On our family road trip through Canada this summer, we listened to the audiobook of Tolkien's The Hobbit (unabridged). This was my and my children's first time reading Tolkien, believe it or not. We loved it. (Our family really identified with second breakfast.) One line stood out especially to me. Early on in the quest Bilbo Baggins realizes that "adventures are not all pony-rides in May-sunshine."

Living a life of faith has its moments of May sunshine as well as its dark forests: the lovely and the scary, the rest and the labor. All of these, the apostle Paul tells us, are used by the Lord to grow us into faithful followers of Christ, those who will strive to build God's kingdom of love, grace, and peace on Earth and in Heaven. (Romans 5)

As summer comes to a close, I’m wondering what adventures our new year will bring. These last few years have certainly had their adversity, as well as immense beauty and blessing. This fall will bring new adventures, to be sure—in school, at work, here at church. Some adventures, I trust, will be pony rides in May sunshine. And some may feel like we are facing dragons. God is in them all, and with us in all. We see that faithfulness and love again and again in the stories of our faith and the words of our Holy scriptures. 

I pray for a year of grace, blessing, and growth in all that comes our way, and I look forward with immense gratitude to taking these adventures with you all as my beloved companions. Let us use all our coming adventures to God’s glory.

With love,
Bryn

And Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest." (Matthew 9:35-38) 

One thing is clear in the scriptures and our Christian tradition. Jesus demonstrated that we were to follow in his footsteps to provide healing and compassion to those among us who were in need. These verses from Matthew’s gospel point out that without someone to shepherd (which could easily be understood as offering caring ministry), people would feel “harassed and helpless." Jesus goes on to say that the harvest of those who might benefit from caring ministry is plentiful and we should not hesitate to be sent out as laborers to offer caring support and ministry to all who are in need.

At Parish of the Epiphany, this call to provide caring ministry to the harvest of needs among us has been heeded over the last decades with a wealth of opportunities to serve or to be someone who can benefit from the compassion of other parishioners. While in many parishes the ordained clergy provide the bulk of caring ministry, at Epiphany there is a strong partnership between the Rector and Assisting Clergy and teams of trained lay members who fill various caring ministries according to their calling.

It seems somewhat trite to say, “No one who has any kind of need for caring ministry should suffer alone." But the truth is that no one should! You may be someone who could benefit from a friendly visit, or home communion, or laying on of hands for healing, or attend a prayer service at Gables, or enter into a longer-term Stephen Ministry relationship. Parish of the Epiphany has responded to the call of Jesus to go forth into the harvest with over 50 trained volunteers eager to care for anyone who may desire short term or longer-term support through a challenging time in their life.

Over the next six weeks, the 3 Crowns Newsletter will be describing these seven Caring Ministries:

• Epiphany Visitors                           

• Friends In Deed                              

• Prayer Ministry                                         

• Healing Ministry  

• Gables Prayer and Communion Service   

• Lay Eucharistic Visitors    

• Stephen Ministry

It is the purpose of these descriptions, personal testimonials, and request for referrals that every single parishioner at Epiphany will be well informed about caring ministries so that if a time arose when they might need one of these ministries, they would know where to turn.  

I have to admit, I’m a bit distracted these days. It’s the birds.

Weeks ago, I spotted a robin’s nest high up in the tree just outside our living room window. I later observed the mother sitting dutifully, presumably incubating her newly laid eggs. At some point, I spotted the father, and continued to keep an eye on things out of curiosity. One evening there was an extra flurry of activity outside the window; I’m not sure what happened, but that was the last time any birds have been seen at that nest.

A bit worried and disappointed, I was pleased and surprised to spot yet another robin’s nest, this time just outside one of our Upper Hall windows at Parish of the Epiphany. It, too, had a mother presumably incubating, and a father making regular visits. This time, however, things progressed very differently, as I later spotted two heads and open mouths bobbing up for food! In the days following, I was able to observe the coordinated feeding routine of the two parents, and to watch the amazingly fast growth of these two young nestlings. Today as I write this, only one of the two hatchlings remains in the nest; I’m hopeful that the other has become a fledgling, and that this one simply has cold feet.

“The sparrow has found her a house, and the swallow a nest where she may lay her young…”  Psalm 84:2a

I remain in awe of a bird’s ability to construct such a protective and well-built home, in a carefully chosen location shielded from sun, wind, rain and (hopefully) predators. I am equally impressed with the determination and fortitude of these two parents, the sole purpose of their existence dictating every action they take. I hope to take inspiration from this during the coming months as we continue to brainstorm, make decisions, and start building our own nests in advance of the arrival of the new season, of both new and familiar faces, and a full and rich year of programming.

The comparison of the two bird nests also serves as a comforting reminder to me: ultimately, we are not in control, of anything really, not at all. Two very similar occurrences, initially, can have such dramatic and opposing end results. Why is this comforting? I feel that it gives us permission to dream — to risk building the nest in the manner we think best, knowing upfront that the specific results (or any results, for that matter) cannot be guaranteed. At that point we will be tasked with taking a step back, trusting God, and observing the flow.

Jeremy

That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

Romans 8:28, The Message

At our State of the Church forum on Sunday, April 24, we shared with you what we see as emerging priorities, and the following discussions served as terrific input to our vestry retreat at the end of that month. My last article in the Three Crowns covered some aspects of our vestry retreat, and this one continues that thread.

As a quick recap, our priorities for 2022 have been reconnecting with each other, increasing our staffing capacity, and expanding our digital ministries. While those priorities continue, our emerging priorities are:

• Supporting a renewed culture of welcome and invitation to newcomers

• Creating capacity and resources to enable small groups to help connect us to God and one another

• Building awareness and commitment to grow our endowment so that its interest funds all our property needs, and 100% of our annual pledge dollars are directed toward growing our ministries.

During our retreat and in the ensuing time, the vestry has been engaged in a visioning exercise to create “Provocative Proposals” for each of these emerging priorities. Adapted by Rev. Nick from materials and techniques developed by The David L. Cooperrider Center for Appreciative Inquiry, Provocative Proposals is an effective technique to stretch us to think beyond our current constraints and to imagine what could be. The proposals we created are available for you to read here.

Rev. Nick, Nelia, and I discussed these proposals earlier in the week. While on the surface, they may appear to be separate, they are interconnected. I volunteered to create a first-pass graphic to illustrate the interconnected aspects of the proposals.

What gets in the way when you try to pray? We are born to pray, created in God's image and with a natural, innate longing to connect with the Creator. It should be easy to pray, and for some of us, sometimes, it is. 

But what about the other times? When we're overwhelmed — with grief, with anger, with injustice, with despair. Or when our nervous or excited energy is too much. Or, when we’re too busy, too distracted, or too confused about what we're even supposed to be doing when we pray. 

This past year our parish children have practiced prayer together. These amazing small humans never hesitate to ask "why?" and "how?" and "what is this?" so we needed to explore what prayer is, why we try, and how we can grow in our practice. Like with everything for children, a nice idea has to be played with, or it becomes just a random thing some adult (or teacher, or priest) made us do for a few minutes. 

Has prayer become for you just a thing some adult (perhaps you yourself) makes you do? How then can you become like the children, learning and enlivening, searching to make prayer your own?

With children, we easily admit that quiet is hard. And we love to remember that everyone connects differently. Everyone learns differently. Everyone expresses themselves differently. Everyone prays differently. What if we welcomed adults to admit that, too?

In the back of the church, as you come in the tower doors, you'll see a rainbow of bags. These are worship bags for the children, and they contain different activities to help them hear, feel, pray, and simply be during worship. In these bags are pieces of the prayer practices we worked with this year because we know that movement, our hands, our senses, our minds—these are holy gifts that sustain prayer, rather than derail it. 

Prayer dough: a soft playdough to roll, to hold, to squeeze, to smell, to shape as we pray. Prayer labyrinths: where we walk our fingers (and ourselves) in and out a long, calm path. Prayer color wheels: where colors, pictures, and words help us to find and name our feelings, and bring our true selves to God. Wax sticks, mandalas and colored pencils. There are many ways to enter into conversation with God. 

You, fully grown reader, are welcome to try these too. May you feel as welcome as the little ones to explore, to feel, to move, and to find the practices of prayer that unite you with God.

Bryn

Evensong on Sunday marked not only the close of that day, but the close of a spring which included a return to many things we weren’t able to do together during the pandemic. Celebrating Pentecost marked another steppingstone in our journey through things that we have missed for three years and it feels good to experience the predictable rhythm of the church year (not that ‘predictable’ is in any danger of returning to my vocabulary). 

For me, that familiar rhythm also serves to highlight the many ways that we have changed and grown as a church. People who were ‘new’ when we weren’t here to meet them in person are now integral to our life and activities. Midweek is now a part of our rhythm. Children grow older even faster when I don’t see them as often and it is a new group running around the Cloister or Bishop Garden while we meet in Hadley Hall. Amid uncertainty and an unfamiliar path, we embraced new things and took the risk of moving forward with new visions. 

As Dave McSweeney shared in the newsletter several weeks ago, at our Vestry Retreat in May, Rev. Nick read Joshua 1:1-9 about God’s commissioning of Jacob in the aftermath of Moses’ death and posed questions to us: Where have we been over the past year together? Where are we now, and what crossroads are we facing? In the Midweek Bible Study several weeks later, he read the same passage and asked that group similar questions. At the Mission & Outreach Retreat this past weekend, that group began the day in the chapel with the same reading and similar questions.   

Each time I hear the words in the passage from Joshua and each time I reflect on the questions, I notice different things and my answers change a bit. Similarly, the conversation within each group evolves in a different way reflecting the experiences and connections in that group. Yet, there are echoes across the conversations that reflect the ties between us and our shared experience of church at Epiphany.

As we continue to talk about where we are and where we feel called to go, I am energized by what is new and deeply grateful for being with so many of you again in the familiar rhythms of Epiphany.   

Nelia Newell 

This Sunday is Trinity Sunday — a uniquely odd day of the church year dedicated to a theological doctrine. It may not get your blood pumping, and that's okay. But, the way we think and talk about God makes a difference, because our lives and living are shaped by core beliefs, whether they be religious or not.

I follow a singer and songwriter named Nick Cave. He has written some amazing lyrics that are weirdly religious, like: 

I don't believe in an interventionist God
But I know, darling, that you do
But if I did, I would kneel down and ask Him
Not to intervene when it came to you

Silly, right? Who talks like this? Who would even know what interventionism is as a theological concept? In fact, I haven't heard "interventionist God" outside a systematic theology class. Maybe it's all just nonsense.

Each month, Nick Cave takes questions from fans and attempts to answer them in longer format writing that he shares with his "The Red Hand Files" email list. I'm on that list. This month, someone asked him plainly: "In your opinion, what is God?" Nick responds simply: "God is love." Does that sound familiar?

This rock star then goes on to say something so beautifully heartbreaking, I must share it with you. He writes: "(In this world) There is no problem of evil. There is only a problem of good. Why does a world that is so often cruel, insist on being beautiful, of being good? Why does it take a devastation for the world to reveal its true spiritual nature? I don't know the answer to this, but I do know there exists a kind of potentiality just beyond trauma. I suspect that trauma is the purifying fire through which we truly encounter the good in the world."

The backstory here is that Cave has had two sons die prematurely and tragically in recent years. These words do not come from a soul inexperienced with the realities of this world.

And, of course, neither are you. None of us is spared the tragedies and chances of this life. We see it all around us, in the headlines, in our relationships, in our hearts. And yet, the good remains. There is good in this world and in our lives. We have one another. You are a gift and a sign of goodness in my life — this I know. Each Sunday, even this oddly and awkwardly theological one like Trinity Sunday, is touched by the unspeakable goodness of coming together, feeling one another's presence, extending our hands to receive the mystery of Christ, and being shaped by actions and words and stories and warm bodies that remind us amidst the despair and devastation that, yes, there is goodness, even now. Hearts opened, hands extended, we say: "Yes, wow, thanks."

See you Sunday,
Nick

Dear Friends,

It feels a bit like cheating (or goal-snatching?), but this ran across my desk and I felt the timing was meant to be. It is a copy of a speech that the British actor and comedian, Alexander Armstrong, gave at a concert at St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, organized by the Friends of Cathedral Music there. He is, of course, speaking about the immersive and intense experience of being a chorister in a boarding school. Nevertheless, I have found the stories of choristers from all types of programs to be similar, even if with varying degrees of intensity. It is true, belonging to a more serious choir is much like playing a team sport, yet no-one sits on the bench! And singing is one of the few activities I can think of where children can actually perform at a professional level (and be treated like young professionals, for that matter). As we wrap up the current program year and look forward to summer activities, we are already beginning to plan more substantial programming for young voices in the fall. Now is the perfect time to be thinking about which activities will be most beneficial long-term, worth the commitment of time and energy which is required.

Jeremy Bruns

"The Privilege of Choristership" by Alexander Armstrong

Your Royal Highness, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen: good evening! What a spectacular event this is and what a great honour it is to be a part of it. I am thrilled to be here. Moreover, I am delighted to have the opportunity to talk to you briefly about the tremendous privilege of choristership: the single greatest leg-up a child can be given in life. 

Now, I know that sounds overblown and, yes, it is a bold claim but the more I think about it the truer I realise it is. Someone made the mistake of asking me during an interview the other day what the benefits are of being a chorister. Well that interview ended up overrunning by half of an hour and I was barely halfway through my list. 

The most obvious benefit is the total submersion in music. This is a ‘compleat’ musical education by process of osmosis. When you come to hang up your cassock for the final time at the age of 13 you will – without even having realised it was happening because you were just having a lovely time singing – have personal experience of every age and fashion of music from the ancient fauxbourdons of plainchant, to the exciting knotty textures of anthems so contemporary that the composers themselves might very well have conducted you. You will have breathed life into everyone from Buxtehude to Britten to Bach to Bridge to Bax to Brahms to Byrd to Bairstow to Bruckner to Bliss (and that’s just the Bs I can think of off the top of my head). But you will know them, know them and love them in the way only a performer truly can. Choral music, to this day, has the power to move me so profoundly that I can lose myself in it for hours and just ride out the happy contemplations it evokes. It is a constant and lifelong tiding of comfort and – euphoric – joy. 

Then there is the musicianship you absorb as a chorister, not just the music theory, the maths (the Italian!) all of which is very useful, but elegant musical phrasing, the projection of good diction, the shaping of beautiful vowel sounds for optimum tone, the careful precision singing a psalm, which can only be achieved by listening intently to those around you and blending your tone and rhythm with theirs – all of these skills and sensitivities become second nature and all of them have strange and unexpected use and resonance in later life. 

And then there’s the language – and I don’t mean the salty badinage of the vestry but the liturgy you’re immersed in, the psalms, the collects, the canticles – the poetry you get to sing (Herbert, Donne, Milton, Shakespeare, Hardy, Auden are all poets I first learnt to love – Christopher Smart even – by singing and performing their words). Your lexicon at the age of 13 is astounding, and your turn of phrase, taught by endless psalms and hymns, and not just the range of your vocabulary but your innate sense of the poetic. You will have come to know only too well the powerful quiet of an evensong, the sumptuous echo of a final amen sung from an ante-chapel but rolling around the clerestory like wine in a taster’s glass. 

And let’s not overlook the discipline of choristership; the order it brings to a young person’s often chaotic life, the friendship, the focus. Punctuality is one of the first lessons you learn: the ignominy of arriving even a minute late is something no chorister wants to experience twice. Then self-possession, decorum and grace are all attributes you quickly learn to fake – in the first instance – before adopting them for real as you gradually mature. But where else in the modern world is a child taught gravitas? Where else is a child taught, for example, to bow with proper dignity and humility? 

I owe my entire career to my experience as a chorister. It was where I learnt to perform, where I learnt to use the full range of my voice; where I learnt to listen, where I learnt to write comedy, where I learnt to carry a pencil at all times – but most importantly it was where I learnt the wonderful truth that something exceptional, something as beautiful as anything anywhere, can be created just by you and your friends. I remember on a choir tour to Salamanca (ooh travel there’s another benefit!) exploring the old cathedral with a couple of friends and finding ourselves alone in some sort of chapter house, we fired off a Boyce 3-part canon just to test the acoustics. A terrible, toe-curlingly self-indulgent thing to do but what a sound we made! And what a thing to discover: that we three – children essentially – carried between us all the components of something so joyous, so perfect, so complete. (And Boyce! There we are, there’s another B for my list.) 

I was lucky enough to be a chorister at St Mary’s Cathedral in Edinburgh which had a good mix of boy and girl choristers as is now fairly typical in cathedrals up and down the country. And both there and at Trinity College, Cambridge where I ended up as a choral scholar, I sang with people from all walks of life (many of whom had their entire educations – at some of the country’s best schools I might add – paid for by the music they had first learnt as choristers). I sang alongside some people of different faiths and plenty of none at all. And I am always heartened by the ethnic diversity in our cathedral and college choir rooms. So you see, you don’t need to be a boy to be a chorister, you don’t need to be a toff to be a chorister, you don’t need to be religious, you don’t even need to be Christian. Although as I say that I’m aware there is a certain spirituality that all choristers come to know well – something that lurks in the silences of a darkening nave while rush-hour traffic chugs about just yards outside the West door. A spirituality that is wrapped up in the ritual, the mystery and the beauty of this ancient tradition we have become part of. And I’m going to call that spirituality The Privilege of Choristership. That is what we are here tonight to celebrate and to preserve for the future, ‘throughout all generations.’