St. Francis The Episcopal Church In Potomac

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.