Grief: Great sorrow, especially that caused by death.
Grace: The free and unmerited favor of God.

Where is God in the face of grief? Have you recently experienced God’s grace? These questions that Rev. Nick asks us to reflect upon this Lent are ones that I have been turning over in my mind. 

My friend Chris Marrion died suddenly on December 30 of last year. Those of us who knew and loved him are still reeling from this loss. Chris was one of those friends who “got me” — I could just be myself with him and vice versa. His absence over the past months has only added to this sense of isolation I’ve been sitting with for so long. I’ve written before that our faith reminds us that God shows up, we just have to notice. I’ll admit that I’ve struggled to see God in the midst of this grief.

Chris’ memorial service was held on March 12, and his husband Randy asked me to plan the music for it. Chris and I were musical colleagues as well as friends, and I knew that he particularly loved art song and opera. So, I got to work and selected a combination of pre-recorded and live music, each chosen with specific purpose and meaning. Along the way, I offered to take on creating the service bulletin, obsessing about every revision, making sure every detail was covered, working with the technical team at the church where the service was being held to ensure that the pre-recorded materials would be available not only to those in person but also to those attending via Zoom, and so on.

Clearly, this was my way of showing how much I loved Chris, and yet, for one reason or another, every step of the journey to the day of the service felt as though I was pushing a boulder up a mountain. Why was this so hard? Why was I so frustrated? Was everyone else’s grief part of a larger puzzle? Were we each pushing our own boulders to the point where we couldn’t see anything or anyone else?  

Grace within my grief finally arrived on the day of the memorial service. Witnessing and participating in the love and care Chris’ family and friends showed each other through our collective grief was that grace. Whether through the service bulletin, the prepared prayers and remarks, the remembrances, the music, the flowers, or the reception, we showed our love. And it reminds me how important funerals and memorial services are to the grieving process.

God showed up, in community, connection, remembrance and grief, and I noticed. For that I’m grateful.

Where is God in the face of grief? Have you recently experienced God’s grace?

Dave McSweeney, warden

This past Sunday I taught the youth confirmation class as we reflected upon the Nicene Creed. I'm happy to report that no one fell asleep. They had insightful questions and brought a good dose of curiosity. And, of course, we all wondered: "What difference does this make?" After all, I'm not sure many of us are losing sleep these days wondering about the hypostatic union of the divine and the human in Jesus Christ. More often than not, Episcopalians (with so many others), say: it's a mystery. But, in the 4th century, as Christianity was becoming a global and more dominant religion, people felt obligated to unify and define Christian thinking. I reminded the youth that for over 300 years, good and faithful followers of Jesus thought differently about who and how Jesus Christ was in this world of ours — and beyond it. Unity is more important than uniformity, we might say. 

There is another creed that came before the Nicene Creed. It is evident in Paul's writings, and, we assume, predates Paul. The heart of that creed is found in Galatians 3:28: "There is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus." You may, or may not know this, but that biblical verse, that early creed of the followers of Christ, is in our stained glass windows up near the high altar in our sanctuary. From the earliest days of Christianity, this simple belief transformed the way people lived their lives — oftentimes, bringing them in direct conflict with the world and culture around them. The earliest followers of Jesus included women in leadership (Luke 8) and sexual minorities as first converts (Acts 8); there was reconciliation across lines of division (Galatians 3), equal dignity across class and status (1 Cor. 12), and commitment to peace-making and mercy (Eph. 4:32). You can imagine what a difference it makes to believe that all are children of God, that we belong to one another through the power of Christ. 

The Nicene Creed, or this ancient creed from Galatians 3:28, may not be the totality of your faith. That's okay. As I said to the youth at Confirmation class: a mature faith is always growing. And yet, a creed binds us together across space and time and gives direction and vision to our living and our lives. At the end of the day, this is true: our believing shapes our living. We extend welcome to our neighbors because we believe such hospitality is God's heart; we forgive because we believe forgiveness frees the wronged as much as the forgiven; we pour our lives into others because we believe that it is here that true life is found. If you're running low on trust, belief, faith these days — take heart, you are not alone. Let's lean on one another and maybe even let God... I'll let you finish the sentence. This I know: no matter what we believe, God still calls us each by name. 

See you Sunday,
Nick

Jesus tells us: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Friends, I know we are all carrying a lot these days. There is both joy and uncertainty mingled together as the pandemic becomes something new. And now, we share the weight of an unfolding war waged by Russian leadership that is categorically immoral and evil. As I mentioned in my Ash Wednesday sermon, war always has the power to decimate not only human bodies, but also our humanity. I imagine that if you're anything like me, you're not "alright." And I don't know about you, but I do feel a bit of a spiral back towards feelings of despair and disengagement that were so familiar at the height of the pandemic. I hope that you know that if you are overwhelmed, anxious, or languishing — that you're not alone. I want to invite you to be particularly present (in person or online), this Sunday as we welcome Dr. Brian Litzenberger to Epiphany for a talk with me at the 10:00 am service. Then, at the 11:15am faith forum in Hadley Hall, we'll begin a five-week series called Grace and Grief: Healing Together. We are going to be talking about all things health and wholeness for our spiritual, mental and emotional lives. No secrets here: We don't have all the answers, but the questions and conversations together will help point us in a life-giving direction. The forum will not be offered virtually as we want to create a safe space for everyone involved. 

Jesus invites us to come to him, to seek comfort and care and, perhaps most important, companionship. Notice, the promise is not that the burden disappears, it is that it will be shared, made light-er, and that together, we can find some rest and renewal. This Sunday, I hope you can be a part of our shared worship and the beginning of a conversation as we discover God's grace amidst our grief, and healing — together.

See you Sunday,
Nick

Right about this time, in midwinter, I'm beginning to hit a wall. Even though I grew up in northern Indiana with some terrible winter weather, it is right about now that I notice my tank is approaching "E." I suppose this is one way that I am reminded of the need for rest, for sabbath. Tomorrow, the family and I head out for some vacation time together as extended family gather to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of my in-laws, Bob and Linda. This kind of rest is punctuated by celebration and renewing relationships with family that we haven't been able to see in quite some time. Likely, a familiar story. I hope it is a time of rest, release, and reconnection.

This past week I met with my spiritual director who reminded me how we often approach rest as something to be done, instead as a way of being. Sabbath, as a religious practice in the Jewish and Christian traditions, is all about recognizing this simple truth that we often turn away from: we are not at the center, God is. This kind of rest is about open-handed living, not white-knuckled control on our lives. I hope that each one of you can know some rest, sabbath, and renewal in the days ahead. Each one of us is carrying different things: grief over the death of a loved one, frustration over what feels like another diminished school year, exhaustion or overwhelm from it all, or maybe optimism for the beginning of the end of the pandemic, gratitude for another day, joy in the gift of this life. For me, I take with me a readiness for rest; and I am excited for the year that is ahead of us. So full of possibility, renewal, rebuilding—we are at a new chapter in Epiphany's life thanks to God's faithfulness, your commitment, and a trust that we are not the center of it all, God is.

In Christ, 
Nick 

On freezing cold January days, I like to find a patch of sun and curl up in it, cat-like, and dream of warmer times. Take a moment now to dream with me. Can you envision canoeing across some quiet water, surrounded by pine trees? Taking a hike through the woods with friends, just as the deep green summer leaves are starting to turn red on the edges? A picnic lunch with the sun warming our backs, or a camp fire with s'mores? How about morning prayers by the lake, or worship in an outdoor chapel?

What do you say? Who needs a weekend away? 

It was a year ago this week when Rev. Nick arrived and we sat down for our first meeting on a cold, dark January day. Vaccines were on the horizon but not yet available, and we had not held an in-person service or class in ten months, but we talked excitedly about our hopes and visions, and we sketched out pandemic-be-darned plans for reuniting our parish family. We’ve gotten to do a lot of what we talked about that day—Wednesday evening suppers, low-key evening worship services, festive coffee hours. And now, on this cold January day, I’m thrilled to announce that we are planning our first all-Parish retreat in many years. 

Please mark your calendars for September 23-25, 2022, and join for us a two-night Parish Weekend Away at the Barbara C. Harris Camp in New Hampshire. 

We’ve reserved lodge rooms and cabins, scheduled meals, and we’re just beginning to think about all the fun things we’ll do together on that late summer/early fall weekend: things our souls need like morning prayer, relaxing walks, time to talk, canoe rides, high ropes courses (for the thrill-seekers among us), fires, art, music, and worship in nature. 

Details, options, costs, and everything else you’ll need to know will be forthcoming over the next few months, and we’ll begin registration in May. We hope all parishioners—every age, every interest—will join in. 

May dreams of the September sun, good health, and the closeness of friends keep you warm and filled with light and hope in these days. 

With love,
Bryn

For many years, my husband Brett has outwardly expressed his core value of gratitude. Gratitude for the little things and the big things. This intentional action has helped me develop my own sense of gratitude: for family, health, friends, meaningful work, food, shelter, clothing. Sometimes taken for granted, consistently reminded that they are not for granted, and with a balanced perspective around all of it.

As we close out 2021 and look toward 2022, many of us are taking stock by making gratitude lists. Maybe if we compared our lists, we’d see themes in common; perhaps we would discover something new about each other. I’m sharing three items today that make up a portion of my Epiphany Gratitude list for 2021. 

Many of you know that Epiphany is the sponsoring parish of my husband, Brett Johnson, for ordination to the Sacred Priesthood, scheduled for early next month. I am so grateful to you for the many ways you have supported us and held us as we enter this new chapter in our faith lives together. Your enthusiasm is so appreciated by both of us. I’m grateful for the many ways Brett has been called to this holy work, and I am both proud and humbled to be walking alongside him.

Nick Myers joined us as our new rector in January of this year. What an amazing time it has been partnering with him as he inspires us to grow in new ways. Over this year I’ve discovered that Nick is a wonderful priest, pastor, and friend, and I am grateful to count Bethany, Bennett, Lennox, Bob, and Linda as new friends. 

I often refer to Suzanne Owayda as my third sister. It’s hard to put into words the gratitude I feel for the partnership we’ve had as co-wardens at Epiphany for the past three years. Through all the challenges we faced together, Suzanne and I rarely disagreed on any issue put before us; if we did, we easily worked through it. This is Suzanne’s last year as warden, and while we won’t be serving together for much longer, I am grateful to have gained such a close sister in Christ, and a fantastic friend forever.

What’s on your Epiphany Gratitude List?

Blessings to us all in 2022!

Dave McSweeney, Warden 

It’s beginning to look—and even better, feel—a lot like Christmas around here. The Christmas Fair was full of joy, treats, and friends. Advent greens covered Hadley Hall during our festive wreath making. The Christmas pageant costumes are being pulled out, and Advent music is floating through the halls. Children are wearing “I’ve been vaccinated” stickers (does that count as a sign of the holidays? It’s an amazing gift!). What a wonderful, joyous beginning! 

A few weeks ago, we celebrated our first live and in-person Evensong in nearly two years. The final choral piece, The Road Home, perfectly held the feelings of so many as we looked into Advent. Here are the words:

Tell me where is the road I can call my own,
That I left, that I lost, so long ago?
All these years I have wandered, oh when will I know
There’s a way there’s a road that will lead me home?

After wind, after rain, when the dark is done,
As I wake from a dream in the gold of day,
Through the air there’s a calling from far away,
There’s a voice I can hear that will lead me home.

We’ve waited for this season, friends. Last year we all worked hard—worship videos, choir videos, pageant videos, videos videos videos—and it was a testament to the strength and love of this community that we carried on. But this year, we can come home. Come, join us this Sunday as we light the second Advent candle. Come, be part of Adult Formation’s Advent offerings at 11:15. Come, join our children’s pageant rehearsals. Come, join us for a Midweek full of cheer on Wednesday evenings. Come, rehearse with the choir for Lessons & Carols. Come to the services, Bible studies, dinners, and pageants. This parish opens its doors wide to you, and we hope and pray you will come and join fully in this most wonderful season together. 

With love, 
Bryn