Join us October 3 at 5pm for an outdoor Blessing of the Animals. Animals on leashes or in carriers are warmly welcome, as are stuffed animals and photos.
“I am not a priest—I just poorly play one on Facebook live. My study of the Bible is relatively recent and shallow—I didn’t find my way into regular worship until I met Gene. Sure, my childhood featured Easter Sunday services in fluffy Talbots dresses and two-weeks each summer of Vacation Bible School… but those were less an expression of my belief in God than they were my being easily bribed by flowery dresses and weeks of time at Grandma’s house.
I’m not a rector, but Iama writer. I’ve consumed a lot of stories in all sorts of different media. I love the craft of storytelling, and the tropes and tools we writers use to tell a story right. That’s why I think I love John’s gospel.”
“This fourth Sunday of the Easter season is awash in images of shepherds and flocks. This Gospel passage, and the 23rd psalm from which its imagery derives. The original audience listening to Rabbi Jesus would have been more than familiar with the frequent use of images of sheep and flocks in scripture and teaching.
Years ago, when I dropped out of college for a bit of time that was graciously considered by the dean of students as a “leave of absence”, I lived on a farm in the Upper Connecticut Valley in New Hampshire. This farm raised blueberries and trees and was self-sustaining for its own produce. Living there was, quite literally, living off the land. Like most New England farmers, the man who owned the farm was responsive to his neighbors’ needs. Farming in New England is not for the faint of heart and you survive in solidarity with the other resolute souls who try to earn their living out of that stony ground and frequently harsh climate. One of the neighbors kept sheep, and when he would need to leave town for a time, we took care of his sheep. It was thus that I had a very short-career as a not very capable shepherd. The Mediocre Shepherd, you might say.”
Easter Sunday puts a pause on the world’s worries: pilgrims make their pilgrammages; choirs belt out their strong hallelujah’s; the pope says mass for thousands; preachers mock death; the adorned altar proclaims spring, and for a brief shining moment the hope of Jesus Christ risen is tangible. But then the world blinks, as it were, loses its concentration and returns its attention to other pressing matters: COVID variants in the air, a border in disarray, a boiling planet and brutal gun violence. Then it turns to look for this hope again, and it’s gone. An array of forces is approaching us led by the baddest bully of them all: death. Where is that Easter bravado today?
One week after, do you still believe in Easter? How? There was once a man who did not believe in Easter. His name was Thomas the Twin; we might call him St. Skepticus.
“Tonight, we celebrate the end of the forty days of dreary fasting and rejoice at the good news of Jesus’ resurrection. And then Monday morning, we’ll wake up for yet another week of rainy, isolated walks with no end in sight. So this year, nothing’s going to change on Easter Day in any sense that really matters to our everyday lives. But then again, this has always been the case.”
“The question a spiritual mentor of mine asked me during tough days in my early twenties came back to me this last week. She asked, ‘Garrett, how are you praying these days?’ If you’re like me, Week 4 of the pandemic feels different. The routine of it has set in. Whatever it is, however it is we spend our days, we’re pretty much locked into it now.”
“My mother, my four siblings, and I were gathered around my father on my parent’s bed, waiting anxiously for the hospice nurse to show up. Dad was struggling for breath and could not speak. He was dying and was clearly in great pain and distress. We sang his favorite hymns, talked of what a wonderful father he was, told him how much we loved him. He understood everything we said, but was unable to respond.”
Mr. Small has made a video with two songs about peace. As you watch, listen, and sing along, remember this week that we are servants of God and followers of Jesus when we spread peace — in our homes, through messages to friends and teachers, and by our actions and encouragement of neighbors and strangers wherever we meet them.
Thank you, Mr. Small, for your gifts to our Sunday School and for visiting us in this way — in our homes, from your home!
“I spend some time in the summer at the Cape. The house has a covered, but open porch, and I love to spend time in an Adirondack chair reading a book or watching the clouds roll by. Also enjoying the hospitality of the porch is a family of finches. They set up housekeeping each June in a cozy spot under the protective roof of the porch. I watch as both male and female bring twigs and fluff to shore up last year’s home.”
God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved. —John 3:16-17
“In 2004-2005, I moved to Kuwait with my young family. It was a year of many transitions for me. There were obvious changes: leaving New England for a desert climate of almost constant sunshine and heat; a calendar of feasts and fasts that rotated around Islam and the phases of the moon; weekends that began on a Friday, the Muslim holy day, and ended with work and school on Sunday mornings.”
“One of my last acts of defiance before sheltering in place two weeks ago was to go to a driving range. So the idea of managing our grip comes to mind as I spend time confiding with friends and colleagues around our current battle against COVID-19 and mitigating its spread. Control over the trajectory of our lives beyond our swing, and whether we have any levers for it, seems to be the consistent theme with which everyone is grappling.”
“As a senior applying to college, this fall and early winter were a flurry of essay writing, emailing schools, and eventually submitting applications. The supplemental essays I wrote presented a new challenge. I had to convey a sense of who I was in 500 words or fewer? Or only 150? There was a lot of frustration, sighs, and complaining on my part.”
