From the Rector: Finding the heart of St. John’s

Dear Friends,

I sat down at my desk this past Monday morning to begin writing my annual report for our upcoming annual meeting on January 26. It was a curious experience. For one thing, I haven’t been here for a year, and so I had to begin writing in such a way that acknowledged my somewhat limited experience. And yet, as soon as I started writing, I found myself recalling all the things Devon and I have already shared with you all in our mere six months with you. And while my first draft still very much feels like a long list of “thank yous”—which I’m sure isn’t a surprise—it was in the listing of events, the naming of individuals, and the seemingly endless thanksgivings that something special emerged. I became more aware of what holds this place together.

So, what holds this place together? Well, God, obviously. But how? One of the things that struck me, indeed as we were saying farewell to Buffy Gray on Sunday, was the deep interconnectivity of this parish. One of the hardest things to establish in any community, let alone a parish church, is a culture where people are genuinely embedded in each others’ lives in ways which are healthy, pastoral, and fruitful; where people truly care about each other, and where the connectivity is authentic and unforced. It may sound funny to say, but one of the most difficult jobs any parish has is nurturing such a Christian relationality; not because people, or indeed priests are that difficult, but because, especially in a wider culture of suspicion, skepticism, and irony, fostering such deep relationships is unusual, to say the least. And yet, it is possible. One of the great gifts of St. John’s, especially for someone entering the community afresh, is that this deeper level of engagement is already prevalent and heartfelt. It’s organic, and you sense it as soon as you walk through the door. And from there, having established that level of connection, one can then set about the “business” of worship, spirituality, and prayer in ever new ways.

Indeed, this is another unusual aspect of St. John’s. From the theological point of view of many in parish ministry, such community is often seen as the product of worship rather than something which we then bring to worship. Yet, as someone remarked to me recently, what often currently brings people through the door of St. John’s is the sense of community, and from there the worship begins. Those of you who first discovered this community through the Not-So-Spooky Haunted House, the Holiday Boutique, Summerfest, or one of our many social gatherings, for example, will perhaps testify to this. And so, we begin from a different angle, where community brings together the people for worship, and this is not unusual in the contemporary church. However, here lies our task as a parish: whatever may bring one through the door, how can we then nurture that sensation of being compelled? Once we are together in worship, how do we then grow that connection? Put in more spiritual terms, how do we pray? And how do we go on praying even when we leave? It is in questions such as those that we discover the heart of our shared journey in the heart of God.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: Feeling the joy of Christmastide

Dear friends,

Audrey Farrell carries the Christmas Star down the aisle.

A very Happy Christmastide and New Year to you all. I trust that this note finds you well and sharing a good Christmas season as we move into the new year. It has been a good Christmas at St. John’s. Our worship throughout the season so far has been immensely joyful and full of hope; from our Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Eucharists, from tots and toddlers to pageants, from midnight mass to baptisms, from joyful singing to the holy tarantula … Yes, I finally saw it, and I am very grateful. And for those who may be wondering what I am referring to, please see the photos and video of our pageant and the star which the shepherds and magi followed … It was very special, I must say.

One of the memories that I will take with me following our Christmas Eve worship was the final “scene” of our pageant. Again, if you watch the service again online, you’ll notice that during the hymn the whole “cast” gathers around the manger, featuring one of our parish family’s newborns! And as the characters gathered, the baby smiled, the tarantula-star hovered over, and the singing rang out, I had this wonderful realization of what makes this parish what it is, and what a gift it is to be here. There so much quirky (yet incredibly well controlled!) chaos, with so much laughter, smiles, and over four hundred people all zooming in on this one moment. It was not only one of the most worshipful moments I’ve witnessed in a pageant (that wasn’t a comment on the chaos, by the way), but one of the most delightful I’ve seen in such a service. It was pure joy. And, furthermore, there was hope.

Moments like this are significant for all of us. Indeed, as I’ve said elsewhere in this season, Christmas is not always the happiest or easiest time for everyone. In fact, for some it can be an unbearable season, and for important reasons. Without boring you with my life story (again … you’ve heard my sermons), Christmas isn’t the easiest season for me either. But what caught my attention the other day in church, as the pageant came to an end, was that this moment of jubilation didn’t distract from or water down the importance of the serious side of Christmas. If anything, it was a gentle, quirky sign of hope. Essentially, it helped me stop for a second and think, “Now I can see something new worth striving for.”

Brian Locke

And so, here we are: 2025, a new year, and a lot of joy and change ahead. This Sunday, we will say farewell to Buffy Gray on the occasion of her retirement. On Monday, Brian Locke will begin as our interim organist and choirmaster. Over the next few weeks, we will also prepare for our annual meeting which will take place on Sunday, Jan. 26 after the 10 a.m. Eucharist. And from there, we will launch fully into the new year with a renewed vestry, and many plans and hopes for our future ministry. Wherever you are on your journey, I pray that you will find what you are looking for in this new year, and I hope that you will share your journey as part of this parish’s life.

Devon and I (and the cats!) send you all our greetings, prayers, and blessings for the new year.

With prayers for peace this Christmastide,

Ed.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: A disinterested look at Mary

Dear friends,

The eighteenth-century philosopher Immanuel Kant once coined the term “disinterestedness.” Among his writings on aesthetics, Kant contemplated what it meant to appreciate something that we find to be beautiful. For Kant, when we not only pass a judgment on something but truly appreciate something’s or someone’s beauty, we find ourselves being disinterested. Not uninterested, as in not having any desire or curiosity about something. But dis-interested. In other words, you have an interest, but it is somewhat disassociated from one’s individualistic desire, or, put another way, you are interested in something but not with a fixed agenda that you seek to fulfil, particularly an agenda you had prior to encountering the person or thing you find beautiful. You simply appreciate or perceive beauty in someone or something for the sake of it, for the sake of them. You like them for who they are, not what you would prefer them to be.

Immanuel Kant (1724-1804). Portrait painted c1790.

I have often thought that the more penitential and reflective seasons in the church’s year help us with precisely this commonly shared conundrum. What does it mean to like or even love someone or something purely for who or what they are? Of course, for many of us, we may already find ourselves in relationships or circumstances where we know the answer to this. Nevertheless, I would hazard a guess that there might still be some areas in our lives where this notion goes unchecked. That’s not to sound judgmental or presumptuous, but simply to say that there are always things in our lives which are unfinished; things which we might want to control, or even let go of, yet where the letting go is itself another means by which we try to control something.

In many respects, this question brings us to Mary. At this time of year, and on the Fourth Sunday of Advent specifically, we are invited to contemplate who Mary is, and the part she plays in the Nativity of Our Lord. At first, this may seem obvious, but a closer inspection of our readings this coming Sunday provokes a particular kind of wondering. As we will hear on Sunday, Mary is someone who we know very little about, if anything. And while some traditions within the church have deeply held beliefs around her early life, her perfections (or imperfections), and the circumstances of her life beyond the pages of scripture, still she is someone who in so many ways captures the essence of what it means to simply be present to God. Regardless of history, circumstance, or desire, Mary appears in the story, she is called by God to do something, and she follows. She is indeed a disciple, and long before others.

This openness to God’s call and how we might embrace this rests at the heart of our worship, and not only in Advent. I am overjoyed at the prospect of gathering with you all this Sunday, and excited to see where our journey leads.

With every prayer and blessing,

Ed.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: Reorienting patterns of prayer

Dear friends,

The Rev. Ed Thornley preaches from the pulpit Dec. 8.

During my sermon on The Second Sunday of Advent, I was reflecting on the words of The Rev. Canon Edie Dolnikowski, who spoke the previous week about how Advent is a season for slowing down, not taking on more, and seeking to adopt new prayerful and reflective practices. During my homily following Edie’s, I found myself thinking about how I have struggled with this more meditative practice myself, and how important it is to try and slow down. Of course, several friends, knowing my sense of humor, remarked afterwards, smiling, “Oh, so if it’s important for me to slow down then I suppose you don’t need me to help you this week with XYZ then …!” Or, “Do you really need the choir this week …?”

I suppose it would be nice if we were all able to continue getting some things done, even in Advent (although I did appreciate the joke!). However, it did genuinely get me thinking: what if we could keep up the pace but find more meditative ways through it? Instead of slowing down as such, what if we considered what it might mean to maintain a certain pitch and purpose in one’s life while still fervently moving forward?

Now, I’m not going back on my sermon right now, nor because I’m afraid people will stop helping me keep this church afloat in one of the busiest seasons of the year … But indeed, as I moved from sermon to announcements during last Sunday’s service, and inevitably started listing all the merry things going on in the parish which are joyful, and of course a major part of this season, I did find myself wondering if my sermon needed to be a little more nuanced. Perhaps it’s not so much about slowing down so as to cut things back, rather readjusting our pace and focus so that we might become more aligned with the way God approaches us.

The Rev. Dr. Jerome Berryman

In preparation for our Evenings in Advent study this past week (which was canceled due to the storm), I found myself reading one of Godly Play founder Jerome Berryman’s books, Becoming Like a Child. In the book, Berryman writes about the spirituality of childhood, and how adults, too, might reorient their patterns of prayer and the way they attend to aspects of their mature lives by reflecting on the ways that children perceive reality. In one chapter, Berryman describes what is often referred to as “unitive” or “mystical” knowing. Here, he reflects on an early childhood experience which, at different moments in his adult life, resurfaces in his memory when he encounters experiences which trigger, in his subconscious mind, the recollection of when this type of experience first took place. Berryman writes, “I had experienced a unified kind of knowing. Many have such experiences, especially during childhood. Their significance remains even if the details fade.” (Berryman 2017, 68)

In other words, one of the qualities children have, and which adults sometimes forget they have, is that our minds, and indeed our hearts, carry experiences even when we are not aware of them. And these moments resurface when prompted; sometimes happily, sometimes tragically; sometimes helpfully, and sometimes unhelpfully. But whichever way they manifest, they are with us, and our task, as any therapist or spiritual director knows, is to find ways of navigating our minds and hearts so that we know how to healthily move forward while not ignoring the past; and how to keep on moving while absorbing and reabsorbing information and experience, all the while gaining new insight into our deeper purpose even amidst uncertainty, anxiety, or busyness. This is certainly something children can teach us about, especially at a time of year like this. And perhaps this readjustment rather than removing is the more important spiritual discipline that both Advent and Christmas, at their own heart, can shape within ours.

With every blessing for this third week of Advent,

Ed.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist.

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Reference

Jerome Berryman, Becoming Like a Child—The Curiosity of Maturity Beyond the Norm. New York: Church Publishing, 2017.

From the Rector: Re-imagining John the Baptist

“Saint John the Baptist in the Wilderness” by Joshua Reynolds (1776)

Dear friends,

In the Gospel reading for the Second Sunday of Advent, we encounter John the Baptist for the first time. John is considered by many to be Jesus’s cousin, a forerunner to Jesus, who preached, prophesied and baptized prior to Jesus’s ministry beginning. John speaks about Jesus’s coming. And when Jesus is about to begin his ministry, John baptizes him, thus making explicit a new relationship between the divine and the human, indeed all of creation, and opening the way for us to relate to God in a new way. In the Gospel for this Sunday (Luke 3:1-6), we encounter John prior to Jesus’s baptism, when he is preaching about future judgment and Christ’s arrival.

I had never spent much time studying John the Baptist until I lived in London ten years ago. One year, while I served at St. Marylebone in Central London, I preached an Advent II sermon about John the Baptist, and on the reading coming up for this Sunday. As I was working with children and youth a great deal, as well as older adults who often found sensory worship helpful, I found myself using a well-known image of John as an illustration during the sermon. The image is at the top of this letter. It is a painting which hangs in The Wallace Collection in London (just down the street from St. Marylebone), and it is an image of the infant John the Baptist in the wilderness. It was painted by Joshua Reynolds in 1776.

Reynolds was famous for two distinctive forms of painting: he was known for his landscapes, and also his images of children. He had a gift for capturing certain qualities of childhood. Reynolds was often recruited to paint famous London residents’ portraits. Interestingly, he would also often be asked to paint Biblical figures, and when he did so, he would often portray them as children. Scholars have mused as to why Reynolds did this. One theory is that he was especially strong at capturing the somewhat “traditional,” innocent, wondering qualities of childhood, yet when portrayed upon a Biblical character who is known for a more fiery, adult personality, enabled the viewer to contemplate what this character may have been like in another stage of life. Indeed, when contemplating someone as fierce a preacher as John, one might wonder how this person came to be the way they are as an adult. By contemplating such a figure as if they were back in their childhood, requires the viewer to re-imagine this person’s character, purpose, and vocation; and possibly re-think their perspective of them. In the case of John, we are presented with someone who, now, thanks to Reynolds, is not only a fire and brimstone preacher and prophet, but someone who from their youngest days was called by God to serve in his name, and to usher in the Kingdom of God in the most beautiful yet striking way. Indeed, we see this in the image, with the child John, surrounded by wilderness and a lamb representing Christ, pointing to the sky, powerfully yet gently.

When we focus in on a Biblical figure, or indeed any aspect of the Bible, we are invited to consider not only them but how they impact our own lives. When I preached about John that time in London, an older woman who would often visit our parish was in the congregation. She took a copy of the picture home, and a year later, during Advent, brought the image at right, to me in a frame. It is a replica of Reynolds’s painting, but in cross-stitch, made by hand, and she presented it to me as a gift. I don’t know how long it took her to make this, especially something so startlingly accurate and clearly painstakingly created over a long time. I didn’t get the chance to ask as she dropped it off at the church quickly, and I never saw her again. Yet this image remains in Devon’s and my home (it’s in the Rectory study if you ever visit and want to see it), as a reminder as I pray daily for God’s grace amidst uncertainty; God’s patience amidst an unfolding and complex history; God’s power amidst weakness and frailty; and God’s love amidst imperfection and consequence. Engaging in such prayerful, penitent, yet joyful reflection is very much our purpose in Advent, as we look again for the one who will make all things new.

With every prayer and blessing,

Ed.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: A change of season

Dear friends,

This week, we begin the season of Advent, the beginning of a new church year. As with all faith communities, the Christian Church has its own calendar which, while bearing similarities to others, also holds many differences. The Church’s year begins at the start of December, from which point we journey through the story of Jesus’s life and ministry. As we move through each season—Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost, and so on—we recount a particular aspect of Jesus’s life and how God is transforming our lives through him. During Advent, we return to the beginning of Jesus’s life, charting the prophecies and the lives of those who immediately paved the way for Christ to enter the world, through to our celebration of his birth at Christmas.

Each week, we will light the Advent Wreath at the beginning of our Parish Eucharist. On each Sunday in Advent, a different candle will represent one of the people or communities who opened the way for Jesus to come among us. The order follows: (1) the patriarchs, such as Abraham, Moses and the early forefathers of the children of Israel, the communities who first encountered God; (2) the prophets, such as Isaiah and Jeremiah, who predicted the Messiah would one day come to us; (3) John the Baptist, Jesus’s cousin, who baptized and preached in Jesus’s name prior to Jesus’s own ministry; and (4) the Blessed Virgin Mary, Jesus’s mother. Indeed, Advent itself is a journey; a season where we follow in the footsteps of those who have gone before us, until finally, at Christmas, we light the central candle which represents Christ as the true light of the world.

Alongside the Wreath, you will also notice other liturgical changes. The Eucharistic Prayer will be different, for example, where we will follow one which reflects more specifically on the incarnation and the overarching Biblical narrative. The colors in church will shift to purple, which represents royalty, depth, and, like the season of Lent, a degree of penitence, making space, and a reimagining of priorities. After all, Advent is a season of preparation as much as joyful expectation. The collects, prayers of the people, sermons, and other liturgical practices offered throughout the season will also reflect this spirituality, as will also several opportunities for spiritual formation which will be offered throughout the season.

Devon and I hope that you will consider joining us for theological discussion and/or compline during the season (see the separate advert). Indeed, there will be many other opportunities to gather for worship and fellowship throughout the season in addition to Sunday worship, so do keep an eye out for the weekly announcements. I also hope you will join us for Advent Lessons and Carols on Sunday, Dec. 8 at 5 p.m.! In the meantime, I trust that you all have a good Thanksgiving and let us pray together for our parish community as we enter this wonderful new year and a new chapter together.

With every blessing,

Ed.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: Thanks be to God for you.

“For just as the body is one and has many members, and all members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.” 1 Corinthians 12:12

The Rev. Edward Thornley kneels before Bishop Whitworth Nov. 19 as he is instituted as the ninth Rector of the Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist in Hingham.

On Tuesday, many in our community gathered at our parish church for my official Service of Institution with The Rt. Rev. Julia Whitworth, Bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts. Members of our parish, wardens, vestry, staff, search committee, transition committee, friends and family, and clergy from the deanery and diocese all came together to pray with me as we “officially” began this new chapter of St. John’s life together. It was wonderful to welcome so many new and familiar faces, and to have my dear friend Fr. Sammy Wood, from The Episcopal Church of St. Mary the Virgin in Times Square, preach at our service. Although Devon and I have been here since July, this was the formal moment at which point we now begin our time in this community. It was also very special to have the Bishop here for what was her first parish visitation and her first installation service as a Bishop.

I am extremely grateful (here come the “thank yous” again …) to everyone who took part; which means all of the people mentioned above! And I want to offer a particular thanks to the transition committee: Sara Taylor, Elizabeth Moulds, and Jenn GaySmith, for all their work in orchestrating the whole event, the food, and the beer … I cannot begin to tell you how much Devon and I, and our families appreciated not only the evening itself, but are thrilled at the sheer fact that you, the parish, called us to this new journey with you.

During the service, one of the most poignant moments for me was where members of our community presented a series of gifts: objects which represent aspects of our life together which are significant for our shared ministry. As well as being grateful to those who took part in this moment, it was a gift in itself to be reminded in that moment of something which shapes our life as a parish. And that is the very fact that this is a shared ministry. Everything we do here we do together. And even though this was the institution of a rector, it is just as much, if not more so, the institution and celebration of what it means for our whole community to be what it is, and for us to be who we are with one another.

When each person held up their gift—from a Bible to a Prayer Book, from a stole to a Godly Play parable, to Eucharistic vessels—I was helpfully reminded that, in the end, a priest is no more special, holy, or important than anyone else. We’re a pretty useless bunch, really, because the whole point of a priest’s role (as far as I see it, anyway) is simply to be a person who is asked by a community to remind them that they already have all the gifts they need to be the church. While I may have spent some time reading the Bible, learning how to preach, hanging around an altar, and praying in public, these are obviously forms of spiritual engagement that we all share in. As with any other vocation, there are specific gifts however they are always that which inspire others in their own gifts. “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.”

Thank you for a wonderful celebration. And, on this eve of the twenty-fourth annual Holiday Boutique, remember what you, as a parish, are already capable of. This is all because of you, because God has already given you the gifts with which to build his kingdom. Thanks be to God for you.

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The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector of The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: The vitality of Prayers of the People

When I first arrived in the Episcopal Church, one of the things that took me by surprise was the Prayers of the People in the Book of Common Prayer. In the Church of England, it is common practice to write one’s own intercessions. And so, following the sermon and the creed, instead of observing a set pattern from a prayer book, an intercessor offers either prayers they have written themselves or improvises on the spot. The reasons for this are many, among which is not only general liturgical reform in more recent years, but also a need in many communities to ensure that the prayers offered are true to the hearts of those worshipping among the congregation.

Of course, some Episcopalians may find this odd and for different reasons. Indeed, there is something calming, grounding, and comforting in knowing more exactly what is going to happen when you walk into church on a Sunday morning. Nevertheless, independently or communally written, or even extempore prayer is not an unusual tradition within the church, despite the fact that one might not usually find it in a principal weekly service. And I will say that there is something quite beautiful about being able to write your own prayers, share them with others, or, risky though it may be, to improvise and pray extempore in a regular worship setting.

In one parish I know “back home,” the priest often not only improvises the prayers of the people, but replaces the sermon with them. Thus, following the Gospel reading, the congregation is seated, and then the priest or another preacher offers a meditation on the readings given the issues of the day. And the meditation is shared in an intercessory manner, with the responsory, “Lord, in your mercy; Hear our prayer.” When I asked my colleague how they came to such a practice, they told me how, one Sunday, there seemed to be so much going on in the world, and so much in the readings that was challenging, that the only way they could get through the sermon and say anything meaningful, was simply to pray with the congregation. At that moment, the congregation didn’t need to be spoken to or preached at but prayed with. Of course, such mutual, shared ministry and intercession is something clergy and congregations practice together generally. And a priest should never preach at their congregation. Still, by offering intercession in this specific way in corporate worship served as a reminder of the community’s core purpose, especially in times when opinion, belief, and need are diverse.

This week, as we approach another busy transitional season, perhaps we can grant ourselves the opportunity to consider how we pray. As we contemplate the next two weeks; from my institution on Tuesday, to the Holiday Boutique on Thursday and Friday, to Thanksgiving, and indeed Advent and the beginning of a new liturgical year; we see that there is a lot going on. It’s busy, it’s challenging, and, amongst other things happening in our world, it is a time of change for all of us. But if we can grant ourselves the grace and the time to consider how we not only navigate but pray through such experiences, we might just discover something new. As the theologian Karen Kilby says, “a theologian is one who prays, but stumbles in their prayer, but then reflects on their stumbling.” It’s okay to stumble. It’s good to reflect. And it’s vital to pray.

The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector, The Episcopal Parish of St. John the Evangelist

From the Rector: A living hope in a time of anxiety

Dear friends,

During our All Souls Sunday Eucharist, which we will celebrate this weekend, our second reading will come from The First Letter of Peter: 1 Peter 1:3-9. In this reading, we find an often used saying in the Church: “a living hope.” The phrase “a living hope” is a curious one. It holds together two perhaps contradictory ideas. On the one hand, we have the word “living.” Living means to be alive right now, to be present in this world, engaged in the here and now. “Hope” inspires a different thought. Hope is a word more concerned with that which is not here yet, things yet to come; perhaps something we yearn for or desire, but which is not immediately within our grasp. So, what does it mean, then, to experience a “living hope?”

The writer, who we believe is Peter the Apostle, is speaking about what it means to live somehow simultaneously both in the present and in the future. This is a central aspect of the Christian faith: to live now in light of not only the past we have come from, but the future, the Kingdom of Heaven, which we anticipate and which we might even experience in this moment. Why speak of this? And how, exactly, does this work? Peter writes these words so that one might contemplate what it means to live in faith, especially in moments when even the present, let alone the future, is not entirely certain. And the way we might accomplish this is to do those things which God in Christ calls us as Christians to practice: to love one another.

In the Christian faith, when people love one another, remember one another, engage with one another, we live in a way which unites those three dimensions of past, present, and future. A way of life which honors others, which acknowledges all three dimensions; and where one seeks to inspire confidence by focusing on what makes someone or something so important, thus helping you understand why you love them so much, and where this love is ultimately going. In the original Greek language of the New Testament, the word for “hope” is ἐλπίς (elpis), which means expectation, hope; and, in particular, a hope, trust, or confidence which is focused intently on the author or the source of one’s hope. In other words, by focusing on, meditating on, and contemplating who is important to us, we are reminded of what it means to truly live in the light of the resurrection: the eternity beyond death itself. For All Souls Day, “a living hope” is very much at the center of our prayers and our living of them, as we honor those who we love, and indeed how their lived example brings us closer to God, the source of all hope itself. But this reading, I find, is also helpful elsewhere right now.

This past week has been a challenging one, to say the least. Not only do we find ourselves in a season in the Church where both death and our perceived life beyond it are front and center, but where we share other facets of life which inspire different anxieties and concerns. To put it bluntly perhaps, the election of the next President of the United States of America has brought this about. This week’s events have occupied every newspaper, every online publication, every air wave, and every news bulletin, as much as every prayer list. And the prayers, the concerns, and the anxiety continue. Indeed, no matter which side one finds themselves on, and even if one finds does not align themselves with any particular ideology or group, there is very much a common, shared experience. That is, to feel caught in the midst of something which does not seem to be fully reconciled, in fact far from it. Two things manifest themselves, then: an anxiety at the lack of harmonious resolution, and a desire for it. Two things which, interestingly and importantly, we all share, even if we do not see eye to eye on where this anxiety resides and how the resolution might be sought.

One thing that is worth remembering amid such a time, is precisely that wherever we locate ourselves, we all actually share those twin experiences of anxiety and desire for reconciliation. In an odd way, at a time where we often find ourselves divided, this two-fold experience unites us. We are united, perhaps, in our shared anxiety and need to resolve it. That’s not a good thing in itself, but it is something; something that maybe, just maybe, might become a starting point for conversation, collaboration, or even, risky as it may feel, to engage what it means to embody a living hope. In other words, we remember the past, we hold the present, and we look to the future; and we ask one another what this means and what this might look like. And yes, again, that is a risk, depending on who you talk to. It’s not easy. Furthermore, it hurts. And it hurts even when we begin to contemplate how to engage again with those who we fear, or who we fear may hurt us. But if the Christian faith teaches one thing that we can all begin with, no matter what, it is that desire for and the opportunity to engage in a living hope. How we navigate that exactly is the task, but the fact that it is a possible task means there is a possible way. And I am confident that our own parish community, like any and every other community, can do it. And when we struggle, may we listen to those words of scripture, and allow the one who accomplishes them accomplish that same reconciliatory spirit in us. That is something worth living in hope.

The Rev. Edward Thornley

Rector