Sunday, May 4

This Sunday is affectionately known as Good Shepherd Sunday: a title that sparks the imagination in a way that the Fourth Sunday of Easter might not be able to. As the name suggests, on this Sunday, ever year, the Gospel passage appointed draws our attention to the image of Jesus as our good shepherd. Every year we have the opportunity to think afresh about what it means for God to identify in this way. This year, as I contemplate that image, I find my mind overwhelmed by a hymn that is dear to my heart - Hymn 645 “The King of love my shepherd is.” By the way, we will sing this hymn on Sunday at the 10am liturgy. You can also listen to a recording of it here . This hymn is a paraphrase of the 23rd Psalm, which we will say on Sunday, and the words have gone virtually unchanged since it first appears in 1868. Here is the text of the hymn: The King of love my shepherd is, whose goodness faith never; I nothing lack if I am his, and he is mine for ever. Where streams of living water flow, my ransomed soul he leaders, and where the verdant pastries grow, with food celestial feedeth. Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, but yet in love he sought me, and on his shoulders gently laid, and home, rejoicing, brought me. In death’s dark vale I fear no ill with thee, dear Lord, beside me; thy rod and staff my comfort still, thy cross before to guide me. Thou spread’st a table in my sight; thy unction grace bestoweth; and oh, what transport of delight from thy pure chalice floweth! And so through all the length of days thy goodness faileth never: Good Shepherd, may I sing thy praise within thy house forever. In this hymn, Sir Henry Williams Baker transforms the words of the psalm into language of New Testament Christianity: “the cup becomes the eucharistic chalice, the cross takes its place with the rod and staff, and the pastoral caretaker assumes the role of the “Good Shepherd” in St. John’s Gospel” (Glover, The Hymnal 1982 Companion Volume 3B, p. 1185). As we gather this week, may these words wash over us. Let them help us recognize in new ways that we have been claimed by God, that God watches over us, that God seeks to care for us and guide us along our journeys. In the love of God, let us find that we lack nothing, and in return may we dwell in the presence of our Lord with prayers and praise that never cease.

Easter Message from the Presiding Bishop The Most Rev’d Sean W. Rowe Luke’s Gospel tells us that on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Joanna went to the tomb to anoint the body of Jesus. When they got there, the stone had been rolled away, and they heard the message that transformed their world—and ours: “He is not here. He is risen.” On that Easter morning, the women who had been the last protectors and pastors at the cross on Good Friday became the first to witness and proclaim the resurrection. Scripture tells us, however, that their good news was not met with joy. The news that Jesus had risen from the dead was received as an idle tale, as nonsense—in one dynamic translation, as nothing more than women’s trinkets. In the fraught and divided world in which these first evangelists lived, they were on the margins, and their word counted for nothing. How quickly the apostles forgot what Jesus had modeled days before on Palm Sunday and at the Last Supper. The long-awaited Messiah fashioned himself not as a political conqueror but as a peacemaker. Our Savior upended notions of worldly power by taking on the role of a servant and washing the feet of his followers. For Jesus, the vulnerable and the marginalized are in focus, and his ears are attuned to their voices. As we proclaim the resurrection in our own time and place, let us always remember that the kingdom of God is revealed to us most clearly by those who are dispossessed by the powers and principalities of this world. Let us celebrate the joy of Easter by seeking and serving the resurrected Christ in the lives and the witness of those who have been silenced, persecuted, and marginalized. May God bless you and all those you love this Easter.

You might have noticed that this week’s update has gone out a bit earlier than usual. That is because this week is not a typical week. We are in the midst of Holy Week, a time unlike any other, and I wanted to send this update our early so that it would reach you before the final days of this Great Week (as the Early Church called it). The second half of Holy Week is known as the Triduum Sacrum - Latin for Three Holy Days. These days, beginning on Maundy Thursday and concluding with the Great Vigil of Easter, are the most important days we keep. In the early to mid twentieth century scholars discovered records of how the Early Church worshipped on these holiest of days and then worked to adapt their findings for the church today. The restoration of these liturgies is one the greatest gifts of our current Prayer Book. These liturgies remind us that liturgical time and God’s time are different than chronological time. These liturgies are not a memorial or re-enactment of something that happened over 2000 years ago; nor do we believe these events actually happen every year. We do not have to pretend that we do not know the end of the story either. Instead these liturgies invite us into a space where time stands still: a place where we enter into the fullness of these days and know how everything turns out. In theological terms we refer to this as anamnesis - the memorial aspect of what we do (be it during these liturgies or anytime we gather for the Eucharist) is not a passive process, but one by which we can actually enter into the Paschal mystery. It is the moment when past, present, and future align into one. I say all this to help give us a frame work for what we do in these days; to help explain why I have so passionately been imploring us to give ourselves over to worship this week. We need to stand at the foot of the cross seeing both our suffering and our complicity in the suffering of others. We need to sit in the silence as creation holds its breath as Jesus descends to the dead breaking down the gates of Hades - liberating every person who has ever and will ever walk this earth from the shackles of death. We need to hear the record of God’s saving deeds in history to remind ourselves that God has never abandoned God’s people just as God does not abandon us now. We need to pass through those Baptismal waters welcoming others to share with us in the priesthood of all believe. We need to proclaim Easter - declaring boldly that God has triumphed! In this moment of our lives I think one of the things we need most is Maundy Thursday. Tomorrow night we will be given the command to love one another and have the opportunity to both give and receive that love. I know washing feet and having our feet washed makes many in the community uncomfortable, but I invite you to lean into the discomfort, to take the risk, and share in the foot washing anyway. There is something incredibly profound about being vulnerable with another person in the midst of the safety of community. Kneeling down, gently taking a friends foot and washing it, is a level of love that rarely is expressed in our time. When we wash the feet of others we get to experience the humble loving service of God that we are called to emulate. Even more so, when we allow someone else to hold us tenderly we receive nothing less than the love of God made incarnate in that moment. Having washed and been washed, we will celebrate the Eucharist on the night in which Jesus instituted the Sacrament of his body and blood. Having experienced God’s mandate of love we will receive the blessed Sacrament and be transformed into the body and blood of God for the world - strengthening us to be bearers of love to all we meet. The liturgies of these days are rich and dramatic. Together we will share in worship that Christians have experienced since at least the third century. This is the once a year opportunity to delve into these days, participating in things which only happen in these days. I invite you, I implore you, with every fiber of my being to join fully in worship during these three holy days. Come in the fullness of where you are in this moment. Bring your joys and your sorrows. Bring your laughter and tears. There is no judgment or shame for any emotion that might emerge during worship. Trust me, I’ve ugly cried - and I mean ugly cried - in church before. Not only is that okay, but sometimes it is exactly what we need. Come and see what is revealed through the sacred gift of tears, of joy, of experiencing something for the first time or the first time in a long time. Beloved of God come to worship these nights. Have your feet washed, and wash the feet of others. Kneel before the cross in veneration, leave your burdens there for God to carry. Hear the story of Salvation. Renew your baptismal promises. Proclaim Easter. Come and see what marvelous, miraculous, incomprehensible thing God is doing. It will change your life.

In the Fourth Century pilgrims journeyed to Jerusalem in order to visit the sites traditionally associated with the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Countless people made this journey to learn and experience something more of the final days of Jesus’ earthly life. The bishop of Jerusalem, Cyril created a series of liturgies - which were considered to be one grand liturgy - to mark this Great Week. During Cyril’s time, Egeria, a nun, believed to be from Spain walked to Jerusalem to make this pilgrimage, and spent two years observing and recording all that she experienced. Her diary still exists today and has given the Church insights into how the earliest Christians observed this Great Week. The work of Cyril, captured by Egeria, is the basis for the liturgies of Holy Week now contained in our Book of Common Prayer. My first time reading Egeria’s diary, published under the title Egeria’s Travels, I was struck by her words about Cyril’s remarks to the people during the day on Good Friday: “Then the bishop speaks a word of encouragement to the people. They have been hard at it all night, and there is further effort in store for them in the day ahead. So he tells them not to be weary, but to put their hope in God, who will give them a reward out of all proportion to the effort they have made” (Egeria’s Travels, John Wilkinson, 1999, p.155). As we prepare to enter once more into these most sacred of days, I think we would do well to heed Cyril’s words. On Sunday, Palm Sunday, we begin our pilgrimage. Each day there is at least one liturgy to gather us together to experience what really happened in those days. This is more than some historical reenactment, and we certainly hope to do more than just go through the motions. As is true every time we gather for worship, time stands still: past, present, and future are united as one. In this week we join with Egeria and all those who have walked this road before us, we join with Christians around the world today, and we join with all those who will come after us, not pretending we do not know the end of the story, but immersing ourselves into it that we may experience the events of our salvation once more. We will join with the crowds gathered for Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem with our own shouts of “Hosanna!” which will quickly turn to cries of “Crucify him!” We will witness Judas’ betrayal of Jesus and be reminded that no one, not even Judas, is beyond the redemptive power of God’s love. We will gather in the upper room where Jesus gives the great commandment, the mandatum (Latin for mandate; where the word Maundy comes from) to love one another as God has love us. We will wash each other’s feet in that humble, vulnerable act of tender service and care. We will share in the institution of the Holy Eucharist, the Sacrament of Christ’s Body and Blood, that we might be nourished and transformed into Christ’s Body and Blood for the world. After that meal we will strip the church bare and gather to watch and wait with Jesus through the night. We will gather to stand before the cross facing the darkness and reality of that shameful means of death which becomes for us a means of life. We will witness the very worst that humanity is capable of. We will wait in the stillness of the morning as all creation holds its breath. On Saturday night we return to the darkness. This night is the Passover of the Lord. We kindle a new fire and we follow the Paschal Candle giving thanks for the light of Christ. We will gather to hear God’s saving deeds in history. As Emmett is baptized and welcomed into the household of God, we will renew our baptismal promises and be sprinkled with holy water. And finally we will proclaim Easter – we will shout with joy that Christ is Risen! We will rejoice that death has been destroyed by life, that darkness was vanquished by light, that Love has conquered all. I invite you to make this sacred journey once more. It is demanding. It is exhausting. I know there will be days when you just do not feel like coming to church, days when the demands of life want to capture all of your attention. But the more you give yourself space and permission to share in the fullness of this week the more glorious your celebration of Easter will be. If we dare to walk this road we too will share in the transformative power of this Great Week. Let us remember those words of encouragement from Cyril of Jerusalem, “not to be weary, but to put (our) hope in God, who will give (us) a reward out of all proportion to the effort (we) have made.” I look forward to walking this week with you.

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You may have heard of Dollar Sunday in the past but don’t know what it is, no worries let me tell you. Dollar Sunday was the idea of parishioner Al Parrillo, it was his belief that one Sunday of the month should be set aside to collect money for the maintenance of this wonderful property that we have. This month the Vestry has chosen this Sunday to be that day and we are doing a targeted collection for the front door of the Church Mouse Thrift Store. For anyone who has gone and dealt with that door you’re more than aware that it is a little tired and its season has come and gone. We have a goal of $3500 to complete this project. I both as a Vestry member and parishioner of this church have seen the great love that all of you have for it and know that you give so generously to this place, but I ask if there is any chance that you can spare any bit of money that myself and the vestry would greatly appreciate it. Thank you all so much for your generosity. To make a donation to this project please mail checks to P.O. Box 505, Greenville, RI 02828 with “Thrift Shop Door” in the memo line, or to give online, please click here and select “Dollar Sunday” as the fund and write “Thrift Shop Door” in the memo.

This season of Lent invites us to take on various spiritual disciplines to help us connect with God in new and deeper ways; practices that help us tune our ears to better hear God in our midst. In fact, our Ash Wednesday liturgy calls us to specific practices as part of the invitation to a holy Lent. At the heart of all of this is prayer. But what does it mean to pray? We might imagine prayer is sitting with our trusty Book of Common Prayer, opening to a page and reading. This is a good and important type of prayer, and it is vital for us to carry on the traditions we have inherited. The BCP is a treasurer trove of resources. If you have not spent time flipping through the pages I invite you to do so. If you do not have a Prayer Book and would like one, please let me know. I would be delighted to get one for you. I would also be happy to give tours through the Prayer Book highlighting some especially useful resources for personal devotion. In addition to our beloved BCP there are other ways to pray too. While I use the Prayer Book every day in my own devotional life, there are many times when I find myself praying with it out. Sometimes that is sitting in silence, or using prayer beads; other times it’s while walking through a park, or sitting in an art gallery. I regularly pray while I cook, and find doing culinary prep work like chopping vegetables rather meditative. Of course, my commute from Pawtucket to Greenville along four of RI’s highways has exponentially increased my prayer life as well. I wonder, what are the ways you have found to pray? In his book The Word in the Wilderness: A Poem for Lent and Easter Malcolm Guite includes a prayer by Kelly Belmonte titled “How I Talk to God.” I offer this poem to you, hoping that it will help you expand your understanding of prayer and inspire you to seek God in every moment of your life. Coffee in one hand leaning in to share, listen: How I talk to God. ‘Momma, you’re special.’ Three-year-old touches my cheek. How God talks to me. While driving I make lists: done, do, hope, love, hate, try. How I talk to God. Above the highway hawk: high, alone, free, focused. How God talks to me. Rash, impetuous chatter, followed by silence: How I talk to God. First, second, third, fourth chance to hear, then another: How God talks to me. Fetal position under flannel sheets, weeping How I talk to God. Moonlight on pillow tending to my open wounds How God talks to me. Pulling from my heap of words, the ones that mean yes: How I talk to God. Infinite connects with finite, without words: How God talks to me.

This upcoming Tuesday, March 18, we will have our first session of our Lenten Book Study on Henri J.M. Nouwen’s book Life of the Beloved. The sessions we be on zoom at 7pm, all are welcome. Please let me know if you’d like to join the conversation so I can send you the link. This book was written as a letter to one of Nouwen’s friends called Fred. Fred asked Nouwen to write something for him and his friends about the spiritual life. He desired something to help them, people without deep religious or spiritual connections, in their searching. In response to this request, Nouwen opens the first chapter with how this project emerged: “Ever since you asked me to write for you and your friends about the spiritual life, I have been wondering if there might be one world I would most want you to remember when you finished reading all I wish to say . . . It is the word “Beloved,” and I am convinced that it has been given to me for the sake of you and your friends” (25). The rest of the book, a sort of letter of love, is an intimate and passionate message about what it means to be and live as the Beloved of God. Fritz and I settled on this book for our Lenten program back in the fall. All I can say is, thank you Holy Spirit for the inspiration, because this book is essential reading for these days. Over the last couple of months, there is one particular passage that keeps coming to my mind. Early on in the book Nouwen writes, “It certainly is not easy to hear that voice [claiming you as Beloved] in a world filled with voices that shout: “You are no good, you are ugly; you are worthless; you are despicable, you are nobody – unless you can demonstrate the opposite.” These negative voices are so loud and so persistent that it is easy to believe them. That’s the great trap. It is the trap of self-rejection. Over the years, I have come to realize that the greatest trap in our life is not success, popularity or power, but self-rejection (26-27, Emphasis added). ” The first time I read those words they hit me deep. They touched sources of pain buried in my soul; touching a nerve so raw that I remember being angry at the friend who recommended the book in the first place. Over the years, however, it has become one of my most treasured books - one of those stories I can never stop reading. This book may be a few decades old, but it remains ever true and relevant. We live in a society that privileges productivity and achievement. We are judged worthy not by our character, but by what we have achieved, won, and what our professional output is. When we are constantly surrounded by these voices and messages it can be difficult to not start beating ourselves up. I would hazard a guess that I am not alone in setting the bar just a little too high for myself, of having unrealistic expectations of what I can do and achieve. Then, when I fail to live up to that unattainable standard, to use Nouwen’s words, I fall into the trap of self-rejection. Nouwen’s please for us to claim the identity of Beloved is exactly what Lent is all about. It is the invitation to take off the masks we wear, let go of the baggage we carry, and accept our true identity from God. I invite you to take time this Lent to read Life of the Beloved, no matter if you can join on Tuesdays or not (but I hope you do tune in on Tuesday nights). It might hit you hard, it might even be a challenge to read, and it might stir up things for you that you did not know existed. But maybe that is just the right place to be in when approaching this text. If you need, feel free to get angry with me the same way I got angry with my friend. However, no matter what you decided to do, always remember - especially in those moments when doubt creeps in - that you are Beloved: “All I want to say to you is “You are the Beloved,” and all I hope is that you can hear these words as spoken to you with all the tenderness and force that love can hold. My only desire is to make these words reverberate in every corner of your being – ‘You are the Beloved’” (26).

We are now on our way, having set out on our Lenten journey this past Wednesday. I know I have said this before, but I believe it warrants repeating. Lent is a profoundly misunderstood season. Over the years I have heard many share their dislike of Lent because it is too dour. I have heard people lament that it is all about telling us the ways we are bad people, encouraging harmful self-deprecation. Given this history, combined with the realities of the world since the onset of the COVID pandemic five years ago, some have begun to wonder if we should even keep Lent at all anymore. I have heard it said, “Lent is just too much of a burden.” To be sure, there is good reason for this. The Church has a long history of using language around sin as a weapon to manipulate and control - a tool to demonize those who do not fit narrowly defined standards of being in the world. I have experienced this in my own life. In Sunday School growing up, we did an interactive Way of the Cross every Palm Sunday. As part of the experience we were told to write down our sins and then nail them to a large wooden cross. We were told it was our fault, our sins, that killed Jesus. While never said explicitly, there were lots of little comments and remarks spoken around the parish that led me to believe that who I was, was a sin - that my very existences and being is why Jesus had to die. I know I am not alone in having these painful formative experiences. I do not fault a single person who is wary of Lent, especially if they have experienced such harm. In a renewed way, this same language has once more permeated our political and social culture in the United States further exacerbating the pain. Please know if this is your experience I am here to listen and would be honored if you were to share your story with me. It is my hope that together we can shift our understanding of this holy season from one of shame to one of promise and hope. This Sunday we hear of Jesus’ time in the wilderness. After his baptism, Luke tells us that, “Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil” (Luke 4:1-2, NRSV). Our wilderness experience of Lent is rooted in Jesus’ own experience. It is a time to resist temptation, to refuse to put God to the test, to place ourselves firmly in the arms of God - trusting that no matter what God will not forsake us. This is our time to begin again, by honestly naming where we are in this moment. We do this, in part, by naming and confessing our sins. It is important for us to be honest about all the ways we stray from the path of God, to be honest about the barriers we put up to block God’s love from our lives, the ways we do not honor the belovedness of our neighbors. We name these things so that we can refocus ourselves on how God has called us to live, letting go of all that holds us back, opening ourselves up to the freedom which comes from service to God alone. As we set out on this journey we do not need worry about the wrath of a vengeful God. We can stand before the judgement seat of God without shame or fear because our judgment is rooted in love: as the Psalmist reminded us on Ash Wednesday, “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness” (103:8, BCP). Above all else we name honestly the ways we have sinned as a sign of our commitment to strive for that still more excellent way, and our acknowledgement of our utter reliance on the mercy and love of God. The work of Lent - fasting, praying, reading and meditating on Scripture - are the disciplines that help train us to focus on God, not the idols of this world; to remove the blinders and stumbling blocks from before our path; to accept that we can only thrive in this life by the grace of God. We have been offered an invitation to strip away all distractions and return to what matters most - our life with God. Please accept the gift of this season. Enter into it intentionally. Thoughtfully carry out whatever practices you need to guide you along this journey. Take advantage of all the offerings here at St. Thomas to guide you through the season. If you need help navigating your way, please let me know. I’m here to help. Together may we journey well.