Fifty years ago, the Anglican Church ordained its first female priest, Florence Li Tim-Oi. On January 25, 1944, with the occupation of Hong Kong and parts of China, and as Anglican priests were not able to reach parishes and particular communities, the local bishop ordained Tim-Oi to the priesthood. She was the first female priest in the Anglican tradition. After the war, she would resign her license to function as a priest to appease the majority anti-women’s ordination voice in the church. It would not be for 30 years that women’s ordination was regularized in the Episcopal Church.

This past Sunday, we hosted a viewing of the documentary, The Philadelphia Eleven. It tells the intimate and vital story of women being ordained in the Episcopal Church. Facing patriarchy, bigotry, threat, and dehumanization, eleven women, with the support of three Episcopal bishops, were ordained to the priesthood in Philadelphia on July 29, 1974. This event would go on to catalyze the regularization of women’s ordination and help transform our church into a more inclusive and just institution. Notice I say “more” just.

This beautiful and powerful documentary reminded me of our continued need to make a church for all people, so that all people might be of the church. The work of inclusion and representation is critical to the life of the church. This is no political stratagem, but the heartbeat of a living and breathing and vibrant community. Either the good news of Jesus is for all people, or it is for none; either all people are inherently worthy or none are. Following the teaching and example of Jesus, we must stand clearly for the inherent dignity and equality of all people. It is an ache for which there is no balm, not in this world of ours so divided and so divisive, so violent and so violated. 

As we gather this Sunday for our Annual Meeting, we will celebrate the past year, our current capital campaign, and give thanks for a future to which God calls us. At the heart of our life together as Epiphany beats a common call to the way of love made known to us in Christ. It sustains us, redeems us, and leads us more deeply into the pain, suffering, and audacious beauty of our world. A world for which God gives all, so that we might too.

See you Sunday,
Nick 

In the first week of January, we gathered together for The Burning of the Greens, one of my all-time favorite traditions. Parishioners brought clippings from their trees or their wreathes and we stacked them all together and then… we set them on fire! What a way to say goodbye to the Christmas season. This comes from the idea that we don’t just throw away the items we use for worship, but burn them in a sacred embodied ritual. This ritual symbolizes Christ as the light of the world. Watching the flames helped us to prepare for the new year and the season of Epiphany — our namesake. I love the name of our parish. I love the story of the wise people and the star and the baby. I’ve also been thinking about the meaning of the word Epiphany as in, “I had an epiphany!” This idea that comes to mind that brings us to a new place, a new understanding, or a new sense of meaning. Often accompanied by a holy clarity. This too is our legacy. We gather together to have new epiphanies that move us closer to God, to each other, and to our neighbors. I pray you have new epiphanies during this Epiphany season while following that guiding star. May those epiphanies fill you with hope this day.

With gratitude,
Rev. Janelle

I didn't get far in my advent devotional this year. I chose All Creation Waits, which is a beautiful book I've been looking forward to for months. But the first devotion was about painted turtles and how they hibernate—their bodies nearly stopped—underwater through the winter. Just resting and waiting. I read this one chapter, this short Painted Turtle meditation, over and over and never turned to the next animal (sorry muskrats, maybe next year). That turtle and I understood each other. December is not a month of rest for me. I bet it isn't for you either, even if you don't work at a church. But that painted turtle called to me all of December. 

And now here's January, dark and cold. Culture asks us what we'll do this January. How will we improve ourselves—diet, exercise, resolutions, goals—new year, new me.

But God's creation does not ask us to overhaul ourselves right now. If January in New England asks anything of us, it is to care for ourselves. January's creation says Stay warm. Eat your stores. Light a fire. Snuggle up with a book and bake cookies. (Ok, that last one might not be creation speaking.) 

January says look to home. 

This past Sunday, the word home was spoken again and again here at Epiphany. As we entered into our capital campaign, Building for the Ages, Rev Nick reminded us that this place, built of crumbly bricks and slate tiles, houses our life together. The Rt. Rev. Rob O'Neill spoke of what a gift it was for him to be home, some 20 years after he was our rector. 

Epiphany is our home. It is where we are all welcomed, cherished, accepted; where many of our most meaningful relationships lay. We journey through our lives together here. This January, I pray you will feel the warmth and love of this place of faith, and root yourself in this home.

Bryn Hollenbeck 

There are few greater gifts in this life than friends. As I get older, I realize this truth more and more. And, as I get older, I realize how challenging it can be to make new friends. The simple truth is this: To have a friend is to find a deep well of joy, love, support, and encouragement. 

It has always struck me that one of the last things Jesus does is to make sure that the disciples know that they are friends. He says, “I no longer call you servants…but I call you friends.” Friendship is that special human relationship that is all about mutuality, encouragement, and enjoyment. There is no quid pro quo, no power hierarchy—it is a freedom of relationship that is, in many ways, unique. This might be why Christianity has often noted that friendship is the highest form of human relationship.

This may be why I am so excited to welcome my friend, Rob O’Neill, to join us this Sunday at Epiphany. Now, I know that many here consider Rob a friend too—that Rob has been a part of the lives of many people from Epiphany. And that’s because Rob was the eighth rector here (1991-2003). Rob was also my bishop when I served in Colorado. And, as time went on and Rob retired, he became a friend—someone who offered me nothing but love, encouragement, wisdom, and support. What I do know is that Rob is a friend of Epiphany because it is this same love that he offers to us. You’ll see this clearly when he and his wife, Ginger, join us for this coming celebration on Sunday.

Our life together here at Epiphany is to be shaped by this friendship that Jesus invites us into. A community of love, support, encouragement, and joy. We offer this to one another simply because we are, here, now, together. This is the beautiful gift of being church together. 

On Sunday we will welcome Rob and Ginger, and celebrate the launch of our Building for the Ages capital campaign. I hear there is to be some snow finally—of course, on a Sunday morning. This will not dampen our joy or celebration. I hope you will make every effort to be present for our festive luncheon after the 10:00 am service, or join that celebration via Zoom (link is here). This campaign is unlike any we have undertaken in our history as a parish. It will take all of our support to reach our goals, and I am thrilled to share with you this Sunday about this faithful, bold, and inspiring campaign that is being led by our lay leadership and vestry. We have every right to be joyful, hopeful, and proud of this effort. I hope you’ll join us Sunday for lunch and our launch and discover the beautiful community of friends that is our beloved Epiphany.

I look forward to seeing you on Sunday,
Nick

Confession: I don’t write in my journal as much as I used to. These days, the only time I pick up my dusty old journal is at the very end of the year. This time of year, to be exact. In it, I reflect on the year that has almost passed. I will write down highlights, memories, movies watched, trips taken, any moments that I don’t want to be easily forgotten. The sad or difficult moments too. When I do this, I find that I am already starting to forget, even though the year isn’t officially over. Those regular, ordinary days, all strung together, make an entire year that can fit a lot in it.

One time I was telling a friend about this practice, and he remarked that it sounds like a Prayer of Examen for the entire year. If you are familiar with the Prayer of Examen, it’s a prayer practice developed by St. Ignatius that invites you, at the end of the day, to reflect on your day. Moments of desolation and consolation — all the while reflecting on God’s presence with you and preparing for the new day.

If you, like me, haven’t had a chance to reflect on this past year, I’d encourage you to take the time to do so. You might realize, like me, that there were more days filled with God’s grace than originally thought. More quiet moments of beauty and more moments of warmth surrounded by loved ones. Wherever you may find yourself today, it’s a gift to look back and to remember. May it also be your prayer today.

With gratitude,
Rev. Janelle

In one of my first conversations with Janelle, she asked me, ‘What is your Epiphany story? It seems like everyone has an Epiphany story.’ That’s when I realized she really ‘gets’ us; one of our strengths as a community is that our stories weave together so many relationships and experiences on our journey together.

One of my Epiphany stories is teaching Godly Play, which I have been doing off and on over the past 30 years. Much has changed and yet some of the stories have not. On the next two Sundays I will be sitting on the floor, rolling out a purple underlay and looking around the circle before we begin the story:

The King who was coming is still coming. This is full of mystery. You know, a mystery is sometimes very hard to enter. That is why this time of Advent is so important. It helps us get ready to enter the Mystery of Christmas... During this time, we are all on the way to Bethlehem. We are all making the journey... so let’s go with the Prophets, the Holy Family, the shepherds, the angels, and the Magi to make the journey.

And with that begin the story of the road to Bethlehem.

As I sit looking at the materials for Sunday, my mind plays back through many Sunday mornings looking at the same cards and an ever-changing circle of children. The first three-year-olds in the circle are now 30-something-year-olds. Many of the parents who dropped them off are still here, and we are doing different things together, charting different Epiphany stories and journeys.

I love telling the Road to Bethlehem because it is so familiar. Yet the story is never the same because the circle of children changes and the wondering questions at the end bring new surprises and new truths. Each year, we roll out the road and weave another generation into our Epiphany journey.

Nelia Newell

I write this while sitting on the steps in the front of the sanctuary on a quiet weekday morning. I'm the only one in here — I may be the only one in the entire church — and it's cavernous and quiet. But the work I'm focusing on will be anything but quiet, as I get ready to start our Christmas pageant preparations with the children. 

Contemplating one of the most chaotic-yet-beautiful worship experiences of the year while in the solitude of our empty sanctuary feels right for Advent. Think of Mary and Joseph, amid a crowd but all alone. A king in a barn. God's new relationship with all of creation bursting into life but entering so subtly. 

For as long as I have the privilege of ministry with children, I'll repeat this: the Christmas Pageant is not a show, it is worship. It is not a play, it is a service in which the children offer you a rare window into the sacred scriptures. It is full of wiggles and stillness, laughs and whispers, distraction and rapt attention. Like the real thing, it is chaos and plan, art and nature, human and divine. 

Welcome into the real, rich holiness of the season, and into the young and burgeoning life of this ancient faith and venerable Parish. You saw these steps on which I now sit full to overflowing with children last Sunday. In the coming weeks and months I hope you — yes, you — will get to know them better, in all their holy energy and sacred serenity.

Joyous Advent,
Bryn

It can be hard to give thanks. From an early age, we learn to say the words that we may have forgotten: "thank you." Giving thanks on Thanksgiving is often shaped by football, family, and food. But not always. Sometimes people do give thanks when they are alone, or hungry, or unentertained. This is possible, I imagine, because giving thanks is something we all can do while life is still within us. Giving thanks gives us life.

And yet, today might be a hard day to give thanks. I'm not sure where you are or what you are feeling. But, if today leaves you feeling hollowed out, then know you aren't alone. The weight of the world is felt by many and, in that feeling, we are one. But, if today your thanks is clear, then do not hold it in or keep it for yourself, for such life is needed all around.

As I sit down today, on this Thanksgiving, and take a breath, to let go of all that I've falsely believed that I alone can do, know that among my thanks, will be you. I am fortunate that some of the great gifts of my life are gathered round me — they have names, and cowlicks, and sticky fingers. And some gifts are not nearby, but scattered far across time and space and beyond, now. But you, my Epiphany family, are a gift completely given, completely unearned, gratuitous — thanks to God. For God has called us together. And I am thankful. 

So know this: Even as there is weight in the waiting to see what we will become, what our world will be, I give thanks that God does not let us go, and does not let us be without each other. I am grateful for you. Happy Thanks Giving, beloved.

See you Sunday,
Nick

On Sunday, a group of about 20 of us from Epiphany completed volunteer training at the Malden Warming Center (MWC). MWC offers overnight housing during the cold winter months every night from December through March. What I love about MWC is that it’s a collaborative environment. There are recovery coaches and mental health therapists on-site in addition to volunteers checking in guests, cooking meals, monitoring the bathroom, and operating the clothing closet. This happens every single night until March. People who were guests at MWC who find housing will come back to volunteer. The mayor at Malden likes to volunteer too. Many of the same people are there each evening and it's truly a community.

The primary value at MWC is recognizing each person’s inherent dignity, which reminds me of our Baptismal Covenant to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.” With God’s help, we make promises to respect the dignity of every human being. This goes beyond being nice to people. Recognizing the dignity in another human being means caring about the things that threaten that sense of dignity.

You might hear the word 'solidarity' from time to time here at church. It’s this concept that living in right relationship with one another and with God (where we get our word salvation) is at the heart of our faith. Scripture is filled with stories of Jesus caring for the poor, the sick, and those in prison. Sometimes in church, we may talk about people on the margins (that is those who experience oppression due to race, poverty, sexuality, ability, health, or an intersection of several of these) in these ethereal terms or as an abstract category. Solidarity means moving beyond the ethereal to real people — with names and faces.

Father Greg Boyle says this, “[Through solidarity], I discovered that you do not go to the margins to rescue anyone. But if we go there, everyone finds rescue.”

It’s this idea that our liberation is bound up with each other. Being in solidarity with those on the margins brings healing to everyone involved. Our faith lived out, will bring us out into new places, into new communities, and into new solidarity. Volunteering at the Malden Warming Center is a tangible way to embody Christ’s hospitality and solidarity because showing up allows for friendship with those on the margins. If this is something new for you, it will change your life and you will experience God in new and profound ways.

Practicing solidarity might mean driving to another town and getting stuck in a bit of rush hour traffic. It might mean getting a little out of your comfort zone. It might also mean actively participating in God’s future where dignity is restored and working for justice because as Fannie Lou Hamer says, “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

If you are interesting in volunteering at the Malden Warming Center this winter, let Rev. Janelle know at jhiroshige@3crowns.org. (Teens can volunteer with their parents/caregivers in the clothing closet or kitchen, no training required.) And if you are interested in learning more about solidarity and justice, considering joining our Journey to Justice meeting this Sunday, November 19 at 11:30 in Upper Parish Hall.

Rev. Janelle Hiroshige

Greetings friends!

I write to you during this month of remembrance; indeed, some traditions give special attention to the faithful souls of the departed for the entire month of November (the month of All Souls). For the liturgically minded among us, November begins with a bang with All Saints’ Day on November 1 (preceded by Halloween, or the Eve of All Hallows’ Day as Rev. Nick recently explained at Midweek), followed by the solemnity of All Souls’ Day on November 2. Continuing the theme, we have the secular Veterans Day (or Armistice Day, or Remembrance Day) on November 11, and often the transferred Remembrance Sunday following that. It marks the day in 1918 an agreement was signed between Germany and the Allied nations to end World War I. During this month, may we remember with both tears and smiles those we have been fortunate to share this journey with.

Remembrance is not the only theme found in November. We are also nearing the end of the church’s liturgical year, which begins with the ‘first’ Advent season four Sundays before Christmas Day, when we prepare for our annual celebration of Christ’s first coming among us as a baby. Our liturgical year comes to and end with a ’second’ Advent season; no, it isn’t officially titled as such, but you’ll notice some of the same Advent readings and hymns starting to appear this Sunday, November 12, and running through the final Sunday of the year November 26: Christ the King Sunday (also known as the Sunday of the Fulfillment). This last Sunday in the church year is the day we celebrate and look forward to the next coming of Jesus; it points us to the culmination of God's purposes in history through Christ. It is not about Christ becoming king (since that happened at the resurrection/ascension), but about the fulfillment of his kingship. If you are a fan of Bach’s cantata "Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme" BWV 140 (Sleepers wake, for night is flying), you may be aware that he composed this in Leipzig for the 27th Sunday after Trinity, and first performed it on 25 November 1731, the last Sunday of the church year (Advent I was the following Sunday 2 December 1731).

More so each year, I am struck by how suddenly the days become shorter and the temperatures shift, made more drastic still by the annual time change here Massachusetts. As we proceed through the rest of November, and the end of the liturgical year, I leave you with a poem by English classical scholar and poet Alfred Edward Housman (1859-1936). Here he remembers a deceased friend, who can no longer be tormented by the cold. All best wishes as we approach the next round of Advent seasons!

Jeremy Bruns

The Night Is Freezing Fast
(from Last Poems, published 1922)

The night is freezing fast,
   To-morrow comes December;
       And winterfalls of old
Are with me from the past;
   And chiefly I remember
       How Dick would hate the cold.

Fall, winter, fall; for he,
   Prompt hand and headpiece clever,
       Has woven a winter robe,
And made of earth and sea
   His overcoat for ever,
       And wears the turning globe.

A.E. Housman