As I awoke at 5:30 am this Dec 21st, 2020, I’m struck that this particular season of Advent is an elongated period of active waiting like no other...as we all or most (less 318K Americans lost so far, RIP) continue to endure this previously unfathomable pandemic. I’ve always equated ‘active waiting’ as synonymous with hope or more aptly faith in action.
It is the indispensable nurse/Docs/med staff, grocery clerk, teacher, delivery person & many many others who mask up and show up every day to help and serve others. It is the kids who drop off groceries in their parent’s or elder’s driveways each week with a loving wave.
It is a profound gift of ~dozen dear Hudson pals of all and even no denomination that physically gather in CGS for a prayer vigil the night before a friend’s cancer surgery.
It is a thoughtful neighbor who lives a mile away who just happens to be rolling by with his 2 mph tractor to help clear a driveway end after last week’s 30” snow storm.
It is a loving daughter who chooses to separate from her new fiancée to quarantine and work for weeks in our remote NH home to take care of our rambunctious puppy and help with... everything. It is a caring son living in CA who faithfully calls or FaceTimes daily just to check in.
It is awesome college friends who move out to offer their lovely Wellesley home for me to safely quarantine (squat) to more easily go into Brigham & Women’s hospital in Boston daily. And many family & friends who drop off meals, books, cards or simply call, text or connect for a masked outdoor walk in 12 degrees.
It is a faithful minister of a little white church on the hill that puts out a plea to help with a local family in need just a few days before Christmas — and is met with an overwhelming response of generosity and kindness. And the open StJB parishioners that patiently await their new Parish Hall to serve & celebrate community... hopefully very soon.
It is a wife who anxiously awaits a phone call this morning to go pick up her beloved and courageous husband, after his 2 grueling surgeries to eradicate sarcoma, 2 weeks in the hospital (the last 4 days solo) and after driving into Boston daily the month before for 25 radiation treatments. Though he’s beat up and faces a long recovery, we’re so grateful he’s alive and will be home for this quiet & healing Christmas. Thank YOU & Bless YOU ALL!
While all of us face so many challenges this dark winter — of health, financial and food insecurities, loneliness, anguish of any kind — I remind you that there is also much hope in this season of active waiting. We may celebrate this Christmas virtually alone... so that more of us can gather to celebrate joyously in person next year. Thankfully, more of our blessed front line workers are getting vaccines every day...and miraculously most will have access early to mid next year. In the interim, please remember we are alone...together; stay safe, protect each other and keep faith.
Merry & Blessed Christmas! Happy, healthy & peaceful 2021!
Walking Into The Sky by Joanna Cotter
How did I come to walking into the sky?
Coming from a family of walkers, I soon joined the others. My Bubchi walked miles one day to visit our first child, Deirdre. My Dad walked and greeted all he met daily with a smile, and my Mom was still walking in her early 70s. Like many children, I walked to and from school, but I could not leave the house until I finished the wholesome breakfast my father prepared. Thus, I still favor hearty breakfasts. I walked to school with Lucy Ellen, my favorite friend. As a teen, my boyfriend Frank walked with me, carrying my books. Away at college, this city girl walked everywhere, braving the cold of Keene, NH as I crossed campus. Then Rich, my boyfriend, suggested I take a break and ride in his car. In that, the floor on the passenger side was not all there, I declined and walked.
A young Mom, living in the country, I walked Deirdre almost daily. She could see and marvel at birds, flowers, and even a nearby cow. A few years later, now in the city, I walked with Stacey in the carriage and Deirdre next to me. One day Deirdre noticed the people across the street and said, "Look Mommy, they look like you." I had recently talked to her about people of color, but I said, "No, I am not black." I have often thought it was not the right answer, for my dear friend Lucy Eiien was black. Soon another baby, our son Richie, was in the carriage, and the girls prattled to their brother about birds, trucks, and anything moving. After we settled in Rye, NH, with the beach nearby, I often walked the three tow-heads to the beach later in the day. How I wished I had an extra hand as I watched the girls playing in the water while I held onto Richie
As the children became more independent, I could walk to the beach alone, and how I relished the feel of the sand under my feet, and the cry of the gulls as I picked up shells, which I still do to this day. I especially enjoyed sitting and looking at the ocean, feeling joy, at one with the earth. These were truly wonderful years, bringing up the family, living in Rye with the beach nearby—a dream come true. The children, now adults, moved on and started their own families. Before long, I was a grandmother, pushing our grandson Christian in the carriage down the road. A few years later, Aidan was the new baby, and Christian rode on the back of the carriage down to the beach and all around as I pointed out marsh grasses, the sea gulls, and the ocean.
So again, how did I come to walking into the sky?
We now lived on a pristine lake in NH, so different from the ocean with its crashing waves. Yet I felt calm as I stood and looked at the shimmering lake, bounded by purple tinted mountains. Daily I walked up the road, sometimes meditating, sometimes hashing out problems. But I marveled at the trees as I walked with the lake always in view. One day walking back up the hill, I looked ahead and said, I am walking into the sky. Why did I feel this? I still don’t know. But God knows, so I am content.
Surprise by Dave Giunta
God surprises me all the time. Sometimes I understand His message right away and other times they confuse me, but in time I understand.
When I first found St. John the Baptist, God’s message was clear, “This where I want you to be. You belong here.” Ever since that first Sunday, I immersed myself spiritually and physically in this church. Working with Vestry and the Building Committee has taught me a lot about myself and others, both within and outside our Parish.
The work of the Building Committee has been a year-long challenge for all of us. Delayed starts and difficulty in getting materials caused much frustration. Knowing we were losing our storage space because of the sale of the Rectory, Vestry approved the purchase of a storage shed. Dave Tyler took on the task of sizing and ordering the new shed. The scheduled date of delivery was the last week of September. The new owners kindly said we could keep our things in what was now their shed until ours came. However, unbeknownst to us at the time, there was an issue.
We would learn later, because of Covid, the construction and subsequent delivery of our new shed would be delayed for two months. Alice Ann, the new owner of the Rectory, was very kind and understanding even though she needed the space. Anyone who has met her and her family know they are very special people. I honestly believe, as she does, that God had a lot to do with her finding and buying the house.
After contacting the shed company and getting a new delivery date, the shed again didn't arrive as promised. When called, the builder promised we would receive it in early November. Again, it did not arrive. Both Dave Tyler and I called the builders to get some clarification and a commitment. When I called, I was transferred to the head of the transportation company which now had our shed in its possession. I’m not sure how Dave T’s call went, but mine was contentious. I was very agitated and let them know. I’m sure there was some cussing going on, at least on my part. The person I spoke with, Bob I believe, promised the shed would arrive on the Monday before Thanksgiving. I waited at the church most of that day. No shed. They called late in the day and said they were delayed a day and it would be delivered in the morning of the next day. Again, I went to the church and waited most of the day. Finally, around 3 pm, two men showed up with the shed.
Once there, it took well over an hour to get the shed positioned properly. The placement was managed by one man. The other person, the supervisor, spoke with me most of the time. He was very interested in the church, our customs and beliefs, and how I ended up at St. John’s. We also spoke of his faith journey. It turns out he was Bob, the person I had spoken to on the phone. I was more than a bit embarrassed.
Once the helper was finished, Bob called him over. He asked if I would pray with them. His helper took off his hat and Bob began to lead us in prayer. He first thanked the Lord for our fellowship. He asked for blessings for our building project and the new shed. He ended the prayer by asking for God’s healing hands to be on a critically ill friend.
So, there we were, three strangers sharing God's love, peace and blessings in the parking lot of a construction site.
I will never forget that special moment.
Taking My Faith for Granted by Ann Prunier
I was brought up in the Catholic religion. I was the middle of seven children. I went through twelve years of Catholic School. I received the Sacraments and honored the Holy Days of Obligation. I fell in love and married a man who was Catholic. We had three sons, who we brought up Catholic. We went through Baptism, Confession, Holy Communion and Confirmation—times three.
I know all the prayers. I sang in the choir. I taught Sunday School. I knew all the rules. But I never really thought about my faith. I guess I took my faith for granted. That is, until I really needed it. You see one of my sons, at 15, got involved with drugs. I found out that I really needed, not so much my Catholic religion, but my faith.
It was only that faith that got me through three years of hell. My son became suicidal. He hit rock bottom and agreed to go to rehab. I did the research and got him into a fabulous place called “Summit Achievement” in Maine, where he remained for three months. My son went on to four years of college and is now an outstanding citizen with boys of his own.
I will never again take my faith for granted, for I have known the incredible power of prayer. Amen.
Inclusion by Russell Thompson
I have to admit that my memory about the “Altar Boy Days” is pretty fuzzy. One thing I do remember that is church related though was Jimbo’s relationship with the church custodian, Harry Hoyt. I believe they became friends soon after Jim joined the church. Eventually, Harry Hoyt became Jimbo’s godfather, along with Father Gasson. I thought it was kind of unique since I don’t think Harry Hoyt had any other family in his life. He lived in the Lovell Lake House above what is now the Pub. You would need to verify this since, as I have said, my recollection could be wrong. As far as growing up in a small town like Sanbornville, a lot of activities seemed to revolve around the church or school. Most times entire families were involved. In cases where an individual’s family might not be part of the group, I remember Jim always trying to include these people in the things we were doing. And, most of all, I remember he was (and is) always up for a good time!
See more Reflections at https://www.stjohntb.org/reflections
Visit our Church Online page at https://stjohntb.org/church-online
Memories by Robert Trafton
I have known Jimmy (Jimbo) [Keating] for over 65 years. He has been a wonderful friend and a pleasure to know through church, school, activities in Sanbornville and beyond.
My brother, Brad, helped start the Society of St. Steven in the late 1950s. It was a youth group for all young boys and girls that was chaired by Mrs. Esther Gasson, wife of Rev. Dymoke Gasson, the rector of the church.
Many funny things happened during the time we were in the youth group. We put on plays and most of the youth were in them. We held dances in the Parish House, with beautiful decorations. As usual, during the entire evening, all the boys stood at one end of the hall while the girls stood at the other end. Jim was always trying to get the boys motivated, but no such luck. He worked very hard to accomplish this difficult task.
One Halloween we had a costume Halloween party. Jimbo, Russ Thompson and I decided to go as a Bride, Groom, and Maid of Honor. Russ was the Groom, I was the Bride, Godzilla, and Jimbo was the Maid of Honor. We all dressed appropriately, so we thought, and won first prize. Jimbo wore a full dress, wig, hat and lipstick. He was very funny in his costume and had everyone laughing. It sure was a great time and fun evening.
Jimbo has always been dedicated to his church in many ways. He has been an altar boy, usher, reader, and big support for the church. He has worked on church suppers, the many fairs, the golf tournaments, etc., etc. He is from a loving, caring family that has always been church supporters in any way possible. I have always enjoyed my relationship with the family and the love they have given to everyone.
Creating Your Dream...Flag by Mary DeSalvo
Several years into my teaching career at my school, St. Anne’s Episcopal School (SAES), I was offered the opportunity to attend the People of Color Conference in Dallas, TX. On the second day, I noticed on the program that there was a presentation being given by two teachers from my own high school, Agnes Irwin. I decided to go without even checking to see what it was that they were presenting. The minute they began talking I was enthralled, perhaps even called, to bring this project, The Dream Flag Project, back to SAES because it so perfectly aligned with our school’s core mission.
Upon returning back to school, I ran the idea by my Lower School Head describing to her what the project was all about. Students would read and discuss the Dream Poems of Langston Hughes, an African American poet and leader of the Harlem Renaissance. Following this, they would learn about Tibetan prayer flags, which are often found strung along trails and peaks high in the Himalayas. Then they would write their Dreams for the World on a square sheet, decorate them, string them on a line, and hang them in the school. I asked my LS Head if I could do this with my class and then hang the flags in the hallway of the Lower School. She responded by saying, “I was wondering if…,” which I knew to be, “I would like you to do this project with the entire school.” Someone, (was it me?) said, “of course!” And I walked out, stunned. A colleague later looked at me and remarked, “Mary, you hate craft projects and now you are organizing one for over 300 students?” And it was (and still is) true; I am not a creative person in that sense. Who or what had been behind that commanding and all-out, “yes, I will do it.”?
Fast forward several months and many hours spent coordinating teachers across all disciplines, and especially with the maintenance staff who forever until I retired called me, “Sarge,” I had arrived with what felt like a total buy-in from the entire school. How that had happened, especially from teachers who are notoriously covetous of their time in class with their students, I did not have time to really process, but I was grateful to have their support. After a brief chapel service in the gym where my class introduced Langston Hughes and the Buddhist Prayer Flag tradition, 300 students spread out on the floor and began to decorate their flags with paint. At one point, a teacher walked up to me and said, “Mary, stop. Listen. What do you hear?” What I heard was silence. What I saw were 300 children from age 3 to 14 engaged in this project.
When all the flags had been carried to the cafeteria where teachers had been busy stringing them up on lines crisscrossing each other from the ceiling, I finally had time to go into the cafeteria to see how it looked. When I walked in, there they were—300 dreams! Dreams for healing, for hermit crabs and other pet and human friends, dreams for enough food or water in the world for everyone, dreams for strife in families to cease, dreams for peace. No dream for self, only dreams to make the world a better place. It was breathtaking, but I am ashamed to say, my first thought was, “I created this and it is awesome.”
At last I had an opportunity to bring my class into the cafeteria, hoping to instill pride in them for all their hard work in presenting a chapel service describing the project and acting as facilitators during the decorating of the flags. I asked them, “who created this?” Through my 38 years of teaching, I needed constant reminding that when given the opportunity, children cut to the chase and speak the truth. They look at you and hold you to a higher standard and force you to at least attempt to be a better person. So it was no surprise, in retrospect, that when I asked them the question, “who created this?”, after a moment of silence, one student replied, “God. I think God created this.” Of course. Namaste.
Sharing God's Blessings by Carol Lundgren, Stewardship Ministry, First Congregational Church of Wakefield
Dear Ones at St. Johns,
As the years have gone by since retiring here in 2008, I have felt infused by love from so many "new" friends, as well as our opportunities to gather ecumenically. I am not only grateful, but am moved to tears with the friendships that I have and the ones I hear about among your congregation.
St. John's and First Congregational often lovingly clasp hands and hearts to be the hands and hearts of Christ. We've done that for years, both formally and informally by contributing to EpiscoGolf to enrich the funds that provide scholarships and so much more, raising monies with you at Animals Raising Funds for Food AARF Walks (gosh those are fun, and the Wakefield Food Pantry benefits!), joining each other "at the table" at the Pub a few years ago for "Pub Grub and Soul Food", attending services when a tree hit our church in a cold winter month and we temporarily had no power/heat, and inviting you to our worship service in humble thanks.
And now, people like me from FCCW, have growing excitement for the very forward-thinking effort that is taking place before our very eyes—your building project! I smile with joy and excitement as this creative structure incrementally grows more beautiful every passing week. It will be a joy to celebrate its completion with you.
May God bless our shared futures! Thank you for being who you are in this community.
From the Darkness Into Light by Jackie Keating
On September 29th, 2001 at 11:11 PM there was a car crash that took the lives of my beloved son and nephew. My heart, soul and spirit were crushed, and life as I knew it was over. I continued to work but the laughter was gone. My faith allowed me to ignore such comments as "How could God do this to you?" I knew better; God didn't do this to me. Casey and Aaron went to a bachelor party, they drank and Casey attempted to drive home. They didn't make it.
On October 10th, 2003, Jack Aaron Sullivan was born. At that moment, joy filled my heart and I was blessedly happy. Two years later, Casey Mae added more joy and love to my heart. Two children, my grandchildren, brought me out of the darkness and into the light, and I thank God every day for them.
My Casey is no longer with me physically but he is in a place where I know I will join him one day and we will be together for eternity. For now, I will enjoy gymnastic meets, baseball and basketball games, and the phone calls: "Nanny, can you take me to Dunkin?" I am so grateful to Jack and Casey Mae for leading me into the light.
Creative Solitude by Anne Grande
Solitude: noun…seclusion…private space…isolation
Once upon a long time ago, I dreamed or imagined a white walled space with one chair, one lamp, and a bookcase filled with fine volumes. Oil and pastel seascapes graced nearby walls. Several large Boston ferns framed the floor to ceiling windows overlooking beautiful perennial gardens. I envisioned myself there, in happy seclusion.
That image was clearly opposite of reality. As a wife and mother, teacher and daughter, my days were crammed with endless responsibilities: tasks, chores, schedules, cooking, cleaning, chauffeuring, etc. In every season, it seemed, our three young boys were always playing on three different sports’ teams: soccer, football, hockey, baseball, and others. There were balls of all sizes and shapes everywhere. The struggles to keep the practice and game uniforms, hats, gloves, racquets, cleats and ski boots at the ready required dedication and concentration, and the washing machine at high use.
My mother said, “Don’t forget to breathe.” And the food! The quantities and preparation of sandwiches, cookies, and snacks, in correctly labeled brown paper bags was constant and endless. All of this occurred years before fast food drive-through buildings existed on most corners.
My father said, “This too shall pass.” And, of course, it did. We, the parents, met the challenges.
Now, decades past that long ago, I can sit in my chair near a window amongst my books and enjoy the neat and orderly quiet with my spouse. Now I have time to watch the spider hiding in the outside corner of the window, waiting. His magnificently woven web is dull and invisible to the solitary mosquito who staggers into it. My experience tells me that the mosquito is doomed.
Now I have time to ruminate about characters in books and watch bugs. I can recall and redefine memories. I can watch the gray morning fog lift from the lake and track cumulous cloud-shadows as they move across the White Mountains.
One day I watched a single, small ant charge across the brick patio. He stopped short next to a dead dragonfly, then scurried around it before trying to push and then pull that silent creature from all angles. Seemingly defeated, he raced off. Shortly he reappeared with three ant helpers and appeared to give them job assignments. Soon, that giant airplane body of a dragonfly moved slowly and steadily towards a depression and small opening between the bricks. A conference seemed to take place. Big dragonfly…small entrance. Those four ants dismantled that corpse into smaller pieces that slid easily into the unseen storage cupboard beneath those bricks. It had been recycled into a food bank.
I witnessed brilliant work that day and asked myself, “Can ants think?”
I don’t know for sure, but personal observation supports the possible theory.
Five Somewhat Related Observations:
One: That original ant had been traveling along alone in solitude minding his own business, like Moses had been when he heard a challenge from God, like Noah had been when he received the word that God wanted him to build an ark.
Both Old Testament desert stories developed into a need to develop a plan. Moses gathered 12 strong leaders, one from each of his tribes, and assigned them leadership duties while he was away. His people needed Ten Commandments to teach them societal behaviors. Noah’s task to build a “floatable something” to withstand a never-heard-of flood must have seemed ridiculous, insane. Exact dimensions were given and followed by the recruits Noah convinced to help.
Two: Recycling was a fantastic idea which turned into a national program born of necessity…like food banks.
Three: Five years ago, St. John the Baptist Church in tiny Sanbornville, NH teetered on the edge. Some experienced and dedicated folks heard the word and responded. They formed a team, assessed obstacles, overcame objections, defined possibilities and assembled ideas which blossomed into a group design-and-build plan with blueprints that required creative funding.
Today the walls are up; the roof is on!
Four: America, like all other nations of our planet, has enormous challenges. With smart, educated, experienced and caring leaders, world disasters might be minimized and corrected to become manageable opportunities.
Five: Without this current situation of imposed solitude (due to age, deafness, and world-wide COVID-19), I might never have encountered that particular morning drama of the solitary ant and observed the far-ranging outcome of his effort.
Change by Ann Elkins
There may be times when we face the sadness of leaving one part of life to enter a new and different experience. Nevertheless, these times are usually followed by compensations that are satisfying. The challenge of new responsibilities can be a time of refreshment. Faith plays an important role in this and is something that has guided my life for a long time.
As I reflect back on my life, it is filled with constant change. When I left Florida for Virginia, I longed to go back and have part of my old life back, when my children were young and Sunday was spent at the beach. Well they grew and moved on as they should, and I found myself staying and working for the government. I learned a lot about diversity and my prejudices. I also learned about humility. At church every Sunday I prayed life would change, for me, my children, and those around me. The only thing that didn’t change was my faith in God. With God’s supervision I learned to drive a stick shift VW bug, with almost no floor boards in the middle of January. What a change that was! I was so fearful of the experience that I sang hymns all the way to work and back again. God saved me and those around me.
My life began to change for the better. I took an EFM course, and part of it each week was to write a reflection of your life. Writing this down certainly changes your thinking. You learn more about yourself than you really want to know. Since then I have tried to correct the faults I have. My life changed again and I found myself living with Paul in New Hampshire and retired—a major change in our life style.
The next change came by way of my experience at Church of the Redeemer, some good and some not good. After all I had survived cancer. What could be worse, Church of the Redeemer closed its doors and the next week I once again made a change. I came to Saint John’s. I could feel the joy when I walked through the door. I felt it was my reward for persevering through life. You feel happiness here, and I will try to do everything I can to help with all the wonderful changes that are now taking place.
Believe by Sandy Thomas
To Believe can mean many things to many people: Believe in God, Believe in Hope, Believe in Prayer, even Believe in Oneself.
I believe in all of these.
I believe in the power of positive thinking.
I believe I have been very blessed in my life.
Even though there have been tragedies some might say in my life, my belief in the positive is still strong.
In 1953 my brother Earl lost oxygen to the brain as a result of childbirth. He was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. This was truly tragic as he was normal in the womb up until his birth. Earl was not expected to live a very long life but today he is 67 and the sweetest soul despite his infirmities. In spite of not growing up with him as a doting big brother, I believe this tragedy to bring about something positive. We as young children learned of disabilities in others and to view everyone with love and respect.
I believe I have been blessed to still have all my siblings. Recently my other brother Brian was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. I truly believe he will be healed.
In 1962 we lost our biological father at the young age of 35. He left our mother to raise six children on her own. Four years later she met the man that raised us, William Drown. Our life with him has been an adventure. He was always doing things with us kids; he is a big kid himself.
I believe the death of our father, as tragic as it was, did result in something positive. My mother and Bill had a beautiful life together. They had adventure: they visited Hawaii, Alaska, Newfoundland, Baja, CA; they had a winter home in FL, then a winter home in SC; they did everything together; they were truly soul mates. Now with her gone I believe my relationship with him has deepened.
I believe in marriage. I believe relationships work as long as you both are committed.
I believe in lasting friendships.
I believe in my church.
I believe in all of you!
Direction by Judy Gray
It’s 1:32 am, so “Good Morning everyone!” It’s not an unusual time for me to be awake and working at the computer. But this time, it’s not finishing the bulletin or answering e-mails. Instead, I’m writing about the important things that are so much on my mind these days.
This latest reality check—a relative term describing what I see—is being fueled by my midnight reading of the many ever-present, up-to-the-minute digital newspapers. The headlines cover everything from, “Baghdad’s record heat offering a glimpse of the world’s climate change future,” to Great Britain’s, “plunge into a record shattering recession,” to a “ban by a Florida sheriff on the wearing of masks by both deputies and visitors.” And the reports from all over the world are similarly filled with Covid-19, social unrest, financial losses for the many affected by unemployment—and unprecedented gains by the richest of companies, etc. etc. Etc. Etc. ETC!
I look for direction because thoughts of “What can one person do?” are all running through the treadmill of my mind and going nowhere. I am reminded of the recent request by our Priest-in-Charge for us to write about “something.” Is this reflection what he had in mind? Do the early morning ramblings of an aging parishioner who has grown from a child who never spoke in front of adults, to a young adult who never spoke in any sort of public venue, to a white haired, left (heart) leaning, new age embracing (there’s really no-thing new under the sun), no longer shy, senior citizen - still with me? Do these thoughts really matter?
Maybe or maybe not, but here goes.
The endless array of articles is SCREAMing for my attention but I am especially focused on the one about the heat in Baghdad. “Why should I care?” I wonder as I sit here in a cool enough home with one window (not central) AC. I realize over and again when I read about living conditions in a large part of the world that I am living in the lap of luxury. From this vantage point, I quickly digress to the unfathomable inequalities that exist between the world’s richest and the poor. How much money does any one person really need? And what can any one person do to change a broken system?
Those of means in Baghdad are able to maintain an electricity powering source most of the time which runs cooling and other “necessities” while the poorer population, at best, has one fan and a couple of lights. With record high temperatures over 120°F occurring there, the poorest folks must survive the heat of a life-threatening situation. Why does this inequality exist in Baghdad and around the world? And where is the heart of Jesus that radiates pure love and compassion? How can there be such a huge chasm between the haves and the have nots? What can one person do?
From the haves and have nots I move on to conversations I have heard about how the programs that help the poor are being used by some who scam the system and should not be receiving aid. Yes, that is very likely true, and certainly people should be carefully screened, but how many are there who really cheat? And wouldn’t Jesus want us to feed too many, NOT too few? Some ask, “who are these people in need?” reciting that, “I pulled myself up by my bootstraps.” My thoughts turn to those with no boots and certainly no bootstraps. I realize the complexities of these questions, yet still wonder, where is the love and compassion of Jesus if not in OUR hearts? My heart? Again, I ask myself, What can one person do?
It’s now 2:36 am and I’m still no closer to an answer. My mind wanders until it rests on the huge issue of climate change. It is perhaps the most important of my many concerns because I realize that unless something is done now, maybe the rest of the headlines won’t matter anyway. I think of my precious grandkids, ages 8 and 12. In 2050, they will be 38 and 42. What will their lives be like? Is Baghdad a sign of things to come? I wonder: what if these young charges of ours, the children of the world, by then are living in dire conditions of heat and drought and famine because this white-haired rambling “stada baba” writing in the middle of the night did nothing to make a difference? But what can just one person do?
(BTW a “stada baba” is a Polish phrase for an old woman with a babushka and though I don’t. yet wear one, I may soon don a similar item of apparel until this pandemic comes to a close and I dare to get my haircut.)
So many issues – racism and all the other “isms”, poverty, financial inequality, climate change, violence, democracy, voting rights, educational inequality, fear of differences, famine, COVID-19 and all life-threatening illnesses, inequality in accessing health care, fake news, real news, truth and lies – I sometimes choose to switch the channel to a Hallmark movie to maintain sanity.
I know that I am blessed beyond measure. I am grateful beyond words. And I do watch, read and listen. Yet I still wonder: where is my heart of Jesus? What can this one old woman, with or without a babushka, do? What would Jesus do?
I remember writing my thoughts and concerns in a letter to my family right before the 2016 election (if you’re thinking “uh-oh”, you’re absolutely right). The letter brought mixed results at best. So here I am - writing again - and I dare say that we are in a very different place than we were just four short years ago – a place that seems far better for the wealthy than for the needy and seems filled with many frightening developments.
What if no one hears? What if I alienate someone? Yet my fingers keep typing, and I keep asking, “Where is the heart of Jesus” who says, “feed the hungry?” What matters most?—my self-interests or the needs of those who are the “least of us?” Where is my heart of Jesus, and what can one person do?
My heart comes to rest on this: I can pray. I can pray for discernment and understanding, for a heart full of caring and compassion, and for guidance and empowerment to follow the heart of Jesus wherever it may lead. I am only one person. What can I do? I know that it matters! I listen to Jesus for my direction.
Appreciate by Dave Tyler
I was sitting here listening in on tonight's book study and discussion, and listening to the topic of being antiracist and how we need to connect with people of color and put ourselves in someone else's shoes so we can understand and help change things. What I thought about was what it means to appreciate.
I think what I appreciate is the fact that I grew up in south Florida in the late 50's into the mid 60's. This was a time of wonderful adventures because I was growing up in a time before the area exploded with big development and major growth.
I am a cradle Episcopalian and I was taught at an early age to love everyone, to treat everyone with decency and respect at a time when immigration from multiple countries in the Caribbean, and especially Cuba and Central America, was about offering a better life for people seeking to be free from prosecution and poverty.
I learned at an early age to appreciate people's differences—both what I could learn from them and what I could teach them.
This was not easy in south Florida because of the bigotry and racism that existed there, but I was taught by my parents and the church to look at people as people and not at their color or a race. My father had a saying that has stuck with me all my life, "Treat people equally, and if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."
I have tried very hard to treat ALL people the same. I have tried very hard to not look at people by the color of their skin but by the quality of their character. At times, I have failed, but I truly appreciate what my parents taught me, and I appreciate the opportunity that was given me to grow up in a melting pot of cultures and to be able to respect, to the best of my ability, all people.
There are major issues we are dealing with in this country regarding racial equality, and other issues related to this, but if we can engage one another, no matter the color, we can try very hard to bring about needed change.
Prayer by Kathryn Saunders
There was a time in my life when I didn't pray. (I didn’t go to church either - but that’s a story for another day.)
Prayer, in its many varieties, brings so much richness to my life now. How did I ever live without it? It is a lifeline and source of connection, especially in this world of Covid-19 when life is harder, there’s more time and there’s less structure.
Prayers of thanksgiving (important to remind me to be more grateful),
Prayers of confession (important to remind me that I'm not the center of the world),
Prayers for myself and, most important, for others.
I’m particularly touched these days by prayers that have the beautiful and formal structure of scripture and our rich heritage in the Book of Common Prayer. Sheltering at home, my appreciation has grown dramatically for the prayers of the Daily Office: Morning and Evening Prayers but above all the brief and lovely words of the night prayers, Compline. When I started reading parts of them the liturgies seemed lengthy and somehow "distant"; now these words are like old friends. They resonate with connection to the many others praying them – all around the world. I can even actually pray them online with people near and far. My favorite, from both Compline and Evening Prayer:
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.
I've also had more time to learn more about prayers of the moment, spoken in not-always-coherent words from my heart. Then there are really simple words spoken silently many times a day. Anne Lamott wrote a whole book about them, Help. Thanks. Wow.
And - simplest - but probably the hardest for me, prayer as just listening.
Do I think that God hears my prayers? Absolutely. Do I think God answers or even needs to answer each one in detail? No. I think often God's response is found in leading me to try harder and do better. And sometimes the answer is just God sharing the joy or the burden.
Especially in these weird and scary times, prayer is a tether that connects me to God and to all of you, a link that that reminds me I'm not alone – now or ever – and that none of us is.
I believe it's not where or in what words (or even any words) I, or any of us, pray. It's the reaching out for relationship that brings so much.
May we all find our own ways and our own words.
With prayers for your safety and peace, Kathryn
P.S. (If you haven't looked recently, I highly recommend giving Compline a try...page 127).
Be Happy by James Cross
Happiness is described as a sense of well-being, joy, or contentment. It is the opposite of sadness.
Years ago, I read a quote from someone that struck a chord with me. I have misplaced the actual quote, but it went something like this. “Decide what you want. Work hard to get it. Then enjoy it.” I have tried to follow that theory, but I added a little something to it - “Don’t be afraid to adjust your goal.”
When I was growing up, I decided that I wanted to enjoy life to the fullest. I used to tell my friends, “Whenever you see me, I am enjoying myself. Or I’m doing what I have to do to get out of trouble for enjoying myself doing something I shouldn’t.” Since I had decided I wanted to enjoy life, I have made a conscious effort to do so, I have made an effort to be happy. I feel that I have been successful, since I often tell people I am the happiest person they will ever meet.
There is a saying AIM HIGH. The saying encourages people to strive for the top. Since not making it to the top sometimes bring sadness, and sadness is the opposite of happiness, I am not sure that AIM HIGH is a good saying. Maybe it should be AIM LOW, but I would rather keep AIM HIGH (but don’t be afraid to adjust your aim as life goes on). Hitting where we aim brings satisfaction, joy, and contentment. See definition in 1st paragraph; it brings happiness.
Do not forget the third part of my quote - enjoy it. While we are in the process of achieving our goal, we should enjoy our successes. When the goal is finally achieved, then we really should enjoy life. Achieving a goal does not mean one should choose another goal and start the process again without taking time to enjoy the success. Happiness does not mean having everything you want, it means enjoying everything you have.
Faith by Tina Firicano
Rev. Sue often reflected to me how God always shows up. When she told me she was called to move on I had faith it was what God needed not my need or St. John's need. It was hard to have faith that I/we could/would move forward.
Pastor Janet came and she told me to have faith, "God is certainly here, Tina." Our numbers were poor but our faith in God was Mighty. She saw God in each of us! This faith was too great to shut down.
Our vestry had faith God would show up and lead us where He needed. Look at us today! We have renewed energy in leadership and expertise and in new property for community building. And now a young family needing a church family may be purchasing our rectory. God continues to show up and I have faith I/we will be led to where God needs.
Thanks be to God!
Gratitude by Peter Campbell
When Fr. Dave first spoke with me about asking fellow church members to share their faith journey, I agreed that it was a good idea. Of course, I was hoping he wouldn’t consider me, but here I am. I still think it’s a good idea, because we all have stories worth sharing. Gratitude being the subject of this sharing has helped to remind me of all the goodness that I have been blessed with.
First on my list I want to mention my wife Loretta, who has been with me for 31 years and been my wife for coming up on 28 years. We enjoy a very wonderful marriage, in which I have reason to believe that we have been brought together as a blessing from God. Without Loretta, I probably never would have discovered the Episcopal Church.
The first gratitude in my life is to have had the mother which I did have. She introduced me to God by bringing me up Roman Catholic. I don’t remember it, but I’m sure she was there helping me learn my prayers, which I needed to know, so I could receive my first communion and go to confession. After all there were a lot of sins for an 8-year-old, let alone a teenager.
It was about 30 years ago that I found St. Christopher’s Episcopal Church in Hampstead N.H., which was another blessing to be thankful for. Shortly after that I became a seasonal visitor
of St. John’s in Sanbornville (seasonal because, we were only in the area summer and winter weekends). Whenever we came back for our seasonal visits I felt that SJtB was my real home. Since retirement 15 years ago I have been able to be a year-round member of StJB.
Being involved with EpiscoGolf at St. John’s has opened my eyes to the many people that are in need that I would not normally have come in touch with. Finding out more and more about these needy people has made me more thankful to God for all that I have been blessed with. Not to brag, but because of EpiscoGolf I have become involved with the Salvation Army and several years of volunteer work at a homeless center. These are experiences I never would have thought about without StJB church. Thank you all!
My favorite times to give thanks to God are in solitude, hiking, biking, or spending time alone in a quiet room. My personal blessings are more than I have mentioned, and I’ll save those for another time.
I have not hidden your saving help within my heart,
I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation,
I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness from the great congregation. —Psalm 40: 10
