St. Francis The Episcopal Church In Potomac

October 10, 2011: Wednesday 11 am Bible Study Book
It was once common to hear words to this effect: “The Epistle is written in the first Chapter of St Paul’s Letter to the Hebrews, beginning at the first verse.” One of my seminary professors who was a stickler for liturgical and scriptural propriety insisted that everything after “chapter” in that announcement was erroneous: Dr Reginald Fuller held that this fine work was not authored by St Paul, that it was not an epistle but a sermon for circulation, and that it was not sent to any “Hebrews”. That being said, he quickly added it was one of the finest and most important sections of the New Testament.
   Hebrews will be the subject of the new term of the Wednesday morning Bible class. The class beginneth on Wednesday, October 19 in the Kincaid Library at 11:00, and our sessions are open to all. We work our way through the various books selected with all deliberate speed. No doubt we will be working on Hebrews, I suspect, until spring arrives.
   Regardless of the identity of the author of Hebrews, its message is both timeless and timely. We think it was a sermon circulated among Christian communities who were under duress. If one had to select one word as the theme or message of Hebrews that word would be “encouragement.” The author understood that there is every reason to persevere, for regardless of the trials we face – and some of those trials were fiery for his readers – we are not left alone. To the contrary, we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses encouraging us to endure. More to the point, the author offers the example our Lord as the pioneer of faithfulness, an image that is particularly apt for those who know American history.
   Historical scholarship has shed much light on the nature of the trials faced by those early Christians, and that light illuminates the notions of encouragement and perseverance. What will future historians say about our day? Will they find Hebrews as important a work to us as it surely was to its original recipients? In parts of the world, the trials are the same: Government persecution is hardly unknown in our time. Other trials are less overt but equally insidious: The indictment of a church which seems to have lost its way and has little to offer by way of a bold confession could be applied to the Episcopal Church of our time with lamentable accuracy. We are not the original recipients of Hebrews, but its message is clearly intended for us, and in the power of the Holy Spirit, like all Scripture, it is true and worthy to be received.
   St Francis is a congregation with lots of Bible study in progress. The youth group has a dedicated routine that draws a faithful community each week to be fed by the Word, and to consider how lives are changed by Truth. The curriculum of the Sunday school is centered on the lectionary of Bible readings heard in church Sunday by Sunday. A group of men meets each week at an unspeakably early hour to study Scripture in genuine fellowship. And the Wednesday class meets every week in the Kincaid Library. This review of Bible studies does not address the discipline many follow of faithful reading and meditations at home, day by day. Perhaps one of these opportunities is just the thing, and the doors are open to all.

October 3, 2011
Mark Twain ascribed the following trenchant observation to Benjamin Disraeli: “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.” Both Twain and Disraeli were capable of such wisdom and wit, and regardless of whose wit stands as the actual source of that bon mot, it is surely true.
   That wisdom came to mind the other day when a Church of England report was published on recent trends across the ocean in the Mother Church. The usual suspects were rounded up to report on attendance, parochial giving, and demographic trends. Someone once observed that the Church of England is the church its members do not attend, which was an ironic way to say that in a country which purports to be Christian (72% of the population), attendance does not reflect commitment – or perhaps it does.
   Over here the same situation is painfully clear. There are few rectors in this part of the country who are not concerned about weakness in attendance figures. As Mr Nixon used to say, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I share that concern. It is a true saying and worthy to be received, that attendance is a vital sign of a parish’s vitality. Any thoughtful rector would monitor such things carefully.
   The C of E has for several years promoted “Back to Church Sunday.” That event’s purpose is self-evident. The 2010 effort welcomed 51,000 people to worship, people who would not have included Sunday worship as part of their routine. (This year’s effort was last month, but the figures are yet to be reported.) The invitation was not confined just to C of E congregations, but extended across instead a remarkable range of denominations not only in England but also in Scotland and Wales. All totaled, the estimate is that over the previous years dating from 2004, some 150,000 souls were present in church on a Sunday (other than Easter Day) who might not otherwise have been there. In the Diocese of Lichfield, reports indicate that six months after the event, between 12% and 15% of the “returners” had become regular members.
   Before we fall into lies, damned lies, or statistics, consider the words of the Bishop of Hertford, the Rt Rev’d Paul Baynes: “It’s the shortest step in evangelism – invite someone you know to something you love.” [Emphasis mine] It need not be a program as well organized and implemented as a national “Back to Church Sunday”, nor some form of “aggressive” evangelism that the genteel folk of Potomac parish would demur to practice. To the contrary, for some time now the suggestion has been made that it would be encouraging to us all to invite someone to join you at St Francis Church.  Is there something in Bishop Baynes’ formula that does not apply? Someone you know? Something you love? A careful consideration of that formula could be very important for the long-term welfare and health of this parish.

September 19, 2011
The recent observances of the tenth anniversary of the terrorist attacks on New York and the Pentagon brought to mind memories of the Sunday following. For the only time in my years as a priest we used that section of the Litany called “The Supplication.” It is found on page 154 of the Prayer Book, and is provided for use “especially in times of war, or of national anxiety, or of disaster.” That it seemed appropriate to use ten years ago is an understatement.
   The Litany dates to 1544, when Archbishop Cranmer put together this set of prayers at the request of Henry VIII, who was waging war against Scotland and France. Litanies are ancient forms of devotion, and Cranmer’s work here is the oldest liturgical work in English. It has been revised in various ways, but has been included in every edition of the Prayer Book. The Supplication, found in the prayers of Salisbury, was appended to Cranmer’s work, and thus dates much earlier than 1544. Still, its use in 2001 was the only time in my memory it had been appointed.
   It has been our practice to use the Litany at least twice a year, in Advent and Lent. Whenever it is appointed, someone will bemoan its length, or dismiss it as quaint. The response which comes immediately to mind is this: Just what petitions of the Litany no longer merit God’s attention, or ours?
   To be sure, the Litany is predicated on what the Prayer Book elsewhere describes as “the shortness and uncertainty of life.” The hubris which allows us to live in a world of illusions and clouds is at odds with a set of prayers that acknowledges at the outset “all evil and wickedness [and]…the crafts and assaults of the devil.” Have those things been repealed? Or, we pray for deliverance from “all false doctrine, heresy, and schism; from hardness of heart, and contempt of [God’s] Word and commandment”, erroneously believing that these refer to the era when men and women were burned at the stake, rather than what goes on in the Church of the present hour. The Litany is both timely and timeless.      
   Since the late 18th century, if not before, the myth has existed of “man come of age”, that we no longer stand in need of salvation and redemption. T. S. Eliot wrote that “human kind cannot stand too much reality”, so we smile with condescension at the imagery of the Litany, or put the truth away altogether: We no longer confess what the Psalmist knew to be the case, “There is no health in us.” And we do this without blushing, as though the 20th century’s brutal record alone were not enough to convict our pride of its offense, as Auden wrote.
   Sometimes, however, these old, antiquarian formularies seem to be more on target than we care to admit. It is true, of course, that Cranmer put the Litany together in the 16th century, when “battle, murder, and sudden death” were present realities Really? More then than now?
For we read on a little, and notice that the Litany seeks God’s deliverance from “lightning, tempest, earthquake, fire, and flood” Now, there’s something quaint for sure, here in the capital of the most powerful nation on earth, where such things could never happen.
   There are so many times when we are reminded of our place in the greater scheme of things, and of our dependence on God alone. Calamities are vivid, painful examples of that truth. At the same time, prayers such as the Litany are intended not to put us in our place, as it were, but to assure us of God’s watchful, provident eye over that place. To be reminded of that truth is a blessing and a source of comfort.  

September 12, 2011
Shakespeare, not for the first time, was right: “Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.” Despite the endless days of heat, where did the summer go? There was simply not enough time for proper aestivation, and were it not for the return of football, despair and discontent would be the orders of the day.
   The transition of seasons this year took me back in time and location to some of the happiest, most productive days of my life. By their kindness, I was the preacher at the opening convocation for Heathwood Hall Episcopal School in Columbia. In the mid-1970’s I was a member of that faculty teaching history. It was at Heathwood that Jennifer and I met. I loved being there, and it only to enter seminary did I decide to leave. The new school term marks their sixtieth year, so it was a special honor to me to be invited to preach at this distinct opening convocation.
   With no traces of either nostalgia or overstatement, it is fair to say that Heathwood is an excellent school. Its graduates are spread far and wide throughout the fine colleges and universities of our land. It reflects credit on the Diocese of Upper South Carolina that such an institution exists as part of their mission, speaking with the genteel accents of the Episcopal Church.
   A bit of history is (always) instructive: Heathwood traces its origins to the generosity of Francis Marion Weston, a planter in South Carolina’s wonderful Georgetown County in the Low Country. He left a sum of money to the Bishop of South Carolina to found a school for girls – in 1847! Somehow, despite the depredations and vicissitudes of the state’s economy in the intervening years the legacy remained intact. South Carolina was divided into two dioceses in 1922, and in time a “friendly” lawsuit broke Mr Weston’s stipulation and allowed boys to enroll in the proposed school.  Sixty years ago – a century after the gift was given – Heathwood opened its doors. Far from being only a dream deferred, this school became more than Mr Weston could imagined or dared to hope.
   In thinking about this history, several things came to mind, two of which seem appropriate to share here and at this time of the year. The first is that often the work God intends takes longer to accomplish than we would like, perhaps even longer that the Almighty would like. Yet if something is of God, faithful perseverance and a clear purpose will in time allow that purpose to blossom. Instant gratification was not part of this story, and often is not a characteristic of God’s work.
   The other thought arises as a corollary to that observation. We would do well not to confuse information with education. While computers can provide instant information, they can offer us neither education nor wisdom. A comparable principle undergirds the worship of our Church, namely that discipleship is matter of a life-long relationship with the living God, not the result of a hot-house conversion. The old prayer at Confirmation put it best: The bishop prayed that we would be defended with God’s heavenly grace “that we may continue [God’s] for ever; and daily increase in thy Holy Spirit more and more, until we come unto thy everlasting kingdom.” That increase was to be “daily”, “more and more” all our days.
   To return to a school whose origins lay in 1847 but whose greatest days are right now, (and no doubt still to come), is to be reminded again of the timetable on which God often operates. It is also to be reminded of how our minds and hearts can grow and mature in healthful ways. What wonderful thoughts to receive as summer’s lease came to its end.

April 18, 2011
Holy Week is time set apart. There are no comparable days in the entire church year. The progression from the joyous beginning on Palm Sunday through the sadness of Holy Saturday is the Christian’s most sublime opportunity to follow our Lord in his steadfast approach to Calvary. Just because we know – and, indeed, rely upon – the good news to be celebrated at the Lamb’s High Feast, we must not skip blithely over the days of our Lord’s Passion. A careful observance of these days is the best discipline to guide us, and a rich opportunity to arrive at the coming feast truly prepared.
   William Reed Huntington (1838-1909) offered the safest guide for these days in his collect appointed for Monday in Holy Week, and included among those appropriate for any Friday of the year. “Almighty 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…”
   It is a temptation of our time to do the opposite – to want to move from the hosannas of one week straightway to the exultant proclamation of the following Sunday. Put another way, we seem to find it congenial to think of the victory but not the cost. The result is cheap grace, which is hardly the way of the cross.
   The way of the cross at St Francis differs from all other weeks here. Our conscious decision to avoid any “routine” parish business during this week is not only a way to focus on the singular importance of Holy Week, but also a confession that any sense of self-importance is a false glory indeed. That is the foundation of our local observance of these days.
   For centuries the Church has moved at a careful, deliberate, and reverent pace through the days of this week. The week begins with the Sunday of the Passion, commonly called Palm Sunday. It may come as a surprise to those of us who are long-time Episcopalians that it was only in the 1928 Prayer Book that the designation “Palm Sunday” was introduced; theretofore this day was denominated “The Sunday next before Easter”. From the fourth century, however, processions embellished by palm branches have marked the day. In a wonderful manuscript left by the Spanish nun Egeria, the ceremonies of Christians in Jerusalem from the late 4th century are described in detail. Processions, sacred meals, and special liturgies were offered over the course of three days which came to be known as the Triduum Sacrum, the three sacred days. On these final days of the week were commemorated the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, and Christ’s death and burial, including the quiet and sad time when he lay lifeless in the garden tomb.
   All of these are the outward and visible signs of what Dr Huntington called “walking the way of the cross.” While pilgrims will crowd Jerusalem to walk the Via Dolorosa, the route said to have been the steps Jesus followed from Pilate’s judgment hall to Calvary, for most people the journey through this week is one of the soul. A richly rewarding way to be a pilgrim on these shores is to read and contemplate the wonderful, simple text of Hymn 171, James Montgomery’s splendid, “Go to dark Gethsemane.” We close our Maundy Thursday service with this hymn and it sets just the right tone for walking the way of the cross. We have been fed at the Lord’s table in the Sacrament he gave us, and now the “conflict stupendous” is set to begin. God’s grace joins us to those who across the centuries have followed this same sacred way.

September 6, 2010
Two transitions in the clergy ranks may be of interest to members of this parish, and both are occasions for prayerful reflection. What ties them together is that they concern priests who served at St Francis in their seminary years: The Rev’d William P. Billow retired in the spring from his position as Senior Chaplain at St Albans School. The Rev’d Nathaniel Luke Back has just begun his time as Rector of the Church of the Heavenly Rest in Abilene, Texas. Some thoughts are in order concerning Will and Luke.
   I have known no priest of this diocese longer than I have known Will. When I entered Virginia Seminary, Will was in his final year. He was part of a distinguished clique gathered around the wise and hospitable Annilee Thornhill Brown. One did not apply for membership in that group, but being part of it changed my time in seminary profoundly, and my life was enriched by those friendships beyond measure. I also learned no small amount of theological truth with them, although it was hardly in the curriculum of the seminary.
   Will spent two years here as a seminarian, and it is no exaggeration to say he loved this church a great deal. I first heard of Potomac Parish in listening to stories he told. After his ordination, Will returned to Illinois for two years, but soon was back in Washington, first at St Columba’s, and then at St Albans. During that time his friendship with Bishop John Walker was cemented. Bishop Walker rightly discerned in Will someone of remarkable abilities for the challenging vocation of school ministry, and the bond between them was one of deepest respect and affection, not dissimilar from the best between a father and son. Part of that bond was their mutual warm feeling for St Francis. Thus when Will told Bishop Walker and Pam Ramsey, who chaired the search committee looking for a rector for Potomac Parish, that he knew someone they should consider, they listened. My debt of gratitude to Will is as fresh today as it was in 1987.
   St Albans has shown excellent judgment by asking Will to maintain his ties to the school as a link to their alumni. The young men who are presently students at St Albans will not have the benefit of Will’s loving pastoral leadership, but the alumni will, and the Billow Blessings for St Albans will continue.
   Luke Back was a successor, as it were, to Will, serving as our seminarian a decade ago (and two decades after Will), 2000-2002. It was readily apparent that his vocation to priesthood was authentic in every respect. Upon ordination, Luke served at St Paul’s Cathedral, Oklahoma City, where his father was Dean. Such a call created an anomalous situation, but Luke was just the right person to serve faithfully and with consummate grace. In the St Paul’s Cathedral newsletter, this synopsis caught the moment: “Some at St Paul’s have watched the boy grow into a young man who went to seminary, then came back to become a cherished and respected priest by the congregation where he grew up.” Anyone who harbors doubts about the difficulty of that kind of ministry might be interested in the story found in Luke 4:16-30.
   Now Luke and Meredith, with their three children, will become part of a new parish. This one, too, has family ties, for Abilene and Heavenly Rest are already home to Meredith’s parents. The website of their new parish has some wonderful words and pictures of welcome: The address is www.chrabilene.com, and Luke’s first sermon there is available from that site. What a grand chapter has just begun for the Church of the Heavenly Rest, Abilene. Both of these clerical transitions are occasions for prayers of thanksgiving, and that God will pour down upon them both the continual dew of his blessing.

August 30, 2010
There is no reason to think of autumn as the beginning of a year. The church’s year begins in Advent; the government’s year begins on July 1 or October 1, depending on which of two fiscal years one follows; the secular year begins on January 1 now, but for centuries was reckoned from March 21st, the vernal equinox, or the 25th, the Annunciation. On the other hand, football season is here, and that is as good a reason as any to welcome a new year. Churches and colleges or schools also see the fall as the time for a new year, and people everywhere breathe easier when the days of wretched heat and humidity pass. (Keep that in mind when the ice and snow come, especially if they repeat their performance from this past winter.)
   The collect we offered in church on the last Sunday of August seemed to catch the spirit of renewal, even if it seems a bit misplaced in terms of its series of powerful verbs. Found in its original form in an ancient collection of prayers, we know the collect in the translation (cf, page 181, BCP) provided by Archbishop Cranmer for the 1549 Prayer Book. The theme of the verbs is agricultural: Graft, increase, and nourish are all parts of the farmer’s daily concern and aspiration. The editors of the present prayer book made a significant addition by including the petition that God “bring forth in us the fruit of good works”, a notion about which the Reformers would have been somewhat uneasy. Those good works must be seen as the result of the grace which is so clearly asserted in the opening address, in which we are reminded that God is the “giver of all good things” – most specifically the growth which results in that fruit of good works. That understanding clearly asserted, the collect works well as a call to renewed activity in the parish or beyond. Even if we are nearer to harvest time than planting, the new activity we experience at this time of year makes this collect an appropriate one to consider.
   St Francis, like most congregations in the Church, returns to a livelier pace as September arrives. In this specific part of the vineyard, the demanding opportunities and responsibilities of House Tour could create the same erroneous impression that Christmas and Easter do in a different respect: A major event (or two) is accomplished, and the rest of the year breezes by placidly. It is no so. For one thing, those who work on House Tour are quick to share their experience that it takes much more work than just a few days in October to make the event a success. Beyond that, if all this parish did and was were captured in that one event, we would have only one fruit of good work to offer before the Lord, considerable though that fruit might be. The hours spent in worship, in Christian education and formation, in outreach ministry, in pastoral and administrative care - just to offer a short litany – are all parts of the life of this parish, and are all parts of the fruit of renewed good works for which we pray.
   Thus we welcome the “new year”, with the prayer that we will find ourselves renewed in spirit and energy in familiar pursuits, and alert to new ones which may present themselves. St Francis is a wonderful parish, and this is a fine season in which we may enjoy the bounty of those good things the of which the Lord is author and giver, things which bring forth such fruits of good works.

The other day our Lord’s words in Luke 6:39 came to mind: Can the blind lead the blind? He did not think so, and he never had the experience I had while crossing a street. Consider this parable.

   One of my usual walking routes takes me through Bethesda, an enjoyable jaunt that often includes a stop in Barnes and Noble. That store sits at the intersection of Bethesda and Woodmont Avenues, a wide expanse of pavement with traffic moving at odd angles. It is not a classic intersection with north-south and east-west divisions, and it is a challenge sometimes to know when it is safe to cross the street, regardless of what the traffic signals indicate.

   I was walking on Bethesda Avenue, just by the Capital Crescent trail. At the crosswalk there stood a blind woman, equipped with the long, white cane many blind persons employ. I waited behind her, thinking as I have done before what courage she must have to venture forth with this added burden. I assure you my thoughts were in no way patronizing, but I do not overstate the matter to say I was admiring her as we waited to cross.

   Lost in that thought, I realized the traffic signal was making a sound to prompt us to move, and — taking a cue only from her — I followed her into the street. Just then a car rushed through the intersection, coming around the corner on Bethesda. The car was attempting a legal right turn, but we had the right of way. (My grandfather, a lawyer and a gentleman, once observed that the cemetery was filled with people who had the right of way. Let the reader beware.) A third person watching neither the blind woman nor me, but who was attentive to the traffic, did see the car and barked out a warning, which caused us to stop. The car cruised on its merry way, but not without an imprecation from the by-stander. I concurred with his sentiments entirely, and could not have expressed them better myself.

   Our Lord’s maxim came immediately to mind. I was following a blind person, and although I am not blind, neither was I seeing what I should have seen. I was in no position to save either of us — even though I am usually quite cautious in that intersection. The timely intervention of someone else prevented something worse than unfortunate from possibly taking place. Can the blind lead the blind without danger of ditches and pits — or worse? Well, not in Bethesda. 

   And not when it comes to matters of the Faith. A parishioner asked me the other day if I could recommend a certain author’s works. I vehemently denied that I could, and urged my friend to take up someone else’s thought. To this reply the surprised parishioner took exception, offering the accurate observation that the writer in question “sold a lot of books.” That is true, but this author is not to be trusted. He is blind to things that matter, and I could not entrust my parishioner to his guidance, lest the parishioner end up in the ditch. Pastoral care requires that honesty, just as surely as shepherds are supposed to lead their flocks in paths of righteousness to still waters.

   This diocese will elect a new bishop in the year ahead. Bishops are understood as chief pastors of a diocese. Can the blind guide the blind? Perhaps among the criteria the nominating committee will consider is the eyesight of prospective nominees. Bishops are called to do more than take walks through Bethesda.

With gentle sarcasm I sometimes think the term “these holy mysteries” applies to the seemingly infinite number of ways congregations take Holy Communion. (In fact, “these holy mysteries” is church language for the Sacrament.) No two churches seem to share that meal with the same manners. Often the differences amount to nothing more than local custom and have no significance beyond what one grew up with in a specific locale. On other occasions, those manners are more important and have deeper meaning.

   In that latter category is the matter of receiving the bread and wine themselves, the consecrated elements which have become for us the Body and Blood of our Lord. In writing that I am speaking of meaning, not offering an inadequate explanation of how that happens. That is something to ponder at another time, and always with reverent humility. But this much is certain: We believe a change has taken place and that we receive that bread and wine as something different than what they were an hour before the service began — just as we pray we are different (renewed) when the service concludes.

   The reverence due the Sacrament is no small matter. We have allowed our church manners to erode, and we can do better. The frequency of celebrations of the Holy Communion has come at a cost: In days when those celebrations were not as frequent, there was a deeper appreciation of the importance and the difference in the service. We have largely lost that, and in many ways we are not fully mindful of what we say when we pray “We do not presume to come to this thy table … ” The fact is, we often do presume. We presume that just because we are here, we are entitled to what awaits us. It cannot be said too often that not presuming is the proper posture — not because of a low estimate of our worth, but because of the infinite value of the gift we are offered in this meal. Not presuming leaves room for gratitude, which is the proper response to the gift we receive. We probably encouraged presumption when the liturgical busybodies who revised the Prayer Book removed the verb “vouchsafe” from the vocabulary of worship, especially from the prayer after Communion. Look it up if you have a stout dictionary, one that is not infected with liturgical political correctness.

   Occasionally, as some come forward to receive communion, they are unsure what to do. Confusion starts with where to kneel at a circular rail (at the far end or at the nearer end of the line?) and can go on to what to do with the hands when the bread and chalice are  presented. St Augustine wrote somewhere that we are to make our hands into a throne (one atop the other) to receive the Body of Christ. That’s a good way to think about it. There is not a verbal response expected, but occasionally someone who is unfamiliar with what is happening, or perhaps a child, will say, “Thank you.” Good manners, yes, but not liturgically necessary.

   I was thinking of this on Easter morning when so many visitors were here and more than a few grateful responses sounded. And then it struck me: Isn’t that really the only proper response? To be sure, not spoken to a passing priest, and not spoken at all for that matter, nor at that moment. But when all is said and done, what can we do but give thanks for what we have received at that moment. “Here we offer and present unto thee, our selves, our souls and bodies …” God has indeed vouchsafed to feed us in a remarkable way, and while we did not expect such a meal, we have been fed. What can we say beyond a word — a life — of thanks?

   

Word was received early this month of the death on December 30 of Lyttleton B. P. Gould, Jr, most recently living in Essex, New Jersey. With his death another chapter closes in the earliest history of St Francis, and in the educational communities of three fine independent schools in the mid-Atlantic.

   Lytt and his wife, Sis, were among the founders of this parish. In 1955, the first organizational meeting of Episcopalians interested in a church in the Potomac wilds of Montgomery County was held in their home. In time, Lytt was named first Junior Warden, serving simultaneously as first director of the Sunday school. Sis was the first chair of the altar guild. Together were genuine pioneers.

   At that time, Lytt was on the faculty of Landon School, which he joined in 1946. Beginning in 1948 he served as Middle School head for a decade. He left Landon and St Francis to become Head of School at the Far Hills Country Day School in Far Hills, New Jersey. During his tenure, that school enjoyed remarkable growth and development. When Lytt was named a Distinguished Alumni, he joined fellow Far Hills students Christie Todd Whitman, Steve Forbes, and Frederica van Stade, all of whom were students during his tenure. The citation described him as a “gentle, warm, empathetic man and a beloved educator. People like working with Lytt; he is a consummate teacher, and he always glows with respect for the individual. . . a visionary Head.”

   That vision led him to his next venture. In 1963, he left Far Hills to found the Purnell School in Bernardsville, New Jersey. His motivation came from the realization that a different kind of educational opportunity for what he called “salt of the earth girls” was needed, and he set out to build it. He and Sis welcomed the inaugural class of 18 girls in the fall of 1965. Today the Purnell School boasts 1,200 alumnae around the world. The story of the school, its philosophy and founding, makes for interesting reading. It can be found on the web at www.purnell.org.

   Thinking back to St Francis for a moment, it is worth remembering the visionary grace of those founders of this parish. The story bears repeating: In the 1952, Mike McConihe and a few others approached Bishop Angus Dun with an offer of the land whereon St Francis sits today. The Bishop declined their initial offer. His reason was that since the diocese had congregations in Poolesville and in Bethesda, there was no need for another church along River Road. In defense of the Bishop, no one could have foreseen the growth of Montgomery County in those days. What is ironic is that nationally, the Episcopal Church was at the apogee of congregational development when the offer was first made. It took Bishop Dun, and with him Bishop William Creighton, two years to have second thoughts, and to accept the offer of land. The rest, as they say, is history.

   Imagine the privileges that Lytt and Sis Gould enjoyed. They were instrumental in founding a church and in helping to provide for the two hallmarks of a faithful congregation: worship and Christian education. Lytt gave St Francis a handsome chalice and paten as memorials to his father; we will use that set on January 31, the Sunday of our annual meeting With Sis, Lytt Gould left legacies not only at St Francis, but at three superb schools in the mid-Atlantic region. There is no grander privilege than those, and no richer legacy ever. 

When St Paul catalogued the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), he had one grand omission: A theological sense of humor is essential, if not for salvation itself, then at least for staying in the Church. One of the things which vexes my spirit is the smug self-righteousness that seems to pervade so many of our ecclesiastical affairs. It has not always been thus, but maybe these times are so discouraging that our ability to laugh at ourselves and human foibles has been diminished. If we can no longer smile, then we may rest assured Satan does in consequence of our stone faces.

   Here is a case of something that is not a laughing matter, but which had its comical dimensions. On a recent Sunday, I walked over to the shopping center across the street to pick up an item or two for home. Coming straight from church, I wore a clerical shirt (the black one with the round, white collar, just to be clear). As I walked past the entrance to the chicken restaurant, a woman abruptly charged out of the door, exclaiming an oath that included our Lord’s Name. Just as the words flew from her lips, her eyes saw me. I walked on by, but in a quick moment I heard her calling me, “Father. Can I speak to you a moment?” She apologized as though I were the one offended, and she seemed genuinely embarrassed. She compounded matters by saying, “I am Catholic…I mean, Roman.” She was clearly flustered.

   I assured her that any time she felt the need or desire to call upon the Name of the Lord, she was welcomed to do so in St Francis Church, that we had just done that very thing, albeit in a more appropriate sense and with better syntax, and I invited her to join us some day soon. She promised she would, and I hope she makes good on this peace offering. I could not resist adding the observation that she must have very poor luck indeed, to blurt out such a cry of frustration only to have a priest be her single hearer. Indeed, on this very morning I had slipped out of a grocery store in the other shopping center to avoid speaking to a couple who should have been in church but had not been (although they had time to buy snacks for the Redskins game!). I did not wish to embarrass them, but then I did encounter another soul who literally and spiritually had erred and strayed.

July 5, 2009
Question: Which President of the United States said this? “I should like to assure you, my Islamic friends, that under the American Constitution, under American tradition, and in American hearts, this center of worship is just as welcome as could be a similar edifice of any other religion.” If you were quick to answer President Obama, your chronology would be off by half a century. These words were President Eisenhower’s, spoken at the dedication of the Islamic Center on Massachusetts Avenue in 1957.
   It is hardly necessary to remind anyone that the world presents a more complicated picture than then was seen in the climate which prompted President Eisenhower’s warm words. Still, he was thoroughly cordial and constitutional in his remarks, and he had the weight of America’s rich history of religion as an essential part of this nation’s story. Ike spoke with such confidence because our history allowed him to do so. The other day thoughtful parishioners asked me about a disturbing mischaracterization of the religious climate which prevailed during the era of the Founders. They had encountered the inaccurate view which contends, simply, that none of the Founders had any genuine religious faith at all. Such a view is rubbish, but it is rubbish one finds pedaled widely in various outlets. Why such deliberate distortions find currency is another matter; however, it is beyond doubt that the secular media simply cannot do a very good job in reporting on matters pertaining to religion. If that observation holds with respect to reporting on contemporary events, it is written in spades when the topic is historical.   
   A simple analysis illustrates the point. Suppose the general topic is George Washington’s religious views. We first need to know as much as we can about the general climate of Anglican Christianity in 18th century Virginia. That is the society in which Washington grew to maturity, where he preferred to live, and where he died. That was the context in which any such exploration must begin. Put upon that context the general overlay of life in Virginia, how not just Anglicans but others also found the religious climate. Only then can one begin to approach what specific views General Washington might have held. Since he wrote very little about that, or anything so personal for that matter, we are left only with educated speculation. What we hope is that our speculation will indeed be educated and not just idle thought. Worse still is the tendency to force upon historical figures various preconceived notions or canards, or ones which are tailored to suit contemporary purposes. Such thinking is not only ahistoric; it is dishonest.
   Here is a helpful antidote. Put on your summer reading any one of these volumes: American Gospel (John Meacham); Washington’s God (Michael Novak and Jana Novak); Founding Faith (Steven Waldman); Pilgrims in Their Own Land (Martin Marty); America’s God (Mark Noll). Let me go one more step to say anything by Noll or Marty is worth your time. Perhaps this list will set you on the right path. There is ample reason to thank God on the Glorious Fourth, and I hope you will do just that.

June 21, 2009
  The beautiful countryside due south of Annapolis is the heart of Southern Maryland. The “S” is properly capitalized in that descriptive name and refers to traits not simply geographical, but cultural and social as well. The peninsula between the Patuxent River to the west and the Chesapeake Bay on the east is a genuine “land of pleasant living.” Please remember, this is not the Eastern Shore, but the rolling hills of Anne Arundel and Calvert Counties.
   A friend of mine serves as rector of a parish established in 1692. He has served this cure for more than 35 years and knows the region well. He is also a wise and good priest and pastor. When I moved to Southern Maryland he helped me understand the mores of what was then a more distinctive region than perhaps it is now with the rapid (and lamentable) suburban sprawl that has pushed out from Washington and even Baltimore.
   Once we were discussing another parish in the Diocese of Maryland and he told me about their origins. This parish (not served by either of us) had begun as a refuge for dissidents from another long-established parish. Some church issue, now lost in the mists of memory, had caused a group to start “their own” church. My friend said that lo, these many years later, the people of that church were still angry, but no one was quite sure what the issue was. From this he concluded that if a congregation begins in anger it may never outgrow it.
   Such unfortunate memory is not confined to Southern Maryland, then or now. It is surely true in many ethnic and political feuds. Ancient enemies renew their dislike of one another without remembering what set them at enmity in the first place. Like the feud between the Hatfield clan and the McCoy clan, the original animosity was lost, but the hatred wore on.   
   These thoughts came to mind the other day when I read a short essay by the distinguished theologian Alister McGrath. Speaking of theological feuds, often less interesting than Hatfield-McCoy matters but sometimes no less bloody, Professor McGrath wrote that “Purely oppositional movements tend to find themselves in difficulties once their point of reference is removed.” He went on to point to the earliest Christians. They did not “affirm the Resurrection of Christ against anyone” (emphasis mine); rather, “belief in the Resurrection was seen as a positive option, ‘good news’ for all humanity.” Indeed.
   Professor McGrath’s thoughts seem timely as yet another General Convention slouches its way toward not Bethlehem but Anaheim. It is easy to define who the Church is and ought to be over and against the misbegotten pronouncements of the Presiding Bishop and many of her cohorts in power, but that will not serve to edify over the long haul. Far more promising is faithful attention to sound theology, defined by Tradition and articulated with grace, power, and no small amount of magnanimity. This will prove to be a more faithful response not only to the vexations of the present hour, but also to the vocation of the Church to welcome others into the household of the faithful. We have more good news to proclaim than we have time to waste in complaint and despair, even though there is reason enough for both of those commodities. Be of good cheer even when things tend to get us down.

 May 10, 2009

   The Annunciation records the visit of the Archangel Gabriel to the Virgin Mary. Gabriel had astonishing news for the young woman, and her response to the angelic message changed the course of history for all time. For many centuries, March 25th was the start of the new year, not January 1. It is precisely nine months before Christmas and as such is the first date in the cycle by which the Church observes our Lord’s earthly life. The Year of our Lord – Anno Domini – was measured from the time of his conception, and until the mid-18th century, all years were likewise reckoned to begin on this date. Thus the Annunciation was a feast with secular as well as religious significance.

   In the year 1634 the first English settlers arrived in what is now Maryland. The story of those tiny ships the Ark and the Dove is remarkable. In St Mary’s City, the small recreation of the original colonial capital, a replica of one of the vessels floats in the harbor. It does not look like a vessel sturdy enough to withstand a Chesapeake storm on a cruise to Smith Island in the Bay, much less a winter’s passage (they left England in November) across the north Atlantic. But come they did, and the rest is, as is said, history. This year marks the 375th anniversary of the founding of the colony.

   Maryland was not named for the Blessed Mother, despite the Calvert family’s Roman Catholic loyalties. It was named for Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I of England, and daughter of the charming Henry IV of France. (“Paris is worth a mass” said he when he converted to Catholicism from his Protestant Huguenot upbringing.) The marriage of Charles and Henrietta Maria was not a happy one, complicated in many unfortunate ways. Naming the colony for her is possibly the nicest thing the king ever did for his wife. She was never popular in England or her native country, but her name lives on in the legacy of this state.

   Who is the real queen? Henrietta Maria had all the regal trappings. She was the daughter of a king, her lineage included both the Bourbons and Medici houses, her husband was a king, and two of her sons would become kings, Charles II and James II. But royal families as stubborn as the Stuarts and Bourbons knew power, and they sought to exercise it absolutely. That is what got them in trouble more than once.

   Then there is that Mary to whom the Gospels bear witness. We know next to nothing about her background, and only a few glimpses of her character emerge. Yet when we meet her in St Luke’s account of the Gospel, she is allowed to speak the definitive word for Christian discipleship: “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it upon to me according to thy word.” Even Gabriel must have marveled at her obedience. Who indeed is the real queen? 

 

This year, as our parish—as many businesses, many governments, and many households must do—watches carefully what we spend and where, I want to say a word about money and its impact on the parish life. I am not whining but stating a simple fact: There will be some things we are unable to do because we do not have the money. If you want a list of those, ask me some other time; however, I am confident few if any people hearing me say that will find it a surprising, and perhaps not even a disappointing, statement. That is simply the way things are on many levels in our society these days.

   Yet if there are things we are unable to do, there is nothing we are unable to be, by the grace of God. God did not call us to be successful, but God did call us to be faithful. When Simon and Andrew, James and John, heard the call of Jesus, it wasn’t a call to plan a balanced budget. It wasn’t a call to devise some new program. It most surely wasn’t a call to adopt a set of resolutions in a diocesan convention or a gathering of bishops. The call was clear: “Follow me”.

   That is what he asks: “Follow me.” When we speak of ways to strengthen this church of whom we are members, will this be our first priority as well? In our ideas and innovations about all manner of things we “do” around the church, are we as concerned about what we are? I say again, God does not call us to be successful; God calls us to be faithful.

   We are living in a day when success is not easy to come by, at least as the world – especially Washington and Potomac – would define success. Bottom lines are not what we will be asked about on the day of judgment. A more important and indeed salient question would be, “Did you accept and act upon my invitation to follow me?” “Did you welcome others in my Name to the fellowship you enjoyed?” “Were you faithful, or just successful?”

   I do not know all that the Lord will ask us in that day of judgment. I have said before, and I still believe, that no matter what he asks, our only possible response will be, “Lord, have mercy.” But I hope we can carry with us a heart full of gratitude that when it was our turn to follow him, we measured our response not simply by the criteria of success, but rather by hearts inclined to faithfulness. That is what he asks. That is what his invitation means when he says, “Follow me.”

 

The 54th Annual Meeting of Potomac Parish will follow the 9:00 service this Sunday, January 25. In the cycle of parish life, this time is less captivating than a beautiful evensong or youth group Bible study, but it is an important time in the life of this or any parish. I encourage your attendance. The Christian Education program for children continues until the conclusion of the meeting, and there is no 11:15 service on this day.

   The lineage of such meetings dates to the time of the Reformation. Prior to the late 16th century, “vestries” were meetings of parishioners called to make provision for the physical maintenance of the church property. The name “vestry” came from the room in which such meetings were conducted, small chambers where the clergy and others could vest for worship. Maintenance of the physical property of the parish remains a key function for vestries today.

   In 1598, Parliament added to the vestries’ responsibilities. They were charged under civil law to care for the poor of the parish, a ministry formerly exercised by monastic communities. When Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, this function devolved upon the local congregations. It is helpful to think of a parish as a geographical unit, much like a county. (That terminology is used still in Louisiana.) Thus a congregation had responsibilities which included initially the local church property, and then the welfare of individuals within the parish’s bounds. In time, those responsibilities began to resemble the precursor role of a county council, wherein maintenance of roads and even some minor judicial matters were assigned to vestries. In colonies such as Maryland the organization of vestries was a matter of civil law as well as a spiritual concern, and even now, the vestry of this parish is constituted by the Maryland Vestry Act, a bit of state legislation dating to the 19th century, most recently revised in 1976.

   As vestries’ responsibilities evolved, common wisdom prevailed: Meetings are seldom efficient ways to accomplish broad tasks. Thus “vestries” shrank from being general congregational meetings to smaller bodies chosen and deputed to do the work of the larger body. In America, this evolution continued further as vestries were eventually elected by the parish membership, not appointed by the local lord of the manor. That is where we stand today: Vestries are elected by parishioners entitled to vote, deputed to oversee the work of the greater body of the full congregation, and charged to work with the Rector on a wide variety of matters.

   Our Annual Meeting is not a contentious time, but that lack of controversy should not be taken to suggest the agenda does not include important matters. This is the prime opportunity to participate in the representative form of church government that we follow in the Episcopal Church. Our meeting’s agenda will include election of the wardens and the Vestry, a financial report – perhaps a matter of greater interest than usual in these parlous economic times – and some other business I hope to conduct with dispatch. Once a year we ask our parish membership to gather for this purpose, and I hope you will demonstrate your commitment to the mission and work of St Francis by your presence this week.