Calendar

Last Sunday a dozen newcomers gathered around three tables in our parish hall, reflecting on what drew them to Redeemer.

“The vibrant community,” one offered.

“There’s a warmth,” another observed.

“I’ve been church shopping and I really like it here,” shared a third, echoed by others.

The ages of those gathered ranged from early-thirties to seventy-something. Two credited their children — one, a senior in high school; the other, in elementary school — for leading them here.

Some have found their way back to church after a long hiatus. Two had driven by Redeemer for years and years before only recently deciding to turn off Charles onto Melrose and into our parking lot, to come through our doors. One has lived all around the world and experienced different faith traditions; having just moved to Baltimore, she knew she needed to find an Episcopal Church, and she, like the others, has chosen Redeemer.

I remember the first time I stepped foot inside an Episcopal Church. Having grown up Roman Catholic, going to church every Sunday was a rhythm to which I was accustomed. But somewhere in my twenties, I had already begun feeling a disconnect with the church of my childhood without having found an alternative. Finding the Episcopal Church in my early thirties felt like coming home to a space that I didn’t even know I was longing for, until I arrived. Being ministered to by a woman priest, who was also a wife and a mother? Being invited to communion, regardless of where I was on my journey of faith? Feeling affirmed and supported in my own questioning, wondering and searching? Staying all the way through to the end of the service, to enjoy singing the very last hymn all together, and not rushing out immediately right after communion?

“Toto, we’re definitely not in Kansas anymore” is a bit like what it all felt like to me as a newcomer, twenty-two years ago.

As I have come to know and fall in love with our Redeemer community since joining our staff 13 years ago, I have come to understand the depth and breadth of what people carry in their hearts, especially that which is heavy to carry: the responsibility of leading a family, a team, an institution; the angst of navigating your way from adolescence to adulthood; the challenges of being new parents; feelings of isolation and loneliness, grief and despair; the mixed blessings of becoming “empty nesters”; overwhelm at trying to both raise children and take care of aging parents; the wilderness of living life without a partner or spouse; the anxiety of an unexpected illness; the onset of “the winter” of our lives …

Added to this the weight of the world and the suffering of fellow humans in our city, nation, and around the globe; “the nightmare” instead of “the dream” that God envisions for us all, as technology makes it possible for each of us to watch brutality and horror on screens and cell phones that no human should ever have to see, much less experience and die from. And then, of course, there is the crying out of our very Earth, our “island-home”.

So we come to Redeemer cry …
We come to Redeemer to pray …
We come to Redeemer for a word of encouragement, of hope, of comfort …
We come to Redeemer to not feel so alone …
We come to Redeemer to sing …
We come to Redeemer to be fed, to be stretched, to learn, to grow …
We come to Redeemer to fill up our tanks, so the light inside us can burn just a little bit brighter, or perhaps be kindled again after having burned out, so we can bear light and be light, out in the world beyond the walls of 5603 N Charles Street …
We come to Redeemer to feel solid ground beneath our feet …
We come to Redeemer to connect …
We come to Redeemer to breathe …
We come to Redeemer to serve …
We come to Redeemer to engage with our neighbors in our city, to build One Baltimore …
We come …

What about you? What of the above resonates with you? Why do you come to Redeemer?

I am so glad and grateful that you are here, and would like to offer some words of encouragement by way of our Jewish brothers and sisters (with thanks to a friend, for emailing this to me):

“Do not be daunted
by the enormity of the world’s grief.
Do justly, now.
Love mercy, now.
Walk humbly now.
You are not obligated to complete the work,
but neither are you free to abandon it.”

(The above quote is often attributed to the Talmud, but is more accurately described as a loose translation of commentary on a portion of the Pirke Avot, which is itself a commentary on Micah 6:8. See Wisdom of the Jewish Sages: A Modern Reading of Pirke Avot by Rabbi Rami Shapiro.)

Love,
Cristina

This week, we kick off a new season of stewardship. Please keep an eye out for your pledge form in the mail and prayerfully reflect on what financial amount you/your household can pledge to invest in Redeemer this year, so we can continue to grow, thrive and serve together as a community of faith and bearers of Christ-light in our families, communities and city. No investment is too large or too small, and the return on your investment is immeasurable. Email Ellen Chatard if you have any questions.

Can you feel it?  Change, I mean.  It is like a diffuse yet discernible energy that is affecting every living thing right now in unimaginable ways.  Have you ever considered how change is like a door? What do you think about when you think of doors?  We think of entrances and exits or a shift or transition from one environment into another.  Many, if not most, are afraid of change except when they can control it.  But control, in the way we usually consider it, is an illusion.  We are creatures, too, like the rest of creation, loved and sustained by our Creator.  Sometimes we forget, though.

Sometimes, we can pay so much attention to the outer landscapes of life that we allow our inner landscapes to go to weeds, so to speak.  Participating in a worshipping community is one part of tending our inner landscapes, as is learning to cultivate an inner stillness to allow a pause between thoughts.  Practices like these help us transit the threshold of the door of change before us and enter into another, different environment with Peace, Hope, and Love.  We may not present this way all of the time, but we drink from this well enough to make it a usual way of being.

As I consider the metaphorical doors of my life and the comings and goings of myself and others I love and have loved, I honor all of the related feelings of sorrow, pain, joy, and celebration in their entirety.  Now I know that to be balanced in this life necessitates my learning to hold everything that I experience in honor of the present moment— where G-D IS.  When we need and want Peace, Hope, and Love for ourselves, we remember to BE HERE NOW…where G-D is.

Because I am where I am at this point in time, I want to share with you a poem that I encountered as part of my recent meditations about doors.  It was written by a twelve-year-old girl named Mary Katherine on the night before she was struck by an automobile.  She departed her earthly life exactly one week later.  The untitled poem was discovered by her mom in her room and was later given to a retreat leader for sharing with the wider world.  So, here goes:

Untitled—

Look at me-
I’m walking through a door
My life is changing and it’s just perfect now
No more doors for me
They’re too hard to get through
I’m staying here where it’s safe-

No, child,
Those doors are a part of you
You can’t ignore them
Cause they’re there
You’ve got to go through them
Who knows what you’ll find
You’ve got to meet their trial
If you don’t, you won’t be what you should become

There are always gonna be doors and you
Can’t stop ’em from comin’
You’ve got to go through them to grow
It’s called change
Look at the wildflower; it changes all the time
always blossoming or closing up, sprouting or withering
You’re scared to go through those doors
Into the unknowing, “into change”
You don’t know what’s going to happen

You don’t know what change is going to bring
Listen to me
Go through those doors with hope
Go through those doors knowing change is the future
and you’re part of it
You don’t know what change is, that’s why
you’re scared

Change is the sun booming over the horizon
Scattering rays of hope to a new day
Change is a baby lamb meeting the world for its first time
Change is growing from a young child to a young woman
Change is beautiful; you will learn to love it

-Mary Katherine Lidle

~Freda Marie

Dear Folks,

The horror of the violence in Israel and Gaza over the last week may be that it feels so familiar—brothers again raising arms against each other, the one with thoughts of annihilation and murder, the sibling reacting with devastating force. Why, O God, our voices cry? When I reached out to an old friend, she wrote, “It has truly been disquieting and overwhelmingly sad. The hatred is so deep. We are connected by 2 degrees of separation to folks called up in the reserves, so it feels very close…” Another said, “My family is safe physically, but so beaten up emotionally… not sure anymore if the vision of peace is possible.” A third agonizes over the oppression the Palestinians have faced over the course of decades, naming “its own brutality,” but insisting there is no justification for what Hamas has done. And yesterday in Bible study, we reflected on the violence that happens weekly across our city and nation, often perpetrated out of religious or tribal convictions. Why, O God, our voices cry? And what can we do?

Heather Miller Rubens, friend and colleague in the struggle and executive director of the Institute for Islamic, Christian, and Jewish Studies offers this direction:

First—We mourn. We grieve the loss of life and weep with those who suffer. We condemn the violence, especially against civilians—and particularly children and the elderly, the most vulnerable members of our human family. We pray for peace. 

Second—We commit to standing up for one another. We are deeply concerned that the coming days and weeks will see a rise in Antisemitic and Islamophobic bullying and bigotry. We pray for the safety and security of all religious communities in the United States and around the world.

Third—We reach out and we listen. Silence around this moment advances neither justice nor peace. But what do we say to our friends and neighbors? For fear of offending someone, we often say nothing. But our friends and allies want to hear from us. We can start by reaching out to friends impacted by this violence—those in our own faith community and beyond it—to ask how they are doing. 

And I would add—We hope… not in a simplistic way, that denies our divisions and violent tendencies, but in a grounded way, that acknowledges our limitations while reaching for our highest human capacities: to make peace, not war, to sow justice instead of division, to embrace each person as a blessed child of God.

Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai sees the promise of new life in the rubble of broken hearts and temples and “being right.” There is more: that our hearts are broken means that we have loved and can love again. The dawning light of starting over shines in each one of us, through our darkest days.

From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.

The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.

But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood.

Love is always rising,
David

Dear all,

On Sunday, members of RYG met at Govans Presbyterian Church for youth group. Inside were tables covered in takeout containers waiting to be filled and a kitchen full of activity, bodies moving in different directions at different speeds. We joined students from Loyola University and chopped, stirred, sliced, washed, peeled, scooped, and de-stemmed our way to a beautiful, nutritious, and delicious meal. We were at Soul Kitchen.

Every week of the year, on Sunday afternoons, volunteers gather at Soul Kitchen to prepare meals for anyone who drops by to pick them up. Under the direction of Carolyn, the head chef and organizer, meals are lovingly made with fruits and vegetables donated by urban farms. This past week there was baked chicken; a stew of sundried tomatoes, zucchini, and rainbow chard; flame roasted shishito peppers; chowder with potatoes and corn; arugula, tomato, and feta salad; macaroni and cheese; Greek yogurt with cherries; in addition to a variety of desserts from which guests chose. There are no requirements or paperwork when you pick up your meal – just friendly conversation and company. Any extra meals are sent home with volunteers.

Soul Kitchen feeds people’s bodies, but it feeds our souls, too. It’s motto is “Community – Respect – Love” – and when I have been there I’ve seen those things offered to both guests and volunteers (who are sometimes the same people), and present in the food itself. Some of the ingredients have been grown by members of our Baltimore community; the meal is prepared by members of that community with love and care. The food matters: it is feeding God’s children. Carolyn – and by her example the rest of the volunteers – treats the meal that is created with respect. The people it feeds matter. And the people who are preparing it matter. And so what we create together, and the process through which it is created, matters.

Whenever we encounter the great importance of another person – the way that they matter, the way they are beloved of God, whether they are friend or stranger or foe – and make that real in the world, our souls are fed.

Plus, cooking together is a lot of fun! And that feeds our souls, too.

Below are some photographs from our time at Soul Kitchen. May your soul be fed today and in the time to come.

Love,
Rebecca+

Dear Folks,

We have an incredible new resource in Thomasina Wharton, as she brings a focus on spiritual direction to her role as Director of the Center for Wellbeing. Not surprisingly, several people have wondered, “But what is spiritual direction?” and “How is it different from seeing a therapist?”

For thousands of years mystics have discovered and refined practices that develop a relationship to God (or Spirit or Presence) and that deepen this connection within an individual. Spiritual direction, then, is an ancient path for seekers, religious and otherwise, who long to find themselves (or meaning or purpose) by searching for the divine. The practice might include periods of silence, intentional breathing, keeping a journal, walking as prayer, or inviting an image to speak.

Spiritual direction involves deep listening. The “answer” to whatever question one might bring is waiting to be discovered within the directee, by the directee. Because our lives are often chockablock full of distractions or appointments, what one is seeking can be obscured by words and old habits, or by the judgments we carry about the feelings we feel or the thoughts that we think. Deep listening honors the individual’s soul and trusts its capacity to embrace what it finds. It begins with the assumption that the divine is present and within, and eager to be found.

The spiritual director acts as a mid-wife—not causing the new birth or even bringing it—but present to the directee’s labor and encouraging it, knowing when to wait and when to push, creating as much safety as possible in an inherently risky situation. Spiritual direction is to “hold space” and time for the one who is giving birth and for the one who is being born. The director resists the temptation to control or manage the work that the directee has brought, choosing instead to tend a space of compassion for the directee to do what only she can do.

The goal of therapy is learn how to make healthy choices, to feel better or more empowered, to function and communicate more successfully. Barbara Brown Taylor speaks of therapy as offering tools to help us get out of our dark caves. The goal of spiritual direction, on the other hand, is to explore the meaning of one’s life, and particularly of our suffering, and to nurture one’s relationship to the divine. Taylor likens it to realizing that one is in a dark cave and wanting to go further in. Rather than offering external information or guidance, spiritual direction helps one listen to the Spirit within, believing that the knowledge one needs is already present in the directee.

If you want to reflect further on the possibilities of spiritual direction, contact Thomasina or me.

Love,
David

Last Friday over 500 of us gathered in church to celebrate the life of Kenzie Cheston, one of our beloved young people who died suddenly and unexpectedly over Labor Day weekend.

Amidst our shock, grief and heartbreak, we prayed and sang and wept out loud, together. Spirit spoke through scripture, liturgy and Rebecca’s homily; hymns, poetry and a violin. Grace and comfort soared through the voices of our young people, encouraged by Maggie Klaes and accompanied by Val Adelung on the piano, singing reassurance that we will encounter Kenzie in the “space between”. Parents-turned-ushers welcomed and greeted each person who came through our doors.

Our nave offered sanctuary to weary souls who came in need of respite, comfort and solid ground on which to stand, regardless of faith or creed, belief or non-belief. And the Good News that nothing —not even death — can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord was proclaimed, felt, and lived.

In a world and a culture that persist in the illusion that we are separate, that vulnerability is weakness, that we must “pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps” and “tough it out on our own”, and that death has the final word, the One whom we follow invites a different way of being and living:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”

As it turns out, we do this – we come to our Lord and find rest – by coming together and gathering in community; by being the hands and hearts and feet of the living Christ for one another. In times of joy and sorrow, celebration and grief, through all the changes and chances of this world — the rising and falling of people in power and of financial markets, of relationships that delight and disappoint, of dreams and goals achieved and lost, of our deepest selves lost and found, of loved ones living and dying — we embody Christ — “God With Us” — most powerfully when we are present with and for one another.

Deep inside, we know this: we cannot be fully human in isolation; we can only be fully human in community. The mercy, compassion and healing balm of God are embodied in and through us — in acts of kindness and connection, hands outstretched and arms open wide, hearts broken open and opening wider still. Yes, we need each other. And yes, we are stronger together.

So let us continue to walk beside Shannon, Jim, Clare, and so many others who are making their way through the valley of the shadow of death. Let us practice encountering Kenzie and our beloved departed in the Space Between. Let us keep gathering, inviting, extending hospitality, offering sanctuary, showing up and being fully present to, for, and with one another, so we may be the change in the world that we so desperately long to see.

Our very lives depend on it.

Love,
Cristina

Dear all,

This Monday marked our first elementary school Chapel at PDS! The Redeemer Racers, grades 1-3, were all present. Three students from third grade carried the torches and cross as our inaugural acolytes; the first grade class wrote and shared prayers for our Prayers of the People; and the second grade – with help from a few additional third graders – helped tell our story. Together we learned new songs, practiced standing up and sitting down at different times, and started to get familiar with a new routine.

It takes time to get used to a new routine. We didn’t all know the words to our new songs in Chapel; it was confusing when to sit and when to stand. But that is the beauty of gathering every week, of sharing a new part of life – we learn and grow together. We teach each other as we go. As time passes, we find ourselves changed.

Chapel is not the only place where we experience this, of course. The move to a new school or a new job; a birth or a death; a change in commute that takes you through a new neighborhood or a different class schedule that has you sitting with different people at lunch – these are all moments in which change occurs. These changes may be big or small. They may be immediately noticed or take years to realize.

Here at Redeemer, we are being changed through the growth of the Day School. When David gives the announcements during church each week and welcomes the congregation, he reminds us that we know God better through one another. Each new person is an opportunity to know Christ in a new way. And that is true for all of the students, families, teachers, and staff that the Day School’s expansion brings. We are getting know God in new ways through each of them, learning and growing together, teaching each other as we go.

So when you pass by the learning cottage by the chapel or play on the playground, say a prayer for our friends at PDS. Pray for our whole community as it grows in new ways. We are getting to know God better through one another.

Love,
Rebecca+

Dear Folks,

Nicholas Kristof writes today in the New York Times of a “loneliness epidemic,” citing arresting statistics about its impact on our souls and bodies. It turns out that being divided physically, politically, emotionally, and spiritually is making us sick. Are you surprised? And the solution isn’t for us to agree with our friends or opponents—the ones within you or close to home or across some tribal line—but to spend time together in consistent and committed ways… to create bonds across difference, to discover how much we have in common, to make space. Recalling the work of Robert Putnam, we’ve been “bowling alone” since at least the mid-1990’s, and the paucity of guilds and groups and gatherings for at least two generations has taken its toll. We need each other!

It’s a wake-up call, not unlike Moses’s experience last week with the burning bush. Moses is a fugitive from justice.  He has killed a man in Egypt and fled some 200 miles, to hide out, presumably for the rest of his life.  All things being equal, it’s a comfortable exile, and he has everything that he thinks he wants: a spouse, a child, plenty of land and livestock, working for his father-in-law.  But something makes him stop and look at this extraordinary sight, a bush that burns but is not consumed… some longing or anxiety, some sense of unfinished business or dreams deferred, some notion of things in the world not being right or a question about his success being all there is…  “Is this it,” he must have been wondering about the life he was living, as he shucked off his shoes.

Moses was 80 years old before he turned aside and noticed the burning bush, before he heard God’s voice clearly say, “You and your people are suffering and you need to help to set them (and yourself) free.”  There probably had been burning bushes along the way for Moses for decades, but only now did he turn and listen.  He finally woke up and noticed what had been true all along: a whole lot of people were hurting, including himself. Because his circumstances were fairly comfortable, Moses had been sleep-walking for years, but on this day he heard the voices within and without: “my people are living lives of quiet desperation,” or worse.

Moses discovers that it is never too late to address the ways that we are separated from each other. Are you willing to risk the same epiphany? Here’s the good news: the healing starts as soon as you commit to engaging with a small group of others.

At Redeemer this month we are inviting every person in the parish to join a House Meeting group: gatherings of 6-8 people who will commit to meeting with each other once/month, between now and May, facilitated by parishioners who are trained and supported by the clergy, following a simple agenda that includes some fellowship, food, and faithfulness. According to surgeon general’s statistics, we are ahead of the game by attending church, but being rooted in a group of accountability and affection can make a life-changing difference. Sign up here.

Love,
David

Sometimes I really do believe that we are all doing the very best we can and at other times, not so much.  I recently read an article about a woman who entered a fast-food restaurant and took issue with some of the employees who were speaking a language other than English to each other.  This did not interfere with the woman’s attempt to order or receive her meal, but it apparently interfered with her sense of propriety in “Mickey Dee’s.”  She proceeded to lambast the two people conversing with each other and the manager as well, for not forcing them to speak English only.  I wonder if that was her true best since their conversation was not directed to her nor intended to engage her.  It’s funny that I should have come across the story because it made me wonder about the way we think about and treat the average, nameless worker in our society, and the actual origins of the Labor Day holiday which we will celebrate next week.

In lots of ways, we take the holiday for granted, never really stopping to consider the honor and respect due the American worker for the material success of the United States.  This was true even after the first Monday in September had been declared a legal national holiday in 1894.  And still today, migrant workers remain one of the most disenfranchised groups within this country.

With the full flex of the Industrial Revolution in the 19^th century came 12-hour workdays, 7 days a week for the average American worker.  This included 6,7, and 8-year-old children.  The Haymarket riots in Chicago in 1886 are considered the origin of the labor movement.  The clash between the police and workers resulted in deaths and eventual arrest and capital punishment for at least four workers charged with being instigators of the rebellion.  I don’t believe any of us consider the enormous sacrifice that many of our national nameless ancestors encountered to allow us the privilege of celebrating Labor Day Holiday with food, fireworks, and fun.  And THAT is truly the RUB.

People like A. Philip Randolph, Cesar Chavez, Larry Itliong, and Dolores Huerta were paramount, especially for the many people of color who did the work that other Americans disdained to do.  How often do we eat a cucumber or anything else without giving thanks for the ones who prepared the soil, planted, harvested, and transported them all to market for the rest of us to purchase and consume?  We all need each other so where do we go when we forget this very significant fact?

The average worker in this country goes in to work to do the tasks assigned for the compensation agreed upon.  It is a strictly quid pro quo agreement.  Our personal likes and dislikes can certainly be rectified by withholding our business from some enterprises and patronizing others.  We have the human responsibility to do our personal best though, to honor other human beings who are just trying to do their personal best.  What if our judgment of the other is a projection of our own psyche through our own eyes?  After all, who was it who said, “why worry about a speck in the eye of a brother when you have a board in your own?”  And yes, the sword cuts both ways! 😊

I hope you will enjoy your Labor Day in gratitude with food, family, and fun…and fireworks if available.

Feeling Grateful for the opportunity to do my Best,
Freda Marie+

To everything – turn, turn, turn
There is a season – turn, turn, turn
And a time to every purpose under heaven

The song Pete Seeger wrote (based on Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8) and The Byrds  made famous in the 1960’s is on my mind-heart-soul.

It’s that time of year, when a familiar refrain I hear in conversations is “Where did the summer go?”

While some of us are hanging on to and relishing every last drop of summer, others are already shifting gears to new school and program years. Teachers are getting ready to welcome students back, fall schedules are being put in place and dates marked on calendars.

Our church staff is getting ready to roll out our new house meetings next month (stay tuned for more details, coming soon!), and our Redeemer Parish Day School is blazing a trail with our first ever 3rd grade class learning and growing on campus.

Seasons are shifting in other ways too. Many of our beloveds continue to depart this earthly life, while others are preparing to go. Couples are getting ready to exchange vows and rings. Parents are inviting friends and family to come celebrate with us in church, to welcome their child as the newest member of “Team Jesus”.

And what about all that continues to shift and change in the world around us, in the wider communities of which we are a part?

Amidst all that is changing, all that is shifting, all that is turning, God Is. “Abide in me,” our Lord whispers, agitates, invites, reminds, “Abide in me.”

At the end of last spring/beginning of the summer, a prayer-poem came to me that I shared with all of you. I’ve changed it, shifted it, turned it, so to speak, and I invite you to pray it with me, in a new way, once again.

Grace and peace, strength and courage, comfort and love to you, as we continue journeying along the way, together.

Grace at the threshold II

as we walk
across the threshold
behind us — what has been
before us — what has yet to be
let us be mindful
of what
we carry with us

like those
who are packing
our bags
to go
on pilgrimage

let us take time
to be still
to reflect
to envision

let us choose with intention

and take special care
that our compass
orients
to the voice
of the One
who calls us forth

to be
to become
to embody
more fully
who we really are

Beloved

Beloved

Beloved

Love,
Cristina