden, Jim Iredell, Chris Knight, Rosemary Lawton, and Elaine Siu. Betsy Morey also died, and though she was technically a member of another church, she had long been a part of Holy Trinity.

And even though Father Bert Draesel, the Rector Emeritus of Holy Trinity, died last week, the loss of his laughter and encouragement is felt strongly in our community, in this year. As with other deaths, something has shifted. But a part of that means he is with our other saints in heaven, urging us on and praying for us still.

People were busy during the pandemic, and not just with work. We saw evidence of this last summer and fall, as we celebrated baptism after baptism after baptism. Weddings and other celebrations were held– some having been postponed from the pandemic. Even though the year had a lot of uncertainty, our church was full of babies and brides, of grooms and rejoicing.

Much of our church life is healthier and stronger than it has been in decades. And yet, this year’s financial reality is worse than it has been in most of our memories. Though there were several years in which we took no money out of our General Fund to cover a deficit, this year, we have a massive deficit that is obviously unsustainable for the future. Please know that we are already putting new energy into marketing our space more creatively. We continue to partner with other organizations for sharing resources and space. And our parish is growing.

We still spend an enormous amount of money on our building, but unless we fix leaks, nonworking lights, broken sound systems, and falling plaster, few people will want to use our space for films, functions, or even for faith.

In today’s Gospel, even though Jesus leaves the familiar territory of Nazareth, his faith increases. Jesus moves forward, as though empowered by the words of Isaiah, from darkness into light, from death into new life. As Jesus invites companions to join him in his way of love, he speaks of the adventure as a kind of great fishing expedition. “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,” Jesus says.

That’s part of our work, as well. We don’t go fishing for people in a desperate effort to build budgets and staff committees. We don’t fish for people simply to have more volunteers. Those things will take care of themselves whenever and wherever the people of God are faithful to the joy and love of Christ.

Instead, we’re called to be part of that great fishing expedition, catching others up in the excitement of our music, worship, and prayer.  We can catch people up in the energy of service through Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center. We can all get caught up in learning about faith and in witnessing the power of healing.

Just as the Spirit led Jesus and the disciples in new directions, we’ll be led in new places, too. We’ll grow in our community connections and support. We’ll grow our digital ministry and outreach. We’ll grow in our ability to check in with each other and take care of each other. And finally, if we allow him, Christ will catch us up in new ways of knowing his presence and life. As the Offertory Anthem today sings, Christ promises that if we stick close to him, follow him, and love one another through him, there will be many fine days ahead.

Dreaming for Ourselves

*Mural composed of Civil Rights Posters by Pentagram, National Center for Civil and Human Rights, Atlanta, GA*.

A sermon for the Second Sunday after the Epiphany, January 15, 2023
The lectionary readings are Isaiah 49:1-7, Psalm 40:1-12, 1 Corinthians 1:1-9, and John 1:29-42.
Psalm 40:1-12.

As I’ve noticed the various opportunities for remembering Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. this weekend and on Monday, I have been thinking of a concert I went to a few years ago on Martin Luther King Day. It was given by the a capella singing group Sweet Honey in the Rock.

What was so refreshing (for me, anyway) about the concert was the way in which the three women who made up Sweet Honey in the Rock celebrated. They didn’t offer dramatic readings of King’s words. There was no slide-show of his life. Instead, they had done the hard work of what we Episcopalians might call “reading, marking, and inwardly digesting” his words, so that the performance managed to convey and invite the audience into the spirit of Martin Luther King.

The group helped the audience think not only about the calling of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., but also about our own calling—what are WE doing to create a better world? What are WE doing to heal the divisions that still exist. To what extent are WE following the dreams of God? To what extent are we living into our own calling?

When I use the term, “calling,” I mean to describe one’s deepest sense of purpose, one’s sense that this is the right thing to do and the right time to do it, I mean one’s sense of being selected by God to do a specific thing.

In our reading from Isaiah, we hear Isaiah’s own sense of God’s calling: “The LORD called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me.” God said, “You are my servant, in whom I will be glorified.” Isaiah wonders if he heard God right. But God says, yes, “it’s you I’m talking to.” From time to time Isaiah wonders and checks in with God, each time hearing another version of, “You are my servant, . . . in whom I will be glorified.”

This past week, as we’ve been praying for the Draesel family and especially as Bert’s condition grew more serious, I’ve been thinking a lot about Bert’s ministry. Bert had a deep and powerful sense of calling. He said to several of his early parishes, “I feel called to minister in the city.” And with a social worker spouse like Ada next to him, it’s easy to see where some of that sense of vacation came from. Wherever he served, Bert’s love of Jesus and commitment to our common life in ministry was infectious. Bert heard God’s calling loud and clear, but his special gift was helping so many other people hear their calling. [The Rev. Herbert (Bert) G. Draesel, Jr., died peacefully on January 14, 2023 at home, surrounded by family and loved ones.]

God needs us for the dreams of God to unfold. If you think about that for a minute, those are amazing words because they mean that God needed Isaiah in order to get things done. God needed Martin Luther King, Jr. to get things done. God needed Bert Draesel to get things done. And God needs us, to get things done in our world.

The Gospel is about the revelation of God’s kingdom and plan, especially about the revelation that is Jesus, and recognition of Jesus. It’s about John the Baptist’s recognition of Jesus as the Christ, as God’s anointed one; and it’s also about several of the disciples as they recognize Jesus for who he is, and in so doing, recognize themselves.

There are two sides to understanding one’s calling—the first has to do with recognizing the caller, who is God. But the second part comes in recognizing ourselves in the midst of God’s calling.

John illustrates what it’s like to recognize the one doing the calling. He sees Jesus as the Lamb of God. We might think of a lamb as a soft, weak thing. In Judaism the lamb was an animal of sacrifice and as a symbol, the lamb represented innocence and blamelessness. But a lamb also had undeniable strength. Because of the lamb, people were forgiven. Because of the lamb, people were joined again to God.

And so when John names Jesus as the Lamb of God, he is in part prophesying, perhaps in part hoping, and in part stating what he has already seen to be true, that through Jesus people are brought closer to God. Through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, we experience the healing of sins, and the resurrection to eternal life in God’s love.

John recognizes Jesus. The other disciples, Andrew and another, see Jesus, but also begin to recognize themselves.

When Jesus sees the two disciples, he asks them, point blank, “What are you looking for?” The disciples don’t really answer him, but instead, they ask for more time. They aren’t sure what they want, but they know they want to know Jesus a little better. After a while, Andrew goes to his brother and says, “We have found the Messiah.” But what he’s also saying is that he has found himself; he has found his calling.

Of course, sorting out one’s calling is more difficult than simply opening your heart to Jesus, and “poof,” an entire game plan is presented. It’s much more subtle than that. Whether you should be a fireman or a secretary, a nurse or a schoolteacher—whether you should buy a house, or take a new job, or pursue that special person… I don’t know the specific answer to those or many other questions…

But I do know how to find the answer. It lies in doing what the disciples did—spending time with Jesus, absorbing his words, absorbing his vision of the world, hearing God’s word through Jesus, hearing the promises of scripture and watching as they’re fulfilled in everyday living.

Frederick Buechner talks about the two sides of finding one’s calling—of recognizing the caller, but also of recognizing ourselves in the midst of that calling. He explains that to be called is to have a vocation—the Latin word, “vocare” means simply that: to call; and so a vocation is simply one’s calling—whether that be over time, or in the moment.

Buechner points out that there are always different voices calling us to different kinds of work—the trick is sorting out which voice is from God, which from society, which from a voice of super-ego or sole self-interest. The trick for the Christian is to find 1) the work that one most needs to do, and 2) the work that most needs to be done. In other words,

Buechner says,

The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.
Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC, p. 95

The meeting of our deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger happen in prayer, in worship, in fellowship and community; in struggle, in grief, in joy… in the midst of the sacraments. We live into our vocations together.

May we continue to be a people who dream the dreams of God. May we find the resources to follow, and may we find the risen Christ even as we find ourselves.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A Communal Cross

*Procesión en Vieques III*, 2022, Armig Santos

Puerto Rican painter Armig Santos reflects on photographs of a procession honoring David Sanes Rodriquez, a civilian employee of the former U.S. Navy facility on the Puerto Rican island of Vieques. Rodriquez was killed by practice bombs in 1999. Protests over his death and the military presence are thought to have served as an antecedent to wider protests in summer of 2019.

Protests of 2019 came as a result of outrage over the governor of Puerto Rico’s insensitivity to the lives of his citizens and as a result of government and systemic failure in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria (September 2017).

Procesión en Vieques III is part of a the Whitney Museum of Art’s exhibition, “No existe un mundo poshuracán.” The title comes from a poem by Raquel Salas Rivera’s book of poems, while they sleep (under the bed is another country. As explained in the exhibition,

[Translations of the title] grapple with the fact that the real disaster is the thought of its perpetuity, the belief that Puerto Ricans are– and will continue to be–caught in the wake of Maria. But there is another way to make sense of the verse, one that empowers those living through the reality of this post-hurricane moment. The phrase, “no existe un mundo poshuracán” rejects the world altogether in favor of new modes of political existence. Conceived in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Maria, Salas Rivera’s verse stakes a claim for artists to be stewards of imagining a different future.”
from museum notes in the Exhibition

I love the painting by Armig Santos because it shows the power of a cross that is shared in community. It is not one person’s cross. It does not belong to a hero. Instead, the cross leads forward, through hope, come what may. In protest, the cross is empowered more than if were mounted on a wall or worn as jewelry. The cross in Santos’ painting holds within it a post-Resurrection sense of hope and possibility.

2023 and a renewed blog

Evening sky in Carl Schurz Park, January 13, 2023

Since 2007, I have kept a blog of some kind and mostly posted sermons. Writing a weekly sermon text is a custom I brought with me from my Presbyterian past, and one that has served me well– whether I use the text in a sermon, or wander wildly from it.

The COVID-19 Pandemic scrambled my normal patterns, but mostly broadened my blog posts to include videos and a podcast (links to those can be found in the Media section of the dropdown menu above and to the left). Though the technology has not always matched the formatting of the blog neatly or reliably, the past few years have involved a variety of attempts to communicate wherever I’ve felt God moving, speaking, and wooing us.

My sabbatical of June and July 2022 put a halt to my busyness, and I have tried to develop new patterns of thought, prayer, and productivity. And yet, I’ve missed the creative challenge of keeping up a blog of some kind and communicating with the several people who have been kind enough to follow and comment.

For the renewed blog, I’ve changed the formatting a little and chosen a new theme that allows for a simpler, cleaner look. I’ll still post the sermons for Sunday, but will also write some shorter posts and perhaps sometimes just post a picture or a quotation.

If you’re someone who has followed my writing and preaching in the past, thank you and hello again. If you’re new, welcome, and come along on the journey.

Sabbatical 2022: Walking Like a New Yorker (in North Carolina)

I’ve always walked quickly, but visiting the South, I’ve been reminded of this in new ways. A highpoint of my sabbatical was spending almost three weeks with family in North Carolina. We walked together and separately, but it was a gift of a trip. I began in Charlotte, where I grew up from age 12 onward (before that, we lived in Raleigh, Winston-Salem, and Durham). Even though it was hot, I explored the Little Sugar Creek Greenway, which goes right through town.
With part of the skyline in the background, April (our dog) and I enjoyed the easy walking and the easy access to drinking water!
We also spotted some of the wildlife (here, a little blue heron) that the greenway projects are attracting.
April and I hiked on Crowder’s Mountain, near Charlotte, one morning, exploring a place I hiked as a teenager.
Not a very welcoming message, but in a real sense, this is true with any hike, walk, or journey- especially when one goes in new directions. As I’ve spent time walking on sabbatical, I’ve thought a lot about places I’ve walked, risks taken, challenges met, and the many places I’ve yet to explore.
With my father, as we are visiting my brother in Chapel Hill.
My brother attends the Chapel of the Cross (Episcopal), where I used to spend a lot of time during college. Though I was active with the Presbyterian Student Ministry (and loved every minute of that), I studied many evenings in the Sunday school classrooms at Chapel of the Cross, where they always left the building unlocked and had coffee brewing for students.
Though we loved being able to be together, we were praying for my nephew and niece-in-law, as they were on “baby watch” (two weeks overdue.)
After a tricky birth, Maddox Parks Beddingfield was happily born on July 20. Mother, father, and big brother (who is 3) are all fine, though (given continued concerns with COVID and travel plans) we gave them peace and space to welcome Maddox into the world. (I’ll look forward to meeting him in person on a future visit.)
Erwin joined us in Charlotte and we took my parents to the NC mountains for a few days. Here, we’re at 3,890 feet, where it was sunny with clouds and about 83 degrees. As we drove up to Mt. Mitchell, (6,684 feet) the highest peak in the Appalachians, the temperature dropped 20 degrees and the rain poured. This was a helpful reminder that, had we been on foot, we would have been soaked.
Erwin and I pose at Looking Glass Falls in the Pisgah National Forest. Just north of these falls is Sliding Rock, a favorite place to visit as I was growing up. One can slide down a long, smooth rock in the river in a bathing suit or an inner tube.
The French Broad River in Hot Springs, NC, where the Appalachian Trail actually goes right through town and across the river. Hot Springs is known for its spa history but also as a place where Bigfoot, or Sasquatch, was seen some years ago. We only saw a few hikers.
Half-way up the mountain, along a hiking trail, there was this small seashell. I wondered if someone left it as a memorial, a prayer, or a piece of the seashore at the other end of the state? For me, it served as a wonderful reminder of the shells of St. James, Santiago de Compostela, whose feast day is July 25. Walking is walking— whether in Spain, NC, or NYC.
One of our most demanding hikes was the trail to Lover’s Leap, Hot Springs, NC.
The Appalachian Trail crosses through several popular day hikes, such as the great, bald space called Max Patch. The white blaze marks the Appalachian Trail, which stretches from Georgia to Maine.
We saw no rattlesnakes or ticks, just a lot of really pretty butterflies. From September to early October, Monarch butterflies stop at Max Patch on their way to Mexico.
A 360 degree view allows one to see the highest peaks of the Blue Ridge and Smokies.
The NC Arboretum in Asheville was created, in part, to honor the wishes of Frederick Law Olmsted (1822-1903). Olmsted, of course, helped design the landscaping of Central Park, but also designed the gardens and grounds of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville. Olmsted had hoped to also begin a research arboretum. As I’ve mentioned in sermons, I admire Olmsted’s ability to forgo immediate gains and instead, plan and hope in the future.
My favorite dish from Asheville’s Early Girl Eatery: Heirloom Organic Grit Cake Stack, which consists of a crisp-fried vegan grit cake piled with organic spinach, red pepper, zucchini & yellow squash, caramelized onions, shiitake mushrooms, with Southern tomato gravy. This is my kind of food: Southern-inspired, but with a healthy twist. (Look for something similar at the Holy Trinity Rectory in the future 🙂
This trail in the NC mountains feels very similar to some of the paths I walked on the Camino in Spain. It was along a similar path that I took a photo of a phrase written as holy graffiti: “El Camino comienza en Santiago,” meaning, “the Camino (the way, the walk) BEGINS in Santiago de Compostela. For many people, Santiago de Compostela is the destination, the goal. But this phrase reminds the pilgrim to keep walking – with expectation, with hope, with faith. During this time of sabbatical, my faith and spiritual stamina have been strengthened and empowered. I return to New York and Holy Trinity renewed and excited for many more years of ministry together. This two-month journey has indeed been a “buen Camino,” and I look forward to the many more good pathways ahead.

Sabbatical 2022: Yoga & Walking

I first learned of the Kripalu Center (Stockbridge, MA) through author Stephen Cope, who writes of Eastern yoga philosophy (dharma and Hindu texts) in conversation with other great philosophers, theologians, and historical figures. I thought it would be a great place to deepen my yoga practice and also spend time in a retreat atmosphere that was new for me and where I didn’t know anyone.
The buildings and grounds, previously known as Shadowbrook, served to train Jesuits for ministry and mission. Those practicing yoga in the tradition of Sri Kripalu of India bought the grounds in 1983.
Lake Mahkeenoac, the Great Pond or Stockbridge Bowl, is the ancestral homeland of the Mohican people. With the Taconic mountain range and the Berkshire Hills (and the layers indigenous, Jesuit, and of Hindu spiritual traditions) the land seems to invite prayer and pray alongside.
At Kripalu, as elsewhere during my sabbatical, I was able to contemplate paths physical and spiritual.
As so often happens when I enter into open conversation and inquiry with other religious traditions, I find my own faith in Christ deepens–becoming both simpler and more complex.
Even in the midst of Hindu gods and goddesses, new spiritual practices, and many people who shun traditional Christianity, St. Francis makes his humble presence known on a Kripalu patio.
The Kripalu labyrinth was built in 2001 in a traditional seven-circuit Cretan pattern (a little different from the more familiar Chartres pattern). I thought of St. Teresa’s Seven Mansions of the Interior Castle as I walked and prayed (and tried to ignore the demon-mosquitos).
The nicknamed “Grandmother Tree” is a Camperdown elm, grafted from its ancestor in Scotland.
I continued to hike and roam (as I skipped some of the program I was registered to attend 🙂
The Berkshire Natural Resources Council and volunteers have done great work on the trails, with surprising natural sculptures here and there.
Across the world, it seems that walkers place a rock on a memorial or marker. I used to think it was a way of saying “I was here.” More recently, I’ve interpreted them as people offering encouragement to others, saying, “I’ve passed by this way, too. Blessings to you, as you go on your way.”
Given the choice of being inside and sharing final thoughts of the retreat, or skipping, and hiking to Olivia’s Overlook, the choice was clear 🙂
Though the Berkshires are beautiful, my hikes there made me more excited for the NC foothills and Blue Ridge Mountains, my next and final part of the sabbatical.

Sabbatical 2022: Passing through NYC

After spending an extraordinary month walking through Spain, I returned to NYC to regroup, reconnect with April (our dog), and check in quickly with church staff and volunteers.
As I’ve written and spoken before, I continue to think of this sabbatical through the image and practice of walking.
I was glad to be back at the rectory in time to welcome the Rev. Graham Buckle and enjoy a little time walking with this colleague and dear friend (though I don’t try to keep up when he’s on his bicycle!) Graham is excited to be at Holy Trinity through July 31.
Summer walking in NYC reveals all kinds of surprises– like this inflatable palm tree sprinkler someone has attached to the hydrant for the neighborhood children to enjoy.
A huge and welcome surprise has been to walk into a rectory WITHOUT SCAFFOLDING! Since October 9, 2018, the rectory has been covered in scaffolding, which finally came down this week.
I’ve spent some deliberate time walking in NYC, exploring places like the High Line in Chelsea.
Just off the High Line in Hudson Yards, I could make a gentle transition from (big) Spain by eating at Little Spain, the food hall by José Andres, the entrepreneur chef who also is behind World Kitchen, which feeds people all over the world. (Great food that also supports a great effort.)
A beautiful neighborhood walk is through the northwest end of Central Park, Harlem Meer.
The walk through Harlem Meer is my favorite way of reaching the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Another sign of moving through the pandemic is the reopening of the gardens at the Cathedral.
The Cathedral has just begun weekly Choral Evensong on Sundays at 4PM. This was a perfect way for me to touch base with where I was ordained and to continue to offer prayers of thanksgiving for safe travel mercies and this gift of a sabbatical.
With the scaffolding gone, there’s a small space for a a quiet refuge to read, write, think, and pray. Next, I’ll go on retreat for a few days in Massachusetts and then head south to visit family.

Sabbatical 2022: In the Footsteps of Teresa & John

Ávila is in the hills, about 70 miles northwest of Madrid. The city walls were built between the 11th and 14th centuries and are one of the most complete in all of Spain. The first day I went, my timing was off and I was only able to visit the Cathedral and the St. Teresa Museum and site of her home. When things closed for lunch, I walked around the walls and drove through the mountains to reach Madrid. Erwin was a good sport to join me early for a second day, when we could spend time in the major sites.
From the top of the walls, one can see the Monastery of the Incarnation, where Teresa of Ávila entered the Carmelite Order of nuns in 1535.
Teresa wrestled with the way the Carmelite religious life was then practiced, and increasingly felt called to interior prayer and a more intimate experience of Christ. She also felt that monastic communities should be smaller and more like a family— radical ideas that challenged the existing power structure.
At the monastery, we were led by a wonderful volunteer through some of the holiest spaces in the convent and chapel (where no photos were allowed.) When we got to the small museum attached, a very nice American seminarian explained things to us in English. We saw where Teresa lived and prayed, and some of the architectural features that appear in some of her writings.
After years of prayer and searching, Teresa gained permission to begin her plans for reform within the order. She founded the Convent of Saint Joseph nearby, the first of seventeen convents all over Spain.
Three White Stork nests on the belfry of the convent.
The room that was used by Teresa when she was at St. Joseph’s.
Teresa is often portrayed dramatically in art, but I think this obscures her simple words, playfulness, and humor. One of Teresa’s most famous prayers is: “Let nothing disturb you. Let nothing frighten you. Everything passes away except God. God alone is sufficient.”
As Teresa was trying to reform the Carmelites, she met a young priest, Juan de Yepes, later known as John of the Cross. They would become spiritual coworkers and siblings, complementing each other’s abilities and encouraging each other in faith. (Along with trying to improve my Spanish for overall ministry, one of the motivating factors for my ongoing study was seeing an exhibition of original writings by John and Teresa at NYC’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine in 2002.)
As John also worked for reform, he was met with hard resistance by his monastic brothers. In fact, John was kidnapped from Ávila and kept in a monastic prison cell in Toledo, just uphill from the river for some eight months. Hearing the river below, he imagined healing power of the Eucharist in the combination of water, wine, and bread: “This eternal fountain hides and splashes Within this living bread that is life to us Although it is the night.”
Though photography was not allowed in the museum at Encarnación, this is an image of a vision John had while he was serving as priest for the nuns. He sketched the vision, which inspired Salvador Dalí’s painting of a similar perspective.
Though I loved visiting some of the spaces where Teresa and John lived and prayed, a part of me felt closer to their search for God as I drove through the mountains around Ávila. These were the hills through which they went by horse and cart, founding convents, doing ministry, and seeking to follow Christ more closely.
I left Ávila grateful for the opportunity of visiting and with a renewed feeling of kinship with Teresa and John— especially in their focus on renewing faith through simplicity, personal prayer, and humor; and the challenges and blessings of smaller communities.

Sabbatical 2022: Camino Steps – II

We continued walking the last 112 km of the Camino Francés through Galicia, Spain. Though Galicia gets a lot of rain, most of our days were perfectly sunny and not too hot.
All along the Camino are impromptu memorials and markers where someone initially remembered a loved one or marked an event and others have come along afterwards and added their own remembrances.
We stopped at the river in Lavacolla, a traditional place for pilgrims to wash before going into Santiago de Compostela. I couldn’t resist, so at least washed my face.
At the Monte de Gozo, or Mount of Joy, pilgrims get their first view of the cathedral, the traditional resting place for the tomb of St. James the Apostle.
In front of the cathedral at the special Holy Door, only open in jubilee years. Any year in which St. James’s Day, July 25, falls on a Sunday, is a jubilee or Jacobeo year. 2021 was such a year, but because of the pandemic, the jubilee was extended to 2022.
Our group surrounded the “0 kilometer” mark, outside the cathedral, with our well-worn hiking shoes.
The happy group. Some groups come into the square singing, dancing, or limping.
Just above the high altar is an image of St. James. His tomb is under the altar and can be visited by pilgrims.
The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela is known for its enormous incense burner. On special occasions, five men work together to hoist the rope that swings the censor, or botafumeiro. I felt lucky to see it swinging in two different services.
Many pilgrims, or peregrinos, carry shells on their backpacks or around their necks, symbolizing St. James. Mine was given to me by friends involved in an effort to establish an Anglican Pilgrim Center in Santiago de Compostela.
Anglicans share use of a beautiful, historic church with two Orthodox congregations, since no one worships at exactly the same time. Here, I’m at St. Susana’s on Sunday with the Rev. Colin Patching, a priest from the Church of England.
The Rev. Anna C. Noon is an Episcopal priest who has just begun as a chaplain to pilgrims and is also helping organize the effort around the Anglican Pilgrim Center.
One of my favorite churches in Santiago de Compostela is The Church of San Francisco, said to be built on a spot visited by St. Francis when he made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in 1214. This image shows Franciscan saints on the base of a cross outside the church.
A final highlight of my time in Santiago de Compostela was being able to attend the Corpus Christi celebrations. At the end of the service, a Eucharistic Host was placed in a special tabernacle and processed through the cathedral, followed by special prayers giving thanks for the Holy Eucharist.
This graffiti, along the way in Galicia (In Spanish, it says “The Camino,” or road, “begins [rather than ends] in Compostela”) sums up a powerful perspective on the Camino de Santiago: that the feelings, experiences, prayers, and relationships that are developed along the way strengthen us to keep following Christ. We keep walking and trying to be faithful, strengthened by the blessing of St. James (Santiago).