News & Features
September 05, 2019
You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you.
Augustine of Hippo
I have a wandering heart. It served me well during many years of rich experiences. But in all that wandering, eventually I got lost. Thankfully, God called me back, and set my feet on his path. In my second year at Virginia Theological Seminary, I was lucky enough to go to the Dominican Republic for a month of study. One of the heroes I encountered there was a Gandhi-like priest, Sandino Sanchez. In one of our conversations, I asked him, “Sandino, tell me about the faith of your people. Why is it so strong?” He said, “Sara, in the Dominican Republic, we have so little and life is so hard that we know how much we depend on God; in your country you have so much you think you don’t need God.” I was unmasked. I whispered to my heart, “I need a faith like this.”
That’s how my path to Latino ministry began. It has never been about what I can give to my congregations; it has been my desire to accompany them through life, recognizing my own need to anchor my heart in Jesus and walk by faith.
I have been visited by grace upon grace throughout my years of ministry. People have generously shared intimate moments of joy and struggle. Exile, wandering, desert, deliverance--these are not just biblical metaphors in peoples’ lives; they are real life experiences.
During a collaborative book study discussion between members of Misa Alegria and Church of the Redeemer, Santos, who was describing his journey to the United States, told how God had hidden him in the cleft of a rock until helicopters disappeared from overhead. As he spoke, I simultaneously heard the Psalmists’ words and the old hymn, “Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee.” Another time, during a Lenten Bible study, Maria asked, “I’d like to know how it is to cross the desert. Do you suffer from the heat?” Esther replied, “I didn’t suffer. A fine mist fell on my skin the whole time.” Our resident sage, Valentin, seated cross-legged on the floor, said simply, “Manna from heaven.”
Lately, our shared stories and conversations have explored questions of what it means to be treated as a scapegoat for society’s ills and how it feels to fear Pharaoh’s army. Yet despite such deeply troubling times, I continue to be amazed by an unshakeable, ever faithful witness to God’s presence with us.
In the Diocese of Washington, diversity is one of our greatest blessings. I am hopeful that, in this new season of our common life, we will be even more willing to reach out, to meet around our sacred stories, and maybe discover a friend in the stranger--and a deep connection in our common humanity.
By faith, we will all be brought to where our heart is, for we are all journeying home. If we open ourselves to one another, we just might find that our shared stories and dreams are manna from heaven--food for the journey.
The Rev. Sarabeth Goodwin
September 05, 2019
The Rev. Susan Fritz (Christ Church Durham & St. James' Indian Head) and the Rev. Steve Seely (Christ Church La Plata and Christ Church Wayside), our Charles County deacons.
August 29, 2019
More than twenty years of working in the corporate arena exposed me to many of the processes used to identify company objectives. Executive management teams batted around various terms--mission, vision, aspirations, values, strengths, challenges--to ultimately craft a strategic plan that would move the company from a space of current complacency to a space of future excitement and growth.
In this environment, I learned that the crafting of a transformative strategic plan capable of bridging the chasm between these two spaces required yet another space to be incorporated: a space for grace.
As I experienced the discovery sessions of our diocesan strategic planning process, I was touched by the emotional texture of the conversations that shared rather intimate aspects of parish life. Throughout the conversations, there was an infused space for grace that was rich with authenticity, genuineness, and integrity of spirit. Space for grace created a sense of safety that extended an invitation to share both one’s beauty and one’s brokenness with boldness. Naming and claiming the totality of one’s being is a modeling of boldness that can reap many benefits--healing and growth.
I believe that everyone has a fervent desire to be heard, seen, loved, and connected. I also believe that these fervent desires are typically fervently kept secret because of our need to honor our projected image to others rather than being honest with the reality of who we really are. Intentionally infusing a space for grace into our conversations as we develop healthy relationships with each other enables a realization that whatever situation in which we find ourselves, we’re not in it alone.
Podcast host Sasza Lohrey reminds us that, “Knowing that you’re not alone--that all humans struggle--is one of the foundations of self-compassion and it’s a game changer.” As we embark upon our strategic plan, we, too, are called to be “game changers” by continuing to infuse a space for grace throughout our work. For in so doing, we not only enable the fulfillment of our strategic plan, but enable personal healing and growth as well.
The Rev. Dr. Robert T. Phillips
Senior Associate for Leadership Development and Congregational Care
Episcopal Diocese of Washington
August 22, 2019
In the beauty of the liturgy, there is a moment of confession:
“Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.” (The Book of Common Prayer, p. 360)
For many, including myself, recalling the sins I have done doesn’t need much reflection. Educing “what we have left undone,” however, requires more intentional thought and often calls up anxiety. What have I not done? Who have I not forgiven? Who have I not loved? For whom did I not act when I had the power to?
This confession teaches us that sin is expressed not only in acts of commission, but in acts of omission--failing to act when possessing the ability, power, and privilege to do so is indicative of spiritual malaise.
This spiritual uneasiness is not isolated to individualistic piety. We have to admit that corporately, as a Christian institution, we are challenged not by what we have done, as much as by what we have left undone. For many parishes, attendance decline is not traced to a dysfunctional clergy person or vestry, something we might label an act of commission. Instead, more often than not, a drop off in membership stems from a lack of strategy for reaching the next generation, whether that’s evangelizing their neighborhoods or serving new digital audiences with the loving, liberating and life-giving gospel of Jesus Christ. This absence of a plan for the future is an act of omission.
The beauty of strategic planning is that it offers us an opportunity to take stock, not only of what have been areas of growth and decline, but as importantly, of what terrains of the harvest we have yet to explore. Strategic planning allows us to consider the possibilities and potentialities that would inspire every person to grow deeper with Christ: Which communities need strategic investment to propel them into revitalization? Who is serving at the communion table on Sunday mornings--and what races, generations, gender expressions are missing that we need to reach? How can we engage them using digital media and inspired in-person content?*
There is a proverb of the Akan people in Ghana, “Se wo were fi na wosankofa a yenkyi,” which translated means: “It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.” I pray we have the courage to go back, remember, and embrace the possibilities.
*For more reading and some answers to some of these questions that were raised, I commend The Great Opportunity Report.
Rev. Daryl Lobban
Missioner for Communications
August 22, 2019
The Rev. Peter Jarrett-Schell responds to a question from the Rev. Gayle Fisher-Stewart
Know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
This past Saturday, Calvary Church hosted the launch party for a book I wrote: Seeing My Skin: A Story of Wrestling with Whiteness. If you couldn't guess from the title, it's about being White.
A week before the launch, my colleague, the Rev. Gayle Fisher-Stewart, called to talk about the event's Q and A session. She would be leading off the discussion, and wanted to know which questions would be off limits.
"I know I can come across sometimes like I'm Interrogating folks."
I thought about how to reply. It was complicated.
On the one hand, I invited Gayle to lead the discussion specifically because I've come to respect her skill at asking hard, even painful, questions with clarity, precision and grace. Marking off certain questions as forbidden would undermine the very reason I had requested her help.
On the other hand, in writing the book, I had already stretched myself, and shared more than I was comfortable sharing. I dreaded the possibility that Gayle might ask something I was flatly unprepared or embarrassed to answer, in front of a crowd of friends and strangers, no less.
"You can ask me whatever you want," I heard myself say.
For me, honesty and courage are usually a matter of saying "yes" before I know what I've gotten myself into, thus intentionally backing myself into a corner. It's a practice I've borrowed from my biblical namesake.
Truth is tough. Rationalizations, defensiveness, and ignorance are easier and more comfortable. But they are also paralyzing; like being tied with velvet bonds. At the end of day, you're still a prisoner. Jesus taught us that.
"Know the truth," he said, "and the truth shall make you free."
These words are probably one of Christ's most repeated teachings, and with good reason. In poignant brevity, he sums up both the hard cost, and the sweet reward of discipleship.
Truth is hard.
On the path of truth, we will learn things about ourselves that we would rather not know. We who are called White might discover how inherited racist patterns still play out in our thinking and actions. We might see the structures of a White Supremacist society that still supports us, and that we in turn support, even if only unconsciously. We might recognize the magnitude of the debt we owe to generations of Black and Brown folk whose lives purchased our comfort. These are hard roads to walk.
But, says the Christ, they lead to freedom.
Imagine what it would be like to leave behind all the double-talk, evasion, rationalizations, hand-wringing and paralyzing guilt; to face squarely what racism has wrought, and still works in the lives of our neighbors, in our own lives and in the world, and to say, "this is not who I want to be; this is not the world I want to live in. And by God's grace, it is in my power to do something about it." And then to follow through.
I think that kind of freedom would be worth the price of some hard Gospel truth. I think it would be worth almost any price.
"Are you sure?" Gayle asked me wryly, just before we hung up the phone. "No questions are off limits?"
I could tell she had some doozies in mind.
The Rev. Peter Jarrett-Schell, rector of Calvary Episcopal Church and author of Seeing My Skin: A Story of Wrestling with Whiteness
Sharing Faith cards can be printed (double sided) from the document located here: Faith Cards Avery 8387. They are on Avery 8387 postcard stock and need to be cut in half once printed.