Children’s and Youth Christian Formation at St. Alban’s Parish follows a progression of development starting in Pre-Kindergarten.  Common throughout each level is a reinforcement of God’s love for us all.  The adult Catechists exemplify this with our children in the early years of formation in the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd program, as do the Adult mentors who lead our Rite 13, J2A and Sr. Youth Groups.  Many undertake additional training and learning in preparation for their time in the classroom.

The program starts with the Montessori-based Catechesis of the Good Shepherd program which introduces children to biblical stories, concepts of God and faith, our relationship to God as Christians, and the liturgy and practices of The Episcopal Church.  Children learn about and grow in their faith through reading passages of Holy Scripture, recounting the stories they see and hear presented by the Catechists, and through their own self-guided work.

New to St. Alban’s this past year, the re:Form curriculum serves as a bridge between the experiential and tactile learning that came before and the increasingly conversation-based curricula of our Youth Formation program.  Through the use of humorous and informative animated lessons, group work, conversation and the ever-popular “Anti-Workbook,” the children learn and think about some of the basic questions of Christianity such as, “Why and how did we end up with the books of the Bible we have?” and, “Was Jesus REALLY God, or not?”  Many of the questions and topics are ones that will be carried with them through adulthood.

Our Youth Formation program continues the emphasis started in re:Form  on discussion of personal faith and how as Christians we live our faith.  Rite 13 helps to mark the transition from being a “child” to taking the first steps down the road that leads to adulthood.  The curriculum covers many topics that focus on not only the young person’s development as a beloved child of God, but as a human being.  These conversations and topics continue into the J2A class where discussions focus on living one’s Christian faith.  Theories of Christian ethics and more in-depth conversations about how faith informs our lives are covered.  The Senior Youth Group discusses in even greater depth the issues of the day and how, as Christians we can allow our faith to inform and govern how we interact with the world.  The topics covered prepare one for confirmation at the end of each year in May.

The programs, at St. Alban’s, are designed to nurture, challenge, inform, and enliven the children and youth of our parish.  At every stage children and youth engage with Holy Scripture and are encouraged to develop an individual relationship with God through the strong heritage and traditions of The Episcopal Church.

Currently we have a need for two adults to be Rite 13 mentors, one Sr. Youth Group mentor, and as many as six assistant catechists for our Catechesis of the Good Shepherd program–all of which will resume in September.  Pray about it.  If you feel so called to help form, transform, mentor and lead the children and youth of our parish, I would love to speak with you about these opportunities.

I remain yours in Christ,

Kathleen Norris writes, in The Quotidian Mysteries, ”the daily we have always with us, a nagging reminder that the dishes must be done, the floor mopped and vacuumed, the dirty laundry washed….It is a paradox of human life that in worship, as in human love, it is in the routine and the everyday that we find the possibilities for the greatest transformation.” By sheer weight of repetition, the ordinary shapes our soul, and how we enter it matters. If we enter it protesting, struggling against it, trying to find always the next high, the next achievement, discounting anything that is not rimmed with bright lights and flares of music, then much of our life becomes a pallid, gray thing, leached of significance. But if we enter it as we enter the ocean, seeking home, seeking joy, a bit nervous about what might lie under the surface, but still ready to receive what it has to give, then it may become for us holy ground.

In the end, the ordinary is about Incarnation: all those long days and years in which Jesus walked dusty roads, ate coarse bread, splashed in the shallow lake after fish, petted a cat, did all the things that made up his days before and between and after the miracles. When he taught, he did not speak of the mountaintop, but of what made up those times: lilies and dropped coins, birds and needy neighbors, a woman kneading yeast into a loaf. He suggests that the daily is good enough — good in itself and enough to bring our souls to wholeness. This summer, let it work in you.

Let God work in you.

Today I went to the Woodmont Community Center in North Arlington, where I will be an election officer on June 11 for the Virginia Democratic Primary. Thankfully Jonnie Sue went with me or I would have completely missed what I’m about to share with you. As we were walking alongside the building she heard chickadees chirping – somewhere. I’m always astonished at her hearing; I think she can probably hear grass grow. Anyway, after checking out the area where the voting machines will be set up, we stopped to see where the chickadees were, and — wonder of wonders — they were in the wall of the building – a brick building, mind you — coming and going through the narrow space between two bricks where the mortar is missing, about 30 up feet up from the ground. My cell phone took a pretty good picture. Here it is:

If I knew how to crop it and show you an enlargement of the area of interest, I would. I suggest downloading the photo to your desktop and opening it in Irfanview. If you don’t know Irfanview, it is a free download and a really good graphics viewer. Just Google “irfanview cnet” and go from there. In Ifanview you can easily enlarge the area of interest. What you see in the middle of the space in the corner bricks that are just even with the security light is one of the adults flying out. About every two or three minutes the adults made several trips bringing food to their noisy young. We stood and watched in wonder and delight. They are probably at it from dawn’s early light til dusk. It was amazing to watch and to contemplate this miracle of God’s creation before our very eyes. How do they approach the wall at the speed they fly and not crash into it? They fly straight into that narrow slit and stop instantly. How did they find this dwelling in the first place? What have they done inside to make it a home?

Words of Robert Lewis Stevenson, learned in my childhood, came to mind: “The World is so full of such wonderful things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings”

Ron Hicks, Parish Verger, St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Washington DC

One of the questions that was asked of the small groups was something along the lines of, “What part of our liturgy has been formational for you?” (pardon my paraphrase–the actual question was much more eloquently written.)

When I was invited to speak I said that what was most formational for me in our liturgy wasn’t really a part of the liturgy but a single word, “Amen.”  Specifically, I was thinking about two moments; the first is the “Amen,” at the end of a sermon, and the second is “The Great Amen,” at the end of the Eucharistic Prayers in Rite II.

For me these two responses from the congregation have been formational for me because they represent both the mood of the congregation and the mood of the celebrant.  Very often one influences the other.  Example:  when the celebrant builds up a long crecendo of both intensity and even voice volume at the end of the Eucharistic Prayer, and he or she concludes with a loud and strong, “AMEN,” the congregation is often times just as intense  as the celebrant.  Conversely, when a preacher ends a sermon with a soft or even omitted, “Amen,” at the end of sermon that sends a signal to the congregation which is often responded to in kind with a soft or non-existant “Amen.”

As you may know, the word “Amen,” means: “I believe,” or, “I agree.”  So when there is a loud amen at the end of a sermon or the end of the eucharistic prayer it is a sign of agreeance with what was just said or prayed. The “AMEN,” at the end of the eucharistic prayers is the only place in the Book of Common Prayer where the letters of a word are in all capitals.  In fact, that “AMEN” is called, “The Great AMEN.”

These sets of “Amens,” have been formative for me because they signaled for me the mood, the feeling, the culmination of the two main parts of our worship service.  They are the collective response to the proclamation of The Word of God, and the common prayer that the priest makes on behalf of the congregation in the eucharist.

So, notice when and how the word, “Amen” is spoken in worship by the celebrant or preacher.  Then notice the congregation’s response…and notice what is preached or prayed and your own “Amen.”

I wonder, what moment or moments in the liturgy have been formative for you?  What part or parts of our liturgy have shaped how you are as a Christian?  Won’t you share them with us?

Yesterday, I went home to wait for my visit. Fruitlessly, because it turns out that the tech ignored the cell phone number completely and sent the “confirmation call” to my New Jersey number, which has not been active for almost two years. When a recording told Comcast that the number was disconnected, they cancelled the visit. So, like thousands before me, I called up to complain, asking the customer service woman, “Why did you call a 732 number for a person whom you bill in 202, and whose home phone service you supply?” “Oh, lots of our customers have phone numbers in area codes different than the ones they live in,” she replied, airily, and then scheduled a visit for today.

Now I am waiting for Comcast. Again. Trying not to think about Godot.

It occurs to me that prayer is sometimes a bit like this. We’re going around living our lives, perfectly fine, when we realize we feel disconnected. So we begin to pray, and nothing happens. We wait for God, and God does not appear, or we knock on the door where God used to be, not knowing that God has moved on, not knowing that God is asking us to move, to grow, to learn to see God in new places and new ways.

So we wait again, wondering if it will “work” this time, trying to hold back the fear that this waiting will be forever.

How do you know if it “worked”? Well, if you are reading this, it means that at some point, I did get Internet service again. And if you woke this morning, if you are breathing and moving and wondering and thinking and feeling, it means that you are enfolded in God’s love, even if you can’t feel that love right now. And if you want to pray, that means God is alive in you, working to draw you into God, even if you don’t have any idea what that means.

St. John of the Cross reminds us that faith, hope, and love “unite [us] with God.” It’s not that they lead us to God or push us toward God; they, themselves, are the sign of our belovedness. We wait in the dark, looking for light, and all the while we are bathed in it, streaming around us so brightly that we are blinded and can not even see it. But the love is there. The grace is there. Emmanuel — God with us — is  with us, even in the waiting.

As to being outraged today, what is there? Well, let’s see. How about this, which I saw in a TV program a few weeks ago: medical researchers are discovering aluminum in human brain tissue. Apparently this has never happened before in human history. There are a couple of other metals in brain tissue, iron is one, but they have been there for thousands of years and may be beneficial, even necessary. What might the implications of aluminum be? It has long been suspected that there is a correlation to Alzheimers or Autism, both of which seem to be more prevalent than they were just a years ago. The jury is still out, of course, and might be for a long time. Jonnie Sue (my wife, for the benefit of readers who do now know me) connected these dots 25 of 30 years ago and got rid of all the aluminum cookware in our house, using only cast iron skillets and enameled saucepans. Not that we are purists; we still eat in restaurants without inspecting their kitchens, so we’ve probably only shifted the odds a little bit in our favor. We also quit using antiperspirants, with their aluminum compounds that work by being absorbed by the skin, in favor of plain old-fashioned deodorants. Lately I’ve wondered about soft drinks in aluminum cans and what the chemical reaction of the sugar on the aluminum might be. But even if this merits outrage, where should it be directed? All of the foregoing were hailed as positive goods, the greatest things since sliced bread or ice cream, not some evil conspiracy by our “enemies” to poison us all. One is reminded of those immortal words of Walt Kelly’s Pogo “We has met the enemy, and they is us.”

But what of hopefulness? In this instance I see it in the findings of medical researchers. They have moved us beyond statistical correlations to actual physical evidence – aluminum in brain tissue. This could be persuasive to many and a basis for behavioral change. Just think. Is it possible that we can hopefully look for a dramatic reduction in Alzheimers and Autism as soon as a single generation? “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” So be outraged but hopeful too. You might change the world, or at least a corner of it.

Ron Hicks, Parish Verger, St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Washington DC.

A couple of weeks ago our Wednesday morning Bible Study at St. Alban’s began looking at (and having a great time doing so) the middle section of the Hebrew canon – Nevi’im – The Prophets.  The prophetic witness of the Hebrew Scriptures is a good guide in regard to helping us address the question posed in my blog entry last week (What is Church?) because the prophets address what it means to be a holy people – that is, a people set apart by God for a particular and divine purpose – and much of the time they do so not by showing us where we’ve got things right but where our holiness is lacking.  The criticism that the prophets bring to our living isn’t limited to a particular sphere of life but rather address what is lacking in our political, social and cultic (we’d say religious) identity as God’s people.  The last category above is of particular concern to many of the prophets who declared that the sacrificial practices of the temple were empty ones.  Jesus adopted many of the same criticisms of worship and temple practices that were devoid of holiness in his day calling the teachers of the law hypocrites who tithe mint and dill and cumin meanwhile neglecting the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith.  The whole of chapter 23 in The Gospel of Matthew is a relentless attack on church leadership and a vivid description of what God thinks when we worship our worship.

I don’t write these words in order to use this blog as a bully pulpit or to suggest that our worship as a church is empty or devoid of holiness.  In fact, when I was lost and needed to know that I was loved by God, corporate worship in the Episcopal church saved my life.   Still, as we ask ourselves the question “What is Church?” we must also ask “What is worship?”  Where does worship happen?  What does it look like?  Who’s invited? To the unchurched, what does what we revere in our church buildings and services imply? Do we worship worship?  The answer to these questions will most likely be “both and” as they say – that our traditional worship holds great importance but also that we must find new ways to express our love and devotion to God and to express what holiness looks like in the life of the church.

Recently we lined up four tables in front of St. Alban’s along Wisconsin Avenue to make replicas of human bones out of clay for the One Million Bones project.  On the same day the National Cathedral was having its annual ‘Flower Mart’ and there were hundreds of folks visiting the Cathedral close.  The bone-making project was magnetic.  Young and old alike were drawn to the activity at the tables, asking, “What is this?”  People lined up to ‘make their bone.’ The seeker, the doubter and the faithful were welcomed.  Out came cell phones taking pictures and videos as representatives from One Million Bones and members of St. Alban’s described what the purpose of the project was.  If we’d have started singing my bet is people would have joined in to make a joyful noise.

My favorite explanation of the morning happened when a parishioner responded to the question “Why are we making bones?” (asked by an inquisitive girl of about five years old) by saying, “We are doing this so we can teach people how to be nicer to each other.”  As we were cleaning up after the event I heard someone say, “That was church.”  Thanks be to God and to the prophets.

Jim+

“Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

In the Epistle reading for today in the Daily Office, we have this wonderful verse from Hebrews.  This verse describes for us the way in which we as believers in Christ should approach our relationship with God.

Should we come to God with meekness and trembling?  Should we approach God with sacrifices and groveling?  No, because we have Christ as our mediator, because God became flesh and knew the trials which we face and have to overcome (which most of the time we are unable to, but which Christ overcame without fail) we may approach our God with boldness and certainty of mercy.   We can approach God’s throne, assured of God’s mercy especially in times when we most need God’s grace and mercy.

How amazing is THAT?!  We sinful creatures can approach God when we are in need of help, and God’s love will be given to us because God is merciful.    This is wonderful news.  This news is SO wonderful that many just cannot believe it is true.  When was the last time the world we live in acted and treated us like that…with mercy and grace?

We have a difficult time with grace in our society…the society that coined the phrase, “There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”  Nothing comes for free, well, nothing except the unconditional love of God.   There is no magic divine scale that God uses weighing our sins against the good we do in the world in order to earn God’s love.  God doesn’t work like that.  God gives God’s love freely; period.  The trick is to know that and believe it.

What would you do if you truly believed that God loves you unconditionally, without end, forever…just because you are you?

Tomorrow is the Feast of the Ascension, the day when the resurrected and risen Christ ascends into heaven to be rejoined with God the Father. I have never understood this feast; it feels to me, not like joy, but like loss. Christ was here among us, eating and drinking, living in easy familiarity with the disciples, and now he is gone, and the most we can hope for is the briefest glimpse of his face in prayer, or in that of another human being. O, I know the theology: he ascends into heaven in order to make way for the Holy Spirit, who comes upon the disciples about a week later and empowers us to do the work of God. But I am greedy: I don’t understand why they can’t both be with us at once.

Perhaps the answer is not theology, but poetry: that heart-stopping beauty of flight. Perhaps Ascension is about Christ being set free, about what is beautiful and holy and good and right and pure soaring above us and playing in the wind and then diving, time after time, to help us in our need. There is something in it of joy, unrestrained by any earthly tie save love.

Rilke wrote, in his Duino Elegies,

But if the endlessly dead awakened a symbol in us,/ perhaps they would point to the catkins hanging from the bare/ branches of the hazel-trees, or/ would evoke the raindrops that fall into the dark earth in springtime. –

And we, who have always thought / of happiness as rising, would feel/ the emotion that almost overwhelms us/ whenever a happy thing falls.

And perhaps the falling and rising must go together. The body that was crushed becomes the one that soars; the heart which had been broken learns to sing again; the kindness that had been scorned now governs the moon and the stars. And we, so leaden, so bound to earth, we shall learn to live more lightly, to tread more gently, to rise, bit by bit, from our mire and clay, until we, too, shall soar.