"Galilee"
Written by the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee, President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina It is fitting this year that we have the opportunity to hear Matthew’s Easter Gospel. For in it the Marys are told to tell Jesus’ disciples that he is going to Galilee and there they will see him. Galilee is the home region for the disciples. It is where they are called by Jesus to follow him. It is where they grew up. It is where their moms and dads live. It is home. Jesus is telling his disciples that they will see him in his risen life at home. I wonder what this looks like for each of us this year as we watched and participated in Easter from home. I wonder what it means that he has gone ahead of us to our home and tells us that we shall see him there. Not at work. Not at school. Not at weekend club soccer tournaments. Not on the golf course. Not at bridge. Not at Rotary Club. Heck, not even at church this Easter season; but home. At home. Home means something different this year to us than perhaps it ever has before. The risen Lord promises to meet us there. In the Great Fifty Days of Easter, as we celebrate Jesus' risen life, we do so recognizing that he doesn’t hang around the holy city of Jerusalem too long. No, he goes to Galilee. He goes home. He goes to his disciples’ home. He goes to where his disciples actually live. He goes to the mundane nooks and crannies of our lives. He doesn’t go to the places where we put on a show or are likely to attempt to be something other than our authentic selves. He doesn’t go to the places where we want to be but where we actually are. He comes to us while we are in our pajamas, not our Sunday best. He comes to us when there is the third breakdown of the day with one of the kids, not when everyone is acting perfect for Easter services. He comes to us in our isolation, not when we are out avoiding isolation for our own good. He comes to us at home. That is where the risen Lord meets us today. I wonder where the Risen Lord is today in your home. I wonder what he is raising in you. I wonder what has died a long time ago in you that maybe Jesus is raising from the dead because you are, in fact, in Galilee, at home. That is where he desires for you to see him. On a personal note, I can say that Christ is risen in me, at my home, allowing me to be a little more engaged as a father. For some reason, I thought that was dying. Christ is raising in me an authenticity or a part of who I am that I thought somehow needed to die if I were to take on more "responsibility" as an adult. God has brought me back to music in a very powerful way. I thought that was dead. So I wonder if you can relate in some way to what I am saying. I wonder where God has met your darkness with light? I wonder what Christ is raising in you as you meet him in Galilee? In your home. For there, he promises that you will see him. Alleluia! Christ is risen! You will see him at home in Galilee! Peace, Caleb+
0 Comments
"Shake Off The Dark"
Written by the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina I love John’s story of Mary Magdalene at Jesus’ tomb on Sunday morning, which is our Easter gospel this year. It is a solitary, intimate moment that is especially timely for this unusual Easter Day in our homes. John tells us that the other disciples hastened away from the empty tomb, but Mary remained there, weeping. Her tears are deeply moving. Mary was very close to Jesus. His death and the absence of his body brought forth a flood of emotions, which John uniquely lets us see. It is a profoundly honest story. We can feel Mary’s grief in our deep heart’s core. As she weeps, a person appears and asks, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She supposes him to be the gardener. But when he speaks her name, “Mary,” she sees—astonished—that it is Jesus. This is consistent with all the Easter narratives in which no one recognizes the risen Christ at first. Then they do. He was himself, yet different. Jesus had not just come back to life; he had entered into a new life, a risen life. Mary Magdalene is the first to see this new reality breaking into the world. She becomes “the apostle to the apostles,” as she runs to tell them of the radical hope that had dawned out of the darkness of the cross. In John’s telling of this ineffable mystery it is when the Risen One speaks her name that she sees. This strikes me this year with enormous power. In his teaching, Jesus had spoken of the good shepherd who knows his sheep by name: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.” [John 10: 27]. So intimate is his love for us that Jesus calls us each by name. As we observe this unique Easter in our homes, I invite you to sit quietly and imagine Jesus speaking your name. You may be weeping about something in these trying times. You may be rejoicing about something. You may fearful. Just imagine hearing your name spoken by the risen Christ with you, as he was with Mary Magdalene that first Easter morning. Imagine the sense of new life and hope that this brings, as it brought to Mary beyond her tears. Wendell Berry wrote a mystical poem about an Easter moment he experienced on his farm in Kentucky that concludes with these words: I go amazed Into the maze of a design That mind can follow but not know… Be still. A man who seems to be A gardener rises out of the ground, Stands like a tree, shakes off the dark. The bluebells opening at his feet, The light a figured cloth of song. May you, too, glimpse the Easter mystery afresh this year. May it shake off the dark and fill you with hope. The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. "The Communion of Saints"
Written by the Venerable Calhoun Walpole, Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart. Hebrews 12:1-3 The Epistle for Wednesday in Holy Week At our service last evening, as I preached in a physically empty cathedral, in addition to my awareness of the congregation gathered virtually, I found myself more aware than ever of the communion of saints, together with the angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, who are present at each celebration of the Holy Eucharist. The Church gathers—whether we can always see the members of our Lord’s Body or not, they are there. You are there. And, we are together. The Reverend Dr. Anthony Toomer Porter, founder of the Church of the Holy Communion in Charleston and Porter-Gaud School, noted: “The material world and the spiritual world are much closer together than we can ever imagine.” We are surrounded by that great cloud of witnesses—saints who have loved us and love us still and who are now praying for us and upholding us every day and at every step along the way—even, especially, as we make our way to the Cross with Christ. So we do not grow weary or lose heart; we look to Jesus who endured the Cross and invites us to meet him there. Give us grace, O Lord, to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed. Faithfully yours, Callie "The Lavishness of God"
Written by the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee, President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina It is Monday in Holy Week. Today our Gospel reading is John 12:1-11. We hear about the anointing of Jesus’s feet at Bethany by Mary with costly perfume. Biblical scholars and commentators remark that the purpose of the story is to show that Mary, in her quite humble and sacrificial act, is not only anointing Jesus for his burial that will follow soon, but also anointing Jesus as King and High Priest. It is Jewish tradition that kings and high priests are anointed with oil. In this radical act, we see Mary confessing and acclaiming Jesus as High priest, as king. The fact that Mary anoints his feet, and not, let’s say, his head, like other kings and high priests, reminds us that there is something very unique about Jesus; something about his servanthood and humility that differentiates him from other kings and priests. Jesus is the Son of God, and chose not to position himself into a place of earthly power, but instead walked among us, dining and conversing with outcasts and sinners, publicans and prostitutes. This is our God: an itinerant rabbi with filthy feet. And Mary anoints those filthy feet with her hair. In this act we find that Mary is “letting her hair down,” mirroring our Lord’s self-emptying love as she lavishly pours out all that she has at the feet of her beloved. I am reminded of time spent with the Reverend Martin Smith during Holy Week a few years back where he reminded us all that the mere amount of the nard being used, mirrors that at Jesus tomb, where we find Nicodemus supplying it. These amounts of nard, being used at the home of Lazarus by Mary, and the amount used at Jesus tomb, are both nothing short of complete overkill. A deeper spiritual meaning must be at work. This amount of nard is used to express the lavishness of God. The lavishness of his love. The lavishness of his mercy. The lavishness of his grace in the fragrant offering he gives once and for all in his son, Jesus. May we rest in the lavishness of God’s love, grace, and mercy in the days ahead. Peace, Caleb+ "The Last Thing is the Best"
Written by the Rt. Rev. Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Visiting Bishop for the Diocese of South Carolina Surely he has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows… Isaiah 53:4 These words of the prophet Isaiah echo through Holy Week as we walk with Jesus on the way of his cross and passion. Isaiah is speaking of a nameless servant of God whose vicarious, suffering love will be redemptive. Christians understand these words to foresee the ministry of Jesus who became this suffering servant and offered himself on the cross for the world’s healing and redemption. “By his wounds we are healed,” Isaiah continued, and the Prayer Book proclaims. In this time of suffering across the world from the coronavirus, these ancient words seem to ring with special meaning. Holy Week traces the worst of times, as we remember painfully how humanity rejected the Lord of Love and put him to death. It is a distant mirror of ourselves at our worst. The darkness at noon on Good Friday is our darkest hour. The week also reminds us that in the suffering of Jesus, we see all human suffering—that painful, inescapable aspect of the human journey. In some sense the Lord continues to share our present suffering, carrying it with us on the unending way of the cross. “With” is one of our faith’s most significant words. It always conjoins two realities. “I am with you,” we say; “with your help,” we ask. Such words affirm that we are not alone, that we need close affection and comfort. In 1979, J.D. Souther sang “when you are feeling lonely and small, you need somebody there to hold you.” So true. In faith we affirm that Christ is “with” us, that his love is always there to hold us and to carry our sorrows and griefs and fears. This is the profound assurance of Holy Week. Our faith is not just about times of gladness and celebration, even though that is the part of it that we prefer to accentuate of course. It is equally about the hard times, when we do feel lonely and small. Then we find that “the way of the cross is none other than the way of life and peace.” In one of his novels, Frederick Buechner tells the story of a young pastor whose wife dies of cancer. He is away from his church for a time, grieving. When he returns to the pulpit, he says to his people, “Beloved, I do not preach the best without knowing the worst. I know it, beloved…But the worst thing is never the last thing. It is the next to the last thing. The last thing is the best. It is the power from on high that comes down into the world, that wells up from the rock bottom of the world like a hidden spring. You are terribly loved and forgiven. You are healed. All is well.” Holy Week traces the worst of times. The pandemic we are living with is tracing another worst. But the worst thing is never the last thing. The Easter light rises out of the ashes. The last thing is the best. Merciful God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Palm Sunday Collect, page 272) ~The Rt. Rev. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr. "Turning Illness Into Wellness"
Written by the Venerable Calhoun Walpole, Archdeacon of the Diocese of South Carolina Every day at Noon, at least so far, the clergy of Grace Church Cathedral have been walking and praying the Stations of the Cross—on behalf of the Cathedral congregation, as well as the entire diocese. We are using the form published by Forward Movement, which is based on St Augustine’s Prayer Book. The first reading—part of the Opening Prayers Before the Altar—reads as follows: He who bore the Holy Cross did break the power of sin, death, and the grave. Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases; yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed. Right now, the whole world, perhaps as never before, is stricken, struck down, and certainly afflicted. We know that God does not willingly bring affliction upon his beloved creation—but we do know that God can use any and all events and experiences of life—even suffering, even death. It is the message of the Cross. Even now, our Lord Jesus is bearing our infirmities and carrying our diseases—even the disease that is our current pandemic. The very word "pandemic" means affecting "all people." As the whole world—all people—are suffering at the moment, the invitation to us all is to uncover meaning in the suffering. Malcolm X is famously reputed to have said: “When ‘I’ is replaced with ‘we’ even illness becomes wellness.” By our Lord’s wounds we are healed. Perhaps this suffering of us all will lead to the healing of all—and unity of all. Lord, have mercy. Faithfully yours, Callie "Hope in the Mess"
Written by the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee President of the Standing Committee of the Diocese of South Carolina It is spring. There is no doubt. I know this because I have been to Lowes Home Improvement at least twice in the past week (with proper social distancing of course). I see the good Lord quite a bit when I work in the garden. I guess that is fitting, as we will soon remember that on the day of resurrection Jesus is mistaken for the gardener. But we are not there yet. We are still in the mess of Lent. The world is often a messy place, but especially now as fear and isolation try to win out over faith and community. Lent has taken on a whole new meaning this year. Regardless of how we perceive our world, Jesus has overcome it. He has come into the messiness of this world, and lived in it with us, died in it with is, and has been raised in it. He has overcome the mess. I am reminded of my garden and how I never properly clean it up after the season. I often just let nature take its course. Leaves blow in it and cover the fertile soil. My garden becomes a mess quite quickly without a gardener. But spring comes every year and despite my efforts or lack thereof, green shoots pop up through the mess of leaves and dead matter I have left there. That is grace. Yesterday’s readings for the Fifth Sunday in Lent provided great examples of God’s power and favor and regard for us, despite our complete inability to get ourselves out of impossible situations (AKA messes). In Ezekiel’s Valley of Dry Bones we are reminded that the people of God are in exile. They are cut off from their homeland. They are in a mess. They have little control over their lives and yet God promises through Ezekiel’s prophecy that they will live once again. Those old dead bones will live! God does not wait for us to get it together but comes to our rescue in the midst of the mess. Now we turn to the mess of grief found in Mary and Martha at the death of their dear brother Lazarus. Jesus does not wait for Mary and Martha to get themselves together before helping them. No. Jesus comes to them in their lowest of lows. But there is one who is even lower. Poor Lazarus is dead. Jesus comes to him and calls him out of the mess of death. The mess of a few days of decomposition. Past the point of death, Jesus calls Lazarus out of that tomb when he is past the point of no return. Life is messy. We are messy. The world is messy. We are in a mess with this pandemic. But being with us in the mess is Jesus’ cup of tea! Jesus is our hope in the mess. That “cup of tea” bit is a tribute to Robert Farrar Capon. Here is one of my favorite quotes from him: “Trust him. And when you have done that, you are living the life of grace. No matter what happens to you in the course of that trusting – no matter how many waverings you may have, no matter how many suspicions that you have bought a poke with no pig in it, no matter how much heaviness and sadness your lapses, vices, indispositions, and bratty whining may cause you – you believe simply that Somebody Else, by his death and resurrection, has made it all right, and you just say thank you and shut up. The whole slop-closet full of mildewed performances (which is all you have to offer) is simply your death; it is Jesus who is your life. If he refused to condemn you because your works were rotten, he certainly isn’t going to flunk you because your faith isn’t so hot. You can fail utterly, therefore, and still live the life of grace. You can fold up spiritually, morally, or intellectually and still be safe. Because at the very worst, all you can be is dead – and for him who is the Resurrection and the Life, that just makes you his cup of tea.” Peace in the mess, Caleb+ "Our Hope and Strength"
Written by the Right Reverend Henry N. Parsley, Jr., Visiting Bishop of the Diocese of South Carolina God is our hope and strength, a very present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1) The psalms are some of the Bible’s most valuable literature. They plumb the depths of the human spirit and the all too real ups and downs of mortal life. They speak with profound honesty of struggle, lamentation, hope, darkness, and light, always with an abiding trust in God’s loving kindness. The 46th Psalm speaks to me especially as we navigate the uncharted waters of the novel coronavirus. It describes the perilous times that we must sometimes endure, and it affirms a living faith that is ever ancient and ever new. The psalmist believes that God is not just remote in the heavenly realm but “very present,” especially when the going is tough. Its promise is not that God will always remove trouble from us. Its promise is that God will always be with us in it, giving us the courage and hope to persevere. "Therefore,” the psalmist goes on, “we will not fear, though the earth be moved, and though the mountains be toppled into the depths of the sea.” This means, as we say in the coastal south, “come hell or high water.” We are getting a strong dose of that at the moment. After years of wrestling, I have come to believe that the only real medicine for fear is faith—the kind of faith that means trusting in God and in a power beyond ourselves that is given. Faith doesn’t miraculously make fear go away. It is what holds us in the midst of it, holding us in the confidence that God is mysteriously present and doing for us “better things than we can desire or pray for,” as our Prayer Book petition puts it. Henri Nouwen once compared faith to the art of trapeze in the circus. He learned that when the trapeze artist lets go of one bar and flies through the empty air, she cannot catch the person swinging toward her on the other bar. She has to let the catcher catch her. Trusting God is like that, Nouwen said. As we step out in faith, into the empty air, we have to let God catch us. And he said, “God has good hands.” The 46th Psalm concludes: Be still then, and know that I am God. The God of hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge. “Be still”— that is the spiritual way echoed across the scriptures and the lives of the saints. Stillness is the seedbed of faith. It comes when we sit in intentional silence, measure our breath, and quiet our hearts. Here is where we can touch what T.S. Eliot called the “stillpoint of the turning world.” It’s where we realize that God is really present in the silence and that our lives are enfolded in holy love. In such stillness, where faith is reborn, we are given the ability to get up and do what has to be done, to live beyond our fear. Because God is the catcher. Because God is working his purpose out for the world, “as year succeeds to year.” Because God has given us the wisdom and gumption to navigate the storms of life. It has been said that the essence of the Biblical faith is the inability to ever stop hoping. Because God is our hope and strength. Where there is hope there is life. As another psalm says, “Weeping may spend the night; but joy comes in the morning.” The going is tough, but in time we will get though the novel coronavirus crisis. God has given us the intellect and industry to solve the science of it, the strength to weather the storm, and the love to take care of one another as we journey forward. Jesus affirmed the faith of the psalmist when he said, “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.” Let that good cheer be among us, in spite of it all. Henry Nutt Parsley, Jr.
Pour your grace into our hearts, O Lord, that we who have known the incarnation of your Son Jesus Christ, announced by an angel to the Virgin Mary, may his cross and passion be brought to the glory of his resurrection; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.
Never before has the Feast of the Annunciation seemed more poignant—the proclamation of the incarnation by the Angel Gabriel to the Virgin Mary—the very Word of God, becoming flesh and dwelling among us—the Light shining through the darkness—yet, amidst the backdrop of the cross. This past weekend, The Very Reverend Dr. Robert Willis, Dean of Canterbury, was to have led a Diocesan Lenten Quiet Day on Saturday for us in the Diocese of South Carolina. On Sunday, he was slated to preach at Grace Church Cathedral; but the Coronavirus pandemic kept him in Canterbury. Dean Willis is a writer of hymns, as is our own Dean Michael Wright. Below is one of Dean Willis’s hymns, fitting for our current day, “Let Us Light a Candle”—as well as a link to a recording of the hymn from Canterbury Cathedral. Peace and blessings to you, Callie "Let Us Light a Candle" (click for video) In a world where people walk in darkness Let us turn our faces to the light, To the light of God revealed in Jesus, To the Daystar scattering our night. For the light is stronger than the darkness And the day will overcome the night. Though the shadows linger all around us, Let us turn our faces to the light. In a world where suff'ring of the helpless Casts a shadow all along the way, Let us bear the Cross of Christ with gladness And proclaim the dawning of the day. For the light is stronger than the darkness And the day will overcome the night. Though the shadows linger all around us, Let us turn our faces to the light. Let us light a candle in the darkness, In the face of death, a sign of life. As a sign of hope where all seems hopeless, As a sign of peace in place of strife. For the light is stronger than the darkness And the day will over come the night. Though the shadows linger all around us, Let us turn our faces to the light. -Robert Willis Tune: Richard Shephard (See Hymn 476 in Common Praise) "The Cross"
Written by the Reverend Canon Caleb J. Lee, President of the Standing Committee for the Diocese of South Carolina We adore you O Christ and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. It has been the practice of the Grace clergy this past week to walk and pray the Stations of the Cross every day at noon. I cannot tell you how fruitful this has been for my spiritual life. I think the other Grace clergy would tell you the same. The stations are on the perimeter of the campus. It has been my task to set out the small tile crosses that mark the stations. On the first day the bell tolled and we began our opening prayers before heading outside to the first station. The crucifer, carrying the large cross shrouded in purple, looked at me with a bit of hesitation. In his face I saw the question he was thinking: “Which way do I go?” I nodded my head to the left and said, “Look for the cross along the way.” We adore you O Christ and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. No other symbol carries the full weight of the human experience like the cross. The cross represents darkness and light, sadness and joy, death and life, brokenness and belovedness, despair and hope. I can say without hesitation that I felt all of these things this week. This past week the cross has played a central role in our lives. Fun fact: the cross always plays a central role in our lives. However, sometimes we can see the cross more clearly and feel its weight and benefits more acutely. September 11th and the aftermath of that day was certainly one of those times when one was able to experience the cross in all of its power. In death and in life. In despair and hope. In darkness and in light. We adore you O Christ and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. This past week, I have seen the cross in the fear and the doubt and uncertainty that infects us and those we love as the news changes by the hour. I have seen the cross in the hoarding of resources and in the empty shelves at supermarkets. I have seen the cross in the pictures of the sick on gurneys. The cross came to mind as I heard of the lack of resources for our medical professionals. We adore you O Christ and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. As much as the cross is about death and despair, that same cross is also about life and hope. To juxtapose the darkness and to overcome it, the light and life of the cross shines in radiant splendor. I have been uplifted by all the crosses donning the altars of my online heroes, who have given me and many a word of hope and prayer in a time of uncertainty. I have seen the hope of the cross in our healthcare professionals who are emptying themselves, pouring themselves out, for the sake of the neighbor and expressing in human form, the one way and unconditional love of Jesus. I have seen the love of the cross in all of the grocery store workers, who are likely getting paid minimum wage and risking their own health so that you and I can have access to food. I have experienced people coming together in solidarity, finding ways to help. I could go on and on. The radiance of the cross is unrivaled. However, to experience the light, we have to know the darkness. We adore you O Christ and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world. As people of faith, we can rest in the assurance that our Lord Jesus Christ was lifted high upon the cross so that we and the whole world might come within the reach of his saving embrace. As we move forward together into these unprecedented times, look for the cross along the way. God’s Peace, Caleb+ |
MeditationsDuring the uncertain times created by the COVID-19 Coronavirus pandemic in March 2020, leadership of the diocese will send out regular meditations on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays for the next while as we all adjust to a new chapter of living and being the Church. Archives
May 2020
Categories |