Calendar

This summer I spent several days on a college friend’s farm in Texas. I had gone there, in part, to offer some support after her husband experienced a work accident and ruptured a tendon. Farm life does not stop simply because someone gets hurt. There were gardens to tend, animals to feed, and the ever-present need to watch out for fire ants. I was grateful to put my hands to work and, in some small way, help carry the weight of the season.

Of all the farm projects and chores I got to help with, the one that stays with me most is tending the bees and harvesting honey.

I have watched bees all my life, especially in my own garden, moving from flower to flower, carrying out the quiet work of pollination, building my hopes for a good harvest. But watching bees from the outside is very different from entering their world. That day, I was invited into their hives – a marvelous encounter with another community in God’s creation.

We put on our bee suits, lit the smoker, loaded our wagon, and made our way across the meadow to the hives. We stopped at the edge of the field, greeted the bees, asked permission to enter their space, and then approached gently.

At the entrance to each hive, bees stood guard. The opening itself was almost like a landing strip at an airport – a place where the foragers came and went, carrying the fruits of their labor and disappearing again into the hive. Opening the lid revealed rows of frames loaded with honeycomb and buzzing bees. There was a marvelous choreography to it all.

To stand in the presence of so many bees was to find myself in the midst of a living organism made up of many organisms. Thousands of individual creatures were participating in the life of something larger than themselves. No single bee was the hive. And yet each bee had a part to play in the life of the whole.

There was also a certain humility required of us. We had to work carefully and calmly, minimizing stress on the hives. Timing mattered. We opened the hives in the middle of a sunny day when many of the foragers were away gathering nectar. We removed the frames and gently brushed off the worker bees. Once a frame was clear, we covered it quickly, because exposed honey would attract wasps and hungry bees from other hives and could start a frenzy. Everything about the process reminded us that the harvest depended upon respecting the community that had produced it.

And then there was the honey.

We carried the frames to the extractor and spun them, watching the golden honey pour out and down from the comb. It was hot, sticky work – but with a remarkably sweet reward.

And somehow, through all that hot, sticky work, not one bee stung us.

That detail has stayed with me, too. Bees are not aggressive creatures. We were able to work among them because we approached with care, paid attention to their rhythms, and respected their home.

Working in those hives, surrounded by bees and the hum of their collective life, has me thinking about what it means to belong – to a family, a friendship, a church, a community, a nation, and ultimately to the whole creation that God has called good.

We may imagine ourselves as independent creatures, moving through the world according to our own purposes. But the bees offered another vision: a life woven into the lives of others, each of us carrying something toward a common good.

The work can be hot. It can be sticky. Sometimes it can be difficult and even frightening.

But there can also be sweetness.

And perhaps that is the invitation of the hive: to enter the work of community with humility, to tend what has been entrusted to us, to respect the boundaries and rhythms of creation, and to trust that we belong. We each carry something – a gift, a task, a word of encouragement, a meal, a prayer, a willingness to show up. When we offer our small part faithfully, God makes something sweeter than any one of us could make alone.

Much love,

Anna

Dear members and friends of Redeemer,

In the early evening of June 10th, sitting at my dining room table, I took my oath of office and was commissioned as a Navy Reserve Chaplain. It was a monumental moment at the end of an ordinary day. Winnie was outside playing with her neighborhood friends. Megan was sitting on the couch, winding down from a mentally demanding day. I had known since earlier that morning that I would be taking the oath, but I do not think I fully understood what it would mean until I said the words out loud. Afterward, Megan told me that hearing me say them out loud landed with her in a way she had not expected.

This moment of becoming a Navy Chaplain has been a long time coming, one I’ve held with an open hand. About eleven years ago, the call to military chaplaincy first came into focus for me. I was not yet ordained, so I could not obtain the ecclesiastical endorsement the work requires. At the time, I was a chaplain resident, completing a year-long residency in Clinical Pastoral Education at the Hampton Veterans Affairs Medical Center. The call was there, even if the credentials were not yet in place.

I have shared before that my father and both of my grandfathers served in the military. Growing up, I do not remember feeling a particularly strong pull toward that world. My father never pushed it on his children. We knew he served, but his service did not consume our lives. But as I write this reflection, a memory I had forgotten comes back. In middle school, I enrolled in Junior ROTC (Reserve Officers Training Corps) as an elective, even though most of my friends chose other courses. A choice made decades ago, one I barely think about, turns out to have been part of the same thread all along.

As a Navy Reservist, I am responsible for providing religious ministry, confidential pastoral care, and command advisement, all in support of the spiritual readiness of Sailors, Marines, and Coast Guardsmen. That responsibility also includes maintaining my own mobilization readiness, which means I participate in one drill weekend per month (typically a Saturday and Sunday), along with annual trainings. It is a steady rhythm, woven into the rest of my life and ministry.

I am mindful of the climate we live in (geopolitical and otherwise), and even more mindful of what it means to use my spiritual gifts to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic,” while ministering to service members and their families in a pluralistic context. My role as priest is to proclaim, by word and deed, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, fashioning my life according to those precepts; loving and serving the people among whom I work, whether young or old, strong or weak, rich or poor; nourishing Christ’s people from the riches of his grace while strengthening God’s people to live into the fullness of who God created them to be. That calling does not change, nor will it be compromised.

This expansion of my ministry beyond the walls of Redeemer is only possible because of the support of this community and our leadership. I will be bringing you all with me into the counsel and care of those service members in my charge. In a real sense, having you all as part of this journey is what helps in keeping me anchored. Pun intended.

Blessings,

Keith+

Dear Folks,

In 1855 Baltimore was a booming port city: scrappy, exciting, volatile. Like other American cities, extremes of wealth and poverty were common. Successful merchants built grand townhouses around Mount Vernon Square, while Fells Point and Camden pulsed with dockworkers and sailors. Smoke from coal-burning stoves and factories near the harbor smeared the sun.

Horse-drawn wagons packed with goods plied the muddy streets in every direction. “Enslaved people were bought and sold at spaces like Centre Market (Marsh Market), Garland Burnett’s Tavern, and the Vendue Warehouse on South Frederick Street.” (Baltimore Sun, May 4, 2022) Baltimore clipper ships and steamships crowded the piers, and the city was earning its reputation as “Mobtown,” as political gangs and anti-immigrant groups fought over ideologies and turf.

Despite the heavy presence of slavery, Baltimore was also home to the largest population of free African Americans in the United States, who built churches and schools and benevolent societies. Waves of immigrants, especially from Ireland and Germany, added numerous Roman Catholic parishes to the mix, and Baltimore Hebrew Congregation settled into their handsome new synagogue (c. 1845) on Lloyd Street.

Out in the country, near what would become the intersection of Charles and Melrose, the Perine family set aside a portion of their estate to build a place of worship for their family and others living nearby. The Church of the Redeemer had begun.

Because the story of Baltimore is characterized by invention and re-invention, that spirit of transformation is woven into the fabric of Redeemer, as well. Civil War would tear asunder the families and the landscape. Factories would march up the Jones Falls, some of them owned by parishioners. Railroad tracks would be laid, tunnels dug, and highways poured a generation later, often creating economic opportunities, sometimes hardening lines of race and class.

And Redeemer was always engaged. In some decades, parishioners helped to build businesses and methods of international commerce and national transportation, and their faithfulness was expressed through works of charity. As consciousness was raised through the Civil Rights movement and the empowerment of women and other marginalized people, parishioners shifted their frame toward justice. They wondered how God’s dream of love and liberty could be realized here, for all? Engagement with members of St. James, Lafayette Square, a historic Black Episcopal Church, helped Redeemer parishioners grapple with how to offer a faithful response to the injustices of their time. This same spirit led to Redeemer becoming a member of Baltimoreans United in Leadership Development (BUILD) in 2016. And the life-giving beat goes on…

Today, we launch a web page which presents the significant work of our History Committee, charting the path of Redeemer from the Civil War to Civil Rights. As 75 parish members discovered and digested the report last Spring in their house groups, today’s further dissemination of our story invites the whole community to reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going. Please read it and then join us for a history walk on Sunday, Sept. 27 at 11:30 a.m. and discussion after church on Sunday, Nov. 15.

With a full heart, I offer my thanks to the members of the History Committee, the Vestry, and officers who have led us in this important work.

Love,

David